VI - THE LOVERS
I stirred my ice coffee and looked at Irina’s thin frame, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, and wondered what it was about her that had sequestered me. It was Thursday, June 7th, 2007 and I had woken up surrounded by seven’s and with the anxious feeling that I needed to act. The the alarm clock had read 7:00AM, the seventh day of the month, the seventh year of the new century, seven years since I had been in love and suddenely I was obsessed by this strange girl from a strange land. All that morning I was sick to my stomach, sweaty and unsure of myself. I put on a good suit and as soon as I got to the office I invited her downstairs for a coffee. “Maybe we can go to the MOMA after work, they have a new exhibit by Richard Serra, big iron sculptures, should be interesting.” I stirred the coffee and waited.
“Sure, I’ve never been there.” The game was on but I could barely hold down the bagel I was eating.
“One of the highlights of New York, you’ll enjoy it.” She had told me a few days before that her boyfriend had gone back to Russia for a two week vacation and I knew that this was the opportunity. If she had said no I was resigned to forget the whole enterprise; I had plenty of excuses to placate my ego: the age difference, her boyfriend and her being my report.
I went home for lunch, took a shower, made a few ham sandwiches and drank a lot of water in a desperate attempt to calm my stomach which seemed to be sending me a warning. Back at the office I continued to drink water and by the early afternoon I was feeling myself again. The afternoon dragged on like a bad sermon until I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and pinged her on messenger and told her to meet me at the elevator.
We walked over to 5th Ave and meandered our way uptown looking at the shops while she talked about her schooldays in Russia. She was wearing tan pants and a simple white blouse, “My parents were journalists, my mother wanted to make sure I got the best education possible: piano, drawing, dance, and reading all the classics.”
“What was your father like?” She had told me he was dead, but she hadn’t said much about him.
“He was always drunk. Once he even got arrested for tearing down a Soviet flag. Last time I saw him was when he came to my thirteenth birthday late, completely drunk.”
“Have you read the things he wrote?”
“Yes, some of them very interesting. One day I will show you. I can translate some of it for you. He was very smart but not a very good husband and that’s why my mother is so worried about my boyfriends; she doesn’t want me to marry my father.” As we came up to St. Patrick’s Cathedral she told me she’d never been inside so I took her in for a look.
We walked back slowly past the main alter to a small chapel in the back which houses a simple white stone statue of the Virgin. “You know my grandmother was Irish, never was too happy that I was an Episcopalian. She took me here as a boy, she loved this Virgin.” I put a few dollars in the candle box and told her to light a candle for her and her mother. She lit the candles and blessed herself Orthodox style and then we walked back out to the street and crossed over to the West Side toward the MOMA. We walked passed a bench on the grassy median and she paused and looked at it for a moment.
“One day, I was just sitting on that bench, relaxing and I started talking to some guy and he wound up banging my brains out.” Somehow she said it without it registering with me. I heard the words but they passed through me and never coagulated into a meaningful thought. Later that night I remembered it, but I couldn’t believe that she said it so the statement refused to lodge in my memory but just floated in my mind as if I had dreamed it.
We finally reached the MOMA and slowly walked around the massive, rusted, iron sculptures of Richard Serra and her crass comment had completely disappeared from my consciousness. We playfully walked around and through the sculptures before we headed upstairs to the permanent collection where we paused before the Mademoiselle de Avignon- I wasn’t sure what effect it would have on her. Not wanting to be pedantic, I didn’t ask her if she knew the painting but I got the distinct impression she didn’t. She walked up to it mesmerized with a childlike stupor. Her reactions to Pollack and my beloved De Koonings were the same and we stayed until closing.
From the MOMA we meandered uptown and to the east as we talked about painting in the warm, muggy evening until we reached the terrace of a good Italian place on 60th street. We ordered some fried fresh artichokes, a good bottle of Frascati, and a couple of pizza margaritas. The wine was opening my horizons and I steered things as far as I could away from anything related to work. It was the first time we’d had a drink together and I could feel her lighten up as we chatted comfortably on the terrace dinking coffee and smoking. She lived somewhere in Brighton Beach which was more than an hour subway ride, but at about ten-thirty I asked her to have a drink and placated her weak objection about getting home with a promise to pay for her taxi. We walked toward 62nd street and 2nd Ave to a very interesting place that had a cozy downstairs lounge. It was perfectly crowded with just enough older hipsters and I sat across from her on a big, cushy armchair while she sat on the couch.
