Explain what, Anna?
“This sun,” Ross said, “is so strong. I’m glad I wore the SPF 45. Oh, did I tell you I made an appointment to see my friend Jason’s dermatologist? He’s doing some new kind of dermabrasion that’s supposed to make you look ten years younger. If I like this guy maybe you should see him, too.”
“Okay,” I said.
Jack got to his feet and strode off, his back to us. I felt weak with relief. He hadn’t seen us, I was sure of it. I didn’t think he was that good of an actor; I didn’t think he could fake anything at all.
“I think I’m allergic to these lilacs,” Ross said. He wrinkled his nose as if their smell was truly foul.
“They do have a strong fragrance,” I replied, without much sympathy.
“Anna, are we done here? I thought we could stop by that fabulous new furniture store over on Washington before we meet Rob and his date for dinner.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I saw a gorgeous occasional table in the window, and I thought it might go perfectly in the hall to the second bedroom. Ugh. We’re not having lilacs at the wedding, are we?”
I never made it to dinner that night. As soon as we left the furniture store I knew something was wrong. Ross accompanied me back to my apartment, where I immediately got into bed. He went off to meet his brother.
I’d heard enough about migraine symptoms to know the headache was no ordinary tension headache. I wanted to fall asleep, but the pain just wouldn’t let me go. I wanted to pass out. I wanted to die. And all I could do was lie on my bed and wait it out.
Lesson learned: Knowing the pain will eventually go away is no consolation to the sufferer.
55
Analyze This
“So, is the migraine totally gone?” Alexandra asked. We were having dinner at Cobra, yet another new hot spot she’d forced me to try.
“Yes, finally. It lingered for two days. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sick.”
“Poor you. And not even able to take medication.”
I sighed. “Frankly, even if I was allowed to take something I wasn’t well enough to crawl into the bathroom to get it.”
“You should have called me sooner. I know there’s a phone right by your bed. I would have come by.”
“I know. I should have. If there’s a next time—”
“Don’t think about a next time. Anna, my dear, you really need to learn how to think positively. Sometimes you’re downright lugubrious.”
Was I lugubrious? Maybe. “Then,” I said, “you’re not going to want to hear what I’ve been working up the nerve to tell you.”
“Anna,” she said, “I am your friend. I daresay I’m your dearest friend. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”
Who, indeed?
“Do you ever have recurring dreams?” I asked.
Alexandra looked at me over the rim of her martini glass. “Besides the ones I have about Luke and me being torn apart by three-headed Godzilla-like monsters? No.”
Three-headed Godzilla-like monsters? I’d never known anyone whose dreams were actually haunted by monsters, the kind with scales and claws and green skin.
“Oh. Well,” I said, “lately I’ve been having recurring dreams. Not the same exact dreams every night, but they all share similar themes. It’s kind of upsetting me.”
“It shouldn’t,” Alexandra said. “If the constant themes are love and peace and sex with a gorgeous man. But I’m guessing they’re not.”
“Um, no,” I said. “Nothing like that I’m afraid.”
“Go ahead, tell me about them. I’m not a shrink so I probably can’t help you interpret, but I can listen like one.”
“That’s awfully generous of you,” I said sincerely. “Most people are bored to tears listening to someone else’s dreams.”
Alexandra grinned. “I’m in a generous mood. I just got a big job and I’m feeling expansive in every way. Plus, I owe you for all the hours you’ve listened to me go on about my extramarital affair and its extraordinary outcome.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said. “And congratulations on the job.” And then I began.
“Okay, here’s one. I pick up a piece of paper. I know that it’s a printed list of some sort. But I can’t see any of the words. I try really hard to read it, but everything is a blur, nothing is in focus, not even the edges of the paper. At first I’m frustrated, and then I start to panic. I think, ‘I’m going blind!’ but nobody notices that I can’t see or that I’m panicking. And I don’t want them to notice. I don’t want anyone to see that anything is wrong with me or that I need help.”
“Huh,” Alexandra said. “Then what happens?”
“Nothing. I mean, I wake up or the dream just ends.”
Alexandra took another long sip of her drink before saying, “Okay. Is there more?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But this one is horrible, truly disgusting. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Yes. I think. No, go ahead. I’m brave.”
“Well,” I said, watching Alexandra closely for any signs of distress, “in some dreams my mouth is stuffed with a gritty, viscous substance. I don’t know what it is or where it comes from. It’s not like when you’ve got a cold—”
“Oh, ick.” Alexandra grimaced. “Honey, that really is disgusting!”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll stop.”
Alexandra patted my hand. “No, go on. Really. I’m fine. I think you should talk about these dreams. Even if they are disturbing. Especially if they are disturbing. I just won’t order anything gooey tonight.”
Friends. Really, where are we without them?
“Okay,” I said. “If you’re sure. Anyway, this stuff prevents me from being able to talk. I have to scoot away from whomever I’m with, find some private place, and pull the stuff out of my mouth. It comes out in clumps, or sometimes it pulls out like taffy. It always seems endless. I try to find a mirror so I can make sure I get it all out. I don’t want anyone to know this happens to me. It’s so embarrassing. And that’s it.”
