by L. W. Clark
“Thanks. I do love the summer.”
“Yes, summers are great, especially out here. It’s so much fun. Are you having fun? Are you enjoying the suburbs?” he said.
“Yes, it’s fine, in small doses.”
“Well, if you ever get bored, you can always reach out to me. You can join me and my friends. It’s a younger crowd,” he smiled.
“That’s nice of you. Thanks.”
“Girls like you are always a pleasure to be around.”
“Thanks. Speaking of girls, the girl you were with at the party last Sunday. She was nice. What was her name?”
“Sally. She’s just a friend.”
After cocktails by the pool it was time for dinner. Then it was back to the pool for more cocktails and desserts. People were having fun, laughing and dancing.
“That was a great dinner, thank you. I’m going to grab another drink. Would you like something?”
Ahh … my buddy Tom again, my personal bartender.
“I thought you’d be gone by now since you mentioned you had plans elsewhere?”
“Yes, I did, but there’s a change in plans. I hope you’re not upset that I’m still around?”
“I’m glad you stayed, of course. It’s always fun to be around you.”
“You know I’ve been wondering … Well, I think you should know that you’re so beautiful, and young, and you always look so sexy. I wish I could be next to you instead of … I mean, do you like me? I can be a real gentleman to you, and a real man.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“I like you Alyssa. A lot. And I can make you happy.”
“And who told you I was looking for happiness?”
“We all are; we’re all looking for that. And we both know—and I’m just being honest here—Gilles, your husband? He can’t give you complete happiness. You know that. You know what I mean. You don’t deserve to be without sex.”
“You know, Tom, thanks for your honesty. It’s nice that you’re able to express yourself and your feelings towards me.”
“I really want to be with you. Let me show you what it can be like.”
“Really? Hmmm ... Have you ever had sex with him?”
“With who?”
“With my husband.”
“Who me? Oh, no … no, no. I’m straight.”
“Well, too bad you haven’t. Because I have and it’s fantastic. Have a good night, Tom.”
Rachel and I became good phone friends during the summer. While I was in the Hamptons, she was vacationing in Lake Tahoe. When it was late and I couldn’t sleep, I’d take advantage of the time zones and call her. We’d chat for a while and talk about our summer. She said she liked being surrounded by nature. She was inspired by the silent beauty. It was like a detox for her mind and soul. She seemed rather Zen anyway. I wasn’t sure how much calmer she needed to be. Most of the time on the phone she would talk without emotion. She would never raise her voice or laugh loudly. She even made me calm.
We got along so well and the more I talked to her the more I became interested in meeting her. We decided to meet up after the summer. It was interesting knowing someone over the phone but it’s nothing like seeing them in person. I didn’t know what she looked like. Was she tall or short? Skinny or chubby? What was her style or manners? She knew me from all the pictures, but all I saw of her was a tiny picture on her website, where she was a natural, pleasant-looking blond.
She mentioned she was married. She never mentioned any children and I never asked. If she wanted to share, she would. She mentioned her husband, but just a little. It seemed she was on her own. Every time we talked, she would always find some segue and mention Max. She would speak about him so easily, and in such an unassuming way, that I couldn’t resist. She was a great conversationalist. The last time I spoke to her we were talking about the beauty of Japanese cherry trees and that Max’s job had him living in Japan for a few months.
Mark was healing slowly, patiently going through physical therapy, but it was a lengthy process. He tried his best to be grateful that he survived and keep his spirits up, but he was often lonely. Sometimes when Gilles arrived in the Hamptons after visiting Mark, he seemed tired and moody. At times it was hard to figure him out. I left him alone and went outside for a swim. When I came back, I saw him sitting pensively.
“Is everything OK?” I asked. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine. Just come sit next to me. Tell me, how was your day?”
“I was thinking of … you know, I had a moment at the party the other night when I thought about Mark. I felt bad he was by himself and we were here, having a good time.”
“Yes, it’s hard. I’m so tired of it. But I can’t imagine how hard it is for him.”
“I was thinking … why can’t he stay here? He can stay with us and then he wouldn’t be alone in the city.”
“Stay here? He needs a lot of help you know.”
“So? He can bring his housekeeper. What difference does it make for her where she takes care of him?”
“It’s not just about her. It’s also about him. Aside from the help, he just can’t stay here.”
“Why not? At least he could be around us. It would be good for you too, no?”
“No, absolutely not. What the hell are you talking about? It wouldn’t be good for me and you know it. We’re finally in a place where no one gossips about us anymore, at least as far as I know. I’m not going to light that up again. No, he can’t stay here.”
We sat quietly for a moment, alone with our thoughts.
“But so what if people talk about it?” I asked. “And so what if you two want to be together? Aren’t you tired of hiding your personal life? Why can’t you just be free? Both of you, just be free and be together? How long are you going to live like this? I know you’ve done all this because of your career, your family and the people around you, but maybe it’s time for a change. Time for being you. Just be you, with him, the one you love.
