The Love Letters: A Novella (5 page)

September 26, 2002

“How are you managing with the Russell party? I swear, that family can be quite eccentric.” My new boss, Molly, is fanning herself with an ornate Chinese fan and pinning red fabric to a presentation board.

“Yeah, they’ve changed the theme six times and now they want camels.”

“Oh, good Lord! I’m so sorry. My best advice is to keep detailed notes and just go with it.”

Today is my third day on the job and I’m already knee-deep in shithole clients. I’m actually surprised Molly trusted me with planning an event with so little experience and an unrefined mouth. I thought I would just be here to answer phones and maybe do some small press releases, but she’s a sweetheart from Nashville and seems to have a lot of faith in me . . . or she owes Zach a big favor.

“I hope my instincts are enough. Do you need help with that presentation board?” I see Molly struggling with the fabric and offer her a helping hand.

“How do you feel about fortune cookies? Do they even have those in China? The clients want Asian Elegance, but I’m stuck somewhere between 1940s Bangkok and P. F. Chang’s!” Molly smiles, but her eyes are wildly stressed.

“I think fortune cookies could work. Maybe spray them gold and use them as place card holders?”

“Um hum, there you go! See Natalie, you’ve got what it takes. How are things with Zach? Excuse my meddling ways, but I was raised by a church-gossiper.”

“That’s okay Molly, I like to know juicy details as well. Let’s get back to Zach, what’s going on with you and that mysterious businessman?” Molly blushes and sits down at her desk.

“Mr. Ross and I are just friends.” She scrunches her nose and chews on the tip of her pen. “Is it that obvious, Natalie? Oh, he’s such a gentleman and makes me swoon. They just don’t make them like him anymore.” Molly is in her early forties, and while I admire her tenacious spirit of being a modern woman, I don’t envy her dating pool.

“He seems dashing and dapper. And you’re right, men my age just want sex.”

“What about Zach?”

“He pretty much only wants sex.” I smile as she shakes her head in dismay, although I secretly know she and the debonair Mr. Ross fuck like rabbits.

The phone rings and I make it my duty to answer all calls.

“Molly’s Events and Planning, Natalie speaking,” I say cheerfully.

“What are you wearing?” he asks.

“Cousin Alfred?” I giggle.

“Ha ha, Nat. Are you staying over tonight?” The truth is, I’ve stayed over every night for the past week, but it’s cute that he always asks.

“Yes, dear.”

“Mmm, and can I put my dick between your tits?”

“Do you even need to ask? I’ll be by around six.” I type in exotic animal rentals on an internet search, hoping to find nothing.

“Maybe I’ll feed you first, if you’re a good girl. Shove a nice, thick plaything between your luscious lips.” I glance at Molly totally staring at me, nosy little belle.

“Great, I’m starved. See you later, Zach.” I hang up the phone and rustle in my chair.

Molly is nodding her head in excitement. “See, Natalie! Zach is a gentleman, calling on you like that.” She smiles sweetly and continues working on her board.

“Indeed.” I laugh.

September 27, 2002

“I need to go home tonight and pick up some more clothes. The last thing I want is for my southern employer to think I’m some wanton hussy shacking up with a guy.” I quickly brush my teeth and dab on some travel-size perfume. I’m already running late due to the early morning shower shag, and yet Zach is still not sexually satisfied.
Look at that strapping boy, calmly leaning against the bathroom door, smiling at me with a big, fat hard-on.

“But aren’t you my hussy? I’ll go with you and we can stop by and see Mom. There’s something I need to discuss anyway.”

Oh damn. Oh God! Could this really be happening?

“Are you proposing? Because I will say no.”

“Ha ha, Nat. You make an excellent lover, but you would be a horrible wife.” Zach flashes his crooked grin and makes a goofy face.

I cross my eyes and purse my lips. “Thank God. Okay, pick me up from work around five and we’ll go together.”

After we stop by my house to gather some clothes and my Aveda shampoo, I drive Dad’s car to Zach’s mansion (it drives him insane when I refer to his home as a mansion.) We’re greeted by a middle-aged man in a tennis outfit – Parker sandy hair and Parker navy eyes.

