The Lover from Fifth Avenue (The Greatest Love Stories)

by Natalie Ansard

  When she, awoken by the morning light, opened her eyes and stretched her long, bony body, as smooth as a trout from a mountain spring, Victor gave her five or six passionate kisses while repeating to himself: ‘After long time, this gorgeous girl spurred all those childish affections in me, filling with the purity of faith and the intensity of passion at the same time’.

  She had never seemed as seductive and as deeply beautiful as she was now. Donna gave him that famous, wide smile of hers that was the embodiment of faith, sincerity, happiness and love.

  “Are you hungry, Sugar?” Victor asked.

  “As hungry as a bear, Vic!” she replied.

  “But there’s more food in Sudan than in our refrigerator. The old folks have simply taken off to Europe, and left us to starve to death.”

  “We’ll think of something. We’ll definitely think of something”, she said her famous words, accompanied by a mild smile, while Victor had a somewhat mysterious look on his face.

  “You know, dad wanted to talk to us about something before he went”, he said while she was getting up. “I immediately refused because I knew what he wanted to say to us.”

  “What?” Donna asked while putting on Victor’s shirt and opening the curtains. The sunlight now penetrated the room at full strength and unhindered, filling it with warmth and regular spring atmosphere.

  “That you’re really nice and that he likes you, but…”

  He stopped right there, acting as if he were afraid of something; however, he was faking it.

  “But..?” Donna repeated, unaware of his shenanigans.

  “But… First we have to finish our studies, get a job and have a bunch of kids before planning a future together.”

  “Are you kidding?” she asked. “Do you think I’m so gullible? Old Peter Nash would rather bite his own tongue than say something like that.”

  “Something like… what?”

  “Something about having a bunch of kids before marriage.”

  “I’m not kidding. The old man is strict and unrelenting. Besides, he’s still pretty suspicious”, Victor continued, seemingly serious, but barely controlling his inner laugh.

  “What is he suspicious about?” she asked him, confused and puzzle-headed.

  “Whether the tricksy Sugar really loves her Vic. Peter Nash, my lawful father, is not entirely sure whether you’re truly in love with his only son, or you just pretend to be, which is illegal. Or, as lawyers would say – never mind the law, it was the judge who put you behind bars for telling lies.”

  Donna finally realized the comical undertone to the whole story. She grabbed a feather pillow from the bed and threw it into Victor’s head, yelling: “You… you… loudmouth, you! You… you… incorrigible gossip spreader! Why are you making me worried? Why?!”

  He grabbed her hand and knocked her down on the bed, kissing her face and forehead, whispering:

  “Because I love you. Because I adore you.”

  His grip became softer and looser, so she wrapped herself around him, pulling him closer. Her face was meek and loving.

  “I love you and I’ll never stop loving you, Vic! You just have to teach me some things. A lot of things! I’ll be a patient and tame pupil, I promise you that.”

  Then she kissed him softly, dragging her fingers through his hair. He slipped his hand under her shirt, stopping his palms on her swollen breasts for a moment. She was trembling as if having a fever, and then relaxed like a chased quail in the grass. When his fingers moved lower and already reached her pantyline, her face suddenly twisted into a painful grimace.

  “Vic, don’t! Please! I’m not ready yet! I beg you!” she said and quickly turned her head aside. However, this wasn’t an attempt to hide timidness or fear of her first sexual experience, as anyone could rightfully assume. It was something completely different – it was a fear, a febrile fear of something that was familiar to her. She imploringly repeated: “Vic, I beg you!”

  She had told him that a few times before, repeating every time – don’t, I’m not ready yet, I beg you…! Victor caught himself staring at her face with two tears rolling down her cheeks. He felt that something was going on. He felt that something was terribly wrong deep inside Donna, that she held a terrible secret in her heart, making her motionless and stiff.

  “Sugar, you’re crying. For God’s sakes, what’s happening to you?” he asked, wiping her tears with his fingers. Then he came closer to her and repeated: “Tell me, what’s going on?”

