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Lenora was as dark and moody as a Rembrandt, but unlike a
painting she could not keep still. I enjoyed watching her move, how she
paced from one end of the parlor to the other, how she would sit and
cross her arms and legs, shake her foot for several intense seconds, and
reach for the phone but never quite touch it. Then she would resume her
pacing, like a spring that had yet to unwind. Yes, I enjoyed watching her
slim figure in motion, even as I listened to the shards of my heart break
off and shatter on the floor.
I wondered, what sort of man would keep her waiting? Not I, for I
was the one who had breathed life into her, who had opened her eyes to
the world beyond the wall, who had loved and pampered her. I knew from
the beginning that I could not keep her, that inevitably this day would
come. I was too old for her, too prone to melancholies too deep and
profound for her to understand, but such foreknowledge did not armor
me against the pain.
Finally, the doorbell rang and she shot off to answer it, and the
man who had stolen her from me stepped through. I rose from my chair
to meet him. He was young and passably handsome, with soft brown
eyes, well-trimmed hair and nails, and a clean-shaven face that showed
off the dimples in his cheeks and chin, but his easy smile gave him away
as a fool. He could not harness this woman, this icon of femininity,
whose lust for life would know no end. She would break him like she had
broken me, for perfection could not be touched, only admired from afar.
"My father," she said to him, introducing me.
I smiled and shook his hand, sealing the lie that was not quite a lie.
I kept the smile on my face until they left, masking the hole where my
heart, my soul, had been.
I needed to fill that hole before I bled out into nothingness, and
there was but one way to do that. I grabbed my coat and my hat and left
the apartment. I took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out into
the drizzling rain. It was late in the day and the street lamps were
coming on.
Walking fast, I canvassed New York, entering every art gallery I
encountered. It was in such a place that I had found my love, and where
I hoped to find my new love. Not just any beautiful face and body would
do. I needed a woman who embodied innocence itself, who looked at me
with fresh and unsullied eyes, who would come alive at my touch. Hours
passed and the sky grew darker, the rain heavier, the crowds thinner,
and the galleries began to shut their doors to me.
I had to admit to myself I would not find her tonight, perhaps not
any night.
I sat down in a bar, some dim and smoky hole in the wall, not
because I needed a drink, but because I needed to rest my legs. I sipped
tonic water while I ruminated forebodingly upon life and loneliness, and
how I could not bear one with the other. That is when I saw her, hanging
on the wall.
She was not dark like Lenora, but bright and cheerful, like
sunshine made flesh. Her blue eyes and golden hair purged the room of
its gloom. I felt her spirit fill me.
I spoke to the waitress and she brought the bar owner over. "How
much for her?" I asked.
"For who?" he asked.
I pointed. "That portrait."
He laughed. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
He rubbed his chin. "Five thousand," he said, and laughed some
more.
He was surprised when my credit card went through, and more
than a bit pleased. He must have thought he had robbed me, but it was I
who came away with the greater treasure.
I took the portrait home and stared at it. My new heart and soul
was smiling up at me. I caressed her cheek.
"Rebecca," I breathed, naming her.
She blinked, standing uncertainly before me. This was a new and
terrifying world for her. I encircled her in my arms.
"Everything will be all right," I whispered in her ear. "I love you."
And for a time she would love me back.
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