Free Shadow Traffic by Richard Burgin Page A

done myself more than a few times after a one-night stand, right down to the letter that she’d left for me on thekitchen table, where we’d gotten high. I remember that I didn’t pick the letter up right away. I was still excited by her passion from last night and didn’t want that to end. Then I realized that it could say anything, that it might even be a torrid love letter praising my sexual performance to the skies.
    Dear Gerry (it began conventionally enough),
    Last night some time after we made love you mentioned, in a barely audible voice, that you loved me. You said it very softly, but you said it, and, dumbfounded, I didn’t respond and actually pretended I was asleep, for which I apologize. Your real sleep soon followed but, because of your words, I couldn’t sleep a wink. Instead I wrote you this letter and now plan to take a long walk in Hyde Park, from where I’ll eventually leave for work. By the way, you are free to feed yourself from whatever edible crumbs you can find in my kitchen (I do have a bag of crisps that I think might appeal to you) before letting yourself out. Had I any inkling before our evening started that you’d end up being my guest I would have provided more food. At any rate, eat whatever you want and just let yourself out. The door will lock automatically.
    Obviously, I’m not much of a writer and this letter is especially hard to write, so I’ll just get to the point of it. You know from listening to me as patiently as you did how vulnerable I am right now and why. And you also know that when people are vulnerable they often make poor decisions that they shouldn’t have made. I, for instance, would not have done what I did with you last night were I not so vulnerable myself. I won’t deny that I’m attracted to you and that you struck a deep chord in my heart, but even so, it would not have happened so quickly. But it did and now you’ve said you love me—a poor, lost girl who couldn’t even find the church she wanted to go to for comfort. Yet, somehow, forsome reason, you said those words to me. Of course sometimes people say things they don’t really mean and wish they hadn’t. By pretending to be asleep I deprived you of the chance to take your words back.
    Now I find that I need to know if you meant them or not. If you did mean what you said, please call me tonight so we can plan our next meeting. I’d also like to know, straight up, what the odds really are that you’re staying in London permanently and if not, just how long you are staying—a year, six months, two months?
    If, on the other hand, you didn’t mean your words, do me the favor of not seeing or calling me again as I cannot tolerate another great disappointment right now. I will be home tonight hoping for your call.
    Paulette
    I read the letter a number of times before I dressed and left without eating—looking around myself several times while heading for my hotel. Once there, I thought I could finally relax, only to continue reading the letter in my hotel room as well. I’d never received a letter that demanded an answer by a set time. That kind of pressure was anathema to me. Why was she acting this way, I wondered, even though part of me knew.
    I went to the Victoria and Albert Museum to try to distract myself, and then took a cruise on the Thames but found little relief. I was excruciatingly aware of time. Soon Paulette would be waiting by the phone with only one answer she could accept. She was proud and demanded to be taken with the utmost seriousness, or not at all. I was in awe of her strength of soul even as it tormented me. I didn’t know a woman could take such a stand or believe in principles so fiercely. God knows I wanted to keep seeingher and sleep with her again, but to do it I’d have to lie much worse than I already had. Even if I told her that I loved her or knew I could, the mere admission that I was