A New York Romance (19 page)

“Where were you? You’re seven minutes late,” Mel muttered, as if his entire day was already ruined by her tardiness.

“Sorry, I followed someone I thought I knew, but it wasn’t him,” she responded.

“You can chase boys on your own time. I got a room full of damn customers who want to be waited on,” he said, as if the customers were a bother to him also. But in New York City, there were always new faces and the tourists were fascinated with the grumpiness of the native New Yorker.

Julie said nothing. She fastened her apron and started waiting on the damn customers.

As Julie was starting her shift, Charlie was eating breakfast in the new, fancier hotel room he had chosen for its location, close to Mr. Costea’s work. Charlie was not used to such luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung down, reflecting the light from the enormous lobby windows in a prism of dancing colors. Leather couches littered the leisure room along with coffee tables lined with coasters, bookshelves filled with reading material, and a few racks filled with the morning’s newspapers and current magazines. He was surprised that he did not notice these things when he checked in last night.

The hotel provided a breakfast buffet for all its guests, for a reasonable price of $6.99, which was very cheap in the city. But more interesting than the décor or the buffet, Charlie noticed the people, especially the lovers.

Love was just a word that meant different things for different people. Some love was about lust and adventure, like the young couple sitting on the same side of the booth, sneaking away to the hotel room after breakfast. Some love was about commitment, sticking together because of time and a vow, although the romance had died long ago. Other love was not love at all, but a simple attempt to avoid loneliness, knowing they would miss each other if the other were gone. Charlie felt what was in their hearts, and love poured out of his heart, rushing out like beams of the sun to fall upon all that crossed his path. But when he looked inward, he felt an empty space. The empty seat next to him seemed more apparent, transforming his aloneness into something tragic, reminding him of what could be, and what is not. Images of the sandy-blonde girl continued to creep into his thoughts.

As he ate breakfast, he looked across the street at the office building he intended to enter. He noted the same doorman who had been ordered to keep him out, and the number of men who walked in, dressed in fine, expensive suits. After finishing his breakfast he went shopping, purchasing an expensive black suit, complete with shoes, socks, a shirt, tie, and matching handkerchief. And toothpaste.

He returned to the room, which had already been cleaned. The bed was neat, the floor had been swept, the brochures were neatly stacked on the nightstand again, and new towels and soap had been laid out. He thought again how everything appeared so perfect, yet the room felt so empty. He showered, brushed his teeth, and put on the expensive suit. He looked in the mirror at himself, noticing the neatness and emptiness of the room behind him again.

He walked out the door.

Charlie dodged the taxis as he crossed the street. He smiled at the doorman and entered the building as if he had done business there a hundred times before. About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Costea returned to his office with the newspaper in his hand. He didn’t notice Charlie sitting in one of the client chairs until he sat down. “Ah…who are you?” he asked.

“It’s me. Your old friend, Charlie. You forgot?”

“Charlie?” Mr. Costea repeated. Suddenly he noticed the stranger didn’t have his shoes on. He looked at the edge of the doorway to find the polished dress shoes there, and then turned to look at his face more clearly. “It’s been a long time, Charlie Daniels. You look different today, all dressed up. Did you start working here?”

“I never really quit, just took a break to take care of a few other things that needed tidying up,” he responded.

“Where’s my coffee?” he grinned. “I thought I banned you from this building.”

Charlie smiled at him, grinning with a confidence that said he had come to get what he wanted and he would not leave until he got it.

“You are very persistent. I like that,” the equally sharp dressed adversary replied. “What can I do for you today?”

“I want my apology for all the things I mentioned before, about the day we met on the street, and now for throwing me out and the look of victory you gave me from the window, for your gluttony, your rudeness, and your persistent will to get the best of everyone in every situation. I want an apology for you being rude to not only me, but to everyone you meet who can’t do you a favor. For the waitress at Joe’s Place, your secretary, and for all the things you have done wrong that went unnoticed.”

“Why would I apologize to you for what I did to other people? Are you a god that can forgive me?”

His sarcastic tone was mixed with laughter.

“What you do to them you do to me, to your wife, your sons, and yourself. Your time of redemption is at hand, Mr. Costea. I want an apology for how rude you are to taxi drivers and how inconsiderate you are to the many creatures upon the Earth. I want an apology for every spider you’ve harmed and mosquito you’ve smashed. For all the meals you’ve eaten without appreciation, for all the kindness that has come your way that you were not thankful for. And I won’t stop coming after you until I get it.”

“Who do you think you are to talk to me this way?” he grumbled.

Charlie stood up with a devilish grin upon his face and a rage in his eyes, “I am but a mirror, reflecting the tainted parts of your soul back to you. Give me the apology now.”

“No!” he screamed, as he shoved the papers off his desk and stood up. “I have nothing to apologize for. I have what I have today because of how hard I worked!” the picture of his wife fell to the ground, cracking the glass across her face.

Security suddenly burst through the door. Mr. Costea wanted to tell them to leave Mr. Daniels alone. He couldn’t explain it. He felt hate for his adversary, but he felt drawn to the challenge, to get the best of Charlie Daniels on his own, without the help of security. But he said nothing.

“Such fruitless wealth. You have nothing if you do not know true love,” Charlie said calmly, as he was harshly apprehended. “You have what you have because of how hard you worked. But you have lost what you lost because of how much you have neglected this most precious thing.”

“We apologize, Mr. Costea,” the head security guard said. “We don’t know how he got in. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Charlies words hit him hard, like the first swing of his iron sword striking flesh.

“Alert the doorman he’s back!” Mr. Costea shouted. It was the only defense he had at the moment. Charlie’s words had weakened him.

“Yes, Mr. Costea,” security replied.

