Oliver and Erica

by Desiree Span

  I was allowed to see her and when I walked in she opened her eyes to see who it was. She still looked very sleepy. I took a chair in the room and placed it beside her bed.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she said in a whisper.

  “And I thought you had become ill from secretly eating Parmigiano cheese on the plane,” I joked.

  She almost chuckled, but then held her abdomen in pain. “Don’t... don’t make me laugh,” she said, still weakly.

  “Sorry,” I said, smiling at her. “But this is actually the first time I’ve heard you, sort of, laugh.”

  She looked at me drowsily. “I know people think I’m a bitch at times,” she murmured softly. “And that’s okay with me. But he is my dad, and the only parent I have left. So... I have to look after him.” Her eyes then slowly closed as she dozed off.

  * * *

  Later that night Brandon arrived. He almost smothered me while he hugged me and when he placed a chair beside mine to also sit next to his daughter’s bed, he kept on patting my back and expressing words of gratitude. It was obvious that Claire would have to stay in the hospital for a few more days and though Brandon insisted I went home, I believed it to be proper to stay there until she had at least recuperated somewhat from her operation. Besides, our acquisition was still pending and it was unclear if she wanted to go ahead with the plan of visiting our company.

  But on our fourth day there, it was still unknown when she would be dismissed from the hospital, so I decided to simply ask her what was going to happen next.

  She was sitting up straight in bed, her hair tied neatly in a ponytail, wearing immaculate white silk pajamas. She lay down the magazine she was reading when she saw me enter her room.

  I sat down on the chair Brandon had been living in the past few days. Surprisingly he was nowhere to be seen at that moment.

  “Hi,” I greeted her with a smile.

  She smiled back at me.

  These last three days I had been in the hospital every day, and her attitude toward me had completely changed from when we had first met. The cold and arrogant façade had disappeared, and though she was still demanding and assertive, it was an approach she now reserved solely for the hospital staff or any other stranger we encountered at the hospital.

  “I’m heading back home today,” I said.

  “I know. Dad told me,” she responded.

  “Yes, well,” I started saying carefully. “I was wondering when we will be receiving you as our honorable guest.”

  She folded her hands and looked me straight in the eye. “And I have been wondering when you are going to reimburse me for my shoes?”

  “What?” I hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about.

  “My shoes were lost during the whole hustle and bustle. Do you have any idea how much those Jimmy Choo shoes cost? Who’s going to pay for them?” She blinked a couple of times.

  I looked at her in disbelief.

  She then suddenly burst out laughing, but her laughter quickly turned into “ow, ow, ow” while she grabbed her lower abdomen. “You should have seen your face,” she snickered half in pain.

  “Well, I am glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor,” I chuckled.

  “Yes, I do. But only a few people get to savor that,” she said with a smile. “From here I will be going home and I think I will skip the visit for the time being,” she said, more serious now.

  She must have seen my expression change from playful to worried for she quickly added, “Don’t worry about the acquisition. My father will sign it before you leave today.”

  I nodded in gratitude and made ready to stand up, but she took my hand, pulled me in and gave me a hug.

  “Thank you, Oliver... for everything,” she softly said close to my ear.

  I pulled back to look at her and smiled. “It was my pleasure, Ms. Frey.” I winked at her, stood up and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  ERICA

  2015

  * * *

  “Yes, well we didn’t have the kids right away either. I mean, my father, may he rest in peace, literally knocked on our door and asked us what the holdup was. He said maybe we weren’t doing it the right way,” Fred said and he laughed so loud, the passenger on the other side of the aisle looked up from her magazine in curiosity.

  I grinned and my thoughts drifted back to 2005.

  In 2005 our twins were born, thanks to an anonymous sperm donation. Months before I was due I had the nursery prepared and all the baby clothes washed, folded and put into place... twice... and the birth announcement cards were set to be sent. We were ready to notify all friends and relatives of the expansion of the Van Olst family.

  The only thing we couldn’t agree on were the names. We had made lists, bought books and looked on the Internet for the most popular or unique names, but couldn’t decide. Until Jan mentioned the name Laila. I fell in love with it from that moment on, but it was one down and one to go and we were running out of ideas and time. Jan thought that it was my turn to come up with something so he kind of laid back and left it up to me. By the time I went into labor I still had not made up my mind.

  * * *

  The whole sperm donor procedure is fairly simple if it weren’t for the waiting lists when you decide to embark on the journey of finding an anonymous donor from a sperm bank. Being Jan’s cousin, Ron offered to be our donor, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t want Jan to have to look into the eyes of his children and possibly be reminded of the fact that his cousin had to step in to get his wife pregnant. I was really afraid Jan would regret his resolution of getting me a baby one way or the other, but Jan himself didn’t seem to be bothered by any of these thoughts. He was secure and confident, and his only mission seemed to be to try and make me happy.

