Illusions Complete Series (8 page)

“Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, I chose the last activity. Your turn.” His face was instantly brightened.

“Um, well, let’s see….How about we pack up a picnic basket with some roasted chicken, some bread and some wine and take it out to the park by the art gallery? I think that there is a Shakespeare play there tonight. Let me look in the paper….” I brought out the paper, turning to the art section. “Yes, see,
Twelfth Night
is playing.”

“I love that play!”

And we were off. I drove him to his car, just up the street, and he followed me back to my apartment complex so that I could drive with him in his car to the park. We stopped by the Hen House to pick up a roasted chicken, and I packed the chicken into a picnic basket that I had picked up at a thrift store a few years back. We also picked up some roasted new potatoes and roasted green beans. A bottle of Two Buck Chuck completed the meal, along with a small loaf of bread. I had also packed an Indian blanket, but we had to stop by his house to pick up two small lawn chairs for the evening performance. Also, Ryan wanted to check on Maximus and Brutus, and change his clothes, of course. He was still wearing his dress pants, silk shirt and Ferragamo shoes from the night before.

“Daniel checks on them when I am away, but I want to see them for at least a little bit before we go,” Ryan said, referring to the dogs.

“Why don’t we bring them along?” I remembered that dogs were welcome in that park.

“Sounds great.” So, when we stopped by his house, Maximus and Brutus were harnessed. They leaped about, excited to be going. He also got two lawn chairs. “Um, we better take the Escalade.”
Another Escalade? I thought, remembering his driver also drove an Escalade.
We went into the garage, and Ryan packed the dogs, in their carriers, into the Escalade, along with the two chairs, and the picnic basket filled with goodies.

Driving to the park, Ryan held my hand the whole way. Every other stoplight, he kissed me softly. I watched his groin, remembering last night’s erection.
I hope that isn’t a problem now.
However, it became evident that it was. There wasn’t much hiding it, the guy seemed enormous. I privately worried about that, but felt excited at the same time.

He blushed. “I better stop that for awhile.”

I blushed, too. I no longer was obsessed about what he saw in me. He saw something in me, that I didn’t see in myself, and that was that.
Stop obsessing.
But the memory of the week when I thought that I would never see him again haunted me.
This could all go away at any moment. He is apparently dealing with a nasty ex-wife, and possibly other, deeper, issues, and he might be rebounding. And he might even have a girlfriend. Be cautious.

We got to the park, and tossed around a frisbee and a ball for the dogs. “How old are they?” I asked.

“Maximus is 2, and Brutus is around 8 months.”

“No wonder they’re so frisky.”

“Frisky is not the word. Spastic, hyper – those are good words.”

And indeed they were.

We lay the blanket out on the lawn, and then got out the paper plates, and plastic cups. He poured some wine for us both, and I broke apart the chicken. “Is a leg ok?” I asked.

“A leg would be great.”

I piled a chicken leg, about four new potatoes and a spoonful of green beans on the plate.

Ryan produced two pillows after our lunch, and he lay down on one of the pillows. At his urging, I laid my head on his stomach. I felt his eight pack beneath me without an ounce of fat. His body was sinewy, muscular and lean. He stroked my hair contentedly. “I never thought I could feel this way,” he purred.

“What way?”

“Happy, fulfilled.”

I played a little dumb. “But you were married.”

“Yeah,” he said, simply. “But I never felt like this with her.”

“Then why did you get married?”
A logical question.

“Shhhh.”

I kept quiet. The mystery will remain for now.

After a few minutes, Ryan admitted “I was so sick last week, when I thought I might never see you again.”

“Why did you think you would never see me again?”

“I thought that you thought that I was lame for seeing a therapist and didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“So, what inspired you to come by?”

He smiled. “Liquid courage.”

I lay there, putting all the pieces together. I was only trying to give him his space when I wanted to leave when he told me about his therapist. I almost destroyed things because of it.
Why didn’t I see that before? I evidently hurt his feelings by my indifference.
Oh, how we can wound somebody without even knowing it.

