Chapter Six
It’s Complicated
This time Bernie only had to look at me and I knew he wanted a word, well, more than one, so I followed him into his office happily. Actually, I did most everything happily these days, and as I sat down Bernie smirked and settled his bulk into the big chair for the tête-à-tête.
“Gary,” he wheezed, possibly from his cigar habit, “wipe that goddamned grin off your face.”
“Oh, sorry, Bernie.”
But it was hard. Ever since my Platonic relationship or friendship with Helena, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“You look like you’ve got stars in your eyes, for chrissake.”
Well, I felt like I had stars on my brain, at least. I’d never seen so many stars before, night or day, and all because of Plato, and Jasper, and this wonderful new expanding universe thanks to Helena. Bernie continued.
“You know, Gary, you’ve been running around the office like Patch Adams. Smiling isn’t good for the workplace: we’re numbers people. We need serious. One misplaced decimal point and then we’ve got the IRS breathing down our clients’ necks and then our clients breathing down our necks. They don’t pay us the big bucks to run a circus act. We’ve got to look the part, kid.”
“Sorry, Bernie, I hope it hasn’t affected my work.”
“Who said anything about your work? That’s not the issue. Your work’s perfect, even more perfect than usual. It’s all this smiling and cheer. I know you’ve got a good setup over there in Strawberry Fields, but sometimes too much can be too much.”
Then he pinched my cheek and smiled, he couldn’t help himself I guess, and said, “You’re a lucky son of a gun. And that Miranda!” He checked himself abruptly, however, possibly because he recalled the night we shared a Romeo y Julieta and another unnamed hand-rolled item at my place while Jennifer was experimenting with another Musketeer.
“Listen, kid, I wouldn’t have mentioned anything if you weren’t down to skin and bones.”
True, I had lost a few pounds, but that was only because I didn’t have much appetite for anything except my Platonic astroparticle physicist friend Helena.
“And forget about the coffee, let’s get right down to the cigars: tomorrow night. I’ve still got a few from your stash, and it’ll give me an excuse not to hear another damned string quartet with Gertrude.”
Just before we left his corner office with floor to ceiling glass and a view of most of the rooftops of the lower part of Manhattan, he paused.
“Hey, maybe you can do me a favor and save me an argument with the wife. See if your . . . see if Miranda might be interested in the concert. I forget which quartet is playing, they all look and sound alike to me, but they’re a big deal, at least Gertrude can’t stop talking about them, whoever they are. And Miranda plays the violin, right?”
“Yeah, like an angel.”
“I bet. And she could talk shop with Gertrude and Gertrude would eat it up, believe me. Give her a call and tell her Uncle Bernie has a seat for her front and center. I’d get one for your other . . . for Jennifer too, but the damned thing is sold out and I hear that even the scalpers are dry.”
“Sure thing, Bernie, I’ll give her a call. And Jennifer won’t mind, don’t worry. She can use a little down time to herself.”
“There’s nothing down about that chick, Gary, you lucky goddamned devil.”
Then he winked, pinched the cheek again, grabbed my neck and, finally, slapped me on the back propelling me to my cubicle. I was smiling again.
Ω Ω Ω
Under ordinary circumstances, say, in the ordinary world, or universe, a guy like me might be expected to be fending off slings and arrows and bearing fardels and whatnot out of agenbite of inwit and such like, but because I was fortunate enough to be a denizen of Shangri-La I could get off scot-free. Besides, as Helena explained it while we strolled on the east side of Central Park, it all boiled down to dice.
“Think of it this way, darling,” she urged, “Einstein was wrong about one thing: the universe is a crapshoot. Anything can happen. Like you and me.”
And after our kiss, a kiss during which I saw stars when I closed my eyes and while they were open too, in hers I might add, I added, “I’m beginning to believe it.”
“It’s not about belief, Gary, it’s science.”
We were about to continue our investigations into the science of osculation when a guy in a monstrous Harley-Davidson pulled right up onto the sidewalk and revved the engine and stared at Helena. I was about to sidle in front of my Platonic friend but she brushed me back.
