Nights Like This (28 page)

“I am so happy to see you,” she finally said. “You were my strength. You were what made me go down there and tell Papi. And I filed for divorce. It was you, princess, that made me realize I couldn't live like that.”

I breathed. There wasn't enough air in New York to calm me. Her excitement made me want to run away with her to new adventures, new places and new realities.

“How did your father take it?” I asked without wanting to know the answer. The guilt that consumed me was like water, the weight overbearing as I tried to find the surface, the pressure unbearable.

She looked away from me as she spoke, resigned as if in a different place altogether.

“He said ‘You are all I have, Vanessa.'”

“What does that mean? Is he upset?”

She looked at me, slowly shrugged.

“I was hoping there was more but that's all he said. He supported me through the paperwork though. Let me do crosswords with him on the porch like we always did. Didn't bring it up again.”

“You're okay with that?”

“No. I mean I hope with time I can share my life with him. But right now, it's more than I bargained for. It's all I have. Besides you.”

She came forward, rested her head on my shoulder.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

“You tell your sugar mommy about me?”

She ran her fingers through my hair.

“How is she after the accident and shit?”

“She's fine,” I said, “and she's not my sugar mommy.”

“So you finally broke it off, Jess? For me?”

Her words actually pained me. I didn't know what to say. But I had to say something. I had to decide. I thought of Anjali lying on the sofa, a bruise on her forehead, her locket gleaming in the light. I thought of her forgiveness. Whatever I chose, how could I ever forgive myself?

“So did you break it off? She's not your sugar mommy?”

“Vanessa,” I said very cautiously as if articulation of words could save me.

“Vanessa, a lot has happened since we last spoke.”

She raised her head to look at me, to find answers. I offered her none.

“What I mean is, Anjali's not my sugar mommy. She's not my situational partner.”

“Then what is she?” Vanessa asked so softly I almost didn't hear.

I took a very deep breath. I would have to say it all at once, without stopping, to be able to say it at all.

“She's my girlfriend.”

Vanessa's mouth opened slightly and her forehead creased as her eyebrows pulled together.

“Jess…? What the fuck, Jess?”

“Vanessa, it's just timing. It's not that I didn't love you when I did but months have gone by and things have happened. I thought you'd never come back.”

I saw the tears in her eyes, thick tears that caught on her eyelashes, threatening to spill.

“I gave you everything,” she said, “I did everything you ever asked of me. I gave you my word and I kept it. I gave you the best I had, Jess. I gave you my thoughts, my stories, my dreams. You fucked all that? If I was just a fun summer fuck, you should've told me.”

“That's not what you were. That's not what you were at all. I loved you but I didn't think you'd ever leave him. Was I supposed to wait around for you?”

“You were supposed to give me a chance as I did for you.”

I saw her starting to shake. I moved towards her and held her to me. I kissed her mouth softly and gently her lips parted for me. She kissed me with a passion and hunger I had never known before with anyone let alone Vanessa. I kissed her back just as well, just as honestly. I didn't want to lose Vanessa. But what choice did I have? At that moment, all the empty spaces inside me were full of love for her. The confusion melted and all I breathed was her scent, all I tasted was her anguish, all I knew was her name.

“Jess?”

I pulled away and turned. I stood looking into Anjali's eyes, flooded with anger.

“How many fucking times do I have to say your name?” she asked, her voice quivering.

I wanted to vanish.

“So we haven't met,” she said coolly as she extended a hand to shake Vanessa's. “I'm Anjali, Jess' girlfriend. And you are?”

“Van-”

“No, let me guess,” Anjali said, as she dropped her unshaken hand to her side, her voice rising, her eyes fixed on Vanessa's face. “You are the reason Jess ran to Philly for a few nights of random fun. Isn't that who you are?”

Vanessa stared hard at Anjali and didn't say a word.

The air was so taut I thought it might break if I spoke. I spoke anyway hoping not to shatter the Universe.

“Anjali listen to me….”

“Fuck you, Jess. Fuck you.”

She turned and walked into the building, her gait uneven, and the cast looking awkward with her silver dress. I saw that the doorman was trying not to listen but I realized he had had a free show of my life for the past half an hour. Did he at least feel sorry for me? Better yet, could he provide me an answer as to what I should do? Because I myself, I still had not clue as to what I should do.

