Falling for Your Madness (11 page)

David’s bedroom was off the living room, and I had to go through it to go to the bathroom. A bedside lamp was on, so there was no need to turn on the overhead light, which, to my surprise, was a crystal chandelier.

David’s bed had a grand oak headboard and was covered with a rich red and blue brocade spread. A dozen or more gold, blue, and red pillows covered it. There wasn’t a wrinkle on it anywhere. A Union Jack flag hung on the entire left wall. A suit of armor stood guard in a corner. The other was covered with framed photographs and his diplomas from Harvard, Yale, and Boston College.

In the middle of the wall, in a case, was a large sword. It was wider and longer than the one he had used this evening. It was intricately detailed. The hilt was a radiant gold, and it was covered with inlaid jewels. It was startling. This looked like something from a museum, not something from someone’s home.

The whole room made me feel very odd. If didn’t know David the way I thought I did, I would have thought that he was a pompous Casanova who lured women in here, hoping the grandeur of this room would impress them. The David I knew didn’t do that. That meant I may have been the first woman ever to be in this room. That thought frightened me and exhilarated me all at the same time, and I wasn’t sure why. This wasn’t a bedroom; it was more like a
shrine
.

The closet door was open a bit. I couldn’t resist the temptation to peek. Merle did say I needed to
look
. It was full of tweed jackets, button-down shirts, ties, and wool trousers; what else would there be? I counted a dozen pairs of Italian shoes lined up like soldiers along the closet floor. There were no jeans. No khakis, cargo pants, or sweats. No sweatshirts. No athletic jerseys, tees, or hoodies. At the end of the closet hung three black suits. I had never seen him in a suit. What would he look like in a suit? I checked the labels on all three. Armani.

I felt guilty. I was snooping. I was violating his privacy. This was the same feeling I had felt last night when I took off his shoe and his sock to check his toe.
This was too intimate.
I was
,
after all, just a friend
.

Merle was at the door. “Do you have any questions?”

I had a million and couldn’t get a single one to come out of my mouth. But I felt like this was my last chance to get information on who David Julius Arthur Bowles was. I pointed to a picture of a boy, presumably David, on horseback, with three men standing next to him.

“Who is this?”

“That is David, his father, his grandfather, and me.”

“Where is his mother? Is she dead?”

“She is living. She abandoned them when David was eight. They have no contact.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Indeed. A child doesn’t get over that. Especially one as sensitive as David. Now, anything else?”

“I’m kind of baffled that he has a king-sized bed. It is way too big for this room, and from what he’s told me, he doesn’t have overnight guests.”

“Oh yes.
The bed.
He
claims
it’s for those ridiculous planks he has at the end of his legs. He
claims
that he needs every inch of it because of his height. But I say it’s because he is terribly vain. He
had
to have the king.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t you?”

Monday, October 1, 2012

The Boston Tea Party Tea Shop

1477 Beacon Street

Brookline, Massachusetts

3:25 p.m.

After Merle took me home, I put a big post-it note on my computer that said,
Monday Tea with David 3:30
. It wasn’t because I thought I would forget about it; on the contrary, this day and this place and this time had become a part of me. I wrote it down because it was like a personal deadline, like a ticking time bomb. I had to make a decision about David, whether to release him or not, by Monday at 3:30. I didn’t tell my girlfriends anything. I didn’t need teasing to add to my pressure.

Merle had said to
do it as soon as possible.
If I did, then I’d never find out more. I’d never get another kiss. Eight other girls before me had come to this point and had seen, in some way or another, an eccentricity or oddness or even madness about him. I had seen that madness in David Saturday night. Men who wave swords in anger, to the point that the police are called, probably shouldn’t be seen by me again. I’d had to fight him off me on Friday night. I had decided he was clearly out of control and that he
was
like all the other men. Then there was that letter, that sweet, amazing apology, and the way he had looked at me when we were talking to Trey. The way he had squeezed my hand goodbye.

I wrote
Monday Tea with David 3:30
on my bathroom mirror in lipstick. I wrote
Monday Tea with David 3:30
on my hand in ink. I took a screen shot of it and made it my computer wallpaper. He was becoming an obsession.
We were just friends.
What would happen when I saw him?

He stood outside the tea shop. He held the biggest bouquet of white lilies I had ever seen, but he was looking the other way. I wanted to run to him. I didn’t know what I would say to him.

I’m going to have to release him. It was the only sane thing to do.

David turned and saw me. He smiled. But he was hesitant. It was like he knew what I was going to say. “Hello, Laura. You look lovely.” He handed me the flowers and took my hand and kissed it. He held my hand against his cheek.

