A Different Kind Of Forever (22 page)

“Don’t you think you’re not giving him enough credit?” Marianne leaned forward, covering Diane’s hand with her own. “He’s not a selfish person, is he? Surely he would understand your choices.”

Diane sighed. “It’s not about him. He’s very generous. Of course he’d understand. He makes no demands on me, Marianne, even when I know that maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m doing, or why. He never questions me, never tries to talk me out of anything. It’s me. I’m projecting, I guess. Isn’t that the current psycho-babble? He doesn’t ask things of me, but I feel the need to change for him. For his happiness, or comfort. It’s scary. It’s confusing. I don’t know how to get my mind around it.”

The waiter appeared, setting their plates in front of them. Diane cut her burger in half and began eating, slowly and carefully. Marianne watched her.

Diane put her burger down suddenly. “So - how can I even be thinking about Quinn? God, I am such an awful person.”

“No, you’re not. You’re one of the best people I know.” Marianne speared a tomato and chewed thoughtfully. “Quinn isn’t quite so scary or confusing. Maybe that’s why. He would be a much simpler choice.”

Diane looked at her burger. “When I’m under stress, I tend to eat lots of red meat,” she said.

“Yes,” Marianne agreed, “I’ve noticed that about you. You’d better buy lots of steak.”

Diane nodded glumly, and finished her lunch in silence.

She drove out to Michael’s that afternoon. The sky had become cloudy, rain threatened, but she found him out by the pool. Seth was there, a beautiful, leggy redhead beside him. Stephanie had become a regular visitor. As far as Diane could tell, she had no job of any kind, other than making Seth happy, and she seemed to do that fairly well. The table was littered with glasses, wedges of lemon, and a half-empty bottle of tequila. Diane took in the scene with mild alarm. Michael did not drink often, not to this extent, and never so early in the day.

Michael was sitting at the table, wearing shorts, his Hawaiian-style shirt unbuttoned, and his feet bare. His hair had grown longer during the summer, his skin was smooth and brown. Seth saw her first, and shouted a greeting. She liked Seth a lot. He was smart and very talented, took very few things outside his music seriously, and was a great friend to Michael.

“Sit down, my sweet,” Seth yelled at her as she came out of the house. “We have decided to go to Bermuda. Stephanie says there are pink beaches in Bermuda, and I want pink beaches. Lochinvar here is coming with us.”

Diane came up behind Michael and kissed the top of his head. “Lochinvar hates to go anywhere. How did you manage this?”

“Come with me,” Michael said, grabbing her hand. “We’ll only be three or four days.” His eyes were slightly unfocused, his speech loose and happy.

Diane shook her head. “I cannot go to Bermuda. Sorry.”

“Why not?” Michael kissed her hand.
 

“For one thing, I just spent eight hundred bucks on the car and I can’t afford to go.”

 
“That’s bullshit,” Michael said happily. “I’ll pay for everything. No, don’t get all huffy. I know you don’t like me paying for shit, but this would be different.” He drew her head in closely and whispered loudly, “Once we get there, I fully intend to exploit you sexually.”

Diane laughed. “Oh? Well, then, that’s different.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against his. “Would costumes be involved?”

Seth and Stephanie were smiling, but Michael looked thoughtful.
 

“Well,” he said finally, “Maybe just that French maid thing. I like you in black.”

Seth threw back his head and howled. Michael turned to him in mock anger.

“Oh, yeah, like you never played ‘The Pirate and the Princess.’”

Seth was laughing, pounding the table with his palm. “I can’t believe you, man, you are one fucked up dude,” he sputtered. “Pirate. Oh man.” Seth took a breath and sat up straighter. He looked at Stephanie seriously. “Maybe we’ll try that tonight?” He asked, and then burst into laughter again. Diane was laughing with him.
 

“How long have you guys been out here?” She finally asked. “I’m going to have to play catch-up, I think.” She sat down and poured a shot, then sprinkled salt on her hand. “And why did we decide on this little trip anyway?” she asked, licking the salt and downing the shot. She grabbed the lemon wedge, sucking it as Seth answered.

