The Weight of Gravity (42 page)

             
One day in late March, Max reclined on the couch while Erika made lunch.

             
“Marcie left already?” he whispered.  Try as he may, he couldn’t silence his hands as he labored to adjust the oxygen tube that ran along his cheeks and over his ears.

             
“She took the contracts down to Peter.”

             
“I don’t know why she’d do that.  I’m not going to be able to travel for a while.  We have to stay near the treatment center until things get better.”

             
“I know, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared when you‘re ready to promote the new book.  Do you feel like writing today?  Do you want me to bring you the laptop?” she asked, walking back into the room with sandwiches and sodas.

             
“No.”

             
“Lunch?”

             
“Not right now.”

             
She set the plate down on the coffee table and kneeled by his side.  “What can I do for you, Max?”

             
He smiled and imagined that his lips looked like Doris’ when she had her stroke -- thin and crispy.  He knew his face was pale, his eyes set deep into dark circles.  Most of all, Max was tired.  Very tired.  “There is only one thing I have ever wanted you to do for me.”

             
“What is that, darling?”  She combed his downy hair with her fingers, pulled a pale blue stocking cap onto his head that Doris knitted and raised the comforter higher onto his shoulders.

             
“Play for me, Reekie.”

             
She smiled and kissed his blue-gray lips.  “All right.”  Erika walked across the room and sat at the piano.  “Any requests.”

             
“You know.”

             
“How about Rachmaninoff? 
Concerto #2
... maybe?” she asked, certain of the answer.  Max nodded.

Beginning with the D flat
major, the most romantic of all notes, the music slowly flooded the room with warmth and color.  Max turned his face toward the windows where the light grew so bright it hurt his eyes.  More troubling, though, was that the brightness obscured his view of her, his love, at the keyboard.  He watched as the glare haloed, and then swallowed her form.  The music washed over him like shallow waves, and pulled him into deeper water.

              They stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a garden of granite and polished black marble.  The stones flowed away in all directions like ocean waves, as far as they could see.

             
“I was surprised he’d want to be here,” Doris said.

             
“He loved New York.  Now, he’s a part of it forever.” Erika told her.

             
“His mother and father are in Cottonwood, is all.”

             
“It’s so unreal.  People like Max don’t die.” Marcie said.

             
“He’s not dead.  His words touched millions.  He’ll live on for generations through his wonderful stories,” Mel said.

             
“It’s like losing Nathan all over again,” Doris said.

             
“Some people are forces of nature … more real than real,” Mel said.

             
“The most deeply sensitive man I ever knew,” Marcie told them.

             
A gathering of Max’s friends surrounded the four women.  Peter and three staffers from his office were on one side.  Next to them was Jamaal with a tall, exotic woman leaning against him.  Caroline was also there.  Over her shoulder, noticeably apart from everyone, was the man who brought her to the funeral.  He had a goatee and dark glasses.  A few others, accountants and personal physicians, stood behind them.

             
“Good job of keeping the press and fans away, Peter,” Marcie said.

             
“No small task, love,” he told her.  “Just have to be sneaky.  This is what the man wanted.  No one expected he’d be buried here, in obscurity.  Nice touch.  Always thinking, weren’t you, Max?”

             
People began to turn and walk away.

             
“Goodbye, Max,” Erika heard Caroline whisper before she took the arm of the man behind her and walked toward the parked cars.

             
“Take care, buddy,” Peter said, and then led the office entourage toward the cars.

             
Jamaal stepped closer.  “My Main Man Max.  God bless you, Mr. P.,” he said, and then turned away.

             
The women were alone.  Each was waiting for the other to speak.  No one was anxious to leave.  The moment seemed too inglorious, unfitting for the man for whom they’d all come to say goodbye.  Surely, they each thought, there was a better, more definitive, way to bring Max’s tribute to an end.

             
“Max was good to me.  I miss him,” Marcie said, finally.

             
“We all miss him, dear,” Doris told her.  “He was an intense young man … a dreamer.  He had his father’s strength … his mother’s kindness … the best of both of them.”

             
“And a talent all his own,” Erika said.             

“Life confused him, but he stayed open to possibilities.  A terrible fisherman,” Mel said, and they all laughed.

              “Gifted … passionate … giving.  I was blessed by his love.  The only person who ever believed in me, or understood me,” Erika confessed.

             
Doris broke the silence.  “His agent sure cried a lot.”

             
“Figures,” Marcie said, and they laughed again.

             
Mel took Doris’ arm and turned toward the parking lot.  Marcia followed shortly after.  Erika was the last to turn away.  “Do you have to leave?” called out to Doris and Mel.

             
“Need to get back to business,” Mel said.  “Max’d be pissed if he knew he’d interrupted the new project.”

             
“And I don’t travel well.  Nice to have Melody to help me make all those airport connections,” Doris said.  “Besides, we have that long drive from El Paso tonight and I don’t see so well after dark anymore.”

             
Mel squeezed her arm.  “I got ya, Doris.”

Before getting into the car, Doris hugged Marcie.  “It was nice meeting you, dear.  You were so important to my son.”  She touched Erika’s face.  “And you were the love of his life,
his entire life, and the inspiration for his writing.  Take care of yourself.  Come home soon.”

