I watched the rest of the game, and shouted every time Mark’s name was called. It was a close game…that team in orange put up a good fight, despite their dreadful attire. In the end, the Giants prevailed. And when they won, I felt fully awake and engaged.
I went upstairs and took a long, cleansing shower. I let the water flow over me and refresh my soul. I fixed my hair and put on makeup. I wasn’t going anywhere…I just wanted to feel beautiful again. I went out to the front porch, and for the first time in a while I was outside. I sat on the porch on my father’s old chair, and felt the cool October breeze on me. I breathed in that sweet air, and let it enter my spirit. I wanted to be a part of the world again, and I wanted life to go on in me and around me and through me.
After sitting a bit, I went for a short walk around the neighborhood. These were streets where I rode my bicycle as a little girl. I had played jump rope at my neighbor’s house. I had sat under that tree and read poems to fill my heart. All of this neighborhood was who I was. And it filled me with life to be in it. Though I would leave this neighborhood soon and not return, it had left its mark on me, and revitalized me once again. It wasn’t the last time it would do this for me.
The next day, I called Keiko, and told her I had watched Mark play.
“Oh that was such a great game, wasn’t it? I was in the stands. I yelled so loudly when Mark scored that touchdown.” I could still hear a bit of hoarseness in her voice.
“It was so exciting, Keiko. I don’t know how you stand it—knowing it’s your husband doing that.”
“I’ve kinda gotten used to it, but that touchdown was fantastic. We have a very tough game next week. They play the 49ers. Should be another close game. It’ll be another home game, so I’ll be there.”
“What do you do when he’s on the road?”
“I go to some of his games on the road, but only a few. Hey, do you want to go with me to the game this weekend? I know Mark would love to see you again.”
I didn’t expect the offer. “Oh, it would be too much trouble…”
“Nonsense. I mean, I know many girls don’t like football. I didn’t watch it until I met Mark. But they’re fun even when you don’t understand the game. Lots of yelling and cheering. C’mon…why don’t you come with me?”
“But I don’t have a ticket…” I protested faintly.
“I can get you a ticket easily. So will you come?”
“Okay, if it’s no problem.”
“Great! I’ll come by and get you around ten o’clock Sunday morning. You’ll see…we’ll have a blast. And I’d love to have someone to talk to during the game. The other players’ wives are cunts…I avoid them.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Two days later, I had a buyer for the home, and we would close rather quickly. I was already seeing apartments on the Upper West Side.
And the game was wonderful fun. The Giants destroyed the 49ers, and the stadium was absolutely rocking. It sounded like a hurricane! It had turned suddenly cold, so Keiko and I snuggled together under a blanket she brought, while taking shots from a little whisky flask. Mark made several catches, and when his name was called on the public address system we would scream. I still don’t understand football, but that was one of the best days of my life.
By the time David returned from Russia, I was moving into my new apartment, just three blocks down from Central Park on 72nd. I called him and told him all that I had gone through. I told him I loved him, and we cried together on the phone. We agreed to meet at the subway station on the edge of the park, and then I would walk him back and show him my new place.
As I walked down 72nd Street, passing the porte cochere of the Dakota, I saw a long black car pull up just ahead of me. Stepping out was a slender man with light hair and glasses, and with him was a smaller Asian woman. I didn’t register them until I was directly in front of them. I spoke despite my shyness.
“Hi, John and Yoko,” I said. “Love your music.”
“Thanks, love,” John said, and then they were through the portico into the building.
I was so happy to have seen them. I knew they lived close by, but just assumed they’d travel with an army of security. Seeing them out on the street like that made me think I would see them often. I told myself to carry a pad of paper so I could ask for an autograph when I saw them again.
But I never did see them again. Just a year later, an attention-seeking lunatic would shoot John, right in that same spot.
31
Though I continued to spend many nights at David’s place, I insisted on staying in my own apartment a few nights a week. I think it was important to me to maintain my sense of identity and self. Though I loved him and did hope for marriage someday, I also knew that our relationship was fraught with peril. How would a bond like this work with children? How could you maintain a regular (whatever that is) life when you sleep with other people? I knew I wanted children. I knew I wanted a home and a normal life for those children. Right now, that dream seemed light-years away. Once again, a tiny voice was shouting at me across a distant valley. I did not want to hear it, so I worked hard at ignoring it.
David began feverishly working on his next book, which would focus on the palaces of Eastern Europe. I was stunned by the pictures he brought home from Russia. I never imagined such opulence was still on display in that country. I assumed the Soviet Empire would have turned them into state office buildings.
“Oh, I would’ve thought that too, but Russia tries, at times, to show off its history, if only for a cultural lesson…showing the evils of noncommunist systems. They point out that the tsars lived like that while their people starved. It’s true, I guess, but I think all of Europe would be guilty of the same.
I marveled at David’s discipline. When he began to write, he stayed completely focused on his work. He could write for several hours at a time, and didn’t require inspiration. I was the opposite. I needed space and a spark to write. David sledgehammered through his work. I chased it like a feather in the breeze.
