Your Song Page 11

  My warm memories are disrupted by the sound of a blaring car horn. We’re here, thank the heavens. I quickly pass the driver a fifty-dollar bill and leap out of the cab. I start to jog lightly towards the entrance doors, hoping to make myself less late than I already am.

  Once inside, I look to the left and then quickly to the right, searching for a clue as to which way is room 139. The halls are pretty quiet except for the odd caretaker pushing her cleaning cart. I turn left and follow the arrows around the building. Absentmindedly, I push my fingers through my hair and then give my black suit jacket a shake. I tighten my tan-colored tie around my white collar and look down at my watch again. 4:41 P.M. Ten minutes late. I hope Amy isn’t pissed. Finally, I find room 139 and the door is closed. Phew. I take one of the seats lined up against the wall to the left of the door. I read the sign posted on the door.

  Defense thesis

  Do not disturb

  I breathe a huge sigh of relief. They’re still talking in there. I’ll just sit out here and make it look like I’ve been waiting for 15 minutes. I take another deep breath and pull out my iPhone. I tap into my ‘Notes’ icon and read over the list of questions that I came up with yesterday. Behind the door, I hear people talking with intermittent bouts of laughter in between. Slowly, I begin to relax a bit and my breathing has returned back to normal. Within seconds, I hear the sound of footsteps walking on the other side of the door. Sounds like a pair of high heels to me. Amy is coming to get me. I straighten up and place my iPhone back into my pocket. I hear the doorknob turn and then the door swing open. The first thing I hear is the sound of a woman calling my name.

  “Mr. Martin, are you there?” She asks.

  I turn my head towards the right and look up. Holy fuck. My eyes roll down to the nametag attached to her dress. Dr. Durand looks me straight in the eye and reaches out her hand to shake mine. Dr. Caroline Durand, that is. In the flesh.

  10 “Baby, What A Big Surprise”

  I am paralyzed. Completely. With my jaw surely hitting the floor and my eyes locked on hers, my legs don’t move. Neither do my arms. Instead, it is Caroline who extends her right arm out to me.

  “It looks like we meet again, Enrique-but-everyone-calls-me-Eric,” she giggles. My mouth is dry. She remembered my name. My real name. There are no words escaping me. I stare right into her radiant hazel eyes and am mesmerized. What probably looks like a half hour for me to reach my hand out to hers, the utter shock I find myself in renders me immobile. Holy shit, she’s here . . . in front of me. Neil Diamond all over again. As I reach my hand out to hers, I quickly glance at the four sets of eyes staring at me from inside the room. Amy is frowning. And I am sweating.

  “A small world after all,” I say clutching her soft hand in mine without taking my eyes off her. I am gone. The electricity I feel between us charges me. I wasn’t mistaken that day at the airport. There is something between us. It feels like we’ve been immediately swept into a bubble, alienated from the world around us. I am lost to this woman standing two feet away from me. She hasn’t stopped smiling at me either.

  “Please, won’t you come in, Mr. Martin?” Caroline leads me to the empty seat next to Amy. My legs feel like jelly and my breathing is shallow. I take a seat quickly and swivel my seat to look over at Amy. She gives me a curt smile all the while glaring at me. I wonder if she’s pissed because I was late.

  “I hope you weren’t waiting long for us, Mr. Martin. We got a little carried away in our pre-defense discussions.” Caroline says from across the table, seated directly in front of me. The six of us are all hovered around an oval mahogany conference table. I’m seated at the end of one side of the table, Amy is beside me and next to her is a middle-aged woman with grey hair and granny eyeglasses. On the opposite side of the table right across from me sits Princess Caroline and beside her a distinguished looking gentleman wearing a bright red scarf twirled around his neck. A scarf . . . in June . . . interesting. Beside him, a young woman tapping away at a laptop. She looks up at me with a cocked eyebrow after every few keystrokes on her keyboard.

