A Breathless Place, page 4
Despite the hours and hours of therapy. Despite all the medication I’ve tried. The Zen retreats. The silent retreats. The yoga and meditation retreats. The holistic healers. The energy healers. The battery of doctors I’ve seen. The follow-up surgeries that didn’t change a thing. Despite everything I’ve tried in order to reverse the situation, I’m still without a voice. This is how I express myself now. Through a letter. No sound. Only silence. And without a voice, I might as well change my name. Without my voice, I’m no longer Isabel Adler.
Stronger people than me might choose to live. Yet I prefer not to call myself weak. Although taking one’s own life is often thought of as the ultimate act of weakness, I don’t believe that’s what this is.
The only way I can explain it is by assuring you that I’ve lived all the life that I’ve had in me. I sometimes imagine that instead of the surgery going wrong, the anesthesia did, and I died on the operating table. If that had been the case, I wouldn’t have had the past ten years. But because I did, I can tell you that I’m glad that I had them, although, I’m not going to lie—what’s the point now, anyway? If I had died during surgery and if I had never had to wake up to the news of losing my singing voice, that would have been okay with me. I don’t think any one of you can begrudge me that. But I didn’t die. I lived and I thought and considered and debated and, ultimately, concluded, that this is the right path for me. Because at least, over this, I have power. This destiny I can control.
Some might say that I had so much to live for, but I disagree. Anyway, I don’t want to be endlessly repeating myself here. By now, you should have a good enough idea of why I did it, why I chose to no longer live.
Chapter 6
Vivian looks so pale compared to Leila. I don’t know why I’m even thinking that. Vivian’s so bony and sinewy, whereas Leila is curvy and soft, with the kind of bosom I’d want to put my head down on after another long day of being this person that no longer feels like me.
“What’s with you?” Vivian asks. “You seem miles away.”
“Thinking about my biography.”
“Speaking of. I need to read every single word about me before that book goes to print. Agreed?” She paints on that half-smile of hers.
“I’ve already agreed to that a million times, Viv.” After the hundredth time she expressed her worry about being mentioned in the book, I had Ira draw up a contract, giving her full veto right over the chapters she appears in. Since I won’t be here anymore then, I don’t want my best friend to have any regrets over my last big project. It feels like the least I can do for her.
“When can I read it?”
“Even I haven’t read it.”
“I can read it for you.” The half-smile has morphed into a full one.
“I’m seeing my new biographer tomorrow. I’ll ask her when I can read what Bruce had written so far. I promise you that you will be the first person I send it to.” I cock my head. “What are you so worried about, anyway? Did you tell Bruce something you weren’t supposed to?”
“What’s ‘not supposed to’ in the context of a biography?” She shrugs. “Everything I told him was certainly true, but, um… Maybe some things should not be printed in black and white in a book. Recorded for the ages, so to speak. Jackson will read that book one day. I might have said some things that, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“Just stuff that happened between us. I didn’t give it much thought after Bruce interviewed me, but now he’s out of the picture, and this new person is coming in, it got me thinking about what I revealed.”
“I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you for some follow-up. Just tell her what you don’t want to be included in the book.” I narrow my eyes. “Better yet, tell me now.” Vivian’s not only my best friend. She’s also my ex. We were together a very long time ago, when it wasn’t opportune for popular singers to be in a same-sex relationship.
“I might have vented a bit about how frustrating it was for me at the time,” she says.
“That’s perfectly understandable.” And not new information to me. Before Bruce interviewed her, Vivian and I had a long conversation about what she could talk about and what should remain private. We agreed anything sexually intimate was off-limits, but all the rest she could share.
“I might even have said some things that might be hurtful to you.”
“Oh, come on, Viv. We’ve said all there is to say between us. We’re still friends after everything that has happened. What could you possibly have divulged that would hurt me now?”
She sips from her glass of white wine. In my cellar, I have an entire shelf stacked full of the sauvignon blanc that Vivian loves so much. She’s the only one who drinks it. “It’s not new information, of course. It’s just dragging up the past. Remembering things that I would have preferred to forget about forever. And now they’re going to be in your biography because that Bruce is quite the sneaky bastard. Before I even knew it, he’d got me to tell him stuff I haven’t told anyone. Ever.”
I grin. “That sounds like Bruce all right.”
“What about this new woman? Is she like that?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but the truth is that I don’t know.”
“Keep me posted.” She glances at her watch. “I need to go soon. Jackson has a game.” She gives me that look. “You sure you don’t want to join me?”
Another thing we’ve been over a million times. “Tell my precious godson that I love him very much, but I can’t come to his basketball game. You both know why.” I don’t know why Vivian keeps on trying.
“Put on some sunglasses and a hat and no one will recognize you, Iz.” What she leaves unspoken is that it’s been so long since I was in the public eye, most people have forgotten about me anyway.
