A New York Romance (12 page)

“Where are you staying now?” Charlie asked.

“Just before you came out of your coma, I answered a newspaper ad. A girl was looking for a roommate on the west side, but I mostly stayed at the hospital. The girl’s name is Sara. She’s pretty nice. She helped me get a job as a cashier at a local department store, too. I feel like I finally made the big move, but most of my stuff is still back home at my Aunt’s place. Now that you’re okay I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m sure Sara won’t have any trouble finding another roommate.”

Julie paused, waiting for Charlie to say he wanted her to stay close to him and not move back home, or go back to that west side apartment, but he said nothing to that affect.

“I thought you had moved back home,” he replied. Then asked, “How did you know I was in the hospital?”

“I did move back home,” as if she was ever
living
in city. She just stayed in a spider infested motel with a man she barely knew for a while. She recalled the way she left. It felt like a crime she wanted to apologize for. “I first heard about you on a local radio station there. They were talking about Cupid in a coma in a New York City hospital. Then I saw your picture in an online article, so I came out to see you. That’s when I got a job and an apartment. I would be glad to help you with all those letters. I’ll organize them by location so that you have less traveling to do and save time,” she suggested.

Charlie smiled, nodding in agreement.

She had missed him while they were apart but was afraid to come back. She was careful not to get close to him before, but now she felt different. She was suddenly fascinated with him, setting him apart, and putting him up on a pedestal above all other men. He was young at heart as well as in years. He was honest, funny, and surely cared about others as much or even more than he cared about himself. What more could a girl ask for in a man, except the fact that he insisted he was not a man? But she wasn’t afraid of that at all. As long as he didn’t sing, there was not a moment she recalled when he was not pleasant to be around.

No words were spoken between them about where to stay. When night came they returned to the same motel, the same room they shared before she left. She stared out the window with him at the moon over the 24-hour mart. She put her arm on his back and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt a joyful happiness next to him, but he never moved a muscle. He was in all honesty,
too much
of a gentlemen.

She wanted to kiss him, but he stared out into nothingness so intently that she did not want to break his concentration. She remembered lying in the opposite bed, feeling unnoticed by him. He became quiet and peaceful at night, even with a woman in the same room. He was indeed strange, or was it eccentric?
Wasn’t eccentric only strangeness with a sense of interest and an intriguing mystery behind it?

The slight aversion she felt toward him long ago turned into feelings of affection. Her thoughts of his strangeness gave way to attraction in the mysteriousness of who he was. Now, the more important question on her mind was,
Is he such a gentlemen that he won’t even kiss me or is he simply uninterested in me the way he used to be? Did I hurt him when I left, or didn’t he care at all?

Julie stood up, walked over and sat on her bed and opened the bag full of letters, randomly choosing one.

“It’s from New York,” she read and handed it to Charlie, who came out of his stare and sat next to her.

Charlie opened the letter and read:

Dear Cupid,

I do not know if you are Cupid or not but I do believe that all the broken hearts of the world can be healed. I was married 19 years ago to a hard-working man who was happy. After our son died from a heart condition at the age of 7, my husband has never been the same. How could he be the same? How could I expect him to be the same? I am not the same. I was angry at the world like him shortly after our son passed. I could not understand why he had to leave so young. I used to think I had to be tied to that heartache forever, but during my darkest hour, that’s when I found peace in my heart.

When something horrible happens, we often question why and cannot let go of the pain until we come up with a reasonable answer—a justification for the tragedy in our lives. I have come to find it is not a reasonable answer that we want; it is a peaceful feeling in our heat that we truly want. The problem is that we make the mistake of thinking we cannot find peace and feel love again until we get a reasonable explanation, but it does not work like that, I know this now, I can love my life again without understanding why my son is gone. I write to you for the sake of my husband who cannot find his way. We have another son who is age 17 now. He and his father hardly ever speak. It is heartbreaking to lose a son to death, but it seems even more heartbreaking to lose a son who is still alive. Please help my husband and son. I know you can. Please help them find peace with each other and feel love for life again.

Thank You,

Theresa Costea

“That is so sad,” Julie said. “I don’t know how I could go on either losing a child.”

“Yes, it is sad,” Charlie agreed. “We’ll go see Theresa tomorrow and find her husband.”

“I’ll take out all the New York letters and organize the other ones,” Julie said, as her stomach quivered with butterflies over the words ‘
we
’ll go’. She poured the letters onto the bed and started separating them into piles by state. Charlie returned to the window and stared out into the darkness with Theresa’s letter in his hand.

What is he thinking?
Julie questioned to herself.
Can he help her husband? What will he do?
She fumbled through the letters and waited for Charlie to choose a bed, but she ended up falling asleep among the piles before he moved a muscle. He thought of all the people he had met and creatures he had seen, like the bees among the scarce city flowers, the chubby man he embarrassed before spring, Betty Tildess, and many more and wished them true love. Then he carefully covered Julie with a spare blanket and went to sleep.