“Oh David. I need to …”

“Please, I’m sorry to interrupt you,” he whispered, “but before you release me, I want to say this.” He knelt to the ground.

“Oh, no! David! You’re not going to propose, are you? Get up!”

He shook his head. “Nonsense. We are only friends. I just want to share with you a poem. Please.” There was a sadness in his eyes, one of regret and fear, as if he were bracing himself for impact, as if he was expecting a blow, but not flinching from it. “It may be my last chance.”

He kissed my hand and spoke clearly,

“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.”

A few people gathered around us. We were causing quite a spectacle.

“Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

That brings our friends up from the underworld,

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.”

I started to choke up. Why was he doing this? This was the guy who texted one girlfriend hundreds of times. This was the guy who followed another girl around. This was the guy who, apparently, had at least one restraining order taken against him in high school. This was the guy who didn’t understand no. This was the guy who was arrested Saturday night. Yet, this was the kindest, sweetest, smartest, most handsome, most gentlemanly man I had ever met in my life.
What am I going to do with him?

“Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

The earliest pipe of half-awaken’d birds

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’d

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!”

Then he held my hand against his cheek. The crowd around us applauded.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. There was a woman standing there. She had seen the whole thing. “You keep him down there, honey, till he gives you
jewelry!”

Then David stood. “Please. Release me quickly. I can’t bear the wait.”

“No.” I still didn’t know what I was going to do. “Not until we’ve had tea.” I wiped my eyes. “And you tell me what happened Saturday night.”

“Of course. Tea first.” He smiled. His hope had returned. “Spoken like a true lady.” He offered me his arm. “Saturday night I was taken to the local police station, where I was questioned, had my mug shot taken, and was finger-printed! It was thrilling.”

“Do you have to go to court?”

“Funny you should mention that. All charges were dropped. I was released after only three hours of being in the clink, which, actually, I found rather disappointing. I think Merle had something to do with my early release, but I never give him credit unless I need spare change to come out of my ear.”

“Trey dropped the charges?”

“Trey isn’t going to remember anything about Saturday night. I told you. Merle will literally erase it from his memory.”

I got really scared. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“Of course not, silly girl. But I sure did scare the bloody hell out of him, didn’t I?” There was a fire in his eye. Or was it madness?

“You sure did.” I’m not releasing him today. Not at all. We sat at the first empty table.

“David? David Bowles? Is that
really
you?”

“Ah!” David looked beyond me, and then he stood. I turned around to see what it was that had captured his attention. “Melissa! How lovely to see you!”

A girl reached out for David. I recognized her from one of the cards that Merle had showed me. She was full-figured, with gorgeous black hair, and she had great skin. In the photo I saw, she had been holding a zinnia.

She reached in to get a hug, but David blocked her, taking her hand instead for a kiss.

“Laura, may I introduce you to Melissa Standish? Melissa, this is my friend, Laura Adamsky.”

I meekly shook the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was an awkward moment when none of us knew what to say.

“You look lovely, Melissa.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at me and at the lilies on the table, and then back to David, and bit her lip. “It’s nice to see you so happy. Good to meet you. I need to go.” Then, she took her place at another table.

David sat down. The look on his face was completely blank, expressionless, as if he barely registered what had just happened. He’s certainly over her, I thought.

“Now, what was I saying? Are you up to another question? I thought of several during my unfortunate incarceration.”

“After I return from the ladies’ room.”

“Fair enough. I’ll order the tea and scones.” He stood again and stayed standing until I was nearly gone.

When I entered the ladies’ room, I saw Melissa at the sink. She turned to me. “Congratulations. David looks really happy. You make a great couple. When’s the big day?”

“Excuse me?”

“You are his fiancée, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m his friend.”

“Really? I thought he said friend, but then that didn’t make sense. Friends don’t get bouquets of flowers quite like that. I saw the whole thing out front, and I just assumed. You appear to be much more than a friend.”

“Just friends. What were you?”

“A sweetheart.”

“Why did you release him? You don’t have to tell me, but I’m kind of having a hard time with him.”

“I totally understand. David is
intense.
I broke up with him two years ago last August. Even now, no one I’ve met comes close to him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I’m going to be honest with you; when I look back at my time with David Julius Arthur Bowles, I always think, he’s the one that got away.”

“You do? Then why did you release him?”

“I’m a chef. My idea of a good time is making a fancy meal—you know,
for two
, in
my
kitchen, in
my
apartment. David would only agree to it if it was on a Friday night and if Merle always came along. That was fine in the beginning, but that little guy totally creeps me out. Our entertainment was limited to card tricks. All I wanted
was to be with David. But you know, I can’t.”