  “Well, why don’t we start by going around and making some introductions for Mr. Martin. Amy, why don’t we start with you?” Caroline asks, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Sure, Dr. Durand,” Amy says nervously. I turn to look at Amy while keeping Caroline in my peripheral vision. Amy looks appropriately dressed for the occasion, I note. Wearing a long black pencil skirt and a sleeveless pale pink silk blouse and her infamous high heels, I’m impressed. Her hair sits atop her head with its typical unruly, just-fucked look and her makeup is tastefully done with no dramatic smoky eyes or harlot lips this afternoon. She suddenly looks nervous.

  “I’d like to introduce the panel to my dear friend, Eric Martin. Thank you for coming today.” She smiles at me demurely leaning over and stroking my arm. What the fuck? Why is she stroking my arm? I have to recover the optics here.

  “Amy is like a little sister to me, a smart younger sister, whose taught me more than any man would ever want to know about the 1789 French Revolution.” Hopefully, the diversion worked. Amy continues with the introductions giving me a fierce look of anger before turning her head.

  “To my right, is Dr. Laplante, from York University, the external who read my thesis.” That’s the granny glasses lady.

  “Across from her is Ms. Monica Brown, our neutral chair . . .” That would be Ms. Cocked Eyebrow who just now blessed me with a smile.

  “Next we have Dr. Trottier, our second reader, from the University of Toronto.” Dr. Red Scarf-in-June reaches over the table to shake my hand. I nod at him as we exchange handshakes.

  “And last but not least, we have my thesis supervisor, Dr. Caroline Durand. But it seems as though introductions might not be in order. I didn’t realize you two knew each other. I couldn’t imagine from where,” Amy smirks. How rude. What’s eating her?

  “Yes, Caro . . . I mean Dr. Durand and I met just a few weeks ago . . . .” I look over at her and see that she’s smiling shyly at me. My heart melts like wax from a candle. So, Sweet Caroline is a university professor who’s been working only blocks away from me all this time. No Facebook account, no face recognition technology to match her flawless face, no Google images to identify her. Yet, she has been within my radius all along. Unbelievable.

  “We recently met over a rather sticky situation . . .” I say looking Caroline right in the eye. She giggles and blushes. I want her so bad. I’ve no idea how the other people at the table take the comment because I only have eyes for Caroline right now.

  “Indeed, we did,” she nods her head and continues smiling, but if I say so myself, I’d say she was closer to beaming than smiling. Yes!

  “So now that introductions have taken place, why don’t we begin? I believe Ms. Sharma has decided to conduct her thesis defense in French. Do you understand French, Mr. Martin?” She grins at me, knowing full well I don’t.

  “Regretfully, I don’t. But, please go ahead and proceed with the defense,” I glance at Amy. I thought she told me she was going to defend her thesis in both languages. When did she change her mind? And why didn’t she tell me?

  And so the actual presentation begins. Amy begins to speak in a quick and fluent French turning her attention as she speaks to each of the members of the panel. With hands moving in the air, her facial expressions reveal her excitement for her topic. I pick up some words like ‘amour, fille, Marius, Hugo.’ In her animated way, Amy exudes the passion she clearly has for French Literature and Hugo’s work. I turn to watch Amy sitting beside me but my mind, body, and soul are focused on Caroline who, quite unbelievably to me, is seated across from me. I am utterly stunned that, after all these weeks, I’ve found her. The old Peter Cetera song, “Baby, What a Big Surprise” from the 70s pops in my head. An understatement if I ever heard one.

  Caroline is holding a crystal-studded blue pen in her right hand jotting down notes on the notepad in front of her as Amy speaks. Every once in a while, she tuc
ks a strand or two of her long light brown hair behind her ear. She looks absolutely lovely. Wearing a black linen sleeveless sheath dress, her toned and tanned arms rest serenely on the table in front of her. Wrapped around her neck is a thick, long gold chain. She has round diamond studded hoop earrings on her ears and a gold luxury watch on her left wrist. And no rings on her fingers, I note. Class act.

  Caroline must sense me staring at her; she looks up from her notepad and catches my eye. I can’t help but smile. She smiles back and that brief moment between us, heaven on earth for me. Abruptly, Amy pauses mid-sentence and notices the exchange between Caroline and me. I’d better behave.