A peculiar silence came over us as we looked at each other. I finally spoke, “You know, it feels strange being your boss.” My hand was on the table and she reached over and held it. I opened my palm and rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb and then I moved over to her side and kissed her. One kiss, then another. It was a dark room, not so strange to see people kissing. I played with her hand, giggled, and felt thoroughly enamored. The waitress came and I ordered two more drinks.
“You know I have to work tomorrow.” She said lightheartedly.
“I do, but I think your boss is a great guy, he won’t care if you come in a little late.”
“I had no idea you were interested me, really. This is all a big shock.”
“I was sure you knew.” I was about to tell her to skip work, that we should both call in sick but I caught myself. The tension that had been building for months released itself in caresses, laughs and mingling hands but few words. Finally, we made our way out to the street.
“I’ll flag you down a taxi, let’s just have one more cigarette.” We played on the corner like a pair of teenagers.
“Okay, you have to tell me, what’s the worst thing about me?” She smiled as she asked.
“Your perfect, I liked you from the very second I saw you. Your hair, your smile, your eyes, I like all of you.”
“Of course I am very pretty, if you say anything about me physically, I will leave this minute, I mean my character. What don’t you like about me?”
“The double negatives, you know they are no no’s and you keep doing it, but, I have to say, I also find it endearing.” She looked at her phone.
“My god, I have ten missed calls.”
“Who called you ten times?”
“My friend, she’s worried about me.” She began to speak in Russian but I could hear a female voice on the other side. When she finished I asked her why her friend would call her ten times.
“I told her I was going out with you, she was worried. We take care of each other.” I didn’t want to delve and let it go. We kissed, and played, and kissed some more and before I knew it was three o’clock. I gave her cab fair and haled her a taxi before walking the twenty blocks home feeling more whole and together than I had ever remembered. Whatever she had, it invigorated me. I had a cigarette outside with the doorman and we talked about baseball in the balmy night and by the time I got into my room and in bed it was five-o’clock and all I could think about was her having to get up at six to be at work by nine. I lay in bed, my heart pumping when suddenly the Venetian blind, for no apparent reason, collapsed off its hooks on the window and crashed to the floor making a fierce noise and shooting me out of my semi-sleep.
The next morning when I got to work she was already there; I should have been exhausted but I wasn’t. She wore jeans and a loose fitting white wavy shirt and by three I coul
dn’t resist and I called her. “We need to go to the conference room and discuss Just Trade”.
As soon as I closed the door she said with a smile that she wanted to kill me. “All I want to do is sleep, sleep, sleep. You’re terrible.” I kissed her and told her she was terrible too.
“You can leave at four, under one condition.”
“Almost anything. What?”
“One beer with me before you get on the subway. I promise it will make you feel better.” She shook her head in astonishment.
“Meet me at the corner of 38th and 2nd at ten minutes after four.” I kissed her, felt her side and every vestige of anything resembling being tired left me. I was all ready to arrive exactly on time when Winde called me into his office. He had smoked his usual Friday afternoon bomber and besieged me with a marijuana induced inspirational rant about auto-responders, instant emails that people receive after signing up for an offer, as if he had just invented them. I got out late and when I arrived to the corner she was not looking happy.
“After one day and you are already late!” But the way she said it filled me with her sweet venom.
“I promise it will be the last time.” I told her about Winde’s rant and she laughed, by 36th street I stopped and kissed her. We made it to my local and sat at one of the tall tables with stools instead of at the bar. The Irish waitress who knew me gave me a smile and served us a couple of beers. I was going to Wild Bill’s that afternoon and we were headed up state together to spend the weekend at his bunker.
“You have to come out on the boat with us one weekend. I really love to sail, I want to take you on your first boat trip.”
“But I can barely swim!”
“Don’t worry! You can wear a life jacket. You’ll be fine. The boat has a head, so you don’t have to jump in the water to use the bathroom, we will even let you take the tiller, Captain Irina.” I walked over and kissed her.
“What if someone sees us? You know Saperstein lives near here.”
“She doesn’t drink in Irish pubs. She tried to come in here once and they kicked her out immediately.”
“Really?” I smiled at her. “Don’t look at me like that, you scare me. And no more kissing. We must be more serious. You’re my boss, remember?” She smiled at me quite snarkly. “Tell me about your girlfriends.”
“Now? I’m more or less alone. But I like you and I’m very glad I met you.”
