“I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, cause it’s the last time it can ever happen,” she said in a low voice. “Let me look at you,” she said squinting. He could almost recognize the face of the teenage girl she had been when he had last seen her. “Before we get out of this booth I want you to know two things: one,” she said raising her finger, “I will never tell another living soul what just happened, especially not your wife. Two, if I ever decided to seduce you there is absolutely nothing you could do but be seduced, so don’t ever preach to me about principles and doing the right thing. I know all about a man’s principals and a woman’s for all that. It’s good for the both of us that that’s not what I want. But we did have to do this, so we can say it’s past us and so that you know where you stand and I know where I stand.”
“Where is that exactly?” he said.
Samara smiled, “On even footing. I’m not a little girl any more, Noah. I need us to be equals.” It startled him to hear her use his name. “I need to talk to you about something very important and if there is sexual tension between us, that will be impossible. We both know you are married to a woman you love. You might even fall in love with me too. That happens. But it won’t stop you from returning to her afterward. And who could blame you? I’ve seen her pictures; and to keep your attention for all these years, she must really be something. I’ve lost already. I’m not worried you’ll tell her,” she said laughing playfully. “People are excellent at keeping secrets of their own. It’s everybody else’s they can’t shut up about.”
“How old are you again?” he said staring into her eyes.
“Twenty-five next year,” she said pulling herself out of the booth and him with her.
They finally took a seat at the table. The waiter appeared immediately.
“Since we have opened one of our oldest and finest bottles of Macallum, shall I assume you will be having another glass?”
“Of course.”
The waiter’s expression could not betray the fact that he had seen all that had transpired; graciously he chose not to make eye contact. He was overly polite.
“I will be right back with two Macallums, an exceptional choice.”
“Thank you.”
Samara looked all around. “Man you guys knew all the best spots didn’t you? This place is so great. Look at all this stuff.”
The room looked like one giant antique. At one end a giant boar’s head jutted from the wall, face forever locked in a defiant grimace. An ancient, hulking jukebox still spun old 45’s. Nat King Cole was crooning about his orange colored sky as she scanned the room.
“It’s like--like Sherlock Holmes’ study,” she said wistfully.
“It’s exactly like that,” he said looking around. He looked at her finally regaining some of his wits.
“What’s going on, Samara? What’s this all about?”
“It just arrived,” she said looking over his shoulder. The waiter placed the drinks in front of them.
“Thanks,” they both said in unison.
“It’s a long story, actually. What did you tell Naomi?”
“I’m out drinking with the guys.”
“So you really were hoping we’d end up at a hotel together?” she said arching her eyebrows.
His face flushed scarlet.
“It’s ok. I’m gonna be smart enough for both of us, professor. Here’s to drinking with the boys,” she said raising her glass.
Chapter 10
“I’m sorry for what I said about sleeping together, ok,” Samara said. “I sounded arrogant and foolish. It was obnoxious and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” he said.
“I can’t believe I kissed you though,” she laughed. The drinks were starting to loosen her tongue a bit. “It was a dare I made to myself a long time ago. You were my first crush. It’s bittersweet to think back on those days. My dad was always happiest when you were around, most himself. You know my mother hated you a little bit? You made her jealous with the relationship you two had. But of course she loved you too.” She paused and her eyes suddenly went glazed with a faraway look. “I need to talk to you about my dad. You knew him better than anyone, I think. I imagine talking about him frankly and honestly might be a very hard thing for you to do with me. You know I’ve been in Italy for the past three years. I came home a month ago and was going through some of his things and I found something. I wanted to ask you about it. Did my dad have any close friends you know of, or you know, were there any other women who might have been close to him?”
“Charlie?” he asked shaking his head in disbelief. “No, I mean if you mean in any way romantically--” he said lowering his voice. “No, Samara, I never knew your dad to pursue anyone but your m--”
“He cheated once for sure, but that time I know about.” She interrupted. “He and my mother had that one out right in front of me, when I was a kid.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Of course not, it was before; it was a long time ago.” She reached into the purse slung over the arm of her chair.
“I found this,” she said presenting a piece of folded paper.
“This is dad’s handwriting:”
Sweets,
I love you more than I have words to express. Don’t be afraid. We will see each other again soon. Right now I am trapped in an impossible situation, but soon I will be able to come to you. I love you always…
“What’s really strange is that before I left for Italy this note was definitely not where I found it when I came back. I had already opened the box I found it in before I left looking for a picture of him to take with me. Somebody must have put it there after. I’m absolutely sure of it.”
“Ok,” he said, “but this is not necessarily a note to another--”
“I agree,” she said, “in fact as far as I know I am the only person he ever called sweets. Then again, maybe I don’t know everything I thought I did.”
“Could your mom have accidentally put it there?”
“No. I asked her repeatedly and she knew nothing about those boxes. She has been staying with her sister for the last few years; she’s barely been home since he passed. Tell me, what impossible situation was my dad ever involved in?”
