by Kim Holden
“You didn’t.” After a short pause he adds, “You sigh half a second before you drift off to sleep.”
My response is quiet and questioning. “No I don’t.”
He nods and smiles faintly, as if remembering something pleasant. “Yes, you do … every night.”
Do I? I don’t know. And how does he know? He always leaves before I fall asleep.
“You’ve always dreamed of visiting Paris—”
I interrupt this time. “That’s easy. I award you no points.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he objects. “You’ve always dreamed of visiting Paris with the man of your dreams.” He glances at me for approval. “Too bold if I presume that the man is me?”
Wrapped up in our game, I shake my head. “No, not too bold.”
“You’ve always dreamed of visiting Paris with me, near the end of summer. Of walking hand in hand near the Seine at twilight when the air is still warm, and kissing me at the top of the Eiffel Tower under a full moon.”
I’m lost in his narrative. Goose bumps rise on my arms. It is exactly as I’ve pictured it a thousand times, though I’ve never shared any of this with him. I whisper, “Another point.”
“You’re a magnificent piano player and have a soft spot for Beethoven.”
“I don’t play, remember?”
He winks. “Not yet. You can give me that point in a couple of years when this little prediction becomes reality.” He continues, “You secretly yearn to be a mother someday.” He clears his throat and exhales softly, his voice cracks, “You’ve always wanted a son.”
My throat tightens at this. He’s right. I have, but this is something I’ve never told anyone. Ever.
He looks at me through misty eyes. “Ronnie, you have so much to live for.”
I glance down at the sheets, at nothing in particular, and realize I’m licking my lips.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice catches near the end.
“I guess you do know me better than anyone else.”
“I’m not one to say I told you so, but—” the ghost of a smile is faint.
“—I told you so,” I say, the corners of my mouth twitching. I’m drawn back to his eyes searching optimistically for answers I desperately need. “Well, since you seem to know everything,” I continue hesitantly, “How does my story end?”
His eyes are bright again. “That’s easy,” he says as he kisses my forehead. “You and I live happily ever after.”
Life is sometimes … finding something to live for.
Chapter 19
Misery loves company
Tragically
I sleep in his arms that night and though it’s a dreamless sleep, I feel safe in a way I never have before.
I wake to find that the all too familiar, painful void remains in my chest. Foolish of me to think that a conversation could change my perspective, clean the slate. Kind words don’t erase depression, not when it’s hijacked your mind and taken your body hostage. I’m surviving, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, at its unforgiving mercy.
Upon awakening Dimitri ushers me to the hotel spa where he informs me I’ll be spending (and I quote) “a well-deserved day of pampering”. Well-deserved is an extreme exaggeration, when what he should have said was, “Ronnie, you look like hell and need a haircut and a really thorough scrubbing.” My entire day is meticulously scheduled and he has ensured that I’ll be looked after every second. I have the odd feeling I’m being babysat.
I’ve never been to a spa before and don’t know what to expect. After a few hours I begin to liken myself to a lab rat in the midst of an experiment. I’m stripped, scrubbed, massaged, wrapped, and polished. They polish peoples’ bodies you ask? Why yes, yes they do. I realize many people think this experience is relaxing and pleasurable, but it makes me self-conscious, embarrassed, and raw. Those feelings carry over nicely to the massage. I cannot get over the fact that a complete stranger is rubbing down my naked body. I feel exposed and vulnerable. That coupled with the fact that the masseuse has a brutally heavy hand does not make for a relaxing hour. I’m pretty sure she views me as a tough steak that needs tenderizing. Mission accomplished—I’m tender. And sore.
Admittedly the manicure and pedicure, on my end at least, aren’t offensive. Though I pity the woman scrubbing my feet; this really isn’t something we should ask other people to do for us, even if they are being paid. It’s degrading and humiliating. She picks out the colors without asking and I’m pleased to see my toenails covered in pale pink polish and my fingernails covered only in a clear coat. The conversation is limited, but unlike the masseuse I actually find myself liking this woman, maybe because she hasn’t violated me yet.
