One Night In Amsterdam (5 page)

“You are incorrigible. You know that?”

“I am actually doing you a favor. You need some hot, naughty stories to tell your grandkids when you get old.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

“Go, now. Have fun.” She uttered loudly.

Dylan walked up to me with a beer in his hand.  His eyes were on me, watching my every move. A soft smile lined his lips. “Sorry about my little game there. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with Sydney.” He said shyly.

“No, not at all. Sydney wasn’t so excited about visiting museums anyway, so she chose to bail. I guess she and Max made some plans already. Are you sure about joining me Dylan? You can go with them if you want to. Don’t feel obligated to come with me,” I rattled a bit, and then looked down at my hands, avoiding his eyes when I finished talking.

“Emma, are you still trying to ditch me?”  He tilted my chin up with the tip of his finger.  His unexpected touch made me shiver; I cringed unwittingly. I shook my head, said “No!” feeling frustrated with myself, especially about my so obvious reactions to his touch.

“Okay, then, let’s go. What’s your plan?”

“I can’t decide between Rikjmuseum and Stedelijk. We don’t have enough time to see both. We need to choose one. What do you think?”

“I’d choose Rikjmuseum.”

“It is about two miles away. If you are not so tired, we can walk.”

“I’ll walk anywhere with you Emma, even if it is thousand miles away.’

I grinned shyly and shook my head. I had never met anyone like him. He was too outspoken about his thoughts and feelings. “Are you going to continue with all the flirting?”

“Yes, I plan to do so,” he chuckled. “I enjoy seeing you blush.”

“Well, then Mr. Flirt. Let’s start.”

We walked side by side along one of the prettiest canals of the city, ‘Prinsengracht’. Dylan’s presence was unsettling and comforting at the same time. He was easy to talk to. He didn’t mind my bitter tongue or precipitous actions. It was easy to be myself around him. What was unsettling was my inescapable attraction to him. Each time our eyes met, I wanted to put my fingers through his tussled hair, touch his stubble and kiss his inviting lips. He was bringing out emotions that I didn’t know existed in me.

I was trying to avert my thoughts when Dylan suddenly stopped, turned towards me and said. “I want to ask you something, Emma.”

“Ok…” I mumbled curiously. It wasn’t like one of his smug comments. He sounded very serious all of a sudden.

“How come a girl like you and Sydney are best friends.”

“This is the second time you said a girl like me. What does that mean?”

“Come on Emma. You know what I mean. You are staid and solemn.  You don’t care much for useless activities. Sydney on the other hand is all about fun, partying, drinking, and enjoying the day. If I didn’t know you were here together, I would have never guessed you were friends.”

“Sydney usually comes off wrong. She has this easy girl image because of her relaxed attitude, but she is a good girl.”

“That might be true but you are obviously very different, yet you said she is your best friend. I was curious.”

I couldn't answer him right away. My relationship with Sydney was complicated. Telling him why we were very close meant opening up to him and sharing my personal life.  Did I really want to share the doleful days of my life with a person I barely knew? I found myself admitting that I did.

After a long, pensive minute, I started to talk, “Sydney and I were best friends even before I moved in with her family. I was twelve years old when Aunt Helen, Sydney’s mom, took us in after my mother died.” I paused and took a deep breath, playing with my fingers. 

“My mother was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor the summer I turned eleven. It was a grade four glioma. She went through therapy to shrink the tumor as much as possible before surgery, but her surgery wasn’t successful in the end.” I explained quickly, trying hard to stay composed. My eyes welled with tears but I was determined not to let the tears flow. It was long ago. I had grown to live my life without my mother.

He held my hand and made me sit by the bench overlooking the canal. His eyes were full of unspoken emotions, but mostly sympathy and understanding. He caressed my wrist with his thumb, “I am so sorry, Emma. I didn’t know,” he said softly.

“It’s alright Dylan. Sydney and I have a long, complicated history. She was my best friend during those difficult months when my mother died and my father left.”

“Your father left? Why?”

“I suppose my father fell into a serious depression after my mother died. He couldn’t handle her loss and the responsibility of taking care of two little children by himself. I guess he did what he thought was best for us: me and my brother, Steve. He asked Aunt Helen to take care of us.”

“But that’s too selfish. You lost your mother and father at the same time.” Dylan stroked his finger gently against my palm as he gazed into my eyes. “You were just a kid. How did you manage to become this responsible, understanding person?”

“I had my brother, Aunt Helen, Uncle George and Sydney. They loved us so much. I grew up in a happy family, it wasn’t as sad as you think. Also, my father didn’t completely disappear; he might not have taken us to school or baseball games or movies but he visited us on birthdays… holiday. I guess he did the best he could.”

“God, you are so forgiving!” He sighed heavily. “I hate my father and I can never forgive him.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked in a quiet voice, wondering if he was going to confide in me, as I did with him.

His face turned rigid and eyes were unyielding. “Because he is a selfish bastard, that’s why,” he replied in a bristly tone.  “He had an affair with his assistant while I was in college. A girl my age, typical mid-life crisis. He divorced my mother and married his stupid bimbo.”

“Maybe he fell in love. They say, love is blind,” I tried to quell him, although I sensed it was useless. It was obvious that he harbored deep unresolved issues and strong animosity against his father.

“That was not love. They got divorced two years ago. My father is not capable of love. He was just thinking with his dick. That’s it.”

“Dylan!”

“Fine, sorry. I am still mad at him. I don’t think I can ever forgive him.”

“I prefer to think, things happen in life for a reason. You either find a way to cope with it or let the sadness, grief or anger consume you. I chose to deal with the hand I was given. ”

“How did you do that?