“You know, I had no idea you were interested me. I guess yesterday when you took me to the restaurant, well, I guess I knew then, but I really didn’t understand until then.”
“I thought you knew. I liked you from the very first moment I met you. Not sure why, but it was pretty clear to me. That was a strange job interview. You never noticed the way I looked at you? I thought you understood.”
“I didn’t, really. Have you ever had a Russian girl before?” I didn’t like the way she said it.
“You’re the first from Russia.” I was in no mood to start talking about past relationships.
“Did you have many girlfriends when you lived in Spain?”
“Why all the questions? You want me to send you an excel? Have you ever been to Spain?”
“Yes, I was there once in Barcelona. I loved it. For me it was the most beautiful place I’d ever been. I had an orgasm in a bar”
“How did you manage that?”
“We were at an empty cafe, in the corner; no one could really see us. And the guy I was with, who took me to Barcelona, he was fucking me from behind, very quickly, but I had an orgasm. It was fantastic.”
“Why are you telling me this? It is a bit strange don’t you think?” My faced must have collapsed.
“I’m sorry, I just think you’re getting too close to me, it’s how I push you away.”
“Okay.” It left me cold, but not as cold as it should have. She could see the effect on me and tried to warm me up by coming over and kissing me.
“Don’t pay attention to me. Sometimes I say stupid things.” What I realized then was the utter control she had over me. A few words and I was again feeling fine, disregarding two very crude statements in less than twenty-four hours which under normal circumstances would have set off all the alarms.
I walked her to the subway stop and I kissed her goodbye. She looked at me firmly and said, “Don’t think about me.” As she walked down the steps she repeated it before she disappeared into the great dark New York hole. That would set the keynote but I was oblivious, lost in the mysteries of love. I spent that night joyously listening to Wild Bill’s rants beside a big fire and enjoying the dark night sky, cool air and apocalyptic discourse. Around ten I sent Irina an SMS telling her I was thinking of her. I waited and waited for a response, and nothing. The need to check the phone became obsessive, but no answer.
Irina, Perlini and I had trade show that week and we were all to meet that Monday morning at JFK for the flight to Miami. The fact she didn’t respond was starting to make me very anxious. Sunday afternoon we got back to the city and as the hours passed I became more and more nervous. Whatever was happening to me was far too strong and finally I couldn’t put up with it anymore and I called her.
She answered the phone with an upbeat, “Hi, what’s up?”
“How are you? How was your weekend?”
“Fine. Went to a party with some friends, just got back from the beach. I do my wash now.”
“I sent you a message, did you get it?”
“Yes. That’s not a good idea, my boyfriend could see it.”
“But I thought he was away?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow morning.”
All the joy and vitality was gone and I was a ball of nerves. I smoked one cigarette after another, recalling the relaxed confident person I was a few weeks before and truly wishing I’d never followed the wicked intuition that brought me to Irina. After a terrible nights sleep I left for the airport at six and my cab flew through across an empty Queensboro Bridge. Perlini was waiting for me at the airport, ever the consistent hard worker who nonetheless never ceased to rub me the wrong way. At the airport and during the flight the atmosphere was strained. We arrived at a downtown Miami hotel which was a five minute walk from the trade show at Intercontinental Hotel. I sent Perlini off to the show as Irina and I had a lunch appointment at the hotel with the Director of Marketing from Just Trade. There was about thirty minutes to kill before the lunch and I called her and told her to come to my room.
Something had again changed in her demeanor. She seemed soft and pliant as she looked out the window of the hotel room onto the Miami River and I walked up from behind and held her; she didn’t resist. I kissed her neck then turned her around and kissed her lips. She smiled and admonished me with her finger, but we continued to kiss each other. The lunch was easy as Just Trade was very happy with everything and quite mystified as to how we were generating such good leads. As Irina and I walked over to the trade show I felt completely confused about what was going on with her. It seemed I’d fallen in love with a venomous snake whose fangs could appear at any moment. We walked the show for a couple of hours then returned to the hotel to relax before meeting one of our lead suppliers for dinner.
I was looking out my window and far up the Miami River I saw a Manatee mother with two cubs slowly making her way up the waterway. I quickly called Irina and told to run down to my room. The Manatee moved slowly and surely up the river and I nervously watched, hoping Irina would make it time to see the strange creature. I heard the knock on the door and ran to bring her to the window and we got there in time as I watched her amazed expression while she gazed down on the mother manatee guiding her pups. “You know,” I told her, “Once when I was young I was fishing in Florida off a big canal and I looked down and saw a Manatee right below me, resting- it scared the daylights out of me. I jumped up hysterically thinking it was some kind of monste
r and ran until I saw someone and told them what I had seen, and they kindly informed me that it was a manatee. But when I ran back to the canal where I had been fishing it was gone.” Seeing that manatee with Irina gave me the sensation that I was getting a second chance to experience something sublime.
