All of It

by Kim Holden

  Twirling in a slow circle, I look around, stunned. “Wow.”

  Dimitri’s arms wind around my waist from behind. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

  I nod my head in agreement. “Crazy.”

  He takes my hand and turns me toward him. “There’s something I want to show you,” he says.

  He leads me down a sidewalk to the background noise of screeching tires and honking horns. The tourists we pass are dressed in everything from evening gowns and heels to shorts and flip-flops. Someone tries to hand me a flyer. They’re insistent, so I take it. Dimitri chuckles. It’s for a strip club. Embarrassed, I deposit it in the nearest trashcan. And then we turn a corner and there stands the most beautiful sight alight, rising in front of me like a dream. “It’s the Eiffel Tower.” The words escape inexplicably as I exhale, because for a moment I’m unable to take another breath.

  His smile lights his eyes and he squeezes my hand. “Oui va la voir, ça vaut le coup.” He releases my hand and stops walking.

  I continue on alone, drawn in by a thousand lights. Stopping at the base of one of the four massive legs, I peer straight up. Tears begin rolling down my cheeks and for the first time in months I realize these aren’t tears of pain, the ache has temporarily subsided.

  I am standing beneath the Eiffel Tower.

  I do understand that what I’m looking at is halfway around the world from the real thing, but it feels so real. I tune everything else out—the people, the flashing cameras, the music coming from the direction of the casino. I don’t know how long I walk around and under it but I take in every angle.

  “C’est magnifique,” I say under my breath.

  After a time, I tear my gaze from the structure and turn back to look for Dimitri. I search the faces in the surrounding crowd, and find him standing ten yards away, staring intently at me with tears streaming silently down his cheeks and the most angelic smile on his lips. His eyes trace a line from the top of the Tower down and back at me with a subtle shrug of his shoulders.

  I blink through the tears as I run to him, knocking him back a few steps as my body collides with his. I bury my face in his chest.

  He hugs me tightly and kisses the top of my head. “Sorry it’s not the real thing. I swear you’ll see Paris someday. I thought while we were here this might be a good substitute.” His eyes are shiny with tears.

  “It’s lovely, more beautiful than I ever imagined. Thank you.”

  “Are you ready for bed or do you want to walk some more?”

  I yawn at the suggestion. “Ready for bed if that’s okay. Are we staying here at the Eiffel Tower?”

  He smiles and laces his fingers through mine. “We’re staying across the street … where you’ll have a better view of it.”

  We cross the street and walk past a series of gigantic fountains before entering a seemingly endless casino. It’s a labyrinth. After following a series of signs that I swear walk us in circles, we locate the guest services desk to check in. I stop near a huge vase of orchids and let Dimitri deal with checking in alone. It takes several minutes and after talking to three different attendants it’s evident by the set of his shoulders that he’s tense. He looks irritated when he returns with key cards in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shakes his head. “There was a mix up with the room. We’ll be in this room tonight and tomorrow,” he says, holding up the key card between two fingers. “But on the third night they’re going to move us into the room Sunny requested.”

  “Sunny?” I’m puzzled.

  He sighs softly and the irritation vanishes. “Sunny made the hotel reservation while we were on the flight. That’s who I was texting while we were walking through the airport.”

  I yawn, my eyelids are fighting gravity. He smiles and his arm falls around my shoulders. “Come on Sleepy Face. Let’s get you to bed.”

  The room is opulent. I peek in the bathroom first, which is larger than my bedroom at home. The floors, walls, counters and shower are covered in shiny marble. The tub is as large as a hot tub. I never take baths, but the idea of taking a bath in this tub is tempting. I open the glass door to the shower and step inside, in awe of all the controls. They look like they could launch a space shuttle, not assist me with cleanliness and personal hygiene. I take a quick inventory of the showerheads and stop counting at five, though I wonder if there are more hidden that I just can’t see. I push one of the buttons and water rains down on me from the ceiling. I shriek as cold water showers down from directly overhead. Dimitri rushes in as I poke the button angrily.

