“What other things? Is there progress on the law suit?” Lorraine asked intently.
“Some, but none on our end.” Griffin popped the cork, a wisp of cool condensation leaking up out of the opened bottle.
“Doesn't sound like much reason to celebrate.” She sighed heavy as her shoulders lowered.
Griffin chuckled, pulling two flutes from the cabinet, holding both by the stems in one hand and pouring expertly with the other. He held the Champagne bottle from the bottom, thumb wedged into the conical concavity at the bottom of the thick, green glass bottle.
“My darling, we have every reason to celebrate.” He beamed.
“Grif, things are getting bad, and you know that.” Lorraine said with a hint of defeat in her voice.
“Precisely. That's why we have to celebrate, enjoy the little moments, the good times, while we can. Or else, what is it all for?”
“For them,” Lorraine said, head nodding toward the kids in the other room, “for their futures.”
Griffin clicked his glass to Lorraine’s. “Then let’s drink to them, and to their futures.”
Lorraine sipped, but lowered her glass and looked at her husband, her beloved, as if in a new light. “What is it that makes you so … so frivolous?”
“Frivolous? Really?”
“Well no, um, not exactly, but … I mean, when we were having a real problem with the learning centers, all that with the computers going down, the company heading for a fall, and you wanted to fly off to Canada.” She pointed out.
“That was the right move, Lorraine, for us and for the company. Sometimes too much proximity can be a dangerous thing.” Lorraine didn’t have to search her memory too hard for proof of that, as Griffin undoubtedly knew. “Look, bad times come and go, Lorraine, that’s just the nature of the world. You had that unfortunate experience with Tony Gardner, I lost Kayla, we were both shot and we’ve both shot others. Life is not going to be one good time after the next. Things do happen, Lorraine, I don’t have to tell you that.”
“No, you’re right, I know it … too well.” She smiled. It seemed that Griffin always knew the right thing to say at the exact perfect time to soothe Lorraine’s nerves.
He continued, “,But good things happen, too, even great things. And those are the things to focus on, to be grateful for, to celebrate.”
Lorraine turned to see their kids frolicking in their living room, just a few yards away but actually in a world all their own. Lorraine looked at Griffin and felt something similar, like hers was a magical world where no real evil could reach them, where they’d live happily ever after.
But Kayla was three years old, and Lorraine was old enough to know better.
“Something else to celebrate,” Griffin said, “was the day I decided to buy that copy of The Denver Post, stumbling upon your open letter. I celebrate that day every morning of my life, Lorraine, and every night. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake and the last before I fall asleep.”
Lorraine wanted to respond, but her heart and her throat were too full. Her eyes started to water. There was no room for a single word, hardly even a breath.
Griffin went on, “Y’know, when I think of you when we met, that shy librarian, I knew there was something there. Actually, I knew it when I read that letter. But, when I saw you, I knew … I knew more than that. I fell in love with you, Lorraine, that instant. I knew all I needed to know about your character, your integrity, your intelligence and humanity, just from your letter alone. But, when I saw you, those eyes, that face, that smile … what can I say? I fell, that’s all there is to it.”
Lorraine felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, casting her eyes down coyly from instinct alone. She was too close to Griffin to be coy, but too intimate to resist the teasing temptation. Her heart was filled with words of love, dedications and poetics, quotes from John Keats, Byron, all the romantics.
A quote from a favorite play filled Lorraine’s memory, the Brian Hooker translation of the Edmund Rostand classic Cyrano de Bergerac. The great French swordsman/poet with the freakish face stood timelessly in the shadowy gloom of his beloved Roxanne’s balcony, disguised by darkness and freed to speak to her as he never had before:
“Love hates that game of words! It is a crime to fence with life. I tell you, there comes one moment, once, and God help those who pass that moment by, when Beauty stands looking into the soul with grave, sweet eyes that sicken at pretty words.”
So Lorraine simply raised her flute, tapped it lightly against Griffin’s to create a crystalline chime that rang through the room and right through both of their souls.
