Table by the Window - Part 6
For author's notes see Part 1
And I told her everything, maybe not in as minute details as I’m writing it now but enough for her to get a picture of how it started, and what it had come to in the not all that long a long run. The evening grew into the night, and our ashtray gradually filled with stubs as she listened without interrupting to me coming nearer and nearer to the evening that I appeared before her door, to the morning I called her - hoping, if even I hadn’t formulated it for myself, just for such an attentive hearing and maybe some common sense advice. For of all my friends (uh… sorry, but it is really so, don’t take as offense) she was most likely to accept what I told her without bias, and without thinking less of me in the end.
- … and I don’t know what is it, or what I should do, - I finished, reaching out for another ciggy only to find that the pack was empty, darn, just as I needed one more than anytime earlier. Jane jumped from bed, took the ashtray and went barefoot to the kitchen, to return a scant second later with her own opened pack.
- The answer to your first question is easy, - she stated, as I bent over the lighter, avoiding a direct look into her face, - it’s love.
- Eh… what? - I almost jumped - the lighter pirouetting out of my fingers and under the bed. - Uh… sorry, I will find it at once, - I got onto all fours trying to reach for it, hoping Jane would wait till I resume a more natural position, until she continued, but she was speaking already, addressing it to my… eh, part of me that currently showed.
- Love, you know, this four letter word you men seem to think such a taboo, unlike another one, that also happens to have four letters to it…
- Uh… Jane, - I objected, resurfacing, - it’s not fair. I know what love is… I… well… I thought about love sometimes… I mean, I wondered… I mean… - I knew I wasn’t making much sense, but darn it!.. - How could you women be so sure what’s love?
She laughed.
- Gosh, Charlie, look at us!.. Never thought we would discuss a topic like this!.. But the real truth is - Jane grew serious again, - you’re absolutely right - we are not sure. We do know it just as little as you. It is really all the matter of what one considers “love”, - she sighed. - So, I was unfair… I would call it love - what you feel, but that doesn’t mean necessarily that you have to. What do you think love feels like, anyway?
I felt humbled, that was not an easy subject to speak upon, for sure. In a way, it was more difficult than to tell the story before. So I crawled nearer to her, for reassurance, and also to avoid looking at her face as I spoke:
- I do not know, Jane… I mean, I played it in my movies, so I’d have to figure it out, right? But it only got more and more confusing. There were all these different stories, situations, characters, and they said it was love. But - what is it? People marry for love, and then divorce before a year is over. Then other people, who never claimed they loved each other, stay together for years… and then separate all of a sudden for love of someone else? Isn’t it curious that we wish for something and don’t even clearly understand what it is? I mean, when we were kids - it seemed easy, ‘t was all about fucking, or marriage, or family. And whatever - it all was “love”. Now we know it’s only fucking, or marriage, or relationship. But we still crave love. We get success, adoration, fans… You know they call it love too?.. But something is lacking… My friends marry, get families, kids… but something is lacking… how can we tell that someone loves us, when we can’t even tell whether we ourselves do love?.. And now you tell me this is love, when it feels more like some cruel obsession…
I felt her hand ruffle my hair. Please, Jane, only do not laugh at me now, only do not say I’m stupid, I know I probably am… But she sounded thoughtful and maybe sad, as she answered:
- I do not know, Charlie, I’m just as lost as you are. Maybe all those things are love. Or maybe it’s just like happiness - it’s difficult to pinpoint, to tell - hell, I am happy right now, not was or will be if only I get this one more thing? Maybe it’s all about what will be enough for you to call it love? What you want love to be - for you personally, not for anyone else…
I knew what she was talking about, mainly because I had already thought along these lines myself, but it felt encouraging to hear it spoken out by another person. So I wasn’t such a freak after all, or maybe we both were freaks, but it sure felt better to have some company. I voiced this observation aloud and was rewarded by a hearty laugh.
- It sure feels better, Charlie, than being told there is no such thing as love, and that’s why you cannot be feeling it… - she abruptly stopped, but I detected a trace of bitterness in her laughter.
- Did someone tell it to you? - I didn’t know if I really had the right to ask this question, but it pained me to think that someone could be so cruel to my sweet friend.
- Someone did. But it’s long past now. And by the way I’ve asked you a question. Right?
- Right, - I agreed, - but whoever has told that to you is a complete nerd. Who’s he anyway to judge what you feel? And it is darned impolite to tell it…
- Oh Charlie, hush! Not everyone gives as much effort to being polite as you. And it doesn’t hurt anymore…
It was a lie. It did hurt, and I could hear the hurt in the way she spoke, but I respected her unwillingness to talk about it now, so I tried to concentrate and determine what I really understood under the word “love”, what did I expect from a relationship that I would call with this word?
And it was one darned difficult question, something like describing a movie with just three words - part of the reason why I hated the 10-quiz-sessions during interviews. I was twisting and turning, and grumbling under voice, but no clear definition did surface - the whole absolutely not helped by Jane, sitting there with a rather smug mean on her face.
- Shit, Jane, - blurted I finally, - why don’t you tell me what love is for you? And I will tell “right” or “wrong”. After all you, women, are supposed to spend much more time analyzing your feelings than we, men.
