The Album: Book One (9 page)

September 26, 2002

“H
OW ARE YOU MANAGING
with the Russell party? I swear, that family can be quite eccentric.” My new boss, Molly, is fanning herself with an ornate Chinese fan and pinning red fabric to a presentation board.

“Yeah, they’ve changed the theme six times and now they want camels!”

“Oh good Lord! I’m so sorry. My best advice is to keep detailed notes and just go with it.”

Today is my third day and I’m already knee-deep in shithole clients. I’m actually surprised Molly trusted me with planning an event with so little experience and an unrefined mouth. I thought I would just be here to answer phones and maybe do some PR work, but she’s a sweetheart from Nashville and seems to have a lot of faith in me . . . or she owes Zach a big favor.

“I hope my instincts are enough. Do you need help with that presentation board?” I see Molly struggling with the fabric and offer her a helping hand.

“How do you feel about fortune cookies? Do they even have those in China? The clients want Asian Elegance, but I’m stuck somewhere between 1940s Bangkok and P. F. Chang’s!” Molly smiles, but her eyes are wildly stressed.

“I think fortune cookies could work. Maybe spray them gold and use them as place card holders?”

“Um hum, there you go! See Natalie, you’ve got what it takes. How are things with Zach? Excuse my meddling ways, but I was raised by a church-gossiper.”

“That’s okay Molly, I like to know juicy details as well. Let’s get back to Zach, what’s going on with you and that mysterious businessman?” Molly blushes and sits down at her desk.

“Mr. Ross and I are just friends.” She scrunches her nose and chews on the tip of her pen. “Is it that obvious, Natalie? Oh, he’s such a gentleman and makes me swoon. They just don’t make them like him anymore.” Molly is in her early forties, and while I admire her tenacious spirit of being a modern woman, I don’t envy her dating pool.

“He seems dashing! And you’re right, men my age just want sex.”

“What about Zach?”

“He pretty much only wants sex.” I smile as she shakes her head in dismay, although I secretly know she and the debonair Mr. Ross fuck like rabbits.

The phone rings and I take it as my duty to answer all calls.

“Molly’s Events and Planning, Natalie speaking,” I say cheerfully.

“What are you wearing?” he asks.

“Cousin Alfred?” I giggle.

“Ha ha, Nat. Are you staying over tonight?” The truth is, I’ve stayed over every night for the past week, but it’s cute that he always asks.

“Yes, dear.”

“Mmm, and can I put my dick between your tits?”

“Do you even need to ask? I’ll be by around six.” I type in exotic animal rentals on an internet search, hoping to find nothing.

“Maybe I’ll feed you first, if you’re a good girl. Shove a nice, thick plaything between your luscious lips.” I glance at Molly and she’s totally staring at me, nosy little belle.

“Great, I’m starved. See you later, Zach!” I hang up the phone and rustle in my chair.

Molly is nodding her head in excitement. “See, Natalie! Zach is a gentleman, calling on you like that.” She smiles sweetly and continues working on her board.

“He is indeed.” I laugh.

September 27, 2002

“I
NEED TO GO HOME TONIGHT
and pick up some more clothes. The last thing I want is for my southern employer to think I’m some wanton hussy shacking up with a guy.” I quickly brush my teeth and dab on some travel-size perfume. I’m already running late due to the early morning shower shag, and yet Zach is still not sexually satisfied.
Look at that strapping boy, calmly leaning against the bathroom door, smiling at me with a big, fat hard-on.

“But aren’t you my hussy? I’ll go with you and we can stop by and see Mom. There’s something I need to discuss anyway.” Oh damn. Oh God! Could this really be happening?

“Are you proposing? Because I will say no.”

“Hell no! You make an excellent lover, but you would be a horrible wife.” Zach flashes his crooked grin and makes a goofy face.

I cross my eyes and purse my lips. “Thank God. Okay, pick me up from work around five and we’ll go together.”

After we stop by my house to gather some clothes and my Aveda shampoo, I drive Dad’s car to Zach’s mansion (it drives him insane when I refer to his home as a mansion.) We’re greeted by a middle-aged man in a tennis outfit, same sandy hair and the same navy eyes.

“Hello, Dad,” Zach says full of venom.

