The Lovers

Chapter VII

The Lovers

Choices. We all make them daily. Big choices, small choices, choices that look insignificant and later turn our lives upside down. I was one of those people who rarely recognized the importance. Only when it was something that would very clearly change my life, did I understand its impact. Like “Should I divorce or not?”, “Should I leave my job because of the mean manager who hates me?”, or “Should I pursue happiness against all odds?” Things like that. On all other occasions I made my choices lightheartedly and they later knocked me down from behind.



When December was close to its end I decided to collect myself and focus on the future. Not all was lost. If I wanted to see him again, I had to be patient. If it had to be the summer, then fine. The damn cards had been right – Three of Wands – summer. Apparently, the world was against me but it wasn’t the first time. “I can have him” I wrote on the toilet lid with my Lancome eye pencil in coal grey.



It was time for shopping therapy. I couldn’t possibly face Mr. Darcy in a business suit and white shirt. He must be hit hardly. A King of Swords would have little patience for anything but perfection. Therefore, I needed some stylish, hot, glamorous but a bit silenced pieces. Air colors – light, air blue and grey, spring morning purple, transparent white… Dresses, definitely. Not pants. Jackets only to complement dresses and skirts. Skirts - under the knee. Jeans only if straight leg, classic denim. Took me forty seven hours - one weekend and seven working days when I rushed to the malls immediately after leaving the office and stayed there until the doors were locked. The second weekend I spent purchasing custom-made hats. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine an English countryside vacation without the proper hats.



I hadn’t seen my wardrobe so full since I was a student. Gone were the suits – I stuffed them at the back; right in front of me were the evening gowns. Couldn’t take my eyes off of them. No man could resist these, surely! Thinking of him I went to check what Google alerts I had received. Recently he had been promoting a movie and was apparently writing his new book. Buying art all the time. “What brings me most satisfaction these days,” he had said in an interview, “is the eternal beauty I find in art objects.” Huh. I could show him a thing or two about beauty. Not eternal but still. I chuckled. He was trying to look so distant and important. Yet, I knew what fire was burning inside him and how he was chasing women in the dark. Kissing strangers. Breaking rules. My cards had told me so much about him. He didn’t even suspect but I had done my homework. “Art,” he had continued, “never betrays us. What we see is what we get.” Ah, pain, no? I knew that story too. How well I knew it. “I won’t betray you!” I wanted to scream but instead crossed my fingers in a spell gesture. We shared a thing or two – the past wounds, the hurtful memories… Strangers In the Night was playing on the radio and Sinatra’s velvet voice brought me a hug from dad… Those were the times when I was the queen of the world, weren’t I? I could be loved again. I could find it.



***



Following the slight breakdown, I had to face the “choosing a Christmas tree” task. This, together with weddings, birthday family parties, and office gatherings, was among my most disturbing experiences. I wished I was bold enough to just get an artificial tree and avoid the humiliation at the nursery but the childhood memories of my parents bringing the little pine at home and the scent of the recently cut branches stuck in my mind wouldn’t give me peace. So, I gathered all my strength and one evening after work marched to choose the thing.



The nursery was full of people and my hope that so close to the holidays and right before dinner time I would be safe, died. Why weren’t all these people sitting comfortably at their properly set tables enjoying their properly cooked meals surrounded by their beautiful spouses and children? Why did they always feel the weakness and stared at me as it was written on my forehead “single”? Why was the holiday season turning into a competition for “best family” and “biggest emotional loser” of the year? OK, I gladly accept the award, would like to thank my parents, my grandma, my ex boyfriends, and most of all – my dear husband for being such an inspiration for me to divorce him. Let me be now.



I walked between the lines of pines inhaling the fragrance of cold distant forest. It reminded me of a cottage in the mountains where I went once as a child. We cut our tree in the forest across the stream then. The water had frozen, it was that cold. The stars were the brightest ever and the moon – big and pale. Rushing back into the cottage with red noses and blue lips, we took a few branches and threw them into the fire. Then made our Christmas wishes and watched whose branch would produce the highest spark to foretell which wish would become true. Mine didn’t. I always wished to meet a prince.



I finally chose a tree and went to pay for it. The cashier looked at me compassionately.

“Are you taking this home now, Miss?” He asked.

“Of course,” I said abruptly.

“Do you have a car?”

“Yes, I do.” Crossly already.

“Do you have someone to help you?”

“Can I pay?”

“Sure, sure, just wondering how you’re going to take this tree – it is a big one.”

“I’m very fit, thank you.”



The rest on the line were, of course, observing closely. The tree was not that big at all. I could take it home without much struggle. The whole point was to discuss the woman who came to buy a Christmas tree – this symbol of “and lived happily ever after” and “produced numerous off-springs” – alone. Who was she; what was her life like; what were her holidays going to be; how did she manage to look like that; why wasn’t she at the bar; was she someone’s mistress; was she going to get a Mercedes for the holidays, and so on. The interesting point being that while I was married I used to buy the tree on my own as well. My ex-husband had never been much into browsing the nurseries. He was busying himself with installing plastic reindeers in the front yard and inflating disproportional Santa Clauses to hang from the roof. How did they know then I was married and how did they know now I was not? A mystery or an instinct we haven’t lost since we had to hunt for living and had to sense the fear and sickness of the weaker animals to get easy food. We still do – eating human hearts and drinking strangers’ pain with voracious appetite. Especially at holiday time.



