TWENTY-TWO
Ryan
The next week went by quickly. After fucking Willow at her grandmother’s house, I couldn’t get enough of her. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was next to impossible. One time we snuck into the women’s room of her father’s deli and while a customer banged on the locked door, I did some other form of banging against the door. The woman, who was with a young child, gave us a dirty look as we giddily clambered out of the small, cramped room. We tried to have a tryst at a local hotel—in fact, any hotel, but every room in the city was sold out because it was Fashion Week. We both skirted the issue of sleeping together—that is, in her bed or mine. On Thursday, I discussed my progress with Dr. Goodman, who was pleased but concerned that Willow staying over at my place was still off limits. Once again he urged us to seek couples therapy and told me that sooner or later I would have to get over my inability to share my bed with another woman, let alone let one stay over. He was convinced this hang up was connected to my writer’s block. Since Allee’s death, I hadn’t written anything new. Not a single word.
Dr. Goodman’s words gnawed at me all day. I just wasn’t sure if I could make it to the next step. Though I loved Willow, sharing my bed with her was something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Fortunately, she wasn’t pushing me and seemed content with the arrangement we had. Which was a lot of stolen kisses and a few more encounters in the restroom of her father’s deli. Maybe I should look into renting a fuck pad, some small furnished apartment with a bed that had no meaning to me. No emotional attachment. Dammit. I wished I could have drinks with my love guru Duffy, but he’d left for California. His wedding, which I was attending, was next weekend. Man, it was hard to believe it was just around the corner. Time had gone by so quickly, perhaps because I now had Willow in my life.
On Friday, I had little time to dwell on my predicament. My four-year-old niece was coming in the late morning to stay for the weekend. I hadn’t done shit to get things together and I had to admit I was freaking out. This was the first time the little girl was sleeping over and I wasn’t even sure where she was sleeping. My loft technically only had one bedroom—mine—and it wasn’t what I’d call kid-friendly. Thank God for Willow. She came up with the perfect solution. Her childhood sleeping bag—a plush pink and white satin-quilted bag, which was shaped like a ballet slipper and came with a matching pillow. I gave her a hug when she brought it over. Violet was going to love it, and I could place it on the area rug in my room.
Willow insisted on accompanying me to the nearby Whole Foods on Seventh Avenue to stock up on food for my niece. Of course, my obsessive-compulsive sister had sent me a list of everything my niece required. It might have been the longest email I ever received. What was with this kid—organic almond milk, flax seed muffins, and kale for making smoothies and fresh veggie chips? And that was just for starters; attached were recipes. Was my sister out of her fucking mind? She knew damn well I didn’t cook. In fact, I almost burned down my parents’ kitchen when I was eleven trying to make pizza. I showed the list to Willow and shared my childhood cooking fiasco. She burst into laughter and continued to laugh as I showed her the second attachment: a minute by minute breakdown of Violet’s activities from the minute she woke up to the time she went beddy-bye. Holy Jesus. I was never going to survive this weekend. Nonplussed Willow told me not to worry as we drove to Whole Foods. Leaving the posh supermarket with three bags worth of stuff, we made another stop at the Gristedes around the corner and left with a bag of groceries that weren’t on the list. Then, on the way home, we made a final stop at her dad’s deli.
Stocking my kitchen cabinets and fridge with Willow’s help, I was getting more and more anxious by the second. My sister Mimi and her spouse, Beth, would be here any minute with Violet. Over the years, I’d seen them numerous times, both here in New York and Boston, where they lived. They’d both been so supportive, especially in the months following Allee’s death. I was beholden. So, when I found out that the two workaholics were flying to the Caribbean for a long weekend to celebrate their tenth anniversary, I offered to take care of Violet at my place while they were away. Now, I was having second thoughts. While I adored my niece and was also her godfather, I had no idea how to take care of a little girl. Fuck. What was I thinking? My stomach knotted, I scurried through my loft making sure everything was childproof while Willow remained behind in the kitchen preparing lunch. This was the first time Mimi would be meeting Willow…the first woman in my life since Allee…and this also made me nervous as shit. My brilliant sister-the-lawyer was very judgmental, and I worried if she would like Willow…even a fraction of how much she adored Allee. Allee, indeed, was a hard act to follow.
Then, suddenly out of nowhere, Allee appeared…sitting cross-legged on the couch.
“Relax, Madewell, you’ve got this.”
“Allee!” I gasped. “I’m freaking out. I don’t know the first thing about kids.”
She laughed. “Madewell, you’ll do just fine. I always thought you’d make an awesome father.”
