Red didn’t come to meet Lola that one weekend that she was in Boston; I was there at that sushi bar waiting for her to come. I’m the one who asked Lola to call her. And now that Lola talked her into coming to Hilton Head, I had just one question. Will you look at me?
She looks at me and gives me a weak grin. You’re sweet, her grins says, but I don’t know you.
“I can help you.” I say.
“You became a divorce lawyer?” No, I’m didn’t but yes, let’s go with that. It makes me sound much more sane. It sounds better than me saying I’ll be anything you want me to be.
“I can help.” She exhales.
“Well, I guess it’s time.”
Yes Red, it’s time.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask. She has her head leaned back against the head rest. Damn, I can imagine this being our life. We’d be living in Boston, driving from the AMC on Tremont Street. It would be late, I’d reach over and put my hands over hers. Do you need anything? No?…are you sure? Are you hungry? Do you want a drink? Do you want me to keep driving so that you can sit back and relax? Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it…I just want you to be happy. Are you happy?
“I am.” She says without turning to look at me. I turn my iPod up a little louder, Kanye West is playing. I hear a small giggle which instantly makes me grin. She smiles a little but says nothing before focusing her attention back on the road in front of us. “Don’t do me any favors.” Huh? She looks at me and I shoot her a playful confused look. She rolls her eyes and points to my iPod. It wasn’t done purposely but I can see how she would think that. But she has to remember, I played ball in college which means I was surrounded by black people all the time. I’ve picked up habits and have grown used to rap, Nikes and fist bumps. Am I Eminem or Vanilla Ice? Hell no. But I do appreciate a nice beat and a decent one-liner. However, I don’t want to offend Red so I go to change the song. I put on Coldplay’s Don’t Panic. She settles deeper into the chair, closes her eyes and smooths over her hair. You’re perfect, don’t bother.
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
We ride in silence with me switching to the next track every time a rap song comes on. I notice her preference for Coldplay so at a stoplight, I put all of their songs into a playlist and let it stream. It’s a comfortable silence that we share on our way to Paw’s Coffee Shop. Part of the reason is that I’ve known her for years, though we’ve been apart. I’ve heard of her accomplishments and watched many of them in person.
At 16, she attended a Governor’s Ball in Massachusetts. She was invited because of her dedication in journalism, the First Lady of Massachusetts’ college major.
At 17, she spoke on the House floor in D.C. about the necessity of government funding for liberal arts in public schools.
At 18, she attended a White House gala after the First Lady of the United States heard of her House floor speech which aligned with her campaign of Ready! Set! Read!
At 19, she gave a small speech on the reproductive rights of collegiate women, in San Francisco, beside Gloria Steinem.
At 20, she gave a ten minute off camera speech on women’s rights at the Democratic Convention to a packed arena.
At 22, she was inducted as Harvard’s newspaper editor.
I was proud of her. Damn, I don’t know why. She barely spoke to me, she barely looked at me. I was another face in a crowd of preps who were soon to be yuppies. When I stood in the sea of scrubbed down congressman and American bluebloods, I was just a good ole boy in training. She felt that she wasn’t like me. She was free. Tamed but free. Worldly yet refined. But we were the same. I always wondered why she never gave me the chance to tell her that.
I know from Lola that she’s sick over her marriage ending. I know she blames herself. I know that she wants to keep her marriage together. But I also know that I’ve thought about her for twelve years. I marveled at her accomplishments, I watched her go from a girl to a woman. I’ve known her since she was sixteen. And she doesn’t even remember.
“This shouldn’t be hard.” She says while turning to look at me.
“What shouldn’t be?”
“The divorce. I have a prenup, the house is in my parent’s name and he works in different cities each week, he’d never go for custody. So it shouldn’t be hard.” She looks to me and tries to give a smile but as I look into her face, I can’t even register what she’s just said. Damn, she’s beautiful. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, I was too busy wishing you would have just looked at me in the library twelve years ago. Or wishing I would have stopped you in the halls that day I saw you with your head pressed against the lockers. I wanted to ask if you were alright but as soon as you heard my footsteps, you pushed yourself off the locker and hurried in the opposite direction. Maybe I could have attended those balls and galas with you instead of being a guest of my father. Maybe I could have been the man you walked down to in San Francisco after you delivered your speech next to your idol. Maybe I could have been the one you walked down the aisle to instead of that lame ass husband of yours. Maybe we’d be on my father’s yacht right now, sailing with the rest of my family with me holding our son and pointing out towards the red sun. I don’t know why but I couldn’t forget you. When I saw you in Belgium I thought that the fates had a wicked sense of humor. There I was again, with Red and yet another pain in the ass woman. And once again I had to watch you walk away. I thought it all but I said nothing. Yes, your divorce will be easy and you probably won’t need me but I won’t be telling you that. I don’t want to give you an excuse to walk away from me again. Your mine tonight.
