The Casanova Embrace (30 page)

By the time he arrived, she was showered and dressed and
had prepared a breakfast of toast and butter and camomile tea, with eggs
standing ready for him to choose the kind he wished. In the sharp morning
light, he looked tired.

"My God, I missed you, Eduardo." She pressed her
face against his.

"Careful. I will scratch you."

She felt the bristles along her cheek and pressed closer,
as if it were important to deliberately force the irritation.

"We have begun," he said. "The counterattack
has begun. I cannot tell you how much you have helped our cause."

"Yes you can." She felt playful, an odd sensation
for her. He looked at her with a puzzled expression. She was determined to
capture his mind, to make him empty all other thoughts, to think only of her.

"You think I'm a crazy woman." She started to
kiss his face again, his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his ears, the nape of
his neck. She put one of his hands on her small breast. Her breath came faster,
her heartbeat stronger, urgent.

"You move me, Eduardo," she whispered quickly.
"I cannot help myself. Something is urging me on." She reached for
his penis, felt it slowly harden through his pants as she solicited his
response with greediness. What is the limit to my need, she wondered as she
quickly stepped out of her slacks and helped him undress. She was standing on
her toes, her pelvis tilted to take him, then moving downward, gyrating,
feeling the suffusion of him and his response, shuddering but less
demonstrative than hers, so that she wondered if he felt the same degree of
sensation. But it could not be possible. Then she cried out in pleasure again,
wanting to scream out an obscenity. Is this me? Who am I?

Later, after she had made him breakfast, she sat on the
closed toilet seat and watched him shave with Jack's old razor. She had helped
him shower, laving his body with soap and working the faucets as she might have
with her own child.

"Too hot?"

"No. Just perfect."

She dried him with a big bath towel, then wrapped him in
her terrycloth robe. "It is too small," he said.

"Then we will get you one that fits ... Stay with me,
Eduardo," she whispered, watching the razor pass smoothly over his skin.
She admired his grace of movement, the fingers tapered, acting with a life of
their own. He did not stop his movements, as if he had heard nothing.

"Stay with me," she repeated. She wanted to add,
"And let me worship you." But the old fear of overstepping made her
reticent. Finally she said, "Where do you live? Where do you go? What is
your life away from me?" He continued his stroking of the blade.

Finally he answered her. "If I tell you, then I make you
part of it. It is better this way."

"I am part of it, Eduardo."

"Only peripherally."

"But I am part of you."

He finished shaving and scooped up hot water in his palms,
dipping his face into it. He toweled his face dry and turned toward her. His
skin glowed now, the tired lines faded, and he seemed younger.

"You must accept the reality of my life," he
said. The whiteness of the tile set off the silver flecks in his gray eyes.

"Reality," she repeated. "What is
that?"

He lifted her and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing
her with him through the hall to her bedroom. Then he propped the pillows of
her bed and lay down. He was relaxed now, comfortable. She could feel his sense
of well-being and rejoiced in it. He belongs here, she told herself, to me. Sitting
beside him on the bed, she touched his chest, felt the beat of his heart.

"I am engaged in momentous work. It is dangerous.
There is no way I can settle down. It is a gypsy life. I am a hunted man. There
is simply no peace for me." He closed his eyes. Did he feel peace now?

"Is it that important?" She could not understand
anything surpassing the importance of this, of their being together. What was
worth more than that?

"What will it bring you, Eduardo?" she said.

He opened his eyes. "It is not for me," he said.
"There are things that we must do that are beyond ourselves."

"There is nothing beyond ourselves," she said,
marveling at her own measure of selfishness. "There seems to be no point
in anything else." He stroked her hair and looked up at her, saying
nothing.

"And will this other thing ever end?" she asked
quietly, feeling the tears mist her eyes. "Or is this the way it must be
always?" I will never accept this she told herself. Never!

"Really, Anne. There is no knowing."

"Then it will always be one day at a time. Nothing
ever beyond the day, the minute, the hour."

"It is a conversation that can only end in
infinity."

