WAR
The ocean had a summer sun landing on it in the distance that pinched up a watery orange horizon. Nick stood at the edge of the waves, watching little white froths boil into the sand as the water retreated. There was nothing like a beach breeze to close your eyes to and a slight smile crossed over Nick's face as he heard the sea gulls fly and almost land. But then his eyes opened and his peripheral vison caught a tall slim figure, dressed down in a perfect power grey suit and solid blue tie, hair thick, slick and unmoving against the breeze.
"Hello Tom."
"Well, hello Nick."
Nick closed his eyes again and shrugged. "So what's wrong with Sylvia?" he said. He thought, I hate this fucker.
****
The small bar, decorated with outdated football schedules and random stuffed fish, had a white trash neon glow in the late afternoon; it was quiet and unfilled, its middle-aged bartender a little plump and a whole lot sassy. Her name was Carol and her eyes drifted up suspiciously as she put the pitcher nearer to Nick than Tom. "On your usual bill honey," she said. "Or should I give it to Mr. Fancy here?"
Tom looked away, noticeably trying to hide his arrogant disdain. "It's got charm, Nick. A good place for a movie scene."
Nick smirked. He was always fascinated how agents were writing movie scenes. They were the last people nature should have given language abilities. "What's wrong with Sylvia?" Nick repeated. He didn't think it'd be necessary to bluntly tell Tom to fuck off. But he would soon if the bastard didn't get to the point.
"She's 35," Tom said.
"Yes. That does sound tragic."
"You didn't let me finish. She's 35 but looks 25 and the offers are still rolling in for parts in their late 20's. Romantic comedies. Dramas. Anything."
"Wonderful."
Tom nodded woefully. He took a sip. "I know you hate it but she loves it. Or she used to. She says she's done, Nick. Quit. She's quit the business. Since her mother died last year, she's been inconsolable and all over the place. And she left Henry a few months ago."
"Maybe she's just free now."
"Nick, I am not gonna sit here and turn on the bullshit agent charm. Which we both know you'd hate."
"Funny Tom, but this sounds like bullshit agent charm to me. Agents are always pretending they're not what surrounds them. They're not the fancy parties and that ridiculous suit and any other bullshit. But that's all you are, so fucking tell me what you want from me."
Tom nipped at his cheap beer. At least it was cold. "Nothing except to go down there to her favorite place in the world and check on her. She's thrown out her phone, none of her entourage is with her and even Ray her bodyguard has been cut off. I want you to go down there, all expenses paid." He reached in his wallet and took out a black, heavy credit card with Nick's name on it. "I want you to go down there and just see how she is."
"No you don't. You want me to talk her back."
"Nick - you'd be the last person to do that. Come on! You know that. But you're the only person real to her anymore, I think."
"No," Nick said, and for a second all the past pain made the no seem definitive. But Tom didn't get to be the agent he was by not reading people and closing. Nick's no came from another place than his green eyes were, and Tom could see only Sylvia in them.
"All I want, Nick, is for you to go down there and make sure she's ok. Send me one text that says situation not fatal and that's it. I had you booked into an open ended trip. You can stay down there as long as you want - everything inside the hotel is paid for and this credit card pays for anything else. She's hurting, Nick. This isn't about me. Or you. You know how much she loved her mother. It was complicated and now she's gone and Sylvia is all alone. Go down there, give her a hug. That's it. Please?"
Nick looked over at his bartender, who was openly eavesdropping. Her dark eyes shot a no at him, so he looked away. He'd tried for a long time to not look ahead, but that was what he was going to have to do now. "Make sure I have a black non-descript car waiting for me," he said.
****
Twilight really was the best time and this black slim car was perfect. Sylvia, a white shirt wrapped around her waist, a blue tank-top and jean shorts fashionably tight, tapped her beige sandals toward a red scooter. Her dark hair was as long and lovely as he remembered, and her thin, tight frame had nothing superfluous on it and seemed to live to stretch her small breasts upward. Her oversized shades covered the dark brown eyes which had stared into him on many walks.