The next morning, Julie and Charlie looked at the address on Mrs. Costea’s envelope. They hailed a taxi and took it to her home. When they arrived, Charlie didn’t go to the door. He just stood on the sidewalk for a moment and stared at the house.

“You’re not going to talk to her or meet her at all, are you?” Julie asked, remembering how he refused to talk to the couple in the coffee shop.

“No, I have always done my work without humans seeing me. There is no need to meet her,” he answered.

Charlie just stood there, staring at the luxurious brick home. They took great care of their home. It sat back off the road a hundred yards or so, gated along the sides. Every bush was neatly trimmed, every spring flower was in its place, the windows were cleaned to invisibility, and the lawn had just received its first diagonal cut. The edges of the driveway and mulch bed were clearly defined, even around the three-car garage.

“If people put such care into their relationships, they would find true love within a few years,” Charlie whispered.

He waited patiently until the door finally opened. They looked closely at the man. Then they looked even closer at the details of his face. It was the pinstriped suited man whom called Charlie an idiot. There he was, dressed in a different, yet equally posh suit as the day before. His briefcase was at his side, and his cell phone cupped over his left ear as he ranted on about numbers and names of people he obviously was not fond of.

“How’s that for synchronicity?” Charlie said.

“He’s going to be a tough one,” Julie said.

The man stepped into his black, luxury BMW, backed out of the driveway, and sped off down the street. Charlie and Julie walked up the driveway and peered through the window. Theresa sat on the couch, crying holding a picture of her sons and husband.

“Shouldn’t we talk to her?” Julie asked, feeling sorrow for the woman.

“No, I never appear to the humans unless I need to,” he said. “But I will make an exception for her husband. He
will
be a tough one.”

Charlie wished good thoughts to the woman, vowed he would help her, and returned to the city. He walked to the nearest café, ordered a tall black coffee, and returned to the law firm where Pin Stripe obviously worked. As he approached the door, the doorman slid in front of him like a military officer clicking his heels together.

“May I help you?” the doorman asked.

“I have a delivery for a gentleman inside, Mr. Costea. A cup of black coffee that he would much enjoy,” Charlie said very politely.

“Very well,” the doorman said as he opened the door. “Just make sure you check in at the front desk.”

Charlie looked into the man’s eyes as if he were looking into the eyes of a king who was letting him enter his kingdom. He went to the front desk. The secretary was busy and distracted with a phone call and Charlie whispered, “I’m here to deliver coffee,” and walked away without her noticing. The doorman looked through the window smiling as he thought Charlie checked in at the desk and was approved.

He took the elevator up to the fourth floor where he remembered the man in the pinstriped suit, peering through the office window. From there he stood on a bridge that overlooked the entire lobby, looking for the man with the slicked back, black hair. Unfortunately, most of the men in the building were dressed in expensive suits, and had slicked back, black hair.
They probably all drink black coffee too.

Then Mr. Costea came out of the elevator with a look of adrenaline in his eye, as if he was on an important mission. He turned and headed down the hall away from Charlie, who noticed the fresh polish on his shoes and the way the hems of his pants were neatly creased, loosely flopping around his ankles. Charlie followed the smell of cologne down the hall and around the corner.

“Where is my fax, damn it?!” Mr. Costea yelled. He stood there with his hands on his hips in an angry stance. Charlie leered at him from around the corner. The secretary behind the desk looked frightened as she adjusted her glasses and shuffled through the papers on her desk.

Charlie saw the secretary’s name on the office door, Flo, and crept up to it unnoticed. Mr. Costea grabbed his fax when the secretary handed it to him, turned without a word, and walked passed Charlie out of the office. Charlie watched as some of the tension fell away from the secretary when he left the room. He smiled at her then followed the smell of expensive cologne down the hall again with the cup of coffee, like a deer stalking a fearless lion with a peace offering.

The man walked into his office and slammed the door in Charlie’s face without knowing. Charlie waited a moment, took off his shoes, and sat them neatly outside the door, and then he calmly turned the knob.

He walked inside to find Mr. Costea behind his polished mahogany desk, lighting up a cigar. The smoke alarm was sitting upside down on his desk with the battery detached. The wall was littered with framed certificates, law degrees, and professional accomplishments. Charlie noticed that there was only a small picture of his wife on the desk. There were no pictures of his children, brothers, sisters, or parents that he might cherish. On the shelves there were photos of fishing trips and fancy parties, probably with big clients, colleagues, or bosses scattered among the many law books that lined the room, mixed with modern knickknacks that probably didn’t mean a thing to him. Charlie did not think people like this really existed. Times were surely different in this
modern
age.

“What do you want?” Mr. Costea suddenly asked, as he opened his briefcase and pulled out a file. “Well, who are you?”

“I’m the idiot from the other day. Remember me?” Charlie responded.

“No, do you have an appointment?” the man asked, taking another puff of his cigar then putting it out quickly in the ashtray next to the disabled smoke alarm. “Damn cheap shit. I told her not to get me this kind,” he mumbled to himself.

