Pisgah Road

by Mahyar A Amouzegar

  The rain only lasted for a few minutes. It stopped as suddenly as it had started. We were soaked, but we didn’t care. She let me kiss her again. She entwined her fingers in mine as we kissed. I wanted to touch her face but she wouldn’t let go of my hands. A car drove by and splashed cold dirty water all over us. We were wet and cold and our desire was lost to our need for a warm dry place. A cab drove by and we hailed it. It stopped in the middle of the bridge and we gratefully boarded it. I thought we would continue kissing, but the moment was gone. “It’s a beautiful cold rainy night,” said Cybil as she took her seat as if to remind me of the reason for her momentary brashness. She then gave her home address to the cabby. The night was over. I paid for the cab. It cost me a day’s worth of wages. The next day she was back as her normal self, but we both knew that we had our night on Battersea Bridge.

  Tonight there are no clouds in the sky and Gabrielle and I are in a warm, dry cab.

  Bartley is packed. We all have read the same article. A tall, muscular black man is manning the front desk. He’s in a conversation with another couple. He checks and double-checks the reservation book. He’s a handsome man and I can tell he knows it too. His mannerisms are of a beautiful person. Regular people do not have that constitution. Bartley’s not a large restaurant, but there must be some complexity in seating the people. He smiles apologetically at the couple and then grabs two menus and asks them to follow him. He sees me and I nod. He nods back, but doesn’t say anything. We wait. I am patient. I feel very patient tonight.

  “Are you being helped?” A tall blond woman with a white uniform asks. She is casually holding a bottle of wine and two glasses in one hand as if she has just come home and is ready to sit down with a friend for a drink.

  “I think so,” replies Gabrielle. “We’re waiting for…”

  She nods and says, “I’ll get Stefan for you. Let me get rid of these first,” she lifts the bottle to show. “He’s rather chatty.”

  I’m not surprised that he is called Stefan. She walks away and Gabrielle and I wait silently in the courtyard right outside of the open front door. The weather is nice enough to have some tables outside as well, as other restaurants around Bartley have done, but apparently this convention doesn’t suit Bartley though they seem to welcome guests sitting around a large bar and ordering food.

  After a few moments Stefan comes back. “May I assist you?”

  He is looking at Gabrielle. He is talking to her. He has already decided that I’m not fit for his place.

  I say, “We don’t have a reservation, but we need a table for two.”

  I know his answer before he opens his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he starts, but I don’t want to hear it. There are several empty tables right in front of me and there are even two stools vacant at the bar. I don’t want to hear no for an answer, at least not from him.

  “It’s a busy night…” I stop him before he can finish his sentence and take a chunk of money out of my pocket and pull out a fifty-pound note. I always wanted to do that and I have to spend the money somehow.

  There are times when you should accommodate and be understanding, but in rare moments in your life you have to put your foot down or at least find a way to bribe your way to what you want. He probably would have found us a table without the large tip, but the fifty-pound note expedites the matter. It clarifies the argument and minimizes an unnecessary conversation. He eyes me and I can tell he is debating. He doesn’t want to be bought, but it’s fifty quid after all, and I very much doubt if he would get such an offer from anyone else in the near future. I haven’t actually given him the money. It’s still an abstract concept for him, a simple invitation to be bought. Only a moment has passed and he still can save his integrity if he wishes.

  Gabrielle says, “We don’t have to stay, Marty. There are so many other fine restaurants around here.”

  Stefan is insulted now. He may not like me, but he doesn’t want his place to be a second choice. Gabrielle’s comment is more powerful than my note, but I don’t want him to be offended. “Look,” I say in my most conciliatory tone. “I’m sure you’re very busy but this is my only night with my friend and…”

  He takes the fifty and he escorts us to a small table in the corner of the restaurant. It isn’t the best table, but it’s not the worst either. I’m satisfied and he is happy. All is well.

  “You’re being silly, Marty.”

  “I have to spend it somehow.”

  “That’s silly too. You don’t have to spend it all, not like that.”