A sudden cloud of sadness fell upon me. The memory of that fateful day in Paris drifted into my head. That moment I learned about her frozen eggs, harvested in college before receiving her first cancer treatments. The eggs that I’d fertilized and were still waiting for a surrogate to bear them. Since becoming involved with Willow, I hadn’t thought about them. Guilt mixed with the sorrow. Remorse.
Allee smiled at me. It was a wistful smile. A smile that gutted me.
“I know what you did, my Superman.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “One day, you will be a fine father, Ryan Madewell.” She emphasized the word “will.” Then, her smile brightened and she shot me her signature eye roll. “And stop worrying about what your sister will think about Willow. She’s gonna love her.”
The intercom sounded, and with that, she disappeared.
My emotions in a jumble, I ran to answer it.
“Uncle Ryan, we’re here!!” a sweet raspy voice shouted. Violet. My spirits instantly lifted. I was excited to see her as well as Mimi and Beth. I hit the intercom button and let them in.
A few minutes later, my adorable niece was in my arms while her moms set down her small suitcase and a doll. She rubbed my face.
“Uncle Ryan, you grew a beard!”
I laughed. God, she could even make me laugh in all the dark times. “Do you like it?”
She rubbed it again with her little hand and then scrunched up her face. “It’s very scratchy. I liked you better before without it.”
Frowning, I faked a sad face. “Does that mean you don’t love me anymore?”
“Of course not, silly!! You’re my bestest uncle.” She gave me a delicious hug, kissing my thick stubble. “Eeww!”
While I chuckled, my sister chided her. “Violet, that’s not nice. Tell Uncle Ryan you’re sorry.”
My stubborn niece hedged and hawed. She reminded me in ways of my bullheaded Allee. “Hey, don’t worry about it, kiddo.” I affectionately tugged at one of her long braids. “Beards are an acquired taste.”
“They taste yucky, Uncle Ryan.”
I chortled at her literal interpretation. She’d likely tasted my cologne or the remnants of the soap I used to wash my face. Then behind me, I heard footsteps and a familiar voice. With Violet still in my arms, I spun around. It was Willow, holding a tray with food and beverages.
“Hi, everyone. I hope you’re staying for lunch. I’ve made some sandwiches and hot dogs.”
“YAY! I’m starving!” shouted my niece. “And I love hot dogs with mustard and ketchup!”
A big smile beamed on Willow’s face while my sister frowned.
“Since when do you eat hot dogs, young lady?” she asked her daughter.
“Marta buys them for me all the time from the hot dog man in the park.”
Marta was their nanny. Mimi and Beth exchanged what-the-fuck looks while Willow waltzed up to us.
“And, sweetie, I also made you chocolate milk.”
“Wow!! I love chocolate milk. My mommies never let me have it.”
My strict as hell sister shot me a guilty as charged look. Holding back a laugh, I introduced Willow to everyone.
“Guys, this is …” I paused, not quite sure what to call Willow before continuing. “… my new friend, Willow.” I then introduced her to my sister, Beth, and Violet.
“You’re SO pretty!” gushed my niece. “Like a Disney princess.”
Thanking her for the compliment, Willow blushed, but indeed she was as beautiful as any princess. In fact, that was an understatement. She was exquisite with her fine-featured porcelain-skinned face and her riotous red hair that was held back with a headband. My eyes stayed on her lithe, fuckable body as she set the platter down on my dining table. A few moments later we all sat down to eat. To my relief, conversation flowed, and though my sister was asking Willow lots of questions, the kickass trial lawyer that she was, the mood was relaxed. And my stunning companion was handling the interrogation well.
“So, Willow, what do you do?” asked my sister.
Willow set down her sandwich. “I’m a dancer.”
“You mean like Angelina Ballerina?” asked wide-eyed Violet.
Willow smiled. “Yes, I’m a ballerina, but I’m not a mouse.”
My niece burst out into laughter. Her laughter was contagious and we all followed suit.
Calming down, Violet sipped her chocolate milk through a straw and then said, “When I grow up, I want to be a ballerina just like you.”
“We’ll see about that.” My sister rolled her eyes. Knowing my ambitious sister, she probably had plans for Violet to become come President of the United States. I silently laughed. How ironic that my lesbian sister would give birth to the girliest of girls. My mother’s genes must have slipped in there somewhere.
A connection, however, was forming between my niece and Willow. Chatty Violet fired one question after another at Willow, who answered every one.
“Willow, can you teach me how to do ballet?”
Willow winked at her. “If you eat your whole hot dog and finish your milk, I think I can do that.”
“YAY!” Eagerly, my niece took a couple of big bites of her hot dog, finishing it, and then depleted her milk. My sister glanced down at her watch.
“Ryan, our flight departs at four o’clock. We need to leave soon.”
