The water in the tub had gone luke warm. Her wine glass was almost empty and still her heart was heavy with the conversation she was about to have. Felix owned the most beautiful penthouse loft space in the neighborhood. Grammercy Place just beyond the park. He was a multi-millionaire and one of the best on Wall Street. Even though the market had taken several hits; the dot com debacle, the real estate crash, the stock market crash, the failure of Lehman Brothers and the Madoff Ponzi Scheme, Felix seemed to be King Midas. It was a sixth sense and he could always smell where the money could be made. Ashley admired and respected Felix and his talent for turning seeming lead to gold but he was transfixed by material gain and she realized after many years of trying to have a relationship with him that she was another possession to be had. She never doubted that he cared for her and he genuinely did but she felt that she was not much different than a favorite pet or a Ferrari or a private jet. There was a soft knock on the door.
“Are you okay in there?” He asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” Ashley replied.
“May I come in?” Felix requested.
“Um. I’m still in the tub.” Ashley said.
“I’ve seen you naked before.”
“I know, but…”
“Look, I’m not going to jump you in the bathtub. I just want to…understand…” He said unable to really form his thoughts. His voice trailed off and his forehead made a soft thud as he leaned against the door in frustration.
“Alright.” She conceded. He slowly turned the knob and let himself in. He put the lid down on the toilet and sat down quietly for a moment collecting his thoughts.
“I’m worried.” He sighed. She looked at him questioningly. “I’m worried that I’m going to lose you.”
“Felix. I already told you I’m not interested in making it work. It doesn’t. It won’t. End of story.” She explained.
“First. That’s not what I’m talking about…and second how can you be so sure since you brought it up.” He answered.
“Okay. What are you talking about?” She replied a bit defensively.
“I’m talking about this whole obsession with that old house. It really would’ve been better to bring it down---“
“You don’t understand because you can only see what’s right in front of you---right in front of your eyes and that is the main reason we can’t get along---.” She replied indignant.
“Calm down---I said I want to understand. Don’t cut me off if I’m trying to meet you halfway. Give me a chance. All I’m saying is that the obsession with the house feeds into what I perceive as a possible illness or emotional issue manifesting as voices or hallucinations.”
“You look that up on Web MD?” She said curtly.
“Are you going to talk to me or are we going to fight?” He said.
“Why did you buy the house for me?” She asked changing her tack.
“Because you wanted it and it made you happy and I haven’t seen you that happy since you had that great gallery show in Williamsburg.” He answered.
“If it is detrimental to my mental health, aren’t you contributing to my downfall?” She said sweetly.
“I’d give you anything.” He said and he reached out to touch her but she pulled away.
“You’d give me anything but the thing I wanted.” And she turned her head away and stared down at the milky bathwater.
“Tell me. What is it?” He said inching closer.
“You.” She said softly.
“But I’m right here.” He replied.
“Felix. I got used to being second choice with you. Your work always came first. You’re unavailable.” She explained.
He stood up took the blackberry from his belt opened the lid of the toilet and dropped it in.
“I’m all yours.” He said.
“You’ll buy another one tomorrow. A better, souped up model with the same number. You will always take calls during dinner or on vacation. You’ll always be up and on the computer or the phone in the middle of the night trying to make that deal---more. You’ll always want more. You won’t be satisfied. I can’t satisfy you. I can’t replace your addiction to wanting more. And I’ve always wondered what it is you’re trying to fill. I tried to be that thing that fulfilled you but you’re insatiable.” She said. He slowly stood defeated.
“You’re a good man. You’re a caring person. But I never knew if you were really in love with me…like I was with you.” She said.
“But I was---I, I am. I can’t let you go.” He said as he moved closer to the edge of the claw foot tub.
“It’s too late, Felix. You’re too late.”
“What are you talking about?” Felix replied.
“There’s someone.” Ashley said and her voice trailed off.
“Who?”
“I know what it feels like to be completely connected to another.” She said. “I didn’t have that with you.”
“What’s his name?” Felix asked a bit possessive.
“Her name is Chelsea.” Ashley said.
“What?” Felix replied in disbelief. He sat down again on the toilet and held his head in his hands. “A woman? I never would’ve thought.”