She was fearful now, holding back. This is just not enough,
she told herself, looking beyond the present to the long days and nights of
absence.

"And when will you need more gold?" She wondered
if he could sense the implicit bribe. His eyelids flickered.

"You are not a Chilean," he said suddenly.
"You have no right to squander your fortune."

"It is not squandering."

"And I have no right to accept it."

"You have every right. What I have is yours,
Eduardo." She bent down and held him in her arms. If you asked, I would
give you my life, she told herself.

"The needs are without bottom," he said. "An
enterprise like ours demands more and more. Besides, you don't know what we do
with it."

"I don't care."

"How can you not care?" he seemed troubled,
agitated. She felt his breathing quiet as she held him.

They slept, and sometime in the middle of the night, she
heard him stir and slip from her side. She feigned sleep, watching him dress
swiftly, then come toward her and kiss her forehead.

"I will call soon."

Soon! She wondered what that meant, looking forward again
to the aimless days and nights. "When?"

Mumbling a response, he moved away and she heard the sound
of him on the stairs, then the closing click of the door. It was the snap of
the lock, the finality of it, that triggered her actions. She dressed quickly
and, throwing on her old trench coat, ran into the street. He was already
turning onto Wisconsin Avenue. She ran toward it, watched him walking swiftly,
two blocks away. Clinging to the storefronts, she followed him, alert to his
movements, anticipating when he might look back. She knew his caution and,
perhaps by instinct, would stop suddenly, jumping into the shadows. At times
her anticipation was accurate and he would turn, assure his security, and move
on. At Calvert Street he slowed and crossed, starting north again. Then he was
gone. By the time she reached the corner of Calvert and Wisconsin, she had lost
all trace of him. He was here, somewhere in this area. On the west corner a
large apartment building loomed. She watched its facade for a long time until
the chill made her shiver. Then she walked to a row of nearby townhouses, the windows
dark, the occupants obviously asleep.

She berated her lack of efficiency, although she considered
the frustration a fitting reward for her guilt. It was, after all, a revolting
thing to do, a compulsion born of anxiety, that horrible crushing sense of
impending loss that could drive her into the depths of depression.

Helplessly, she stood rooted to the corner, the vapor
pouring from her mouth, her hands thrust into the pockets of her trench coat.
She had not dressed properly, another punishment. Finally the cold defeated her
and she began to walk south on Wisconsin Avenue, occasionally looking backward,
searching for a sign of him.

Back in her house, she crawled into bed again, filling the
place where he had slept with her own body, seeking warmth, extracting it
partly from the memory of him and the smell of him that still lingered on the
sheets and pillows. She tossed and turned, unable to escape into sleep.

More than anything, it was the foreboding of impending loss
that prompted her search, her vigil, as she thought of it. One cannot fully
possess without knowing, she told herself, daring not to believe that he had
another life without her, refusing to acknowledge anything in herself more than
curiosity. But when he had not called by mid-afternoon, the old panic exploded
inside her and she dressed, warmly this time, with thermal underwear and old
woolen gloves she had found around the house. Then, as darkness descended, she
walked north again to Wisconsin and Calvert and stood in the shadows of a storefront
near the bus stop. It was important, she decided, to take a position that might
not be suspect. Somewhere in this area was Eduardo. She searched the faces of
the people that passed in front of her, as if somehow the likeness of Eduardo
could be found there. Above her loomed the facade of the apartment building,
clusters of lights, as people lived their lives in their circumscribed
allocation of space. From her vantage point, she had a view of the four
corners, the Holiday Inn on the northeast side, a cluster of small shops on the
southern ends of the intersection, and at the northwestern side, the large
apartment house, where, logic told her, was the most obvious place for Eduardo
to have gone. She bemoaned her lack of cunning the other evening. She might
have watched the windows of the apartment building to see which had lit up and
that might have been a clue. Now, standing stiffly at her post, like a sentry,
she felt her own alertness, certain she would know, would find out, if only she
had the courage to stick it out.

