Thank you.
I smile.
For what?
I wasn’t sure how you’d react.
Like I said…
She interrupts me.
You’re a shithead, but not that much of a shithead.
I laugh.
Yeah.
I’ll be right back.
Cool. She kisses me turns walks away. I sit down look at my whiskey debate whether I should take a sip of it or not things are going to have to fucking change with me. As I debate Petra walks over, speaks.
Hey.
I look up.
Hey.
She tell you she was pregnant?
I smile, nod.
Yeah.
She’s never going to speak to me again, but I can’t let her do this.
My heart drops.
What?
Drops.
She’s lying to you.
I can’t believe the words shocked stunned I can’t believe.
What?
She’s lying to you. She’s not pregnant.
I stare at her shocked stunned confused unable to respond to speak respond.
She misses you. She wants you to come back. She loves you and knows she fucked up. In a month she’ll tell you something went wrong, but you’ll be back together and she thinks she can make everything right.
No fucking way.
It’s true. It’s why we’re in a fight. I think it’s fucked-up.
No way, no way. She’d never do that, it’s too fucked-up.
No?
No.
If that’s what you think then you don’t know her very well.
No fucking way.
Believe whatever you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
She turns and walks away, I’m shocked stunned confused unable to speak or move my heart pounding I feel like I’m going to vomit. I reach for the whiskey drink the entire thing it burns my mouth, my throat, my stomach I want another. I hear the bathroom door open Katerina is walking toward me smiling. I look at the test sitting on the bar Enceinte II. I look back at her walking toward me smiling she sits speaks.
Hi.
Hi.
I look at the test, Enceinte II. She can see something has changed, I’ve changed, shocked stunned confused it’s on my face.
What’s wrong?
I look up. Into her eyes, she’s nervous, scared.
You sure you’re pregnant?
Shocked stunned confused, both of us.
Yeah, I’m sure.
Really?
Yes.
You’re not lying to me?
Her shock is replaced by hurt.
No, no fucking way.
I motion toward the test on the bar.
Let’s go get one of those, right now, and we can go to your place and you can take it in front of me.
Fuck you.
Why is that a problem?
Fuck you for not believing me.
If you’re actually pregnant I don’t see the problem.
Fuck you.
It’ll take five minutes.
I fucked up once, Jay. I’ve apologized over and over. I need you to believe me on this.
Five minutes.
Fuck you, you piece of shit.
Fine.
She picks up the test Enceinte II puts it in her pocket she’s shocked stunned confused enraged we both are. She looks at me.
If you won’t believe me I’m going to get up and walk out that door.
Five minutes, Katerina.
And you will never fucking see me again.
I’m not going to stop you.
Fuck you.
I heard you the first four times.
She picks up the glass of champagne throws it in my face, I don’t move or react she turns and walks out the door, I watch her go don’t say a word don’t try to stop her. When she’s gone I put some money on the bar Petra is helping another customer I stand and walk out don’t say good-bye I just want to get the fuck out. Shocked stunned confused enraged. I go back to the gare take a train to the airport I get on the last flight of the day back to London. Shocked stunned confused enraged. I quit my job stay in London for two weeks I’m fucking drunk the entire time whatever happy memories I have of Katerina are gone shocked stunned confused enraged. When I am sober enough to make phone calls I start contacting people in America looking for a place to go one of my friends has a family vacation house in South Carolina that needs a caretaker. I can live for free write get another job to eat and live, I get on a plane to New York take a bus to Charleston.
I start smoking crack two days after I arrive.
There are three roads in life that a crackhead can take. A road to death, a road to prison, a road to sobriety.
I’m in rehab in Minnesota three months later.
Zurich, 2017
* * *
I land Katerina sent me an address while I was in the air. The flight was long I read for a little while slept for most of it. Airport is clean modern efficient as beautiful as an airport can be, customs is quick simple and easy. I find a cab start into the city.
Zurich is beautiful. Clear clean bright-blue sky a ring of distant mountains. Buildings out of a fairy tale mixed with glass and steel monuments to money and discretion. It’s cold and the air is crisp I sit in the cab and stare out the window. I’m nervous and excited it’s been so long almost twenty-five years so long. I wonder what she wants what she’s like if she’s the person I remember if she’s the person I imagine if she’s the person in my mind the person in my heart the person who became and is part of my soul. I wonder if her hair is still long if she has aged at all I doubt it, I wonder if her eyes are still bright how I’ll feel when they look into mine. We pass restaurants cafés banks houses apartment buildings shops hotels churches traffic isn’t bad I’m in the car for thirty minutes. Taxi pulls up to a small house amongst other houses and shops, a café on the corner. I pay the driver thank him get out of the car there’s a short walk to the front door I push the bell wait.
