The Light in My Heart

by Jerry Rosendorn

  A man of few words, Harold convinced a pretty girl from Toronto named Elaine to marry him; they had two children, a daughter and a son.

  In his current business, he found venture capital for his clients in exchange for a fee. I represented his company several times to collect these fees. Occasionally, a client refused to pay and Harold brought those cases to me with one simple instruction: “Send them one demand letter, if payment is not made in full within ten days, file suit.” Having always won his cases, Harold seemed satisfied with my work.

  One morning, I ran into Harold as I entered our building.

  “Hi Harold, how are you this morning?”

  He gave me his usual glare and responded, “What are you doing on Sunday around eleven in the morning?”

  I thought he had a new case for me.

  “I can be available. Do you need me to do some research before we meet?”

  “That’s not what I have in mind. You still don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

  “What does that have to do with legal work?”

  “Stop being a lawyer for a few minutes,” Harold said, giving me a strange look. “Just be at my house at eleven for brunch. My secretary will give you directions.”

  “Okay, Harold.” You didn’t say, “No,” to Harold.

  On Sunday, I drove to a modest home in Sherman Oaks. Knowing Harold could afford a much nicer house, I wasn’t surprised since it wasn’t in his nature to show off his success.

  I knocked on the door; Elaine greeted me with a warm smile and invited me into their home.

  “Welcome, Jake,” Harold called out, charging toward me with his hand outstretched. “Come in. Come in.”

  Amused at the change in his usual demeanor, I followed him in. At the office, he was always too ornery to smile; that day, he was a different man.

  The next thing that happened took my breath away.

  Harold led me into the living room when I caught sight of his daughter Molly. Not only was she tall with dark hair and dark eyes, she was Jewish.

  Harold looked at both of us. “I’ve never played matchmaker before; I just have a feeling the two of you will hit it off.”

  I turned “beet” red at how he put the two of us on the spot. But, that’s Harold, a direct man of few words with no nonsense.

  I don’t remember much about the brunch, since I couldn’t take my eyes off Molly. I was struck by how much we looked alike. We both had that Jewish-Polish-Russian look; we could have been mistaken for brother and sister.

  I spent the entire time charming Molly in my usual way. By the time I left Harold’s house, I felt so good about her that I wanted to see her again. When we talked, I sensed her kindness; she seemed bright and interested in what I had to say.

  About one week later, we went on our first date. After dinner, I brought her to my house in the Valley for some coffee and music. We talked for a long time with me doing most of the talking. When she cuddled up with me; I felt a loving feeling from her. As I held her, I started to plot how I could maneuver her into the bedroom, but then I thought about Harold. Not wanting Molly to tell him I took advantage of her, I wisely didn’t push it.

  As we sat on my couch, Molly spoke up.

  “I really enjoy being with you,” she said, “but it’s too soon for me to consider getting closer.”

  I felt better knowing I kept my body under control.

  Enjoying our time together, we saw each other a couple of times a week. Once we had a picnic dinner followed by a concert at the Hollywood Bowl. We dined at trendy restaurants in West Hollywood and along Melrose Avenue. A few nights, we hung out at my house, talking and listening to music.

  We seemed to be developing a nice relationship, though I sensed she was hiding behind walls preventing her from getting closer to me.

  Molly talked about her family, but she was reluctant to talk about her other relationships. Without this information, too many pieces in the Molly puzzle were missing.

  The more I saw Molly, the more I wanted to get closer to her. By now, I had a great desire to make love to her. We talked about it a few times, but she told me repeatedly she wasn’t ready. Since a physical relationship was important to me, I decided to give her a few more weeks. If she still resisted, I’d call an end to our relationship.

  A week later, we went for a long drive along the coast toward Malibu stopping for dinner at a restaurant along the beach. It was a clear night with a full moon illuminating the waves as they broke on the shore near our table. When dinner was over, Molly stared at me with a slight tilt to her head and a soft smile on her face. She seemed to be far away in her thoughts.

  “This has been a nice evening and I appreciate how patient you’ve been with me knowing how fragile I am. Yet, tonight I feel differently. I want to spend the whole night with you; let’s go to your house.”

  Her change of heart not only left me stunned, but speechless as well. But what exactly did she mean by spend the whole night? Did she mean playing board games, listening to music, or talking about relationships and feelings? While I pondered her statement, she continued to stare at me before asking, “Will you promise to make love to me slowly so I know you care about me?”

  Okay, that was very clear. I beamed with joy as I whispered my response. “Molly, I’ll make love to you so slowly, you’ll think time stopped.”

  My next thought was to find the waiter as fast as I could, pay our bill, and get to my house before she changed her mind.

  As we walked out of the restaurant, I calculated the fastest way back to the Valley. On such a balmy night, I may have considered a leisurely drive through one of the canyons with my moon roof open for a maximum romantic effect. But, not tonight! My desires were running faster than my car’s engine as we sped up Pacific Coast Highway to the freeway.