“I’ll be back in a week, and we will settle this once and for all,” Charlie said, as he was dragged out the door. After security roughed him up, they gave him his last warning to never enter the building again.

Charlie, in all his silence, wished them love. The aches, pains, and bruises they gave him would heal quickly, but their aggressive hearts would perhaps take centuries to heal.

Charlie gathered up his shoes and put them on his feet. He walked the streets slowly, returning every bit of his mind toward love and the feeling of it radiating out of his heart to everyone.

As Julie left work that evening, the violin player was nowhere to be found. She noticed a juicy piece of ham on top of the garbage before she left, but she was too afraid to take it, for fear of running into him again. The cats seemed to be gone anyway, perhaps finding a feast elsewhere. The other item she looked out for on the way home was a brown corduroy jacket. Even without the jacket, anyone who slightly resembled Charlie in any way sent a rush through her body. At first glance even their faces appeared as him, but when she focused to see they were not, a wave of disappointment swept the excitement away.

When she arrived home, her mother was sitting on the couch.

“Hi, how was work?”

“Fine,” she glanced at her. Her nerves were shaken. She felt a lump in her throat. She faced the floor again and walked past her without another word.

“Juliet, please come sit down.”

She stopped in the hallway, turned herself around, and reluctantly dragged her feet across the floor to sit next to her mother on the couch.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Juliet, you cannot keep it inside you. If you keep it inside, you can never really let it go,” her mother said, as if she had been there.

Julie sat still for a moment. She thought of Beethoven releasing all his anger and rage, beauty and joy in that one symphony. She remembered how she felt the Master’s emotions rush from the instruments through every ounce of her being. Her nerves were like naked wires, feeling what he felt when he wrote it, as the musicians played out his drama for the world to hear almost 200 years later.

That is the beauty of art. It gives the artist the opportunity to let it all go, to reflect the inner world beyond words into the outer world,
she recalled the author Addison Kane say in an article.
A good actress always becomes one with the character, expressing their inner world through the character. If not for the arts, you’ll just end up sitting in a psychologist’s office, expressing your inner world to a quack.

Julie made no use of such talents thus far. She felt a rage of mixed emotions boiling inside her. Before she opened her lips her mother said, “It is better to speak from the heart even when you know it might cause it to break,” she encouraged her. “If you have something you need to get off your chest, please do…” her mother paused, waiting for her daughter to tell her how much she disappointed her by leaving. Then she recognized the look in her daughter’s eyes, not because she knew her daughter well, but because she knew women well. It was the look all women got when they were broken hearted over a man they cared deeply about.

“Tell me, what’s wrong?”

Julie thought of Charlie and felt a great sadness, but instead she turned her anger toward her mother.

“Why are you trying to act like a mother to me now? You just expect everything to be fine. You want to know what I feel? You can’t know what I feel. Maybe if I just walk out on you and hurt you as much as you hurt me, then you’ll know how I feel. Everybody just leaves me!” she began to cry uncontrollably, ran down the hall, and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

Her mother slowly opened the door, walked quietly inside, ready to face her past mistakes no matter what. She sat on the bed next to her, “Who is he?”

Julie squeezed her eyelids tight and wiped the tears away.

“How’d you know?” she asked. She had never put much weight on her mother not being there until her father died, which ignited more sadness and grief as she was left alone in the world. Now the loss of Charlie was breaking her heart all the way through.

“It’s a mother’s instinct. I’ve been gone a long time, but I never stopped loving you. I know I have not been there for you in the past, but I’m here for you now.”

Julie resisted the urge to scream at her again.

“His name is Charlie. I met him on the bus when I first came to New York. We stayed together for a long time but we were not romantically involved. He was very strange, unlike anyone I met before. I knew he liked me from the start, but he was always a gentleman. He was kind to me like…like my dad,” she said, afraid to really mention the
D
word in front of her mother. She knew the pain her mother had caused him. “He’s very kind, even to big, ugly spiders,” she said with a smile that lightened the mood between them. “I left him for a while but found him again. This time I fell in love with him. I knew he still cared about me, but he rejected me. I don’t know why. Maybe I hurt him, or he’s afraid I
will
hurt him. Maybe we’re not right for each other, but I wanted to give it a chance. I feel like there is still a chance.”

“Have you talked to him lately?”

“No, I don’t know where he is. I thought I saw him on the street today but it wasn’t him. I think he left the city. In fact, I’m certain of it. But I still feel as if he’s here. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

“Sometimes love is right there in front of our eyes but we don’t see it until it is too late.” Julie knew her mother was talking about herself, but it reflected on her too. Jill placed her hand on her daughter’s hand. “And sometimes it is right in front of us but we don’t see it until we’re ready to,” she added, as if taking the words out of Charlie’s mouth again. “Don’t give up if you still believe there’s a chance.”

Jill knew there was nothing she could say to make it better. No ice cream cone could ease this pain. That was one of the last memories she had of her daughter. Julie had scrapped her knee and it was made all better by the flavor of a black raspberry ice cream cone from Laura’s Ice Cream Shop. They sat on the bench. Jill enjoyed a pumpkin flavored ice cream cone while they tried to count the late October leaves falling from a nearby maple tree. Now all the sudden, Julie’s pain was all grown up and could not be healed easily. She realized in an instant—as if time stood still and slapped her in the face—how much of her daughter’s life she had missed. She wasn’t there for her throughout all the other bumps and bruises. She was not there to comfort her through the toothaches, through the changes into womanhood, and now through the heartaches. She suddenly felt grateful that her daughter just might be willing to give her a second chance, but she understood if she wanted to walk away. She had survived all this time without a mother, and she could continue to do so for the rest of her life.

Julie simply wondered how the feeling of everything becoming brighter in her life, suddenly felt so dark.