FEAST OF MEN

by Ayn Dillard

  I spend most the days in November going to research appointments, working out, then writing almost every evening. I am in continual negotiations with the insurance company to replace my storm damaged roof and fence. I paid all my insurance premiums on time so now that I need what I paid for, they are hassling me. So unfortunately, I need to ask my parents for financial assistance. I’ve nowhere else to turn. Only by doing so, I am forced to endure listening to my father’s degradation.

  “You little shit. We have no problems until you call. You’re not worth a damn thing. Your mother and I don’t care if you go on welfare. Live under a bridge for all we care.” He shouts louder, “Sell everything you own. You’re nothing to your mother and me. God damn it, leave us alone!”

  Eventually, my father does help me financially, but the toll his words take is tremendous. I’ve paid for any financial assistance or gifts from my parents with part of my soul. They’ve always stripped me of my spirit instead of giving the emotional support that I desire and need. I am weary of going to them for assistance. I can’t wait for the day that I don’t need anything from them including love. Asking for an ounce of attention is even more difficult than asking for financial assistance because mostly all they ever had to give is money. It feels like entering Hell to talk with my father. He’s either in an awful mood or his words are alcohol inspired. Only time he’s treated me with a minuscule of respect was when I was married to my first husband who was really only using me to get to Dad’s money. When a business contract comes through and he recognizes a large amount of profit, he’s tolerable for a while because he’s so full of himself.

  I am doing all I know to do to get myself out of this financial mess. It’s ironic to be researching and writing a financial book while I am this financially strapped, but then actually it might be the perfect combination. At least, I’m being paid to do it.

  I’ll just keep on going forward as Boyd suggested. That’s all I’ve done for the better part of my life as I pull myself out of the problems, I’m left with after a divorce—from a man who never really cared about me—much less loved me, or put me first in his life. They were all after what I have, while sucking me dry. Will I ever be with a man who understands all I’ve been through, who loves me for who I am, and is willing and able to make my life easier because he loves me? Is there even a man who knows what love is? Based on Boyd’s words and actions, perhaps he knows. I know that I am able to love with honor, honesty and for the good of both. Only time will tell about Boyd

  I go out some, mostly with men friends, but usually want to get back home before the evening is halfway over. None of the men come close to the connection and fun Boyd and I had together. Incredible restaurants, delicious food, great wine, so what and who cares? If there’s no chemistry, attraction or connection, it’s not fun or meaningful to me. So mostly, I elect to go to the movies by myself just to get out of the house and to give me a break from writing.

  Richard surprises me with a check-up call to hear about how the ‘love story’ is progressing. Sharing an abbreviated version of our last day together, I tell Richard, Boyd’s statement, ’I have the feeling, I’ll come back for you and you’ll be with another man.’

  “Natalie, remember the movie, ‘Dancing with Wolves’?”

  “Yes.”

  He continues, “Do you recall when Kevin Costner rides into the Indian Village and sees the beautiful Indian girl?”

  “Yes, I remember that scene.”

  “He asks the chief of the tribe, ‘Where’s her husband or why isn’t she married?’ Something like that? Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “The chief responds, ‘Her husband died because he knew you were coming for her. He left to make a place for you’.”

  I exclaim, “Yes, I do remember.”

  Richard continues, “Perhaps, your pilot has a knowing that another man’s coming for you and that’s why he said what he did.”

  “Um, perhaps, I don’t know? Except, I can’t imagine feeling anymore for anyone else because what I feel for Boyd is so wonderfully out of this world. It’s a magic connection.”

  “You may feel this way now, but who knows what’ll happen during the six months he’s gone. It may very well be why he left. It may be the reason the whole thing happened the way it did. A new man may be coming for you and you may have a choice between them. The new one may be better for you and he may have a need that you fulfill perfectly. He could be searching for you right now. Your pilot may have sensed this. Who knows? You’ll just have to live it out and wait to see what happens. I do think the man will be back though. He’d be a fool, if he didn’t come back for you and knowing you the way I do—you’d not be in love with a fool.”

