Table by the Window - Part 9
For author's notes see Part 1
Heady anticipation and a few hours of sleep I still managed to catch kept me awake on the plane, and that was alright, I was going to drop my bags, wash, shave and probably sleep a little more when I got to my house. Only… as I sat behind the wheel of my own car, I couldn’t help driving just a little out of my way… just a slight detour… of course, she wouldn’t be there, it was barely noon for God’s sake… but just to see the familiar windows, just to freshen it in my mind…
At first I thought that I got distracted by the traffic and unwittingly passed the corner-house I needed, but no… as I kept moving, searching for a place to make an U-turn - there it was… the next crossing, the shadowy niche where I had kept my midnight vigil on the day that I had wanted to approach her, the day that she hadn’t come… I turned there and drove all around the block - the feeling of dread rising in me as bile in the throat for I already knew what I would see - just couldn’t believe my eyes when I first drove past it… The café was not there.
Oh, I mean the windows were there alright. Only it wasn’t my café anymore. The bright signs, the expensive curtains, the furniture inside… seemed to be some kind of a restaurant now, a posh one from the look that it had…
You must understand, I was in a daze - everything… just too damned unreal, I didn’t know what was reality anymore - was this a nightmare? Maybe I did sleep on the plane and was dreaming now? Or did I dream up the past months and going to this place? I was so confused…
I got out of my car and walked to the door, where an attendant (Gosh, they even had an attendant there…) tried to stop me, and as I saw my own reflection in the shiny glass I couldn’t say that I blamed him: worn out suede jacket, sun-bleached jeans, shoes I changed only for the footwear I was supposed to have for my role, two-days scruff and the hair sticking out in everywhich direction after a long flight - I hardly looked like a person who would frequent such place.
He recognized me soon enough, but his apologies didn’t really register as I entered, numbly followed maitre d’ to a plushy cabin - that one was more experienced or just had lived in L.A. much longer to know that clothes didn’t matter much in this city. The card seemed good, but I only opened it automatically - I didn’t feel like I could make anything pass my throat now - it was so tight… I ordered a glass of wine anyway, just to make some order, my subconscious choosing an exceptional Bordeaux, but my mind seemed divided - functioning in a kind of schizophrenic parallel way: one part of it acknowledging the quality of the wine and making a note to come here more often (more often than what?.. than when?..), while the other was still dazed, still searching for any kind of explanation, any kind of firm ground in the quagmire that surrounded me from all sides.
My choice of vintage had visibly impressed the maitre and he was hovering nearby (no other visitors there so early on Friday afternoon) waiting for another order that I might make.
- Have you been opened long? - my question was as casual as I could master, I was still not sure if my mind wasn’t fooling me - this way or that.
- No, sir, - he answered helpfully, - just for two days here. You could have seen our other locations around the town though. The space is a bit cramped, but the owner plans to buy off entire house, as soon as the lease on the second floor has run out next month.
- Ah, - I was forcing the words out of my mouth, as I probed further, - I thought I didn’t see your sign when I drove here a fortnight ago.
- You wouldn’t. There was then a shabby little coffeehouse here. A sad place. The decorators had to rip it all down and go for a complete renovation... All in a single week! - he added proudly as if the feat of decorators was somehow his own achievement. Well, guess it did speak about the amount of money involved, but then - that was apparent from the wine card and the whole look of the interior…
Ripped down…so there was not a trace, not a spot, not even a glass pane that would bear her fingerprint left… Nothing… Nothing… a plush, posh and completely lifeless place to me … I suddenly felt a need for fresh air, a need to be on the street - at least the street remembered her, the street was the same…
I wandered around the block aimlessly for awhile… I felt so lost… robbed of purpose… Belatedly it occurred to me I could have asked the maitre if there had been a woman sitting alone, writing in the night - in those two days that the place was already opened. He’d probably think me mad, but wouldn’t show it: the celebrities are supposed to be unstable, and even craziest customer was OK, as long as he ordered the kind of wine that I had… But inwardly I had no doubts that the result would be negative. It was not about her having the money for it or not - it just wasn’t the place to sit alone and write…
I came over there in the evening anyway - this day and the next - just to prove with final surety what I already knew - that she wouldn’t show. And I didn’t know even - whether she had chosen the café because it was close to her house, or if she was a night wanderer like myself - and it was its unpretentiousness and quiet that lured her in… so I didn’t know wherever she could have moved…or - if she did find another around-the-clock spot to move to at all, for frankly - being robbed of something so familiar, I wouldn’t have gone looking for a new place at once… I wouldn’t now - except I was looking for her…
The next month was spent in a daze, in a maze - days spent in going from one coffee-shop to another, trying to figure out if this or that of them seemed promising - then I would return there at night, sit for half an hour, then go off to another - my despair growing as I was wandering further and further from the vicinity of the café and there were less and less chance of finding her there.
