Remember This

by Patricia Koerner

  “Dad! We didn’t mean to wake you,” I said, startled by his sudden appearance.

  He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “It’s time I was up, anyway,” he said as he helped himself to some coffee, eggs and toast.

  Danny nodded towards the crate. “Why then did she paint these dark brooding pictures?”

  “Perhaps to express the torment she went through.” Seeing Danny and me exchange looks, he went on. “As you’ve known for a while now, your mother had bi-polar disorder. It was diagnosed in 1961. Back then, they called it manic-depressive disorder. When we first met, I was so taken with what a fireball of energy and passion she was, especially with her work. I once saw her complete three paintings in one day.” Dad shook his head and smiled at the memory. “It wasn’t until we were married that I saw a depressive phase. I was concerned, but as most people did then, I chalked it up to ‘female hormones.’ It didn’t occur to me that it could have been an illness. It was only when she was unable to sleep and became aggressive and violent with you kids that I knew something was wrong. I felt I had nowhere to turn because mental illness carried such a heavy stigma in those days and I was too ashamed to seek help for your mother and thought I could just be extra vigilant. I often wasn’t around though, what with rehearsals, filming and so on. Her depressive phases started to be get worse, too.

  One phase was so bad, I worried she would try to harm herself. I decided then to seek treatment for her and damn the stigma. She resisted, saying she didn’t need any ‘head doctor’ and wasn’t going to go to one, but as much as I loved her, I couldn’t let things continue as they were. So, I used the only leverage I had left. I threatened to divorce her and take you kids if she didn’t agree to treatment. Thank God she finally caved in. The doctor prescribed lithium to stabilize her moods. Occasionally, she’d have an episode, as you’ve seen, but they became fewer and milder than before.”

  Dad got up from the table and left the room. After a few minutes, he returned with two small framed portraits. They were of Danny and me, painted one Easter Sunday in our back yard. “Do you remember these?” he asked us.

  Danny shook his head. “I do,” I said. “I remember wanting to scratch my nose, but Mother kept saying “No. Don’t move.’”

  “I want you both to keep these and remember your mother loved you very much and thought you were the most beautiful children on Earth. I know her illness made it seem otherwise, but she did.”

  “Dad, I want to ask about something else Mother did that I still don’t understand.”

  “All right, Honey, ask.”

  “I remember Mother never wanted me to play the piano. She did everything she could to discourage me from playing that ‘sinful vulgar music.’ Even when I played classical, she still didn’t like it. She backed off only when you made her. When I played softball, she came to every game, but never to one recital or performance. She wasn’t there even when I took first prize in the Gina Bachauer competition. Why did she hate it so much?”

  “Because she hated her father.”

  “What? Why?” I loved Dad so much I couldn’t imagine anyone hating their father.

  “She would never speak about him. He died before I met her, so I have no first-hand information. I never even saw a photo of him. Over the years, I’d get bits here and there, some from her, some from her mother, but she was so tight-lipped about it, I don’t think I ever got the full story.”

  Danny and I both remembered our mother’s mother. She came out to California from New York to visit once during the summer before I turned 11. That was the only time we ever met her in person. Her name was Michaela and she had red hair the color of bright polished pennies. When I asked her if, being Irish, she knew any leprechauns, Mother gave me an angry look, but Grandmother laughed. She taught me how to make lace and the two of us made a table cover, which I still have. I remember Mother not allowing me to play the piano at all, not even to practice, for the entire time our grandmother was visiting us. At the time, I just assumed that Mother wanted Grandmother to have peace and quiet.

  “No, that’s not quite it,” Dad said as he stirred sugar into his second cup of coffee. “I’ll tell you now all that I know. Your grandfather’s name was Henri Phillippe Pelletier and he was born in Quebec in 1895. Those facts I know only because they are listed on your mother’s birth certificate. He was a pianist who made his living playing in bars and nightclubs. He had a serious drinking problem and terrorized the family when he was drunk. He abused everyone in the family, but your mother’s older sister, Suzanne, seems to have gotten the worst of it. When she was sixteen, Suzanne left home and never returned. About a year later, your grandfather died. He was visiting a woman he was involved with and on his way out of her apartment building, he fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Your grandmother hoped that Suzanne would somehow hear that her father was dead and return home, but she never did. Ultimately, Suzanne was found dead in a seedy hotel room on the Lower East Side from an apparent drug overdose. Your grandmother was broken. She was never the same after that. She blamed herself for not doing more to protect Suzanne.”

  Dad stopped and composed his thoughts. He reached over and took both Danny and me by the hand. “I know your mother sometimes did wrong, but I want you to understand why and find it in your hearts to forgive her – please.”

  A few days after that, I returned to New York and picked up my life, but it would take much longer to process all that Dad had told Danny and me. I would remember how happy I was to come East to attend Performing Arts Academy and get away from Mother, then immediately feel guilty about it. At other times, I wished I could scream at her for treating me the way she did and then wish that I could tell her that I now understood and that I loved her and forgave her.