  I chuckle, “I don’t know about that. I’ve fallen in love with some pretty big fools in my life.”

  “Well thanks a lot, Natalie.” He laughs a bit nervously, “You do understand what I’m saying? Just trust that it’ll all work out for the best and have faith. Have faith the universe put you two together for a definite purpose. You deserve someone wonderful and I sure hope it all works out for the best. However it works out.”

  “I’ll have faith. Thank you, Richard.”

  Off the phone, I reminisce about how Richard and I met ten years ago and our immediate magic attraction and connection, then how it broke my heart when he wasn’t ready for a relationship. He’s since become a good friend. Being connected in a spiritual ‘out there’ kind of way, we can talk about most anything. Although he still keeps his sadness and the reason for it to himself. Both of us had remembrances of a previous lifetime—we spent together as American Indians. He said that he knew me before he ever met me because of a dream, he’d had before we met.

  He was on a horse riding towards a beautiful Indian woman sitting beside a pond. Seeing her first, from the back he recognized her by her long dark hair. He knew that when she turned around that it was me—the woman who was an ancient love and soulmate for all of time. I also had visions before our meeting and during the time we spent together of living as an Indian woman in another life. I had dreams about having long dark hair and wearing a kind of burlap dress with colorful beads around my neck and giving birth in a field. The man, Richard, who he was then anyway, picked the baby and me up and laid us on a kind of a tarp attached to drag behind a horse.

  It was bizarre to have had these similar recollections, but we both had the same ones and the more time we spent together, the more we recalled memories from some lifetime lived long ago. It was too coincidental that we both had the same pictures and memories in our minds. Spooky and bizarre, but too real to not have validity. How in the world could we both have such similar recollections? Eventually, we decided the reason that we couldn’t be together in this current lifetime was because of karma between us from the past. That the karma was educational in some way and we’d come together in this lifetime for the reconnection and to share our ancient ‘knowings and rememberings’ with the chemistry too powerful to resist. The memories of being together in past lives was to assist us in our next step of evolving. Never before had I met a man who could express himself about spiritual things so openly while being so highly educated on the earth plane—at Stanford and MIT. Neither of us drank much, nor do drugs, so all our talks were from a sober place of some kind of ancient awareness. Ours was an out-of-this-world-magic recognition with our inner ‘knowing’ bringing me a clear awareness of what I always suspected, that we very possibly may live many lives and their memory can bleed through to our current one.

  The last evening, we spent together. I was able to see him clearly with none of the residue of our love affair. He appeared a lost and unhappy man, still searching for some truth or something else that was elusive, and sorry to say he appeared he was losing the search. I always thought he was searching for himself.

  When I first met Richard, he said almost the exact words that Boyd spoke on the plane. ‘I feel as if I’m searching for the truth—traveling the wor
ld looking for truth.’ The similarity between these two men, I find unsettling, except Boyd wants a relationship and love, while Richard wouldn’t let me get close enough to permeate his shield of emotional protection. I like Richard’s insight to what Boyd said because it makes comforting sense.

  As Thanksgiving arrives, I feel sad not to have anyone to be with. Irony being, I love to cook and would enjoy having a family to prepare dinner for. My mother calls to inform that they’re taking their family to their yacht and will be in the Bahamas and for me not to bother them. My father shouts, “Don’t contact us. We’ll be gone and don’t want to be bothered by you.” Hearing this hurts me beyond belief, but I can’t waste my energy any longer on my family’s inability to see and love me. Besides, I want my own family.

  I work up until the last minute on Thanksgiving eve. Maggie and another friend invite me to share dinner with their families, but I don’t feel that I’d be good company for anyone. So, I decline both their invitations. I go to the grocery store just to be around people as they rush to purchase food to prepare for their dinners. Observing them, helps me to feel that I’m sharing in their festivities in some small way. I purchase two chicken breasts and a piece of pumpkin pie from La Madeliene’s restaurant to make up my Thanksgiving celebration. It could be worse. At least, I have food. That evening, I begin feeling poorly and discover that I have a fever.

