The Glimpsing

by James L. Black

  At the time, the notion seemed perfectly reasonable. Portia had left modeling on a quest for love, and in doing so, had suffered a bitter string of defeats. Then Jack entered her life, seeming like the man of her dreams. But now even he had begun to press her sexually, which put her in a quandary: continue to deny Jack and risk losing him, or forgo her morals and give him what he wanted. Cleverly, Portia had chosen a compromise. She would loosen her restrictions just enough to keep him around, just enough to make him believe he might get something from her. Eventually, he’d become so desirous of her, so blind with passion, that he’d be willing to do anything to have her. Yes, Portia was clearly trying to seduce Jack, not to have sex with her, but to marry her.

  It was the first time Gabrielle could ever remember becoming truly angry with her friend. It simply seemed outrageous that a thirty-year-old woman could behave so insidiously.

  Portia and Jack would remain together only another month. Portia continued to recount those ever-intensifying kissing tales, and just as Gabrielle had suspected, she continued to give up more and more moral ground to keep him from leaving. Portia was still adamant, quite naturally, that their relationship would never be consummated, but she was getting used to certain things. Whenever it got too heated, Portia would merely wrestle herself away and depart for the bathroom. According to the story, Jack had always handled this with patience and understanding, but Gabrielle knew beneath the surface, especially for a man like Jack, a fire was raging.

  It was during that time that Gabrielle realized something that had formerly eluded her. She now understood why she was attracted to a man that was so universally regarded as a playboy. It was because that part of his life, being a playboy, was coming to an end. Jack Parke was changing. His womanizing ways were finally over. The fact that he was willing to stay in a sexless relationship for such an extended period of time was proof positive of that. And if that was really true, if Jack’s one great flaw really was dying out, then she’d be a fool not to see him as the most desirable man on the planet.

  In the last week of Portia and Jack’s relationship, the fire Gabrielle suspected was in him finally came out in a short, but near volcanic burst. Portia related that while she and Jack were kissing on the couch, Jack had abruptly forced her to her back. When she protested, trying to push him away, he’d angrily yanked her blouse apart, exposing her bra. She had managed to get from beneath him, but the event left her troubled.

  Gabrielle knew then that things were coming to a head. Portia was never going to give in, and Jack wasn’t ever going to give up. At some point his passions were going to overwhelm him, and when that happened, who knew what it would bring.

  Three days later, she found out.

  It was on a Saturday morning, just after dawn, when Gabrielle heard the loud banging on her front door. She’d anxiously jumped out of bed, threw on a robe, and went to see who it was. To her surprise, Jack was standing in her doorway. His eyes were bloodshot; his breath rank with Bourbon. He grinned just slightly, as if happy to see her but too drunk to fully express it. He then stumbled into her arms. She caught him, nearly falling over in the process. She helped him to the couch, where he quickly passed out, probably as drunk as he’d ever been. She’d covered him with a blanket, and waited.

  She sat there watching him sleep it off, wondering what possibly could have happened overnight to bring him here. Over the next few hours, the answer to that question became abundantly clear.

  Jack had begun to mumble in his sleep, speaking of and sometimes acting out the events of the previous night. Gabrielle had to work to put it all together, but she could make out something about one of his and Portia’s kissing sessions, his groping her, and then being sharply slapped (at that he’d actually reached up and touched his cheek). He’d apparently gone to a bar thereafter, where he met two women that he’d intended to take home for an overnight. He’d cackled on the couch as he mumbled something about driving through a puddle, splashing water on them, and leaving them at the curb.

  He’d then mentioned something very disturbing. It was something about re-entering Portia’s house, climbing the stairs to the second floor, and going into her bedroom. Portia was sleeping, but had soon awakened, extending her hand to him, and beckoning him to come and make love to her. But just as he was about to do so, a woman’s face appeared in the closet, frightening him so badly that he was forced to leave.

  Gabrielle wasn’t sure what to make of the story. She seriously doubted that Jack had actually entered Portia’s bedroom, although he certainly seemed drunk enough to do so. The part about there being a woman in Portia’s closet was a more obvious fiction. But none of that really mattered. What was happening to Jack was clear. Portia had made him desperate for her, obsessed. So obsessed, in fact, that he seemed just about ready to do anything to have her—which would, in turn, allow Portia to get what she wanted: marriage.

  Jack went silent then. An hour later, perhaps just after 10:00am, he began to stir. She had made a pot of coffee, poured herself a cup, and sat down at the table, waiting for him to finally awaken. She had looked down and was taking a sip of the coffee when she heard him whisper: “Gabrielle.”

  She looked up quickly, thinking he had awakened. But his eyes remained closed. Several minutes passed, and then he spoke her name again, this time so softly, so tenderly that it actually made her heart flutter.

  She watched him anxiously for several minutes more, trying to suppress the foolish notion growing in her heart: that what brought him here was much more than mere coincidence, much more than a drunken stupor. What brought him here was something deep and instinctual. Maybe he had feelings for her too.

  He said her name a third time, and then his eyes fluttered. Slowly they drifted open. He brought his hand up to shield himself from the glare pouring in through the ceiling windows, then frowned and stared around confusedly. He then looked at her, blinking in astonishment.

