Nights Like This (11 page)

“I don't know, Jess. But it feels right.”

She played with my fingers and I let her. Her palms were rough. I thought of Anjali's palms and for a moment I missed their softness, the feel of her fingers across my waiting scalp, the feel of her thin lips upon my own.

“I still want to read your stuff,” I said partly because I had nothing else to say, mostly because I wanted to stop thinking about Anjali's kisses.

“Okay, fine. Read it,” she said quietly. “If it makes you feel better, read it. But when will you start looking at yourself to understand why you can't write, why you're so fucking confused and whatever the hell it is you're looking for?”

“I don't want to read your stuff for me. I want to know you,” I said defensively, “And I'm sorry if you can't accept that because maybe if you did you'd realize a woman can love you beyond a good lay.”

“Jess…”

“Forget it. I don't want to read your stuff, all right? Just forget all of it.”

“I just want you to face the fact that you're scared of something. And if you could know what and why, you could face it, fuck it and fix it. That's all. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Maybe you should do the same.”

She faced me and held my hands at my sides. She waited until I looked at her before she spoke, making sure she had my full attention.

“Maybe that's why we work. We're both scared and yet we both can't keep away. Maybe ten days can fix all that. Maybe it can't. But we can try. That's all I'm saying.”

I followed her silently down to the subway and then into a train. Our spaces were full of gazes and slight touches and implications of understanding. She pulled me to her and stared into my eyes.

“Okay, here goes…” she said.

“What?”

“If you come away with me, I will allow you to call all the shots. You can ask anything, ask for anything and do anything. How is that?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because, I have a heart too. And it beats. And sometimes it beats to your name.”

I pulled her to me and held her. I kissed the top of her head.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Shut up and enjoy it,” I said.

“Come home with me tonight.”

“You know I can't spend the night with you.”

“You're really trying,” she said. “But let me ask you something. If it's so hard for you to be faithful to her, to be with her, then why are you trying so hard to do it?”

I looked away from her to the ad posted in front of me on the train. It was for a dermatologist. I wondered if Anjali would ever do anything as tacky as a subway ad.

“Hello?”

I turned back to look into her eyes.

“I don't really know the answer to your question,” I said, “but it's just something I want to do. I may be a fuck up all around but I do love her.”

Vanessa shrugged.

The rest of the ride was quiet but my mind was full of voices and questions that I wanted answered. Who was Vanessa that I was willing to lie to Anjali for her? Who was Anjali that I wanted so badly to be faithful to her? Could Vanessa and I have a platonic ten days? Would I really ask Anjali for the money? I felt my head would explode.

“Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

“I'm dropping you home and then going back to my place. Since you can't spend the night with me, I'm spending as much of it with you as possible.”

I felt tears in my eyes and I had no idea why. Except that I felt hopeless.

She stayed with me until my stop and then got off and waited to take the train in the opposite direction.

“I'll wait with you,” I suggested.

“If you want, sure.”

She smiled slightly, a tired half smile.

I leaned forward slowly and gently I touched her lips with mine. It wasn't a kiss just a brushing of lips, a touch that sent a current through my entire body. I pulled back almost immediately. I wondered if she had felt it.

She said nothing, did nothing except take my hand, kiss the flesh of my palm and let my arm fall back to my side. My skin was moist where her mouth had been. I closed my hand in a fist, my hand burning where she had kissed me. It was as if I were holding her slight affection tightly, never wanting to let go.

When the train came, I watched her as she stepped inside, turned and blew me a kiss with a lot of melodrama. We both laughed. Until the doors closed we stood looking at each other, laughing and waving goodbye.

As the train pulled away I felt as if a part of me was gone.

How I would handle platonic I myself didn't know.

I walked towards home, towards Anjali and thought the entire time about Vanessa.

Before I entered the lobby to our building, I reluctantly opened my fist, letting her kiss escape my opened palm.