Sometimes I thought - what if she’s doing the same thing, changing places every night in order to find me, going in my footsteps - but always some steps behind… or rather it would be me - behind of her, as - if she was searching - she would have started a good week ahead of myself… Wishful thinking - this one, and futile, for it didn’t increase our chances to meet again.
I barely remembered to turn up for the photoshoot, and it was one of the worst of them - ever. McCrow exasperated by my lack of expressiveness: “Damned, man, I can’t just work when you sit here limp as a rag doll!” In the end I grew angry at him in return, and that’s when the only lively pictures of me were made, even if I abhorred the brutal image that was so unlike me.
Three weeks into it - our happy newly-wed - Ben, forcibly ordered me into his office to inform that the promos for coming movie were set in a week.
- Don’t know what ails you, but you better snap out of it soon - we are flying off on eleventh: London, Paris, Madrid, Berlin - then back to L.A. for the premiere. And I want you to at least pretend to be thrilled that your new movie is ready to go on screen!
- I am thrilled… - I was shocked myself at how entirely un-thrilled it sounded. - Don’t worry, I will produce…
I did too… It was easier once we were in Europe… to hold myself together… besides I had only the good remembrances from my last big promo-tour overseas three years ago, and the hectic activity itself helped, leaving me with no time to dwell on my feelings: photosessions… interviews… press-confs… crowds of fans gathered around the entrances that I needed to shake hands with and give autographs and hug… dinners with movie officials… then back to the hotel for a nightcap with other promo-group members and tired sleep.
Winter in Europe was cold and snowy this year, Germany especially assaulted with heavy snowfalls - so much so, that at the date of our planned departure we were told that there would be no flights today, and according to the weather forecasts they had - not for another day. Ben was frustrated but not overly so - we still had ample time to return before the L.A. premiere, and through extensive pleading, cursing and bargaining on his cellular he managed to move the appointments for the few interviews that were planned for me to a later date. I - thought of Jane - somewhere here in Germany, the only shoulder on which I could unload my grief.
Without the extensive instructions I’d never had found her house - that is for sure. It was already dark by the time I got out of my train in Bad Kösen, and snowing, and as it turned out she didn’t even live in Bad Kösen itself but in a small… village? town? (I didn’t know how it counted on the European scale) of Saaleck - “Saale’s bend” - Saale being the river the flow of which I followed through the black and white beauty of a twisting valley.
Half an hour by foot, she said, and I’d figured I could make it in twenty, but the snow didn’t make the going easy, and it was almost forty minutes from the station and to her porch. And even in the long coat I had bought in Paris I was feeling the force of a biting wind.
Once again she opened the door almost before I knocked, towing me inside into the yellow glow and welcome warmth.
- Gosh, Charlie, only you could go with an open head in a weather like this! And this sad excuse of a coat! Get it off at once, you must be wet and frozen through… - she stopped abruptly, little smile not quite reaching into her eyes. - It seems we had this exact conversation before already…
- Yes, Janey, we had, - I looked at the puddles of melted snow growing around my feet.
And I bet she sensed right away that there was something more that was wrong with me besides the wet and the cold, for she shrugged impatiently:
- Anyway, take your clothes off right now, I’ll go and run a bath…
The hot bath was a bliss (I didn’t even notice that my feet had been frozen until they began to unfreeze), and so was the violently hot gluehwein she had prepared by the time I was finished. I sipped it slowly as we curled under the down coverlet on the couch, watching the fire that burned in the stone fireplace right before us, feeling the warmth of it slowly loosen some tightly wound spring within my body and soul… or maybe it were just the last aftereffects of cold - slipping out as the heat of the wine and the fire slipped gradually in…
- This place is really small, - explained Jane. - I have only one bedroom besides this hall. Will have to use the attic for studio… That means enlarging the window and getting some extra lighting in there, and generally cleaning it up... The owner has agreed, but what with these snowfalls I haven’t yet got to it in earnest…
Her voice continued, but I didn’t really hear the words, just the sound of it, a low melodic murmur, making my eyelids heavy, lulling me as a good-night song…
- This couch is bigger than in Riverside, but you’ll still get a cramp in your neck if you sleep like this, you big oaf…
A little hand was shaking me awake, but I didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to let go of the dream. There was mulled wine in my dream as well, and the yellowish lighting - but the setting was different and so was the woman by my side.
Ah… the dreams… they were the only thing that endured… stubbornly refusing the futility that awaited me in the real world.
I followed Jane into bedroom - dark-paneled, way too masculine for her tiny frame. The bed - a huge monstrosity, but surprisingly comfortable, once I lay on it… only thing, now my dream was disrupted I didn’t feel like sleeping at all.
Neither seemed Jane, but she turned the light down anyway - the snowy landscape outside the window giving off a bluish glow that was bright enough to make out the shapes but not the colors - and slipped under the covers beside myself.
- I still have a bad habit of smoking in bed, - she informed me a little while later, as we lay there without talking but both awake.
