Chapter 6

The night before the performance, Noble and Alexandra held each other in her boyfriend’s bed. They had just finished a round of love-making which lasted into the early hours of the morning. The stillness of the early hours permitted the soft shrill of crickets beyond the bay windows, which gave a sleepy, moonlit view of the oaks girdling the Dutch manor home, her skin as soft as Turkish silk, her blue-green eyes asking him questions without uttering a word. They held each other in the stillness, and Noble could have died under her body, and his existence would have made sense. It would have had a value beyond his rudimentary understanding. He was once a man of impressions, but as a result of the woman in his arms, he recorded every detail of her breathing, the way her body rose and fell atop his, her blonde hair tickling his chest, her lips tucked into his neck, her wide, smooth back rising and falling, rising and falling...

“I’m not tired,” he whispered.

“Me’neither,” she said. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“I never knew it would come to this. It’s funny when a person’s dream comes true. It feels so weird. I can’t believe it’s real.”

She kissed him and said: “Does that convince you?”

“I don’t know if I deserve to be so lucky,” he continued. “I’ve been so selfish, Alexandra. So very selfish. I used to hate the world so much that I wanted nothing to do with it, and my mother and my father fought a lot in our Vermont home. I hated them for that, and I hated this town, I hated everything. These past few weeks, I’m learning how to love, and it’s different, and Alexandra, I do love you. Really. I love you.”

“You think too much,” she said while kissing his neck. “Did anyone ever tell you you think too much?”

“There are many who are unhappy, the whole of their lives they scratch for a decent home and their families, and they pray, and it never happens for them, and I’ve always identified with them, the ones who never amount to anything.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Noble. You’ve accomplished great things. You’re highly intelligent, you’re successful and artistic, and a phenomenal lover, and you have me, Noble. I don’t see why you shoulder this incredible guilt. It’s like the whole world’s on top of you. You feel guilty for being successful. I can’t understand it.”

“Would you still love me, if I gave it all away. Just sold everything and traded my old life for a life of music?”

“I thought we already discussed this.”

“I need to hear it again. Please.”

“Yes, Noble. If you left your wealth for music, I’d still love you.”

“Even if I were broke and out on the street? It’s funny how no one loves the town bum, that old man who sits next to the pharmacy? What if I were him and you were you, and you walked by with your boyfriend? Or how about fifty years from now when I’m playing my guitar on the street corner, and I’m in rags, filthy rags, and my face was loaded with whiskers, and I played a tune no one liked, and then you walked by with your husband, fifty years later, would you still love a broken-down old man like me?”

She sat upright and turned on the table lamp.

“Why are you always testing me?” she sighed. “Why must I always jump through rings of fire or walk on hot coals? It’s like you’re testing me to see how much I care about you, and you ask me repeatedly, and each time the scenario gets worse and worse. Why do you insist on torturing me? I told you again and again, that I’m leaving my boyfriend. Why do you keep bugging me about it?”

“I’m doing it for a reason, Alexandra.”

“Then tell me. You don’t tell me anything. You’re always so vague, and at first I thought it mysterious, almost exotic in a way, but ever since I fell for you, I feel like you’re hiding things from me.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re entire life, Noble. Why can’t you let me in? Don’t you trust me enough? And we go these meetings together, and your talk is evasive and lofty. You’re never specific about where you’re going, what you’re doing, who you’re seeing. I mean what am I supposed to think? Maybe you’re seeing another woman, or maybe you’re really married?”

“I swear to you, I’m not seeing another woman, and I’m certainly not married,” as he put his head in her lap.

“Then why won’t you answer my questions? You’re almost like a politician in your answers.”

“Trust me. Please, trust me.”

“How can I?”

He kissed her thigh and moved up her stomach, then to her breasts, finally to her mouth. He reached over and turned off the lamp.

“If you weren’t so good in bed, I’d definitely leave you,” she whispered.

