A different Half
By Roger Arsht
It was 4 a. m. when Annie fell asleep. She had tried to finish Beggar’s Choice, but even after four cups of coffee, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. When she awoke, she found the last page she read was stuck to her cheek. As she peeled the paper away, she could tell by the state of the words that the ink was smeared on her face. Still half-asleep, Annie trudged to the bathroom to wash her face.
Annie couldn’t miss how the words on the last page she finished symbolized how she was becoming part of Richard’s life – for better or worse. As she scrubbed the ink from her face, she started to remember what she had read. The main character, Sinclair, has his life ripped from him by a tsunami that flooded the Philippine village where he was vacationing with his wife. Annie was struck by how Richard, who in real life used a mundane vocabulary, wrote with evocative language to create bold prose. She thought one critic had it right when they described his writing as a ‘profound howl of sadness.’
Annie pulled the pages strewn across the bed into a pile and sorted them until she found pages twenty-seven and page forty-eight. She had made notes on those pages so she could discuss them with Richard. The passage on page twenty-seven describes how Sinclair finds the tsunami-soaked body of his wife broken and discarded against the trunk of a palm tree.
Whatever strength Sinclair still possessed seeped from his legs into the wet, darkened sand while he cradled Maggie’s shattered body. Sinclair stroked her face and hair, hoping life could be willed into her vacant eyes and bluish fingers. The steaming mist that covered the beach like death’s shroud told him there would be no miracle that would undo the devastation that had consumed Maggie and others. The tree that, until minutes ago, provided shade had succumbed to the storm’s fury and splintered like matchsticks in the same way Sinclair’s world had collapsed. Large palm fronds were strewn across Maggie’s body so curious eyes would be shielded from the devastation and intimacy of the moment. Sinclair lay next to her and pulled the greenery over them both. The leaves provided them with the slightest bit of protection, privacy, and safety – more than he had.
She closed the book, wrapped her bathrobe around her, and headed for the upper deck to feel the early morning’s cool breeze. Climbing into the salon, Annie was startled to find Richard sitting at the dining table writing notes. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said.
“Thank you for your patience. Last night was...trying, for all of us.”
Annie moved to the back of Richard’s chair, hugged his shoulders, and kissed the back of his hair. She could see that the color had returned to his face. He still appeared a little unsteady. “What are you working on?”
“Writing apology notes. I hate having to do this. It shouldn’t be necessary.”
“To the reporter for The New Yorker?”
“Alex told you about that?” Richard grimaced.
“Yes. He told me that he had your permission to share everything,” Annie said with a slight nod.
“It is what I wanted. I sometimes wish he wouldn’t do what I ask.” Richard was clearly embarrassed. “At first, I consciously knew the reporter wasn’t Kimberley. When I’m triggered, it’s like a fog rolls across my brain and then my eyes. The reporter asked if I was figuratively Sinclair and if the woman on the beach was Kimberley. At that point, everything became hazy, so much so that I was sure it was Kimberley in my office. I transformed from a bestselling author to a crying fool who had his arms wrapped around a stranger’s legs begging her to forgive me.”
“What did the reporter do?”
“She pushed me away. I think Alex will be hearing from the magazine’s lawyers. I don’t know which laws I broke. What I should be charged with is poor impulse control and chronic depression.”
“Will she sue?”
“Probably not. Alex will arrange for a second interview where I can tell her about my inner demons and how they cause me to lose control. We'll give her permission to share her firsthand experience with the manically depressed Richard Sandman. She’ll get the front cover of the magazine and I’ll get more exposure. Alex tells me that it doesn’t matter whether the stories are good or bad. What’s important, he says, is that I stay in the public eye. I don’t know if I agree with that strategy. Regardless, he manages hundreds of my self-inflicted injuries.”
“Never a boring day.” Annie hesitated before asking her next question. ““Do you mind if I ask you about a passage in Beggar’s Choice?”
