Chambers of Desire: Opus 1

by Sophie Moreau

  I woke with a start, sun streaming into the room, the dinner from last night barely touched. There was an inexplicable uneasiness in the pit of my stomach, the taste of panic at the back of my tongue. What time was it? Ten a.m. Oh, my God, I’d slept for eleven hours. For the first time in the last week, reality came crashing down. Brandon is dying. What if he’s already gone?

  How could I have been so stupid as to sit there on the bed? I must have lain down; of course, I fell asleep. I should have set an alarm just in case. Why did I even leave in the first place? I should have just waited in the lobby. My feet pounded down the hospital corridors echoing loudly in time with each heavy breath.

  Sweat trickled down my neck as I turned the handle to Brandon’s room, dreading what I might find. Through squinted eyes, I saw his bed empty, curtains opened, filling the room with an unfamiliar glow. For a split second, my heart swelled—he must have improved! He didn’t need the ICU anymore! But the dread followed fast behind, something in my mind whispering, not that fast. He couldn’t have gotten better that fast. If he’s not here, then he’s…

  I stepped out into the hall and stopped the first nurse that passed. “Where is he?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer. “Where’s Brandon?”

  The nurse, one I recognized from her frequent visits, took me gently by the elbow and steered me back into the room. “Just tell me,” I said, shaking her off. “Tell me. Where is he?” I began to feel nauseous. Dark spots appeared in my vision.

  She sat on the empty bed, motioning for me to sit down beside her. “He died early this morning, Sabrina. You’re very pale; you should sit.”

  “No,” I said. To both the order to sit and to Brandon dying. Just no. “No,” I repeated. “He opened his eyes, remember? He was getting better. There must be some mistake.”

  She shook her head firmly, but her voice was very kind. “There’s not a mistake, Sabrina,” she said, and I wished she’d stop saying my name. You don’t know me! I wanted to say childishly. You don’t know Brandon! He can’t be dead! “I was here,” she continued. “There just wasn’t anything else we could do. He was not improving, as much as you wanted to hope so.”

  “Oh, my God,” I said, finally sitting down. She took one of my hands in her cool, calloused ones. “Why did I leave?” I cried, my voice breaking as the tears came. “I was supposed to stay with him. He was alone.” I sobbed as she put an arm around my shoulders.

  “His family was here. He was ready, dear,” she said quietly. “Sometimes, that’s just the way it is. You couldn’t have done anything to change it.”

  I cried harder. I could have done everything to change it. I could have forgiven him sooner. I could have talked to him more in New York. I could have calmed him down. I should have called when my mother said he’d come to say good-bye. Now, I can’t do anything.

  She rubbed my back as I sobbed quietly, letting the reality of his death consume me. I’d never cried so hard. When the tears finally ran dry, I felt empty, exhausted. Depleted. The nurse stayed by my side until the sobs stopped racking my body. “Shhh,” she murmured. “You need to get some rest. Some real rest. I know it’s difficult to realize now, but this last week was a gift. It was time for everyone to say his or her goodbyes. I’m sure that your being here with him helped. “Many patients don’t have someone to do that for them. You watched over him. Now, you need to take care of yourself.”

  I nodded and stood, feeling slow, heavy, and strange. I don’t remember leaving the hospital or the cab ride back to the hotel, only slowly taking off my clothes, dropping them listlessly on the cold bathroom tiles. Steam seeped from the shower, filling the room with a humid haze. The water burned my skin, scalding it until it became pink and swollen. I curled in the tub of the shower, letting the hot rain beat against my back, releasing another torrent of tears. I cried for Brandon and his family. I cried for me and for Calvin. I cried for all the things I wished were different. I cried until there was nothing left.

  When I got out, I wrapped myself in the oversized hotel towel and curled into bed, where I drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke six hours later, groggy but tranquil. The nurse had been right; I'd said everything I wanted to say to Brandon, said good-bye a hundred different ways.

  After some soul searching, I decided not to go to the funeral. I’d made my peace with Brandon, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else at the funeral would be comforted by my presence.

