I Am Her...

  "Where are you going?"

  "Home."

  "I mean, where in Chicago?"

  "My home."

  "You're going back to your husband? Are you fucking insane?!"

  "Apparently. Didn't my little Macy's adventure prove that?” I whisper on a breath.

  "You are NOT going back to him. Stay in a hotel if you want and I'll pay for it. I don't care. But you are NOT going back to that fucking prick!"

  Exhaling all the drama of the last hour, I finally just talk. What’s the point of hiding anymore? What’s the point denying what will happen whether I want it or not? There is NO point.

  "Actually, I am going back to Marcus. I know what to expect with him, and I know how to be ignored, chastised, criticized, and belittled with him."

  "Are you implying I did any of those things to you?" Z asks sounding totally offended.

  "No. Of course not. You have been beyond wonderful. You have been a blessing for me, but I'm through with all this. I'm just going to go home and face the consequences of my actions, and I'm going to try to move on."

  "The consequences of your actions? What the fuck did you do, other than leave your cheating, control freak, abusive, asshole of a husband?"

  Deep breath. "That’s exactly what I did- I left. That's all it takes in my world. I'm really sorry Z, and I thank you for trying to help me, more than you’ll ever know, but I'm done now. It's all over. I can't continue this way. And I don't want to. Please just say good bye, so I at least feel like you don't hate me." And here come more tears. I am so tired suddenly, I can barely move.

  "I don't hate you, Sweetheart. I care for you, and I do feel bad for you, but I want to help you."

  "I'm leaving, Z, right now. Thank you for absolutely everything. You gave me hope, and some experience, and even some pleasure to remember, but I'm done. Just, um... Bye."

  Walking away is brutal. I wish we had had sex again. Once just wasn't enough. I wish I hadn't freaked out in Macy's. I wish I could have been better for him. I wish so many things and I have such pain in my heart, it actually hurts to walk. Walking out the door is agony. Everything is hurting and my chest is so tight, I’m again having a hard time breathing. Will I ever breathe normally again? God, I hope so.

  Standing in the lobby, I'm just sobbing. Trying to look graceful and failing miserably, the apartment manager asks if I need a taxi. Nodding is the best I can do. And there's the pity again. Christ! I'm so sick of that look from people. I hate it!

  Trying to get myself together, I straighten my still sore spine, wheel my luggage outside, and wait for the taxi to pull up. No more crying. It did nothing useful this week to cry. Crying isn't useful. My parents were right, 'crying doesn't solve anything'.

  Once the trunk is loaded, and the taxi begins to pull away, I sink back into my seat shaking. Looking one last time at Z’s apartment, I suddenly see Z motioning 'stop' with his hand to me. STOP! I scream, as the cab jerks to a stop a few feet after starting the trip.

  Walking to me, Z bends toward the window, with his arms resting against it. God he is so handsome to look at, even now, like this. He is just so... beautiful.

  "What can I do to convince you to stay? Tell me what you need from me. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it."

  Oh! That was so lovely... just like a scene from a romantic movie. God, he always makes me cry with his words.

  "It's not about you, I promise. You have done everything right. It's about me. I'm not right and I know it. Please- let me finish. I don't want to be a burden to you, or to anyone else, I never did. I thought if I tried hard enough, did enough, swallowed down enough misery, I would be good enough, but I know that's not the case any longer. I can't do any more, but I'm still not good enough... so I want to leave. It's not about you. You are truly amazing. I'm really very sorry about all this." Oh. My breath just left me on a whoosh.

  Still leaning against the window, Z asks, "Please return with me? Just for tonight. I'll take you to the airport in the morning if you still want to leave. Just stay tonight."

  "Why? Nothing about me will change in one night."

  "Because I asked you to, and I haven't asked you for one single thing since knowing you, but now I am. Are you really going to decline my one request of you? Stay with me one more night." No? Totally… Yes.

  "Okay. Tonight. Tomorrow morning it's a whole new world for me though. Promise me, just tonight."

  "I promise, though I'm still going to try to change your mind in the morning," he says with a bright cheeky grin.

