But it just wasn’t as simple as all of that. I wished that it
would be. But it wasn’t. I couldn’t give her what she needed. At that moment, I
just wasn’t able to give any woman what she would need. I wasn’t established.
Dalilah deserved somebody who could monetarily afford to treat her like the
platinum that she was. Yeah, Nottingham was allegedly going to be giving me
$5000, but the contract stipulated that it was to be paid after the project was
over. I had just noticed that the other day when I was reading the fine print.
So, in the meantime, I was broke.
And Dalilah was like a bottle of Domaine de la
Romanee-Conti Grand Cru, Cote de Nuits, which was recognized as the finest
wine in the world. She was unique, rare and well out of my league. That I was
increasingly feeling that I was falling for her, and I was feeling that more
and more, every time I saw her, was a non-factor. I simply couldn’t have
someone like her, and that was that. As frustrating as that was.
I doodled on the napkin in front of me, and then, just like
that, song lyrics started pouring out of my head. That wasn’t something that
usually happened for me, because inspiration for my lyrics constantly eluded
me. But being up there with Dalilah - feeling her warmth, seeing her
extraordinary beauty, and sensing her even-more-extraordinary intelligence –
somehow did inspire me as nothing else ever had.
So, for the next hour, the lyrics poured out of me. What came
out was a sappy love song like the kind that I used to make fun of when I heard
it on the radio. With the exception of The Beatles Something of course –
there was no arguing with that classic. But, usually, when I heard a love song,
I rolled my eyes. Because there wasn’t such a thing as the kind of pure love
that these songs conveyed.
Or so I thought. But I was increasingly seeing a glimpse, but
just a glimpse, of what these songs were talking about when I looked into
Dalilah’s eyes.
I finally decided to walk to the subway station, which was a
few blocks away from her apartment, around 3 AM. I did have a double-shift at
the bar the next day, which was going to kill me, I knew. I was going to be
dead-tired. And Dalilah would be coming to my studio at 8 AM, too. For that, I
knew that I would be wide awake.
I tried very hard to tamp down the feeling of absolute
excitement that was bubbling up as I anticipated seeing her again in just a few
more hours. For she was still untouchable to me in so many ways. I was amazed
that I had the nerve to kiss her, but, then again, that was how I was feeling
about her. I couldn’t not kiss her. I couldn’t not fantasize about making love
to her. I had such an absolute passion for her that touching her and kissing
her almost seemed like it was second nature to me.
But my brain said that what had happened up there with her –
the kisses – was going to be as far as it ever could go. She was my muse, of
that I was sure. She inspired me to write a rather kick-ass love song, if I do
say so myself, and she also inspired my art. I was finding myself increasingly
incorporating her, in some way, in everything that I was composing, even if it
was as an abstraction of some sort. Like I would be painting a picture of
people in a café, and there she was, popping up at one of the tables. Or I was
doodling a sketch of a busy city street, and Dalilah was there in the crowd.
And, of course, there was the portrait of Dalilah that I was
creating for that wealthy bastard, a portrait that I was suddenly feeling
proprietary over. Which was a dangerous way for me to feel, because I didn’t
own this portrait. Nottingham did. I was just the instrumentality for getting
the portrait done. Just the same, the entire project was turning into one that
was a passion project for me, moreso than anything else had ever been. How I
wished that I could keep it for myself after it was finished!
Yes, she was my muse. And she might always be, even in the
near future when I would inevitably be forced to jettison my art and make it
just a hobby, while I found a “real” job that would pay the bills. She was my
muse, but she could never be my lover. I hated to think that I just wasn’t
worthy of her, but that was what went through my head.
I might have been falling in love with her, but I still
couldn’t imagine being with her.
Nonetheless, I looked forward to seeing her again with
breathless anticipation.
