A New York Romance

by Winters, Abigail

  What is going on? She felt as if she was being chased by the melody. She hurried home and locked the door behind her, doing her best to leave the eerie feeling on the other side of the door. The music had stopped.

  “Hi honey, your home,” her mother said. The smell of a hot meal lingered through the air. “Bob called and told me everything was looking good. He should probably be able to get you an audition very soon.”

  “That’s great,” Julie said, still trying to forget about the violin player.

  “You don’t sound very excited.”

  “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

  “I made you dinner.” But Julie was already down the hall and closed her bedroom door. “Well, goodnight my dear,” Jill whispered.

  Julie had thought about turning around to give her mother a goodnight hug, but she didn’t.

  She entered her bedroom. The window was wide open. She crawled over her bed and reached out to shut it. She looked over the fire escape and listened for the sound of a violin, only hearing the sounds of paper blowing on the empty street, an empty pop bottle rolling on the sidewalk, distant traffic, and the sound of the neighbor’s television.

  She lay down on her bed and remembered the last words the violinist said to her, Tonight, I will play a melody of love just for you. She thought of the melody he began to play, the melody that chased her down the street. She thought of Charlie and her mother, and then she let the melody run wild in her head as she fell asleep.

  As Julie was drifting off to sleep, Charlie’s plane arrived promptly at JFK airport. He had no bags and requested that the taxi driver bring him directly to a hotel located across the street from the building Mr. Costea worked in. Charlie answered many of the requests that were sent to him from Utah, New Mexico, Florida, and as far away as California, but he never stopped thinking about how he failed Mr. and Mrs. Costea. He also never stopped thinking about Julie. She was always in the back of his mind, lingering like a beautiful flower, lost in a meadow that he somehow hoped he would find again.

  As he entered his hotel room, he set the key on the stand. The room was spotless as expected. The beds were neatly made. A few brochures were laid out on the nightstand under the lampshade. The towels were folded and hung in their places. Bars of soap were tightly wrapped in packages. Charlie always stayed in hotels except when he was back home with his parents. He was used to it, but this time, the hotel had a lonely feeling to it. He looked out the window. The streets were unusually bare for New York City. The emptiness of them calmed him, but the feeling of loneliness was still there.

  Charlie emptied the pockets of his brown corduroy jacket and pulled out his toothbrush, the only possession he had, and sat on the edge of the bed. The airport had confiscated his tube of toothpaste. He was tired. Even as a god, jetlag took a toll on the human body. After all, he had flown all over the country in the past several months and no place felt like home, not even New York City; the place he spent his most memorable times as a human, wandering the streets with Julie to the coffee shops, plays, symphonies, and parks.

  He stared out the window into the sky and thought of her with fondness. He remembered the lovely restaurant, the waiter who served them so kindly, and the chubby gentleman who he had embarrassed in the middle of the street, who was now in love with a beautiful nurse.

  Then he remembered the bus crash. The torn metal, shattered glass, and damaged skin flashed through his mind. He felt ashamed. He let go of his concentration for one moment to follow his passion, and for a woman he did not even know. Then what flashed through his mind was her smooth skin, the cascading hair, her eyes, and soft lips. He felt the passion, again reflecting in his racing heartbeat, the rush of blood, the tingling of skin, and twitching muscles. Such damage was caused from this passion being released. The hundreds of lives he affected in that one moment of selfish desire. He concluded that temporary pleasure was so unimportant compared to the eternal love deep below the surface. Pleasure for Charlie was but a distraction to the deeper love he now struggled to abide in, within his human form. Yet, he could not stop thinking of her.

  He turned his head and brought his awareness back into the hotel room. There on the desk was a pile of neatly placed brochures. He walked around the bed and turned on the light. He lifted the brochures into the path of the glowing bulb. There was so much to do, but yes, everything would be so much more wonderful with Julie at his side. He quickly shook off the human emotions again and went to bed.

  The next morning, Julie walked to work. The air was chilly. The buildings rested like sleeping giants before the morning rush. As the streets began to fill with people, Julie spotted a brown corduroy jacket ahead of her.

  Charlie, she thought to herself. Who else would dress like that?

  She rushed like an impatient New Yorker, weaving in and out of the clustering crowd to get ahead. She lost him then found him again. Her nerves shook and her muscles tightened as she came closer, until she was directly behind him. She reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, as he seemed unable to hear his name above the screaming horns and chattering people.

  He turned to face her. Her heart beat faster. Then a wave of utter disappointment swept through her body when she saw the eyes of a stranger.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, as he stopped to acknowledge her. “I thought you were someone I knew.”

  He nodded and turned away. Julie looked around to see where she was, realizing she had walked in the wrong direction for work. This time she hurried once again through the streets for the sake of Mel’s nerves.

  “Where were you? You’re seven minutes late,” Mel muttered, as if his entire day was already ruined by her tardiness.

  “Sorry, I followed someone I thought I knew, but it wasn’t him,” she responded.

  “You can chase boys on your own time. I got a room full of damn customers who want to be waited on,” he said, as if the customers were a bother to him also. But in New York City, there were always new faces and the tourists were fascinated with the grumpiness of the native New Yorker.