  Throwing the taxi driver a $20, I hop out as Z collects my luggage again today. In the elevator, Z holds my hand, but neither of us speak. What can I really say at this point? Humiliation and desperation have left me wordless, and sadly I think Z feels the same way.

  In the apartment, I move to the couch and sit, as Z wheels my luggage down the hall. God, I love it here. It doesn't feel foreign or strange; it’s simply relaxing. I feel safe and kind of at home in Z’s apartment. Strangely, I’m more at home here than in my own house in Chicago.

  "Would you like anything to drink? I've ordered our dinner which should arrive in 45 minutes or so. We could just have a drink, relax, maybe talk... Or not, judging by your face right now." Ooops. He can read my face now?

  "My father always said I didn't have a poker face. I guess it's true."

  "It’s completely true. What would you like to drink?"

  "Do you have any Zinfandel?" I ask with a grin.

  "Of course. My own private label and everything."

  "I'm sorry...?" I ask confused as he walks to the wine cooler behind the bar in the living room.

  "Williams Estates... That's me." What?!

  "It is? What does that mean?" I ask as he begins pouring me a glass.

  "It means... My parents were Peter and Conchetta Williams, and I began making my own labels and wines at the ripe old age of 14... very successfully I might add," he grins.

  Holy shit! I know his family.

  "I’ve met your parents before. They were at my parent’s home many times. They used to come to my mother’s parties!"

  "I don't doubt it. My parents only made the rounds within the greatest of the American Elite," he sneers.

  "I'm sorry about their deaths... Are you okay?" I am absolutely stunned. I can’t believe I know, well, knew Z’s parents, Peter and Conchetta, known always as Connie.

  Handing me a glass of Zinfandel- his own label apparently, Z sits beside me on the couch.

  "Thank you for your condolences. We weren't particularly close, especially in my formative years. And they died a few years ago, so I’m fine."

  God, I have to change the subject! I remember the Williams. My mother seemed genuinely taken with Connie, though she was Italian, as my mother said it. I think Connie only survived my mother’s friends and the elite set they associated with in New York, Boston and Chicago because Connie was from a very old family of the Italian Upper Class herself. Therefore, though not American Elite, she was tolerated among them. Christ! My mother’s crowd is so messed up. Honestly.

  "Explain Zinfandel, please. You’re a Williams called Zinfandel. I'm very confused." Z offers to refill my drink as I wait anxiously for his story.

  "Okay. I had already made much of my own money by college; due to my amazing touch within my father’s winery- too much money actually. I got into trouble here and there, typical rich-kid crap. So one night when I was twenty-one, I was drinking and driving a carload of my friends, and I was pulled over by the police, failed the roadside alcohol intoxication test, and was hauled to a police station in Manhattan. Once there, I announced I was Marvin Zinfandel, because I was drunk off my ass, on my own zinfandel at the time."

  "You’re MARVIN WILLIAMS? You don't look like a Marvin."

  "Tell me about it. Why do you think I go by Z?" Little giggle. Marvin? Too funny.

  "Anyway, when I was released the next morning because my father pulled some strings, I decided to become Mr. Zinfandel. Strange,
I know. My friends all thought it was cool, and so did I, at the time." He smirks, shaking his head.

  "Not anymore?" I smirk back.

  "Ah, no. However, my changed name brought me a certain notoriety and an independence from my parents I wouldn't have otherwise had. So, I filled out the necessary paperwork, paid all the fees, hired a lawyer, and legally changed my name to Mr. Z Zinfandel. Again, my friends thought it was hilarious, and once my parents found out and lost it, I thought it was an even better idea...

  “… Enraging my father was a sort of hobby of mine, at the time. He had always called me Mr. Zinfandel, because of my success within his winery, so it pissed him right off that I used his little nickname for me, and made it legal. My mother was more tolerant, and she loved me regardless, but she did try to intervene. Actually, she thought since I was changing my name anyway; why not change it to her maiden name… Marvinelli, my name-sake. But, Marvin Marvinelli didn't really work for me either." SERIOUSLY?! When he smirks, I can't help but burst out laughing.

  "No, that does s-sound a little odd," I say through my rolling laughter.

