my world. He played hooky from work and we explored the city. We’d sit at an outdoor café sipping wine and watching the people pass. Roman was in awe of the city in the middle of the day in the middle of the week.
“I never see this,” he said, sliding his hand up and down my thigh. “I’m inside at work, but the world is going on. The city never sleeps.”
He saw Manhattan as if it were brand-new. I filled up with pride as if I had built it. We went boating in Central Park. We hiked up a path in the park that made us feel like we were backpacking together in Europe. At the top. Looking down on the city. Looking out. Green trim of the Plaza Hotel accented the lake like a picture frame. He stood behind me and moved his hands possessively over my body. I was happy and I told him. And then he told me.
“I’m being transferred back to Boston.”
The weeks that followed were sad. Every great moment slipped into the next and it slipped into time that would move Roman from my present to my past. Unless.
“My agent called today to submit me for a role in a play,” I told him over one of our last dinners. We were sharing a piece of apple pie, drinking decaf coffee and brandy. I went into the bathroom three times during dinner to splash water under my eyes to disguise the swelling from the tears.
“That’s great. When is the audition?” Roman had learned the lingo.
“I don’t know if I will actually get one. The casting director has to select which actors they will give appointments to after they get the agent submissions. But I really, really want to read for this,” I said.
“Is it a great part?”
“Who cares? The show would be six months of work. In Boston.”
Silence.
Awkward.
Head down.
Shut down.
“What? I thought you’d be happy.”
He took a long time to answer. “Don’t give up your dreams for me, Karrie.”
“Don’t what?” I felt so betrayed. Misunderstood. “My agent submitted me for a role. For a job. A job! I’m not exactly chasing you to Boston. Are you afraid of that? What’s going on?”
He felt guilty. He was supposed to stay at home and marry Julie and raise a family. Instead he came to New York. He loved it. He met someone new. No one approved.
“Did you ask for this transfer?” I needed to know.
“No,” said Roman. “I didn’t. But it happened. And it makes me wonder why.”
“So do it. Go back. Trade stocks. Make money. And in a year ask to be transferred back here. It’s not such a big deal.”
Roman wasn’t so sure. He was sure I was special. But he was unsure how we fit. He was still pondering the question the day he left. Ninety-five-degree heat, a dog day of August, apartment packed, boxes picked up from UPS, two suitcases loaded into the trunk of cab, Roman ready for the airport.
“I’ll miss you, young lady. Move on. And keep a little mystery when you meet someone new. Let them know you slowly. Be happy.”
“I don’t want to be mysterious. I don’t want to meet someone new. I don’t want to move on. I like you.”
“Me, too,” he said as the cab took off, and Roman flew away. I walked back home through the park. I knew time would turn Roman into a memory I could live with, and it would be some time before that happened. But it did.
Eleven months later he called from Boston.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
Yes, I remembered. I remembered well. The voice. Those pieces. I hoped they would thread together the sound of Roman’s transfer back to New York.
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
“I sure do.”
“Tell me what you remember….”
Roman paused. “I wanted to tell you that I’m marrying Julie.”
I paused.
“It’s right for me,” he said. “It’s right for my life here, with the company. Our families are here. I’m sorry. I don’t feel I was fair to you.”
I wondered if he had been fair to himself. There was so much in New York he had yet to discover. Inside the city. Inside himself.
“Do you love her?” I held my breath hoping the right answer would not hurt too much.
“She would follow me anywhere,” he said. “Look, if you ever need anything. Money, anything, you can always contact me. Always. I’ll always remember you.”
“I’ll never forget.”
I never have. Sometimes on a moist and balmy New York night, when I take a walk, I can still see all the colors of the Roman rainbow.
8
My Worst Date… Almost
New Year’s
Day Chelsea, NYC 1992
The day after the party he called. I was bedridden, feeling comatose from the twenty-four-hour bug that had hit six hours earlier.
“I was so glad you gave your card to my sister,” he said.
I’d thought his sister was his wife. They were holding hands all night.
“Can we go out?”
“Okay,” I mumbled in my delirium.
“I’m so anxious to see you,” Arthur blathered. “I’ve never been this excited before. How’s Thursday? What do you like to do for fun? Am I too forward?”
“No. No.”
“Do you think it’s a possibility we’re going to have a great time?” he questioned. “I want you to come to this date really open with positive feelings. I’ll talk to you before Thursday. I can’t wait. This will be the best date of our lives.”
We never went out. He never called.
Arthur must have literally burst from anticipation.
9
The Clan of the Cab Bears
Passover
Port Authority, NYC 1992
“Need some help?” the homeless man asked while he watched me schlep my bags from the Airport Bus Center through the Port Authority.
“No, thanks,” I said, kicking the flowered one that was bigger than me and wouldn’t stay on
