Chapter 13
I felt the cold air sting my bare legs as we climbed out of the cab. As we walked in, I spotted Meryl standing at the top of the stairs. I felt the posh carpet underneath my feet as my eyes took in the brass railing that wound up the gently curving staircase. The lobby was wide, tall, and spacious with high windows and soft lighting. The ultra-modern décor was exquisite and ornate, richly imbued with white and gold.
After checking our coats in the lobby, the four of us made our grand entrance. The music bumped like “Planet Lounge Radio” on my Pandora list. I could feel my hips wanting to move with the beat.
Three women smelling of gin and tonic stared at the four of us as we strode into the ballroom. “Is that—what’s her name?” one of them asked in a stage whisper.
“Who?” said her friend.
“You know. What’s her name?”
When we’d walked out of earshot, I said in a low voice, “You know it was me they were talking about, right? I’m told I look just like what’s her name.”
“No, no, it was me,” Ella said. “I’m a dead ringer for what’s her name.”
“You’re both wrong,” said Ivy. “Everyone knows I’m the spittin’ image of—”
“What’s her name!” The three of us shouted. Heads turned. Meryl looked at us with concern.
“Sorry, Meryl,” I giggled. “We’ve had Goldschlager.”
Just before we made it to the ballroom, we had to walk the red carpet. Broadcast reporters, radio personalities, photographers, and two women with iPads stood at the photo booth near the entrance.
“Name?” asked a skinny girl with a clipboard.
“Roberta Bertucci,” I replied, resisting the urge to say, “What’s her name.”
“Miss Bertucci, who are you wearing tonight?” she asked.
Proudly, I said: “Red Reem by Acra.”
“Fabulous,” she purred. As the cameras flashed like miniature strobe lights, I continued into the ballroom alone as the girls got their photos taken. I recognized plenty of designer label tuxes and dresses in the ballroom with names like Armani and Donna Karan. And tonight I fit in with the best of them. Tonight I was the one walking the fashion runway, as eyes turned to ogle my exquisite gown. But at the same time, I felt somewhat out of place as I entered alone, without a man on my arm. Then the moment was broken as the girls entered and we took in the rest of the room together.
The room was jaw-droppingly gorgeous with rows of hanging chandeliers and swags of red velvet draped over enormous windows. I looked up to see a Renaissance-style painted ceiling that made me feel as if I were back in a Roman church: hand-painted cherubs, naked men and women surrounded by fruits and clouds. A Spanish guitarist stood playing beside a grand piano, and servers in black and white circled the party with champagne and crab cakes. Ivy’s PR firm really knew how to throw a fabulous event. The room smelled of cologne, red wine, and the brisk fall air blowing in from the street. My heels clacked on the cold marble flooring, as a waiter handed me a glass of champagne.
I scanned the room to see if I recognized anyone.
FLASH! I turned as I sipped to see top model Alessandra Valentino—blonde, beautiful, and legs for days—emerge from the crowd of paparazzi near the entrance of the gala. Everyone was bending over backwards to take her picture as she entered the room. Behind her, with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back was—Charlie!
Two women standing near me were talking. “You see that?” one of themasked, looking at Charlie and Alessandra Valentino walking in together. “I heard this is their public debut together.”
“Oh, come on! Everyone knows she’s been sneaking around with some mystery man for months, now.”
“Really? everyone?”
“Well, her husband just found out. But everyone else!”
Just as she said that, I swallowed a gulp of champagne and tried to suppress a fit of giggles. The champagne almost came out of my nose as I began to choke. My eyes welled with tears.
“Jesus, Bobbie, are you okay?” Meryl asked, patting my back, handing me a napkin. She looked over and saw Charlie. “Oh God, okay, bathroom, bathroom. . .” She tried to guide me away.
“No, no, honestly, it’s no big deal,” I said, shrugging her hand off of my shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” she gazed at me with concern.
“Positive,” I stated, away any champagne that was still possibly dripping from my nose. Charlie and Alessandra? Could it be true? I downed the rest of my glass and waved the server over for another. Watching Charlie, so proud of his trophy, smiling at cameras, and flipping his hair, I started laughing. His superficiality was so blaringly obnoxious. Ivy, Ella, and Meryl looked at me, worried, and then looked at each other.
“Guys, honestly. I’m fine. I promise you. It’s downright amusing to me. Alessandra! This will be really good for his career...and ego. That only makes me look better.” I looked at Charlie and Alessandra with dollar signs in my eyes.
