The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men & One Woman (24 page)

I give the buyer-couple a silent benediction along with the keys. Enjoy and may you remain happily married. I’m a spectator on the board game of life. Take a “Get Married” card and place your little brick house on Dream Street and hope it holds. For me I add a tag-on prayer:

Let me not lose faith in other people.

Keep me trusting and sound of heart in spite of all that I have learned.

“Your first love never leaves you.”

~ Mark, 43

True first loves are the bridge between childhood and the rest of our lives. Some of us delay, staying on the bridge as long as possible, some of us never leave that bridge, while others run ahead, promising ourselves that anything lost can easily be rediscovered.

Now, my memories of Mark are rubbed raw by the hundreds of interviews. I recall snowball fights and frozen nose kisses, promises of forever and his gentle hand being torn from mine by his parents who refused to meet me. I pick on the memory-scab and it bleeds.

Investigator Sam has failed me. And Mark, as I remember him, may no longer exist. I hunt up old photos of two teens in love, and cloak myself in the warmth of feelings long forgotten. Love is both freedom and imprisonment. I continue to wait and hope. My emotions flip back and forth, uncontrollably. Is he alive? Did he go to war? Did he ever marry? Did he have the son he wanted? Is he happy? Will he remember me? If he didn’t care enough to find me why should I still care?

I’ve had my fill of listening to men talk. My credit cards are maxed out from all the travel. I’ve officially called it quits at 527 interviews. I dug myself into a financial hole and now it’s time to return completely to the world of commercial real estate. I can barely contain my enthusiasm. It has all the appeal of dental work without anesthesia.

When the call from Sam finally comes, I’m hanging off the side of a sailboat in a marina on Boca Ciega Bay on the south tip of St. Petersburg. Desperately needing to do a real estate deal – the bigger the better – I’m at the boat against my better judgment to meet with new clients. It’s time to dig out of the money pit my adventures have put me in.

I think we’re going to meet inside the yacht club and dress for the occasion in a business suit with a straight skirt and painful high heeled pumps. The club manager directs me to a large sailboat moored at one to the slips. “You’re party is on board,” he says.

I don’t swim as I can’t stand to get my face wet. I panic in water.

It’s only the fear of mounting bills that pushes me down the gangplank to the huge vessel that bobs threateningly.

As I walk, my designer heels wedge in the slats of the dock first one then the other. I look at the shredded leather and sob. But where there is a client there might be a sale. I keep my eyes on the target.

When I get to the side of the boat, I step from the dock to the deck in one near fatal leap. I misjudge the muscle power needed to stay upright. Grabbing the plastic coated horizontal wires I hang on as my butt lets gravity take over. In one crushing instant I’m dangling with a death grip on the ropes, nose to the hull and designer shoes waving frantically trying to gain purchase on the dock behind me.

Just then my cell phone rings. I know as the first notes from the Pink Panther play from my bag that it’s the private dick on the phone. That’s the way life works. It’s all a big practical joke.

I hang from the boat along with the sea slime. I’ll miss the chance to talk to Mark. It’s in that instant, as I dangle over an oily death in murky marina waters layered with pools of diesel fuel, that I come to finally understand men and how they feel about love.

Guys are all about the fear of looking foolish. They fear leaping off into the unknown and being rejected. They fear making the wrong choices and embarrassing themselves. Men are simple creatures thrown into complicated lives from boyhood to manhood to old age.

Women are comfortable with making mistakes. Our egos aren’t the linchpins of our souls. My self-image wasn’t tied up in looking cool. For example at the moment I don’t feel cool at all. But I can understand the embarrassment of making a miscalculated jump.

The bones in my pinky fingers crack on the plastic coated wires. I’m about to let go when I hear voices on the deck. They’re calling my name. With my last bit of air I gasp the word – Help!

I hear footsteps above my head. Then strong arms grab my wrists and lift me onto the deck. My would-be clients are holding each other as tears of laughter stream from their eyes.

Again, the theme from the Pink Panther plays from my pocketed cell phone driving my rescuers further into fits of hysterics.