“Because London is going to be so fucking cold,” he shouted, pointing an unsteady finger at her. “London is always so fucking cold. I need a major dose of sunshine before London. I hate the fucking rain.” He turned to Stephanie, nuzzling her neck. “Will you keep me warm and dry in London?” he asked, and she giggled.

Diane licked the taste of lemon from her lips and turned to look at Michael. “London?”
 

Seth stopped laughing. Michael was looking closely at the backs of his hands.

Michael cleared his throat. “London. Prescott called this morning. His daughter starts school in a few weeks, so he’s doing all his post-production work there instead of Toronto. We’ll do all the sessions for the soundtrack as well as all the scoring in London. He’s got the studio. He wants us there Tuesday.”

“London?” Diane repeated. Michael did not look at her. She turned to Seth. His eyes were large and round, sober now.

Diane reached over and took Michael’s hand, pulling him out of the chair. She led him back to the house and to the end of the terrace, where the sliding doors to his bedroom were open. She pushed him into the room, and carefully shut the doors. She reached and pulled the pale gray drapes closed. His room was very quiet.

She took a deep breath and turned around. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning forward, his head in his hands.
 

“How long, do you think?” Diane asked softly.

He shrugged. “Prescott is a ball-buster. You know what he’s been like.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “The print that he sent me, the one I’ve been working on for three fucking weeks, he now says has to be re-cut. Again. That means new music to be written. David left this morning, right after Prescott called, to get everything set up that he’s going to need, lining up musicians, all the shit that I know nothing about. Toronto was going to suck, but at least it was close, at least the same fucking continent. I could have come down for a night or a day. Not now.” He shook his head. “I hate this. I am going to miss you more than you can imagine.”

Diane was shaking her head. “I can’t believe this, I mean, Marianne and I were just talking about this, how things were going to be so different. Once the girls were back, and school started, it was going to be hard, you know, not being able to see you whenever I wanted. This makes it easier for me, really.” She was watching Michael’s face, seeing his expression soften and change.
 

“I wasn’t even sure how I was going to tell the girls about us, you know? I’ve been going crazy about this, how I was going to get up to Toronto, the whole thing was going to be such a mess. So I guess this kind of solves everything, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, very quietly. “I guess it does.”

He stood up and reached to hold her, but she stepped back from him. He watched her as she took a deep, ragged breath, dragging her hands through her hair, closing her eyes tightly. He covered his face with his hands, exhaled slowly, and when he pulled them away seconds later, she was calm, her breath slow, hands falling away. When she looked at him, her eyes were shiny with tears.

She did not want him to go. Suddenly faced with the long and dark days and nights that stretched out ahead of her, she wanted to ask him to stay with her. But she knew that this movie was more than just a new and different project for him. This was something that could help define him as a musician, as a composer. This was something that would take him from being a just another guy in a band and put him someplace else, not necessarily better, but someplace different. She knew he wanted it. She knew how badly he wanted more.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” she said simply. “Terribly.” She tried to smile. “Is this where we pledge undying loyalty and devotion?”

His eyes were very big. “Do you think we need to? You know I love you.”

“Yes. “

“Forever, Diane. I will love you forever.”
 

She looked at him. “Michael, think about what you’re saying. You and I will never grow old together. You know that. There is no forever with us.”
 

“Of course there is,” he said softly. “We aren’t like everybody else, you and I. You know that. We’ll have a different kind of forever.”

She moved then, and they fell back onto his bed, fierce, hungry, and she was aware of every hard line of muscle, each inch of familiar flesh. She tore at his clothes, her mouth closing on him, her hands stroking, coaxing, bringing him to the edge then pulling back, until he was gasping, breathless, and she straddled him and rode him, her hair falling around his face. His hands were on her breasts, then down around her waist, pulling her, arching deep inside her, and she wanted to brand him somehow, to make sure he would remember this day, above all the other days; because this was the day she did not try to stop him from leaving her. She climaxed, and he came an instant later, and she fell forward, panting, tears coming, and he held her until the sobbing had stopped and she lay quiet and still in his arms.
 