  I had told Gabrielle about the ten grand and my father’s wishes. She had listened but had not commented on it until now. I didn’t want to discuss my spending plan. My boss had offered to pay for the trip. I was on the job and technically speaking they should pay, but I had declined. I wanted to spend the ten grand on this particular trip and I didn’t want to worry about receipts or make justifications for a fifty quid tip, as a usual and customary expense.

  I tell her, “One way or another it’ll be gone, but I’d rather spend it with you.”

  She runs her hand through her hair. That’s her tell. She liked hearing that. We haven’t talked about John or her son. I try to remember his name but it eludes me. She had mentioned them in her email, but nothing about her boys tonight.

  “How’s John?” I ask. I don’t really care to know but I want to get this part over with. I don’t want to pretend he doesn’t exist. I want us to acknowledge him right in the beginning so he won’t weigh us down the rest of the trip.

  “He’s good,” she says and nods her head to confirm. “Cillian and John have gone camping.”

  That was her son’s name, a nice Gaelic name derived from an Irish saint. I think it means strife. I hope I’m wrong. I don’t ask if John knows about our London rendezvous. He probably does and if he doesn’t that’s her problem. She takes out her wallet and shows me a picture of her son. He’s cute. He has a round chubby face with dark cropped hair. He’s staring into the camera as if he were examining it. He is looking straight at me and I wonder what he is doing at the moment, probably fast asleep in a tent. I never thought of John as a camper but then fatherhood can change people.

  “He’s very handsome,” I say and I’m surprised that I actually mean it. He is a handsome little boy, nothing like his father. Gabrielle puts the picture back in her purse and with that we are done with her family. But there is another member.

  “Was Fionna upset that you came to London to see me?”

  “No, of course not. She thought it was rather cute.”

  “Cute?”

  “She said it, not me.”

  “I’m glad you decided to come.”

  “Me too. I was so excited when you invited me.”

  I don’t recall inviting her, but I don’t correct her. I’m glad she is here though I would have been fine alone in London as well. There’s so much to do. On the other hand, if she hadn’t come then I would have had to find another excuse to see her in Germany. I’d rather see her here.

  She brightens up as if she’s remembered something. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Marty. Fionna is getting married. So silly of me.”

  I did not know that. “Really?” It doesn’t make any difference to me. It has no effect on what I have to do; though I’m curious.

  “Yes, really. You sound so surprised. She’s a lovely girl and with the exception of you, everyone else adores her. I think it’s you.”

  “Me?”

  She reaches over and taps me on my head. “Yes, you.” She laughs. It’s reminiscent of the same banter we had years ago. She tried to pin it on me then too. Gabrielle wants to repeat the same conversation. It reminds her of the good times we had. It reminds her of the times when we all went out to pubs and had carefree lives. We didn’t have to think about the acrimony of fidelity. We were free to drink and laugh and hold hands under the table.

  Gabrielle laughs loudly and then covers her mouth to suppress the sound. “You must have done something to Fio
nna, even Daniel...”

  She stops. She didn’t mean to bring him up. He’s a taboo subject between us. My last words to Daniel were spoken in anger, full of accusations. The world where the three of us intermingled no longer exists, and hasn’t existed for a decade. She stops laughing, but I don’t want the moment to disappear. I want us to talk more.

  I tell her, “Fionna never hated me and I never hated her. Secretly, we liked each other.” I confess to this to bring her back. We can talk about good things.

  She takes a sip of water from her glass and cries out, “I know, Marty.” She is glad that I ignored her faux pas.

  “You know?”

  “Of course, I do.” She puts her hands on top of the table like a magician showing her empty sleeves. “Fionna is my best friend. You think she wouldn’t tell me?”

  This was a surprise. It was Fionna who thought it would be intriguing to have our double life. She was the one who had insisted on keeping the secret. I guess I believed her too much. “When did she tell you?”

  “From the beginning.”

  I have two options: I can get angry or just accept the fact that girls talk.

  “I’m glad she told you.”

