I answered my cell phone on Thursday August 12th to a slightly British accent on the other line. It took me a minute to recognize that it was my big brother, Richard. I automatically changed my tone of voice to match his excitement. I hadn't spoken to him for nearly 2 years . And usually when he called, I had just realized, was when there was trouble or he needed help. I automatically froze, imagining the worst. I hadn't spoken to my dad in nearly a year as well. Couldn't even reach him on his birthday due to his evil little which of a wife hanging-up on me every chance she got. "Dad is turning 50 in a few days, you know that?", he said. "Of course I know that!", I answered back defensively. "Well he wants you to come to his birthday, he is throwing it in Paris and really wants the whole family there.", he said.Three things crossed quick-as-lightning through my head. One, why wasn't my dad calling to invite me? Two, Why was my brother calling me 2 days before I had to be there? Three, if they always had my phone number and were able to reach me, why hadn't either of them called before to make sure I was alive (what if I never answered the phone, as I often do)?"How did you find this number?, I asked. "I called mom and she gave it to me. Are you coming or not?" he answered.So that means that he calls mom. And mom has my number. Well why then hasn't she called me in more than a year?I spent days , nights, crying over feelings of being a psuedo-orphan. Irrational, shameful tears of lonliness, hopelessness. And all this time everyone is all cozy and family-esque. And me? Am I the black sheep? I can't imagine why. I'm caring, reliable, empathetic... Sure I have an issue with calling people, but apparently so does the rest of my family. But it's no excuse for a mother or a father not to call their child who is basically living alone (as far as they are concerned). Don't care if I'm healthy or sick, if I have money to clothe, feed , shelter myself. Don't worry about my school or my relationships with friends and boys. Alex's parent's have taken those roles as disciplinarians, consolers, worriers, menders, supporters. ... But why did they have to bear the burden if my whole family was alive, and well? While all these thoughts ran through my mind I continued the robotic answers back to my brother on the other line. " Are you married? Are you pregnant? Update me. I don't want any surprises for dad.", he said.Surprises?! Was he kidding? Was he under the impression I wouldn't let them know when I was pregnant, or married? And the very question infuriated me. It brought to lite just how little they had participated in my life the past few years. How little they really cared to know. "I don't want any surprises for my dad". What the hell did that mean? He wasn't even pretending to care about the content of the question. So what if he missed my wedding? Or the birth of my child? Just as long as dad wasn't surprised. I called Alex and told him the news. That my dad wanted me to go to his birthday in Paris in 2 days. He reminded me , through my delirium, that I had school and a business to run and responsibilities. How was I going to pay for the ticket? he had asked. I told him my dad is paying for the ticket , and will reimburse us when we get there. I told him I had to go, if I was invited, I had to. He confirmed that he too was invited. I told him of course, "But do you want to spend all that money and time from work? Will Vlad even let you go?", I said. Alex being the sensitive type, took this to mean I didn't want him there. The next quarter of an hour was spent reassuring him.We arrived in the airport in the morning of Bastille day 2008 in Paris, France. It took us a panicky 45 minutes to actually find my dad and Richard (my big brother). My dad was still using a cane and had aged quite a bit since the couple of years that I haven't seen him. Richard had lost weight and seemed older as well. My dad was wearing a bright red button down short-sleeve shirt with a big Chinese dragon on it, white pants, white shoes, and his cane had a big eagle (or Berkut , as he likes to call it) head on it. I felt a surge of relief when I saw them , and was a bit panicked. I had gained a bit of weight and we hadn't spoken in over a year. It was a bit awkward when our eyes first met. In my discomfort I up'ed the energy and threw my arms around my dad and brother and squealed with enthusiasm. Alex was obviously uncomfortable , so I joined his side again. I put my arm through his and caressed the top of his hand and pulled in closer to him and whispered "I love you Budah". He relaxed and smiled and said "I love you too." Of course he had to come. He was my rock, my lighthouse. What would I do without him here. My dad and brother were strangers to me in comparison. I would fall apart like a split bag of beans. Just crumble to the floor from all the anxiety and stress. But when I smelled the sweetness of Alex's skin and his rough skin under my soft hand everything was well in the world, and I was at peace. Nothing mattered, it was me and him against everyone else. We were like one entity . I imagined how it would be if he didn't get his boss to lend him the money to take this trip. I thought about that for a second. He was planning on returning in just a few days. The ticket alone cost $1750. Was he really so committed to me that he didn't want me going alone? Did he just not want me to go on vacation without him?