  The phone rang. I let it ring for a bit, hoping whoever it was would just hang up, but when the insistent buzz kept going, I answered.

  “Hello?” My voice sounded flat, even to me. Wooden.

  “Hi, Sabrina? It’s Donna.”

  “Donna? Oh my god. Hi,” I answered, surprised. I wondered why in the world she’d be calling me now, when her nephew had just broken up with me.

  “Hi. honey. I know it’s a little odd for me to be calling you right now, but there’s some things I need to say to you.” She sounded serious.

  “Oh...okay.” I was worried she’d start berating me for what happened with Calvin. It was all my fault. She’d be right. But I know it would hurt to hear it from Donna, who was so nice to me when we first met, back when things were good. Actually, it hurt just to think about how it was then.

  “Okay. Listen. I know what happened with you and Cal. I’m not calling to blame you, honey,” Whew. I breathed a sigh of relief. “I just want to give you some advice. I’ve had a lot of experience dealing with Calvin when he’s being stubborn. And he’s being stubborn.”

  “I know,” I said quietly. A little too well, actually.

  “Good. Do you remember what I said about those defenses he has? He has them because he’s vulnerable underneath them, and he’s afraid to let anyone see that. The last time he cared about anyone as much as he cares about you, well... you know what happened. The more he loves someone now, the more he pushes them away.”

  “Oh. I don’t know about that, Donna.” It sounded too good to be true: that the reason he’d checked out emotionally was because he cared too much. I didn’t want to be naive anymore. I’d let too many people make a fool out of me already. But Donna had always been so kind to me, and deep down I knew my trust in her wasn’t misplaced.

  “I knew this would happen, from the moment he brought you home to me. Sabrina, he’s never done that before. With anyone. He was bound to panic, sooner or later. That’s why I said what I said that day: you are going to have to fight for him. It isn’t going to be easy. But I promise you, it will be worth it.”

  I felt tears pricking my eyes. I wanted so much to believe her. But what if I fought, just to be rejected some more?

  As if Donna had heard my thoughts, she said, quietly, “You just keep fighting, honey.”

  She was right. I knew that what Cal and I had was love, and you fight for love. Until you can’t fight anymore. I let a few tears roll down my cheeks, but I knew that they would be my last, for the time being. I needed to be strong now.

  “Thank you, Donna. I will.”

  “I hope so. God, men must be the densest creatures on this earth. And Cal, genius though he may be, is the densest of them all.”

  I let myself smile through my tears. “He probably is, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, definitely. You picked yourself a dumb one, girl.” We both laughed.

  “Okay, Sabrina. You remember what else I said, too: you are always welcome at my house. Even if my fool nephew doesn’t wake up and get wise, you come back and see me sometime soon.”

  “I will, Donna. And I will take your other advice, too. Thank you for calling me.”

  “No problem. Good luck, honey. Bye now,” she said.

  “Bye,” I replied, hanging up the phone. I wiped away my tears, and tried to steel myself for the battle ahead.

  I couldn’t stay in Dallas and now, that Brandon was gone, I had no reason to. My dream of transferring to NYU and buying my own apartment nestled in the heart of the city was still alive. It was less important now, seem
ed far off and fuzzy, but there was nothing else. I knew, even if I couldn’t feel it right now, that this fog would lift, that dancing would be important to me again. Right now, I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, moving in the right direction.

  ***

  As I slid into the back of the cab at JFK, I planned to have the cab driver take me back to the Gansevoort, but when I opened my mouth, I heard myself give him Calvin’s address. It popped out without thought, as if the words had been waiting to escape. I knew I should correct myself, spare myself the pain and heartache, but I couldn’t. I needed to know, for sure. I couldn’t handle leaving things the way they were, so unfinished.

  The ride to his estate was agonizing. I had no idea what to say because, well, he was the one who had run away. Saying come back because “I love you” wouldn’t help unless he’d come to his senses, and if he had, why hadn’t he at least called? But I had to go; I knew that. I had to say something or hear him spell it out for me: “I don’t love you, Sabrina.” I needed closure.

  “Can you wait here?” I asked the cab driver. He nodded.

