My father forced his way into my apartment, and said, “No past can justify what he did to you. And how remarkable can one’s way of living be, in a cage?”
“Not remarkable. He was human and enchanting.”
I took Damon’s transparent outfits out of the closet: his shirt and pants, and the gown he had made for himself. My mother grabbed them from me, said to my father, “Look, it’s his clothes,” and held the shirt by its shoulders, letting it hang in front of her. My father took his sword out of its holder and slashed the shirt to shreds, and then held the pants while my mother did the same to them and then to the gown.
This was a problem and a drag. There was only one thing left for me to do. I left my apartment and walked to the nearby fabric shop. It was a bridal fabric shop, which I entered with my parents at my heels, their hands on their swords, like guards.
For a variety of reasons, ranging from the fact that there was a generous selection of lace, that the translucent silk there was not very thin nor very translucent, and that Damon had seemed to enjoy the holes in the curtain tremendously, I decided to buy lace instead of silk. I was attracted to one roll of lace in particular, called “embroidered tulle scallop lace.” I read the labeclass="underline" $13.50 per yard, imported, made of polyester and rayon. It was off-white, supple, satiny, and very see-through due to the fact that much of it consisted of tulle and not of embroidery. The little embroidery there was formed a pattern of birds.
I asked the salesperson if there happened to be an employee in the shop who might be interested in immediately sewing a rough, basic outfit for a six-foot-three male. The person I was talking to was willing to do it for a good deal of money and said it could be ready in an hour.
I was relieved that my parents didn’t grab the whole roll of lace and slash it to bits. I went to a pay phone outside with the intention of calling Damon and telling him why I was taking so long, but after I dialed the first three digits of the Pierre Hotel, I realized my parents were on either side of me, watching me like hawks, ready to pounce on the opportunity to find out where Damon was. I hung up the receiver, feeling sad that he would be wondering, all naked and fragile, where I was.
I had to take more drastic measures or my parents would follow me to the Pierre. I went back to my apartment, still followed by my parents, and grabbed my pepper spray. I also took my antique sword — the present from Damon — which had allowed me to escape from him and would now allow me to rejoin him safely.
Just as I was about to leave, the phone rang. It was Damon, wondering what was taking me so long. I was ecstatic to hear from him.
“My parents slashed your clothes,” I explained. “I had to go and have an outfit made for you, and now they won’t leave me alone, so I came back home to get weapons. I won’t be much longer.”
My parents grabbed the phone from me and insulted Damon and tried to find out where he was. I threatened them with my spray and got the receiver back. I told him I’d see him as soon as I managed to ditch them. When I hung up, my mother tried to trace the call, but without success.
I left my apartment. They followed me.
I had half an hour to kill before Damon’s costume would be ready, so I sat in a café. My parents pulled up chairs and sat at my table. I didn’t bother using the weapons on them quite yet, since they knew I was headed back to the fabric store anyway.
They tried to make me regain my senses. They threatened to have me kidnapped by a cult-deprogrammer.
Finally, the half hour was killed, and I got the outfit from the tailor in the fabric shop. My parents immediately tried to take it from me. I threatened them with the pepper spray. They drew their swords. I drew mine. I backed out of the shop. The salespeople stared.
It suddenly dawned on me that perhaps I should consider getting a bodyguard. I was, after all, a star. And I could afford one. A bodyguard who would carry a sword around and fight my parents on their own miserable level.
I hailed a cab and shook my weapons at my father, preventing him from getting in with me. “I’m twenty-eight years old!” I shouted. “Leave me alone! I can do what I want!”
He hailed another cab and hopped into it with my mother. They sped after me. This time it took a while to ditch them, their driver being more skilled than mine.
I eventually went back to the Pierre Hotel and gave Damon the precious outfit. He liked it, and it suited him well, although it looked even more strange than his usual costume of translucent white silk.
When I told him all the trouble I had had with my parents, he grew sad and sullen, but didn’t want to talk about it.
We returned the curtain to Stress Less Step, and that night I decided to take him to dinner at Auréole, a very good nearby restaurant that I hoped would cheer him up. But it didn’t. I asked him again why he seemed so down.
He said, “I think I should leave. I’m causing too many problems in your family.”
“What do you mean: leave?”
“Just for a while. To let things settle down, to let your parents calm down.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll talk to my parents. I’m sure I can improve things.”
“I doubt it. And even if you can, it’ll take time. On top of it, there’s a project I’ve been wanting to work on. Unbeknownst to me, what I needed was time to do nothing but think, and my stay in the cage gave me that time. I came up with ideas. And then our last few weeks of happiness together inspired me, they opened up my imagination even more. It may sound corny, but they provided me with the poetry I needed to give life and meaning to my ideas. But I’ll miss you.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a month, maybe less, maybe a little more. But we can visit each other, perhaps, after a while, when your parents aren’t stalking you as much.”
That night, in bed with him in the hotel room, I cried.
I hoped that by the next day he would have changed his mind. But he didn’t. When we had lunch, he seemed even more depressed than the night before. He said he was sad to be leaving, especially at a time like this, and that he would miss me. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to concentrate on his work.
“Then don’t go. Or let me go too.”
“Your parents would suffer. This is really the best thing to do, for now. I’m sure you can see that.” He was speaking in a whisper, his head bowed over his plate, and I almost expected to see tears splatter into his soup. In his lace, he was beautiful and foolish-looking at once.
I could take it no longer. I said, “Damon, I saw your brother.”
He slowly lifted his face and gazed at me stunned, so I went on: “I met him, I spoke to him, and I know all about your past.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“When was this?” he asked, his tone growing urgent.
“That time I went to L.A. Before I freed you.”
“How is he?”
“He’s fine.”
“What did he say about me? Does he still hate me?”
“No. Never has.”
“But he hasn’t wanted to see me in years.”
“I know.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you saw him?”
I was hurt by his tone, but understood it. “I didn’t want it to affect what was happening between us. I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, so many times, but I didn’t want it to change things. We were so happy.”
“You were selfish.”
“Yes, for both of us.”
“No, not for me. I would have appreciated knowing.”
After a long silence, he added, “And that’s why you came into my cage.”
“Yes.”
“You felt sorry for me.”