- Been reading pop-psychology lately, haven’t you? - retorted she with a wide smile. - Actually, yes, we do. And yes, I can tell you what love is for me. But you see that’s not me who has trouble admitting one’s feelings now, but you. So, c’mon, Charlie, quit fooling around and produce.
The woman was freaking ruthless, and I knew she would keep nagging me until I answer, so I issued another deep theatrical sigh and decided to name the ingredients just as they came:
- Uh… I guess it should feel something like a good friendship, - I started, and paused, cause even without Jane’s questioningly raised eyebrow, what I’d just said sounded rather awkward. Darn it, I never was any good at formulating some concepts… but I bravely fought to explain, - You know, a friendship when you’re so comfortable with another person that you can talk, or just sit quiet, or each of you be doing your own work, and it still feels good…
If the brow had returned in its place it meant I was making sense after all, or not?
- We are good friends, Charlie, and I bet we could do all this things you listed. Does it mean we’re in love?
- No, of course not! - I blurted it out, and immediately looked up at her face scared that by some mad chance I might have missed something as serious as Jane thinking quite earnestly she was in love with me. But there was a light teasing smile playing on her lips. She was only prompting me to continue, the vixen!
- Well, there should be the passion, naturally, - I went on.
- Naturally. But please, continue, that can’t be all.
- Eh… well, you worry that nothing bad happens to her… but that’s no proof, Jane, right? You worry about your friends as well… but this is much more acute… darn it, Jane, you’d gladly stay by her side just to be assured that she is all good and well… ow, darn, you’d gladly stay by her side just because you want to stay by her side!.. You need it!..
I sat bolt upright, realization striking me like a hammer blow…
- By whose side, Charlie?.. Charlie?.. - she asked again anxiously, cause I didn’t answer or move, just sat there on the edge of the bed, my back turned to her, my own words whirling as a constant eddy within my head.
Now, while writing to you I have already put on paper some of the thoughts that I only really discovered that night, so in a way, you were in a better position to guess my real feelings than I had been myself. But it must have been already apparent in what I told Jane - my admission that I preferred to read the scripts and make my notes in the café, part of the reason for which was her - writing something down at the neighboring table… And I worried for her, oh God, to the point that I almost resorted to stalking… and, well, there was never any question about the passion, right? Right…
- If you could only hear the way you talked about her, - said Jane’s voice, little more than a whisper behind my back. - Should try writing sometime - you’re such a poet at heart… and you know the first thing you’ve done after you awakened?
I didn’t remember doing something particular, so was curious enough to ask:
- What?
- You looked at your watch, and for a moment there was this expression on your face, as if you have to immediately jump up and ride away, because you really, really should be some other place. And then you kept looking at your watch all the time you were telling the story. Actually, it’s only about twenty minutes that you stopped. Guess it’s too late now to reach the café in time?
For the life of me I couldn’t remember doing it, but now she told it - I… I guess I really did.
- But how can it be, Jane? - I asked helplessly, turning to her in wonder. - I do not even know if she is real. I know next to nothing about her…
- Oh, you mean - you don’t know what she thinks, cause you haven’t talked yet? Now, let me set one thing straight, - she sat cross-legged again, looking me quite seriously into eyes. - We do not fall in love, because we know someone. Rather - we want to learn about someone, because we fall in love, or in friendship, or whatever… Something insignificant happens, some little event to spark the interest, and only then we want to learn more… Besides, you know more about her than you think you do.
I must have made a little sound of disbelief, for I saw her face acquire this stubborn and mischievous look again.
- Pop-quiz, dude…
- I hate the quizzes.
- Won’t be a long one. What color are her eyes?
- Why… light-brown… but I only noticed it recently, - I protested.
- Makes sense - as she’s always sits there all bent down over writing… Now, you have been filming a movie, you tell me… right?
- Right, - I didn’t quite understand what she’s driving at.
- Do you have a love interest in this movie? A female lead?
- Yes.
- You have talked with her, didn’t you? Maybe, shot some scenes already?
- Yes to both.
- So you would consider that you know her better than your mysterious woman in the café?
- Well, we discussed the script mostly… - I pondered thoughtfully, - but, yes, I would consider her thus.
- Then tell me, what color her eyes are? What kind of sandwich she likes? Ah?... What gesture she makes, when she’s tired, or frustrated?
- This is unfair, Jane, - I claimed, dumbfounded that I really cannot answer any of her questions. There was nothing in my mind but big blank. - This two weeks of filming I wasn’t my usual self.
- Oh, bullshit! - She objected with more vehemence than I expected on a matter like this. - Oh, right, OK! I’m sorry to bring his name up, but I do not know your other friends… so, tell, what about Kevin…
- Yes, what about Kevin? - I asked with a great deal of anger, she really didn’t have to bring this one up, or did she?
- He was your closest friend… you’ve made some movies together, and I suppose you were yourself then, so - you will be able to tell me what kind of sandwich he liked?
This question - for once - brought to the surface a happier memory, and it so happened - I could answer it with an absolute surety:
- He would eat most anything he’d been offered. But what he really liked was the one with pastrami and a leaf of fresh salad - no sauce, no ketchup, no mustard - he said that they killed the taste…
- And what color his eyes were? - She said it reluctantly, so quiet it was almost a whisper.