“That's her?” Vanessa asked as if it weren't fucking obvious.

“Who did you think it was?” I snapped.

“She's very pretty, Jess. You have good taste.”

“I chose you, didn't I?” I said as my irritation mellowed, as I started to feel for Vanessa again what I did when I first saw her with her 5-by-7s.

“So Jess, what now?”

I let her cry onto my shoulder and held her as I felt myself finally stir, finally cry for what would be the loss of someone; someone named Vanessa.

“Vanessa, I loved you, I did. I still do. But Anjali and I have something now.”

She raised her head, spoke close to my ear. Her words were so soft they betrayed their intensity, their desperation.

“You have something now? Are you serious, Jess? That we meant nothing?”

“We did. And now Anjali and I do.”

She stepped away from me and I squirmed. I felt as if she were examining me and finding nothing but deceit. I couldn't look in her eyes. If I did, one of two things would happen. Either she would know my shame. Or my resolve would melt and I would find myself walking away with her never casting a second look at Anjali or her eighth floor apartment. I didn't want either. So all I did was wait. Ride it out. I had to get back upstairs before I lost my nerve.

“You have nothing, Jess, but you imagine that you do. Because it's easier. Because it's comfortable. Because walk-ups are hard. And living life the way you live it is easy. The day this fucking fantasy around you breaks like a bubble, that's the day you'll understand. You don't fucking live, Jess, you exist.”

Vanessa turned to go and I grabbed her wrist.

“Vanessa, forgive me.”

She freed her wrist and, without a word, slowly walked away from me. I had my chance to stop her, to take her hand, to say her name. I had my chance to tell her that I thought of her every day, that I read the journal every night in an effort to touch her soul once again. But I did none of that because a girl named Anjali had made me promise myself to her. And I had given without thinking, without realizing that the price of such promises is exacting. A lover. A soulmate. That's what I believe I had to relinquish that night. And the soul was not satisfied that it had lost her. To this day I remember her hair, a thick cascade of shiny brown hair swaying with her movements as she walked away.

I wished Vanessa could know that had she stayed another minute, another kiss, another caress, had Vanessa done any of that, I would have been on my way to the East Village. That's how close I was to breaking, how close I was to succumbing to her. But she did none of that. And so I managed, however clumsily, to hold onto my promises to Anjali.

I felt myself starting to cry and although I welcomed the release, my much-wanted catharsis, I didn't know what or whom exactly I was crying for. Was I crying for the loss of Vanessa? Or was I crying for the loss of Anjali' affection that I would, once again, have to earn back? Or was I just simply crying because the Universe was huge and I felt so small? I think it was all of those things. But most of all it was knowing that I had, once again, fucked up the worlds of those I loved most.

I decided to go upstairs and find Anjali. I would explain to her that I was hers. That I had made the largest sacrifice of my life for her. That I had given up my muse for her. She would understand if I explained to her I was ending something and not starting anything new.

When I entered the apartment, I knew from the few stares I received that I was the talk of the night. I really didn't give a fuck. I walked straight through the mess of people to Anjali's room where I was sure I'd find her. She wasn't there. I walked back out and to my surprise she was talking to a group of people, laughing. She was so animated I wondered if the past hour had happened. If she had actually spoken to Vanessa. If she had realized who Vanessa was. If she had said ‘fuck you' before she walked upstairs. I went to her.

“Anjali?”

“Hey, Jess!” she said very soberly so I couldn't even blame a martini for her behavior.

She invited me into a conversation about the best tasting vodka and I stood, silent, not knowing what was happening. I spent the rest of the night by her side, waiting for the anger that never came. I didn't know what was in store for me. It scared me. I would have much preferred the reaction I had anticipated.

“Anjali….” I kept mumbling like an idiot.

When she heard me she would turn to me and smile. She didn't let go of my hand even when my palm was sweaty and tired. I followed her everywhere she went and although I should have been grateful, I felt that something was not right. Regardless, I gulped alcohol and stayed with her. I smiled when I had to, said a word here and there. For the most part, I couldn't wait until everyone went home.

