She knew what she wanted and
she wanted it from Sam.
She wanted a child. She
wanted his child; one that would restore all the damage.
Natasha arrived the following
morning.
She had flown El-Al direct
from Tel Aviv and came straight away from JFK to the office.
Elena held the begrudging
entrance door for her as she hauled in her luggage, watching the tall graceful
figure strip off her excess sheathing. They shook hands, introduced each
to the other, and carried on some small talk as Elena brewed coffee and brought
it over to Sam’s office where Natasha began reviewing the faxes.
“I’d love some breakfast,”
Natasha said when she finished sorting out the faxes, filing the urgent ones in
a separate folder, depositing it in her office. “I’ll take care of those
when we get back.”
They wrapped themselves in
overcoats and scarves again, and ventured out into the foggy New York morning,
finding a cozy diner with home-cooking scents on the corner of Pike and East
Broadway.
“Where did you meet Sam?”
Natasha asked after they had settled and she ordered an omelet breakfast and
hot tea.
“First time, on the Island of
Kos, near Turkey in 1975,” Elena divulged. Coffee was all she
could handle that early in the morning. “A year later we met again.
That’s when he met Michelle.”
“You knew her?” Natasha asked,
attentively. The photo in Sam’s office and bits and pieces from Black
Jack was all she knew of the tragedy.
“Yes. We spent some time
together on Rhodes.”
“What was she like? How
did they meet?”
“She was beautiful. Sam
and
me
were having a bath party with two Swedish girls
in a youth hostel on Rhodes, when she walked in on us. Sam fell in love
with her right then.”
“A
bath party?
Sam?” Natasha marveled,
playfully. “He’s as stuffy as they come.”
“He was different then,” Elena
said, standing up for him. “The incident changed him drastically.”
“What was he like then?”
“Happy.
Good-natured.
Carefree - everybody loved him, women
especially. There wasn’t a cynical bone in his body. He trusted
people and they trusted him.”
Natasha’s omelet arrived,
ornate with a salad and fresh oven-baked rolls.
“Did you know him well?”
Natasha asked, cutting her roll and spreading some butter.
”I still do, even though he’s changed," Elena admitted, "I know who
he was and I know some of it still exists.”
“Wow,” Natasha breathed,
slicing into her omelet. “I had no idea. He never talked about his
past even though the tragedy’s been consistently hovering around here.
Except for Jack, no one dared raise the issue. It was nobody’s business.”
“It’s a miracle he survived,”
Elena acknowledged. “But it’s time he let go.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wants to find his
son. That’s his primary reason for doing all this...”
“We can’t judge him after such
tragedy,” Natasha stated. “You and I might have done the same.”
“It’s not about judging.
It’s about living. It’s been ten years. His son is eleven.
Who knows what’s he been through and where he might be. He may even be
happy wherever he is. Finding him may harm him more than help him.”
“Sam has to know! He has to
know what happened to his child. He may then decide to leave it alone but
he has to know!”
“And if he never finds
him? What then?”
“He might dedicate his life to
help other children. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, but he needs to have
a personal life as well. Like normal people,” Elena reasoned. “He
can’t go on living in the shadow of ghosts. Michelle would certainly not
have approved. She would have wanted him to make a new life for himself.”
Natasha fell silent. She
was thinking of her own predicament and wondered what ghosts she was
chasing. Certainly, work at the Center was a full time commitment, which
hardly left room for any personal life. Was she the kind of person Elena
was talking about? Was she like Sam?
She suddenly had a thought.
“Do you want to go out
tonight?” she asked.
“Go out?” Elena queried.
“You know. Drink.
Dance. Meet people.”
“You
and me?”
“Yes. I know a few
places from my younger days here in the city. If they still exist we can
have great fun.”
“Dance?”
Elena
repeated to herself. “I haven’t danced since I got married.”
“You’re married?”
Natasha asked in wonderment.
“Was,
until a month ago.”
“All the more reason…”
“Yeah.
Why not? Now that I think about it. I haven’t been alive for the
past ten years.”
“Neither have I,” Natasha
remarked. “I’ll go get some rest once I’m done with the faxes then we’ll
go out. Where are you staying?”
“With
Sam.”
“Oh. He didn’t mention
it,” Natasha said, surprised. “Come to think of it, he doesn’t mention
lots of things.”
“My husband divorced me, so I
left Greece,” Elena explained. “We had no children and I had nowhere to
go, so I came here, to be with Sam. When this… Middle
East
…
crisis happened he asked me to manage the office until you all got back.”
“That part I know,” Natasha
remarked. “He just never explained your background and the fact that you
were now together.”
“Does it bother you?” Elena
asked.
“Absolutely
not.
It’s about time Sam had a woman. You are
beautiful and I’m happy for him and for you.”
“Thank you,” Elena said.
“But this doesn’t cancel tonight.
Does it? You can still have fun. Can’t you?”
“Of course I can. Tell
me where and when.”
“I’ll pick you up from Sam’s
apartment at around ten. Is that OK?”
“It’s perfect.”
Natasha cleaned out her plate
and paid for the breakfast. They took a few last sips from their hot
beverages and walked back to the office.
Ernesto’s Pub in the East
Village swarmed with patrons.
It was not just a pub.
