Love's Illusions: A Novel (3 page)

What was astonishing to me though was that we had developed a connection that somehow went beyond our mutual physical infatuation. The first time we left The Canteen together, about a week after meeting, for what I assumed would be yet another one night stand; we stayed with each other for almost 48 hours. Stoned on some very potent hashish, screwing on the mattress on the floor of his studio apartment over his garage, eating pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, sleeping, taking showers, listening to music – he played the guitar – fucking some more, ordering take-out Chinese food, exploring each other’s bodies in minute detail, and staying wasted; we also started talking. I still can’t remember exactly what we talked about, but by the time he took me home, he knew more about me than I had told anyone in a very long time, and I knew some of his secrets as well. So when he showed up, smiling, at the bar again the next night I wasn’t surprised – I was delighted. Right away he made sure all the regulars knew we had been together the last few days – almost like staking his claim. Although we didn’t have any defined commitment to each other, there was something going on from the very beginning. We were very different people who somehow needed each other. From the time we met, I had no problem brushing off other advances and being ‘his’, at least for the time being.

The one place where Michael and I had no difference was in bed – he was tuned into every square inch of my body and could play me as well as… no, better – much better – than he could play his old Gibson guitar, and that was what he was doing now. He was an incredibly generous lover. He lifted himself onto one elbow, cupped my breast in his hand and circled my rising nipple with the thumb that had last night dried my tears. He nibbled the base of my neck in a way he knew would send shivers through my capillaries, and drive me insane. My back arched in an instinctual response to his touch, and my hips pressed against him feeling that he was more than ready. My hands glided down his back enjoying the soft curve of his muscles and as I reached his firm round butt, he pushed naturally inside me.

“Oh God,” he whispered gazing down at me. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Hmm, smart-ass” I laughed. “That’s good, as long as you take me with you.”

Bernie and I met at the Water Tower Café, a little, hole-in-the-wall, coffee, pastry and sandwich shop that had been operating on E. Superior Street since the 1920’s. Everyone who was anyone in the city knew the place. At this time of day on a Saturday, it was bustling with customers, but Bernie had managed to secure a small wooden table in the back corner, and gave me a big smile as I walked in to meet him. It was good to see him again. I had been a little apprehensive about meeting; I hadn’t seen Bernie Epstein since I split from my husband, Stephen, last spring. Stephen and I had only been married about six months when everything fell apart. I had packed a few things to go stay with my girlfriend, Mary Beth, for a few days, telling Stephen that he needed to make up his mind, stop lying, stop hanging out with those people and make some time for our marriage. Bernie had lived in the apartment across the hall from Stephen and me – he was always more Stephen’s friend than mine, as he’d made clear at the time, but he had called wanting to meet, and now that I saw his familiar smile, I was glad I had agreed.

Bernie was a tall, rather thin guy with a big nose, dull brown hair, cut short compared to most of the men I knew, and a warm smile, and as usual, he was very easy to talk to, the kind of person my father always referred to as a ‘glad-hander’. We spent the first half hour or so catching up on what was new in each of our lives. I heard about his recent graduation from Northwestern University Law School, studying for the Bar exam, who he was currently dating, and the latest gossip about the obnoxious neighbors who lived upstairs at the apartment building on W. Touhy Avenue – both of us avoiding any mention of Stephen. As much as I was enjoying the conversation, sipping my cup of coffee from the heavy white ceramic mug –and relishing the scents of freshly baked pastry that whiffed through the shop, I was becoming anxious to find out the real reason he had wanted to meet.

Whether he was also growing bored with the small talk or read the expression on my glass face, Bernie sighed, took a long sip of his coffee and looking up at me over the rim of his cup said, “Stephen… Well, I ahhh, I don’t know how to say this, but I thought you should know that he… ahhh…” and his eyes dropped back down into his mug.

“What’s happened? I thought he was still in Boston, have you heard from him? Is he alright?” I demanded, with what must have been a tone of alarm in my voice.

Glancing up and looking me in the eye he replied, “Oh, no, he’s okay, he’s back in Chicago now. I mean there hasn’t been any kind of accident or anything; I mean he’s fine, I saw him. It’s just that …” Bernie’s voice faded off as he looked around, and swirled the coffee in his mug a few more times, staring at the signed photographs of the café owner with various prominent or famous or infamous people who had ever patronized his establishment, and were now hanging on the walls.

