After the ballet, she invited me to her hotel for a cocktail. She was staying at the Stanhope on Fifth Avenue across from the Met. There was a small bar to the left as we entered the lobby; dark, quiet, intimate. We sat down at a corner table, knees touching occasionally, and talked about nothing in particular.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 By then I was nineteen, a sophomore at Columbia University and this was the second time that year she\u2019d come to the city to see me. She\u2019d visited once my freshman year but had written to me again, saying she was going to be in New York and had tickets to the ballet. Would I like to join her? I didn\u2019t say no.
\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 We finished our drinks, left the bar, walked across the elegant lobby to the elevator, and stepped in. Standing side-by-side, we stared straight ahead and rode it up to her floor without speaking. Then we walked the length of the lush-carpeted hallway. Stopping in front of her door, she used a key to unlock it. The entrance hallway was narrow and we brushed against each other. She closed the door and turned to face me. Grabbing my hand she pulled me close and kissed me softly. Then, the phone rang from inside the bedroom at the far end of the suite. She watched it ring a couple of times and looked at me.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cI\u2019m sorry\u201d, she said, \u201cIt\u2019s probably David. I have to answer.\u201d I nodded and watched her walk down the hallway and into the bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached across the nightstand and picked up the receiver. \u201cHello?\u201d, she said, making it sound as if she was alone. And in a way she was, because, for all intents and purposes, I had disappeared, having faded into the shadow by the door where she had left me. Silent and motionless, I watched her and listened.
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cHi, David!\u2026.. No, everything is fine\u2026..Yes, the performance was wonderful, we enjoyed it very much\u2026..What?\u2026..No, I didn\u2019t\u2026..No, I didn\u2019t David\u2026..I said, \u2018I\u2019\u2026..David, I\u2026..No, David, I said I\u2026..I didn\u2019t say \u2018We\u2019, I said \u2018I\u2019\u2026..Yes, I did\u2026..David, stop it\u2026..No, he\u2019s not here\u2026..No, I haven\u2019t seen him\u2026..Yes, I\u2019m sure\u2026..No\u2026..he\u2019s not here, will you stop it, please\u2026..Of course, I\u2019m sure\u2026..you misheard me\u2026..I\u2019m by myself, David\u2026..No, I\u2019m not lying\u2026..I promise\u2026..Okay\u2026..Okay.\u201d
\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 After hanging up the phone she sat still for a moment, then turned and looked at me. She wasn\u2019t as convincing as she believed she was. It was very quiet. I studied her image framed by the open bedroom door, and slowly that image began to recede from me, further and further into the distance, and finally to a distance no longer bridgeable. What had begun five years ago, when I was a fourteen-year-old boy, had just come to an end.
\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 When I reached for the doorknob, Gloria rose from the bed, walked to me, and touched my arm. But I couldn\u2019t speak, couldn\u2019t find any words. Staring down at my feet, for a moment I thought she might say something. But she only looked at me.\u00a0\u00a0Waiting. Finally, I said, \u201cI\u2019m going to go.\u201d She whispered, \u201cOkay\u201d, and let her hand slip from my arm. I opened the door and stepped out and began walking away. The only sound was the click of the door closing behind me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
After the ballet, she invited me to her hotel for a cocktail. She was staying at the Stanhope on Fifth Avenue across from the Met. There was a small bar to the left as we entered the lobby; dark, quiet, intimate. We sat down at a corner table, knees touching occasionally, and … <\/p>\n