Read Truths of the Heart Online
Authors: G.L. Rockey
Truths of the Heart (4 page)
“Hell of a note if that bimbo remark had ended up in Rachelle's ear.”
Corky slapped Carl's shoulder. “My treat stud, tonight's gonna be your bachelor
party, you have a reputation to maintain.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Rachelle opened her eyes to the ringing of the bedside phone. She
looked at caller ID: Carl.
RING.
She looked at the clock radio time. 12:55 A.M.!
RING.
“Rats.” She had fallen asleep, missed the game. She had also forgotten
to turn on the answering machine.
RING.
“Rats.”
She nudged T.S. “Why did you let me fall asleep, you?”
He opened his eyes and yawned.
She picked up the phone and answered lovingly, “Hello Carl.”
“Forgot to turn the answering machine on.”
“I'm sorry, it was T.S.'s fault.”
“Funny.”
T.S. gave Rachelle the evil eye, jumped to the floor and went into the hallway.
Carl: “How many times do I have to remind you, sweets, leave that answering
machine on.”
“I forgot, I….”
“How'd you like the game?”
“I … Carl … I fell asleep.”
Silence then, “Are you shittin me!”
“I….”
“My premiere and she falls asleep, Jesus Christ.”
“Carl, I….”
“Dearest, I told you I want you to listen, I need your input, babe.
I'll be auditioning every time I do a game.”
“I'm sorry….”
“Sorry is for losers.”
CLICK.
She started counting, “One, two, three, four…” the phone began ringing again.
ID, Carl. She pushed the on button. “Hi.”
“Don't forget to pick me up at the airport tomorrow, 5:30.”
“I won't forget.”
“Promises promises.”
“Carl….”
“Cork and I are going to grab something to eat.”
“Watch those carbs.”
“What you eat?”
“Just a salad.”
“Where?”
“Yellow brick road.”
“Where?”
“I told you, Wendy's.”
“That's all you had?”
“Yes.”
“I hate them Wendy's.”
“We know.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“See you then.”
“You forgot something.”
“I did?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She hung up, leaned back against the pillow, now wide awake, and T.S. returned
to his previous spot by her side.
“You're bad.” She said.
He yawned and settled in.
She looked at the time: 1:05. Reality too much with her, going back to sleep
not an option, she took up her writing journal and began writing:
Monday, A.M. - Feeling as if I'm in a time warp, excited (words not
adequate) about upcoming class. Hoping the students are too … so much to
explore … looking forward … so excited I would, if necessary, watch TV for a
week to teach it. It is going to be exhilarating. I can't wait to see the
faces, meet the students, read some writing from (hopefully) a new voice. It's
like opening a new novel, beginning to read; anticipating the suspense, wishing
it would never end
….
I wonder if the other thing is the right thing to do … a little late … shouldn't
even be thinking these thoughts, but … I wonder about Carl. I know he is
selfish, possessive, but underneath I think he loves me, cares for me, wants to
protect me … I don't need protection, thank you. I don't need caring for
either. I do need that other thing, maybe more than I should. What the hell, I
like sex and I like men. Is that bad? Look at Elisabeth, I think she smolders
hot because she didn't get a winkie when they passed them out … ENOUGH of that!
It will be nice to go to faculty parties or holiday affairs not having to worry
about a date, blind or otherwise, awkward looks from people. I feel they wonder
how can someone that attractive (can't help it, I am, good genes, both parents
were striking) not have a man hanging on each arm. Alas, society. But why Carl?
Aside from animal sex, he pursued me, I like to be pursued. Most males are
afraid of me, intimidated, I think, by my mind and my body. Don't want to make
another mistake in affairs-of-the-heart. Picking men (past tense please) was a total
disaster. Simply put, you have never met anyone that satisfied you mentally,
emotionally, and physically: the famous shining triple-threat knight. My
ultimate fantasy has always been to be stimulated mentally, emotionally, and
physically in one long night of ecstasy. But alas, methinks this knight does
not exist. To wit: sophomore in high school, I allowed myself to be maneuvered
by freshman Tom Nesbit into secluded woods. Pinned against an oak tree, I helped
him with his first kiss, a condom in my purse; I led him right up to a
premature ejaculation that scarred him forever. Then there was Ed. Had a
Plymouth convertible, turned out he was an alcoholic at eighteen. Then came
Anthony. Immature, angry at the world, he was like a Friday night ride on a
carnival Ferris wheel. In love with himself, his idea of the ultimate was to
look at me in the nude while he ministered to himself. Then he whined because I
wasn't satisfied. After Anthony, came graduate student, architect major, Allen
Deebs. Spent emotional time together—holding hands, looking at the stars,
brooding, languishing, sighing. But alas, he came far short in the physical
area (is that Freudian or what). Whatever, he simply had little use for sex of
any kind. Then there is Carl, aside from animal lust, his interests lie in
football, football, and football. Emotions run to an occasional game of golf
and, once in a while, fishing. Prefers power boats to sailing. Reading consists
of Playboy and Sports Illustrated. He lacks the first two rungs but he makes up
for the other two in the rack. Ouch! There's a dark side to you, Z. There's a
dark side to everybody. I wonder if maybe my knight is a she … but no that can't
be. Experimented in high school years, remember Donna? Left me blank. No, been
there, done that, if such a triple threat knight exists, the creature has to be
male.