“Why do you care anymore about what people say? Whoever really loves you will do so unconditionally. They’ll support you no matter what. The people who won’t? That’s their choice, and their problem, not yours. Your parents made their own choices in life, and so should you. You can’t live your life for them. No one should ever sacrifice their personal life and happiness for the sake of others.
“Mark is going through a difficult time and you need to be with him, so you can help him. Mark needs you right now, needs to sleep next to you, and wake up next to you. I’m sure you want to support him completely, but you don’t. Why? Because of what people might say? Do other people’s opinions matter more than the person you love?
“Everything you’ve worked so hard for, your career, power, wealth … you have it all. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. What you’re doing now is only hurting yourself, and Mark. You’re a free man. You can do whatever you want. You can just quit your job and spend time with your loved ones. Just travel, have fun and enjoy each other. You can go anywhere, move to a beautiful island or in the mountains. You can leave your crazy city lifestyle for a quiet place, or just stay here. You have the power over your life. Do whatever you want, for yourself and Mark.
“One day we will leave each other, you know that. I can only hope I’ll be able to find the love of my life, as you have. You’re a very lucky man. You’ve found real love, and that love is returned. Don’t you want to enjoy this beautiful feeling for the rest of your life? You deserve to be in love, without hiding. You can be a great example to others who are in the same situation as you and Mark. People who are afraid to be open about their love.
“Of course, you can do whatever you want. But just be real, free from the secrets and the lies. Be who you are, not who others want you to be. When you’re free, and in love, that’s real success, real happiness.”
He was staring straight ahead, not looking at me. There was a loud silence.
He’s always been a good listener. It’s ha
rd to read what he’s thinking about from his calm facial expression. Is he just politely listening to me or is he interested in what I’ve said? Is he mad because I got too personal? Maybe he’s not ready to hear the truth. I’m not going to press him for a response.
I left and went upstairs.
It wasn’t long before the summer was over. It was a lot of fun, with many great memories. It was tiring, but in a good way. Now it was time to turn the page. Autumn in the city.
“Are you almost ready?” Gilles asked. “The driver’s outside. We should go so we can beat the traffic.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” I said.
I was standing by the window, looking at the beautiful ocean view one more time. I turned around to leave and Gilles was in front of me.
“Alyssa, I have to ask. Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“Me mad? Why would you ask me that?”
“I mean, are you disappointed in me? That I didn’t take the high road and step up for my love? What you told me a few weeks ago made me think. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, about my life. All this time, with everything going on, I always wanted you to be proud of me. I never want to disappoint you. Are you upset? Is something going on between us that I don’t know about? Are you leaving me?”
“Did I sound upset or mad?”
“Well … no. You were calm as you were speaking.”
“I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about you and your life, remember?”
“I know, I’m just confused.”
“Shouldn’t we leave now, so we don’t hit traffic?”
I grabbed my bag and started to leave. I turned to look at Gilles. He just stood there, motionless, with a sad expression. I dropped my bag, walked into his arms and hugged him. He smelled so fresh and felt so strong, with great energy. I took a deep breath to inhale him. It was like recharging my body and mind.
“How could I ever be upset or mad at you?” I asked. “You’ve changed my life. You’ve given me attention, support and opportunities, without conditions, like a parent would do. You’ve given me the greatest advice, as a smart professor would do. You’ve always trusted me and are always there for me, like a great friend. You’ve shared beautiful sex, like a good lover. You’ve treated me like a woman, like every gentleman should. Gilles, you’re a great man, and I will always be appreciative that you’re a part of my life. I’m always proud of you, and I could never be mad at you.”
He stared at me, then he smiled and hugged me so hard, as usual.
“The pleasure has been all mine,” he said. “You’re so wonderful I just can’t take it. OK, come on, let’s go. Hurry up, we have to leave so we don’t hit traffic.”
Now it’s hurry up? Is he something or what?
THIRTY-THREE
Spring 2002, Manhattan
It took Mark about six months to recover from his injuries. The physical therapy he endured was easy compared to what he first went through. While he was injured, Mark had a lot of time to think about his photography. He was ready to share his hobby with the public. He announced he was going to exhibit his photography collection. His portfolio was all about physical objects, anything that didn’t breathe.
It took him a few months to prepare his collection and choose the gallery, but he finally set May 9th as the date for opening his exhibition. As it turned out, it was right in the middle of when I was planning to see my family. I couldn’t believe the coincidence, and I had to change my travel plans—again. Then I got an idea and decided to send an email.
Hi Rachel,
Hope all is well with you and your family. Sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. I’ve been studying a lot and have little free time. I’m really enjoying Columbia University. The subjects and the teachers are great. This is my second year and, as you know, it gets busier each year.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard of the interior designer Mark Miller, but one reason I’m reaching out is that he’s having his first photography exhibition, and I’d like to personally invite you. It would be great if you can attend, since we could also meet in person.
Please let me know if you’re able to attend and I’ll send you the invite.
Warm regards,
Alyssa
She responded the next day.
