Destined (13 page)

Description:
 
A triumphal charioteer driving two
strong horses, lions or sphinxes, usually one black and one white to symbolize
duality.

Meaning:
 
Travel in comfort, literally or
figuratively. Making swift progress with a lack of impediments. Cars and other
vehicles.

When I closed the store that night, Anton Novak was
waiting at the curb outside. He was leaning casually against a navy blue
Mercedes sedan. He had changed into a long-sleeved silk shirt the color of dark
chocolate.

I stared at the car and cautiously
approached. It was very beautiful, the same way a piece of finely crafted
jewelry is beautiful. It was perfectly polished. It had posh leather seats and
a burled wood dashboard.

“This is your car,” I said, confirming
the fact. My unconscious estimation of his net worth expanded by at least one
zero. It made me nervous.

He nodded. He uncrossed his arms and
opened the passenger door with a flourish.

“Mademoiselle?”
he said and raised one eyebrow.
“Vous
voulez?”

I silently slipped into the golden
brown soft warm buttery leather-smelling interior of the vehicle. The wood of
the dashboard was filled with swirls and circles of contrasting shades of brown
and tan, polished to a high gloss super-shine. The instrument panels were
outlined in shiny chrome.

He opened the driver’s side door and
got into the car. We were suddenly close together, nearly touching. He sat and
looked at me. I looked back.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But I’m
getting rid of it.”

I felt a totally inappropriate pang of
dismay.

“Oh no!”

He started the car and it hummed
gently.

“Yes, I’m going to get a Prius, a
hybrid. I ordered one.”

He pulled out smoothly into the
traffic.

“Why?” I pouted, rubbing the side of
my luscious leather seat.

“I saw Al Gore’s movie, that’s why,”
he said.

“Oh, right.” I said, remembering that
we’re all supposed to support alternative energy technology.

“Where to?” he inquired.

I told him my address, and on the way
there we talked about how we had both made lifestyle changes since we’d seen
An
Inconvenient Truth
,
the movie about global warming. Like trying to take public transportation more,
and driving around alone in our cars less. I had actually started to take the
bus to work on days when I didn’t really need my car. It wasn’t bad, and it
solved the parking problem.

“That said,” I concluded, inhaling
deeply the spicy leather scent, “This is one lovely machine.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he said.
He told me he kept it garaged in Manhattan, so he could use it whenever he was
here on the East Coast. I gathered that was quite often, if it warranted
keeping a car like this in an expensive New York City garage.

We pulled up outside the sprawling
Victorian residence where I lived on the third floor.

“Shall I come in?” he asked.

I quickly tried to remember what kind
of condition my studio apartment was in.

“Um...OK, sure, you can come in.”

I opened my own car door before he
could move, and got out of the car.

“I’ll feed the cat while you change,
if you like,” he offered.

I did want to slip into something
nicer (and sexier?). I’d worn jeans to work, and spent a long time collecting
dust bunnies in the basement. I started thinking about having a champagne
cocktail, possibly two. Sitting across from
him
at an intimate table. Eating salmon,
perfectly broiled, with lemon butter sauce…yum.

We climbed up the twisting, turning
staircase and I unlocked the door at the top. The attic of the house was all
mine, one large room with four dormer windows, a skylight, a tiny galley
kitchen behind a partition, and an even tinier bathroom.

Tree greeted us at the door with a
polite “Mmrrrh?” He is a brown and gray striped tiger with white bib and paws.
Very stylish. He goes in and out through one of the windows, getting down to
the ground via a series of precarious rooftop acrobatics. He is very proud of
this, and values his independence as much as I do. He sulks all winter long
when I have to keep the windows closed, much preferring to come and go whenever
he pleases.

Anton Novak let Tree sniff his fingers
and then stroked him on the back. Tree loved it, arching up into the man’s
hand. Novak’s touch seemed to affect the cat the same way it had me, earlier
today in the park. I was impressed. Tree is a very good judge of character.

“What do people actually call you?” I
asked. I couldn’t imagine calling anyone “Anton” with a straight face. “I mean,
like, when they
speak
to you?”

“Tony,” he replied.

“Aha,” I said, relieved. “I can do
that.”

“Can you?” he inquired, seriously.

“Yes,” I said.

“Let’s hear it?”

“Tony.”

“Try it again,” he said, closing his
eyes, waiting.

“Tony,” I sighed, in a sultry voice.

He shivered with mock delight. We both
laughed.

“And do they call you Em? Emmie?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“And where do we keep the cat food,
Em?” he asked, as Tree began to rub up against the doorway to the kitchen,
leading the way.

I showed Tony where, and went to
shower and change. Everything had to come into the bathroom with me, since a
studio floor plan allows for very little privacy. When I emerged, dressed in
black slacks and a yellow silk shirt worn open over a black lace camisole, he
looked at me admiringly.

