Private Lies ...Part 8 …Future Arrangements

Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand
—F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tough Negotiator

Whatever Sylvia wants, Sylvia gets—that's a given in her world. It's called entitlement and it's one of the perks of the indecently wealthy.

Fitzgerald said the rich 'are different from you and me,' as if they were a higher form of humanity. But I liked Hemingway's response. He retorted, 'Yes, they have more money.'

I think Hemingway's reaction adequately sums up the state of play between Sylvia and me.

She thinks she can buy anything including love and happiness which of course she can never attain through commerce of any kind, but I'm idealistic enough to think love will always find a way, even when that seems unlikely.

I still naively believe love will conquer everything and even though I haven't found it yet, I cling to the hope it will someday find me.

Yeah, I know, totally lame and deluded. But that's me.

"Make us a drink," she says, kicking off her heels and heading back to her bedroom. "I don't know why I get dressed up when you obviously don't even notice."

"You don't need my approval, but you looked nice tonight, Syl, but you also look nice in sweater and jeans."

"That was a Dior dress you're equating with jeans," she calls back from the dark recesses of her condo.

"It doesn't matter what you wear, " I call back, "you're a beautiful woman regardless."

She pokes her head out of a doorway, "Oh really? Well if that's how you feel, how come you don't show it?"

"I told you—it isn't going to work between you and me and it's not because you're not gorgeous. I just want something more and I'm not going to settle for anything less for either of us."

"You know you're a bleeding ass idealist Matt—You're insulting me and don't even know it."

"No, I know you can have any guy you want, so why don't you—what's stopping you? Go for it."

"We can be good together..."

"Stop it, Syl! I'm thinking of both of us here. You deserve better and I'm not going to get caught up again. It's too damn painful and it'll go nowhere."

She comes out of the shadows dressed in a black sweater and wearing blue jeans.

"Is this better—less intimidating?"

"Aw, Syl—it's hard enough without torturing each other. I care about you or I wouldn't be honest with you."

Her eyes flash. "I know, damn it—you always have to be so damn noble. Well, I'm not—can't afford to be—and that's funny considering Daddy's money. But you know what? The one thing I need I can't have and maybe that's why I keep trying."

I shake my head. "I know I may regret this someday looking back, but I can't get lost again in us—I'm sorry, Syl, it will just hurt too much."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," she whispers.

She looks so desolate I almost want to give in, but I drew a line last time—no steps backwards.

"Can you do me a favour then?"

I'm almost afraid to ask. "Maybe—what is it?"

"There's a cocktail party at the Park Hotel tomorrow night. Can you go with me?"

"You don't have a date?" I ask, incredulous.

"Let's just say I have to make a statement and you're the one who can best convey it."

"So, I'm just a statement now?" I tease.

Her eyes are fiery. "Just say you'll damn well go—you owe me that much at least."

"If I do, will we be squared away, or will there be other 'favours' in the offing?"

"Oh God, Matt—you're such a hard ass—can you just do an Even? Do it and we'll be fine. Okay?"

"Okay—just asking."

Her anger was still smouldering and I didn't want to ignite those embers, but I knew that wouldn't be the end of it. No way she'd let me off that easy.

Still, I owed her something and this seemed the least I could so under the circumstances.

To be continued…

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