A Midnight Sun Page 19

  “Don’t know Braff. I mean, what’s the harm? I mean, you know Syth. He wouldn’t say she’s good if he didn’t believe it himself.”

  An hour passes between us half arguing and dancing to music without lyrics that is wirier screeching and less enjoyable than I expected for this bar we usually come to. Marty has gotten it into his head that this is what people want to listen to on weekends.

  Braff walks off to order another drink. I know he’s angry and can tell Amistad agrees with him, but I decide it’s probably the best idea we have so far.

  When we leave the bar, Syth and Amistad hail a cab to share a ride home. They ask me if I want to come, but I stay behind waiting for Braff, who is talking to a friend before leaving. He lives only a few blocks away, so he almost always walks home after we’ve had too many drinks.

  When I see him walk my way, I get a sudden urge to flee which is counteracted by my increasing desire to throw my arms around him to kiss him. Instead of either of those, I smile a sheepish grin that feels odd on my face.

  “Are you taking a cab?” He slurs while smiling.

  I put my hands on my head trying to hold on to it before it spins cleanly off my neck. “Yeah…I guess, I need to…what do I need to?”

  “Come, Mirim. I’ll take you home.”

  “Not really necessary Braff, I really can find my way if I just…” I try hailing a cab but I can’t seem to find an empty taxi this late night. He stays near me.

  “I want to,” he whispers grabbing my hand. The feeling seizes the rest of my senses and I am mostly aware of my skin. It lights up, incandescent, against the cool air of the night. I realize I’m tugging away from him, but Braff never releases my hand.

  When we are sitting on the back of the taxi, I sit nestled inside his arm, the scent of his aftershave a faint cloud of earthy notes, clean and woodsy, sweet yet manly. In the silence of the ride to my house, I feel both his hands wrapping mine. He holds it to his mouth and kisses them gently before he pulls me in and parts my lips with his. I am dizzy and can’t tell if it is from being drunk or feeling so good. His lips are sweet with the taste of whiskey and warm despite the cold in the air.

  After kissing for a long time and without thinking why I was doing it, I pull from him.

  “Braff, I think it’s best if you go home after dropping me off.”

  “No, Mirim, why?” He sounds like a young boy who has been told to come in for dinner on a cool summer night. It makes me smile.

  “You are drunk and I’m tipsy, a little shocked, frankly. I think you’re…this should be, well…more proper.”

  He slumps in the seat, “Mirim, this is not a fly-by, I want you. I really want this.”

  “You’ve got this wrong. I do, too. It’s just…I want to be sober and fully aware of what is happening, fully into it, fully on you. Can you understand that?”

  He groans. “Yes, I understand. Come tomorrow night. I’ll make you dinner, the works, anything you like.”

  I try a smile and he kisses me again before I step out of the cab. He waves while groaning before the cab drives off.

  Chapter 36

  Marquee

  Here’s A Light & What It Means to Us.

  Oahu, September 21st, 1940

  Fitch is smoking a cigarette on a lounge chair of his patio, in the corner of Liberty and Wimple. He blows smoke to the night sky and hums to a song playing on the radio.

  Parker brings a tray with a glass bottle and two glasses.

  They clink before clinking again and he takes Parker into his arms for a quick spin. She squeals but twirls perfectly into an elegant dance attitude.

  “Still got some moves.” She says.

  “Oh, mam. Thank you kindly.”

  “I meant me, silly.”

  Laughing together, they sit on the lounge chairs to look up at the stars. The moon is almost full and shining brightly.

  “Do you know what they say Mrs. Gaynes that only the moon can be as bright as the sun but only, it has to shine at night. The difference in the moon is in the way it greets us in the night sky.

  “Full and bright and surrounded by stars?” Parker murmurs almost absentmindedly.

