Remember This

by Patricia Koerner

  Pete, once we told him that I was a musician and John was an actor with some stage experience, tried to convince us to stay on with them and become teachers at their school. It was an intriguing idea, but in the end John and I had to politely decline. We cited other commitments, but truthfully, it wasn’t quite the future either of us had envisioned for ourselves.

  Continuing on the following day, we were just outside of Blanding, Utah around dusk, when the group picked up another hitchhiker, an Indian man who said his name was Ted. He asked us for a lift to Flagstaff. He was quite drunk and kept trying to tell us about his recent gall bladder operation, but he kept losing track and starting over. Finally, we just stopped listening to him. I doubt he noticed because he kept right on talking. About ten or so miles south of the Arizona border, near Page, I think, Ted insisted we let him out. John and I were concerned because it was quite late by then and we were in the middle of the desert. John even asked Ted if he was sure this was where he wanted out, but Ted insisted this was it. He got out and half walked, half staggered off towards the west. I looked outside and saw nothing but sand in all directions as far as I could see and no light but the moon. Karen assured us that Ted would be all right, that this was the Navaho Indian reservation we were on and that Ted probably lived somewhere nearby and knew exactly where his hogan was. John and I shrugged our shoulders, figuring Karen must know. We watched Ted move further on for a minute or so, and then Pete drove off.

  When we reached Kayenta, Arizona, the group was almost out of money and decided to put on a little impromptu music concert to raise funds for gas and food. John and I offered to buy some supplies as we still had travelers’ checks left. The others gratefully accepted our offer, but still wanted to put on the concert anyway to raise additional money. We found a likely spot in what seemed to be the town’s only park and set up. Melissa, Bill’s wife, made jewelry and brought out some of it to sell. Pete and Bill played guitars, and Karen the autoharp. Gary was the drummer and I watched as he brought out his bongo and conga drums and a kind of drum I had never seen before. It looked rather like a large tambourine, but without the cymbals and one beat it with a stick. Gary told me that it was called a tar, and that it was Middle Eastern. John picked up the bongos and beat out a couple of rhythms. I was impressed at how good he was and so was Gary. So, John and Gary did the drumming and Maria played the tambourine and Lexie had a set of finger cymbals, which they called zills, also Middle Eastern. Since there was no piano or other keyboard for me to play, I thought I’d have to sit it out. They played several compositions written by Bill and then some Beatles and Doors songs. I soon got itchy feet and got up and just started dancing. Pretty soon, passersby came to watch and a few even joined me in the dancing. I encouraged this because I noticed that most of those who danced also put a little something in the donation jar.

  At the end of our little concert, we had enough for food and gas to get us to the Grand Canyon. Later, when we had reached a campground, John and I went to shower. As we were getting clean clothes from our suitcases in the van, I told him how impressed I was with his drumming skill. He was surprised. “What? You didn’t think I learned anything from my Dad?”

  “You never told me he had taught you so well.” I grabbed the collar of his shirt. “You’ve been holding out on me, Mister.”

  “And you’ve been holding out on me,” he said, pulling me close to him and nuzzling my cheek and neck. “I never knew you could dance so sexy. That’s why all those people came to watch and dance. They wanted to see you and dance with you. He turned and locked all the van doors. “And you’ve gotten me really turned on.”

  By the time we got back to where the group was cooking dinner, the sunlight was staring to dim and I suddenly realized how famished I was. “That was sure a long shower, you two,” Karen remarked as she turned the meat on the grill. “I hope you left some water for the rest of us.”

  The Grand Canyon was magnificent – the colors, reds, oranges, yellows; the sheer size of it. Both John and I were awed. It was unlike anything we’d ever seen. Looking down from the North Rim, it seemed to go on forever. We all rented donkeys and took the trip down. It took a couple of hours for the whole tour and my backside got sore, but it was worth every minute. I managed to get some excellent photos to show Greg and Cindy when we got back.