And I really tried to remember, more memories came in a rush: meetings, filmings, night rides together, around the clock discussions… but his eyes stayed out of focus, I couldn’t see them… He was light-haired, but try as I might - I couldn’t be sure whether his eyes were grey, or blue, or green…
She moved closer, and I felt a light touch of her hand on my upper arm.
- Do not, Charlie, stop it… I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t… They were dark-brown… The movie with him showed on TV just a few days ago… I’ve watched mostly because I knew you’d been friends… dark-brown eyes… so unusual for a blonde one… beautiful… even darker than yours…
I suddenly felt very tired. It was an exhausting evening, and I still haven’t caught on all that sleep that I missed for weeks.
- You proved your point, babe… Now, where you put me, back on the couch?
- Oh, for Christ-sake, stay where you are… That couch is too small for you. You’d been way uncomfortable on it even last time, weren’t you too drunk then to feel a thing. However, - she jumped off the bed, her mood apparently lightening, - all this talk of sandwiches made me hungry and you… no, let me guess, last time you’ve eaten must have been in The Ivy with your mom.
- I drank some coffee afterwards… - I objected, - and some wine…
- … and some more coffee when you woke up at home, spare me the details. I will warm this omelet in microwave, cause it’s long cold…
- … but I’m really dying of hunger now.
- … and then we’ll sleep.
And we looked at each other and laughed, cause we really, truly sounded like a very-very out of tune duo.
We ate in silence, as if we both have used all the speaking powers we possessed. Afterwards, Jane went to kitchen to put the plates into sink, and I used the moment to sneak into the basement, take my clothes out of the dryer and put the T and trunks on - I was not going to sleep with her (that is - in one bed with her) naked, we were not really lovers. I mean - not real lovers. Just friends. And my recent realization made it only more apparent.
Jane seemed to share my sentiments, for she too left both panties and T-shirt on before climbing into bed beside me.
- Charlie, - she said, - don’t ask why, just - can you hold me a bit before I sleep? Hold me tightly. It won’t take long, I’m an easy sleeper.
Frankly, while I do not share that old bachelor thing about “not being able to sleep with someone else in my bed” - I like to have a lot of space around when I’m sleeping. Cuddling together is great - but strictly during the waking hours.
Yet, hell, Jane had done so much for me tonight that I could surely bear this little inconvenience for her sake. So we snuggled up like two spoons, I put my arm around her and held as tightly as I could. Surprisingly - her even breathing seemed to have a soporific effect on me, and I drifted to sleep without noticing it - as easy as her.
- Charlie! Charlie, wake up… - the woman’s voice finally made it into my conscience. Insistent gal, this one… Only who the heck could call me Charlie? Nobody likely to be waking me now even knew it was my name… It belonged to some early-early childhood era, aeons before… but even then mom usually resorted to a harsher: Charles! A weird thought occurred to me - what if all my life was just a dream that I had: coming to L.A., movies, everything that I thought to be the reality - what if I will wake up back in our old home now - a mere teenage boy… God, what a fright!.. Yet, what a temptation… I lingered, not wanting to open my eyes and find out.
- Charlie, darn you, you’ve got to wake up, the cab will be coming in half an hour! Wake up, man, or I gonna miss my plane…
This time the voice made a connection. Janey! I was at Jane’s house… and all the events of the last night came in a rush. Welcome back to real life, man! But what was she talking about - what plane? I jumped up into a sitting position so quickly I felt a little giddy and looked around. She was all dressed again, and there was a suitcase propped on the other side of the bed, half full of clothes and all that stuff women tend to drag around when they travel. So her words were not a part of my dream - there was a plane.
- Oh, thank God, Charlie, you are awake! Stand up now, coffee and toasts are in the kitchen; you have only half an hour before the cab comes…
- Yes, yes, I heard it… - My mind was still groggy from the sleep, as I dutifully started to put on jeans, trying to figure out whether she had told me that she was going somewhere the very next day. Come to that - she hadn’t had any chance.
- Didn’t want to wake you earlier, having heard your story you need as much sleep as you can get, but the plane just really won’t wait… So now you’ll have to eat alone, I still have this feeling I have forgotten something important that I might need in a new place…
I sat stupefied watching her open the drawers, look into the wardrobe, and then just stand in the middle of the room with this puzzled look of brain cells busily rummaging through the store rooms of her mind.
- New place… - I uttered finally.
- Eh… yes, - she came back from her reverie and looked at me, as if surprised to see me still sitting where I was before. - I hadn’t time nor heart to tell it to you yesterday. I’m going to Bad Kösen, it’s a really small town in Thuringia, in Germany. For at least a year. Maybe two. My neighbors promised to look after this place for me. Wise thing would have been to rent it while I’m gone, but I’m too sentimental, I guess…
The news felt like a ton of bricks falling abruptly right onto my shoulders. Jane - gone? Jane - half the world removed? Of course, in the other circumstances - the distance wouldn’t have mattered all that much. We mostly kept together via phone calls and e-mails anyway. But now I was feeling both betrayed and confused.
- Damn, Janey, this is sudden… Why?... - I stammered helplessly. - And I gonna miss you awful… And… - And then something in me broke down, and out came a shamefully terrified. - Fuck it, Janey, what do I gonna do?
She sighed, came over, sat down beside me, put her face in the hands for a moment and then - looked me straight in the eyes.
