Rhapsody (40 page)

She'd long since grown accustomed to his
being away. These were necessary absences, after all. But what
disturbed Vera was Misha's behavior when he was home. He was
increasingly aloof and restless, preoccupied and distracted.

It's as if he's absent when he's actually
here
, she thought.

When she'd tried to broach the subject, Misha
lightly told her that she was imagining things, or worse, he
retreated into himself, closing up and refusing to discuss it.

As much as she hated to think it, Vera was
beginning to fear that he was disenchanted with their marriage and
family life.

With Nicky, his own son, and me.

She could remember Nicky's first two
birthdays as if they were yesterday. Misha had planned and executed
extravagant celebrations, not leaving anything to chance, insisting
on doing nearly everything himself. He'd been a lively and
attentive presence for his son. Then, last year, when Nicky turned
three, Misha had left everything up to her. She hadn't minded at
all but was surprised. When she asked him about it, he'd merely
shrugged and said he was too busy. She knew that if he'd wanted to,
he could have found the time. At least, she thought, he'd made the
effort to put in an appearance at the party.

And now this year. Not even showing up.

What's happened? she asked herself. What's
going on?

She'd told herself that she wouldn't agonize
about it today, but she couldn't help but reflect back on the last
five years of their marriage. During the first two years or so he'd
been the picture of a doting father and husband. When she went into
labor with Nicky, Misha had had sympathetic labor pains. When she
gave birth, he'd insisted on being there with her. Later, despite
the nanny and household help, he'd wanted to learn to change
Nicky's diapers and to feed him. He'd tucked the baby into his
perambulator and taken him for long walks, proudly showing him off
to the entire neighborhood.

Vera didn't doubt for a minute that Misha
loved his son with all his heart. But in the last year Misha had
begun to show less and less interest in Nicky.

And me, she reflected painfully.

Something she couldn't yet put her finger on
had slowly pulled her husband away from her and Nicky. For a while
she'd thought that it had started after their trip to Vienna. It
was the last trip they'd taken together, and she'd looked forward
to it, only to be disappointed by his inattentiveness. That old
enthusiasm he used to have when she was along for the trip was
missing. After she'd given it some thought, however, she began to
realize that it had started long before the trip to Vienna, a year
or two at least. The trip had simply marked a turning point in the
downhill slide of their relationship. Since then his attention had
been increasingly drawn elsewhere, and she'd begun to seriously ask
herself why.

Was it mere boredom? she wondered
Disenchantment? If not, what? Or, she trembled to think, who? Had
he actually met someone to replace her in his affections?

Vera didn't know, but she made up her mind to
find out, one way or another. She loved Misha, and nothing—or
nobod
y—was going to take him away from her.

Through the open window of Serena's loft, a
truck rumbling and banging along Vestry Street added percussion to
Mabel Mercer's soft rendition of "Honeysuckle Rose." Neither she
nor Misha heard a thing. All they had eyes and ears for was each
other.

Their clothes, tossed haphazardly about the
room, were a testament to their haste to relish each other's bodies
unencumbered. In the subdued lighting of her bedroom, they lay
absorbed in the satisfaction of shared desire.

Serena's fingers were tangled in his hair.
"Ahhh!" she moaned, giving herself up to his ministrations. "That's
soooo good, Misha." She relished the feel of his hot breath on her
there, his tongue caressing her. "Oh, it's so ...goooood!"

From down between her long, firm thighs, he
looked up at her. Her head was thrown back against the pillow, but
he could see that her face was set in a look of euphoric
determination. He knew that she was close, very close, which only
served to make his urgency all the greater. He couldn't wait a
second longer. He rose up, his weight on his hands to either side
of her, then quickly mounted her, plunging in to the hilt.

Serena gasped and threw her arms around his
back, clutching him with all her might. "Oh, yes, Misha," she
cried. "Yes! Oh, my God. Yes!"

They began to move together in a rhythmic
frenzy, their desire for each other overwhelming them, and it was
only moments before she cried out in ecstasy, her nails digging
into his back. He felt her body arch against him, and then she
began to tremble from head to toe.

