crowded in for a look. “That’s a big one. A real big fucking diamond! You must be so excited, Doll!”
“Of course I’m excited,” I replied as Roman poured champagne for all of us. And I really was. Excited. Nervous. Scared. Everything.
Roman extended his stay so he could be with me almost up until the last minute before having to report for his assignment. He said he was just going to quickly fly to D.C., shave and change his clothes, then catch his flight to Cameroon. He’s so funny like that. He comes across so sane and orderly, and then lives his life by the seat of his pants. I’ve never known anyone like him before. Like as in someone who really does the things they say they’re going to do. If Roman woke up one day and wanted to learn how to play the piano, he would sign up for piano lessons that afternoon instead of just talking about it forever. It’s like how the Duquesnes are from Syracuse and they all go to Syracuse, naturally, but at the last minute Roman Duquesne decided he wanted to go to Georgetown and turned in his application the day before the deadline. He was expected to become a doctor like his older brother and two older sisters, but he went into international studies instead. Everybody always said he was a dreamer and a fool, and that his spontaneity would get him nowhere fast, but now he says they’re eating their words because he’s living his life the way he wants to and that’s what life is all about. That’s a good philosophy, I think. Live your life however you want to.
On his last night in town, we ate at a scrumptious Italian restaurant. We drank lots of red wine. We ordered plates of pasta with tangy red sauce. As he slathered pieces of warm sourdough bread with butter for the two of us, he asked me if I was disappointed that he was leaving. I wasn’t sure how to respond. Every time I’m with him I know he’s going to go away again. I love knowing that we’re getting married, but I’m an instant-gratification kind of girl. I want everything now.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’d love it if you were staying…but I understand.”
“It’s a great career opportunity for me, you know. I think my getting the directorship means that Landon may finally be taking me seriously. It’s going to lead to great things, Dalton. For both of us.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“It’s only six months,” he reminded me.
“I’m not complaining,” I reminded him.
He looked at me for a moment. “Are you angry that you’re not going with me?”
“I don’t think I’m angry. Now that you mention it, though, six months does sound like quite a while. You’ve never been gone that long.”
“You’re right. I haven’t,” he said thoughtfully.
I didn’t want to sound like some selfish bitch girlfriend who thought she should be more important than anything else in the world. I didn’t want to be that girlfriend, either. So I told him, “I’ll deal. There are probably some loose ends I should tie up before I go anywhere, anyway. I have had a life here for quite some time. A silly life, I know, but still.”
He looked visibly relieved as he sipped his wine. He’d obviously been worried that I was going to have some big freak-out about the whole issue. “First of all, it’s not a silly life. Be twenty-five and enjoy it. I know I did. Second, six months is hardly any time at all. It will fly by. And it’s actually a really smart idea for you to get all your loose ends tied up, and you’re a smart girl to suggest it. Think of all the time you’ll have to plan the wedding, right? I think on the whole, women are probably more knowledgeable about weddings, anyway.”
I didn’t point out that he is cultured about every subject and could plan a nice wedding if he really wanted to or had the time. Nor did I point out that I am hardly that kind of woman. I had a vision of myself fully vamped out, walking down the aisle to “Poison” by Alice Cooper. Actually, this was the beginning of a script idea Jeremy had once. It was called You and Me and the Devil Makes Three. He never finished it and too bad because it really started getting good when the bride whipped out a knife and started butchering the wedding guests.
Roman smiled at me. “I think that’s when things will really get started for us, don’t you? When we get married?”
“Definitely.”
Later that night I bid my fiancé farewell in the grand traditional ceremony of fucking. I like the word fucking. I like the word fuck. It’s shocking and good for all occasions. He is gentler than most lovers have been and we have really great sex but right then it made my stomach hurt. It ached. Maybe from eating so much. Maybe because Roman was leaving. I found a focal point in a chaotic Mardi Gras poster on my bedroom wall. He fell asleep with his cheek pressed to my stomach. I played with his hair and watched the moon move across the sky outside my window.
When I drove him to the airport the next day he looked concerned as we stood in front of the terminal. It was hot and noisy out there, hardly a romantic goodbye spot. I hate not being able to go into the airport anymore.
“Are you going to be okay here?” he asked.
I laughed. “Roman, come on. I’m not exactly living in Tel Aviv.”
He fidgeted. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…this place. It really gets to you, you know?”
Ah, that it does. It takes a certain breed. L.A. is like a person. She’s like that one certain friend who’s always been such a bad influence. She makes you think you can act a certain way. Be a certain person. Put up with shit you wouldn’t put up with otherwise, because of the little rewards you get from her for being so understanding of her wicked ways. But for some strange reason, you love her like that. And she loves you, and she says it’s okay…it’s okay to be like that, because everyone’s like that.
I was really tired. I wasn’t thinking straight.
I fussed with the collar on his shirt as he placed his arms around me. He clasped his hands on the small of my back. People smiled at us. People thought, oh, we were so cute. And we are kind of cute. Roman’s really cute. He’s got that clean, woodsy look about him like he was born to wear flannel and whittle small wooden horses on the porch of a cabin in the mountains somewhere. Like a Ralph Lauren ad. His hair is the color of café au lait. And when my man squeezes me in a hug like this, I always remember that he’s a black belt in some exotic, ass-kicking martial art form.
“You just be careful out there, Dalton,” he told me.
I laughed. “You be careful out there.”
He kissed my forehead. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Okay.”
I watched him disappear into the terminal. I twisted my ring and wondered why I didn’t feel any different this time. I knew this was real. I knew it was good. But it felt just like any other time. Here today, gone tomorrow.
I bought a Diet Pepsi from a vending machine and sat on the hood of my car on top of the parking garage. The midsummer heat shimmered over the tarmac and sizzled on my skin. At one-fifty-three Roman’s plane lifted into the air, shooting toward the infinite azure sky. I waved four fingers. He was gone.
Normally on a day like this, I would return to the other half of my double life without a moment’s thought. I would return to the place where what started as a hopeless fling became an even more hopeless involvement. Where my lover doesn’t have hidden expectations. Where in fact he seems to have no expectations.
I