“I must say I like the idea of going
out to dinner with James Bond’s boss,” Tony said, “Em. You look very nice.”

He arose from the sofa, where he had
been flipping through
National Geographic
. He smiled and came closer.

“And I have always had a crush on
Mafia bosses from New Jersey, Tony,” I said teasingly, hoping he had been
watching
The Sopranos
and batting my eyelashes.

He laughed, thank goodness. “Well,
I’ve spent a lot of time in New Jersey, but I am not in the Mafia, I am sorry
to disappoint you!”

We went out the door and started down
the stairs.

“New Jersey? Somehow I can’t imagine
you there,” I remarked.

“Oh yes,” he said, “I went to
Princeton University. I spent four years in New Jersey.”

This was surprising. Somehow I had
pictured him at Oxford, or the Sorbonne, or some school in the Ukraine. It was
hard to imagine him as an Ivy Leaguer.

When we got outside he did the one
most perfect wonderful thing he could possibly have done to win my heart
forever. We walked up to the Mercedes and he tossed me the keys.

“Want to drive?” he suggested, knowing
the answer.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Thank you!”

I jumped into the driver’s seat, slid
it forward, adjusted the mirrors and fastened my seat belt. He handed me a pair
of Ray Bans. I felt like a movie star.

“Where are we going?” I asked,
shifting into gear and pulling out into the street. The car moved like an
animal, lithe and graceful.

He leaned back in his seat and waved
his hand casually.

“Just keep driving,” he said. “I’ll
tell you where to turn.”

He directed me onto the Interstate and
we headed north. I stepped on the gas and pulled into the stream of traffic.
The Mercedes flew down the road so smoothly and quietly I barely noticed when
we hit seventy-five. He was playing a Putamayo World Music CD called “Latin
Lounge” on the surround sound stereo system, singing along with the Spanish
lyrics. I came up fast behind a truck and dodged over into the passing lane to
go around it. The Mercedes responded to my every command like a purebred horse
schooled in dressage. I thought,
right
, and it flowed gently back into the cruising lane.

We had dinner on top of a mountain in
Vermont. The wide glass sliding doors of the restaurant opened onto a flagstone
patio that perched high above the long view. We could see New York State to the
west, where a glimmer of tangerine sunset still gilded the undersides of dark
purple clouds. The Interstate stretched out below us to the south, a thin
string of twinkling headlights that lead back toward Massachusetts. Overhead, a
million stars were sparkling. It was spectacular.

The night was warm, so we sat on the
patio. Tony ordered a bottle of champagne, specifying
Veuve Cliquot
, which I had never tasted before.
They had the salmon I’d been craving and served it with an Asian plum sauce
that was delicious. Tony ordered the duck and offered me a bite, which I
refused. When eating something delicious, I don’t like to confuse my taste buds
by mixing in other flavors. I am a purist.

We ate and we talked. He told me about
growing up in Rome with his Czech parents, who were both teachers. His full
name was Antonin Novak, but he had dropped the extra syllable to make it easier
for Americans to pronounce. His family had summered at Lake Como, on the Swiss
border, before the American movie stars discovered it and it became so fashionable.
He loved boating, and had been on the crew team in college. He had one sister,
who was now living in Montreal. After college he went to graduate school in
international business and was recruited by a large multi-national firm to work
in their offices in Hong Kong. In addition to his native tongue, he spoke
fluent Mandarin Chinese as well as Russian, Spanish, French, Italian and
English.

“A friend of mine and I were hired to
create the standardized distribution routes for Coca Cola in Hong Kong, “ he said.
“Before we did it, nobody had ever formalized or kept track of this
information. We wrote a software program to make it easy to update and track
changes. Then we sold it back to Coca Cola, and to four other American firms
who were developing the area.”

His eyes shone. “That is how I won my
freedom,” he said. “Now I can dabble in this and that, and indulge in my
obsession for collecting beautiful
objets d’art
.”

“Like Mr. Paradis,” I commented.

“Yes,” he nodded, “Like my friend
Henry. He and I first met under very unusual circumstances, you know, in a
bazaar in Hong Kong. But, that is another story. Now, I want to hear about you.”

I reflected that my own origins were
not nearly so fascinating.

“Well, I’m originally from Iowa,” I
said, “Known as the Tall Corn State. My father’s family owns several farms out
there. They grow corn and hogs. Most of the corn is made into that new fuel
people are using in the Midwest to run their cars and trucks, have you heard
about it?”

“Yes,” he said, very seriously, “I have
heard a lot about it. This is what we want the U.S. government to start
encouraging with tax breaks, instead of making more and more high fructose corn
syrup, right?”