“Son.” The man acknowledges Zach but keeps his eyes directed at me. “You must be the girlfriend.” He extends his hand but Zach grabs both of my arms and clears his throat.

“Dad, we need to talk. May we use your study?” Raymond Parker grits his teeth and I can only imagine what he’s thinking. I’ve seen enough episodes of
90210
to know that rich guys always knock up the white trash and dishonor the family.

“Fine. Can your friend sit with your mother?” We follow Raymond into the house as the tension becomes unbearably thick.

“Nat, can you hang out with Mom? I’ll come get you in a few minutes.” Zach places his hands on my shoulders and smiles sweetly. “Just read her a magazine or tell her a funny story. Be yourself, ma femme.” He puts his hands in his pockets and follows his dad down a long hallway. God, I wish I knew what they were discussing.

I make my way into the garden room just past the kitchen. Claire’s eyes are closed and there’s a beautiful opera melting through the speakers. I approach her quietly, not wanting to wake her, but she opens her eyes as soon as my fat ass plops down on the chair.

“Natalie?” she breathes.

“Yes, Claire, it’s me. Zach and I stopped by because I desperately need your advice about some camels. You see, my new job with Molly requires me to do some crazy stuff. Now, I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but I never thought I would have to create the Sahara Desert on the Upper East Side.” I pause to see if she’s following and she’s grinning.

“So my mom suggested I just get a bunch of hookah pipes and set up tents and let everyone get really high and imagine the camels. I could even get a couple cardboard cutouts to enhance the mirage. Zach seems to think that monkeys with fez hats would be more fun, but I really don’t want to disappoint Molly or my eccentric clients.” Claire’s chest starts to flail and I’m nervous I did something to hurt her, but she’s smiling and tapping her hand against the rail. I place my hand on top of her frail fingers and she mumbles a few words—

“Il t’adore. Sa femme, Natalie.” She quiets to silence, and the only noise is the pressure of the oxygen tank filtering in clean air. Her eyes close, but her chest is still inflating. Goosebumps invade my skin while I contemplate holding a mirror under her nose.

“Natalie? Are you ready to go?” Zach is standing over my shoulder, sensing my anxiety. “You did a great job. She’s happily resting.” I release Claire’s hand and join him. He leans over and kisses her delicate hand, and then whispers at a volume I, too, can hear. “La vie est un interlude au salut.”

Life is an interlude to salvation.

On the train ride back to Manhattan, I snuggle into Zach and think about the peculiarity of what I witnessed. Claire speaks French. Zach speaks French. And I still don’t know what’s going on.

“She said you loved me,” I blurt.

“She’s on morphine.” Zach smiles playfully and I jab him in the stomach.

“Be serious for one fucking minute! Stop patronizing me. Stop giving me things to distract me. Stop making me assume you’re full of secrets.” I cross my arms and remain firm. He cannot actually think he’s the one saving me.

“Natalie, have you ever wanted something so badly that you would sacrifice a life in order to save one?” He yanks my hand from my chest and pulls it close to his heart. “Can you feel what you do to me? You’re my pleasure from the pain, my distraction from the voyage and the best friend I will ever have.”

I mumble and shake my head, “I don’t—”

“That day on the train, I wasn’t visiting my mom or taking her to treatment, I was getting my things in order. I went to see my physician, update my passport and take care of my trust with the family attorney.”

“Oh god, no! Are you sick? What’s happening?” I cover my mouth in fear and collapse into his strong arms.

“I’m not sick, I’m a Marine.” He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. “I’m leaving for Afghanistan. Tomorrow.”

“What?” My scream is blood-curdling and every passenger stares in our direction, wondering what could be so horribly wrong between two young lovers. “No! No, you cannot leave me. Absolutely not. What about your family? What about me?”

“This was decided long before I met you and I didn’t realize I would fall so deeply in love with you. But I need you to be okay with this, Natalie, please. Those fuckers impacted our lives but I refuse to let them take our dreams.”

“You’re wrong, so wrong. I’m selfish! I’m a selfish, selfish baby and I want you here. I’m not built like you and I have no honor, please Zach, stay with me,
be
with me.” My sobbing and hyperventilating muffle my plea, but it doesn’t matter, Zach is leaving tomorrow. So that I, a girl he barely knows, can drink Diet Snapple and interview for high-paying jobs and sleep with as many men as I want and buy expensive shoes and say
Shit
and
Fuck
wherever I want and watch crappy television and look for fucking camels to rent for a desert-inspired party. Irony is a bitch.

