“My mother called me in, and at first, I hesitated because I always loved the sky before the rain fell, the moment before the water leaked from the clouds, the way they were thick and full. And I always tried to catch the first drop in my mouth, closing my eyes and stretching my neck back, feeling the rain on my cheek or on my forehead. And I remember being so happy that afternoon, so free, so light. I had to catch just one in my mouth. Only one.
“He died that afternoon. The rain on my tongue—because I did get that drop in my mouth—was the same liquid that stole my father from me. I was eyeing the cake and the pink frosting when the officers arrived at the house. I didn’t see them, but I heard my mother’s wails in the kitchen and knew. “It was me, Marty,” I said, searching his eyes to make sure he heard me correctly, understood how deep were my wounds.
“What was you?” he asked.
“It was my fault,” I said, the power of my words appearing before me, words I’d never said to anyone, not my mother, not Jonas, not Adam, none of them. “It was me. He was rushing home for me, my fourth birthday, and it’s my fault he got killed.”
Marty was no longer looking at a twenty-two-year-old, but a small child, frightened and ashamed. Taking my face forcefully into his hands, he said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” I said, turning away from him, realizing what I’d done. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to unload this on you.” I noticed how my voice had changed. Either I had aged many years or the tequila was wearing off.
He didn’t say anything else. He just reached forward, pulling me close to him again and I squeezed him hard, clinging to his outstretched arms and ridding myself of the guilt that had paralyzed me most of my life.
“I won’t leave you,” he whispered in my ear, kissing me lightly there with his lips. I believed him because it’s what I hoped, and all the things I’d been warned against seemed so meaningless. His kisses found my cheeks, then my lips, covering my mouth with his own. I didn’t hesitate, even with the stale taste of tequila on my breath. I didn’t pull back. I gave in to Marty’s tenderness. It’s what I wanted, what I waited patiently for, and what I rightfully deserved.
Once I’d given in to his kiss, his hands found the rest of me, touching me, holding me, sweeping the fingers across a body that was ready to be explored.
“I won’t leave you,” he said again, this time staring into my eyes to be sure that I felt what he was trying to say.
“Hold me,” I said.
“I’ll hold you all night.”
“You can,” I whispered back at him. “It’s still early.”
And his arms were around me again.
CHAPTER 18
Sunflowers. I love sunflowers. Their name precisely describes the sunshine, and their strong, sturdy stems and colorful petals make me smile. Friday morning a big bouquet of them appeared magically on my desk. The card read, I miss you already. I surveyed the offices to see if anyone had noticed, if anyone knew who sent them, if anyone could see that I was lit up from within like a firefly.
A week had gone by since that night, and I could still feel Marty’s hands on my body. We hadn’t slept together, but there are tender moments far more intimate than sex that left me feeling as if we had.
The morning after, as he so eloquently termed it, reduced my office demeanor from professional to absurd. Marty was much better at the love game than I was. He was cool and reserved when we were around other people, while attentive and boyish when we were alone.
The flowers arrived as he boarded a flight to New York. When I brought them home to my new apartment in Century City, I watched as the petals fell one by one onto the table, leaving me to question their meaning and what was going on in my life. Reaching for the yellow pages, I located a Dr. Norton, Dr. Deborah Norton. Her office was in the valley, a child psychologist. Could it have been the same woman? Dr. Norton obviously had a profound effect on me, this woman who both irritated me and enthralled me. She did. She was consistent. I could always count on our Fridays at three.
The phone rang, dispelling any thoughts I had about calling the number. It was eight o’clock.
“Hi, Beth,” I said, knowing who it was because she always called when the rates went down on the East Coast.
“Hi, darling,” he surprised me.
I was so happy to hear from him. I was sure he could feel the vibrations through the phone.
“I missed you today.”
“I missed you too,” I said, fingering the yellow petals in my hand. “How are you?”
“Busy, lonely. We just finished dinner, and we’re heading to a club for a showcase. I’ll try to call you to say good night.”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I’m not worried,” he said, “I want to hear your voice. How’s the new place coming along?”
“I like the quiet, the privacy.”
“You should’ve moved in with me.”
I smiled inside, letting the suggestive offer warm me up. Music was playing loudly in the background. He said, “They’re playing our song.”
“What’s that?”
“DaVinyls, ‘Touch Myself.’”
“You’re twisted,” I laughed. “Sick and perverted.”
“You like that.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”
“Then I’ll call you later and we can talk about it.”
“Good-bye, Marty.”
“Bye, beautiful.”
The book was there on the table, the page opened to where I’d left it. I picked up the phone again and dialed the number. It was late, so the likelihood of her being there was slim. I should have been unloading the boxes from the move the day before, but decided this was more important.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” I said, if not by complete accident.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I must have the wrong number.” It was her. I would recognize that nasal voice anywhere.
“Sorry,” I said again, hanging up the phone, hoping she didn’t have some modern mechanism that enabled her to see who was calling.