  Her whitened fingertips were tightly holding the sheet, and her lips were reduced to a thin reddish line drawn on a white wall.

  “Please, Vic. I haven’t… I beg you… I can’t”, she stuttered, crying and shaking all over.

  “My love, you know how I feel about you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to know the reason you’re crying. What happened?”

  Donna now looked at him, sadly and almost hopelessly. It was obvious that she had many doubts: should she say what was on her mind, or should she just get her things and go home. The first option finally prevailed. She sat on the bed and said:

  “I love you, Vic! Anything else is lies. I really, truly love you. I’ll love you until the day I die.”

  “I love you too, and you know it. So, what’s the problem?”

  She seemed as if she didn’t hear him. She said: “I was taught that even a good man isn’t devoid of sin.”

  “That’s right. No one is without sin”, Victor replied. “We all make mistakes; some of us less, some of us more. Our mistakes stay with us like a dried-up mud stain on a clean suit. It all depends on the sin: if it’s a greater sin, the stain gets bigger, too.”

  “I once knew a good man. However, he did sin a lot”, she said, but slowly and quietly, as if she was trying to suffocate every new sentence she uttered. “My childhood is like a nightmare… I was thirteen… He dragged me into his cabin and… He mol-mol-mol…” she started stuttering.

  “He molested you?”

  She just nodded. That awful secret of hers was finally revealed, disclosed, taken out like dirt from underneath the closet. She let out a deep sigh, like she needed some air, and then dejectedly said:

  “I’ve never told this to anyone, not even my own mother. You’re the first man who’s ever heard this. I think I’ll be able to talk to my sister, I’m pretty close to her. She’s older than me, she’s always been very protective… As soon as I come visit her in Detroit, I’ll tell her everything. I can’t live with this awful secret anymore…”

  Her eyes were motionless and wet; her lips were numb and vengeful. He put her head on his chest, stroking her hair and her face. He felt awful, really awful, but the events couldn’t be reversed. It seemed to him that he was taking more and more of Donna’s pain with every breath he took. My God, he suddenly thought, what kind of an animal had done this?

  “Who did this to you?” he asked her quietly, muffled as if he just lost the ability to speak.

  “A neighbor who’s always been kind to me. He did that once and never more. After that… I don’t know what happened to him… I think they discovered his dead body. He committed suicide… Oh, God, why did I tell you this…?” she was saying, sobbing loudly.

  “Shhhh! Don’t speak! Don’t torment yourself!” Victor consoled her, still stroking her hair and face.

  “That year has been haunting me like a dreadful nightmare. I would love to erase it from my life completely.”

  He sought to console her, but he couldn’t find the right words. He found himself in a rift: on one hand, he was tormented by the fact that Donna lived through such traumatic moments as a teenager, and on the other, he felt the bitter taste of the fact that Donna’s virginity was fake. Being twenty-seven years old, well-educated, open-minded and tolerant, it was expected that he put everything aside like a sensible man and a true gentleman, and not to behave like a common brute. However, when he wanted to say “forget about it”, darkness overcame the light, stupidity overcame common sense, and bigotry ove
rcame thoughtfulness. Something hard, harsh and indigestible got stuck in his throat; instead of swallowing it, or at least spitting it out like a tasteless morsel, he didn’t say anything. Anything at all. He just aimlessly and ruefully looked over Donna’s head while his heart closed like a coconut. That wasn’t enough for her terribly ulcerated soul. Not good enough! Not good enough at all!

  * * *

  Five long days went by, then five more, but Donna didn’t call Victor, nor did he visit her at the student campus like he used to. It was a period of ridiculous tendance. It seemed that it suddenly became part of their defense system: they acted as if they would rather not see each other under these circumstances. It seemed that a mutual desire to stop seeing each other resulted from her strange and painful confession.

  However, things weren’t as they seemed. He immediately, maybe even after a few hours, realized how mistaken he was after he saw Donna out of his house on Fifth Avenue, coldly and without a word of consolation or support, suddenly justifying himself with an imaginary headache. His foolish male pride wouldn’t let him give in first. On the other hand, she was convinced that she had done the right thing by telling Victor the truth, but she also rightfully thought that she shouldn’t or couldn’t agree to a new humiliation and complete shattering of her own dignity, despite being madly in love with him.