Misha let himself go then, in a final,
powerful lunge, and groaned with pleasure as he released all his
pent-up passion in a lusty explosion. His body shuddered mightily,
and he collapsed atop her. He peppered her face with kisses,
holding her to him tightly as he gasped for air.

They lay catching their breath, their bodies,
coated in a fine sheen of perspiration, heaving one against the
other.

"That was ... so fantastic," Misha finally
managed to rasp, looking into her eyes.

Serena smiled. "Y ...yes," she panted. "It...
it was the best, Misha." She ran her fingers through his hair
lovingly. "The ... the very, very best."

He kissed her lips, then slowly rolled off
onto his side, his breath gradually returning to normal. He slid an
arm under her shoulders. Serena turned onto her side and

snuggled close against him, expelling an
immense sigh of utter contentment.

"Oh, God, Serena," he said. "I'm so glad
you're back." He gently stroked long tendrils of raven black hair
away from her face.

"Me, too," Serena breathed. "I knew I'd
missed this— missed you—but I didn't know how much."

"I missed you, too," Misha said. "I swear I
literally ached for you night and day. I couldn't stop thinking
about you."

"I know exactly what you're talking about,"
she said. "I've felt exactly the same way." She kissed his lips and
looked into his dark eyes. Then her voice dropped to an impassioned
whisper. "I wish we could be like this forever. Here, together. You
and me."

Misha's breath caught in his throat. He
looked at her, his eyes widening. "Do you mean that?" he asked.
"Are you really serious?"

"Yes." Serena nodded. "I really do mean it,
Misha."

"Oh, my God, Serena," he said, almost moaning
in rapture. He hugged her and kissed her urgently, deeply, suddenly
swept up in a tidal wave of passion by what amounted to a
protestation of love from Serena.

When he finally willed himself to stop, he
drew back. "I never thought I'd hear you say anything like that,
Serena," he whispered, searching her face, as if he could find
there confirmation for the truth of her words. "You're sure it
isn't just the sex?" he asked, still disbelieving.

"Oh, yes," she said, her voice earnest. "I
feel that way, Misha. It's not just the sex, although I love that,
too."

Her face took on a serious expression. "I've
done a lot of soul searching since we ran into each other in
Vienna," she finally continued in the same tone, "and I've come to
the conclusion that I really want ... to be with you. That I really
... I really love you, Misha." With that said, she looked at him, a
tentative smile hovering on her lips.

Misha returned her look, then hugged her
again, as if by holding her she couldn't take back what she'd
said.

"Oh, my God," he moaned again. "You do mean
it, don't you." Then he reverently kissed her hair, her forehead
and eyes, her nose and each cheek, her chin, and finally her
lips.

"I'm the luckiest man alive," he said in a
whisper.

Serena laughed lightly. "You didn't believe
me in Vienna, did you?" she said. "When I told you that I love
you."

"I didn't really know," Misha said honestly.
"It was all so new and sudden and exciting after all those years.
And we were both so ...so—"

"In a state of lust," Serena provided with a
smile.

"Yes," he said, smiling back at her.
"Definitely in a state of lust. So I wasn't sure what to believe. I
wasn't certain about anything." He paused a moment, his eyes
studying her face again.

Serena thought that he had never looked more
like a happy puppy, so adoring, so obliging. So ready to offer his
unconditional love. "But you're certain now?" she asked, ruffling
his hair with her fingers.

"Yes," Misha said, his eyes brightening. "Oh,
yes, Serena. I believe you really do love me, and I know I love
you."

He pulled her closer again and began kissing
her deeply. Serena responded with ardor, as ravenous for him as he
was for her. It was only moments before they were savoring the
delights of each other again. In that same rhythmic dance, only at
a more leisurely pace this time, they lingered over the exquisite
sensations they aroused in each other until ultimately, sated for
the time being at least, they lay spent and exhausted on the
bed.

The sun had begun its afternoon descent in
the sky, and the light in Serena's bedroom had slowly shifted with
it. Misha lay on his back, with Serena nestled next to him, her
head on his shoulder, an arm thrown over his chest. They were quiet
for a while, each in his own world, but at the same time very much
aware of each other.