The streets were nearly deserted when she felt fatigue and
knew she must leave, rest, try again another time, tomorrow night. She had
already decided that a daytime vigil would be too risky, too conspicuous. But
when he did call a few days later, he sounded furtive, distant. Did he know
that she was following him?

"I must talk quickly. I think I am being
watched."

Was it she that he had sensed?

"I need you, Eduardo."

"Two more days. Please."

"It is an agony, Eduardo. Where are you? Can I come to
you?"

"No. It is very sensitive. Very sensitive." He
paused, then lowered his voice. "We need more gold."

The thought cheered her. It was the umbilical cord. The
panic subsided, although she still felt its outer edges.

"How much?"

"The same."

"When?"

"Can it be ready in two days?"

"Of course."

"Good. You are wonderful, Anne."

"But I need you now, Eduardo."

"It is too dangerous. I must be careful."

She felt the temptation to say that she would hold back the
gold, but she feared such a move just yet.

"I will have it ready," she said, thinking
suddenly of his danger. "Could you die, Eduardo?"

"We will all die someday."

He hung up, leaving her with the lingering thought. My God,
how will I live without him? The idea of his death prompted a renewed energy of
compulsion and she dressed again for her nightly routine. It had become a
ritual, and she felt part of the environment of this particular spot in
Georgetown.

She had become attuned to every sound, every sight. Even
the cars passed with an element of predictability and the faces that she peered
into seemed to nod in greeting, although she acknowledged no recognition on her
part. There was, however, something different happening. She sensed it, waiting
patiently, watching the streets in every direction as the night progressed and
the crowds thinned.

The streets were almost deserted when she heard his
familiar walk, the cadence unmistakable. She moved back into the shadow of a
building as he moved across the street and walked toward the apartment house.
The facade was almost completely dark and she concentrated on watching the
windows, waiting for a telltale sign. At first, she was tempted to chase after
him, to call his name. My Eduardo! The environment seemed so foreign to him as
he strode purposefully, quickly, with a sense of mission. Holding back, she
waited. The lobby doors closed and she watched the building facade, feeling the
minutes tick off in her brain.

Then, four floors up, she saw a flicker of light. It
lingered briefly, and she was able to see a shadow move behind half-drawn
blinds, certain it was he. She waited, daring not to breathe, knowing that she
had discovered what she had sought, although the victory of it gave her little
pleasure. Did he live there, she wondered? Then another shadow passed and
Anne's body seemed to freeze, confronted with a terror that she had put out of
her mind, had refused to accept. A woman!

The pain of her fists clenching restored movement again and
she felt the beat of her heart, a pounding sensation, like an earthquake
beginning inside her. The effort to calm herself came instinctively, sharpening
her cunning as she moved back into the recess of a storefront, outside the
range of visibility of the apartment. Through the window of the storefront, she
watched, huddling her chin deep into the collar of her trench coat, calculating
the exact location of the apartment, burning it into her memory.

Not that the idea of Eduardo and another woman was an
absurdity. She felt a sudden lack of cleanliness, a vileness inside her, and
knew that her heart was toying with hate for him. Perhaps there is another
explanation, she decided, the violence subsiding. It is a co-worker, a
co-conspirator, a colleague. She had not gotten a clear view of the woman, who
was still faceless, ageless. She regretted now her reticence in not probing
deeper into his past. A man in his forties surely would have a wife, children,
other women, relationships, all the things she had dared not ask about. But
nothing outside of him had had any meaning for her.

Suddenly the window of the apartment grew dark again and
she felt the full measure of her own loneliness, knowing despite her attempt at
rationalization, that he was sharing something up there, something beyond her,
with someone else. She leaned her forehead against the store's door and saw the
shadowy objects inside lit by a tiny lamp in the rear. It was an antique store,
and the old bits and pieces took on odd shapes in the oblique light, leaving
the details of their configuration to her imagination. Mute objects, she
thought, like her. Survivors. The idea seemed to buttress her courage and she
determined to stand there, all night if necessary, ignoring the chill, even if
her body petrified. She would wait, lurk. She had to know. She looked up again
and watched the darkened window, understanding that the focus of her obsession
had shifted.