“Couldn’t it just be an old note?” he said turning it over.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that it’s not signed? My dad always signed his name in letters. I have tons of others he has written and he signed his name in every single one of them. I can’t help think there is a purposeful vagueness going on, to hide something.”
He scratched at his temple.
“There’s something else,” Samara said lowering her gaze. “Last year I went to Egypt. I felt horrible for not being at the funeral and wanted to see Nazim. He was the last person to see dad alive and I thought it would help me get, I don’t know, closer to what happened. When I arrived they said Nazim was away, but then the strangest thing happened: they all acted like they didn’t know who I was. It was as if they had never met me. My Arabic isn’t perfect, but they acted as if my dad was completely unknown to them, like they had erased all memory of us. It was spooky. It frightened me. I spent a lot of time at their house as a teenager, you know? There was even a painting I did of a street in Sakkara that they kept on their wall. It had been taken down or thrown away. Nazim swore to me when I was a girl he would treasure it always. You know how sincere a man he is? I can’t believe he would take it down. Maybe what happened with dad was too much for him, I guess. But why would his family ignore me like that? They couldn’t tell me when Nazim would return either. Something very strange was going on in that house. They weren’t cruel to me, just completely distant, like absolute strangers.”
“That is very odd.”
“I left two weeks later without any answers. I tried to see them again before I left, but they seemed reluctant to let me back in the house. They kept apologizing and said to wait until Nazim came back and he could speak with me, c
lear things up; but they were completely vacant. I left sobbing like a fool. I’ve never felt so alone. The whole city seemed hostile and dangerous to me after that. I started feeling like I was being watched.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Noah, have you talked to Nazim since the funeral?”
“Yeah, a couple of years ago. He still maintains our boat and as far as I know the payment still goes through each month. I always expected to return someday. Is it possible they simply didn’t recognize you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see how. I have changed of course, but not that much.”
“I can’t imagine what’s going on with them,” he said earnestly.
“Look, I have been through a lot these past few years. More than I have time to tell you. I met someone and fell in love. It could have been perfect, but I sent him away, worse than that actually, I stood him up. We were supposed to get married, but I couldn’t get my head straight. I had no idea why at the time, and now he hates me of course. I started drinking too much, to forget. Finally, because mother demanded it, I sat down to talk to someone about dad. One of mom’s colleagues actually--a shrink. She said what you’d expect. I’m having post-paternal longings that can only be expressed through rage and that I am transferring this distrust to all the men in my life. It’s all to deal with my feelings of abandonment, that dad left without saying goodbye.”
Downy thought of the picture of Freud on the back wall, and looked up to the booth.
“If my dad wrote that note, who put it there?” she asked snapping his attention back to her.
“If that letter was written to me--” She looked at him intently. “Do you think it’s possible it was my dad?”
“I’m sure there is a logical explanation Samara,” he said putting his hand to hers. His hand looked worn and beaten next to her smooth, brown skin.
“That’s why I need you,” she said. Her eyes were watering at the corners. “There may come a time when I need you to tell me that my shrink was right about me. I will listen to you because I trust you. But I can’t believe these things are just coincidences. That note was planted there. Maybe someone wanted me to see it to make a point or something. But why did my dad write it and when? Did he think my mom was a bad situation? He never acted like that.”
“No, that doesn’t seem right to me either,” he said flatly.
“Can you think of a reason my dad might want to disa--”
“Don’t Samara, don’t put yourself through that thought. Let me call Nazim and speak to him. I’m sure there is an explanation. I promise you, we will get to the bottom of this, ok?” He squeezed her hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “I knew I could count on you.”
Chapter 11
Downy peered in through the glass at the rows of assembled students. There were undoubtedly crashers, since the room was overly full; some students sat awkwardly and uncomfortably in the aisles and some were even standing against the back wall. You could tell which of the ones standing were actually enrolled by the scowls on their faces. Oh well, he had warned them to be early if they wanted a seat. The crashers smiled pleasantly, trying to blend in in their chairs. Downy’s lecture on the Life of Julius Caesar was the most downloaded video of its kind on YouTube. Naomi liked to joke with him that he was almost as popular as porn. He would have been more nervous if there were only twenty people in the room, but a group this large was faceless. Except for one of course. He scanned the room for her. She’d been bounced to the third row today, but there she sat looking expectant, maybe even a bit nervous. It calmed him. He took a deep breath before he walked in. As he strode to the podium the lights flickered dramatically, suddenly causing the room to yah in unison. In the darkness you could feel the tension building. Then Mozart’s symphony blasted through the left speaker, then the right and finally in full stereo. The screen lit up dramatically, followed by a blitz of techno-laced heavy metal. Then came the shot of the bust of Caesar, probably the only one actually made during his lifetime, which morphed into the face of a real man, blood followed by skin and tissue filling in over the marble, the dark, intelligent eyes settling into their sockets. Technology could literally bring history to life. Finally, what everyone was waiting for, the full montage of blood, sex, and death from the mini-series. Many cheered. It had become an unexpected hit, especially with the college crowd, based much on it’s very frank and accurate portrayal of the Roman sexual ethic, and of course the body count at the end of each episode. The shows real success though had come from Downy’s unique ability to connect with Caesar. Even the crankiest of history buffs were impressed by his ability to capture the essence of the man many considered the most important person in the history of the world. The floodlights at the bottom of the stage went up suddenly illuminating Downy in dramatic silhouette.
