Tears begin to fall from my eyes. A sadness I have never experienced consumes me. Tears still gently roll from her own. I give into this all. With my eyes closed tighter, I begin to pray for peace. Solace. I pray we both sleep. I pray we both may dream, dream of anything other than this.
In the silence that is only broken by my tears of mourning and fear. An echo becomes faint in the back of my mind. I hear The Cure, “Pictures of You”. I feel haunted at this second of this journey I took writing without her, yet about her. The music vibrates through my own soul as Moe’s body continues to shake.
Chapter Fifty-Two
I am afraid to open my eyes. To say my head hurts is the understatement of the year. A drill is puncturing both temples, as a vise wraps around my skull. I fear if I move my neck, it is going to snap and my head simply roll away. God the sun! I left the drapes open? Can I will them to close? Wait, how did I even get in bed?
It is then I hear Nick's voice. It is not directed toward me. He is on the phone. I sit up slowly. Oh my God why am I only in my bra and panties? I will kill him. God give me strength! Stop me from ripping him limb from limb.
He is sitting on the couch with a laptop open on the coffee table. It is definitely not mine. He has coffee. I want coffee. He needs to be quiet. God who is he talking to? Why doesn’t he have shoes or a shirt on? Only jeans? I will fucken kill him, so help me God if there is something I am not remembering. Oh, God what happened last night? I do not want to see him barely dressed, but it is unavoidable.
The martial arts, I know he has been competing in for several years; he is more sculpted than we were in our twenties. Dick. Yet another reason to hate him. I have so many scars you can connect the lines and draw a picture appear. My body is far from nineteen. My medications make my life and weight quite difficult to maintain any normalcy. To appear how I truly desire to be.
"No. Rebecca I don't care what printing is saying. Fuck their deadlines. You and I both know if they have to, they will go to print all night if they need. Until I see a final draft, it is not going to print. That is that. Handle it. If Pete has a problem with this, tell him to grow balls and call me himself. I need to go. I have a meeting I'm late for."
He looks directly at me as he hangs up the line. No goodbye. Whoever Rebecca is, she is dismissed. It does not surprise me. He is ruthless. I am still trying to digest everything since I opened my eyes. Are we in my room or his? Oh, God I will murder him in his sleep! I will hunt him down, break into his house, and kill him. Fuck stealing the sheets!
“Where am I? Whose room is this? Why we both are barely dressed? Where the fuck are my clothes?”
Nick begins to sit back as there is a knock at the door. "Yes."
"Room Service."
"Coming."
"Nick! I'm talking to you!"
Oh God! All right, raising my voice makes my head hurt a tremendous amount more. I pull the covers high up and put a pillow on my lap as I lean over it to hold my head. Maybe, if I hold it still the pain will be less?
"I am a lot of things. Deaf, I am not. Let me get the door. We both need to eat. It has been a very long night. You need water and some coffee immediately."
He opens the door, stepping aside as a young man enters pushing a cart. He swiftly sets up a table in the far corner by the window. I don't recall a table there yesterday. There are two huge wingback chairs on each side. Shit. I must not be in my own room. Oh, God please let this be a nightmare.
Nick stands back as the table is carefully arranged. A vase with hydrangea is added. Suddenly, I remember the same flowers on the table last night. I hold the blanket higher, close to my throat. I feel naked. Exposed. I need answers. I need something for my damn head. Oh God my meds. I need my meds. Did I take them last night? I cannot remember. What happened? The last thing I remember is walking away with Nick's cigarettes. Nick signs the bill and slips some cash into the waiter’s hand, then follows him to the door. I hear the door lock. He is out of my sight for a moment. I realize now is my chance to get up. Where do I go? I have no idea where my clothes are.
Nick walks back with a bathrobe in his hands. "Here put this on. How is your head feeling?”
"It hurts. A lot. Is this your room?"
"No. It is your room. I brought you here last night. You had a bit too much to drink."
