by Ashley Pullo
“Don’t laugh,” she says.
“Ooh, I can’t make that promise,” I tease.
She snuggles back into my arms and strokes my leg. “I’m not really the girlfriend type. Shit, I’ll probably never even be the marrying type! And knowing this about myself, I tend to label men in order to deal with my own deficiencies, ya know?”
I play with a loose curl around her shoulder and she continues. “Like, I’ve been with dicks with big dicks, mama’s boys, narcissistic playboys and one bi-polar musician that stole my jeans. Great sex, but I guess at a certain point, I get scared that they will realize I’m not that special.”
She looks at me again with tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “Zach, that day we met, you changed all that – you made me a star.” She fondles the little gold necklace around her neck and sighs. God, if only she knew what she did for me . . .
“Ma femme, tu es une lumière dans mes ténèbres et le plaisir de mon désespoir. Tu pense que tu es une étoile, mais tu es ma balise.”
“A beacon? That’s beautiful, Zach.”
The train stops in the little depot of Greenwich and as I reach in to kiss Nat, she quickly jumps up and slaps the window. “Holy shit! I told them not to embarrass us! Goddamn it. C’mon, you better pray there’s no bugle corps.”
I follow her annoyed gaze out the window to the station platform. Judy and Dave LeGrange are waving tiny American flags and holding a banner that says Welcome Home Lt. Parker.
“Natalie, it’s very sweet. Really, I like it.” She rolls her eyes in disbelief and takes my hand. We exit the train into a blast of cold air so I take a step in front of her to shield her from the bitter wind.
“Do you think they see us?” She asks.
“Dave, Judy, over here!” I yell. Natalie knees me in the ass as I wave them over. “They see us now,” I say.
The LeGranges come barreling toward us with open arms and hearty embraces. Natalie is lucky to have such loving parents and I wish she could see that.
“Zach, sweetie! You are so thin! What are they feeding you over there? Have you shot anyone?” Judy giggles as Natalie takes the homemade banner and rolls it up.
“Natalie!” Judy shouts. “Are you still sick? Feverish or just living too hard in the City?” Judy places a gloved hand over Nat’s forehead and shakes her head. “You need to be more sensible. You’re all alone in that apartment and this time of year is menacing to an overworked body.”
Natalie snorts and punches me in the shoulder. “Ya hear that Zach, stop overworking my body.”
“Natalie.” Dave peers down at Nat and shakes my hand. “Zach, we are so glad you’re here. C’mon, Judy brought a thermos of eggnog.” Dave leads us to their Volvo station wagon and Nat and I climb in the backseat to snuggle under a blanket, like two teenagers sneaking behind their parents. I would never miss an opportunity to feel Natalie up and as usual, her hands are one step ahead of me.
“Thank you for picking us up. My dad, well, he is . . . thank you.” I hesitate before I say too much. I never want my family drama to be my sole representation.
“Nonsense, dear. I stopped by last week to bring your father a vegetable lasagna. He was out, but a nice gentleman, Robby I think, was working the gate that evening and had such amazing things to say about you.” Judy turns her head to address me sweetly. “Please let your father know we are right in town if he ever needs anything.” Judy can never know what an asshole my father really is. It will break her heart and furthermore, her optimistic hope in humanity.
“Thank you, Judy! I’m sure he enjoyed it on a cold night.” Nat cups my balls and rolls her eyes.
“So how long do you have, Zach?” Dave asks.
Natalie shakes her head and pinches my thigh under the blanket. I remember the promise I made to her this morning so I smile happily and say, “Just enough to see my girl.”
We pull into the entrance of my parent’s house and Robby opens the gate to let us in. Dave rolls down the window so Judy can lean across to ask Robby about his granddaughter . . . I didn’t even know he had a granddaughter.
I turn to Nat and she gives me an encouraging smile. “It’s okay. I’m here,” she says. She can sense my fear and irritation and she knows that I hate my father.
“Okay kids, just call us when you’re ready and we’ll go to dinner. Dave found a cute little place that’s decorated for the holidays and even has Dickensian carolers!” Judy says cheerfully.