Beth offered to help Willow clean up. My niece, already so attached to Willow, tagged along, leaving my sister and me alone.
“I really like her,” began my sister, wasting no time to give her opinion of Willow.
I smiled with relief. I valued my sister’s opinions, and it wasn’t easy for her to approve of someone.
“Where does she dance? Is she part of a company?”
“She was.”
“Which one?”
“Some company in Latvia.
“Latvia?”
I nodded. “She doesn’t like to talk about it much. She’s on some kind of sabbatical.”
My inquisitive sister persisted. “Haven’t you Googled her? Gone on Facebook? Or Instagram?”
I told my sister that I couldn’t find anything about her on social media. Truthfully, I’d kept away.
Narrowing her eyes with suspicion, Mimi dragged the pad of her thumb along her lips. “That’s odd.”
I came to Willow’s defense. “Not everyone is an open book.”
“Says the man who wrote a tell-all memoir.”
“Says the woman who keeps secrets.”
Just like when we were kids, my sister and I were at each other. Verbal sparring.
Then, my sister’s expression turned solemn. “Ryan, I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
I twitched a small smile. Even though we had our moments—and what siblings didn’t?—my sister had my back. She always had…even when we were growing up with our dysfunctional, inattentive parents. And if it hadn’t been for her, I don’t know how I would have gotten through those god-awful months following Allee’s death. She’d even offered to be a surrogate and carry Allee’s baby if that helped, but I didn’t want her to bear that responsibility nor was I ready. After taking a sip of my cream soda, I responded.
“We’re taking it slowly, day by day.”
“Are you sleeping together?”
My muscles tensed. How should I answer that question?
“Well?”
“It’s complicated. We’ve fucked, but we haven’t spent the night together.”
Mimi cocked a brow. “Why is that?”
“She’s living with her father. He owns the deli around the corner. Their apartment is above it. Her bedroom is right next door to his. That’s pretty awkward.”
“So, why doesn’t she stay over here?”
“I can’t have her sleeping in the bed I shared with Allee.”
Mimi leaned back in her chair. “Little bro, I know how much that bed means to you, but maybe it’s time to get rid of it. And move on.”
I tensed. It was like she and Dr. Goodman were in cahoots with one another. “I’ll think about it.” My laissez-faire reaction to her comment was a far cry from the outraged one I had in my shrink’s office a few weeks ago.
Then, another thought entered my mind. “And besides, I don’t think it would be good for Violet to see her uncle in bed with a woman he wasn’t married to. I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.”
My sister’s reaction surprised me, though it shouldn’t have, given how liberal she was.
“Actually, I wouldn’t have a problem with that. Vi has only seen two women sleeping together in bed. For her, that’s the norm. It would be healthy for her to see how the heterosexual population lives, especially since she’s already a little boy crazy.”
“She already likes boys?”
Before my sister could reply, Violet’s sweet voice filled our ears. Sporting a bright smile, she came skipping toward us. Willow and Beth trailed behind her.
My eyes stayed on the adorable little girl as she curled her tiny hand on the back of one of the chairs around the table.
“Guess what!” she said excitedly. “Willow taught me how to do a plié in first position. Watch!”
Our eyes stayed on her as she put her heels together, forming a V, and then bent her knees so that she was almost squatting. She held out her other slender arm gracefully. A smile formed on Willow’s face as she looked on.
“Bravo!” I clapped.
“That’s wonderful,” chimed in my sister, though I wasn’t sure if she really meant it. My sister’s plans for her daughter likely included passing the bar, not doing pliés at the barre. I inwardly chortled.
“Mommy, Willow says she’s going to teach me more ballet. Maybe a whole dance.”
Having no clue about my sister’s career plans for my niece, Willow kept smiling.
“Violet’s adorable. I can’t wait to teach her more.”
Before my sister could say a word, her cell phone rang. It was their driver. He was here, waiting downstairs to take her and Beth to JFK. They quickly gathered their belongings as they rattled off do’s and don’t’s for my niece. Sheesh. After that five-page email, as if I didn’t know. Willow and I stifled our laughter.
Her roller bag by her side, my sister lifted Violet into her arms, and after kissing the top of her head, said, “I’m going to miss you, Vi-baby.” Her voice was a little watery. This was the first time she and Beth were leaving Violet alone for an extended period of time. It was Violet’s first sleepover, and for the first time in my adult life, I saw a softer, more vulnerable side of my sister. It was refreshing.
“Me too,” echoed Vi.
My sister smacked another kiss on her daughter’s scalp. “I love you from here to the moon and back.”
“I love you, too, and Mommy Beth. Don’t forget to bring me back a present!”