I stared at the phone, now my enemy, when it started to ring. Please don’t be her.
“Hello.”
“You sound disappointed it’s me,” said Beth.
“No, I’m actually relieved.”
“What’s going on? I haven’t heard from you all week. How was the move?”
“Fine,” I said, her voice a temporary relief. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m a freshman all over again, the low man on the totem pole.”
“You’re at one of the top law schools in the country; there’s no such thing as a low man. I bet you can find the loophole in my artist’s contract quicker than our in-house guys.”
“Another licensing headache?” she asked.
“The worst kind.”
Then she laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You. I love to hear you talk like a grown-up, your own apartment, a high-powered job with clearances and deadlines and legal jargon, serious stuff. Why don’t you come out here and visit before the leaves have fallen?”
“You can actually see trees from your window?”
“No, but we’ll go to the park. You’ll love it. Besides, all your record labels are out here, and you can combine it with a business trip.” Beth had been beckoning me to visit her in New York for a while now. New York was close to Boston, and since the entire Northeast had always been an area occupied by Jonas, it was one which I deliberately avoided. Only because he had once loomed so large was it possible that he might stretch across the entire eastern seaboard. Now he appeared smaller, a bleak spot on a map. Maybe it was time to take a trip.
“Marty’s there now.”
“How is Marty?”
“Fine.”
“Now that’s a vague response. Do tell.”
“I think I like him.”
“Your boss, the wom
anizing philanderer?”
I nodded, but she couldn’t see. I squeezed the phone tighter in my hand.
“We kissed last week.”
“He’s not harassing you, is he?”
“It’s nothing like that, entirely consensual.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to stay there, working with him and dating him?”
My voice of reason had spoken. “If it gets serious,” which it already had, “then I’ll make that decision.”
“Six years, and you’ve finally managed to move on, a miracle. What’s with you and these Jewish boys anyway?”
She didn’t say his name. She never did.
“Let me clarify one thing. Marty is nothing like the last Jewish boy.”
“Then I suppose I can tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“They got married.”
I processed this carefully.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“Yeah,” but I wasn’t. I was on a hill atop Mulholland Drive with wind whipping through my hair.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“How do you know?” I asked
“I read it in the paper…last year.”
“A year? You kept this from me for a year? The effort you put into protecting me makes me want to jump on a plane and come give you a big hug.”
“Well, you may have to be coming out soon, because he’s not the only one with marriage on his mind.”
“Paul proposed? How long have you been keeping that from me?”
“Just a few days.”
“Well, it took him long enough.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’d have waited forever.”
Beth had fallen in love the first day of college. There she was carrying her suitcases up the steps of her dorm at BU, and he appeared, offering a hand. I’ll never forget the day she called me and said, “It’s better than the movies. One hundred percent.”
“I’m so happy for you, Beth. You deserve this.”
“We haven’t set a date but as soon as we do, you better book a ticket. You have a big job to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Maid of honor, and don’t make that face I’m betting you’re making, because I won’t have it any other way.”
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
“Yes, and it won’t be pink or peach, I promise. Oh shoot, Jess, that’s probably Paul’s parents clicking in. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better. I want to hear about the proposal. Knowing Paul, I’m sure it was something extravagant.”
“I love you. I miss you,” she yelled before the phone went silent.
“Me too,” I said, putting the phone down, the impact causing a whole new spattering of petals on the Formica. When I finally exhaled, I knew the air would never feel as compressed as it once had, and my heart, once heavy, was now lighter than it had been in years.
CHAPTER 19
It only took me three days to accept Marty’s proposal. When you’re that sure about someone you’ve known for such a short period of time, the decision is easy. It’s the explaining to everyone why you’re jumping into something “so quickly” that’s the cumbersome part. So even though my heart had said an impetuous yes when he proposed, it took another two days to convince my mother and Beth that I was doing the right thing.
“It’s simple,” I told my mother, who picked up her telephone as she heard the word marriage reverberating from my mouth and bouncing off her answering machine.
“I thought you weren’t there.”
“I was screening.”
“Screening from whom?” I asked, knowing that my mother loved to gab on the phone with anyone who bothered to call.
“Does it matter? Did I hear you say you’re getting married? You’ve only known this man a few months.”
“Eight,” I corrected her.
“That’s not enough time, Jess. You can’t possibly know him that well, and marriage, it’s a whole different game, a whole new set of rules.”
I could hear the concern in her words, the mother’s need to protect her child, but I wasn’t a child anymore.
It was a surprise, to say the least, but I’d come to rely on Marty’s direct and innovative approach. He took me to dinner under the guise of discussing this lawsuit that had the capacity to complicate things for SixthSense, some confusing breach of contract thing that could have several employees in the company subpoenaed as early as next week. He tried to assure me that these types of lawsuits never panned out, but the idea of Marty being questioned and scrutinized terrified me; and because I worked so closely with him, would I be subpoenaed also? Marty just came right out and told me not to worry.