 

 

I didn't know how to approach Anjali about the money for the trip Vanessa and I were going to take. I couldn't just tell her I was going away for ten days. She would want to know where and with whom. If I said I was going alone, she might have decided to come along. Vanessa had told me to start with telling her that I had quit my job, that I was determined to be a writer and that I was going to a writing conference in Toronto. I thought it might work.

If I look back, I realize that I could have just told her I needed money and she would have given it to me. She wouldn't even have questioned why I needed it or whether I would repay it. But I made myself believe that I couldn't have asked for the money and taken off for ten days without her asking questions, partly because I wanted to offer her answers to assuage my own guilt and partly because I really did want to explain the ten days. If I told her I was going away to write, that was actually true. But when it came to Vanessa, I had to lie. I was being compelled to dishonest. I couldn't tell her about Vanessa. Platonic or not, there's no way Anjali would have understood, I thought. So my convoluted sense of logic led me to believe that I was doing the only thing I could do which was lie and run off with another woman.

It was an unusually hot autumn evening when I approached Anjali. She had just returned home from work and the smell of sweat and heat stuck to her skin. Outside, it was already dark even though it wasn't yet 7:00.

“Hey, Anjali.”

“Hey,” she said as she locked the door and shuffled through her mail.

“You want to go out for dinner?” she asked absent-mindedly.

“Sure.”

“Let me shower first,” she said, “And you think of where you want to go.”

“Sure.”

I watched her walk towards her room. I heard her place her watch and chain on the bureau. She walked to the bathroom. I went to where she had placed her watch and chain, picking them up slowly and placing them in my hand. They were both still warm from her body. I looked at the watch, a jazzy Tag Heuer with diamonds to demark noon or midnight, three o'clock, six o'clock and nine o'clock against a mother of pearl background. I looked at her chain, unique platinum with a pendant that read “AC” on the back and her name in an exotic language on the front, the curves and lines of which I had never understood nor cared to ask about. But I had seen that pendant hovering above me while she made love to me. I had kissed that pendant sometimes half-heartedly sometimes with such wholeness it surprised even me. I kept fondling her watch and pendant. I sighed. I couldn't ask her for this money. How could I? What was I doing? I placed her jewelry back where she had left it.

I heard the shower running fiercely in the bathroom. I went to her slowly.

“Anjali,” I said softly, mostly to myself.

“Anjali,” I repeated again and again as if her name were not a name but a mantra, an absolution, a dissolving of all that was questionable, all that was wrong.

I felt such tenderness for her at that moment that all I wanted to do was hold her.

“Hey Anjali,” I said louder so she could hear me, so I could hear her voice respond to me.

“I'm in the shower.”

“Can I come in?”

She was quiet. I undressed and stepped into the shower with her without her asking, without an invitation. I took the bar of soap in her hand, the glycerin gleaming in the light, the scent of rosewater between us. I gently lathered her body, kissing random parts of her, her shoulder, her neck, eventually her navel.

“Jess,” she said as she closed her eyes.

I saw her smile, water catching in the curls of her hair, streaming down her soft, beautiful skin.

I tried to tell myself that the only reason I went to Anjali that night was because I knew that if I made love to her, it would easier to ask her to fund my trip. I knew that when Anjali was aware of her love for me, or if she believed I loved her, she would deny me nothing. I tried to believe it was all about the money. But sometimes good things come from bad places. It wasn't about the money. Perhaps my intentions had originally been to manipulate her, but somehow while I held her watch and her chain, somehow when I was waiting outside for her to finish a long shower, I wanted her too. So being in the shower with her right then, everything I felt and wanted and did was genuine. To this day if there is one thing I want Anjali to believe, it is the power of herself. I want her to know that in the shower that night, regardless of what followed, I was genuine. And for that moment, I loved her with all the love I had. Except of course the ounce of love I had tucked away for Vanessa just in case I needed it.

