I am HER... (35 page)

 
Exhaling all the drama of the last hour, I finally just talk.  What’s the point of hiding anymore?  What’s the point denying what will happen whether I want it or not?  There is NO point.
  "Actually, I am going back to Marcus.  I know what to expect with him, and I know how to be ignored, chastised, criticized, and belittled with him."
  "Are you implying
I
did any of those things to you?" Z asks sounding totally offended.
  "No.  Of course not.  You have been
beyond
wonderful.  You have been a blessing for me, but I'm through with all this.  I'm just going to go home and face the consequences of my actions, and I'm going to try to move on."
  "
The consequences of your actions?
  What the fuck did you do, other than leave your cheating, control freak, abusive, asshole of a husband?"
  Deep breath.  "That’s exactly what I did- I
left.
  That's all it takes in my world.  I'm really sorry Z, and I thank you for trying to help me, more than you’ll ever know, but I'm done now.  It's all over.  I can't continue this way.  And I don't want to.  Please just say good bye, so I at least feel like you don't hate me."  And here come more tears.  I am so tired suddenly, I can barely move.
  "I don't hate you, Sweetheart.  I care for you, and I do feel bad for you, but I
want
to help you."
  "I'm leaving, Z, right now.  Thank you for absolutely everything.  You gave me hope, and some experience, and even some pleasure to remember, but I'm done.  Just, um... Bye."
  Walking away is brutal.  I wish we had had sex again.  Once just wasn't enough.  I wish I hadn't freaked out in Macy's.  I wish I could have been better for him.  I wish so many things and I have such pain in my heart, it actually hurts to walk.  Walking out the door is agony.  Everything is hurting and my chest is so tight, I’m again having a hard time breathing.  Will I ever breathe normally again?  God, I hope so.
  Standing in the lobby, I'm just sobbing.  Trying to look graceful and failing miserably, the apartment manager asks if I need a taxi.  Nodding is the best I can do.  And there's the pity again. 
Christ!
  I'm so sick of that look from people.  I hate it! 
  Trying to get myself together, I straighten my still sore spine, wheel my luggage outside, and wait for the taxi to pull up.  No more crying.  It did nothing useful this week to cry.  Crying isn't useful.  My parents were right,
'crying doesn't solve anything'
.
 

 
Once the trunk is loaded, and the taxi begins to pull away, I sink back into my seat shaking.  Looking one last time at Z’s apartment, I suddenly see Z motioning 'stop' with his hand to me.  STOP!  I scream, as the cab jerks to a stop a few feet after starting the trip.
  Walking to me, Z bends toward the window, with his arms resting against it.  God he is so handsome to look at, even now, like this.  He is just so...
beautiful
.
  "What can I do to convince you to stay?  Tell me what you need from me.  Tell me what you want, and I'll give it."

 
Oh! That was so lovely... just like a scene from a romantic movie. God, he always makes me cry with his words.
  "It's not about you, I promise.  You have done
everything
right.  It's about me.  I'm not right and I know it.  Please- let me finish. I don't want to be a burden to you, or to anyone else, I never did.  I thought if I tried hard enough, did enough, swallowed down enough misery, I would be
good
enough, but I know that's not the case any longer.  I can't do any
more
, but I'm still not good enough... so I want to leave.  It's not about you.  You are truly amazing.  I'm really very sorry about all this."  Oh. My breath just left me on a
whoosh.

 
Still leaning against the window, Z asks, "Please return with me?  Just for tonight.  I'll take you to the airport in the morning if you still want to leave.  Just stay tonight."
  "Why?  Nothing about me will change in one night."
  "Because I asked you to, and I haven't asked you for one single thing since knowing you, but now I am.  Are you really going to decline my one request of you?  Stay with me one more night."  No? 
Totally…
Yes.
   "Okay. 
Tonight.
  Tomorrow morning it's a whole new world for me though.  Promise me, just tonight."
  "I promise, though I'm still going to try to change your mind in the morning," he says with a bright cheeky grin.
  Throwing the taxi driver a $20, I hop out as Z collects my luggage again today.  In the elevator, Z holds my hand, but neither of us speak.  What can I really say at this point?  Humiliation and desperation have left me wordless, and sadly I think Z feels the same way.
  In the apartment, I move to the couch and sit, as Z wheels my luggage down the hall.  God, I love it here.  It doesn't feel foreign or strange; it’s simply
relaxing
.  I feel safe and kind of at home in Z’s apartment.  Strangely, I’m more at home here than in my own house in Chicago.
  "Would you like anything to drink?  I've ordered our dinner which should arrive in 45 minutes or so.  We could just have a drink, relax, maybe talk...
Or not
, judging by your face right now."  Ooops.  He can read my face now?
  "My father always said I didn't have a poker face.  I guess it's true."
  "It’s completely true.  What would you like to drink?"
  "Do you have any Zinfandel?" I ask with a grin.
  "Of course.  My own private label and everything."

 
"I'm sorry...?" I ask confused as he walks to the wine cooler behind the bar in the living room.
  "Williams Estates... That's me." 
What?!
  "It is?  What does that mean?"  I ask as he begins pouring me a glass.
  "It means...  My parents were Peter and Conchetta Williams, and I began making my own labels and wines at the ripe old age of 14... very successfully I might add,"  he grins.

 
Holy shit! 
I know his family.
  "I’ve met your parents before.  They were at my paren
t’
s home many times.  They used to come to my mother’s parties!"
  "I don't doubt it.  My parents only made the rounds within the greatest of the
American Elite,
" he sneers.
  "I'm sorry about their deaths... Are you okay?"  I am absolutely stunned.  I can’t believe I know, well,
knew
Z’s parents, Peter and Conchetta, known always as Connie.
  Handing me a glass of Zinfandel- his own label apparently, Z sits beside me on the couch.

