The Nightwalker

by C.P. Kemabia

The dinner happened two days later. Mary and Marc didn’t have any difficulty finding the apartment complex where Hank and Ava resided for the duration of their stay in town. Antwone was already there when they arrived; he had just arrived himself.

  Mary looked quite lovely in her sleeveless cocktail dress with deco pattern to it. Ava, on the other hand, was wearing a midnight-blue, blouson-top dress. Antwone noted she sported her dressing style with more taste and vogue than Mary. He knew Ava not to have a canonical mentality when it came to fashion. But there were other things that differentiated the two women who were alternately stealing the show in the theatre of his heart. But this was no beauty contest, if there was one between those two, it would easily be a draw.

  Hank had apparently been the cooking force behind the delicious-looking meal which consisted of three main courses, all spread out on the table. He was very modest about his cooking abilities though. But he was an impressive man when you factored that in along his list of obvious other qualities.

  Marc was reserved and formal at first. But then he finally loosened up and, by the time the company started to feed, they had pretty much warmed up to one another. It was a pleasant dinner. There was much wine and with the food tasting like it was something made in heaven, a groovy atmosphere was set for all kinds of table conversations to thrive.

  “That place is just amazing,” Hank said to his guests, “they give you this full hour extensive massage and it’s actually therapy for your muscles, you know. I mean, you know there’s actually a whole science behind it. Look, trust me, if you love your back the way I love mine, that’s the only way to show it.”

  Marc laughed. “Well, maybe we’ll give it a shot, huh, honey…”

  “Sure why not?” Mary said. “It sounds like it could be a good stress reliever. We’ve been under a lot of it lately.”

  “Nothing terrible I hope,” Ava said.

  “No,” Marc answered. “I mean, it’s pretty normal stuff. Owning your own business is a lot of work. It can wear the hell out of you and your wellness.” He reached and put his hand over Mary’s.

  She was sitting next to him, on his left-hand side. “But we’ve been nothing but adaptable over the years, huh ––” Mary smiled and he added. “When you have an amazing copilot like her, flying through a disturbance zone is like a walk in the park.”

  “Well, I tell you living paycheck to paycheck is a bitch,” Hank said, “and in this distressed economy, it’s no way of living.”

  “Yeah, it’s getting tougher and tougher to make a dollar out of ten cents,” Marc agreed.

  “You know, I think one should definitely find out what one’s true talents are and monetize the heck out of it.”

  Marc laughed. “I’m still looking for mine,” he said.

  “There are a lot of talented people out there who scramble to make a living,” Ava said.

  “They’re not talented enough or they simply have no talent,” Hank said flatly. “No, I think talent must make money; it must pay off, otherwise it is not talent. I mean, how do you figure people like Antwone make good for themselves while other writers toil and fail?”

  “Oh,” Antwone said, “sorry to disagree but I think talent has little to do with it. In my case it wasn’t talent as much as the necessity to write that saw me through.”

  “Every successful artist I’ve met has told me the exact same thing,” Hank said, laughing. “And your humility is to your credit; makes you much more respectable.”

  Antwone sort of smiled and nodded his head and blushed altogether.

  “How do you like the lamb?” Ava asked him.

  “Delicious.”

  It really was. It was brown, just a little under the charring point, and it oozed with succulent juice.

  “You should eat the garlic too,” Ava said, and, following her own advice, she forked a chunk of garlic into her mouth.

  “I’m going to ask you to divulge the recipe for this brunch,” Mary said to Hank. She was really digging a traditional Mexican dish made up of tortillas, eggs and chicken and other ingredients.

  “Please, help yourself; have some more,” Hank said, visibly flattered. “I didn’t know you’d click for that one. I’d have made more. I’m an aficionado of Mexican food.”

  “You’re an aficionado of food in general,” Ava said.

  Hank laughed heartily. He had a very lively personality and it rubbed off on you and made you want to stick around him.

  “It is really good,” Mary said. “I could easily eat that every day.”

  “You hear that?” Hank turned to Ava. “She could eat that every day!” Addressing Mary again, he confided, rather teasingly, “She doesn’t understand how come Chilaquiles is part of my lunch staple.”

  “Don’t listen to a word he says,” Ava put in.