  Fitch comes to Parker, who is standing with her arms crossed and smiling, looking up at the moon. Her smile is troubling to me, like it’s about to fade. She looks like she longs for something hidden in the night, something she can’t seem to reach. Fitch hugs her from the waist and kisses the top of her head. “To me, Parker my dear, no moon, no star, no heaven is sweeter or brighter. You, my love, you are my sun.”

  Parker lifts her head and kisses his lips before walking away.

  “What is it dear,” he says, “Aren’t you happy?”

  Parker smiles weakly. “Yes, Fitch, Of course I am! It’s just…”

  “I understand. The life of an officer’s wife is not– “

  “Oh, darling, that’s not why I feel sad.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  “I miss it.” She is quiet a while and drinks from her glass before sitting on a lounge chair.

  Fitch, looking confused and a little afraid, walks over to her and sits on the other end of the chair to wait for what he sees that I also see, what is trembling just at the edge of her lips.

  “I miss my sun, Fitch.” She says looking up at the moon. Then turns to him.

  “A while ago, many years before I was able to dance like that,” she laughs pointing where they had just danced, “My mother came from Venezuela, with a dream under her sleeve. She was good Fitch. They called her the Nightingale. She called my father her blue jay because he is the one who gave her the nickname. My dad met her when she sang in a vaudeville act with a group of girls. Do you know they fell in love and married within a week’s time?”

  “You hadn’t told me this before. It explains why you love to sing too.”

  They walk into the house and I follow them. Parker continues to talk as she changes into her nightclothes.

  “My dad wasn’t well-off, but he worked hard. California was growing rapidly at the time and he took it in stride. They flourished together. My siblings and I…we had a good childhood, Fitch. But my mother…she always looked like there was something missing. She smoked a cigarette, sometimes, when she thought we were asleep. I’d always come to her and find her smoking. Trying to hide the cigarette, she’d say something like, ‘It’s cold. Aren’t you cold? Go to bed Parker, dear. It’s nearly midnight.’ Even though it usually wasn’t. I think she didn’t like it, that I always saw it, the cigarette.”

  Parker buttoned the shirt of Fitch’s pajamas. “What could you see?” He kissed her lips.

  “What she missed. She missed the stage.” Parker looks up at Fitch with loving eyes that glaze over before she walks away to ready the bed.

  Fitch sits on a wingchair in the corner and rolls a cigarette.

  “Don’t smoke, Fitch.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I promise it’s the last smoke before bed.” He lights it and blows smoke through the sides of his mouth. She looks at him sternly but he acts playful. “So, then, do you mean this for you as well, Parker.”

  “It’s true. Come to bed Fitch.” She says from under the covers. Her lips are upturned and she sees him from under her lashes, alluring and beckoning. “When I started acting on the stage, I used to smoke a cigarette like you are, and look up at the lights before a show. I remember thinking how warm the lights were, and how it felt to be under those warm lights, alive with excitement, sizzling in delight, you could say.”

  Fitch slides next to her into bed.

  “Then, when I started doing films, it was better. The lights are brighter and bigger. When I’m acting,” she sits on the bed and looks at Fitch, “When I’m in those lights Fitch, and the world changes into the film world, I am another. Those lights Fitch, they give me life. I think, when I’m tired and filming till late, I think of my mother, and I embrace myself and think, It’s nearly midnight, Parker. Go to bed dear. It’s cold. Aren’t you cold? But t
hen, I can’t help but smile and think, But, the sun’s still out mother. Look!”

  Parker looks up into the ceiling and raises a hand to follow her gaze, a gesture I could hardly take my eyes from. Her eyes are watery with tears.

  “If the lights are on, Fitch, the sun is still shining on me, even if it’s midnight.”

  “You miss it.”

  She assents while hugging him.

  “We’ll think of something dear. I’ll ask about being stationed in California next year. How’s that?”

  Parker’s face light’s up like the sun is actually on her shining. He smiles gently and kisses her. “You are still my sun, sweetest, dear Parker.”

  “Maybe, together we are brighter, and it’s past midnight.” Parker kisses him seductively and turns the light off.