For some reason - this simple statement broke something inside me. I felt like crawling under the pillow, under the bedspread, like weeping helplessly for the unfairness of the fate… Only my eyes were still dry.
- Here, take this, and tell me, - I saw a flicker of her lighter, heard her sigh, smelled the familiar smell, belonging somewhere in our long forgotten teenager-days… for some reason it always reminded me of a Christmas-tree… hell, it was almost Christmas-time now - came an unbidden thought…
- What’s that? - I asked already extending my hand to take the ciggy.
- Pot… My neighbor returned from Amsterdam last week. He’s an artist too, we got to talk about landscapes here, and well - he shared a little... I never really got into it, but sometimes… it is just the thing that you need…
So I told her everything… there being not much it didn’t take long. She didn’t interrupt me, nor did she comment when I finished - instead she simply moved closer and hugged me tightly, her silent compassion speaking louder than any words. Despite my fears I still didn’t weep - just couldn’t quite catch my breath, my body letting go the tension in a series of violent shivers.
As this fit subsided I turned onto my back, staring on the ceiling, more angry now than sad…
- It’s so fucking unfair…
I heard her sigh as she sat up beside me once again.
- Where have you heard - fate is fair? Look at it this way - you’re both alive… And while it is so - everything is possible. You can meet her yet… or you can meet someone else… everything is possible…
I looked up sharp at her profile - barely visible in the dim light.
- He died? - I asked softly. - The “he”, who told you there was no love?
She didn’t answer - which in its own way was answer enough.
- Shit, - I cursed, - what kind of a friend I am, if I didn’t even know you had someone in your life, nor was there at a moment like this!
- Shhh, Charlie, don’t… You’re my best friend, and you know it. We just never really spoke about such things, and that seemed what both of us needed - you didn’t exactly run to me to tell me about Kevin’s death either… I learned about it from papers as it was…And me… if I’d wanted to speak about it at all, even then I wouldn’t have come to you so soon after your best friend’s death… Guess we weren’t just ready to share such things with anyone… Maybe, it’s changed…
- Want to speak about it now? - I prompted.
She shook her head, then sighed…
- It’s all about timing, I guess... First we long couldn’t realize that we loved each other - that it wasn’t just passing passion for us… That’s when he told me that thing about “there being no love”… Then he couldn’t move to me permanently before he got a proper job - he was Lithuanian, emigrant, had medical education, but they wouldn’t acknowledge his diploma without him finishing some kind of courses first and passing a test… He worked as a driver on an ambulance meanwhile… And then… everything seemed to turn out alright - he finished the studies, they were ready to take him up at the same hospital that he worked for… we started… - her voice caught for a moment, then she continued ever so softly, - we started to make plans…
- What happened? - I took her hand in mine to let her know I cared.
- Someone called 9-1-1, - she shrugged, - they drove there… but it was a fake call, two junkies with the demented idea to rob a doctor for drugs… one of them had a gun… I don’t even think they meant to use it, just waved it threateningly… but it fired… funny thing about it, - her chuckle sounded eerie in the dark, - Rimas used to be a field surgeon, back when there was that war in Afghanistan… if the roles were reversed, he probably might have saved the doctor… at least it’s what I like to imagine… when I think about it at all…
I towed her down by the hand, and this time it was me, who held her - face pressed tightly into my chest, until her shivering stopped, and we both succumbed to a much deserved sleep.
Next morning I awoke to the smell of a freshly made coffee and the light streaming through the window. The snow had stopped, and the sky was impossibly, unbelievably blue. I put on my jeans and T, then thought better of it and added the jacket and the bathrobe over it all (the air in the house grown chilly during the night), then shuffled to the kitchen, where Jane already sat at the table nursing a steaming cup.
After the revelations of yesternight she seemed more thoughtful and frail, and I felt a violent surge of protectiveness, deciding to somehow make this day a treat for her, even if I still didn’t know how to go about this.
The breakfast finished, she got me “clothed for the weather”, the clothes in question - two warm pullovers and a dark blue anorak with a hood - coming as a courtesy of the same neighbor that provided the pot, put on her own coat - I smiled at its canary-yellow color, dear Jane and her love for a bright spot seemed to carry on even in much more subdued European setting, and beckoned me out of the house and up the hill.
The valley that I couldn’t see in any detail last night was narrow - a world onto itself, and now - sunlit and snowed over - looked as perfect fairy-tale surroundings, complete with the ruins of a dark castle on top of the ridge, and another, much smaller and better preserved one, rising on the hill right up over the house. It was towards it that Jane led me now deftly climbing the winding road and making me hurry my steps to catch up with her before we reached our goal.
The castle was really tiny - two towers really, connected with grey stone walls, but small as it was - it took almost the entire top of the hill, save for the small tongue of earth, thrusting into the valley and guarded by wooden railing. There was a bench on it and we sat there smoking, sipping in turns hot gluehwein from the thermos Jane brought with her and letting the shining sun warm our faces, while the castle shielded us from most of the wind.