  Now that I was out of the car, now that I was here, I knew I had to do this right. I had to get Calvin to listen, not shut down. To see that this was worth it. That what we had wasn’t something you just ran out on.

  There was no answer when I rang the doorbell. Twice, three times. After the fourth time, I began to rap at the bay windows—tap, tap, tapping loudly.

  The front door flew open, and Calvin’s head security guard stood on the porch. We stared at each other in silence for a moment.

  He sighed. “You need to leave, Ms. Clarke,” he said quietly. His tone wasn’t aggressive, but there wasn’t room for argument. Not that that stopped me.

  “Please,” I begged. “I need to see Calvin. Can you tell him I’m here?”

  His face remained expressionless. “Mr. Chambers is unavailable at the time. You need to leave,” he repeated.

  “Can you at least tell me if he’s home?” I pleaded. “I just need five minutes.” I hated how desperate I sounded, but it wasn’t going to go down like this. Have some dignity, Sabs, the inner voice started. Fuck dignity, I snapped back at myself internally.

  He wasn’t going to hide from me. If it was over, I needed an explanation. And I knew, just knew, he was close. Just beyond those doors. If he weren’t, the guard would have said so to get rid of me faster.

  “Calvin!” I screamed over the shoulder of the guard. “Calvin, I need to talk to you!”

  The security guard stepped out of the house and took my arm, leading me off the porch. “Ms. Clarke.” His tone was brusque, stony. Any sympathy he’d had evaporated. “I’d rather not call the police for trespassing.”

  “Calvin!” I yelled again into the open door. “Please!” The tears flowed down my cheeks, unchecked and humiliating.

  I trailed off, looking at his guard pleadingly. “Please. I know he’s there. Does he know I’m here, at least? Does he even know I’m here? If he doesn’t, can you just tell him? I’ll wait here; I promise. I’ll be quiet. Please, just tell him I’m here.”

  His eyes softened, and I thought for a minute that he was going to let me in. Then, he shook his head. “You need to remove yourself from the property immediately, Ms. Clarke, or I will be forced to call the police and have you removed.”

  I opened my mouth, but realized there was nothing else I could say. I shut it again, nodded, and stepped away from him, holding up my hands.

  “All right,” I said. “OK, I get it.” I turned and walked back to the cab. The security guard walked along with me.

  “Ma’am,” he said as I got in. “He will know you came by, OK?” He pities me, I thought. I wonder whether I’m the first one of Calvin’s lovers to do this… probably not.

  I shrugged. “Thanks,” was all I said. I didn’t trust my voice, didn’t trust myself not to break down.

  The cab driver looked at me sympathetically as I climbed back into the car. "Where to now, miss?" he asked. As if I had a clue.

  "Back to the city." I'd never checked out of the Gansevoort, so it seemed like the most logical place to start. I could unpack, rest, figure out how to move forward. But really, the truth was I had no idea where I was going or how I was going to rebuild the pieces of my life. So much for the new life with Calvin I’d imagined. I was just going to have to do this myself.

  As soon as I got back to my hotel room, I knew I had to get back out. I felt suffocated by its familiar walls, the perfectly made bed. The memories of getting ready, ready to see Calvin, of lying awake thinking of him… I couldn't just sit here, memories ricocheting around the room like bullets waiting to pierce my heart. I tossed my bags down and backed out of the room.

  I found myself back on the street, walking the streets, just trying to keep moving, hoping for inspiration. I saw the Met from a distance and changed direction. Reliving that night wasn’t going to help me now.

  Daylight began to fade as I found myself on Fifth Avenue, comforted by the women in pearls and Jimmy Choos, lips perfectly painted. Nothing here reminded me of Calvin. When I walked by the Chanel store and felt the familiar tug, the nagging voice urging me inside, I didn’t turn my back. Instead, I slowed to a stop in front of their glass display to admire the mannequin’s gauzy dress, her beaded headpiece. I loved the purple fabric, draped in front, barely skimming the skin. I knew exactly what it’d feel like when I’d rub my hand against it, silky and whisper thin.