“All right then,” Meryl said. “Let’s celebrate! Cheers!” She raised her glass. “To what’s good for your career!”
“Cheers,” I exclaimed, raising my glass. “To the girls of 721 Dearborn, the best friends a girl could have!” And I meant it. They had been there for me through all of this. I felt lucky to have them in my life.
We made our way toward the gallery of fine art and photography where Meryl introduced me to a few of her colleagues and columnists who worked for Chicago Magazine, the Chicago Tribune and the Sun Times. I smiled, shook hands, smiled some more, shook hands some more, but in the back of my head, I marveled that I felt nothing for Charlie. When I saw him walk in with Alessandra, he had suddenly struck me as a manikin, perfectly plastic, with zero substance. The air in the room suddenly felt expansive. I found myself able to breathe, as if I’d been holding my breath for days.
I felt a tap on my back. “Who’s the hottie snapping pictures of you, Bobbie?” Ivy asked, playing with the olive in her empty martini glass.
“What?” I turned around to scan the room and figure out who she was talking about. Oliver. My stomach lurched oddly as my gaze met his. He looked tall and trim in his black tie. His eyes had power over me. I couldn’t look away. He waved. I smiled. “That’s Oliver. You met him once, remember? Maybe you were too drunk to remember. Oliver is an awesome photographer. We’ve been friends forever.”
“Uh, huh,” Ivy said, looking at me, then back to Oliver and back at me.
“He’s just a friend,” I repeated, slightly uncomfortable and nudged her.
“Well, your friend is coming over here.”
As I watched Oliver gliding toward us through the crowd, it was like someone turned up the heat and sucked all the air out of the room. I fidgeted and fixed my hair, feeling suddenly shy and uneasy. Put your hand down; quit playing with your hair. What is wrong with you?
Before I could utter a hello, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, taking my hand and twirling me around. He stepped back and scanned me from head to toe. In a pompous English accent he said, “My, oh my, Miss Bobbie Bertucci, don’t you look ravishing this evening.”
I elbowed him playfully, “Shut up.”
He looked hurt. “What? You do look ravishing.”
“You’re so full of it. Oliver, you remember Ivy, my roommate.”
“Hey,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”
They shook hands. Ivy leaned in and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh. He looked at me with an enigmatic smile as Ivy walked away.
“Hey,” I called after her. “Where you going?”
“Bar,” she called over her shoulder. “Must get drink,” she said amusingly robotic.
Olly held out his arm for me. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” I said.
We walked across the crowded room together, arm in arm, following Ivy to the bar.
Oliver was leaning up against the bar, talking to the bartender, when a blonde woman in a long black dress came up behind him, touching his arm to get his attention. Her eye makeup was dark and black, her glossy. “Mr. Prince,” she said, “your work, it’s just phenomenal. I heard you’re opening up shop.” She held her white wine out to the side as her body swayed towards him.
“You heard right,” he said.
I felt jealous. It was a professional jealousy, I told myself. Besides, we were friends, right? Good friends. Why had he not mentioned this to me? I had thought maybe it was a private project he was keeping secret until it was time to unveil, but no. This total stranger was dialed in. And so was everyone else, judging by the comments people were making and the congratulations he was receiving. Everyone seemed to know about it. Everyone. Except me.
“I’d like to stop by your studio sometime when you’re free,” the blonde said, seduction dripping from her voice. She was disgustingly forward, I thought.
“Yeah, sure,” Oliver said as he brushed back his hair. He seemed a little nervous with the attention on him. I wished she’d leave. No doubt she wished I would leave, too, but I stood my ground at Olly’s side. She peered at me with her frost blue eyes and allowed a half smile, girl code for competition, bitch.
“I want to introduce you to some people,” she said. “Don’t go away.”
“Sorry about that,” Oliver said out of the side of his mouth when she turned away.
“For what?”
“I think you should dance with me,” he answered. He reached out to take my hand, but the moment was ruined by the return of the skanky blonde, who deliberately pushed herself between us. She dragged over her friends, a bunch of artsy wine and cheese connoisseurs, who probably took frequent vacations to Aspen and Naples in the winter months.
“How are you? Pleasure to meet you,” Oliver said, shaking hands. The blonde girl leaned into Oliver and stroked his arm, then his back, as she introduced him, giggling for no apparent reason.
