Lyrical Lights

by Maria La Serra

  “Were you?”

  “A fucking moron?” His lips went up slightly. “Only when I’m around you.”

  Oh.

  “I don’t understand why.” He swallowed hard. “It’s just you never needed me the way I wanted you … I’m afraid of losing you.”

  “But you won’t.” I blinked.

  “You say that, but it’s all speculation,” Simon said.

  I look at him until I couldn’t anymore. “Why is it so complicated … between us?”

  He looked up at the sky like he was searching for some answer. “How do you feel about gyros?” he said as our eyes met. “I know a place close by.”

  “Look at us! All dolled up eating our gyros on the streets of Paris. I can’t think of anything so romantic,” I said.

  We had begun this adventure down the street listening to the sounds of the city playing our soundtrack, and suddenly I had the urge to lose myself in a night that seemed so electrifying. Surrender myself to a man I had fallen so hard for.

  “Is it romance you wanted?” Simon’s eyes questioned me. “Because you don’t seem to mind it when I feed you.” He smiled, wiping his hands with his napkin, then tossing it in a nearby trash can.

  “How did you eat so fast?” I wasn’t doing a good job with my gyro. It was falling apart every time I took a bite of it.

  Simon gave me a side-glance. “Hold on, you have tzatziki sauce all over your face.”

  “Do I?” I laughed. I felt comfortable around Simon, enough that I didn’t need to impress him. That’s the beauty of our relationship, or whatever it may be.

  “Yeah.” He stopped, giving me the once-over. “How on earth did you even get it in your hair?” He grinned, getting closer. “Look at you—you’re a mess.” I snorted out a laugh, and it made us laugh even more.

  “You’re a hell of a messy eater, Mable Harper.” He tried his best to clean it off.

  “Oh, that’s not true.”

  “I give up.” He sighed, handing me a napkin. “You got some … uh … um—on your …” He winced, scratching his temple. I followed his gaze.

  “Are you staring at my breasts?” I threw a piece of bread at him.

  “It’s kind of hard; you have them out in the open.” He laughed. “Christ, I can’t look anywhere without seeing them.”

  “Don’t get excited; they’re not that big. It’s all tape and contouring,” I said, watching Simon take off his jacket and drape it over my shoulders in a protective matter. I didn’t know if I wanted to be annoyed or to appreciate the gesture, but since I was feeling cold, I allowed it.

  “Nah, yeah, I’m more of a butt than a boob guy.” He chuckled to himself. “I can’t believe I just said that.” I watched him roll up his white sleeved shirt. Simon does this all the time. How does he know I find it sexy?

  “Maybe we should have changed into something more comfortable before we started this little venture.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me? I’m wearing this Tabitha Daz dress to bed. Tomorrow I have to return this to its rightful owner, and I’ll be back to plain old Cinderella.” I took another bite, and whatever remained of the gyro toppled onto the sidewalk. We both looked at the ground, and then I glanced up at Simon. I knew he wanted to laugh, but he did a good job containing himself.

  “No worries love … Come, we’ll get you another one.” He spun in the direction we had just come from, holding out his arm for me.

  “No, I give up. It’s getting late and I’d better get my butt to bed. No pun intended.” I shot him a wink, throwing the wrapper in the trash can nearby.

  “All right, Cinderella, let’s get you back home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

  “Would you like to come up to my room?” Simon half-whispered, slightly turning in the crowded elevator. “We could share a bottle of wine and sit out in the gallery?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” I lowered my eyes.

  “Because my room has a better view? And I would like to talk to you about something … if you give me a chance.”

  His eyes softened, enough to sway me. We needed to talk or let it go once and for all.

  “All right, but only because you have the best view of the city,” I said. “And you have to order us something to eat.”

  “Sure, anything.” He nodded “Anything you want.”

  We walked down the corridor with my hand in his. Inside his room, I made my way out to his gallery while Simon ordered a bottle of wine from downstairs. As I sat on the black iron chair, taking in the view, I wondered how this conversation would go.

  “Okay, so here’s the thing—the kitchen is closed downstairs, but the concierge was nice enough to go across the street and bring me back this,” Simon said, coming out fifteen minutes later with a bottle of wine in one hand and a platter in the other. “I got us an assortment of cheese and stuff.” He set it down in front of me.

  The platter looked appetizing, and I grabbed the square piece closest to me. The taste differed from anything I’d eaten before.

  “This is not cheese.” I chewed, allowing the flavor roll on my palate.

  “That looks like fois gras.”

  “A—What?”

  “Fat liver.” Simon filled the glasses with wine.

  “It’s either goose or duck …” he continued. “What’s the matter?” He laughed.

  “Even I have my limits.” I discreetly disposed of it in my napkin.

  “I guess you do.” He handed me my glass. “Here’s to surviving your first fashion week.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” I touched my glass to his.

  “You’ve come a long way, and I know I never told you this, but I’m proud of you.” Simon smiled, sitting across from me. “What’s the matter?”

  He caught it like I was an open book. His words were heartrending, and I was trying to understand this emotion that ran through me.

