A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money (11 page)

“Even if she marries a rich man?”

“Do you really expect her to marry a poor one? By the way, Elisa, I am glad you agreed to come. Tonight you saw a perfect example of what a beautiful lady must not be under any circumstances.”

“She’d never be like that.”

“I don’t think so either,” Elisa agreed. “She is such an impeccable hypocrite she must have practiced the art her whole life. And I always hated hypocrisy.”

“Does she play an instrument, by the way?” asked Mrs. Charlester.

“Do nerves count?”

“All the worse. To have such fingers and not play is a crime.”

“I think she never had time for music. She read a lot when she was little, and then she spent most of her time in relationships. You know what just occurred to me? What if she actually took me for an average guy this whole time?”

“Your dessert!” The waiter’s voice almost made him twitch, but the sight of the cup restored all his composure. It was a true masterpiece with an ingeniously curved handle and exquisite engravings around the bottom, and it was as white as he hoped. “Are you satisfied, sir?”

“Quite,” he said, running his index finger over the golden rim at the cup’s top. The clean and high pitch that ensued dissolved his last doubts. “My good man, tell me: where can I find a piano in this hospitable house of yours?”

“Unfortunately we don’t have it anymore. A couple of years ago the owner decided to remove the instrument to increase the number of tables.”

“And, if I may ask, how many of those were crammed in here as a result?”

“Two.”

“Do you know what happened to it? To the piano, I mean?”

“I am not sure, sir, but if I had to guess I’d suppose it was sold.”

“Really, what else do you do with a piano!” he exclaimed jokingly. “Sorry for asking.”

“What are you talking about,” he heard behind his shoulder.

“Pianos.”

“I haven’t seen one yet. Nice cup,” Eleanor said, taking her seat.

“I’m glad you like it. My good man, you can bring the bill, but I would like you to include in it the price of this cup as well.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“I want to keep it. It’s so beautiful I fell in love with it. Tell them I broke it,” he said in a confidential whisper. “And charge thrice the price, so that no one would suspect anything.”

“As you wish.” The waiter hurried away.

“Eleanor, are you sure you don’t want to try this wonder?” Mrs.
Charlester pointed at her chocolate cake with the silver spoon. “I got two just in case you’d change your mind.”

“Thank you, Ella, but I can’t.” Eleanor looked ruined as she uttered these words. “Aren’t you afraid to eat chocolate before going to sleep?”

“No.” Mrs. Charlester shook her head.

“I’m so jealous! I wish I could be as slim at your age.”

Mrs. Charlester prepared another impressive piece.

“Quite frankly, I don’t see you having any weight problems.”

“You must have done a lot of sport in your youth.”

“Only ballet, if you consider it one. I always loved being outside, though. Sometimes Elisa and I leave the house in the morning and walk all day long. She even tried to teach me roller-skating, but I can’t do it. I keep thinking it’s for children.”

“I used to love roller-skating when I was a kid,” Eleanor said. “Now I don’t have time for it.”

“Too much work?” he wondered casually, taking another sip. The tea has cooled down to the point when it was no longer scalding but still remained hot, a perfect state for leisure
savouring.

“Yes. Sometimes I have so much work I don’t get out even on weekends.”

“The price we pay for the dreams of our childhood. But it can seem exorbitant only if we grew disappointed in them,
nicht wahr
?”

“By the way, Richard, what did you want to become?” Eleanor said. “I mean, after you realized the speed of light was unbeatable?”

“Who said I ever realized that?” He put his cup down. “You won’t believe.”

“Try me. Just don’t make me guess, all right?”

“You already did. In your study, when I picked
Quijote
. No memory, right?” he said, catching her puzzled look. “You offered me the third cup of tea, I asked you to take me to your library…”

“Yes, I remember: philology on the Internet.” Suddenly her face fell. “Wait, did you really want to be a professor?”

He dived into the azure of her eyes, not saying a word.

“What a life have you had!” she said almost enviously after a pause.

“An ironic one. And painfully so, too. Why?”

“To me it seems wonderful. Knowledge, money, power, poignancy: there are people who’d kill just for one of these things, and you’ve had them all.”

“You’re missing something,” he said. “Love.”

“But you did love, that’s what you keep telling me ever since I met you.”

“Loving and not being loved back isn’t even ironic,” he said pensively, a grimace of resentment flashing over his face.

“You have been lucky in everything else. What if this is
your
price?”

He looked at the black leather book the waiter had just put in front of him and felt profound hatred, as if someone flicked a switch in his head. It was on the surface this whole time, all these years he was asking himself why he lived his life, entirely indifferent to everything that made up the worlds of others. The shackles of existence; the disgusting feeling of being betrayed that struck him every time he woke up and persisted until he’d fall back asleep; the spite he felt when momentarily enjoying some trifle of the physicality, scorning himself for what felt to him like stealing… all this burst in him at once, blood rushing to his face and throbbing in every vessel of his head. It was done to him once again, in the very same way he could not stand for its mocking, derogatory arbitrariness; he did not care who or what was standing behind this rule that generously gave him everything except for what he wanted. He simply wished to channel the unbearable pressure inside into his last battle, a battle he was destined to lose just like any other he had, but the one that would finally disqualify his essence from the slavery of existence and let him dissolve in oblivion, the only thing he desired more than Eleanor’s love.

