Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (13 page)

chapter 11

S
he refused to talk to him, even changed places as soon as the seat belt light went out, scrambling over his lap because he refused to get up and let her pass. He went over to her once and tried to apologize, but she turned her head away and leaned her cheek against the window, her arms wrapped tightly around her body in an attitude of rejection.

“There’s nothing out there but clouds,” Jon said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Look at me instead. Look at me, and talk to me.” He could have slapped himself for his outbreak, seeing her cry now. “You were driving me crazy with this baby talk, Naomi. Can’t you just let it go and forget the whole issue? Hurting yourself like this doesn’t help at all. It doesn’t help! It won’t give you a baby. For that we need to do different things, loving things.”

But for once she didn’t listen to him and his lame attempt at bantering. Jon felt like an idiot standing in the airplane aisle, in the way of the flight attendant when she came around with coffee and drinks. He had to squeeze himself into the row next to her and wait there until the serving cart was past. The band and everyone else was farther up front, most of them dozing or reading and not paying attention to them.

“You know I’d never divorce you. I was just…” Exhaustion crept up on him as he looked up the aisle to where his friends were, accepting the offered beverages, stirring, beginning to chat over their plastic cups. An insane longing to be up there with them, have an orange juice with a hint of vodka, crack a couple of stupid jokes, and relax, overwhelmed him. “It was a stupid, senseless joke, okay? I thought I’d be able to shock you out of your sadness, but it didn’t work. Can this please be over now? Can we have a cup of coffee and forget this whole thing?”

She barely glanced at him. “Go and have your coffee. I don’t want any.” Naomi turned even farther away, her face shuttered, lips tightly closed.

Art was calling him, asking why he was standing around in the aisle, if he wanted something, and why they were hiding in the back anyway. He held up a glass of tomato juice. “Come here; we’re discussing where to live in New York; you should be able to make some suggestions.”

For a moment longer Jon looked down at her, waiting for a response, then he left and joined Art and Sal.

T
he clouds broke when they crossed the Alps, the white-capped peaks gleaming below the plane in the sunlight, the meadows and forests in the valley sparkling like jewels, the rivers blue ribbons outlining the landscape. Naomi nearly cried again when they approached Geneva and she could see the huge plume of the fountain in the distance and the rainbows its haze cast. She remembered being a young girl, enjoying the easy life of a teenager without a worry in the world but which dress to wear for the party that night or which invitation to accept for a cruise on the lake. She had been so free, like a moth dancing in the warm air.  For a short while she had been carefree, happy, the burden of her family’s business forgotten. Sometimes she had even been able to pretend she was someone else, just one of the girls who were the butterflies on the promenade, eating ice cream, dipping their bare feet into the small waves of the lake that kissed the pier with little smacks while they laughed at the boys slowly passing by and ogling them. They had been so sassy, hitching up their short skirts to show off tanned, sleek legs and confuse the young men. Young queens, trying out their power on everything in trousers; and when one of them dared to come forward, they quickly closed ranks and retreated, their silver giggles like a trail of perfume, fading.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she raised her head to look for Jon, but he had sat down somewhere with the others and she couldn’t see him.

None of those boys had appealed to her despite her friends’ attempts to set her up and their constant questions about why she didn’t pick one, even if only for the fun of it. She had not wanted a boyfriend. In her dreams, there had always been someone else, someone who wouldn’t blush and stammer when she batted her lashes at him and who would wipe away all the silliness and play with one glance.

She wanted, she had told the other girls, a man. Not one of the kids. It was not the entire truth; but it made them stop matchmaking and look at her with a new attitude, something like respect, and envy.

The warning lights for the seat belts blinked.

Naomi rose from her isolated seat and wandered up to the others. Jon was sitting beside Sean, listening to something on his headphones, but when he noticed her he jumped up.

“If the plane crashes during landing,” she said, “I want you beside me. I don’t want to die alone.”

H
er hand was in his again. They hadn’t spoken yet, but her body had relaxed against his when they sat down on the bus, side by side, the way he wanted them to be every moment of their lives.

Jon recalled only too well the one time he had been in Geneva before. He had never returned there on tour, despite the many requests and invitations, even once by the mayor himself, saying his wife was a great fan and they wanted to show him a great time in their lovely city by the lake.

Without Naomi he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the thought of entering that hotel lobby again and not see her standing in the entrance, looking at him across that space, or taking a walk down the promenade along the lakeside and thinking of that first kiss, that enchanted moment, and not having her there, beside him.

