There is no light in earth or heaven But the cold light of stars; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Stars of Youth
The crescent moon drags a fingernail down the back of the sky and dies.
I lift my glass and toast its demise.
It was a good day—made a tidy sum on the Market, but a bad day too—Sylvia was disinterested.
I’m forty —she’s twenty-two—I know, an insane desire, but what matters when you’ve got everything else?
“Why so melancholic, Gray?”
Tom Barron has followed me out to the terrace and now sits on the wicker chair facing mine. I wince inwardly, not wanting to answer, but something has been demanded, so I feign an off-hand reply.
“I hate nights—the Market’s closed and I get bored.”
“It must be hard—being on 24/7. Don’t you take holidays?”
“Not bloody likely,” I snort. “Hate holidays—they interrupt my life.”
He shakes his head sadly.
“You’re a driven man, Gray. What more do you have to prove? Hell, you could retire and live out your dream on a Caribbean isle—you could buy one for that matter.”
“What would be the point in that?”
“An end to striving,” he shrugs. “You get to keep all the toys and go home.”
“You think I’m afraid of risk? I’m not.”
I point to a small red orb in the sky.
“See that red dot up there? It’s Mars, named after the god of war. That’s me—a warrior—a man of blood. I love a challenge.”
He looks at me amused.
“Ah yes, the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. But why keep rolling that rock endlessly up a hill? Give it a rest, Gray. You’ve proven yourself. What else is left?”
Sylvia’s face appears in my mind—floats up like a balloon adrift in the desolate night.
“I still have things I need to do.”
He smiles cynically and stares off into the twilight gloom.
“Well, good luck with that. Hell, even Victor’s calling it quits—the man who has everything.”
The mention of Victor Goldman’s name pains me—The Most Interesting Man in the World—that’s what the females in the firm call him.
Victor Goldman—partner in Sachs and Goldman Investments—renowned man about town.
And even at seventy, still embodies everything I ever want to be—handsome, charming, urbane and fabulously successful.
It makes me sad to think he’s leaving, but I realize it’s because I never had a real mentor of my own—someone to teach me how to appreciate the finer things of life.
Well now, he’s retiring and that opportunity is slipping away like so many other things in my life—like time—like my youth—hell, like Sylvia herself.
Tom yawns, gets to his feet and stretches.
“I’ve got to be going, Pal—tomorrow will be a long day what with Victor’s retirement party at Coro’s and all. Take care, Gray.”
“See you then, Tom.” I smile and tip my glass to him.
After he’s gone, the melancholy closes in. Nature abhors a vacuum they say, and I have a gaping chasm inside me nothing seems to fill.
My cell buzzes and I see Tess’s name.
I sigh, turn off the ringer and push aside my guilt. I told her I’d go clubbing tonight, but can’t bring myself to go through the charade.
Tess is Sylvia’s friend—and the reason I cultivated a friendship with her.
My mind goes back to that first meeting with Tess—she’s twenty-three, a year old than Sylvia. And Tess is beautiful—not like Sylvia, but in terms of looks, I’d say she’s quietly attractive.
The one outstanding quality I’d grudgingly give her is she’s vivacious. She lights up a room just by being in it.
At first, I was smitten and flattered she’d be intrigued by me.
I began noticing small things—how she’d park her car beside mine in the corporate parking lot, and eagerly go with me on errands until we became ‘best buds’ as she put it.
It was harmless – exhilarating to be seen with a young woman on my arm—an ingénue who was obviously deeply infatuated. I even toyed with the idea of allowing her to move in, but that’d be inconvenient, seeing as I was obsessed with Sylvia
But the more I pursued Sylvia, the more distant she became.
I might have given up the quest, except I was convinced we had a mystical connection—hers was the last face I saw before sleep, and in my dreams we shared the romance our everyday lives belied.
I burned to know if she experienced the same astral connection—if her nights were filled with blurry images, whispered conversations and touching intimacies.
It was damnably frustrating, yet deliciously sweet at the same time.
But I never acted remotely interested when with her.
Inwardly though, I constantly daydreamed wondering if she secretly longed for me.
Suddenly, a painful thought crossed my mind that perhaps I was someone she despised.
And although the latter prospect was crushing, it was better alternative than to think I might be inconsequential—a faint star in the background of her life.
In a worse case scenario, I might be a pitiful fool she laughed about with her friends.
To prevent being mundane, I wanted to capture something of Victor’s mystique—I knew she admired him. I tried to inflate my persona, but began hating myself for name-dropping
I’m ashamed to admit I would stop at nothing to impress Sylvia... and somehow sensed that would be my undoing.
To be continued...
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