  Julie said nothing. She fastened her apron and started waiting on the damn customers.

  As Julie was starting her shift, Charlie was eating breakfast in the new, fancier hotel room he had chosen for its location, close to Mr. Costea’s work. Charlie was not used to such luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung down, reflecting the light from the enormous lobby windows in a prism of dancing colors. Leather couches littered the leisure room along with coffee tables lined with coasters, bookshelves filled with reading material, and a few racks filled with the morning’s newspapers and current magazines. He was surprised that he did not notice these things when he checked in last night.

  The hotel provided a breakfast buffet for all its guests, for a reasonable price of $6.99, which was very cheap in the city. But more interesting than the décor or the buffet, Charlie noticed the people, especially the lovers.

  Love was just a word that meant different things for different people. Some love was about lust and adventure, like the young couple sitting on the same side of the booth, sneaking away to the hotel room after breakfast. Some love was about commitment, sticking together because of time and a vow, although the romance had died long ago. Other love was not love at all, but a simple attempt to avoid loneliness, knowing they would miss each other if the other were gone. Charlie felt what was in their hearts, and love poured out of his heart, rushing out like beams of the sun to fall upon all that crossed his path. But when he looked inward, he felt an empty space. The empty seat next to him seemed more apparent, transforming his aloneness into something tragic, reminding him of what could be, and what is not. Images of the sandy-blonde girl continued to creep into his thoughts.

  As he ate breakfast, he looked across the street at the office building he intended to enter. He noted the same doorman who had been ordered to keep him out, and the number of men who walked in, dressed in fine, expensive suits. After finishing his breakfast
he went shopping, purchasing an expensive black suit, complete with shoes, socks, a shirt, tie, and matching handkerchief. And toothpaste.

  He returned to the room, which had already been cleaned. The bed was neat, the floor had been swept, the brochures were neatly stacked on the nightstand again, and new towels and soap had been laid out. He thought again how everything appeared so perfect, yet the room felt so empty. He showered, brushed his teeth, and put on the expensive suit. He looked in the mirror at himself, noticing the neatness and emptiness of the room behind him again.

  He walked out the door.

  Chapter 29

  Charlie dodged the taxis as he crossed the street. He smiled at the doorman and entered the building as if he had done business there a hundred times before. About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Costea returned to his office with the newspaper in his hand. He didn’t notice Charlie sitting in one of the client chairs until he sat down. “Ah…who are you?” he asked.

  “It’s me. Your old friend, Charlie. You forgot?”

  “Charlie?” Mr. Costea repeated. Suddenly he noticed the stranger didn’t have his shoes on. He looked at the edge of the doorway to find the polished dress shoes there, and then turned to look at his face more clearly. “It’s been a long time, Charlie Daniels. You look different today, all dressed up. Did you start working here?”

  “I never really quit, just took a break to take care of a few other things that needed tidying up,” he responded.

  “Where’s my coffee?” he grinned. “I thought I banned you from this building.”

  Charlie smiled at him, grinning with a confidence that said he had come to get what he wanted and he would not leave until he got it.

  “You are very persistent. I like that,” the equally sharp dressed adversary replied. “What can I do for you today?”

  “I want my apology for all the things I mentioned before, about the day we met on the street, and now for throwing me out and the look of victory you gave me from the window, for your gluttony, your rudeness, and your persistent will to get the best of everyone in every situation. I want an apology for you being rude to not only me, but to everyone you meet who can’t do you a favor. For the waitress at Joe’s Place, your secretary, and for all the things you have done wrong that went unnoticed.”

  “Why would I apologize to you for what I did to other people? Are you a god that can forgive me?”

  His sarcastic tone was mixed with laughter.

  “What you do to them you do to me, to your wife, your sons, and yourself. Your time of redemption is at hand, Mr. Costea. I want an apology for how rude you are to taxi drivers and how inconsiderate you are to the many creatures upon the Earth. I want an apology for every spider you’ve harmed and mosquito you’ve smashed. For all the meals you’ve eaten without appreciation, for all the kindness that has come your way that you were not thankful for. And I won’t stop coming after you until I get it.”

  “Who do you think you are to talk to me this way?” he grumbled.

  Charlie stood up with a devilish grin upon his face and a rage in his eyes, “I am but a mirror, reflecting the tainted parts of your soul back to you. Give me the apology now.”

  “No!” he screamed, as he shoved the papers off his desk and stood up. “I have nothing to apologize for. I have what I have today because of how hard I worked!” the picture of his wife fell to the ground, cracking the glass across her face.

  Security suddenly burst through the door. Mr. Costea wanted to tell them to leave Mr. Daniels alone. He couldn’t explain it. He felt hate for his adversary, but he felt drawn to the challenge, to get the best of Charlie Daniels on his own, without the help of security. But he said nothing.

  “Such fruitless wealth. You have nothing if you do not know true love,” Charlie said calmly, as he was harshly apprehended. “You have what you have because of how hard you worked. But you have lost what you lost because of how much you have neglected this most precious thing.”