I watched with a tinge of envy as Violet gave her mommies farewell hugs. Maybe one day, I would have a little girl who would shower me with love and affection. I met Willow’s wistful gaze and wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
Confession. I had no clue what I was getting myself into when I volunteered to take care of my niece Violet for three days. While I’d spent considerable time with her, I’d never spent 24/7 with her. She was a handful. A non-stop bundle of energy. Sometimes, I wanted to curse my sister out for not warning me. The kid didn’t even take naps.
Thank goodness for Willow; she was a blessing. Unlike me who’d grown up with absentee parents—a cold, ruthless father, who’d rather fuck his latest mistress than tuck in his son, and an equally cold, alcoholic mother, who’d rather go to a benefit for the zoo than take her children there—Willow grew up with loving, attentive parents and knew all the fun, kid-friendly city attractions to take Violet to. It also helped that she was a girl and knew what little girls liked. I had no clue; growing up with my rebellious sister, who was more like four going on forty-four, was no help.
Okay…another confession. I was having the best time I had in years. Each jam-packed day was full of fun, adventure, laughs, the unexpected…and love. We did things I’d never done before—like riding the sky-high tram to Roosevelt Island, ice skating at Chelsea Piers Sky Rink, and taking a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. We also went to the Museum of Natural History, where Vi showed off her encyclopedic knowledge of dinosaurs, and to a matinée performance of Wicked on Broadway. We all loved it and came out of the theater singing the songs before heading over to legendary Rumplemyers for ice cream sundaes.
Everywhere we went, people fawned over us and told us we were a beautiful family. It wasn’t surprising. Throughout our excursions, Violet, who looked a lot like me, with her light brown hair and baby blue eyes, stood between us holding our hands. Rather than correcting them, I simply thanked them. This was my first taste at what being a family was like and I more than enjoyed it. Interestingly, Willow never said a thing to the contrary either. I wondered why.
The fun we had together during the day spilled over into the evenings. In the early hours, Willow spent some secret “girl time” upstairs in the apartment she shared with her father and afterward we ate dinner at her father’s deli. Mel, with his big, loveable personality, wrapped Vi around his finger, making special treats for her like hamburgers with funny faces, spoiling her with extra desserts, and even letting her ring the cash register. The joy I got from watching them together couldn’t be put into words. Violet had never met my father as my sister couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive him for disowning her when he found out she was gay. A big part of me wished they would make amends, but given how bullheaded they both were made that unlikely. Chances were my sweet niece would never have a grandpa.
Following our first dinner together, Violet, who’d grown incredibly attached to Willow in less than a day, begged for her to come back to my place to watch some TV and put her to bed. She would not take no for an answer, cajoling us with pretty pleases and tears. On top of being too adorable for words, the kid was a great actress. I gave in.
The first night was awkward. Not for Violet, but for Willow and me. Watching Nickelodeon together was easy, but putting Vi to bed was a whole other story. The overactive child refused to go to sleep unless Willow tucked her in and read her a story. Again, the pretty pleases and the crocodile tears. Gutting me, the sucker that I was, I had no choice but to acquiesce. And since Violet was sleeping in my room, it meant that for the first time in our relationship Willow would be stepping foot in the bedroom I shared with Allee.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Willow asked as we wound up the stairs, me carrying an overjoyed Violet piggyback on my shoulders.
“Yeah…unless you want to pull an all-nighter cartoon marathon.” There was no doubt in my mind that this child could stay up all night and just the thought of entertaining her 24/7 was exhausting.
“Okay,” mumbled Willow as we entered my bedroom.
The antique four-poster bed that I bought as a wedding present for Allee practically smacked you in the eyes upon stepping foot in the sparsely furnished room. To my relief, Willow made no mention of it though she couldn’t stop staring at it. Yes, it was spectacular and I’m sure conjuring a lot of emotions in my companion. After I set Violet down, Willow hastily got my niece settled into her ballet slipper sleeping bag, which was parked on the rug near my bed. Violet loved it, especially after learning that Willow used to sleep in it as a child.
Once tucked in, Violet studied my bed. “That’s like a princess bed!” she exclaimed. “Do you sleep in it all by yourself, Uncle Ryan?”
I swallowed hard, searching for an answer. I wasn’t sure how much Violet knew about Allee. My niece wasn’t even born when Allee passed away. Once when I visited her in Boston, the inquisitive child asked me why I wasn’t a daddy and my sister told her it was none of her business. After that, any related discussion had never arisen. Nor had any questions about her sperm donor conception or the fact that she had a twin that didn’t make it. My sister uneventfully lost the second baby early on in her pregnancy, but I was sure one day when my niece was older she would explain everything to her.
