Читать книгу The Apotheosis - Darrell Lee - Страница 18

On a Tuesday afternoon, while Ethan was away at a conference in Baltimore, Amira sat on the couch at her parents’ house watching television. Her cell phone rang. The number was local, but she didn’t recognize it.

“Hello?” Amira said.

“Hi. This is John.” Amira felt butterflies. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“Hi. No, not at all,” Amira answered. She rose from the couch and began casually walking through the kitchen to the door that led to the backyard.

“Sorry to call you like this, but I got your number from a service. I didn’t know any other way to get in touch with you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“I wanted to tell you I enjoyed our dinner.”

“Me too.” Amira replied. Not saying she’d thought about it every day since.

“And I have something I’d like to give you. A gift. I was wondering if I could interest you in dinner again tonight?”

Yes. No. Wait, I can’t think. Of course, he knows Ethan is out of town. Amira had reached the backyard undetected by her mother or Elona.

“I’m at my parents’ right now. I don’t think I could be dressed for a fancy dinner anytime soon.”

“Nothing fancy, very casual. I’ll cook you dinner at my place.”

Amira’s pulse doubled. It sounded like someone else saying, “Okay.”

“Great. I’ll text you my address and the entry code for the building. About six o’clock?”

“Okay,” was all Amira could get out again.

“See you then.” John said and her phone went silent.

Amira looked at the time on her phone; it was three o’clock, her hair was a mess, and she had no makeup on. She walked back in the house. “Mom, can you watch Elona for a while?”

Amira parked her SUV across the street from John’s building. The winter had been relatively snowless so the drive hadn’t been bad. Blue jeans, boots, thin jade sweater and a brown leather jacket seemed appropriate to her. When she entered the code John had texted, the door opened. She took the elevator to the top floor, the penthouse, of course. John opened the door with a big smile. He looked handsome and relaxed in his blue jeans, socks, and Patriots T-shirt.

“Please, come in. I’m so glad you came.”

Amira felt flushed again and stepped inside. She liked the way he looked at her. She let it soak in. John shut the door. She felt the uneasiness again, being alone with him.

The ceiling was high. A spacious living room area spread in front of her, a fireplace with a flat-screen TV above it. A bay window showcased downtown Boston in the distance. The sofa was leather and the coffee table in front had three stacks of books covering it. The walls on each side of the fireplace were shelved and filled with books. More books rested on a low shelf below the bay window. Beyond the living room she could see the kitchen. The walls and ceiling were painted taupe, and all the trimming around the rooms were white.

John led her to the kitchen. All the cabinets were aged white. A long counter with bar-height chairs separated the living room from the kitchen. The table, set for two, waited at the other end of the kitchen.

“Have a seat and watch me prepare the best iron-skillet rib-eye dinner you will ever have,” John said, motioning to a chair at the counter. “Would you like some wine?”

“That would be great.” She removed her jacket and placed it on the back of the chair at the end of the counter.

John poured them some wine from an open bottle sitting on the counter by the stove. He handed her a glass.

“To friends and life with passion,” he said.

They touched glasses and took a sip. John moved back to the counter and continued to slice the mushrooms in a small pile. Resting on a metal pan were two marbled steaks covered with seasonings.

This was the first time she had taken a long look at him. His shoulders were broad, it hadn’t been just the suit. His stomach was as flat as a board and his jeans fit him very nice and snug on his rear.

Why didn’t she and Ethan cook this way? Part of it was certainly because of custom. Marriage is prone to be highjacked by custom and predictability. Custom carries its own security, its own comfort. It easily changes into laziness.

And then there was being Jewish. It came with its own set of rules, regulations, and social pressure and structure. And the overriding fear of change. Ethan feared change in their pre-defined roles more than anything else.

“I have salad, too. It’s already done and sitting in the fridge.”

She watched him now, how he moved, even the simple act of slicing mushrooms. He went to the cabinet to get a pan to sauté the mushrooms, then reached for the cooking wine. He moved with precision and grace. Strong and confident. For the first time in a long time Amira felt herself getting aroused from just watching a man. He was talking, but she wasn’t paying any attention until he stopped.

“Would you?” John asked again.

“I—uh.”

“Music?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

John swiped at a screen on the wall near the refrigerator and low, smooth saxophone jazz came from nowhere. Amira had told herself on the drive to his apartment that she could stop this any time she wanted. Could still stop it even now. But it was becoming bigger than she was, gaining its own momentum. Picking her up and taking her to the place she wanted to go so badly, but was afraid of at the same time. She was also afraid of silence and realized she hadn’t said much since she’d walked in.

“What’s this gift you claim to have for me?”

“You want to know now?”

“Of course.”

John stopped slicing mushrooms. “I was going to wait till after dinner, but if you insist.”

He opened the cabinet near her and picked up two boxes wrapped in Valentine’s Day motif wrapping paper. “Valentine’s Day is only two days away, so they didn’t even ask how I wanted it wrapped. Sorry.” He handed her one of the boxes.