  Without a word, she had stood and walked the coffee over, kneeling in front of him. He took it, sipped it, and then sat it on the floor. He gazed up at her intently, and something in the way he was doing it told her she should look away. But she didn’t. He began to toy with her hair, and she repeatedly brushed his hand away, rejecting what she felt was an obvious, and probably still drunken, advance.

  It came as a complete shock when his hand reached up and pulled her close. Next began to kiss her. She resisted at first, refusing to kiss him back. But that resistance was far weaker than it should have been. Already she could feel them easing, those cords of restraint, normally as rigid as steel, now melting like warmed wax. An image of Portia, not the seducer, not the sexual tease she’d become so angry with, but the innocent woman she’d adored since grade school, filled her mind’s eye. She could almost see her standing over them, watching their sordid little encounter. She’d tried to pull away, but Jack’s arm tightened powerfully. The image of Portia flashed again, and she tried to pull back again, but Jack was relentless. Portia entered her mind once more, but that time she barely even flinched. The image faded, swept away by a thunderous feeling that only later she’d be able to identify. She then took hold of his face with both hands, opened her mouth, and kissed him like she’d never kissed a man before.

  As wonderful, as exhilarating as that day had been, guilt had plagued each day following. She felt like a sinner, betraying her best friend, doing the worst thing one woman could do to another short of murder. And yet, to this very day, now two months later, she had allowed the affair to proceed.

  Several times, stricken with guilt, she had intended to break it off with him. She’d tried to call him, an apology in one hand, an admission of her own stupidity in the other, and between the two, an impassioned plea that the whole affair be swept under the rug and forgotten. But each time she had hung up the phone. Already she had gone too far. Already the good girl was as good as dead.

  Gabrielle waved away the re-approaching waiter, tossing her hand and shaking her head. She felt trappe
d, her love for Jack on one side, loyalty to her best friend on the other. Was it really any wonder then that she felt such a sweeping sense of dread, like something terrible was about to happen? Something terrible was going to happen. Sooner or later, Portia would know of their affair. And whatever that brought, no matter how unimaginable, one thing was clear: it was all deserved.

  She peered up once more, high onto Corcodova and beheld the man on the hill. She had a sudden and very powerful urge to pray to Him, to plead for a way out of her situation. She needed help; the strength to do the right thing, to become the good girl once again. She needed a miracle, something divine, a godsend of some sort.

  But that prayer went unspoken. The press of guilt made her turn away from the man on the hill. She’d chosen to have an affair with Jack of her own accord. No one had forced her. So who was she to think she could pray. Who was she to ask for a godsend, when her own hands had brought her to this place.

  Ashamed, Gabrielle stood to leave, feeling unworthy of the presence of the man on the hill. She peered toward the restaurant door… and then saw a tall, dark-haired man standing just inside it. He was looking at her, obviously surprised, and she recognized him immediately. His name was Felix Nadal. One word came to her mind as she watched him smile and begin toward her table. The word was godsend.

  CHAPTER 15 – THE GODSEND

  It was at the urging of Felix Nadal that the owners of Clique magazine had selected Gabrielle to appear on their first magazine cover. Although just twenty-eight years of age he was already a distinguished photographer, known internationally for his exceptional work in literally hundreds of publications. Until recently, he had also been the only man that Gabrielle had ever loved.

  They’d first met some ten years prior while both attended the Universidade de São Paulo in Brazil. Gabrielle had enrolled to study drama, urged on by her mother, who had always dreamed of becoming an actress, but never managed anything beyond a few bit parts in some low-budget movies. Felix attended in hopes of turning his long-time photography hobby into something he could someday make a living from.

  They’d crossed paths first in an English class. Each had noticed the other early on, but it was weeks before their eyes made mutual contact. It was still another week before Felix had dredged up the courage to walk over and introduce himself.

  They’d dated a mere month before becoming officially involved. They had a great deal in common. Both were remarkably driven, with lofty goals and hopes; both were adventurous, eager to explore beyond the traditional or mundane. On weekends, they often rented a sail boat, or made the thirty mile trek to the beach, where they would occasionally spend the night, huddled together with nothing more than a thin blanket and a campfire. Sometimes, they’d hike deep into one of the many Brazilian forests, usually without so much as a map to guide their way. Their chemistry was so natural, so inexplicable, that to many they seemed more like lifelong companions than recent acquaintances. Neither could have known it at the time, but they were the closest either would ever come to having a soul mate.

  By the time they’d become seniors, they were deeply in love. The prospect of engagement and eventual marriage was almost an assumed fact between them, although neither had actually proposed.

  As graduation approached, both had become preoccupied with newly arriving opportunities. On a whim, Gabrielle’s drama teacher had sent in a photo and registered her for an audition in a New York City play. It was a small role in a new Broadway drama called Savannah’s Sister. Felix, on the other hand, was being courted by James Windsor, the editor of The Times UK, who had taken interest in him after seeing his extensive photographic portfolio. He was considering taking Felix on as an intern.