  Once in my living room, I didn’t know what to do first. Luckily, Molly took control. She invited me to sit at one end of the living room couch as she undressed and went to the other end. This was the first time I saw her naked and the sight of her left me wanting more. Her thin body had small curves in the right places. I noticed her breasts were smaller than most, but her nipples were hard as pink-colored pebbles; I was delighted with her obvious arousal. Suddenly, I remembered I was fully dressed, and not wanting her to be alone, I stripped down as well.

  Once my clothes were off, I started to move toward her, but she pointed me back to the other end of the couch. Though I was consumed with her beauty and my desire to hold her, I was being held at bay; we were at opposite ends of the couch. Her smile told me she understood my desire; my arousal became obvious.

  Even though I didn’t know the rules of her game plan, I assumed this was round one and I was in. Yet, not wanting to sound anxious or to be penalized for being offside, I softly said, “Molly, I’d love to get next to you.”

  “I know, not yet. Think about all the energy and desire you’re accumulating by just looking at me.”

  Unfortunately, other things were being accumulated that were impairing my concentration levels.

  As we held our opposing positions, Molly smiled knowing she was torturing me.

  “Jake, what do you like most about me?” she asked coyly.

  Let me think about this, should I give an honest answer or go with a politically correct one like, “Your personality, of course.” Finally, I chose a response that corresponded to her study of psychology.

  “Communication,” I answered, “I like how we talk to each other.”

  Thankfully, she was still communicating quite clearly through her nipples.

  Another few moments passed and then she made another inquiry. “How important is loyalty to you?”

  Was this a trick question? Knowing my answer might be too obvious, I searched for the hidden meaning. A wrong answer might eighty-six the sex so I used her nipples as my gauge; I wanted to keep her in the
mood.

  “Molly, it’s extremely important to me.”

  Her nipples stayed hard indicating a correct response.

  Finally, she said the time was right and I moved toward her; we embraced and made love. It seemed to last forever; it was wonderful and fulfilling. We took, we gave, and we shared.

  The next week, Molly informed me her brother’s guesthouse was available and asked if I’d I like to join her for a weekend near Santa Barbara. I couldn’t say, “Yes” fast enough. My wanting to be away with Molly drove my desire up to new levels.

  The guesthouse was on an estate in Montecito, an exclusive enclave just south of Santa Barbara. Her brother, a student at the local university, lived there in exchange for running errands for the widowed owner of the property. He’d left for vacation freeing up the guesthouse for Molly and me.

  We drove to the property on a Friday night. The surrounding area was rustic and unlit as we walked carefully to find the front door. With help from a full moon, Molly used her brother’s key; we entered and settled in for the night. The next morning, we awoke to find the guesthouse perched on a hilltop overlooking the ocean with an incredible view.

  During our weekend, we communicated both with long talks and some bedroom exchange. Molly seemed to open up and she talked about Michael, her prior love. She met him while she was attending undergraduate school; three months later, they moved in together. She described Michael as extremely handsome and charming.

  She seemed relaxed as she said, “I told him everything and shared the most wonderful passion with him. I was in love and thought we’d be together forever.”

  Suddenly, as tears filled her eyes, I tried to take her into my arms and comfort her, but she rejected me.

  “I’m okay,” she said pushing me away. “I get sad, but I’m through with him. He started seeing someone else behind my back. I felt used and awful. He couldn’t even be honest with me; I found out in a terrible way. One afternoon, a girlfriend of mine saw him go into a motel with another woman. That night, she called and told me; my heart fell to my feet. Once I collected myself, I approached Michael in our den watching television. I started pounding his chest yelling at him at the top of my lungs calling him a cheater and a liar. I moved out that night and I haven’t dated anyone since.”

  “Thank you for sharing your feelings with me,” I said looking at Molly until her eyes met mine. “It helps me understand how badly you were hurt and how difficult it is for you to trust anyone.”

  Oh my God, did I say that? This is exactly what I hated when Annette talked about her feelings, yet, here I was talking about the same things with Molly.

  The tears continued to flow as she tried to respond.

  “I don’t know if I can ever trust again,” she choked. “I like you, but I don’t know if I could ever say ‘I love you.’ I was too deeply hurt and it’s taking me a long time to heal.”

  “Molly, we have lots of time,” I said, trying to create a happier mood, then wondered why I said that. Did I really care about these feelings about Michael or was I trying to get her in the mood for more sex? It was hard for me to figure out if I was a more caring person or if my penis was still running the show.

  She collected her thoughts, and after a long pause said, “I don’t know,” then retreated back into silence.

  At other times during the weekend, her mood changed; she seemed to enjoy being with me. We talked about local artists as we walked around the art festival on the beach and window shopped along State Street. We also enjoyed the local restaurants including brunch at an old hotel that overlooked the Santa Barbara Mission.

  That weekend was difficult for me. Just a short time before, she’d given herself to me for the first time in a tender and loving way. I thought we’d crossed an important bridge having had a wonderful physical experience. Now, it was as if our lovemaking never happened. Having to deal with the uncertainty of her moods; I wondered if it was worth the effort. It was as though she was bi-polar; playing the couch game one minute, only to be repulsed by my touch the next.

