Cliché
Chapter Three: Moon River
Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you're going I'm going your way.
She'd lost him. Somewhere in between their mutual assessment that they actually had something in common and Emma bringing them a fresh cup of cocoa, he'd faded away. He was still there, across from her, but he was somewhere else all the same. She tries to pinpoint the exact moment, wondering if it was something she might have said or done that triggered it, but doesn't come to realize the reasoning until the light catches the silent tear that had fallen down his cheek. Head bowed, he tries his damnedest to hide it, his tongue darting out to swipe the tiny droplet away. Clearing his throat, he takes a swig of the hot liquid, probably wishing it was something more than a little bit stronger. And then suddenly, before she can venture a guess, he answers the question for her.
"My mother," he sighs, running a hand over his mouth. "She loved this song."
Resisting the sudden urge she felt to cover his hand with her own, she reaches for her cup instead. "She did?"
"Yeah, she um…she loved stuff like this. Classics. She was a romantic. She taught me how to dance to this song…she said it was important. She said that women appreciated a man that knew his way around the dance floor."
"That we do," she smiles. "Tell me about her. What was she like? What did she -" Stopping short, Robin bites her lip and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, you probably don't -"
"No. No, it's okay," Patrick shrugs, managing a smile. "She was beautiful. And strong. Generous. Funny. Everyone loved her…everyone."
"Did she work?"
"No. She stayed at home and raised me while my father worked. She did the PTA and all that. Organized parties and fundraisers for the hospital. When I went to college, she stuck with that. Until she got sick…"
"Patrick, we don't have to talk about this now," Robin tells him carefully, hating to see him in so much pain. How could she feel so much for someone she'd just met?
"She told me that she wanted me to celebrate her life. She didn't want me to mourn her. Just in case, she said." Shaking his head, he looks towards the window, away from her. "I didn't want to hear it. I told her she was going to be fine. I told her that dad would fix her and that she'd be home before she knew it. I told her she wouldn't be in pain anymore. That she wouldn't have to hurt anymore."
"And you were right. She's not hurting anymore. She's at peace."
"She's dead," he all but shouts, instantly regretting his outburst. Wincing, he meets her eye and whispers. "Sorry."
"Don't be," she insists, her eyes trying to reach him where words could not. "You have every right to be angry. Sad. Disappointed."
"I appreciate that, but it doesn't excuse my acting like a jerk. My mother would be ashamed of me."
"I don't think so," Robin offers, shaking her head. "I think she'd be proud of you. You're out here, trying to do the right thing. Find your father. And even if you do as you say and 'knock him on his ass', at least you made a move. You're reaching out to him, even though he's running away. Even though that's not how you'd like to think of this whole thing. And I didn't know her, but from what you've told me…she'd be very proud of you, Patrick. She's probably looking down on you right now and smiling."
He looks to her as if he's not sure what to think, his expression changing from sadness to a state of awe. "Well, damn."
She smiles at his tone, at his strange face. "What?"
"I think that's about the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"I certainly hope not," she laughs. "But don't let it go to that head of yours if you can help it. Your ego's already big enough as it is."
"I can't promise anything," he chuckles. Considering her for a moment, he gestures towards her blue satin evening gown. "What's with the dress?"
Looking down at herself, she toys with the beading upon the strapless bodice. "Oh, I just went to this party. An engagement party, actually. For this couple I met at Yale."
He looks confused. "Yale? Wait a minute - I thought you said you went to The Sorbonne?"
"I did. After Yale," she explains. "Aren't you in college?"
"Harvard. But I've got a ways to go. I came back home when we found out about my mother's illness. I wanted to be here, as long as it lasted."
"Medical school?"
"Yeah, Boston. Not as fancy as Paris, but I'm told it's pretty established," he quips.
"Funny," she smiles in spite of herself. "When do you think you'll go back?"
"The truth is, I haven't even thought about it. There hasn't really been time…I mean, I didn't expect -"
"You expected to be celebrating today, instead of getting ready for a funeral."
