Rhapsody (51 page)

He sighed as they made their way to their
room, immune to the serene beauty of the ancient inn, still lost in
thought. Her ambition he could understand. Wasn't he consumed by
his own? Yet ... yet he realized that, unfair as it might be, he
didn't want to be secondary to her ambition.

At the door to their room, they removed their
slippers and padded onto the tatami-matted floor with bare feet.
Tonight they would be served dinner here in their room. Misha knew
that it would be exquisitely presented on beautiful porcelain and
lacquerware, course after course. There would be
shabu-shabu
, a dish of thinly sliced beef,
suppon
, a
turtle dish;
tsukemono
, assorted pickled vegetables. Dish
after dish, on and on. Suddenly he wasn't looking forward to
it.

Serena began undressing, throwing her clothes
on a chair. She slipped into the
yukata
and turned to face
him.

"Don't you want to get comfortable?" she
asked.

Misha hesitated a moment before answering. "I
... I guess so," he finally said, and began stripping off his
clothes.

Serena eyed him with a quizzical expression.
"What's wrong, Misha?" she asked. "You were awfully quiet coming
back to the inn."

He shook his head. "Nothing, really," he
said. "But I thought the same thing. That you were being awfully
quiet."

Serena sat down and tossed her raven black
hair out of her eyes. She held her hands out in front of her and
examined her long, BrazenBerry-polished fingernails. She seemed
absorbed in them, ignoring his response to her, as if her expensive
manicure was the most important thing in the world.

Misha silently folded his clothes and slipped
into his
yukata
, then sat down in front of her and took her
long, tapering hands in his. "Talk to me, Serena," he said. "We've
been having fun, but you're at least as preoccupied as I am. What
is it, huh?"

She looked at him and sighed. "I guess I'm
just anxious to get going," she said. "You know. To Cambodia. It's
just yours truly and Jason this trip. I've got a lot of work to do,
and I need to get to it."

"Jason's here?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Didn't I tell
you? He's staying in a little inn hidden away over in Gion."

"Maybe we should invite him to dinner," Misha
said.

"No," Serena said, shaking her head. "He'd be
bored stiff. He's probably already out exploring the bars
anyway."

"I guess so," Misha said. He squeezed her
hands lightly. "So," he said. "You're anxious to get going. And
that's all? I mean, that's the only reason you're so ...well, a
little distant?"

"Yes," Serena said, looking at him. "I guess
so. I'm glad we could meet, Misha, but I guess it was just bad
timing."

For a moment he didn't believe his ears. This
stopover was "bad timing"? Hadn't she expected him to tell her that
he was getting a divorce? Didn't she expect him to ask her to marry
him? Hadn't they reached a turning point in their relationship?
Perhaps they had. Only it wasn't the turning point he'd
thought.

Serena, however, dispelled this notion with
her next comment. "Besides, Misha," she said, her hazel eyes
looking into him, "I've been waiting for you to tell me that you're
getting a divorce and that we're going to get married." There was a
hint of a smile on her lips.

So she had been thinking about it. But now
that the subject was out on the table, his mind went blank. "I... I
don't know what to say," he said. "I ... I talked to Vera, but
..."

"But what?" Serena asked. She jerked her
hands out of his. "But what?" she repeated.

"We talked about a divorce," Misha said, "but
we didn't come to any definite conclusion."

Serena sighed. "Lame," she said. "That is so
lame."

"Call it what you will," Misha retorted, "but
that's the way we left it."

" 'We'!" Serena spat. "What's 'we' got to do
with it? It's simple. You're supposed to be getting rid of
her!"

Misha cringed. He could understand her anger
and disappointment, but he couldn't handle her insensitivity toward
Vera and their marriage.

"Serena," he said. "Vera and I've known each
other for a very long time. You don't just unceremoniously dump
somebody that you've known and ...and ...loved for that long. You
should know that."

Serena looked at him with a pouting
expression. "What about me?" she asked.

Misha looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you
really love me, Serena?" he asked gently. "Do you really want to
marry me and have children? Do you want to have a family with me?
Ask yourself. Deep down inside, do you? Are you absolutely
certain?"