I decided to let Olly network. I slipped away and surveyed the room, looking for my friends. None of the girls were in sight so I made my way to the art exhibit. Moments later I found myself lost in a black and white photo of a young woman wearing nothing but a man’s dress coat, sitting on the edge of a brick apartment building overlooking the city, smoking a cigarette. It was very Tim Burton-esque, with the dark shadows, dark make-up, and the backdrop of Chicago looking strangely distorted. The woman looked sad, sucking down her cigarette, but maybe that wasn’t the case at all. Maybe she was at peace in this great city she loved, sitting on top of the world just before dawn, watching over Chicago while the rest of world was asleep, wrapped in her lover’s jacket that smelled of cologne and scotch.
I loved it.
“Mmm. . .” I heard the low throaty animal growl from behind me as two strong hands grabbed onto my hips and a large male body pressed up against me. Shocked and startled, I turned to see Charlie’s bold eyes looking deep into mine.
“Leave with me,” he said.
“Whoa,” I responded, pushing his hands off of my hips, stepping back. “Charlie!”
“Still playing hard to get, huh?”
“I’m not playing with you, Charlie. And I’m not sure what else I can do to convince you of that. It’s over between us.” I marveled at the calm strength in my own voice. “It’s over.”
“C’mon Bobbie. Did you not see who I came with tonight? Leave with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Charlie. We’re done.”
“Leave with me now, Roberta—you know you want to. And I’m warning you, I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Excuse me, but is that a promise—or a threat, Charlie?”
“You can take it as a warning.”
“You are disgusting.” I turned away, but he grabbed my arm and made me face him.
“Would you just let go and take a risk?” he said, his voice pleading now. “You’re so calculating.”
“Is he bothering you, Bobbie?” someone asked.
Charlie and I had been so focused on one another, like two alley cats exchanging insults. I looked over my shoulder to see Oliver eyeing us. He gave me a is everything okay look and I nodded. He raised his eyebrows.
Charlie loosened his grip on my arm and dropped his hand, looking at Oliver with a disdainful expression.
Oliver broke away from the crowd that surrounded him and began to walk over fire in his eyes. I gave him a stern look and waved him away. Reluctantly, he backed off. Giving me one last, pointed look, Olly wandered away.
“Oh my God,” Charlie said incredulously. “So that’s what’s going on? You’re screwing the photographer.”
“What?”
“You’ve been hanging out with that sap!” He threw his head back and laughed hysterically.
“Oliver is my best friend,” I said coolly. “We’ve known each other since we were basically kids.”
“He’s a square, always has been. He’s not your friend, Bobbie. You look to guys like Oliver to feed your ego, to boost your pathetic confidence. That’s all.”
“Excuse me? Oliver’s a real friend, a genuine person. Something you know nothing about,” I said.
“Every guy’s nice until they get in your pants, Bobbie. That’s how it goes.”
“No, that’s just how you are.”
“I don’t know where you come off thinking I should be kissing your ass 24/7. I’m not that guy, Bobbie.”
“No,” I said, “you’re not that guy—or any other I’d want to be with for that matter.”
“My date thinks otherwise, don’t you think?” He looked around for Alessandra, who had been swallowed up by a sea of admirers.
“Great,” I said. “I’m happy for you—you’ve replaced me. I feel bad for the next girl that has to put up with your shit. I wish you both well. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You underestimate me, Bobbie,” he said. “And you over estimate yourself. I want you, and you need me. Make your choice now, because at the end of the night it’s going to be either him or me. And you know who you want. And it isn’t that second-rate hack photographer.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat and my face turn white-hot. He was pathetic, empty, and ugly. I wanted to scream at him for insulting not only Oliver but me, for the pain he caused me, for all the lies I bought and for wasting my time, but instead I went with my second impulse. SLAP! I laid all five fingers across Charlie’s million-dollar face. “Don’t you ever insult me or him. Are we clear?” I said in a cold voice. I heard gasps, and people were staring as I made my way to the exit. I didn’t look back.
I was standing at the coat check waiting for my fur when I heard Meryl’s voice calling. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Are you serious, Bobbie? Why?”
“If I stay, I’ll murder Charlie,” I tapped my heel impatiently.
“What did he do? Actually no, I don’t want to know because I’ll want to murder him too. Bobbie, please stay. Don’t let him ruin your night—your life—like he’s done since day one! This is your time. Don’t let him be in charge of it.”
She was right. It was stupid to let him get to me as usual, allowing him to ruin the night. I realized I hadn’t even asked her what had happened with to her date. I felt a sudden rush of guilt.