Alexandra shook her head as if coming back to life and took a long sip of her martini. “That’s enough,” she said finally. “What a nightmare! Poor Anna. You must wake up in the morning completely exhausted.”
“I wake up completely grateful that it was all just a dream.”
“But still,” Alexandra said. “Maybe you should see a therapist about these dreams. They don’t seem very healthy.”
“Dreams can’t hurt you,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. But of course I didn’t believe that.
Alexandra leaned forward across the table. “Anna,” she said, “the dreams might be an expression of hurt you already feel. Like the dream where you can’t read what’s written on the piece of paper. I think it’s about your trying to communicate. I think it’s about your trying to be part of the world. I think it’s about your trying to see what everyone else is seeing.”
Did that make sense? “Maybe,” I said. “And sometimes I dream about having no voice. Sometimes I’m furious with someone for being cruel to me, and the more I try to scream at this person the less noise comes from my throat until all that’s left of my voice is a scratch.”
“That sounds like a classic frustration dream. You’re trying and trying to do something but nothing is happening. Your efforts are in vain.”
“My efforts are in vain.” I repeated the words as if to try them on, see if they fit. “Anyway,” I said, “sometimes I need to defend myself against a false accusation, and my voice is just gone. And sometimes I need to call out for help; sometimes someone is trying to rape me or stab me. And every time I try to shout, I can’t. Nothing comes out of my mouth but pitiful, strangled gasps.”
“No wonder you’ve got dark circles under your eyes,” Alexandra said.
“I do?”
“You mean you haven’t noticed? Boy, you are in need of a peaceful night’s sleep.”
“I know. So, what
do you think?”
“I think that your dream self is essentially blind and dumb.”
“At least I can hear,” I joked lamely.
“What good is the ability to take in information if you can’t actually put it to use? What good is hearing the question if you can’t give an answer?”
“Do you want to hear about another dream?” I asked, ignoring Alexandra’s rhetorical challenge. “It’s not grotesque.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ve got no place else to be. Tell on.”
“I dream of being alone.” And then I considered. “No, it’s more like I’m unseen or forgotten. I dream that love has passed me by and I just don’t understand how it happened. It’s like maybe I fell asleep and missed something. Do you understand?”
“Not really,” Alexandra said. “Give me something specific.”
“Okay. Well, in one of these dreams I’m at a beautiful tropical resort, and suddenly my dream self remembers that I was at the resort years before with someone. I vaguely recall that the person was someone important, a lover. I remember there was a violent hurricane blowing in. But I can’t remember anything more, and it troubles me. Why can’t I remember my lover’s name or his face? Why can’t I remember what happened to him? Why can’t I understand how I wound up all alone? And then, suddenly, I remember that I’m engaged and that I haven’t been left behind after all. I realize that I haven’t missed my last chance and that I won’t grow old alone.”
“That sounds happy,” Alexandra said.
“But it isn’t happy,” I said. I heard my voice shake. “In the dream I don’t feel happy; I don’t even feel relieved. And then I wake up, and my waking mind says, ‘Anna, you have Ross, you’re not alone,’ and still I feel no comfort or joy in knowing that. I still feel utterly alone.”
I watched Alexandra absorb what I’d told her. “Anna,” she said finally, “dreams are significant. They might be random in one sense but in another sense they’re meaningful. Have you really thought about what these dreams are expressing? In terms of the choices you’ve made. You know, like getting married ...”
Like getting married to Ross. Suddenly, the conversation had gotten too close for comfort.
“Not really,” I said. “Not much. I’m not sure dreams are all that important.”
Alexandra gave a dry little laugh. “If you believed that you wouldn’t have told me all about them.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t jump down my throat when I say this. But maybe the dreams are a product of pregnancy hormones.”
“No,” I said. “I’ve been having these dreams for quite some time now. It’s just that they’ve intensified lately.” Since Ross and I got engaged, I added silently. Since I learned about you and Luke. Since I can’t help but compare Jack to Ross and find my fiancé lacking. Since everything has gotten so complicated.
“That doesn’t reassure me at all,” Alexandra said gloomily.
It didn’t reassure me, either.
56
Necessity
“Who is this Charlie Nestrowitz?”
Ross called me at my office the next day to tell me he was adding someone to the guest list.
“He’s a major player, Anna. Dad’s been watching this guy for a few years now. We’ve finally made a move, and he bit. If we work hard enough we can reel him in before the end of the year.”
Suddenly, I was so tired of Ross’s corporate speak. Mr. Nestrowitz was a human being, not a fish.
“He comes with a wife, I suppose?”
“Of course.”
“And we absolutely have to invite them to our wedding?”
“Yes, Anna,” Ross said, “we have to invite them. Look, it’s not as if we’ve done a seating plan yet. The invitations haven’t even gone out. I don’t understand why you can’t get on board with this.”
On board? Ah, yes, wedding reception as corporate maneuver.
“But I’ve never met him, Ross,” I argued. “It’s not like he’s a friend or someone you’ve worked with for some time. Weddings should be about friends and family. Why can’t you just take him to dinner or to a show?”