"What are you thinking about?" Misha asked
her, stroking her back with his hand.

"How happy I am," she said softly. "How
fulfilled and completely contented I feel. How ...alive."

Misha kissed her forehead. "You took the
words right out of my mouth," he said quietly. "This has been one
of the best afternoons in my life."

"Me, too," Serena said. "I don't want it to
end."

"Neither do I," Misha said.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" she asked.
"We can call out for something or go—"

"Dinner?" Misha asked, a sudden look of alarm
on his face.

"Yes, I thought—"

"What time is it, Serena?" he asked, his
voice anxious. He sat up.

"Just a minute," she said. She rolled over
and grabbed her watch off the nightstand on her side of the bed,
then sat up and looked at it. "It's about five o'clock," she
said.

"Oh, Jesus!" Misha groaned. "Oh, Jesus!"

"What is it, Misha?" she asked, a worried
look on her face.

He slammed his fists down on the bed with all
his might. "I missed my son's birthday party."

Vera paced the floor, arms folded across her
chest, fingers nervously tapping her elbows. She had come straight
from a meeting and was wearing a delft blue Chanel suit that
harmonized with her eyes, an oyster silk blouse that matched the
black and oyster braid trim on her jacket, and black Manolo Blahnik
heels. Her necklace was a single strand of pearls that matched her
earrings. A bracelet of thick gold links was on one wrist, her gold
watch on the other.

From the couch, Sonia watched her
daughter-in-law closely. Her face, she observed, was set in an
expression that was at once thoughtful and tortured. Every waking
moment for her is an agony, Sonia thought. She's living in utter
hell, the poor child.

She cleared her throat. "Are you absolutely
certain," she ventured, "that it's not something else?"

Vera abruptly stopped pacing and turned to
her mother-in-law. Soma's white hair shone lustrously in the sun
that poured through the double-height windows of the beautiful
Central Park South apartment. Her posture, Vera noted, was as erect
and regal as always. At seventy years of age. Sonia was still a
striking woman, self-assured, strong, and wise.

"I'm certain that's it, Sonia," she finally
said. "I don't have any real proof," she added, "but all the
indications point to it." She thought, but didn't say, another
woman. She walked over to one of the big comfortable armchairs near
the couch and sank down into it.

"I ... I really hate to talk to you about
this," she went on in an anguished voice. "I feel so ...so
...guilty about it. I mean, Misha is your son." She paused and
looked over at Sonia. "But you're ...well, you're the best friend
I've got, Sonia. You've been like a mother to me."

Sonia rose to her feet and took the few steps
to where Vera was seated. Leaning down, she put her arms around her
shoulders and hugged her reassuringly. "Darling, don't ever be
afraid to bring your troubles to me," she said. "Problems with my
son included."

Vera began to weep, heaving quietly against
Sonia. "I'm ...I'm ...just so ...so ...sorry," she said through her
tears.

Sonia gently stroked her back, as if she were
a child. "You have nothing to be sorry for, darling," she said
soothingly. "Nothing at all. I'm glad that you came to me." She
continued holding her, trying to console her, until Vera had
regained her composure.

"Oh, God!" Vera exclaimed. "I swore I
wouldn't cry. I must be a mess. Let me get a Kleenex out of my
bag."

Sonia straightened up and watched as Vera
retrieved her black shoulder bag from the floor next to the chair.
She rummaged in it until she found the Kleenex, then wiped her eyes
and blew her nose.

"Please, Sonia," she said. "I'm all right
now. Sit back down."

"Are you sure you don't want some coffee or
tea?" Sonia asked. "It's no trouble, darling."

"Maybe just some water," Vera said. "I had
too much coffee at the auction house meeting."

Sonia went to the kitchen to get the water,
and Vera kicked off her heels and lay back in the chair, staring
thoughtfully at the high ceiling. She'd been reluctant to discuss
this problem with Sonia, but she didn't really have anyone else to
talk to. After going down a mental checklist of friends, she'd
ticked off one after the other, deciding there wasn't a single one
she could trust with this secret. Besides, she could well imagine
their advice.