“That may be so, but you never know. I’m not in the mood for that.” Going to one of my godson’s games is an item on my Things To Do Before list, but I can’t tell Vivian and Jackson about that. And there’s time.
“Suit yourself.” Vivian gets up. “Don’t forget dinner on Friday.”
“Have I ever forgotten?” I blow her a kiss.
“Bring a bottle,” she says.
This conversation between us that we always repeat remains a huge source of comfort for me.
I nod and hug her goodbye. Now that I’ve actually started on the letter, it’s become surprisingly harder. Even this everyday hug feels like it’s more. Because this may be comforting to me, but it must also be something special for Vivian. It’s her I worry about the most. Even though we’re exes, we still have a kind of co-dependency going on between us. I rely on her for certain things—social interaction and a sense of family—and she relies on me for other things. At least I think she does—and not just the endless supply of white wine I keep her in.
Ira will bounce back. Jackson’s still young, and we aren’t as close as we might have been under different circumstances. He was only four when I had my surgery. All the years it took me to put myself together again, or rather while I tried and failed, I didn’t give him the attention my only godson, the only child of meaning in my life, deserved. I make a mental note to go to one of his games soon. What Vivian said is true. If I properly disguise myself, no one will realize it’s me.
Daisy and Harry will move on. But Vivian, she’s my biggest worry. Because she stuck by me. Not only after I lost my voice, but also after we broke up. After she couldn’t take being the secret girlfriend of one of the world’s most famous performers anymore. We have decades of trust between us, and a deep intimacy, and the kind of bond that can only be forged through being there for each other no matter what.
Vivian is the weak spot in my plan. I’ve racked my brain for ways to somehow cushion the blow for her. She’ll inherit plenty of money but, as I’ve come to realize, money means nothing. I would give my entire fortune for one more night on stage. For a few hours of doing what I’ve always done best. Sing my heart out.
Now that I can no longer sing, my heart is useless. It still beats, of course. It keeps me alive. But to what end? This is precisely what Vivian won’t understand. Trying, after I’m gone, to make her see why I did what I did is the only thing I can do. Until I’m satisfied with how I’ve put my decision into words, I won’t go through with it. Because the point is not to inflict pain on the people that I love, even though it’s inevitable that they will suffer. The point is to, very simply, stop existing.
I have tried and tried to fall in love with life again. To feel that spark again. But it never happened. Everyone in the world may disagree, though I doubt that would be the case, but I believe this has earned me the right to die. Part of me has been dead for a long time. But please know, feel it in your heart of hearts, that it wasn’t a lack of your love and attention that made me decide to do this. If anything, if it hadn’t been for you, I might have done this years ago.
Because I didn’t just owe it to myself to investigate my desire to die until, no metaphorical stone left unturned, I was absolutely certain of my choice, but I also owed it to you. You will be the ones that will have to let me go without having had a choice in the matter. And, in doing this, I will take control of a big part of your life, at least for a while. This is the part of this whole thing that is the hardest. Imagining your grief, your loss. Which is why I keep repeating that this is what I wanted. This is the opposite of a premature death. This is my choice. I know it’s not your choice, this grief is not your choice, the way this will make you doubt yourself and feel like you didn’t do enough, is not your choice. That’s on me. And I’m so very sorry. I wish I could do this without making you feel this way. Maybe some of you can even follow my reasoning and, for you, the pain of my loss is not exacerbated by guilt. I truly hope so. If not, please be very, very aware that the life I had left after the surgery, those ten years without my voice, was worth living because of you, because of your love and your loyalty to me. I know I’ve often been difficult, although I did always try to do my best. I want to thank you for that. For your patience and your kindness and your love. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I also want you to know that I didn’t suffer and, this should come as no surprise, I chose a painless death. Why shouldn’t I? Even though the doctors will confirm this, I also want you to hear it from me. Although, of course, I’m writing this before I’m dead. I’m not coming to you from beyond the grave. Sorry. You’re probably not up for some gallows humor at this point, but maybe you will be when you re-read this letter later.
But I do want you to see that the prospect of dying has inspired a certain lightness in me. Unlike most people, I’m wholly unafraid of death. I can’t really explain it to myself either, but it doesn’t scare me. All I know about death, which is the same as anyone else, I presume, is that I will cease to exist. It’s exactly that ceasing that offers me the greatest comfort. I will go to sleep and never wake up. Maybe that makes it sound as though I got up not wanting to go through another day, but that has not been the case. Not anymore. Ironically, choosing to die has given me back a certain joie de vivre. I know it sounds a touch ridiculous, but let me tell you, my friends, there’s nothing that will make you feel more alive than your imminent death. It’s one of life’s great contradictions. I don’t know how I will feel on the day. It’s impossible to predict. Light or darkness? I don’t know. But one thing you can be sure of is that if, on the day, I wasn’t 100% certain of what I wanted to do, you wouldn’t be reading this letter. I won’t die against my will. Nor will I live against my will. If you’re reading this, it’s because I believed, with every fiber of my being, that no longer being alive was the absolute best choice for me.