- I really hope, Charlie, you will do something. Otherwise all we talked about yesternight had been in vain. Life is short, and the road to hell is paved with the missed chances. And there is no way from the place you’re now but to step forward…
I knew she was right, of course, but still…
- What if…
- There is no “what if” about it, Charlie, - she touched my shoulder, her voice compassionate and more than a little sad. - You big oaf, you must see it for yourself: either she is what you think her to be - and for your sake, I do sincerely hope it’s so - or she isn’t, and that might change the way that you feel. Either case, there is no other way to make sure but to go and do something. For a change…
Of course, she was right…
So I took my sorry ass to the kitchen, and gulped the coffee and toasts without noticing the taste of either, then washed the cup and plate, then opened some cupboards at random to find the right place to put them, feeling awfully weird about nobody using them again - for a year or two… This finished - I just went to the porch and smoked until the cab arrived. Jane was leaving her house, so - call me sentimental - I was giving her some time to say the last good byes to her place.
She came out carrying surprisingly little luggage - just a suitcase and a bag (“I have sent most of the things over there beforehand, - she commented, - and the house is rented with furniture, so it wasn’t much”). I helped her carry them to the cab, and we just stood there - unable to say the last words, till the silence had become unbearable - and then we spoke at once.
- So… I guess, it’s good bye… - her.
- I’ll follow you to the airport on my bike, - me.
- Thank you, Charlie, - she stood on tip-toes to place a kiss on my cheek, and I had to bend a little to make it possible - God, beside me she really seemed tiny as an elf. - You are probably the only person I’d like to see me off.
The traffic was pretty tight and we arrived just in time for the registration, so there was no moment to ask all questions that cropped up in my head during the ride, like - why she’s going there, and why there was such doubt in her voice when she talked about returning, and why the hell this obscure town someplace I never even heard about… All these questions that I should have asked before that, but - being an egotistical oaf indeed - had been too preoccupied with my own problems to ask.
- I will send you my new cellular by e-mail, - she said when it was almost her turn to go through the customs, - when I get both it and the connection…
After that we repeated our little pantomime of “elf trying to kiss a giant” and I watched as they checked her and her luggage, then as she went further and further into the departure hall. She stopped abruptly before disappearing altogether, and suddenly my cellular buzzed - did she forget something? If so - it was too late. I looked at the phone. There were only two words on the display: “Do something”… Never lapse in her good works… Exaggerating the gestures to make them clearly visible from afar she showed me she is switching the cellular off (guess, that meant: “No discussing the point”). Then she waved to me one last time. And was gone.
I went straight home from the airport. There were few alternatives in fact. The other one being - to stop the bike at the first shabby little restaurant by the way and get mercifully thoughtlessly drunk. I avoided this temptation - partly for purely practical reasons, which I was rather proud to have occurred to me before I really set on this course: if I got truly drunk (and if not - then the whole endeavor would be just meaningless) the taxi should be called to bring me home, which meant I would have to either leave my bike stranded (and I hated doing it), or call the pick-up service to bring it to my home as well (both done before the “truly drunk” condition occured); and frankly - the chances of neither service (restaurant owner included) bragging immediately to the paps to come on the double and snap me at the least opportune a moment - was wishful thinking if not an outright foolishness.
Now - isn’t being a celebrity a good and glorious thing? Everybody is allowed some stupid behavior once in awhile, every normal person can just go and get drunk with nobody the wiser but his wife (that is, if he happens to have one). It’s almost a constitutional right. But not where the limelight shines, no way… What a beautifully fitting word - lime-light. That’s what they do in their minds - cover us with lime to burn off all human nature off us - leaving what? A ghost? A god? Not a creature of flesh and blood any more. Not supposed to do the simplest human things their neighbor might do!..
Sorry for the outburst, buddy, I usually do not allow myself to dwell on this. It’s the writing that triggers it somehow. Besides… one gets used to it - to some extent… to your agent giving you shit for months to come - threatening you with the loss of your whole carrier, to the fact that seeing your own face in the foreign paper in the country as far removed from the U.S. as they only come - you can be fairly sure it is not a still frame out of one of your movies, but a picture like this that has made it that far... One gets used to it - but it’s somehow… tiring, it’s a weight, a burden: every time - to decide: whether to give a damn, or not to give a damn (as if we could decide - and then - not give a damn). I had done it though in the past - my share of foolishly human things, I’d been given shit for, and may still do them in the future…but right then, on that afternoon Jane flew away and left me with an oh-so-nice advice to “do something”, I… couldn’t be bothered, and… to dig still deeper, might have not given damn - were it not for the fear that such a paper would somehow end up in her hands. And it would have too, according to Murphy’s law…
So I took the only other alternative that offered delay - I knew, Jane was right, it was time for action, and it meant I’d have to think about it, sooner or later, but right now what I wanted most was to somehow delay it - a little bit. Just to let it settle. A second - to catch my breath. I went home, took a shower, downed a shot of whisky, walked onto the terrace for a smoke - forcibly shutting my brain for any coherent thoughts. No thinking right now. Be a blank. Watch the city, smoke your cigarette, do not think - just watch. I felt empty. Exhausted. Not able to think if I tried to. Drop dead tired. Even though it wasn’t all that much time since I woke up. So when the ciggy burnt to my fingers, and I hadn’t dragged on it even more than a couple of times, I stopped fighting exhaustion - crept into bed and slept.