Serena shrugged. "You know I love you, Misha.
As much as I can. As much as I know how. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I don't know if
love is enough." He shook his head. "You've told me about your
relationships in the past and how sometimes you thought you were in
love but weren't, as it turned out. Sometimes I wonder if that's
what's happening now."

"I don't think so," she said. "I know I have
problems with ...with intimacy. My parents ... my family were so
...unloving."

"I know that, Serena," Misha said. "And you
know it. Do you think you can ever get beyond what your parents did
to you? Do you think you can ever get over your fears and really
give yourself to somebody?"

"I don't like this conversation," Serena said
angrily. "I don't like it at all. I just know that I do love you,
Misha, and that's that." She looked at him with widened eyes.

Misha was silent for a moment, digesting her
words. "I love you, too," he said at last.

"But," Serena said. "It sounds like there's a
definite but coming."

Misha nodded. "I don't know if I can give up
my family for you. I love my family. I want a family. I need a
family. And I don't really believe you do. I think the most
important thing to you is your career."

Serena ran her fingers through her long raven
hair and laughed nervously. "How many times do we have to discuss
my career?" she asked. "What about yours? Are you willing to give
it up for a family? Huh?"

"No," Misha said, "and I've never meant that
you would have to give yours up for a family. But for God's sake,
look at what you're doing now. Going off to Cambodia for weeks,
leaving me alone for the holidays. Is that love?"

"Holidays!" Serena snapped. Then she laughed.
"Who cares? I've got pictures to take." She shook a finger at him.
"And I bet if you had a big concert to play during a holiday, you
wouldn't hesitate to leave your wife and kid at home."

Misha hung his head. "Maybe you're right," he
muttered.

"I know I am," Serena said. "We're like two
peas in a pod, Misha. We're artists, and we live for our art.
That's what's important. Not family." She paused and took a deep
breath, exhaling noisily. "Let's forget it, okay? Let's forget
marriage and all that business right now. What's the hurry? I like
the way we've been meeting, even if we've had problems. We can both
do our own thing and still have a great time together."

She took his long, slender hands in hers and
squeezed them. "We don't have much time, Misha, so let's have fun.
Forget all this other stuff, okay?"

He didn't respond immediately, and Serena
took his hands. "Come on, what do you say? Friends and lovers?
Tonight and tomorrow until I leave?"

Misha slowly nodded and looked up into her
eyes. She's like a little girl, he thought. A sad little girl who
wants to be loved so desperately. And who wants to return it the
best—the only—way she knows how. His heart melted for her, but at
the same time he realized with a feeling, deep down in his gut,
that it was over for him. Serena could never give him what he
wanted. She was incapable of giving him what he wanted. It simply
wasn't in her. At the same time he realized that the reverse was
true. He could never give her the freedom and independence she
wanted, that she had to have. Not genuinely, he couldn't. No, he
wanted something different.

He had a sudden longing for the comfortable
familiarity of Vera, for her perfumed embrace, so sweet and
uncomplicated, so tender and unconditional. For the noisy, joyous
flinging of his son's arms about his neck. For the warmth of their
home. He felt a wistful need to see Sonia and Dimitri and tell them
that he loved them, that he appreciated the nurturing, loving home
they had always provided for him, no matter the circumstances.

His eyes misted over. He looked over at
Serena and nodded. "Friends and lovers," he said. "Tonight and
tomorrow. But I don't know beyond that, Serena."

The young man adjusted the knot of his yellow
silk tie, making certain in the mirror that it was perfect. Always
a fastidious dresser, he felt a special need to appear so now. In
the mirror he saw the young woman light a cigarette and blow a
plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

She was still sprawled out on the bed, though
she had dressed again. In head to toe shiny black vinyl, including
thigh-high, stiletto-heeled boots. The outfit, heavy makeup, and
bleached streaks in her jet black hair—the bleach a certain sign of
a renegade soul in Japan—no longer appealed as they had before he
had satisfied himself with her.