  Panic turns to relief and then amusement as sees me standing there, fully-clothed and dripping wet. “Most people undress before stepping in the shower, Ronnie.”

  I scowl, and as I look at the sweet smile on his face sadness tightens around my heart, thinking of an earlier, happy time when this situation would’ve elicited a completely different response from him. The smile would’ve been mischievous and seductive. I haven’t seen that smile in almost a year. The comment that accompanied it would’ve been equally forward and saturated with innuendos, veiled or bold. He’s always on guard around me now. Sincerely kind and relentlessly patient, the friend I desperately need, but playfulness, romance, and desire have been neatly put away in a box buried somewhere deep inside both of us.

  He takes two towels from shiny chrome racks beside the shower, and drapes one around my shoulders. With the other, he begins drying my hair. Since when did he become the parent? I feel utterly useless. “There are usually robes in the closet,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He’s gone only a matter of seconds and returns with a fluffy, white robe, which he drapes across the sink. “You can sleep in this tonight. We’ll get you some pajamas tomorrow.” He leaves, gently closing the door. I step out of my damp flip flops and peel off my wet clothes, laying them over the edge of the giant bath tub. I wrap myself in the fuzzy robe, and finger comb my damp hair. I brush my teeth with my toothbrush and some toothpaste from the basket of assorted, fancy toiletries on the counter.

  Tentatively I reenter the bedroom. It’s twice the size of any hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. We’re clearly out of motel territory. There’s an armoire, two sofas, and a king size bed. Dimitri’s clothes are in a pile next to the bed and he’s lying under the covers, propped up against several pillows with his bare chest and arms exposed. He must’ve been exhausted because he’s already asleep. He looks so young when he sleeps, so peaceful. His calm approach to life envelops him as he sleeps. I remove his glasses and set them on the nightstand, kiss his forehead, and whisper, “I love you.”

  I grab an extra pillow and blanket out of the closet, throw them on the sofa facing the windows, open the curtains, and turn off the light. I wrap myself in the blanket and lean back on the pillow staring out at the hotel next door. It isn’t the Eiffel Tower, which must be in the opposite direction, but the lights are hypnotic. I watch them for several hours.

  • • •

  For the first thirty minutes I think about where I am and who brought me here. How lucky I am to have been blessed with him, even if only for a short time. Then I think about all of the family vacations I took with my parents. We never went anywhere like this. We always visited distant relatives or my grandma in Nebraska and though we had fun, the trips seemed, at least for my parents, to be more about obligation than enjoyment. Those memories lead to the inevitable tears and the crushing hopelessness runs like ice through my veins again.

  The hopelessness is relentless and I resign control. It takes over my mind, opening up possibilities I’ve never let myself consider in detail before. Fleeting thoughts, put quickly out of my mind so as not to linger on them previously, I allow myself to dissect and examine. The physical relief that suicide would offer is so tempting, intriguing almost. The solution seems too simple, too easy; a tangible end to unmerciful despair. Suicide had such a negative connotation in happier times. I used to pity people in such a state that they would take their own lives; I used to
think that they were weak.

  Guess what? Weakness doesn’t knock. It doesn’t ask to be invited in. It bears down until you surrender.

  Briefly I mourn the life I will not live out: the wedding vows I will never speak, the child I will never hold in my arms, the people I will never help in my work. I weep over them and then tuck them away in the back of my mind. The decision has made, I’m tired and I’m ready to wave the white flag … to surrender.

  I close the curtains as the first glimpse of dawn peeks over the horizon and curl up in my blanket on the sofa. Exhaustion is overwhelming and sleep comes moments later.

  I wake to a room submerged in darkness. How long did I sleep? I still feel tired, but that’s no longer a good gauge for how long I’ve slept. I can sleep for 30 minutes or 14 hours and still feel tired. Quantity, and obviously quality, are irrelevant where sleep is concerned. I feel around blindly on the side table for a lamp.