- This, - Jane said after awhile, - is the reason I came here… This is the most peaceful place there is in the world.
I had to agree with her, the place indeed seemed somehow suspended in space and time, the ordinary human life happening in the valley below, the gods’ doings - somewhere way up, definitely higher than the two wooded ridges that guarded us from both sides. The castle was silent, and there were no people around. Nothing could break the peace here, but the unrest that we carried within ourselves. Unfortunately, both of us had quite a lot of that in our souls…
I didn’t say it aloud though. If she needed an outside peace for now, to find her rest - let her.
I only knew that this time Jane’s simple solution didn’t work its miracle for myself. If there was a rest for me, it was to be found at the very place where the unrest stemmed from i.e. back in L.A…
We started down, this time me leading the way, and were halfway back, when I felt a hefty snowball catching me right between the shoulder blades. I turned around - ready for battle, but vixen - she knew her upper position gave her a cutting edge!
For the rest of the day we continued behaving like kids we used to be some time in the high school: snowballing and building snow dragons along the slope, and exploring the bigger castle - Rudelsburg, and generally frolicking around until we were tired from laughing and frozen and it began to snow again.
We ate our dinner by the fireplace then huddled again on the couch, wrapped in a friendly silence, both of us fully aware that I would have to go early next day. When we already decided to retire for the night Jane turned to me… she looked a bit uncomfortable:
- Charlie… could you do me a favor?..
- Anything, - I instantly promised, not even caring whatever it might be, but she frowned - no doubt chastising me for the careless agreement, as if she almost hoped that I would decline.
- The same kind of favor I did for you last time… - she finally explained.
It took me a moment to understand - what kind of favor she meant, and I must confess - it was mostly her rising blush that gave me the clue.
Our lovemaking was pleasurable enough, but lacked the mutual passion - both of us really wishing for other person in our partner’s stead. Granted, we were way too experienced to let it altogether rob us of physical satisfaction, and yet… and yet…
- It was a mistake, - admitted Jane as we lay together after it was all over for us both. - Guess, we are only friends and that’s what we are destined to be…
- Yeah, - I replied in tone, even if I knew it all along - I was deeply saddened by my own inability to help her in that same way that she once helped me.
- But you won’t decline to hold me close this once again, before I sleep? - she asked anxiously, as if she feared that I could refuse her even this comfort because her attempt to find an easy solution for both of us had so utterly failed.
- You silly cow, Jane, - I tried to sound more light-hearted than really felt, - friends can hold each other just as close as anyone else…
And indeed, I gathered her close to me, and let the sleep carry us both to those people we wished to be with for true.
When I left next morning - she was still sleeping, and I hadn’t the heart to wake her up. Instead I set the percolator to slowly drip the coffee for the time she would wake and left a short note with a bright yellow smiley and the only sentence - terribly sentimental, but who cared: “I will always be there for you”… What else I could say?
***
Have really almost finished this my letter to you. But then - a chance! Went out for ciggies, and half way along the street suddenly remembered that long have promised Toby a book that I’d read sometime ago, but didn’t actually have. Was just passing a book-shop, so that could have triggered the memory, you know… And there it was, lying right up on the counter… “A Table By the Window. Story Of One Obsession” by Fey Mercy. No, no spelling mistake here, not “Fay” as in fairy, “Fey” as in dying or doomed. A telling pseudo. You know, man, I do not really go for contemporary literature, unless it’s philosophic or sci-fi. And female fiction to boot… Am I being chauvinistic in this one?.. Yeah, guess, I am… But the title… Bought it almost as an afterthought, as we buy sometimes a thing we do not really need, but which reminds us sharply of an episode in our lives that we… treasure?.. Bought it for the title really. Been almost reluctant to open… But open it I did…
You won’t hear any comments on it from me. Not yet. Maybe never. Instead I’m just sending it to you to read for yourself.
“I’m getting over it slowly. Getting myself a normal life. A proper normal work, a proper boyfriend. And I mean a normal 8 to 5 work. Daytime. Not this demented writing of mine. Though my agent seems to like it, and so, from her words, does the publisher. Can’t wait to read the final chapter, she said, and also if I’m planning on writing something else soon.
But I’m not. I’m planning on living my own life instead. That’s why I need a normal work, and a boyfriend is a pure godsend for someone, who can at best be described as “cute”.
I’m done writing. I’m done sitting in the all-nighters, hoping against all hope that He might come in. I’m done with fantasies that never fulfill themselves.
Not that it’s easy either, especially now, with His face gazing at me from every goddamn poster at every goddamn theater in the city. Oh my, it sucks!