  “Here let me pour some more Pisco.” With the gentlemanly attention of a butler, Hank lifted and tilted the bottle and the amber-colored brandy slurred about and filled Mary’s half-empty absinthe glass.

  After taking a little swallow of her drink, Mary commented about how she had spent some time in Chile in her youth, Pisco was sort of a national drink over there. She also said that she had even befriended the daughter of a Pisco maker and drinking it here after weaning herself off of it was certainly calling back some funny memories.

  “But this one is Peruvian though,” Hank said.

  “Oh.” Bemused, Mary picked up the bottle, read its label and put it back down. “I feel a little embarrassed. I vaguely remember what the Chilean one tastes like. I don’t think I can tell the difference now.”

  “You know,” Hank said, “the difference lies only on a metaphysical level. The taste is relatively the same. But I do have a preference for the Peruvian one because, well, it’s like champagne. You like your champagne better when you know it comes from France.”

  “For how long did you live abroad?”Ava asked Mary.

  “Something like fifteen years, I think.”

  “Wow––that’s a hell of a long time.”

  “I had a great time though. But it was hard at times because there were so many things I was missing back here in the States. And I had to grapple with homesickness in the beginning, so… But the whole experience was really life-changing.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” Ava said. This thread of the conversation seemed to have roused her. She went on, “I mean, I think living overseas is a challenge as well as a great luxury. You get to experience new cultures, see things with a new set of eyes...”

  “There’s so much to see other than what’s in our own backyards, right?” Hank supplied with his sibilant voice.

  “We’re actually planning to take a four-week holiday abroad sometime next year when the time is right,” Marc said.

  “How lovely.”

  “I’ve always wanted to travel and go to as many different places as possible. And Mary wants to go back to visit someday. It’ll be kind of like a second honeymoon.”

  “I made many friendships while I was there,” Mary said. “And I’d love to see them again.”

  “So you did a lot of travelling then?” Hank asked, readjusting his linen napkin tucked under his chin.

  “Yes. I followed my father wherever he went. He was an English teacher who––”

  “—I’m sorry,” Ava interrupted, “was?”

  “Yeah… Sadly he passed away a year ago.”

  Ava threw a quick, sorry glance at Antwone. His eyes were sort of downcast. But he was listening, without ever keeping them off his plate.

  “Anyway he worked for an organization that placed teachers in overseas countries,” Mary went on. “I later realized that it was more of a true passion for him than just a job. He loved to immerse himself in foreign communities. He just loved it” She paused.

  She seemed to be emotionally affected by her own narration. She absently began to fiddle with the food on her plate and said, “I think sometimes, children spend their lives misunderstanding their parents until it’s too late.
”

  A short spell of silence ensued. Antwone then looked at Mary. Was that last statement meant for him?

  “So what were your other destinations besides South America?” Ava asked excitedly.

  “India,” Mary said. “Southeast Asia for the most part.”

  Hank told a quick side story about a first-class flight he had taken on Singapore Airline from L. A. to Bangkok. He called it an out-of-this-world flight because the royal treatment of first class passengers – there were only seven of them – got subjected to by the flight team. He said he wished the plane had never landed and had just kept flying and flying around the globe because he didn’t want to get off anymore. The story drew some laughs from the people around the table. Even Antwone laughed along in his quiet way.

  “Listen,” Ava said, “would you say you take after your father?”

  Mary’s answer came after thinking about the question for a moment.

  “Yeah, I’d say so. Why?”

  “Oh, I’m just curious. And what about Antwone?”

  Mary considered Antwone and grinned.

  “I think he takes mostly after his mother.”

  “You mean your mother––” Ava said.

  “—No. His.”

  Given Ava’s confused reaction, Mary thought well to expand on her answer.

  “My father,” she started, “I mean, our father and his mother were high school sweethearts. He met my mother later and married her. Antwone and I were raised together after his mother passed away.”

  “That explains a lot of things.”

  Mary knitted her brow in curiosity. Antwone turned to Ava.

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “Nothing,” Ava said. “I’m just starting to understand better the man behind the writer, that’s all.”

  Dinner ended round about ten in the evening. Ava and Hank walked all the guests down to the entrance of the apartment complex. They came upon a nice-looking couple making their way upstairs.