  They were playing a game of cat and mouse. It was a frivolous, grotesque outwitting leading to nothing meaningful: their behavior was just deepening the gap between them, enlarging the heavy burden which threatened to leave huge, irreparable cracks.

  And then, fate decided to intervene again. As it turned out, Peter Nash got the flu on the first Sunday after he returned from Chamonix: he couldn’t get out of bed, so he asked his son to drop by the drugstore and to return with any kind of medication that would relieve his fever until the doctor’s appointment on Monday. Victor drove to 75 Street, parked at the Whitney Museum, and went to the drugstore nearby. Just when he purchased the medication and was receiving the change from the pharmacist, Stacey barged in, totally nervous and confused. He was so confused that he almost didn’t recognize Victor. He just brushed his shoulder on Victor’s and plunged towards the counter, quickly saying:

  “Wait for me. I have something to tell you.”

  Victor went outside and waited for him by the phone booths, neurotically playing with a bottle of pills in his pocket. Stacey went out carrying a plastic bag, devoid of that innocent, benevolent smile of his, with a look of anger and warning on his face. He shoved the rustling bag under Victor’s nose while saying in a strict, almost threatening voice:

  “You see this, Lord? This is all for Donna.”

  “Why, is she sick?”

  “She got sick last night”, Stacey continued in the same voice.

  “Where?”

  “I bumped into her, not far from the student campus. She had a terrible fever, she could barely move.”

  “Well, how about that!” he said haughtily.

  Stacey instantly grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him: “We’ve been friends for years. You’re like a brother to me. That’s why I have a moral right to nag you. Listen to me: I don’t want to interfere with your personal life, but I can’t let you to bury her alive. For God’s sakes, why are you doing this to her?”

  Victor was bewildered. He just managed to say:

  “Dear Count, I have absolutely no idea what you’re trying to say.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. And don’t call me Count until you come to your senses”, Stacey sternly reprimanded him. “Donna hasn’t said anything to me, but even a bat could see that she’s going through a rough time. Nobody has seen you hanging out anywhere in days. For crying out loud, what’s going on?”

  “I have an exam soon. I don’t have time for anyone.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not buying this crap. Donna is really hurt by something: she looks like a zombie. She’s been crying incessantly.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s perfectly OK to cry from time to time”, Victor said casually.

  “I don’t recognize you, Lord”, Stacey hissed. “Do you really think I’m just a hysterical fool and that I’m yelling at you for no reason? I’m yelling at you because of Donna, not myself. Believe me, such a girl is hard to find. That’s why I care about Donna finding happiness in her life. It seems to me that God has cursed me: I’m not her type, she told me that straight up, but that doesn’t mean we can’t continue being friends. Listen to me, you’ll never find a woman as smart and as beautiful as she. You’re a fool if you miss your chance. Remember what you said to me last fall: ‘If you’ve already decided to hook up with that chick, you shouldn’t give up…’ I gave up because I had no chance with her; but you, Lord, you’ve captured Donna’s heart more than you think and she can belong to you only. Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you?”

  Victor was confused again. He had never heard Stacey talking like that. The quick, consecutive sequencing of facts was undoubtedly neither accidental, nor some momentary fad of his: he had a logical explanation and a solid overage for each and every one of them. He replied:

  “I know what you’re trying to say!”

  But, Stacey wouldn’t calm down: “You don’t know anything. You’re u stuck-up bastard who thinks only of himself. You behave as if you have the whole world wrapped around your finger, as if you know all the secrets of the universe. You live beyond time and space because you can afford it. But the rest of us are streetwise, we think differently because life has taught us differently. My folks have never gone skiing in France or Colorado, and neither did Donna’s. We eat at plain cafeterias, our meals consist of day-old bagels and rancid peanut butter; our parents send us care-packages in old shoe boxes, and we’re not cheap because it’s more practical, but because we really have no money. You can think of me whatever you like, but I have to tell you what you deserve and what I’ve been trying to smash into your face for years: Lord, you’re a bastard. A common, stuck-up bastard.”