"Why is your stuff all here now?"
"Concierge brought my things over earlier when I woke up. I checked out of my room. I have not wanted to leave you. You were quite sick last night."
"I was?"
"Well, that is positive. I am actually glad you don’t remember. Come on, get up, coffee will help. Start drinking some water also. I had Advil sent up as well."
"What time is it?"
"12:40."
"What? My flight!"
“Your flight is not important. I will make new arrangements once you are feeling somewhat better."
Pushing the blankets away, I move out of the bed ever so slowly. The robe in my hands feels warm, very soft and thick. Plush. I need to get it on. Nick is staring as I do this. I turn around quickly. With my back to him now, I slip in the robe. I feel utterly exposed. I turn back around. I look at him with disgust. "Really?"
"Christ, I'm sorry.” He turns around. "Its-"
"It’s nothing. Good look? No. I am not in my twenties any longer. Excuse me."
"You are as self-defeating as always. You are beautiful Moe. It is your tattoos. You have so many more. You had only one. I have only ever seen one. When did you get the others?”
"That's my business. Shall I ask you the same?” I tie the belt of my robe tight around my waist. I walk to the table as if there is glass beneath my feet. I am in absolute slow motion and the table seems a thousand feet away.
Nick follows me, picking up two phones on his way. "Ask away, I will actually answer you."
"All I see MY poem on your bicep. Period. I have nothing else to say or ask for that matter."
"Sherlock. No questions or comments? My how you’ve changed.” He pours coffee for us both, and then slides the cream and sugar in front of me. "Understand, Moe-"
"Will you please stop calling me that?"
He is not listening to me, but rather he flexes his arm. The script embedded, grows. "You see... Moe, I work hard to maintain the strength in these arms. I chose where my strength lay to engrave the vulnerability of life you so eloquently once wrote. Yes, I know you wrote them in reference to “I love you”. Have you ever considered how many three-word combinations we as human’s fool one another with? Fool ourselves with? “Trust in me?” “Believe in me.” “I need you.” “I am sorry.” “I need help.” “I am okay.” “I FORGIVE YOU”. The list can go on. I needed to inscribe the truth, truth as you described it,
‘Three powerful words, which some cannot say, while others say too easily’.
The statement you created is life. I chose your words, on my strength, so I never forget the true meaning of love and life.”
"Really? What I do recall from last night would absolutely challenge that. Quite the contradiction to what is embedded there, in comparison to what you have done. I am fully aware of all the references my poem could be and all it encompasses. All of its meaning. Quite amusing you defining it to me, considering I wrote it."
"So I am realizing how terribly it is. All of this right now. Yes.” Nick lifts the covers off our plates revealing what he ordered for us both. The smell instantly makes me cringe. When in fact, there are only plain pancakes before me.
He looks like a frustrated father. "Try and eat a little. Give yourself a second. Drink some more coffee."
"Stop telling me what to do."
"I will make an effort."
His phone beeps several times, one tone after the other. He stops eating. His plate overflows with vegetables and egg whites. He eats healthy also. I hate him even more. He picks up his phone and powers it down. "That's better."
"What about work?"
"I cancelled my meetings for the
day. Email can all wait."
"What about what you were discussing on the phone?" I am snide in my tone.
"I will look into it in a bit. There is no way those idiots resolved the issue yet."
"Why do you have to be such a dick to everyone?"
"It seems I am very good at it. No other feelings on my tattoo?"
"Nope. You seem to have it all figured out on your own."
"When I undressed you last night, it was dark. I did not notice how you have inked yourself. They are beautiful. You have carefully chosen words, with intricate drawings beside them. I assume they have much meaning. Now I wonder more about your ‘Hope’."
"We aren't discussing my tattoos. They are my business."
"Yes, I see you have them strategically placed to be your own business. Please eat? Your pancakes are getting cold."
