The Weight of Gravity (38 page)

             
He pretended not to notice her stabbing viciously at her steamed beef and egg roll.  Max waited, certain that the volcano would eventually erupt, spewing forth whatever was on Caroline’s mind.

             
“Max, I need to let you know that things have changed a bit,” she said finally.

             
“Changed?”

             
“Just a bit.  I’ve been out with David a few times.”

             
“David?”
              “He’s the new guy in our mishpocheh.  I told you about him.”

             
“No, you told me about Jerry and Ramon.  You didn’t say anything about David.”

             
“Well, he’s a business partner with Jerry and Ramon.  They own a home furnishing store in lower Manhattan that specializes in Middle Eastern decor.  Junk mostly, but they do a good business.”

             
“Should I be concerned?”

             
“You tell me.  We’ve just been to dinner a couple of times, David and I.  Nothing serious ... yet ... but he’s interested in more.”

             
“More what?”

             
“More, more,” she said, agitated, as if Max didn’t need an explanation.  “More me, you know.  More time, more moments.”

             
“Okay.  So, ... what?  You’re interested in dating this guy?”

             
“Maybe.”

             
“Fine.  Thank you for telling me, particularly before I left on this trip.”  He cleared his plate from the table and walked into the kitchen  “Tell me something, Caroline.  Where does this leave us?” he asked, walking back into the dining room.  He leaned across the back of his chair and pick up his wine glass, then walked to the opposite side of the table from her.

             
“You tell me.  Where was our relationship going … before I met David?”

             
“That’s a good question.  It’s unfortunate that neither of us can answer it.”  He sipped his wine and then set his glass on the table.  “Since this is confession time, then I should tell you about Erika.”

             
“Tell me about Erika,” she purred.

             
“We’ve been writing each other … e-mail, that’s all, but it could become more.”

             
“You’re not telling me this because you’re jealous of David, are you?”

             
“I’m telling you this because I’m
not
jealous of David, and maybe I should be.  The fact there is a David is partly my fault, I’m sure.”

             
“Oh, wait.  This Erika is your cornpone high school girlfriend, right?”

             
“Caroline, do me a favor.”  He turned away and walked into the front room.

             
She followed him, wine glass in hand.  “Anything for you, darling.”

             
He took the glass from her hand.  She stared at him, confused.  “I think I’d like to be alone tonight.  You understand, to get ready for tomorrow.  Thanks for coming over.”  He opened the elevator door and handed Caroline her coat.

             
“Sure.  No problem.  I had plans anyway.  Only came by to tell you to have a good trip.”

             
“Thanks.  I’ll call when I’m back in New York.  Give my best to David.”  He reached into the elevator and pushed the first-floor button, then stood – hands in pockets – staring at her as the doors closed between them. 

             
Max wrote one more e-mail before packing the laptop for the trip.

             
Erika – Have you ever noticed how frightening elevators can be?  Not that they go up and down rapidly, or that they dangle hundreds of feet in the air.  No.  I’m talking about how there is a great void between people standing inside and outside of the elevator -- on either side of the open doors -- waiting for the scissors to close between them.  They’re arms’ length away from each other, maybe, but the tension in the moments before the doors close – cutting the invisible, perhaps irreparable ribbon between them -- is almost unbearable.  Regarding the difficulty of cooking for one, that you mention in your note -- here, I eat out or order in more often than I cook.  There are too many good restaurants in the City not to take advantage of them.  Your note was wonderful.  If I could, I would surround you with sound.  Come to New York City.  If you lived in New York City as I do, you’d discover that sounds are everywhere.  Noise is the symphony of New York.  Marcie and I leave in the morning.  Miss hearing your voice, miss seeing your face, miss you,  – Max.

              Early the next morning, Marcie called up from the cab at the curb.  Charlie sent the lobby staff up to help with luggage.  Max tipped them well before the cab pulled away, headed for Kennedy.

             
The flight to Los Angeles was direct, so Max slept and Marcie watched the movie.  Before landing, she briefed him on the first two days of book signings.  “We have classy accommodations, Max.  Should be fun.”

             
“It’ll get old before we get to Chicago.”

             
“I know, but we’ll make the most of it, boss.”

             
“I couldn’t tolerate these tours without you, Marcie.  Thank you for being here.”

             
“Thanks for the raise, Max.”  She ordered another drink and picked the cashews out of her complimentary gourmet nuts, an amenity of first-class travel.

             
“You should know that my relationship with Caroline has hit a bump in the road.”

             
“That’s too bad,” she said, chasing a handful of nuts with her gin and tonic.

             
“You don’t sound too concerned.”

             
“Max, I’m not fond of Caroline.  I don’t think she’s right for you.”

“Really.  When did you come to this conclusion?”
“The day you introduced us.  She’s a pretentious snob with a capital B.  Not your type.”

             
“I can be a snob.”

“Not like Caroline.  You’re not a
mean
snob.  She is.  There’s a big difference.”

“When we get back to New York, I’m expecting a visitor from Cottonwood.”

              “Doris?  I like her.”

             
“No, not Doris.  Her name is Erika.  We dated in high school.”

             
“The one you left behind to come to New York to pursue your writing career?”

             
“That’s right.”