“Neither did I, but it happened.” She said. “It’s happening.”
“Fuck.” He whispered. It was obvious there was no competition.
“I will pay you for the house---every penny---if it takes me fifteen or fifty years, I will---“ She started.
“Please---just don’t.” He said growing upset.
“I don’t want to be ob---“ She began.
“Ashley---I didn’t buy the fucking house to get in your pants, okay? I bought the house because you loved it---you wanted it and I wanted to see you happy…again. I don’t want your goddamn money!” He yelled as he slammed the bathroom door behind him.
“I’m sorry! FELIX?” Ashley tried to say.
“It’s your fucking house now. I don’t care what you do with it---sell it if you want---make a ton of cash and go to Italy with your new girlfriend and paint for five years. I don’t really give a shit. What I give a shit about is you talking to people who aren’t there. That’s what I want to know! That’s what this is all about! I’m afraid you’re losing it and that the best part of you might slip away into---.”
“Madness?” Ashley said. She had stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel. “You’re afraid I’m a paranoid schizophrenic?” She asked.
“Yes, YES, I am.” He replied. He stood against a wall of windows with the skyline of downtown Manhattan behind him. “I’m afraid that you will slip into obscurity when the world needs to know your talent.” He shrugged. It was the most profound and meaningful thing he had ever said to her in their decade long relationship. The words made her cry because it was the very first thing that Felix had done that was entirely altruistic. True charity is anonymous her mother always said. He was making himself anonymous for her. True charity seeks nothing in return. Perhaps it was his lesson to learn.
The home pregnancy tests lined the shelf and all she could do was stare at them. A George Michael song from the nineties played over the pharmacy’s pa system as a bored cashier did a little half jig behind the counter. Maybe she wasn’t really pregnant, Chelsea thought. She had been a few days late before. Maybe the stress of the cemetery and the upcoming trip to London interrupted her cycle. Or maybe Ashley had affected her rhythm. It was a common thing. If you spent a lot of time with another girl usually you’d sync up with her. She took a deep breath and reached for the kit. She slowly read the directions on the back but she was so distracted she couldn’t comprehend. The words looked like jumbled letters. Another customer was ambling down the aisle and moved into her peripheral vision. She put the test back on the shelf and looked for another brand. She noticed the old woman standing close to her. She had stark white hair and she looked Chinese. She held her prescription glasses several inches from her face trying to identify a particular box. Chelsea noticed that the woman was standing in front of shelves upon shelves of feminine products. Perhaps she was shopping for her granddaughter, Chelsea thought. The old woman caught Chelsea staring and she smiled kindly letting her glasses drop to her chest. The old woman pointed to the ept test that Chelsea had just handled and clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Good!”
“Excuse me?” Chelsea asked nervously. The woman took her arm lovingly and Chelsea’s body tingled all over from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed yet peaceful. The old woman was a balm to her. She spoke in an unidentifiable language. It didn’t sound like Chinese. Chelsea’s experience with Mandarin was that it was clipped and short and sometimes loud. Whatever the woman spoke was refined and flowed and pleasant to the ear. They moved to the end of the aisle and stopped and the woman who was much shorter and a bit stooped stood before her. She put her hands up and let the palms hover only inches from Chelsea’s face. The woman’s smile was beaming and it seemed as if at any moment she might start giggling. Chelsea felt amazingly calm and ethereal. All the fears and anxiety faded away like an old memory. She felt strong and courageous and full of love. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. She could smell the woman’s breath and it was sweet and, perhaps, a bit smoky like sage. The old woman seemed to be whispering things as she held her hands out poised for an embrace. To Chelsea’s ear it sounded ancient. Yet as she stared at the woman’s mouth it did not move. The George Michael song had faded into oblivion and the rhythmic beat of drums reverberated through the store. To Chelsea’s surprise it sounded Native American. She opened her eyes and took in the woman’s face and wondered if maybe she was American Indian. Maybe her language was an obscure native tongue. The old woman moved her hands and smiled as if she had a secret. Chelsea could feel her charkas spinning, especially her belly Chakra. Slowly the woman took her hands and clasped them in a kind of prayer, her own hands becoming a kind of shell.