              Marcie and Erika walked into Max’s apartment and draped their suit jackets side-by-side over the back of the love seat.  Erika walked to the windows and Marcie passed through into the office. 
It could not be a sunnier day, Max.  The Park will be crowded.  I’ll walk for both of us today.

             
“It was nice,” Marcie called from the adjoining room.  “Don’t you think?”

             
“Yes.  Perfect.  Just the way he wanted, with his close friends and business associates.”

             
“A shame we had to take Doris directly to the airport.  I like her.  Max hated big crowds, you know?” 

Erika turned a moment later to see Marcie standin
g next to Max’s wing chair.  The young woman ran her fingertips over the leather and closed her eyes.  Marcie’s lips parted and Erika thought she was going to say something, but was having trouble finding the words to begin.

             
“There were so many wonderful words said about Max in the media,” Erika said, turning back toward the windows.

             
“Yeah, Peter’s office did a hell of a job.  The press releases were fantastic.”  She walked up behind Erika.  “Are you going to be okay?”

             
“Are you kidding?  Max made sure of that.”

             
“That’s not what I mean, Erika.”

             
“I survived when he left me once before, Marcie.  I’ll find a way to survive again.  I don’t intend to leave New York anytime soon, if ever, so I can discover Max all over again, as I come to know his beloved City.  I’m sure I’ll find him in a lot of places.”  Erika suddenly had an idea.  She turned to face the younger woman.  “Marcie, why don’t you move in here with me?  You’ll never have to pay rent ever again.  We’ll be two women brought together by mutual love for one man.”

“Thanks.  That’s generous of you to offer, but I’ll pass.”

“What will you do?”

“To start, Max was kind to me as well.  So, I don’t have to go to work for a while, but I will anyway.  He gave me glowing references, you know?  I’ll get another job.  Might go to work for Peter’s firm, or for someone else in his stable of writers … maybe a female this time.”

“Regardless, you could still live here with me.”

“Erika, I have a good life with Pauley.  This place is yours and Max’s.  I’d only be in the way.  Max had a big ego that needed lots of room?” She smiled and picked up h
er coat, draped it over her arms, then walked slowly to stand in front of the windows, as if she was seeing the view for the last time.

Erika could hear the ticking of the hall clock and the muffled sound of traffic far below the
shuttered balcony doors.  She wondered if Marcie was crying, but decided that it wasn’t in her character to be openly emotional.  “Please stay in touch.”

“Sure.  We’ll do lunch sometime.  It’ll be fun.”  Marcie
turned and handed Erika a thick envelope she had beneath her coat.

“What’s this?’

“Something Max asked me to give you when this day came.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t know.  He didn’t tell me.  Not my business.  I was flattered that Max would trust me one more time to take care of things for him.”

“He’s already left me so much.  I can’t imagine...” she said, taking the envelope.  She
was trembling so much that she had to use both hands to hold it.

Marcie walked to the elevator.  “Be good, Erika.  Call if you need anything.”  She stepped in when the doors opened and turned to face Erika. 

Have you ever noticed how frightening elevators can be?  Creating an invisible void between people …on either side of the open doors-- waiting for the scissors to close … cutting an unseen ribbon.  The tension can be almost unbearable. 
Erika smiled at her.

Marcie finger waved goodbye, and Erika was sure that – even though Marcie’s expression never changed – she saw tears escape from under her oversized glasses as the doors closed between them.

She paused a moment, allowing herself to imagine that the doors might open and Marcie would walk through them and announce that she was staying.  But, she knew that was not going to happen.  She walked back into the room and sat in the chair facing the windows, and the Park below.  She rested the heavy envelope in her lap.  When Erika finally opened it, she found a manuscript and a letter.

My dearest E:

If you are reading this, then my final moments with you have come and gone – with the exception of these pages.  If I were fortunate to choose the setting, then my eyes would have been on you – while you were playing the piano.  Is that the way it was?

If I was watching you play when I passed, then know that I died a very happy man.  Without question, my love, the past few months have been the best of my life.  I only regret that you had to witness this disease break my body and steal my mind.  I was not strong enough to push you away when my health declined so rapidly.  Please don’t remember me that way.

You have given me more than you will ever realize.  Most recently, I was strengthened by your laughter on dark days and by your love on even darker nights.  Oh yeah, we had some incredibly good sex, too, didn’t we?

But most of all, I cherished your love.  You expressed it best through your divine gift of music.  Regardless of time and distance, you were never very far from me, ever since the first moment I saw that incredibly gorgeous young woman with the beautiful curls, seated at the piano in the school auditorium.  I wrote a silly poem that says it best.

Your music was my inspiration, moved my hand to tell the story

             
              Sustained me on the darkest nights, and strengthened me for glory

             
For me, there were no moments that I felt the same of others

             
We were before, will always be, the world’s most perfect lovers.

So much you’ve given me that sustained me for most of my life, that I have a final gift for you – my last novel.  You inspired more of my writing than you will ever realize. 
Hell, you inspired it all.