  I wanted it, needed it. And why couldn’t I have it? Didn’t I deserve it after what happened? Losing the only two men who’d ever loved me within days of each other. I didn’t have the will to fight the desire, crumbling and pushing through the heavy glass door, smiling broadly at the salesgirl. I’d do it right this time, no sloppy mistakes or amateur oversights. Why not? I had nothing to lose, no one to disappoint. And if I slipped up, so what if I spent the next ten years behind bars, locked out of sight? Who would miss me?

  There was no internal struggle this time. No sick feeling, no anxiety. I just didn’t care. The compulsion felt good. Familiar. Brandon was gone. My parents hated me. Calvin was gone. No one to comfort me. But this, this gave me some comfort. And I didn’t care how stupid it was. I’d take my comfort wherever I could find it right now.

  My eyes landed on the dress rack in the front of the store. That’s it. That’s what the mannequin is wearing. It called to me. I lifted the hanger off the rack and draped it over my arm, ready to disappear into the dressing room.

  I jumped when a strong hand clasped my shoulder. What the fuck? I hadn’t even gone to change yet; how the hell could the security guard—I whirled around, suddenly ready for a fight.

  But it wasn’t a security guard or salesperson. It was Du Cheval. I almost cried just from the relief of seeing a friendly face. Does he hate me now too? I wondered. Who knows how Calvin explained my absence. I could see, right away, however, that he didn’t. He smiled slightly as I recognized him.

  “Doing a bit of shopping, Ms. Clarke?” he asked.

  “Um,” I said with a nervous laugh. I was sure he knew I wasn’t shopping. “No, just looking. What are you…?”

  He gently took the dress from my hands and replaced it on the rack. “Let’s go outside and speak for a moment,” he said.

  I followed him out, my arms crossed over my ribs, head down. This probably isn’t good, I thought. Maybe Calvin felt sorry enough about me coming to send Du Cheval to do his breaking up for him.

  We sat on a bench outside the store. “Spit it out, already,” I said.

  Du Cheval winced—at the vulgar phrasing, I’m sure.

  I smiled at his primness. “Sorry,” I said, “None of this is your fault. I just want to get it over with. What did he send you to tell me?”

  “Oh,” he said, understanding flashing across his face. “No, it’s not like that. Mr. Chambers is here to speak with you himself—”

  I stood, looking around frantically. “Here? Why?” I was
n’t sure if I’d run to him or run away, but I was ready to run.

  Du Cheval stood with me. “He sent me because he wasn’t certain you’d want to speak to him… he didn’t want to surprise you on the street.”

  I realized after a moment that he was waiting for me to say something. And I realized that I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I didn’t think I could take any more rejection, even in the name of closure. But this isn’t something you just run away from, I thought. I took a breath and closed my eyes.

  “OK. OK. I’ll talk to him. And also, thanks for standing up to Calvin for me.”

  Du Cheval didn’t say anything. I opened my eyes, wondering what else I had to do, and there was Calvin. Du Cheval was gone without a trace.

  I couldn’t speak. I’d thought of him so much, but memories were nothing compared to the reality of having him here in front of me. I frantically searched his eyes for some clue, some hint of what he was thinking. But they were dark and impenetrable. “I was at the office when you came by the house. My head of security called to tell me what happened as soon as you left. I had him follow you. I didn’t want to startle you, so I enlisted Du Cheval, and… well, here I am.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Here you are.” I knew I sounded strange, my voice nearly a whisper, my face blank. I was just trying to be ready to hear whatever it was he was going to say. I’d forgotten how to hope since Brandon died, since the guard had turned me away.

  “Brandon?” he asked.

  “Dead,” I said shortly. “I stayed till… well, I stayed with him, but he died when I was at my hotel.” I shut my mouth. I wasn’t going to ramble; it was too dangerous with all these emotions brewing.

  “Fuck,” Calvin breathed angrily, touching his hand to his temple. “When?”

  “Yesterday.” A single tear forged a path down my cheek.

  His anger dissipated, and his face fell, a sadness seeping into his features. “I’m so sorry, Sabrina. I’m so sorry.”