  “Sometimes it’s just too much … The paparazzi, the parties—I guess the gist of it. I thought this was what I wanted, but yet … I should be happy.”

  “Remember when I told you about the lights?” He placed his glass down. “Sure, I think it’s a struggle, and the longer you stay in this business, the more difficult it is to remain unchanged. But there are ways around it, to stay grounded.”

  “Hmm … like the man who volunteers his time,” I said, and his eyes matched mine. “Who uses his photography to raise money for charities and adopted a rescue cat named Captain.” I hid my smile behind my glass. “And you thought I didn’t know? It’s interesting the things you learn on a Friday night with a couple of mojitos and Noah.”

  “Okay, so I lied. Captain wasn’t a gift from my sister.” Simon realized that it was silly to lie about it. “I thought you might think I’m a weirdo if I told you I set out to get a cat.” He’s mistaking my silence for something else. “Look, she was in an unfortunate predicament. Either I took her home, or they would euthanize her. So I couldn’t let it happen.”

  “I think that’s sweet … A man who wants to save the world because he doesn’t know how to save himself.”

  He diverted his eyes away from mine, and I realized I was onto something.

  “What else do you know about me?” he asked.

  “Not enough, I suppose,” I said matter-of-factly.

  He played with the glass in his hands. “Everyone has a different definition of success; mine is to help others. Otherwise, what’s the point?” he said, and I realized—that had been the reason he was so willing to help me. Was I a cause for him? My stomach twisted in knots.

  He continued, “You have to do everything for the right reasons. Or at least try, I suppose.”

  “That’s admirable … You’re making me feel bad.” I turned my eyes to the lights of the city.

  “Why?”

  “Because I feel like my reasons are selfish,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m doing it for the free breadsticks.” I giggled. “I’m insensitive. I’m sorry. It’s amazing what you’re
doing, and I’m just trying to be funny. Good grief, that wasn’t funny.” I placed my glass on the table.

  “You’re trying to be playful because you’re hiding how sad you are.”

  “You think so?” I hadn’t realized that about myself. “Here I was thinking I’m broken...”

  “Nah, people who are broken never admit to it.”

  I noticed how quiet he got. I sat there, watching him focus on a spot in the skyline. I couldn’t help wondering if he was thinking of her, his wife. I hadn’t given her any thought until now. I couldn’t say I was resentful … She was his wife, someone he had promised to spend the rest of his life with; it was tragic. I wanted to know more, about her and their time together. Would he ever give me that privilege?

  “Simon.” I drew his attention back. “I wanted to tell you, I changed my ticket,” I said, placing my glass on the table.

  “Really? So we’ll leave on Wednesday together?” His eyes lit up, declaring the word together like it was a promise. I know I’ve made stupid decisions in the past, but this doesn’t feel like one.

  “You know what this dress is missing?” I said, smoothing out the luxurious fabric with my hands.

  “What?”

  “Pockets—so I could carry stuff.” I peered down at my green chiffon dress.

  “In your case, it might be a good thing.” He gave me a half smile, referencing my stolen purse.

  “Anyway, it’s better I don’t; they would probably be full of dirty tissues and gum wrappers.” I stared at him. He looked so handsome.

  “Men are lucky. They have all these secret compartments in their suit jackets.”

  Simon opened one side of his coat to reveal two pockets on the side. I had felt something in them when I gave it back earlier.

  “What’s in there, anyway?” I asked.

  “You want to know, detective?”

  “Sure, well, you know what they say—you can learn a lot about a man by the content in his pockets.”

  “Is that true?” His eyebrows peaked.

  “It could be.”

  He gave me a curious look, and for whatever reason, he emptied his pockets. Simon laid the items in front of me, but what caught my eye was a gold ring with a blue stone setting. With a gentleness, he placed it on the table, and when he did, the wind picked up. I told myself it was pure coincidence, but the hair on the back of my neck went up, anyway.

  “Okay Mable, what does this tell you about me?” He leaned back in his chair.

  “Well for one, you missed a hell of a party.” I held up the invitation. “Which I can’t understand. Why would you ditch it to come and hang out with a total dork like me?”

  “Dork? No. Don’t feel bad for me. I got to spend time with a real looker and—God, she’s far better company, more than those smug and superficial people there tonight.” He held up his hands. “Look what I would be missing. It’s a beautiful night under the stars; there’s no better place I’d rather be than here with you. Right now, this is the real icing on the cake.” He caught me staring, and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, and my eyes diverted back to the items on the table.

  “Okay next … a wallet.” My hand went to the next object. “Thank you very much, I think I’ll hold on to this.” I winked, pretending to slip it into my dress.

  “Don’t make me come and get it.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” I giggled as I opened his leather wallet.

  “To take back what’s mine? Try me.” He smiled wickedly. I didn’t doubt him, not one bit. I had already seen his license; that was where I’d found out that Walter was his middle name. He had two credit cards, and on the other side of a slot, a picture of a boy and a taller girl in front of a Christmas tree.

  “Who are these cuties?” I held the photo out for him to see.

  “My sister’s kids. My nephew Liam, who’s six, and Abby is eight.” I liked that he carried a picture of them. I smiled to myself. I thought he would make a great father one day.