Out of sheer sentimentality he had insisted on the same hotel they had stayed in back then. Sal had given him the eye and asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, if he hadn’t been able to find a more expensive or exclusive one; and Jon, with a shrug, had replied that he didn’t care. They had been able to afford it back then and no one had complained, and now they were wealthier than they were then.

“You want to repeat that moment with her,” Sal had said, and earned himself a withering look in reply. “You think it will be just as magical. Dude, I have news for you. That’s not how it works.” 

Jon had nearly choked on his coffee.

“Oh,” Naomi sighed softly, and he woke from his reverie. Her fingers were curling around his as she looked out at the promenade and the old buildings, at the grand facade of the hotel. “We’re here. Jon, we’re back where…”

“Yes.” It was a moment he had dreamed of for many years, being back. During the time they had been apart he had resisted the temptation to come back, to once again sit on that sofa in the lobby of this hotel, sit there and wait and look toward the entrance; and maybe, if the gods were kind, she would walk in and stand there, bathed in sunlight.

“Please, baby,” Jon said as the bus stopped, “please stop punishing yourself for things that aren’t your fault. Isn’t it part of marriage, to bear the bad stuff together and enjoy the good? You’d never leave me if I lost my voice, would you? You wouldn’t have turned away from me that day when I came to find you in Halmar if I hadn’t been famous, successful, wealthy anymore, would you? If I had told you I sold vacuum cleaners door-to-door now? Would you?”

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Or…”—dramatically Jon spread his arms, right there outside the impressive entrance of the most exclusive hotel in Geneva, ignoring the stares of the passersby—“if I had lost a leg, or I was bald and fat. You’d still want me, right?”

“I’m not sure about the bald and fat.”

He laughed when he saw her turn her head to hide the grin from him. “Yeah, I’d think about that twice too. Come on. This is our day, and we’ll play this out. Let Sal think we’re maudlin fools. I don’t care.”

But she didn’t budge. “Jon, this is different, serious. You’re throwing away the chance of having another child.”

On the point of walking up the stairs after the others, Jon stopped. She was still down on the pavement, amid the piles of luggage the driver and the hotel attendants were beginning to take inside, her purse clamped in her hands, waiting for his reply.

“Yeah.” Slowly, nodding, he took the two steps back to her. “Yeah, I’m throwing it away. I’m very deliberately throwing this away. I’m cutting the thought of ever having another kid out of my heart. And yes, I wanted it very much. But, Naomi, I don’t want it as much as I want you. I have this choice and it’s mine alone to make. You have no say in this. It’s either you, or some other woman and a baby. Well, I choose you and no child. I can’t imagine my life without you. But I can well imagine it without another child. It’s that easy. My choice. Now will you please come inside and let me see you in that lobby, and relive that sweet moment when I first saw you? Please?”

Naomi gazed at his outstretched hand for a moment and then took it to follow him inside.

S
al watched them enter the lobby, her arm through Jon’s, like a bride walking into a church. The picture was like a heartbreaking déjà vu, like a painting of that moment when he had first seen them together, right here in this spot. Only then they had not come toward him like royalty, their faces serene. Back then she had been a schoolgirl in jeans: now she was everything he wanted her to be: a beautiful, elegant woman with jewels gleaming on her skin.

He remembered that moment only too well, when he had stepped out of the elevator and into the tableau of love at first sight: Jon, the hot young rock star, holding the hand of a stranger, lost to the world; and Naomi, her head tilted up at him, so lovely it had made him forget to breathe.

It had been like looking at one of those cheap postcards that could be bought at tourist stands, the ones that when tilted showed a second, hidden image, as if by looking from a different angle at them he would be able to see the kiss they were both longing for.

“The rooms, Sal?” Jon asked, breaking into his reverie, and Sal nodded. He had the key Jon had requested, of course requested, to the same suite he had occupied all those years ago.

He had watched them leave the venue all those years ago, vanish into the limousine before anyone even understood where they had gone, and known Jon was taking her here, to his room, to his bed, claiming her before any other had the chance, putting his mark on her so no one else would dare approach her, ever. This had been different, Sal had realized. This was not a tour flirt, a fling along the way; this was serious, magical, final, and it had broken his heart. He would never have a chance.

Naomi glanced down at the key. “The same room?”

Her softly spoken words felt like drops of molten lead on his soul. And when Jon replied “Of course. I can’t wait,” he turned away, pretending to be busy with the other keys he was still holding in his hand, so he did not have to see them go upstairs, did not have to imagine the door of the suite closing behind them and her in his arms, just like then, lost forever.