That evening under a hot shower I lathered Anjali's body and explored her skin with my hands. I closed my eyes and breathed her scent. Amid the steam and the fragrance of rose and freesia, I enjoyed kissing her and tasting the mixture of soap and shampoo and her. I enjoyed caressing her and kneeling before her and kissing her softly in delicate places. I held her honestly when she came, her palms pressed into my shoulders, her fingers marking dimples in my back.

I did not let her make me come. I showered quickly and slid her hands away when she tried to touch me. I did allow her to kiss my neck and wipe my body when we had finished.

“I don't understand you sometimes,” she said.

“I'm scared, okay!” I almost screamed.

She took a step back and looked at me, surprised.

“We've made love before.”

“It's different.”

I started to cry and felt like stupid. My embarrassment became heat that rose from my neck to my cheeks. Anjali wrapped her towel around us and held me. I didn't pull away.

“I wish we could stay like this all night,” I said as I pressed against her and drew the towel closer around us.

“What's the matter?” she asked. “Did something happen?”

“I bought a fucking photograph,” I wanted to say. “That's what happened.”

Instead I said, “Nothing.”

“I don't understand.”

“Never mind,” I said.

“Jess,” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“If you'd rather stay in, we can.”

“No,” I said, “I want to go out. I do.”

She lifted my face so that my eyes met hers. There was so much affection in her eyes I felt I would die of shame.

“What are you scared of?” she asked softly.

“I can't explain it. I'm just scared of everything lately.”

“You never have to be scared of us, Jess. Of me. I'll never stop loving you.”

I nodded.

“Let's get ready then,” she said. “Unless you want to talk. You can talk to me about anything. If you want.”

“No,” I said. “Let's get ready.”

I felt that Anjali did understand me but she didn't want to understand me. She loved me too much to want to understand me. I knew this. And in a way I felt no one would ever love anyone the way Anjali loved me. But then I thought of how many people love foolishly, recklessly and totally. Someone besides her would end up a damn fool. And someone like me would be there to reap the benefits. This time, just for this one moment where I felt safe in her arms, I would repay her. I would not ask for the money. I would not go. I wanted to be with Vanessa, yes. But was Anjali so terrible?

We dressed hurriedly. I think it was because we were both hungry. I watched her put on her watch, her chain. And everything was just the way it should have been. At that moment, my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen.

Don't forget the money, princess!

I stared at the screen and then at Anjali. What was I going to do?

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Let's go.”

We left the apartment quietly, hand in hand. My head felt like the tension was going to burst like a big bubble and I'd be left with nothing but pain. We hailed a cab and we got in. And off we were.

We ate at a small Chinese place in the village that night. I remember to this day the smell of grease and the small glasses of ice water. I didn't know it then but it was the last dinner Anjali and I would share out of our apartment. And looking back, it would be a dinner that later taught me about the power and the stupidity of loving someone wholly, the way I finally realized, Anjali Chopra loved me.

At the restaurant, as she took a sip of her water, I watched her. She put her glass down. I watched her dip a strand of fried, crispy dough into hot mustard.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said.

My heart stopped. Did she know? Was she going to expose my own life to me? What if she did? I would deny it all, even Vanessa.

“What is it?” I finally said.

“At the end of the month, I have a two day doctor's convention in DC. I thought if you wanted, you could come along. We could stay past two days and just relax. Like a vacation.”

Everyone had plans for my time, didn't they? Well if I agreed to go with Anjali, then would it be terrible to ask for the money to go away with Vanessa? Because by going to DC with her, I was giving her back what I was taking from her now. In a way, it was fair, wasn't it? All's fair in love and war, isn't it?

“Jess?”

“No, it sounds great. Maybe we should stay for a week or two.”

“In DC?”

“Why not?”

“Well, I can see how much time I can take away from the practice but we can definitely do a week.”

“That would be great.”

“What do you want to do in DC for a week anyway?”

“I want to be with you.”

“You're with me now.”

I took her hands in mine.

“I want to get away,” I said. “Just me and you in new space.”

