Waltzing at Midnight (32 page)

“Yes,” Rosie said. “Just a few minutes ago.”

Tina nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, let’s go!” I said impatiently.

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“Let’s go where?” Rosie asked, looking perplexed.

“The courthouse, of course. There’s a bunch of right-wingers there already waving their one man plus one woman signs and spewing their crap about slippery slopes and what do we do if some farmer wants to marry his pig! We need a presence, a big one, to show that we’re celebrating while they are languishing in defeat. We can’t afford to be complacent because you know they’re going to come right back at us as soon as they get the chance. We have to show everybody how many of us there are and how passionate we are about our rights. I’ve already spoken with Ginny and Tyler. They’ll meet us there and they’re rallying the troops. So, let’s go, let’s get some signs made. Something like,

‘Hallelujah, the wicked witch is dead!’ Or whatever. Something that the media will want to put on camera. Tina, you have to come too, even though you’re not gay. But we won’t hold that against you in a time of need. You can’t be on the fence here. You have to take sides, and obviously, you’re on our side.”

Tina looked amusedly resigned. Rosie stood staring at me like I’d lost my mind, a reaction I didn’t comprehend.

“Well?” I said. “Are you coming?”

And then I realized that her eyes had teared up. She put her hand to her mouth, obviously overcome with emotion, which seemed a tremendous overreaction to the situation, especially since Rosie wasn’t a person prone to that kind of emotional display.

“Rosie,” I said gently. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?

This is good news. A major victory for our side!”

She nodded her head emphatically as a tear dropped to her cheek. “Oh, yes,” she said, sniffing.

And then I understood, by the way she was looking at me with such affection and gratification, that her reaction, these tears of joy, had nothing to do with the court decision. I reached out and pulled her close. She put her head on my shoulder and wept freely.

“I’ll go get some sign boards,” Tina said, tactfully leaving the room.

23

After a moment, Rosie lifted her head from my shoulder. I wiped the tears off her face and smiled at her.

“Ready?” I asked.

She nodded, composing herself. “I’m ready.”

23

Rosie and I sat on one side of the plane with Harry across the aisle. We flew overnight with the intention of sleeping, but that had been a too-optimistic plan. Rosie, her hand clasped in mine between us, dozed off for short naps, but I don’t think I managed to fall asleep once. I kept thinking how incredible it was that I was here, flying to Paris with Rosie. The events which had led me to this place were still unreal to me. But I thought of them as alien less and less. My new life continued to feel ever more comfortable and grounded.

The flight was tiring and seemed interminable. The trip from the airport into Paris and our hotel took well over an hour. When at last Rosie and I were alone in our room, she kissed me deeply, then said, “Bienvenue à Paris.”

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I’m very tired, but I don’t think we should waste the rest of the day. There are a million things I want to show you. Are you up for a night on the town?”

We cleaned up a bit, then changed into Levi’s and walking 23

shoes. “What about Harry?” I asked on the way out of the room.

“Let him find his own amusement for tonight. He’s probably asleep by now anyway. Tomorrow we can all go sightseeing together.” In the hotel lobby we pulled on our jackets and went out to face a windy city. It was late in the afternoon already, but the evening lay ahead, an evening of exceptional promise.

I had my camera, guidebook, electronic translator, Métro map and some Euros that we had purchased ahead of time. On the street outside the hotel we stood looking up toward the Avenue de la Grande Armée, our destination. I gawked at everything like the neophyte I was, while Rosie led me by the arm to the huge avenue. Despite our long trip, her eyes were bright with a sense of adventure.

We walked along between a mixture of old stone and new glass buildings. After a few blocks, Rosie pulled me to the curb and stopped. I looked down the avenue to where she pointed to see the Arc de Triomphe ahead, that massive ornate landmark which was the first familiar sight, the first proof that I was really in Paris. We headed toward it as though it were a beacon. When we arrived at the hub of radiating roadways, we stood as insects beneath the bulk of the arch. We stayed there in the square for some time, walking around the colossal structure amid honking Parisian traffic.

Rosie quoted interesting historical facts like a tour guide, but without the corny jokes. Then we entered the Champs Élysées and walked toward Tuileries Gardens, past airline offices and embassies from around the world. We walked for several blocks until at last we reached the Grand Palais. Circling it, we saw statues and fountains at every glance. This mix of classical and contemporary was jarring, but enthralling.

We decided to take a break from walking and stopped at a café for some fruit, some
fromage
, a bottle of
vin rouge
and a baguette. A baguette in Paris! I was delighted. Rosie spoke to the waiter and ordered in French. “I’m a little rusty. But they’ll get the message. And they appreciate the attempt.”

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The last glow of daylight disappeared while we enjoyed our meal. Exotic sounds and sights swirled around me. This is so much like a fantasy, I thought, looking at Rosie across the table, it was hard to believe it. But then, life had been like that for me for months now, an incredible, breathtaking idyll that I could barely keep up with. Maybe someday I would manage to catch my breath. I remembered what Rosie had said about living for another forty years, about still having that much time left to forge new memories. If that could happen then this was just the beginning of an entirely new lifetime for the two of us. As she gazed at me across the table, holding my hand, I could believe in that possibility. I hoped she could believe in it too.

Eventually we dragged ourselves back onto the street, leaning against each other for support. “Where to now?” Rosie asked.

“The Louvre is just up ahead,” I said, consulting my map.

“Closed, of course, but we could scout it out for tomorrow. I know you’ve been there several times. I hope you don’t mind too much going back to all of these places.”