I lay on his stomach, drumming my fingers on his rock hard abs.
Should I ask about the therapist?

I took a chance. “So, how did the therapy session go?”

“Fine. I’ve been seeing Dr. Halder for awhile.” He felt more comfortable about opening up about it, apparently.

“Was there anything in particular that made you want to schedule an appointment that day?”

“Well I had a conversation with my ex-wife that morning. It….didn’t go well.”
An understatement.

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“Well, she just wants stuff, still, even though the divorce is all settled and has been for awhile.”
No mention of the blackmail and the threats to go to the press with…something.

In due time.

I lay there, silently. It was so difficult trying to determine how much to pry. I needed to make sure he knows that I care, but I didn’t want to push. I was walking a delicate line, and I knew it.

“What kind of stuff is she still wanting?”

“A new Ferrari, an airplane, that sort of stuff.”
It sounds like he’s joking, although I know that he isn’t.

“How long were you married?”

“Two years.”

At this point, I was dying to find out everything. Why did they break up after only two years? Why did he marry her, when he apparently didn’t love her (he said that he never felt about her the way that he felt about me. Considering he had known me for less than two weeks, that wasn’t saying a lot for their marriage)? And, especially, what information was she using to blackmail him? 

In due time.

He volunteered some information then. “I married her because she was pregnant.”

I thought about the baby room. Here’s where he will tell me about his child. However, what he said stunned me.

“So, you have a child, right?”

His face darkened. He said, softly, “No. At least not a child who is alive.”

I blinked, feeling the tears coming to my eyes.

“Um, I am so sorry. What happened?” I thought about the baby room some more, and how it was so perfect. There was nothing that was disturbed in that room. I immediately felt so sad, knowing that he must have loved his child very much. The evidence for this love was in the pristine condition of that room. I now figured that he didn’t want to show me, because he wasn’t ready to talk about her.

“Mia was born healthy. She died at the age of 6 months. SIDS.” That was all he said. And, I could tell from his tone and his body language, that this was all that he was going to say.

“Oh, I am so sorry…” What was there to say?

“Yeah, it was a tough break. Alexis was never the same after that, and our marriage, which wasn’t all that strong to begin with, just went downhill. I found her in bed with Paul, my former driver, one day when I came home early from work to surprise her with a trip to Italy. I had it all planned out – the blindfold, the limousine taking us to my private jet, the whole nine. I wanted to cheer her up. It was like a kick in the gut, to say the least.”
I like how he slipped in there that he had his own jet. He must be getting more comfortable talking to me about his wealth.

“Geez.” Again, what do you say to that?

“Yeah. I kicked her out. During the divorce, I found out how dirty she can fight.”

“Oh?”
Come on, tell me everything that is going on.

But he left it at that.

“Yeah. Hey, listen, it must be getting kinda late. The show starts at 7, and we should head over to get a good seat.”

“Sure.” I felt disappointed, but I also felt that he would slowly reveal what was going on with the blackmail thing. I found myself genuinely caring about what was going on, as opposed to wanting to know for nosiness, which, I admit, motivated me before to want to find out.

We made our way out to the outdoor theater. It was dusk now, and the cicadas were buzzing in the trees. Those bugs were so loud, but I had never actually seen one. There are apparently millions of them, however, judging by how loud the sound is. It’s funny though – although these bugs are annoying because they are so loud, I miss them when I am in a different city that doesn’t have them. I thought about my trip to San Francisco, which, to my knowledge, was the most magnificent city in the world. But it was August, and there were no fireflies and no cicadas, and it made me a little sad.

We ended up not even using the lawn chairs, preferring to simply spread my Indian blanket on the lawn. Thank god this was a park that still allowed alcohol. We poured our wine into some plastic wine cups and drank the wine while the dogs, tired out from chasing around various balls and frisbees earlier, lay beside us. The park was packed, as this was a free show. It was something that I try to make every year.