             
“Very cool, Max.  I look forward to meeting her.” 

              They made the first engagements in LA, then Seattle, and were headed to Spokane and Portland a day later.  Max started to lose his voice midway through the afternoon in Portland.

             
“Got a frog, Marcie.  Can you get me some bottled water,” he said over his shoulder while signing a book for a female admirer.  “I’m not in shape for these long engagements anymore.  Not as young as I use to be when I did a lot of these promotions.”

             
Marcie was prepared.  She’d brought a travel cooler with bottles of Evian.

             
By that evening, Max could barely talk.  He and Marcie had planned earlier in the day to go out to dinner, but he apologized and went to bed early.  She didn’t mind at all, which made him feel even guiltier.  Marcie worked hard on these tours and Max enjoyed treating her to the best restaurants wherever they went.             

             
“I’ll feel better tomorrow, Marcie.  I promise.”

             
“Max, I don’t need to go out every night.  You provide me a luxury room with a well stocked bar.  I’ll order up.  How about you?  Do you want me to get you some dinner?”

             
“No.  I’ll be fine in the morning.  We’ll have breakfast together, as usual.”

             
The phone rang and Marcie went to answer it.  “Peter’s on the phone, Max.   You want to speak to him?”

             
“Tell him I’ll call him in the morning.”

             
“He just wants to know if you’re okay.”

“Let me have the phone, Marcie.”  She walked to his bed and handed him the phone.  “Peter?  I’m fine.  I caught a chill in Seattle before we drove up to Spokane.  It’s a common cold.  Marcie and I will be on the flight to Denver in the morning.  We’ll make Indianapolis in two days, then Chicago and back to New York by the end of the week.”

“Marcie said you collapsed at the bookstore.”

Max stared at Marcie.  “She exaggerates.  I didn’t collapse.  I got a little dizzy.  It’s a head cold, Peter
, maybe an inner ear infection.”

             
“Sorry to ask when you’re under the weather, but how are the final chapters on the new work coming, Max?”

             
“I’m working on it … still looking for the key to pull it all together.  I’ve written the end several times, Peter, but it just doesn’t feel right.  It’ll come to me soon, I’m certain.  Don’t worry.  ”

             
“Great.  I can’t wait to read how this story comes out.  It’ll sell well, Max.  I’m sure.”

             
Marcie linked Max’s laptop to the hotel’s Wi-Fi and got him onto the Internet.  She handed him the computer as he was sitting up in bed, before she headed for her own room. “Are you going to be okay?”

             
“I’ll be fine.  Get out of here.  See you in the morning.”

             
“Call me if you start feeling worse.  I’ll be in all night watching dirty movies.”

             
“Got it,” he assured her as she closed his door.

             
There were two email notes from Erika.  He opened the first.

             
Max – You’re probably in Washington State by now.  Please travel safe. – E.

             
He opened the second.

             
Max – Read a Newsweek article this morning about the release of your collection.  It said what Peter told you, that you have a whole new generation of readers discovering your stories.  Congratulations.  I’m so proud of you.  Have you had a chance to finish the new novel?  It wouldn’t matter if you ever wrote another book, you know?  You’ve already written enough quality literature for a lifetime.  I don’t care if you ever publish again, as long as you’re happy.  Are you happy, Max Rosen?  Love.  – E.

             
He wrote back.

             
Reekie – Thanks for your notes.  I’ve been offline for the past two days.  The book signings are going well, but they leave me little time for anything else.  No, I haven’t finished the new work.  I’m still struggling with the ending.  We leave for Denver tomorrow morning.  We’ll be in Chicago on Thursday and staying at the Palmer House downtown.  I love that hotel.  I’ve learned that my father played horn in one of their lounges back in the thirties.  How neat is that?  Coming down with a cold.  I’m lying in bed as I write this – imagine that.  I’ll feel better in a day or two.  As usual, Marcie’s taking good care of me.  Please call my cell if you wish.  You have the number.  I may be trapped and unable to answer, but just leave a message and I’ll call you back.  Am I happy?  I think so … for someone who has almost everything he ever wanted.  What is ‘happy’ anyway?  The easier question you might have asked is: When were the happiest moments of my life? But you already know the answer – it was every moment I ever spent with you.   Are you happy, my love? -- Max

             
He checked the computer once more before they packed and left for the airport the next morning.  There was nothing from Erika.  Sitting at the gate waiting for their flight to board, he checked again.

             
Max – Please, please take care of yourself.  I’m worried you’re getting run down on this trip.  Are you eating well and getting enough rest?  It’s wonderful that Marcie is taking care of you, but you’re stubborn.  Don’t push it.  Cancel some of the tour if you start feeling worse.  Go see a doctor.  You can afford it.  The flu has been hitting people in Cottonwood, too.  Wish I were there to take care of you.  In bed, huh?  Imagine the fun we could have if I were there.   Calm down, tiger!  I’m anxious to call, but I don’t want to disturb you either.  I know you’re busy and I don’t want to take time away from your many, adoring fans :).  Am I happy?  The best answer I can give you is that I’m not as happy as I could be … not as happy as I once was …and never as happy as when we were together.  Miss you.  Love.  –E.

Chapter 53 – Erika