  Grinning Z continues… "So many months later, much money later, and many fights with my father later, I officially became Mr. Zinfandel, a 21 year old independently wealthy, heir to the Williams Estate and the Williams Estate Wineries. It’s quite a mouthful actually." Again, he grins at me, like he’s both proud of his name, and mortified by it at the same time.

  "That's fairly impressive, Mr. Z. Zinfandel. What did you do after the name change? In College?"

  Actually, I vaguely remember this story, kind of, told by my judgmental mother years before. I think the Williams’ must have kept it as quiet as possible.

  "Afterward, I took control of the shares I had been given over the years in the Wineries, convinced my father to either let me be the CEO of my own labels, or I would sue him for monies owed, copyright infringements, and basically, for the theft and usage of my own blends, which I could prove were mine from my teen years. You see, my father had made the monumental mistake of telling many, many people at the time about my success within the winery. Therefore, all his boasting and bragging would come back to bite him in the ass, if he hadn't signed off as CEO. Strangely, though he was obviously quite pissed at me, he was also impressed, maybe even proud of my tenacity...

  “… And that's it. I'm CEO still, but of the entire company, not just my own wineries within it. I own everything now that my parents have died, and I make an excellent Zinfandel. Wouldn't you agree?" Again, with the smirky grin.

  "Yes, I would. It IS quite excellent."

  I can’t believe Z is the same Marvin Williams I had heard about in my youth. It’s all a little too ‘small-world’ and kind of strange to me. Then again, my parents’ influence and social circuit knows no bounds, so I’ve probably met most of the ‘Upper Class’ in all parts of the Continental U.S. at some function or other.

  "Why didn't I ever meet you before now, at some of the parties our parents attended?"

  "Well, I'm 5 years older than you, and I rebelled early, refusing to attend all the elite parties my parents attended by the time I was 13 or 14, so really, you wouldn't have ever met me after you were maybe 8 or 9 years old." Oh. That makes sense.

  "I bet I would have had a crush on you, even then..." Sipping my Zinfandel, I smile at him.

  "Even then...? Does that mean you have a crush on me now?" Blush. Shit.

  "No! No, I just meant, you were probably cute, and older, so naturally any of us younger girls would have had a crush on you."

  Grinning, Z takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. "Relax Sweetheart. I was just teasing you. How are you feeling?"

  "I'm good. But I have one glaringly obvious question."

  "Which is?"

  "Why the hell are you working as an Accounts Manager for Petri-Dunne?”

  "Ah, yes. I'm working as a favor for my friend Marty’s father, Mr. Johnson Petri." What?! Argh… I’m choking on my drink now. Awesome. I even snorted a little. Yay me!

  "Relax. It's nothing. I've done it before for Petri. He likes me; sadly, almost more than he likes his actual son. He brings me into his companies and offices, to clean out the messes... and Craig was a mess. So, he's out, I'm in temporarily, and my replacement for the New York office is being searched for as we speak. Incidentally, Shields isn't going to last long- Just thought I would give you a heads up." He’s grinning? HE’S GRINNING? Why?!

  "Why is that funny? You know too much about me. You could tell Mr. Petri, and get me fired. Oh, god, you could humiliate me further in the company. Why are you grinning?"

  "Your lack of trust no longer bothers me, it's almost endearing. I wouldn't do any of those things, and I think you know it. You should know it by now. But I think you're just so stuck on betrayal and trust issues that you wait for it at every turn. I am NOT going to fuck you over, Sweetheart. At least trust that, even if you can't entirely trust ME."

  "I'm sorry but it's hard for me. I don’t really trust anyone, ever."

  "I know, and that’s the only reason I'm not yelling, offended, or pissed at you over it."

  With absolutely perfect timing, Z’s front door buzzes. "Saved by the buzzer..." he grins again walking toward the door.

  After putting everything on his dining room table, Z and I are quiet. Though it’s not an uncomfortable silence as such, I know my last accusatory outburst has offended him some. I really should try to either trust him, or pretend to trust him better. Eventually, we thaw a little.