  She opens her mouth to reply, but the waitress shows up. It’s the same blond woman. She looks more like a doctor than a waitress with the white tailored uniform and the red tie. The tablecloths are white, the tables and chairs are rustic white and even the walls are painted white too, though there are many streaks of color like a decorated plate of food. It would have been a madhouse without these lines of colors, but with them the guests are all sedated and focused.

  We haven’t even looked at the menu and I want to wave her away, but Gabrielle says she has lots of questions. She wants a distraction. She doesn’t want to talk about the past anymore. I don’t either. I’m starving and this is the place to have oysters, or so promised the article. I tell the waitress to get us a dozen with a pint of cider for me.

  “We’ve several kinds tonight. Would you like a variety?”

  I shake my head. I definitely don’t want that. “I want something small.”

  “We have both Kumamotos and Miyagis.”

  “Kumamotos, then.”

  She nods and I stare at Gabrielle so she can order her drinks. Gabrielle wants sparkling water and a pint of cider too. The waitress leaves promptly and there is a void. Gabrielle and I don’t speak for a moment. We stare at the menu intently. There are lots of choices here. I feel like a steak. I want a big piece of red meat with lots of blood.

  Gabrielle says, “What are your plans for your visit?”

  She doesn’t look up. She is reading the menu. She had put on reading glasses earlier and she looks different. She is not the same Gabrielle I knew a decade ago. She is married with a son and she has to wear reading glasses.

  “I’ve no plans. I just want to hang out and spend the money.”

  She doesn’t like my money comment but doesn’t say anything. She never liked frivolous spending. Daniel would have had great plans for this money.

  The waitress shows up with our oysters and drinks. The cider is cold. I take a big gulp and feel the sweetness in my throat. Gabrielle takes the little fork and attacks one of the oysters with it. She takes it without any condiments.

  “Did it taste like the sea?”

  She smiles and takes a sip, and then she remembers, “Oh! Yes, it did. It tasted like the sea in its purest form. I had forgotten how we used to say that with our first bite. We were kind of silly, no?”

  “No, not really. It was a sweet thing to say.”

  We both nod and then we are at the end of that conversation. We are dancing around each other. We don’t want to talk about the past too much, and the present is all about taste.

  “They’re really good. Have one.”

  I’m not done. I want to give it one more try; one more push. “Are you happy, Gabrielle?”

  She takes another oyster, but this time she puts a lot of hot sauce on top of it. There is a large mound of red chili on the shell and I wonder how the oyster is feeling at the moment. It must be on fire. She pushes the fork underneath the fleshy part and dislodges it from its home. The oyster is now floating in its shell with a mountain of fire on top of it. She sprinkles it with some sherry vinegar and chopped shallots. I’m watching her meticulous movements. She has long narrow fingers and they manipulate the fork like a cellist controls the bow. She looks up. Her work is done. She lifts the final product and instead of putting it in her mouth, she pushes it in mine. “I am very happy,” she replies.

  The oyster and its scorching baggage sit on my tongue. I’m not into very spicy food but this tastes good. I feel the oyster glide in my mouth and I taste the salty cold ocean water on top of my tongue while the roof of my mouth is scorched. They all glide down my throat and the combination of cool and spicy balance themselves as they travel to my stomach. My eyes start to water a bit and I take a large sip of the cider. The sweet alcoholic aftertaste is what was needed.

  “And John?”

  She busies herself with another oyster but stops in the middle of her production and replies, “He’s good. He is a good listener. He’s a good husband and a wonderful father.” She goes back to the oyster.

  “If it’s for me, less spice please.”

  She laughs and puts a huge chunk of horseradish, a bit of chopped shallot and vinegar in the shell. “It’s for me.” She adds some green chili.

  They have been seeing a marriage counselor. She alluded to that in one of her emails. It was put very delicately, but I understood the message. I’d have known it anyway because I read it in her file. It was given to me before coming on this trip. It wasn’t important. Many couples have issues and seeing a marriage counselor doesn’t signify anything. I’m sure they still love each other.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Marty. It’s been ages. Let’s not stay away for this long again.”