  I decide to leave the scene, too private for my taste.

  When I wake in the middle of the night, I have tears on my cheeks. I got to the kitchen for a glass of water and look at the clock, it’s nearly morning when I sit to write this in my journal.

  ------------------

  After I finish writing, I turn on the television but fall asleep almost immediately. Later, a knock on my door wakes me. When I open it, I see Braff with a tray of food, a bag, and a dozen sunflowers in a rudimentary vase. I was floored.

  “I couldn’t wait for dinner. Breakfast?”

  The rest of what happened I won’t write in here, let’s say he and I made some beautiful light together, way until past midnight.

  Chapter 37

  Marquee

  And Ride on Till Morning, Or Until You Find Answers.

  Seattle, February 3rd, 1990

  Syth calls and tells me he’ll be coming at around noon to go see Gloria, the woman who Syth thinks might know more about what is happening. Braff and I have a late breakfast and scramble to get ready before Syth and Amistad show up. He’s honking from his convertible, which he only uses on Sundays and special occasions.

  I run around the apartment for a shoe I can’t find. Braff is ready and waiting at the door while looking at his watch. His relaxed posture says he’s not anxious to get going but he taps his watch like he is.

  When I finally find the shoe, I run to the door and before we leave, Braff and I kiss for the first time in the morning.

  His lips are sweeter than the previous night and I somehow find the way he holds me more exhilarating than I have before. I forget the shoe and limp across the room momentarily to the sight of his eyes glancing my way. Nay, staring me down as I waltz sans left-foot moccasin all the way into the bathroom.

  The shoe stares back at me and a thrill runs down the length of my spine. I shiver and sit on the pile of towels and bed sheets I’ve yet to launder. I feel dizzy and try to decide if he is watching and if I am delirious or falling for him, but a tune enters my head and it floats there like a plume of memories with a collective smoke of memories that chase my own. It spins uncomfortably slow in my mind and I like the way it makes me dizzy with various emotions somehow. It says aloha, says, I am willing to wait for your recognition until a pop in my ear seizes me, and Braff’s face fills my eyes, which have begun to well with tears I recognize as somebody else’s. He kisses me softly and hunkers to where I’m sitting. “Again?” He whispers.

  I nod and swim in thoughts which carry me into his arms. I cry against his shoulder and ask him to bring me to bed. My right shoe pops off and clatters on the parquet floor before Braff tucks me safely under the covers. The sheets smell of sea breeze and vanilla, his perfume and coconut and lime, my conditioner, laced with the faint zing of sex and midnight kisses. I curl inside them and focus on the song in my head.

  A rustling which sounds like canceled plans becomes the announcement of a guest. I feel delirious and feverish. Braff brings me cold tea and tells me it has sugar and raspberry crushed at the bottom, just like I like it. Over ice with lots of seltzer, but all I hear is, a song for you, my one and only you.

  Where is she? I see the rain, pelting a window hard and the hills mocking her smoldering eyes of blue. I feel my body curl into the semblance of a child, which tells me there is some dreaming to be done. I look at Braff and tell him I have to stay and be gone for the rest of the day, do you understand?

  He says nothing and covers me further with thick blankets.

  The next time I open my eyes my mother is sitting on a patio chair, looking at the mountains and holding her rosary, telling Braff I have to see a doctor. She sits near Amistad, and Syth is handing her a cold glass my dad sips from before passing it to her.

  My mind is reeling and trying to understand where I am. Just seconds ago, I was lying in a satin bed with my legs wrapping around a man and lights shone from above. I was -or Parker was- furious and looking for my -her- son. We strode halfway through the set, naked and livid, yelling and slurring words, asking the director for the time he wouldn't grant us. Her hands were heavy with drugs and her head was liquid lava -hot and painful. But I understood for both of us. Her lines were there but she managed to speak them, if barely. A gloss ran over her stockings, tearing at the ankle, but it didn't work, she tore them off and told the costume assistant to wipe the grin off her face and bring her a new pair of the nice stockings. The ones with the lace and the line on the back the director was looking forward to shooting. The robe she wore, which covered her knees and made her feel cold and warm at the same time. “Where is Arty'? Why is my child crying? WHO THE FUCK IS THE BLONDE KISSING MY HUSBAND IN THE BACKSEAT OF HIS CAR?”

