One Night In Amsterdam (10 page)

He nodded and brought the paper with him to the bed and handed it to me.

“Wow! Unbelievable Dylan!” I exclaimed, the second I saw the drawing. “This is great. You are so talented. It is a shame that you’re not painting or drawing. You are wasting your talent! Mr. Picasso.”

“Ah-ha! To be called after the most talented artist of the last century. What an honor!” He bowed. “But I don’t think it’s my talent, my model was so inspiring that it couldn’t have been less than spectacular.” He teased me and then put his head next to mine, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes were on the ceiling. It seemed like he was in deep thoughts, drifting away, when suddenly he said. “Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.”

“Hmm…” I mumbled wondering. “What do you mean?”

“It is a quote from Picasso. He was a man of towering ego, almost a lunatic individualist but he was right about his assessment regarding art.”

I looked at him quizzically, trying to understand what he meant.

“An artist does not necessarily create what he sees. It is a reflection of his view of life, shrouded with his emotions. In a way, it is not the reality that he puts on his canvas; what comes out of it is an illusion. Some might even call it a lie, same goes for me. It’s my emotions that control what I scrawl on paper. If you think about it, I draw what I feel.  Once the painting is done, I look back, and I see the truth.”

I looked at his creation in my hand, trying to decipher what he implied. On the clean white paper, he accurately drew my body, my pose, linens half covering my legs, but soon I realized something was off. The girl in the picture was too perfect; she had an angel like stance. She was too serene, gracefully lying on the bed with a tranquil smile. Actually, the girl he drew was not me.  It was a lie, but I wondered about the truth he was insinuating, that it revealed.  I asked hesitatingly.  “Then, what truth do you see when you look at this drawing?”

“That I am in love.”

“What?” I cried out loud in shock, not believing my ears.

“I am in love with you Emma.” Dylan repeated again.

“How can you be in love with someone you’ve met only twelve hours ago?”

“I don’t think you need a grace period to fall in love. It just happens. It happened for me the moment I kissed you.”

I couldn’t say anything. How was I supposed to break him the news that I couldn’t love him back? My life was difficult enough. I didn’t have time for love. Love always hurt. It was inevitable and I couldn’t risk getting hurt again. This was a one-day distraction, a fairy tale that was going to end in the morning. I looked at his penetrating eyes and saw my reflection in his irises. Instantly, I realized I couldn’t tell him any of that. I didn’t want to ruin the magic of our night.  Instead, I put my head on his chest and brushed my fingers over his tattoos.

In comfortable silence in his arms, I studied the intricate design of his tattoo weaved around a very noticeable image. It was an image of a little girl and a boy, holding hands at the edge of a precipice by a lone tree in black ink. Striking words: ‘always together, two free souls forever’ were underneath it. “Your tattoo…What does it mean?” I asked curiously, touched by the dramatic scene, depicting the solitude of two people.

“It is Rachel and I; I got that tattoo years ago,” he said. His gaze was pensive. There was an agony in his deep voice.

“Rachel?”

“My sister.”

“Such a dramatic image.” I whispered, wondering the afflictive situation that caused him to get him such a tattoo.

“Rachel ...” his voice cracked. “She used to be a gymnast. She fell from the cross bars during practice, six years ago, when she was twelve. She severed her spinal cord. She can’t walk anymore. The days following her accident were so devastating. We thought she wasn’t going to make it.” He explained. His pain was visible in his eyes.

“I am sorry Dylan. I can only imagine how hard it must have been.” I said.

“It was very difficult for her to accept her situation. I was terrified of losing her. It was the worst year of my life, the same year my father left. I don’t care about what he did to me but I can never forgive him for abandoning Rachel like that.”

There it was. The edginess and anguish in his voice whenever the subject of his father came up.  I wished I had the power to eradicate his pain and make him feel lighter. I kissed him softly. His blue eyes were dark. They darted up and met mine.

“She pulled through. She is starting college this year.” He said, sounding more relaxed.

“She is lucky to have a brother like you,” I mumbled.

“You think so?”

“Yes, I certainly do.” I said firmly, assuring him. Then, I snuggled his arm tighter, inhaling his manly scent. He played with my hair and sleep came almost instantly.  I felt his soft lips, brushing mine. I vaguely heard him utter, “Goodnight Emma…” but I couldn’t reply. I fell into sleep.

It was still dark, except for the moonlight seeping through the half closed curtains when I opened my eyes to the sound coming from my back-pack. My phone was vibrating in the front pocket. I wondered who was calling me at this hour. I chose to ignore it, not wanting to leave the warmth of Dylan’s body surrounding me. He was sleeping peacefully. His lips were closed but I saw a glimmer of a smile on his face. Was it possible for anyone to look happy when sleeping? Dylan did. I touched the contours of his lips with my fingers, adoring his perfect face. I closed my eyes, hoping I could fall asleep again, however, when I heard my phone ring for the second time, I knew I couldn’t. Wide awake now, I had to get my phone. I carefully untangled my legs first and my body without waking him up. I got out of the bed slowly and grinned when I spotted my panties and bra lying on the floor. My first time sleeping naked. I had never slept without changing into my pajamas before. Then again, I’d never slept with someone I had just met either. Dylan was my first for many things.

I put on my panties and clasped my bra quickly. Then, I opened the front pocket of my backpack and took the phone out. I saw that I had four missed calls in ten minutes, although I only heard the last two...  While I was trying to apprehend why someone back home was calling me, I saw ‘new voice mail’ message popped up on the screen.  ‘You have one unheard message’ said the mechanical voice.