I could see that his face and the rims of his ears were beginning to get a pinkish tinge to them – whatever he wanted to say was obviously causing him some embarrassment as he struggled to find the right words. My mind raced… I could’ve guessed what was coming, but I was in no mood to be magnanimous. I was still somewhat hungover and besides, this was his show: he wanted to talk to me - not the other way around. I had tried talking to Bernie before I moved out, but he had blown me off, saying that whatever was happening was none of his business. He was Stephen’s friend, and didn’t know anything anyhow. So now, instead of relieving his discomfort, I let him squirm a little until finally, not being able to stand the tension myself anymore I said, “Just tell me.”

After a prolonged silence that seemed to go on forever, he gathered his thoughts, and with determination looked up at me again. “I owe you an apology,” he began. “When you wanted to talk before, I… Well, I thought you wanted me to give you some kind of dirt… something you could use to get back at him for seeing Leigh, I mean. I could hear the two of you arguing all the time and you screaming – you know, through that wall where our apartments connected. Your voice, it, well it carries a lot more than Stephen’s, and I didn’t want to get in the middle.”

“Hmph… yeah, I know… it’s okay,” I replied again, my voice showing no trace of emotion. “But why are you here now?” I put down my coffee mug, narrowed my eyes just a little, and tried to maintain a blank look on my face. “Just tell me.”

“Stephen’s been lying to me too. Before you left, I knew, well I thought I knew that he was having an affair with Leigh, you know the woman he worked with?” He looked at me, his eyes questioning.

“Yes, I know her,” I acknowledged.

He continued as if he just needed to get it all out. “Well, it’s not that having an affair was okay – I didn’t
approve
when he told me, but I didn’t think it was any of my business. Then when you went to stay with Mary Beth, before Stephen left for Boston, I found out that he wasn’t seeing her after all… but since he left Chicago by the end of that month, I figured I still shouldn’t say anything. After all, it
wasn’t
any of my business. But now that he’s back, well… I needed to tell you that he was seeing Joe and Donny and a bunch of other men…”

Bernie hesitated waiting for me to react to this revelation, but I could only nod. If I spoke at all, if I gave rein to my emotions in any way, the tears were going to start flowing, so all I did was nod, and look down at the walnut colored wood table.

Surprised, he continued, “You know? I mean I didn’t think – I thought you – I ahhh, well Leigh… I thought you thought she…” he continued stumbling, then found his courage again. “I wanted to see you because I thought you deserved to know that Stephen was really a homosex… I mean that he’d gone gay.”

I just sat there forcing myself to drink more coffee, hoping my throat would open enough so I could swallow and I’d be able to find my voice. I hadn’t realized that I was also holding my breath. After a long pause, I managed to say, “I know – at least I know now, I didn’t know then. I thought he was having an affair with her too – that’s what he wanted me to think, but yes, I know now about Joe, Donny and most of the others.”

Both of us just sat there looking at each other – getting that last sentence out without a tear was all I could manage. Bernie’s face showed a sense of relief, and the pinkish tinge had faded back to one of concern. He asked, “How did you find out?”

I tried to speak again, but the lump in my throat was now so large it felt like it was blocking my airways. All I could do was shake my head, and try to swallow again. At that, Bernie motioned to the waiter, paid for the coffee, and as he stood up said, “Let’s walk around for a bit, okay?”

All the clanking dishes, all the people chatting, all the waiters bustling about – even the smell of brewing coffee – all seemed to have stopped when Bernie started talking; the café had a deafening silence about it as my mind whirled in circles not stopping on any one thought long enough to let it take hold.
Bernie knows… How did he find out… Who has he told… Stephen is back in town… Why… Will he stay or go again… shit, shit, shit!… Why the hell did I come here today?

Bernie touched my shoulder, and my daze began to lift, “Want to walk around a while?” he asked again. As I stood up and headed towards the front door, I began to hear the sounds of the café around me again. When he opened the door and the cool afternoon air hit my face, reality returned in the form of a busy Chicago street.