"Something like that," he nods. "But I'll go back soon. That's what my mom would have wanted. She'd want me to stay focused and not use this as an excuse to be less of a man than the one she raised."
"That's wonderful…to have inspiration like that. She must have believed in you a lot."
"More than anyone," he whispers, fondly. 'What about you? What inspires you, Robin?"
"A lot of things, I guess. People. My parents…Stone. It's hard to explain, but…" Her mouth feels dry suddenly, and she takes a sip of cocoa before continuing. "Being HIV Positive…it's like a gift in some ways. You know, I'm on this cocktail and it's keeping my viral load so low that it's undetectable…so I no longer have a death sentence hanging over my head. But I'm not naïve enough to believe that it won't not stop working someday. But it's enough not to live in fear of myself, my own body all the time…but it's there. And I'm aware. And because of that, I can enjoy everything just a little bit more. Trips to Paris…spending time with the people that I love…nights like this…I appreciate so much more than most people probably do. And to me, that's a gift. My eyes have been opened wider than I ever thought possible and I have this chance to be who I want to be…if only for a little while. Stone didn't get that chance. A lot of people in my life didn't get that chance. I'm one of the lucky ones."
Punctuating her words with the tiniest of smiles, she looks across the table at him and finds herself blushing. He looked stunned. "I guess I said too much -"
"No!" He cuts her off sharply. "You didn't. I mean, is that even possible at this point?"
"I suppose not. But you look a little -"
"Shocked? Speechless? Honestly, Robin, after hearing something like that - who wouldn't be?"
"I'm sorry -"
"Don't apologize. Please." Leaning closer, he tilts her chin up so that she can meet his eyes. "I think you're absolutely amazing."
It was Robin's turn to be speechless, and she was for a good, long moment. In fact, she could have sworn her heart stopped beating altogether. His eyes had such fire in them…such conviction. He could have told her anything and she would have believed him. She'd heard about the power of a gaze, or a look. And now, in this moment, she was living it. When he finally looks away, it's down at her hand. She doesn't say anything when he brushes her ring with the tip of his finger.
"Why do I get the feeling that you don't hear that often enough?"
"Patrick -" she says his name like she's known him all her life, and in some strange way…she feels as though she has. She was good at hiding her feelings, and he could see right through her.
"Did Stone give you this?"
"No," she replies simply. "Jason did."
"So you're married? Engaged?" When she stays quiet, he pulls back and ticks his tongue in his cheek, never taking his eyes off of her. "Why wasn't he with you tonight, Robin? Don't couples usually attend engagement parties together? And why haven't you mentioned him even once tonight?"
"You're asking me too many questions at once, Patrick. Too many questions period. I don't want to talk about this, okay?"
"Why not? I told you about my mother. I don't get to hear about the ass you're engaged or not engaged or married or not married to?"
"He's not an ass, and what are we doing here? Keeping score? I tell you one thing, you tell me one - you tell me another, I have to tell you another until there's nothing left to tell?"
"Exactly. Think about it, Robin. This is perfect. What are the chances that we're ever going to see each other again? Slim to none, right?"
"I guess…"
"So, why not just share everything? Say it all. Everything you want to say to other people but can't. Or won't. Really, what do either of us have to lose?"
"Patrick -"
"Look, Robin. I'm going to be straight with you: I need this. I need to talk. I need to share. And I need to do it with someone that understands what it is that I'm saying to them. And you're it, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that."
"Okay, I won't. Even though I think you really do like it," he winks, making her smile. "I think you need me just as much as I need you right now."
"What makes you say that?"
"Call it a hunch," he shrugs. "What do you say?"
Setting her jaw, Robin contemplates the pros and cons as she does in every situation. But nothing else seems to matter than the one thing that he had said that she can't get out of her head: I need you. It felt good to be needed. She hadn't felt like she was for a long time now. And it took this man, this stranger to help her see the light. She feels cold suddenly. Sick. The truth was beginning to hit her like a bat to her head and she doesn't know what to do with it. And then she catches his warm, inviting eyes and she makes her decision. "Okay, Patrick."