The driver was waiting with my dad, so when we arrived he led us to his black Mercedes and helped with the luggage. My dad as usual complained about the size and amount of luggage we had brought with us. He is a frequent traveler and his dad always taught him to just bring a carry-on so that luggage wouldn't get into the way of spontaneity . Mine and Alex's luggage took up the entire trunk, so Richard's and my dad's luggage went into the cabin. Once we were squished into the car my dad and Richard began to lecture me about weight loss and how I had ballooned to twice my size, blah blah blah. Nothing I hadn't heard before. When we parked outside the hotel in the Opera District of Paris, my dad asked Alex for $100 to pay the car service. This was unlike him and embarrassed me to no avail. Why would my dad ask him for money? I know Marik (Alex's dad) would never do that.When I walked into the small room on the third floor I realized where I was. I was in Paris. I was in Paris with Alex and my dad was a few doors down. I unpacked and changed. I was feeling so self-consciouses. What could I wear that would make me feel thinner. I was loosing my mind internally over the wardrobe selection. Before I could make my mind up there was a knock on the door. I opened it, expecting to see my brother or dad, but it was two strangers. They smiled at me as though their feeling wasn't mutual. " Privet Regina! Wow you've grown-up so much. Do you remember me?" , she said. It was a plump middle aged woman with thinning curly hair, a crooked smile and friendly eyes. She was accompanied by a tall , lanky guy in his mid-late twenties with a goofy smile. "Um, your face looks familiar, but I don't really know where from. Are your friends with my dad?", I lied. I had no idea who these people where, and their faces were not familiar. To be honest , I don't really recall their names even now. Let's call them Masha and Dima. They lived in London and drove here on their own car. Masha was a psychologist and Dima was a school teacher. I didn't really know what their relationship was and I was too embarrassed to ask. She was at least twice his age - but that never stopped my father. Masha, Dima, Richard, Alex and I went in search of a local cafe where we could grab a bite to eat. My dad was out in search of his father, who was supposed to meet him in the hotel. His father, technically my grandfather, was named Michael Berkut. He was a world famous Ballet director. He held the position as head Director of the Royal Ballet for 15 years in London. He was currently occupied with making tapes and books regarding folk dancing and its history. He lived in one of three places throughout the year. In his flat in London, or his apartment in Montreal, or in his villa somewhere in Italy. He was a shrew and kept mostly to himself. He was married once to a British woman and had been divorced for several decades now. Her name was Penelope, she still resided in London, and I had a sorted past with her as well. Both of them were expected to join us tonight at my dad's 50th birthday party. Michael had left a note for my dad with the concierge saying he was there about an hour ago and was staying at the Mercury Hotel near the Eiffel Tower. Sure Michael had a cell phone and could have left the number , but why? If he can make Arkady (my dad) run around a bit. We sat down at the cafe, crammed into a little corner, and I snuggled up against Alex, feeling once again, as though I was amongst strangers. We ordered the ( first of many on this trip ) a bottle of Rose` wine. The taste was comparable to pink lemonade with a splash of alcohol in it. Awful wine, if you ask me. I prefer a nice Chianti or Merlot - real wine in my opinion, not this young pink liquid they pass for wine. In France the wine color changes with the season. Red in the winter, Rose` in the Summer. Alex ordered a small sandwich and I had a small salad. When the bill came it was a solid $100 for the two of us. Alex and I looked at each other and realized it was a good idea that Alex was leaving in a few day's otherwise we would return to New York hungry and broke. Once Alex left to New York, my dad would start paying for me and that was a relief.