  I yelled with her and collapsed into a sweltering dream of pink cotton candy clouds and a fairground. From this point forward, it was me and Braff kissing and moaning, or laughing and cursing at the ride operators for another ride. Then, I shot out of bed into the craziness that was my house and people arriving to….to…what? ¨No, I told you more isn't enough. I want the stage!” I yelled at Taddy and she backed out of my room, frightened. My mother peered in and slowly shuffled into my bed, covering my shoulders with a scarf I threw at her. I immediately asked for her forgiveness then teared up and covered my face.

  I remembered possessions with a hint of sarcasm and told her, after wiping my mouth of an invisible red lipstick Parker was wearing, to call a priest. She chastised me with the hand wearing my grandmother’s rosary.

  Fully awake after some time, feeling more myself, quieter and weepy, I wrapped in my blankets and told Momma to fetch a glass of wine. “Soon, I will be finding Fitch again,” I say to her and blacked out inside the cold blankets of my bedroom suite.

  Chapter 38

  Marquee

  I’ll Love You till The Cows Come Home

  Seattle, February 5th, 1990

  Two days later, I am standing in front of a field of poppies, hugging myself against the winter chill and smiling at what we went through.

  Parker is still fresh in my mind but the fact she seems gone from me is like a phantom limb vanishing and returning, her hands are still warm with tears in mine and I have an aging feeling that she will be gone before she leaves forever.

  Braff came to my home and broke into my room shouting my name while my mother held me so I could slide my feet into my slippers.

  “I found her!” He repeated over and over again until he reached me and grasped my arms in his warm hands.

  “You found who?” My mother shouted back until he blurted the name I most wanted to hear.

  “Parker´s daughter. Shelby, Shelby McNamara. She is alive and well in the wine country and cannot wait to meet you.

  I open my dry mouth and wanted to say thank you but I whispered I love you and surprised myself. “How old is she?”

  “What? I´m not sure. Her age? Why is that relevant. Get dressed!”

  "Braff, I do not feel well." My body felt weak and dull, like a river of old notions, had washed over my skin, "but I´ll make do. Mom, please find me a pair of cotton slacks and the purple jacket." I turned to him expecting a reply but I ran into his face instead, "Jesus Christ Braff!"

&n
bsp; "I´m sorry but we really must press on. Can't find Syth and Amistad is in L.A. with clients. Please hurry because our plane leaves in two hours."

  "Excuse me?"

  "She lives in New Mexico."

  On our way to the tarmac, he explains he found her via a search through the studious and his contact.

  The morning turned quickly into noon over the horizon in the distance and I felt better after a meal which mostly consisted of my excessive chewing and many thoughtful glances out the window. Something felt off and winding. I had no visions or flashbacks on the way to New Mexico, but felt a longing I couldn't explain.

  Braff was mostly on the phone and sipping of soda whisky with a twist, making sure I glanced his way from time to time. I craved his looks. They incited a fascination with a part of me I had with which only recently I had been acquainted. Braff was fast becoming more and I needed time after this was over to write Parker´s story, but I wanted it to be with him and I felt he knew it well.

  After landing on a hot asphalt desert, we mounted a sky-blue Cadillac with a fully equipped minibar and champagne. The driver had a newsboy cap on and only nodded when Braff spoke to him. The stubble on his cheek made me curious and I saw a droplet of sweat run down his cheek, strangely, since the car was incredibly cold and luxurious. I felt nausea for a second and it passed. It was Braff´s cologne. Then, a current struck my spine, and I sat upright brimming and smiling. "I feel her," I told Braff.