Nights Like This (9 page)

“Yes, I mean if that weren't the case, then I guess we'd be getting married right about now.”

I looked at his pale blue eyes and for an instant they became darker, gained another shade of blue. And then he relaxed, shrugged his shoulder and he was, once again Aldo with dirty blonde hair that needed cutting, pale skin that begged for a tan and blue eyes that were almost transparent.

“I still love you, Jess,” he said as he hugged me.

I let him hold me for a long time. The line to the bathroom extinguished itself and started again but we stood there. Finally, I pulled away from him and kissed him softly on his cheek.

“Be good, Aldo,” I said.

“You too,” he said.

I decided not to wait in line for the bathroom and left through the front entrance. I started thinking about those days so long past when everything had been orchestrated by events that had led me to destinations that I had not chosen. Except Bobby. Him I had chosen because I had been bored with Aldo. And yet even then, as I had snuck moments with Bobby for six months, I had noticed more his sister Julia and less Bobby. It was she who had told me, plainly, as if I should have known, “You spend more time looking at me than you do my brother.” It was Julia, ten years older than I was, who took from me my fears, my hesitations to let go of the easy things and the settlements that had become permanent because I refused to shake the their flimsy foundations.

She had been beautiful to me with her clean, flowing hair and dirty brown eyes. I had adored her dark skin, the way she said certain words like “suggeschun” and “Febuary.” I learned from her what it meant to desire a woman, how to make love to a woman and finally, how to let go of a woman whom I loved.

Julia was the first person who ever cared about the rhythms and desires of my body. Julia was the first person who had invested the time to make me come.

She had held me after, my body drenched with sweat, my heart flying somewhere above her bed, my mind scared to know the intensity of such pleasure, such vulnerability. Julia had whispered to me phrases throughout the night, things that I still repeated to myself at time when I was sleeping alone and no one was breathing next to me.

“My angel, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here.”

I had looked into her dirty brown eyes, speckles of green and black spotting random places on her irises.

“Julia, I have never, never felt like that. And…I love you.”

She had held me to her. When I think back to that night, I realize that she had never said she loved me. She had always told me I was her angel with a broken wing. She had always touched me with grace and made love with patience. We had taken weekend trips to Cape Cod and Long Beach Island. And when I had moved into my dorm at NYU, she had helped me with all my boxes. She had nursed me when I had bronchitis. She had helped me study for finals and had listened to my written words, poetry and short fiction, essays and random thoughts alike.

Julia had whispered to me about how being honest with myself, allowing myself to fly would heal my broken wing. She had said that once I could fly, she would fly away. I used to wait by a fruit stand outside the ad agency where she worked and we would take the subway together back to the village. Those evenings I had already begged my roommate not to come back for the night so Julia and I could make love, endlessly, until dawn teased us with yet another day that came.

Julia had never promised me that she would be with me forever. She had never said she loved me. I had wanted her to and had thought she had because I loved her. And although the day she packed and left without as much as a note I tried to blame her heartlessness, I knew that she had never promised me anything except her presence and comfort and that she had given me, freely, with tenderness.

I had gotten a letter from her two months later, handwritten in scribbles with the handwriting of someone who one night feels guilty for having left a life behind and decides a letter will absolve that guilt. Her letter had said simply this, “My angel, I pray you find the one who can heal your broken wing. I did much before you, and when she asked for me I had to be with her, despite everything. With all our memories, Julia.”

I had felt cheated. I had felt as if she thought of me as a child, writing letters of what she already knew and hoped I would someday find. But as I had gone through my years at college, as I had met more women and lived more and fucked more, I realized Julia had never lied to me about how she felt. She had cared for me and nurtured me and taught me what pleased me. I also realized that Julia had taught me how to make love, she had never taught me what it was to love. I wondered if I would ever know. But even despite that one technicality, even as I thought back, I knew I would always think that Julia, with all our memories, was perfect.