  “Good morning, baby,” croons a voice through the darkness. I hear him rise and walk to the window and pull the curtain back slightly letting a sliver of light cut through the center of the room. I’m sheltered in darkness on one side of the divide and Dimitri on the other.

  “What time is it?” My voice is scratchy and my eyelids and throat are swollen from crying half the night.

  “Eleven-thirty. How did you sleep? I see your fondness for sofas extends to Vegas.” There’s no contempt in his voice, but he doesn’t mask the sadness.

  I’m ashamed. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  He crosses the light beam and sits next to me on the sofa taking my hand. “Are you hungry? You didn’t eat last night.”

  Hunger is another thing I’ve learned to suppress or ignore at will. “Not really.”

  “Sorry it was so cold in here last night. I didn’t realize the air conditioning was cranked up until I woke up this morning. I turned it off after I got out of the shower. The shower, by the way, is awesome, once you figure out how it works.”

  Gesturing toward the bathroom I reply dryly, “I think I’ll just take a bubble bath in the swimming pool.”

  The tub is huge and takes almost 20 minutes to fill completely. The bubbles are six inches deep, clinging to the surface of the water. They smell like lilies and vanilla. I climb in and wonder if this is what little kids feel like in a normal tub. I don’t remember taking bubble baths as a child, though I know I did because I’ve seen actual photographic proof. I close my eyes and submerge myself completely underwater. The soap stings my eyes but I ignore the irritation and concentrate on the isolation the water provides. It’s a barrier; a barrier between me and reality. The idea of never surfacing crosses my mind briefly; drowning wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it? I break through the bubbles gasping for breath; gasping not for lack of air, but at the gruesome thought. It scares me. I close my eyes and try to block everything out, which is difficult because the gnawing ache in my chest and head is ever-present. I close my eyes and concentrate solely on the warmth of the water.

  Time passes. I’m not sure how much, but I’m just beginning to notice the water cooling down when I hear a knock at the door. “Ronnie? I had room service bring up a chai latte. Can I bring it in to you while it’s still warm? They even put whipped cream on top, just the way you like it.”

  I look down, taking inventory of the remaining bubbles. They’ve diminished considerably, but the water looks murky, hardly translucent. I’m covered. “Okay.”

  The door opens slowly and Dimitri walks in. His approach is timid. He looks only at my eyes, no attempts to peek at the naked body in the tub. He no longer wants me, I’m sure. At least not that way. The realization hurts me, I’m surprised how much it hurts me, though the rational side of me knows it shouldn’t. I caused this disconnect. I caused us to drift apart. “Do you want me to set it on the counter or would you like to drink it in the tub?”

  “The water’s getting cold. You can set it on the counter; I think I’m ready to get out.” I rise to reach over the side of the tub for the towel on the floor.

  He bends down and hands it to me before any of my body is exposed and quickly turns his back on me and exits, shutting the door behind him. Rejection. I feel nothing but rejection. Tears trickle down my right cheek. If I’m feeling this way, how must he feel? I’ve barely kissed him for months and even then they’ve lacked even a hint of intimacy.

  I … am … awful.

  We spend the afternoon eating lunch at a French café and shopping for pajamas and a new outfit at an exclusive store in the hotel lobby. Dimitri insists on paying for them, though after I saw the price tags I only let him buy one sundress instead of two. The dress costs more than I make in two weeks. I also squash the idea of new shoes. The flip-flops I left home in will be fine.

  We walk outside briefly after dark to get another look at the Eiffel Tower, at my request. The city that never sleeps offers dozens of options, but all I really want to do is return to the room. I’m tired.

  I change from the dress into silk pajamas, a camisole and pants. I’ve never worn silk pajamas, or silk anything for that matter. Dimitri picked them out (and wisely kept the price a secret). The sensation of the cool silk sliding against my skin is soothing. I can’t help touching the fabric. Even while I brush my teeth with my right hand I stroke my thigh with my left.