  The couple lived in the building and so a small chat ensued around the fact that they had never met, until now, the renters of Hank’s apartment which was next door to theirs. They said it was nice to finally put a face to their mystery neighbor since they had been wondering whether he was socially bereft or simply suffered from agoraphobia in never coming out of his apartment. Hank almost doubled up with laughter before explaining that the apartment wasn’t his primary residence. At last, the chat ended on that funny note and the couple continued on upstairs.

  Downstairs, the street and the trees sitting on the fringe of the complex were dark. There were also dark buildings scattered nearby in the immediate vicinity and also far off in the horizon. Their lighted windows helped separate them from one another and from the backdrop of the night. And as usual the biting cold made itself felt. Marc and Mary expressed their thanks and appreciation for such a wonderful evening. Hank told them it had been his pleasure to have their company. He invited them to come and visit his collection at the gallery expo. And Ava said something about hoping that a new friendship was born between her and Mary and that it could be nurtured despite the fact that she lived in New York. She remarked it was a pity. A real pity.

  Antwone shook hands with Marc and Mary hugged him goodbye and they looked at each other for a second or two and after that she and Marc were pulling away and waving goodbye to everyone. Their car was parked a few feet away. Antwone watched them get in and wander off down the street.

  “I think I like her,” Ava said. “She’s so adorable.”

  “I’m glad I met those two tonight,” Hank said, staring off into the direction the car had gone. “They’re really swell people. I hope they can fall by at the gallery expo.”

  “I don’t think they’re into that type of thing, Hank,” Ava said. “It only makes sense to certain subset of eyes.”

  “What do you know?” Hank said. “They’re fine people with a broad sense of taste. They’ll have a terrific time. Everyone does.”

  Antwone smiled at that. You had to have some sort of requisites in the medium of oil painting to really sink your teeth into Hank’s collection and appreciate the taste of it.

  Ava moved to stand beside Antwone. She had one foot right in front of the other. She was standing as if she was about to lean in and swing her waist and both arms were folded together behind her back. Her proximity was gradually rousing him and he suddenly wished he could take her to bed, there and then, to end the night.

  “It’s a pity I must return to New York tomorrow night,” she said. “I can’t believe I’m already missing L.A.”

  “Seriously, who are you kidding?” Hank said, looking at her and smiling. “You never miss anything. For very long, that is.”

  The response provoked her into a short laugh. Then she looked up at Antwone. And somehow, picking up on his detectable desire for her, and because she could feel herself gradually fall under the spell of the same terrible lust, she said quickly, deliberately, “Good night Antwone.”

  “Good night.”

  Ava started up towards the steps to the apartment building but then turned around and called out to Hank.

  “Are you coming?”

  “I think I’m going to stick around down here for a minute,” Hank said. “The sky is beautiful tonight.” He stuck a cigar between his thin lips. “And so are you.”

  Ava looked from her husband to Antwone and amusedly shook her head.

  “Well, gentlemen…” she said with a charming, almost erotic, drawl and turned back on her heels. She went up the steps and disappeared behind a gate. Her shadow, slithering across a granite wall by the gate, disappeared last.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Hank asked Antwone. He was about to flicker his lighter on. “Say, you don’t mind, do you?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Hank lit up and pretty soon the smoke began settling in Antwone’s nose. And it felt good because it was cold. But it wasn’t the kind of cold that chilled your bones, it was the kind that massaged your body and eased your mind into a state of utter relaxation. It was a good night to be out and have a smoke while waiting for a taxi.

  “Can you spare me one?” Antwone asked Hank.

  “Sure.”

  Hank got a stick out for him and lit him up. Both men stood there in silence, smoking at short intervals and letting the smoke engulf their faces before slowly drifting away.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation,” Hank said after a moment.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Pfff––the hell I know. Maybe it’s just the way you are, you know.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “You know, hard to reach.”

  “I’m just busy. I’m sure you are too.”

  “Of course.” After a brief moment of silence, Hank said thoughtfully, “You know, I wanted to thank you.”

  “What for?”

  Hank looked at Antwone. A strange expression seemed to animate his face. Or maybe it was just a false impression.