  That night, though, things began to go wrong. The women of the group weren’t very good cooks, but we let it pass because they had let us tag along with them and were so kind to us. I also suspect that they were casual about cleaning. Whatever it was, John and I began to feel quite sick with nausea and soon, diarrhea. Melissa and Pete also didn’t feel well, but it hit John and me the hardest. By morning, we both were in terrible shape. Lexie, bless her little heart, sat with us for a while near the rest rooms in case we needed anything. We had her get us some 7UP and that helped to settle our stomachs. We decided it was time to start home. We asked the group to take us to Flagstaff, where we stayed in a hotel for the rest of that day and night until we felt we could travel again. They felt uncomfortable leaving us, but we assured them we would be OK. Before they left, we gave them our address and got theirs. I really liked these people in spite of what I saw as their … idiosyncrasies … and I wanted to keep in touch with them. I did, for several years until apparently they split up and went their separate ways, most of them away from the Denver area. I lost track of them then, but I’ve always remembered them fondly.

  John and I had originally planned to take a different route back to New York so we could see more of the country, but in light of the fact that we were still a little sick and that we were behind our schedule, we just took the quickest way. It still took us two whole days and half of a third. As we crossed the GWB, I was glad and sad at the same time to come to the end of our little adventure. Rusty was certainly glad to see us back. We missed him too and spent extra time that evening cuddling and petting him. A few days later, I noticed some books in our room from the public library. Among them were The Way of Zen and Nature, Man and Woman by Alan Watts.

  I went back to work after Memorial Day and John got another part. This play, a comedy set in Hawaii, was more successful than the last and ran all summer. At the end of the run, the director told John that he gave an impressive performance and offered to put him in touch with an agent in Los Angeles. The director felt that John had potential for work in films and TV and he would have a better shot at real success there. Meanwhile, I had auditioned for the New York Philharmonic and was waiting for an answer. After some consideration, John decided to take the director up on his offer and go to Los Angeles to try his luck. I wasn’t pleased with the idea of us being separated. Neither did I want to stand in his way, so I began planning to move with him.

  Late one afternoon around this same time, it was my turn to cook dinner for all of us and I was checking the cabinet to see what we had on hand. I noticed the bag of cat food on the shelf and decided to feed Rusty before I forgot. When I stepped out onto the fire escape, I saw that his food dish was still full. Greg and Cindy were in the living room, so I went in and asked if either of them had fed Rusty that day. “No,” Greg said, looking up from the TV. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen ol’ Rust Bucket for a couple of days. Honey, have you seen him?” he asked Cindy.

  “No, not since I let him out last night.” She got up from the sofa. “I’ll go out back and check around.” I returned to kitchen and resumed preparing dinner. After about ten minutes, Cindy returned. She shook her head and said, “Not a sign of him anywhere.” When John got home some time later, I asked him if he’d seen Rusty and got pretty much the same answer.

  In the year we had him, I had become quite attached to our Rusty. Now, I was becoming anxious; I just knew something was wrong. I insisted that John come with me to look for him. We checked all around our block, looking down all the alleys and behind the buildings. We then moved to the block just east of ours. At the entrance to an alley, I spotted what looked like ginger fur on t
he ground next to a garbage can. When I got closer, I recognized the bull’s eye markings on his right side. I knew then it was Rusty. His poor body was crushed and bloody. Obviously, he had been run over by a car. I broke into tears, thinking about him suffering for who knew how long before he died. John, almost as if he could read my mind, said, “He couldn’t have lived after that. He probably died instantly.” John then took some clean newspaper out of the garbage can and gently wrapped Rusty’s body in it. For a few minutes, he stood, cradling the bundle to his chest before placing it in the garbage can. “I was trying to think of a place we could bury him, but I can’t. We’ll have to leave him here.”

  “No!” I cried at the thought of leaving Rusty in a garbage can.

  “But we have no choice,” said John. I couldn’t think of a place, either. “Come on.” He took me gently by the arm. We walked home in grim silence. The four of us barely touched our dinner that night.