I took Irina and Perlini to the Delano for a drink and a stroll through that wonderful white hotel. Irina camped out on one of the hammocks and called her friend in New York while Perlini and I talked business.
The dinner was at an upscale sushi fusion place and it was clear the sales manager who had invited us like liked Irina. As he talked I felt her leg and we held hands under the table while he looked more and more lasciviously at her and I talked to him about websites. Perlini seemed clueless at this point, which was a minor blessing. After the dinner I had the uncontrollable urge to take a swim so I took Irina and Perlini down to the beach and took off my jacket and jeans and told them to follow me into the water, that it would be fantastic but Perlini looked on in shock and Irina laughed. Down to my boxers I ran full speed for the water and as soon as my feet were wet I took a massive leap into the dark waves and felt absolute invigoration as I swam and swam in the night ocean. Afterwards we headed to a media party and spent a few hours schmoozing and drinking got back to our hotel around four in the morning. I smoked a cigarette outside with Irina while Perlini watched on in his new role as Irina’s bodyguard. He gratefully yawned.
“Perlini, go to bed, don’t worry, we’re fine.” I said it with enough authority to send him scurrying away. Irina and I were finally alone and after a few minutes made it up to my room. It was to be the first night we had spent together.
We woke up around eight and I stroked her hair and rambled. “You know, I haven’t felt like this for ages. You have given me back something that I thought I’d lost forever.”
She stared at the ceiling and said, “I wish I could feel something.”
“What do you mean, you don’t feel anything?”
“No” She replied, shaking her head.
“Nothing, no feeling toward me?” She shook her head. It was starting again and I really felt like I wouldn’t be able to make it. She began to dress but I asked her to wait a bit as I felt like my soul had been ripped out of my chest. She looked at me with a smile as if she were enjoying the scene and I suddenly felt pathetic, like some old man taking advantage of a girl only because she worked for him.
“But why? It seemed liked you did?”
“I can’t feel anything anymore, something happened to me. It just doesn’t flow, it doesn’t come out of me. I’m sorry.” She sat on the bed and looked at me. “Can we be friends, I mean, can we continue to talk and be close or is it easier for you just to cut everything off?” I couldn’t believe what she was saying.
My answer jumped out of me, “How can I not be close to you, I love you.” The way she smiled scared me, almost as if she were reveling in her total victory over me.
I walked her to the door and she stopped and turned toward me, “You have the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen. God bless you.” I watched her walk away down the hall and fell into total despair.
The rest of the day and the flight back she was pleasant and we acted toward each other as if we had been through something that brought us closer but there was no sentimentality. It was a very tender time, but I was in almost mourning and she seemed to understand that.
Back at the office it was terrible. I had become unbalanced, as if I were missing a part of myself and I finally lost my cool by being short with her on the following Friday which put a chill between us. I’d been completely overwhelmed by that waif of a girl and I was not only lost, but losing my composure. That Sunday I decided to send her an email, something to clear the air and see if somehow I could salvage my dignity and our work relationship. I told her that I loved her but I understood that it wasn’t mutual and I apologized for being short with her and told her I would forget our intimate moments and promised to maintain a friendly and kind relationship with her at work. I sent it and felt relieved, like I had found an exit.
She immediately responded, thanking me, and that Monday all was well. I was able to control myself and we were friendly without being flirtatious and the whole affair seemed to fade. Tuesday was even better and I hoped the worst was over. I began spending more time with Ryan and others in the office and she ever so slowly began to dissolve and I felt like I had been given a reprieve. Wednesday arrived and gratefully I had a job interview with an agency similar to ours. A head hunter had called me the week before and I decided there was no harm in talking and after the weekend I was extremely grateful to know I had a possible exit. I had made up my mind to ask for an extra twenty-five grand and jump ship- it would be the way to get out from out from under her.
