The Yellow Suitcase

by L. W. Clark

  “Well I appreciate you sharing your special place with me,” I said, smiling. “This park looks so huge. I’m sure there’s enough room for everyone.”

  “Yes, it’s massive, and every area seems to have its own natural beauty. It’s like you can never know the entire park, but I like to try anyway,” he smiled.

  The conversation was flowing. I talked more than he did. He was a good listener. He was curious about me. Who was I, where I was from, what I was doing here? All natural questions anyone would ask, but I wouldn’t answer them for just anyone. With him? I wanted to tell him whatever he wanted to know. I didn’t have any barriers. I felt absolutely comfortable and I didn’t mind sharing my stories.

  I gave him a short version of my past and why I was here now. I shared some of my crazy experiences at work as a babysitter, housekeeper and cook. We laughed, a lot. I hadn’t been this chatty and happy for a long time. I sounded weird, but a good weird.

  “You’re very charming,” he said. “You keep making me laugh. I like that. You have a good sense of humor.”

  “Thanks, and I like your style.”

  “My style? What do you mean?”

  I stopped walking and pointed to his whole outfit.

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, thank you.”

  He said he had to make a phone call so we sat down on a bench. While he spoke on his cell phone I checked him out, top to bottom, and back again.

  He does look good. He’s wearing a nice pair of leather shoes, dark blue jeans and a blue sport jacket. His tailored blue-striped dress shirt is perfectly complementing his beige Burberry soft fabric scarf. He must like scarves. He’s medium height, slim and fit. He must hit the gym a few times a week. He’s so well-groomed and smells so fresh. That’s important. I can tell by a close look at his face that he’s way older than me. Maybe too old. He’s got to be around 47. I’m 23. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. But I do feel some kind of chemistry with him. He’s interesting, and handsome.

  “Sorry about the phone call,” he said. “Should we hit the restaurant?”

  “Should we what?”

  “Are you ready for lunch? Should we go?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. I just didn’t understand what you meant by ‘hit the restaurant.’”

  We both laughed as we started walking again.

  “I’m sorry about my weak English language skills. It might be hard for you to understand me as well.”

  “No worries. I’m used to it. I meet with foreigners all the time and seem to be able to tune into their accents after a little while. And by the way, you have a cute accent. It’s easy to listen to.”

  He meets foreigners all the time? At his job? Or does he like to date new immigrants? I smiled.

  “You’re smiling,” he said. “What’s so funny? Tell me. I like to make you laugh.”

  I shared my thoughts.

  “No,” he laughed. “I don’t stalk immigrants. I work with a lot of foreigners.”

  “I just got a student visa and I’m going to take English classes. I start next month. I’m so excited. I’m going to be very busy with my job and school.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yes, thanks. I want to learn English really well so I can go back home and have more job opportunities.”

  “So, once you finish school you’re going back to your country?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan. Besides, I can’t stay here once my visa expires.

  “I see.”

  “How about you Gilles? I hear an accent. Are you French?”

  “You’re perceptive. Yes, I was born in Paris but I’ve lived here for a long time.”

  We continued to walk and talk. Or more like, I continued to talk. I couldn’t shut up.

  “Did you say the restaurant is called the Boathouse?”

  “Yes, have you ever been there?”

  “Never, but I’ve heard of it. I mean I’ve read about it. It’s a place where a lot of famous people go.”

  “I guess. “

  We walked into the restaurant, the host greeted us and took us to our table. It seemed like the host already knew which table Gilles wanted. We sat outside. The place looked beautiful. The sun shined off the water and we were surrounded by beautiful plants. It was romantic and sexy.

  “It’s beautiful here,” I said. “No wonder famous people like coming here.”

  “What famous people?”

  “I don’t know. You know, just some famous people I’ve read about.”

  “What do you read?”

  “Vogue,” I answered.

  I’m so proud.

  “You like fashion?” he asked.

  “Very much.”

  “I like reading Vogue sometimes. If the articles are good.”

  “You do? I love that magazine. What do you think of Anna Wintour? I’m sure she’s intelligent and good at what she does, but how come she never changes her hairstyle? And what’s with the sunglasses all the time? Do you know? And did you know Miuccia Prada is a fun person to be around? Who would think? But her designs are unique. The colors she creates are so deep and rich. The style, with precise lines and perfect fit, really shows how professional she is. Maybe because …”

  I took out my notebook.

  “This is one of her quotes. ‘I had no fun. My family was way too serious.’”

  We both laughed,

  “Am I talking too much?” I asked.

  He just stared at me in silence.

  “No, no,” he finally said. “Not at all. You’ve made some interesting observations.”

  I don’t know why I want to share all my fashion opinions with him. Maybe I assume he’s interested because he looks so fashionable? Or maybe I’m just comfortable with him and I can talk about anything.

  “I never thought about Anna Wintour’s hairstyle but you’re right,” he said. “It’s the only one I’ve ever seen on her.”

  “Wait. Did you say, ‘Have seen on her?’ You mean in person?”