Continued in - Part 7
And I told her everything, maybe not in as minute details as I’m writing it now but enough for her to get a picture of how it started, and what it had come to in the not all that long a long run. The evening grew into the night, and our ashtray gradually filled with stubs as she listened without interrupting to me coming nearer and nearer to the evening that I appeared before her door, to the morning I called her - hoping, if even I hadn’t formulated it for myself, just for such an attentive hearing and maybe some common sense advice. For of all my friends (uh… sorry, but it is really so, don’t take as offense) she was most likely to accept what I told her without bias, and without thinking less of me in the end.
- … and I don’t know what is it, or what I should do, - I finished, reaching out for another ciggy only to find that the pack was empty, darn, just as I needed one more than anytime earlier. Jane jumped from bed, took the ashtray and went barefoot to the kitchen, to return a scant second later with her own opened pack.
- The answer to your first question is easy, - she stated, as I bent over the lighter, avoiding a direct look into her face, - it’s love.
- Eh… what? - I almost jumped - the lighter pirouetting out of my fingers and under the bed. - Uh… sorry, I will find it at once, - I got onto all fours trying to reach for it, hoping Jane would wait till I resume a more natural position, until she continued, but she was speaking already, addressing it to my… eh, part of me that currently showed.
- Love, you know, this four letter word you men seem to think such a taboo, unlike another one, that also happens to have four letters to it…
- Uh… Jane, - I objected, resurfacing, - it’s not fair. I know what love is… I… well… I thought about love sometimes… I mean, I wondered… I mean… - I knew I wasn’t making much sense, but darn it!.. - How could you women be so sure what’s love?
She laughed.
- Gosh, Charlie, look at us!.. Never thought we would discuss a topic like this!.. But the real truth is - Jane grew serious again, - you’re absolutely right - we are not sure. We do know it just as little as you. It is really all the matter of what one considers “love”, - she sighed. - So, I was unfair… I would call it love - what you feel, but that doesn’t mean necessarily that you have to. What do you think love feels like, anyway?
I felt humbled, that was not an easy subject to speak upon, for sure. In a way, it was more difficult than to tell the story before. So I crawled nearer to her, for reassurance, and also to avoid looking at her face as I spoke:
- I do not know, Jane… I mean, I played it in my movies, so I’d have to figure it out, right? But it only got more and more confusing. There were all these different stories, situations, characters, and they said it was love. But - what is it? People marry for love, and then divorce before a year is over. Then other people, who never claimed they loved each other, stay together for years… and then separate all of a sudden for love of someone else? Isn’t it curious that we wish for something and don’t even clearly understand what it is? I mean, when we were kids - it seemed easy, ‘t was all about fucking, or marriage, or family. And whatever - it all was “love”. Now we know it’s only fucking, or marriage, or relationship. But we still crave love. We get success, adoration, fans… You know they call it love too?.. But something is lacking… My friends marry, get families, kids… but something is lacking… how can we tell that someone loves us, when we can’t even tell whether we ourselves do love?.. And now you tell me this is love, when it feels more like some cruel obsession…
I felt her hand ruffle my hair. Please, Jane, only do not laugh at me now, only do not say I’m stupid, I know I probably am… But she sounded thoughtful and maybe sad, as she answered:
- I do not know, Charlie, I’m just as lost as you are. Maybe all those things are love. Or maybe it’s just like happiness - it’s difficult to pinpoint, to tell - hell, I am happy right now, not was or will be if only I get this one more thing? Maybe it’s all about what will be enough for you to call it love? What you want love to be - for you personally, not for anyone else…
I knew what she was talking about, mainly because I had already thought along these lines myself, but it felt encouraging to hear it spoken out by another person. So I wasn’t such a freak after all, or maybe we both were freaks, but it sure felt better to have some company. I voiced this observation aloud and was rewarded by a hearty laugh.
- It sure feels better, Charlie, than being told there is no such thing as love, and that’s why you cannot be feeling it… - she abruptly stopped, but I detected a trace of bitterness in her laughter.
- Did someone tell it to you? - I didn’t know if I really had the right to ask this question, but it pained me to think that someone could be so cruel to my sweet friend.
- Someone did. But it’s long past now. And by the way I’ve asked you a question. Right?
- Right, - I agreed, - but whoever has told that to you is a complete nerd. Who’s he anyway to judge what you feel? And it is darned impolite to tell it…
- Oh Charlie, hush! Not everyone gives as much effort to being polite as you. And it doesn’t hurt anymore…
It was a lie. It did hurt, and I could hear the hurt in the way she spoke, but I respected her unwillingness to talk about it now, so I tried to concentrate and determine what I really understood under the word “love”, what did I expect from a relationship that I would call with this word?
And it was one darned difficult question, something like describing a movie with just three words - part of the reason why I hated the 10-quiz-sessions during interviews. I was twisting and turning, and grumbling under voice, but no clear definition did surface - the whole absolutely not helped by Jane, sitting there with a rather smug mean on her face.
- Shit, Jane, - blurted I finally, - why don’t you tell me what love is for you? And I will tell “right” or “wrong”. After all you, women, are supposed to spend much more time analyzing your feelings than we, men.
- Been reading pop-psychology lately, haven’t you? - retorted she with a wide smile. - Actually, yes, we do. And yes, I can tell you what love is for me. But you see that’s not me who has trouble admitting one’s feelings now, but you. So, c’mon, Charlie, quit fooling around and produce.