I made an excuse about the dentist and left the office at three and headed down to Wall Street to the other agency. It was similar in a lot of ways to Bernstein Media, but younger, more tech savvy, and in a much nicer office. I muted my phone and went into the CEO’s office for a chat. He was a pleasant enough guy a few years younger than me and we talked for a good hour or so. It was clear he wanted to hire me and it gave me a great sense of relief to know I had an escape valve from Bernstein and from Irina. I came out of the interview and saw six missed calls from Irina. I assumed some craziness in the office, but it was not like her at all to get hysterical so I immediately called her from the lobby of the downtown agency.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“There’s been an explosion at Grand Central, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m downtown, when did this happen?”
“About an hour ago. The subway is shut down, no buses; it’s a big mess up here.” I could hear the nervousness in her voice.
“All right, where are you?”
“On the street, lots of people.” She said.
“Okay, let’s meet halfway, starting walking down, I’ll walk up and we will see where we meet. Probably somewhere around 20th street I guess. Stay on 3rd Ave, okay?”
“Okay, just stay out of subway.”
I checked with the receptionist and she said that they didn’t know if it was a bomb or some kind of accident. As I walked my way uptown I saw the flames on the television sets through the glass of the bars and restaurants and the news loop of people coming out of Grand Central covered in black soot. Apparently a large steam pipe had exploded, sending black smoke into the station and causing quite a stir as many thought it had been a terrorist attack.
Irina called me asking where I was. I told her I was on 12th Street, she was on 29th. On the corner of 19th street I saw her. There was a big smile and she ran up and hugged me. I took her to a terrace bar I knew in the near 20th Street and we drank margaritas and ate nachos. I finally got up and kissed her.
“Hey, I thought we said we weren’t going to do this.” But we did it anyway. Something melted, some barrier inside of her side finally fell and the battle was over at least for the moment. We ended up eating outside at a nice little Italian place near my house. She sat on my lap and we drank wine and laughed at her tales of Bernstein, Winde and Barry screaming like little girls. Apparently there was a moment when people thought the building was on fire because of all the black smoke that rose up from Grand Central. Saperstein was screaming at the top of her lungs that she was going to die, and Winde and Barry ran out as fast as their bodies would take them, disregarding any leadership responsibilities in a grand effort to save themselves.
We finally made it up to the roof of my building and calmly had a few drinks. “Look, Irina, I’m not someone who gets overly attached to people but that’s not the case with you.” She was sitting on my lap looking out over the East River. “But somehow, someway, you suddenly mean a lot to me. You really do. I remember what you said to me in Miami but I don’t think it’s true. I know how presumptuous that sounds.” She looked at me stern
ly, but she was listening. “I want the best for you, I really do. But don’t be afraid.”
“My last boyfriend, the one before this one, he hit me, stalked me. For this Oksana is always calling me. My ex-husband was an alcoholic, he did some other things, I’m not sure what they were, but he did them with a lighter and a can. Do you do those things, drugs, I mean?”
“No, don’t worry, I just drink too much. Look, I’m no string of pearls; you know me pretty well by now, the good and the bad. But let’s give it a shot, who knows. The last serious relationship I had was a long time a go and I thought that was it, no more feeling. But now your here, and I feel so alive again.”
“What happened with the last one?”
“I think what happened is we met, had a lot of chemistry and I made the mistake of diving in head first. I threw all the meat on the fire but in the end, unfortunately, I think she was still in love with another man. She tried but her heart wasn’t in it. What can you do? Look, I hate to probe, and I really prefer not to talk too much about the past- what’s important is us now, not what came before. But I just want to make sure you are over whatever you need to be over.”
“I am. But it wasn’t easy. You say you didn’t feel for a long time but remember, I left my husband just two years ago. Two years ago in July. There’s a line from August Wilson, I remember it by heart, ‘A new heart also will I give you and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take out of your flesh the heart of stone, and I will give you a heart of flesh.’ My heart feels like that stone. I feel you, and I really do care about you but as soon as I begin to open up I get scared.” She had never been so affectionate. In Miami I had the feeling that she was going through the motions but there on the roof she glowed and held more mystery than any woman had ever conjured for me. I was sure that she was guarding some profound secret and whatever it was I wanted it.
“I felt the same way really, but I guess I have had more time alone. I don’t mean alone as in no one around, I mean alone, feeling alone. And it’s no way to live. You have to have some courage. What gave me the courage was just all that time not feeling and when I felt you I grabbed on, for better or for worse.”
We went down stairs and spent the whole next day together at home as all the buildings around Grand Central were off limits. She came alive, then would crawl back into her shell only to come out again. I understood she needed her space, but when she came out never ceased to beguile me.
Your Love Incomplete Page 4