The Phoenix’s study had become a hub of activity and dread. Once a sanctuary, a place that was neither work nor home, it was no longer either one. It began to feel to Lorraine more and more like a dungeon, a torture chamber, a maze from which there was no escape.
Lorraine poured through the internet, looking for any clues that might lead to unwinding Tony’s story and then his entire law suit. With Phoenix Enterprises’ reputation getting worse and partners dropping out more and more, the time to end this case was fast drawing near. And it looked more and more like the only reasonable resolution was to settle, but that could mark the beginning of the end for their entire empire.
Griffin’s study was filled with high-resolution copies of Tony’s paintings, glued flat to thick foam matte boards and leaned up against the desk, the couch, the bookcases, surrounding the study.
Lorraine found little of value in either the paintings themselves or on the web, just website after website of paintings, articles, a dizzying array of nothing. Lorraine leaned back in that study chair, overstuffed leather supporting her. Finally she leaned forward, pushed herself out of the chair and walked out to the kitchen for a hot cup of Earl Grey tea.
Jeremy was playing with Kayla in the living room when Lorraine walked in, waiting for her kettle to whistle.
Jeremy asked, “How’s it going?”
Lorraine shook her head, sighing. “Not good. If there’s a way out of this mess, I can’t find it.”
“Well, Griffin does have the lawyer and the PI, why not just let them handle it?”
“I used to think the school board would just handle everything, before that I thought the public library system would simply handle itself. Look how those worked out.” Lorraine combed her fingers through her short red hair and she knelt to hug her adoring little daughter, nodding and cooing and picking at the stuffed unicorns and ponies scattered around them. Lorraine breathed deep of that soothing scent of her own daughter, a smell like no other.
“It just doesn’t make sense to me, Jer. I mean, a guy like that, a thug, a would-be rapist … and who knows how many times his attacks were successful? But you’re telling me he’d paint pictures of Albert Einstein and Ernest Hemingway? Those beautiful, tranquil pastures? No, that’s not him.” She contemplated aloud.
“Maybe it’s the person he really is inside, the person he wants to be, the world he wants to see … or wanted to at one point, anyway.”
“I guess,” Lorraine said, returning her attention to Kayla as she began to walk in that hurried stagger across the big penthouse. “Still, I just don’t buy it.”
Jeremy sighed “Sadly, you may not have a choice.” He went on, “Don’t be mad at me. I'm always on your side, you know that. And you certainly have always been on mine, especially lately. I suppose we can kiss the idea of being parents goodbye, too.”
“Why?” She asked surprised.
Jeremy tilted his head, “We’re not going to take your money now, Lo’.”
“Of course you are — ” She interjected.
“No, Anton and I agree definitely not; not the raise, either, or the bonuses, none of it.”
“Jeremy — ”
“You may need that money now. I earn what I earn and it’s fine. If fate or God or whatever wants us to raise a child, somehow that’ll happen, I just have to trust in that.” Sadness and disappointment was starting to
show on his face.
“Jeremy, it won’t make a difference to us. If we go bankrupt — ” Lorraine said aloud, trying her best to be realistic about the current situation they were in.
“Lorraine, don’t even say that!” He blurted out. Jeremy was right, it wasn't something Lorraine liked to say, but she had little choice as the weeks went on and the future became clear. What she had to do was face it, and lead by example for Jeremy, for Ashe and Kayla and maybe even for Griffin himself. In a way, she had already accepted that fate, and it didn’t frighten her nearly as much as she thought it might.
“Hey, I’ve been poor before,” Lorraine said with a fake smile, “I can do it again.”
Jeremy sneered at Lorraine and said “Lorraine, being poor is a lot harder once you’ve been rich.”
“How would you know?” She countered, her brows furrowing.
“Call it a hunch! And for me, it’s not as big a deal, because there’s less money.”
Lorraine turned a tender gaze to her old friend. “But Jeremy, I’ve already got my family, and that’s what really matters. The money? Without Griffin and those kids, without you, it wouldn’t be much more than a big stack of green paper.” There was no denying Lorraine’s heartfelt and profound honesty.
