Truths of the Heart (30 page)

She took it. He couldn't breathe.

She released, “See you Saturday night, casual.”

“I was wondering….”

“Yes?”

“I have this portrait class … and I was wondering....” He couldn't get
it out.

“Yes?”

“I wondered if you would pose for a portrait.”

She tilted her head. “I'll have to think about that one but, right off,
I would have to say no.”

“Why?”

“I don't think so, Seth. There are a million portraits you could paint,
what about one of your friend, the daughter of who was it, Cochise. Or the
other one I crossed paths with at the hospital, the F word lady.”

You remember all that. God, I love you.
“Think about it, please.”

“See you Saturday.”

He left.

Rachelle walked to the window and looked out. The campus coming alive in
spring greens, she realized her mind shouldn't be where it was.

That is insane. True but insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After leaving Rachelle's office, on cloud nine, ten, eleven, and
twelve, Seth went to his apartment. This was all too, too much. The
overwhelming thought in his mind was not the kind words and encouragements
about his writing, though that was enough to blow his mind, it was the thought
of being in the same room with Rachelle, alone, breathing the same air,
smelling her, touching her, feeling the vibrations bouncing off the walls.

She must have felt it too, she had to. I can't stand it. How can this
be because I think of nothing else and how did this happen? The covering of
warmth I felt when I held her hand, soft like velvet … and she squeezed. How
wonderful she smelled. Is this what a honeybee feels in a flower's fragrance?
And how she looked into me, her eyes, amber topaz gems, pools of compassion like
she could read my mind. I could have looked at her looking into me, stayed
there forever. I can think of nothing else. But it's insane, it can never be,
can never be. God the agony.

Steeped in the glorious misery of it all, he was thankful he had
listened to Jude, retrieved his painting equipment, where now he sought relief.
He took the first sketch he had done of Rachelle in class and with swift broad
strokes, he began a portrait of her. He did two more until, exhausted, hungry,
the afternoon gone, he took a bus to East Lansing and walked to Pudd’nheads.

Entering, he heard Jude playing some Italian sounding love song. He tossed
a dollar in her violin case and looked at her blankly, lost.

She frowned.

He sat at the bar and ordered a ginger beer and thought he should eat something
but he how could he eat. He could think of nothing but Rachelle.

Finished playing, Jude joined him. She said, “You start using drugs, or
what?”

“Why?”

“You look out of it.”

“You'll never believe it.”

“What?”

“She likes my stuff.”

“Who she?”

“Rachelle.”

“I should have known.”

“She wants to send my story to a publisher.”

“You sure she doesn't want to rob the cradle?”

He looked at her, “I wish.”

“Did you get your painting equipment?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Getting my things together, leaving for Milan.”

He looked at her, “I thought we went over this once.”

“Over what?”

“You running off on some whim.”

“It's not a whim.”

“Where is that silver tongued cradle robber from Milan staying, I want
to talk to him.”

“It's okay for you but not okay for me?”

“Whataya mean?”

“Your apparition.”

“That's different.”

“Oh boy.”

“Where is he?”

“He's gone back to Italy”

“Just like that and you're going to join him, do you have a passport?”

“I'm getting one. I'm going to become a cittadino Italiano, signore.
Italian citizen, we're getting married.”

“WHAT?”

“We're getting married, in Italy!”

“No you are not.”

“Oh yes I am.”

“I forbid it.”

“Hah.”

“Does this mean I have to start eating pizza?”

CHAPTER NINE

Rachelle finished some stray paper work and drove home. A phone message
from Carl, he would be late, drinks and dinner with the golf guys.

She fed T.S. and found that her mind was still where it shouldn't be.
Seth. She took a dip in the pool, read, wrote, went down to the
Percy Bysshe
Shelley.
Sitting on the stern with T.S., she looked at the water. Looked at
the shoreline. Looked at the setting sun. Dangled her toes in the water and
looked at the circles expanding outward.

The last light of day nearly gone, T.S. following, she went inside,
poured a glass of white merlot, ate a salad, showered, and put on her shorty
silk pajamas. She went to the sofa in the bedroom sitting room, curled her feet
under her hips, took up her journal and wrote:

This is insane. Write insane twenty times, then go stand in the corner.
Put a dunce hat on, big pointed one, white, make that black, begin now: Insane
insane insane insane insane … you are forty, he looks twenty … insane, insane,
insane … drop it right now … when you are fifty he'll be what, never was good
with left brain logic. In the learned word of the learned professor, SHIT!

Just then she heard the garage door opening.

Dashing downstairs, a hideous migraine in the making, she sat on the sofa,
snapped on a light, and opened a book.

CHAPTER TEN

Saturday evening arrived and Seth, anxious about going to the party at Rachelle's
home, stripped, got into his shower, pulled the plastic curtain, shampooed, lathered,
shaved, hummed some tune—“If I Only Had the Nerve”, and “High Hopes”—a mix even
he couldn't recognize.

Finishing, he turned off the shower, pulled the plastic curtain back,
and froze.

Laura stared at him

Water dripping from his hair, he said, “What in the … how long...?”

She held a towel out, “Let me dry you.”

“NO!” He grabbed the towel. “What are you doing here?”

She reached to touch him.

“No!”

She turned and left the steam filled bathroom.