  She puts the oyster in her mouth and holds it there for a while. She is staring at me. She takes a small sip of her cider. She likes the sweet aftertaste of the cider too. She reaches over and holds my hand for a briefest moment. It is a gentle touch with almost no discernable pressure.

  “I’m so happy you decided to come. I’ve missed you,” I tell her.

  She smiles and says, “I’ve missed you too.”

  The waitress comes back. Gabrielle lets go of my hand.

  “What are you going to order, Marty?”

  It is important to her. She wants to make sure we don’t order the same thing. There was no chance of that. She never ate red meat.

  “Steak, rare.” I reply.

  “Okay. I’ll have the bass then, please.”

  It’s settled. The waitress has our orders. She leaves us.

  Ten years is a long time. We want everything to be the same, but it is not. I shared a short period of my life with Gabrielle and Daniel, but we have been more apart than together. She has a life separate from mine and that life is no longer shared by me. There is only so much to talk about. I don’t want to bring up Daniel. It’s still too raw for me and I am sure it is for Gabrielle as well. Daniel and I did not part as friends. I still love him like a brother, but we can no longer be in each other’s company. We all have moved on, in our own ways and into our corners. I’ll always love him, but no matter how much I wish it I can’t take back the words. Not ever. Gabrielle wasn’t there. She still doesn’t know what was spoken. Alice was there though. She knows the whole story, but she’s moved on too. She has her own life and she doesn’t want to be bothered by us anymore. Daniel brought Gabrielle to me and then he took her away. I love him, but I can’t forgive him for that.

  Gabrielle wants to know about my love life. There is none.

  “There must be someone special in your life, Marty. There must be,” she insists as if her persistence would change my life.

  “No.”

  “All these years. I’m sure you have loved once or twice.”

  The con
versation is becoming unbearable. She doesn’t want to hear the truth so I say, “Of course.” I laugh and take a sip of my cider. “But, I don’t have anyone right now. I had to deal with other things, you know.”

  I didn’t mean to use my parents, but I needed the conversation to end. It did its job but then it opened another wound.

  “Oh, yes. I’m so sorry, Marty. I didn’t mean anything by it. I know it’s been so hard on you these past few years.”

  She reaches out and holds my hand again but this time much tighter than before and looks at me expectantly. Her eyes hold my pain. She is feeling what I’m feeling. I’m not ready to talk about them. I don’t want to relive my father’s last day, his shallow steps as he walked back to his bedroom for the last time.

  “I can’t, Gabrielle. I don’t want to talk about them right now.”

  She understands that. She can tell that we need more time to know each other again. Today and tomorrow are the preliminaries, and if we want to stay friends, we’ll need to pace ourselves. We would need to use these two days to step over the threshold and reestablish what has been lost for a decade.

  She switches the subject. She tells me about her work. She’s an economist. She helps the company with its forecasting. It’s a good topic for a first date, but we are not on a date. She stops talking about her work and instead says, “Come to Fionna’s wedding.”

  “No.”

  She insists, “Yes, of course you should come. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. You must. I’ll ask Fionna to send you an invitation.”

  II

  I have a little device in my pocket. It’s rather small, the size of a pocketknife. It’s all black with a small green light. There’s no logo on it. Press the green light three times, hold it for ten seconds and then press it four more times to make it inoperable. It becomes a piece of plastic junk with a green glass. I’m touching the little device in my pocket as Gabrielle is telling me about Fionna’s fiancé.

  Your pocket is the best place to keep it. You want it to be in plain sight and not hidden in the corner of your suitcase. It looks like a cheap Chinese-made plastic toy. In fact, they should have put a “Made in China” sticker to make it look real. You can walk through a metal detector with it. It almost has no metal parts. I don’t feel guilty for having it with me during dinner with Gabrielle. The invitation to the wedding is a good sign. I can use it as a backup, just in case. I’ve a little device in my pocket and I will use it sooner or later as part of my job, but that has nothing to do with wanting to spend time with Gabrielle.