The boyfriend is being so extremely nice though and genuinely does not notice, when I do a double-take every time I see one. Either he is completely blinded by love, or I have grown so much better in my pretense. And… day by day… it does get easier… to pretend…”
“Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
and thus the native hue of resolution
is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought…”
W. Shakespeare
The End
Heady anticipation and a few hours of sleep I still managed to catch kept me awake on the plane, and that was alright, I was going to drop my bags, wash, shave and probably sleep a little more when I got to my house. Only… as I sat behind the wheel of my own car, I couldn’t help driving just a little out of my way… just a slight detour… of course, she wouldn’t be there, it was barely noon for God’s sake… but just to see the familiar windows, just to freshen it in my mind…
At first I thought that I got distracted by the traffic and unwittingly passed the corner-house I needed, but no… as I kept moving, searching for a place to make an U-turn - there it was… the next crossing, the shadowy niche where I had kept my midnight vigil on the day that I had wanted to approach her, the day that she hadn’t come… I turned there and drove all around the block - the feeling of dread rising in me as bile in the throat for I already knew what I would see - just couldn’t believe my eyes when I first drove past it… The café was not there.
Oh, I mean the windows were there alright. Only it wasn’t my café anymore. The bright signs, the expensive curtains, the furniture inside… seemed to be some kind of a restaurant now, a posh one from the look that it had…
You must understand, I was in a daze - everything… just too damned unreal, I didn’t know what was reality anymore - was this a nightmare? Maybe I did sleep on the plane and was dreaming now? Or did I dream up the past months and going to this place? I was so confused…
I got out of my car and walked to the door, where an attendant (Gosh, they even had an attendant there…) tried to stop me, and as I saw my own reflection in the shiny glass I couldn’t say that I blamed him: worn out suede jacket, sun-bleached jeans, shoes I changed only for the footwear I was supposed to have for my role, two-days scruff and the hair sticking out in everywhich direction after a long flight - I hardly looked like a person who would frequent such place.
He recognized me soon enough, but his apologies didn’t really register as I entered, numbly followed maitre d’ to a plushy cabin - that one was more experienced or just had lived in L.A. much longer to know that clothes didn’t matter much in this city. The card seemed good, but I only opened it automatically - I didn’t feel like I could make anything pass my throat now - it was so tight… I ordered a glass of wine anyway, just to make some order, my subconscious choosing an exceptional Bordeaux, but my mind seemed divided - functioning in a kind of schizophrenic parallel way: one part of it acknowledging the quality of the wine and making a note to come here more often (more often than what?.. than when?..), while the other was still dazed, still searching for any kind of explanation, any kind of firm ground in the quagmire that surrounded me from all sides.
My choice of vintage had visibly impressed the maitre and he was hovering nearby (no other visitors there so early on Friday afternoon) waiting for another order that I might make.
- Have you been opened long? - my question was as casual as I could master, I was still not sure if my mind wasn’t fooling me - this way or that.
- No, sir, - he answered helpfully, - just for two days here. You could have seen our other locations around the town though. The space is a bit cramped, but the owner plans to buy off entire house, as soon as the lease on the second floor has run out next month.
- Ah, - I was forcing the words out of my mouth, as I probed further, - I thought I didn’t see your sign when I drove here a fortnight ago.
- You wouldn’t. There was then a shabby little coffeehouse here. A sad place. The decorators had to rip it all down and go for a complete renovation... All in a single week! - he added proudly as if the feat of decorators was somehow his own achievement. Well, guess it did speak about the amount of money involved, but then - that was apparent from the wine card and the whole look of the interior…
Ripped down…so there was not a trace, not a spot, not even a glass pane that would bear her fingerprint left… Nothing… Nothing… a plush, posh and completely lifeless place to me … I suddenly felt a need for fresh air, a need to be on the street - at least the street remembered her, the street was the same…
I wandered around the block aimlessly for awhile… I felt so lost… robbed of purpose… Belatedly it occurred to me I could have asked the maitre if there had been a woman sitting alone, writing in the night - in those two days that the place was already opened. He’d probably think me mad, but wouldn’t show it: the celebrities are supposed to be unstable, and even craziest customer was OK, as long as he ordered the kind of wine that I had… But inwardly I had no doubts that the result would be negative. It was not about her having the money for it or not - it just wasn’t the place to sit alone and write…
I came over there in the evening anyway - this day and the next - just to prove with final surety what I already knew - that she wouldn’t show. And I didn’t know even - whether she had chosen the café because it was close to her house, or if she was a night wanderer like myself - and it was its unpretentiousness and quiet that lured her in… so I didn’t know wherever she could have moved…or - if she did find another around-the-clock spot to move to at all, for frankly - being robbed of something so familiar, I wouldn’t have gone looking for a new place at once… I wouldn’t now - except I was looking for her…
The next month was spent in a daze, in a maze - days spent in going from one coffee-shop to another, trying to figure out if this or that of them seemed promising - then I would return there at night, sit for half an hour, then go off to another - my despair growing as I was wandering further and further from the vicinity of the café and there were less and less chance of finding her there.