The last of my “handlers” finishes up with my hair and make-up. His name is Ian and he’s by far my favorite pseudo-babysitter. He’s young, friendly, and kind. My only instructions to him are: “Make me look human again please; the rest is up to you.”
He responds with a fiendish smile, as if ready for the challenge. And he goes to work mixing up a concoction that he methodically applies to small sections of my hair before wrapping them in pieces of foil. After letting the stinky stuff work its magic, or so he says, he shampoos me. I decide in that moment that a scalp massage is so much better than a body massage. I could sit at this shampoo bowl all day. Too soon we return to his chair and I watch eight inches of hair drop to the floor. We chat easily the entire time. He’s complimentary and encouraging in a way that an old friend might be. He’s believable. He makes me feel good … and I allow it. For two hours, I don’t think about the past or the future—only the present. And for the first time in months, the stranglehold loosens. I can breathe. Ian turns my back to the mirror, not allowing me to watch as he styles my hair and applies my make-up. He insists on surprising me.
Ian bends down, his hands on my shoulders, looking me squarely in the eye, a slight pout on his lips. “Veronica, I must admit … you don’t look human.” The frown slowly draws up into a dazzling smile and his eyes sparkle. “You look fabulous!”
He turns the chair around slowly, and I barely recognize the woman in the mirror. She’s beautiful—and much older than eighteen. The hair that falls just past her shoulders is shiny and full of body, golden highlights woven through the chestnut brown. The eyes are golden green, lined in black—much larger than my own. Her skin is flawlessly glowing, and her cheeks are rosy. And she’s smiling … smiling while a single tear rolls down her cheek.
I turn to Ian and hug him. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear. “For everything … more than you can imagine … thank you.”
His eyes are shining in triumph and he winks. “You’re welcome. We’re not quite finished though. Your knight in shining armor will be here soon to rescue you, but he’s requested that you change into this first.” He retrieves a large white box from the table next to us. “You can use the dressing room in the back, love.”
The box contains a very revealing, silky, burgundy dress. My hands tremble as I undress and slip the dress over my head. I haven’t worn anything this pretty, this sexy, since homecoming, and that feels like a lifetime ago. Or maybe just a different life altogether. The dress fits as if it’s been custom made just for me. It’s short and backless, exactly like the homecoming dress my mom made for me. The neckline plunges, embellished with intricate beadwork. It’s a work of art. I slip my feet into the suede, toeless, five-inch heels. They’re the same color as the dress. My pink toenails peek through and compliment the shoe color so well I can’t help but suspect that Dimitri has orchestrated every last detail to perfection. The last thing remaining in the large white box, amongst all the tissue, is a smaller black velvet jewelry box. With shaking hands, I open it—and gasp. It contains a jaw-dropping pair of earrings. They’re delicate: dozens of dangling, translucent pearls set in yellow gold. It takes some time to feed the posts through my ears since my hands are shaking so much. As I slide the second back in place I look at the woman in the thre
e-way mirror in front of me, and she’s even more a stranger than the woman in the salon chair staring back at me minutes earlier. This woman is stunning. Her face reflects a look of surprise and awe.
I return to much “oohing” and “aahing” from the salon staff. As I smile at the group of smiling faces, I find that there, standing behind them all, is Dimitri. The crowd parts and we meet in the middle. The rest of the world drops away, except the two of us. His smile is joy, desire, and triumph … and it’s all for me.
Wearing the heels, I meet him eye to eye, smile, and then brush my lips gently across his. I close my eyes, pull back slightly, and revel in the moment. “Thank you, Mr. Glenn.”
His lips nudge the hair away from my ear and he whispers so softly I wonder if he’s speaking aloud or directly into my subconscious. “You take my breath away. Not the clothes, or the hair, or the make-up. Just you.” The ghost of a kiss touches below my ear and his face drops to nestle against my collarbone. His warm breath seeps in and elicits a delightful shiver that resonates just beneath the surface of my exposed skin.