“Nice.” She says as she looks around at Paw’s Coffee Shop. This place always reminds me of the store section in Cracker Barrel. It’s a nice touch for a resort town whose economy is built on transporting us urbanites into that magical land of Southern grace and charm. Whether it exists or not. She walks past me and heads to the front counter. I watch her walk away and check out her signature asset. Behind that badass persona I don’t think she realizes how sexy she is. In high school, it’s as she did everything she could not to be seen as a sexual being. But she was heavy with intrigue. It wasn’t her clothes; it wasn’t her walk, though she did seem to drift into a room. It was her air. If she was walking past a group of guys, she didn’t seem to notice. If she was entered the library, she didn’t see the rest of us there. Her eyes weren’t scanning the crowd nor were they dodging them. They were looking right through them. She’d smile and she’d talk but I doubt anyone ever seen their reflection in her eyes. We didn’t matter, that much was clear. Her body was on the ground but her thoughts were beyond us all.
I walk over to her and possessively want to do what lovers do when they stand together, brush my front against her back. Mine.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, we just cleaned out our coffee machines.” The grey-haired woman behind the counter said. I’m guessing she’s Maw. “But we have hot chocolate. We carry that in the packs.”
“Thank you anyways.” Danielle gives a smile, turns around and bumps right into me. She presses her hands against my chest to steady herself before she slowly pushes her way back. Our eyes lock and I give her a smile. Your body pressed against mine and it only took twelve years. “Come on.” She whispers to me.
“We can have hot chocolate.” I will gag down a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate for you. As a matter of fact make sure it’s loaded with baby marshmallows and doused in whipped cream. Anything to keep you here with me.
“You don’t like hot chocolate.” She slides her hand against my stomach as she walks around me. “Thanks again,” she turns and says to the woman behind the counter.
“Sorry about that sweetheart.” Maw says. I nod to the woman behind the counter and then walk away with Danielle. Holding the door open for her, she steps out and stands in the Carolina night. Palmetto trees, stars, a fudge shop, a natural body shop, and dozens of other mom and pops dot the area. An Italian restaurant across the street holds customers out
side at their own cast iron breakfast tables. She turns to me and looks up to meet my eyes. I don’t see my reflection. See me, Danielle. I run my hand over her cheek and move closer to her. I can now see my reflection in her eyes. There I am. Stay with me Danielle. I see her inhale deeply before she squints her eyes at me and then runs her hands over my bottom lip. Shit. I clench my jaw…and then she smiles. It’s a genuine smile this time, not the ones she gave in high school, not the ones I give people. Her head drops back and she laughs. Red laughs.
“You.” She recognizes me.
“Red.” Her smile widens and she moves closer to me.
“My god...” Yeah, she remembers me and for a moment I see excitement in her eyes. Disbelief and excitement. “It was Malcolm Blair.” She lets out a light laugh and runs her hand down my stomach, stopping at my pants. Do that again. I tighten my abdomen just to stop my body from shuddering. “Orient kings.” I pull her closer to me by her waist. Her smile grows and for a brief moment she relaxes her shoulders, closes her eyes and inhales deeply again. I’m finally touching this woman, holding this woman and she wants me to. She wants me to comfort her. My hand touches her face and then…slowly…her smile fades. She’s gone. It’s that classic case when you’re miserable and then something good happens and then you’re momentarily happy before you remember again that you’re miserable. Come back Red. I lean down and put my lips near her ear.
“Fuck him, Danielle.” I whisper.
“I can’t.” She sounds breathless when she whispers that out. I wrap my arm around her waist.
“Why not?” She shakes her head.
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is. I’ll handle it.” Please, let me handle it.
“Malcolm, I don’t know if I want a divorce.” She slides away from me and backs up. Wait, didn’t you catch him in the room with another woman? Isn’t that what Lola told me?
“What do you want then?”
“A separation for now.” I never understood the meaning of a legal separation. Chances are if someone wants a break from loving you, you probably want to leave them all together. But if it’s one thing I know not to do, it’s to push Red. So I just nod my head.
“I can help you with that.” I point to the Italian restaurant across the street with its breakfast tables and strings lights floating over the heads of diners. “Dine with me, Red.” No pressure. I smile to reassure her that I come in peace and reach my arm out to her. I watch her attempt to suppress a smile of her own as she takes it.
“Dine?” She loses the battle and smiles.
“When there’s cloth napkins you dine.” I attempt to say that with the most pretentious Boston accent I can muster, if talking through your nose can sound haughty.
“And if there’s paper napkins?”
“We grub.” My voice is back to normal. She laughs and once again, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. She’s exuding instant comfort, now that she knows that I’m the one she used to dream with about sushi bars and cherry blossoms. I watch her as she starts to play with her earth pendant again.
“Where have you been?” I look at her and nod towards her fingers around the globe.
“Since high school? Everywhere.” We stop at the hostess stand at the Italian restaurant and her eyes lock onto mine. “I wear this every day.” I place my hand behind her neck and begin to massage the back of it with my thumb, soft strands of red hair sweep over it. She bites her bottom lip and I nearly spin her around to taste it myself. I’ve thought about this woman for twelve years and the reality now is that I have Red in my hand, no matter if it’s just a few fingers full of her.