We were getting ready for the party and I had put on the dress I bought in Las Vegas for Val's spontaneous New Year's wedding. It was silk with yellow , black, and white swirls on it. And like most of my dresses, displayed my chest very nicely, drawing attention away from my increasingly large bottom and belly. I was in Paris after all , the land of stick thin models and high fashion. It shouldn't be much of a change from Manhattan, but it was. There was an air of sophistication, real or perceived, and I felt I had to match it. I put on my red pumps, did my hair and make-up - looked into the mirror and was not completely satisfied. While I was attending to myself, Alex all of a sudden started screaming "Shit, what the hell , where are they? Did you not pack them? I will kill you? Are you kidding? Where are they? I swear Regina if you didn't pack my cuff links I am going to kill you. All the shirts I brought can only be worn with cuff links - what am I supposed to wear?" I dropped what I was doing , in fear of ruining the night with Alex's perpetual sulking and mood swings, and started looking. Much good I was, I usually asked Alex to help me find something , I was , like he liked to call me , a blind bat. The item of my search could be lying right in front of me and I would never see it. This search reminded me of the airport earlier that day when I was looking for my dad and brother frantically with thoughts of abandonment rushing through my head. "I don't know baby. Maybe I forgot. I'm sorry. I can't find them. You look cute in the shirt your in right now. Why don't you wear this shirt. My brother is probably not going to dress up either." I said apologetically. "I'm not your brother. Forget it. I wanted to look nice today.... It's your dad's birthday and I am in a T-shirt." he said, infuriated. Oh no, I knew what that meant. That meant that for the next two day's , like his mother, he would hold a grudge and make my life living hell. I hated packing for him, but he was always to lazy and procrastinated so much that I always ended up doing it any way. After 4 years of packing and forgetting something all the time, or packing the wrong thing I was nervous every time he opened his suitcase.
We climbed into he tiny cab and Masha, Dima, Richard, Alex and I went to go meet my dad by a dock near the Eiffel Tower. The car stopped about 20 blocks away from where we needed to be and we climbed out. The road along the river , and all roads leading to the Tower were closed off due to Bastille Day. We began the walk down the boulevard along the river. The pebbles and dust kept creeping their way up through my peep-toe pumps. They looked like I had gone through war with them. The pebbles and dust scratched and dulled the surface of the shoes and I began to sweat. The sinking sun was beaming down on me as I struggled in my heels. My feet were throbbing in pain by the 10th block, and all the pebbles were cutting my feet. I was sweating so much my silk dress clung to me persistently. I held on to Alex's arm and cursed every smiling face around me. I clawed into Alex's arm with all my frustration. And instead of his usual reaction , especially after the cuff links incident, he was calm, empathetic, supportive, kind even. He made jokes and made me laugh my way through the pain. At that moment I really loved him more than any other living thing on the planet. I saw my dad a few blocks ahead, smiling his cautious smile. As if to say
you better hurry up young lady, your late. I shot back a glance and shook my head side to side as if to say,
don't you dare say one word, I am not in the mood. He understood my glance at once and didn't mention anything, just smiled at me knowingly. I pointed to my toes. He said, "Why did you wear heels?" I didn't answer, too infuriated to speak legibly. Next to my dad I saw an old old man , hunched over , with a crooked and pointy Jewish nose. White hair and dressed in a vest and tie. Next to him stood Penelope, with her red lipstick and crooked British teeth. Michael didn't even look my way. I hadn't spoken to him for nearly 10 years - and was not planning on starting now. Cordial. That's all I had to be, cordial.
We walked into the 5 start ship, docked right in front of the Eiffel Tower. The walls and ceilings of the ship/restaurant were clear glass. Chandeliers were hung from the glass ceiling and thick velvet curtains were everywhere. The host showed us to our table. The menu's said " August 14th, 2008 Bastille Day Luxury Cruise". Today was not technically my dad's birthday. Sure we celebrated and congratulated on the 14th every year, but he was actually born on the 13th. His looney-toons mom said that it was bad luck that he was born on the 13th. Maybe that's why she sent him to boarding school from when he was 6. We sat down and the wine was poured.