Sometimes I thought - what if she’s doing the same thing, changing places every night in order to find me, going in my footsteps - but always some steps behind… or rather it would be me - behind of her, as - if she was searching - she would have started a good week ahead of myself… Wishful thinking - this one, and futile, for it didn’t increase our chances to meet again.
I barely remembered to turn up for the photoshoot, and it was one of the worst of them - ever. McCrow exasperated by my lack of expressiveness: “Damned, man, I can’t just work when you sit here limp as a rag doll!” In the end I grew angry at him in return, and that’s when the only lively pictures of me were made, even if I abhorred the brutal image that was so unlike me.
Three weeks into it - our happy newly-wed - Ben, forcibly ordered me into his office to inform that the promos for coming movie were set in a week.
- Don’t know what ails you, but you better snap out of it soon - we are flying off on eleventh: London, Paris, Madrid, Berlin - then back to L.A. for the premiere. And I want you to at least pretend to be thrilled that your new movie is ready to go on screen!
- I am thrilled… - I was shocked myself at how entirely un-thrilled it sounded. - Don’t worry, I will produce…
I did too… It was easier once we were in Europe… to hold myself together… besides I had only the good remembrances from my last big promo-tour overseas three years ago, and the hectic activity itself helped, leaving me with no time to dwell on my feelings: photosessions… interviews… press-confs… crowds of fans gathered around the entrances that I needed to shake hands with and give autographs and hug… dinners with movie officials… then back to the hotel for a nightcap with other promo-group members and tired sleep.
Winter in Europe was cold and snowy this year, Germany especially assaulted with heavy snowfalls - so much so, that at the date of our planned departure we were told that there would be no flights today, and according to the weather forecasts they had - not for another day. Ben was frustrated but not overly so - we still had ample time to return before the L.A. premiere, and through extensive pleading, cursing and bargaining on his cellular he managed to move the appointments for the few interviews that were planned for me to a later date. I - thought of Jane - somewhere here in Germany, the only shoulder on which I could unload my grief.
Without the extensive instructions I’d never had found her house - that is for sure. It was already dark by the time I got out of my train in Bad Kösen, and snowing, and as it turned out she didn’t even live in Bad Kösen itself but in a small… village? town? (I didn’t know how it counted on the European scale) of Saaleck - “Saale’s bend” - Saale being the river the flow of which I followed through the black and white beauty of a twisting valley.
Half an hour by foot, she said, and I’d figured I could make it in twenty, but the snow didn’t make the going easy, and it was almost forty minutes from the station and to her porch. And even in the long coat I had bought in Paris I was feeling the force of a biting wind.
Once again she opened the door almost before I knocked, towing me inside into the yellow glow and welcome warmth.
- Gosh, Charlie, only you could go with an open head in a weather like this! And this sad excuse of a coat! Get it off at once, you must be wet and frozen through… - she stopped abruptly, little smile not quite reaching into her eyes. - It seems we had this exact conversation before already…
- Yes, Janey, we had, - I looked at the puddles of melted snow growing around my feet.
And I bet she sensed right away that there was something more that was wrong with me besides the wet and the cold, for she shrugged impatiently:
- Anyway, take your clothes off right now, I’ll go and run a bath…
The hot bath was a bliss (I didn’t even notice that my feet had been frozen until they began to unfreeze), and so was the violently hot gluehwein she had prepared by the time I was finished. I sipped it slowly as we curled under the down coverlet on the couch, watching the fire that burned in the stone fireplace right before us, feeling the warmth of it slowly loosen some tightly wound spring within my body and soul… or maybe it were just the last aftereffects of cold - slipping out as the heat of the wine and the fire slipped gradually in…
- This place is really small, - explained Jane. - I have only one bedroom besides this hall. Will have to use the attic for studio… That means enlarging the window and getting some extra lighting in there, and generally cleaning it up... The owner has agreed, but what with these snowfalls I haven’t yet got to it in earnest…
Her voice continued, but I didn’t really hear the words, just the sound of it, a low melodic murmur, making my eyelids heavy, lulling me as a good-night song…
- This couch is bigger than in Riverside, but you’ll still get a cramp in your neck if you sleep like this, you big oaf…
A little hand was shaking me awake, but I didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to let go of the dream. There was mulled wine in my dream as well, and the yellowish lighting - but the setting was different and so was the woman by my side.
Ah… the dreams… they were the only thing that endured… stubbornly refusing the futility that awaited me in the real world.
I followed Jane into bedroom - dark-paneled, way too masculine for her tiny frame. The bed - a huge monstrosity, but surprisingly comfortable, once I lay on it… only thing, now my dream was disrupted I didn’t feel like sleeping at all.
Neither seemed Jane, but she turned the light down anyway - the snowy landscape outside the window giving off a bluish glow that was bright enough to make out the shapes but not the colors - and slipped under the covers beside myself.
- I still have a bad habit of smoking in bed, - she informed me a little while later, as we lay there without talking but both awake.