  A few days later, I got a letter from the Philharmonic informing me that I had been chosen for the pianist position. There was also a contract for the 1974-1975 season which I was to sign and return to make it official, plus other instructions. While I was thrilled at this good news, it also served to complicate the situation for John and me. We now had to decide if one or the other of us would walk away from a golden opportunity or if we would separate and live on opposite coasts. I wanted John to stay in New York. After all, the offer from the Philharmonic was a sure thing whereas there was no sure thing waiting for John in Los Angeles. He insisted on trying, however, and after a few tearful quarrels, we agreed that we would give it a year. After a year, if he didn’t succeed in California, he’d return to New York. If he did succeed, I’d join him there as soon as my contract was up. He left on the last day of September. I went with him to the airport and watched his plane take off. I stood there watching long after the plane was out of sight. I can’t tell you how long it was before I finally turned around and went home.

  7

  Present day (April 26th):

  Hannah was out on her balcony potting the flowers she had bought that morning when the phone rang. It was Matty. “I just had a call from Mark Hobson, John’s lawyer. He says that he will send you the ring in return for a guarantee from you that you won’t bring suit against him or his firm over the pictures and letters getting onto the internet. That’s all he wants. He says no payment is necessary.”

  “I’m not interested in punishing him. Far more important to me is getting that ring back.”

  “He wants it in writing, signed by you though, before he’ll send it.”

  “Draw up a document for me and fax it here if that will work. Give Paula a hug and kiss for me, OK? And Matty … thank you, son.”

  After hanging up, Hannah returned to her potting. When the last plant was in its pot, she rose from her knees and looked with satisfaction at her work. Geraniums, pansies and petunias popped with bright color against the grey stone balcony and wall. She looked forward to spending time out here this spring and summer, eating her meals, enjoying a tall glass of iced tea or a cocktail. As she went back inside to clean up, she noticed that it was past noon. She had a one o’clock appointment with two friends, former colleagues from Columbia. Every two or three months, the three got together for lunch, “girl talk” and catching up on each others’ news. The last such luncheon was before John died. Hannah wasn’t sure if she wanted to go, but decided to anyway. She had realized that she missed her friends and wanted to see them. Arriving at the restaurant just on time, she felt began to feel uneasy. Neither Linda nor Ellen gave any sign that anything was different, so Hannah went on inside and warmly greeted her friends. Linda and Ellen were not related, but they looked almost as if they were. Both were petite in build and had dark coloring. Hannah, being fair colored and taller, stood out in contrast to the other two.

  As the meal progressed, Hannah gradually relaxed. Linda brought Hannah up to date on the latest goings on in Columbia’s Music Department. Ellen shared photos of her and her family at a cousin’s wedding. While they were having dessert, Hannah noticed Linda and Ellen exchanging a look. They looked at Hannah with concerned expressions. Hannah felt herself go cold all over. “Out with it,” she said. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “We didn’t know how to tell you,” began Ellen, because we didn’t even know you knew him, but we wanted you to know that we are so sorry about … John Eaton. It’s hard to lose someone you love, we know. We heard about what else happened, too and we’re so sorry.”

  “Despicable, what some people will do for a fast buck,” added Linda.

  Hannah almost choked on her tiramisu. Abruptly, she got up and, her hands shaking fished out a few bills from her handbag and dropped them on the table. As she headed for the door, Linda came after her. “Please, Hannah, don’t go. We only wanted to say how sorry we are.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about it, “said Hannah. “I’m just not ready yet.” She put an arm around Linda’s shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. “I’ll be OK by the next time we see each other, I’m sure.” She then stepped out into the bright day. The warmth of the sun made her shiver.

