Wait for Me (34 page)

“Sophie, please, just a week, until Fred comes home.”

“What are you worried about? That he's really going to come looking for me?”

He nodded.

“I'm telling you, he won't – not before he's resolved his issues.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I'm more than sure. I know him.”

His pager beeped. “As you wish, but spend tonight here. There's a spare bed here for the hospital attendants. Come on, I'll show you.”

Between my racing thoughts and the nauseating odors of the hospital, it took a long time to fall asleep. Mark woke me at 7 a.m.. We bought coffee and muffins then walked out into Central Park.

“Are you sure about going home so soon? I talked to Brenda and she's happy for you to stay with us.”

I took out my cell phone and showed him that I hadn't received any calls or messages.

“He won't look for me this time,” I said.

Mark shook his head. “Come on… explain to me the relationship dynamic between the dominator and the submissive.”

“It's like any other, but ours isn't a relationship now,” I said curtly.

“Yeah… right—” he mumbled. He noticed that I was hurt by this and apologized.

“It's… a mutual trust thing… a profoundly strong bond. But I don't think it's always like that. The act is really just a game. He leads – he chooses the method and the woman passively receives.”

“Isn't that humiliating?”

“Only if you don't play the game – you have to believe in whoever dominates.”

“Not even the whipping? Sophie, I was there that night, and that was humiliating.”

I looked down into the coffee. “Not for me. Those marks, I know you'll say I didn't deserve them, but they have another meaning. They're an expression of—”

“An expression of what? It's just a perversion, Sophie.”

“Adam's feelings,” I murmured.

“Sophie, that's absurd, it's just violence.”

“No, it isn't.”

“Bullshit, Sophie. You express your feelings with your mind and with your heart – by simply looking into a person's eyes.”

I looked at him, curiously surprised by that romantic sentiment.

“I just don't get it, was he the first?” he asked.

I snorted. “Mark, what's with all the questions?”

“I'm just stunned. Ever since I came back to New York I've been noticing this subterranean world… did you know there are venues that specialize in this sort of thing?”

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered with a bitter laugh. “But anyway, he was the first. Although, for whatever reason, I think all the previous guys sort of led me here.”

“I'm a magnet for them, Mark,” I added.

He smiled and ruffled my hair. “A magnet,” he laughed. “You do talk a lot of bullshit, don't you?”

“No but seriously, all men dominate to some degree – purely for the reason that you give and we receive. It's a case of a human anatomy. Even you, Mark, don't tell me you don't enjoy seeing a woman receive you?”

He glanced around, emitting something between confidence and bewilderment.

“You've never thought about tying up a woman and all she has to do is take you? Having her body fixed in your arms and her only task is to enjoy it.”

“Sophie, we'd better change topic,” he said, gulping the rest of his coffee down.

“Yeah, maybe.”

I took a bite of the chocolate muffin and smiled.

“I'm sorry Sophie, but the whip? Extreme sex, fair enough, but really – whipping? You're too beautiful to let someone defile your body like that,” and stroked my hair. “Too sweet to besmirch with violence.”

“That's no consolation.”

After we finished our breakfast, we settled on a bench beside the playground to continue chatting.

“Don't you have to be getting home?” I asked.

“No, Brenda and I are separating so the less I'm at home the better,” he said.

“And you wanted me to come and enjoy the cheerful atmosphere?”

He smiled. “It's not so bad. It's mutual and amicable.”

“Still, I'm sorry,” I said.

“I'm not.”

“Is that why you're asking me about bondage? Are you looking for an extreme rebound?” I joked, and touched his chin. “You want some lessons?”

“Don't be a tease Sophie – you're my best friend's sister,” he said, giving me a hug.

“That didn't stop you last time.”

His expression suddenly became serious and wistful. “Forgive me Sophie. I don't know what came over me that day. You were so cute. You'd started becoming a woman and I was a total jerk.”

“I liked it,” I shrugged.

We sat quietly, watching the city unfold before us. As one chapter ended, another would resume the story, and so on for eternity. Life continues, always.

Fortunately, working with Sally kept me from my thoughts of him. As I predicted, he made no attempt to contact me. I tried to call him on one occasion, and between sobbing I asked if we could see one another again. His answer was a resounding ‘no'. He told me he had left my belongings at the parking lot and suggested that I do not call again. He reiterated the fact that he did not love me any more, and once again I felt that void in the pit of my stomach.

When Fred returned from his honeymoon, he rushed over to see me. He had already asked Adam for an explanation, who simply told him that we were not compatible and it was over. It broke my heart to hear this. He was smoothly sailing on, as though nothing had happened.

I read an article in the newspaper about the opening of a new exhibition at
MOMA
, sponsored by Adam's company. He was in the photo, smiling beside the curator.

Between the enduring ebb and flow of tears and the constant efforts to repress my sadness, four weeks had passed. The emptiness was slowly beginning to subside. Or rather, new habits were filling the space. Perhaps survival really was my gift; everything in my life could crumble to ruins, but I would always recuperate.

So, regardless of my erratic mood swings, I kept breathing, until the day I woke up with the most overwhelming nausea. I was on my way to the gallery in time for the opening, crossing the city with a lingering sickness and cursing Sabrina's dubious curry from the night before. I paid a few invoices at work and then, as I was commending an intricate Chinese vase to a visitor, the wave of nausea became a tide. I left the vase in Sally's hands and dived into the bathroom to vomit.

“Sophie, are you okay?” she asked outside the door.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me – I had curry last night.”