“How come you’re not answering my question?” persisted Violet, definitely inheriting my sister-the-lawyer’s interrogation skills.
One pathetic word at last spilled from my lips: “Yeah.” I sleep it in alone.
Cocking her head, my niece shot me a puzzled look. “How come doesn’t Willow sleep in it with you? There’s lots of room. And it’s so pretty!”
My stomach twisted. This is exactly what I was afraid of. I exchanged an awkward glance with a flushed Willow, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, Willow broke the ice.
“Because, sweetie, I have to go home and take care of my daddy.”
“Don’t you have a mommy that does that?”
Willow’s voice softened. “I used to, but she’s in heaven now.”
“Like my Auntie Allee? She’s in heaven too.”
At the mention of Allee’s name, my heart squeezed. So, my sister had told my niece about her. Not commenting, I saw discomfort wash over Willow’s face.
Violet’s twinkling eyes stayed fixed on Willow. “I bet they know each other.”
Willow twitched a smile as she straightened Violet’s long pigtails. “I bet they do.”
“My mommies told me that people in heaven are called angels and they watch over us.”
Willow’s smile widened. “I believe that too. Now, sweetie, you should go to sleep. We have a big day planned for tomorrow.”
“Can you read me a goodnight story first?”
“Sure. What book do you want me to read?”
A few minutes later, we were both seated on the carpet, cross-legged, as Willow read her one of the many Angelina Ballerina picture books she’d brought along.
By the end of the book, Violet was fast asleep. Five minutes later, Willow was out the door, leaving me bereft.
And so a routine began. A full day with Violet in the city…Willow and Vi’s secret girl time…dinner with Mel… television and bedtime.
With each passing day, my feelings for Willow grew. I loved how comfortable she was with my niece and how much Violet adored Willow. My new girl was naturally maternal. One day at lunch, my inquisitive niece asked her if she wanted to be a mommy. Convincingly, Willow told her what she’d told me—she wanted to have lots of kids, and after Violet asked her how many, she counted on her fingers, deciding on ten. Though I didn’t really believe that number, her heartfelt words resonated with me, and once again, I painfully thought about the embryos I’d made with Allee’s eggs. At some point, I was going to have to deal with them. Make a decision.
Putting Violet to bed at once became my favorite and least favorite part of the day. It meant saying goodnight to Willow too. While I was increasingly tempted to fuck her anywhere but my bed—on the kitchen counter, the dining table, the couch, and even the floor, she didn’t give me the chance. Once Violet fell asleep, she gave me the excuse that she had to leave and help her dad. Though I didn’t believe her, I didn’t argue. Fucking Willow while my niece was here probably wasn’t a good idea anyway. I shuddered at the thought of her waking up and finding us bared to each other, entwined on the floor, panting and moaning. At the same time, that image made my cock ache. It had been over a week since I’d fucked Willow. And I wanted her badly. So badly I had to jerk off behind the locked door of my bathroom before I got into bed. My sad, empty bed.
On Monday, the final day of Violet’s stay, I had a long-standing lunch with my literary agent. Having canceled on her too many times, I had to meet her. Over breakfast with my niece at Mel’s, I explained this to Willow.
“Ry-man, don’t worry. I’ll take care of Vi. There’s one thing we haven’t done—and that’s go shopping.”
“Yay!” chimed in my exuberant niece, devouring one of Mel’s specialties—a thick wad of challah French toast smothered in maple syrup.
With a relieved smile, I reached into my jeans pocket for my cardholder and slapped my American Express card on the table.
“Here, baby. Use this.”
To my surprise, Willow shoved the card back at me.
“I don’t need it. This is all on me. Just try to be home by three…when your sister and Beth come to pick up Vi.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Slipping the card back into my pocket, I had the feeling that a surprise awaited me.
My literary agent, Paula Friedman, had agreed to meet me downtown for lunch at trendy Balthazar. I owed Paula my success. While the manuscript for Undying Love was initially rejected by agent after agent, all saying no one wanted to read a book with a sad ending, Paula fell in love with it and managed to sell it to a major publisher, getting me a nice advance. Little did anyone know that Allee’s farewell love letter would go viral and the book would go on to become a major bestseller. A shrewd, don’t-fuck-with-me negotiator, Paula had been instrumental in getting me a shitload of money for the film rights as well as a subsequent three-book deal, this time with an ungodly, unheard of advance.
Over roasted beet salads, we chatted about the literary world as well as the movie version of Undying Love. I told her I was going out to LA on Wednesday to meet with the producer and some of the cast. Then, she cut to the chase.