“Emma, it is me. I don’t have much time to talk. I am in trouble. I know you are in Amsterdam but I don’t know who else to call… I had a bad accident. I hit a curb on the highway.  I didn’t hit anyone but I trashed my car. Police, ambulance, fire truck, every God-damn vehicle with a siren came to the scene and they pulled me out of the car. I was conscious but hurt pretty badly. They took me to the nearest hospital. Oh sis, I don’t know how to tell you this. They checked me for things. You know... alcohol, drugs.  I just had a couple of beers and a roll of weed. That’s it. I wasn’t doing anything major Ems. I swear...  God, Ems! I’ve been arrested for DUI. They are not letting me go this time, not even with bail. As soon as I am released from the hospital, they will put me in jail. Please do something. Please …”

I collapsed on the floor when I finished listening to his message. With one phone call, my brother managed to ruin my day again.

Steve always had issues, even during his childhood. I never blamed him for being a difficult child. He was only three years old when our mother died and father left. Not having parents around was a perfect excuse for him to act out and he exploited our love and sympathy to get away with everything. Aunt Helen and Uncle George were too understanding, regardless of his never ending problems.  My father’s approach to solve all of Steve’s issues with money didn’t help either. He was rebellious and wild, however, since he started college, he had gotten more out of control. He drank excessively. I found prescription drugs in his car, although he swore that they weren’t his. After his first DUI, my father used all his leverage with the district attorney to drop the case, however this time, I wasn’t sure if he would get away that easy. But jail time… was too much. There was no way Steve would survive in jail. I had to do something. I had to go back to New York and talk to Aunt Helen and my father. We had to get him into rehab, but first we had to save him from going to prison.

Devastated with the news, I forced myself to think straight. I was in Dylan’s hotel room, standing half naked. I had to get to my hotel, talk to Sydney and return home.

I put on my dress and shoes and placed my backpack on my shoulder.  I was about to leave the room when my eyes caught Dylan’s drawing standing on the nightstand next to him. I turned back to look at him one last time. I lifted my hand debating with myself whether to touch his Adonis-like-body again when the drawing slid slowly off the night stand and landed in front of me. I grazed my fingers on the paper and his words and heartfelt confession rang in my head. Why didn’t I say something back?

I stood by the window as the slivers of moonlight glinted above the dark blue waters of the canal. I replayed every minute of the day in my mind. My ambivalence between holding on to this magical day and facing the reality made me shiver. I knew I had to go, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I turned the painting over and scribbled down what I couldn’t say to his face.  After a contemplative glance, I brushed his lips softly with my finger. And then, as the tears welled up in my eyes, I left the man who made me feel alive. I was probably never going to see him again.

CHAPTER 8

DYLAN

I woke up relaxed and happy for the first time in a long while. The absence of my usual mind-boggling disquietude was sheer bliss. A day with Emma changed me completely and I was impatient to start a new day with her.  I had so many things in my mind that I wanted to do together: We still hadn’t tried Dutch cheese, visited a tulip garden or taken a canal cruise.  Doing everything or doing nothing … it didn’t matter. As long as I was with Emma.

I turned to my side to bring her into my arms again but found her side of the bed empty. I got out of the bed immediately and called her name multiple times but she didn’t answer. I checked the bathroom, the study area, but she wasn’t there. “Emma! Where are you?” I yelled out. Yet no one replied. Then, I noticed her backpack was not on the floor, nor her dress or her shoes. Only her silk foulard was left abandoned on the dresser. I started to panic.

Looking around the room, suddenly, I caught the glimpse of her drawing on the nightstand turned over. Rows of elegant handwriting in black ink were visible even from a distance. My heart squeezed and my stomach churned. I refused to believe this would be it. A cold goodbye note. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave without talking to me, without kissing me, without telling me how I could find her, how we would be together again. Not after all we shared. The thought of Emma leaving me while I was sleeping felt like a dagger stabbing my heart. It was madness.

I grabbed the paper and started reading immediately.

“Dylan, I am sorry. I am sorry that I have to go. I am sorry that I couldn’t tell you how I felt, how great you made me feel. A day with you was enough to turn me into a completely different person, lively and joyful. It was as if I was reborn and living a different life. I enjoyed being that person for one day. It was like a dream. After listening to a dreary message on my phone, I had to wake up from this sweet dream and go back to reality. My uneasy life couldn’t give me a break. Not even a day.  Unfortunately, I have to go back home and continue my life as usual.  You and the day we spent together will stay with me forever. Anytime I need a smile, I will think of you and our magical day in Amsterdam. I will remember you … always. With all my love, yours Emma.”

And that was it. No contact information, no phone number. Nothing to help me find her. Exasperated beyond control, I knocked the champagne glasses off the table, slammed them to the floor, and stared at the hundreds of broken pieces. “No! This can’t be happening!”  I yelled out in a terrible disbelief. I put on my jeans and a t-shirt quickly and went across the hallway. I started pounding on Max’s door.

“Max, wake up!” I yelled. It was about seven o’clock in the morning. He was obviously dead asleep. After my loud banging and yelling at the door for couple minutes, he finally opened his door, dressed only in his boxer briefs.

“What the hell are you doing here at this God-damn hour?” He groused.

“Come on, get dressed. We need to go.”

“What! No! God, no! My head hurts. I am not going anywhere! I am going back to sleep. What time is it anyway?”

“It is almost seven. And no, you are not going back to sleep. We need to find Emma. She is gone.”

“Emma, the chick with the backpack.”

“Yes! She left while I was sleeping. I have to find her.”

“Did she stay with you last night? You banged her, didn’t you? Oh yeah you did…” He smiled smugly, making me so mad that I was ready to punch his face. “She was all right, but too uptight and self-conscious for my taste. Sydney, on the other hand, was something else. She was hot and fun.” He continued.