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When I called home, a friend from Ripley & Wingardt talked frantically about not being able to reach me, and how could you just leave so abruptly. Are you really riding on a motorcycle with a kid young enough to be my son? Had you gone mad?
No, I wasn’t really mad.
And did you know that your parents were frantic, too?
Hum. After years of careful distance, my parents finally noticed I’d done something out of sync? This was interesting. I wondered how long they would worry. If they’d finally give up. Or if they’d file a missing persons report and I’d have half the country looking for me.
I decided to call them that night since the phone was so handy. They were in New York, which was a surprise, given that this was the middle of June, and they should have been at their estate outside of Paris.
“No, I’m not going back at Ripley & Wingardt. Yes, I was not out of my mind, and I’m too young for a midlife crises. No, Mom, I’m not depressed. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I don’t need to see a shrink.” She didn’t understand. Of course neither did I, really. “Yes, he’s just twenty-six, but a very mature twenty-six.” KC smiled hearing me defend him. “No, Daddy, you don’t need to send a posse. I can handle myself. I’m thirty-two, not a child.” The conversation didn’t change, so I finally had to call it quits. At least they knew I wasn’t coming back for a while. Hopefully, they believed I was safe.
“So, why did you leave Rossi?” KC asked me the second night in the motel.
The question came out of the blue, a pretty decent shock after the rattling conversation with my parents.
“I have to tell you now?” I grumbled.
“Might as well get it out of the way. I’m going to hound you until you do.”
Maybe it was apropos for the time—considering what this journey meant to me. Leaving Rossi might have been my last really independent act until this one—unless going to KC in the first pla
ce counts as independent.
I let the memory rattle around in my head for several minutes. Then went to the tiny fridge and pulled out some Haagen Das—double chocolate, what my nerves needed for settling. After dishing up a bowl—offering one to KC that he refused—I landed back on the bed starting my reminiscence as KC was polishing his leather boots.
“I finished my master’s degree—all my ducks in a row, eggs in a basket; I’d passed with flying colors—happily. Even Rossi was happy with me, one of the first times he showed any great excitement with my success at the art for which he was a proven master.
“We were at dinner with friends, where he was toasting my graduation, and suddenly he spills out these great plans for me. He wanted to keep me under his control—more study, a sabbatical to study ancient architecture, and more technical work that he thought I needed to polish my craft. I froze hearing the monologue; and as soon as convenient, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. Even with a few glasses of wine in my system, my throat felt as though someone was strangling me. There was a noose around my neck; I couldn’t breathe.
Meredith joined me in the bathroom looking worried. I didn’t want her there, but where Meredith went she stayed until she was ready to leave.
“You okay, Gail?” Meredith asked the teary-eyed redhead.
“No, I’m not,” she answered directly.
“Care to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Yes, I mean no…” this wasn’t coming out right. “You’re too close to him,” Gail finally declared.
Meredith could be kind. Stroking the young woman’s face she peered at her sweetly, “Why don’t you tell me. I won’t say a word to Rossi.”
Could she believe that? Or did it really matter what Meredith did with the information? “I don’t want him controlling my career anymore,” Gail said.
“No?”
“He owns me, and I just can’t…” She was about to break down, for five minutes fighting the certainty of that event. But then, she’d only smear her make-up and that would make a scene with Rossi later. He always noticed such things; and she didn’t want to go into the whole damned mess—at least not this night. This was supposed to be a celebration and she didn’t want her ass burning for her honest feelings.
“Why don’t you talk to him?” Meredith suggested.
“I won’t do any good.”
“It might.”
“Never.”
The older woman searched Gail’s face, while searching her own thoughts. “You’re not really happy, are you?”
“Happy?” she shook her head, no. “I’m not sure what happy is. I’m happy to be done with school—except Rossi seems to have even more ready for me. I don’t want to live with him anymore. It doesn’t feel right.”