“You’re right, Meryl,” I said. We walked back to the ballroom together, and I felt defiant. Charlie was all over his new model girlfriend. Oliver was nowhere to be found.
“Meryl, can you excuse me for a few minutes?” I aske
d.
She gave me a look.
“I just want to get some air. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I said, my face still hot.
“Okay,” She winked.
I stepped out onto the balcony. The only other people on the balcony were two smokers near the railing , the orange tips of their cigarettes glowing in the dark. I looked out at the panorama of the city. It was stunning; impeccable. Each one of the countless city lights sparkled like a sea of stars down below. I sighed, attempting to fill my lungs with the fresh night air. The night panorama only seemed to simplify things. The darkness crowded out the hustle and bustle of the city, leaving only an array of lights behind, but the sounds were still there. And with those sounds came countless, complex lives. Just because you can no longer see the details of the tiny people and cars down below, it doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Life is still complicated, even if the details are shrouded. I stared into the darkness above the city lights to clear my head. I wanted to fly, to escape. I wanted things to be simple. I wanted freedom. I had thought the city would give me freedom, but it just seemed like things were getting more complicated. I closed my eyes, but the glow of the city was still there, very bright behind my eyelids.
“Don’t jump,” said a voice. I turned around to see Oliver standing with his head down, looking at me from under his brow, hands in pockets.
“Wasn’t gonna,” I said. His suit fit him well, or he fit the suit, I wasn’t sure which it was—but he looked sharp.
“You look beautiful, Bobbie,” he said, coming to stand beside me, leaning against the railing. His tone was different now, no longer the silly British accent he’d used before when he’d complimented me.
“Thanks,” I blushed. “And thanks for--in there--I’m sorry.” I stuttered. He wanted to defend me against Charlie, but I had to do it myself. He always knew when I needed him, always leading me to find some light in the dark.
“What’s going on, you?” he asked.
“Just getting some air.”
“I don’t mean right now, but what’s going on with your life. . . you know. With him.”
“Charlie and I are...I don’t know.” I felt embarrassed, too shy to go into detail.
“Just let go,” he blurted.
“What?” He had sounded like Charlie there for a moment.
“Look Bobbie, you’re a gorgeous girl and equally complicated as gorgeous.”
“Well, you know me better than anyone, don’t you?”
“That’s ‘cause I’ve seen you through all your phases. Like your rock star phase when you only listened to angry lesbian girl bands. And your hippie phase when you joined Greenpeace and you made me call the Argentinean Embassy. I know that you like to lock yourself in your room and listen to emo music, and I know how you eat tomatoes even though you hate them because you think they’re good for your heart. This and that, Charlie, it’s a phase.”
“Hey, I still like those angry girl bands,” I laughed at the memory.
“What I’m saying is, you have a history, we have a history. So, I think I’m entitled to point out that you could do a lot better. You don’t need that guy in your life, bringing you down to pull himself up.”
The smokers had gone inside. In the unexpected calm of the fall evening, the wind whistled over the hum of voices from inside.
I exhaled. “I know,” I said giving in.
“You do?” he asked, looking at me with his head cocked sideways. I nodded in assurance that I understood him, and he was right. He ran his fingers through his hair and itched his nose. “Well, all right, then. By the way, your roommates are great. Ivy keeps hitting on me.”
“When she’s drunk she hits on everyone. Don’t get too excited.”
“Don’t tell me that. I thought she really liked me. And you know I need all the ego boost I can get,” he grinned.
“Olly?”
“Yeah?” Crossing his arms again.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re opening a gallery?”
“I did,” he shrugged. “Didn’t I?”
“I mean, you talked about it, but. . . I feel like I was the last to know. I guess I thought we were closer than that. When I saw your web site. . .”
“Hey, it’s really no big deal. I don’t know. I guess...I didn’t know if I was going to be successful or not when I decided to do my own thing. I didn’t want to disappoint you or myself really.”
“Disappoint? You’re crazy. I just wish you had told me sooner. I wished I didn’t have to find out through the grapevine. I would’ve wanted to help you.”
“I’ve still got a long way to go, Bobbie, but luckily I have a few loyal clients to keep me afloat while I get my feet on the ground. Sorry. I know how you hate it when I mix my metaphors.”
“When do you leave?”
“Leave Fordham?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m done. Haven’t you noticed I haven’t been around as much?” He laughed, but I think he felt somewhat offended.
“I did notice,” I said. “But I thought you were out on assignment. So, you left before the Centennial! Wolfie must have had a fit.”