  “Yes, at a few charity events. I don’t know much about women’s fashion, but I know a little about men’s. I do like Brioni and Cucinelli suits, and Zegna’s cashmere coats are the best for dealing with New York City winters. I also like Ferragamo shoes and Hermes ties. And that’s the extent of my fashion knowledge.”

  He smiled, looking even friendlier.

  “You have gorgeous blue eyes,” he said. “They’re so bright. I’ve never seen a color like them. Are they real?”

  “Actually, no. I can take them out so you can take a closer look if you want.”

  I slowly moved my fingers to my right eye but couldn’t hold it in when I saw his eyes get big. I giggled.

  “I’m joking. Yes, they’re real.”

  We both laughed. We were having so much fun we forgot to order. We looked up and the waiter was patiently standing there. As he was telling us about the specials, we looked at each other and started laughing again. We couldn’t stop.

  “OK, OK. Let’s get through this. No looking at each other while this gentleman tells us about the menu. Sorry, please,” Gilles said, looking at the waiter.

  We paid attention. All the choices sounded so good. We were both hungry.

  “And, we also have a caviar spec … “

  “Caviar?!” I said.

  They both turned to look at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  The waiter finished with the specials.

  “I guess you like caviar?” Gilles said.

  “Yes, but …” and I started looking at the menu.

  “Why don’t you try the special caviar dish?” he asked.

  “Thanks, but that’s OK. It’s just that I haven’t had caviar since my father died. He left, and so did the caviar.”

  We looked at each other and smiled.

  “Well,” he said. “Unfortunately, I can’t bring your father back, but I can bring back the caviar.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  I like the way he speaks. Everything seems so smooth and easy
. No drama. I’m not used to that. Why do so many people make so much drama? What’s the point? I like that I mentioned my father and he didn’t say, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I’m so tired of all the heavy, dark comments since my father died. All the neighbors, relatives or whoever knew him would go on and on. From their conversations you’d think it was the end of the world. How tragic that he’s gone. How hard it must be, losing such a great person. What are you going to do without him? Life is so cruel. You poor, poor people. You poor kids. They kept saying the same thing over and over again, for years.

  Yes, it was sad. Yes, we lost a great person and a kind, loving father. Yes, it was painful, and yes it was a hard life after he died. But no. No one wants to hear this endless stream of negativity. It was depressing and unfair for adults to say this in front of us. Instead of making us live the sad event over and over again with their depressing comments, they should’ve lifted us up. Life is still beautiful. You’ll be all right. You’re young. You have the future ahead of you. But no, they said the exact opposite. And now I tell Gilles about losing my father, and somehow, he respects my father and me with one simple sentence.

  “Thank you, Gilles,” I said. “I heard ‘caviar’ but didn’t hear about the rest of the dish.”

  “He said it was an angel hair pasta with caviar. It sounds delicious.”

  “I never had caviar that way. I’m not a big pasta fan but I’ll try it because of the caviar.”

  “How do you like to eat caviar?”

  “With toasted rye bread, butter, sliced cucumber, and a whole bunch of caviar,” I said smiling.

  “Wow,” he said. “Now that’s a serious caviar dish.”

  “Yes,” I laughed. “It’s all about the caviar.”

  I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I returned, he was on the phone, and what did I see? A wooden braided basket with sliced toasted rye bread, partially covered in a white cloth. There was a large round white plate with small cubes of rich yellow butter, thinly sliced cucumbers, peeled, and a decent-sized, cute jar of black caviar. It looked like a work of art, with all the colors and beautifully shaped food. My mouth was watering but I waited until he finished his phone conversation.

  “Thank you, Gilles. This is so beautiful, and very thoughtful.”

  “Of course. Please, let’s eat.”

  I enjoyed every taste of the caviar. I ate slowly and with joy.

  “I’m guessing you know your caviar,” he said. “How is it?”

  “It’s excellent, very fresh. I can’t stop eating it. Would you like some?”

  “No thanks. I’d rather just watch you enjoying it.”

  After lunch he ordered dessert wine.

  “This is one of my favorite dessert wines. It’s a French Sauternes. I have one every time I come here.”

  It was tasty: sweet and light. It went well after the salty caviar.

  “I’m just curious,” I said. “I read in Vogue that in the 21 Club restaurant some wines cost $1,500, or even $2,000. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it’s true. Some wines cost even more than that. Have you ever been to 21?”

  “No, I’ve never been there. I haven’t been to many places, besides a few museums. I just read about them.”

  “Well, you seem to know a lot about a lot of things. Maybe more than me,” he smiled.

  “Yeah, right,” I said and we both laughed.

  “I don’t understand how wine costs that much,” I said. “How is that possible? I know it’s all about the age, where it comes from and the quality of the grapes, but still.”

  “I think you just answered your own question. Those are the main reasons why.”

  We left the Boathouse. I was satisfied. I didn’t ask any more questions. I had enough air time with Gilles. I didn’t ask him any personal questions. If he wanted to tell me his story he would. If not, that was OK too.

  “Would you like to walk some more in the park?” Gilles asked. “I can show you some other pretty areas.”

  “Yes, let’s see some pretty areas.”

