Marguerita
The door opened, and her voice said, "come in". I stood, paralyzed, not sure of myself. She said again, with more emphasis, "Come In". I broke out of my paralysis, took a few tentative steps, then walked into the room.
It was a bit dark, but she was sitting under a warm pool of light. I couldn't quite imagine how I'd gotten myself into this, even though I knew full well each detail of the circumstances that brought me here. She smiled, full lips, a warm, peaceful smile. She was dressed informally, which, for some reason, surprised me. I had worn my Sunday best. "You have finally arrived" she said, with a purr in her voice, flavored with her gentle accent.
I nodded, nervously. "Well?" She said. I was speechless. I hoped I didn't look entirely silly, not speaking, with shiny shoes and ironed creases. Jonathon had told me she was likely to kick me out if I didn't act right. "I'm sorry," the pitiful words falling from my throat. "I'm a little overwhelmed."
She smiled again, this time more broadly, showing teeth. I think that was supposed to put me at ease. "Come, sit here. I don't bite, no matter what Jon told you."
I laughed internally at the image of this beautiful woman, with short brown hair, speckled with gray, with a face open to the world, and long, but stout body, either biting me or kicking me out. Not likely. I walked more confidently to the couch, and had a seat, carefully situated about three feet away from her. A good distance, I thought. Close enough to be friendly, far enough away to be safe.
"Jonathon has told me so much about you," her smile still present. "He says you're a genius." I looked in her eyes, surprised. "He said that? Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration - you know how he is." She was slowly, but surely, putting me at ease. "He told me a lot about you," I said, tentatively, "how you went from being a doctor, to being a potter. He thinks you are probably the best potter in the US."
She smiled again. "I see Jon has been up to no good." We laughed in unison, an infectious, comfortable laughter. I finally could look her straight in the eye. And I knew then, why Jon had sent me here.
***
Jon was my oldest friend. We'd met in high school, when he was a gangly boy, unpopular, shy and picked upon by many, and I was a mixed up kid who didn't know her way up or down, but did know that she had a problem with girls. That was 1975, before it was cool for girls to fall in love with girls. But that's what I did, and for a while, I hadn't had enough sense not to advertise it. I learned the hard way.
Jonathon, surprisingly, always stood up for me. I couldn't figure it out. He had nothing to gain by getting the token dyke in school out of trouble with the other students. But time and time again, he was there for me. And when he got picked on, I was there for him - defending him against the stupid football types, wiping the blood off his nose. I can't remember how many times we were in detention together. Over the years, Jon and I had lost touch, then regained it, again and again. We were in a phase, recently, of being in close touch. He'd just gone through a really nasty divorce (I never liked her). I'd been through my own - escaping the clutches of an abusive partner.
He'd been working this especially problematic contract, designing a studio for a new art collective - a group that worked by consensus. He told me that if I ever wanted the nightmare of an architect, it was designing a building for a collective. I could imagine. The collective had artists, painters, sculptors, and ... Marguerita. He'd taken to Marguerita immediately. He liked her body "filled in the right places" he'd said. He liked her smile, the ease with which she lived life. And he loved her pots. I'd asked him about them, once, while hanging out in his new apartment. I think it had been the day she dropped the bomb on him, he was pretty sensitive about it. "She's an amazing potter," I said. He nodded sadly, then pointed out his favorite bowl. Variagated blues interspersed with red veins, and subtle yellow highlights. A shapely bowl, that you just want to hold in your hand, and never let go. "She gave this to me, can you believe it?" I put it down, carefully.
A few days later, he called me. "Hey, June, I really think you should meet Marguerita. You know what I've told you. And it turns out she doesn't like men, if you get my drift." I got the picture immediately. I was sad for him, because I knew how much he liked her.
"Uh, I don't know, Jon..."
"No, really, I think she's exactly what you are looking for. And when I talked about you - I always do, you know, her eyes lit up."
"Nah, really? What'd you say, dude?"
"Look, I just told her who you were. She wants to meet you."