Sylvia took off her sunglasses and away she went.
"Where are you going, baby?" Nick whispered and calmly turned the engine over and followed.
The house was so rundown it had become more of a shack; inside rested Reesce, a very old islander whose dark skin seemed to be on its third layer of wrinkles. A long time ago Sylvia and Nick had sat drinking rum all night while this kind and salty bartender, straight out of central casting, served them. He even let them stay after close and Sylvia paid a helluva tip to him. There was a kindness to him that Sylvia found irresistible. He seemed to look at her with father's eyes she always wished for- in her world, father's eyes had love but not a lot of connection and mother's eyes had disapproval and expectations and impossible needs. Nick knew that after any personal setbacks, romantic or career wise, she traveled down here and spent all night in Reesce's bar, drinking and tipping him insanely. But he had cancer now. Her mother died from cancer. She already had several cancer scares herself and it seemed to Sylvia after her mother died, everyone had cancer. Nick understood. He'd lost a brother to it. Nothing cuts off possibilities like losing someone you love. You don't just see their end - you see the end. Cancer was a ubiquitous reminder that you're just passing thru and no one has all the time in the world.
Sylvia pulled up to Reesce's sad home; outside stood an official looking man - he had an arrogant, professional stance that cried doctor. Sylvia reached into her back pocket and pulled out a check. The doctor man smiled for a moment and Nick could see his smile sickened Sylvia. He could see it, too, and he quickly put on his grave face. Sylvia then turned on her movie-star smile and they both went into see Reesce.
****
It took about an hour for the doctor and Sylvia to exit and when Sylvia saw Nick sitting on her scooter as if he owned it, a smile took over her that wasn't exactly full of surprise. There was something unmatched, something that couldn't be taken away or, frustratingly - added to, between them. When everything else failed, it still survived. It was always just a phone call away. In a maudlin, drunken moment, Nick had once told her that life might be worth living if it was always just one touch away, and that night she cried a little. She never told him, though.
Sylvia quickly dismissed the doctor and then ran to hug Nick. Her thin warmth fell into him and it was easy to remember how holding her was such a narcotic. "How?" she said.
"You have such a kind and caring agent."
"No!"
"He was willing to pay. I extracted both kidneys. Strange, but did you know agents are born with three kidneys? It must be the need to piss away so many lives."
Sylvia hugged him again. "Where are you staying?"
"Baby, you know where."
Sylvia's smile got more heightened. "Let's go out! I'm sooooo glad to see you! Let's get back -" She frowned at her scooter. "I can't fit two on this thing!"
Nick slowly got off the scooter. "Baby what did you think I did? Walk? See that car right there? I stole it. We got mid-ranged priced, fuel economic wheels."
Sylvia laughed. And then she hugged Nick again.
****
"For an island, they certainly do have great steak," Nick said.
Sylvia dug into her salmon. "Yes they do. And this salmon is awesome. I cannot believe you're here."
"You'll believe it when I start to wear your underwear. I packed light. What was going on in that house anyway?"
"It's Reesce. When I got here, I went to our favorite little bar. He wasn't there - and you know he always worked 24/7. The help there told me what happened to him. Cancer." Her voice broke at the sound of that word. "Anyway, I just wanted to help him. I am really glad to see you, Nick."
"Me too, baby. Me too. You're such a kind person. I am glad you did what you could for Reesce." Nick knew Sylvia had paid that "doctor" not to treat him, but to drug him. People Reesce's age don't fight it. Heavy drugs are their only salvation.
The waiter brought over a second bottle of pinot noir. "Is this really really really expensive?" Nick asked.
The waiter nodded.
"Good. Because I'd hate Tom's kids to get into too good of a college. When this one's done, bring another."