“Hello, Dad,” Zach mumbles, full of venom.

“Son.” The man acknowledges Zach but keeps his eyes directed at me. “You must be the girlfriend.” He extends his hand but Zach grabs both of my arms and clears his throat.

“Dad, we need to talk. May we use your study?” Raymond Parker grits his teeth – I can only imagine what he’s thinking. I’ve seen enough episodes of
Beverly Hills
90210
to know that rich guys like to knock up the white trash and dishonor the family.

“Fine. Can your friend sit with your mother?” We follow Raymond into the house as the tension grows unbearably thick.

“Nat, can you hang out with Mom? I’ll come get you in a few minutes.” Zach places his hands on my shoulders and smiles sweetly. “Just read her a magazine or tell her a funny story. Be yourself, ma femme.” He puts his hands in his pockets and follows his dad down a long hallway. God, I wish I knew what they were discussing.

I make my way into the garden room just past the kitchen. Claire’s eyes are closed, and there’s a beautiful opera melting through the speakers. I approach her quietly, not wanting to wake her, but she opens her eyes as soon as my fat ass plops down on the chair.

“Natalie?” she rasps.

“Yes, Claire, it’s me. Zach and I stopped by because I desperately need your advice about some camels. You see, my new job with Molly requires me to do some crazy stuff. Now, I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but I never thought I would have to create the Sahara Desert on the Upper East Side.” I pause to see if she’s following my random story. She’s grinning.

“So my mom suggested I just get a bunch of hookah pipes and set up tents and let everyone get really high and
imagine
the camels. I could even get a couple cardboard cutouts to enhance the mirage. Zach seems to think that monkeys with fez hats would be more fun, but I really don’t want to disappoint Molly or my eccentric clients.”

Claire’s chest starts to flail. Oh, fuck! I did something to hurt her. But as her breathing steadies, she smiles and taps her hand against the rail. I place my hand on top of her frail fingers as she mumbles a few words—

“Il t’adore. Sa femme, Natalie.” Claire quiets to silence, and the only noise is the pressure of the oxygen tank filtering in clean air. Her eyes close, but her chest is still inflating. Goosebumps invade my skin while I contemplate holding a mirror under her nose.

“Natalie? Are you ready to go?” Zach asks. “You did a great job. She’s happily resting.” I release Claire’s hand and join him. He leans over and kisses her delicate hand. And then, whispering at a volume I, too, can hear, Zach says, “La vie est un interlude au salut.”

Life is an interlude to salvation.

On the train ride back to Manhattan, I snuggle into Zach and think about the peculiarity of what I witnessed. Claire speaks French. Zach speaks French. And I still don’t know what’s going on.

“Claire said you love me,” I blurt.

“She’s on morphine.” Zach smiles playfully so I jab him in the stomach.

“Be serious for one fucking second! Stop patronizing me. Stop protecting me. Stop giving me things to distract me. Stop making me assume you’re full of secrets.” I cross my arms and remain firm. He cannot actually think he’s the one saving me.

“Natalie, have you ever wanted something so badly that you would sacrifice a life in order to save one?” He yanks my hand from my chest and pulls it close to his heart. “Can you feel what you do to me? You’re my pleasure from the pain, my distraction from the voyage and the best friend I will ever have.”

I mumble and shake my head, “I don’t—”

“That day we met on the train, I wasn’t visiting my mom or taking her to a treatment, I was getting my things in order. I went to see my physician, update my passport and take care of my trust with the family attorney.”

“Oh God, no! Are you sick? What’s happening?” I cover my mouth, gasping in fear.

“I’m not sick. I’m a Marine.” He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. “I’m leaving for duty. Tomorrow.”

“What?” My blood-curdling scream echoes through the train car. Every passenger stares in our direction, wondering what could be so horribly wrong between two young lovers. “No! No, you cannot leave me. Absolutely not. What about your family? What about me?”