They fell into bed again and made love until daybreak. The glowing orb breaking through the foliage cast its orange light across their bed, and they were too exhausted for Noble’s routine getaway into town. He said he met Harry in the mornings, all in accordance with precise planning. He would attend the morning and afternoon meetings, and finally adjourn to the coffee house and play his heart out. Because he had frolicked through the night, as continuous love-making tends to invert the sleep cycle, he was too tired to move and fell soundly asleep, until of course, he heard the downstairs door slam and heavy steps shuffling up the staircase. He shook her a second time and then a third time, but to no avail, and before the door opened, he rolled from the bed and pulled himself under it. He pulled his clothes underneath with him.

The box spring sagged from above as the boyfriend sat on the vacant side of the bed, his pant-legs visible.

“I’m losing you, Alexandra,” said the muffled voice. “I know I’ve been away a lot, and we’ve had our problems, but I’m here to work them out. I don’t want to lose you, honey,” as he lay next to her, the box spring squeezing Noble’s head.

“I think it’s too late for that,” she said drowsily.

“I know I’ve treated you badly, honey. I’m here to make things right between us. I’ve been a jerk, a really big jerk, and I’ve even stopped drinking. I swear, I won’t touch another drop.”

“It’s not only your drinking,” she said, “it’s your lies, the many transparent lies you expect me to believe. I know you’re seeing someone else. Don’t insult me by sitting there with your dopey expression and denying it. I’m not an idiot. I know you’re seeing another woman. The trips to the West Coast were never for business, were they?”

He paused for a minute before coming up with an answer. Under the bed, Noble also waited. After the performance he would tell her, after the applause and many compliments by those in the audience he would confess his deceit. He no longer wanted to lie. She had already fallen for him and would have to accept him.

“No, they weren’t,” said the boyfriend, “and I’m sorry, but you became so cold and distant. We stopped making love, and you went to those damned AA meetings which divided us even more, and I couldn’t handle being so far removed from your life. We’ve worked hard to build this relationship, honey, and it’s worth salvaging, if you want my opinion. I swear to you, I’ll change, I won’t drink anymore, and we won’t involve my friends, in fact, we never have to see them again. I’ll never go astray again. Please, Alexandra.”

“It’s too late,” she said. “I’m sorry, Michael, it’s too late. Our relationship ended a long time ago, and at one time I did love you, but not anymore, and it’s not your fault. It’s the way things worked out. You lied to me too many times, and I stood by you while you saw other women, but not anymore. It’s over, and besides, I’m seeing someone else too.”

“Do you love him?” he asked wearily.

“Yes, I love him, and we’re moving in together. I’m sorry. Nothing you can say now will help us. It’s over, and by this time tomorrow, I’ll be living with him.”

The boyfriend shifted positions, which squeezed Noble’s head even more.

“How about one for old time’s sake?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

He got to his feet and said formally: “I’m conducting some business in town, and by the time I get back, I want you and your belongings out of here,” and he slammed the door on his way out.

Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief, and Noble slid from underneath the bed, the sheet wrapped around his naked body.

“You’re here?!” she exclaimed.

He jumped onto the bed and kissed her passionately.

“Then you heard what I said?” she asked.

“Every word, every last word, and I love you, Alexandra, I love you, and I always will.”

“When can I move in then?”

“All in due time. Tonight after the gig we can live together.”

And they made love a third time, after the boyfriend was out of the house.

Alexandra and Noble both attended the morning meeting at the church across from the supermarket. Harry was present. He wore a cotton khaki-suit which indicated the mystical thought-exchange. Noble couldn’t stop his thoughts from springing to the forefront of his brain, as he exploded with thoughts of his ‘love’ for Alexandra, a term he had never thought possible, and with each snippet of mental dialogue, Harry overtly rubbed his nose, or grazed his cheek, his pale blue eyes fixed on him throughout the meeting. Harry was definitely angry with him. Noble hadn’t called for several days, and Harry communicated his worry and anger.