  Dimitri’s already in bed when I return. The scene is reminiscent of the previous night—his clothes crumpled up in a pile on the floor next to the bed. He lies propped up against several pillows under the covers with his bare chest and arms exposed; but tonight, he’s awake. The boyish, sleeping Dimitri has been replaced by an alert, virile man. Anxiety swells within me. What am I supposed to do? The familiar comfort of the sofa has become habitual, but the sight of Dimitri lying in the huge bed alone is so tempting. If my days are truly numbered, can I allow myself this one night?

  Back in the days when my nights were filled with dynamic, picturesque visions, I dreamt repeatedly of lying next to him in bed and sleeping, just sleeping, until dawn. I loved the feeling: secure, warm, content. I know I will die a virgin, that part of me is already dead, but the part of me that remains desires his touch. My needs and wants are entirely innocent now, minimal.

  “Ronnie?” I’m lost in thought and his whisper breaks through the dilemma rattling inside me. I look up and meet his eyes. They’re dark, but sparkle in the dim light. “You’re beautiful.” His words are so sincere it almost hurts. My looks have suffered right along with me over the past year: my depression shows in the hollowness of my cheeks, shadows under my eyes, my skin is pale, and my hair is dull and lifeless. I haven’t cut it in over a year and it’s usually pulled back in a ponytail. Makeup is another thing I’ve given up on. I’m a raw, sickly version of my former pretty self. His words are too generous.

  My responding smile is slight and meant to appease, but he sees through it. I shrug.

  Patting the empty side of the bed he beckons sweetly, “Come here, baby … please.”

  I pull back the fluffy down comforter and climb in beside him, letting his arm curl under me and around my shoulder. We’re both propped up against the pillows, but I’m facing him while his eyes are fixed on the ceiling. A peaceful silence fills the room. He’s relaxed, his chest rises and falls rhythmically; I watch it. The sudden urge to touch him overwhelms me. With trembling fingers I reach for his chest. Dimitri’s surprise is evident in his immediate flinch at my touch, followed by a faint moan as he bows into it, welcoming the contact. The muscles are hard and tense, tight, as I my fingers draw lines along his chest to his shoulders, down each arm to his fingertips, and back up to his neck.

  His voice is rough and low when he speaks. “Do you know what I miss most?” His gaze still fixed on a single point on the ceiling.

  “This?” I meekly guess.

  His chest rises as he huffs in strangled amusement. “No, though your touch is, to say the very least … arousing. I miss it more than you can imagine.” So I do still affect him physically,
I think. He does still want me. He sighs almost painfully, as if he can read my thoughts, and continues in a low voice, “Your laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

  “I laugh,” I say weakly.

  He cocks his head and looks at me, correcting me tenderly, “No. You don’t. The last time I remember hearing you laugh was graduation night. That was a year ago.” He returns his gaze to the ceiling and smiles. “One of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed is you trying to get through telling a funny story. Half the story is lost in laughter.”

  I pinch my eyebrows together. “I don’t do that.” Inflection near the end indicates my response is more a question than denial.

  He smiles again and steals a glance at me. “Yes, you do. Jo is exactly the same way. You two, especially together, cannot tell a funny story without breaking out into hysterical laughter, then dissolving into happy tears—and this is before you’re even halfway through! The story is always more for your entertainment than your audience’s, which ironically makes it even funnier for us.”

  I think about it a moment. “Really?”

  He laughs at the curiosity in my voice. “Ronnie, I know you better than you know yourself. Trust me, yes.”

  I prop myself up on one elbow and challenge him, “Oh really? How well do you know me? Let’s hear it.” I’m caught up in the innocent argument.

  There’s no hesitation. “You lick your lips unmercifully when you’re deep in concentration.”

  I pause momentarily to contemplate; my lips are always chapped when I get done writing a paper or reading a good book. I concede, “Okay, I’ll give you a point for that. I guess I do.”

  “You have a black speck on the iris of your right eye, where the green fades to gold, and you have a birthmark shaped like a paw print on your back over your left kidney.”

  “I’ll give you a half point for being so observant.”

  “Your favorite scent is sandalwood.”

  I stop to think. “When did I tell you that?”