Chapter 7
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Leila says. I can’t read from her face what reaction she’s after exactly, but if it’s the smallest of shivers up my spine, she’s right on the money. “I’d forgotten how completely immersive biographies are. You’re all I think about now, Isabel.”
Since I last saw her, Leila’s never been far from my mind either, but I don’t tell her that.
“I don’t envy the carnage in your head,” I quip.
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what you mean by that. Your life has just been so fascinating. I do regret not having been involved from the start, but what an opportunity to still be a part of this.” She paints on a solemn expression. “With all due respect to Bruce, of course. Poor guy. Not only does he need to recover from the accident, but he also has to live with the fact that he won’t be finishing a project he has worked on for years.”
“True, although that might be the least of his worries right now. I think he’s more invested in learning how to walk again than writing the last few chapters of the book.”
“I guess health always comes first.” She gives me a meaningful look.
“It does.” I don’t take the bait just yet. I’m sure Leila can do much better than this. I peer at her over the rim of my coffee cup. She looks so good in that armchair, as though it’s her rightful place in my house. As though the chair was bought and put in that exact spot just so she could sit in it. It’s a ridiculous thought—and not the only one of that ilk that I’ve been having when it comes to her.
When I’m not in her company, I can keep my lusty predilections for her at bay, but as soon as she enters my physical space, it’s as if she sucks me into her force field. I can’t help but focus on her lips for a second too long. I can’t help but steal a glance at her hands and wonder what her fingers would feel like when they skim my body. But I did this to myself. I said yes. So here she is.
“I wanted to ask you something a little out of left field.” She returns my gaze.
“Sure.” Isn’t that what she’s here for?
“The other day, I asked you what a typical day for you consists of. It was hard for you to answer that question, which is understandable. So, I was thinking…” Her cheek lifts into a small smile. “Can I shadow you for twenty-four hours? I wish I could promise that you won’t notice I’m there, but that would be foolish.” She arches up her eyebrows. “But it would give me a much greater sense of who you are and what you do.” She holds up her hand, as though prematurely wanting to ward off my protest. “I know it’s very intimate. And I know you’ll never fully be yourself while I’m around. Yet, it would be immensely helpful for me to get a better sense of you.”
That’s out of left field all right. “You want to move in for a day?” It’s not so much the intrusion on my privacy that I’m worried about but all the sightings of her red lips I will need to endure.
Red lips pursed, she nods.
“I need to think about it.”
“I figured that would be your first instinct, but…” She inclines her head a little. “I brought an overnight bag.” She points at what I thought was just a laptop case.
“Wait…” Is she trying to blindside me? “You want to stay the night?”
Oh no. She really shouldn’t.
“Yes. I’d like to stay after this conversation. So you don’t have the chance to prepare for my arrival.”
I chuckle nervously. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“That was the idea. To catch you completely off guard.”
“You’re putting me in a tough spot here, Leila.”
“I know, but I’d like to think I’m doing it for a good reason.”
“If I say no, it might put us on the wrong foot. If I say yes, I might be doing something that I don’t want to.”
“Permission to argue my case?” Her eyes glitter. She’s enjoying this. The cheek of this woman.
“I get the feeling that trying to stop you would only be futile.”
“For the record, I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to. Obviously, I need to consider and I’m responsible for my position in your life. I will always be respectful to you, Isabel. If you say no, that’s perfectly fine. Really.”
“Even if I say no, it will give you some valuable information about me.”
“Correct.” She manages not to sound too triumphant. “But, admittedly, when writing about someone’s life, boundaries tend to blur. It comes with the territory. You’re going to have to let me in, if you want this book to reflect who you truly are. And I get the impression you want that. You let Bruce in, although, I venture to guess that Bruce had his own way of accomplishing that. My way is different. Not confrontational per se, but I am more in your face.”
I wonder if Leila is aware that, apart from Ira and Vivian—the people that I’m close to—no one has spoken to me like this in decades. It’s what drew me to accept her as Bruce’s replacement in the first place. She does things her way—the only way for her—regardless of her subject.
“I should…” I start to say what I always say. I should call Ira. Do we need some sort of written agreement to make this happen? Over the years, it has become a reflex. I’m also acutely aware that saying that I need to call Ira sounds very much like I need to call my father to ask him for permission to have a slumber party. Instead, I say, “Fine.” I nod, more to encourage myself than to convey that I can deal with unexpected situations like this. “Let’s do it. You can stay. I’ll have Harry prepare a room for you.” I can’t help but grin at this. “Unless we need to share a room.”