We were at David’s, working away on a dreary Sunday in November, when I heard the radio commenting on unrest in the Middle East. Iran, of all places. We stopped working, and turned on the news. We heard that our embassy in Tehran was overrun. Then we heard hostages were taken. We saw images of women in black, burning the US flag. Young men climbed over the gates of the embassy and chanted, “Death to America.” We didn’t say a word. We just sat and listened and watched as the information trickled in. We couldn’t believe what we were seeing. Every once in a while, David would swear under his breath.
I remember feeling so violated. America had been attacked, even if on foreign soil. This was new to me. Certainly, we hadn’t fared well in Vietnam. We had been slowly losing our sense of invincibility for a while. But this attack really shocked us. We felt so vulnerable. Night after night, we watched women in headscarves and men with beards threatening our destruction. Our hostages were paraded in front of cameras. These next months were horrifying to us. I felt that our future was more uncertain than ever. It felt like 9/11 would later feel, though obviously with much less loss of life. Still, we were shocked and horrified.
As we headed into the holidays, we began to spend more time with Keiko and Mark. Not just sexually, but all together as friends. David and I sat with Keiko for the Giants’ final game against the Baltimore Colts. The season had turned disappointing, and they were beaten badly. Mark had been battling an injured ankle, and he was much slower than he had been previously. He didn’t have any big plays, and we left the stadium feeling bad for our friend.
All of us spent Christmas together, but there was a feeling that things just weren’t as new and exciting as they had been. I felt it strongly. Yet David and I were together constantly, and I did love him so much. I was afraid that all the recent events would make him restless and that he would move on. I worried about the overall state of our relationship, and wondered where we were heading as a couple. I worried also about o
ur communal love with Mark and Keiko. While we continued periodic sessions together, nothing new or interesting was coming out of them. It was becoming a bit routine, and I could sense that this would be trouble for our relationship. David, after all, craved new adventures.
I noticed that I had now fully accepted the life we had. During our first few encounters, everything had seemed rather scary, and every sexual congress was a new exploration and, for me, an emotional hurdle to get over. I guess I became used to that sense of danger and challenge. Now, the four of us would just get together, have some drinks, and get to the bedroom. While the sex was great, and I never left unfulfilled, it was rather, I guess, boring. Instead of falling into a routine with one person I had fallen into a routine with three people.
Keiko and I never had a repeat solo session. We talked about it now and then, but with our schedules it just never materialized. During the football season, she had devoted a lot of attention to visiting Mark at practice and going to his games. I was busy working on my first novel while still writing new poetry.
The good news was that my work poured out of me. David’s focus on his own writing gave me the perfect excuse to chase my muse. I was covering a lot of ground. In the past, I had approached my work delicately. David showed me how to sit down and do something, rather than just wait for inspiration. He told me once, “Even if you’re writing garbage, you can always edit it later and put it into shape.” That was a new way to tackle it, as I usually waited and waited and waited for inspiration. Now that I was a professional writer, this new approach was critical to my growth, and it served me well in the years to come.
After we enjoyed a pleasant Christmas, I found us in a cold January wondering what my future would hold. I finally broached the topic with David. As we sat watching the news one night, I turned to him.
“David, what is our next adventure?”
He looked a bit surprised, and turned to me. “Adventure?”
“We’ve hit a dull patch. Everything was so new before, but now we’re like an old married couple. What are we going to do for our next adventure?”
“You mean sexually?”
“Yes, sexually. Honestly, I’m a bit bored. You got me used to new things all the time, and now we’re in a rut.” Yes, that was me saying this.
“I never thought you wanted more than that. I was afraid to ask you about it, Rachel.”
“Why?”
“Well, I really love you, and cherish what we have. But yeah, I have been burning to try something new. I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. You had said you wanted to maintain a sense of control, so I didn’t want to push you.”
“David, why didn’t you talk to me?”
“Well, this is the first time I’ve felt really comfortable with someone…I didn’t want to blow it by demanding too much. We have been swinging with Mark and Keiko, so that has kinda held me over, I guess. I know it has been a while.”
“I love them both, but I think you and I need to do some things on our own.”
“Okay, let’s plan something, then. What do you want?”
“Well, I’m sick of this horrible weather. Any chance we could go somewhere warm? Do you know anybody down in Florida?”
“No, but I could make some calls. Maybe get a referral. Yeah, I’ll work on that.”
“Good. Let’s do something soon.”
I wondered, for a minute, if I was using sex as a tool to manipulate David. I wanted out of New York’s snow, and I wanted to dry out somewhere warm. But I did want to try something new, and if David wanted to continue to explore things sexually then the onus was on him to help make that happen. I guess I had the right to expect some small bonuses along the way, such as a nice trip to somewhere sunny.
I got up to fix us both a little lunch. When I was in the kitchen, I flipped open a magazine, and saw a photo-spread that would change our lives forever.