  I pick up the notepaper and pen in front of me. Ever so slightly, I pull my chair out from underneath the table and cross my left ankle to rest over my right knee. I place the paper and pen on my lap all the while feigning interest in Amy’s animations. From my peripheral vision, I see Caroline nodding and listening to Amy. Am I distracting her? I glance around the small room but nothing really catches my attention. That is, until I spot Caroline’s shoe underneath the table. Her legs are crossed so I can see the sole of one shoe. Red soles. Oh . . . Louboutins, I see. Inspiration hits me. I click the top of the pen and write a few words on the notepad.

  Dr. Durand,

  You’re safe! I checked your soles- they’re clear!

  I’m really not sure what else to write. I look up as I hear a pause in the presentation. Amy is watching me. When I catch her eye, she begins speaking again. I wonder if Caroline thinks I’m Amy’s boyfriend. Shit, I hope not.

  At this point, Amy is concluding her defense and the panel is beginning their round of questioning. The neutral chair of the committee, formalizes the process, I glean. She is explaining how the round of questioning will take place. I glance at my watch. It’s 5:10 P.M. already. Normally, I’d be bored to tears at this whole proceeding but my fascination remains throughout. I am in the same room as Sweet Caroline.

  I think about what Leslie said the other night about there always being hope. Today has been the absolute best day I’ve had in years. Friends and family around me, no stalking episodes from the psycho in my midst, the possibility of a huge buyout of my company and most importantly, finding Caroline. There’s no way I’m going to let her slip away as easily as last time.

  Abruptly, another idea comes to me and I think about adding it to the note I write Caroline. But first, I watch as each member of the panel asks Amy their questions. Amy, in turn, responds to each query with her usual confidence. Caroline’s turn to ask her questions comes last. All eyes turn towards Caroline, the supervisor, but my eyes are the only ones that lock with hers. Caroline hesitates slightly before beginning, easing her gaze away from me. I melt. And then, like a racehorse at the gate, she is off, posing questions to her student, efficiently and stylishly, as far as I can tell.

  “Excuse us, Mr. Martin,” the neutral chair addresses me and I look up. “You’ve been waiting so patiently throughout the initial stages of the defense. We will take a short pause at this time. And when we return, we’ll conclude the defense proceedings.” With a nod of her head and a smile in my direction, neutral chair stands up and begins to chat in French with Professor Red Scarf. Caroline joins in on their conversation as well. And that is when Amy turns to me with vehemence in her eyes.

  “I didn’t realize you knew her, Eric,” she says through gritted teeth. I hope Caroline didn’t hear that. Divert, Eric, divert. I glance over at Caroline who’s standing in a small circle with her two colleagues. Luckily, she hasn’t looked our way.

  “What an interesting experience. Thank you for inviting me. And from the sounds of it, you’re doing really well. I wish I understood a word you were saying but you sound . . . great.” I am barely able to keep eye contact with Amy, glancing in Caroline’s direction as I speak.

  “Thank you for coming to this,” Amy gushes and then shockingly to me, reaches over and plants a kiss on my lips. What the fuck is she up to? Instantly, my hand reaches up to my lips and I quickly glance at Caroline, who I see has caught the exchange. Double fuck. What’s Amy’s game? Immediately, Ro’s words from earlier this afternoon come back to haunt me . . . Amy wants you back. No way. No fucking way.

  “Would you excuse me, please? I need to find the restroom.” I get up from my seat, glaring at Amy on my way out. I take the notepad and pen with me as I turn left out of the door and start walking. I’m so pissed right now I don’t know what I am going to do. I pick up my paces and am practically jogging down the corridor. I look to my right and then to my left scanning for a men’s restroom. I feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. How am I going to fix this?

  The cold dampness of the water hitting my face jolts me out of my anger only slightly. I stare at my face in the mirror. It figures . . . just my luck. Old life colliding with potential new life. What is they say about karma? Do I deserve this? Just then, I hear the ping of a text coming through my iPhone. I pull it out of my pocket and the name on the screen says Private Caller. Beneath it the text reads,

  So u received my flowers. R u ready to stop ignoring me?