S
al stayed behind after everyone else had left, the lobby suddenly eerily quiet and empty. There were a couple of guests sitting in the far corner, a map spread out on the table between them, discussing the day’s adventures, and some liveried hotel employees hurrying past; but he was alone.

Slowly, almost surreptitiously, he strolled over to the couch where Jon had waited for that writer he wanted to meet so badly, the one who had sent the lyrics to them from here, not knowing she would be the love of his life. He sat down, his hands on his knees, and tried to feel what Jon had felt then, seeing her come in. She hadn’t been at all what they had expected—not a seasoned professional, someone who wanted to sell them something and strike a deal with the Hollywood star, but a mere girl.

And how she had changed all their lives, had turned everything upside down that day.

Out on the terrace, where the three of them had sat down together, he had watched them stare at each other, ignoring the ice cream and cake that were offered, the air between them simmering; and he had felt old, left out, lonely. For the first time he had been envious of Jon, of his good looks, his intense dark eyes, his voice, the power he had over women, the talent, the success.

A pretty young waitress came over to him and asked if he wanted anything, and he gave her a tired, lopsided grin as he asked for a whiskey, make that a double, and the best they had. Bourbon, if possible. She rattled off a list of brands; and he waved at her, picking one, not really interested, just craving the solace of the familiar burn in his throat and the moment of ease when it went to his head.

It was still early afternoon, and the show was not until the following night.

Sal wondered if they were in bed yet, she in Jon’s arms, sighing, softly whispering his name, her arms around him, her skin white and silken, her lips open to his. The same room, the same bed; and he could just see Jon, overcome by his memories, wanting her right away, intent on reliving that first night, wanting to make love to her.

Sadness settled on his shoulders like a big, black bird as he raised his hand to order another drink.

T
he ice cream truck was no longer there. Instead, there was a pavilion with tables and chairs around it. They sold beverages and sweets, souvenirs and newspapers. The trees were the same, and the place that rented out boats; even the swings on the playground along the promenade looked much like they had twenty years ago.

“I remember the exact spot where I kissed you,” Jon said. “It was right here.” He stopped and pointed at a red bench. “I recall that bench. It was here back then.”

“It might be a new bench. I don’t think they last that long.” She went over to read the plaque on the backrest. “See, it says it was put here in memory of one Madame Madeleine Grisson, who loved to come and feed the swans and sit here. She must be dead. What a sweet, sentimental thing to do, to put a bench here in her memory.”

“I think it’s perfectly good taste to put it right here. In fact, we should put up our own bench and plaque.” He joined her. “It would say, ‘Here, the universe shifted and made room for lovers. It will never be the same again.’ Or something in that vein. Absolutely.”

They were, he knew only too well, drifting toward her parents’ apartment. It was not far away, right there in one of the palatial houses along the shore. He had only been there once, after she had left him, in a vain attempt to find her. What a nightmarish experience that had been. Never before had he run into European snobbery in quite that manner, and he had not been in a mood for an overseas tour for a long while after.

Now, looking up at the elaborate facades of the buildings on the other side of the street, the memory of that day crept up on him.

It had rained, and an ugly wind had blown down the elegant avenue, whipping the lake into a white-capped frenzy, hiding the mountains behind a curtain of water. That French-speaking doorman had treated him like a street vendor, a beggar, someone who was not worth the dirt under his nails, and had sent him on his way with a look of utter disgust. Soaked, the collar of his jacket turned up against the foul weather, he had stood and stared, his hope washing away with the torrent gushing down into the gutter.

S
he had not mentioned with one word where she wanted to go when she had suggested a walk, but he had seen. Shortly after they had been shown to their rooms, she had gone out on the balcony and stood there, her shoulders drawn together, lost in thought.

Meeting her parents was not something he was keen on. Jon could well have done without ever confronting her father, Olaf, again. If there was one person in the world he hated with all his heart, it was he.

“Sure.” had been his reply. “Let’s go and find the spot where we first kissed. And I’ll kiss you again.”

So here they were, and he could see by the way she turned away from the bench and toward the street that the moment had come.

The thought of ringing that doorbell made him heavy hearted. He could not figure out why she wanted to give herself the additional pain of facing her parents after that terrible scene with her father when she had just woken from her coma, so weak and ill, and he had dumped all his anger about her marriage on her. Jon recalled well how he had wanted to pack his fist into the man’s face right then and there in the hallway of the hospital while the doctors were fighting to bring her back to life. He’d not often wielded the power his fame and wealth gave him in this manner, but that day he had used it to lock her family out of their life with a court order.