It wasn't a lie. I wanted to get away from Central Park, the East Village, even the 5-by-7 that we displayed in our living room, the color of the sky the same as the color of my eyes. I had known Vanessa less than a month and it seemed she had already been absorbed into every pore of my life, into every aspect of my being. And this, above all, scared me the most.

I looked at the glow of the candle against its red glass holder. I looked at Anjali's face and it was warm and calm in candlelight. Her eyes were bright. I took a sip of my water. Swallowed. Moved back in my chair, my hands in my lap.

“Well there was something I wanted to ask too,” I finally started.

“What is it?”

Her words were spoken softly, affectionately. She leaned forward and put her hands in the middle of the table. I took her invitation and laced my fingers through hers. I sighed. And then I began the dialogue I had rehearsed the entire afternoon on the subway, while walking, even while in the bathroom.

“I want to be someone. I want to be something.”

“You're taking exams to go to school.”

“I don't mean that. I don't even want to do that. I want to write, Anjali. I want to write.”

“Then what's the problem?”

I leaned back in my chair and looked away for an instant. The man at the next table was holding his soup bowl to his mouth, sucking deeply to find the last drop of wanton broth. Was I going to do this? After all I had promised myself all along, about trying to love her. After the shower we had just shared, was I going to lie to her? For another woman?

“I want to quit my job. I want to write.”

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a delicate sip of water.

“Then do it.”

This was too easy.

“I want to go away for a while.”

She placed the glass down so hard on the table that our plates rattled.

“Not forever, God. Not even for a month. Just for ten days or so.”

“Where?”

“I was accepted to a writing conference,” I said quickly because that's the only way the lie would come out undistorted, without betraying me.

“Baby, that's great!”

What else would Anjali say? I could tell her I won an award for shoveling shit and she would be excited for me. As long as I made her feel special in the process. As long as I let her fuck me. Although I hadn't done either for over a year. And she was still there, holding my hands, consoling me.

“Yeah, well I don't know.”

“What don't you know?”

“I don't know if I have enough money right now to do this. It's over a thousand for the conference alone because of the room and board and all of that. And then just having money to live is difficult. I know I don't make a lot but even then, to just quit and make nothing. That's humiliating. I have nothing, Anjali, no guarantee that anything will work out. But I want to go to this conference and I want to write. And I want to do what I want to do. But how can I ask that of you? How can I say ‘I don't know when the fuck I can start getting back on my feet but take care of me until then?'”

She leaned towards me. I looked into her eyes and the green was muted with true concern and genuine sympathy.

“You can't say that to anyone else, but you can say it to me. I'm not just anyone. Listen, you've wanted this forever. And I'm glad you have gone back to what makes you happy. I love what I do. But it's not what you want to do. And I want you to love what you do.

‘So here's what I want. I want you to quit the job I know you hate. I want you to go to this conference. Then, I want you to come back and write as long as you want. Take six months. Take a year. It's okay, baby. I'll make sure you're okay. I want you to believe in you because I believe in you. I love you, Jess. And I feel that you have lost yourself. I want you to find yourself again. So go. And when you come back, sit and write. I know you'll do great things.”

Did she even suspect that half of what I was saying was bullshit? Did she even wonder how the hell I'd picked up and decided all of this in a day? Did she realize how easy it was to take from her? I felt so guilty I almost screamed the truth. But then I convinced myself her stupidity was her problem. Who graduates top of their medical class at Harvard and becomes such an idiot later in life? I had to wonder. I looked at Anjali with all the sympathy in the world at that moment. I couldn't believe that Dr. Chopra, one of the most reputable dermatologists in New York City, was such a damn fool. But when I looked into the green of her eyes, I didn't see an idiot. I saw someone who was so in love with me that anything I had said or asked or thought would be given to me in hopes of receiving love back. And I felt like the idiot because I did not have the same love to give to her. I didn't know what I could offer her except half-truths and full lies.