“Ryan, I’m getting a lot of pressure from your publisher for your next book. What’s going on?”
Every muscle inside me tensed. Since writing Undying Love, I’d suffered from major writer’s block. I’d been dealing with it with Dr. Goodman, who told me it was likely attached to my inability to let go of Allee. “Emotionally stuck,” he called it. Playing with my greens, I faltered for words. Okay, one word…
“Nothing.” I hung my head in shame.
“Ryan, look at me.” Her voice was soft but firm.
Slowly, I lifted my head and met her gaze.
“Listen, Ryan, I know what you went through, but you’ve got to get out of this funk. You’re a brilliant writer; you’re wasting your talent. Maybe the trip to LA will do you good or you need another change of scenery…”
A change of scenery. As she rambled on, offering remedies for my problem, those four words reverberated in my head. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. A writers’ retreat wasn’t the answer. But another type of retreat was.
Right after lunch, I hurried to a nearby antiques store on Broome Street. The one where I’d purchased my bed. My heartbeat quickened with each rapid step. Stopping in front of it to take a steeling breath, I swung the front door open. A bell chimed as I stepped foot inside, the scent of expensive furniture polish and potpourri wafting up my nose. Upon hearing the ding-ding-ding, the proprietor, a stocky aristocratic-looking fellow, made his way through the clutter of antiques, heading toward me. Though it had been almost five years, instant recognition flickered in his eyes.
“Ah, Mr. Madewell, good to see you again,” he beamed, extending his hand. “How have you been?”
“Not bad.” He didn’t need to know all the grief I’d been through nor the turmoil that was making my stomach churn as I shook his hand.
“I saw you a few weeks ago on Good Morning America. Congratulations on the movie.”
I thanked him politely, eager to change the subject.
“So, what brings you here today?”
I inhaled another fortifying breath and then spit out the words before I changed my mind. “I’d like to sell the bed I bought from you. Perhaps, I can put it on consignment or exchange it for something else.”
The dealer adjusted his half-moon glasses. “Actually, you’re in luck. A client of mine, who runs a small decorative arts museum upstate, has been looking for a bed much like the one you have. With its provenance, I’m sure he’d be willing to pay a hefty sum for it.”
My pulse in overdrive, I digested the dealer’s words. A museum?
“Sir, actually, I don’t want the money. I’d rather donate the bed on one condition.” A commemorative plaque. I told him how I wanted it worded.
Gift of Ryan Madewell IV
In Loving Memory of Allee Adair Madewell
July 14, 1988–June 10, 2013
After one phone call to the curator, we had a deal. And my Allee was going to at last have a tombstone of sorts. RIP, my beautiful angel. The bed was scheduled to be picked up tonight by the dealer’s movers. An unexpected peacefulness washed over me. Maybe it was just the proverbial calm before the storm and I’d made a terrible mistake I’d regret. Second thoughts flooded my head, but there was no going back. As my father always said, “A deal is a deal.”
The elated dealer broke into my thoughts. “You’re going to need something to sleep on. We just got a new shipment from Europe. Take a look around and let me know if there’s anything you like.”
Aimlessly, I meandered through the store. Nothing struck my fancy until I came upon a regal queen-size bed that had a tufted pale pink satin headboard. The upholstered fabric and color reminded me of the toe shoes that dangled from Willow’s childhood bed.
“What’s the story with this bed?” I asked the dealer, who was standing beside me.
“Rumor has it that it belonged to a famous ballerina who danced for the Ballet Russe. She supposedly wrote her memoir in it and then died peacefully in her sleep at the age of one hundred, surrounded by her loved ones.”
Holy shit! “I’ll take it.”
Adding that it came with a brand new high-end mattress, the dealer beamed. “Let me show you something else that belonged to this ballerina.”
Intrigued, I followed him to a jewelry case near the front of the store. Unlocking it, he slipped out a necklace from which hung a small pink-enameled pair of ballet shoes encrusted with diamonds. He set it atop a black velvet pad on the glass counter. Beneath the halogen lights above, the diamonds glistened.
“It is rumored to be a gift from her lover. It may have been designed by Fabergé, but unfortunately there are no markings.”
I studied the dainty jeweled shoes. They reminded me a lot of the pink satin toe shoes dangling from Willow’s bed. The dealer continued.
“Because you are an excellent customer, I can offer you the necklace at a very special price. It’s an investment piece and would certainly make a wonderful treat.”
Treat. The word reverberated in my ear. Trick or Treat. Everywhere I’d walked those words popped up somewhere. Even Balthazar was decked out with pumpkin decorations. Tomorrow was Halloween. Holy crap! Willow’s birthday. In the nick of time, I’d just found the most perfect present.