“Richard?” He heard her voice in the distance. “Are you all right?”

Still silent, he looked at the bill, reached for his wallet and stuck a batch of banknotes into the leather book. Then he leaned on the back of the chair, stretching himself as if he had just woken up, and said:

“Are you all ready to go?”

“Give me a minute,” said Mrs.
Charlester, standing up. “Please don’t leave before I return.”

“I’ll join you,” said Elisa.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said when his mother and sister disappeared.

“But your mother...”

“That’s precisely what makes me think we should go. Don’t worry, she won’t be heartbroken,” he added, rising to his feet and extracting the valises from under the table. “Don’t forget the cup.”

He waited for Eleanor to her lips with a serviette and led her to the entrance. There were surprisingly many visitors in the house, but at this late hour they were about to leave. He looked
around, trying to spot something worth thinking about, but his eye didn’t catch anything. The brokers had agreed where to move the market, the producers had chosen the future stars, and even the loser actress seemed happy, let alone her macabre cavalier. The world had just arrived at another Sunday, and again, nobody noticed it, but at least no one distracted him from preparing to the last leg of his nine-year long journey.

“Did you enjoy the dinner?” he asked when they left the building and began walking toward the Cadillac.

“I absolutely did. You shouldn’t have tried to scare me. Your mother and sister are so sweet.”

“You haven’t seen my dad. He is the nicest man I know.”

“Is that what you call breeding?”

“Yes, that’s what I call breeding.
As opposed to sleeping around with random people.”

“I was talking about marriage.”

“And I am talking about the general principle. Making children is the closest we come to gods; too bad people don’t understand that every child is a universe capable of becoming anything. And what do we see? Wasted potential, and a continuation of the vicious circle that has been around since time immemorial: useless people making children that are doomed to suffer, grow into replicas of their parents and extrapolate their own acquired uselessness in time.”

“Would you prohibit people from procreating?”

“Most people. But not those who live life well and responsibly. The very diamonds we sifted from the pile.”

“But even perfect people can have imperfect children. Didn’t Plato write about it, too?”

“He was making a different point. As a matter of fact, even if my parents had ten other children, each of them would be a success. If you are noble-hearted, clever, beautiful and married to the same kind of person, the only thing that can negatively impact your progeny is random variance. That’s why when I hear about indecent children born to decent families I want to ask their parents what drugs they used to do in their youth.”

“So, you agree drugs are bad, and because of you many people will have defective children?”

“I never said drugs were good. But do you think all the cocaine I sold would have evaporated had I become a professor? The dirtier the business, the better soul should run it. Bad deeds will be done anyway, but the worthy man will minimize the damage.”

“A perfect excuse,” Eleanor said seriously, waiting for him to open the Cadillac’s door for her.”

“Do you remember Katherine?” he asked when the car took off. “The German girl who always wore black to emphasize her blond hair? Once we got into an argument in an ethics class, and those were the words she threw at me when I explained why celebrities have no moral right to complain about paparazzi.”

“I hope similarities between us end there?”

“Did you not like her? You two must have been in love with the same guy.”

“She always thought herself prettier than she was.”

“Well, she
was
attractive. If I didn’t know you, I would probably even fall for her.”

“You are disappointing me! I can’t think of anything in her that would be worth falling for.”

“What about her hair? You don’t see a color like that too often.”

“I’ll show you.
In the nearest supermarket.”

“Do you want to destroy my illusion? You’re cruel, you know that?”

“Did you really believe it was her natural color? It’s not even foolishness, it’s more like shortsightedness.”

“You made me believe beautiful women don’t paint their hair.”

“Beautiful – maybe, but she… Do you remember her nose, that ugly German potato? And her mouth?”

“Her nose
was
beak-like, true, but dear me, what heavenly inspiration illuminated her face whenever she thought she was right about something!”

“Are you sure you weren’t in love with her? I can forgive the color-blindness, but not the inspiration.”

“Bereft of your love, could I not seek a substitute?” he said jokingly.

“So, you cheated on me? And with whom! With a blond-painted burgher-girl! I am speechless. Are you even sure you came to the right place? Perhaps the million should have been sent to Germany? But then again, the euro’s worth more than the dollar, so you’d have to invest more.
Plus airfare… Richard, did you decide to save on your marriage?”

“No. There was only one doorbell I could ring with this kind of deal.”

“How come, did all the others stop working? Speaking of which: how about you finish the story you were telling me earlier?”

“What story?”

“About your relationship. The only one you ever had. For some reason I feel the doorbells worked fine there.”

“You’re damn right,” he said somberly. “Perhaps I even should have used it.”

“Please, treat me! I’m sure you know everything about my private life, but this will be the first time I’ll find out anything about yours!”

“Why do you think I know much about your private life?”

“Because I don’t believe in fortuitous coincidences. You came on the day my boyfriend was out of town, so you must have been spying on me.”

“I wasn’t. I just sent him away,” he said casually.

“What do you mean,
you sent him away
?”

“I paid someone to throw him an invitation he couldn’t refuse. By the way, did he tell you where he was going?”

“He said he went on a business trip.” Eleanor frowned.

“Oh, that’s not a business trip, I can assure you.” He smiled. “Grill him yourself, though: I don’t want to talk about that man.”

For a minute, Eleanor kept silence, staring in front of her perplexedly.