“Fine Mom, we’ll call when we’re ready. And please, no more fanfare, okay?” Nat demands.
Natalie and I walk hand in hand into the large house that at some point was my home. Mom always made sure I had a fantastic childhood and never worried about what other people thought, and I know if she was healthy, she would still manage to keep a humble and pleasant persona.
I’ve heard all the rumors, most of them true unfortunately. Between my friend Molly (Nat’s boss) and my attorney Jack, I get constant updates on the status of my asshole dad and the demise of Parker & Parker – quite literally.
Mom was a dreamer. She started a pharmaceutical company for the single purpose to fund a research center. My dad was a realist. He latched onto her ambition and decided he had dreams, too – like making millions of dollars at the expense of other’s hard work. But my mom’s dream didn’t just stop at medical discovery . . . she wanted her husband and son to work side by side – she wanted a family, not an empire.
“Let’s see if she’s in the garden room,” I say.
“Oh, actually, she’s been moved to that small bedroom at the end of the hall,” Natalie says quietly.
“What? Who moved her? That bedroom is used for guests. She is not a guest in her own home!” I scream.
Natalie puts her arm around my waist and wrinkles her forehead in discomfort. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
We walk quietly to the end of the hall on the first floor, an area I avoided most of my life because of the dark walls and few windows. I peek into the small room and find my mother, a woman that was once compared to Grace Kelly, lying unresponsive on a hospital bed. I thought I could do it – but I can’t. She’s alone. How can I let my mother die alone?
Natalie releases my hand and walks over to a record player I recognize from my youth. She carefully pulls out a vinyl disk and places it on the turntable. I remain frozen in the doorway, watching a woman so full of life compassionately caring for a woman that’s losing one.
“Claire loves this one,” Nat says.
Edith Piaf’s sorrowful voice instantly makes me collapse into tears. Non, je ne regrette rien.
I’m not prepared for the sudden onset of memories – Mom in the kitchen baking oatmeal cookies and singing along with Edith. Dramatically rolling her ‘Rs’ and making me laugh. I would sit at the island with a big glass of milk and listen to stories about Paris during the Algerian War and then I would fabricate my own fascinating stories about my friends, Bo and Luke Duke.
A warm hand taps my back, rousing me from my nostalgic melancholy . . . but Nat is still standing by the record player confused and afraid.
“Son.”
I spin around to find my dad, tanner than what’s acceptable in the middle of December, standing emotionless and unaffected.
“You son of a bitch,” I seethe.
Natalie stops the record and pushes us out of the room. “Not in here,” she whispers.
“Zacharie, it’s nice to have you home. Shall we discuss our business in my office? Your friend can stay with your moth—”
“Her name is Natalie and she needs to hear what I have to say to you.” I take a deep breath and let it fly. “Jack Schaeffer emailed me last week about Mom’s will. From my understanding, I will be the beneficiary of her 60% holdings of Parker & Parker. Is that what you want? Of course it is, you greedy bastard.” Natalie grabs my arm to make me stop, but I can’t. “Mom built that company out of a broom closet and you just can’t wait to sell it! What is it, a house in Greece or a new wife
on Long Island?”
“Zach, I will not have you speaking to me like this. I love your mother very much and you are making a mockery of our family in front of Natalie. When you enlisted, you made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with us – Claire wanted to sell the company years ago, she wanted you to have a different life.” Dad remains emotionless, like he’s the one being victimized.
“Fine. It’s yours to sell.” I shrug my shoulders, not in defeat, but because I’m fuming mad and I’m trying not to hit my father. “I’ll tell Jack to draft a contract giving you full ownership upon Mom’s dea—” I clear my throat. “After Mom’s passing, you can sell to the highest bidder,” I smirk. “What’s she worth to you anyway?”
Natalie squeezes my arm tightly and pleas, “Zach, stop.”
“And what do you want in return?” Dad asks smugly.