“How’s that for a title? Most important man in the history of the world,” he asked his students, testing his microphone as the music slowly faded out and the lights returned to normal. He paused. “Watch your back, Jay Z. Watch your back.” It was just the kind of dry humor that had made him a teacher everyone wanted to take. You never quite knew when he might say something completely off the wall in the midst of trying to make a serious point. He had once claimed that Mark Antony had bedded many famous mistresses in his life and was briefly engaged to both Lady Amanda Bynes and Lady Ga Ga.
In a crowd of seventy-five students only one or two hands had even gone up. Apathy. Oh well, that certainly wasn’t the problem today. Downy waited for the chatter to ease. “I will keep the lights dimmed if that’s ok, I’m eighty percent more handsome in low light.” It was always a great start. He whispered again into his mic: “The guy in the helmet with the killer abs in the second scene, that was me.” Everyone laughed. “Why is that funny?” he said looking around wildly, feigning confusion. “Seriously though, we are here today to discuss the life of a man called Gaius Julius Caesar. We know very little about Caesar’s abs or pecs sadly, but--”
The laughter continued. It was perhaps the thing he most loved about his job. He was a hog for the spotlight and always had been. Charlie really had pulled him from obscurity in some ways, but Downy had hardly been your average bartender, any more than he was an average professor. Even then, as now, he’d had a loyal following of customers. One of his close friends had once insisted he’d make a great cult leader. He hadn’t known quite how to take the compliment. Calming the crowd, he slipped into his almost conversational tone, a tone which somehow made each individual in the room feel like they were the only person he was talking to, and continued. His students would laugh if they knew that he had really cultivated his public speaking skills mostly in bars. It was certainly where he had first charmed Charlie with his wit and of course his vast knowledge of history.
He looked for Samara in the low light before he began:
“It may be observed that a man’s upbringing stays with him throughout his life and that whatever else may happen to him his heart always belongs to that place which he saw first, and to those who first nurtured him. If this is true, then it may be said of Julius Caesar that he was a man of the Roman streets and of the Roman people. His home, humble by Roman standards was in a district called the Subura, famous for its prostitution and gambling. The young, aspiring Gaius must have learned a lot about human nature living there. You’ll remember from your reading that Caesar had what we might today call the common touch. He was equally at home conversing with the average man, the lower classes, as he was the aristocratic, or as the Romans called them the Optimates. Unlike the Optimates, who ruled Rome and controlled the senate, Caesar owed nothing to the men of wealth of the state and held strong anti-aristocratic feelings from the start, even siding with his uncle Marius in the civil war that nearly decimated Rome during his teens. Marius eventually lost the war. But, the young man Gaius, as he would have been called, was so well liked and noted for his talents by this time that many of the opposing regime’s own men spoke out in his de
fense. Prophetically, Sulla, the champion of the senate and Caesar’s bitter enemy is reported to have warned them that the young man would one day destroy the aristocracy, even though he eventually agreed to Caesar’s pardon.
“Housing in the Subura would have been humble. Caesar likely grew up in fairly modest home: a simple cot for a bed and maybe a spare writing table at best, stone floors and perhaps an animal skin rug. The room would have been extremely modest, 6x9 maybe smaller. A bit like Taber Hall for those of you who live there.”
The class laughed, but now they were truly listening.
“His family had been wealthier in earlier generations and according to tradition, semi-divine, being related to the goddess Venus. It’s a pretty typical story, probably mostly made up to support the notion that the family came from divinity and thus could hope to see it restored. Venus was often associated with luck,
ironically, this was a quality Caesar was fond of promoting about himself and which was considered a necessity for becoming a great military leader. Whatever the family’s true past young Gaius Julius Caesar had his sights set on a glorious future. Caesar faced tragedy early though when he lost his father at the age of sixteen. Such was the reality of life in first century Rome. It’s entirely possible his premature death affected Caesar’s view of himself and his own mortality. A famous story places a twenty-five-year-old Julius standing at the foot of a statue of Alexander the Great, not in awe of the man, but shaking his head in disgust with himself at how little he himself had achieved in comparison. It’s a telling insight into his psyche and his sense of ambition. Some of you will undoubtedly start thinking about how to take over the world when you turn twenty-five.”
Saboteur: A Novel Page 5