“I’ll handle this, stay put.”
Next thing I know the guy took off his helmet and turned out to be a girl with several pieces of metal dangling from various appendages and a sneer on two of them too. Whatever Helena said, it worked, because the girl was heading east on 76th Street like a warlock.
“Who was that?” I inquired.
“Marisa.”
“Oh. You’re ex, I guess.”
“One of them, a few rungs down.”
“I see.”
I really didn’t see but I said it anyway while thanking my lucky stars that in a dicey universe big changes could occur in a relatively short space of time. It wasn’t long ago that Helena, advertised by Jasper as more lesbian than Sappho, couldn’t look a man in the eye without spitting at him. And now? She couldn’t seem to look at me without salivating. And the thing is, Miranda and Jennifer were actually encouraging – when I emphasized the Platonic nature of the association, which is how Jasper billed it when he spilled the beans on me.
It’s amazing what a word can do.
Over several brandies and the Cohiba Genios I had treated Bernie to after he rescued me from a theatrical encounter with the NYPD on Jennifer’s opening (and closing) night off Broadway, I garbled out the gist, smiling.
But Bernie frowned.
“Gary, listen to me. A leopard doesn’t change its spots, at least not overnight.”
“It’s been several weeks, Bernie.”
“You know what I mean! But what about the nymphs?”
“What about them?”
“Stop smiling, for chrissake, it’s unnerving!”
“Bernie, I can’t help it. She makes me happy.”
“Happy? You look like a skeleton. Is that happy? You’ve got it made with Miranda and Jennifer. Do you know how lucky you are?”
“I feel like the luckiest guy in the world, Bernie.”
And I went on to tell him about how important she made my numbers – our numbers, I corrected – seem because of how she used them in her incredible calculations and how I felt like part of the center of the atoms at the center of the stars with her. Bernie simply puffed away and I went on like this until the Grand Havana kicked us out. As we waited for a cab he put his arm around my shoulders and shook his head.
“Whatever you do, kid, don’t do anything rash.”
“Like what, Bernie?”
“Like get married, okay?”
Which was really really strange because that’s exactly what I had been thinking of doing.
“And eat something!” Bernie shouted, speeding away.
If I hadn’t been so happy I guess I would have felt a little crestfallen. Bernie of all people – unlike my parents, or Miranda’s parents or any parents I could think of – would have wanted me to be happy. Anyway, when I got home that night the girls were already asleep and I just gazed through our window up at the stars, the same stars Helena used every bit of her fabulous brainpower to study, happily.
As I said before, Helena wasn’t the head turning type like Jennifer or Miranda, two women who could cause whiplash at a hundred paces, but she had . . . depths: deep ones. And a temper too, as I discovered when I made an innocent joke about something called supersymmetry, which she took the wrong way because her left eye was a bit higher than her right and well, I thought it was funny at the time but she decided that hurling pasta at my head was the more appropriate response. I wasn’t hungry anyway. It took me all night to convince her that I meant what I was trying to say as a compliment, and in the end it was worth it. That’s when she brought up that bit about binary stars.
“Two stars bound together, Gary, forever, circling each other and held by an inconceivably powerful force.”
“Like our kisses?” I sighed.
“Almost as strong,” she replied.
We made the decision on the spot, and to celebrate she decided to put on a little makeup, something in her former life, she told me, she absolutely despised, but now . . . And she put some on me too, which had a certain effect, and it would have been the most perfect night if her buzzer hadn’t gone off a million times and she eventually had to answer it and let another of her exes in to collect her stuff. This one was brawnier than the motorcyclist, and she overstayed her welcome by about two hours – two hours during which she cried, threatened, stormed and sneered at Helena but didn’t deign to nod or glance at me.
When she finally slammed the door on her way out with her two CDs it took a while for the bliss to build up again, but Helena and I managed, and afterwards, just as I was about to leave to avoid a curfew violation at Shangri-La, she put her arms around me at the door.
“Do you know what we’re made of, darling?”
“Atoms and molecules?” I replied, having picked up a little on the scientific view of things.
“Stardust.”
