A New York Romance (13 page)

The next morning Charlie left the motel before Julie woke up. He left her a note stating he wouldn’t be gone long.

He walked to the law firm downtown to meet Mr. Costea. The same doorman was on duty.

“Hello sir,” Charlie greeted him, carrying two cups of coffee.

“Good morning,” the doorman replied.

Charlie sensed the hesitation in his voice, wondering if he should block the doorway again as if he was a part-time security guard, working extra hard for a promotion.

“Cup of coffee for Mr. Costea,” Charlie said with a smile.

The doorman relaxed and asked, “Did he enjoy yesterday’s coffee?”

“Very much,” Charlie said as he passed through the doorway. Charlie did not even stop at the desk. While the secretary was directing another patron he passed by like a coffee shop delivery man who had been there a hundred times before.

Mr. Costea was in his office. He hung up the phone and fell into his squeaky leather chair mumbling about the client who was on the other end, “If you don’t want to go to jail, quit robbing your neighbors’ houses.” He opened his brief case, fumbled through his papers, and then sat back and closed his eyes. He nearly fell asleep when he suddenly felt a presence in the room. He opened his eyes to see Charlie sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk, staring at him.

“Ah!” he screamed. He leaned back in his chair, nearly falling over backwards.

“How did you get in here?” Mr. Costea asked as he stood up, still startled.

“Relax, don’t call security, I just came to apologize,” Charlie said. “I brought you a coffee this time.”

Charlie checked to make sure he kept the café mocha and handed the black coffee to Mr. Costea. However, he refused to take it from his hand. He just stood there, looking at Charlie, wondering who the strange person before him was. Charlie sat quietly, taking sips of his mocha, swishing it around his mouth like a little kid does with chocolate milk.

Mr. Costea glared over the desk at his feet. He could see his shoes sitting outside the open door. Charlie’s left ankle crossed over his right knee, slowly bouncing up and down as the edge of his sock hung loosely off his toes.

“How did you get in here?” he asked as he lifted the lid to the coffee, examined it, and put the lid back on.

“I walked,” Charlie replied.

“You said you wanted to apologize,” Mr. Costea hinted to him. “You’re not going to spill more coffee on me, are you?”

“Oh yes, I mean no. Yes I came to apologize, no I am not going to spill more coffee on you or your things…at least I don’t plan to.”

“Well…” Mr. Costea hinted again rolling his hand to encourage Charlie’s apology.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry,” Charlie said.

“That’s it? That’s your apology?”

“It is not the words that are important, it is that I really meant it, that is what is important, and I mean it. I’m sorry,” Charlie said again, then he just sat there, looking around the bewildered man’s office.

“I…accept your apology,” Mr. Costea said, then he stared at Charlie as he sat there looking around his office. He was waiting and hoping for him to get up and leave.

“Did you hear me? I accepted your apology. You can go now,” he hinted again.

“I’m just waiting for your apology to me now. Then we’ll be even.”

“Okay. If I apologize, will you go away? I really don’t want to have to call security again.”

Charlie shook his head in agreement.

“Fine! I apologize for bumping into you,” he recalled Charlie’s requests from yesterday, “for blaming you for spilling coffee on me, ah…and for …”

“Calling me,” Charlie hinted to him.

“For calling you an idiot,” Mr. Costea finished.

“And?” Charlie provoked his memory.

“And for giving you an uncomfortable look?’” he hoped that was it.

Charlie shook his head in agreement but gestured with his hand that there was more.

Mr. Costea sighed and thought as he twirled his pen around his fingers. “And for disliking you…without knowing you, right?”

“This isn’t a test to see if you can remember and tell me what I want to hear. I don’t accept your apology,” Charlie said.

“What?” Mr. Costea yelped as he reached under his desk to push the security button. “I don’t need to apologize to you. I was just humoring you because I didn’t want to call security again and have you thrown out. I was being
nice
,” he said in a not so nice tone.

“That is why I do not accept your apology. You said a lot of words but none of them were sincere. You apologized to me for your own benefit, so you simply would not have to see me again, not because you meant it…” suddenly the office door opened further and there stood the large security guard with an angry look on his face. Charlie stood up as he was grabbed by his shirt, dragged down the stairs, and tossed out the back door. His shoes came tumbling after. Charlie stood up, put on his shoes, and walked away, looking as if he had an ‘I didn’t get to the bathroom soon enough’ accident again.

Julie read the note that Charlie left on the table, saying he would be back shortly. She showered and waited. Then Charlie walked through the door with coffee stains on his jeans again and Julie laughed, “He didn’t like the coffee again?”

“He’s going to be my masterpiece, if I ever finish,” Charlie said with sincere laughter.

Julie just smiled. He noticed her sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, dressed in jeans and a nice shirt. Her nails were painted red and makeup lit up her beautiful smile.

He felt his human heart beat faster and the blood rush with more force through his veins. “Are you hungry?” he asked, distracting himself from the feeling of attraction inside.

“Yes, let’s eat,” she agreed, with the peppiness of a teenager in love. “Will you take me to Juliano’s again?” she asked, brushing his shoulder with hers as she walked passed him toward the door.

“Sure,” he said, feeling a tingle down his spine that caused him to shiver. He stood there a moment, feeling the strange human sensations (they continued to fascinate him), then followed her out the door.

They sat down to eat at a table on the raised balcony. Charlie stared at the traffic and the people crowding the sidewalks.

“You ain’t ever gonna aks me to marry you, are you?” someone shouted on the street below. Charlie and Julie listened to a woman complain to the man she appeared to be in love with.