Jeremy broke out in a surprised chuckle, Lorraine joining him as the two shared a loving hug and Kayla ran up to them, arms out, mouth in a wide, adorable smile.
Lorraine took a deep breath and said, “Just hang tight, Jer, we’ll get through all this … somehow.”
Chapter 8
Lorraine wasn’t terribly surprised that Griffin wanted to get away for a few days. He always seemed to be drawn to that and he had good reasons every time; sound, practical reasons. But, Lorraine could remember her own days of fearful hiding and denial, all the reasons and justifications, excuses she now realized that she could manufacture. But, in truth, it was a way to hide from the dangers of the world she lived in, and more and more Lorraine couldn’t help but wonder if Griffin wasn’t behaving in much the same way without even realizing it.
It hardly mattered. When Griffin put his mind to something, there was just no talking him out of it. So Jeremy and Anton were camped out at the penthouse with Ashe and Kayla while Lorraine was with Griffin in their private jet heading for the U.S. Virgin Islands.
After a night of insane love making in an open-air hut at the end of a long pier, during which Lorraine felt as if she was having sex right on the surface of the water, they took a different view of those gorgeous, pale blue Caribbean waters.
The next day their rented speed boat raced over the Caribbean waters, bouncing on the waves. Lorraine and Griffin were strapped into a bench seat side by side with a long, colorful parachute spread out behind them. Once the boat hit the right speed, they lifted up off the water, no longer sitting floating on the surface, but floating above it and getting higher fast.
Lorraine’s stomach rose up to the bottom of her lungs, then dropped down to the pit of her bowels as they sailed upward, the boat and the ocean and the islands themselves getting smaller fast.
The wind got stronger the higher they rose, pushing Lorraine back into the seat as the boat dragged them through the sky. Lorraine’s skin was covered with goosebumps, blood rushing in her veins. Lorraine’s head went light, dizziness threatening to pull her head forward, but she fought the sensation.
Don’t let the fear in, Lorraine told herself, don’t let it back in!
Griffin reached out and held Lorraine’s hand, and she was glad of it. It didn’t bring her too much comfort, but it didn’t hurt. That gaping spread of empty air stretched out beneath her, higher and higher as they ascended, the boat speeding along the water’s surface, the only thing keeping them alive.
Exhilaration pushed her fear aside as Lorraine’s experience stepped in to replace her old, lingering insecurities. She’d soared above New York in a helicopter, nearly drowned on an errant flyboard, sped along zip-lines and stood before hundreds of people, risking her life and almost losing it in the bargain.
They sailed above the colonial buildings, colorful and antiquated; light blue, red, orange, yellow, uneven rows of ramshackle squares that could not disguise their turbulent past, difficult present, and nearly nonexistent future. From that elevated perspective, the ugliness melted away and only the beauty shone through. Gazing out over those jagged island mountains and pretty boats on the white tips, Lorraine felt as if she was not in danger; in fact she felt miles removed from any danger at all.
Nothing can touch us up here, Lorraine realized. Down there is where all the peril and duplicity is. Up here it’s me and Griffin, the endless blue sky, the most gorgeous patch of Earth spread out beneath.
There in the breezy heights, Lorraine felt elevated, delivered by Griffin into a different strata, where few enough people dared to tread. Lorraine knew that a scant few years before she would never have taken such risks or enjoyed such rewards, seen what she had seen or done what she had done, been whom she’d become, won what she had won.
So instead of fearing a fall to her death, Lorraine savored the security of the straps, enjoyed the freedom of her naked legs kicking idly under the bench seat. This is where I am now, Lorraine told herself, this is where I belong, this is what I deserve.
This … and more.
And there was more. Griffin hired a private car to drive them out to Virgin Gorda, a popular beach. Griffin was withholding a smile, as if he had a secret he wouldn’t divulge. Lorraine was happy to let him have his secret. She knew he’d share it soon enough, and she couldn’t wait to see what it was, or to find out how long she’d be able to endure it.
