Perfect on Paper (32 page)

“It’s a Mafia joint,” he’d whispered in my ear. “But don’t worry. The bartender and I go way back.” He’d punched a couple of buttons on the jukebox. “Not every song’s by Sinatra,” he’d said, wrapping his arms around me as dreamy doo-wop harmony began to fill the room.

“The silky-smooth sounds of the Satinettes,” he’d murmured while we swayed back and forth. I had never, ever been so completely, swooningly in love, or so supremely happy.

I guess you really do have to be that young to be that in love,
I thought as I listened to the song a few more times before setting it on continuous play and turning down the volume. Then I did something I had never before even contemplated. I knelt down by the bed and pulled out the box of journals I’d been amassing for years, at least since my high school days.

I made it a point never to reread them. The thought of having to face incontrovertible proof of my naïveté was simply too cringe inducing. In fact, I mainly kept the volumes around as suicide insurance: If I ever felt the desire to end it all, I always figured by the time I burned all those journals, I’d have come to my senses and saved my own life.

But this was a singular moment for reminiscing. I scanned through the spiral notebooks until I found the first mention of Ray, just after I’d started my job at Prints on Prince:

Yeesh. No wonder I avoided revisiting my past in print. And thank god I’d become a painter; clearly, writing was not my strong suit. I flipped forward to the days just before the affair officially began, when we were still in our kissing-in-bars-for-hours phase:

I was actually beginning to find my twenty-one-year-old self rather endearing. Insanely immature, and about to make an epic mistake, but sweeter, and much more innocent, than I ever remembered being at the time.

I continued to relive our history until days before the end came:

I’ll always refuse to believe it, even though we both should have known better than to get involved,
I thought to myself.
Especially Ray
.

I put the book away before I got to the breakup and the anguished, mournful passages I still remembered writing. I was already living that part of it all over again, right here in the present.

I must have cried myself back to sleep, because the next thing I knew, a couple of hours had passed and someone was frantically pushing the button on my intercom.

It was probably Vivian, wondering where her final Hannah was.
Forget it,
I thought, pulling a pillow over my head and closing my eyes.

Until someone began pounding on my front door a few minutes later.

“Dana! Let me in!
Dana! 
”

My eyes shot open.

I leapt out of bed and rushed to undo the lock.

Elinor Ann staggered inside and threw her arms around my neck, gasping and trembling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE SALVATION ARMY

I
stood there, propping Elinor Ann up, while she caught her breath. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“I will be. It’s just—the drive took a little more out of me than I’d expected.” She unclasped her hands from my neck and took a few shaky steps into the living room. “I know we have a lot to talk about, but can you hang on for just a second?”

Before I could respond, she leapt skyward and began to perform a vigorous set of jumping jacks. “Sorry,” she panted. “I—just—have to—calm—myself—down.”

Finally she dropped her arms and took in her surroundings. “Wow. I never thought I’d be back in your apartment again.”

“Me, neither. But are you sure this was a good idea? You seem pretty—”

“Panicky. I know. I was positive I’d be okay making the trip, but I’d forgotten how overwhelming New York City is. There are
so
many people on the streets. And it’s so far from Kutztown.”

“Is that the reason you came to visit me only the one time?”

“Hmm. I guess it is. I guess I’ve been prone to panic disorder for longer than I realized.”

“At least you’re fighting it. You made it here, didn’t you? And god, I’m so glad you did.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t my idea. It was Cal’s. As soon as I explained to him what you were going through, he blew right past the Phillipsburg exit on Route 78 and told me we were on our way to Ninth Street.”

Cal’s idea. Bless him.

She wandered into the kitchen, then poked her head in the bathroom door. “This place looks a lot smaller than I remember.”

“I have twenty years’ worth of additional junk.”

“I guess that’s it.”

She examined the half-finished Hannah on the easel, went into the back room to stroke Puny, who was sprawled across my unmade bed, then stopped at the bureau. She picked up the photograph of us taken at her wedding. “Sometimes I wish we could go back to being us then, don’t you?”

I’d been wishing it all day long. “Ray would still be alive.”

“And I wouldn’t be crazy.”

“Yeah, but you’re not—you’re in the big bad city and you’re still breathing.”

“Yeah. I am.” She smiled in relief.

“I can’t thank Cal enough for bringing you.”

“He didn’t think twice about it—well, at least not until he saw the backup at the Holland Tunnel. But he insisted on coming. He said it was the right thing to do.”

“Where is Cal, anyway?”

“Circling the block.”

“That figures. It’s really hard to find parking in this neighborhood on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Oh, he’s not looking for a space. He told me he’d just drive around until we’re done visiting. He’s worried someone will steal the hubcaps off the truck if he comes inside.”

I had to laugh, even though it felt alien to do so.