A man answers. He’s probably my age clean-cut in pressed khakis a button-down tucked-in shirt he has a stethoscope hanging around his neck he smiles.
Hi.
Hi.
May I help you?
I’m looking for a friend.
Your friend’s name?
Katerina.
Are you Jay?
Yes.
Come in, she’s waiting for you.
He opens the door I step inside. The house is simple humble uncluttered there’s a central hallway a living room a small dining room a staircase up. Man leads me down the hall toward the back of the house past rooms with closed doors he stops at a door at the end of the hall motions toward it I step forward knock. I hear her voice
Who is it?
It is still the same I smile, still the same I hear her voice and smile respond
Jay.
Come in.
Heart beating smiling slightly confused by the house and the man, I reach for the door turn the knob step into the room. Room is large and bright, two comfortable chairs, a small bed a nightstand next to the bed a glass of water two cups sitting on it, a huge picture window with a view of Lake Zurich it’s stunning and serene and peaceful and beautiful. Katerina is sitting in one of the chairs. She’s gaunt, rail-thin, jaw and cheeks heavily defined. Her hair is gone she’s wearing a silk Hermès scarf on her head, which makes me smile. Her arms are gone so thin so fragile she has a blanket on her lap. Her eyes though, her eyes are alive and bright and flashing, light brown like cocoa, and her smile is big and wide and true. She’s clearly sick, clearly incredibly and terminally ill. My heart simultaneously leaps and breaks it has been almost twenty-five years her eyes are flashing her smile big and wide and true, but she’s dying. My heart simultaneously leaps and breaks this is not what I expected in any way, at any point, she’s still so beautiful but clearly so sick my heart leaping and breaking she speaks.
Been a while, Writer Boy.
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I laugh, bite my lip, stop myself from crying, my hands shaking.
Hi, Model Girl.
She motions to the chair across from her.
Come sit with me for a while.
I nod, bite my lip, stop myself from crying, my hands are shaking I sit down. She smiles and our eyes lock light brown and pale green. We sit silently and stare at each other, into each other, into our hearts and souls and spirits, into our history and our past, into this moment, into our love, I still love her and still feel her love and she can see it in my eyes and I can see it in hers. We sit and stare. A minute two three four five I don’t know how long but it feels like forever, and it feels like a forever that I would happily and joyfully take, it feels like a forever that I lost somehow and I have now found, forever. I don’t move or look away, don’t need to, I see her eyes and I know she sees mine, and right now, it’s all I want or need, her eyes. Five minutes six I don’t know she smiles and takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand, her hand is so frail, so thin, all bone and skin, she speaks.
Thank you for coming.
I’m happy to be here.
Yeah?
A little confused, but happy. And suddenly, also incredibly fucking sad.
I reached out to you when I got sick.
What’s wrong?
Cancer.
What kind?
The bad kind, the terminal kind.
I laugh, she smiles.
I’m still funny.
You are.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.
It’s your right.
When I wrote you I didn’t know if you’d respond, or if you’d tell me to fuck off, or if you were still angry with me, and once we started I didn’t want to taint our talks. I wanted them to be pure, to be true, I wanted you to think of me the way you held me in your memory, I wanted you to think and smile and remember.
I did, I have, I do.
And?
And what?
Good or bad?
I smile.
So much wonderful, so much truly, truly wonderful, very little otherwise.
Except.
Forget about that dumb bullshit.
We all make mistakes.
We surely do.
Another one of the reasons I wanted to see you.
How many were there?
Reasons?
Yes.
I wanted to look into your eyes, and see if you were still the same behind them.
You most certainly are.
As are you.
Your eyes have always been my favorite part of you.
She laughs.
I don’t believe that.
It’s true.
It wasn’t what you paid the most attention to.
I laugh.
I was young, frisky.
Didn’t know any better?
No, I absolutely did.
She laughs.
Can we stick to my reasons?
Sure.
I wanted to say good-bye.
I don’t want to do that.
You’re going to have to.
No.