As the waiter exited, Sylvia and Nick drifted back into good times past. It was their ritual. Always amazement at actually being in each other's presence, followed by remember-when talk, and then, as the wine soaked in and the moon rose higher, deeper waters. One thing in Sylvia as sure as her blood and natural beauty was a positive outlook. For many years, Nick had suspected it to be fake, but as they went from teenagers to twenty-somethings, he realized that fake or real was never a proper distinction. No, her propensity to twist things into best-of scenarios was just there, as much as her brown eyes and delicate mouth. Type-A achievers have something that the rest can't grasp: the ability to process horrors without dwelling on them. They just put the best spin on them and move on while the rest of us are anchored to our failures and losses. It took him years to understand that Sylvia calling him in the middle of the night in the throes of self-doubt about her marriage or career didn't mean that the next day, she'd be torn in the direction of that self-doubt. If she doubted she could pull off a role, she'd cry to Nick over a long call, resolve to maybe find something else, something she really wanted, maybe even leave the business, and always end the call by telling him she loved him. And then the next day, a new resolve had grown seemingly in her sleep, and suddenly this role was what she had to do. It was right and great and belatedly, she'd tell Nick she was going ahead with it, but she loved him.
This same pattern was repeated when it came to relationships. Oh the doubts she had with Henry! The late-night phone calls that made Nick think she was going to call it off. But then one day, he got a text. Not a call, not even an email; a text that said: I'm engaged. Can you believe it?...
But Nick was here to see if the achiever-resolve had failed to grow this time around. He'd been an underachiever. He wrote one successful movie, mostly thanks to Sylvia's connections, then pissed away all other opportunities. Luckily, he'd make a good investment or two and, far from rich - he could never have afforded this trip, he'd settled into a life of early oceanic middle-age. He never quit writing. He just quit trying to pretend he was a writer. Now he did the odd bartending gig here and there and mostly slept alone. His dreams weren't full of Sylvia because why sleep in that kind of pain?
Nick was sure that Sylvia lived in perpetual doubt. She had been living a life of success to make up for her mother's failures and that pride in her mother's eyes was enough to get her by, but not enough to convince her that the life she had was really hers. Mother-daughter relationships are never easy for anyone, but theirs was one that made Sylvia grow up fast, often feeling as the parent even as her mother whipped her along to keep focused, to marry well, to never give in to tough-luck cases. When you are as pretty and famous as Sylvia, it's very easy to find a rich man who is also kind. But what was between Nick and Sylvia, something born from his teenage lust into an insurmountable loyalty and empathy, you cannot choose on a menu. But when the guy was Nick and seemed to find defeat even in success' bosom, you didn't say I do. You said, I love you, and remember when?
Another bottle of wine was now finished and Sylvia's dark, brown eyes suddenly watered. "Nick," she said, "I just can't take it anymore. I miss mom so much."
Nick reached over and touched her hand. Its tremble made him think that, maybe for the first time in her life, Sylvia was broken. Broken like the rest of us, he thought. Not a movie-star now, not a beautiful woman charmed with achievement. Just a girl who has lost her mother, lost her signpost. Lost the reasons why she was what she was. Nick had never loved her more but he also felt a sinking unease. What if she never admits, he thought, how destroyed death has made her?
****
"So how rich is Henry anyway? Perfume empire, right?"
"Very," Sylvia laughed. And then she picked up the phone. "Two bottles of - what were we drinking at dinner? - who cares. Bring us expensive pinot noir. Charge it to Mr. Nick Dawson's room." She hung up. "God this is fun!"
Her suite was exquisite by this island's standards - it wasn't a New York suite by any means, but it had the white, clean beach-furniture look of an island resort. The bed was very soft and wide and Nick smiled as Sylvia insisted he sit on it. And then she sat very close to him. "I really am glad you're here, Nick."
Nick did not look into her eyes as he said, "Me too." He then got off the bed and went into the main room. He plopped on the couch and room service buzzed. Sylvia fixed them two large glasses of wine and then pulled up a chair opposite him.
"How much did Tom have to convince you?"
"Not much. He's a prick and I hate him, but he knew I was worried about you."