  When she returned home, Hannah noticed a fax had come in while she was out. It was the agreement she was to sign. With it on a separate sheet was a note from Matty, asking Hannah to sign the agreement and fax it to him at home so there would be no chance anyone else would see it. Matty would then review it and send it on to Hobson. She read the one page agreement, which stated essentially that she, Hannah Newman, would receive a ring from the estate of John Eaton, a client of Hobson & Associates, in return for which Hannah Newman swears she will never at any time, bring a lawsuit against Hobson & Associates in regard to photographs and correspondence unlawfully published by a now ex-employee of Hobson & Associates. Also, this agreement was to remain confidential in perpetuity. Satisfied with the agreement, Hannah signed and dated the document and faxed it back to Matty as he instructed.

  Three days later, Hannah and Sophie were on the balcony, enjoying the sunny day while they were going over the latest section of completed manuscript. The front door buzzer sounded and Hannah almost jumped out of her chair. She had been on pins and needles waiting for the ring to arrive. She had even been afraid to leave the house for fear of missing the delivery. To her relief, it was indeed the courier. “Oh, I’ve been expecting some materials from Tom Carson at the theatre,” she told Sophie. Once she had signed for the package, she wanted to tear it open there and then, but she remembered that she agreed not to reveal how she obtained the ring, so she quickly hid the package in her bedroom until after Sophie had gone.

  Hannah was pleased with the progress made on the project so far. She was hoping that Sophie wasn’t being too optimistic about getting an agent interested. They had sent query letters to about a dozen literary agencies and had appointments with a handful of local agents to try to shop the project to them. Sophie knew two of these and had worked with them before, so Hannah thought there was at least some chance of her story not ending up on the bottom of some slush pile. Misgivings had remained in Hannah’s mind about it even after she agreed to do it. As the project grew and took shape however, she found her enthusiasm for it growing right alongside.

  When the two women called it a day and Sophie left, Hannah went into her bedroom and retrieved the package from where she’d hidden it in her dresser drawer. Carefully, she opened it. She instantly recognized the black leather ring box as being the original one from the jewelers from whom she had commissioned the ring. There was also a sealed letter. Sitting on her bed, she first opened the ring box. Of Hannah’s own design, the ring was as beautiful as the day she first saw it; 18 karat gold, the gold twisted along the edges. On top, two interlocking circles were carved, to represent their two interlocked hearts. In the space where the circles interlocked, was set an aquamarine stone. Hannah remembered looking through dozens of stones, looking for just the right one. She wanted it to be an exact match t
o the color of John’s eyes. Inside was engraved

  To John - Love Hannah 3/12/81

  Tears stung her eyes as she remembered the last time she and John were together back in January. He was wearing the ring then and Hannah felt a connection to him just through holding it. She kissed it and put it on her left ring finger. It was too big and fell right off her hand. “I’ll have to get this sized down,” she thought. Immediately, she changed her mind. “No, I want to keep it just as he wore it.” She then tried the ring on her middle finger and her index finger, finally deciding on her middle finger. On impulse, Hannah rose from her bed, opened her closet and brought out a large cloth covered box. She lifted the lid and rummaged through its contents until she found a small white cardboard box, yellowed with age and worn at the corners. Inside was the butterfly pin John had given her for their first Christmas. The little card was still there, too. Hannah hadn’t worn the pin in years because the hasp had come loose and Hannah was afraid of the pin falling off and getting lost. She put it away intending to have it repaired, but had forgotten. Now, she put the box on her dresser, determined to take the pin the next day to the jewelers.

  Hannah turned next to the letter. It was in a plain white envelope. She turned it around, looking for something written, but there was nothing on it, not even the law firm’s logo stamped on it. She took it to her desk. With a letter opener, she slit open the envelope and drew out one folded sheet.

  26 April 2015

  Dear Ms. Newman,

  I received today your signed agreement and in sending you this ring, I have now fulfilled my part of our bargain.

  There is something else I want to tell you. John Eaton was not only my client, but my friend. We met in 1986, when I was dabbling in acting before I thought the better of it and went to law school instead. John and I stayed friends and no one could ask for a better friend. Once, when I almost had to drop out of law school because neither I nor my family could come up with the tuition, he loaned it to me. He never asked for a cent of it back. I did pay it back, though it took five years.