Our fingers interlace and his face comes level with mine. “Shall we go to dinner, Miss Smith?”
I nod, unable to speak. I wave to everyone and blow a kiss to Ian. His hands are clasped in front of his chest and his eyes are glassy. He blows a kiss back, smiles and nods, as if to say, “You’re welcome.”
• • •
After dinner I request a walk outside to admire the Eiffel Tower. The sun has set and the Tower twinkles with light. It makes me smile. My heart feels less heavy. Dimitri stands with me, his arms wrapped around me, the entire time.
“Do you think it really looks like this? The real one, I mean.”
“For the most part, yes,” he says thoughtfully. “I’d expect a slightly different ambiance in Paris these days, and probably a lot less neon.”
I smile at his joke. “I think I’m done for tonight. We can go inside now.”
He kisses my forehead. “Okay. It doesn’t have to end here. I have something to show you. Something I think you might like.”
We walk through the casino, but instead of walking toward the bank of elevators we’ve used for the past two days, Dimitri leads me toward a different set of elevators on the other side of the hotel.
We ride the elevator in silence. I can’t take my eyes off Dimitri. He’s dressed in a black suit, with a dark blue shirt and tie. His gray eyes shine bright and deep. He smiles at me, gentle and content. I feel satisfied, calm, and actually … happy.
It’s not until we exit the elevator on a floor near the top and walk down the hall that the light bulb goes off. “We changed rooms, didn’t we? Since this is our last night?”
We arrive at the end of the hall, and he slips his key card into the slot to the side of the door. He looks at me and nods, smiling. The room opens up in front of me. It’s huge, just like the last, but I don’t see any of it because the curtains are drawn on the far wall and only a faint light pours in. But through the curtains I can see the Eiffel Tower directly across the street. I walk to the wall of windows and ignore my fear of heights pressing my hands to the glass as if I can reach out across the space and touch it.
I turn back to Dimitri and smile. He’s standing across the room watching me, letting me enjoy the moment. “We can push the sofa over in front of the window and sleep on it.” He winks. “That way you won’t miss a moment of it.”
I pinch my eyebrows together and walk toward him. He closes the gap. “I think sofas just might be overrated,” I say, looking at the floor before turning my eyes back up to him. “The view from the bed would be spectacular.”
His arms wrap around me and caress my exposed back. “Spectacular,” he murmurs. His finger traces the line of my spine from the nape of my neck down to the small of my back, where it’s halted by the zipper of my dress. His hand disappears over the fabric and grasps the zipper. It slides down slowly and my breath catches. His sensuous touch sets my skin aflame. He leans in to kiss on the top of my shoulder, and then hollow of my neck, and then under my chin as I lift my head.
Just as our lips are about to meet, his phone rings. It’s demanding, competing for attention. The ring dies away only to start up again, and again.
“It’s Sebastian’s ring tone,” Dimitri says.
“Maybe you should answer it,” I say, forcing the words. I don’t want this to stop.
“No,” he groans softly capturing my ear lobe between his teeth.
The phone rings again.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Sebastian obviously isn’t going to give up. “Please answer it.”
He sighs and the tug of his lips releases my ear lobe. With one hand still under my dress fondling the top edge of my panties, he answers in a harsh voice. “What?”
As he listens, his face softens. Suddenly his eyebrows begin to lift, and his lips part slightly. He says nothing.
His hand slips free of my dress and he looks at me. As desire drains away, something else pours in. This is a one sided conversation. He’s only listening, though a range of emotions are chasing each other across his face. Shock and dismay have replaced the hungry look in his eyes. I hear Sebastian’s voice die out on the other end. Dimitri exhales roughly and says, “Eleven o’clock tomorrow? Our flight arrives in Denver at ten-thirty. We’ll be there. Text me the address, will you?”