“I told him I’d help him out if he needed me. He didn’t seem to think he’d need me.”
“And you don’t need—Fordham.” I was about to say, “we don’t need Fordham.”
“I really have no emotional ties to that place, Bobbie. It wasn’t hard. I’m really not into what that place is all about.”
“I know. You’re too good for all that.” I affirmed.
“There’s plenty more talented photographers than me, Bobbie,” he informed me.
“I’m not talking about just your photography.” He was too good of a person for the industry. His photos could change the world.
My heart sank to the depths of my stomach as I pictured myself without Olly in that white, hospital-like, florescent lit building filled with insatiable human beings starving for approval.
“I’m sorry, Olly. My head’s been up my ass. I’m gonna miss that over-roasted coffee.”
“You know, if you play your cards right, you might not have to go without. I’d like you to come by and see the new studio. I can make you coffee there.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good,” he smiled.
I grinned, blushing. We leaned toward each other and almost bumped foreheads. “Oops,” I said, “Sorry.”
“Shall we?” he cocked his arm, gesturing me to link. I ignored his arm and threw my arms around him, hugging him, holding him close. I felt his heart racing against my chest, his hands cool against my back.
As I drew away, he didn’t let go of me. His arms were around me. I felt his body warm and firm against mine. I looked up at him and saw that expression in his eyes—the soulful one that always got me questioning. What’s going on behind that cheerful, yet calm personality of his? He leaned in closer, still staring into my eyes. I was suddenly seized with panic. I pulled out of his embrace. Shivering at the sudden loss of his warmth, I wrapped my arms around my torso and forced a smile. He cleared his throat.
“Look at you freezing in this little dress. Next time wear a turtleneck, would you? And sweatpants. And no make-up. And yeah, I’m not okay with all these hounds checking you out all night,” he murmured, slipping his jacket off and draping it over my shoulders. It smelled good—like him. “We’d better get you inside. Dance with me?” I smiled and nodded.
Chapter 14
We walked back inside. Ella, Ivy, and Meryl came storming towards me. “Are you okay?” they cried.
“Girls, I appreciate the concern, but this night is not about me. Can we please enjoy it together?”
“Well, hello again, handsome, I’m Ivy,” Ivy said, exten
ding her hand to Oliver.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ve met. At least twice.”
“God, you’re cute.” She reached for his hair as he pushed away her hand.
He laughed as Ella pulled on Ivy’s dress, trying to tame her.
“Why isn’t anyone dancing?” Ivy asked. “Come on, girls! You too, Oliver!”
Oliver grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor. I looked at the piano player, and he shot me a wink, transitioning into “The Way You Look Tonight.” As he played the introduction, a woman in a gold dress came to stand behind him, swinging her hips to the music as she began singing: “Someday when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and that way you look tonight.”
“You know who that pianist is, right?” Oliver asked me.
“No clue,” I responded, watching the pianist handle the keyboard like a wizard.
“Stephen Kummer,” Oliver said. “That’s your fun fact for the day,” he added as he spun me around. I laughed, feeling lightheaded from alcohol and emotion. I turned to see Meryl laughing, dancing with a man I didn’t recognize. He was looking at her with an unmistakably starry-eyed expression as they twirled around together. She looked at me, and I read her lips, Ryan. I gave her a thumbs up. Ivy was trying to dance a tango with Ella, Ella resisting. By the end of the tug-of-war, Ivy got her way. The two of them together were no different at an extravagant gala than in the living room of our apartment.
Later on the evening, the crowd began to dwindle, as did my energy. We were sauced up from the neverending catering service and champagne. Ella was ready to go; Meryl was saying her goodbyes; and Ivy had four men surrounding her at the bar as she gabbed about how much fun it was to work in PR. I motioned to her, and she gave me a nod.
The four of us split a cab home.
“So Bobbie,” Ivy said. “Give us the goods on sweet Oliver.”
“He is sweet, isn’t he?” I mused.
“If you ask me, he’s way better than that guy Charlie.”
“No one asked you,” said Ella.
“So, Meryl,” I said. “I saw you on the dance floor. Who was he?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” she said and then smiled conspiratorially.
As we approached the building I now called home, I felt comforted by its antique beauty and rich history, as well as the personal history I was beginning to build there. The stories, laughs, and friendships that were unfolding inside were as rich, charming, and opulent as the building itself.