I arrived at the apartment at 4:30 and showered. I decided to take a nap and finally, as I fell asleep, I thought of Julia in semi sweet dusk. I envisioned her coaxing my body to let go its reservations and its fears. I imagined her holding me as I came, stroking my fears away. I thought of Julia, as she might be now, eight years older, still full of grace and patience. I wondered if I could find her somewhere in Italy, coaxing a lost lover. I imagined them in a gondola on the river sharing all that Julia and I never shared. I thought of them sharing a life, something I desired with someone I was sure. But with whom? I shared my spaces with Anjali and Vanessa, nothing ascertained, everything as unsure as if I were alone. As I fell asleep, a slow sadness washed over me. I realized then that I hadn't ever found a woman to mend my broken wing.

 

 

 

That night we ended up at a small booth at Kush lounge on Chrystie Street. I was admiring the carvings on the square, short legs of the table. Anjali was sitting beside me, holding my hand in a loose handshake. I squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. I sipped my strawberry martini and listened to Ish tell us of her travels to Kenya.

“Every year I go home to Nairobi,” she was saying, “see my parents, my grandparents, my great grandparents, my seven uncles and six aunts. And every year I pretend to be searching for the perfect man somewhere in Manhattan. Well this year, I came so close to telling them.”

“But you didn't tell them,” I said. “You didn't tell them shit.”

“Jess!” Anjali whispered. “What is the matter with you?”

Ish waved her hand, her freshly henna-infused hair shining red in the light.

“It's all right. Jess is right. I didn't. I couldn't.”

This conversation took place every year. And every year while Ish went to Nairobi, Katherine would be waiting for her to come home, waiting for an email she had sent or a phone call she may have had the privacy to make. Neither ever came.

Not that Ish and Katherine were by any means any less dysfunctional than the rest of us. I had personally fucked Katherine in Ish's bed while Ish had been away to Nairobi last year. Katherine was a distinctly attractive woman, a tall woman who had soft, resilient skin and great posture. She looked bold and could get away with being quiet, almost too quiet most times, because her towering figure intimidated most people. Her almond eyes, chiseled nose and overly full lips gave her the distinction of looking like the image of a model on a billboard in Times Square. I had had no hesitations about sleeping with her because, honestly, it wasn't just that I did not like Ish. I hated Ish.

“…So darlings there is Ish and there is Yashika, “Ish is a true life Manhattan-ite redefining the terms and conditions of life as we all are.”

Here, she waved her hand across the air.

“Yashika is the sweet and quiet Indian girl born in Nairobi, studied at Harvard to graduate at the top of her med school graduating class. She has nothing on her mind but studying and finding the ideal man. I keep Ish and Yashika very separate and far away from each other. But this time, I came close to letting the Ish out! But I didn't. My therapist says I am a people pleaser so this is a hard place for me.”

In case I haven't said it enough, I didn't dislike Ish. I hated Ish.

As she spoke of her grandparents almost finding the photo in her wallet of her and Katherine kissing, I looked at Katherine. She caught my gaze and rolled her eyes at me. Why she didn't leave Ish for the many women that hit on her constantly I did not know. Katherine never spoke much and even the night I had stayed with her, her voice was lost to her and I hadn't even heard her come and had had to ask if she had. She had said yes and had been quiet once again.

Ish was still talking. I tried listening to her. I tried to care.

“…So they almost found the photo and I shouldn't carry it around but Kat's my baby. I have to have that photo with me because I love her so much. So they almost found it one day when I left my wallet on the windowsill but I grabbed it from my grandfather before he had a chance to look through anything.”

She giggled and Anjali giggled with her. I think I forced myself to smile.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” I said as I got up.

“I'll come with you,” Katherine said.

She followed me to the restroom. I could tell she was relieved for the distraction.

As I used the restroom, she stood by the sink, smothering her big lips with clear lip-gloss.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“Yeah, just get sick of the damn bullshit every time she goes to Nairobi. Don't matter though.”

“Why not?” I asked as I unrolled the toilet paper and wiped myself.

“Cuz I'm leavin'.”

“You're what?” I asked as I buckled my belt and flushed. I unlocked the stall and walked to the sink. Kat was looking in the mirror, rubbing her glossed lips together.

“I'm leavin',” she said as she took out some perfume and sprayed a mist of citrus by her neck. Her skin glistened where she had sprayed the perfume.