Once on the beach, Lorraine followed Griffin past the tourists and sunbathers, not too many of them during that off-season week, to a small opening in a rock bank. Griffin stepped through and then reached out to help her in, her feet carefully feeling the way into the unknown, mysterious cavern.
Once inside, natural light leaked in through crevices to illuminate the amazing bath caves. Huge granite boulders were stacked upon one another, magnificent formations carved out by eons of tidal erosion to create works of art God himself had put his unseen signature to.
The cavern was filled with the salty mist of the Caribbean Sea, water leaking in with the pulse of the waves, Lorraine and Griffin holding hands as they walked through the labyrinthian cave.
“It’s gorgeous,” Lorraine couldn’t help but say.
“It was until you stepped into it,” Griffin said. “Now, compared to you, it’s just another hole in the wall. I don’t doubt that the cave is somehow reeling at your natural beauty, Lorraine.”
She smiled at how sweet Griffin was, words couldn’t find their way through the lump in her throat. Tidal pools collected between the rocks they climbed over, colorful creatures seeking refuge from the chaos of the oceans beyond. There were predators out there, gliding monsters with teeth like sharpened steel.
Lorraine had to wonder, How different am I? Is this the way I was living, sheltered and afraid? Maybe it wasn’t so bad, huddled up with my family, my tribe, letting the rest of the ocean solve its own problems. And it would have to, at least for the time being.
Lorraine and Griffin went from Dead Man’s Beach to the St. Thomas port town of Redhook. Island music leaked out of every street corner and every bar; electric reggae with guitars bending chords, drums rolling along in that rickety rhythm, steel drums floating in the humid breeze.
They strolled down the main drag, the smells of spicy jerked pork and fresh, robust ganja filling the air and her nostrils. Lorraine almost began to feel lightheaded, a feeling she knew well in her college days but not since.
Brightly painted shops sold t-shirts with the ever-present face of national hero Bob Marley, the familiar five-leafed marijuana plant, and, of course, the tricolor wool hats so popular among those who practice that lifestyle and religion.
Children sold fruit to pedestrians, police strolled around as if their mere presence might have
some effect on the teaming criminal element which barely bothered to hide beneath the surface of the tourist town.
Lorraine and Griffin dined on fresh shrimp and oysters, Lorraine unable to deny the fabled rush of aphrodisiac ecstasy that taunted her senses, tickling her imagination … among other parts of her body. With the lemony tang of the lobster tails, the heady taste of the banana daiquiris, her body was indulged with flavors and sensations she knew she just couldn’t find in New York. Looking around that beautiful and exotic island town, surrounded by the peak of God’s natural creation, Lorraine knew what Griffin had been talking about. It truly was important, even vital to partake of these experiences, to travel to the greatest distance and spend the countless dollars to achieve and enjoy them. This is a part of life, Lorraine had come to truly understand, it revitalizes and rejuvenates and it relaxes, it broadens the mind and the heart and the soul.
And it feels so good, especially after the stress and strain of daily life in New York, even Denver; anywhere in the hustle-bustle world I know and have always known.
But there is a choice, Lorraine knew then without a doubt, there is another way, if only I can muster the strength to embrace it and give up my presumptions of myself, of my community, of my government. What do those things really matter to me? I’ve got my husband, my awesome kids, my fantastic friends and parents. The rest is just distraction, isn’t it? How much does any of it mean against the majesty of that Caribbean sea, those tree-caked mountains, joy abounding that most people can only dream of and will never enjoy?
And there was still more to enjoy. Willy T’s was a two-decker boat anchored in the nearby British Virgin Islands, where middle aged women did shots and young, shirtless men jumped off the top deck into the water to the joyous shouts and applause of their frat brothers and traveling companions.
Bob Marley tunes blared into the starry night’s sky, the slinky rhythms finding their way into Lorraine and Griffins hips as they relished a corner of the deck for themselves, Griffin leaning against the metal pole that supported the canopy over the upper deck.
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