Hi Alyssa,
Many thanks for the invite, and yes, I’ve heard of Mark—he does such creative work. I’m sure his photography will be interesting as well, and I would be thrilled to meet you! It’s been so long since we talked about meeting each other, but now it will finally happen!
Thanks for thinking of me and I look forward to seeing you!
Rachel
Soon, the opening day arrived. The Miller Gallery in Chelsea was newly renovated, and it wasn’t structured in a traditional way, with big square rooms and pictures on the walls with small spotlights aimed at the art. It was a large, round, white room. In the middle was a circular walking space, and then three concentric circles with freestanding beige panels spaced evenly around the circle, with enough room between for people to move about the gallery. The photography was hung on the panels. Mark had a hard time finding a gallery that was designed to his taste but this one was right.
“I have something I’d like you to wear tonight,” Gilles said, handing me a Van Cleef & Arpels box. “Please open it.”
It was an Oiseaux de Paradis, Bird of Paradise necklace, with white gold, and round diamonds. I put the box down and stared at it, astonished.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “Let me help you put it on.”
“You didn’t know which dress I was going to wear tonight,” I said. “How did you know the necklace would go so well with it?”
“I just know things, darling, I just know.”
“Thank you so much, Gilles. Why did you decide to buy a diamond necklace? You know me, I’m not one of those girls who loves diamonds.”
“I wanted you to be like one of them tonight,” he smiled.
“Well, then you know, just a necklace won’t be enough,” I said as I hugged him.
I wore a long J. Mendel blue chiffon see-through evening dress, and the diamonds sparkled as they draped my neck. Christian Dior shoes were caring for my feet, and my head was dazzled by the champagne as I watched this lovely event with a high energy crowd.
Uptown meets downtown. Diversity. Classy, conservative styles meet hippy and chic styles in fashion. Older people with champagne and scotch meet younger people with vodka martinis. The DJ meets the piano player. House music meets classic jazz. I was meeting and greeting people I knew and didn’t know.
Gilles was happy and busy having drinks with his friends. After a while most of the guests gathered in the center and started looking at Mark’s photography. The noise sounded like a bunch of birds hanging out in the park. I took a break from greeting people and went by myself to look and enjoy every single one of Mark’s photos.
They were all black and white. There were twelve standalone walls and each one had three or four photographs. I looked carefully, without rushing. Every time I looked at them, I discovered something new. There was a picture of an old wooden chair, abandoned on a Manhattan street corner, that somehow looked proud. Another of a narrow five-story Lower East Side building with a water tower on top—old but majestic. And one of the north side of Central Park in the winter, with snow on the ground, and large, cold rock formations with icicles. It made me cold just looking at it.
I moved to the second and third circles of the walls, which had fewer photos than the first. I did the same thing, slowly walking around, until I got to the final photo, where I spent a long time staring, without moving. It was also black and white, except for one piece. It was the only picture on the wall. It was a picture of my old suitcase, titled Yellow Suitcase.
There was a time when this piece was unnoticeable, insignificant and abandoned by everyone. Then I took it to America, even though I never liked it. I thought it was the ugliest, roughest, and most uncomfortable thing I ever h
ad, and it caused blisters on my hands. But the picture had something to say. Something to make you think as you looked at it. I used to hate that piece, but now, as a work art, I liked it. It looked unique. Yes, it was unique and interesting, as a photo. It looked tired and old, with rough and heavy wrinkled skin. It looked like a human who once was young and beautiful, but life didn’t treat it well, and it was all reflected in the photograph. It looked used, well-traveled, but abandoned. It was dead.
I’ll never forget when I came here years ago with that suitcase. So many memories. New Jersey, Long Island, Brooklyn. Nikki, Lori and Viktor, Anna and The Corrector, Kalian, Silvia, Jeff, Zachary. All the loneliness, the doubts, all the strangers who helped me. What an incredible journey. I should write a book.
My eyes began to tear.
OK, hang on. This evening isn’t about me. It’s about the man who created all these beautiful works of art.
Someone gently touched me on my shoulder.
“I didn’t want to tell you about this picture. I thought I’d surprise you. I hope you like it.”
“Mark, I see so many stories in this picture. I see the suitcase with a tired and old expression, like a human being. How can you turn objects into living beings? Every picture seems to come to life with some story. I’m so impressed. Is this art? Or is this something else?”
“Thanks. I just try to capture the essence of things,” he said. “Nice necklace by the way. I’ve seen that necklace. Now that’s a work of art. No doubt about it, Gilles is a very generous man. You know, I wish I could just make a big announcement right here, to let everyone know how generous he is.”
Wait. What?
“Announce what?” I asked. “My necklace?”
“What? No, no. Not that. You are too funny,” he said. “Gilles bought this gallery for me, as a gift. I thought you knew about it.”
“Oh Mark!” I screamed as I jumped into his arms and hugged him.
I felt bad that my scream caused a scene. I looked around and several people were staring at me. I smiled and stared back at them, and they slowly turned away to continue their conversations, but then I sensed someone staring at me, to my right. I turned to look, staring at his face and looking into his eyes. Eyes that were … familiar.
