Chapter Thirty-eight: You Did What?
Troy had secured us a reservation at one of the tables overlooking the Hudson River. The décor was clean and sleek, very modern, and Blue Eyes was salivating at the anticipation of their aged beef. He ordered a crisp Riesling for us to drink with their traditional seafood tasting of the numerous varieties of raw oysters.
"I'm not sure you're going to be able to handle me after I've eaten all these oysters," Blue Eyes leered as he swallowed an East Coast Barron Point oyster.
I sipped my wine and smiled mysteriously because I knew the surprises still ahead. "Puddin', I can handle you any time, any way. Guaranteed."
He slurped down another oyster and concentrated his steely eyes on me. "You have something up your sleeve, Parker Junior. What ever is it?"
I continued smiling and raised my glass to my lips. "Wouldn't you like to know," I drawled.
We observed the customers around us, fabricating their histories and situations. Two couples were sitting with the men talking to each other while the women chattered to themselves.
"The women are sisters. They made their husbands take them out to eat," Blue Eyes assessed.
"Oh, come on. They're eating at a steakhouse, for pity's sake. The men chose it," I insisted.
He nodded. "Okay, maybe the husbands picked the restaurant, but the women let them because it was the only way they could pull them away from the TV. I checked the shows before we left the hotel. Naked roller derby. You think those guys want to be here?"
"Naked . . .? That's just disturbing, Blue Eyes."
A thin, severely dressed woman who was gesturing animatedly to her equally as thin male companion, drew our attention next.
"They're both gay," Blue Eyes flatly declared.
I objected, "That's just stereotyping."
"The reason we stereotype is because it is, most often, accurate," he explained.
"But why would a lesbian and a gay man be out together?"
He leaned across the table as if to keep his disclosure private. However, he whispered very loudly, "They're planning to kill all the heterosexuals. That's why she keeps waving that knife around – she's practicing for hand-to-hand combat." A mousey, out-of-place-looking couple suddenly caught his eye. "Now, check out those two. The man didn't want to come here – he's appalled at the prices and has no idea what to order – and the woman is, well . . ."
I saw her plain dress, her pale features, her anxious eyes. "She suggested they come for their anniversary – she's treating him. She's trying to please him. She thinks she's losing him." The woman glanced at her menu, then looked to the man, smiling in that tell-me-you-like-me way. I not only felt a sharp stab of pain at her unmasked neediness, but I covered my own heart with my hand and turned to look at Blue Eyes as I pondered my own, unmasked neediness. Did I turn to him with that same, pleading look, and did he reward me with a bewildered and irritated dismissal the way the other man did? I excused myself and fled to the restroom.
Perhaps martinis and wine didn't mix well; perhaps the day had been too full of excitement; perhaps I had made a horrible mistake; perhaps I was losing my mind. I really didn't know which the answer was. I splashed cold water on my face, then attempted to repair my makeup. My hands weren't shaking quite so badly by the time I returned to our table.
However, Blue Eyes was absent. I took my seat while glancing around. Maybe he needed a trip to the restroom and had despaired of my ever returning. I sipped more wine and waited. Finally, a waiter brought me a note:
Parker Junior,
I'll be right back. I've ordered a 56-day dry-aged New York Strip, rare, with baby romaine Caesar salad and fries. Order what you want, although bear in mind I've ordered a pricey cabernet sauvignon to go with the meal. Don't fear – I will be back for my steak.
B.E.
I read and re-read the note. He left. He just left. In the middle of supper. I looked around. The waiter returned to take my order, and I asked him if he saw where Blue Eyes went.
"He said he had an errand to run. He asked me to hail him a cab," the young man answered.
"A cab? He took a fucking cab? Where?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't know. Would you like to order now?"
"No. I'll wait until he returns. And hold his food, too."
As every minute passed, the knot in my intestines twisted a little tighter. I finished the bottle of wine and had the bottle of red wine served. He had been gone for thirty minutes. I plowed through my purse and found my cell phone. He answered.
"Where the bloody fuck are you?" I almost screamed.
"I'll be back. Just don't eat my steak."
"I'm leaving," I whispered into the phone. This was not the way I had wanted the evening to go.
I paid the bill. I asked the waiter for an envelope; inside it, I put the information for the big surprise for Blue Eyes: reservations for a ringside seat at The Knitting Factory to see the Tony Hymas quartet, including Hymas on piano, Adam Linz on double bass, J.T. Bates on drums, and the inimitable George Cartwright on alto and soprano saxophones. I had been so excited about giving him the opportunity to see such legendary jazz musicians – I truly hoped he would go on without me. The waiter, seeing the tears in my eyes, was kind as he secured me a cab.