“In return? Unbelievable!” I shake my head in disbelief. “This is what I want Pops . . . Jack will be instructed to withhold every goddamn penny until you make a large donation to Mt. Sinai. So much money in fact, that the hospital will name an entire fucking wing after Dr. Claire Dumas Parker. And then, you will hand over a generous check to the September 11th Memorial Fund – be the face of goodwill for once. And one more thing, if Natalie’s parents bring you a fucking lasagna, you better acknowledge their kindness.” I plant my feet firmly and stare down at the man I’ve never really known and pray that my children never have to experience this type of pain.
“Now, if you will excuse us, Nat and I are moving Mom back to the garden room.” I extend my arm to shake my father’s hand. This is my closure.
Raymond Parker places his other hand on my shoulder and mumbles behind a fake tan and an even faker smile. “Son, be safe over there.” He nods apologetically at Nat and clears his throat. “Natalie, please wish your parents a Merry Christmas and tell your mother the lasagna was delicious.”
I place my hand on Nat’s back and lead her back into Mom’s little room. We silently gather her quilts and slippers and all the picture frames Aunt Patty displayed throughout the room. I stand over Mom’s bed and smile down at her fragile body. I wonder if she’s even coherent . . .
“Claire, you would be so proud of Zacharie!” Natalie exclaims while packing up the records.
“Nat? Can Mom even hear us?” I ask in a hushed voice.
“Of course she can! Look!” Natalie falls in next to me and takes Mom’s hand. I look down at her pale face and her dark blue eyes open, alert and content. Her limp hand rests in Nat’s palm, donning decorative nail polish.
“Why are Mom’s nails painted red and green?”
“Because it’s almost Christmas, ya dork!” She turns her attention to Mom and giggles. “Claire and I have manicures every Sunday night. Her French manicure was so last week . . . we decided something a little more festive would be in order!”
“You come here every Sunday?” I’m shocked – Nat’s the type of girl that surrounds herself in fun and rarely gets too serious, but she’s actually the most profound creature I have ever met.
I furrow my eyebrows in amazement and she nods quietly. And it’s in that silent nod of affirmation that my feelings are confirmed – I’m falling in love with her.
“Natalie, you’re everything.”
“Je suis ton étoile, n’est ce pas?”
2002-12-17
0900 hours
Nat’s old bedroom is like a mind-trip to Saved by the Bell. In fact, lying below a poster of Mario Lopez and sporting my morning boner is just too much.
I shake Natalie’s shoulders and say, “I’m taking a shower. Let’s get going – Christmas in NYC today.”
“In a minute. I can’t move my legs,” she whines.
Last night we decided to sleep over at Nat’s house because it was so late and frankly, I couldn’t suffer an hour train ride without getting my hands on her. Judy laid out bedding for the sofa downstairs, condoning my blatant intentions to screw her daughter. I tried to remain as respectful as possible by not allowing any sex noises to creep from Nat’s room. So . . .
I fucked her on the bathroom counter with the shower running.
“Nat, Mario is staring at my dick,” I say standing from her bed and stretching my arms.
“Mmm, I bet.” She rolls over and smiles. “Doesn’t he have the most amazing dimples?”
“Get out of bed and come help me with this,” I demand while posing like Superman.
“Why Zach Parker, I had no idea you had a thing for Slater,” she giggles while pointing to my manly erection. I jump on top of her, making the twin bed creak and shake, and run my tongue over her bare stomach. I tickle her ribs and she flails her arms, begging for me to stop.
“You’re bad. Turn over – I want to spank you!” I say as a knock raps against the bedroom door.
“Natalie, Zach? I made blueberry pancakes and turkey bacon. Come down and have some breakfast?” Judy calls through the door.
“Turkey bacon,” I whisper.
“Give us twenty minutes! Zach is showing me how to clean his weapon,” Natalie snorts. I shake my head and laugh into her chest, a little embarrassed, but incredibly turned on by her candor.
“Oh good Lord,” Judy mumbles.
I stare down at Natalie’s glowing face and move the strand of hair covering her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask hypothetically.
“Don’t leave me,” she sighs.
1400 hours
“Thank you for taking me to Virgil’s,” I say as Natalie and I walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue.