The woman was freaking ruthless, and I knew she would keep nagging me until I answer, so I issued another deep theatrical sigh and decided to name the ingredients just as they came:
- Uh… I guess it should feel something like a good friendship, - I started, and paused, cause even without Jane’s questioningly raised eyebrow, what I’d just said sounded rather awkward. Darn it, I never was any good at formulating some concepts… but I bravely fought to explain, - You know, a friendship when you’re so comfortable with another person that you can talk, or just sit quiet, or each of you be doing your own work, and it still feels good…
If the brow had returned in its place it meant I was making sense after all, or not?
- We are good friends, Charlie, and I bet we could do all this things you listed. Does it mean we’re in love?
- No, of course not! - I blurted it out, and immediately looked up at her face scared that by some mad chance I might have missed something as serious as Jane thinking quite earnestly she was in love with me. But there was a light teasing smile playing on her lips. She was only prompting me to continue, the vixen!
- Well, there should be the passion, naturally, - I went on.
- Naturally. But please, continue, that can’t be all.
- Eh… well, you worry that nothing bad happens to her… but that’s no proof, Jane, right? You worry about your friends as well… but this is much more acute… darn it, Jane, you’d gladly stay by her side just to be assured that she is all good and well… ow, darn, you’d gladly stay by her side just because you want to stay by her side!.. You need it!..
I sat bolt upright, realization striking me like a hammer blow…
- By whose side, Charlie?.. Charlie?.. - she asked again anxiously, cause I didn’t answer or move, just sat there on the edge of the bed, my back turned to her, my own words whirling as a constant eddy within my head.
Now, while writing to you I have already put on paper some of the thoughts that I only really discovered that night, so in a way, you were in a better position to guess my real feelings than I had been myself. But it must have been already apparent in what I told Jane - my admission that I preferred to read the scripts and make my notes in the café, part of the reason for which was her - writing something down at the neighboring table… And I worried for her, oh God, to the point that I almost resorted to stalking… and, well, there was never any question about the passion, right? Right…
- If you could only hear the way you talked about her, - said Jane’s voice, little more than a whisper behind my back. - Should try writing sometime - you’re such a poet at heart… and you know the first thing you’ve done after you awakened?
I didn’t remember doing something particular, so was curious enough to ask:
- What?
- You looked at your watch, and for a moment there was this expression on your face, as if you have to immediately jump up and ride away, because you really, really should be some other place. And then you kept looking at your watch all the time you were telling the story. Actually, it’s only about twenty minutes that you stopped. Guess it’s too late now to reach the café in time?
For the life of me I couldn’t remember doing it, but now she told it - I… I guess I really did.
- But how can it be, Jane? - I asked helplessly, turning to her in wonder. - I do not even know if she is real. I know next to nothing about her…
- Oh, you mean - you don’t know what she thinks, cause you haven’t talked yet? Now, let me set one thing straight, - she sat cross-legged again, looking me quite seriously into eyes. - We do not fall in love, because we know someone. Rather - we want to learn about someone, because we fall in love, or in friendship, or whatever… Something insignificant happens, some little event to spark the interest, and only then we want to learn more… Besides, you know more about her than you think you do.
I must have made a little sound of disbelief, for I saw her face acquire this stubborn and mischievous look again.
- Pop-quiz, dude…
- I hate the quizzes.
- Won’t be a long one. What color are her eyes?
- Why… light-brown… but I only noticed it recently, - I protested.
- Makes sense - as she’s always sits there all bent down over writing… Now, you have been filming a movie, you tell me… right?
- Right, - I didn’t quite understand what she’s driving at.
- Do you have a love interest in this movie? A female lead?
- Yes.
- You have talked with her, didn’t you? Maybe, shot some scenes already?
- Yes to both.
- So you would consider that you know her better than your mysterious woman in the café?
- Well, we discussed the script mostly… - I pondered thoughtfully, - but, yes, I would consider her thus.
- Then tell me, what color her eyes are? What kind of sandwich she likes? Ah?... What gesture she makes, when she’s tired, or frustrated?
- This is unfair, Jane, - I claimed, dumbfounded that I really cannot answer any of her questions. There was nothing in my mind but big blank. - This two weeks of filming I wasn’t my usual self.
- Oh, bullshit! - She objected with more vehemence than I expected on a matter like this. - Oh, right, OK! I’m sorry to bring his name up, but I do not know your other friends… so, tell, what about Kevin…
- Yes, what about Kevin? - I asked with a great deal of anger, she really didn’t have to bring this one up, or did she?
- He was your closest friend… you’ve made some movies together, and I suppose you were yourself then, so - you will be able to tell me what kind of sandwich he liked?
This question - for once - brought to the surface a happier memory, and it so happened - I could answer it with an absolute surety:
- He would eat most anything he’d been offered. But what he really liked was the one with pastrami and a leaf of fresh salad - no sauce, no ketchup, no mustard - he said that they killed the taste…
- And what color his eyes were? - She said it reluctantly, so quiet it was almost a whisper.
And I really tried to remember, more memories came in a rush: meetings, filmings, night rides together, around the clock discussions… but his eyes stayed out of focus, I couldn’t see them… He was light-haired, but try as I might - I couldn’t be sure whether his eyes were grey, or blue, or green…
She moved closer, and I felt a light touch of her hand on my upper arm.