* * *
Sitting on the couch, facing Marguerita, I was glad I'd decided to take Jon up on the offer to arrange a blind date. And looking at her, I started to squirm, "So, shall we go to the restaurant? Our reservation is for 7:30." She nodded, rose from the couch, moved over to a closet to get her jacket. I couldn't help but watch her move. She looked back at me, one eyebrow raised. I smiled, got up, and we walked out the door.
* * *
Jonathon looked at me across the table. We were in our favorite booth of our favorite diner. "Well?" That word again.
I opened my mouth, started to speak, but nothing was coming out. I tried to start again.
"We had a great time." I could tell that sounded less than convincing.
"A great time? That's all you have to say?" He looked at me doubtfully. I'd never kept anything from Jon, there never was any reason to. I realized it was kinda stupid to start now, 30 years after we'd met.
"OK, well..." I started. "She's amazing. We had dinner at that new restaurant you suggested..." I stopped, wondering. "How much of this did you plan, man?"
He grinned, a little too broadly for my taste. "Well, it's like this. If I can't have her, I wanted to make it possible that my best friend in the world can."
I smiled. "Well, anyway, the food was perfect, she was perfect ..."
"And?" He grinned again.
"No," I said. "No? What does 'No' mean? No sex, no U-Haul? What?" I decided to keep him in the dark for at least another minute, while I sipped my coffee. He looked impatient. I said, "no sex, at least, not last night."
He looked at me, somewhat surprised. "I can't get you lesbians sometimes". I tried to explain that I liked Marguerita too much to screw it up with sex too early. He looked exasperated "Screw it up with sex too early?" Jonathon never really understood women.
* * *
I entered the new studio, the smell of tarnish and paint still fresh, although it was mixed with smells of stuffed mushrooms and little hors d'oeuvres. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a roving waiter, and made a bee-line for an appropriate looking corner - I could kinda hide, and see everything at once. Perfect.
The studio was gorgeous. Jonathon should be proud - it was airy and spacious, angles that could show off the work on the walls, side halls with private studios, large windows showing off the setting. I was immediately enamored of the space, and instantly reminded of how gifted an architect Jon was.
As my eyes skimmed the room, I saw her. She was dressed up, for once, with loose fitting silky pants, a tank top, and a silky shirt. She caught me looking at her, smiled, and walked briskly across the room. "June, I'm so glad you could come!"
"How could I miss it?" I grinned. "I get to celebrate both my favorite architect and my favorite potter at the same time." She smiled, grabbed my arm in hers, and led me over to her colleagues.
"June, I'd like you to meet Michael. Michael, this is June."
Michael put out his beefy hand, and shook mine firmly. "Hi there - I've heard quite a bit about you, June." I raised an eyebrow in Marguerita's direction, a question on my lips. "Don't worry, it was all good!" He laughed. "She tried, to no avail, to explain to me what you do."
I know that is a challenge for some to grasp. "Think of it as 3-D drawings of the brain, and what it's doing." I said.
His eyes lit up. "Oh, that's what Functional NR or whatever is?"
"Functional MRI," I said. "I won't bother you with the acronym. It's my job to write the software that allows researchers to see the 3D images of the brain. I'll be glad to show you some one day. There actually is an artist in NY who takes images like that, and combines them with other elements like words, pictures of buildings and the like. It's amazing work. He had an exhibit at the Whitney, actually."
Michael seemed impressed that a geek like me would know about art. Well, I can certainly see what Marguerita sees in you." I wondered whether this had been a test. If Michael likes you... I filed the question away for another day, another time.
Finally, after meeting and greeting the entire collective, we walked out together into the crisp September evening. The leaves were just beginning their slow move toward the oranges and reds of October. She reached out, took my hand, and we walked hand in hand down to the pond next to the studio.
"I love this pond, it gives me so much inspiration." A leaf from a tree overhanging the pond spiraled down to the surface, and rested there.
"I can see why - it's so peaceful. How did you all find this spot?"
"Michael inherited it. He's one of those people who inherited a lot of old money and property. He's the reason we can have the studio - none of the rest of us could have possibly afforded to have something like this built."