“This was decided long before I met you. Nat, I didn’t realize I would fall so deeply in love with you. But I need you to be okay with this, Natalie, please. Those fuckers terrorized our lives, but I refuse to let them take our dreams.”

“You’re wrong, so wrong. I’m selfish! I’m a selfish, selfish baby and I need you here. I’m not built like you, Zach. I have no honor, please Zach, stay with me,
be
with me.” My sobbing and hyperventilating muffle my plea, but it doesn’t matter.

Zach is leaving tomorrow. So that a girl he barely knows but wants to love, can drink Diet Snapple and interview for high-paying jobs and sleep with as many men as she wants and buy expensive shoes and say
Shit
and
Fuck
whenever she wants and watch crappy television and search for fucking camels to rent for a desert-inspired party. Irony is a bitch.

October 24, 2002

It’s a gorgeous October day in the city that I love. The leaves are changing to copper, and everything smells like an apple orchard – except the subway grates and the dirty water hotdog cart. Autumn fashion is probably my favorite because I look fantastic in jewel tones and boots. My job is enjoyable, all things considered, and I even pulled off that desert party for The Russell family. Molly and Mr. Ross are officially a “shield your eyes” item, and she’s slowly scaling back on her event commitments, leaving me with plenty to fuck up.

Zach has spent the past month in training somewhere in Germany. Soon, he’ll be dropped front and center and stationed somewhere in Afghanistan. I’ve always hated geography, but now I spend my evenings at my parent’s house looking at maps of the Middle East and watching the news with Dad. I hate geography even more.

After my Metro North meltdown, Zach and I spent the entire night in each other’s arms, talking and laughing . . . ignoring the pain. I shaved his sandy locks to a military-approved buzz cut while we planned for nothing and everything, but promising to never say goodbye. And as the sun was rising, we made love one last time, honest and real. It was all so perfect . . . I wondered if I imagined him – like a little prince that fell from the sky in search of a friend.

Arriving at the office late, the UPS guy meets me at the door with a small package and annoyed frown. Noticing the Deutschland stamp, I quickly sign the clipboard and then rip open the box. Inside is a single key – I know exactly where to go!

I run down the six flights of stairs and out onto the street. I’m booking it down Broadway and leaping over anything in my way. Zach said he would get a short leave, and he’s here! I shove past some tourists and work my boots like Nancy Sinatra . . . I’m almost there.

Out of breath and flushed, I take the elevator to the fifth floor and nearly attack the door to 5G. My hands are shaking, but I manage to finagle the key into the hole. Hurried and excited, I swing open the door to find . . .

Nothing.

Not one piece of furniture. Not one tack left on the wall. No Zach. Nothing.

I walk to the middle of what used to be the living room and stomp my feet. I jump up and down and scream and curse, and then throw the fucking key at the window.

Fuck! Shit! No!

And then I see it, Le Petit Prince, resting on the kitchen counter. It’s calling my name, so I go to it – that stupid book I will never fully understand. I open the cover and run my fingers over his handwritten addition to the title page.

La vie est un interlude au salut.

~Zacharie Pascale Parker

There’s also a note.

Ma femme,

First of all, stop carrying on and be quiet. The walls are thin, and I can’t have the neighbors thinking the new resident in 5G is an emotionally-disturbed crazy lady. That’s right – the apartment is yours. The lease was transferred to your name and the rent has been paid until 2004. All my stuff is in storage; ask Wayne (the doorman) for the key, and then help yourself to anything you want.

Secondly, I bet your tits look great in tight sweaters. Oh yeah, I promise not to bore you with long letters from the battlefront. From what I hear, times can get pretty bleak, and there’s no sense in documenting that kind of shit. However, I can receive mail, and I expect full-frontal pictures at least twice a week.

I leave Germany early November and fly straight to Kabul, Afghanistan. If you’re a very naughty girl, maybe I’ll surprise you in December. I won’t know the exact date or how long I have to visit until the day I board the plane, but I promise to fuck you nonstop for x amount of days sometime during the month of December.

One last thing. You should really read this book.

xx Zach