Damon nodded slowly, smiling, and we continued talking, bathed in this mysterious foggy atmosphere that endowed our every word with depth and perfection. Or so it seemed.
I was suddenly distracted by a pitter-patter coming from the dessert bowl. Drops of God knows what, from God knows where, were splattering onto the liquid custard. The floating island was sinking under the weight of what I soon realized were raindrops. This foundering made me nervous.
“I don’t mean to interrupt you,” I finally said, “but the cloud is raining on the dessert. And sinking it.”
Damon leaned toward the bowl and looked. “So it is,” he said. He covered the bowl with a plate.
Raindrops started falling on me as well.
“It seems the rain likes desserts,” he remarked. “Shall I cover you with a plate too? Or should we just get out of the rain and take a walk in the woods? The weather tonight is worse indoors than out. There’s a section of the woods you haven’t seen. I saved it for after dinner because it’s particularly pretty at night. I have a warm coat you can wear.”
He opened a closet and took out a large down coat. “I haven’t worn this in years. I no longer wear opaque clothing.” He said this with the same finality, with the same entirely justified self-righteousness as the people who say, “I no longer wear fur.”
We entered the woods from another side of the house, but this time we did not walk randomly through uncleared foliage; we followed a beautifully manicured path made of stones, grass, and moss, with flowers along the edge. Lamps were hanging from tree branches at regular intervals, lighting the way. We passed iron benches, some black, some white.
We arrived at a small clearing and sat on a white bench. We listened to the crickets and the rustling leaves. I wrapped the coat more tightly around me. And I waited. I leaned my head back. He did too. We couldn’t see the stars because a lamp was shining near us. Damon got up and turned off the lamp. We were now in the dark, and the stars were bright. I was a little nervous, and optimistic, expecting him to turn toward me and make his move at any moment. He sort of had to. It would be just too silly of him not to.
Time passed. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what he was up to just sitting there, doing nothing. I decided I would not do anything to make the situation less awkward; I didn’t want to make it easy for him to get away with doing nothing. So I sat, absolutely motionless and rigid.
That didn’t seem to work. So then I sighed impatiently, sort of a huff.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered meekly.
If he didn’t find this awkward, why should I?
After about fifteen minutes, he turned to me and said, “It was nice, wasn’t it?”
“What was?”
“Walking into the woods and sitting here.”
“Yes.”
We got up and walked back to the house; I was dazed. I looked at my watch. It was 11:00 P.M. He had an hour left to make his move, and if he didn’t do it by twelve, then I would have to, in time to catch the last train, depending on the outcome. My stomach flipped with unease as I realized that it would be like “Cinderella,” in reverse. By midnight, instead of escaping, I would be pouncing.
Chapter Six
Oh, I forgot to show you the pool,” he said, as we walked back. “And I should take you on a tour of the house.”
The swimming pool was in the basement. It was very standard-looking, in a very standard-looking room, except that there were numerous rubber ducks, of various shapes, sizes, and colors, lined up against one wall. I suddenly wondered if he had children or was somehow involved with children. I asked him.
“No,” he answered simply.
He took a yellow duck and carried it to the pool, squeezing it once along the way, which caused it to make the classic rubber duck squeak. He squatted, placed the duck on the water, and gave it a gentle shove. It sank. He looked at me, as if to observe my reaction. I wasn’t sure what reaction he expected me to have. But he kept staring at me expectantly, perhaps waiting for me to seem astonished. Well, I was sorry if I wasn’t astonished, but I wasn’t. Even though rubber ducks usually floated, so what if one sank? So what if there was something wrong with it? Damon took another rubber duck and handed it to me, motioning that I should place it on the water. I did, and the duck sank. Damon was staring at me with so much expectancy that I was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it and burst out laughing.
“Okay,” I said, “I give up. Why are the ducks sinking?”
He seemed relieved by my question. His intense expression disappeared, and to my surprise I saw that it wasn’t just relief, it was sudden mild disinterest.
He waved his hand dismissively and said, “Oh, I’ll tell you another time.”
I decided I would not satisfy him by begging him to tell me. So I ignored my twinge of exasperation and said nothing.
We went back upstairs and sat side by side on the blue vinyl couch. Conveniently, the glass clock was straight in front of us. It was now 11:32 P.M.
Once again, Damon asked me about my dreams and desires, which naturally led us to the topic of acting, among others. But of all my desires, I didn’t mention the one that was the most recent and, right now, the strongest: him.
“I wish this moment didn’t have to end,” he said, to my delight, at five of midnight.
“It doesn’t have to,” I replied, hoping this wasn’t too forward.
“Yes, it does,” he said sadly, and added, “I want to remember the way you’re looking at me now. I wish I could take a picture of it, and I would, if I didn’t loathe photographs.”
“I can look at you this way again.”
“I hope, for your sake, that you will be able to, but even if you are, your look will be a shell — perhaps a very beautiful shell — but a shell, empty of your heart, empty of sincerity.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know. I wish it could stay that way.”
“You’re being enigmatic.”
“Yes. Grant me that, just a little longer.”
He stared at me sadly.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“The alternative,” he answered slowly. “The exquisiteness of it.”
“What alternative? To what? You’re being so mysterious.”
“I asked you to … grant me that,” he almost whispered.
“I should warn you that you are now officially entering the realm of melodrama,” I could not resist teasing. But I immediately felt guilty, for I hadn’t noticed the tears in his eyes.
Choosing to ignore my warning of impending corn, he said, “This moment will never exist again; the innocence of it, the selfishness of it. The simplicity and purity of it. The sweetness. And the open doors, the potential, the blank future. Every path is still possible, but soon will no longer be. Is there anything significant you would like to say to me?”
“Perhaps, but it might be a little premature.”
“And later it will be too late. But that’s the way it is; part of the way things are, part of the sadness. But necessary. And good.” He paused. “There are so many things I would like to say to you now, so many assurances and reassurances, and truths. It would make things easier for me. But I mustn’t. It would be counterproductive. However, having said even this much has made me feel slightly better.”
“Well, not me.”
He laughed. I laughed too, despite my annoyance at his mysteriousness.
He gazed at me. “You are already slipping away, I see.”
I could only attribute this statement to his having sensed my irritation.
“But no,” he continued, “I’m fooling myself. This is but a pale shadow of what will be.” He sighed, and his tone lost its bitterness. “We’ve talked about your dreams at length. Now I’ll tell you one of mine: it is the hope that whatever dreams of yours come true, I will have played even just a small part in their actualization.”