Chapter Thirty-Six:

Some people are at their best when busy. Some people flourish under pressure. Some people produce their best work when a deadline is barreling toward them. Some people rise to the occasion when their budget for a project is tight and coming out of their own pocket. By the following afternoon, I'd rented a space in Teele Square, Somerville from a friend of a friend of a friend; talked to the caterer; put together a preliminary guest list; got Roland Kelly to be John's assistant; considered where and how to advertise; and begun to draft a press release.

By seven that evening I was exhausted and happy and eager for Elise to arrive with Thai food. When she did, I told her about John's plan to leave town and about the show I'd decided to mount. Elise carefully patted her mouth with a napkin before responding.

"Why are you doing this?"

I poked at the remains of my dinner and contemplated an answer. Did I really think John would be so grateful for my belief in him as an artist that he would fall madly in love with me and decide to stay in Boston? Yes, no. Mounting the show was a scheme, though not a very complicated one. I just didn't have the nerve to tell John how I felt. I just didn't have the nerve to hear what he might have to say in return.

"I thought you were the one who told me I should tell John how I feel."

"Tell him, not trick him."

"I'm not tricking him."

"But you're not being honest with him. And your motives aren't entirely altruistic. Not that anyone's ever are. Still, Brianne, I'm worried you're setting yourself up for heartache."

"I don't have any illusions. Really. I know this is silly. But it's all I can do, Elise. It's all I can do."

"I'll help you in any way I can." She said hugging me. "I'll tell my clients they just can't miss this show. Whatever you need."

"Thanks."

Elise left. It was only eight o'clock and there was plenty of work to be done, but suddenly I felt drained of all energy. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was asleep within minutes.

"Everything's in place for tomorrow night. At the risk of jinxing the show, I think it's going to be a success."

John grimaced. "You're not superstitious are you?"

"No. It was just something to say. I'm tired." John and I had worked on the show until ten; now we were sitting at a corner table in the almost empty bistro, finally ordering dinner.

"You should be exhausted. Have you slept at all in the past week?"

"Surprisingly yes." I admitted. The bad dreams were temporarily in abeyance. "By the way, have you ever given an interview?"

"Who would want to know about how I like my eggs or what brand of detergent I use?"

"You don't use detergent. You take your laundry out. And don't be silly. I mean, have you ever given an interview about your work?'

John considered. "Yes, I think so. There was some small rag and I was just out of college. I don't remember."

"You don't have a copy of the interview?"

"I doubt it."

"Oh. I have a clippings file that dates back to when I was in the Girl Scouts and my troop put on a play at the local senior center. Does that sound pathetic?"

John laughed. "Only slightly. But why the sudden interest in interviews?"

"There's going to be a reporter at the show tomorrow night and I'm working on setting up a full-length interview with the arts editor of an important magazine. I'm not telling you which magazine until I've got the interview nailed down, so don't ask."

John took a long swallow of his beer. "Fine. I'm not looking forward to any publicity but I'll do as you command. So, have you ever given an interview?"

"No. Not really. Just silly quotes about an event. Like, the reporter from the society pages says, 'How do you think the party is going?' And I answer, 'It's just wonderful, everyone is having a marvelous time, the food is just great, and the music has everyone on their feet."

"That's disgusting."

"I know. I'm ashamed of myself. But it's my job. A dirty business but somebody's got to do it and all. Pour me more wine?"

John did and then said. "So, would you want to be interviewed by some serious publication?"

I laughed. "Oh no! Besides, who would want to interview me? I've done nothing noteworthy."

"In this day and age you don't have to do anything even remotely noteworthy to make the cover of People."

"Well, that's true. But is People a serious publication? I'm sure it makes serious money but it isn't exactly the New Yorker."

"The New Yorker isn't exactly the New Yorker anymore." John noted. "Get, the food's here."

Neither of us spoke until we'd eaten enough to take the edge off.

"I feel human again. Almost. And stay away from my fries."

John withdrew his hand from my plate. "How about I interview you right now? Just for fun."

"Whatever as long as I can chew while I talk."

"Deal. Okay. Tell me about your expectations."

I frowned. "I thought you were going to ask me questions like, what's my favorite movie."

"I'm not pretending to work for a dating service. I'm pretending to work for a serious publication. So, talk to me about expectations."

"I don't know what you mean by expectations. Do you mean the things everyone expects without realizing they're expecting them? Like enough food to eat and a roof overhead, the things everyone takes for granted but shouldn't?"

"Do you really expect a roof over your head?"

"No."I admitted. "Not since I've had to earn my own living."

"I didn't think so. I don't think you take much for granted. That opinion is the reporter editorializing, of course."

"Of course."