“I’ll take it.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.
Five minutes and several thousand dollars later, I was out the door, on my way to Bed Bath & Beyond.
It was all meant to be.
Bursting with energy and carrying a bouquet of wild flowers that I’d spontaneously picked up at a local florist, I arrived home a little before three. My sister and Beth were already there, looking tanned and rested from their long weekend in Antigua. They were seated on my dining area chairs, which were now lined up like a row of theater seats. Some of the other furniture has been moved to the side, making way for a large empty space.
“Where are Willow and Vi?” I asked after chatting with them a bit about their trip. Luckily for them, Antigua was one of the few Caribbean islands spared from the wrath of recent hurricanes, and they had a fantastic time.
“Getting ready for the show,” said my sister after sharing some photos on her cell phone.
My eyebrows lifted to my forehead. “The show?”
Mimi and Beth shrugged in unison. “Take a seat,” instructed Beth.
I did as I was told and sat next to my sister with the flowers on my lap. A few short minutes later, Willow breezed down the stairs and joined us, sitting next to me. She was holding my remote.
“What’s going on?”
A sly smile crossed her kissable lips. “You’ll see in a few seconds.”
My curiosity was piqued as she pressed the remote. On my next breath, a burst of classical piano music filled the room. I recognized the piece—it was some Tchaikovsky waltz that I’d once dance to with this creepy girl in Cotillion. The memory vanished as adorable Violet pranced down the stairs onto the makeshift dance floor. Wearing a pink leotard and tights, a lavender tulle tutu, and pale pink dance slippers on her feet, she looked like a little ballerina. Make that a beautiful little ballerina with her long hair gathered into a bun and a bit of shimmering makeup on her face.
For the next five minutes, the four of us sat silently, mesmerized by my precious niece’s performance as she twirled, jumped, and leaped to the music. I was captivated by both her agility and grace. With her slender arms fluttering like wings, she looked like a delicate little bird. A bright smile lit her face as she continued to dance across the concrete floor. I now realized what Willow had bought on her shopping expedition and what she’d been secretly doing with Violet each evening. Giving my wannabe ballerina niece dance lessons. Watching her effortlessly and passionately perform, there was no doubt in my mind that she was born to dance. As she continued to glide across the floor, I dared to take Willow’s hand. Without taking her eyes off her protégé, she gave mine a little squeeze.
When the piece ended, Willow hit the remote again, turning off the sound system, and as Violet gracefully curtsied, the four of us leapt to our feet, giving her a standing ovation, applauding madly and shouting bravo. Wearing a proud, ear-to-ear grin, Violet skipped up to us.
“Did you like it?”
I was the first to chime in. “Kiddo, you were incredible.” I glanced down at the flowers in my lap. “These are for you.”
I handed her the bouquet. Though they were intended for Willow, the sparkle in my niece’s eyes as she inhaled the fragrant flowers made my heart swell with joy.
“Thank you, Uncle Ryan. They’re so pretty!”
“Sweetheart, that was amazing,” said my sister, rarely one to give effusive compliments.
“Totally,” echoed Beth.
“Willow taught me how to dance. She’s the bestest teacher in the whole wide world.”
Willow blushed; God, she was adorable when she did that, her pale face turning the color of Violet’s ballet shoes. After swallowing a breath of air, she told us Violet was a natural.
Violet cocked her head. “What’s a natural?”
“That means you’re very good at something that’s very hard. Ballet comes easily to you.”
“Cool!” Her attention shifted to my sister. “Mommy, can I take ballet lessons when we get home?”
My sister hesitated, but then agreed to them.
Willow smiled. “I have a friend in Boston, who’s a great dance instructor. I’ll email you her contact info and will personally call her to recommend taking on Violet as a student. She has so much potential.”
“Does that mean I could be as good as you and Angelina Ballerina?”
Willow winked at her. “Better.”
A half hour later, my sister, Beth, and Violet, now proudly holding a quilted pink bag with all her new ballet gear, were on their way back to Boston. There were hugs all around, my niece unable to let go of Willow. The powerful connection between them filled me with a happiness I’d never known before. Willow promised to visit and told Violet to send her videos. Once they were gone, my loft felt so quiet and empty. For the first time, I realized how much a child could fill your life.
After putting back all the furniture, Willow and I ordered in pizza and shared a bottle of wine. I told her about my meeting with my agent and mentioned that I had a surprise for her. Us. As much as she nudged me to tell her what it was, I kept mum.
At close to seven o’clock, my intercom sounded. The movers.
A few minutes later, the elevator door creaked open.
“It’s upstairs,” I said.
“What’s going on?” asked Willow as the four burly men wound up the stairs to my bedroom.