Not everyone did go home. Anjali and I went to sleep at half past four leaving five people fighting to find space on the couch. We rolled into bed and I kissed her everywhere. I pulled up her dress and reached inside her until she moaned. I held her and caressed her and hoped against all hope that I would not lose her.

“I love you, Anjali.”

“Do you, Jess?”

“Yes I do. I was ending something out there, not starting anything. I want to be with you only you and that's what I told her. Tell me you forgive me. Promise me you won't leave me.”

“Happy Anniversary,” she said softly as if my words meant nothing, as if this night didn't involve Vanessa and heartbreak.

“Anjali, are you listening to me?”

“I'm listening Jess. And I'm saying ‘Happy Anniversary' in all the ways I know how.”

“But about before, about what happened….”

“Let it go.”

“Just like that?”

She rolled away from me and I couldn't see her face.

“Promise me you won't leave me,” I said with desperation. “Promise you'll be with me and we'll be together and we'll get a dog named Tony and a cat named Horatio. Promise me we'll have a life together. Promise you'll come home to me every night and I'll be waiting with your martini and then we'll laugh and dance and make love. Promise me you won't leave me please.”

I finally heard her say the words I was waiting to hear.

“I promise.”

On the broken wings of empty promises, there is great safety. I slept soundly that night believing that my karma would not slap me across the face and deliver to me all that I had delivered to the most wonderful women in my life. I slept soundly but then and again, I awakened to make sure Anjali was beside me. That was the last night I would all asleep in the arms of Anjali Chopra

 

 

 

The next day, after everyone that had slept over left in a groggy fog, we had the task of cleaning the apartment. I wouldn't allow Anjali to bend with her leg and her ribs being broken so I did most of the cleaning as she sat on the couch watching Bollywood movie songs. I still felt uneasy when I thought back to the night before, to Vanessa's arrival, Anjali's offered handshake. But Anjali didn't seem fazed by any of it. She sat and flipped through song after song, humming, sometimes singing along.

“I love it when you sing Hindi songs,” I said to her.

“Do you?”

“I actually love it when you speak Hindi to me. Which isn't often by the way. And why is that?”

“Because my Hindi has been born and raised in the US of A and sounds nothing like your Hindi, my Punjabi Princess.”

I picked up a gin bottle and placed it in the garbage bag I held. Then I looked at her and she was smiling, looking content. I should have let well enough alone but I had so many questions inside me, some had to spill out.

“Anjali, how are you so…calm?”

She averted her eyes. When she looked back up at me, there was nothing in them. No anger, no fear, no defeat, no love. Her eyes were totally blank. Was her heart also?

“Jess, you told me you were ending something. I believe you. That's all there is to say. Did I like her coming to my home? No. Did I like watching you kiss her? No. But at the end of the day, you came home to me, didn't you?”

“I did. And I'm here to stay. I want you to know that.”

“I do. Now hurry up and finish cleaning so we can take a walk or something.”

“With your leg?”

“I'll walk slowly. We'll go to Washington Square and watch pigeons or something.”

“It's cold.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” I said as I picked up more bottles and random napkins. As I kept cleaning I heard her sing the song of my heart.

“Kabhi kabhi,” she sang, “mere dil mein khayal aatha hai.”

“I love the way you sing this song jaan,” I said as I closed my eyes so my ears could awaken.

She sang the whole song for me word for word, not missing a beat or a syllable. After she finished, I walked to her and sat by her, used my hand to move her hair from her face.

“Jess let's get ready,” she said as she turned from me without a touch or a kiss. Without any affection when I was so ready to impart mine.

“If that's what you want,” I said hurriedly, trying not to sound irritated or rejected when inside me I felt both.

Who could ever understand her? But did I have to? Wasn't it enough that she had forgiven me my transgressions? Wasn't it enough that she had promised me her soul?

I waited for her to shower and dress and as I did, I wondered what Vanessa might be doing. I wondered if she were squatting in the park on this cold day or if she was in her walk-up, grading papers or arranging photographs. When Anjali emerged from the bathroom, freesia following her every step. I was so lost in thought I didn't even look up.

“Your turn, Princess,” she said.

I walked to the bathroom in a daze, the word “princess” resounding in my mind in two voices, first Anjali's then Vanessa's. I was the princess of no man's land, that was for sure. I showered quickly and dressed quickly and shook my mind free of all thought.