“Oh, Dana.” Elinor Ann came over and hugged me again, and this time I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The tears came back full force. I stood there, shoulders heaving, while Cal circled and circled the block.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” she finally said.

“I’ve never seen me like this, either.” I’d probably shed more tears in the past few hours than I had in the past twenty years.

“Dana, I—I don’t get it. It’s been more than two decades since you and Ray…”

“I know. But I always knew he was out there. I always thought we’d see each other one more time.” I sighed. “So much for closure.”

She sat on the bed and beckoned for me to join her, which I did.

“I’m sure it hurts, knowing how close you came to meeting up with him again. But all that—the two of you—happened a long time ago. You’ve already survived without Ray for half your life.”

“I know.”

But now he was gone forever, and I hadn’t even seen him, or talked things over with him, or said goodbye, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to change it.

“And Dana? I’m not trying to upset you, or say anything bad about Ray, but do you remember the reasons you gave for breaking up with him?”

Of course I remembered. “The age difference, Rhea, Renée…”

But right now I would give anything to undo those twenty-one years of self-imposed separation. I should have been selfish. I should have let Ray move in with me, even though I’d been certain that by Year Two, I’d have been standing right here in my bedroom screaming, “Get out of here! You ruined my life!”

And he would have, too. My parents never would have accepted a boyfriend who was nearly as old as my own mother. My friends—well, maybe not Elinor Ann, but the rest of them—would have drifted away, uncomfortable in our presence, bewildered by my choice.

But at that moment I was convinced it would have been worth it—all the mess, all the fallout and rage and recriminations—just to have that first perfect year with him.

“Oh, Elinor Ann, how could he die on me? He was supposed to show up one more time and prove that what we had was real.”

“Of course it was real.”

She went into the bathroom and returned with a cool washcloth. “Put this over your eyes. It’ll help with the puffiness.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be seeing Hank tonight?”

“He told me to come by anytime.”

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

I agreed, but the alternative—listening to the Satinettes and reading ancient journal entries—was simply too depressing to consider. “I think I should try. I think I need to get out of here.”

“Then I think so, too. Are you going to let him know about… what happened?”

Good question. “Maybe I’ll wait a couple of days. I want to be able to tell him without breaking down.”

I saw Elinor Ann sneak a look at her watch, so I looked at mine, which was resting on the nightstand. It was just after three.

“You don’t have to leave yet, do you?” She couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to be on my own—or to face Hank and pretend everything was fine.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay a little longer, but I’m starting to feel bad for Cal. I hate to think how many times he’s been around the block by now.”

Just then I had an idea. “Do you think he could drop me at Hank’s on your way to the tunnel?”

“I can’t imagine he’d mind.”

“And maybe you could stop in for a minute and meet him? I’m sure he’d love to show you guys around the brownstone.” And I was sure my
anguish would be less obvious with the distraction of out-of-town visitors.

“Meet Hank? Oh, I don’t know.… Yes. Yes, I do. Of course I want to meet Hank. If I can make it all the way to New York City, well, then I can stick around long enough to see this boyfriend I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Now it was my turn to hug her. “I’ll call him.”

“Make the next two rights, then a left onto Saint Mark’s Place,” I directed Cal, once we’d climbed into the truck and convinced him his hubcaps would be safe for the next hour or so.

“You got it,” he said, giving his wife’s knee a squeeze. “You okay?”

Elinor Ann, sitting between us, nodded. She did seem okay, if a bit overwhelmed—like a refugee from a third world country on her first visit to an American supermarket, slack-jawed at the abundance and variety unfolding before her. She kept up a steady stream of patter as we turned up Third, down Tenth, and onto Second.

“A restaurant that serves nothing but mac and cheese? How is that even possible?

“That man is selling handbags right in front of that handbag store. That hardly seems fair.

“A dollar a minute, just to have somebody rub your feet?”

“Here’s Saint Mark’s,” I said to Cal, who made the turn.

“Oh my god, you guys—look at that guy with the tattoos. He has
real horns
growing out of his forehead.”

Cal chuckled. “Saint Mark’s Place ain’t changed much, that’s for sure.”

Elinor Ann and I turned our heads to stare at him. “You’ve… been here before?” I said.

“Not since rumspringa. Bunch of us piled into my buddy’s ’sixty-two Impala one night and had ourselves a time.”

I flashed on an image of a teenaged Cal, newly free of his plain clothes and Amish ways, whooping it up a million miles from Lebanon County.

I’d never loved the two of them more than I did at that moment.

Cal maneuvered into a spot across from Tompkins Square Park just north of Sixth Street. As we rounded the corner of Seventh, he stopped cold at the sight of Hank’s panel truck. “Man, would you look at that beauty.” He read the words painted on its side and met my eyes. “This belongs to your Hank?”