Final Destination III (4 page)

She indeed had a very booked up afternoon. Following lunch at Nobu, she had a mani-pedi, leg and arm waxing, and then her appointment uptown at the law offices of Allen & Allyn. Great. I could get a lot done.

Diving into Combat Wombats helped keep my mind off Ari. Yet, I still longed for the phone to ring and to hear his sultry voice. Of course, that was wishful thinking. It was over. History. I was probably nothing more to him than another conquest he made on the train.

Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him out of my head. In between Combat Wombat doodles, I found myself sketching his face from all angles—from his profile to a full-face frontal view of him with his dimpled smile. I was surprised by how well I captured his expressions—from his smug come-ons to his dreamy after-sex glow. Under each picture, I wrote his name, making fanciful “A’s” and drawing little hearts. I fought back tears. Damn it. I missed him. And wanted him so badly.

At a little before six, Fernando stopped by my desk. I hastily flipped over my doodles.
“Mí amor
, let’s go out for a drink and celebrate Combat Wombats.”

I hesitated, but then agreed. I could use a drink. The last twenty-four hours had been hell. I grabbed my messenger bag and skateboard and headed to the bank of elevators with Fernando. Fernando did an outrageous imitation of Catherine, strutting in her Chanel pumps with her head high in the air. My office buddy was already cheering me up.

As we exited the entrance to the building, both laughing, I stopped dead in my tracks. He was there! Leaning against his Bentley, his arms folded across his broad chest. Dressed in the beige suit he was wearing when I first saw him at 30th Street Station. His piercing blue eyes met mine. My heart did a flip-flop and bolted to my throat.

“Kiss me!” I begged Fernando.

“What the fuck? I’m gay and committed.”

“Just do it! I’ll explain later.”

Without another word, Fernando wrapped an arm around me and crushed his hot Latino lips into mine. I placed a hand on his tight little ass. While the kiss did not go beyond lip contact, he was a damn good kisser. Except inside I felt nothing. There were none of the flutters and tingles that Ari’s kisses always evoked everywhere. I kept my eyes closed but could feel my Adonis’s eyes on me.

I don’t know how long the kiss lasted. When Fernando finally pulled away, I blinked my eyes open and gasped. He was standing before us, overpowering us with all six-foot two of his erect body. His eyes were narrow, his lips pressed tight. He was angry. Very angry. My heart was thudding, and my stomach spasmed. I knew how jealous he could be.

“So, Sarah, this is your boyfriend.” It was more of question than a statement, and the way he said my name was harsh. His icy eyes rammed into me like a glacier.

“Yes, this is Fernando,” I stammered, sinking like the Titanic. Fernando played along with me. My stomach was in knots, and my legs were Jello.

“Your Latin lover.” Ari clenched his fists so hard they turned white. He raised one, and suddenly I feared that he was going to knock Fernando out. I protectively jumped in front of my anxious friend.

I looked Ari straight into his eyes. “If you try to hurt him, you’ll have to hurt me first.”

“Then we’ll be even.” His words stung me.

He held his fist in mid-air, then lowered it.

Relief washed over me, and our eyes locked. Between my legs, moisture was pooling. My pantyless crotch was twanging, and my heart was hammering. I still wanted this gorgeous, mercurial god as much as I could ever want anyone.

He stared at me icily. “Remember that little saying of yours, Saarah. ‘
The grass can’t
compete with the trees.’
” Without saying good-bye, he pivoted on his heel and stormed back to the Bentley. My eyes stayed glued on him as he got into the car and sped off.

I felt sick. Nauseatingly sick. And on the verge of a tsunami of tears.

“What was that all about?” asked Fernando.

“I need a drink. I’ll explain everything.”

The bar Fernando took me to was a neighborhood joint that was popular with the Toy District crowd. Fernando ordered us two frozen margaritas. I gulped down the refreshing frosty drink like it was soda pop and immediately ordered another.

“Okay,
chiquita,
spill the beans.”

The margaritas had loosened me up. I told Fernando about how I had met Ari and filled him in on my whirlwind romance, omitting the explicit sexual details. Except for the few he demanded to hear.

“Oh, mí Sarahita, you are in love.”

Tears filled my eyes.
Mí amigo
was right as usual. And then I dropped the bomb. “Catherine is his ex-wife.”

Few things shocked Fernando; he almost fell off his bar stool.
“Hay caramba!”

The tsunami building behind my eyes broke loose. Tears raged down my cheeks. “Fernando, she threatened to fire me if I didn’t stop seeing him.”

“Las sendeces!”
said an incensed Fernando. “That’s harassment. You’ve got to talk to human resources.
Pronto!”

I finished my second margarita and ordered yet another. “I can’t. She’ll twist and turn things around, and I’ll end up losing my job. I won’t be able to pay for my mother’s treatments!”

“What do you mean?” asked a wide-eyed Fernando.

I sobbed. “Oh, Fernando, my mother’s insurance company is no longer willing to cover her medical expenses.”

“Oh,
pobrecita
!” said Fernando, his voice full of compassion. He gave me a bear hug. It didn’t help me feel better.

Recklessly, I ordered one more margarita, despite Fernando’s protest, and downed it. Nausea rose to my chest and the room began to spin. There wasn’t one Fernando in front of me—but two!

I started to sway on my chair.
“Mí amor
, are you okay?” asked my concerned friend.

“I don’t think so.”

“Vámanos.”

I could barely stand up. Letting me lean on him, Fernando led me out of the bar. The world around me was spinning out of control, the sounds of the crowd, a dull cacophony.

