It was a relief to finally deliver the final draft of 'How it ends', it had been polished as much as I could, and my editor was quite pleased with it. It didn't sell terribly well, though it was well reviewed. I got a decent chunk of change from it, there was some talks about a movie option, I had my agent buzzed about it, but it went nowhere. No, the one that put me on the map came a year or so later. I'd decided to tell a story vaguely inspired in my own story with Eleanor, and then spun it into a trilogy. Clever me, I got to tell pretty much the same story over three books, but all of them from different perspectives. That was the million seller. That was the one that got movies made out of. Everyone knows by heart the opening line of the book - and the movie. 'Didn't we say we had a deal?', says a sultry voice, invitingly. I wrote those books like a man possessed, over the course of a few months. Everything seemed to be going my way. I was now well-off, I'd met and got engaged to Geraldine, and now, as we celebrate the release of a new edition of the books, complete with my manuscripts, I feel like I'm taking a well deserved victory lap. There's parties and autograph sessions and my ego gets massaged everywhere I go. What could go wrong, I wondered? And then I met Eleanor again.
I was doing a signing in one of the big bookstores, and I'd signed so many of the damned things, that my wrist was threatening to explode, and the worst migraine I veer had decided to inflict itself upon me. I'm sitting down at a table, and a winding queue of people steadily drop their books in front of me, I ask them if they want any dedication, some do, some don't, I sign the books, and rinse and repeat. After a while I stop noticing faces. It all becomes a blur. But I can smell her even before I'm aware it's her standing in front of me. I never forgot the scent of her perfume mingled with her flesh. She drops the book in front of me, our eyes lock. I'm feeling nervous now. I motion at the person responsible for the signing to come over, and tell him that I need to take a break, could he please let the people who are still in line wait a bit longer? That's a good man, I say, patting him on the back. So, Eleanor. Jesus. I ask her if she has the time for a cup of coffee, she says sure. We go to a café just across the road, and sit by the window. I'm actually hungry, so I order a grilled cheese sandwich as well. Eleanor says she's fine, the coffee will do. While we wait, she leans forward, puts her elbows on top of the table and steeples her fingers. She looks at me with a smile that would frighten a great white shark, and asks how I've been.
I'm studying her before I reply. As I look at her - she'd somehow gotten even more beautiful - my eyes caught her fingers, still steepled. No ring. I wonder. I don't reply immediately, and because I don't, she presses on. She was studying me as well. I had my hand laid out on the top of the table, and of course she noticed my ring. She's circling me, readying herself to pounce. She wants to savor the kill. 'I heard you got engaged', she said. I twirl the ring around my finger, still looking deep in her eyes. Shaking my head, I say 'We actually got married a while ago. A very discreet affair, only close friends and family, and nobody knew.' I'm still twirling the ring, a bead of sweat running down my spine. Eleanor looks... hurt. But she waves it away, and laughs that soul-saving laughter of hers. Then she unsteeples her fingers, waves her hands at me, and tells me that she'd called off her engagement a while back. I ask why, what happened, and she says it's what always happens. One day one or both of them realized that the emotions were dead, and they both went their own way. Undaunted, I ask her if there had been any other underlying motive. Somehow, when she told the story of what happened, I felt that there had been something missing. 'I thought the guy was perfect for you', I said. 'At least that's what you told me, some years ago'. Eleanor reached over to grab a piece of the grilled cheese sandwich, took a bite, then rolled her eyes. 'Oh, that is good', she says. She chews the food unhurriedly, and then takes a big sip from her coffee. The way she looks at me, it's killing me. Then she says, 'He was perfect, in his own way he was perfect. But there was something he wasn't. He wasn't you. And I never forgot you, nor that all too brief time we spent together. But it looks like we can't ever get the timing right, can we?'.
I have to go back, I tell her. I'd been away for too long as it is. But I also tell her that later that day I'd be at a party hosted by the publisher, and I gave her the address. I also did something then for the first time, I gave her my phone number, and she gave me hers. Come, I said. It will be good, I said. We can talk some more, I said. Let me finish the signing, and then we'll continue, I said. 'No promises', she said. 'But yeah, I understand that you're busy now, though you still haven't signed my book.' We laugh, and I sign her book. I leave an inscription inside, and ask Eleanor to read it only when she gets home. I hope she does. We walk back to the bookstore, and I kiss her on the cheek, saying I hope to see her again later. She smiles, winks, then turns her back and goes. I go back in, finish the signing, and by the time it ends I'm devastated. It's time to go home now, take a shower, and get ready for the event.