“Come on baby. I don’t wanna talk bout dis now,” the man responded to her, as a fancy car stopped at the light in front of them.

“You could least buy me an expensive engagement ring,” she said, then hinted to the car, “or something that goes really fast.”

“You want something that goes fast? Like 0 to 200 in 2.5 seconds?”

“Yeah, something like dat,” she encouraged him.

“How ‘bout a scale? That will go 0 to 200 in a second,” the man responded.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout. You be sayin I fat? Is that what you sayin?” they continued arguing as they crossed the street.

Julie and Charlie laughed, but under the laughter he wished the couple happiness and true love.

“I don’t think they’re going to last,” Julie said. “Or maybe they’re perfect for each other. It’s funny how those who aren’t married want to get married and those who are married dream about the good old days of being single,” she said, remembering what it was like with her last boyfriend.

“It’s the thrill of the hunt, I guess,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, but once you catch your prey, the thrill is over. I guess it’s the hunt that we really fall in love with,” Julie said jokingly but honestly at the same time. “When the hunt is over, those endorphins stop flooding our system with excitement.”

“It’s like buying a fancy new car without realizing all the maintenance you will have to do,” Charlie added with laughter.

“It’s like getting to know someone so well, you eventually figure out who they would
rather
be married to instead of you,” Julie laughed, remembering how her one boyfriend left her for one of her close friends, and as far as she knew, they were still happily together.

“Watching from the outside, marriage often appears like a mental illness, infecting the individuals. It often requires the individuals to develop unwanted habits, live under the pressure of self-monitoring, and it results in emotional highs and lows because something foreign is invading their system, namely the spouse. I witnessed many humans with mental illnesses that develop the same symptoms,” Charlie agreed.

They waited patiently for their food to be served and Julie asked, “Do you think a couple needs to be married before they, uh, you know?”

“What, Juliet?”

“You know, sleep together,” Julie whispered.

“Oh. No,” he shook his head. “I think what is important is true love. True love is beyond any human rules, laws, or philosophies. Besides, a married man can still rape his wife and a married woman can cheat on her husband, but a couple in true love, no matter if they are married or not, do not cause each other such suffering. They are drawn to each other’s happiness and that is what is important.”

“Did you ever feel that kind of love for someone?”

“I feel true love for everyone,” he responded.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean did you ever, you know…”

“What?” he appeared confused.

“You know, sleep with someone you love?” she asked reluctantly.

“Oh no,” Charlie said.

She thought it was a strange answer for such a young man, but she realized what was strange was not the answer, but the tone with which he said ‘no.’ There was no shame or embarrassment in his voice, as if he was unaware that it was
not cool
for a young man his age to be a virgin.

“You mean you never…” she rolled her eyes and twisted her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” he huffed. “But you never…you know?”

“Am I supposed to be embarrassed?” he widened his stare.

“No, of course not. It’s just a little strange in this day and age,” Julie said.

“Have you?” he asked.

“Well, yes. I had a boyfriend for almost two years after my dad died. I don’t know if I loved him. I thought I did, but I guess I was just lonely.”

Charlie felt a sudden rush of jealousy, accompanied with thoughts of what the fiend looked like and if he enjoyed himself. He quickly changed the subject, “Tell me about your father. What was your childhood like?”

“You sound like a therapist now.
Tell me about your childhood
,” she laughed. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I doubt that. Even the most boring of lives have a river of emotions to explore.”

His words reminded Julie of her mother, where her strongest emotions seemed dormant most of the time, but always pricked at her thoughts when raised to the surface.

“Well, my mother left me when I was very young,” she explained. “I don’t even remember what age. I could probably figure it out but I don’t even want to think about it. I think she just wanted to leave my father. They had me when they were young. I don’t really know why she left. I don’t think we can ever really know why others do the things they do.

“My father was a good man. He raised me till I was eighteen. Then he died the summer I graduated from high school. He had cancer and never told anybody. I could have moved in with my aunt or my grandparents, but I just got a waitress job and got my own place. I figured it was better that way. I had money from selling the house.

“I always wanted to act. I used to dress up in my dad’s clothes and act like an old man. I used to make my own wigs out of whatever I could find: mops, tinsel, straw, or flowers. I even used spaghetti once. I would put shows on for him and switch wigs to play different characters. He never got upset no matter how big of a mess I made. He encouraged me. He would turn off the TV and hold the remote in his hand and say, ‘I think I’m in the mood for a comedy tonight’ and I would put on a comedy show for him. Then he would turn up the volume or mute me, fast forward and rewind me. He would even pause me while he got up and made popcorn,” she laughed at the memory of it all, trying to stand perfectly still for that amount of time. “He used to sit there and eat it, watching me like he was watching a movie at a theatre. Sometimes he would pick up the remote and say ‘I’m not sure what to watch tonight.’ He would pretend to flip through the stations and I would have to make up different characters, then he would turn the station again. I used to like when he said ‘I wonder where that animal station is?’

“He would flip through the stations and I would tease him, pretending he got a music station or a dance show or a movie about a princess having a tea party. I even did country-western scenes. Eventually I would let him find the animal station, but sometimes they would be having a tea party, too,” she laughed again. “I would act like a kitty cat and crawl on his lap and sleep there all night, or I would turn into a crocodile and bite his feet.

“After my mother left, it was just him and me, and we were happy. We, or at least I, didn’t need her. When I got older I started to recognize the sadness in his eyes. He was heartbroken all those years but he never said anything. He treated me well and never took his problems out on me. I was the joy in his life and he was mine. I wish I could feel like that again.”