Chapter 53 The Mirror of Ones Soul

Nadrea for once woke before Vincent, her mood foul and worsening with each passing second. Her first stop of the day after getting out of bed was at the bar in the room, a drink was made and sipped even before the shower was started. She sat gazing out on the city streets, streets stacked with trash, cars and Taxi’s passing one at a time signally down otherwise deserted, obscure and rarely silent streets. The cars each traversing a jungle of dismal gray concrete, unheated, uncaring and cold that we build our cities upon. She just sat at the table by the window, wearing only yesterday’s nail polish and a barely tied white robe that spent the night on the floor next to the bed. Her long beautiful hair was still tussled from the night before draping over her shoulders and unpainted face. Nadrea was as naked as she had ever been in times like these, not physically though the obsession with self presentation rarely lapsed even for a moment it was times like these that she was most vulnerable, her soul troubled with genuine concern , her thoughts not filled with concern only for herself or superficial things but with things that she actually could feel. Once many years ago when asked why she didn’t like country music she in a telling admission said “because I don’t like that it makes me feel things” the truth was that all the graphic and lurid music of her choice pounding away with intense rhythms made her feel angry, it was a feeling she could hide behind, it made her feel sexual, a feeling that she placed far too much importance of her own self worth into, but country music made her feel real things, worry about loss, the lack of love, and even the pain of the relationship she had with her mother, none. Her feelings toward her own father, the anxiety, the dread, the teenager like flip remarks and blunt answers were all by products of the issues she had with her mother. So much so that she rarely discussed or inquired to how she was doing.

Nadrea’s soft white skin was still marked with lines, not form an erotic adventure the night before but from the creases in the sheets. The first signs of the light of day were dark, overcast and foreboding in nature, they like her mood were not light and clear, the suns beauty disguised by things that obscured them, some of which were natural like the gray clouds overhead and others contrived, self produced obstructions like the building on the New York skyline. Nadrea’s life was not much different. She sipped her cocktail, sitting perfectly erect and proper, despite the fact that she was completely in private. It was a symbol of the pretense of who she was. Who she was always gave way to the reality of who she really wasn’t despite her actions, her intention and her rhetoric.

The mood in her own mind continued to sour even further as the plans for the day echoed through her head. It wasn’t the staff packing her things to ship back to her house, it wasn’t the crowds at the train station or the hustle to make the ride back to DC. It wasn’t the dark beginning of the day, or catching a cab in the rain. For once her concern was not about what to wear or even how most others would perceive her. In fact as she finished that first drink before 6:30am and began to pour another it was the thoughts of where she had come from, she left not innocent but as a child it was these thoughts that came back to her.

Vincent in the next room continued to sleep soundly, his slumber a simple and unencumbered sleep. It was deep and childlike, he had not a care in the world, not about money, or business, not about his life or his path, not about his feelings or relationships. Vincent rested on longer and better than most often, perhaps it was he was tired worn out although not visibly from the pace of his life. But in truth it was because he was comfortable, unencumbered. He only slept the type of sleep he was enjoying in two places in the world, by the ocean after a long listless day on the beach, any beach with a near by bed would do this to him. Although his favorite memories were not of the exotic places, the south of France or the Greek Isles. It was not Hawaii or Bermuda or even the Caribbean. His fondest memories were of the Atlantic he had spent his life going up and down that particular body of water and what he loved the most were that days in the very common sand in the not at all tropical but warm clear sun. Not the high end resorts where every whim was catered to but the simplicity of friends and family in a large beach house, sharing the type of moments that creates memories of ones life not because of the extravagance but because of the people that time is spent with. The second place he enjoyed that type of slumber, New York on a Sunday morning, there was something magical about that for him.

Nadrea began to pace, she stood motionless in the doorway gazing at Vincent. In a rare sense of genuine feeling and caring for another she wondered if she was doing the right thing, not for herself for once but for him. Her family was jaded and judgmental. Her father while never cruel was not exactly a warm and jolly fellow. Daddy’s humor while a bit off key is an attempt to be less rigid than he really was. Her mother doing the world’s good was never once satisfied with anything in her life, it had to always be better, more productive, a martyr of wealth and status wouldn’t hesitate to dissect everything around her for its conceived in perfection. Her work mattered and most everything else was an annoyance, her only child included. Soon she was back on her silent perch staring into the street imagining the every possible scenario that could occur over brunch, each more tragic than the last. A few hours later Vincent finally stirred and Nadrea was still sitting in silence listening to the thoughts inside her own head. Silence was something she rarely allowed to exist for the very reason that was happening a that moment, her own thoughts consumed her, fears continued mounting.