“Go ahead. Once one of my episodes is over, it’s over…until the next one,” Richard said sadly.
“In the prologue, Sinclair tells the reader he is desperately lonely. You write that, ‘There are only so many ways to escape one’s grief. It’s a constant race between ending one’s own life or finding someone who can help you heal your wounds.’ Annie closed the book. "Is that what Secrets Kept is all about? Are you looking for someone to bring you salvation? Someone to replace Kimberley?”
“I don’t know," Richard said, pensively. “Secrets Kept, the dating service, was an experiment. A silly experiment. It was a poorly fabricated fantasy that allowed me to escape a bad date or to keep women at arm’s length if I found I didn’t want to spend time with them. The yacht gives me the privacy I desire and a place to hide from the world when I’m having an episode or if one is imminent.”
“The yacht, Captain Ed, and Cathy. It’s elaborate. Most people go to dinner and a movie when they want to begin dating someone. They aren’t asked to write a letter like they’re auditioning for a part in a movie or interviewing for a job. I’m sorry to be so bold, but this lavish environment is camouflage. It makes up for the inadequacies that you feel because of Kimberley’s death. That’s the way I see it.”
“It’s why I used the word was. I don’t think I want anyone else to audition. I’d like you to be the only one coming aboard.”
Annie stared into Richard’s eyes. Was his request that she stay another trap or a test? “You know so little about me,” she said, now aggravated.
“But I’d like to.” Richard said using all of his innate charm.
“Which man would I be dating?”
“Bertie’s done. He was part of the Secrets Kept fantasy. You’d be dating Richard Sandman.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her tone was firm.
“You mean me or the depressive flop that you saw last night?”
“With all due respect Richard, they’re both you.”
“You make a good point. Maybe I was too hasty in asking you to be…the one.”
“I could be the right woman for you, but it’s too early to tell. What you seem to be forgetting is that it’s as much for me to choose you as it is for you to choose me.”
“How did you get so smart?”
“Life,” Annie smiled at Richard. “Is this the transition where I tell you my life story?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Not this morning. You said you wanted to put Secrets Kept behind you because it was too contrived and controlling. Your rigid rules didn’t allow your guests to ask questions. There is no real engagement when you can discard your date after dinner. Sometimes we need to wait for an answer because we want to know why the other person reacts or feels the way they do. A relationship needs to be able to withstand scrutiny and each person needs to possess the patience to allow the other to tell their story when they’re ready.”
“I avoid tension. It makes me anxious.”
“I’ve noticed that. Sometimes, tension is exactly what we need so we can move to a more intimate place. I’m on a yacht with one of the best-known novelists in the world who has manically depressive episodes who I met by writing a letter as if I were applying for a job. He accommodates my every whim and desire, which is unsettling because no one does that for another person without expecting some recompense. I don’t know a thing about you except for what I have inferred from your books or what your brother told me. Then you tell me that I’m the one. I have reason for being cautious.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Yes, you were. You don’t know my history. You don’t know what I’ve experienced, and you can’t see the scars that lie just below the surface because I haven’t shared them with you. At this point, all you can do is to infer who I am just like I infer who you are by reading your books.”
“I want to see it all.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?”
Annie didn’t know what to say. The whole situation made no sense to her. “You’re investing time and effort into a relationship where you don’t know if we have anything in common. You focus on your instability when you have no idea if I’d be the one who would cause too much…strife.”
Richard interrupted her. “I didn’t know my first wife. I will never know her motivation for sacrificing her life in hopes of saving Wheels. I also don’t know if she thought about what would happen to me if she didn’t survive. I won’t make that mistake again. I want to know more about the people I love. I can’t be in a position again where I am left searching for answers.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been kind of harsh. You’ve been through a lot.”
“You’ve been honest and I appreciate that. In the present, I could use a little help moving to one of the chaise lounges. Before Rebecca died I was half a man. Now, I’m still half a man. Just a different half.”