October 24, 2002

I
T’S A GORGEOUS
O
CTOBER
day in the city that I love. The leaves are turning copper and everything smells like an apple orchard. Fall fashion is probably my favorite, and I look fantastic in jewel tones and boots. My job is fantastic, all things considering, and I even pulled off that desert party for The Russell family. Molly and Mr. Ross are officially a “shield your eyes” item and she has scaled back on her event commitments, leaving me with plenty to fuck up.

Zach has spent three weeks in basic training somewhere in Germany and soon he will be dropped front and center on the Afghani battlefields. I hate him and I love him, but mostly, I miss him. After my Metro North Meltdown, we spent the entire night in each other’s arms, talking and laughing . . . ignoring the pain. We made love one last time, honest and real, no joking and no silly banter.

I shaved his head as we talked about nothing and everything, but promising to never say goodbye. Sometimes when I’m deep in my thoughts, I wonder if I imagined him – like a little prince that fell from the sky in search of a friend.

When I get to the office, the UPS guy is waiting for me, so I sign his clipboard quickly and grab my little package. I see the Deutschland stamp and I know it’s from Zach. Ripping open the brown paper, I find a single key – I know exactly where to go!

I run down the four flights of stairs and out onto the street. I’m booking it down Broadway and leaping over anything in my way. He said he would get a short leave and he’s here! I shove past some tourists and manipulate my boots like Nancy Sinatra . . . I’m almost there.

Out of breath and flushed, I take the elevator to the fifth floor and nearly attack the door to 5G. My hands are shaking, but I manage to finagle the key in the hole and swing open the door and it’s . . .

Empty.

Not one piece of furniture. Not one tack left on the wall. No Zach. I walk to the middle of what used to be the living room and stomp my feet. I jump up and down and scream and curse.

Fuck! Shit! No!

And then I see it,
Le Petit Prince
, resting on the kitchen counter. It’s calling me and I go to it, that stupid book I will never fully understand. I open the cover and run my fingers over his handwritten addition to the title page.

La vie est un interlude au salut.

~Zacharie Pascale Parker

There’s also a note.

Natalie, ma femme:

First of all, stop carrying on and be quiet. These are your new neighbors and you can’t have them thinking you’re a wanton hussy. That’s right, the apartment is yours. I had the lease transferred to your name and you’re paid up for the year. All my stuff is in storage; ask Wayne (the doorman) for the key and help yourself to anything you want.

Secondly, I bet your tits look great in tight sweaters. Oh yeah, I promise not to bore you with long letters from the battlefront. From what I hear, times can get pretty bleak and there’s no sense in documenting that kind of shit. However, I can receive mail, and I expect full-frontal pictures at least twice a week.

I slept with a girl named Heidi. It’s freaking Oktoberfest! So after you get done calling me a dickweed or whatever, go find yourself a nice guy. I would be your wingman if I wasn’t busy doing push-ups and shooting guns. Seriously Nat, live your life how you want and never apologize for being you.

One last thing. You should really read this book.

I love you.

I place the note in the book and pull it close to my chest. Life is made up of millions of destinations: some alone, some with friends, some in fear and some chasing dreams. And this silly book about the little boy that meets a stranger, enjoys an interlude with a fox and dreams of the salvation in the desert of tears, is my guiding star.

I close the door to my new apartment and wait for the elevator, thinking about the way destiny plays a role in the smaller picture. The doors open and I step inside, running my fingers along the brass rail. I hum an upbeat song and watch the descending numbers flicker. I step into the pristine lobby and wave to Wayne, my new doorman. This all belongs to me now, this is my life!

Outside in the crisp, autumn air, I contemplate my options. I’m a modern woman living her fantasy in the best city in the world. I’m free and independent and surprisingly, optimistic. The emotions start to build inside of me and I want desperately to throw a hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore . . . but I’m not
That Girl
, I’m Natalie LeGrange, and I will need an
orange
beret. And if I’m going to work a bold accessory like that, I will also need a new bag from Tory Burch. And some shoes . . . and I should really consider warmer highlights . . . oh, and a French dictionary.