For some reason - this simple statement broke something inside me. I felt like crawling under the pillow, under the bedspread, like weeping helplessly for the unfairness of the fate… Only my eyes were still dry.
- Here, take this, and tell me, - I saw a flicker of her lighter, heard her sigh, smelled the familiar smell, belonging somewhere in our long forgotten teenager-days… for some reason it always reminded me of a Christmas-tree… hell, it was almost Christmas-time now - came an unbidden thought…
- What’s that? - I asked already extending my hand to take the ciggy.
- Pot… My neighbor returned from Amsterdam last week. He’s an artist too, we got to talk about landscapes here, and well - he shared a little... I never really got into it, but sometimes… it is just the thing that you need…
So I told her everything… there being not much it didn’t take long. She didn’t interrupt me, nor did she comment when I finished - instead she simply moved closer and hugged me tightly, her silent compassion speaking louder than any words. Despite my fears I still didn’t weep - just couldn’t quite catch my breath, my body letting go the tension in a series of violent shivers.
As this fit subsided I turned onto my back, staring on the ceiling, more angry now than sad…
- It’s so fucking unfair…
I heard her sigh as she sat up beside me once again.
- Where have you heard - fate is fair? Look at it this way - you’re both alive… And while it is so - everything is possible. You can meet her yet… or you can meet someone else… everything is possible…
I looked up sharp at her profile - barely visible in the dim light.
- He died? - I asked softly. - The “he”, who told you there was no love?
She didn’t answer - which in its own way was answer enough.
- Shit, - I cursed, - what kind of a friend I am, if I didn’t even know you had someone in your life, nor was there at a moment like this!
- Shhh, Charlie, don’t… You’re my best friend, and you know it. We just never really spoke about such things, and that seemed what both of us needed - you didn’t exactly run to me to tell me about Kevin’s death either… I learned about it from papers as it was…And me… if I’d wanted to speak about it at all, even then I wouldn’t have come to you so soon after your best friend’s death… Guess we weren’t just ready to share such things with anyone… Maybe, it’s changed…
- Want to speak about it now? - I prompted.
She shook her head, then sighed…
- It’s all about timing, I guess... First we long couldn’t realize that we loved each other - that it wasn’t just passing passion for us… That’s when he told me that thing about “there being no love”… Then he couldn’t move to me permanently before he got a proper job - he was Lithuanian, emigrant, had medical education, but they wouldn’t acknowledge his diploma without him finishing some kind of courses first and passing a test… He worked as a driver on an ambulance meanwhile… And then… everything seemed to turn out alright - he finished the studies, they were ready to take him up at the same hospital that he worked for… we started… - her voice caught for a moment, then she continued ever so softly, - we started to make plans…
- What happened? - I took her hand in mine to let her know I cared.
- Someone called 9-1-1, - she shrugged, - they drove there… but it was a fake call, two junkies with the demented idea to rob a doctor for drugs… one of them had a gun… I don’t even think they meant to use it, just waved it threateningly… but it fired… funny thing about it, - her chuckle sounded eerie in the dark, - Rimas used to be a field surgeon, back when there was that war in Afghanistan… if the roles were reversed, he probably might have saved the doctor… at least it’s what I like to imagine… when I think about it at all…
I towed her down by the hand, and this time it was me, who held her - face pressed tightly into my chest, until her shivering stopped, and we both succumbed to a much deserved sleep.
Next morning I awoke to the smell of a freshly made coffee and the light streaming through the window. The snow had stopped, and the sky was impossibly, unbelievably blue. I put on my jeans and T, then thought better of it and added the jacket and the bathrobe over it all (the air in the house grown chilly during the night), then shuffled to the kitchen, where Jane already sat at the table nursing a steaming cup.
After the revelations of yesternight she seemed more thoughtful and frail, and I felt a violent surge of protectiveness, deciding to somehow make this day a treat for her, even if I still didn’t know how to go about this.
The breakfast finished, she got me “clothed for the weather”, the clothes in question - two warm pullovers and a dark blue anorak with a hood - coming as a courtesy of the same neighbor that provided the pot, put on her own coat - I smiled at its canary-yellow color, dear Jane and her love for a bright spot seemed to carry on even in much more subdued European setting, and beckoned me out of the house and up the hill.
The valley that I couldn’t see in any detail last night was narrow - a world onto itself, and now - sunlit and snowed over - looked as perfect fairy-tale surroundings, complete with the ruins of a dark castle on top of the ridge, and another, much smaller and better preserved one, rising on the hill right up over the house. It was towards it that Jane led me now deftly climbing the winding road and making me hurry my steps to catch up with her before we reached our goal.
The castle was really tiny - two towers really, connected with grey stone walls, but small as it was - it took almost the entire top of the hill, save for the small tongue of earth, thrusting into the valley and guarded by wooden railing. There was a bench on it and we sat there smoking, sipping in turns hot gluehwein from the thermos Jane brought with her and letting the shining sun warm our faces, while the castle shielded us from most of the wind.
