“Mark has always been the love of your life, Nora.” Lisa explained, smiling sadly. I wantedtoshoutandthrowmyoutofdatejuiceoverthewideforeheadsofmyfouroldfriends.
“I’mmorethanoverthat.”Ilied.WasI?“Tellme,howlonghasitbeensince...?”Iwanted toknow.
“Well...”Juliasaid,tryingtothinkbackandwhisperingtoherselfasshecountedwithher fingers.“It’sbeentwelveyears.Itfeelslikeitwasyesterday!”
“Twelveyears!Please...”Ihuffed.Nobodyintheirrightmindcouldstillbeinlovewitha persontheyhadsplitupwithtwelveyearsbefore...
“Butyouhaven’tredoneyourlife,Nora...andit’snotbecauseyouhaven’thadthechance to.” Frank insisted. His white hair may have taken over his once dark Brown hair, but there wassomethingthathadn’tchangedatall...hecontinuedtosaythefirstthingthatcametomind, evenifwhathesaidwasstupid.
“That’sbecauseIlikebeingalone.”Ireplied,sippingatmypineapplejuiceandinventing alifethatIdidn’thavealotofinformationabout.“Now,ifyou’llexcuseme,I’mgoinghome.”
As I turned around, I saw Mark at the bar. I wasn’t the only person who saw him, my friendswerewhisperingandlaughingnervouslyaswell.ImustadmitthatIfeltatwitchinmy heart,butterfliesinmystomachlikethefirsttimeIhadgoneoutfordinnerwithStuart...The bestphysicalreactionintheworld,butalsothemostdangerous.Marklookedgoodwithgrey hair.Hewaswearingblack-rimmedglassesthatmadehimlookevenmoreattractivewithhis brightgreeneyes.Hisunkempt,three-daybeardcausedmetofeelapowerfulattractionandhis longandstrongfingerscouldnotstopthemselvesfromimitatingthemovementsthattheywere accustomed to when typing thousands of words onto a computer, carrying out the same movementsonthebar.DidMarkstillthinkaboutmeinthisparallelworldthatIappearedto bein?Didhestillhavefeelingsforme?WastheretheremotepossibilitythatMarkhadalso livedinthatotherparallelworldandthathedidn’trememberhispastrelationshipwithme?
BeingtwostrangerstoeachotherinNewYork,withourrespectiveandverydifferentlives...
with nothing in common, with no stories to remember, no experiences to get caught up on duringacausalconversations.IfeltasuddenfearthatIwasnotusedtofeelingandItriedto dowhatIhaddoneforyearswhenIhadseenhimonthestreetsofNewYork.
Before I could get out of there quickly, Mark saw me. He looked at me with a serious expressionandwavedatme.Thefoursomebehindmefellsilent,asiftheywereatthecinema watchingaromanticcomedythatIlikedtowatchwithStuartwhenwehadfirststarteddating...
IlookedbackatMarkandranasfastasIcouldtowardtheexit.MyGod,itfeltlongerthanthe hallinthemovieTheShining.Markrantowardmeand,withaquickmovement,managedto grabmyarm.Leavinghisseriousexpressionbehindandturningitintothemostbeautifulsmile Ihadeverseen.
STUART,BONNIEANDTHEIRFIRSTDATE
Bonnie knew that she would never have to go back to the Bronx again, or to the decayed apartment where she had spent the past ten years of her life. She wondered why she hadn’t carriedoutthespellbefore.Thecursewasthebestideashehadthoughtofinherlifeandshe finallycouldlivethelifeshebelievedshedeservedaftersomuchbadluck.Shehadgonefrom beingtheclumsywomanwhoknockedintothewallandturnedonthelightswitchbymistake tobelongingtotheselectandsmallgroupofwomenwhoshonewiththeirownlightandwho alloftheworldturnedtolookatwithadmirationassoonastheyappeared.Shethoughtabout touchingherselfupabit.Fixingherteeth,makinghernosesmallerandevengettingridofsome of the wrinkles that usually appeared with the passing of time. But there was something she wouldneverhave.ShewouldneverbeasattractiveasNoraClayton,whoshecouldnotstop thinkingabout.Havingherblueeyes,herperfectnose,herfulllipsandhersmoothskinthat, even with all of the magic in the world, she would never be able to copy. She stopped obsessingoverthenowexexecutivevicepresidentofthecompanywhohadneverexistedin thatworldassoonassheenteredherluxuriousapartment,locatedinfrontofCentralParkand very close to the house Stuart shared with his son, John. She smiled as she saw herself surrounded by marvelous works of art, large and luxurious rooms and ostentatious furniture.