Yes.
She reaches into her shirt pulls out the necklace, it’s still glittering, still bright.
I wanted you to see this, and to know I’ve worn it for most of my life.
I smile, big and true.
Look at that.
Right.
Still all shiny.
She laughs.
It’s the nicest thing anyone ever did for me.
I don’t believe that.
You didn’t have any money, you couldn’t afford it, we were already together so it wasn’t going to get you anything, it was pure, and done for no other reason than that you loved me.
All of that is true.
She takes it off.
I want to give it back to you.
She holds it out to me.
No.
Take it.
It was a gift, pure, because I loved you, I’m not taking it back.
She takes my free hand, drops the necklace the glittering heart inside my palm, closes my hand around it.
I want it to be part of our family history.
My heart simultaneously leaps, breaks.
What do you mean?
Leaps and breaks, she wasn’t lying.
I think you know.
Leaps and breaks.
You had a baby?
Yes.
Our baby?
Yes.
Petra…
When you first left I had the idea. I would find you and tell you I was pregnant and you would come back. I told Petra and she thought it was the craziest thing she had ever heard me say, and I used to say some crazy shit. When I actually was pregnant, she didn’t believe me. When you asked me to take the test I was pissed at you for not believing me, and at her for telling you, and at myself for everything that happened before, and I just wanted to get away. I left Paris and went home. And I had a baby. Our baby. Our beautiful baby. My mother helped me and in many ways it saved her, at least for a while. I got married and had another baby. They were raised together, though they knew the first had a different father, someone from my past that I wouldn’t discuss.
Leaps and breaks
I’m so sorry.
Leaps and breaks
Don’t be.
Leaps and breaks
I always wondered, and I tried to find you.
I know you did, and I hid myself well.
I’m so sorry.
We were young and we fucked up, both of us.
I’m still sorry. So so sorry.
I told our baby, our beautiful baby, who is twenty-four now, who you are recently. I gave our baby the choice of meeting you, the choice of knowing you, the choice of having you be part of our baby’s life.
Leaps and breaks
Boy or girl?
If you want to find out you will.
I do.
She smiles.
I thought you would.
I do.
Do you know what this place is?
I think so.
You do.
Yes.
It’s legal here, and it’s time for me, there is no hope, and it is only going to get worse.
No.
I have said all my good-byes. You’re my last one. You are going to give me a hug, and if you want, a kiss, and you’re going to let me look into your eyes one last time, and you’re going to leave me.
No.
I’m going to get into that bed and take those two cups of pills and move on to wherever we go next.
No.
And if you want to meet our baby, you are going to leave here, and walk to the café on the corner, where our baby, our beautiful baby, is waiting to meet you.
I start to cry.
I do.
I love you, Jay. I believe, deeply and truly, we’ll see each other again, wherever it is we go next, and we’ll be friends, and we’ll laugh about old times, and you’ll give me updates on the life of our child.
I cry.
You ready?
No.
I am.
No.
Come.
She stands and the blanket falls away I see how frail she is, how sick, how close to the end. I stand and step forward and put my arms around her, gently pull her in, gently hold her, I can feel her heart beating against my chest, I hope she can feel mine. I listen to her breathe she puts her head on my shoulder, her head on my shoulder the way she did when we were young, when we were in love, when we believed, when we had hopes and dreams, when we had our whole lives still in front of us, our whole lives still in front of us. She steps back slowly puts her hands on my cheeks and looks into my eyes light brown like cocoa into pale green, we look into each other, our eyes locked one last time, one last time, one final time. She smiles, leans forward and whispers
I love you, Writer Boy.
And I smile, and whisper
I love you, Model Gi
rl.
And she kisses me softly, lightly, sweetly on my lips, softly lightly sweetly. She steps back and smiles again and motions toward the door.
Go.
I start to cry.
There is someone waiting to meet you.
Tears running down my cheeks.
Our beautiful baby is waiting to meet you.
I bite my lip, nod, let the tears run, hold the glittering diamond heart in my hand it is still in my hand.
Go.
I walk to the door she walks to the bed. I open the door I see her get into the bed slide under the blankets. I stand at the door and watch her, she looks up at me and smiles.
I loved you, from that first moment, all the way through, I loved you, I still do.
I cry.
Me too, so much, so much.
She smiles and points.
Now go, Jay, or I will get out of this bed and kick your ass.
