What would they say if they knew why I had cut it off? My mother had already hinted to me at the Plaza that perhaps I wanted more 'touchy-feely' from Tristan than I had a right to expect. And, I was pretty sure my father would feel the same way. But would they really endorse a relationship based on no holds barred sexual adventures, hedonism and, in Tristan's own words, "no expectations"? Maybe I didn't know Marjorie and Donald Harding at all. Maybe Tristan represented the kind of youth they wished they had--the kind they wanted for me. Maybe they had their regrets about a young marriage, early parenthood and a bland middle class existence.
Philosophic musing aside, his physical presence was exacting a toll on me. I was close enough to smell the faint fragrance of his skin. I felt intoxicated--giddy--even though there was only iced tea in the glass in front of me.
"I got a job today," I announced during a rare lull in the conversation. My voice kind of squeaked out of my constricted throat. I sipped my tea and continued. "Yes, believe it or not, I did. It's at a tiny little bookstore on the upper Westside. I'll be assistant manager."
"That's wonderful, Angelcakes!" my father exclaimed. "Good for you."
"I'm also going to be setting up a computerized system for the store as well as a website for online shopping."
"You mean to tell me there's actually a business left in Manhattan that doesn't have a website?" Mom asked.
"The shop is run by a very, very old and very sweet man. He told me he doesn't have the patience to learn about computers--he wants to spend his time with the books."
My father said he could certainly sympathize with that. He cursed every time he had to upgrade anything--cell phone, TV, even appliances--because of all the new bells and whistles involved.
"There's more," I smiled. "I'm also going to be renting the apartment above the shop. It's perfect for me and Mr. Clemson is practically giving it to me." I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Tristan hadn't made one comment. Maybe I surprised him by getting a job on my own.
"Congratulations, Raina," he said at last. "It sounds like an ideal match for your skill set"
Was he mocking me? What did he know of my skill set? He'd seen me stage manage an amateur play. For all he knew my greatest talent was giving a blow job.
"Actually, it is. Between courses I took at Bennington and my work on the Tanglewood system, I'm confident I can do exactly what Mr. Clemson wants done."
"I'm sure you can. When do you start?"
"A week from Friday."
"So soon? Are you going to move in right away?" my mother asked. I could see that it dawned on her: I was really going to leave the nest.
"Mom, don't worry. I'll be close and visit a lot. I didn't see any washer and dryer in the apartment."
"Laundromats are expensive." Mom took the hint.
"I promise I'll bring every load home."
We finished the meal and the pastries were a big hit. I passed. After Mom's meal, I didn't need anything else. Tristan remained quiet and subdued after dinner, but he cornered me in the living room as everyone prepared to leave. Archie had said his goodnights, Kwan was already outside waiting at the car and George and Hoc were helping Mom in the kitchen before they went downstairs. My father was taking the garbage out back to the dumpster.
"We're going away this weekend." It was a statement of fact and typically Tristan.
"Oh?" Any snappy retort I might have come up with wasn't going to help. I wanted to let Tristan speak his mind.
"You don't start work for almost two weeks, so don't tell me you can't take a couple of days. I made a promise to you in France and I intend to keep it."
I half remembered that he had said he would one day open up and tell me about his past. I didn't really count it as a 'promise'. Even so, I was kind of glad he considered it one.
"Give me just a little time to . . . just let me show you . . ." He was at a loss for words. I was flattered that I had the power to fluster him even a little. "Maybe if you know more about me, you can forgive me."
"There's nothing for me to forgive, Tristan. It isn't a crime to want different things. You've been up front with me from the beginning. The other day, I was just doing the same. Our relationship was causing me more anxiety than pleasure."
"You know, Raina, pleasure is simple until we choose to complicate it."
"That may be true, but for me at least, feelings aren't a choice."
"Okay, just listen for a moment. I told you at Carcassone that I would tell you about my past. It isn't something I'm looking forward to, either."
"You don't have to do it, then. It isn't going to change our fundamental differences after all."
"But it might lead to a better understanding." He put his hands on my shoulders and squared them with his. His eyes flashed with their autumn lights. "How much harm can it do you? Just say you'll come with me. This time you don't even need a passport."
Five
Once again I found myself peering into a closet filled with a wardrobe I hadn't selected. This time, it didn't look like the plane was headed for some beach resort. I ran my hands over the softest, silkiest sweaters I had ever touched. I had never owned anything made out of Cashmere but I suspected instantly that that was what made the garments feel like kittens. There were slacks and skirts, two coats--one short and one long, a blazer, a couple of pretty knit dresses and even a pair of jeans. Everything hung on padded hangers that filled the air with the scent of their lavender stuffing. I knew that the drawers would have just the right undergarments and accessories. Tristan called me to take my seat before I had a chance to examine the soles of the half dozen pairs of shoes, but I already knew they would be red.
"You know I still have three unopened boxes to return to you from the last trip. What do you have against my regular clothes?"
"The only things I have seen you in, other than what I have purchased, are jeans and T-shirts that have seen better days. Why begrudge me the pleasure of a well dressed companion?" He was right of course. Everything I owned had been worn forever and none of it was of much quality to begin with. I was already sweating how I was going to manage to look decent for my new job. I didn't need to get all dressed up, but I knew I had to have something better than ratty jeans and shirts decorated with cartoons or worse.
"And, I promise you that if you return the clothes from France I will throw them all in the garbage making them a complete waste. If you're too proud to keep them for yourself, be a fool and donate them to Goodwill. I am sure there is some needy person out there who would appreciate a fifteen hundred dollar pair of shoes more than you do." He huffed out the last part with disdain.