- Do not, Charlie, stop it… I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t… They were dark-brown… The movie with him showed on TV just a few days ago… I’ve watched mostly because I knew you’d been friends… dark-brown eyes… so unusual for a blonde one… beautiful… even darker than yours…
I suddenly felt very tired. It was an exhausting evening, and I still haven’t caught on all that sleep that I missed for weeks.
- You proved your point, babe… Now, where you put me, back on the couch?
- Oh, for Christ-sake, stay where you are… That couch is too small for you. You’d been way uncomfortable on it even last time, weren’t you too drunk then to feel a thing. However, - she jumped off the bed, her mood apparently lightening, - all this talk of sandwiches made me hungry and you… no, let me guess, last time you’ve eaten must have been in The Ivy with your mom.
- I drank some coffee afterwards… - I objected, - and some wine…
- … and some more coffee when you woke up at home, spare me the details. I will warm this omelet in microwave, cause it’s long cold…
- … but I’m really dying of hunger now.
- … and then we’ll sleep.
And we looked at each other and laughed, cause we really, truly sounded like a very-very out of tune duo.
We ate in silence, as if we both have used all the speaking powers we possessed. Afterwards, Jane went to kitchen to put the plates into sink, and I used the moment to sneak into the basement, take my clothes out of the dryer and put the T and trunks on - I was not going to sleep with her (that is - in one bed with her) naked, we were not really lovers. I mean - not real lovers. Just friends. And my recent realization made it only more apparent.
Jane seemed to share my sentiments, for she too left both panties and T-shirt on before climbing into bed beside me.
- Charlie, - she said, - don’t ask why, just - can you hold me a bit before I sleep? Hold me tightly. It won’t take long, I’m an easy sleeper.
Frankly, while I do not share that old bachelor thing about “not being able to sleep with someone else in my bed” - I like to have a lot of space around when I’m sleeping. Cuddling together is great - but strictly during the waking hours.
Yet, hell, Jane had done so much for me tonight that I could surely bear this little inconvenience for her sake. So we snuggled up like two spoons, I put my arm around her and held as tightly as I could. Surprisingly - her even breathing seemed to have a soporific effect on me, and I drifted to sleep without noticing it - as easy as her.
- Charlie! Charlie, wake up… - the woman’s voice finally made it into my conscience. Insistent gal, this one… Only who the heck could call me Charlie? Nobody likely to be waking me now even knew it was my name… It belonged to some early-early childhood era, aeons before… but even then mom usually resorted to a harsher: Charles! A weird thought occurred to me - what if all my life was just a dream that I had: coming to L.A., movies, everything that I thought to be the reality - what if I will wake up back in our old home now - a mere teenage boy… God, what a fright!.. Yet, what a temptation… I lingered, not wanting to open my eyes and find out.
- Charlie, darn you, you’ve got to wake up, the cab will be coming in half an hour! Wake up, man, or I gonna miss my plane…
This time the voice made a connection. Janey! I was at Jane’s house… and all the events of the last night came in a rush. Welcome back to real life, man! But what was she talking about - what plane? I jumped up into a sitting position so quickly I felt a little giddy and looked around. She was all dressed again, and there was a suitcase propped on the other side of the bed, half full of clothes and all that stuff women tend to drag around when they travel. So her words were not a part of my dream - there was a plane.
- Oh, thank God, Charlie, you are awake! Stand up now, coffee and toasts are in the kitchen; you have only half an hour before the cab comes…
- Yes, yes, I heard it… - My mind was still groggy from the sleep, as I dutifully started to put on jeans, trying to figure out whether she had told me that she was going somewhere the very next day. Come to that - she hadn’t had any chance.
- Didn’t want to wake you earlier, having heard your story you need as much sleep as you can get, but the plane just really won’t wait… So now you’ll have to eat alone, I still have this feeling I have forgotten something important that I might need in a new place…
I sat stupefied watching her open the drawers, look into the wardrobe, and then just stand in the middle of the room with this puzzled look of brain cells busily rummaging through the store rooms of her mind.
- New place… - I uttered finally.
- Eh… yes, - she came back from her reverie and looked at me, as if surprised to see me still sitting where I was before. - I hadn’t time nor heart to tell it to you yesterday. I’m going to Bad Kösen, it’s a really small town in Thuringia, in Germany. For at least a year. Maybe two. My neighbors promised to look after this place for me. Wise thing would have been to rent it while I’m gone, but I’m too sentimental, I guess…
The news felt like a ton of bricks falling abruptly right onto my shoulders. Jane - gone? Jane - half the world removed? Of course, in the other circumstances - the distance wouldn’t have mattered all that much. We mostly kept together via phone calls and e-mails anyway. But now I was feeling both betrayed and confused.
- Damn, Janey, this is sudden… Why?... - I stammered helplessly. - And I gonna miss you awful… And… - And then something in me broke down, and out came a shamefully terrified. - Fuck it, Janey, what do I gonna do?
She sighed, came over, sat down beside me, put her face in the hands for a moment and then - looked me straight in the eyes.