My stomach is aching. I feel empty beyond words. I hate he is going to see me eat, again. I hate he is right, still. I pick up my knife and fork and begin cutting. I try to think it is my stomach winning not him.
"Your wrist tattoo, I would think you can at least discuss that one. It is out for the world to see. An infinity symbol and an anchor. I assume a reference to Ben?"
"How do you know about Ben?" I sit back. My head spins worse. I am right out of the Goddamn exorcist right now! What am I not remembering?
"You told me last night. How much do you remember? Please take the Advil. God it is true. In all you're thirty-nine years, that was your first time you were drunk-sick."
"Shut up. You are such a dick! I remember how much I despise you. I remember that fucken book! I remember feeling turmoil. I remember trying to get away from you and you still following me."
"Do you remember sitting on the floor smoking in the gazebo?"
What? I am now more confused. "You dragged me there. Didn't you?"
"No. When I dragged you there, we sat like grownups on the bench. When you got up to leave, you went back there to smoke again. You never made it onto the bench. Do you remember any of that? Anything at all after that?"
"No... I don't. Did we?" Suddenly I feel like I may truly be sick. What can’t I remember?
"Fuck?"
I nod. I am scared.
"No. As little as you do think of me, I did not take advantage of you in the state you were. Nor, would I do that to me wife. Thank you though for thinking of me lower than you already do. I did however, sleep beside you. I did hold you. You would not stop shaking. I tried sitting on the couch and simply watching over you, but you wept. I cried even in your sleep. I needed to do something. After everything, I don’t know, you needed to be held. I am sorry it was by me."
"I don't remember." I whisper, I feel somehow exposed in a way I have never before.
"I didn't think you would. It is unfair if I didn’t tell you. So now you know. Be as upset as you like. Your clothes are in a bag. I had to take them off you. I wasn't going to let you sleep in clothes with vomit on them. I placed your fresh clothes in the bathroom for you when you're ready to shower."
"Now fair crosses your mind? You went in my bag? Jesus Nick."
"What?"
"Are there any boundaries you will not cross?" I lean for the cream and sugar. I need that coffee.
"I think we both know, especially after last night that appears not to be so. Speaking of, I replied to Ben’s text this morning. He is very concerned."
I nearly choke on the bite of pancake I finally placed in my mouth. "You what?"
"I wrote it was me, not you replying. Don't get all crazy."
"He knows you are in my room? Nick!"
"When he called last night it, he asked me not to leave you. Not in as nice as that, but all the same in the end. Though, I had full intention with or without his request or permission."
I need more coffee. I pour more. "You spoke to Ben last night? When exactly?"
"Moe you really, I mean really, were intoxicated. You got extremely sick and passed out in the bathroom. We were both very worried. It is over. More concerning right now, as grateful as I am you do not recall your experience here in this room, it is very disheartening you have no recollection of what we discussed in the gazebo the second time."
Nick sits back. He throws his napkins on his plate. I take the Advil. I almost forgot it is here.
Nick looks out the window beside us. "As if it wasn't horrible enough the first time around. I cannot do it over. Look, you hate me. God knows when you wept even in your sleep, I am certain I am going to suffer terribly for all I have done. You need to read the book. That's it. As for everything else, you explained a lot last night. More than you have in the twenty years I have known you. Yes, I know all about Ben. You told me all of what he does and does not know. You went so far as to explain your current relationship. I am not overstepping again. I do know neither one of us can withstand the conversation again."
"I told you everything?"
"I knew too much already. I pushed for the rest. You have always been right about me. I can be demanding and selfish. I did not touch you physically, but I pushed you emotionally. I wanted to understand. Part of me needed to know how much damage I have really caused writing what I have. I see now, it far exceeds any good I thought there was with my intention of finishing what we once started."