‘This is not fun and games,’ thought Harry.

‘Yes, I know, Harry, but please, I’m involved with the girl of my dreams,’ thought Noble.

‘And what happens when you tell her the truth? You’re supposed to be doing the next right thing. Have you read any of the literature yet?’

‘No. I haven’t had the time.’

‘Bullshit, Noble. You’re headed for another relapse, you and she both.’

‘No need to worry, my stringent, nicely-dressed sponsor. I no longer need to drink after tonight when I perform my collection for all my friends, you included.’

Across from him, Harry rolled his eyes, and the meeting for a few minutes continued without incident, until he heard from behind him the two apparitions, the idol strumming his guitar, and the auto mechanic polishing the carburetor.

“Is this the way you want it? After the gig, you’ll let her know?” asked the idol.

“The sooner, the better, if you ask me,” said the mechanic.

“No one’s asking you,” fired Noble angrily.

“My friend has a point,” said the idol. “What makes you think she wouldn’t accept you for who you are? You used to be a damn fine musician. Now look at you. A liar and a cheat. It used to be that you were so dedicated to your music, and it seems you’ve left it for a woman.”

“Is it gonna be your music? Or the woman?” asked the auto mechanic, finally finished with his carburetor and admiring his work.

“I can have both, can’t I?” asked Noble.

“It doesn’t work that way,” said the idol. “Either you’re a dedicated musician in love with your guitar, or you assimilate into the rest of society, find a job, get married, and reduce your overall musicianship to a hobby. Are you prepared to make music a hobby, Noble? Are you prepared to leave your guitar for her?”

“I never thought of it that way,” said Noble after having pondered this carefully, “but if it came down to the choice of having her or becoming the musician I always wanted to be, why I’d choose my guitar just to play it for her. Is that so wrong of me? I love her, and I don’t understand why I have to choose. I wish I could have both. I don’t understand why I can’t have both.”

“That’s all we needed to know,” said the mechanic.

“Our work is done here,” said the idol. “You’re learning, Noble.”

“Wait! Wait!”

And the two apparitions melted into the dim of the congregation hall, as Alexandra squeezed his hand under the table, and the meeting commenced like nothing happened.

He wasn’t so worried about his choice. After all, the apparitions were only figments of his own imaginings, and hopefully he would avoid the sadness of making a choice. He thought he could have it all, although he did admit his guitar was further from his mind than before. His grand deception took center stage, and after the coffee house performance, he could settle down with his music and make love to Alexandra, whom he presumed would stay with him in the Oldsmobile, because she had nowhere to go. By the grip of her hand, he knew he had landed Alexandra, and the admission would make her angry and upset at first, but ultimately she would yield and accept his true identity.

At the meeting’s end, Noble made sure Harry would attend the gig.

Harry said knowingly: “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Ivan and Milo also said they would attend, and they wished him good luck.

“Break a leg,” said Ivan.

Alexandra returned to the Heights. She had packing to do. Noble, for most of the afternoon, isolated in his Oldsmobile and rehearsed for several hours. He knew the tunes by heart and found that he could improvise a little, giving his music more fluency as opposed to the rigidity of articulating each note. The relationship with his guitar had changed. He no longer held its body like the lifesaver in a turgid ocean. This worried him, but overall it was a blessing. Many musicians die with their art. Alexandra, in essence, saved his life, as the guitar was always too fickle a companion. It could surprise him on occasion when a chord followed another just right, or when a flawless jam caught a resonant riff, much like a rope-tow which pulls the piece along to its bitter conclusion. But other than these intermittent, lackluster joys, most of his sessions were battles with misery, despair, frustration, and exhaustion, a deep exhaustion. In the Oldsmobile he rehearsed through the afternoon, missing the noontime meeting. A weighty exhaustion overtook him, and after a final rehearsal, he napped in the back seat with the guitar in his lap.