Shelaiddowntorelaxonthelargewhiteleathersofaandlookedupatthehugecrystallamp that was hanging from the ceiling. She had always wanted a lamp like that one. Smiling, she skipped toward her bedroom. She could dress up how she wanted with the clothes in her dressingroom.Theenvyofeverywoman...Anditwashers!Dresses,suits,hundredsofhigh heeled shoes that she would have to learn to walk in, professional make-up with which she couldachievethebeautifulfaceshewanted...andhiddeninoneoftheclosets,wasthebookof spellsshehadinheritedfromhermother.Shepickeditupverycarefullyand,oncesheopened it,sheaskedthebooktoshowherimagesofNoraClayton’snewlife.Thebookimmediately obeyed its master’s orders and showed her a Nora Clayton who was very different from the onesherememberedinthemajesticoffice.Lost,confused,withanexpressionthatshowedthe hard time she was trying to come to terms with. She was standing there, staring toward an infinitegreenforestfullofperfectlyalignedtrees,whichalllivedinperfectharmony.Bonnie, satisfied, closed the book and began to get ready for her first date with Stuart. For the occasion,shechoseatightreddressandblackhighheels.Shesatdownatherdressingtable andherinexperthandsbegantomakeupherboneyface,herlargeBrowneyesandtohidethe imperfectionsonherskin.Shetiedupherpoorthinhairand,notlookingawayfromthemirror, she tried to imitate one of the Hollywood smiles that captivated everybody. She was not completelysatisfied,butsheknewthatStuartwouldbeattractedtoher.Andherpowerwould becomestrongerandstronger,tothepointofbewitchinghimentirelyandmakinghimfallhead overheelsinlovewithher.
Atseveno’clock,thedoorbellrang.ItwasStuart,elegantandpunctualwithabouquetof beautifulwhiteflowersinhishands.
“Thank you.” Bonnies said, giving him a daring kiss on the cheek. “Let me put these in water.”
As Bonnie walked away to the kitchen, Stuart could not stop himself from looking at her behind. Normally, he had always been attracted to more voluptuous women, but there was something special about Bonnie. Something that drove him crazy. When she returned, he greetedherwithoneofhisbestsmilesandadevilishlookthatheworkedperfectly.Heheld outhisarmandtheywalkeddowntothestreettogetherwhereStuart’schauffeurwaswaiting to drive them to a distinguished restaurant that he had chosen for the occasion. If there was somethingthatStuartknewhowtodowell,itwassurprisinganddazzlinghiscompanions.All of those years without a date had not made him lose practice, but all the contrary... he was lookingforwardtoleavinghischildishworldwithJohnbehindhimforafewhoursandfinally enjoyingaromanticdinnerwiththewomanofhisdreams.AndthatwomanwasBonnie.
The car stopped in front of the Italian restaurant Lattanzi, right in the heart of Manhattan, locatedinthesamedistrictasthetheatresthat,ineachoneofthediningrooms,madeyoufeel likeyouwereinthefamousTrastevereinRome.Stuarthadgoodmemoriesofthatplace.He usedtofrequentitalotwithhiswife,buthepreferredtohidethatsmalldetailfromBonnie.
The two love-birds climbed out of the car and, holding hands, walked into the restaurant, wheretheyweregivenoneofthebesttableswithviewsoftheNewYorkskyscrapers.Atthe table next to them, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were eating a delicious plate of spaghetti.
Bonnie tried to hide her enthusiasm of sitting right next to Brad Pitt himself and tried to concentrateonherdate,whowasusedtothosetypesofenvironments.
“Haveyoueverbeenherebefore?”Stuartaskedherkindly.
“No,never.Ihavebeeninsimilarplacesbut...”Bonnietriedtobluff,lookingatBradout ofthecornerofhereye.“Neverhere.”
“Thefoodhereisdelicious.ThebestItaliancookinginthecity.You’llsee.”
BonniewasdyingtotryatastyItalianpizza,butletherselfbeledbyStuartandhisrefined tastes.Thedinnerwasnice,Bonniewasfullofjoyatfinallyhavingamanthatpaidherallof hisattention,despitethefactthatAngelinaJoliesittingcloseby,whoheneverevenlookedat.
“You’reprobablywondering...whyittookmesolongtoaskyouout.”
Bonnieopenedhereyeswide.Stuartnodded,willingtosharewithherpartofhisintimacy forthefirsttime.“Mywifediedthreeyearsagoand,upuntilnow,Ihavenotfeltpreparedto goonadatewithanybody.Thetruthis,whenyoucametothecompany,youcaughtmyeye...
I’mveryhappythatyouacceptedmyproposalthismorning.Itisapleasuretohavedinnerwith you.”
“I am sorry about your wife.” Bonnie said, thinking once again about poor Nora, whose surnamewasnolongerClayton.“ButImustsaythatthepleasureismineandIhopethiswill bethefirstofmany.”
