I arrived back at the Madison hotel in Berlin at two in the afternoon to find William, on his day off, tucked asleep under the duvet. I crawled in next to him and melted into the perfect bed. Ah yes, this is what money can buy. My six days in cheap Parisian hotels gave me an appreciation for luxurious linens, a bathroom brimming with hot water and a shimmering kitchen.
The next day was our two-year dating anniversary. William planned on being home by eight at night. I made omelets and salad for dinner. I bought small frosted German cakes, opened a good bottle of red and set them next to a lovey-dovey card. The KaDeWe gift bag with the leather wallet rested next to his dinner plate and I waited. And waited.
He forgot. He didn't call. This oversight was a throwback to our first few months of dating. He'd say, I'll be over at five-thirty. I'd say, Okay.
Back then, I believed him. I prepared. I was ready and I waited. Sometimes for two hours. Absolute stubborn martyrdom prevented me from phoning to ask, What the hell are you doing? Why aren't you here?
By the time he would arrive at my apartment, all chipper and nothing's wrong, I would be a chilly, tight-jawed, don't-touch-me mess.
This is not going to work if this seems normal to you.
What? What?
It feels like my time with you is unimportant.
That's not true….It's really important.
You say that but when you show up two hours later than you said….
He got it and showed up on time from then on. This is one of William's more winning attributes: he owns his stuff, wants to improve, then does. I own my mistakes, want to improve, and forget.
However, back in Berlin, he slipped. I thought we had worked this issue out two years earlier. It was well near eleven when he made his entrance into a clichéd scene out of a crummy B-movie: me asleep on the couch, a table set for two, candles burned to the quick and....
Look, the guy is working his ass off while I trip around Europe like a kept woman. I had no business griping — but that didn't stop me. I peeled open my groggy eyes and glared across the room. He opened the card and dropped his chin. I gloated. He unwrapped the gift and shook his head. I silently shrugged in an uppity way.
What can I do? How do I make this up to you?
Write. Something corny. Really sugary and you'll be forgiven.
William went to a desk and found a small pad of hotel stationery. He sat down with a pen and wrote. I kept quiet, curled up in a chair and marveled that he was writing anything. I thought back two years to when we worked on my movie and he virtually cupped me in his palm at the mix sessions. How he took care of me and my work. Of how that had never happened to me before, with anyone. I was acting witchy and whiny when he sat across from me on this October night in Berlin and handed me a note.
October 18, 2000
Dear Mel,
In the past two years of my life, I have made advances at work, settled into becoming a homeowner and taken care of a dog. But all these things wouldn't mean nearly as much as they do if I didn't have you to share them with. Thank you for not only making my life interesting but also for making me a better person as well.
Love (I may not say it often, but I do mean it),
William
Note to self: get over self.
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