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(Days after the job)
“Hey!”
“Hi,” his eyes lit up even though his voice was soft and his arms winding around her waist didn’t betray how excited he was to see her. She was soft and light and it wasn’t hard to carry her through the door and into the bedroom.
He didn’t think he would return here to be with her so soon after the job finished. In the past he always waited a few weeks to return to his home, but there was urgency in his bones, and she was here.
He needed to see her. He needed to feel her under his fingers to make sure she was real and all right. He needed her so he could forget the months he spent straining under the pressure of his job.
He embraced her tightly to him and he breathed in her scent. She was so elegant to him. She held herself well, with her brilliance subtle enough to ease any discomfort. He lowered her to the foot of the bed so that she could sit down. He shrugged off his suit jacket, undid his buttons, cuffs and zippers. He toed off his shoes and slipped off his socks.
He proceeded to fuck her hard into the mattress. She screamed his name, feeling like he was everywhere, and the truth was: he was anywhere but with her in that moment.
His mind was elsewhere. His body trying vigorously to forget all that he came to know.
It was only a matter of days after he returned that he began having the dreams.
(Some time later)
She never asked where he went on his jobs. She had made the decision to believe him when he said it protected her more to not know. She wasn’t in his business anymore; she found her calling in being a student to her art. She had her experiences in his world and she wasn’t ready to face the dangers he was so used to seeing.
He was different, though. In all the time she had worked with him, all that time ago, when she was just a talented new star in that illegal world, she had never seen him get so dislodged.
She often thought back to when they first met. It was in a dingy warehouse and she was just a student then, so close to graduation. She was invited onto the job to consult, but her role proved much more important and he kept her for himself even when she decided the world of dream share proved too big for her.
(At night, when truth is spoken without words)
She woke with a start. He was mumbling in his sleep and the sight of him so active in slumber was unusual. She knew he didn’t dream, he hadn’t since before they met, and she was worried if she should shake him awake. But his fists were tight around the sheets and she feared he would strike her unknowingly.
He was mumbling louder. She blocked out all the sounds of the bedroom to center on what he was whispering reverently in his sleep.
Once she could make out the words she was struck by something she hadn’t expected.
She slid out of bed quietly and made as little sound as possible as she fled the room.
She pulled a robe on and moved into the living room. There were scattered notes on the coffee table and strewn pens. His notebook was sitting closed in the middle of the table and she reached for it.
She never read his notebook because it seemed so personal for him and she never encroached on his privacy the way he did to all his subjects.
Nothing in the notebook interested her and she began leafing through the scattered pages. She opened his laptop and tried various passwords to get access and failed several times.
When she threw a sideways glance to the bedroom where she could still hear his mumbling, an idea came to her. She typed in what he was mumbling and voila—access granted.
She was once a student and in her mind she would always be one. It didn’t take her too long to realize how ‘A’ added to ‘B’ equaled an answer that didn’t include her. And the strike of the truth hurt more than he ever could do in an accident in his sleep.
(In a smoky bar, on a different side of town)
“Why hello, love. How would you like some company?”
She barely looked at him, just a glance to realize a familiar face that she pinned to a voice.
“Well, don’t mind me, I’ll just take this open seat.” The blond Brit took the seat next to her and when she looked at him; his blue eyes sparkled at her with mischief.
“What is it, darling?”
“My boyfriend loves another woman.”
The Brit barely flinched and instantly went into sympathetic mode. “How do you figure that?”
“He says her name in his sleep. He never said my name in his sleep. What else am I supposed to think?”
They talked like old strangers. She told him about his fevered whispers, how distracted he’d been since he returned from one of his many travels.
He listened intently, getting more interested in the story beyond the initial arousing connection he felt with this woman.
She stopped drinking when he sat with her. She was completely in the right mind when she walked out with him.
“You know you have a boyfriend.”
“Well, if there is anything he knows for sure, it’s that you always hurt the ones you love.”