Deciding I really wanted this to be a surprise, I searched the living room for something I could use as a blindfold. My eyes darting left and right, they landed on my plaid cashmere scarf that I’d left on the couch. I made a quick dash for it, and when I returned to Willow, I told her to turn around. I began to wrap the scarf around her eyes.
“What are you doing, Ry-Man?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m blindfolding you.”
“Huh!?” She squirmed.
“Don’t move. You’re making it hard.” Really hard. I could feel an erection in the making, already straining against my jeans.
Upstairs, I could hear the movers dismantling my four-poster bed. A few minutes later, two of them carefully marched down the stairs, holding the bed on its side while the other two carried the mattress and bedding. I’d be lying if I didn’t say there was a part of me that wanted to stop them. My stomach clenched as I blew out a steeling breath. Once downstairs, they headed toward the elevator. One of them pushed the button and the door re-opened. To my shock, Allee was standing inside the carriage. She flashed an approving smile at me and I gasped.
“Ry, is everything okay?” asked Willow.
“Yeah.” My voice wavered as I watched the men cart the mattress, the bedding, and the bed into the elevator. Then to my surprise, Allee gave me a thumbs-up and then blew me a kiss. I caught it with my heavy heart and blew a kiss back. The door cranked shut, and to be honest, my heart sunk to my stomach as the elevator descended. My Allee was gone.
“Can I take this scarf off now?” asked Willow, bringing me back to the moment.
“No, not yet.” Grasping the fringed ends, I pulled it a little tighter.
Willow was getting impatient and annoyed. “C’mon, Ryan, tell me what’s going on.”
“You’ll see soon.” I meant that figuratively and literally.
Ten minutes later the elevator returned, and this time the four men were carrying my new bed and the mattress along with two large plastic bags filled with the bedding and accessories I’d purchased at Bed Bath & Beyond and had delivered to the antiques dealer. Brand new pillows, sheets, a comforter, and a duvet cover. And some candles. My pulse thudding, I watched as they brought everything upstairs. Butterflies flitted in my stomach. I hope I’d made the right decision.
“This is absurd,” protested Willow. Lifting her arms behind her, she attempted to untie the scarf. I caught her wrists in time and stopped her.
“You’re being a really bad girl. One more bad move and I’m going to have to spank you.”
She giggled. But truthfully, the thought of giving her tight little ass a little spanking that would make it turn ballerina pink turned me on. My dick grew harder and began to throb. I hoped the movers would assemble my new bed quickly with all the trimmings.
In no time, they were back downstairs and told me everything was done. Digging my hand into my jeans pocket, I pulled out my money clip and handed them each a twenty-dollar bill as a tip. They were beyond thrilled by my generosity and happily bid me goodnight. Before leaving, one of the movers gave me a thumbs-up, hinting at the night ahead. My pulse quickened and I could feel it in my dick.
“Okay, baby, hold my hand,” I anxiously told Willow, taking hers in mine once they were gone. Carefully, I led her up the winding stairs to my bedroom and when we got to the top, I took off the scarf.
“Oh my God!” she gasped, soaking in my, or should I say, our new bed. Having instructed the movers to make it up and place scented candles throughout the room, the antique bed with its shimmering pink upholstered headboard, thick white duvet, and fluffy pillows looked absolutely delicious.
“Oh my God!” Willow gasped again, her voice breathier, more in awe.
“Do you like it?”
“Oh my God! It’s so beautiful. Honestly, the most beautiful bed I’ve ever seen.”
Moving my hand to her lower back, I ushered her toward it. She ran her fingers over the plush Egyptian cotton duvet and then over the pink satin headboard.
“I found it today right after my lunch. It called out your name.” This was my way of letting Willow know it was a bed for her. A bed for us. That I was ready to move on.
“I love it!”
“It belonged to some legendary Russian ballerina.”
“Really? What was her name?”
“No clue.” I hadn’t asked, and now that I thought about it, maybe this clever antiques dealer had made up a story to make a sale. It didn’t matter. Willow’s eyes fixated on the bed and then zoomed in on the small whimsical pillow that was anchored in the middle against the pile of fluffy goose down pillows. She read the embroidered words aloud:
“Make love, not war.”
While I’d almost bought one that said, “Dance until you drop,” something told me that might upset her. Don’t ask why, but I followed my gut instinct. So I bought this one instead, which was fitting in these politically trying times. It replaced the ‘I’d-rather-be-in-Paris’ pillow I’d given to Allee, which I’d torn up in a fit of rage right after her death.
I nuzzled the back of Willow’s long neck. “So, what do you say…”
“Say what?” she whispered back.
“We make love.”