  It was a beautiful day for walking. We laughed about the time he helped me escape from the rooftop. I knew one day I’d laugh about it, even though it wasn’t so funny at the time. Well, maybe it was. After a while we sat down. He apologized because he had to return a couple of phone calls. He was on the phone a lot longer than I expected, but I enjoyed the people watching and the nice spring air, up to a point.

  “I think I’m going to head home now,” I said when he finished one of his calls. “You seem busy, plus it’s getting late.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. I have to make one more call and it won’t be long. These are just a few urgent calls that I didn’t expect today.”

  It was hard to resist so I stayed. We were in the park so long I felt like I was back on Long Island with all its nature. Parks are so beautiful with all the plants and flowers. We all need that once in a while. But I wanted to get back to the energy of the city streets and crowds. And once I’ve had enough, it’s enough. He finished his calls.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I had to take these calls. It’s work, you know?”

  “I understand. Work is work. I had fun looking at the people and the park, but can we go? I should be heading home soon anyway.”

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  We walked towards Fifth Avenue.

  “What kind of work do you do, Gilles?” I asked. “You seem like a very busy man.”

  “Business. It’s all business. I’ll tell you about it another time if that’s OK.”

  “Of course.”

  “But, because you waited so patiently for me while I made those calls, which I appreciate by the way, I’d like to take you somewhere. Wherever you want to go. Can you stay out a little longer?”

  “Wherever I want? Are you sure? Don’t change your mind when I tell you.”

  “I won’t,” he laughed. “I promise. Where do you want to go? You seem to know a lot about this city.”

  “Hmm, let me think … I’m thinking …”

  He was looking at me, without moving.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “That’s where you want to go?” he asked, smiling.

  “Yes, I don’t know. It’s a great place. Two Michelin stars.”

  We laughed as we continued walking.

  “I’m kidding, obviously,” I said. “I really had a great time today. Thank you so much for everything, but I think I should head home.”

  “Wait,” he said. “You’re not telling me where you want to go because you want to go home?”

  I do want to stay with him longer, but I don’t want to tell him that.

  “OK,” he said. “If you’re not going to tell me where you’d like to go then I’ll take you where I’d like to take you. What do you think?”

  “That sounds much better,” I said.

  “OK, let’s grab a taxi.”

  We headed downtown to the Meatpacking District. It looked like an abandoned and eclectic area. He told me it was the new trendy area that was growing into one of the cool places to hang out. We approached a building without a sign. He told me the name was Lotus. The place had a big, heavy wood front door with curtains. There was a big muscular guy and a beautiful girl holding a notebook at the front door. It was impossible to see inside because the large glass windows were covered with velvet.

  Where am I going with this older guy? It looks like a secret, illegal place. I’m happy to be with him, but why here? I’m not feeling any bad vibes. I’m dying to see the inside of places like this. I’ll just follow my older man.

  As we approached the door, he grabbed my hand. He said something I didn’t understand to the pretty girl. She smiled at him and asked him for my ID. He said something else to her that I didn’t understand. She smiled and nodded her head, and the muscular guy opened the heavy door to let us in.

  Inside there was a bar and lounge area, with a dining area a few feet away. We we
nt straight to the bar. The bartender came over right away. He looked like a model. He seemed to know Gilles since they shook hands and started a conversation. I felt like I was in a movie. There were beautiful people all around us. Men, women. They all looked so attractive and fashionably dressed. I was wearing a plain, knee-high blue-laced dress with shoulder straps. It was simple but elegant.

  “These people look so beautiful here,” I said. “Very stylish. I don’t think I’m dressed well for this place.”

  “You don’t need to be,” he said. “You’d look beautiful no matter how you dressed.”

  We drank our champagne. The music was playing so loud it was hard to hear each other.

  “Champagne always makes me hungry,” he said. “Are you hungry? You had such a light lunch.”

  “I had a light lunch?” I asked, smiling. “I ate a jar of caviar.”

  “Come on,” he smiled, “let’s go to the dining room. I know I’ll be hungry later, so I’d rather eat something now. I don’t like to eat late. It’s bad for you.”

  I never heard of a man not eating late. I remember my mother saying the same thing, but nobody listened to her. He does look healthy though.

  The dining room was beautiful. We sat at a corner table.

  “They serve Asian Fusion here,” Gilles said. “It’s very good.”

  I nodded my head and looked at the menu.

  What the hell is Asian Fusion? I only know a few Chinese takeout dishes, like chicken and broccoli or fried dumplings. I don’t see those on this menu. What is Hamachi Kosho? Or Dragon Tail Spareribs? Dragon Tail? Really? I’m so confused.

  “Gilles, I’m struggling with this menu. Would you mind ordering for me? I trust your taste,” I said.

  “Sure. Are you in the mood for anything specific? Fish, chicken or meat?”

  “I think I had enough fish today. Maybe chicken? Wait, no. Maybe some vegetable dish?”

  “Good call on the fish. You don’t want to grow gills,” he smiled.

  “Grow what?”

  “Gills. You know, gills. On fish?” he said as he waved his hands next to his ears.

  “Oh, gills,” I smiled. “Actually, I’m aiming to be a mermaid.”

  We laughed.

  “Why not chicken,” he said. “You don’t like it or …”