Falling in Love (16 page)

She twisted away again and dove into the cab, screaming, “Go!”

A thunderous crash on the car’s roof sounded like it had dented it. Then Peter’s fist whacked at the back window but didn’t crack it. The driver squealed away. In a thick accent, the driver screamed, “He is crazy. I am phoning the police.”

“No,” said Claire. “Don’t. He’ll be okay. He’s just upset.” But she kept looking to see if he was following us and I hoped that the corner light wouldn’t turn red and give Peter another chance.

“He tried to wreck my cab,” countered the driver. “He is a lunatic.”

Fortunately, the light stayed green and we swerved down Broadway. All the way to the Village both Claire and I kept glancing behind us. The clouds finally cracked in a loud burst, pelting the windows with rain and blurring our view.

We jumped out on Seven Avenue South. If Peter was behind us, we didn’t want to lead him straight to the apartment. I quickly regretted not buying a cheap umbrella.

The driver frowned at the dent on his cab’s roof and demanded Peter’s name and address. Claire said that she didn’t know it. She shoved some bills at him and quickly sloshed away as he stood cursing us in some foreign language.

By the time we got to my apartment, we were soaked and began stripping off our clothes. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Claire said.

“I’m sorry you did,” I returned. “I actually think you should have given the driver Peter’s name and address. He’s dangerous.”

Claire shook her head. “His rage is only for me. He’ll settle down. If the driver filed a police report, he could get fired. He works for the city. Besides, the cab company has insurance.”

I didn’t want to end our wonderful weekend with an argument. Peter had already dampened it enough. Neither Claire nor I felt in a mood to make use of our naked bodies so we just toweled off and went to bed. The idea of getting up early and going to work didn’t appeal to me but at least I wouldn’t be hung over.

The weather turned nastier and rain bombarded the dark window as wind-swept branches from a nearby tree slashed against the glass.

Amid brilliant flashes of lightning, I could see Claire staring at the ceiling with a pensive look. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer but after a particularly loud burst of thunder rattled the window, Claire said that she remembered a night like this from her childhood, when a hurricane was approaching their home. “For two days, it rained bullets from this scary black sky with this howling wind that split open trees.”

The hurricane missed their town by only a few miles. The next day her family went for a ride to see the destruction. When Claire saw all the homes in the neighboring town that were blown away, she kept thinking that it could have been their town, their home.

“After that, whenever thunder or lightning woke us up, Lydia, my little sister, and I used to run into our parents’ bedroom and sleep between them. But then one time I was awakened by something crawling around in my pajamas. It was my father’s hand. When he realized I was awake, he put my hand inside his pants and made me stroke him while my mother and sister slept beside us.”

She began to cry softly but continued. “When it happened again, I refused to go into their bedroom. I was terrified of the thunder and lightning but more terrified of him. But then he came into my room and put it into my mouth. He said that if I told my mother or anyone else that they wouldn’t believe me and that I would be whipped for making up lies.”

Claire began sobbing louder. “It’s okay,” I whispered, holding her closer and trying to comfort her.

She continued, “My mother often went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and passed by my room. My sister was afraid of the dark so we had a nightlight in the hall and sometimes my mother would look in on us when she passed by. Once when he was in bed with me, my mother got up. He held his hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t make a sound. She walked right by without looking in our room. I was panicked that she wouldn’t know. Didn’t she realize that my father wasn’t in bed next to her and wonder where he was? When she came back, I wrestled free and cried out, “Mommy! Help me!” She looked straight at me. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Then she turned and walked away. My father was furious and slapped me.

“The next morning, my mother was sick and didn’t come downstairs. She stayed in bed for two days and when she finally got up, she acted like nothing had happened. I was devastated. After that, he came in often, as if to punish me. Occasionally, he slapped and punched me but was careful never to leave bruises.”

Claire was crying loudly now and I wiped tears from her cheeks but she kept on talking. “Every day, I woke up determined to confront my mother but never got the courage. Finally, when I was sixteen, my father stopped doing me because he was now doing my younger sister. I couldn’t lie there and listen to him abusing her. I couldn’t turn away like my mother. So finally, I told my mother and mentioned the night I cried out to her. She denied it, called me a liar and told my father. He went into a rage and screamed that if I ever told anyone else, he would have me locked up in a nuthouse or sent to a home for juvenile delinquents. Then he beat me so hard that for the first time, I had bruises.”

Claire broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. I tried to comfort her but she wanted to continue. Her voice was a child-like whimper. “The next day, my gym teacher noticed the bruises when I was coming out of the shower. I was summoned to the assistant principal’s office. She was a large, tough woman and I was really scared because I couldn’t figure what I had done wrong. In her office was my gym teacher and they asked me how I had gotten the bruises. Finally, I now had the salvation I had been praying for. Just one word to them and the authorities would come and help out my sister and me. I desperately wanted the truth to come out of my mouth but all I heard myself muttering was some crap about falling off my bike. Everything was fine at home, I insisted. Inside my head, I was screaming to myself, ‘No! Stop lying! For Lydia’s sake!’ But no matter how much I silently screamed at myself, I just kept on defending my father to them. That was my one chance for me, for Lydia, and I didn’t take it. Now, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about those ten minutes in that office. The bastard should be in jail but instead he’s a big man in the town, a proud husband and father.”

Claire sobbed heavily and struggled for breath. I held her in my arms like a child. When she finally regained her composure, I asked timidly, “How is your sister?”

“She’s okay, I guess,” said Claire. “She met a Good Ol’ Boy. They’re engaged to get married next June. She says that she will never have sex, ever, and just claim that they can’t have children.”

“He doesn’t mind?”