As Vincent approached she heard his footsteps coming her hair covering her face. “Good morning.”

She sat silently he looked over her shoulder placing his hands gently on her back. “I love this place, there’s always something to see.”

Nadrea was listening, but looking for a way out of brunch. “Maybe we shouldn’t go?” she began.

“We can do what ever you want” Vincent answered softly, noticing the open liquor and empty glass next to her. He picked up her glass and walked to the bar. The refrigerator opened but she still hadn’t moved, Vincent filled the glass and took out a bottle of water. He returned to the table looking out on the city and sat on it next to Nadrea.

“This tastes like juice.” Her brow wrinkled and her face puckered.

“It is. So do you want to tell me what’s going on, it a bit early for a drink, even for you and you aren’t moving.”

“I’m not sure we should have brunch with my parents?” she said.

“Nod” he sounded like her father “I’m perfectly fine with not going as long as you tell me why.” Vincent knew there was something more that could be seen on the surface. His usual playful manner was not showing. He wondered what could make a simple meal into something so dreadful for her.

“They’re not nice people” she began. “My father tries but is dry and well business like. My mother is a doctor and only her work matters. She criticizes everything. We don’t get along too well.” Tears began welling up in her eyes, still hiding her ashen face behind her dark hair.

“So why did you agree to go?”

“I don’t know.” Nadrea didn’t know, she had dreaded the brunch meeting since she agreed to it, the tears now gently rolling down her face their salty taste tracing the sides of her lips before soaking into her hair that was touching her chin. “I’m just going to cancel.”

“That’s fine or I could just wear something hideous.”

Nadrea looked at Vincent like he had lost his mind. “What do you mean?”

“So what does your mother hate the most?” Vincent asked his tone sincere.

“Me or my friends of my life or anything else that gets in the way of her work.”

Vincent felt the sorrow and pain in her words, she really did believe what she had just said, that she was little more than an inconvenience in her parent’s life, she had always been it was her role.

Vincent took a deep breath “If you’re worried they won’t like me, fuck’em. If you think they’ll hurt my feelings, they can’t because I really don’t care what they think. A lot of people I know don’t like me so why would I care if people I don’t know don’t like me. Maybe I could go as a gay fashion designer, would that piss her off?”

“Everything pisses her off” Nadrea said the tears slowing.

“Perfect I’ll go as the most annoying thing I know how to be, myself. I won’t even have to act.”

Nadrea smiled a little smile

“Is she a control freak?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Perfect let’s change the reservation and prepay the check. She’ll have lost complete control.” Vincent went form being concerned to wicked it was his plan to be the biggest dick he knew how if the situation called for it.

“Now go get ready, I want make sure we’re seated before they get there so we get to pick out seats.”

Nadrea finally moved. “Can I have some Vodka for this?”

“No, now go get ready. And take your juice with you.”

As Nadrea walked into the bedroom heading for the shower she turned back to Vincent, “Are you sure you’re ok with this?”

Vincent laughed his first laugh of the day. “Do you really think your parents are going to be the first people to dislike me. You really do worry too much.”

Nadrea still weighted down with her concerns added “You don’t know them.”

“Not yet, but looking forward to it. Where are we going by the way?”

“Smith & Wolinsky’s”

“Ok, go get ready” Vincent said with a smile.

“Stop being so bossy! I don’t like it.”

Vincent laughed at her as he walked up and kissed her. “I’ve watched you for two days now, it takes you forever, if we’re going to be early you had really better get started.” Nadrea turned and wondered into the bathroom, the shower was cranked up to full force and searing hot. Nadrea adjusted the temperature and stood motionless under the relentless pounding of the water, her skin warmed with its touch, her legs were tired from Saturday’s shopping and her feet still had a deep distant ache in them, a slave to fashion style always took place over substance.

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