The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (8 page)

And as she began rapidly getting the house in order, the suspicions returned.
Where have I heard this voice before?
...for she knew she had definitely heard it somewhere before. She felt that creepy sensation again, as if someone was pulling a huge rug over her eyes. And suddenly, Savannah Burns wasn’t looking forward to meeting Lu Edilson anymore. But the dice had been cast.

.

I
t had been a rush job, but she made it.

The wall clock was just ticking over to nine-thirty pm and Savannah was dressed in a red full-sleeve, cross-shoulder top, which tucked into rainbow stripped parallel trousers with full elastic waist and side pockets large enough to cell a little baby each. It was one of her favorite dresses and she especially loved nestling her hands in those giant trouser pockets.

She was settled now—the apprehensions had subsided by and large. Her misgivings had been unnecessary, she had convinced herself. She could’ve heard the voice anywhere.
Like faces, people do have comparable voices, you know.
So really, she had fretted over nothing. Perhaps it was just her nervousness spilling over—at
actually
meeting this man she had so bizarrely and unconventionally fallen for.

Savannah looked around the little apartment one more time. Yes, it was tidy now. She had dumped the laundry and the other stuff that needed tending in her kitchen—it could all wait. The washroom was clean too—just in case he needed to use it. So she waited and kept glancing at the wall-clock. It was a minute to nine-thirty and she could barely breathe.

Then the doorbell rang and she felt her bladder cramp. She walked slowly to the door. Pausing for a second, she momentarily shut her eyes. At the second bell, she looked up and straightened her back.

A tall man stood before her. He wore a corduroy cap and dark shades that, together, practically hid his face. The jacket was denim and the collar was turned up to cover the nape. He was leanly muscular from what she could sense. In his hands was a nosegay of fresh purple roses.

Her immediate thought was
this isn’t Lu Edilson.
Lu had said he was five-nine and this man was well over six. And although she couldn’t really see the face, this wasn’t the mug of Lu Edilson from the pictures he had sent her over the Internet.

“Yes?” she inquired.

“Savannah?” he said in a voice barely audible.

She nodded. “And you’d be?” Suddenly the tenseness was gone. This wasn’t
her
man, so there was no reason to be taut.

He smiled then. “Who do you think I’d be?” he said, and this time the tone was clear and there was no mistaking it.

And it all clicked in a flash and Savannah felt a dart shoot up her nostril. Her hands went to her mouth and her tongue went dry.

Oh, Mary!

.

S
he thought she was seeing some wacky vision. She kept staring stupidly at the man before her, who had taken off his cap and shades now. She felt completely overawed.

“What’s wrong?” he was saying, an odd smile on his lips. “Oh, but of course.” He nodded as if in understanding.

“You’re not Lucio!” she managed to blurt.

“No, I’m not. And I’m sorry about it.”

“Oh, Mary!” She needed to sit down badly—her head was lurching from disorientation. And yet a part of her desperately wanted to hold her ground.

Standing before her was Wolf Butcher, the moviestar, Hollywood’s heartthrob, New Halcyon’s favorite son.

.

“
Y
ou’ve
been the one communicating with me all these months?” Savannah demanded. Now that the first flush of overawe had passed, her core was kicking in.

“Yes,” Wolf Butcher’s face was sober now.

“Whose photos did you send me then?”

“An acquaintance’s. He works in production with DreamWorks...”

“You live right here, don’t you, yet you said you were from LA,” she flashed.

“Well, I work in LA...”

“But that’s
not
your home. You lied!”

He looked down. “Yes, I lied...but only about my identity. The rest all...”

“What rest? You took me on a complete ride, didn’t you?”

“Please, Savannah...”

“Oh, yes, you did! Mary, what a monkey you made out of me!”

“Savannah, please let me explain...”

“How dare you! ... I should’ve known...wasn’t I warned about these goddamn dating sites! You know, I never lied to you about a thing...not one goddamn thing! I laid out my life before you like an idiot. I trusted you, I believed in you, and is this how you reciprocated? Oh, Mary, I feel like such a goddamn fool...”

“I’m sorry, but let me...”

“Explain? Explain what?” she snarled, her eyes filling up with hot tears. “Look, you...you may be some hot-shot moviestar or whatever. That does not give you the goddamn right to screw with people’s lives and feelings...”

Wolf Butcher took a step forward, but she immediately drew back.

“Please leave!” she warned, wagging a finger. “Leave now!”

“Savannah, give me one chance to explain myself.”

“You get the hell out of my house this very moment or I’ll call the police!” Her voice was hoarse with rage.

Wolf Butcher seemed momentarily stunned. Then he took one uncertain step back, hesitated, but finally turned around and left.

For a long moment, Savannah remained rooted where she was, reeling from mortification and anger and hurt. At length, she ran to the door and banged it shut. Then she rushed to the bedroom and flung herself on the bed, face down.

THIS
would be the last fling of the arrow, he knew. There was nothing more he could do.

There was a hollow in Wolf’s chest as he sat at the study desk in his bedroom before his laptop and opened a new Word document.