I smile, bite my lip, nod, let the tears run. I step back, I see her reaching for her pills, I don’t want to see her take them, I close the door, stand staring at it, not believing what just happened, what is happening, what she’s doing, what I’m going to do, meet our baby as she dies, meet our child as Katerina dies. I stand staring I want to go back in and say more, apologize more, make her hear me more understand how sorry I am more, but I know she wants to go her own way. She always did. Go her own way. So I step away slowly, I move down the hall staring at the door until I reach the end, I take a deep breath, bite my lip, nod, let the tears run, stare at the door, and I turn and step out of the house. The sky is clear and clean and bright blue. I see the café on the corner. She’s going her way. Someday I’ll go mine. And I believe, deeply and truly, we’ll see each other again, wherever it is we go next, and we’ll be friends, and we’ll laugh about old times, and I’ll tell her about the life of our child.
The life of our child.
I’ll tell you, Katerina, about the life of our child.
Thank You
* * *
Thank you Maya, I love you, I love you. Thank you M and E and M, I love you, I love you. Thank you Eric Simonoff, for everything, but mostly for just being my friend. Thank you David Krintzman, for twenty years of guidance, friendship, and rocking in the free world. Thank you Guymon Casady, my new pal. Thank you Jenny Meyer, my old pal. Thank you Sylvie Rabineau and David Stone. Thank you Jen Bergstrom and Alison Callahan for a new home, I hope I get to stay awhile. Thank you Patrice Hoffman, and thank you Roland Philipps, my motherfuckers over the sea. Thank you Brad Weston and Pam Abdy, my West Coast BFFs. Thank you Todd Cohen and Greg Ferguson, Matt Jordan and Alie Rivier, for your friendship, your hard work, your opinions, and your tolerance of my music and my moods. Thank you Will Cotton for your art and your gift. Thank you Sarah Lazar for your design. Thank you Aimée Bell and Jennifer Robinson and Meagan Harris. Thank you Lisa Litwack and Jaime Putorti. Thank you Brita Lundberg and Max Meltzer. Thank you Gary Urda and Liz Perl and Wendy Sheanin and Jennifer Long and the sales and marketing teams at Simon & Schuster. Thank you Father Peter Walsh and Pastor Martha Klein Larsen and Father Justin Crisp. Thank you God, for your blessings, and for your peace, and for your love. Thank you to the pew in the third row for allowing me so much time, so much time. Thank you Terry and Chris at Zumbach’s for my daily dose. Thank you Nicorette for keeping me calm all day. Thank you Jonathan Schiller and Josh Schiller. Thank you Richie Birns and Sheera Gross. Thank you Jazmine Goguen and Taylor Rondestvedt. Thank you Alexandra Jacobson and Nathaniel Lovell-Smith. Thank you Jim Raggio and Ailleen Gorospe and Kristi Eddington. Thank you Regi Cash and Angelo Pullen for the years ahead of us. Thank you Robert Rubin and Michael Davies and Joe Blake, thank you Lauren Santo Domingo and Elizabeth Faulkner. Thank you Dr. Jonathan Fader and Ryan Holiday. Thank you David Genovese for my windows, I’m going to miss them. Thank you Matthew Drapkin. Thank you Nils and Suzi, Carter and Charmaine. Thank you Dawn Olmstead and Elise Henderson. Thank you Sam Taylor-Johnson and Aaron Taylor-Johnson, my English BFFs. Thank you Melanie Laurent. Thank you Boris and Priscilla for hanging around with me while I work and everyone else is asleep. Thank you Jag and Peg and Amar and Elizabeth and Abby and Nick. Thank you to our great friends in NC, you know who you are, you deserve your own page, thank you thank you. Thank you Mom and Dad, Bob and Laura and Jonathan, my blood, my blood. Thank you to readers and booksellers around the world who support my work and allow me to continue to do it, thank you for this gift, thank you. Thank you Marvelous Marvin and Auguste and Charles and Arthur and Henry for showing me the way, for showing me the motherfucking way. Thank you Philippe Faraut, the best motherfucking friend a motherfucker could ever hope to have in life, no I didn’t forget you, thank you, thank you. Merci aux gens de France et de la Nation de France, merci aux gens de Paris et de la Ville de Paris, tu vis dans mon coeur, chaque jour je respire, tu es vivant dans mon coeur, merci, merci, je vous remercie.