I answered. It is Sam. I excused myself and totter to the stern of the boat. Cupping the phone to muffle the background noise I listen to his excited voice.

“Usually I’m the bearer of bad news but this is great! I found him. Here’s his number. Call him right away! He lives near you. Let me know what happens! Oh by the way, he is married.”

A punch in the stomach would have worked as well and hurt less. I hear a voice say, “I can’t do this,” and realize it’s mine. Of course I had sensed it all along. One should always trust her intuition.

“Call him,” Sam says “It’s really important to him. When I told him I was working for you, he almost came through the phone lines.”

My heart does handstands while my body shakes as if I’ve caught a bad chill. I don’t want to tell Mark I’ve just been plucked off the side of a sailboat. I look for a reason to delay the call. “I need time to think. I have to fix my makeup.”

“Makeup?” Sam sounds bewildered. “It’s only a phone call. He pleaded for you to call him right now. Here’s his number.”

“I need to look in his eyes when I speak to him.”

“You never said anything about looking in his eyes. Usually I don’t get these happy endings. I’m so excited for the two of you. Call him! And please let me know how this turns out.”

With a self-deprecating grin and wobbly legs I inch my way back to the bow where both clients are sitting with smirks on their faces. “Now that I have your attention and I’m sure that you’ll never forget me, I’m going to excuse myself. I have to make a call ... from land.” I walk to the side of boat and eye the nasty dock. Did I dare to jump again?

“Wait! Both men are on the feet in a flash. They pull the boat closer narrowing the gap and hand me onto the wooden steps. “You okay?”

“Sure,” I say. “Do this all the time.”

I head back to my car, thankful for being alive. Once in the driver’s seat, I pull out the number Sam gave me. The phone slips from my hand like something you’d hold in a dream and slowly let go. If I follow through I’m about to hear a voice from the near side of a quarter of a century. Once I dial, I’ll have all the answers I’ve been searching for. Maybe the dream is better than the rampant fantasy that’s run roughshod through my emotions these past years.

I scramble to grab the phone. My fingers slip on the key pay. I check the battery. It’s fine. It rings once.

Strange,
his voice isn’t familiar. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve spent my whole life looking for you,” he says.

I’m frozen with the crystals of vague emotions. All the things I’ve waited years to say fall from my mind like dead butterflies. I’m left speechless as I hear his delicious laughing voice.

“I’m amazed. You did something I’d dreamed of doing so many times but lacked the courage. I’ve never stopped loving you. I loved you from the first minute I laid eyes on you. You’re my soul mate,” he whispers.

Why is he telling me so much so soon? And with such urgency? I sense this is to be our only conversation and in a panic I say, “No matter what was happening in my life, you were there in my heart. I’ve always loved you.”

I’m amazed we can speak so freely, so quickly, about things that weighed so heavy in my life.

There is a pregnant silence hanging suspended between us.
He who speaks first loses.
I risk it. “Oh, Mark. Every city I traveled I would crack open the phone book and search for your name.”

He sighs, “And I looked for your face in every crowd, wherever I was. I’d think I saw you and then be wrong. I’ve only had two loves in my life, you and my wife.”

The words “my wife” are painful and so I step over them as my world spins under me. Are we coming together? Will it be that easy? No. I think not.

Mark leads the way as we begin to pour facts and dates and times into each other as if a portal had opened and a stop watch was clicking off our last minutes on earth. I feel myself come undone as all the strings that held me together for over two decades open up completely. I imagine I can feel him touch my cheek.

For seven years he made countless trips to my parents begging to know where I was. “Your mother turned me away every time. She would slam the door in my face.”

“She never told me you were looking for me.”

“I finally gave up. I met Amy, fell in love and we married.” He hesitates. “She’s Jewish.”

We were just kids, madly in love, but still living with our parents. We had no control over our lives. I would never have been accepted in his world. My heart understands now.

My senses begin to warm. I remember the comfort of his moss green sweater and big strong arms. I remember his laugh. It was a great laugh.

“Hmm. I’m so glad we did this.” I say sensing our phone time is almost over.