He patted the hair at the sides of his head
with his hands. He wanted to get out of this love-by-the-hour
hotel. He hated this sort of place—afterwards—but what choice had
he had? He'd left the luxurious hotel where Misha had put them up,
off to seek adventure in Shinju- ku's Kabuki-cho, home to Tokyo's
wildest nightlife. And he'd found it, but he couldn't possibly take
her back to the Four Seasons Hotel Chinzan-so.

He snapped his fingers at the girl. "Let's
go," he said, nodding his head toward the door.

The girl took a drag off her cigarette, then
eased her booted legs off the bed, taking her time to get up. When
she stood, she wavered slightly, still drunk or stoned or both.

Jesus
, he thought.
You can almost
smell the viruses
.

He took her arm and unceremoniously pushed
her toward the door, which he opened with his other hand.

Misha Levin
, he thought.
Rich,
famous, handsome, successful Misha Levin. It's his fault I have to
put up with shit like this.

He deserves whatever he gets. Whatever I
have to give him
.

Vera closed the novel she'd been trying
without much success to read. She'd caught herself reading the same
sentences time and again, without their meaning registering in her
whirling mind. She stowed the paperback novel in the compartment on
the back of the seat in front of her and stretched her legs as far
as she could, wiggling her toes. She'd long since kicked off her
Chanel heels.

Turning her head to the jet's porthole, she
looked out into the pitch black night. I must be crazy, she
thought. Or maybe I'm doing the first sane thing I've done ever
since I knew Misha was having this affair.

She had finally decided that she was going to
fight to keep her husband. She was sick and tired of being the
patient, understanding wife, willing to keep the home fires burning
while her husband did whatever he pleased. Nobody was going to take
him away without a fight.

That was why she was on this flight to Tokyo.
She'd left Nicky with Sonia and Dmitri. Sonia had wished her the
best of luck. She was going to attend Misha's concerts whether he
liked it or not, and she was going to do everything in her power to
lure him back. To lure him away from Serena Gibbons. Misha would
probably be appalled, but she didn't care anymore.

So here I a
m, she thought.
Alone,
on a crazy adventure, facing I don't know what. But I've got to do
it. What can I lose? Everything and nothing
.

With that thought, she reached up and
switched off the reading light above her seat.
I've got to get
some sleep
, she thought,
closing her eyes. I have to be
sharp for the next couple of days. I've got to save all my energy
to save—us.

The young man returned to his room at the
Four Seasons Hotel Chinzan-so with his recent purchases, all neatly
wrapped and placed in a single shopping bag. He set the bag down
and started to hang up his expensive overcoat, then thought better
of it.

It'll be useful
, he decided.
Yes,
indeed, it's just what the doctor ordered, in fact
. A smile
crossed his lips.

He took the coat on into his room and threw
it over the back of a chair, then he headed straight to the table
where he'd earlier placed a bottle of exorbitantly expensive
whiskey. It was perched enticingly on a small lacquered tray with
glasses and a bottle of mineral water. He poured a stiff drink, at
least three inches, in one glass, then recapped the whiskey and set
it back down. Then he picked up the bottle of water and filled
another glass with it. A chaser. Taking a deep breath first, he
downed the whiskey in a single long swallow, shivering as it went
down his throat and hit his stomach. Quickly picking up the glass
of water, he downed it on top of the whiskey.

"Awww," he exclaimed, almost gagging. He
shivered once again, then stood still for a moment, letting the
whiskey and water settle in his stomach. He didn't normally drink
like this, but today he'd decided he could use a good belt of
whiskey to screw up his courage.

Gradually feeling much better—in fact, pretty
damn good, he thought—lie rose to his feet and retraced his steps
to the entry, where he retrieved his shopping bag.

He set the bag down on the chair where he'd
put his overcoat, then reached in it and pulled out a small
package. He quickly tore open the box and extracted his first
purchase. A pair of handcuffs, complete with keys. He'd bought them
in a shop full of sex toys. He practiced opening and closing them.
Child's play
, he thought. He eyed them proudly for a moment,
then slipped them into one of the capacious pockets of his
overcoat.