“I refused to be this lost, sad girl. I didn’t let my anger burn me. I had to be strong for myself and my brother.  I studied hard and chose to become a doctor. If my mother had been diagnosed earlier, they might have saved her. I wanted to learn about the tumor which took my mother and I made it my life’s goal to fight it. ”

“You are a doctor!” He uttered in disbelief. “I was suspicious when you checked my pulse earlier, but you had this no-work-talk- rule, so I couldn’t ask.

“Almost a doctor. I still have a year before I graduate,” I answered quickly. I didn’t want to talk about the details of my life. I wanted to ignore the clinical rotations and the thesis dissertation waiting for me upon my return.  Just this once, I wanted to enjoy my day without thinking about my obligations. 

“Hey, enough talking,” I exclaimed to change the subject. “If we don’t get going, we won’t make it in time.”

“Rijks is too big to see everything in a few hours but hopefully we’ll get to see some of the masterpieces.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have been there before,” he replied, smiling widely.

I looked up to him in bewilderment. “You are full of surprises Dylan. I didn’t think you would visit museums without duress.” 

“You just wait. I plan to surprise you even more.” He said nonchalantly and tugged my hand.

CHAPTER 4

EMMA

After the short walk, we arrived at the impressive brick building situated right next to another canal, built by the famous Dutch architect, Pierre Cuypers. Located in the Museum Square, Rijksmuseum stood stately and beautiful. The famous museum has dazzled art and history lovers since it was built in 1885; however, after ten years of meticulous renovation and restoration effort, it was more impressive and eye-catching than ever.

Since it was late in the afternoon, there wasn’t much of a crowd trying to get tickets. After waiting a couple of minutes in line, we were in the museum surrounded by tall glass walls, allowing us to view the interior courtyard. I admired the brilliant design created by the great architect as I walked by the imposing columns under the big archways surrounding the vast space. I felt lost in the beauty of this magnificent building while Dylan’s warm and strong fingers grazed my hand. His soft touches were making my heart race.

“I know it’s such a beautiful building to admire but we don’t have much time. I would love you to see ‘The Gallery of Honour’ and Rembrandt’s masterpiece: ‘The Night Watch’ before the museum closes.” Dylan commented and led me to the Entrance Hall. I was bewildered but also impressed by his ardor to tour the museum with me. He seemed to enjoy this as much as I did. Who was this man? The arrogant, cocky person I met in Red Light District or the sweet and kind person who was holding my hand and showing me around the museum… Could they be the same person? With every passing minute with him, I was getting more confused about him, myself and my feelings.

When we reached the Entrance Hall, I was stunned by its grandeur. It was more glamorous than I had imagined. Its floors were decorated with inlaid mosaics, the walls were covered with painted tableaux and windows were tall, made of stained glass. Spanning high above us was a vaulted ceiling embellished with lavish and colorful decorations.

“The highlight of the museum’s display is, of course, ‘The Night Watch’, but there are also many other great paintings from the Dutch Golden Age on display here.” Dylan explained enthusiastically. “Aside from the most famous artists like Rembrandt, Vermeer, Steen and Van Gogh, you will get to see masterpieces from artists like Verspronck, Ceasar van Everdingen and my favorite, Jan Asselijn.

“Are you teasing me or testing me Dylan?” I asked shyly. He was talking about artists that I could not even pronounce their names.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I haven’t heard of any of those names before. Of course I know about Rembrandt and Van Gogh, but the rest, I have no idea,” I replied candidly. I liked art, enjoyed looking at beautiful paintings but I was ashamed to admit, my knowledge was limited to the famous artists and their paintings.  “I hope you’re not making those names up. Any name with ‘Van Something’ sounds real to me,” I teased him.

He turned me around to face him in front of an impressive marble sculpture.  Trying to avoid his gleaming, fathomless eyes, I concentrated on the soft details of the child angel’s beautiful face and his wing. I was reading the name tag: ‘Seated Angel’ by Falconet when Dylan mumbled in my ear, “I promise that I am not tricking you.” But then he broke into a wry grin, and looked at me mischievously, making me suspicious again.

I shook my head and studied him up and down in disbelief, “For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“If you think I am tricking you, how about a bet then?”

“A bet? What kind of a bet?”

“Pick any three painting on display around us and I will tell you who the artist is without looking at their tags.”

I raised my eyebrows and trying to contemplate if he was serious. Did he really know that much about Dutch and Flemish artists to go for a bet? Was he bluffing?  I didn’t know much about Dutch painters but eyeing hundreds of paintings from different artists and era around us, I doubted his erudition on the subject either. He was a businessman in the financial world.  How much could he know about art?

“Alright, I am in.” I said, smiling down at his disarming countenance. “What is the bet for?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, squinting. “Now, the bet needs to be something significant to make it worthy. Don’t you think?”

“What is worthy enough for you to bet? A thousand dollars?”

“No. I won’t bet for money. It needs to be something worthier than that. How about this...” He sighed deeply as he raked a hand through his hair.  “If I win, I get to have one kiss and we spend the rest of the day together. I will choose where we go.”

I chuckled at his playfulness, “Oh come on! That’s the wager? You cannot be serious.”  He was taking his flirting to the next level. It wasn’t as guileless as before, but strangely, I found myself enjoying it.

“No, I am very serious.”

“Okay. What do I get if I win?”

“Let me think… If you win, I will be your servant, slave or whatever you want me to be for the rest of the day. If you want a foot massage, you’ll get it.”

It seemed like either way, he was determined to spend the rest of the day with me. “Hmm, very tempting but I need to think.” I crossed my arm in the front, smiling amiably. My thoughts drifted back to the moment he caressed my skin. I yearned for his touch again and wondered how his lips would feel on mine. Did I want him to win this bet?