"Okay." John said then. "What about hopes and dreams?"

"You're sure you don't want to know my favorite color? My favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"Pink and Mint Chocolate Chip."

I felt weak with desire. John's hand on the table was inches from mine. "Oh I mean, I don't know. I had fantasies, when I was a little girl."

"This reporter would like to know about those fantasies."

"They're pretty silly." I said noticing he moved his chair closer.

"Tell me."

"Well, when I was a little girl I fantasized about living in a big castle on a windswept moor. Or on a cliff overlooking the sea. With a stable of horse." John hadn't laughed. He was looking at me. "It was all stuff from the books I was reading. I'm sure lots of little girls were fantasizing about castles and horses and princes landing on the shore in beautiful ships."

"So. Do you think the fantasies were really about romance?"

How, I wondered, had we gotten on this wonderful, dangerous topic? "I don't think so. I think they were mostly about escape. Escape from my real world."

"Was your real world so terrible?"

"No. My real world was boring. I'm embarrassed to admit I fantasized about a life of difficulty and distress."

"Why should you be embarrassed? You were just a kid."

"I know but then you grow up and realize that too many little girls are living real nightmares and that they'd give anything to live in a safe and boring world. If they can even imagine a world without mayhem and murder."

"This is a side of you I haven't seen before. Do your thoughts always turn to darkness?"

"Of course not. At least, I don't think so."

"So, what do you do for drama in your adult life?"

"Oh, I rent movies like Rebecca and Wuthering Heights and Possession. You know, I'm always so busy I don't really have time for…"

"So what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Nothing in particular. I wasn't sure I had the brains for law or medicine or banking. I stumbled on event planning."

"That's it?"

"That's it. I'm a pretty simple person, really. Either simple or very dull."

"You're not dull, Brianne. But at the risk of pissing you off, let me just say this. You don't live on the fumes of other people's lives. In the end you'll still be left with your own life. You'll be all alone, just you and yourself. Other people don't owe you anything. They're not responsible for filing up those empty spaces inside. You are."

"Are you trying to convince yourself of that or me?"

John grinned. "Both."

The waiter appeared, put the check on the table and glided away. "They're throwing us out." I said reaching for my bag.

"This is on me." John tossed a credit card onto the table.

The night was almost over. John would pay the bill and we'd each go home to our separate apartments.

"What about the one you marry?" I asked boldly.

"What about the one you marry?"

"You were talking about being all alone with your life. So what about your life partner? Aren't' you responsible to each other? Aren't you supposed to complete each other? Isn't that what soul mate is all about?"

"I don't think you're supposed to do anything or supposed to be anything in particular for anyone else. Love is a gift; it has no reasons, it just is. You love someone that's it, you can't help it. That's fact. Love isn't hard to do. Liking someone all time, now that can be hard."

I thought of the things about Wade that had driven me crazy, like the way he peeled an apple before eating it because he didn't want apple skin getting caught between his teeth. Would that habit have bothered me less if I'd been in love with Wade?

John went on. "You can get pissed off at her for spending too much money or hate the way he picks his nose when he thinks you're not looking, but you still love the one you love. Love is big. Still, it's not big enough to be someone else's soul. The term is soul mate, meaning companion, best friend for life. Mate implies two people. Two complementary people."

"Elise says much the same things about love."

"You know what they say about great minds."

I laughed and looked back to him. "That's lame. Even for you."

"I know I'm tired too."

We left the bistro and without consultation began to walk in the direction of John's studio. Wade, I thought, was not my complement. He was not my soul mate. He was not the great love of my life. But it didn't matter anymore, did it? Because Wade and I were history, we were the past. John's arm brushed mine. I didn't want to be a Miss Havisham. I didn't want to rot away. I wanted to grasp my present.

I stopped. John stopped too. We stood face to face. And then I kissed him, right on the mouth, and he kissed me back.

"Hello." He said when we pulled away.

"I want you to come back to my apartment."I said. "Or I'll go with you to yours, it doesn't matter. I want us to be together, John, just tonight, just this once. And look, if you don't want to, okay, fine, you don't, don't, don't tell me you're too tired or I really think I'll go medieval on you. I really do. No stupid excuses, just a simple no will do."

John put his hands on my arms and pulled me closer again. "Of course I want to, Brianne. I've wanted to for a long time. Believe me. But… you've been through so much lately…I don't want you to—"

"John." I said. "I know what I want and what I can handle. How many times do I have to tell you not to think for other people? You act so mind-numbingly superior sometimes—"

John grinned. "And you still want to have sex with me?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd better stop arguing."

We went to his apartment and spend the whole night together. It was the most passionate night I had ever had. Something I knew I would remember even if it never happened again.

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