Wait for Me (6 page)

“Sophie, follow me. I have to view the show,” he said gently.

“Maybe I shouldn't… I don't know. I feel kind of uncomfortable and I don't want to get in the way,” I said, searching his expression.

He gave me a re-assuring look that eased my discomfort.

“It's an art exhibition, not a masquerade ball. Come on, the curator will show us around.”

Pushed by his hand on the small of my back, which ignited something inside me, we joined the rest of the group. Adam introduced me to anybody and everybody – including the Spanish curator – as a friend. The group moved around the exhibition, listening to the indulgently poetic explanations of Mr Xavier Lebox.

Twenty minutes later, annoyed by Xavier's voice, but also by Adam's adoring entourage, I stepped away to admire the works in solitude.

I remembered three paintings by Magritte:
The Castle of the Pyrenees
,
The Empire of Lights
and, above all,
The Lovers
. And when I found myself less than three feet away from it I was utterly entranced; a disquieting kiss between two lovers. It spoke to me of death and impossible dialogues. I saw a silent love, full of passion, unmoved by the void in communication. Without sight and without touch, the lovers remain wholly lovers. This was what I had been searching for – a love that could transcend communication and the senses… all of the senses.

I read the caption alongside the next painting:

“Do you like it?” Adam asked, suddenly next to me.

“Very much,” I answered.

“It's very intense,” he added, watching me.

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“Do you want to look at the rest of the exhibition by yourself?”

“If you don't mind… Xavier is a bit pretentious for my taste.”

“Yeah, I agree,” he laughed. “Listen, I have to get back and talk through some logistics. We can meet in the bar here if you like – first to arrive waits for the other.”

“Sounds good, I'll see you later.”

“Until then.”

I watched him re-join his minions and I turned back to
The Lovers.
Once I had seen all the paintings, I killed a little time in the bookshop and then found the bar. The first to arrive, I listened, disinterestedly, to a discussion about the impending apocalypse, as predicted by the Mayans. The barman muttered something to himself.

“Think it's plausible?” I asked.

“I'm not sure, people talk about it but we don't even have an exact date. I just hope I'm asleep. If we're all doomed I'd rather not know about it.”

“I don't think anything will happen, and we'll all have to persist with our disenchanted existence.”

The barman looked at me curiously, then smiled. “What's an existentialist like yourself doing in a place like this?”

“I came with a friend,” I answered.

“I'm Andrea – the uncertain.”

“Sophie – the disenchanted.”

He went to the School of Visual Arts. He had moved here two years ago, from an old forgotten town in central Italy, and applied to
MOMA
not long after. He was hoping they would offer him a job that was more in line with his studies, but he had been placed in hospitality, he suspected, because he was Italian.

We talked a little about his circumstances, but mostly we discussed the exhibition, which he deemed to be exceptional. After about an hour, Adam arrived.

“Sophie, we're good to go,” he said, sliding his hand across my back again.

Luckily I was sitting on a stool so I didn't melt to the ground. That simple delicate gesture was permeating – every time.

“How much do I owe you?” Adam asked the bartender.

“Nothing, for Sophie it's on the house,” Andrea replied.

“I insist,” Adam said with dismay. “How much do I owe you?” he repeated.

Both Andrea and I were mindful of his sullen determination. Without responding, Andrea tapped on the till for the receipt. Five dollars, it said.

“Keep the rest,” as he left a ten dollar note on the bar. He took my arm in a gentle, but decided, way. “Let's go Sophie.”

I gave Andrea an apologetic smile, at which he winked, and we left the gallery cloaked in a surreal silence. Once we were outside, Adam marched towards his car and opened the passenger door. I stood motionless.

“Listen, I'm going to take the subway.”

He looked at me uncertainly. “Why?”

“Just, if you have a problem… I can make my own way back,” I said, without directly referring to his darkened mood.

“
Is
there a problem?” he asked, puzzled.

“For me there isn't. I'm just saying that if you have something on your mind, don't worry about me.” I added, “if something has happened, I'll leave you to your business.”

I didn't like get to involved in things that were not my concern. I had been a punch bag for too long and I could tell when people were harboring negative energy, especially when it involved testosterone. In response to this, Adam relaxed his shoulders and let out a laugh.

“I don't have anything on my mind. Please, Sophie, let me drive you home.” His tone was soft again. Once more, he pressed his hand against my back and led me into the passenger seat. I sat down, still unsure. In the Sunday morning traffic, I watched the bustle of the city before me, ignoring my unhappiness.

“Will you have lunch with me?” he asked, out of the blue.

“Yes. No – I don't know.” I looked up at the sky and settled on ‘no'. It was about time that I started choosing my relationships rationally and behaving according to common sense.

“No, sorry,” I replied directly.

“You have plans?”

“I'm seeing a friend,” I lied.

“Ah, then you do occasionally do something more than nothing,” he commented, humorously.

“Yeah,” I said, without looking at him.

“May I drive you home at least?”

“Yeah, but drop me on the corner,” I replied, fixated on the road.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watch me for a few seconds.

“I'm sorry, I had some trouble with the organizers – they deliberately misunderstand the—”

I nodded silently as I continued to gaze out of the window. But I wasn't deliberately misunderstanding anything – it was perfectly apparent what had rattled his cage. I wasn't born yesterday and I had met a sizable collection of assholes. Albert-the-obsessive, for example. We had a blissful few months before he was driven mad by jealousy. He would follow me around, make scenes in public, slap me, and the rest. I could see a shade of this temperament within Adam and it was far better to end it here – I would not be his. I knew he was planning to seduce me and my body was ready to let him, but I would not be his. After the scene with Andrea, all of my better judgment was telling me to stay clear of this man.

“Here, at these traffic lights will be fine,” I told him, just a block away from the parking lot.