“No, I don’t have an appointment, I was…”

“Then what are you doing here?” the man interrupted. “You’re not one of those interns from a community college are you?” he asked, looking at Charlie’s clothes and appearance in doubt of the possibility. “Because I don’t have the time for that,” he muttered.

“No, I’m not. Remember me from the other day? I had accidentally…”

“Where are your shoes?” Mr. Costea noticed his socks unevenly stretched across his feet. They did not even match. One was blue, one green, but both were in an argyle pattern.

“They’re in the hallway outside the door.”

They just stared at each other in silence for a moment. Mr. Costea wanted to ask the next obvious question, but shook off his confusion and asked, “What were you saying now about the other day?”

“The other day on the street outside of your office building, I had accidentally caused you to spill some coffee on the lapel of your suit jacket and I…”

“I remember you now. Do you know how much that suit cost?”

“No, I don’t,” Charlie answered.

“That tie cost more than your whole outfit,” he said, looking at Charlie’s clothes once again with distaste. “So what do you want? I accept your apology. Is that what you came to do? You can go now.”

Charlie said nothing. He just stared at Mr. Costea, fumbling through the papers in the open folder for a moment until he yelled, “I said I accept your apology, you can go now! Did you come here to bring me that coffee?”

“To be honest I just brought the coffee to get through the front door and front desk,” Charlie said, as he sat down in the leather chair at the edge of his desk, keeping the coffee to himself. He could see that simple kindness would not be enough to reveal true love to this man. First he would have to break through the stone layers around his heart.

“What do you want? I’m a very busy man.”

“I’m not here to apologize to you. I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” Charlie said to his surprise.

He stopped fumbling through the papers, looked up, and laughed.

“What would I apologize to
you
for?”

“For bumping into me on the street, calling me an idiot, blaming me alone for the coffee that ended up on your suit, giving me an uncomfortable look, and simply for disliking me without even knowing me,” Charlie answered, “and now also for treating me rudely in your office.”

Mr. Costea looked at him, puzzled. Charlie took the lid off the coffee and gulped a mouthful between his cheeks to swish it around, like he drank his café mochas. However, the coffee was hot, almost boiling hot, and Charlie just remembered how much he didn’t like the taste of black coffee. Suddenly he spit the coffee back out of his mouth and all over the man’s desk, covering the papers that sat open in his brief case.

Mr. Costea jumped up and stood there with his arms outstretched, certain that Charlie did it on purpose. A moment later, a rather large security guard walked through the doorway. He grabbed Charlie by the back of his shirt, dragged him down the steps to the emergency exit, and threw him swiftly out the back door. “Don’t ever come in this building or bother Mr. Costea again,” the security guard warned, as Charlie’s shoes tumbled passed him. The coffee cup landed between his legs, spilling hot coffee across the front of his pants.

Charlie gasped the air, clenching his facial muscles and hands as the hot coffee soaked through his pants. “You really shouldn’t litter,” he whispered as he breathed out, then he picked up his shoes with one hand and the cup with the other. He sent a quick wish of love to the ants that were ready to feast upon the spilled coffee in the concrete cracks before he threw the cup in the garbage. Charlie put on his shoes as he walked around to the front of the building where Julie was waiting. She saw the stain on his pants and hoped it was only a spill. She also noticed the slow defeated way he was walking, with his head hung low.

“So how did it go? Did you show him what true love is?” she joked.

“He threw me out. Now I’m not allowed in the building. I’ll have to sneak in,” he said with a sudden, mischievous smile.

She hugged him. It was a different kind of hug than she had ever given him before. Charlie could feel her affection. His defeat was her defeat. He quickly turned from her when she opened her arms and started walking.

He looked back up at Mr. Costea’s office window. Indeed he would be a challenge.

“Did he hurt you?” Julie asked as she wrapped her left hand around the inside of his right elbow and followed him side by side.

“No, don’t worry about me. I can always get a new body if I need one,” he said with a serious kind of humor.

Julie suddenly felt the enormous distance between them, as if part of Charlie would always remain in some far off, unreachable place. Nonetheless, he was here with her now. She could feel the tension in his arm as she held it tight. “Maybe you just need a new pair of pants for now,” she forced a laugh, finding herself feeling close to him again.

Julie grabbed Charlie by the hand and dragged him into the street. She started dancing around him, but Charlie didn’t dance. Julie could feel the distance again, but she did all she could to ignore it and instead, she tried unendingly to drag Charlie back into the moment with her. She touched his face and kissed his cheek. She held his hands and hugged him from behind, but Charlie did not return the affection with as much enthusiasm. The distance between their hearts could be felt in his smiles.

Back at the motel, she lay in bed, staring at him from under her covers and asking herself,
Does he not want to be close to me? Does he not think of me the way I think of him? Does he desire to sleep next to me and hold me close?

He stared out the window until she was asleep, and then went to bed himself, as he had so many times before.