I went home and dropped the tree in the middle of the living room, making a big mess of fallen needles and sticky juice. Took me some time to clean up and dig out the toys from the wardrobe. Half of my things were still packed in carton boxes. I liked the reassuring feeling they gave me that my journey wasn’t over yet.



Spent the Christmas Eve decorating the tree, then lit the lights, turned off the other ones and sat on the sofa with a glass of wine. There, I was all ready to celebrate the birth of the divine child. The computer screen distracted me. I must have received new alerts… Suddenly realized it was late and I hadn’t bought anything special for supper. I leapt of the sofa and rushed to the nearby grocery store. It would be a serious offense to family tradition to not honor the day with a full table. My parents were religiously sticking to all kinds of obligations related to Christmas. The store was, naturally, closed. I stood on the street for a while wondering what to do and where to get food from. Then thought of the restaurants in the neighborhood. What better than ordering a nice supper and celebrate properly? Walked to the nearest one and found it was closed too. Unbelievable. In my home country restaurants worked all holidays as they made lots of money then. Here, even the profit would not make anyone miss the family gathering. Did it mean all staff was in relationships or surrounded by numerous loving relatives? Most disturbing thought.



I plodded home kicking pieces of frozen snow. The streets were almost empty. Holly night, silent night… Couples were passing me by, giggling in their coats and scarves, rushing to a party probably. Couples. Not even one loner to invite upstairs for a drink. I went home and opened the fridge. Got some olives, cheese, bread, and ice cream and sat on the dining table I never used. In ten minutes was already feeling uneasy. Had become a stranger to my past. My parents were surely displeased. This was neither the Christmas Eve they had been organizing, nor the life they had so nicely planned for me. Grandma not so much, she was more into the Moon than into any holiday but the lack of love would disturb her seriously. The discomfort worsened when I looked at the windows of the nearby buildings - people were pacing around the rooms; many trees were lit, and there were even dancing couples. It wasn’t going to work like that. I closed the blinds, turned off the computer with a firm hand, turned on the DVD and played “Pride and Prejudice” for the eighteenth time, probably.

***



The next day, Christmas, I spent alone, trying on outfits at home, drinking wine, and singing Frank Sinatra in loving memory of dad. Between the dresses, smoked too much and sent Christmas cards to a limited list of friends and people deserving to get one but the whole “Mr. Darcy” thing was eating me from inside and my thoughts were stubbornly taking me to him all the time. Miracles happened on Christmas, I knew that! I had to wish and forget. Wish and forget. Wish. I couldn’t ignore the longing for this man. I had lost seven pounds in three weeks out of pure excitement. You may think this was a very pathetic way to spend Christmas but the truth is it was one of my best ever.



Because I disliked Christmas or most of what I had seen of it. It took me orphancy and a divorce to admit it. I was not particularly fond of plastic lights in funny colors, didn’t want to install dwarves and reindeers in the front yard, or to cook for ten people at least. I had always hated the gatherings at home, the shrieking relatives, the false joy of presents never to be used. I still wanted to have a beautiful tree and a wreath on the front door but in my dreams I would spend my Christmases with someone who would join me for a cocktail in front of our fireplace in our fancy town house, and dance, and make love to me till dawn. Jazz would be appropriate - tender, midnight saxophone. Or just humming softly in my ear… and celebrate love. On a second thought, I could give up the tree as well if there was someone beside me to support such a rebellion. The memories were chaining me although I had been alone long enough to know the past was only that – a branch cut only to die, no resurrection was possible.



I opened my e-mail. There were three new alerts in my Inbox including another interview. Christmas stuff.



“Do you have plans for a Christmas vacation?” The reporter had asked.

“Not really. I would like to work on my book and will probably visit friends in the countryside. I’d like to find some silence.”

“What is the significance of silence for your writing?” Idiotic question, no?

“Um… Silence is as important as noise.” I was sure he had amused himself. “However, I tend to avoid the Christmas noise. It interferes with my idea of holidays.”

“Which is?”

“Distant location, fireplace, quiet music, nice drink…” I held my breath. Couldn’t be…

“Do you hate Christmas? Many people think this a fashionable statement these days.”

“I’m not sure about other people’s reasons but I have always hated demonstrations and kitsch. This should hardly surprise anyone who knows me, more or less.” True. I knew him enough to not be surprised. His custom tailored suits, his high end fragrance… The man had a style.

“We have news!” The reporter had gone on. “Mr. Alverton chooses silence for Christmas!”

“As you put it, it sounds almost as ridiculous as the fake golden bells at every corner of the city. But I choose silence not only for Christmas. I find it fascinating in people too.”

“Very interesting. Would you tell us more?”

“That’s all. Silence is charming. Silence can be weak, powerful, expressive, secretive. It’s tempting.”



I missed the rest. It was only a couple of sentences anyway. Silence… “Are you always that silent?” He had asked at the gala… He thought it was interesting… Fascinating even… Could it be? Could he think I was reading this somewhere in the world? The action and reaction law, the butterfly causing a tornado with a swing of her gentle wings… A sign. I had to look for signs, grandma used to say. Each one was important. It was the reader who could be wrong or ignorant, never the sign…

***