  30

  Late one evening a few weeks after my return to New York, John came to see me. I hadn’t seen him or had any contact with him since he married, so when he was now unexpectedly at my door, I just stood there for a minute. Finally, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard about your mother and I just had to come and tell you myself how sorry I am.”

  “Heard from whom?” I asked as I let him into the apartment.

  “Our producer, Jerome Wilkinson told me. He also produced your father’s last series, City Nights. Since he knew that I know your father, he told me.”

  John took me into his arms and held me. All these weeks I’d been trying to keep a lid on my emotions and get through each day, but John always made me feel safe and free to open up to him. He let me have a little cry, then led me to the sofa and we sat down. He noticed Matty’s school photo on the coffee table. Picking it up, he said, “I can’t believe how big and beautiful he’s gotten. Can I see him?”

  “He’d be so excited to see you, but then I’d never get him back to bed, and tomorrow is a school day so we need to be quiet and not wake him.”

  For a while we just sat silently looking at the view out my window. Then, I asked, “So tell me about Detective Joe Walker’s next big case. I never miss a Friday night watching him keep the streets of New York safe. I even learned to program my VCR just so I can record it when I have to be out.”

  We both laughed, but after a moment or so, I thought of Mother and began tearing up again. “I have such mixed feelings about Mother, about her death, I told John. “It’s taking me so long to sort it all out.”

  “I often sensed there was something amiss between you two. I thought perhaps it was just personality differences.”

  “Oh, John, it was much more than that, like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Try me.”

  I then related to John what Dad told Danny and me about Mother’s illness and behavior. When I finished, John drew me close to him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this? I know there wasn’t really anything I could do, but at least I could have given you support.”

  “You just answered your own question, John. There was nothing you could do, but your love held
me up and got me through more than you probably realize.” I reached up to kiss his cheek, but my lips found his and we kissed hungrily. Every place he kissed me, touched me, felt as if it had been set afire. I don’t remember now exactly how, but we made our way to the bedroom. My clothes were already half off by the time we got there. As John shed his clothing, I noticed that after a moment’s hesitation, he slowly removed his wedding ring and placed it on top of the bureau with his cufflinks and watch. Was he putting his marriage in suspension to give himself to me, even if just for this one night?

  I woke up when it was still dark and heard John sigh next to me. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. I’m fine.” He turned to me and took my face in his hands. “I want you to promise me something, Hannah.”

  “Of course. Anything.” He sounded troubled and I was rather concerned.

  “I want you to promise me you’ll never suppress your musical talent because of whom you inherited it from. Even if your grandfather was as bad as your mother thought, he passed on a precious gift to you, a gift that should not be wasted. Your father was right to ensure your gift had a chance to develop and grow, even over your mother’s objections.”

  I was so astonished at how he still could sense my deepest feelings, all I could do was nod in reply. We sealed the deal by making love again.

  ***

  “Do you want some breakfast?” I asked John as he dressed. It was still early, and Matty would be up for school soon, but I didn’t want to let John leave without something to eat.

  “No. I have to get to the set.”

  “John, we can’t let this happen again. It isn’t right.” The joy and love I’d been feeling was beginning to be replaced with a nauseating feeling of guilt. I took his left hand, the wedding ring now back on, and held it up.

  “If anyone did wrong, it is I,” he said. “I take full moral responsibility and accountability. I came to you when you were vulnerable. It’s my fault things went as far as they did, although I swear to God, I only came here to offer my condolences.”

  I looked up into his beautiful blue eyes for a long time, as if I’d never see them again and wanted to always remember how they looked. I stroked his cheek. “Take care of yourself, John.”

  31

  Pouring myself into my graduate studies, working with the Consortium and raising Matty hadn’t thus far gotten John out of my mind and heart, so I tried another tactic. Other than Tony, I had never been sexually involved with any man but John. I’d never felt any desire to do so. Now however, I wondered if, as I’d heard, it indeed took a new relationship to get over an old one.

  Over the next year, I made efforts to meet single men and accepted a date with everyone who asked me out. I also went on a number of blind dates arranged for me by my friends. Even if it didn’t work out, I reasoned, perhaps he’d have a friend, relative, or co-worker I could meet. Optimism turned into disgust pretty quickly. Several of the men I encountered thought they were going to get easy sex. Others were after a meal ticket. One wanted me to “star” with him in a homemade pornographic film. Another wanted me to use my connections to secure him a record deal. When I told him that wasn’t possible, he excused himself to go to the restroom. He never returned and stuck me with a huge check.

  Relationship worthy men are so rare, I now know why so many women stay single, whether by choice or not. Out of two dozen dates, I went out a second time with only ten. Of those ten, I felt romantically drawn to none of them, but three were actually decent men with whom I formed and maintained friendships. One of those with whom I went out a second time seemed promising until I talked about Matty.

  “Sorry,” he said. “This just isn’t going to work. I’m not into being stuck with someone else’s rug rat.” With that, he got up and walked right out of the restaurant. At least, he paid the check first. It was the last straw. After that, I just gave up and locked up my heart.

  One night in early June, the phone was ringing just as I was arriving home. It was Danny. “Dad and I miss you and Matty,” he said. “Do you think you could come out to California this summer?”