  * * *

  Laila was first. Her little lungs filled with air and then she gave a strong howl, protesting loudly against the cold and alien atmosphere she was forced into. Then came her baby sister, soundless and composed. She looked straight at me and immediately found the comfort of her thumb. And while she suckled contently I blinked away tears of happiness and the perfect name came to my mind: Olivia. And it turned out her name fit her like a glove. She was pensive and much quieter than Laila, and she had a wise expression in her face as if she had seen it all before and had come to this world for a second time. She was sensitive, yet rational, and once you captivated her heart she would go through fire for you.

  I never told Jan how I had come up with the name and he never asked, which was a good thing because for some reason, I can’t completely explain to myself, I had chosen to not share the specifics of my Oliver story with him in the past. What he knew was that I had been in love before and that that person had hurt me immensely; thus, I hadn’t want to elaborate then, nor had I any intention of doing so now.

  * * *

  With the girls’ arrival, life became hectic. Jan was still working the extra hours, so most of the care of the twins fell upon me, which left me with little time to really focus on painting or anything else for that matter. I tried to combine the wife/mom/entrepreneur artist thing, but my days were completely taken over by Laila and Olivia. Like any first-time mother, I felt exhausted and insecure, but as months progress you grow into being a mother, and before you know it you’ve become a professional juggler—practically feeding, burping and changing diapers all at once, and with lightning-fast reflexes.

  * * *

  I guess it was during this period in my life that Oliver faded into the background. I muffled him away to the point that he only existed as an extra in my dreams — a speechless secondary character whose presence is not relevant for the plot of my story. Every now and then a recollection of us swimming in the lake or us hanging out in the treehouse would pop into my mind and make me smile. And on occasion I would quickly wave away the thought of his baby blue eyes or his warm mouth kissing my neck softly.

  It
wasn’t that I forgot he existed, but I was too busy enjoying my family to really ponder about him and actually I just didn’t want to anymore. I had chosen to be happy with Jan and the family we’d created, and that was only possible by cutting the memory of Oliver out of my brain and ripping him out of my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  OLIVER

  2005

  * * *

  After traveling to and fro several times and finalizing the acquisition, it was time for me to definitely transfer to Texas. During Claire’s acute appendicitis, Brandon and I had gotten to know each other quite well, so when I arrived in Texas he took it upon himself to help me settle in. I figured that now that he was retired he was in need of a “new project,” and that would be me.

  He received me cordially and even had his chauffeur drive him to the airport to personally pick me up. He then refused for me to take a room at a hotel and insisted I stay in his guest house while I found an apartment to rent.

  After I settled in he called often and regularly invited me to his house for dinner parties or to play golf, and he introduced me to many of his friends at the country club, which he funded. And after a while somehow we went from, “Larry! I here present you Oliver. The man who took over my company”, to “Larry, I here present you Oliver. He’s like the son I never had.” Over the months the man had kind of grown on me, so I didn’t mind.

  Brandon was a prominent member of the high society and was invited to all the main socialite events. At the beginning he would take me to those happenings, but after a while I started receiving my own personalized invitations. Claire was at most of these gatherings. She ensured I didn’t ignore those invitations by dragging me to them herself or sending their chauffeur for me at my new apartment. She would then receive me with a kiss and hug and present me to her circle of friends and the ten or dozen acquaintances we should encounter throughout the evening. I would stick around for a moment but would soon get bored with their chitchat, and I’d then excuse myself to reunite with another circle, whose conversation seemed more interesting, at least from afar. And this is how in a short time I got to know many people, some of whom I would later call friends myself.

  After our “bonding days” in the hospital, the dynamics between Claire and me had changed. I saw her differently now and I suppose this was the same for her. The outside world still had to deal with a bossy and difficult-to-please Claire, but her inner circle knew she was charming, caring and fiercely protective of her loved ones. This was the Claire I got to know very well.

  The contrasts between her and Erica were like black and white, and though comparing is neither fair nor appropriate I couldn’t help paralleling these two women, who in fact were so different in every single way. Erica was likeable and passionate and she didn’t play games; whether you liked it or not, with her what you saw was what you got. Claire’s demeanor was distant and cold on the surface, as she completely masqueraded the sweetness she actually had inside. This made her a more complex person, which I somehow found very intriguing.

  Claire and I had an interesting relationship. I would deliberately push her buttons and tease her and she would cleverly outwit me and put me in my place. From afar it would look like we were constantly bickering, but we both knew it was only playing.

  * * *

  For Brandon’s seventy-something birthday Claire organized a lavish surprise party for him at the Roxford Grand Hotel, an exclusive place with an equally exclusive price tag. I heard that one night in the luxury penthouse suite was the equivalence of a month’s rent of a standard family home. The invitation card in itself was elegant and tasteful and gave an impression of what to expect, but all I could think of was that inevitably I would have to rent a tuxedo for the occasion.

