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New York, October 2000.
James’s enthusiasm had a lethal quality to it. He would get really, really excited about something and then focus all of his attention and adoration on it. For a while it was me and I felt loved and secure. Then he started to rescind his attention and affection bit by bit until I was left mourning the loss of it. So, even after we broke up, I agreed to meet him one last time. Also, we had tickets.
I hadn’t seen James since he moved out of my apartment two weeks before. We had bought the tickets six weeks before that. I asked him to meet me for dinner before the show. It would be easier to sit through the performance together. I could get over the shock of seeing him again and diffuse my hurt feelings. I liked to think that I could manage my emotions that way.
We agreed to meet at a diner across the street from Lincoln Center. I waited outside. He was late.
Then I spotted him ambling towards me from across Broadway. He saw me too. He smiled. His smile was apologetic. I felt terrible.
He used to beam at me every morning from across the pillows. It was the first thing I looked for every morning. It reassured me. Then one morning the sincerity started to drain from it, and every day after that his smile became more and more mechanical until he agreed to sleep out in the living room.
We sat down at a booth for two. I took a small breath.
“So what’s going on?” I asked.
Nader. He talked about Ralph Nader. He talked about nothing except Ralph Nader for several minutes straight. He had gone to a big rally for Nader at Madison Square Garden, and it really changed his life. And did I know this about Nader and his views on that? And what did I really know about the other candidates? Then he reached down to his backpack, which was sitting on the floor next to him.
He wanted to give me some campaign literature.
“No. Please. No, thanks,” I said. He beamed and gushed like an acolyte as he debated me, one-sidely, about the election. He reached down to his bag again.
“James. Stop it. I don’t want to talk about Ralph Nader. That’s not how I want to spend this time together. Please.”
We ordered and ate. We got to the theater, the Vivian Beaumont, just before the performance started. The house lights dimmed and a man in a tuxedo came out and sat down at a grand piano, on an otherwise empty stage. He began to pound out a lilting, lullaby of a melody. The orchestra, to the rear behind a scrim, began to play as well. As the music swelled, Patti LuPone swept grandly out onto the stage, deftly swinging her elaborate black satin gown behind her. She held a microphone in one hand and gestured out with the other, in a half embrace with the audience.
“Listen to me I have beautiful dreams I can spin you,
Dreams to linger within you.
Close your eyes and we’ll ride my carousel.”
The concert was called “Matters of the Heart” and this was the beginning of a two-hour program of love songs.
The opening was a melody and morphed into “Love Makes the World Go ‘Round.” I worried about the arm rest. My left elbow sat on one of them. I wanted to balance myself out by using the right one too, but James already had his elbow on it. I could have slid into the rear part of the rest, but not without touching him a little bit. Instead I pressed my elbows hard against my sides, down inside the seat. I was too big and tall to sit like that.
Several songs later, as Patti bellowed “I’m in love! I’m in love! I’m in love! I’m in love with a wonderful guy!” I started to fidget with my wrist watch, pulling at it and then undoing the clasp. I looked sideways over at James. He looked straight ahead. We used to go to the theater a lot. Without thinking I would start to play with my watch. He would take it from me, put it into his pocket, and then hold my hand for the rest of the show. I looked back at him, unnoticed, and then at my watch. An hour had passed. I opened my Playbill to the title page: “This show will be performed without an intermission.”
Patti was leaning against the grand piano. She walked toward the edge of the stage. She sang about “fingers that ache to intertwine.” I stretched out all ten fingers and then held my hands together in my lap. If at any moment he had taken my hand and held it I would have let him do that; even if he was only pretending, or doing it to make me feel better.
After the last encore, we walked out of the theater without talking, allowing the rest of the crowd to get out ahead of us. I stopped just outside the theater, next to the large reflecting pool.
“Good night, James.” I didn’t know where he was living but I wanted to let him go ahead without me.
He had already walked forward a few steps. He stopped and returned to where I stood.
“Okay,” he said. His eyes widened and he smiled. Then he took down the backpack he had slung on his shoulder. He started to open the zipper. “Are you sure I can’t…?”
“No. Really. I don’t want it. Please.”
He closed the bag and set it on the ground next to him.
“Good-bye,” he said. Then he took my hand and leaned in to give me a quick, firm kiss on the mouth. I tightened my fingers in his and then let go. |
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| November 27, 2004 |
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