I was famished to say the least. But alas, the sterotypical french meal was served. A shot glass of asparagus soup, a dolop of frisee salad, a sliver of salmon, a trio of bite size stinky cheese, and a couple of macroons. Throughout this bite-size meal toasts were being made by all the guests to celebrate my dad's birhtday. Best of health, sucess, etc.. The sky grew darker above us while we made our way around Paris. The band played on , the violinist solo was sublime. Heidsieck &Co. Monopole Blue Top Champagne Brut was poured and it was time for Alex to make his toast (veryone else had made thier toasts already and out of tradition, Alex stood). He walked over to my dad at the other end of the table. I could'nt hear his toast through all the french chatter , music, glasses clanking together, laughter.... I asked my brother, "What did he say?". Before my brother could answer , all of a sudden the music stopped, the conversations in the restraunt were replaced with gasps and "Aww's". I turned to my dad to see what all the fuss was about and in mid-turn caught a glance of Alex, who was now uncomfortably sitting on one knee, his face red, his eyes wet with tears of what I can guess was excitment and anxiety. I saw the box. It was a typical black box, velvet, small. Everything seemed in slow motion. I lost my composure.. it all lasted like just about a minute or two , but felt liek an hour. I saw no one else. I didn't see my dad or brother tearing up, I didn't see the joy of seeing true romance in my grandfather's and his ex-wife's eyes. I didn't see couples throught this Parisian restraunt kissing and reminicing. I just saw my Alex, I saw the true love and excitment in his eyes. He had pulled it off, after 4 years of dating and waiting , he had successfully surprised me... and in Paris non-the-less. We had pulled up under the Eifel Tower again and the fireworks were glittering above our head's. The glass roof left nothing to the imagination... it was like a dream. I felt someone tapping me on the sholder, for a momoment I snapped out of my delirium, wiped my tears and turned to address the interuption. "You have to give him an answer Regina", said my brother. "Oh, oh, oh my God, yes, of course, I love you baby.", I said breathless. Alex slipped the blue topaz ring surrounded with a briliant ring of diamonds (I had been eeying at Scott's Jewler's in Brooklyn a few month's ago) on my left ring finger. Many years ago when we had just started dating I had worn a ruby ring on that finger given to me by Ann - he had asked me to take it off, he wanted to replace it with a ring of his own one day... and now he had. He stood and the music began again, the Parisians clapped and my dad's guests congradulated me while Alex kissed me over and over agian. I was happy and anxiouse and confused and in love and everything felt surreal. I was in awe and felt liek I was not even there. The photographer rushed over and congradulated us and saw a quick buck advantage and snapped a few pics. Alex said "You don't look happy. What's worng?". "Nothing, I am happy. I am just shocked. " and I gave him a reassuring kiss.
Then we started talking baout the logistics, about how he pulled it off. It turns out he didn't come here because he didn't want to let me go on vacation alone, but because he wanted to ask my dad for my hand and have a truly unique proposal...and he did, he did.
We ate the macaroons and discussed how we were disapoointed that none of the 3 digital cameras on the table were utilized to take a picutre of the moment. The moment had passed forever and only our memories held the images. It made me sad. The only thing Alex didn't think about...but maybe that was a good thing, because everyone on the boat and at the tabel were truly surprised.
The blue topaze shone on my finger and Alex couldnt take his hands off me , higging and kissing me without avail. We finished our meals and danced. I danced with Alex and with my dad and brother... it was a rare moment of peace and love.. of life.
We stepped off the boat and walked with the crowds towards the Eifel Tower and up a rue de something. We looked endlessy for a cab. We walked for about 10 blocks and found a cafe. Since no available cabs were in site we sat down and ordered some drinks. My dad , Alex and my brother walked to nearby hotels to see if they had concierge taxi services... without success. About an hour and a half later , when it seemed like we would be sleeping in this cafe, Alex was jetted down the street with the force of a mad man. My dad and brother saw what he was running after and joined his chase. The taxi saw Alex waiving him down and slowed to a stop , while my dad outran Alex and opened the door to negotiate. Alex hopped back to my side and his face was twisted in pain. "What happeend?" "I tripped on that hose on the floor when I was running for the cab". Great ! Now the rest of our vacation was sure to be spent in bed, by ourselves, with Paris in the background. Wait. That doesn't sound so bad.
I ran the hot water in the hotel bathroom. Filled the bathroom trash can with hot water and grabbed a bath towel and a mat. I placed the mat at the foot of the bed and topped it tith the trash can full of hot water. Alex lowered his foot into the trash can and winced in pain. I gave him two pills of Advil liquid gels and went to get ready for bed. Islipped into a lace baby doll and sprayed onsome perfume, might as well make the best of this night , for it was not to ever repeat again. I was a 23 year old woman, in Paris and had just gotten engaded... I had to take advantage of the moment. I dried his foot , rubbed somel otion on it, and put a sock on it. I placed his foot on a pile of pillows and layed down, resting my head on his chest. He kissed my forhead gently and we closed our eyes.
It was 330am before we opened them again. Alex was insistant on calling our friends and family to tell them the news. Due to the time differance it was the perfect moment to call. We called his parents first,
To be continued....
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