It wasn’t light, but not heavy either. She pulled at the ribbon until it came loose, then tore away the red and white paper. She opened the box to find a book. She looked at the title and author: In The Half Moon Light by Joseph Clarke.

“I’ve never seen this book.”

“I know. Nobody has. It’s his latest. It won’t be at the bookstores for another month.”

“How?”

“I guess my parents got invited to some pretty exclusive parties. My dad met Joseph at one of them not long before his second novel was published. They were both big offshore fishing enthusiasts. So, my dad took him. They were great friends ever since. He spent many summer vacations and Christmas holidays at our house. If I hadn’t gone to live with my aunt and uncle, I’d have probably have gone to live with him, in L.A.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now. Open the front cover and look inside.”

Amira did. Handwritten on the inside of the cover, it read:

To Amira,

The thing that separates us from the apes isn’t the invention of tools or machines. It is the invention of fiction. The world can always use another good writer.

Best Wishes,

Joseph Clarke

“Oh, my God. I don’t know what to say. It’s the best gift I’ve ever been given.”

John handed her the second box.

“I don’t know what’s in here, but there’s no way it can outdo that.” She tore away the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside was a leather-bound journal with three hundred lined blank pages and a single number-two pencil. Amira held it in her hands. She opened the cover and heard the new leather groan. She flipped the blank pages and the scent of the virgin paper brushed her face. Tears came to her eyes.

“I was wrong. This is the best gift.”

John moved to her and took her hand. The tears came faster. She stood from the chair and he held her. He put his fingers under her chin and raised her face.

Over the years, John would think about this moment and remember it as when he fell in love with her, without even knowing it at the time. John’s lips found hers. He kissed her gently and she moved her lips to kiss him back. They kissed and held each other tighter. Her breathing grew deeper and she let out a soft moan. They kissed again and John held her by the shoulders and covered her face with gentle kisses. He pulled away, took her by the hand, and led her past the living room, down the hallway to his bedroom.

Their lovemaking was passionate and fulfilling. Amira had found an oasis in her desert. When it was over, John pulled slowly away and looked at her as large gentle tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes and she buried her face on his shoulder. He held her and ran one hand over her until he could feel her shoulders relax and she had wiped away the tears.

Amira looked up at him. “I have these feelings for you… they don’t match my knowledge of you. We’ve spent a couple of hours together over a dinner and I cannot stop thinking about you.”

“I feel the same way. I’ve been thinking about you too.” John took a deep breath and squeezed her tight for a moment.

Amira stared at the ceiling. Now what? She lay still and quiet for a long time. “So, where does that leave us?”

“Do you love him?”

“No, there hasn’t been love in that relationship in a long time.” Amira was embarrassed by her answer.

“That’s all I need to know. I want to keep seeing you, whenever we can, and we’ll see how it goes between us and where it leads.” John meant what he was saying. He had her best interests in mind, and he didn’t want to cause her any of the pain that he thought an affair would bring. “I’ve a very flexible schedule for my work. I’m sure we can find time to spend together.”

“That sounds like a good start to me.”

She relaxed. She was glad it wasn’t over before it really began. She wanted badly to be with a man she desired. Even if it was stolen time together.

“I don’t want to get out of bed with you to cook,” John said.

“Me either.”

John took his cell phone from the side table and punched up the app for Tung Tse Chinese Restaurant. “How about Chinese food?”

Amira looked around the room for the first time. Both bedside tables, the desk in the corner, the dresser, and the floor around the bed were covered in books.

“What do you like to read?”

“Everything.”

“Ever heard of a Kindle?”

“I have a couple of those. Each one has about a thousand books on it… Chinese?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Amira replied.

“Done. They say a forty-minute delivery time.”

Amira slid over on top of him. “Just enough time.”

Three hours later, empty cartons of Chinese food lay about John’s bedroom, and the bottle of wine from the kitchen sat emptied. Amira had dressed, gathered herself, kissed John good-bye at the door, and left. He was back in bed. His phone rang. He looked, hoping it was Amira. He was disappointed.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, John. Did I wake you?”

Just from that short sentence John could tell that she had been drinking.

“I’m just watching TV.”

“How have you been? Seems forever since I’ve heard from you.”

“I’ve been good. You know, working hard.”

“I like that you work at your father’s place. It has been so long since I’ve seen it. I should come to Boston and visit soon.”

John knew she wouldn’t. A long silence followed.

“Or you could come to Manhattan and visit me.”

“I will, next Christmas—I promise.”

“You sound just like your father now over the phone. My God, next year you’ll turn thirty. Where have the years gone?” Another long silence. “Me and Mark are going to Japan next week. Would you like to come with us?”

“Sorry, I have to work.” John didn’t know who Mark was. He didn’t want to know.

“Oh yes, your research. I forgot. When we get back, I’ll be sure to call and tell you about it.” She slurred the last part. John knew by now how to pick out the words.

“I’ll talk to you then.” John took the opening to end the conversation.

“Bye, dear.”

“Bye, Mom.”

John opened a book to read. Then put it back down. He didn’t need to read to sleep tonight. In his dreams, he was with Amira.