When I left, it started to rain. Rain was rare in September, or any month, for that matter. I desperately wanted to feel alive, to be wild, to rebel. I could make it to The Charmont before dark. I yearned to see the ocean in the pouring rain. It wasn't out of desire that I longed to see Laurie. It was an act out of need. I needed to be with him, indulge in his presence, and feel joy. Joy wasn't to be confused with happiness. Happiness was permeant and came from within. Joy, however, was short-lived and took the shape of temporary fulfillment, embraced by the pain that was fleetingly forgotten.
When I was foolishly young, I ran in the rain once. It was a particularly gloomy day in May, during a time raining wasn't as rare as presently. I sneaked out from the Red Lantern House at midnight and made my way to Neil. I remembered wearing a dark blue dress, blending into the night, and the same pair of gold-lamé shoes I wore the day I had met him. The rain poured, and I was shivering when I appeared before him. He said he worried I'd catch a fever, and I giggled at how silly I looked. That day was the first time we sat by a fireplace, drank tea, and talked about the mundane.
The elderly driver urged me to get inside the car. My hand was on the handle, and on the spur of the moment, I let go and began to run. The rain soaked through my dress. My ironed curls were damp while carefully painted make-up ran down my cheeks. I hadn't felt this free for the longest time.
"Please, ma'am, get in the car," the driver rolled down the window and pleaded. "You'll catch a fever."
"That's okay," I said as I kept running.
"Ma'am," he sounded desperate, "Mr. Murphy will get mad at me if you get sick."
I stopped, and he pulled over.
"Which Mr. Murphy?" I teased. Seeing his expression change from concern to terror, I smiled and opened the car door. "I'm just messing with you."
-----
I knocked on Laurie's door in a melody of rapid taps. I was drenched and ecstatic.
"Hey," he was surprised but delighted, "I didn't know you were coming."
"Me neither." With a bright smile, I opened my arms. Perhaps the rain made me deluded and euphoric from the false sense of liberty.
He scanned around the hall. There was nobody but us. His hesitation faded as he pulled me towards him. The door closed behind me. We were alone. His arms were around me, and his hand was on the back of my head. He held me a little too tight like he was scared I'd disappear if he didn't have a firm grip on me.
My hands were on his cheeks. Water dripped from my hair to his bare forearms under the rolled-up sleeves. I kissed him.
"What's the matter?" He whispered. An unfamiliar song was playing on the record player.
"I needed to see you," I said quietly, running my fingers through his hair. "I needed to be around you."
He looked a little puzzled: "Is everything all right? You usually call before you…."
"Shh," I put my finger on his lips. I felt brave and absurdly energetic. "I love you, Laurie. God knows I do. I'm sorry for all the pain and suffering my selfish actions have brought you."
"You don't have to apologize," the baffled look on his face soon morphed into a gentle, comforting smile. "I've forgiven you long ago. There's no need to bring that up ever again. We are not going to dwell on the past."
"I want you to know I'm ready to leave it all behind." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Let's get away from this family and this misery. Let's move to New York. And whatever comes in the way, we'll face it together."
"I'm glad." He kissed me. His hands were in my hair. He didn't care that rainwater had run down his arm and dampened his shirt. He almost sounded happy. I couldn't recall the last time he sounded happy.
When the phone rang, I was lying next to him. He was tempted to leave the bed and answer the call, but I grabbed his wrist.
"I'd rather you let it ring," I said.
So, he was lying next to me again. His slender body was pale, and his damp, curly, black hair was sticking onto his wrinkleless forehead. There was some color on those defined cheekbones and hollowed cheeks. I leaned my head on his boney shoulder and lit up a cigarette.
I liked this apartment, for it belonged to Laurie and only to Laurie. It was newly renovated and well decorated. In the latter half of 1933, a few months after he married Victoria, he decided to buy this apartment in Santa Monica. He said he wanted to be away from that house and close to the ocean. He said it would bring him some peace.
"There's something I should tell you." He turned towards me and rested his chin on my head. "I didn't throw the ring into the ocean."
I sat straight.
He reached over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. He swiftly glanced back at me before taking out a small envelope. Open-palmed, he let the content of the envelope fall onto his hand. The ring I thought to lay at the bottom of the ocean was shining under the light.
"It's beautiful," I commented.
"Something told me that I shouldn't throw it away," he said as he showed it to me. "Although I was in such a childish rage that I had to throw away the box for show."
I reached for it. He closed his hand and slowly shook his head.
"I can't give it to you now," he said firmly while staring into my eyes. "I love you more than life itself, Anne, but I can't risk you breaking my heart again. I'd rather wait for an appropriate time. I hope you can understand."
A mixed feeling arose. It was made up of disappointment and self-loathing. The ringing of the phone broke my silence. This time I urged him to pick it up.
"Lawrence Murphy," he said. It sounded foreign when he referred to himself as Lawrence.
He listened. There was no noise except the faint sound of raindrops tapping on the windows.
"Yes, she's with me. We're leaving now," he said solemnly before he hung up.
Gradually, he turned around. He picked up my cigarette case from the table, took out a cigarette, and lit it. He coughed, yet he was somber: "It was Thomas. Emma slit her wrists."