The party wasn't as small and intimate as I'd hoped it would be, there are far too many people here, it's far too noisy, I can't even hear myself think. I'm on edge, and I could use a drink. A girl walks by holding a tray with champagne glasses, I take one and down it. My stomach is churning. People talk to me, and it barely registers. I smile, I wave, I take pictures with people I'd never seen before, and probably never will again. There's a sea of people between me and the door, I find my eyes darting all over the place, looking, scanning, searching. Where is she? I see Geraldine talking to a circle of people, I hear their laughter, their shrieking shrill laughter. And then the sea of people begins to part, and I see her in a red dress walking towards me. My heart skips a beat. As she walks through the crowd, I can't take my eyes off of her. I can't. And I dread what's about to happen. Ah, distinctly I feel her perfume as she inches closer. I am made of stone, Medusa turned me into a living statue, I can not move. I am transfixed by the beauty of her. And as she finally gets to where I am, of course I see Geraldine making her way to me. Fuck. She moves fast, and is besides us in moments. 'And this is...?', Geraldine asks, taking her in. I can tell she is impressed, and probably feels a little bit threatened. And I introduce Eleanor to her, which leaves her standing with her mouth wide open in shock. 'Holy shit', says she, she who never, ever swears, 'THE Eleanor?', and then shock gives way to confusion gives way to a quiet, seething rage. Something seems to be happening between them, the air is electric, I've never seen Gerry like this. But Elle, god fucking bless her, she quickly diffuses it, gives her a hug, and tells her how nice it is to meet her. For a second or two, there was some uncertainty about how things would pan out, but all was well. I'm whisked away by someone from the publisher, and I leave them both alone for a while. When I get back they're chatting away like if they'd known each other for a long time, laughing at some private joke I was not privy to. I join them, and soon it's Geraldine who's spirited away to go talk to some other circle of interchangeable people who all look the same.
'You seemed to get along well', I said to Eleanor. She laughed airily, and said 'Darling, we said empty, polite words, and laughed at a rude joke she'd told. She probably hated me.' I was intrigued. 'Do you hate her', I ask Eleanor, as I swipe to glasses and champagne, and hand one over to her. She turns her head like a hawk, and spots her immediately across the room. She looks at her for a few moments, then looks back at me. 'No. I don't hate her. She is very pretty, though. But I don't hate her.' We talk for a few moments, though the din seems to be getting louder. I have to lean close to her and speak directly to her ear, and she has to get on tiptoes to reply. I asked her if she'd read the inscription on the book when she got home. She said she read it as soon as she left. She said she couldn't wait. She said she knew what I'd written, deep in her heart she knew. I sigh. Maybe it was a bit of a loud sigh, because just then the noise seems to die down a little. We both look at the opposite end of the room, where Gerry entertains either the same or yet another circle of sycophants. Eleanor turns to me and says, 'She's perfect', and I nod in agreement. 'She is perfect', I repeat. I turn to her now, look deeply into her dark eyes, and say the words I was afraid to say, 'But there is something she isn't. She isn't you'.
What happens next I can't properly explain. There is a moment of silence between us, then Eleanor asks me to wait for her for a little bit. I wait, after a few minutes she returns. She looks at me, and says nothing, but starts moving away from me. It's as if she's leading me on somewhere. She is, she is leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, so to speak. I'm following her. I follow. I will follow. Where she's taking me, I do not know. I can't go on. I must go on. I'm - somehow - inside a room with her. It's full of other's peoples coats. We brush them all away, and they fall to the floor. I'm unzipping her dress, kissing her, holding her. I feel alive for the first time in years. We fall on the bed, I'm inside her, under her, over her, as she pulls me into her. I can't stop, I can't, we can't, we are fucking, fucking again, fucking everything up again. I have no idea how long we've been there, I don't know if it's minutes or hours or days or weeks, all I know is that time stands still, it's time without a time, it's everything without a time, and I wish this moment never ends. But of course it does, in the only predictable way, with Gerry walking in on us, and I don't even offer her an excuse, I don't try to say that this wasn't what it looked like, because it did, it did, it did, and it was glorious. Gerry shouts and screams, and then I feel her nails raking my naked flesh, gouging me deeply. She is shaking me, I say nothing, I'm somewhere else. I hear her telling Eleanor to get dressed and get out, my eyes follow her the whole damn time. Elle leaves, and looks at me. I look at her, and Gerry slaps me in the face - I fall down on the bed, my limp dick flapping as I tumble. There's a crowd gathered outside the door now, eager to see this living portrait of the artist as a beaten and broken thing. Let them drink it in. Let them savour the sight. This is the grand finale, the crescendo of demise. This is the happy ending where the bad guy goes down and dies. This is the end with me on my knees and wondering why? Cross my heart, hope to die - It's my own cheating heart that makes me cry.
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