When I reached the hotel, I knew Blue Eyes would come dragging in at some point, but I still resisted the urge to use the bolt to lock the door. I wanted, in my heart, for there to be an explanation for the evening's bizarre ending. As I undressed, I took out my black, "sexily sophisticated" nightgown; I slipped it on and looked at myself in the mirror. Was I just a pale, unlovely woman who was trying too hard to engender emotions in someone who was incapable of feeling them? Or incapable of feeling them about me? Abandoning me in mid dinner sent a pretty strong message. I fanned out the sheer fabric of the gown, its fullness enveloping my legs. I twirled around, feeling girly, until I saw myself again; I was just the same, ordinary, bookish woman I had always been. Not even a sexy, black nightgown could make a difference.
I crawled into the huge, king-sized bed and curled myself into a ball.
"You left!" he yelled.
I had been asleep, only to jump as the lights flashed on, and he threw himself across the bed.
"Why didn't you wait? The food was unbelievable."
His head was just beside my waist. I started to raise my hand to thwack him, but he saw me.
"And it was very thoughtful of you to arrange the show at The Knitting Factory," he began as he rolled away from my hand. "When I explained to them you were overcome with morning sickness – or evening sickness – they were nice enough to give us a rain check for tomorrow evening. They said to just stop by after the European play."
"You left me, alone, at the restaurant for almost an hour. Just tell me why before I call the police and have you taken out of here."
He scooted up to rest his back against the headboard, sitting beyond my reach. "The question is, 'Why didn't you just wait for me?' Huh?"
I looked up at him. "Are you talking to me?"
He shook his head. "You just won't let anyone do anything nice for you. Not ever. That's a bad habit you really need to break."
I sat up so that I was also leaning against the headboard. "I have no fucking idea what you are rambling on about." He leaned a bit closer to me, peering down the V in the front of my nightgown. "Don't even give it a moment's consideration," I warned.
He chuckled. "When you were glued to that store window, I couldn't tell what you were looking at. I tried to see around you, but you pulled me away. However, I did see the name of the shop."
"Oh fuck," I whispered.
His clear, aquamarine eyes stared straight into mine. "Yeah. Oh fuck. It wasn't until we were talking about that mismatched couple that it clicked. I didn't realize it would take me so long, but I also didn't think you'd up and leave. Oh, here," he said as he handed me a paper bag.
I reached inside and pulled out a huge, white t-shirt that said, "I heart NY." I looked, and it was a size 2X. I held it up before me, almost as wide as the bed, then I lowered it. I raised my eyebrows at him.
"I did say you were afflicted with morning sickness, honey."
"Since you ruined our evening for such an extravagant purchase, perhaps I should put it on," I suggested.
"You'd better save it for our return tomorrow night. And you'll need to act ill tomorrow, although an evening sitting at a play should be enough to kill your appetite. I'm sure it will kill mine."
"You have no idea," I thought.
"Now, let me get this straight," I said. "You realized I had been looking into the window of a store named, 'Antique Jewelry,' so you rushed out in the middle of supper to buy me an oversized, New York t-shirt? Have I got this correct?"
He chucked me under the chin. "Just because you're smart doesn't mean you have to be such a bitch, you know."
"Whoa, puddin'. You left me in the fucking restaurant."
Blue Eyes nodded. "Okay, okay, you can be a little bitchy. And have a little morning sickness. But just for pretend."
I threw up my hands and tipped my head back against the bed. "I give up. I do. You've worn me out."
"Then, perhaps, you'll be calm enough to let me give you this."
I felt the warmth of the metal as he let it slide into my hand. I looked down, my mouth already open in wonderment. Indeed, resting in my palm was the very piece of jewelry I had spied. I lifted my eyes to meet his; I nodded imperceptibly, and he fastened the choker around my throat. The cameo in the center was an exact match for the ring that had been Mother's and was now on my right hand. Most cameos were made of carnelian shell, but Mother's was made of rare sardonyx shell and distinctive because of its dark brown background and pure, white foreground. The picture itself was unique because it featured a Victorian lady jostling a young child, which was an unusual variation on the Madonna theme. The choker's cameo was proportionately larger, and three strands of gold chain ran from each side to the latch in the back. Blue Eyes' fingers easily affixed the choker, and it nestled snugly against my throat. I turned to allow him to see it; I saw the tears in my eyes reflected in his own. I can't even imagine how much such an exquisite piece of jewelry must have cost.
"Blue Eyes . . . I'm . . . "
"I take it you forgive me for leaving you?"
"Oh, can't you just shut up?" I said as I began to cry in earnest.
"Oh, hell, Tiger. I never give anyone anything. Here, I try to give you something special, and you go all, well, wet on me," he whined as he pulled my head underneath his chin. "And I bet it looks damn sexy with that slinky negligee you have on. Not that you'll let me see it now," he continued grumbling.
"God damn it, Blue Eyes, if you'll quit talking, I'll take the fucking nightgown off, okay?"