When his brother died, he didn't phone her; knowing she was going through hell with her mother's death, he'd decided to keep his pain to himself. He wondered now if that wasn't more selfish than noble. Who was he really protecting? Perhaps it was more about him not dealing with it than protecting her?
"Tom's a jerk, but I knew with your mom and all, you might need something. So. You left Henry huh?"
"Left Henry and the business. Tossed my phone. Dismissed most of my staff." She sat silent for a moment. "Nick, we're going to die. I mean, everyone knows that - but now it isn't some random fact. It's like my only reality. When you start losing people and staring down forty it hits you."
"You mean like, what is it all for? That kind of crap."
"Yeah. The kind of stuff you love to talk about." She smiled.
"You know, you and me baby, you went the high road. Success. Fame. I went to nowhere. And yet, after all that education and failure between us, we're both in the exact same place. Wondering why we bother to wake up and do shit just so we have the opportunity to wake up the next day and do the shit we didn't want to do in the first place. It's amazing and I dare say, it kinda vindicates me." He laughed. "We're both at the same intersection. You're just driving a better car."
"Oh your mind!" she said. "But you're right. I don't know why I do any of it."
"Me either. Sometimes I think: Nick, why didn't you just play the game? Sylvia had it setup for you. Why did you fuck up so much?"
"I hate all the bullshit. Henry's functions. His business charities and then mine and parties and blah blah. And I can't tell anyone. People are starving and I'm complaining about being an actress!"
"Well, in the Twitter-world, no you can't. Publicly. But you know, I've learned there is no degree of worth to living. Rich, poor. You deal with the consequences of the life in front of you. Yes, it seems trivial that a rich actress doesn't want to lead that life, that black-tie parties are too much for her! But then, all you have is the heart and brain and soul you have and the life you lead. You can't just not answer your own existential questions because people are starving in Africa."
Sylvia poured them both fresh glasses. "You always have a way of making me feel understood. How are you, anyway? I really want to know."
He believed her. But no way he was going to answer. "I'm me," he said. "So you threw away your phone, left Henry and fired Tom."
"Tom obviously doesn't believe he's fired. He wants me to star in this war drama. I'd play an Italian mom that loses her husband, who was a coward and avoided War World One but dies anyway when their village gets attacked, and then am forced to save her family through a series of hellish adventures until I reach the American saviors at the end. He says the studio is treating it as a December drama and the role would be really wrenching from a physical point of view as I fight for my children. He sees Oscar."
Sylvia's voice had gotten a tad higher as she explained the pitch, and her eyes even turned on a bit. This made Nick a little sad. Just a little because it wasn't entirely unexpected. "So why don't you take it? Go out on a high note?"
"Silly," she said. "I told you. I'm done. Now all I want is -"
"All you want is what?" Nick said, a terse edge in his voice.
"To be left alone. To have time for this."
Nick smiled. "Let's sit on that soft bed again," he said.
****
"It's really comfortable," Sylvia said as she stretched sideways on the bed before him. There was nothing sexier than a woman lying on her side as she tried to seduce you. Nick looked at the clock. It was 3am. "The dark night of the soul time," he said.
"What?"
"Fitzgerald. He wrote that. In the dark night of the soul, it is always 3am. Well it's 3am now. Isn't it?"
Sylvia inched one of her legs closer to his. "It's late enough," she said.
It was at this moment that Nick did what he always did. He plucked failure from a full success of apple-trees. He leaned over and kissed Sylvia's cheek. "At twilight tomorrow, I am gonna knock on your door. You better be here, baby." And before she could protest, he was gone. She tipped her body flat on the bed as Nick slammed the door; everything suddenly felt flat and defeated and her eyes last sight before slumber was the white ceiling fan breaking down - it was barely turning. She could relate.