One puzzle piece put in place. I could never figure out how a set of struggling artists could have possibly afforded such a space. Even Marguerita, who'd been a physician, was struggling - she'd left her high earnings behind when she left medicine.
"So, I have an idea," she said. I noticed a faintly mischievous look on her face.
"You do eh?"
"Yes, I do. An old friend of mine just called. She owns a B&B on the West End in P-Town. She said that anytime I wanted to come up for a few nights, they'd have room. It's off season, and it's a wonderful time to be up there."
I sighed. "I love to be there in the fall. So, you're inviting me...?"
She grinned. "Yes... You up for it? How about the weekend of the 7th - what, two weeks?"
I resisted the temptation to whip out my Palm. But I knew my schedule. Weekends were empty without Marguerita. We'd been dating for about 3 weeks, and I realized that this probably was shit or get off the pot time. Getting off the pot was not an option, so...
"Shit."
"Shit?" She looked puzzled. "You can't go?"
I looked sheepishly at her. "Oh, no, I can go, it was nothing, sorry. something that just went through my head. Yeah, I'm psyched, let's go!"
She still looked puzzled, but I could tell she was filing the question away for later.
***
Marguerita was an Aries, and she took astrology seriously. I believe it was our third date, when she asked me the date and time I was born. She asked it with such seriousness, that I wondered whether our next conversation was going to be one where she explained to me how we never could make it because our charts weren't in alignment or something. Turns out, Leos and Aries do pretty well with each other. That was a relief.
It wouldn't have surprised me if she had chosen some auspicious celestial arrangement for our first weekend together. I was more nervous about it than I'd been about anything in the past, oh, 10 years or so. I can't pinpoint why, except maybe it was that idea that I'd soldered into the chips in my brain that Marguerita was "the one", and that this was make or break it time.
It was that odd thing, where you want to be on your best behavior, but you also realize that if the person doesn't start to understand your quirks and wierdnesses, that they might get too surprised later. I was worried that she'd tell me I grew my toenails to long, or my short afro was too short, or I ate too much cheese, or my farts had a weird smell, or I didn't floss enough or ... it was harrowing.
***
"So... a weekend in P-town, eh?" Jon was smirking, while looking over the menu. "Patty Melt or Roast Turkey Sandwich? What do you think?"
"Turkey," I said. He was always disappointed by the Patty Melts. "And wipe that smirk offa your face." He can be so tiresome sometimes.
"Oh, come on, let me enjoy your excruciation." I wasn't happy. He was generally much more understanding, but this time, he seemed to want to gloat in the fact that I was feeling so self-conscious about the whole thing. I'm not sure what it was about this - I think perhaps he thought I was taking it all too seriously.
"I get the impression that Marguerita is in love with you - so chill out some, and just enjoy it." My left eyebrow lifted a tad.
"And why do you think that?" I asked quietly, desperately wanting to know the answer, but desperately wanting to not look desperate. But Jon knew both desperations, and seemed to be in a mood to rub my face in it. Then, the waitress, who he fancied, came with our order. He spent some minutes bantering with her (I could tell she liked him, too, and imagined exchanged phone numbers to come next). I was losing it.
"C'mon man, tell me, please?" I hated that neediness that crept into my voice.
He looked up, finally sympathetic. "She pretty much told me as much - I mean she didn't put it quite like 'I'm in love with June' but I ran into her last week, and she gave me this huge hug, and thanked me profusely for setting up that blind date. She said she was having the time of her life with you, and she thought you were the best thing to happen to her in a long time."
Given that I was sure that she was the best thing to happen to me, ever, it was a very nice thing to hear. Also, given that she was so willing to be so open with Jon about it, knowing that I'd be hearing it from him sooner or later, it felt good.
***
I looked over at Marguerita in the passenger seat of my car, with her relaxed look, flowing silk shirt, and newly shorn hair, hair I wanted to run my hands through. I realized then, that I'd finally get the chance. Somehow, the nervousness faded to the background, and at that moment, I was simply happy. Jon's "chill out some, and enjoy it" seemed to have won the day.