  So Thanksgiving Day, I spend in bed feeling too ill to even eat much. It’s becoming difficult not to feel a bit sorry for myself. I try not to let negative feelings overtake me, but the feelings of being alone overwhelm and I break down and cry. I think of all the families and loved ones able to spend this day together and wonder why I’m alone again on a holiday. Will I ever be with someone I love and able to celebrate with them?

  Holidays have begun to be extremely painful. They’re becoming even worse than when I was a child. My parents used to have huge arguments while preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Dad criticized most everything and Mother was always tired, complaining and upset. Actually, being alone is better than being around arguing. I might be alone, but no one is yelling around me or at me. I wonder what Boyd is doing? I hope he’s happy and having a nice holiday with his children. Is Boyd thinking about me too?

  The flu or whatever, has really gotten hold of me. Usually, a few days in bed and I’m okay, but not this time. As December begins, I’m still ill, but continue on with the book research. Finally, the roof for my house is being replaced with the fence scheduled to be done just after Christmas. Now, if I can only get my ex-husband to sign the house over to me, I can sell it and be in a better situation.

  One day, I’m over the flu—able to push full force ahead. The next, I’m ill again. It’s turning out to be a difficult month, feeling sick, alone, stress about money, while working all the time. After almost fainting in workout class, I think that I need to go to a doctor. But have no money to do so. It seems like the stress of these past five-years is now being reflected by my immune system, but I push on.

  I go out occasionally with male acquaintances, but it serves only to make me feel more alone and to miss Boyd even more. An investment banker who talks constantly about money, an attorney with an intense focus trying to get me into bed, a computer guy who’s more impressed with his own knowledge than anything else. I try to be open-minded, remembering that Boyd suggested I date. Only if it isn’t there—no connection—it just isn’t. So, I make the decision for right now, to focus on my work, my health and to forget about dating or worrying about going to any holiday parties. I don’t really care and am too tired to celebrate anyway.

  A meeting with Jim Tanner, the man I’m collaborating with on the financial book turns out to be a disaster. Oh, he’s happy with my progress and what I’ve written. Praising, ‘Natalie, you’re a wonderful writer and I love what you’ve done thus far.’ Hearing his compliments feels good, since I’ve had very little positive reinforcement lately in my life. Except, he makes a pass at me that makes me feel sick to my stomach. He’d said a couple of inappropriate things in our November meeting, but I’d shrugged them off alluding to the fact that he’s unsophisticated and homely. Hoping, if I ignored his unrefined and rude comments about my body that he’d shut up.

  I’ve known his wife longer than I known him. So surely, he couldn’t mean what he said in any real context. He’s just insecure, needy and uncouth. Not to mention, he’s down right unattractive. Being not all that much taller than I am at five-foot-three with thinning red hair, blotchy-white skin splattered with red almost scaly splotches and a flabby overweight body. Surely this geeky money-focused guy is just rude in his words to match his physical appearance and doesn’t mean what he says.

  The decision to do a book with him was for his financial expertise and the experience of doing research and of course, the money he was paying me to do it. At first, he appeared shy and mild-mannered, a financial wizard with two books already out. One a financial one, the other a Pulitzer Prize winner about his father who was a war hero, or so he claims. Now, he’s coming onto me in a sexual way and I don’t really know what to do about it. I need the money that he’s paying me to do this book.

  As we go over the research, he makes comments, “You certainly have a nice chest and a great body. I bet all the financial advisors you’ve met with come onto you.” Hearing him say this, make me want to throw up. I state firmly that no one comes onto me inappropriately and I guide the subject back to the text of the book. Only he continues with his comments, while he moves his feet and legs under the conference table to touch even rub against mine as he leers at my chest. I move away and turn the focus back to the book, while inside I am feeling stressed and upset.