As the night wore on, I tried hard to keep up with the action.
Twelfth Night
was a play that I had learned in college, but Shakespeare had always been exceedingly difficult for me to follow. I really learned
Hamlet
when I took my Shakespeare course in college. I read the actual play, got the Cliff’s Notes, and watched the surprisingly good Mel Gibson version. I didn’t put that kind of effort into
Twelfth Night,
so I felt a little lost. However, the experience of being there – under the stars, with thousands of other people, on a warm summer night, with the most beautiful, sweetest man I had ever met, was intoxicating.

Ryan was lying behind me on the blanket, and I was leaning against him. The dogs were beside us, snoozing and snoring. I started to notice that he was not watching the play at all, but, rather, was staring at me. I felt a little strange and thrilled at the same time.
What does this guy see in me?
I tried to banish the thought and concentrate on what was going on, but it was impossible. My mind was racing.

“You’re not watching the show,” I teased him, when I turned around for the millionth time to see him staring at me, instead of the play.

“You’re right, I need to watch the show. I actually do like this play. I thought it was hilarious when I studied this at my high school.”

I laughed. Who was I to control him and make him watch the show? If he’s that into me that he can’t take his eyes on me, then….
Oh, stop it, you’re sounding so full of yourself.

“Would you like some more wine?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m ok.”

“Ok, then.”

The play ended. “We better pack all this stuff up,” I said, already beginning the process of getting everything together.

He looked strange, wide-eyed. “Is there anything wrong?” I asked. His demeanor had changed 180 degrees from just a few minutes before. I felt a bit alarmed.

He wasn’t hearing me, but was staring off into the distance. He shook his head. “She’s following me now?” He looked down, his expression now looking perplexed.

Who was following him? It couldn’t be Alexis, he probably would be upset. He just seems mystified.

But there was unmistakably a woman coming toward us. I started to feel nauseated. The woman was the typical supermodel type that I had been noticing all over town since I started hanging out with Ryan. These are really the only women who had confidence to stare openly at Ryan, while staring at me for a different reason. They never failed to make me feel like a particularly low class of bug. I could just tell that they were thinking
he’s with her?
I didn’t think that I would ever get used to the glares and stares. It was like high school all over again.

The woman was kind of bizarre, to be honest. Here we were, in an outdoor setting, and she was dressed in high heels. She was also dressed in slim black pants and a colorful top. She was wearing full makeup, although she really didn’t need to. I could tell that she was the kind of woman whom commanded attention. I noticed more than one man’s head turning as she walked. She was tall and slim and blond and stunningly beautiful, and carried an Hermés Birken bag.

Her bag was no doubt worth more than my car.

Ryan stood in his spot, as if he couldn’t move. He wasn’t looking at the woman, but it was if he was trying not to.

The woman was now about three feet away. “Hello, Ryan.” I looked closer at her face. She looked so familiar…Then it struck me. She was the woman in the picture with Ryan! Makes sense.

“Alexis,” Ryan said calmly.
So this is the infamous Alexis. Why doesn’t Ryan look upset to see her?

She turned her attention to me. “And who is this?” She looked amused. I could tell that there was no way that she would have imagined that I was his date.

Ryan put his arm around my shoulders. “This is Iris. Iris, this is my ex-wife, Alexis.”

I held out my hand to shake hers. She ignored it. She raised one eyebrow, looking at Ryan. “Your date?” Her expression was one of amusement mixed with disgust.

If this is the kind of woman he likes, what the hell is he doing with me?

“Yes, my date.” He turned to me. “Would you excuse me for a second?” I nodded. He looked at Alexis. “Let’s go over here and talk for a second.”

I stayed, rooted, holding the dogs’ leash and wondering what to do. My instinct was no longer that I should run. At the same time, like the fateful morning that I heard him yelling at Alexis over the phone, I was not looking forward to being around him after this. Not that he had ever been cruel or angry with me, and he had never once taken his issues out on me, and I hoped that he wouldn’t. But I have been with too many guys who are difficult to be around when things are going wrong in their lives. Once again, I questioned the wisdom of getting involved with somebody who apparently was still raw from an earlier hurt.