BonniewinkedatStuartwho,spellbound,droppedhisglassofredwineonthefloor.The glass shattered into a thousand pieces and drops of wine splattered onto Angelina Jolie’s shoes,wholookedatStuartthreateningly,whowasstillstaringbewitchedintoBonnie’slarge eyes.
MARK,THEWRITER
Thatsmilewasnotgoingtoentrapme.No,notatall...thatsmilecouldonlyseducethefanatic readersofanattractivewriterwhomostprobablyonlywantedtogetthemintobed. “Whydid you become a writer?” I remembered that they had asked him in an interview on the CNN.
“BecauseIwantpeopletoknowthestoriesthatmiraculouslyentermymind,toshowitto themthroughwords.” Hehadrepliedslowlyandlookingofsointeresting.Ialsoremembered that I had laughed to myself and I knew then that he had become a writer to break women’s hearts.
“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?Letgoofme!”Markobeyedme,confused.
“What?Yousentmeamessagelastweektellingmethatyoureallywantedtoseeme.”He replied.Hedidn’tlooklikethearrogantandproudmanthatIremembered.Atleastnotatfirst glance.
“What?Look,I’mnotgonnawastemytimewithyou.I’mleaving.”Isaid,lookingatmy fourFriends,whocontinuedtowatchusexpectantly.Theywereexcitedaboutthelittlescene andhopingforaromantickiss,intenseeyecontact...ANYTHING.Buttheirdisappointedfaces gavethemaway.Nothingwasgoingtohappen,thatwasaasforeseeableasanyAdamSandler movie.
Offendedandangry,Iwalkedovertomycarwiththeaimofgoingtomymother’shouse.I couldn’tbelieveit.ShewastheonlypersonIwantedtoseeatthatmoment,aftersomanyyears ofnotwantingtoknowanythingabouther.BeforeIopenedthecardoor,IsawPatricia.She wasrunningandcursingherredhighheeledshoes.Let’srewindquickly.IntheworldthatIhad chosen, I had worked for a fashion magazine when I finished my journalist career and was startingwitheconomics.Patriciahadbeenafriendofmine,shewentonacoupleofdateswith Stuart, until he noticed me. I had not heard from her since then and I imagined that, in this world, Patricia didn’t know me. We had never met before and we had not become good friends.NordidsheevergetangryatmeandwishthatIendedupbald,deafandlimpwhen Stuartchoseme.Ihadneverstudiedjournalism,IhadneverendeduplivinginNewYorkandI hadneverworkedinthefashionmagazinethatIrememberedsowell.
Evenso,Ibuiltupmycourageandusedmypowerfulimaginationtobeabletotalktoher.
Beforeshewalkedinsidethepub,Istoppedherknowingthatshewouldn’ttakemeasamad woman,asPatriciahadthedivinegiftofbeingabletotalktoanybody,evenifshedidn’tknow them.
“Hi!”Igreetedherwarmly.
“Hello?”
“You’rePatriciaGeller,right?”
“Yes...”Shereplied,confused.“Andyouare...”
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Nora Cla...” I almost forgot. Clayton was no longer my surname. It couldn’t be, because it had never been in this world. “Nora Stewart... I was a
friendofStuart’sandImetyouononeoccasion.Wow!Youhaven’tchangedabit.”Thatlast bit was true. Patricia had not changed at all. She still had her beautiful long red hair, her perfectskincoveredincutefrecklesandshininghoneycoloredeyes.
“You’reafriendofStuart?”Inodded.“Wow...it’sbestwedon’ttalkabouthim.Iheardon the news that Lucille, the model he left me for, had died. Poor thing...” She continued in an ironictone.
I was incapable of speaking. Stuart was a widow? My world collapsed around me. I thoughtaboutMattagain.TheMattthat,inthisworld,wascalledJohnandwhocontinuedto be identical to the son that I didn’t have, given that it appeared that, despite having another mother,hehadalsoinheritedStuart’sgenes.Sohewasn’tmyson,but,accordingtoPatricia, thesonofadeadmodel.
“You’reprobablywondering...whatamIdoinginthislittletown?”Shelookedaroundher indisgust.“I’mdatingMarkLudwig,thewriter.”Sheinformedmeproudlyandwithadevilish look.Iwasevenmoreshocked.“Iimaginethatyouknowhim.Well...we’renotexactlydating atthemoment,butI’mworkingonit.He’sbroughtmeheretomakehisex-girlfriendjealous.
Canyoubelieveit?Uswomenknowhowthesethingsusuallyturnout.”Shelaughedhappily.
“And...Howdotheyturnout?”Iwantedtoknow.
“I’lljustsaythat,ifyou’reherenextweek,you’llseeforyourself.”Shereplied,winkingat me.“Andnow,ifyou’llexcuseme,I’mgoingintothepubandstarttotakeaction.Nicetosee you,bye!”