“Jean,” she said, putting a hand to my cheek, “everything is new to me tonight.” She smiled at me fondly. “Besides, what would your art history professor say if he knew you were in Paris and didn’t stop in at the Louvre? That has got to be some form of heresy.”

We walked with our arms locked together, two lovers moving through shadows and puddles of light on a busy Paris thoroughfare. Our pace had slowed considerably, and we decided that we would ride the Métro back to the hotel when the time came, being much too exhausted to walk. It was late when we arrived at the Louvre, and then moved off toward the Seine.

Standing like a magical kingdom before us, Notre Dame rose up from the Île de la Cité, splitting the river around it.

Rosie and I leaned against a railing looking across to the island. The gothic cathedral shone in a bath of bright light, lit up by powerful spotlights at its base. Its central spire shot delicately up into the night sky.

“For two thousand years people have prayed there,” Rosie 241

said quietly. “A long history of holiness. The first time I was here I was twenty-six, traveling alone. I was seeing as much as I could as fast as I could, all the usual things. Notre Dame was, of course, on the list. I rushed inside and began checking off things I had read about, the artwork, the statues. I was in the process of taking in the rose windows when I looked up to the ceiling and then out along the interior and had my breath taken away. I had been inside about fifteen minutes, but I hadn’t noticed how awe-inspiring, how grand the cathedral was. I had been missing too much. I sat down for a long while, just looking about, imagining what it was like for other people to sit there throughout the centuries, thinking about the vastness of human history. I believe that was a rare, near religious moment for me. How appropriate, don’t you think, that it should occur in such a place?”

Rosie’s face was illuminated on one side only. The crease beside her mouth was deep. I kissed it lightly. We dropped onto a bench to rest and watched people pass. Rosie put her arm loosely behind me on the back of the bench and we sat close for some time, wordless, watching the light dance off the river.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“Elated.”

Rosie reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small white box. “Jean, I was going to give you this tomorrow, on your birthday, but tonight seems more appropriate for it. Besides, tomorrow we’ll have Harry along.”

I took the box, my fingers cold and stiff from the chill of the night. Inside was a ring, an unbelievably gorgeous platinum band encrusted with a row of princess-cut diamonds. The streetlight above our bench caught them in a dazzling shimmer. “Oh!” I said, overcome.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? This is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Rosie put her arm around my shoulders more securely. “It’s inscribed. Can you read it?”

I wiped a tear from my eye and looked inside the band, turned 242

it to catch the light and attempted to read the inscription. “Jean et Rosie. Heureux pour toujours.”

“Well,” she said, “the pronunciation is a little off.” She read it to me in a way that made it sound much more romantic.

“I don’t know the words,” I said.

“Look them up.”

I took Bradley’s translator out of my pack and typed in the two words I didn’t know, “heureux” and “toujours.” The lighted display came back with “happy” and “always.”

I looked up to see Rosie looking tired, but lovingly, at me.

“Happy for always?” I asked.

“Yes. Jean and Rosie, happy for always. The French don’t really have a phrase for ‘happily ever after,’ This is the closest I could get. Their fairy tales end with a slightly different sentiment that basically means, ‘they lived happily and had a lot of kids.’”

I laughed. Rosie took the ring from me, holding my hand in hers. “Marry me, Jean,” she said, sliding the ring over my finger.

“Come live with me happily ever after.”

My eyes felt hot with new tears. “This is so…” I choked and couldn’t say another word.

“Nod if that means yes.”

I nodded vigorously. And then I flung myself at her and kissed her passionately, welcoming the now familiar response of my body.

“I’m going to adore looking at your sweet face over my coffee cup every morning,” Rosie said, her expression serene.

We kissed again.

“Do you think we’ll shock the natives?” I asked, realizing that there were still pedestrians walking by.

“I doubt it. Parisians have seen everything. We didn’t invent this, after all.” Rosie stood, pulling me to my feet. “It’s almost midnight. We should get back. I’m too old for such extravagant hours. Besides, I feel like one of us is going to turn into a pumpkin at any moment.”

I knew what she meant. The night couldn’t have felt more magical. We walked over to the path beside the river to make 243

our way back. Below us, parked along the Left Bank, a few noisy restaurant boats were still serving meals. The clatter of dishes, music and laughter drifted up to us, distorted by the wind.

Among the commotion, my ear picked out a familiar orchestral tune coming from somewhere among the boat population. I tried to focus on it and began to hear the melody.

“Do you hear that music?” I asked, stopping to listen.

“Yes. It’s the waltz from
Sleeping Beauty
. Lovely, isn’t it?”

Sleeping Beauty
, I thought. Remarkable.

There was no way I could have been happier than I was at that moment, thinking about the incredible journey I had taken to this place and the marvelous promise of our life to come. The best part of it, though, was seeing the joy in Rosie’s eyes and knowing that she, too, was confident about the future, our future together.

I turned to face her and held out my hand, noting the glitter of diamonds on my finger. “Shall we dance?” I asked.

She smiled fondly at me, took my hand and asked, “Who leads?”

244

Afterword

May 15, 2008, the California Supreme Court overturned a ban on same-sex marriage as unconstitutional. In November of the same year, voters narrowly approved a proposition defining marriage as exclusively between a man and a woman, taking away the right of gays and lesbians to marry. These two events were only the latest in an ongoing battle over gay marriage in California and across the U.S. As this book goes to print, same-sex marriage is illegal in California, pending a Supreme Court ruling on the constitutionality of the November, 2008 initiative.

But in the summer and fall of 2008, an estimated 18,000 same-sex couples were legally married. Jean and Rosie were among those who said “I do.”

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