I noticed Barbara’s living room light on. It was late in the evening, way past her usual bedtime, and I was a little worried. “You girls go ahead and go to bed. I’ll check on Barbara.” They yawned and nodded. I scurried up the stairs and lightly knocked on her door. “Barbara?”
I didn’t hear a word, not even Due was doing his usual run and greet routine. I twisted the old glass knob and the door creaked open. I poked my head in. It was silent, and only the living room light was on. I stepped in, taking a look around. I didn’t want to wake her, if she was asleep.
“Ahhh!” Barbara jumped out of the kitchen with a frying pan in her hand ready to attack.
“Barbara! It’s me! It’s just me!” I yelled in defense.
She dropped her arm and grabbed at her heart with her other hand. “Oh,” she giggled, “I figured you were out for the night—thought you might be some man coming to get me!”
I shook my head. She truly was nutty. “We just got back from the gala. It was very glamorous, especially wearing this.” I handed her the fur coat I had worn.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, waving off the coat with a flick of her wrist. “I told you, it’s yours! Tea?” I nodded my head happily, hoping all along she would be up and open to talk.
“Tell me be about your night. What a beautiful dress you’re wearing!”
“Thank you, it was--interesting.”
“How so?”
“Charlie showed with another girl, a model. It sucked at first, but then I stopped caring. It was almost a relief to see him with someone else. It made everything between us really over. I just feel bad for her, or the next girl who has to deal with his insecurities and shallowness. But who knows, maybe she’s just like him. Maybe they’re perfect for each other, and they’ll live happily ever after.”
“People are vain, Bobbie, baby.” She motioned me to follow her into the kitchen, where she put the kettle on. “Vain in the sense that we’re always trying to find the pieces in life that fit us. We’re sifting and sifting, attempting to define ourselves. Thomas Merton once said, ‘The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them.’ The mind has an amazing ability to twist everything that exists into exactly what we want to see . This is why you need to surround yourself with people who see clearly and defend that clarity with all your heart.”
“I feel lucky in that regard,” I said. “I have great friends I’ve had for years, like Meryl, and. . .” I thought of Oliver, and a strange, warm, tingling feeling filled me from head to toe, as I remembered how handsome he looked tonight. How good he smelled. And how charmed I’d been when he’d tucked his warm coat around me. “And now I have my crazy roommates, and I have you!”
When the kettle began to sing, Barbara filled two cups and dropped tea bags into both. “Bobbie,” she said, “Do you remember when we talked about the three kinds of love?”
“Eros, Philia, and Agape, right?” I said. “Yes. But we only got as far as Eros!”
“Well, Philia is love in the form of friendship. It’s the friendship you form with yourself and others. Even in romantic relationships, when the flame of Eros is no long able to shine, it is Philia that keeps couples together, because at the end of the day, you still have to like yourself and your mate. Friendship, above all things, my love, lasts an eternity...beyond this life. It is Philia that suffuses, that fills every space in us, and turns all aggression to dust. Martin Luther King said that,” she added.
I felt a lump in my throat; she looked deep into me, making me feel more vulnerable than ever. My eyes began to well.
“Thank you, Barbara. I think you are an angel.”
“My husband used to say that. It’s funny. . . you remind me of him sometimes. You have the same kind eyes,” she smiled. “And he was very shy, too, when he was a young man. Bobbie, you know that time goes by so quickly. Squeeze the life out of every moment, and when love finds you, never let go.”
When I got back to my apartment, my phone buzzed with a text from Oliver.
I’m here if you need me.
Philia? Is that what Oliver and I have? I wondered. Friendship was certainly the foundation of our relationship. Yes, we definitely had some Philia going on. But if I was completely honest with myself, I had to admit that lately, where Oliver was concerned, Eros was coming into play as well. And I found that a bit. . . alarming. Oliver, sexy? I hadn’t thought of him in that way since—well, never! So why now?
And what should I do about it?
Nothing. Nothing. Everyone knows the quickest way to kill a great friendship is to. . . to turn it into something more. Right? And what I had with Olly was just too important to risk--I couldn’t, wouldn’t jeopardize our friendship.
That night I tossed and turned. I got up out of bed to get a glass of orange juice and came back to my room and sipped it in the dark. I’m going to start studying for the LSAT. I’m going to apply to law school. I’m going to quit Fordham. I’m going to ask Oliver what’s going on in his head when he looks at me with that mysterious ex
pression in those deep green eyes of his. . .
In the middle of the night, things were so clear. But I knew by morning I’d change my mind again. I’d stay in my shell.