I followed Bernie in silence as he led the way through various pods of people who were window-shopping along Michigan Avenue’s magnificent mile. My mind was focusing more and more as we walked past Saks, Neiman Marcus and Tiffany’s and a myriad of other, way-too-expensive-to-ever-buy-anything stores, but I was still unable to speak. The knot in my throat had taken up permanent residence there, and showed no signs of moving.

After walking several blocks Bernie asked, “Did you know Stephen was back in Chicago?” I just shook my head.

“I ran into him last Tuesday night at Vito’s, you know, that little spaghetti restaurant in Evanston,” he continued. “He wasn’t exactly happy to see me, but tried to pretend he was. He was with a couple guys I hadn’t seen before, but he didn’t introduce them. He said he’d only been back in town a few days, and wasn’t sure how long he was going to stay, but that we should get together some time and catch up. What a line of bullshit! I could tell he wanted to end the conversation, and well… to be honest, I did too, so I excused myself and sat down with my friends.”

We had been ambling along with me staring at the cracks in the sidewalk. Bernie slowed the pace even more as he said, “I’m sorry… I just thought you should know he was back and that… Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

As my eyes filled with water, the massive lump in my throat seemed to burst, and my voice came back. I pulled a Kleenex out of my jacket pocket, and tried to dab away the pools of water from the corners of my eyes being very careful not to smudge my makeup, and hoping no random, passing person would catch sight of what I was actually doing. They didn’t, no one noticed me at all. I wasn’t fooling Bernie, but for some unknown reason, it was very important to me that I fool all of the nameless strangers who walked by. I covertly kept glancing up to see if anyone was watching me, and murmured some bullshit to Bernie about the cold breeze blowing up from the lake trying to cover-up what was happening while I blew my nose several times.

Pulling some strength together to look him in the face, the only word I could muster was, “Thanks.”

We continued to wander up one side of Michigan Avenue and down the other while Bernie answered my questions, and explained how he had found out that Stephen had gone gay. As soon as I went to stay with Mary Beth –hoping to shock Stephen into realizing that I was serious, we needed to work on our marriage if it was ever going to be okay again – he had decided to take advantage of my absence, and thus began a procession of men streaming in and out of the apartment at all hours. Bernie, who was no prude, but who did, at that point, need some semblance of quiet across the hall so he could study for finals, had gone over to talk to Stephen. When he knocked on the door some older guy with graying hair, obviously drunk, answered, wearing only his boxer shorts. Bernie could see Stephen lying face down on the couch in the living room, semi-conscious, semi-naked. By the end of the month, Stephen had left the city. That was the last time Bernie had seen Stephen before this past Tuesday.

Saying it was difficult listening to Bernie recount the incident is an absurd understatement – more like someone had reached inside my gut, turned my stomach inside out with one swift yank, and left me alive to watch all of my internal organs spill out of my body and onto the sidewalk. Although I wasn’t shocked at the revelation, hearing it from someone I liked and trusted made it all too real. How could this happen? How could I not know? Did it matter whether he was with a man or a woman? Why was hearing about a man so very much worse in my mind? Had
I
done this to him? It had to be my fault – Stephen wasn’t gay before we married. Did anyone walking by see that I was dying here? Please don’t notice – please don’t notice! My mind was fragmented bouncing back and forth like a Goddamn ping pong ball.
Oh my God, am I really hearing all this?

I’d spent the months right after Stephen disappeared stoned – trying every street drug I could get my hands on, and until meeting Michael, fucking every man that came within 10 feet of me just to prove I could – to stop all this from being real, and here it was, staring me in the face again. Goddamn it! Worse of all though, I knew Bernie was telling me the truth.

“Hmph,” I said putting some pieces of the story together in my mind. “A few days before he left town, I met him at the apartment for dinner – that must be why he asked me if I had talked to you when I was arranging it. He wanted to make sure you hadn’t said anything to me. After I told him I hadn’t seen you since I went to Mary Beth’s he agreed to meet. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Anyhow, that night at dinner, Stephen drank way too much and passed out. I played detective and went through his wallet and address book. I found the names and numbers of about 20 men – names I had never heard of before,” I said focusing on the cracks of the sidewalk again, and dabbing at the corners of my eyes with the Kleenex.