  He then turned around and went towards the subway stop; Victor was standing in the middle of the street, frozen and speechless, feeling misery and shame. It took him some time to grasp his position. He looked in Stacey’s direction and yelled:

  “Count, wait! Stop! I’ll join you.”

  He ran towards him and soon caught up with him, saying: “Let’s go together. First I’ll bring the medication to my old man, and then I’ll go with you to the campus.”

  Stacey hugged him and said: “Donna is a good girl. She didn’t deserve you punching her around like an ald rag. She really didn’t deserve it.”

  “Yes, she definitely didn’t deserve it”, Victor honestly admitted.

  Stacey had something more to say: “I’ve told you before: I don’t want to interfere with your personal life, nor do I want to lecture you. Besides, that would be insensible and pretentious of me. Who am I to lecture Victor Nash? Who am I? What I’m trying to say is that I get you. Completely. We all make smaller or greater mistakes sometimes. We all have occasional temptations and weaknesses. However, we have to look back when the time comes. We have to ask ourselves whether we’re winning or losing. Whether we’ve done something reckless that turned our lives for the worse. This may sound a bit philosophical, but it’s true. I’ve always been very curious about the additions and subtractions in life. Sometimes, it’s important to lose something in order to gain double later.”

  Victor paid attention to him the whole time, feeling a sort of special affection towards him. He had to admit: Stacey showed him the right way, broke the omnipresent spirit of snobbism in his way of thinking and cleared the skies over his head. And under those skies, he recognized himself as who he really was: faking and escaping certain life truths was no longer part of his point of view, he was sure of that. Especially after he had yelled: ‘Count, wait! Stop! I’ll come with you to the campus!’ He was extremely happy about that new insight of his.

  “Will you be my
best man?” Victor asked out of the blue; his laughter was somewhat festive, ecstatic and pleasurable. It was now Stacey’s turn to be confused, but he quickly found his bearings, saying:

  “I will, if you tell me what you were thinking about that first time we discussed Donna. Remember, it was the time when I still had some romantic illusions and boastfully thought that Donna has to belong only to me. I saw the sarcasm in your eyes that day. You said something nasty about me to yourself, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I said: ‘Count, you’re a fool! Nothing but a stupid, naïve fool!’ That’s what I said.”

  “And that was the truth. That chick is way out of my league. Besides, even then I realized that you also have plans that included her. I simply didn’t want to compete with you.”

  “And what about my offer?”

  “Oh, your offer”, Stacey repeated and continued: “I accept your offer. I’ll be your best man.”

  They hugged and headed towards the street where Victor’s car was parked, laughing loudly, uncontrollably and contagiously.

  During the walk, Victor added: “Donna will be my wife, and I’ll do anything to make it happen. I fell in love faster than I was aware of.”

  * * *

  After they got married, her beauty seemed to blossom even more. „Just as the truth is authentic, nothing is fake about my Sugar“, Victor would often say.

  Stacey had to wait a full three years to become Victor's best man, but he did get around to it. In the meantime, Victor graduated and soon opened a law firm downtown, in the southern part of Manhattan. His reputation as a talented and skillful lawyer soon spread across the city. He treated every detail with utmost responsibility, bursting with knowledge and desire to win every case. He would always prey on some high-profile case, and was pretty successful in handling it. Being unstoppable and witty, he completely concentrated on the events in the courtroom; lots of law students came to see his cross examinations and especially his brilliant closing arguments. To say that he enjoyed it would be an understatement: more than anything, he wanted to be appreciated and loved, to be in the centre of attention, to be recognized on the street, to be approached and congratulated on successfully defending his clients. He now longer lived in his father's professional shadow. Hardly anyone called him 'the son of the famous Peter Nash'. All of the sudden, everyone started seeing him as Victor Nash, a brilliant lawyer, a great expert on criminal law; his father was more and more seldomly mentioned. In short, he became the famous son of the famous father.