I washed my hands. This is the most I had heard Katherine ever talk. This was also the first time I had heard her talk of leaving.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Don't know. Just gonna go. Wherever the hell I wanna go. I'm gonna tell her as soon as I know when I'm leavin'.”

“What about Ish?” I asked foolishly.

Katherine looked at me as if to accuse me.

“You didn't give a shit when you ate me out, Jess. Now you're worried about Ish? Ish is a selfish goddamn mother fuckin' whore. I don't wanna be with her.”

I felt as if someone had slapped me. I had never, ever heard Katherine say more than a sentence in all the years I had tolerated Ish. And this mouthful of truth that she had just hurled at me shocked me.

She sighed.

“Look, it's not that I haven't tried. I've tried. But let me ask you somethin,' okay? What the hell would I stay for? She's gonna give in, she's gonna come back married and shit. What the hell do I need all that drama for? I'm a waitress who grew up in the fuckin' projects. I've had my drama. I have my drama. And I will have my drama. Fuck that.”

I swallowed very hard. It wasn't what she was saying; it was just hearing Kat's voice for more than a sentence that left me speechless. Actually, it was her anger that caught me off guard. She had been a portrait of composure as long as I had known her.

I did believe that Kat loved Ish. I did believe that Ish had wronged her by running off to Nairobi and calling to say she might be getting engaged to a stranger but not to worry, she would break the engagement off in a few weeks. I did not believe sleeping with me was the right answer, but I believed it was Kat's answer when she realized that the love of her life was going to test her and try her and keep alive the duality of Ish and Yashika for as long as she could. I wondered what I would have done in Kat's shoes. But then again, I didn't have that intense a capacity to love anyone. I wondered if something was wrong with me. If there were something wrong with me, maybe it wasn't a bad thing as it protected me from the foolishness of that magnitude of affection.
“Love changes you.”
Isn't that what Vanessa had said? Maybe I just didn't want to change. I turned my thoughts back to Kat and Ish.

“Well,” I finally said, “do what you have to do.”

“You won't be tellin' anybody will you?”

“No.”

“Not even Anjali? Especially not Anjali.”

“No,” I said.

“I'm so fucked up, Jess. I love her and I'm scared to lose her and then I want to leave her all at the same fucking time.”

I wanted to tell her that I understood more than she knew. I wanted to confide in her about my love for Anjali, my attraction for Vanessa, my confusion, my inability to write. But I didn't know where to start or what to say. So I stayed quiet.

I held her to me and she hunched over so her head could find my shoulder. I felt the broken beat of Kat's heart and I knew she loved Ish. I also realized she could never leave Ish. If Kat were going to leave, she wouldn't have needed me to hold her. Kat needed to find her tenderness once again. She needed to find that place within her that loved Ish enough to forgive all trespasses and treat the most painful betrayals as moments of silly whim. Kat would, I knew, love Ish and resent Yashika until Ish left for different ground or until Yashika did. Either way, Kat was there for as long as Ish would allow her to be there. It killed me.

It killed me more to think here I was, consoling Kat over someone who didn't value her or love her. And there was Anjali loving me every moment of every day in all the ways I needed and wanted to be loved. And what the hell was I doing? I was an ingrate at best, an asshole at worst. Truth was, I knew somewhere within me that I didn't deserve Anjali. But there she was, day after day, choosing me. Valuing the little I gave her. Loving me. And doing it well.

Kat straightened herself up and towered over me.

“So, Jess, how're things with you?”

“Okay, same shit, different girl,” I said, “Actually, in my case, different shit, same girl.”

“You guys together yet?”

“I'm trying, Kat. I really am.”

“That's just it, though. You shouldn't have to fuckin' try.”

“But Kat, seriously, in my case, I'm the fuck up.”

“So what you gonna do?”

I turned and looked in the mirror, stroked my eyebrows with my thumb, tried to decide whether or not to tell Kat about Vanessa. I decided it was not a good idea. What if she slipped and told Ish?

“Listen,” I finally said, “we should get back to the table so they don't think we're screwing in a bathroom stall.”