  Neither Gabrielle nor Felix could have been more excited about each other’s opportunities, but the possibilities that their careers might pull them apart became of great concern. If Gabrielle wound up in New York and he in London, then they’d literally have the Atlantic Ocean between them for what might be months, if not longer. Felix had remained optimistic, however, assuring Gabrielle that both jobs were important starts to their lives. In order for them to fulfill their dreams, such temporary sacrifices had to be made. When their stints with their prospective employers were complete—and their resumes more impressive—they could return to Brazil, find work, and live happily and prosperously ever after.

  Heartened by this perspective, the two went on to spend a very romantic, yet heavily emotional final month together. They then parted, Gabrielle to New York and Felix to London. Neither had any idea that they would not see each other again.

  In New York, Gabrielle had so stunned the judges with her performance that they briefly considered enhancing the role of her character so that she’d have more stage time. Felix enjoyed similar success, impressing Mr. Winsor and proving himself not only an excellent photographer, but a tenacious one as well.

  They maintained their relationship through nightly phone calls, which they observed, at least in the beginning, with almost religious fervor. As the months passed, however, calls became far less frequent, mostly due to conflicts in their increasingly busy schedules.

  When they did converse, it was often for hours on end. The natural chemistry they shared was one part of their relationship that would never change. They’d satiate one another with tales of their lives: their struggles, their accomplishments, their worries. They often spoke of how they longed to see one another, and had on a number of occasions planned trips to be together, but those were always thwarted by one hindrance or another.

  They’d been separated for eight months when Gabrielle received a call from Martin Sammons, a once independent film director who was now working for 20th Century Fox. He’d been given charge to direct a low-budget horror film styled after the old Hitchcock classic The Birds. He’d been informed of Gabrielle’s Broadway talents and was curious to know if she’d be interested in coming to L.A. to, as he put it, “make movies.” It was Gabrielle’s first big break—but it also meant relocating to Hollywood.

  She’d called Felix with the news and, as expected, he was excited for her. But she could also sense a certain reservation in his tone that suggested something about it bothered him. After some prodding, Gabrielle discovered that Felix was holding some news of his own. Disturbing news. He no longer believed they should try to maintain their long-distance relationship. He thought it best that they simply end it, he’d said, not because they didn’t love one another, but because just as they had feared, life was simply pulling them apart.

  The very suggestion hurt Gabrielle. She’d said she would immediately fly out to London to see him. But Felix then informed her that as of today, he was no longer employed at The Times. He’d been offered, and had already accepted employment as an assistant photographer in Paris under the internationally renowned photographer Pierre Lenox. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, but that meant long, hard hours. With her heading off to Hollywood and him half-way around the world in France, what little time they had for one another was going to be reduced even further. It was simply time to face reality. Their relationship needed to end.

  Grieved, Gabrielle told Felix that if going to Hollywood meant never seeing him again, then she’d gladly give up acting and follow him to Paris. Felix wouldn’t allow that, however, knowing how much she loved acting. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing she had given up her dream just to be with him. It was over, he had told her. It was just time for them both to move on.

  They parted ways that night with a mere click of the phone. Within a week, Gabrielle had boarded a flight to Los Angeles. She cried the entire way there.

  She had not seen or spoken to Felix until this night, when by an idle act of fate—or perhaps in answer to her unspoken prayer—she had spotted him standing in the front door of this restaurant. The mere sight of him was so dizzyingly surreal that she had to wonder if she might be dreaming. Odder still was the feeling that swept over her as he came and stood before her: it was as if the
y’d never been apart.

  “Hello, Gabrielle,” Felix said.

  She was caught off guard by his voice, which was smoother and quite a bit deeper than she had remembered. “Felix. I… I can’t believe it’s you,” she replied, feeling a sudden flush of nervousness.

  He looked different as well. He had always been somewhat boyish in appearance, but that was clearly no longer the case. His features were now edgier, more manly. He had a tight jaw line, heavier eyebrows, and a thin beard shadowed his face. He’d always been tall, with warm skin a shade or two darker than her own, but now he wore his black hair much longer, just below the shoulders. And there was a moodiness to him as well, a quiet air that suggested some ultimate form of confidence.

  “I’m surprised as well,” Felix said.

  Gabrielle grinned weakly. “By what, that after all these years you stumble into me at a restaurant in the middle of the night?”

  “No,” Felix said calmly. “I’m surprised that you’ve managed to become even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

  Gabrielle’s eyes widened. She blushed sharply.

  Felix reached forward and took her into his arms, hugging her gently. Gabrielle, still dazed by his comment, only loosely hugged him back.

  “You weren’t leaving, were you?” Felix asked.

  “Yes, I was but… not any longer.”

  Felix gestured toward her chair and Gabrielle sat down again. He took a seat directly across from her.

  “Is everything okay?” Felix asked.

  “Yes. What makes you ask?”

  “Your face,” he said, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “You have a worried look.”

  “No… it’s nothing. I’ve just been a little stressed lately, that’s all.”

  “Jack Parke working you too hard?”

  Gabrielle frowned. “Jack Parke? How do you know Jack Parke?”