Beautiful Illusions (33 page)

He looked pensive
. “But, for now, she’s in the hospital. Now that you know, I’d love to take you to see her. I just didn’t think that you wanted to spend Christmas in that place.”

I felt so overwhelmingly sad for him
. Yet, even with all that going on in his life, he wasn’t bitter. He was the opposite. I took his hand, and stroked it lovingly.

“So, there you have it. You now know everything
. All the bad, the worse and the ugly,” he said.

“Shhh. There’s a lot of good, there, too.”

He took a deep breath. “So, you’re staying with me?”

“Of course. Why would there be any question about that?”

He smiled. Then he said “Uh, what time do we have to be at your parent’s for Christmas Eve?”

“Not until 4 PM.”

“And it’s now 11 AM. What would you like to do until then?”

“I wonder.”

We made love for the next 4 hours.

When we arrived at my parents, the duplex was tidy, or at least tidy for them
. Which meant that it was picked up, but still smelled like dog pee. My mother was in her little kitchen, bringing out the Christmas ham. My father was in the living room, watching some DVD.

Ryan immediately went into the kitchen to help. I sat down next to my dad, to find out what he was watching
. It was a James Bond movie. Typical. I wanted a traditional Christmas Eve, with carols and Christmas music, and my father was watching James Bond.

However, I was cheered
up when my dad said that they would be showing
The Nutcracker,
with Mikhail Baryshnikov, on PBS, and my dad would also be turning on the Boston Pops. This felt more traditional to me. I remembered coming home from my aunt’s house in Christmases past, and watching this very version of
The Nutcracker
with my dad. Baryshnikov was the most amazing dancer I had ever seen.

“Where’s Sue?” I inquired about my sister.

“Oh, up in her room, you know how she is.”

“Well, tell her to come down. I want to spend Christmas Eve with her.”

At that, my mother called her on the phone. I rolled my eyes. My family certainly does put the “fun” in “dysfunctional.”

Ryan smiled at it all.

Dinner was great. Ryan once again had special gifts for everybody, much more elaborate this time. For my sister, he bought her a digital camera with a long-range lens. He remembered her talking about how much she loved photography. For my mother, it was a beautiful necklace in her birthstone, aquamarine. My father got a season pass to the performing arts series, and a Rolex watch. I knew that my father didn’t mind going to see these shows alone, so it wasn’t a problem that he was the only one who received the season tickets. I also knew that he was thrilled about receiving them. I could tell that the watch, however, made him less than thrilled. I wondered why Ryan would buy my dad a Rolex. My father was definitely not a Rolex kind of guy. Still, he feigned enthusiasm at the watch, and thanked Ryan politely.

My family was extremely gracious, thanking him over and over, and telling him how much they loved the gifts. However, I immediately
felt bad for them. They couldn’t afford to get Ryan much, but they did present him with a nice pair of pants, that I helped to pick out, and a dress shirt. I took my mother shopping at Kohl’s to buy this stuff. My sister gave him a $50 gift card to Nieman Marcus.

I hoped that they were not too embarrassed
.

I sighed. I should’ve stopped Ryan and told him not to spend that much money on everybody
. Then a thought kinda panicked me. I, myself, had merely bought Ryan a grind and brew coffee maker. I noticed that it was the one thing that he didn’t have. It was a nice one, and, at $200, it was really beyond my budget. But that was all I could afford. I already knew one gift that Ryan was going to give me – half his fucking house. I could just imagine what else.

Oh, well.
He’s worth $100 million. You, Iris, are not.
Get over it.

After dinner, Ryan joined my father in watching the rest of the James Bond movie, and I talked to my mother
.

“He shouldn
’t have bought all those things,” she said. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“
I know. He’s rich. He doesn’t think. He figures that he has the money, so he might as well use it.”

“My necklace is beautiful, though. I see he bought it at Tiffany’s.”

My own gift to her was a new Barbie doll, that was not a limited edition. My gift to my father was a book that he had his eye on, and some new coffees for his Keurig. My sister’s gift was a faux pearl necklace. I got it at JC Penneys for 70% off.

Their gift to me was $100, which would go towards a new iPad. That was what I asked for, and they all three chipped in on it.

The Boston Pops was coming on, and we all sat down to watch it and talk amongst ourselves. Ryan seemed really into it. I wasn’t aware that he knew much about classical music, but I heard him talking with my dad about the different composers and pieces that he heard, so I guessed I was wrong.

We stayed until midnight, drinking eggnog and eating popcorn from a tin. I wanted to stay the night, because I was tired, but there really wasn’t a place to sleep, except in the tiny spare bedroom on the double bed
. So, we headed home.

I found out later that Ryan also left $1,600 in an envelope with my mother’s name on it. He overheard me talking to her one day, and I was talking about how getting her teeth fixed would cost $1,600 that she didn’t have. My mother was grateful, but overwhelmed. I had mixed emotions about that, too, but I was glad that she could get her teeth fixed and not have to worry about the bill.

On the way home, I privately fretted about the next day. How would Maggie be? Would she like me? How would the facility be – a snake pit? Ryan said that it wasn't a snake pit, but I had my doubts. At any rate, I was very nervous, thinking about meeting Maggie the next day. And I was very nervous about what I was going to get from Ryan, especially because all I could afford was a stupid grind and brew.

Christmas Day was here, and I was nervous. I had wrapped Ryan’s grind and brew very carefully, much more carefully than usual. Usually I slap something together, or just buy a gift bag if I was really lazy, but I figured that wrapping this present with care would be the least that I could do.