  And psycho stalker enters stage left. Lovely. Didn’t I just say that this has been one of the best days I’ve had in years? I spin around the small quarters of the washroom, noting that except for me, it’s empty. Now what? I have psycho person on the prowl and Amy clawing her way all over me, and all on the same day I find Caroline. I have to figure a way out of this. I pace and pace in the washroom thinking about my next move. The notepad . . . it’s in my pocket. A flash of a plan. Worth a try. I scribble down my thoughts and make my way out of the restroom and back to room 139. I glance down at what I’ve added to the note.

  Dr. Durand,

  You’re safe! I checked your soles- they’re clear!

  I came prepared with questions about Marius and Cosette but it looks like I won’t get to ask them.

  Will you join me for a drink . . . coffee . . . dinner . . . after the defense so I can ask an expert those questions?

  Eric

  P.S. Amy is not my girlfriend.

  I just have to work up the nerve to pass Caroline the note. Edgy does not begin to explain what I feel. Not being able to anticipate Amy’s next move is what worries me most. I can’t even pull her aside right now to talk to her. She’s obviously picking up on whatever is going on between Caroline and me and not liking it. But I don’t give a flying fuck what she likes or doesn’t like right now. I’ll deal with Amy later.

  Upon arriving at the threshold of room 139, I find Caroline and Amy speaking to one another in French. They both turn to look at me standing at the entranceway. My eyes fall straight on Caroline’s and I smile. The note, now folded in my left hand feels like a weight, heavy and cumbersome. I need to pass this to Caroline sooner rather than later. But no sooner do I think this, does Amy lunge at me with full force giving me the tightest squeeze.

  “You don’t know how much this means to me, you coming today. I owe you big time for this, Eric,” she says locking her arms around mine. Get your hands off me, Amy.

  “That’s what friends do for each other, isn’t it?” I say taking the care to remove Amy’s wrapped arms from mine in a manner as obvious as I can make it. Caroline is watching the exchange closely. I need to pass her the note.

  “Now that everyone has returned, why don’t we continue with the defense?” The neutral chair says from her place at the table. Now’s my chance. I watch Amy turn from me quickly and make her way over to the mahogany table. With her back to us, I quickly grab Caroline’s arm. She looks up at me inquisitively. With a lightning pace, I reach over and grab her opposite hand and tuck my folded note inside it. Caroline looks down and then up at me quickly and smiles.

  “I remember your last note,” she whispers. And then she mouths the word thank you. We walk over and take our seats at the table. I did it. A long sigh of relief escapes me. I try to level my breathing as the discussions continue in French. Using my peripheral vision, I
watch Caroline engaging in the discussion. The note is still in her hand, unopened. I swivel around in my seat watching the interactions take place but my mind is on that note. I wonder how Caroline will react to it. Will it scare her off? She did say she remembered my last note from the flight back to Toronto. Flight! Shit . . . I’m leaving for Vancouver tomorrow. How can I leave now? I need to talk to Raj about my stalker . . . I need to connect with Caroline if she doesn’t accept my offer for tonight. I don’t want to travel. Old life colliding once again with my new one.

  As my thoughts wander, out of the corner of my eye, I notice Caroline sitting back in her seat resting her hands on her lap. She glances down at her lap, hopefully, reading my note. Amy is talking away and doesn’t look Caroline’s way. I watch closely as a wide grin appears on Caroline’s face that she tries to suppress. She doesn’t look up at all, likely feeling my eyes on her. Caroline reaches over for the crystal-studded pen lying on the table in front of her. Yes! She is going to write me back. I’m in seventh heaven! But, then a thought comes to me, a negative one . . . what if she’s turning me down? Telling me to get lost? Her pen glides along the paper smoothly. I start to shake my legs from side to side under the table, fidgeting with my fingers, scratching my head as I always do when my nerves get the better of me. A round of laughs from around the table disrupts my negative thinking. I guess the defense is over. I look over at a relieved and happy looking Amy.

  “It’s all over,“ Amy turns to me, “and I want to celebrate . . . over dessert with you.” She winks. I shake my head from side to side, praying to the universe that no one heard that comment.