Sunday, June 26, 2011

The Profundity of Heart Strings





The aroma of boiling onions wafted up to the second floor. The pungent odor brought both Chelsea and Ashley out of their exquisite reverie for a moment. The aromatic properties of the bulbous roots anchored them to the earth and to the present moment.

“Is that dinner?” Chelsea asked as she crinkled her face.

“I’m not sure.” Ashley replied as she got up and passed by the window. Something caught her attention and she stopped for a moment. Spread out like a moat around the front entrance was a crowd of photographers, their camera’s at the ready.

“What is it?” Chelsea asked not wanting to leave the dreamy cocoon they found themselves in.

“Paparazzi.” Ashley said softly. Chelsea joined her at the window. The sight both frightened and amazed her. She never in a million years thought that anything she did would garner that kind of attention. Certainly she wanted recognition for her writing and her opinions on art. Speeches, articles, lectures seemed more in keeping with her fantasies of fame. She wanted to be a voice behind the writing and ideas, not a public personality. She was being thrust into the spotlight and she felt overwhelmed.

They both stood silently witnessing the frenetic movements of men jockeying for a better position at the front door. The street was lined with news vans and satellite antennas that foretold of presidents, royalty or diplomats engaged in talks of world power, not two ordinary women who wanted to marry.

“I told Felix to bring his friend and come for dinner.” Ashley said not taking her eyes off the bustling activity below. “He is a brilliant financial advisor. I think he’ll help us. I hope he helps us.” Ashley continued.

“Your ex.” Chelsea replied.

“Very much so.” Ashley said and she kissed Chelsea softly just as there was a knock on the bedroom door. Wilkins stood on the other side.

“Ms. Coleman, Ms. Barrett. Your guests have arrived.” He announced and as Ashley turned the antique handle to the door she could hear the deliberate footfalls of the butler as he quickly tended to his duties.

“Thank you!” She said as she watched his balding head bob down the staircase. Then she turned and gazed at her beloved. Chelsea seemed apprehensive and moved with a kind of uncertainty.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.” Ashley added as she nodded her head in the direction of the dining room.

Chelsea could feel her heart rate start to race. She felt her breath begin to grow shallow. She heard Ashley say everything would be okay and she wanted to believe her. She stared at her lover bathed in the light from the hallway. Ashley broke into a warm beaming smile and it melted Chelsea. Immediately she felt calm and confident and she knew that if Ashley were with her step by step then everything really would be okay. It would be better than okay. It would be brilliant.

Felix appeared in a fine Italian linen suit with Antonia on his arm. Ashley could not help but notice that the woman was stunning. She wore a taupe crepe cocktail dress, Italian, of course, and she sported a sexy short hairstyle a la Halle Berry.

“Hey Felix.” Ashley said warmly as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Chelsea noticed he embraced Ashley a millisecond too long.

“You look fantastic.” He beamed. “This is Antonia Bellucci. Antonia, this is Ashley Coleman, the ‘woman of the house’.”

“Welcome, Antonia.” Ashley replied and then graciously turned and slipped her arm though Chelsea’s. “This is my…girlfriend, Chelsea Barrett, the other woman of the house…Chelsea, Felix and Antonia.” The moment was slightly awkward dotted with pregnant pauses and summing each other up.

“Wilkins talked me into a traditional British dish tonight. Liver and onions.” Ashley announced. “It’ll be an adventure for our Yankee palates.”

“I love liver and onions.” Felix said as he looked over at Antonia who smiled weakly.

“I’m sure there will be other dishes to choose from for those of us who are not meat eaters.” Chelsea added. Ashley took Antonia by her arm and sweetly led her into the huge drawing room.

“I’m fascinated with what you do --- so tell me more.” She said softly.

Felix stood alone awkwardly with Chelsea.

“It’s finally nice to meet you.” He said trying to be sincere.

“Likewise.” Chelsea offered but she fell short of being genuine. Truth was she wished she could go back up to the master bedroom and hide.

“Speaking of Yankees. Can you guys get the game?” Felix asked hoping that watching ESPN might alleviate the uncomfortable strangeness in the room. Chelsea discovered the remote and handed it to Felix.

“Wine?” She asked.

“Yes.” Everyone said in unison.

“I’m so glad we have a moment to speak knowing that you will have the final say about the Rhys Manor house.” Antonia began. “I wanted to share something with you that I discovered in one of the walls that had been partially knocked down.” She fished around in her bag and pulled out a manila envelope. Ashley gazed at the emerging aged photographic prints. To her amazement and awe she observed the handsome figure of Richard Rhys standing next to one of the large sea paintings that resided in the Tate. Even more intriguing were the furniture pieces, wallpaper design and statuary. Everything recorded in the photograph now lived on the top floor where Dame Thornton kept her personal rooms.

“I have to show you something!" Ashley said breathlessly. And she took Antonia by the arm and led her to the small birdcage elevator. As they ascended to the top floor Ashley murmured. “You’re not going to believe this.” Then she swung the wrought iron gate open and watched Antonia take in an exact replica of the photograph. Every piece of furniture placed in the same position.

“This is…unbelievable.” Antonia whispered and her eyes were as big as saucers.

“The Dame must have recreated the house here in London down to every knick knack and drawer pull.” Ashley said just as stunned.

“May I take some photographs?” Antonia asked.

“Of course.” Ashley said. Antonia pulled out a professional camera complete with flash and began to document the fifth floor. As she moved about Ashley studied the woman. She was kind and pretty and interesting and probably a good match.

“Do you love him?” Ashley blurted out. Antonia stopped a bit surprised by Ashley’s frankness.

“It’s too soon to tell.” She replied smiling. “I have a wonderful time with him.” And she went back to taking pictures.