He dried himself, wrapped the towel around his middle and went into the
kitchen. He looked around. No Laura. He called, “Laura.” No answer. He went to
the bedroom.

She lay nude, on her stomach, in the middle of the bed.

Seth, stepping into white boxer shorts, “Laura, you can't stay here, I
have to go out.”

She rolled over and parted her legs.

Ignoring her, he went to the closet. “You're wasting your time.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have an art show.”

“I'll go with you.”

“Not.”

She rolled on her stomach and began sobbing.

He said, “Sob all you want,” and went on dressing. After pulling on
black socks and tan Dockers, he selected a white short sleeve shirt. Tucking
the tails into his Dockers he said, “Laura, I have to go, you have to leave.”

Voice through a pillow, “I'll wait.”

Slipping on black loafers, he looked down at her, “Laura … it's over.
Get used to it.”

“Take my car.”

“No. I'll expect you g-o-n-e, gone when I get back.”

He left.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Seth was familiar with Lake Lansing. A few miles northeast of the Michigan
State Campus, the mile or so wide lake surrounded by a smorgasbord of cottages,
cabins, and homes offered interesting subjects to paint.

Seth took a bus and made his way to East Lake Drive. After a half mile hike,
he spotted a two-story chalet constructed of cedar logs. The house sat on an
end lot twenty or so feet back from the lake and, he noted, was adjacent to
wooded land.

The number on the mailbox 5900, he went to the front door, pushed the button
and chimes inside played the theme from CATS. In a moment the door opened and
there she stood.

Rachelle, radiant in loose fitting white satiny slacks, matching
blouse, honey hair falling around her face to her shoulders, lips bare, amber
topaz eyes glowing, buoyant smile. She said, “Seth, how nice, glad you could
make it.”

Amazing.
“Me too.”
He glanced down and saw her elegant unpainted toe nails peeking through the
straps of stylish clear plastic sandals.

He looked back to her face and her knockout fragrance—fresh cut citrus,
some cinnamon in there, roses in light spring rain—dizzying, he could hardly
keep his balance.

She extended her right hand. “Come in.”

A few steps inside, T.S. appeared and looked up at Seth.

Rachelle said, “This is T.S. Eliot, the picture in my office.”

“Hello T.S.”

T.S. rubbed past his legs, curling his tail around one ankle as he
went.

“Oh, wow, he approves,” said Rachelle

T.S. marked Seth's shoes with his nose, cheeks and whiskers.

“T.S. stop that flagrant exhibition,” Rachelle said.

T.S. put his nose in the air and walked away like he knew something was
up.

Just then another couple arrived and Rachelle said to Seth, “Just a
sec,” and stepped past him to greet them.

Seth looked around. The great room was abuzz with people chatting, sipping,
munching. In the background, recorded classical music from a string quartet.
Glass sliding doors were open to the deck. A few people stood outside. Seth
recognized four Com. 501 students. He noted that, inside, several people hung
on the words of a woman whose skin was the color of parchment paper. The woman
had long straight black hair that hung around her round face. He also noticed
bags under her eyes about the size of walnuts. She had thick black eyebrows,
large ears and wore no discernible makeup. As she talked, she pushed her hair
back over her forehead with her right hand like it was a pet trying to get her
attention. Around five feet six, her weight was hard to compute because she
wore a flapping-loose black sack dress that stopped just short of her velvet
slippers which were also black. She puffed on a non-filter cigarette.

Got to be Simone Simone,
Seth thought, then scanned, off to one side, a table of
appetizers—shrimp, crackers, tiny sandwiches, cheese cuts.

It was then that he saw him. A bruiser male stood behind a block-glass bar.
Seth had a feeling, the way bruiser was eyeing him, that he might be hungry.
Seth too had a hunch who he might be—Carl Bostich.

“Okay, come on.” Dr. Zannes took Seth by the hand and moved toward Simone.
As they got to the author, Seth noticed hairs growing from the tip of her
blocky nose. He also caught a muskiness that seemed to come from beneath Ms.
Simone's dress. He saw that her cigarette brand was Chesterfield regular.

Tapping Simone’s arm, Rachelle introduced Seth as the student she had
mentioned earlier.

Simone said, “Ah hah, the gifted one.”

The little group around Simone applauded lightly. Seth hadn't expected
this and gave Rachelle a sideways glance.

Rachelle winked at Simone and said to Seth, “We'll be getting words of wisdom
from Simone a little later on, come, excuse us.” Rachelle led him to another
area of the great room where three women and a thin male talked in front of the
red, black, and white abstract oil painting that, a gift to Carl from a fan, he
had insisted be hung.

Rachelle was about to introduce Seth to the group when the CATS' door chimes
sounded. She said to the group, “This is Seth, please introduce yourselves,
excuse me.”

She left and Seth was alone with the group who basically ignored him as
they chatted about the hidden meaning in the red, black, and white abstract
painting.

A younger female imbued meaning into the many shades of green and the angle
of the red line crossing the center of the picture. It seems the green stood
for life and the red symbolized mankind destroying the environment.

Seth said, “Might have been the artist just had some paint left over
from another painting.”

To astonished stares, Seth slipped away to the outside deck and leaned
on the rail. Below, skirting the concrete apron around the pool, ten flaming
torches licked flame into the warm evening.