  Chapter 32

  Dr. Fox sighed letting me know there was a great complexity to Molly. “What did you take away from being with her?”

  I nodded as though Dr. Fox and I were thinking the same thing. “She was a big challenge for me. My Mr. Fixer couldn’t get her past her hurt feelings. She said it was all about Michael, but I don’t know. There had to be more that she never revealed to me.

  “I liked her, and at times, I wanted her; she was exciting. But, being with her was like trying to walk through an emotional mine field; never knowing when she’d have another mood swing. When we were intimate, I felt she was emotionally there with me. It was great; I had a loving warm sense about us. But, when she pushed me away, I was hurt and confused.

  “I was torn wondering if I should wait it out or move on. While thinking about my dilemma, life threw another curve into the Molly story.”

  Dr. Fox had a very concerned look as she spoke, “Jake, did you hurt this woman? She was so frail.”

  “No, Dr. Fox. Let me tell you the rest of the story. My relationship with Molly lasted a few more months. It was tough for me; not only was I dealing with the ghost of Michael, but our lives were running parallel to each other.

  “I thought we had many things going for us. We were nearly the same age; both Jewish; we came from middle class backgrounds; and we had some nice times together. My law practice gave me the means to support us both comfortably. But, Molly was floundering in her life playing the part of a victim. This gave her an excuse for not doing what was needed to reach her goals; she became lazy and unmotivated. Instead of doing anything productive, she felt sorry for herself because Michael wasn’t faithful. Instead of moving on and pursuing something positive in her life, she was stuck in neutral.

  “When we met, Molly was living with her parents. Within a few months, she found a small apartment in the Valley and moved in. Since she wasn’t working, her father supported her.

  “Molly wanted to get a marriage and family counseling license. However, in order to get the license, as you know, she had to take courses and perform hundreds of hours of clinical work. Instead of taking the courses and doing the hours, she took one class a semester and performed a few hours here and there. At the rate she was going, it would take her decades to complete the requirements. Something was getting in her way; she couldn’t commit to her career.

  “I saw the potential for a nice relationship with Molly; yet, no matter how hard I tried to get closer to her, the fixer in me couldn’t help her.

  “Then, one day I called Molly to see if she wanted to join me for a late dinner. When I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong.

  ‘I can’t talk to you now,’ she said abruptly. ‘There is a huge crisis in my family.’

  “My first instinct was naturally to try and help her, if she would let me.

  “‘Molly, can I help? Do you want me to come over so we can talk?’

  “‘No,’ she barked back at me. “‘I’ll call you when I can.’

  “Several days went by and I didn’t hear from her. I called her several times over the next few days, no answer; I left messages.

  “Finally, she called me. Her voice sounded distant, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I’ve been with my mother, my father left her. He’s been having an affair and moved out. I need to be here to help her; I don’t know when I can see you.’

  “I knew her mother needed her. I also knew I’d never see her again.”

  Chapter 33

  1991

  In the early part of 1991, while I was at the downtown courthouse, I ran into Mark, an old friend from high school. We also went through law school together, but lost contact after graduation. He practiced law in the San Fernando Valley, handling personal injury claims.

  Mark was married to Mitra, a very kind and caring Pe
rsian woman. Mitra had a close friend named Fariba who was going through a rough divorce that became even nastier over the custody of her son. When Mark saw me, he told me about Fariba and said she needed a new attorney. “Would you be willing to meet with her? She needs someone like you.”

  Needing someone like me could mean one of two things:

  Either he thinks highly of me or she’s desperate to find an attorney because nobody can please her. Reluctantly, and feeling trapped, I said, “Sure Mark, have her call me; here’s my business card.” Three days later, I received a call from Fariba. With such a soft voice, I pictured her as a petite woman. She said she had a copy of her file and asked if I’d be willing to meet with her. I was hesitant to give her an appointment, but I did.

  My experience with most clients who change attorneys is that they are usually a big problem; they have unrealistic demands and when the attorneys can’t produce superhuman results, the client fires them and moves on to repeat this process with another attorney, sometimes even a third attorney or more. When a new client brings me a case that’s been handled by several other attorneys, I’m always cautious before agreeing to handle the matter.

  At the appointed time, Fariba walked in. She was anything but petite; she stood around five foot, eight inches with curves that beautifully wrapped around her frame. As she came toward me, I was frozen by her exotic Persian look. I couldn’t help but notice her large brown eyes and beautiful smile. I invited her into my office to discuss her case.

  While interviewing Fariba, my thoughts wandered as I found myself concentrating on her beautiful eyes. Suddenly realizing where I was headed, I shook off those thoughts and snapped back into a professional mode; we continued to review her case.

  The remaining issue was the dispute between Fariba and her husband Tony over the custody of their five-year-old son. Because of the on-going custody dispute, both Fariba and Tony had already spent over one hundred thousand dollars in attorney’s fees; unfortunate to everyone except their attorneys. If the parties and their attorneys sat down and acted reasonably, the issue could easily have been resolved for far less money and aggravation. With the amount of time and money spent, both parties moved past being stubborn and now resided in the realm of the unreasonable.