Sebastian talks some more. Dimitri ends the conversation as Sebastian quiets again, “Okay. Thanks man. Later.”
He slips his phone back in his pocket and studies me. He tilts his head and looks from one eye to the other and back again. Clearly he’s deciding how to say what needs to be said. This seems serious. It’s starting to scare me. He rubs his lips together and takes a deep breath before taking my shoulders firmly in his hands. I’m holding my breath, waiting. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Teagan died.”
I exhale loudly, something between a cough and a sob. And then room begins to spin and static fills my ears. Dimitri’s lips are moving but I can’t hear him. My muscles betray me and I feel myself beginning to fall, but Dimitri’s arms hold me upright, clutching me tightly to his chest.
I cry.
I sob.
Eventually I sniffle.
I don’t know how we made it there, but when my eyes finally clear, we’re sitting on the sofa. I’m on Dimitri’s lap, cradled like a small child. I find my voice. “What happened?”
Dimitri strokes my cheek and looks outside at the Tower. “He committed suicide. Sebastian said he hung himself. It happened two nights ago.” He sounds one hundred years old.
I think about where I was two nights ago. On a sofa, contemplating the very same fate for myself. My own end … It makes me shudder. “Does anyone know why?” I ask. I should know why, I think to myself. I shouldn’t have to ask someone else why my best childhood friend felt the need to end it all.
I.
Should.
Know.
But I haven’t spoken to him in months.
“Sebastian said his girlfriend—the one at the graduation party last year, Andi—he said that she died last month. She had a rare heart disorder that nobody knew about. It had gone undetected all her life. One day she had a massive heart attack, and it took her instantly. I guess Teagan was with her when it happened.” Dimitri’s voice has grown thick and he stumbles over the last few words. “Sebastian said that she died in his arms.”
My eyes start to sting again, and I feel the tears scraping harshly against the backs of my half-closed eyelids. “I can’t believe it. I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have let him slip away. I’m a horrible friend.”
He brushes a stray hair off my check. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, baby. You’ve had your own demons to fight this past year.”
I rub my eyes angrily with the backs of my hands. “I was selfish. Goddamn it! I was only worried about myself!” My voice softens. “And now he’s gone. And he’s never coming back.
And I didn’t get to say goodbye … to tell him I loved him.”
Dimitri’s stroking my hair and it’s soothing in a way nothing else at this moment could be. I close my eyes. He kisses my shoulder and whispers, “He knew. He always knew. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends do, they love each other.”
I think about growing up with him. The trouble we got in together, the fun we had, the fights we had, and the secrets we shared. “I hope you’re right. I hope he knew.”
“So tell him now.” He raises his voice. “Teagan Marshall!” he shouts toward the window. “I know you’re listening! Veronica has something she wants to tell you!” He gestures to me with a sad smile. “There. I think I have his attention; the floor is yours.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, but when I look at Dimitri his eyes are serious and sincere. He whispers, “It’s okay. Say what you feel.”
I look up at the ceiling. I don’t know why. I guess I’m talking to heaven. “I love you, Teag.”
Life is sometimes … just a series of goodbyes.
Chapter 20
It feels like it feels
Nothing more
Nothing less
I snuggle up with Dimitri in the bed and we both fall asleep shortly after our heads hit the pillows. Bad news has an uncanny way of bringing exhaustion with it.
The next morning is a crack of dawn rush to buy funeral appropriate clothes, dress, check out, and catch a cab to the airport. Thank God our flight is right on-time. At this point I’d probably commandeer a plane and pilot it myself to get to Teagan’s funeral. We arrive in Denver five minutes early and run through the terminal to the parking garage. Although have exactly 25 minutes to drive the route that normally takes closer to 45 minutes, Dimitri’s driving the Porsche. I’m not too worried.
We pull into the church parking lot at eleven o’clock on the dot.
We take a seat in the last pew just as the priest is walking up to the pulpit. The church is about half full, but as I look around, I can see that everyone who mattered to Teagan is here.