For a while, he sat still, his head bowed, as if in silent prayer.

Finally, he looked up and began typing.

Thursday, 20th March, 2008.

Dear Savannah,

I really do not know what more to say, for I’ve said all I could in the last 10 days—over and over. I’ve said it by e-mail, over the telephone—every possible way I could. The one thing I resisted was to visit you again, and that was out of respect for you—I wouldn’t do that without your permission.

Yet, not once in all these days have I received a word from you. Not one. Your fixed-line is forever on answering mode and my countless messages have not been returned. Not one of them. You cell is never answered either. Your silence truly pains me, Savannah. You could’ve at least said something. Something!

Let me say this again: I know I have violated you in the worst possible manner and there are no excuses for my behavior. None. It was one of the cruelest things a human being could do to another. I agonize at your hurt and I realize there is nothing that I can say or do that would in any way adequately mitigate it, or my sins.

Yet, I must explain myself…one final time.

For the outsider, the life of a celeb, like me, is one full of glamour, privileges and no downside. In some ways that is true. But only in a very limited sense. Let’s be honest—if a woman is attracted to me, it’s because of
what
I am, rather than
who
I am. Perhaps you wouldn’t understand how it feels to be loved exclusively for your glamour, your looks, your success, and your financial status. It’s debasing; you feel like a whore.

While most in my business have no compunctions about this, for me it has been different. I come from a very closely bonded and functional family. Though they’re very happy at what I’ve achieved in life, I’ve never remotely been a celebrity to my family. Ever. And that for me has been the greatest blessing, for I have received a love that has been wholly authentic. The quality of the warmth I’ve received from them right from my birth has never changed, no matter what happened.

It’s in that same vein that I’ve desired—nay dreamed—that I would have a comparable intimate life one day...a woman who would cherish me for who I am and not what I am.

Honestly, is that even possible given my situation? The choices before me then were clear: either I go with the flow and try to seek fulfillment (?) with someone who I clearly know will never care for the real me, or that I resign myself to a lonely existence for the rest of my life. Neither choice is really acceptable.

So the dilemma: how do I find that woman? I saw no other way than through anonymity. And I saw no other way to anonymity than through the Internet. Yes, my physical identity was fraudulent, as was the social one. But you’ve always said, haven’t you, that you were drawn not to these factors but to the person that I was? Well, that wasn’t a sham. I am exactly the person that I came off as in these past 3 months, the person you came to like (perhaps even love—I don’t know).

I say again: no excuses can pardon the perfidy I wrecked on you. Yet, please also keep the perspective.

The facts don’t change: in you I found the woman I’ve always wanted. It was sheer luck. Honestly, what are the chances of one finding someone special on the Net? Almost nil. I was just casually fishing around, basically killing time. That you happened was an inexplicable phenomenon.

This happens once in ages—such a connection as ours. In many ways, it is a blessing that we met in this way, rather than the conventional. For, we connected first at the innermost levels, before the physical and sociological. Over these past 3 months, we have seen each other at our very best and very worst…albeit on the Internet. We have uninhibitedly quarreled and laughed with each other. It has been an unroofed baring of the soul, and I dare say this would’ve never been possible had we met in the regular fashion. The physical distance between us ensured that we never found any need to pretend as far as our behavior with each other went...it made us feel secure to let go of all inhibitions. That’s the beauty of the Net. Let’s not forgo this god-sent; let’s embrace it.

That I’m an actor should not inhibit you in any way. I’m no star to you, in the same way that I’m not one to my family...never will be, never want to be. I’m just the person that you’ve come to know (a million warts and all). Okay, so my name has suddenly changed from Lucio to Wolf. So, from a technician, I’m suddenly a movie actor. That does not alter my core.

There are 3 choices you can make. You could feel so cheated, you could decide that the only suitable compensation would be a financial one—you could sell this story to the Press and make a pile for yourself. Or, you could treat all this as a terrible nightmare and try to get over it and get on with your life. Or, you could find it in your heart to forgive me and take that leap of faith.

Somehow, I don’t see you doing the first thing, for the woman I’ve known is a woman of character and dignity. Somehow, I hope your choice would be the last one.

There’s nothing more I can add. Perhaps it would be in the fairness of things (although I’m aware that the word coming from me stinks at this moment) that I should know one way or the other? It’s the evening of Thursday, March 20th, as I write this. Perhaps you’ll let me know by nightfall of Sunday, March 23rd? In any case, I would greatly appreciate it if you would at least reply this time, if just one sentence, or even just one word. Even a simple
NO
would do (although it’d kill me to hear that word).

You can’t imagine how long and difficult the past 10-11 days have been on me and as a human being—albeit a greatly flawed one—I deserve some relief. Don’t worry—if finally your answer
is
indeed ‘No’
,
I’ll walk away gracefully and you’ll never hear from me ever again.

Take care,

Wolf, the liar.

He read the note one more time, made corrections, selected it, then ‘Copy’ed it. Within twenty seconds, the email had been dispatched.