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| Other Writings | ||||
| RHODA'S MEMOIR, RHODA: HER FIRST NINETY YEARS IS NOW AVAILABLE AT: www.Amazon.com | ||||
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| A Luminous Experience | ||
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The moon, round and full, shining on the Adriatic on a warm evening in June 1980,
dominated the cloudless sky. Geoffrey Pembroke, my sixty-year-old British lover,
and I, sixty-two, were driving south toward Rome after a marvelous five-course dinner
in Venice. That dinner, served with five different wines, left me in a state of
exuberance bordering on levitation. How did I get here? I asked myself.
It all began a year earlier when Geoff and I had met at a linguistic conference in San Francisco. We had been in touch by telephone ever since then; Geoff had called me every morning since we had a tearful farewell at the airport as he left for Cambridge. One morning in June, a year after we'd parted, Geoff called and came immediately to the point. "How would you like to come to London for a few days and then drive to Rome with me via Venice? I have to be in Rome for an international conference. You have a school break about now, don't you? Just say yes, and I'll send you a ticket. When would you be able to leave?" I hesitated for a few seconds. Geoff would be paying the bills; I would be following his lead—was I willing to let go of independence as I saw it? I decided, and said yes. After arriving in London, Geoff installed me in a basement flat in the East End, on loan from a friend who was vacationing in Morocco. I became "the other woman," being available to Geoff whenever he was free. He was married, the father of grown children, tied down by what he called his "obligations." It was an interesting experiment for me, since I had been making decisions for myself for three decades, through three marriages and four careers. Shortly after I arrived, Geoff told me of his plan to drive through Europe to Venice, where another friend of his had loaned him his apartment on a canal for a week, and then we would drive to Rome. Geoff, an enthusiastic and persuasive lover, promised luxurious stays at historical inns, and it was easy for me to go along with the romantic prospects. I managed to visit London's museums, attend a few concerts, and in general absorb London life on my own. Geoff's visits in the evenings began to seem like frosting on the cake. Maybe life as "the other woman" wasn't so bad after all! When we got to Venice, however, Geoff got a call from a company in the United States which wanted him to consult on a TV special for a particular program connected with his research, and he took off for New York. I felt stranded and angry. Once again, however, a lifelong habit of making independent choices provided an alternative to what seemed like abandonment. Before I left Berkeley, I had gotten in touch with a friend whose daughter was a cellist in the Venice Symphony Orchestra, and I had her name and phone number. As soon as Geoff left, feeling isolated in my little apartment on that noisy canal, I called my friend's daughter and discovered that Robin was delighted to make contact with a friend from home. (Barbara, Robin's mother, was afraid that her daughter might fall for an itinerant Italian looking for a way to get to the United States, and that was one reason she wanted me to contact Robin). Robin came over and told me that the commune, in which my rented apartment was located, was the center for local communists and their families. They all gathered in the city square on Saturday nights, and she advised me to go if I wanted to sample Italian life at its most basic. Of course I went, and found a raised platform, about the size of a boxing ring, enclosed by ropes, where a small band was belting out Beatles and other sixties songs. Young men and women were hopping around, with parents and elders sitting at tables on ground level around the ring, drinking beer, wine and coffee. I had a good time, and restrained myself from mounting the steps to the platform and inviting one of the young men lounging around to dance with me. Robin invited me to come to a rehearsal at the Venice Opera House the next day. She was the only woman member of the orchestra, and I was anxious to hear what this group would do with Mahler's Fourth Symphony. Robin said she regarded that choice as torture because it was summer, and most of the orchestra members wanted something less demanding as the last program of the season. She said that her boyfriend would join us for drinks after the rehearsal. Barbara was right. The boyfriend was a gondolier, obviously not rich, and obviously devoted to Robin. I