The teenage hostess smiles at us and tries to lock her eyes with mine. They’d bury me under the jail, baby. When I smile at her and then look towards the table, she escorts us to a candlelit outside table. I help Danielle to her seat and wonder how in the hell I’m going to get through this night. I’m used to sitting next to her, side by side: the pier, the park, the steps…but now I’m face to face with her and she has no choice but to give me her attention. She can’t hide.
The waitress is at the table before I take a seat and after Red and I order an espresso for her and a coffee for me, I watch her look around. She tilts her head up to look at the stars, she drifts her eyes to the street lamps, to the candle in the center of the table and then back up to the sky. I let her have her moment, her peace. If there’s one thing I know it’s that you can’t rush Red. She’s getting acclimated, getting comfortable. I let her take her time, I’ve waited years to talk to her, I can wait a few more minutes. It’s when the waitress returns with our coffee and espresso that we hear the sounds of a plane.
“You ever wonder where they’re going?” She asks and then points to the sky.
“I wish I had time to stargaze and wonder.” My eyes are drawn to hers as they now look at me over her espresso cup.
“I wonder often. Unfortunately, my fantasy life is better than my reality.” She twirls her index finger around the brim of the espresso cup and lifts an eyebrow at me. “Are you ready for another deep conversation of ours, Lib?” I smile. She remembers.
“Of course.” I instinctively square my shoulders towards her; my attention is all hers.
“I’m not comfortable with my husband. There’s no such thing as being myself when I’m around him.”
“And who are you?”
“If anyone should know that, I’d think it be you.” She takes a sip of her espresso. “We come from the same stock.” Finally she accepts that. I smile at her and she rolls her eyes while she takes a sip of espresso. “I’ve discovered that we aren’t so different after all.”
“We were never different.” My eyes scan her lips as she licks whipped cream away. Let me take care of that whipped cream Red…
“It’s the little things with him that makes me feel out of place.”
“Like…”
“Like the way he heads into another room and closes the door if I put on music. It’s him not knowing if he’s vegan or vegetarian or a white meat only eater. So, when dinner is made, that may or may not be a part of his diet that week.” She puts her cup on the table and places her face in her hands. “I know this sounds so petty, Malcolm.”
“It’s the little things that make a man and woman able to bear each other’s company.” Trust me I understand. If only you knew…She nods and takes another sip of her espresso.
“Did you ever get married?” Her voice is soft now, almost whispering.
“I didn’t.”
“And the woman in Belgium?”
“She was my fiancé.”
“Was?” Let’s see, I met her through Cadence while at Princeton, she was a blind date arranged through her younger sister, Lola, she tagged along beside me for years, she and my mother forced me to propose to her, one day she saw me ordering cherry blossoms for you and that’s why she claims she slept with my brother.
“Just wasn’t compatible with her.”
“Hmm…” She looks at me and nods as though she’s studying me.
“Dissect me.” I laugh. “I know you want to.” She smiles.
“Ready?”
“Shoot.”
“She’s the daughter of a big shot, you were introduced to her by your parents, it would have been a marriage of dynasties, but you didn’t love her and you’re the type of guy who believes love should feel good.” Almost.
“And you don’t?”
“Love is duty, it’s not desire.” Damn, he’s fucked you up Danielle.
“Will you let me prove to you that you’re wrong?” She looks but says nothing before moving into the table and scanning my face.
“Why have you been trying to prove that for twelve years?”
“Why have you fought me the entire time?”
“Because you’re the only hope I’ve got.” She exhales and then looks down into her espresso cup. “If my fantasy life becomes just as horrible as my reality…” She shakes her head and drifts off. “I would
have nothing.” Interesting…
“In this fantasy, who am I?”
“You’re that senior in high school who would steal moments away from his life to ask me about mine. The one who was patient with me. You’re that Princeton guy who sent me cherry blossoms every spring. You’re that lawyer who sent me flowers on my wedding day with a note that said: This is not over.” She laughs and then her lip quivers as her eyes grow heavy with tears. I reach over the table and place my hand over hers. “You’re the guy I wished I was sitting beside in Belgium on those steps.” She closes her eyes.
“You were sitting beside me on those steps, Red. Open your eyes. Why are you looking for me but instead looking right through me? I’m right here, I’m the man who sent you flowers, who told you that we weren’t over and I did sit beside you in Belgium. I’ve been there Danielle. I’m the face you’ve never seen, the one you’ve been searching for. I’ve done everything in preparation for you, I told you on your wedding day that we weren’t over and I meant that. Do I leave dishes in the sink? Yes? Do I work late? I do. Am I a bullshitter? Sometimes. I’m not perfect but I’m still that man who sends you flowers to remind you that you and I used to share a dream. And we still do. I’m already living in our dream, join me.” She looks at me with an eyebrow raised. Her eyes are dry now and life has just sprung back into them. Ah, there she is, she’s rejoined the land of the living. “I’m here, I’m not perfect but I’m here. You’re in the real world now where people can both fight and fuck. Reality and fantasy.” She pushes her espresso cup to the center of the table, lifts out of her chair and pulls me up by my arm.
“Let’s go.”
Shh...Mine (This. Is. Not. Over.) Page 8