Assheopenedthedoor,Iwatchedasherperfectbehindwalkedinsidethepub.Markwas stillatthebarwaitingforherandhesawtheidioticexpressiononmyface.Ismiledathimand thenranofftomycar.Enoughforoneday.
Momwasinthekitchenpreparinghertea.IthoughtshelookeddifferenttohowIremembered herandIthoughtonceagainaboutthegoddamncancerthatwaseatingawayather.Itshocked metoseehercompletelybaldheadandherfacewithnoeyebrows.
“Thewigwasitchingme.”Shesaid,touchingherheadlightly.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
—“What?”
“Youdon’tnormallycomehereatnight,darling.”
“Right,because...Idon’tlivehere.”
Pointinmyfavor.AtleastIdidn’tlivewithmomatmythirty-sixyearsofage.But...where didIlive?HowcouldIaskherwithoutherwantingtolockmeupinanasylum?
“Ifeellikegoingforawalk,soI’llwalkhomewithyou.”Thankgod,Ithoughttomyself.It wasasifmomhadreadmymind.“Doyouwantsometea?”
“No...noway.”
“Haveyoueatensupper?”
“Yes.”Ilied.“Mom...Thecancer...”Momsatdowninfrontofmeandlookedatmewitha smile.
“Thecancerisbad,Nora.Verybad.Two,threemonthsatmost.”Shereplied,withasmuch normalityasshecouldmuster.
My world fell apart around me and I couldn’t stop myself from crying like a Little girl.
Once again... Mom hugged me. The second time that day. I thought about Matt again, in the motherIhadbeenandthatInolongerwas,inthelifethatbelongedtomeandthat,forsome strangereason,didnotexistinthisworld.Itwaslikeanobsession.
And the worst
part of all... Mom would cease to exist in a few months’ time and I felt terriblyguiltybecause,forme,manyyearshadpassedsinceIsawher,inwhichIhadignored hercompletelyandhadbeenembarrassedtosaythatshewasmymother.Withherarmsaround me,IcouldsaythatIwasproudtobeherdaughter.ThatwashowIfeltatthatmomentintime, tryingtoforgetapastthathadneverexistedforher.Butthatexistedforme.Icontinuedtothink aboutit,feelingmoreconfusedandlostthanIhadeverfeltbefore.
Halfanhourlater,momputherwigbackon,madeuphereyebrowsabitandtookanice calmandsilentwalkwithmebacktomyhouse,whichwasfiveminutesawayfromherhouse.
IgotchillswhenIdiscoveredthehousewhereIlived.Manyyearsbefore,ithadbelongedto DorothyNewman,anoldwomanwholikedtopinchchildren’scheeksandwhodiedinherbed whileshewassleeping.SoIlivedinthatrefurbishedhousefromtheVictorianera;likealmost all of the houses in Kutztown. I looked inside my horrendous purse for my keys. There they were,asiftheyhadbeenthereforever.Isaidgoodbyetomymomwithakissonthecheek, watchingasshewalkedawaythroughthecoldandemptystreetsofKutztown,surroundedby cutelittlehouses.
I could remember the old woman sitting on her rocking chair that was no longer on the porchofwhatwasnowmyproperty.OpposedfromDorothy,Ihadnotplantedflowersinthe garden. As soon as I walked inside, I turned on all of the lights and looked around me. The furniturewasrustic,nothingthatIwouldhavechosencouldbeseenaroundthehouse.Itdidn’t feel like my house, it wasn’t my home. On top of the fireplace, there were several photo frames.Iwalkedovertohavealookatthem.Iappearedinallofthem...smiling,happyand withhardlyanymake-upon.VerydifferentfromtheNorathatIhaddecidedtobe.Photoswith Frank and the crew, with my paintings, proud of them in different art galleries... and several withMark.Hugging,inlove...inthemountains,inthepub,atarestaurant,inthelake...Why couldn’tIrememberanyofthat?OntopofasmalltablestandingbesideaGreensofa,there wasamobilephone.Wholefttheirponeindoorsnowadays?Althoughitwaslastgeneration technology,atleastithadWhatsApp.Shortconversationswithmymom,somewithFrank,with somebodycalledChristine...andtherehewas,Mark.MyeyesopenedwidewhenIsawthatI hadwrittenthatImissedhim,thatIneededtoseehim,thattoomuchtimehadpassedwithout us talking to each other... I was even more surprised to see what he had written to me: Let’s make up for lost time, it’s been too long. I’m returning to Kutztown, I should never have left.” Ihuffed.Itcouldn’tbetrue.Icouldn’thavefalleninlovewithMark.Ihatedhim!
The Road of Life Page 5