- I really hope, Charlie, you will do something. Otherwise all we talked about yesternight had been in vain. Life is short, and the road to hell is paved with the missed chances. And there is no way from the place you’re now but to step forward…
I knew she was right, of course, but still…
- What if…
- There is no “what if” about it, Charlie, - she touched my shoulder, her voice compassionate and more than a little sad. - You big oaf, you must see it for yourself: either she is what you think her to be - and for your sake, I do sincerely hope it’s so - or she isn’t, and that might change the way that you feel. Either case, there is no other way to make sure but to go and do something. For a change…
Of course, she was right…
So I took my sorry ass to the kitchen, and gulped the coffee and toasts without noticing the taste of either, then washed the cup and plate, then opened some cupboards at random to find the right place to put them, feeling awfully weird about nobody using them again - for a year or two… This finished - I just went to the porch and smoked until the cab arrived. Jane was leaving her house, so - call me sentimental - I was giving her some time to say the last good byes to her place.
She came out carrying surprisingly little luggage - just a suitcase and a bag (“I have sent most of the things over there beforehand, - she commented, - and the house is rented with furniture, so it wasn’t much”). I helped her carry them to the cab, and we just stood there - unable to say the last words, till the silence had become unbearable - and then we spoke at once.
- So… I guess, it’s good bye… - her.
- I’ll follow you to the airport on my bike, - me.
- Thank you, Charlie, - she stood on tip-toes to place a kiss on my cheek, and I had to bend a little to make it possible - God, beside me she really seemed tiny as an elf. - You are probably the only person I’d like to see me off.
The traffic was pretty tight and we arrived just in time for the registration, so there was no moment to ask all questions that cropped up in my head during the ride, like - why she’s going there, and why there was such doubt in her voice when she talked about returning, and why the hell this obscure town someplace I never even heard about… All these questions that I should have asked before that, but - being an egotistical oaf indeed - had been too preoccupied with my own problems to ask.
- I will send you my new cellular by e-mail, - she said when it was almost her turn to go through the customs, - when I get both it and the connection…
After that we repeated our little pantomime of “elf trying to kiss a giant” and I watched as they checked her and her luggage, then as she went further and further into the departure hall. She stopped abruptly before disappearing altogether, and suddenly my cellular buzzed - did she forget something? If so - it was too late. I looked at the phone. There were only two words on the display: “Do something”… Never lapse in her good works… Exaggerating the gestures to make them clearly visible from afar she showed me she is switching the cellular off (guess, that meant: “No discussing the point”). Then she waved to me one last time. And was gone.
I went straight home from the airport. There were few alternatives in fact. The other one being - to stop the bike at the first shabby little restaurant by the way and get mercifully thoughtlessly drunk. I avoided this temptation - partly for purely practical reasons, which I was rather proud to have occurred to me before I really set on this course: if I got truly drunk (and if not - then the whole endeavor would be just meaningless) the taxi should be called to bring me home, which meant I would have to either leave my bike stranded (and I hated doing it), or call the pick-up service to bring it to my home as well (both done before the “truly drunk” condition occured); and frankly - the chances of neither service (restaurant owner included) bragging immediately to the paps to come on the double and snap me at the least opportune a moment - was wishful thinking if not an outright foolishness.
Now - isn’t being a celebrity a good and glorious thing? Everybody is allowed some stupid behavior once in awhile, every normal person can just go and get drunk with nobody the wiser but his wife (that is, if he happens to have one). It’s almost a constitutional right. But not where the limelight shines, no way… What a beautifully fitting word - lime-light. That’s what they do in their minds - cover us with lime to burn off all human nature off us - leaving what? A ghost? A god? Not a creature of flesh and blood any more. Not supposed to do the simplest human things their neighbor might do!..
Sorry for the outburst, buddy, I usually do not allow myself to dwell on this. It’s the writing that triggers it somehow. Besides… one gets used to it - to some extent… to your agent giving you shit for months to come - threatening you with the loss of your whole carrier, to the fact that seeing your own face in the foreign paper in the country as far removed from the U.S. as they only come - you can be fairly sure it is not a still frame out of one of your movies, but a picture like this that has made it that far... One gets used to it - but it’s somehow… tiring, it’s a weight, a burden: every time - to decide: whether to give a damn, or not to give a damn (as if we could decide - and then - not give a damn). I had done it though in the past - my share of foolishly human things, I’d been given shit for, and may still do them in the future…but right then, on that afternoon Jane flew away and left me with an oh-so-nice advice to “do something”, I… couldn’t be bothered, and… to dig still deeper, might have not given damn - were it not for the fear that such a paper would somehow end up in her hands. And it would have too, according to Murphy’s law…
So I took the only other alternative that offered delay - I knew, Jane was right, it was time for action, and it meant I’d have to think about it, sooner or later, but right now what I wanted most was to somehow delay it - a little bit. Just to let it settle. A second - to catch my breath. I went home, took a shower, downed a shot of whisky, walked onto the terrace for a smoke - forcibly shutting my brain for any coherent thoughts. No thinking right now. Be a blank. Watch the city, smoke your cigarette, do not think - just watch. I felt empty. Exhausted. Not able to think if I tried to. Drop dead tired. Even though it wasn’t all that much time since I woke up. So when the ciggy burnt to my fingers, and I hadn’t dragged on it even more than a couple of times, I stopped fighting exhaustion - crept into bed and slept.
Continued in - Part 7