  “I can’t. I’m recording with the Consortium – our first album together. I composed two of the pieces myself and co-composed four more with two of the other members. This is huge. I can’t leave now.”

  “Well, maybe Patrick and I will come back there. He’s never been to New York.”

  “That would be great. You guys could come to a recording session if you want and I know some new restaurants we can try. We’ll have a great time.”

  The conversation turned to our father. I asked Danny how he was holding up since Mother died.

  “He’s hanging in there. Last month he met with his agent. He’s thinking about working again. We had a long talk recently. He asked me about my life, if I had plans, you know what I mean. I decided then to come out to him.”

  “Danny! So soon after … how did he take it?”

  “I think he knew. He didn’t say anything right away, but then he said it made no difference, that he couldn’t be prouder of me.”

  “Little brother, I’m so happy that after all these years, you no longer have to hide who you are.”

  “Hanni, I feel so free now; it’s hard to describe.”

  Two weeks later, Danny and Patrick arrived in New York. Since my apartment was small, they stayed at a hotel in Chelsea, near some of the places Danny wanted to show Patrick. As we’d planned, they came to a recording session and the party the Consortium had when recording wrapped.

  Danny thought that seeing Matty would do Dad a world of good and asked if he and Patrick could take him back to California with them for a few weeks. I was reluctant. Since I lost Rosebud, I’d been quite protective of Matty. I know now that it wasn’t a rational reaction, but I believe it was a natural one. Eventually, I gave in to Danny’s reassurances and Matty’s entreaties, seeing how much he wanted to go with his uncle.

  The night Danny and Patrick left with Matty, the apartment was stifling hot, so I opened a couple of windows. Outside, I didn’t hear the usual street noise. In fact, it was strangely still – so much so that I could hear the bus stop almost a block away and let people off. That wasn’t the only thing I heard that night. As I lay in bed in front of a fan, trying to fall asleep, I heard what sounded like someone sobbing. I stood and looked out the window into the alley, but no one was there. From the building across the alley, through an open window, I could also hear a bed squeaking and a couple of thuds and groans. I laughed a little thinking that at least someone was enjoying themselves. I lay back down on the bed and attempted again to sleep, but my mind drifted back to John and our passionate, toe-curling lovemaking. The summers in southern California are hot and we often had to leave the windows open at night. I flushed with embarrassment, wondering now if we were heard by our neighbors.

  The heat wave lasted nearly a week and every night, Mr. and Mrs. Randy, as I came to think of them, went the distance. I was impressed with their stamina. I was glad when it cooled off enough that I could close the windows again because it made me miss John so much. I realized by then too, that I’d never love or desire any man like I did John.

  I’d insisted that Danny phone me every couple of days to let me know how Matty was and so I could talk to him. On one of these calls, Danny was excited because he had gotten Matty into the music video of Tina B. performing By My Side. “I heard they were making the video and they were looking for a little girl and two little boys. I took Matty in to audition and made sure they knew he was your son.”

  “Danny, I’m not sure about this … “I began.

  “I promise I’ll be there with him. Of course they want him. Not only because he’s yours, but because he’s so cute. Wait until you see him.”

  Matty was excited too. “We got to play all day and sing your song with Tina,” he said when Danny handed him the phone. “She gave me a kiss and said I was the best kid there.”

  I was happy and relieved that he’d h
ad so much fun and it all went well. I was finally beginning to relax and let go of my fears; fears that something would happen to Matty, that I would lose him like I did Rosebud. When the video was released, I wasn’t too pleased that Danny had not had Matty’s haircut and it was almost to his shoulders. Still, Danny was right. Matty was so cute and did such a good job, I couldn’t have been more proud of him.

  ***

  By the following spring, the album I made with the Consortium had been released and was enjoying moderate success. I finished my course work at Columbia and was now doing research for my thesis. My topic was the parallel evolution of sacred music and architecture from the 10th to the 15th centuries. As church buildings evolved from small Romanesque style structures to the larger, grander Gothic cathedrals, sacred music also evolved from simple chants to more complex pieces with harmonic enhancements, which took better advantage of the acoustics of the larger spaces.

  I had no contact with John, but I’d heard through the grapevine that his character, Joe Walker, was going to be killed off at the end of the season. By the time that episode aired, I’d also heard that John and Rachel, who was now pregnant, were moving back to Los Angeles. I was grateful to then be in the midst of a second album with the Consortium, a medieval liturgical drama of the Biblical story of Ruth. It kept my mind off John and focused on something else.

  Tony, who hadn’t been back to England since we were there together, planned a visit and wanted to take Matty with him as soon as school was out for the summer. I could hardly refuse as Tony’s family had never seen Matty. Still, I had to blink back tears when I put him into the taxi with Tony. When they returned near the end of August, Matty had picked up a British accent. I had to hide a smile when he called me ‘Mum’ and wanted to play with his “mates.” He was looking more and more like Tony with his wavy blond hair and facial expressions that mirrored Tony’s. The accent made me think of him as Tony at that age. Eventually, the accent faded away when he returned to school and his classmates teased him.