“Ready?” Anjali asked.

“Yes.”

We exited the apartment hand in hand, she tickled my side, and I jumped as I laughed. We took at cab to Washington Square and, once there, sat on the cold stone border and watched hapless pigeons.

“Jess?”

“Yes?”

“What's her name?”

“Vanessa,” I said automatically, without any thought or hesitation. How it spilled so easily from my lips, this name, I still don't know. But it did. And it unraveled the knot that I knew stood between Anjali and me despite her insistence that all was well with the world.

“Do you love her?”

“Not like I love you.”

“But you do love her?”

I cleared my throat.

“She's my muse,” I said. “You're my love.”

Anjali scratched her forehead where the bruise had been. She shifted.

“Why can't I be your muse, Jess?”

“Your muse and your love are two different things,” I said not sure if even I completely understood what I was saying.

“So she inspires you then?”

“She does. She makes me want to write. And I write with her.”

“And me?”

“I love you.”

“But I don't inspire you. I don't make you want to write. I don't really do shit for you except live with you, eat with you and fuck you.”

She made it sound horrible the way she came out with it. I wanted to refute her, contradict her, and tell her she was so wrong but the words sometimes fail you and at that very moment, my words failed me. Writer's block is painful when you write but when you're blocked as you speak, it is the most painful of all. Because inside you there are all these thoughts wanting to get out. And then you open your mouth and there's nothing there.

“If that's true, then go to her, Jess.”

“It's not true,” I said as I finally tore away some words to give to her. I snatched some more.

“Anjali, I love you and want to be with you. Isn't that enough for you?”

“Not if you're making the biggest sacrifice of your life to be with me by letting go your muse, no.”

“It's nothing like that. I had a choice. I chose you. It's that simple.”

The evening started to settle around us, a cold, grey dusk that fell like powder across the expanse of the entire park. I took her hand partly because I wanted her to believe everything I was saying, partly because the darkness threatened me as it always had.

“Why did you choose me, Jess? I'm difficult and spoiled and totally impossible.”

“And you're kind and you're sweet and you're beautiful. You're forgiving and gentle and totally irresistible.”

I touched her cheek with the back of my palm, opened my fingers to her touch her face. I hadn't just uttered words, I had meant every one. Perhaps I had thought I was staying with Anjali for her elicited promise. But at the end, Anjali was all of those things, wasn't she?

Not to say that Vanessa wasn't kind and sweet. Or that Vanessa wasn't beautiful and totally irresistible. She was all of these things as well. But whereas Anjali forgave and forgave, Vanessa had forgiven me nothing. She had stormed off, left me when the slightest tinge of trouble arose. But I remembered her stories of past loves, how she forgave every single one, never held a grudge. Maybe she was capable of forgiving me also. With time. And then what? Did it matter?

“I have spent four years with you,” I said, “now five. I spent a few days with her, walking around and writing. How can you compare the two?”

In my own mouth, my words felt so dishonest I wanted to vomit. I knew it wasn't about walking around and writing. I was leaving out Neruda and the journal. I was leaving out half written, half understood love letters across my back. I wasn't telling her about halter-tops and senseless lovemaking, storms and sadness. I neglected to tell her that I had told Vanessa things I had never shared, had never dared tell anyone. But what could I say? I love her just as I love you but since you took a fall and I promised myself to you and since we have this history, this history that trumps all love, I chose you? I couldn't say all that. So I said what I said and then I was quiet.

“It has been five years,” she said. “It has been a long time. Maybe that's why I forgive you, believe you if you tell me it was just senseless. Because I don't want to have wasted the past five years of my life either.”

Whether she truly believed me or chose to ignore the truth she knew, I don't know. But if she could choose to be with me despite everything, then I could choose her as well.

I looked towards Bobst Library, tiny squares of windows full of light. I kept my gaze there, at the library, because if I looked at Anjali now, I would betray my heart, say something or do something that gave it all away.

“Jess, let's just choose to be happy, damn it.”

Now I looked at her, saw disgust written across her face, a weariness for all that we endured and for all that had been. I breathed deeply, the cold searing my lungs.

“Let's do that,” I said, not knowing if my next fuck up lay around the corner or down the road. But if she were willing to not look for my next misstep, neither was I.