couldn't determine, from this first meeting, how Robin felt about him, although from the way they sat, with hands, arms, legs entwined, it was clear there was a strong connection between them. I invited Robin for lunch the next day. She immediately accused me of being a spy for her mother, and I readily accepted the accusation. So there we were. After clearing the air, Robin admitted that she was enchanted by Antonio. That was the word she used, "enchanted," so I asked her if she felt like a fairy princess. She was startled, and then she laughed and said, "If I'm a princess, does that make Tony a prince?" I didn't say anything, and into the silence she sighed, saying, "Tell Mom I'll be coming home in September, but I won't be bringing Tony with me. He's married, anyway." We both relaxed, and I told her a bit about my life, and how I was experimenting with the feeling of being "the other woman." I told her that I was sure by now that I didn't like it. Geoff returned at the end of the week, and we resumed our journey to Rome. We left Venice and were traveling down the coast of the Adriatic, having booked a small hotel down the road. "What a glorious night!" I stretched my arms over my head, and then leaned out of the window, savoring the warm, liquid air. Geoff kept his eyes on the curving road in front of us. "Mmmm," he murmured. Suddenly I said, "Pull over, Geoff. I want to walk on the beach." Once out of the car, feeling the pull of the full moon, the small, sparkling waves, I felt drawn as a magnet drags a metal file. The beach was empty; we were totally alone. Geoff stood silently beside me as I knelt to test the water. "Here," I said, handing him my shoes. Then I quickly stripped off pantyhose, skirt, blouse, brassiere, and thrust them at him. He stared at me, eyes wide, with a look of total surprise. Not giving him a chance to say anything, I strode boldly into the sea. It was bathwater warm, and came up to slightly above my ankles. Well! Might as well keep walking. The air caressed my naked body. I flung out my arms and imagined myself climbing the moonbeam ladder right up to the moon itself. Splashing on, the water stayed below my knees. In love with the night, the moon, the air, I kept plunking my feet into the warm sand, on and on and on. Finally, the water at my knees, I stretched out in the salty, silky waves. My hands touched bottom. I kept my face and head above water. Standing up, suddenly sober, I looked toward shore. I felt like a fool. There was Geoff, fingering his pale tie, watching me. What could he be thinking? Probably something like, "Good god! What is she doing? How silly! There's going to be sand all over the car!" I splashed hurriedly to the beach. Geoff stood silently as I approached. Without a word, he handed me my blouse and skirt, shoving brassiere and pantyhose into his pocket. Then he took out his handkerchief, bent down and lifted one foot, brushed it off, and slipped on a shoe. Then he lifted my other foot, brushed it off and slipped on the other shoe. With my hand on his shoulder for balance, a wave of love and gratitude swept over me. He was one unflappable Brit! Geoff gave me his hand and helped up the small embankment and into the car. We drove wordlessly to the hotel. I leaned my head back against the headrest, glorying in the silky feel the water left on my body, and ignored the stickiness of the salt. I tingled all over with the pleasure of that luminous moment, and looked at Geoff with deep appreciation. I touched his knee gently, and he grinned at me with amused acceptance. In the morning, over breakfast, Geoff told me that he was meeting his wife in Rome and that after the conference, they would go off to their place in Cyprus. He said he had already booked a hotel for me. Without realizing it, I must have given him a stony look, because he said, "Look, I'm not abandoning you; I just have other obligations. I'll be with you tonight, but I'll have to leave early in the morning." It was at that point that I decided my experiment was definitely over. I stood up and said, "Geoff, when we get to Rome, why don't you book a room for yourself, or join your wife at her hotel? Let's part now; I've had a marvelous vacation, and I'll fly back to Berkeley by myself." I leaned over and gave him a fraternal kiss. "You're right, you know. Obligations are always a first priority." Geoff grinned, in that charming way he had, stood up and embraced me. "You're a good sport," he said. "See you at the next conference in the States." |
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www.Amazon.com, www.Booksmith.com, Black Oak Books, Berkeley, Book Passage, Marin, and Capitola Book Cafe, CA |
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