I push my half-eaten plate forward. I try to drink some more water. "Nick, what we once started writing was about you AND I, not simply me. When we began writing, it was a story of two people based on you and I. Fiction. They were never completely you and I. We used our life experience, our chemistry, and our friendship to base the relationship between two fictional people. Yes, I drew from my life experiences, my deformity, and my mental illness all those emotions in creating Bertha. Well some of them, but you kept pushing back. You wanted more of my truth. I realize now, it is because you knew all my “truths”. Nick, it was supposed to be fiction, a story about two very different unique friends. We began writing as collaboration between two writers with tremendous passion. We had a gift of finishing one another's sentences. There were times, when I reread what we were writing and I had no idea where my sentence finished and yours began. It was special. But-"
"I pushed and pushed."
"You pushed too far. It was fiction. You kept making it more and more personal. I couldn't do it. You did not simply push the writing; you made it impossible for me to continue with you. For once, I needed to leave you. At least now, I understand better why you pushed as you did. You wanted me to reveal it all, so they wouldn’t be your secrets also.” My voice drags out as I feel the reality of everything hitting again.
“Tell me what your wrist tattoo means. Please. You have it where the world can see. Can you at least tell me that one?”
“You are relentless Nick. Fine.” I put my coffee down. “Anchor my soul, dream forever. I got it the day after Ben received his one-year coin. He gave me his coin the night he received it. He said he couldn’t have done it all without me. He anchors me. I dream because of him. He is forever. My Infinity. Irony…I only found out weeks ago, I was his also. His anchor, his dream, his forever. Happy?”
“No. What happens now Max?"
My phone rings. It’s Ben. I don’t care how my head feels I grab it quickly and almost run into the bathroom for privacy. I abandon Nick and his question. I close the door and sit on the side of the bathtub sliding the phone on.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“Ben."
"Hey how is my Honey? Are you okay? You really had me scared."
"Yes, though a bit hung-over. New one for me."
"Kind of glad I missed it."
"Me too. Not my finest hour from what I am hearing."
"That's not why. Being helpless around you is not something I'm very good at."
"Neither am I."
"Is he still there?"
"Yes. I didn't know he was here."
"I know. I'm not upset about him being there. I am going to kill him for letting you drink to that point. He said it was abo
ut a job. Drinks were too strong and you had not eaten. Is that true?"
"Not entirely. It was not about a job. We can't do this over the phone, much less while you're at work."
"Why?"
"Please trust me?” Here I speak a combination of three words, also too easily spoken.
"Of course I trust you, but why not?"
"There is a lot to be discussed."
"Want me to meet you home? I’ll get someone to cover. There is time. Guests arrive this afternoon. I'll call in some favors."
"No. No! It can wait. Please. I will be there when you get home. I am not going anywhere. We will talk and figure this all out when work is over."
"You have me nervous. Is it bad? Should I be concerned?"
"I don't know. I honestly don't know. I only know I love you. I am no longer afraid to feel it or say it. I cannot lie and tell you what Nick told you. I need to tell you the truth. That is new for me in my life. You deserve the truth. It's time."
"I love you also. You are making me worry Max."
"Can we go away?"
"What?"
"When you get back? Let's go away for a few days. How about Malibu? Steph told me about this incredible hotel once. The Beach Inn it is supposedly gorgeous, Five Stars, ocean views, a spa. We will not even need to fly. I'll rent a convertible, we can drive. It’s only, what six hours away? My treat. Please?”
"Sounds great. Max, Malibu is steep. We can fly somewhere for what Malibu will cost and why are you treating? Why can't we both contribute?”
"I know Malibu is ridiculous but still, let's go. The drive. The pampering. We deserve a memorable vacation together; the way we are now. You know what I mean. No thinking, no work. You and a beach, it doesn’t sound more perfect than that for me. And I want to pay because we are not going Dutch. We are a couple, right? I want to do this. You said not everything will always be equal. I have savings stashed away waiting exactly for a moment like this. Please?” My voice slightly cracks, as I taste my tears. I pray Ben cannot hear my desperation. I am wrong.
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