“Alright.”

After a hundred yards or so, he pulled onto the sidewalk. I opened the door and, barely turning around, told him ‘thanks for the exhibition'. Without waiting for his response, I got out of the car.

“I'm sorry Sophie,” he said, leaning on the passenger's seat, looking unsure.

I forced a smile. “Bye Adam”. I closed the door and crossed the street, ready for another stretch of aimless wandering.

A magnet; I had my own gravitational pull for people like this. I had been humiliated and hurt by enough puppet masters and I didn't need to lose any more self-respect. But then, why was I even attracted to these men? Why, for the love of God, couldn't I sustain a normal relationship? A simple romance? Oh that's right, I was a magnet; a magnet with a curse.

To avoid going straight back to the parking lot, I spent the afternoon browsing the second-hand shops. After some rigorous bargaining, I managed to bring home a polyester life jacket (with rope included) for just five dollars. I wanted to hang it on my wall as a reminder that I did not need to cling to anybody. Nor was I a part of the Red Cross – if someone needed saving then they damn well had to be worth it. By 7 p.m., I was home for my night watch. I ordered the usual vegetable noodles, watched some television, and absent-mindedly glanced at the monitor whenever a customer passed through. Around 9 p.m., I saw Adam come to collect his car. I figured that he would be returning with his goods within the next half hour or so.

Anyway, I preferred to concentrate on the season finale of
Grey's Anatomy
, which was becoming relentlessly intriguing. I watched Mark declare his love to a dying Lexie; a scene that made me sob hysterically. You could always count on that series, painfully absurd as it was, to provide a heart-wrenching ending. Love at the death bed – the hallmark of tragedy.

I grabbed some tissues from the drawer and noticed, on the monitor, that Adam's car hadn't moved. Meredith's cry brought me back to the episode. This was annoying. The effect of Lexie's heart-breaking scene was diminished by the fake wailing of this hollow actress – any school production could have done a more convincing job. A moment later, the doorbell rang in the office. Adam's eyes were staring through the external camera. Out of a sense of duty, I answered the call. I would have preferred not to.

“Sophie, I bought couple of beers. I wondered if you fancied sharing them,” he said with a smile.

Two words began to circle around my mind: magnet and obsession.

“I'm sorry, I can't let anyone in.”

“We can drink them out here, if you want,” he said.

Magnet and obsession.

“Listen, I'm actually off to bed now, I'm sorry… maybe some other time,” I replied.

“I understand,” he answered. “Well, good night then.”

“Night,” I answered, and hung up the intercom.

I watched him walk away and returned to the final scene of the episode, annoyed, again, that I had missed the ending and didn't know who else had died.

‘I understand', he had said. I really did hope so.

At 10 p.m., I heard the familiar three rings on the doorbell. It was Ben and Ester. Sitting on the stairs, beers in hands, they began to grill me for answers.

“Sophie, tell me you didn't have sex with that man!” She was just warming up.

I burst out laughing. “Ester, don't worry, nothing happened. We went to see a Magritte exhibition and then I spent the afternoon wandering around the shops.”

“But, what does he want?” Ben asked.

“What do you think, Ben?” I asked. “To offer me steady employment?”

“Oh
madre de Dios
, imagine the diseases he carries,” Ester said. “To pick up his coffee cup makes my skin crawl. That's why I have the gloves.”

“Don't be so dramatic! Anyway, I'll say it again, don't worry, nothing happened and nothing will.” As I said this, I lifted my gaze towards the twelfth floor across the street. His light was still on.

I didn't see him for a few days. When I was on shift, I noticed that his car never moved from its allocated space either. I read an article in the newspaper about the opening of the Magritte exhibition. It had been a blinding success, and the spokesman from the museum said that he was expecting an influx of visitors this season. In the middle of the article, there was a picture of Adam and Xavier, both smiling in front of
The Lovers
.

In any case, I wasn't giving him much thought. My next exam was coming up so I was spending most of my time in the library. And that's where I was that afternoon, when all of a sudden he appeared beside me. Eyes glued to the page, I hadn't even felt his approach. In the special quietude of that space, I could always sink deep into my work. The stillness was comforting; I felt re-assured in the company of people who were forced to speak softly and measure the tone and content of their words.

Adam placed his hand on the table and leaned in with his chest, to whisper “Hello Sophie” in my ear. I shivered.

“Hello,” I replied, momentarily panicked.

I had flashbacks of Albert, and my unconscious reaction made me spring to my feet. I saw Susan, sitting behind Adam, give me a curious stare as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

“What are you doing here?” I asked nervously, conscious of my volume.

Adam frowned, perplexed by my reaction.

“I have to meet with the dean about recruiting interns,” he answered.

Still alarmed, I stepped back, stumbling on the chair. I could feel the disapproving eyes of my fellow students. Adam grabbed my arm to support me.

“He was giving me a tour of the school, and there you were,” he added.

“Haha,” I answered, noticing the dean and three other people facing us. Embarrassed, I turned back to him, not knowing what to say. Fortunately, he broke the silence.

“I'll leave you to study, I just wanted to say hello,” he said kindly.

“Okay.”

As soon as he left, I released my breath and sat down again.

“Who was that?” Susan mouthed.

“My brother's customer,” I whispered.

“He's hot.”

“Yeah… seriously hot.” I was grateful to be in a library, where we couldn't chat about this.

I tried to resume my reading on chaos theory but I could not concentrate. The topic was ironically applicable to my mental state. Trying not to watch him tour the room, I forced myself to keep reading. Or, at least, I tried. For two hours I read and re-read the same ten lines, without absorbing a single one of them.

Later on, we met Silvy for coffee and Susan took the opportunity to quiz me about my little encounter.