****
Sylvia woke early. Her first thoughts were of Nick and his refusal to just give in to the moment. She had often refused the natural fruit of such a moment with him, but this time, throwing herself in front of him - clearly in need, and he didn't bite. Why? It was easy and quick to blame his heart as one of a coward, but Sylvia's mind wasn't so artless. No, now over breakfast and the breaking morning she felt as much responsible for Nick leaving last night as he was. She had managed to spend two decades pushing him away as much as embracing him, and on those rare occasions that their mouths had connected, she'd stopped short of going all the way. And she was aware how crippling imagination and hope were when they decided to get together. What if it all turned out wrong - how crushing would that be to lose both the hope that one day your soul mate would find you and your imagination's power to create that oasis in your mind? Could she handle calling Nick an ex-anything? Could he handle calling her an ex-anything? Can you know somebody so well that you're a liability in their daily lives?
Sylvia wondered about this and the past and the future as the daylight stubbornly stood in the sky. She wondered about what Nick was wondering about. And then twilight, the magic hour, came and Nick, always on time, knocked at her door. She smiled and opened the door and then told him to count to twenty before entering.
Nick counted to twenty. He even closed his eyes, even though he was not told to do so. And then he walked inside the suite, closing the door as delicately as he could. As he was turning toward the bedroom, Sylvia stood before him, naked, smiling and yet, scared, her clothes in patches behind her.
Nick looked at her - looked from top to bottom at her faultless skin and trembling curves - and the raw sexual desire for her he'd killed off years ago instantly lit again. The air was pure electricity as Nick leaned in for a kiss, a kiss that turned passionate and slow and then he pulled back his lips into a smile. "Although I respect such a bold fashion choice, I'm not sure the hotel restaurant has such a David Bowie type of aesthetic."
He smiled at Sylvia's instant confusion and fear. He gave her another kiss and then picked up her blue panties. "You see they may want these, for health code reasons. Damn liberal legislation." He moved his hand slowly, very slowly, along the inner thigh of both of Sylvia's legs; he reached into her eventually and she shook and her legs came apart and then he slid his thumb gently around her center - he kept up the pressure for a gentle while until finally moving his hand down her right leg; he lifted the leg into her panties, and then did so with her left side, gingerly pushing her panties upward until she was covered. "Yes. They might want these."
Now Nick picked up her red bra and began kissing at her navel, moving slowly with baby kisses over her stomach until he reached her nipples, staying engaged on both for a while and then, rising, he took her into his arms and placed her bra over her, pulling her toward him as he strapped it closed. Then he looked into her dark brown eyes and said, "Let's skip that top down there." He went to her closet and came out with a blue silk top that sat as light as a feather over her. He then picked Sylvia up and gently placed her on the soft bed. Going between her thighs for a moment, he put a pair of jeans over her while never breaking eye contact.
"You could try to go barefoot, but I'd stick with those sandals just to be safe," he said. He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him. "Did I ever tell you I might love you?" he said. And with a smile, Nick then guided Sylvia out the door, toward the yellow glow of the hallway's lamps.
****
Sylvia looked at Nick with new eyes. She was almost breathless at his confidence. He meticulously ordered the appetizers and wine and he even ordered the entrees for both of them. By reversing the usual process of sex he had somehow extended the foreplay. It was exciting seeing a man so willing to wait and yet, keep engaged enough with his eyes and wordplay that she knew all he was thinking of was getting her back to the bedroom he had boldly, bravely, and not a little bit stupidly, walked out of twice. But this last time was the ultimate message she felt any woman would want to hear: You're worth the wait - he was buying her dinner first, even though he didn't have to, because that was how much he loved her. She was more than sex, but thanks to that glint in his eyes, she knew she was also totally sex to him as well.
Nick called for the check after the second bottle of wine and they walked silently to the elevator and then to her room. Between them was a warm anticipation. As they got closer to her room, their hands enveloped, and then Sylvia pulled out her key. After she had opened the door, she turned and attacked Nick and he didn't retreat. In seconds she was on that soft bed, naked, held, kissed, penetrated, loved, and known. In all the chaos that sex creates, not once was there any doubt between them, and when Sylvia fell asleep after talking about her mom, it was a deep sleep. In fact, she'd never understand what made her wake up before dawn and do what she did.