"Okay," he smiles back at her. "Is Jason your husband? Or your fiancé?"
"Neither," she shrugs as if the question isn't loaded. As if he's asking about the weather, and not about something she didn't even want to ask herself in recent moments when she was alone. "He's my boyfriend."
"So, that's like a promise ring? Isn't that a little high school?"
"Not exactly," she tries to explain. When the right words fail her, she gets defensive. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"Why? Because I've never been in love?"
"Yeah," she readily agrees. "It's a symbol of what we mean to each other. Of our love."
"How touching," Patrick drawls, rolling his eyes. "Do you live together?"
"Yes," Robin replies. And no, she thinks to herself.
"So, you're in love and you live together and you have a ring but you're not getting married? What gives?"
"It's complicated."
"In other words, he's afraid to make the commitment?"
"No. I mean, I don't know," Robin sighs. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you right now."
"Why? Does the truth hurt? Because I think you should hear it."
"Alright, lay it on me, oh wise one," Robin drones, rolling her eyes.
"You're angry. It's like you're boiling water in a pot, rumbling underneath the lid and you're about to blow. Don't think I don't see it. You're beautiful and you look as innocent as a child that hasn't seen every horrible thing imaginable in your life, but that's not true at all is it? Because you have seen it. And you've learned from it. And I think you think you owe the world something. That you owe this Jason guy something. And maybe to some extent, you do. But what about YOU, Robin?"
"What about me?"
"You sat right there just a few minutes ago and you told me that you appreciate everything more than everyone else does. Or most people. But you don't look happy to me. It's right here," he tells her, touching the corner of his own eye. "It's in your eyes. You're crying inside. You want to know how I know?" Instead of protesting, she gives him a faint nod. "Because when I look at you, I see me."
"We're not the same, Patrick."
"I disagree, Robin."
"You just lost your mother! I'm just a girl with a lot of pain in her past that's trying to have a somewhat normal life with the man she loves."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"Because you don't know me!" Robin cries incredulously. He was getting to her, and she didn't like it at all. "Dammit!"
"It's okay, Robin. You don't have to pretend with me. I'm just a guy that just lost his mother, remember? Someone you don't know. Someone that wants to be what you need, if only for a little while."
"Stop talking to me like I'm a crazy person! You don't know what you're talking about. I am happy! Very happy!"
"So fucking tell me about him, Robin! Why is it so hard for you? Is it because you know you can't lay it on thick or sugarcoat the situation with me? Because you'd be right. So, why not just cut to the chase and tell me what kind of a jerk off you're living with?"
"Stop talking about him like that!"
"You obviously care about him," he concludes, noting her defensive attitude.
"I love him," she amends. It was the truth. No matter what else was or wasn't, that much was a fact. She loved Jason Morgan.
"I guess so. I mean, why else would you put up with it?"
"Put up with what?" she squeaks, at the end of her rope.
"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"
"It's not his fault, okay? He just doesn't know any better. Someone took advantage of him and now he's in too deep. He can't choose and I won't make him. I can't."
"Choose?"
"Between me and Carly and Michael!"
"Michael? Is he gay? And who's Carly? Is he cheating on you with two different people?"
"Oh my God!" Robin slams her head on the table, a little too hard. "You seriously go to Harvard? Are they just taking anyone in these days?"
Patrick looks as if he's going to attempt a comeback, but stops short. Robin tilts her head up and their eyes meet once again. And slowly, their bodies begin to shake with mirth. Robin feels almost drunk as she rocks her shoulders involuntarily, laughing so hard she can hardly see straight. Tears fall from both of their eyes as they fill the room with their silly release of emotions. It was pure madness, she was certain, but she didn't care. It felt wonderful. She felt wonderful. And alive.
"Carly is a tramp!" she shouts suddenly, covering her mouth in shock at her own words.