Once outside, I spilled my guts. The waves of nausea kept coming and coming. Even when there was nothing left inside me, I kept vomiting. I had never been drunk in my entire life. Never. The loss of my Trainman had driven me to drink. Driven me to behavior that had no right being part of my being.

Fernando held my clammy hand and hailed a cab. The next thing I knew it was morning. And I was stark naked in my bed.

3

M
Y FOUL-TASTING TONGUE WAS PASTED to my parched palate, and my headed pounded. I had no recollection of how I got to my apartment. The last thing I remembered was Fernando hailing a cab. And I think I threw up a lot. Oh God! My fucked-up life had turned me into a drunken fool. Thank goodness, Fernando was the kind of friend who was as forgiving as he was faithful. I was relieved, however, that I was taking the day off from work to visit my mother. I wouldn’t have to face him. And I wouldn’t have to face the wicked bitch. On Monday, I would go to human resources. No, I wasn’t going to file harassment charges—that was too risky—but I was going to put in a request for a transfer. It wouldn’t win me back the heart of my beloved Trainman, but at least, it would give my life a glimmer of sanity.

Wrapping the sheet around me, I staggered out of bed into the kitchen. Jo-Jo was already on the counter, waiting to be fed. After opening a can of cat food and pouring him some milk, I made myself some much needed coffee and took a couple of Advils for my splitting headache.

Even after the coffee, Advils, and a long, cold shower, I was still in slow-mo. Getting dressed was an effort. After lacing up my combat boots, I grabbed my messenger bag and trudged down the three flights of stairs to the street. On the way, I passed Mrs. Blumberg. She shook an index finger at me.

“I saw you with another man last night. You’re gonna getch’ya self a trans-sexually transmitted disease.”

I sighed. I was in no mood for conversation. Instead of responding to Mrs. Blumberg’s off-color
comment, I told her I was off to see my mother.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Mrs. Blumberg scuttled back to her apartment and returned with a large baggie full of cookies.

“My famous
rugelach
. I baked them this morning. Tell her they’re from me and that I’ll be at shul tonight praying for her.”

With a wistful smile that I couldn’t help, I took the bag of pastries and slipped it into my messenger bag. “Thanks, Mrs. Blumberg. She’ll appreciate these… and your prayers.”

Mrs. Blumberg shuffled back into her apartment. As annoying as she could be, I was blessed to have her in my life. She was a good person who meant well. I promised myself to spend more time with her. A widow, she was probably lonely.

The bright sunshine contrasted sharply with my mood and did not help my headache.

Slugging to Penn Station, I was grateful that I had overslept. Not just because I needed the extra sleep. Chances were I wouldn’t run into Ari on the train since he likely took an early morning commuter train.

The train ride to Philadelphia added to my gloom. I was in crowded economy class, sitting next to an overweight woman who kept farting. Memories of that fateful ride last Friday danced in my head. I longed for Ari as I penned ideas for Combat Wombats. Half way through the trip, I dozed off. I was lucky I didn’t miss my stop. 30th Street Station.

While I had been in 30th Street Station many times before, this time was different. I stood in the middle of the vast station and spun around, taking it in like a panoramic camera. My eyes stopped on the mezzanine, above the escalator, and I relived the moment of seeing him there for the very first time. My beautiful Trainman. That Adonis who had held me, kissed me, and made delicious love to me. That Adonis who had awoken every fiber of my being. That Adonis to whom I had given myself, unconditionally and oh so passionately. Only a week ago and yet it felt like a lifetime. Tears pricked my eyes.

Enough. He wasn’t magically going to reappear. With a heavy heart, I exited the station and headed west on busy Market Street until I reached the hospital on Spruce Street. It was short mile-long walk, but with my leaden feet, it felt like forever.

The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania was a venerable institution renowned for its clinical and research excellence as well as its world-class patient care. I was glad that my mother had been selected to undergo an experimental but promising cancer treatment. But now that her insurance coverage was coming to an end, hope was dwindling. I still hadn’t figured out how I would come up with the money to allow her to continue. Or break the bad news to her.

My mother’s room was located on the top floor. I always got depressed when I stepped off the elevator. Roaming the halls were men and women of all ages and races, hooked up to IV’s, their skin ashen, and their heads bald. I always thought this floor was a just a stop away from heaven.

The door to my mother’s room was opened. She was propped up in her bed, sketching. She looked up from her sketchpad and gaped when she saw me.

“Sarah, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Mom.”
Everything,
I solemnly thought as I stepped over to her bed to kiss her. She looked good. Her head was wrapped in a colorful scarf, and she had some color in her cheeks that was not there the last time I saw her. And she wasn’t coughing.

“My darling, you look so pale and thin.” There was alarm in her eyes.

I couldn’t hide a thing from my mother. No matter how hard I tried.

I sat down on the edge of her bed, and the tears I had held back all day ran down my face.

“Oh, Mom,” I sobbed. “Someone broke my heart. Or maybe I broke his.”

“Oh, Baby.” She leaned forward and wrapped her stick-thin arms around me, letting me cry into her bony chest. Oh how frail she was! Here she was taking care of me when I should be taking care of her.

After my sobbing subsided, I told her everything about my week, sparing only the very explicit sexual details and Gwen’s bribe. How I’d lost my virginity to a stranger on a train and fell in love with him… only to find out that his evil ex-wife was my evil boss who threatened to fire me if I didn’t stop seeing him.

“Oh, Mom,” I sniffed. “I miss him so much, and I think I’ve hurt him terribly by pretending to be in love with someone else.”

My mother hugged me again and then framed my face like a painting with her withered hands. “My darling daughter, love is a disease for which there is no cure.”

I looked into my wise mother’s benevolent eyes. “What should I do?”