  “You must be close?”

  “I try to see them as much as possible. A bunch of great kids. The house could get rowdy with the three of us.”

  “I could imagine.” I smiled, but the tenderness faded when my eyes set sights on the next item. The key to the Pandora box. My fingers hesitated to touch the cold metal because of the energy it carried. I held my breath, because I knew what was coming next. I watched Simon leaning in, folding his arms across the table, his eyes focusing on the ring.

  “It belonged to your wife?”

  He nodded, the shade of blue of his eyes darkening with every breath. “It’s Racheal’s wedding band … She died two years ago.” He looked away, leaving the ring where it lay, but I had no intention of picking it up. It was almost sacred, undeserving of my fingerprints, and instead, I reached out my hand to him.

  “Simon, I’m sorry.”

  I hated when people said that, but I did anyway. It’s not a stupid response, but loss is a personal injury. You can imagine what it’s like, but you can never feel the pain for someone else. My heart sank as I continued to see the grief that thrived in his eyes, and he didn’t turn away from me this time. Simon needed me to witness the hurt he’d been holding on to for so long. Maybe he wanted me to watch him fall apart; perhaps he thought I was the cure. The only thing was—I wasn’t. He was broken, and I had no glue. With me, he would only shortchange himself.

  “She was the girl you met on the bus in Nepal?” I asked because I’d been thinking about it for a while, piecing together everything I knew about Simon.

  “Yes. She offered to show me the city, and it changed everything.” He averted his eyes to the night sky.

  “It seems like a start to a perfect love story.”

  “Yep, it was for a while.” He picked the pack of cigarettes off the table and walked over to stand near the railing. I noticed one thing: Simon smoked a lot when he was anxious.

  “The truth is, I can’t stand myself … It’s all my fault. If I had known what impact I would have had on her life, I would never have approached her that day.”

  “You blame yourself?”

  “I do.” He looked out to the open air, then continued. “It wasn’t always perfect. Maybe we married too young, but we wanted to be together. After a while, work picked up, and over time, it was hard to blur the line between my job and my personal life, and Racheal gave me a lot of heat for it. I didn’t know I could be that kind of person. Like my father, you know? A workaholic. I tried for her sake to get it together. But I failed.” He inhaled his cigarette and allowed it to disperse through his lips before speaking again. “Because love should come first, right?”

  “You didn’t fail her, Simon.” I wanted him to understand there was no judgment, only that it was important that he talk about it.

  “But I did, don’t you see? I set the whole thing in motion, but I never thought I wouldn’t have time to make things right … It just tears me apart.”

  “What happened to Racheal?” I swallowed hard, and my eyes blurred with tears, because I knew what was coming next.

  “Hmm, smells great.” I walked into the white kitchen of our West Village apartment to find Racheal cooking up a storm, wearing her lavender cotton pants and a matching top that fell off the shoulders, exposing her white porcelain skin. “But I thought we were going out for breakfast?” I said to her.

  “Yeah, but do you realize we haven’t had brunch together in our new home, like never? I thought this would be nice.” Racheal brought two plates from the counter, placing them on the small wooden table by the window.

  She was right. I was out the door before the sun came up. Making my way to the studio or catching a flight to some location while Racheal lay asleep in our bed. We never had the luxury of starting our mornings together. Racheal was in no hurry, since the custom jewelry shop she owned across town only opened at ten. Now, looking back, she might have felt neglected, but Racheal already knew what she would get into when she married a freelance photographer. My jo
b kept me away from our life together. Every time I came home from a project, I thought I’d have time to spend a few days with my wife. Then I’d get a call for another job, and I’d be off on the next flight out. I took them because I never knew when the next one was coming. I kept telling myself: “a small sacrifice of quality time, but one day it will be all worth the big payoff. When we’re ready to start a family, I will ease off with the rush of work, choose my projects according to my family life.” Someone once told me the meaning of real success is to have success in all parts of life. Love, family, work. I was already failing, because the most important things were taking a back seat. I’d been so tied down with my ambitions that I hadn’t realized what was important to her, what should have been important to me. How we forget the simple things.

  “Yes, it’s perfect.” I smiled, kissing her on the top of her head before taking my place at the table.

  Those olive eyes gazed at me like I’d just gotten home, but I’d been home for three days. She was happy, and knowing that pleased me. We’d gotten married over a year ago in Pennsylvania, where her family was from. We said our vows on an old farm with a pristine view of the countryside. My parents came over from Stralia and my sister from New York; the rest of the guests were mostly her family, whom I had never met before. Racheal was worried we would get rain, but it never came. It was a perfect day.

  “So, what are we doing today?” she asked, moving her long black braid to the side.

  “Whatever you want. I’m all yours,”

  “Oh, whatever I want?” A teasing smile tugged at her pink lips. “Maybe I’ll drag you to the museum.”

  “As you wish. I don’t care where you take me. You know what I’ll be thinking.” I smiled boyishly at her.

  “Well, then, maybe we should stay home.”

  Before I answered, my phone chimed from the counter.

  I knew taking a few weeks off meant I would be losing jobs, but I had to, for Racheal.