“The sad thing, Jess, is that they would think it.”

We laughed together.

It was amazing to me that no one had entered the bathroom the entire time we had been there.

Kat leaned in to kiss my mouth and I pulled away.

“Remember, Kat, I'm trying. I can't fuck this up this time.”

“You're adorable, Jess,” she said. “I hope it all works out.”

“For you too” I said, “for you too.”

We walked back to the table and Anjali and Ish were laughing. I was sure it was a stupid joke or a land of make believe that they were discussing.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing babe,” Anjali said. “Ish was just telling me about the last SALGA party she went to.”

“SALGA?” I said surprised.

“South Asian Lesbian and Gay Association,” Ish clarified.

“I know what it stands for, dumb ass. I just didn't think you would go to a SALGA anything.”

“Why not?”

“Jess—” Anjali said as if to tell me not to say anything.

“Because I don't think of you as one of us, Ish. Because I think you're full of shit.”

“Really?” Ish retorted.

“Really.”

“Let me tell you about ‘one of us' Jess. You judge me as if you know what it's like to be in my skin. How about I judge you for a change?”

“Ish, calm down,” Anjali tried. She placed her hand on Ish's arm but she shook it away.

“Let her talk,” I said, eager to hear what Ish had to say, already planning my retaliation without even having heard her words.

“So I'm Jasbir Banerjee,” Ish started. “I never came out to my parents but my life is convenient and I don't have to worry about that because my parents live in bubblefuck, India. But I judge other people whose lives aren't as convenient, who actually interact with their parents who have to deal with the arranged marriage bullshit and have to find a way to not lose the love of their life or the love of their family. But you know the worst thing? The worst thing is that I'm a fucking writer and I don't have the balls to write about ‘one of us.' No, I don't have the courage to tell this story. And I probably never will.”

“Who tells this story, Ish? Who tells this story? Nobody.”

“And why is that, Jess? Because they're fucking cowards like you.”

“Guys, calm down,” Kat said. “Just relax.”

“No, I said, “No. I want to know how I'm a coward.”

“Because you'll go to the parties, Jess. SALGA. Trikone. Masala. You're there. You party like it matters to you. But when the sun comes up and the party's over, you won't tell the world about it. You won't risk your perfect little world. You keep looking for a story. What about all the stories around you? What about us? Write about us if you're not afraid that everyone will know you're ‘one of us.' Scary isn't it? So then how are you any more honest, any braver than me?”

I made sure to look into her brown eyes, to hold her gaze. I said nothing. She finally flinched and I smiled.

“I'm going to the bar,” I said.

“I'll come with you,” Katherine said.

“We should do shots!” Anjali nearly screamed.

“You know what, that's a fantastic idea,” I said.

If I couldn't escape the torture of this evening, I would endure it drunk.

When Kat and I were at the bar, we looked at each other. She placed her hand over mine.

“Don't pay her no mind,” Kat said.

“She's right,” I said.

Kat was silent.

“But it's not just me,” I said, “I mean thousands of people just like us and no one writes the story. I can't pick up a book and read about me. Why?”

“Why don't you write it?”

“Because…”

“Because?”

“Because…just because.”

“Tell me,” Kat said. “I won't be telling nobody.”

“I'm afraid.”

“Of?”

I tried to form the words, to say aloud what was screaming in my mind. But at the end of it all, I couldn't.

“Nothing,” I finally said, “nothing.”

Kat touched my hand with hers.

“Listen,” Kat said, “Let's do a shot of tequila before we take the shots back. Clear our heads and try to enjoy the rest of the evening.”

I agreed. We did two shots of tequila each before we carried four shots back to the table.

As I set the shots down, Ish grabbed a glass.

“We should toast,” she said.

“To what?” Anjali asked.

“To the one true love you never meet.”

I looked at Kat to see if she would do the right thing and slap the shit out of Ish. She didn't.

“I think,” I said, “We should toast to the one true love we are fortunate enough to recognize.”

I saw the corners of Kat's lips turn upwards in a small smile.

We toasted.

“Where's the salt and lemon?” Anjali asked.