  I am unsure how to handle his behavior. I only want to do this project because I believe it to be an informative book for women. Plus, I’ve thrown myself totally into it neglecting my other projects. Of all the men, I’ve interviewed doing this research, he’s the only sexually overt and condescending one. I contemplate if I should be writing a book for women with him anyway. Only right now, I desperately need the income. God, how do I handle this situation? What should I do?

  “Jim, I am not interested in anything but doing this book.”

  “Are you sure? We could have fun mixing business with pleasure. No one would ever have to know.”

  “No thanks. You’ve married and I’m not interested.”

  He confesses, “I’m planning on getting a divorce in the near future.”

  “Oh really, does Jan know?”

  “Well no, and please don’t mention it to anybody.”

  “Please, let’s focus on the book.”

  I continue to work on the project while this jerk constantly leers at me and tries to touch my legs with his under the table. I state firmly, “Please, move your legs.”

  “You don’t really mean that do you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  With that, he grabs hold of my grandmother’s pearls that I have around my neck then pulls me towards him. Pushing him back, he touches my breast. Immediately, I stand and excuse myself. Shaking inside, I quickly walk to the safety of the ladies’ room. If I didn’t need the money, I’d walk away and never look back. I feel so dirty after his remarks. And that snake touched my body—my breast. I gather my strength and return to the conference room to find Tanner going over the manuscript and a five-thousand-dollar check placed on the table in front of my chair.

  He addresses me in a curt and threatening manner, “Natalie, this work is really good stuff. If you’d get off your ass and finish the research, we’d be able to get it published soon. I have people waiting for it. You do understand, we have a legal binding agreement? Here’s a check to continue your work.” He nods business-like, then exits the room.

  This man is a rude jerk. I’ve made a big mistake deciding to work with him as he’s the same negative, controlling energy that I want to get far away from. It’s obvious by what he says and the way he says it, that he has no respect for anyone, esp
ecially women. All he cares about is money and his power and control over others. His sexual come-on is degrading and scary, but I desperately need money to pay for my house. Feeling nauseated, I exit his offices quickly. I rush home, throw-up, then shower to wash his nasty touch from myself, and then I wash the touch of his grimy hands off my grandmother’s pearls.

  I work even faster on the book to get it done as quickly as possible even though I’m still feeling sick from the flu and should be resting. I feel terribly stressed as if Tanner has me in a trap and finishing the book is the quickest way to get the final payment and away from him. Besides working takes my mind off my hurting heart.

  I write notes every night to Boyd and put them in an antique burlwood box for safe keeping. It comforts me to communicate with him in this way, but I begin to wonder if I’ll really be able to give them to him. It’d be fun to put them in his airline jacket pocket as a surprise, so he could read them on his flights.

  On the cover of the December ‘Town and County’ magazine is a picture of Ralph Lauren wearing a black turtleneck with a black military style jacket. The jacket resembles Boyd’s airline jacket and gives me the idea to alter the jacket to fit me. So, I can incorporate it into my wardrobe and wear it with turtlenecks, crisp white shirts and leggings or jeans. I’ve been unable to purchase any new clothing in such a longtime, so this jacket will make a funky addition to my wardrobe. Wearing his jacket feels as if his arms are around me, but I look like a petite pilot. The jacket still carries the smell of him and wearing it comforts me.

  I love the spirit of Christmas and it’s fast approaching. It seems like forever since I’ve had a ‘real’ Christmas. The last one while married to my ex-Paul told me I didn’t deserve Christmas or birthdays and treated me accordingly. Obviously, my last Christmas with him was wrought with pain while he appeared to take pleasure in my unhappiness. He was a controlling, cruel, abusive narcissist. It’s difficult to believe now that I was actually married to such a demon. Geez, it can be scary to look back.