“I'm cold, let's go home.”

“It is cold,” I said, “let's go.”

We took a cab home without words, without touch. Vanessa had said not to fill full spaces with empty words but the space between Anjali and me was not full but rather devoid of all energy, lacking all strength. I hoped we would recover; find ways to reach for place that was rich and full and dense and ours. But I didn't know what was to come.

When we got home, Anjali declined dinner and lay on the couch.

“I'm very tired,” she said. “I just want to sleep.”

“So sleep in the bed.”

“No, I like it here,” she said.

“Want me to sleep next to you?” I offered hoping she would say “yes” making things somewhat right between us.

“No,” she said, “I need some space tonight. Please.”

I could have argued, could have sat on the couch and refused to go but I didn't. I gave her her space and went to the bedroom, the door shutting quietly behind me. I wanted to take the journal, to read from cover to cover, but it was in the living room in the drawer reserved for incense. I didn't want to take it out in front of Anjali so I didn't go back to retrieve it. Looking back, I wonder how life would have been different if I had taken that journal and read it that night. Sometimes what seems like the smallest decision we make turns into the greatest fate of our lives.

I slept soundly, tired myself, wondering what was going to become of me, of Anjali, of Vanessa.

Later that night I awoke and, as if in a dream, I discerned the scent of sandalwood. Anjali was not next to me. I remembered she had slept on the couch. I went to the living room to see if she was asleep, if maybe she wanted to come to bed. The entire space was dark but, atop our altar, there lay two diyas, the oil giving fuel to the cotton wicks that danced with fire. And there was an incense stick in the elephant incense holder, swirls of smoke scenting the room with sandalwood. And there she was, eyes closed, hands clasped. And I watched her.

There was something about her praying that endeared her to me in ways I couldn't even dare to describe. Watching her brought such peace to me I couldn't take my eyes off her.

“God,” I whispered to myself, “Grant us our prayers, whatever the may be.”

I stood there watching her as long as she prayed. When she finished she touched her fingers to her forehead and then to her heart. As she turned around, she saw me and stopped moving. In the glow of the diyas I saw that she was crying. I walked to her.

“What's wrong?” I asked stupidly.

“I wanted to light incense and I wanted sandalwood because I like it,” she said.

“That's fine,” I said. “You know where I keep the incense…”

I stopped. The journal. I kept the journal in that drawer.

“It wasn't really about the kiss, Jess. Maybe you were ending something, I don't know. But….”

“You read it?” I asked.

“I shouldn't have,” she said.

“No, you shouldn't have.”

“But I did. You love her, Jess. And she loves you. Who am I in this equation?”

I wanted to tell her how and how much I loved her. I wanted to tell her that she meant the world to me. That things had changed in these last few weeks. But the words. The words wouldn't come. And we stood there silently staring at each other, not moving. All because I couldn't tell my Anjali that I was finally hers.

“You gave her your soul, Jess. Muse or no muse, you haven't shared with me in five years what you shared with her in less than a week. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“How?” I whispered as my own eyes became moist, as I felt the guilt that I deserved and had circumvented for so long.

“Defeated and stupid.”

“You're not stupid,” I offered, wishing I could take from her her pain.

“I am, Jess. To not see what I should have. That I'm just…convenient.”

“That's not true, baby. That's not true!”

“Then what am I, Jess? What am I that you lied to me to be with her and then lied to me about what you had? And I believed you. I fucking believed you. I closed my eyes to everything you didn't want me to see. But my eyes are open now. And what do I do with that, Jess? What do I do?”

I wanted to tell her she should forget the journal, return to me whole, not be fragmented by my dishonesty or love for another woman. But even I had some sense of shame and it rose up right then, radiated through my body, and touched my fingertips and toes. I was speechless. Empty space. Empty Jess.

As she passed me to go to the bedroom, she turned and looked into my eyes.

“You weren't my muse, Jasbir Banerjee. But you were the ground beneath my feet, the air I breathed, my hunger, my laughter, my goddess.”

And then she was gone leaving me standing in the glow of diyas and the scent of sandalwood. I looked up at our altar and tried to pray. Although I had a feeling that even the gods couldn't redeem me.