The story was about the burgeoning reggae scene in Jamaica. Following the success of Bob Marley, several other reggae bands were coming out of this island in the Caribbean. A couple of photos showed these beautiful, tall black men playing soccer on the most exquisite beach I had ever seen. Soft sand, clear water. Their long dreadlocks flowed over their shoulders, and their lean, muscular bodies shone with sweat.
“David?” I called out. “Why don’t we try Jamaica?”
PART V : IMAGO
32
We sat in a bar sipping drinks. The tropical heat made us both thirsty. It was night, but the waxing moon lit up the beach and water, and this beachside bar was perfect for watching the sparkling waves roll in.
We had spent a beautiful day there in Montego Bay. We had placed our chairs right near the water, and we had lounged in the angry midday sun. Back to our room, we had showered and napped. Now, in the early evening we were back out and enjoying the warmth. The winter blues were already gone, and a couple drinks had given us giddy smiles and easy laughs.
Kingston, though, had been a pit. After landing there, we realized we had chosen the wrong city to stay in. The place reminded me of a war zone. David had quickly found this hotel in Montego Bay, and we moved over. It was a great choice.
The drinks were cheap, and the smell of hemp was strong. I personally didn’t like the feeling I got when smoking marijuana, but David purchased a small amount from the hotel bellman, and smoked a bit before we went out. We were relaxed and feeling no pain that evening. We were enjoying the feeling of sand, the sound of the crashing waves, and the briny-iodine smell of the ocean all around us.
We finished our drinks, and walked out onto the beach. My feet loved the feel of the velvety sand. We strolled along, holding our shoes and each other’s hands. It was such a lovely feeling. I wanted to be in this moment forever. My heart was filled with love again. This vacation was just what we needed. Maybe we were letting details of our work and world events distract us from what was really important…us.
We had walked for nearly a mile when we heard the sound of music. Both of us picked up the tuned drums and guitars. We followed the sound, and found ourselves approaching a large shack of a building, complete with corrugated metal roofing. It was set alone, far from the hotels and bars, but still near the beach. There were several dreadlocked men standing around outside it. A single light cast an uneven, flickering luminescence, and we were drawn to the glow like moths.
As we approached, the music became louder. We could hear the beating of drums, and the syncopated upstroke rhythms of reggae. The smell of marijuana was thick, and the sour pungent smell burned my nose a bit. The men at the front were smoking large, rolled spliffs, which seemed giant even to these tall men.
One man stood closest to the door. He flashed a big white smile at us as we approached.
“Aya mon! Are ya lost?” He had to speak loud over the music and the roar of voices inside.
“No, we just heard the music,” David replied.
“Ah, you like the reggae, mon?” His eyes roamed over me. “This t’ain’t a club fah the tourists. Ya be welcome ta come in if ya like.” He opened the rickety door for us.
In the dim lights we could see fifty or more people dancing and swaying to the heavy rhythm. On a poorly lit stage, we saw a large band packed tightly. Drummers, guitar players, and singers all vied for space on this cramped little dais. The heat poured out on us, as did the marijuana smoke. Sweat was shining on the bodies of those inside.
David looked at me. “What do you think? You want to hear them play?”
“Sure.” As long as David was there, I felt confident. He took my hand and led me inside. We moved through the loosely collected people near the door, many of whom were smoking the pungent ganja of the island. As we worked our way closer to the stage, we found ourselves compressed against the bodies of men and women who were cheering, singing, and dancing. My sundress left my arms and shoulders uncovered, and the sweat of others made my arms slick instantly.
The band was playing a slinky style of reggae…very rhythm-focu
sed and lyrical. I instantly began to move my hips to the music. In this hot little shack, I began to feel the freedom that reggae gives its listener. I let my body move and the rhythm guided those movements. David moved beside me, and we watched the band play as we danced.
Their first two songs kept a smooth, reggae dance tempo. It was easy to sway and dance, and I continued to let my body feel the beat and send its motions in reply. It was a wonderful feeling. I hadn’t danced much in my life, but I was feeling it that night.
As we danced, we felt the elbows and hips of others bumping us. We were packed in so tightly that we all moved against each other in a large, sweaty mass. Elbows. Shoulders. Hips. Every movement brought me in contact with another person. David seemed to have lost himself in the same rhythms, and I saw him swaying with his eyes closed. The tuned steel drums added an almost mystical, unearthly feel to the music, and my mind began to flow with their patterns.
At first, I found myself pressed against a woman in an elaborate, bright teal outfit. She was a large woman. Her body and hair were wrapped in matching material. Her outfit reminded me of an Indian sari, but with her hair wrapped high. Bits of straightened hair came out from the edges. She smiled largely at me, and we danced together. I felt like we were sharing the experience together. Though a large woman, she danced lithely.
As we danced more, I felt a large set of hands on my hips, and felt someone moving behind me. I turned and saw a tall, leanly muscular man in dreadlocks behind me. He smiled at me, and then looked back up to the stage. I looked back to the front and continued to dance, figuring he would move his hands away in a bit.
Follow You Down (Farfalla Book 1) Page 22