I said exactly! That’s exactly what happened to me but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Down deep I knew I’d reached my peak and it was over. Maybe I had enough to… maybe I’d end up in some cheesy TV series making lots of Joan Collins faces and saying godawful lines. But I didn’t want to end like that. The last film made me reach down too deep into myself to find a good performance… It was brutal, Rose, harder than anything I’ve done. Weber helped a lot with his direction, but every day after work I was totally exhausted, because I was squeezing out whatever last drops were still there. Talent drops. When the movie was finished, there wasn’t one left in my tank. Like it or not, I was done as an actress. End of a career, crummy men, a house I never wanted to go home to because there was nothing there… That’s why I came here. Because Vienna was one of the few things I really did love.
Right in the middle of that conversation, a hundred-megaton brunette swept up to our table as only an egregiously gorgeous woman can—head thrown back, tits pushed forward, a smile that says of course everyone in the room is watching me, but don’t they always? I saw her before he did and watched as she tacked through the tightly bunched tables over to ours.
Her face got happier and happier the closer she came. And it was real happiness—nothing fake or put-on about it.
“Leland!” she shouted. He looked at her, but instead of being thrilled and leaping to his feet because Miss Lalapalooza was trilling his name, he only smiled and stayed where he was. He didn’t even attempt to get out of his seat when she was standing on the other side of the table, obviously dying to get her mitts on him.
“Hi, Emmy. Emmy Marhoun, this is Arlen Ford.” That stopped her. She looked at me for really the first time and there was a glumph of recognition in her eyes. Also, the courteous coolness of Leland’s voice said a lot. Her reaction was very strange—she shrank down into herself. But she was valiant and tried again. “Oh, Leland, it’s been so long! What have you been doing?”
She wanted to talk but he didn’t. He was very pleasant and polite, but gave her nothing to grab on to. It was as if he were a sheer mountain face of glass she desperately wanted to climb but couldn’t get a handhold on. When I realized what was happening, I sat back to enjoy the show. Her eyes jumped between Leland and me. After a few embarrassing minutes of getting no further with him, she began speaking directly to me, as if I would understand and be able to translate her better to him. Fat chance, Emmy.
She was in Vienna on business. How long would he be staying? Could they meet for a drink… it’d been such a long time. It was so wonderful to see him again… but nothing doing. The pleasanter he was, the more desperate she became.
At last she understood this meeting was all she was going to get, and even Miss Self-Adoring realized there was no way she was going to get what she wanted from him. So she tried to back away gracefully and wave beautifully and be gone in another romantic ssssswirl. But there was a pathetic falseness in her gestures and the kind of hurt in her voice and around her eyes that said she’d been snapped in half.
I asked who she was, and he said a woman he was crazy for a few years ago. He thought she loved him too but she didn’t. Seems she had her own heartbeat to attend to. He said the ironic part was that a week after they broke up, he saved her life and she never forgave him for it, but he wouldn’t explain that.
I shook my head and said, “You know, Leland, after hanging around with you these days, I’m beginning to feel that, in comparison to your life, I’ve lived mine on a microscope slide. What haven’t you done?”
His answer came very quickly. “I’ve never had a child. Never written a book. Never really got lost in sex. I’ve never learned how to sit still. I’m scared I’ll end up being one of those old men who’ll need a garden or a dog to boss around because there’ll be nothing else left at the end of my life.
“That’s why I’m envious of you, Arlen, and the way you’ve chosen to live now. Your life used to be the way mine is now. All crazy running around, no real substance. But you stopped and got out. You’ve got so many things, qualities, I wish I had.”
I couldn’t believe he was saying that after I told him what a screwed-up mess I was. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life these days. It’s like an instrument I used to play pretty well but don’t know how to even hold anymore, much less play.
He said, “Many have life left over when luck runs out. They waste their happy moments and farther down the road would like to turn around and return to them. There are more days than luck.” That’s a line from the writer Gracian, and right after saying it, he quoted another: “Two kinds of people are good at foreseeing danger: those who have learned at their own expense and the clever people who learn a great deal at the expense of others.”
All the bustle and noise of the café fell away. We looked at each other so sadly. He was lost in his chaos; I was afraid mine would return the moment he left town. So I took a deep breath and just said it. “You know what I’d like to do more than anything else in the world right now? Go home and make love with you.”
He looked away and my heart fell. Then he looked back and said, “I can’t do that. I’m HIV positive.”
I grabbed his hand and squeezed it as hard as I could. He squeezed back. It was the first time we had ever touched.
“They discovered it when I was here last time. That’s really why I came to Vienna. I had this cough that wouldn’t go away and was losing weight… Can we leave now?”
Oh, Christ! Jesus, you can’t imagine how I felt. I put money on the table and we left. I walked in front of him, paying no attention to anything but the door. I went through it and held it for him. When we were outside, we stood there staring at each other.
He touched my shoulder. “Three people said your name as we were leaving.”
I shook my head and began to cry. I put my arms around him and wept. He patted my back but then stopped, and he wept too.
He said, “I was never going to tell you. I made a deal with myself. If I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t tell you. But then I got shot and was really scared. I’m really scared.”
I feel such knots in my stomach even telling this now, Rose. It was so hard. So hard!
I got him to come back to the house with me, and we talked for a couple of hours, but when we were exhausted and there were long silences between us, he said he wanted to go back to his place. I pleaded with him to stay—in the living room, the guest room, with me if he wanted—but he said no. I had no right to insist, so we woke Minnie and walked the half mile down to the Gasthaus in silence. We held hands, but I was the one to take his, which lay completely dead in mine. I wouldn’t let it go for an instant.
When we got there, he brought my hand to within an inch of his lips and kissed the air near it. Then he thanked me for being so kind. The tears started down my face again. There was nothing else to say, so I lamely asked what he’d like for breakfast. He tried to smile but couldn’t. “Bacon and eggs again, if you still have some.” He moved toward the door but turned back to me and said quietly, “Be sure to wash your hands as soon as you get home. I don’t know anything about this disease and who knows how you can get it.”
Back at the house I sat down on my front step and, with Minnie sniffing around, looked up at the stars. A story he had told me came to mind. It struck some chord I couldn’t name, but still it gave me a feeling of hope and possibility.
He and a bunch of other journalists were in Rumania a year before the fall of the government. The living standards were horrible and it was impossible to get a decent meal, even in the supposed best restaurants in Bucharest. But one guy had heard about a place, and they all went. They almost fell over backward when they saw what was offered on the menu. The most exquisite French cuisine—escargots, white truffles, and a wine list that was amazing. What a find! Was this the end of the rainbow? Whatever it was, first they feasted on the possibilities the menu offered, then very carefully made their selections. The waiter nodded and disappeared. They were the only customers in the place but thought that was because the food was obscenely expensive by Rumanian standards. An hour passed but nothing came. They hadn’t even seen the waiter in that time. By then they were getting suspicious. Finally he reappeared, very upset, and said unfortunately none of the things they’d ordered was available tonight. What else would they like? He offered menus and they chose again—lovely second choices. Another hour passed and the same thing happened—no food, no sign of the waiter. When he appeared he told them again he was sorry, but these things were also unavailable tonight. They were on the verge of killing him by now. What was available? He said pork. Pork? That’s all? Yes, that’s it. Why? Why hadn’t he told them that two hours ago and spared them the wait, rather than offering the menu that had them all drooling with anticipation?