“Good morning, beautiful. Merry Christmas!” Ryan called to me, as I came down the stairs on Christmas morning.

Ryan had two glasses of champagne at the ready. We clinked the glasses and sat next to the tree.

Ryan began. “I have several things for you. Some small, some not so small, some big. Which would you like first?”

I held my breath. “Uh, small.”

At that, he presented a small, perfectly giftwrapped box. I opened it up, feeling apprehensive. I figured that it was not an engagement ring, and I was right. It was a platinum and diamond necklace from Tiffany’s, with matching platinum and diamond earrings.

They were the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I teared up. I’d never seen something like this, let alone think that I’d own something like this. Shaking, I asked him to put the necklace on me, as I put on the earrings.

“There. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. Uh, I don’t know how…”

“I’m not done yet. What would you like next?”

“Uh, the next up.”

At that, he presented me with a large, giftwrapped box. I opened it, and there, inside, were the paintings of me! I was astonished, and genuinely surprised. I figured that he was hiding them away because he didn’t want to admit that he was an exquisite artist. Now I knew that he was just saving them for a gift for me.

“Where did you get these done?”

“I did them.”

My eyes were huge. “Oh my god! These are beautiful!” And they were, even moreso now that they were a gift to me. “I didn’t know that you could paint like that!”

“Well, I dabble some.”

“Dabble! These are gorgeous!”

“I’m glad that you like them.”

“Like them? I love them!” I grabbed his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. I was sobbing, honestly sobbing.”

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just that these paintings of me are so gorgeous and so intimate and personal. So artistic. So made with love.”

“Well, of course. I love you
. I made these paintings when I was away from you, after our fight, but before I went to Beverly Hills. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I painted you to help me feel better. It didn’t really work to help me feel better, but it got me back into my art. Before painting these, I hadn’t painted in a long, long time. So it really should be me thanking you. You’re my muse.”

I cocked my head, and smiled. I silently hoped that there would be no more gifts, but I knew that there were
.

“Why don’t you paint more often?”

“Well, I have to be inspired. But you make a good point. I used to love to paint and draw with charcoal. I was pretty prolific in college, during my drug days. That work was pretty dark, though. I even had a showing at an art gallery, and everything sold.” He looked pensive. “I was never more proud of myself. Except, of course, when I gave that money to the Humane Society.”

“Why don’t you do it full time?”

“I can’t just turn it on and off. I wish that I could. I was driven to art when I was in college because I had to have a way to exorcise my demons. So, I did a lot of drugs and I painted. Two ways to escape. But I haven’t been inspired to art since then, really. Until you.”

I thought of something. I ran up to the guest bedroom where I spent the night the first night I was here. I motioned him to follow me, which he did.

I pointed to the magnificent painting above the bed. “This is you, right?”

He blushed. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s one of my better ones from my early days.”

I studied it more carefully than before. It was gorgeous - it was a portrait of a beautiful woman’s face that was halfway there. The face was painted in blue, with bright red lipstick. On the other side of the face, the part that wasn’t there, there were words displayed. Random words. The background was a bleeding background of bright purple and orange. I was very drawn to the painting, anyhow, now much moreso since I knew who did it.

I looked at him. He was standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets. He was looking at the floor. I took his chin in my hand, and raised his face towards mine. “You are an amazing artist.” Then I kissed him passionately.

His face was bright scarlet. “I dabble. I’m not as good as-“

“Shhhh. You’re the best artist I’ve ever known.” The irony – there’s something that he’s insecure about. We had more in common than I thought.

We went back downstairs, and I held my breath. There was more to come, I knew it. “Ok, now for the next present,” Ryan said. “Here, put on this blindfold.” He wrapped a handkerchief around my eyes. Then he led me by the hand, opening the door that leads to the garage. My heart was pounding, and I was shaking.
Please don’t be what I think it is.
He took off the blindfold, and there was a brand new Volvo, just like the one that I drove in Los Angeles. Only this one, somehow, had a six-speed manual transmission. As I gaped at the car in shock, Ryan was explaining “I remembered you always said how much you liked the stick, so I had this car custom-made for the six-speed. I hope that you like it. I know that you liked the car in Los Angeles.”

I couldn’t speak
. I wondered what had befallen my jalopy Priscilla, with her side door still dented in. My breath caught. I was rooted to the ground, unable to lift my feet even one inch. I felt some kind of trance envelop me. Inside I was screaming “This is too much! You got him a fucking grind and brew!” Then I realized that I was crying again, sobbing uncontrollably, with Ryan’s arm around me.

“Shhhh, beautiful, this wasn’t the reaction I thought I would get.”

By now, I was on the floor of the garage, crying and hyperventilating. There was no way that I could have been prepared for this. Ryan was on the floor next to me, stroking my hair, holding my head tightly to his chest. I was shaking. It was as if all the emotion for the entire seven months that I had known him was coming out of me. Like maybe I was hanging in with everything previously because I had been in shock that a guy like Ryan would love me, the bullied, unpopular girl, and I never thought that it was real. Like he was a fantasy that I had cooked up in my mind. He wasn’t real, he couldn’t possibly be real. Now, he was real, the car was real, everything was real, and I just couldn’t handle it.

We sat like this on the garage floor for a good half hour. By then I had calmed down.

“What just happened?”

“I don’t know. I was overwhelmed, I guess.”

He looked concerned. “Uh, well, then, maybe I should tell you about the rest of the gifts later.”

I made a face. “No, no, I’m ok
. I love the car. I mean, I really, really love the car.”