****
Nick awoke and, seeing Sylvia gone, smiled. He wondered what she was up to - ordering wine? Taking a moonlight walk? Investigating, he got up and saw a light coming through the half-open bedroom door. Stepping into the main room, he saw Sylvia in the corner, staring at the glowing screen of a large, expensive phone. She shook when she noticed him. She almost spoke - she almost lied, but then all the history between them forced a deeper respect. "I was just checking it," she finally said.
Nick felt punched. It all hit him in an instant. "We sleep together and then you check the phone you claim to not have anymore? Am I to believe there is no correlation?"
Sylvia threw the phone down and approached him. "No no no no!" she said. "There isn't. It's -"
"Bullshit!"
"No!"
"Just working out your doubts, huh? Taking a look at the other side, until you decide to go with the status quo - which you always fucking do. Fuck you, Sylvia!"
"Nick it isn't this!"
"Isn't it!"
"Since mom died, it's just been so hard."
"Well my brother died. Cancer."
Sylvia was taken aback. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
Nick smirked. "Because I deluded myself that I was helping you. My brother is dead, he's gone and all this seems like just...pointless and old and I don't why we bother. I really don't." He suddenly felt out of breath and sat down on the couch. He put a hand up to tell her to stop her approach. He'd always had a talent for identifying patterns, for seeing connections - and this inexplicable talent suddenly shouted an answer at him. "Fucking Tom is brilliant, isn't he?"
Sylvia, half-naked from the bottom down, felt breathless herself as the moonlight trickled in from the badly drawn shade over the balcony doors. "What do you mean?"
"Well, my love. Tom knows you'll be back. Eventually. But this picture has a deadline and his stall time is reaching an end. He knows it's a hit. So he sends me to you. You know, to 'check on you.' All innocent. But what he knows is that the vulnerable you will embrace me and then do what you always do: retreat. Right back to the life. To him. Just in time for the movie! Fucker played me. He's even more of a prick than I thought he was, but he's a lot smarter than I considered."
Sylvia did a few stops and starts, protests and even, when they failed, accusations. But they didn't work because she didn't believe in any of them.
Nick got off the couch, grabbed Sylvia - and there was nothing gentle about his touch this time. "Don't you see! You're the type of person that can only be understood by her agent! Not even I, after all these years, understand you as much as that prick!"
"Nick you're being unfair. Who the fuck are you to judge me?"
"The guy who just slept with you thinking you meant what you said. That's who I am. But that's not who you are. You're a movie-star, baby. You're a success! And I am sick of being your vacation. You're going back to that perfume-prick. You're going back to Hollywood. Which is all fine except that it isn't you - except for the first time - the first time in all these years, I realize it is you. Well I'm tired of being me and you being you."
Nick noticed Sylvia's body was now shivering and her beautiful face had become grotesque from despair. This was one of those moments. He could turn this upward - like she would - he could make the best of it. Or he could kill. But if this was all about her ultimately being what she was, then it was also about him being what he ultimately was. "You're nothing but a collection of trophies," he said. He instantly knew there were kinder words and embraces he'd killed forever by saying that. He'd murdered everything. And he did so even as he loved her more than ever. In brief, intense spurts, she could be his, but now, in the aftermath of all these years come forward, it was difficult to discern what was worse: His cowardice and failure, or hers?
He didn't kiss Sylvia goodbye as he left. He didn't even close the front door. He just walked with eyes down, each step faster than the last.
****
Perhaps it was out of sadism, or maybe just hurting helped him to know he wasn't all the way dead yet, but Nick did attend the opening weekend of Sylvia's new war picture. The reviews were raves and the audience was with Sylvia's plucky character every step of the way. Outside the theater, the dark blue of tropical December skies hung over the people as they walked and shopped and said Tis' the season. But here in the dim light, a movie played to triumphant applause and it was all too much. As the audience clapped over the credits, Nick got up fast and left thru the emergency exit doors, leaving behind Sylvia's deadening applause, he hoped, forever.