Page 32 of Torn
“I really am. But not by choice, Walt. I’d love nothing more than for us to fall asleep in each other’s arms.”
“Wouldn’t that be pretty?”
And just like that, a kind of gloom, not of physical darkness, but of disappointment, fell across the bed. The afterglow winked out like a firefly mistaken for a mosquito and slapped.
Together, without meaning to, we both sighed.
And together again, we both laughed.
Walt swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I have to pee. And then I suppose I should get myself ready to take my leave.” He touched my cheek and then hopped out of bed. “Should I say some lines from Romeo and Juliet? About parting being such sweet sorrow?”
“No. Look how they ended up. Go on!” I watched his ass rise and fall as he left the room. He closed the door after him.
I lay on my back, now naked, and contemplated my toes. I listened to the rush of his pee, the too-loud flush of the toilet (which still had a tank above the commode—one flushed it by yanking on a chain).
Surprising myself, I actually drifted off for a minute. In that quick moment, I dreamed that Walt was my husband of many years, returning to our bed to continue our slumber together. Who would make coffee in the morning?
I woke for real as Walt slid in next to me. He pulled the top sheet and comforter over us both and patted it down, making us snug.
“What are you doing?”
“I met your friend.”
“What?” Now I was fully awake. I got up on my elbows.
“Boutros. I ran into him as I was coming out of the bathroom. A little odd, but nice. He told me he’d already made up the couch for himself. And that I should stay.”
“You’re lying.”
“He said he came in and heard us going at it like a whore and her trick in an East End alley and thought he better plan on the couch tonight.”
“You’re not lying.” I smiled and relaxed into the pillows. Boutros’s wit was as distinctive as his fingerprint.
I relaxed. Maybe I did know what love felt like. I leaned over and kissed Walt good night. “Good night… till it be ’morrow.”
I think it was only seconds until I was asleep again and returning to my dream, something that almost never happened.
Chapter 11
“ARE YOUsure about this? What if we get caught?” I could just imagine calling Boutros from some London jail, asking him if he had bail money.
And I imagined his response. “Money? No, sweetheart. You’ll have to rot in your cell, I’m afraid. It’s what you get for not observing posted cautions. But here’s the reason not to worry—you’ll find a big bruiser to protect you, to make you his bitch, and you’ll get that happy-ever-after you’ve dreamed of.”
Walt and I loitered outside the entrance gate to Kew Gardens. It was a large wrought-iron affair with ornamental concrete columns rising up on either side. Walt told me it was called Elizabeth Gate. “After Elizabeth Taylor,” he quipped. To the left of the double gates was the entrance to the park, which was clearly closed and locked. Visiting hours were over.
Walt had proposed we find a place where we could slip inside. “No one will know. The park is huge. I’m sure the buildings, like the Temperate House and the Palm House, are locked up. Even if they weren’t, it’s a safe bet they’re patrolled, plus there would be CCTV cameras. But I think we can wander around a bit, sniff some posies, and slip right back out again, with no one the wiser.”
I was nervous. I was wiser, or so I liked to believe. Civil disobedience was not my thing. I’d seen the movieMidnight Express. I knew what could happen to travelers in foreign countries who got imprisoned. I could imagine long years locked up in the Tower.
I looked around me. It was yet another gorgeous summer night, the air sweet, the sky a deep and almost shocking shade of blue. Couldn’t we simply get back on the train and head into London proper? Find a nice restaurant that served a creamy spotted dick?
“Come on,” Walt urged. “It’ll be fun. And so much more memorable than if we’d gotten in under ordinary circumstances. And look—there’s no one around. Not a soul.”
It was true. Kew Gardens was quite a ways outside of the city proper. Since it was closed, it was possessed of an almost ghostly emptiness. And I had to admit that the idea of sneaking in, illicit and dangerous, did appeal to my dark side.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s not like it’ll be the first time today we’ve done something naughty in one of London’s fine public parks.” He winked.