Claire glanced furtively around as if the lightening might be listening. “Well, it’s not like you’re going to be telling anyone back home. He’s in love with his best buddy. They go on fishing trips all summer and hunting trips all winter, and no one suspects a thing.”

Claire wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Sorry to put all this on you, but I thought you should know what kind of a woman you’re getting involved with.”

I kissed and hugged her. “I think I’m getting involved with a wonderful woman.”

Claire smiled weakly. Although the thunder and lightning continued, Claire seemed exhausted by her revelations and quickly drifted off to sleep. I lay there wondering if I would, if I ever could, open up and tell her about my childhood. I had held it inside of me for so long that I was afraid of what might happen if I let it out.

The next morning, Claire got up with me and made coffee. She went out for Danishes while I showered. I was touched. Claire came uptown for lunch and we devoured deli sandwiches at my pocket park refreshed by the adjoining waterfall’s aerated breeze. After lunch, I gave her a long passionate kiss. “I love you,” I said before feeling foolish. Shouldn’t the first ‘I love you’ come at some incredibly romantic moment, maybe while making love? Not in the middle of some street. But that was when I had said it.

Claire understood. Flashing her dazzling smile, she whispered, “I love you, too.” We both vowed to spend all afternoon missing each other.

Claire promised to call the police if Peter showed up at the Chez Passy. After hours of worrying about her, Claire cheerfully strolled in at midnight. Peter was no where to be seen.

Since all the second-shift jobs seemed to be in word processing centers instead of secretarial, during a long lunch on Tuesday, I took two word processing tests and failed both. I vowed to try to stay late at work every night in an attempt to increase my typing speed and accuracy.

That afternoon, I called home twice to find the line busy. I suspected why. When I finally got Claire on the line she admitted that she had been talking to Peter.

“I thought you weren’t speaking to him.”

“I was just giving him advice about life, which he sorely needs.”

When I mentioned that I had failed the word processing tests, Claire became upset, angry that we might only be together on weekends.

As a surprise, I decided to pick her up from work. Instead of being delighted, Claire accused me of checking to see if Peter was around. On the way home, we had our first fight in D’Agostino’s over, of all things, toothpaste. Claire had been using my toothpaste and admitted she didn’t like it. She wanted me to try her brand. I suggested that we each just use our own brands. Claire acquiesced, bought her brand and I thought the discussion was over. As we got ready for bed, she wondered, “Why won’t you just try it?”

I tried it. Then I said, “Okay, now can I go back to my own toothpaste?” Claire huffed and strode into the bedroom. “What is going on here, Claire?” I asked.

“I think you’re being childish,” she snapped.

“Childish? What is this about? I can’t believe it is about fucking toothpaste.”

Instead of answering, Claire got into bed and faced away from me so she could pout. I tried to reach out to her but she wouldn’t respond. Finally, I just turned around and we lay there, staring at opposite walls, listening to each other breaths for what seemed like hours.

The next morning, Claire faked being asleep. But just as I was about to leave, she ran over and kissed me, saying, “I’m sorry about last night. I adore you.”

“Touché.” I almost joked about my fresh breath but not even I was stupid enough to think that one would work.

That afternoon Claire was again on the phone when I called. When she finally answered, she shrugged it off as a “friend from work.”

That night when she wasn’t home by midnight, I called her cell phone twice and she didn’t pick up. I panicked, contemplated calling the police and paced the apartment. She came in at 2 a.m., reeking of alcohol and saying, “I just went out for a couple of drinks with some friends from work.” When I mentioned that she hadn’t returned my calls, she replied that her cell phone battery was dead.

“You didn’t bother to call me? You didn’t think I’d be worried?” I shrieked.

“Christ, it was just a couple of drinks! What’s wrong with you?”

“I was just worried,” I replied, trying to keep calm. Claire’s breath revealed more than a couple of drinks but after the previous night’s toothpaste encounter, I didn’t want another senseless fight and Claire seemed too drunk for any rational conversation.

The next morning, Claire snored the entire time I was getting ready for work. That afternoon, after the usual busy signals, she claimed she had been talking to Katherine.

“Does she approve of us yet?” I asked lightly, trying to make a joke of it.

“We didn’t talk about us,” she replied.

Then what were you talking about, Claire?
I didn’t ask.

That night, Claire called to say that she was again going out with friends after work and I dreaded another drunken entrance. Around two, Claire’s key in the lock awoke me from a restless sleep. She entered the room quietly but I was grateful that she didn’t again smell like a bar.

“Thanks for calling,” I mentioned.

“It’s okay.” In bed, she turned away from me. I reached over and ran my hand down her arm, just to make some kind of connection. “I’m really tired,” she said.

Since I had to be up at seven, I really only wanted a hug. But I was grateful that we didn’t have a fight. The next day was finally Friday. I was already getting excited about the weekend and hoped that our petty arguments were behind us. We still didn’t know if we were brave enough to go to Gregory’s luncheon on Saturday but Claire did say she wanted to see Gregory’s apartment because Katherine had said it was incredible. I wanted to spend all weekend making love, holding hands and cuddling together on the sofa while watching movies. Just being, well, in love.

I called her twice during the day but she didn’t answer and didn’t return my messages, which seemed odd to me. I rushed home after work, hoping to see her still in bed waiting for me. But the apartment was eerily empty. I saw Claire’s key on the coffee table and felt a chill. The answering machine was flashing menacingly but I didn’t have the courage to press Play. I went into the bedroom and opened the closet. Claire’s side was bare. She had moved out.

Sick to my stomach, I paced around the apartment. I finally clicked the answering machine to hear Claire’s voice. “Sherry, I know we said no men forever but I’m going back to Peter. He’s agreed to go into AA and I’m going to help him with his anger management. I’m really sorry. Bye.” Click.