And then he was gone, and the girls came back, and the rhythm of her life began again, almost, but not quite, as it had been before she had met him.

E
MILY WAS IN
her senior year. She had worked during the summer as a waitress and she had saved some money. For her car, she announced. After all, she was getting her license in March, and she didn’t think she’d be happy sharing the Subaru, she wanted to use the money she made for her own car.
 

Diane sighed. “What about insurance? How are you going to pay for that?”

Emily shrugged. “Just add me to your policy,” she said.
 

Diane raised her eyebrows. “What makes you think I can afford to add you? Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?” Emily sighed and went upstairs without answering. Diane felt a headache coming on.

Megan decided not to go to France after all. She had met a boy while at the shore, Stan, a year older, a junior at a neighboring high school. She was in love, and didn’t want to leave him next spring. Diane was relieved that it was no longer an issue, and did not mention to her daughter the possibility that Stan would be only a memory by next year.

Diane had one less class to teach that fall. Marianne had taken away her freshman comp class, to free time for the graduate class that she would begin in January. Rehearsals for her play were every day. Her part of the process was technically over, but she still was there two or three evenings a week, just to watch.
 

It was during one of those evenings, early in September, that Quinn Harris slipped into the back row of the auditorium and sat through a rehearsal. Diane did not notice him. The cast was getting through a complicated, funny scene in Act 1, and, when Sam called it a night, Quinn rose from his seat, clapping his hands.
 

Diane was surprised and happy to see him. He greeted her warmly, giving her a hug and a dry kiss on her cheek. He congratulated the cast, who were slightly star-struck in his presence. He and Sam began an immediate discussion of the scene. Diane listened, fascinated. Quinn had an intimate knowledge of all things theatrical. His passion for his work was one of the things she had loved about him

She watched him closely. He had not changed. He was a tall, slightly stoop-shouldered man, well-made and graceful. He was around fifty, with thinning hair and surprising green eyes. He had a nervous energy and seemed constantly in motion, his hands moving through the air as he spoke, his foot moving back and forth. He was shy, quiet with strangers, but dynamic and charming when talking about his craft, or among friends.
 

She was grateful for the small flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She was afraid she would react badly on seeing him again, afraid that all the old feelings would come back in a painful rush. She had worried about it, a small, constant nag that had been following her since classes had started. Now there was just a shimmer of nervousness, no icy palms, no rush of blood to her temples. She took a long slow breath. She really was over him.
 

He turned to Diane. “I would love to talk to you about this, both of you. Can you get away for a drink? Sam?” Sam was agreeable. Diane accepted gratefully. She was feeling anxious about the way the play was going, and knew that Quinn would give a sound, honest opinion.

They went down to the campus pub, drank coffee, and talked about her play until the place closed. He had gotten a copy of the play from Sam a week before, and had read it carefully. He thought it was wonderful. He was pleased to see that Sam was keeping the actors light and fresh. It was a positive discussion, and as they left the pub, Diane was grateful for his input.

Sam said good-night, and Quinn walked her to her car. His hands were in his pants pockets, shoulders hunched.

“Would you like to have dinner, say, tomorrow night?” he asked, as she knew he would. When she hesitated, he hurried on. “Or the night after, or lunch, if that would be better.”

“No, tomorrow would be fine. I’ve got a late class. I could meet you somewhere.”

“Alright. Wonderful. Name the place.”

“Where are you staying?”
 

“I’m in Manhattan, actually. I’ve got a flat up on West 82nd.”

“Oh.” She thought a minute. “Do you drive in?”

“Oh, good Lord, no. Train. Drops you right at the end of the lane here. Do you really think I’m idiot enough to try to drive through the Lincoln Tunnel?”

She smiled. “No, of course not. There’s a great place, about three blocks from here. O’Briens. Ask for directions at the station. Around six thirty?”