 
"Thank you for your condolences.  We weren't particularly close, especially in my formative years.  And they died a few years ago, so I’m fine."

 
God, I have to change the subject!  I remember the Williams.  My mother seemed genuinely taken with Connie, though she was
Italian,
as my mother said it.  I think Connie only survived my mother’s friends and the elite set they associated with in New York, Boston and Chicago because Connie was from a very old family of the Italian Upper Class herself.  Therefore, though not
American
Elite, she was tolerated among them. 
Christ!
  My mother’s crowd is so messed up. 
Honestly.
  "Explain Zinfandel, please.  You’re a Williams called Zinfandel.  I'm very confused."  Z offers to refill my drink as I wait anxiously for his story.
  "Okay.  I had already made much of my own money by college; due to my
amazing
touch within my father’s winery- too much money actually.  I got into trouble here and there, typical rich-kid crap.  So one night when I was twenty-one, I was drinking and driving a carload of my friends, and I was pulled over by the police, failed the roadside alcohol intoxication test, and was hauled to a police station in Manhattan.  Once there, I announced I was Marvin Zinfandel, because I was drunk off my ass, on my own zinfandel at the time."
  "You’re
MARVIN WILLIAMS
?  You don't look like a
Marvin
."
  "Tell me about it.  Why do you think I go by Z?"  Little giggle. 
Marvin?
 
Too funny.
  "Anyway, when I was released the next morning because my father pulled some strings, I decided to
become
Mr. Zinfandel.  Strange, I know.  My friends all thought it was
cool
, and so did I, at the time."  He smirks, shaking his head.
  "Not anymore?" I smirk back.

 
"Ah, no.  However, my changed name brought me a certain notoriety and an independence from my parents I wouldn't have otherwise had.  So, I filled out the necessary paperwork, paid all the fees, hired a lawyer, and legally changed my name to Mr. Z Zinfandel.  Again, my friends thought it was hilarious, and once my parents found out and lost it, I thought it was an even better idea...

 
“… Enraging my father was a sort of hobby of mine, at the time.  He had always called me Mr. Zinfandel, because of my success within his winery, so it pissed him right off that I used his little nickname for me, and made it legal.  My mother was more tolerant, and she loved me regardless, but she did try to intervene.  Actually, she thought since I was changing my name anyway; why not change it to her maiden name…
Marvinelli,
my name-sake
.
  But,
Marvin Marvinelli
didn't really work for me either."
SERIOUSLY?!
  When he smirks, I can't help but burst out laughing.

 
"No, that does s-sound a little odd," I say through my rolling laughter.
  Grinning Z continues… "So many months later, much money later, and many fights with my father later, I officially became Mr. Zinfandel, a 21 year old independently wealthy, heir to the Williams Estate and the Williams Estate Wineries. It’s quite a mouthful actually."  Again, he grins at me, like he’s both proud of his name, and mortified by it at the same time.
  "That's fairly impressive, Mr. Z. Zinfandel.  What did you do after the name change?  In College?"

 
Actually, I vaguely remember this story,
kind of
, told by my judgmental mother years before.  I think the Williams’ must have kept it as quiet as possible.
  "Afterward, I took control of the shares I had been given over the years in the Wineries, convinced my father to either let me be the CEO of my own labels, or I would sue him for monies owed, copyright infringements, and basically, for the theft and usage of my own blends, which I could prove were mine from my teen years.  You see, my father had made the monumental mistake of telling many,
many
people at the time about my success within the winery.  Therefore, all his boasting and bragging would come back to bite him in the ass, if he hadn't signed off as CEO.  Strangely, though he was obviously quite pissed at me, he was also impressed, maybe even proud of my tenacity...

 
“… And that's it.  I'm CEO still, but of the
entire
company, not just my own wineries within it. I own everything now that my parents have died,
and
I make an excellent Zinfandel.  Wouldn't you agree?"  Again, with the smirky grin.
  "Yes, I would.  It IS quite excellent."

 
I can’t believe Z is the same Marvin Williams I had heard about in my youth.  It’s all a little too ‘small-world’ and kind of strange to me.  Then again, my parents’ influence and social circuit knows no bounds, so I’ve probably met most of the ‘Upper Class’ in all parts of the Continental U.S. at some function or other.
  "Why didn't I ever meet you before now, at some of the parties our parents attended?"
  "Well, I'm 5 years older than you, and I rebelled early, refusing to attend all the
elite
parties my parents attended by the time I was 13 or 14, so really, you wouldn't have ever met me after you were maybe 8 or 9 years old."  Oh.  That makes sense.
  "I bet I would have had a crush on you, even then..." Sipping my Zinfandel, I smile at him.
  "Even
then
...?  Does that mean you have a crush on me now?"  Blush.
Shit.
  "No!  No, I just meant, you were probably cute, and older, so naturally any of us younger girls would have had a crush on you."
  Grinning, Z takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. "Relax Sweetheart.  I was just teasing you.  How are you feeling?"
  "I'm good.  But I have one glaringly obvious question."

 
"Which is?"
  "Why the hell are you working as an Accounts Manager for Petri-Dunne?”
  "Ah, yes.  I'm working
as a favor
for my friend Marty’s father, Mr. Johnson Petri." 
What?!
 
Argh…
I’m choking on my drink now. 
Awesome. 
I even snorted a little. Yay me!