It was setting for New York’s finest. Yuppies of all colors and make
filled every niche with rumble and talk. Scrawny waitresses in dark
miniskirts were distributing drinks and snacks, balancing their trays high
above their heads. The place was lively and huge. A two-storey
loft, Ernesto’s was divided into four sections. A glistening bar equipped
with all the amenities stood in the middle of the parquet floor facing all
sides filled with barmaids busy taking orders and distributing drinks.
To one side was a space filled
with tall round bar stalls where people stood drinking. On the other side
was an area with long low wooden tables where people could actually sit and eat
various snacks along with their drinks. In the front
was
just more open space where people stood drinking and chatting and in the back
was a dance area.
The music was ear shattering.
It varied from rock to hip-hop
to salsa to rap to break-dance and back to rock all with a touch of Latin,
lights flashing, the scene changing colors.
They deposited their coats at the
entrance and Natasha led the way in, pushing toward the bar where two men
instantly evacuated their stools allowing them to sit.
She looked astonishing, Elena
thought. Wearing tight fitting red slacks with black leather boots and a
flimsy black blouse, her shoulders bare, her blonde hair flowing down her back,
Natasha was more beautiful and stood a head taller than most women in the
place.
Elena herself wore black wavy
slacks with a white shirt, which highlighted her dark skin and flowing black
hair. She was considerably shorter than Natasha, but attracted as many
looks with her exotic appearance.
They both wore make-up.
Natasha had her lips shiny red and her eyes done with black eyeliner. Her
silky white skin shone. Elena had put on clear lipstick with green
eyeliner, enhancing her piercing dark eyes.
The two men, Gus and Kevin,
who had given up their stools, wanted to chat and stood around expecting
attention but the women were busy ordering tequilas and daiquiris.
“This place has been happening
for six years now,” Natasha hollered over the music. “Not a small feat in
a place like New York. Like it?”
“I need to get used to the
noise but yes, it’s great,” Elena shouted then tasted the drink that had just
landed in front of her.
Gus and Kevin were still
lurking around, perfecting their approach. Elena watched the room
noticing there were no male waiters or barmen.
Only
women.
The DJ sat on an elevated podium and urged on the
crowd with smutty remarks blended into his music.
“Like to dance?” she heard
someone say and looked down at Kevin who was offering his hand. On a whim
she took it, her head already swirling with the alcohol, and followed him to
the dance floor. Natasha joined with Gus minutes later and they let
themselves loose to the beat of the music. Bodies touching, sweat
dripping, they danced with one another drawing a crowd. There was no
thinking, just being, moving to the sounds of the music, raising their hands in
the air; shaking their bodies. The ambience became heavy with odors from
all sides as others now danced with them, rousing them, inspiring them.
Elena was not sure how long
they spent on the dance floor but when they were back at the bar, she felt
wasted, her clothes dripping wet. Someone stuck a beer bottle in her
hand, which she gulped thirstily.
“Quite
a show!”
Natasha observed, still hollering over
the relentless music.
“Haven’t had this much fun in
years!” Elena shouted joyfully.
“It’s just what we both
needed,” Natasha said.
“I want
another
tequila
.”
“Watch yourself girl or I may
need to carry you back.”
“Get the guys to do it,” Elena
said referring to Gus and Kevin who were still loitering around.
“Not a very good idea.”
Elena flashed a weary smile then
suddenly there were tears in her eyes. Feeling lightheaded she bent to
embrace Natasha and began to sob.
Later, in a coffee shop two
blocks from Ernesto’s, diluting the alcohol, Elena confided in her.
“I had so many plans for this
life,” she said teary-eyed, sipping her cappuccino. “None of it came out
right. I married too young, the wrong guy and made all the mistakes a
woman can make. Instead of going to university or starting a career, I sat
home, did nothing, allowed him to provide for me, and felt sorry for myself we
couldn’t have children.
“I should’ve dumped him a long
time ago, when I realized it was no good. But I was afraid to be on my
own. So the bastard dumped me. I’ll be forty next year and I have
nothing.”
“You have Sam now, don’t you?”
Natasha remarked.
“Not really. I mean, yes, we
sleep together and make love, but he’s somewhere else. Looking for his
son and still beating
himself
over Michelle. I
don’t think I can handle such a relationship. I’m afraid to make a
mistake again. It’s not going to last unless he puts it behind him.”
“He’ll never put it behind
him,” Natasha observed solemnly. “Not as long as he thinks his Sammy’s
out there somewhere.”
“Then at least he needs to put
it aside,” Elena argued. “I don’t expect him to behave as if this no
longer matters but for the sake of our relationship, any relationship, he at
least needs to change his frame of mind.”
“How
so?”
Natasha asked.
Elena became silent. She
hesitated about revealing her true wish: that she wanted her and Sam to have a
child. It suddenly seemed selfish with all that was going on around them
and Sam’s way of life.
But there was no roundabout
way to say it. At her age, she was at the extremity of her childbearing
odds. Not only was it getting very risky, it was also quite a daring
commitment. At forty, changing diapers, spending sleepless nights and
running around in playgrounds was a nuisance at best – and with far less energy
and enthusiasm than at a younger age.
It was almost like having a
grandchild, she thought.
Natasha was looking at her
intently and as if reading her mind she said, “You want to have a kid, don’t
you.”
Elena nodded.
“I fell in love with Sam when
I was nineteen but cultural differences spoiled our chances. He was
probably the only man I ever truly loved and I let him go, being young and
stupid. I couldn’t imagine that at nineteen I would meet the right
man. Now we have a second chance.”