“How can I not worry?” I asked. “I might have to testify against you!”
“I have it all taken care of.” But I wasn’t a believer.
“Jess,” he said, and I should have noticed the twinkle in his eyes, the way his lip seemed to curve a tiny bit as if stifling a smile, “they can’t question you.”
“How do you know that?”
“A wife can never testify against her husband.” And with that bold statement out of the way, the fear that had gripped me turned into something else, something happier. He then placed a perfect diamond on my finger and asked me to be his.
“You’re not using me to stay out of jail?” I said, before kissing him square on the mouth.
“That’s a low one, even for me, but since there’s no case, you won’t have to worry about that.”
“There’s no case?”
“I had to figure out a way to trick you, so you wouldn’t see this coming.”
“You made that all up?” I said, before giggling and grabbing him in my arms.
I thought it best to leave the details of the proposal out of this conversation with my mother. She was saying, “Marriage is hard enough, and statistically you’re reducing your chance for a good one by jumping into it with someone you barely know.”
“I’m in love,” I said.
“I’ve heard this before,” she said, unconvinced.
Marty was what I had been looking for all this time and it did manifest quickly, but I wasn’t about to question what felt so nice and uncomplicated. I had paid a high price for allowing myself to love again.
“Can’t you just be happy for me?” I asked. “Can’t you just, for once, let me relish in the moment? Haven’t I earned this? Don’t you want me to spend the rest of my life with someone who adores me and only wants to please me?”
“Well, it would be nice if I could meet him.”
“Is that was this is about?”
“Maybe.”
“Geography’s the only reason you haven’t met him,” I said. “Trust me, you will love him.”
It was over a family dinner at Marty’s home in the hills that I finally and officially gave Marty the affirmative answer that he was waiting for. He empathized with my mother’s concern and set out to make things right. In less than twenty-four hours, she was squired away on a plane headed west to meet the man who had stolen my heart. He also invited his parents, a couple in their seventies who talked endlessly about their time in Palm Springs. The warmth of family around us eased the answer out of me, and when I saw my mother flitting around Marty, practically stepping over herself for his attention, I knew I’d made the right choice. Selma and Ezra Tauber were welcoming and kind, and I watched them lost in deep, loud conversation. There was no doubt we would have a full and happy life.
“Where are you right now?” Marty asked. He was seated next to me, nudging me with his shoulder. “You’re off somewhere.”
I faced him, seeing his eyes as they appraised me with a kindness any woman would envy. “I’m with you.”
“Where are we?” he asked, a faint smile crossing his lips as his hand dropped into my lap, caressing my bare leg. I searched the table, but my mother had now joined Marty’s folks in conversation, and no one appeared to notice that the host an
d hostess had gone off to a secret, private world. His fingers grazed my skin lightly.
“In a good place.”
“Yeah,” he continued, softly stroking my inner thigh, “and what happens in that place?”
Nothing about Marty inhibited me, and I would have shouted this across the table if it were just the two of us, but it wasn’t. I didn’t want to share with anyone the emotions he brought out in me, the things he made me feel. I whispered in his ear, running my fingers through his thick hair, relishing in the ownership of that gesture, knowing that it would always be mine. “We love each other and we’re happy and some R-rated material I’ll tell you about later.”
He may have kissed my cheek, or maybe I brushed my lips against his. It was a light, promising touch, and when I turned my head, I sought the eyes of those seated around us, and they were staring at us, awed in part by the moment we were sharing and the embarrassment at being caught. They couldn’t turn away. Their illicit stares were of envy and joy. When Marty kissed his hand and touched it to my chest, an act both private and protective, the embarrassment turned to appreciation.
“I love your heart,” he said to me. And I understood the raw affection was nothing less than pure devotion. My heart had once betrayed me, the disconnect between its needs and its desires as vast as the pain that proceeded it, but it all made sense to me now. I could feel the gentle, consistent beating in my chest. It had been waiting for Marty Tauber to hold it in his generous hands.
We got married on a clear spring afternoon on a Polynesian beach surrounded by nothing but sparkling ocean and the sound of the man officiating. We were going to have the large, lavish affair, but in finding Marty, I needed nothing more than to recite vows and make him legally mine.
“I do,” he said.
“I will,” I decided, because I would.
We spent two weeks devouring and discovering each other. I couldn’t figure out how such a delinquent little kid ended up luxuriating in so much happiness. I asked myself if I had ever known happiness at all, and the answers would come to me in memories, times I thought I’d been happy, now faded, fragmented. Life had changed me. My work was going well. I was professionally where I wanted to be, and with that came a healthy identity and well-defined purpose. I needed Marty in my life, but that need was overshadowed by the pure want to have him there. There is a big difference between needing and wanting, especially when it comes to subjects like love.
What We Leave Behind Page 17