I stayed the night.
Because I couldn’t come up with any plausible excuse, I was forced to tell Miranda and Jennifer the truth, mostly: that I had gotten so caught up in learning about the heavens and the Planck unit and quantum gravitational rainbows that it was dawn before I knew it.
“The least you can do,” spat Jennifer, “is introduce her to us. Lucky for you she’s gay and that this is all ‘Platonic.’ And that my gay ex can back this up.”
She was of course referring to Jasper who had the presence of mind to cover for me, but who demanded to know what was happening. So I told him.
“Jasper,” I said, “I’m not gonna blame you because it’s not your fault. In fact, I really should give you a hug – but I won’t. I just want to thank you, my friend. I’ve been hit by the most wonderful thunderbolt in the world. I’m sure Geneviève has a French way of saying it. But there it is.”
“Gary, are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“More sure than numbers?” he asked slyly, giving me pause.
“Yeah,” I answered after a while, “more sure than black and white.”
“Damn. You sure you’re not just seeing stars?”
“Jasper, I’m sure I am seeing stars, and I can’t get enough of them.”
“This was supposed to be Platonic.”
“It is, that’s exactly what it is. I’ve been one of those guys in Plato’s cave who’s finally seen the light! And all thanks to you!”
“Geez, Gary, leave me out of this part of the equation, please. And do me a favor, will you? No, two of them: cut down on the smiling and start eating something!”
Ω Ω Ω
The only snag now was whether to break the news to the girls before or after we got married. Here’s where Bernie threw his considerable weight around when I broke the news to him.
“Get over here,” he commanded. “Sit down and listen to me and goddammit wipe that silly smile off your face!”
I did my best.
“Now look, Gary, I can tell you a little about marriage.”
Which was true: he was on his fourth.
“It’s not something you enter lightly.”
I was wondering how he entered his four marriages, but I didn’t articulate it aloud.
“It’s a commitment, kid, and there are certain things you should be sure about.”
“I’m sure, Bernie, believe me.”
“But are you sure of her?” he replied.
“As sure as anything in the universe – or multiverse.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What’s a multiverse?”
“It’s complicated, Bernie.”
“Marriage shouldn’t be a crapshoot, kid.”
“But everything is, Bernie, except,” I added, “Helena and I aren’t throwing dice. We’re going binary, that’s all, like . . . like two pulsars!”
“You lose any more weight you won’t have a pulse to speak of. By the way, Gertrude’s a different woman these days, smiling almost as bad as you. That’s what music can do, I guess. She can’t wait for the next quartet and she can’t get over Miranda. I owe her big time for taking the heat off me.”
Out of courtesy I heard him out, and I promised him, because, let’s face it, he’s been good to me, that I would hold off on anything formal until after I’d fronted up like a man to the girls.
Now it was Bernie smiling and soon he was advising me on just how the right thing could be done.
“They,” Bernie said, referring to Miranda and Jennifer, “still think it’s Platonic, right?”
“I think so.”
“And she,” he added, referring to Helena, “still thinks she’s not gay or lesbian or whatever they call it, correct? She’s in the American League now, right?”
“Definitely!”
“And you . . . you think the numbers add up?”
“I do.”
“Good. Now listen to me.”
Ω Ω Ω
Meeting my flatmates – I hadn’t gotten too deeply into the particulars of Shangri-La with Helena – wasn’t at the top of my as yet unannounced fiancée’s list of priorities but she eventually agreed, although to look at her you’d think it was a day at the astroparticle physics lab: jeans, a t-shirt, no makeup. Not that she looked bad at all, she just didn’t like dressing up, or didn’t feel as if it was an occasion. Jennifer and Miranda, on the other hand, were dressed to kill and I was on the brink of wavering a bit as I poured the wine for us as we sat around. Dinner was a little while off.
Miranda, who sported a pair of ankle boots as supple as a grace note, and a skirt as short as legally permissible in the state of New York, took the first stab at the iceberg between us.
“Gary says you’re a star-gazer, and that you know all about fundamental forces and things in the universe – or is it a multiverse? Haha. Maybe you can tell us a little about your work.”