  “I understand Ava extended her stay a few days because you were here.”

  “Possibly.”

  “There you go,” Hank said. “You’re the reason why she and I finally get to spend some time together in this beautiful apartment. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to occasion this kind of little getaway. She’s just hard to pin down; never does anything she doesn’t want to. But I’m sure you know that.”

  “Well, I know she has her own issues.”

  Hank let out a cryptic laugh which seemed to rattle his meaty neck wrapped in high starched collars.

  “Don’t ever let her hear you say that,” he said laughing, “but that’s a good one, I like that.” Flicking ash off the slow-burning end of his cigar, he added. “I know she looks at you with high regards. I mean she’s certainly devoted to all the talent she represents. But I think you have a special relationship with her. You’re like best friends or family or something. And I’m very, very happy about that…”


  Antwone waited a few seconds to give himself the chance to walk away from this scabrous tête-à-tête which seemed to foreshadow trouble for him somewhere down the line. Finally, choosing not to walk away but confront, like a man, the husband he had cuckolded many times with little to no compassion, he chanced to prolong the dialogue.

  “May I ask why you’re so happy about it?” Antwone said carefully.

  “Well––” Hank hesitated. “You’re a man so I guess it’s easy to talk about these things with another man. Ava and I are – ahem – how shall I put it? Well, we have an open marriage.”

  That was it, Antwone thought. There was no going back.

  “And to be honest,” Hank continued shamelessly, “it happened that way because of me. Because, you see, I have two profound addictions. One is art and the other is women. Both are extremely consuming to the point I’d do anything to possess them. I just can’t help it.”

  Hank sucked on his cigar then cast a curious eye at Antwone to see whatever effect his confession would cause. Happy to see no stirring across Antwone’s face, judgmental or otherwise, Hank smiled and went on.

  “My father used to say, ‘If you’re addicted to something bad, something harmful, and if you cannot shake it, then what do you do? You get a different addiction. A better one…’”

  Hank paused. His eyes seemed to search something essential inside himself. Maybe some deep answers to the riddles of his life.

  “But how do you do it with women?” He said at last. “How do you find a better addiction?”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Antwone dared ask. His cigar was hanging from his lips and burning away without him smoking it.

  “Because, for one thing, I like you. We’re not so different from each other. And I relate to the way you have about yourself.”

  “That’s a little touchy feely.”

  “Sorry if I breached some sort of manly etiquette here. My goal is not to embarrass you or anything.”

  “Never mind that.”

  “Alright,” Hank said. “Anyway, what I was getting at was knowing Ava is with you reassures me. Because then I don’t have to get anxious over what she’s doing or who she is doing it with. It’s simple as that.”

  “Oh––right!”

  “She hasn’t told you anything, by any chance, has she?”

  “About what?”

  “You know––” Hank started; his smile had frozen into an expression of hidden grief. “Other men she is, you know, maybe a little too close to.”

  “No,” Antwone carefully said, taking the cigar down from his bottom lip with his fingers. “She hasn’t told me anything.”

  “It was a long shot but I figured I’d ask.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Antwone said.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. Women have their secrets, don’t they? So do we, right?”

  Suddenly, Antwone felt bad for Hank. He didn’t think there was anything he could do to help him. And trying to help him placate his legitimate feelings of betrayal or whatnot in this adulterous affair would’ve been worse than just staying mum about the infidelities of his wife. But he did feel bad, and for a brief second he considered telling Hank to talk this thing out with Ava. They were two adults and they could deal with this situation as such, without any hurts involved.

  Using his lighter, Hank reignited his cigar stub which had burnt out. Something came alive in his eyes. He puffed away as the dancing end of the flame was taking. He said an instant later, looking Antwone in the eye.

  “Our marriage may seem like it’s going a little downhill, but I intend to fix it. She’s an amazing woman and I know I’ll be devastated if, for some reason, she decided to leave me.”

  “It’s up to you to make sure it doesn’t come to that,” Antwone heard himself say.

  Hank smiled a large, toothy smile. His cigar almost fell away as a result. There were no more traces of grief on his face, only a sudden flow of wellness.

  “You know what?” he said with excitement, “I’m glad we had this little talk.”

  17