“I have taken him to dinner, Anna,” Ross explained patiently. “No doubt Rob and I will take him to dinner a few more times before September. But Dad thinks it’s a tactical move to invite him to a family event.”
Who does Mr. Davis think he is, I thought angrily. A don? He just wants to show off. He wants this Charlie Nestrowitz to see just how much money he has and how everybody adores and idolizes him.
When I said nothing, Ross went on. “Anna,” he said. It sounded as if he were speaking more closely into the phone. “If we get Charlie’s business we’ll be able to sell the loft in less than a year and buy one twice the size. We’ll be able to get an upgrade on the diamond. Trust me, being nice to this guy will pay off in the end.”
I thought, Kissing his ass, you mean. I said, “Fine. Give me his address.”
57
The Introduction
I walked into the restaurant at exactly seven o’clock and scanned the bar. There was a man seated alone at the far end. And although Alexandra hadn’t described Luke in any great detail, I just knew this man was him. My friend’s famous Mystery Lover.
He looked nervous. If he’d been lounging with an arm thrown over the back of his chair and a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, I would have been furious with him.
As it was, I was furious with Alexandra. I’ll kill her, I thought. I’ll kill her for being late and forcing me to spend time alone with this man I don’t know and am not sure I want to know.
You could sneak out, I told myself. He hasn’t seen you yet. You could wait around the corner until Alexandra arrives. Why did you show up on time, anyway? You know she always keeps you waiting!
Too late. The man had seen me and was giving me the same curious but tentative look I was now giving him. I took a breath and walked the length of the bar to where he sat.
“Luke?” I said.
“Anna?” He sounded a bit relieved.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, and extended my hand.
“The pleasure,” he said, taking my hand, “is all mine. Really. I know this must be awkward for you. It certainly is for me. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for being straightforward.”
Luke pulled out a stool for me. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
I ordered a seltzer with lime. And we looked at each other.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I replied.
“There you are!”
I whirled around to see Alexandra striding toward us, all smiles. “Why don’t we sit at this little table? It’ll be easier to talk.”
Luke practically jumped from his stool to greet her. I lowered my eyes as they kissed hello. In a moment we were seated at the table.
“You were late,” I said.
Alexandra grinned. “Luke hates the fact that I’m always late.”
“Twelve minutes late.” Luke and I said it completely in sync.
“He thinks it’s passive-aggressive of me.” Alexandra eyed us both, waiting.
“So do I,” I blurted.
“So why didn’t you ever say anything?” she demanded. “I’ve told you that I think your constantly checking your watch is obsessive–compulsive.”
I smiled brightly and falsely. “Alexandra,” I said, “I think your always being late is passive-aggressive.”
Alexandra nodded, satisfied. “Thank you for sharing your opinion.”
“She has control issues,” Luke stage-whispered to me, and I laughed.
So far so good, I thought.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Luke said when we’d ordered drinks.
“Yes. Thanks.”
“A wedding and a baby. You must be very busy.”
I noted—how could I not?—that Luke hadn’t said I must be very happy. How much had Alexandra told him about my increasingly dis
turbing dreams? How much of her low opinion of Ross had she shared?
“Not much more than usual,” I said lightly.
Alexandra smiled at me blandly. I thought back to when she’d asked me to join them that night. She hadn’t invited Ross. I hadn’t even considered bringing him.
While the lovebirds caught up on their days, I surreptitiously—I hoped—examined Alexandra’s beau.
He’s handsome, I noted, but not perfect. His earlobes are a bit long. When he gets old they’ll be sweeping his shoulders. Okay, his hair is great. And his eyes are dreamy. But he is a bit short for Alexandra. And his laugh is rather loud.
And then I looked at Alexandra’s face and it was like watching Elizabeth Taylor gazing at Richard Burton; Heloise contemplating Abelard; Juliet swooning over Romeo. And I wondered why I was picking apart this man she so totally adored.
Because I wanted to understand why he was so special to my friend. But of course the answers wouldn’t be found only in his appearance. And of course they could only be fully known to Alexandra.
But I could try to see some of what moved her. I needed to because I was still wary of this person who demanded such devotion from someone I had thought so impervious to love.
I wondered, Was Alexandra a weak person because she was in love? Or was she really far stronger than I had ever been? Love required sacrifice; it demanded selflessness; it needed unwavering commitment. Love, I thought, is very, very hard. For Alexandra it had involved years of quiet sacrifice for one unspectacular person. But maybe that’s what true love is all about, I thought. Seeing the spectacular in an average human being and living accordingly for him.
Are we only fully alive when we’re loved?
I suddenly felt parched and took a long drink of water. Sitting there with Alexandra and Luke, I was forced, one again, to face the truth that Ross, the man I was going to marry, the father of my unborn child, was not the great love of my life. And by accepting Ross’s proposal of marriage I’d effectively eliminated my chances for a great love in my future.
That’s okay, I told myself again while the lovebirds cooed on. Over-the-top, erotically charged romance simply isn’t in the cards for you. It’s simply not your fate to experience intense passion. You, Anna, are just one of those women who are unlucky in great love.
Babyland Page 21