“Hey, you know,” answered Helena, “I think it’s really way over your heads. You wouldn’t understand it.”
Jennifer – who, incidentally, could have passed for a Parisian supermodel having a very good day on the catwalk – bristled a bit, but responded with a lot less acid than I anticipated.
“Oh, c’mon, try. Being beautiful doesn’t mean that we’re dumb.”
“And being smart doesn’t mean that I’m not beautiful!” Helena responded, a little testily, I noted, before continuing.
“In fact, do you know what it’s like to be smart? To be so much smarter than everyone around you ever, and everywhere, all through your life? No, you wouldn’t.”
“Gary,” said Miranda, “do you think Helena is being a bit presumptuous?”
I didn’t know what to say so I said it: nothing, because Helena didn’t miss a beat.
“Presumptuous? I’d call it scientific.”
“Well,” said Jennifer, “ I suppose you wouldn’t know what a burden it is to be gorgeous, would you? Because being gorgeous means you never know why someone’s interested in you. You’re never sure if it’s your talent – or just your looks. Or, more accurately – more scientifically, I should say – our looks.”
“Sweetie,” said Helena, “if all you have going for you is skin deep, you should make the most of it. But I’ve had an actual brain to take care of.”
“And we’re just brainless idiots,” chimed in Miranda, “isn’t that right, Gary? Especially brainless to think for one minute that you may have had anything more than a Platonic whatever with this . . . friend of yours.”
Now a surprising thing happened. Helena had spoken to me in an unguarded moment about something called quantum fluctuations, which I understood to be random unpredictable leaps of one kind or another that could set off a whole new train of universes.
By the standards of conventional human interaction things were really not going so well. In fact they were going so badly that nothing less than a conflagration was in the offing, like the kind that erupted when Miranda set fire to her violin to protest Jasper’s interruption of her Caliban-like wail. During a dinner, I might add.
Well, I guess a fire did arise, but not the expected kind, at least not the kind I would have expected. Helena rose and very gingerly placed her wine glass on the table and walked over to the other side of our lounge where Jennifer and Miranda were showing off their legs to great advantage.
It was touch and go. Helena, I noticed, despite the casual garb meant to emphasize sangfroid, had been uncommonly restless all evening. She looked at Miranda and then at Jennifer and then back at Miranda again, kinda like a photon that couldn’t quite decide if it was a wave or a particle.
She didn’t pounce at the speed of light, because that would have been scientifically impossible: it just seemed that way. And Jennifer just as speedily kissed her back – with an energy that was downright binary – until she flung her over to Miranda’s orb so she could kiss me in turn. Then it was back and forth until the free for all went on for all night long.
We had the untouched dinner for breakfast and I polished off what would have been the leftovers with an appetite that had suddenly reappeared. As we sipped our coffees Jennifer casually asked about the wedding. I dropped my cup, fortunately empty.
“We’re not so dumb after all,” she said, “are we Miranda?”
“What do you think, Helena?” asked Miranda.
“I think,” said Helena, a bit sheepish and choosing her words carefully, “that binary systems aren’t the only viable ones. In fact, there’s a four-star system right in the handle of the Big Dipper. And if it’s clear tonight, I hope we can all take a look together.”
Ω Ω Ω
“Bernie,” I croaked early Monday morning, “the wedding’s off.”
“You don’t say,” he said, nonplussed.
“Yes, I mean, no, I mean, the girls knew all along about me and Helena.”
“No kidding. Did you think they were dumb?”
“No, of course not! But I thought they thought it was Platonic.”
“Guess what, kid. Platonic is never Platonic. Everybody knows that.”
“But why did they –“
“Let it ride? Two reasons. One – because they could see you were hopeless. Everybody could see you were hopeless. Two – because they thought enough of you to want to do the right thing. Don’t make me get sentimental. Get outta here. But before you go, let me ask you something. Did that fruitcake have anything to do with this?”
“Who?”
“Cut it out, you know who.”
“It’s complicated, Bernie.”
“You can say that again,” he chuckled.
*************
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