And she knew exactly what she was doing when she left his apartment early the next morning.
(In the Los Angeles home of a friend)
“You look like you need a drink,” the older told the younger.
He only chuckled lowly, wondering after the children out loud. “Oh, they’re both at play dates.”
He laughed, more genuinely this time, “You plan play dates, man; how good does that feel?”
“It’s freeing. That’s how it feels; like I could never want for more than this life.”
“Well, you’re certainly okay in this environment. You’re okay with money?”
His friend nodded and sipped his coffee. He did the same.
“You didn’t come all the way to California to ask me if I need money, though it’s thoughtful of you to ask,” his friend observed.
“I need advice…”
They shared a look; it wasn’t common of him to ask for help. He was the helper, never the helped.
“I think I have an idea what this is all about.”
There is a shared silence between the two old friends.
“It’s extraordinary to meet someone in this field. You’ve done it twice, now, so technically you’re a lucky bastard. And there are remarked differences between the two. But I have to say, and there is no need for me to identify. You know who I’m partial to. She is wonderful and there is something to her that is just so remarkable. And you’ve never looked at another woman like you’ve looked at her. I should know—I’ve worked with your girlfriend before. If I do recall, you met both of them in Paris and because I introduced you.”
He leaned his arms on his knees and cradled his head in his hands.
“C’mon man… you knew who you wanted before you even got to my house. You knew the second you decided to come see me. If she didn’t matter, you would stay with your girlfriend and never wonder. But you’re here, and you’re not saying much, and your silence is damning.”
“I didn’t think it could happen like this. I love her, I have for two years. How can one job change everything?”
“One job changed everything for a lot of us, you know. You deserve to be happy, Arthur. Go be with the girl you’re in love with; not the girl that you’re okay to love.”
(Weeks after both meetings; one guidance, the other betrayal)
“I need to talk to you.”
“Okay, what about?”
“I did something, a while back, and…I know when I tell you about it you’re going to be hurt.”
“…”
“I kissed someone.”
“You kissed someone.”
“…I feel something for someone else. I didn’t mean to do this. I didn’t know it was going to happen, and I have tried to ignore it and—”
“You talk about her, in your sleep; you dream about her.”
“What?”
“I’ve heard you chant her name in your sleep. You get to REM, which is so unusual for you. You were never restless before. Arthur, what happened to you?”
“I’m sorry…I owe you more than that, I know, but… I’m terrible for hurting you like this. But I think things have happened and we can’t go back to the way things were.”
“I know. I need to tell you something, too.”
“…”
“I slept with someone else.”
“…”
“You were distant and it was after I heard you say her name and I was hurting, Arthur! I’m sorry! Please, Arthur—”
“Please look at me.”
“Please, I’ve missed you so much. You’re so different.”
“Arthur, say something.”
“You can’t just stand there. Say anything, yell, scream, break something.”
“Are you still in love with me?”
“…”
“Are you in love with her?”
“…”
“I am.”
“And I am not in love with you.”
“And apparently, you’re not in love with me either.”
“No, not anymore.”
“You should be with her.”
“Do you want to be with him—this—this—other guy?”
“No, he was a substitute for you and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been that it took me betraying you to realize something that I think has been obvious for a long time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I’m sorry for kissing someone else.”
“I’m sorry for sleeping with someone else.”
“I’m sorry that I’m in love with someone else.”
“I’m sorry I kept you from her.”
“You didn’t.”
“You’re a good man, Arthur. You wouldn’t do this to hurt me. You love me. Just…you don’t love me as much as you love her and you love her in the kind of forever-way little girls dream about. We… we hurt the ones we love in order to find what’s worth anything.”
(Months later, because waiting was right for him, and he tries to think about himself first nowadays)
“Arthur! What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing in Paris or what am I doing on your doorstep?”
She smiles, and it’s the first time since he left the airport all that time ago that he smiles too.