  On the night of the party I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up I realized how late I was and hastily made way to the hotel. I seemed to arrive just after the birthday speech and toast had concluded. Brandon was standing on this big podium, while Claire and his other children made way for friends and family to congratulate him. As Claire came down from the podium, still holding a glass of champagne, the band started playing, and upbeat jazzy music filled the air. She spotted me and while she walked over, she noticed my hands were empty and took a flute of champagne off the tray of a waiter passing by. She handed me the flute and we clinked our glasses together for a small toast, before taking a sip.

  “Congratulations,” I said.

  “You’re late,” she replied. “Dad has been asking where you are.” She frowned in her usual reprimanding way.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized and gave her a charming little smile; melting her frown away.

  “So, what do you think?” she then asked while gesturing to our surroundings.

  “You did a wonderful job. It must have cost Brandon a fortune,” I said jokingly.

  “Mmmh, it sure did.” She nodded and smiled.

  “Dance with me,” she then said. She took the flute out of my hand and placed it beside hers on a random table we passed by, as she led me toward the dance floor. She placed one of my hands on her waist and took the other in her own. We moved graciously between the other dancing couples and she followed my lead effortlessly, despite me being absolutely no dancing expert. I spun her around two times and she laughed heartily. Then the music changed rhythm and she pulled me in closer and rested her head on my chest while we were slow dancing.

  We danced for a while, but then she pulled her head back slightly and looked up to study my face.

  “Are you gay?” she suddenly asked, while we were still swaying to the music.

  “No,” I said unruffled, already used to her blunt questions.

  “Are you celibate?” she then asked, placing her head on my chest again.

  “No,” I answered again. I didn’t bother asking what she was getting at, for by now I knew it was her dramatic way of wanting to say something. What this was would soon enough be evident.

  She looked up at me again. “Impotent?” she said raising one eyebrow.

  I laughed. “Everything works fine,” I said smiling.

  “Then why aren’t you married, or at least seeing someone?” she wanted to know.

  “Who says I’m not seeing anyone?” I said, returning her question.

  “Everyone knows you are the most desired bachelor in the State of Texas,” she said.

  “I am?” I chuckled.

  She clicked her tongue in disapproval and lightly slapped me on the arm.

  “I’m serious, Oliver,” she scolded. “Come, let’s sit.” And again she took me by the arm and pulled me off the dance floor to a nearby table that was not occupied.

  “If none of my prior questions apply... then who was she?”

  “Who was who?” I asked, knowing perfectly well what she meant.

  “Who was the woman that broke your heart?” she asked, growing impatient.

  I evaded her question and fixed my eyes on the crowd in the ballroom.

  “Oliver? Am I making you uncomfortable?” she said with a teasingly amused smile. She started picking at some fruit on a silver plate in front of her.

  “Why do you always insist on prying?” I asked, taking a grape from the plate and popping it into my mouth.

  “I’m not prying — I’m just curious.” She was still smiling.

  I sighed and knew she wouldn’t let this go until she had a satisfying answer.

  “Her name is Erica,” I said, giving in. “We grew up together.”

  Claire shoved the fruit plate aside and enthusiastically clasped her hands together. She leaned in and her eyes grew wide with excitement as if I was about to tell her the gossip story of the year.

  “Go on,” she said.

  I chuckled at her eagerness. “Well, Erica and I were very close friends and then in college we started a relationship, which unfortunately she ended after I... well, screwed up.”

  “What did you do?” she asked sternly.

  And then I told her the
whole story, from beginning till end. Of how I had met Erica and how we had struggled to transition from friends to lovers and then finally how I had lost the love of my life. I saw her hold in her breath and swallow when I told her of the death of my baby Joey. She listened attentively, without interrupting once, and by the time I was done she had taken my hand in sympathy.

  “Do you still love her?” Claire then asked.

  I hesitated for a split second. “No. It was a long time ago,” I then said determined.

  At that moment one of Claire’s sisters, Tamara, walked by our table carrying her two-year-old, who in spite of the noise had fallen asleep.

  “You two make the most adorable couple,” she said smiling and it immediately lightened the mood.

  Claire let go of my hand. “You think?” she asked playfully and turned to me.

  “Nope, I’m too scruffy for her taste,” I grinned.

  “And he’s not really into redheads,” Claire added.

  Tamara laughed. “Well, ya’ll can go about it as a challenge then,” she replied with thick southern accent. She then winked at us and walked off, rocking her little girl, who was still sleeping peacefully.

  Claire observed me for a moment while I was still entertained with the grapes from the fruit plate. Then, as if making up her mind, she asked, “Are you up for the challenge?”

  “Why? Are you asking me out?” I responded with a smile.

  “Maybe,” she said. “If you dress up nicely I might even take you out for dinner,” she smiled back at me.

  “Will it be someplace where I get to order meat?” I chuckled.

  “Don’t push it. You can pick me up tomorrow at seven and don’t you dare be late!” she said, shaking a finger at me.