Between throwing up, I tried to do some calculations. When was my last injection? I had no idea. We had broken and made up enough times for me to lose track. Let me think… when did we get back together? August. And before that? May. Holy shit, I thought. Holy fucking shit. I didn't have the words to convey the panic that I felt in that moment. I vomited again. Emerging from the toilet bowl, I found Sally behind me with a towel in her hand and a loving smile on her face.

“Sophie,” she said quietly. “Is it what I think it is?”

“I don't know,” I climbed onto the seat, sweaty and faint.

“I'll run to the pharmacy, honey, you stay here.”

I caught my reflection in the Rococo mirror. I looked so small and afraid, more than ever before. No, it couldn't be, not now, not me. What kind of child could emerge from this chaos? The first cry would be an objection to this troubled world.

Sally returned with four boxes, all different brands.

“There you go. I didn't know which was best, so do them all and we'll see.”

My mind was paralyzed. I closed the door, followed the instructions, laid all four strips on the floor, and waited.

After the one-minute wait, all four told me the same thing – positive.

“Well?” asked Sally as I returned to my desk.

“Pregnant—” I replied.

“Oh honey, that's wonderful!”

That was debatable, but I preferred not to tell her that.

“You have to tell Adam right away,” she exclaimed.

I had also neglected to mention the break up, largely out of respect for her husband's recent death.

“Go on, go and tell him.” She grabbed my jacket and my bag and ushered me to the exit. “I'll take care of everything here, go on – go!”

I walked aimlessly for a while. How long had I been pregnant? I lifted my shirt and peeked at my stomach. It was flat and inconspicuous. I thought about everything Mark had said. I took a bus, waited until the last stop and set off walking again. I had no idea what to do. I stopped in a café and spent a good hour staring into my cup. I analyzed every angle of every option, and all of them pointed me in the same direction – an abortion. I could not afford to raise a child alone, and the other alternative would keep me tied to Adam. Not just Adam either, but his ghosts too. My life would be a living hell. At the same time, I wondered whether this could be the miracle cure; the thing that would set him free. After hours of reflection, it seemed only right to tell him. I would get his reaction and decide from there. I arrived before his office building and leaned over the trash can, retching. ‘You're not helping', I thought, putting a hand on my stomach. I crossed the lobby and asked the receptionist if I could see Adam Scott. The lady took my name, made a call and then hung up. Thirty seconds later she received authorization that I could proceed to the thirtieth floor.

Armed with my visitor's pass, I took the elevator. Enclosed within that cage, I stared at the buttons illuminating in succession. As I ascended higher, so did my nausea. When the doors opened, another bout of retching hit me. I asked a second receptionist whether there was a bathroom close by. She pointed me to a door on the right and I genuinely sprinted.

This time, I wasn't sure whether it was pregnancy or the imminent meeting with the man I was still in love with. As I tried to compose myself, somebody entered the bathroom and I froze, in silence.

“So?” asked a woman's voice. “How did it go?”

“That man is a sex machine,” replied a second voice.

“I knew it,” said the first voice. “Where did you go?”

“Out to dinner – that new restaurant uptown.”

“Oh very nice, the food is excellent, my husband and I went there.”

“Yeah, he doesn't say a whole lot but he was nice. It was kind of awkward at first. It's not easy to relax around him. We talked a bit about art and at the end of dinner he told me, pretty directly, that he wanted to sleep with me. But he also made it clear that it would be ‘one time only'.”

“Yeah?”

“One time and never again, he said.”

“Was it good though?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, unbelievable.”

I heard them giggling. It could not have been more obvious who they were talking about.

“Hey but wasn't he seeing someone? Some girl in an antiques gallery?”

“Yeah, they're not together any more.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I did ask him but he was really vague. I don't think he wanted to talk about it. Anyway, who gives a damn, he's never been very forthcoming about that kind of thing and he's single now. Apparently he's been working his way through the building for the last month—”

More giggling. Of course he is, I thought. Fucking his problems away.

“My god he knows what he's doing though. I didn't get home until five.”

“Wow.”

“I think an admin girl from the third floor is out with him tonight.”

“Lucky her.”

I heard somebody else enter the bathroom and the two women left. I waited a few minutes before I followed them. I was a wreck – covered in sweat and so pale that I barely resembled myself. I splashed my face with water, tried to compose myself again, and stared hard at my reflection.

What are you doing Sophie? What are you expecting? What are you even going to say to him? He clearly explained how much pain you bring him; that your mere presence is unbearable. If you tell him that you're pregnant, he might assume that you did it on purpose to trap him. Or worse, given his fucking paranoia, he might assume that it isn't really his. Do you honestly want to drag him deeper into his nightmares? Or would it help him? Maybe it would put an end to this diabolical madness? Maybe… at that moment a woman entered and pulled me back to reality.

I left the bathroom and crept back towards the reception desk. I felt suspended. My legs were moving weightlessly. Elegant, fashionable feminine employees paraded around the office. I watched them, wondering how many he had already fucked. It was a discouraging thought.

With my head down, I skulked past the desk and pressed the button for the elevator. I waited.

“Sophie Lether?” asked the girl.

I turned to look at her.

“Are you Sophie Lether? Adam Scott is waiting for you,” and pointed towards a large lobby on her right.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adam at a distance. He had his back to me, staring out of the window with his hands in his pockets.

“No, not me,” I smiled. “I'm on the wrong floor. Excuse me for using your facilities.”

“No problem,” she said with a passive expression, and resumed her work.

I looked at Adam one last time and thought to myself: if it's meant to be, then you will turn before the elevator arrives. This is it, I thought, this is the sliding door. The button flashed and fate landed.

I returned the visitor's pass at the ground floor reception and left the building feeling much calmer – unburdened, somehow. It was better that I had not seen him. I looked up at the regenerative blue sky that covered New York. Where to now? Only one place came to mind.