“Say ‘Thank you Ansa, please’.” She said softly. Her eyes were intense yet soft. They were profound pools of compassion. Chelsea was startled for a moment because the woman’s English was so clear.
“Say, ‘Thank you Ansa, please.’” The old woman repeated. Chelsea was unsure of herself then she thought, what could it hurt?
“Thank you…Ansa?” She whispered. The old woman smiled and giggled and clasped her hands ever tighter.
“Please…” The old woman instructed.
“Thank you, Ansa, please.” Chelsea said. The woman opened up with laughter. She was so joyful that it stunned Chelsea. Her reaction seemed appropriate for winning the lottery not uttering a few words. Suddenly Chelsea could feel herself filled with incredible power and light. She felt as though she could float. The experience was so potent that she could actually feel her cells rearranging. This is what a blessing, a real blessing must feel like, she thought. She turned and looked at the tests lining the shelves and decided she would wait until after the trip to London. Maybe the old woman was able to read her mind and her half wish not to be pregnant was granted. The ambient noise of the pharmacy cascaded in and this time Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’ crashed into her serene state. She had to laugh. Who was programming the music in this place? She looked at the pharmacist who had to be over forty, wearing a bad toupee and mouthing the words as the song played. Chelsea looked around for the old woman and found that she had disappeared. She moved across the aisle parallel with the cash registers to see if maybe she was in the check-out line. To no avail. She thought nothing of it and decided to go back home and call Scott Whatshisname. If he could remember that night six weeks ago then it would completely ease her mind once and for all. The only drawback to looking him up is a misinterpretation of interest. She made a conscious effort o be extremely straight forward in seeking only answers to questions and nothing else. Hopefully he would be just as non-plussed by the whole incident if they indeed ‘did it’.
Once back in her apartment she immediately googled Art Monthly, UK to see what names appeared on the masthead. Scott Burton. That was him. She dialed the main number. It would be the beginning of the working day in London so hopefully she would get a human being on the phone. A sweet accented woman answered the direct line.
“Scott Burton, please.” Chelsea said.
“I don’t think he’s in yet. Would you like his voicemail?” The receptionist asked.
“Sure, thank you.” The international call was a series of long beeps not rings like in the states.
“’ello?” a sleepy voice said on the other end.
“Uh..Hel, hello?” Chelsea said startled that she had actually gotten him on the line. “Scott Burton?”
“Yes.” He replied.
“Chelsea Barrett. Art News.” She said confidently.
“Yes.” Scott replied. There was an awkward silence. She had hoped he would be impressed that her periodical was a much bigger, better publication than his. Now she’d have to get right to the point.
“We met at the Gagosian Gallery, the Lichtenstein retro about six weeks ago---“
“Em, yeah. You know, I’ve got enough material for that article. As a matter of fact it’s already gone to print, sweetheart.” He interrupted.
“Scott, I’m not your sweetheart and I’m not looking for work.” Chelsea began.
“Oh…” He said confused. “Did I get pissed with you? Look, I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t say something offensive---“ He said trying to rush off the line.
“I need to know one thing, Scott. I just need an answer and then we can never ever contact each other again.” She explained.
“Shit.” He said exasperated.
“Did we sleep together?” She said coldly.
“I can’t remember.” He said sheepishly.
“Well try.” She demanded.
“Are you…like…pregnant, or something?” He asked.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss this at the moment.” Chelsea started.
“I can wire ye a few pounds to take care of it, but I’m not liquid---.” He replied.
“SCOTT! Did we fuck around? That’s all I want to know.” She said impatiently.
“I don’t remember. Look, can I call you back? I’ve got three people hovering over my desk.” He said.
“Yeah, sure.” She answered and the line went dead. She knew he would never call her back. He didn’t want to deal with her issue at the moment. And frankly neither did she. She just wanted some concrete information. Suddenly she had a craving for Thai food. She rummaged through her kitchen drawer in search of a take-out menu. There was a fantastic little Thai place three blocks up and an avenue over. She would be good to herself tonight. She would treat herself like a queen.
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