  When the meal is over Z becomes relaxed enough with me again to tell me a few funny college pranks he participated in. God, I couldn't have done anything like he did. I spent my entire childhood and teen years scared to death of my parents and their disapproval.

  When I say as much, Z shakes his head. I can tell he’s shocked and bothered by the way I was raised. Even I can finally see that it is a little bothersome, now that I’m slightly removed from the situation in Chicago.

  ==========

  When we’re finished tidying the dishes, and I am absolutely stuffed, my phone suddenly rings and I jump again. Well, to be fair, it’s been a while. Should I? Shouldn't I? Why ruin a perfectly good meal. Z nods, and tells me to put it on speaker phone. Okay here we go…

  "Hello, Marcus." I’m firm, steady, and I sound good.

  "Hi Honey, where are you?"

  "That's none of your business. What do you want?" Wow. I'm all tough with Z listening.

  "Oh? I think it IS my business, and so do your parents. There’s no reason to be so uncivilized. They're here with me. Would you like to speak with them?" No way! I'm not that tough. Gulp.

  "No, thank you. What do you want Marcus?"

  "I'll ask you again, honey. Where Are You?"

  "And again, that's none of your business."

  This back and forth is kind of fun actually. I can't help grinning. Marcus is silent for a minute. He’s probably shaken from me challenging his authority. Good!

  "Listen Honey, you've proved your point. I'm sorry about Kayla, very sorry, so why don't you come home, and we'll discuss it. Your parents would really like to see you as well."

  "I'm not coming home right now- maybe never. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do. So, why don't you just wait for me to contact you?”

  "Oh, I don't think so. Come home, NOW. I know you withdrew money, and I know you were at the Marriott, but you're not there now. I had your car returned home. Where are you? Just tell me, and I'll come and get you, and we'll work this all out."

  "There’s nothing to work out, Marcus. I'm furious with you, and your cheating, and a list of many, many other things. I'll return if and when I'm ready." There! That was firm.

  Marcus is silent again. Quietly, I hear a muffling in the background, and low voices. Shit! My parents are actually there with him. Great! My resolve starts wavering slightly. Z suddenly takes my hand and squeezes it. Looking at me pointedly, he mouths, 'Relax. Be strong.' Okay. I'll try, I nod.

&nbs
p; "Honey, your mother would like to speak with you." Cringe

  "No. I'm not really in the mood for my mother’s threats and accusations Marcus. Why don't you just deal with her?" There’s another pause, and more silence.

  "Your mother would like you to know she has spoken with Dr. Simmons..." Who? "...You remember Dr. Simmons, don't you? Well, he has kindly agreed to see you, to help you sort through all your issues. Would you like that?" Z mouths who, and I shrug my shoulders.

  "Sort through my issues? My issues are rather easily sorted, Marcus. My husband is a cheating asshole who spends his days either ignoring me or berating and chastising me based on his current mood... So no, I wouldn't like to see a doctor about my issues."

  I swear I heard my mother gasp in the middle of that speech. Asshole? Yup…. that's enough to set her off.

  "Darling... That's ENOUGH!" Flinch. Z squeezes my hand once more. "You will stop behaving like a child this instant. Poor Marcus has been frantic to find you, and your father and I have been quite concerned as well. I want you to come home. You have played your little game long enough, and I expect you home in the next hour. Do you understand me?"

  "I'm not going to be there in the next hour, mother. And please stop speaking to me like I'm a child..."

  "THEN STOP BEHAVING AS SUCH! Poor Marcus has had to field questions..."

  "Poor Marcus? POOR MARCUS?! Are you insane mother? Poor Marcus has been sleeping around a lot, mother, and though that may be acceptable in your life as a slight infidelity, it's not acceptable in MINE!"

  And here’s another long silence. I have to remind myself to breathe. I know Z is watching me with concern. Is my mother counting to ten as well?

  "Darling, I will not continue to speak with you this way. You are being highly irrational and I will intervene if I must. You have one hour, or I take matters into my own hands." How?

  Gulping, I ask, "How will you intervene, mother? What can you do? Force me to live with a cheating, abusive husband, against my will?! What can you really do?"

  "Don't push this. You won't like the consequences. I guarantee it."