- This, - Jane said after awhile, - is the reason I came here… This is the most peaceful place there is in the world.
I had to agree with her, the place indeed seemed somehow suspended in space and time, the ordinary human life happening in the valley below, the gods’ doings - somewhere way up, definitely higher than the two wooded ridges that guarded us from both sides. The castle was silent, and there were no people around. Nothing could break the peace here, but the unrest that we carried within ourselves. Unfortunately, both of us had quite a lot of that in our souls…
I didn’t say it aloud though. If she needed an outside peace for now, to find her rest - let her.
I only knew that this time Jane’s simple solution didn’t work its miracle for myself. If there was a rest for me, it was to be found at the very place where the unrest stemmed from i.e. back in L.A…
We started down, this time me leading the way, and were halfway back, when I felt a hefty snowball catching me right between the shoulder blades. I turned around - ready for battle, but vixen - she knew her upper position gave her a cutting edge!
For the rest of the day we continued behaving like kids we used to be some time in the high school: snowballing and building snow dragons along the slope, and exploring the bigger castle - Rudelsburg, and generally frolicking around until we were tired from laughing and frozen and it began to snow again.
We ate our dinner by the fireplace then huddled again on the couch, wrapped in a friendly silence, both of us fully aware that I would have to go early next day. When we already decided to retire for the night Jane turned to me… she looked a bit uncomfortable:
- Charlie… could you do me a favor?..
- Anything, - I instantly promised, not even caring whatever it might be, but she frowned - no doubt chastising me for the careless agreement, as if she almost hoped that I would decline.
- The same kind of favor I did for you last time… - she finally explained.
It took me a moment to understand - what kind of favor she meant, and I must confess - it was mostly her rising blush that gave me the clue.
Our lovemaking was pleasurable enough, but lacked the mutual passion - both of us really wishing for other person in our partner’s stead. Granted, we were way too experienced to let it altogether rob us of physical satisfaction, and yet… and yet…
- It was a mistake, - admitted Jane as we lay together after it was all over for us both. - Guess, we are only friends and that’s what we are destined to be…
- Yeah, - I replied in tone, even if I knew it all along - I was deeply saddened by my own inability to help her in that same way that she once helped me.
- But you won’t decline to hold me close this once again, before I sleep? - she asked anxiously, as if she feared that I could refuse her even this comfort because her attempt to find an easy solution for both of us had so utterly failed.
- You silly cow, Jane, - I tried to sound more light-hearted than really felt, - friends can hold each other just as close as anyone else…
And indeed, I gathered her close to me, and let the sleep carry us both to those people we wished to be with for true.
When I left next morning - she was still sleeping, and I hadn’t the heart to wake her up. Instead I set the percolator to slowly drip the coffee for the time she would wake and left a short note with a bright yellow smiley and the only sentence - terribly sentimental, but who cared: “I will always be there for you”… What else I could say?
***
Have really almost finished this my letter to you. But then - a chance! Went out for ciggies, and half way along the street suddenly remembered that long have promised Toby a book that I’d read sometime ago, but didn’t actually have. Was just passing a book-shop, so that could have triggered the memory, you know… And there it was, lying right up on the counter… “A Table By the Window. Story Of One Obsession” by Fey Mercy. No, no spelling mistake here, not “Fay” as in fairy, “Fey” as in dying or doomed. A telling pseudo. You know, man, I do not really go for contemporary literature, unless it’s philosophic or sci-fi. And female fiction to boot… Am I being chauvinistic in this one?.. Yeah, guess, I am… But the title… Bought it almost as an afterthought, as we buy sometimes a thing we do not really need, but which reminds us sharply of an episode in our lives that we… treasure?.. Bought it for the title really. Been almost reluctant to open… But open it I did…
You won’t hear any comments on it from me. Not yet. Maybe never. Instead I’m just sending it to you to read for yourself.
“I’m getting over it slowly. Getting myself a normal life. A proper normal work, a proper boyfriend. And I mean a normal 8 to 5 work. Daytime. Not this demented writing of mine. Though my agent seems to like it, and so, from her words, does the publisher. Can’t wait to read the final chapter, she said, and also if I’m planning on writing something else soon.
But I’m not. I’m planning on living my own life instead. That’s why I need a normal work, and a boyfriend is a pure godsend for someone, who can at best be described as “cute”.
I’m done writing. I’m done sitting in the all-nighters, hoping against all hope that He might come in. I’m done with fantasies that never fulfill themselves.
Not that it’s easy either, especially now, with His face gazing at me from every goddamn poster at every goddamn theater in the city. Oh my, it sucks!
The boyfriend is being so extremely nice though and genuinely does not notice, when I do a double-take every time I see one. Either he is completely blinded by love, or I have grown so much better in my pretense. And… day by day… it does get easier… to pretend…”
“Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
and thus the native hue of resolution
is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought…”
W. Shakespeare
The End