"Who the hell is Carly?" Patrick manages to ask, laughing all the while.
"She's a woman that used to have sex with Jason behind my back!"
The laughter fades then, and Patrick's expression grows more serious. "So he did cheat on you?"
"When we first got together, yes," Robin replies, swallowing down a painful lump in her throat. "But we got past it. Jason was in a car accident and his brain was damaged as a result. So, there's a lot of things that he just doesn't understand. Right from wrong."
"And you're there to help him understand?"
"Amongst other things, yes."
"Who's Michael?"
"Michael is Jason's son. Well, sort of…"
"How can you sort of be a father to someone? Either you are or you aren't."
"Jason and I broke up two years ago. I couldn't handle his job and I tried to get him to leave the business but he wouldn't and -"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's backtrack here. What job could be so awful that you would want him to either leave it or you would leave him?"
"Jason's in the mob."
Robin could swear that his jaw hit the floor right then. "The mob? As in The Godfather? The MOB?"
"Yes, the mob."
"How can you say that like it's nothing? It's the MOB!"
"Calm down, Patrick," she laughs.
Shaking his head, he blows out a harsh breath. "So, how did you end up back with the guy?"
"Well, my friend Brenda was sick. So, I came home to help her. And I ended up staying. And eventually, I made the decision that I was going to be with Jason - no matter what."
"So, you pushed down your fears and decided that love was more important than dodging bullets or having some bodyguard follow you everywhere? I'm assuming. If it's anything like the movies."
Robin laughs at how ridiculous this all must sound to someone that didn't live in Port Charles. "Yes. I mean, I live with HIV. We're all going to die sometime. Why should I live away from the man I love because his job is dangerous? There's a plan for all of us, and we can't change the inevitable. So, why stop living?"
"Fair enough."
"Anyway, Carly got pregnant with another man's child and when I was away, she decided she didn't want the father to be involved and went crying to Jason. He agreed to help her and now everyone thinks that he's Michael's father."
"Wow."
"Oh, it gets better. You see, the man that everyone originally thought was Michael's father kidnapped him and me and was later put on trial and Carly shot him. She was taken to a mental institution and was still there when Jason and I got back together."
"Carly is a tramp! And a psycho, apparently," Patrick concludes, raising his eyebrows.
"If only Jason could see it, right?"
"How could he not?" He looks at her like she's the one that's crazy. Realization seems to dawn on him then, but even then, he rolls his eyes. "Oh, the brain damage thing, right? The guy gets a knock on the head and suddenly he's not responsible for anything he says or does for the rest of his life? Bullshit."
Robin wants to disagree with him, but the words get lost between her mind and her throat. She can't quite get them out. Maybe because there was some level of truth to what Patrick was saying.
"So I take it Carly got released?
"Yes. And Jason moved her into our house."
Patrick grows still then, freezing at her words. Eyes wide, jaw dropped, he sits for a good half a minute before he speaks again. "Let me get this straight: you fell in love with this guy, broke up with him not because he cheated on you with another woman, but because you were afraid for your life and his, then later decided to stick with him anyway, therefore giving up your sense of safety and well being so you could be in love as long as you were allowed to be, kept his lie, helped to raise a child who isn't his and then were forced to live in a house with the cheater, the tramp and the stolen baby?"
"Um, well…I wouldn't put it exactly like that, but…" Thinking over his words, his fascination with her situation, she becomes somewhat baffled herself. "Yes."
"He really is an ass. And a fool."
"Why do say that?"
"Because he has you, and he still wants something. Needs something."
Sighing, she tucks her hair behind her ear self consciously. "Yeah, well, who am I?"
"You're…Robin," he whispers, saying her name like it's something precious. He'd said Robin, but to her ears, he was saying…Everything.
Two drifters off to see the world.
There's such a lot of world to see.
We're after the same rainbow's end--
waiting 'round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.
to be continued...
** Song credit: Moon River by Henry Mancini **