“So you don’t mind that he’s addicted to his blackberry, email and cell phone?” Ashley inquired.

“Oh, He broke his phone the night we met. He hasn’t replaced it. He leaves his computer at the office and he flushed his blackberry down the toilet.” She said and she blushed as if revealing a part of their intimacy. Ashley was taken aback. “I have my own business and so I understand his need to be ‘connected’. But he said it was sucking the life out of him so he refuses to replace his gadgets.” She added as she began clicking off more pictures.

“I’m happy for you…for both of you.” Ashley said and she meant it. “This painting---here in the picture? It is housed at the Tate in a private gallery. Tomorrow morning make an appointment to go and see it. It will change your life.”

Antonia stared at Ashley perplexed but she was open to anything, particularly art.

“Wilkins assured me we get all the ESPN channels.” Chelsea said as she looked through a British broadcast guide.

“We’ll find it.” Felix replied and then he rested on a news channel that showed clips of Chelsea and Ashley being whisked away from their meeting with the Queen at Buckingham Palace.

“Not since J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter craze took over the country have we seen the kind of publicity surrounding the Queen and the Palace. Not even her Majesty’s birthday celebrations seemed to catch the eye of the entire world.” The British newscaster commented. “But two American women are now neck and neck in wealth to Rowling and Sir Paul McCartney. Thrust into the spotlight by inheriting world renowned philanthropist Dame Thornton’s estate, Ms. Barrett and Ms. Coleman could be the catalysts that sway Her Majesty’s opinions about same-sex marriage. Due to be presented before Parliament this Fall the Queen could make an historic decision changing the core foundations of the Church of England. If she decides that the Anglican Church must be equal and inclusive then she will have made the single most important change since the birth of the church by her great great great grandfather King Henry the VIII.”

“Blows my mind.” Felix said softly.

“Mine, too.” Chelsea replied. They continued watching as the news coverage switched to the British forces still fighting in Afghanistan. To Chelsea the reporter seemed to be talking in slow-motion. She felt dizzy and faint as the words and violent images crashed into her.

“Several reporters embedded with British Special Forces were killed today as insurgent fighting continued in the rocky and remote terrain of Afghanistan. Among them, Scott Burton…” The newscaster stated. Scott’s name echoed in Chelsea’s ears for a long while as if she were stuck in a tunnel suspended in time somewhere – unable to free herself. She felt her body give way. Felix stepped close and caught her just under her arms. He guided her to the large couch that seemed to divide the room.

“Chelsea---Chelsea---Chelsea.” He murmured trying to get her to snap out of her crisis-induced oblivion. He sat down next to her as waves of grief washed over her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Someone you know obviously.” He said softly. She was inconsolable. He put his arms about her awkwardly trying to ease her despair.

“He didn’t see it coming. Chelsea, He never felt the pain. He didn’t suffer. He just left the world. That’s all. It was instant…and it was his time.” Felix said and his words somehow made it easier. He just left the world. He still existed in another form and Chelsea knew it was true having had actual conversations with Dr. Samuel Pepys the day before. And she knew that if she went back to the Tate and studied the Rhys paintings that somehow she could find her way back to Scott if she wanted to. That was the key. ‘If she wanted to’. But she knew she didn’t. Scott became the symbol of the death of her old way of being, her old perceptions.

Ashley and Antonia stepped into the room and were stunned to see Chelsea in a state of bereavement with Felix comforting her tenderly.

“Um, her reporter friend was killed.” Felix offered. Ashley moved to her quickly and embraced Chelsea.

“I’m so sorry---I’m so sorry.” She whispered and the words felt like velvet to Chelsea’s ears. Ashley wrapped her arms tightly about her and it felt like a million mothers and the wings of thousands of angels. She was buoyant, ecstatic and adrift. Scott came to represent the idea of family and yet she did not want a family with him. She wanted a family with Ashley. Her sobs of loss transmuted into waves of grace---golden fields set a light by the rays of the everlasting sun. Finite reality ceased to exist. She floated in a kind of oblivion knowing that her fiercest desires could be manifest.

The onion soup was pungent but even more caustic was the salve that Mrs. Hopkins had made and plastered across Richard’s chest. Victoria had settled in next to his bed and spoon-fed the acrid potion to her husband. Tears ran down her face and her eyes were red and puffy from the concoction. She blew her nose every few minutes.

“This is ridiculous.” Richard murmured. “We’ve lost yet another day.”

“Perhaps, but what we’ve lost now we will have gained later.” Victoria said matter-of-factly and she wiped her nose on her dainty handkerchief and dabbed her stinging eyes.

“I want to go home.” Richard stated.

“We all do.” Victoria replied.

“Then let’s go home.” He said as he began to rise. Mr. Watkins got up out of his chair to restrain Richard if need be.

“Now, sir. We all want to go back to the townhouse. But what good would that do if you end up with pneumonia.” He said as he placed his hand on Richard’s bare shoulder. “We have everything we need right here.”

Mrs. Hopkins had moved the scant belongings they had to a ground floor room with a working fireplace. She sat in an old rocking chair reading the small Bible that had once belonged to Nell. Mr. Watkins had erected the twine and hung a blanket for privacy between the two couples.

Richard leaned into Victoria and whispered, “I’m weak from time travel. This is an illusion.” Victoria knew this to be true and she glanced over at Mr. Watkins who had already begun to move to the other side of the room to afford the couple more privacy. She neither agreed nor disagreed. She simply let her thoughts unfold before her. She noticed the orange thread wrapped about his finger and she let her own fingers touch it and pull at it and somehow the string was attached to her heart and she knew deep down that what he was saying would affect the future in more profound ways than one.