It will be all right, I love Carl, his overprotectiveness is his way of
showing his love. Socially, a necessity, good thing to do, fills that physical
need and besides, always did like a strong wind at my back. I wonder about Dad.
I wonder why he took his life. What was he thinking? Looking for meaning in
life. Finding that there was none. I think it was more … God knows. Onward, one
day at a time, actually one hour at a time. I wonder how people who have a
terrible disease go on, hope? What if this is it? I miss my father.
She took, kept between the last page and back cover, a yellowed and
faded obituary clipping from the Lansing State Journal and read:
Eric Paul Zannes, 1026 Tulip Drive, Grand Ledge, MI, died last Sunday
while boating at Houghton Lake. Mr. Zannes, an artist, was 45. Cause of death
was accidental drowning.
She stopped reading,
Accidental drowning, my foot … how does a
forty-five year old man, skilled boater, tie a fifty-pound anchor around his
neck and fall into twenty feet of water, accidentally?
She recalled her mother's version given to a Lansing State Journal obit
writer: “Eric slipped while anchoring and glided gently into the deep cool
waters he so loved.”
Dear mother believed that until the day she died, but I
know better...
She closed that thought like the casket lid the funeral director had
dropped over her father's cold dead face, and continued reading the newspaper
obit:
Mr. Zannes was the husband of long time Lansing librarian Esther
Zannes. Eric, a native of Grand Ledge, attended Central Michigan University
where he earned a BA in Fine Arts. Graduated, he moved to Grand Ledge, and began
his art career. He was affectionately known as EZ, a nickname given by his
college classmates because of his reputation for being a soft touch. He most
enjoyed going to the family cottage on Lake Houghton, where he sailed, weather
permitting, his sloop affectionately named Esther II. Eric was the perennial
winner of the Grand Ledge Art's Festival and was the person neighbors turned to
for advice on decorating their homes. There will be no formal funeral services
but friends may gather for the cortege to the New Hope Cemetery, Wednesday at
one P.M. He is survived by wife Esther and daughter Rachelle
.
Rachelle closed her journal, “Forty-five years in the 'hammer' and you
get a couple inches on page 20 of the local newspaper.”
She recalled Dylan Thomas's famous lines of poetry,
“Do not go
gentle into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
She whispered, “Did you go gently, father, or did you rage … father … why?”
She opened again her journal and read the translation of
Ithaka
her father had attached to the inside front cover of her first journal he had
given her on her sixteenth birthday. Over the years, when she started a new
volume, she had moved the poem to the new. She read:
As you set out in search of Ithaka
Pray that your journey be long,
full of adventures, full of awakenings,
Do not fear the monsters of old…
You will not meet them in your travels
if your thoughts are exalted and remain high,
if authentic passions stir your mind, body and spirit.
You will not encounter the fearful monsters
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up in front of you.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But don't hurry the journey.
Better it lasts for years,
So you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy
with all you've gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to
make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you
will understand what these Ithakas have meant.
—Greek poet C. P. Cavafy
Love, Dad
“Yes, and so there.” She stoked T.S. “I have no idea the where, why and
what this journey is all about, do you?”
He yawned.
“I see.”
Drowsiness coming on, she put pen and journal on her night stand, checked
the time, 2:00 A.M., nudged T.S. over, and snapped the light off. The sound of
the ceiling fan blades swishing the darkness, her eyes open, thoughts went to
Com. 501:
Thirteen students signed up, what do they expect, what will they
be like....
Her thoughts drifted to the weave of a Persian Rug … then next
Saturday's monster at Ford Field half time.
CHAPTER SIX
The Forty-Niner—Lions' post game show wrapped up, Carl and Corky, on their
way to Chinatown and dinner, sat in the back seat of a Checker Cab. The night
lights of San Francisco's skyline like a slow moving virtual reality video,
Corky said, “Great job tonight Carl, really singular.”
“You think?” Carl dragged on a Kool King.
“Yep.”
“Thanks.”
“This might be a little premature but you know, we've been kicking an idea
around at WJJ, the brass, me, we're thinking about making a regular slot for
you.”
“What a ya mean?”
“A regular slot, year round, on WJJ, sports talk radio show, thinking
of calling it 'Playing for Keeps'.”
“You're honking me.”
“Not at all. It'll be a call-in show, 3-6 P.M., Monday through Friday,
be a killer.”
“You really are honking me, aren't you?”
“Nope.”
“What about the Lions front office, what do they say?”
“Already talked to them, no problem there, a natural.” Corky paused
then said, “What about Rachelle?”
“What about her?”
“Her Michigan State University job, East Lansing … you’ll probably need
to move to Detroit … long commute otherwise.”
“This a firm offer?”
“Yep, we have to get THAX corporate approval, but that's not a
problem.”
“Hot damn, this is great.”
“Rachelle would buy into it?”
“Hell yes, when do we start?”
“Get this wedding under your belt, honeymoon, then we'll go from there,
we're thinking mid September premiere, get some promotion going.”
“Hell's fire, yes, playing for keeps, big man.” Carl offered a high
five.