“You did this,” his voice carries a smile.

“Why were you so hard to find?”

He laughs. “I’ve been here all the time. Sam just told me I live twenty minutes from your house. We traveled the world to settle within miles of one another.”

My first love was under my nose the entire time. Was that fate playing a practical joke?

The next step would be to meet. I wish to feel his joy just one more time. It would bring closure. I start to ask if we can but he cuts me off.

“A couple of years ago,” Mark says, “I made one of those stupid blunders men do. My wife and I were talking with friends about first loves. I said I had never gotten over you. That was a mistake and it upset my wife a lot.”

I melt into the receiver, my heart a cube of ice on an August afternoon. “I’ve lived my life so that there were no ‘what if’s’ ... except for you. You’re the one thing left undone in a full life.”

Mark sighs. “I couldn’t hurt my mother and now I can’t hurt Amy. You were my first love but you can’t be my last. I can’t see you. In the end the only thing we have is our word. When I was boy, I gave my word to my mother. When I became a man, I gave my promise to my wife.”

Now I realize his urgency to call was generated by Amy’s absence. She might be shopping or having her nails done while I was temporarily reuniting with her husband. The pain of his words, his rejection of the suggestion of just seeing me one more time, is too much. The remaining pieces of my heart break like glass on concrete. I listen to his breathing. I can’t let go. I’m not strong enough.

“We’ve both lived the lives we were destined to live. Our love was a feeling. My love for Amy is my word. Just the thought that I remembered you caused her pain. She’s my wife. You’re my mythological perfect love. I’ll always hold the memory of you. Goodbye.”

He hangs up.

And I head home, in shock.

I’m on the outside looking in. Now I can barely sleep. I feel body parts I never knew existed. Everything aches. I have to touch his face just one more time.

The first pinkish rays of sunlight work their way into my room as I finally doze. In my dream Amy comes to me wearing a head scarf and a hospital gown. She places her hand on my arm. She’s terminal. I don’t know how I recognize her, but I know it’s her. I feel her pain and reach to comfort her. She speaks in the wordless way of dream visitors.

“Take good care of Mark,” she says. “He’s always loved you. I’ve sensed your presence in our marriage.”

Still dreaming, I wipe a tear that tickles down my cheek. “But who gets to keep him in heaven?” I ask. Amy gives me a puzzled look as she starts to fade and I begin to wake. Wait!” I say. “You or me? Who gets him forever after?”

I stare out the window at the full glory of morning and wonder if my dream meant anything. My pillow’s wet with tears. A dozen questions flicker in my consciousness. What about soul mates? How is love valued in heaven? Is it by the length of time or the strength of love?

There is that moment of truth when you choose action or inaction and that choice tells you who you really are. I don’t like me as I leave a cheerful message for Mark at his office. I trump up a story about having to be in his neighborhood next week on real estate business. “Can we meet for lunch?” I have to know if my dream carried a hidden meaning.

Sleep will not come to me. I hear my heart beating in the darkness. “Please, Mark, don’t call back. You have no idea how much this means. Don’t call ...” I’m holding a lit match to see how close it will come to burning my fingers. If it causes me pain I have no one to blame but myself. He has to be the man I thought he was. If he’s a man of honor, a man of his word he won’t call me. But what if he does? Then who is he? More importantly, who am I? It’s the woman who chooses to have the affair. That’s a hard lesson I’ve learned in my travels. But this isn’t about a sex. First loves rarely are.

I make myself cry by whispering in the darkness, “Once upon a time in the very beginning there was a guy with a smile that could light up my world ...” If I could just look in his eyes one more time.

Sal laughs at me. “What is it with you and the refrigerator hugging?” he asks.

“You don’t know what you’re missing. A refrigerator can be a very comforting thing.”

He looks at me in his lopsided, loving way.

“They’re like these big purring boxes.” I can see he’s not getting it. “Never mind.”

“So ... did Mark call you back?”

I think of all the possible answers I had dreamed of and then give him the best one. “No. He never called.”

“I’m sorry,” Sal says as he stands beside me, leaning on his refrigerator.