  “We apologize, Mr. Costea,” the head security guard said. “We don’t know how he got in. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Charlies words hit him hard, like the first swing of his iron sword striking flesh.

  “Alert the doorman he’s back!” Mr. Costea shouted. It was the only defense he had at the moment. Charlie’s words had weakened him.

  “Yes, Mr. Costea,” security replied.

  “I’ll be back in a week, and we will settle this once and for all,” Charlie said, as he was dragged out the door. After security roughed him up, they gave him his last warning to never enter the building again.

  Charlie, in all his silence, wished them love. The aches, pains, and bruises they gave him would heal quickly, but their aggressive hearts would perhaps take centuries to heal.

  Charlie gathered up his shoes and put them on his feet. He walked the streets slowly, returning every bit of his mind toward love and the feeling of it radiating out of his heart to everyone.

  As Julie left work that evening, the violin player was nowhere to be found. She noticed a juicy piece of ham on top of the garbage before she left, but she was too afraid to take it, for fear of running into him again. The cats seemed to be gone anyway, perhaps finding a feast elsewhere. The other item she looked out for on the way home was a brown corduroy jacket. Even without the jacket, anyone who slightly resembled Charlie in any way sent a rush through her body. At first glance even their faces appeared as him, but when she focused to see they were not, a wave of disappointment swept the excitement away.

  When she arrived home, her mother was sitting on the couch.

  “Hi, how was work?”

  “Fine,” she glanced at her. Her nerves were shaken. She felt a lump in her throat. She faced the floor again and walked past her without another word.

  “Juliet, please come sit down.”

  She stopped in the hallway, turned herself around, and reluctantly dragged her feet across the floor to sit next to her mother on the couch.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind, Juliet, you cannot keep it inside you. If you keep it inside, you can never really let it go,” her mother said, as if she had been there.

  Julie sat still for a moment. She thought of Beethoven releasing all his anger and rage, beauty and joy in that one symphony. She remembered how she felt the Master’s emotions rush from the instruments through every ounce of her being. Her nerves were like naked wires, feeling what he felt when he wrote it, as the musicians played out his drama for the world to hear almost 200 years later.

  That is the beauty of art. It gives the artist the opportunity to let it all go, to reflect the inner world beyond words into the outer world, she recalled the author Addison Kane say in an article. A good actress always becomes one with the character, expressing their inner world through the character. If not for the arts, you’ll just end up sitting in a psychologist’s office, expressing your inner world to a quack.

  Julie made no use of such talents thus far. She felt a rage of mixed emotions boiling inside her. Before she opened her lips her mother said, “It is better to speak from the heart even when you know it might cause it to break,” she encouraged her. “If you have something you need to get off your chest, please do…” her mother paused, waiting for her daughter to tell her how much she disappointed her by leaving. Then she recognized the look in her daughter’s eyes, not because she knew her daughter well, but because she knew women well. It was the look all women got when they were broken hearted over a man they cared deeply about.

  “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

  Julie thought of Charlie and felt a great sadness, but instead she turned her anger toward her mother.

  “Why are you trying to act like a mother to me now? You just expect everything to be fine. You want to know what I feel? You can’t know what I feel. Maybe if I just walk out on you and hurt you as much as you hurt me, then you’ll know how I feel. Everybody just leaves me!” she began to cry uncontrollably, ran down the hall, and slammed the bedroom
door behind her.

  Her mother slowly opened the door, walked quietly inside, ready to face her past mistakes no matter what. She sat on the bed next to her, “Who is he?”

  Julie squeezed her eyelids tight and wiped the tears away.

  “How’d you know?” she asked. She had never put much weight on her mother not being there until her father died, which ignited more sadness and grief as she was left alone in the world. Now the loss of Charlie was breaking her heart all the way through.

  “It’s a mother’s instinct. I’ve been gone a long time, but I never stopped loving you. I know I have not been there for you in the past, but I’m here for you now.”

  Julie resisted the urge to scream at her again.

  “His name is Charlie. I met him on the bus when I first came to New York. We stayed together for a long time but we were not romantically involved. He was very strange, unlike anyone I met before. I knew he liked me from the start, but he was always a gentleman. He was kind to me like…like my dad,” she said, afraid to really mention the D word in front of her mother. She knew the pain her mother had caused him. “He’s very kind, even to big, ugly spiders,” she said with a smile that lightened the mood between them. “I left him for a while but found him again. This time I fell in love with him. I knew he still cared about me, but he rejected me. I don’t know why. Maybe I hurt him, or he’s afraid I will hurt him. Maybe we’re not right for each other, but I wanted to give it a chance. I feel like there is still a chance.”

  “Have you talked to him lately?”

  “No, I don’t know where he is. I thought I saw him on the street today but it wasn’t him. I think he left the city. In fact, I’m certain of it. But I still feel as if he’s here. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

  “Sometimes love is right there in front of our eyes but we don’t see it until it is too late.” Julie knew her mother was talking about herself, but it reflected on her too. Jill placed her hand on her daughter’s hand. “And sometimes it is right in front of us but we don’t see it until we’re ready to,” she added, as if taking the words out of Charlie’s mouth again. “Don’t give up if you still believe there’s a chance.”