“Eh, what’s not to love? There’s something very erotic about watching you go at a slab of ribs . . . the way your tongue licks the sauce from your fingers and then you dramatically suck off the tiny pieces of meat from the bone – hot.”
I grab her and bring her close to me, ignoring the customary flow of sidewalk traffic. Christmas shoppers zigzag around us, cursing under their breath. Taxi drivers press their horns, pretzel vendors scream, the Salvation Army bell rings, street performers sing – but all I can hear is her laughter. Ma femme.
“Let’s go see Santa,” Nat says with big, child-like eyes.
“Perfect. Macy’s?”
“No, at the fucking North Pole.”
We pick up some hot chocolate and roasted cashews on our stroll down Fifth, doing our best to avoid the crowds of people gawking at the window displays. Of course when we reach Macy’s, the line to see Santa is jammed packed with snotty-nosed kids screaming and crying. We’re the only idiotic adults without kids meandering through a candy cane village, but it’s moving rather quickly. Why? Because there’s like fifteen Santas hidden in different gingerbread houses. What a scam!
When we reach our designated North Pole, Natalie plops down on the iconic red velvet lap and waves me over.
“Ho ho ho! C’mon dude, you’re never too big for Santa,” he says.
I casually sit on the little bench next to St. Nick and cross my arms, trying to hide my enthusiasm.
“Have you been good this year?” Santa asks Natalie.
She adorably bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head. “Not really. But he has.” Natalie winks at me and I smile.
“Ho ha ha, the beautiful lady’s been naughty!” Santa turns to me and asks, “What can Santa bring you?”
I don’t even acknowledge him because a) he’s thirty and flirting with my girl and b) I’m looking at what I want.
“Alright, smile for the camera! Folks, look at the camera. You need to look at the camera for the picture. Look at the camera. Look at the – oh fuck it.” The Elf takes the photo and Santa pushes me off his bench.
“Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas! Exit is to your left.”
I purchase the photo from the Elf and stick it inside my coat pocket. Natalie and I finish the whimsical candy cane tour and take a ride on the vintage escalators before rushing out into the pandemonium of 34th Street.
“What next?” I ask.
“Ice skating!
”
“Ah shit. Really?”
“I know you played hockey in high school . . . and later, I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue,” she whispers.
“Deal.”
2100 hours
“Zach, you make me so happy.” Natalie places my arm around her shoulders as we curl up on the sofa to watch Gremlins.
We spent the afternoon ice skating in Bryant Park. I only fell once, and Natalie decided to take that opportunity to straddle and kiss me. We received some applause from skaters and then a pimply-faced employee actually blew a whistle.
On our way back to the apartment, we bought a red Christmas tree (Nat’s choice of course) and some seafood paella from Gristedes. After two bottles of wine and a loaf of bread, we decided to screw dinner and just have sex.
“Kiss me,” I say as I pull her onto my lap. I’m leaving in the morning and I want to tell her, but instead, I keep my promise and simply kiss away the dread. Time has no meaning when I’m with her, but knowing that I will soon be without her is torture. Our lips part and she starts to cry. “Ma femme, please,” I beg.
“I wish, I wi—” she says between gasps of air.
“Tell me. Tell me what you want, but please don’t break my heart.”
She shakes her head firmly as I wipe away every single one of her tears. I cradle her in my arms under the red glow of the lighted tree and we watch the entire movie – in perfect silence.
2002-12-18
0700 hours
Twenty minutes of scorching hot water penetrating my skin and the only pain I feel is heartache. The moment I step out of the bathroom, she’ll know . . . she’ll know that I’m leaving her. Fucking, fucking shit!
I turn off the water and quickly dry myself off. I wrap the towel around my waist and dart into the bedroom. I’m going to tell her – I need to see her face when I tell her I love her.
I push open the door and yell her name excitedly, “Natalie! Natalie, I love—”
The bed is empty.
I run into the kitchen and shout her name. But there’s no answer. Her red coat is missing from the hook by the door and it suddenly becomes very clear. She can’t bear to see me leave and frankly, I don’t want her to. I slowly walk back to the bedroom to get dressed and pack my shit.