11
Pandora’s Box
Max and I landed in New York on the 28th of April 1963. During the long and monotonous flight, I found Max to be a quiet travelling companion, and he often stared out of the window. Sometimes we exchanged apprehensive glances, and I guess this sudden alteration of plans did have a key impact on The Institute and my university course, which had been deferred for a year. I didn’t tell my father about this trip to the States though, as I wanted to go and didn’t want him to spoil it.
After a smooth landing, we emerged into a busy airport. I found myself surrounded by a sea of American accents, although Max steered me through it all, being an old hand at this. A woman with auburn hair and huge eyelashes, who wore a smart tweed trouser suit, seemed to know him and greeted him with a hug and a kiss. She gave me the same greeting.
“You must be Tahra,” she said, in a throaty American drawl, “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I looked over at Max, who gave nothing away, and the three of us hailed a yellow taxi cab to transport us to the place where we were going to stay. Through the window of the cab, I got a glimpse of the skyscrapers of New York, although none of the major landmarks like the Statue of Liberty or the EmpireStateBuilding. Max seemed nonchalant, he’d probably seen it all before but I found it fascinating.
Marianne had helped us locate an excellent apartment with a fantastic view over the city. The huge lounge provided access to this panorama, and I immediately walked over to the window, spotting the EmpireStateBuilding instantly. Despite being a manmade panorama, it still had beauty.
The apartment had two large bedrooms and a luxurious bathroom. Boy, I was going to love living here. Marianne left us and said she’d see us in a few days at a place called The Observatory. It sounded like a planetarium.
Max and I flopped onto the king size bed in the master bedroom. He looked over at me, as if to say ‘well, we’re here’ and I returned his gaze as if to agree. In that strange moment, I actually felt quite close to him and I lay my head on his chest, which surprised him. He put an arm around me, kissing my forehead and we fell asleep embraced like so, tired from the long journey. It felt idyll, even if it wouldn’t last forever.
***
A few days later, we arrived at The Observatory and I discovered that Marianne was the curator of this remote research centre. We had to drive at least a hundred miles out of New York towards the Appalachians. At first, I thought it housed a telescope because it had the characteristic dome but once we stepped inside, I realised it wasn’t an astronomical centre at all. Aside from a number of offices, the former housing of the telescope opened out into a grand hall, which contained a number of partitions. Within each area were banks of typewriters and recording equipment, such as cameras, tape recorders, and microphones.
Max steered me to one such partition and two technicians conducted a number of tests, which required me to separate my consciousness from my body and focus on a location designated on a map. The locations were in the Soviet Union and usually entailed looking inside of aircraft hangars, government offices, and missile silos. You have to remember that the United States and the Soviet Union were in the midst of the Cold War. It was actually quite normal to use remote viewers for espionage, as they were excellent at penetrating areas of high security. My contributions to the United States were no different to what I did at The Institute really. Since the Second World War, governments have become much more open minded about how they gather information.
So far, no one had discovered a method of detecting a wandering consciousness, and probably no one ever will. Nothing is sacred to a remote viewer; it’s really down to your own morals and ethics. At the time, I believed in these projects in the name of international security. Truth was, I liked my job. In a way, it felt rather glamorous, being a spy.
As Max often disappeared on business, I became friends with Marianne, as otherwise I’d get lonely. We often drank at bars or attended parties, so developed a genuine rapport. She made a number of attempts to match me with a handsome American guy, and I did date a few but I was sticking to my principles, I didn’t want to have sex with just anyone, which was a strange concept in the sixties. She urged me to take advantage of the new sexual freedom for women, but to me, it was a sacred experience to share with a true love.
I have to admit, I missed Max when he wasn’t around. A few times, I got tempted to remote view and search for him, but it seemed like an invasion of privacy and to be honest, I felt apprehensive about what I’d discover.
However, I enjoyed my life in New York. I became drawn to the music of Bob Dylan, with his lyrics intoning social change, voicing the new thoughts of the civil rights movement. He had the gall to walk out of rehearsals for the Ed Sullivan Show, something The Beatles would never have done. He was the idealist to their iconic pop flavoured tunes, but I accepted both as different aspects of my taste.
The Space Race inspired me too, as Valentina Tereshkova became the first woman to orbit the Earth, following in the footsteps of Yuri Gagarin a few years earlier. She reinforced my belief that women could achieve something special and outstanding in their lives. I’ve always been fascinated with what lies beyond our planet, and wondered what it would be like to visit space. However, it was unlikely I‘d become a cosmonaut, although being a psychic spy was almost as exciting.
Despite my friendship with Marianne, I spent time with Max and appreciated his company. We toured New York and he valued our moments together. One memorable day in late October, we went right to the top of the EmpireState building to appraise the city. It was windy but a beautiful day. He wrapped his arms around me as I surveyed the view, and pressed his body close to me from behind. I didn’t expect this, but I didn’t push him away, it felt too reassuring. I placed my hands on his and we quietly looked upon the city. At that point, he informed me we’d attend a party tomorrow night for Marianne’s birthday, and there’d be a huge gathering at her apartment. How could I refuse? A party and a handsome date!
***
The next day, we returned to The Observatory for a full morning of remote viewing. Max watched coolly during the proceedings, his keen eye viewing his favourite protégé perform. I knew that during testing, he had his business head on and I had my research head on.
They instructed me to explore a facility in the Soviet Union, using a map and a photograph of the building. Therefore, I closed my eyes and visualised my target, feeling my consciousness shift from within my skull to the building. Emerging inside its walls, I saw an intimidating staircase in front of me, which came into focus within seconds. A few people wandered up and down, completely oblivious to my presence.
I homed my remote vision in on a point at the top of the stairs, zooming there in an instant. A number of doors confronted me, and with no map or blueprint of the building, I wasn’t sure where to look. Max had only told me to scout it out and discover the purpose of the facility, a little vague, so I decided to peep through the doors.
Pushing my consciousness through the grain of the wood, I peeked inside a few rooms and found offices. People sat at the desks, typing and filing papers, nothing excited so I allowed my remote eyes to drift around the place for a while. Probing deeper into the recesses of the building, I found what appeared to be labs with technicians, instrumentation, and audio visual equipment.
“It’s another Observatory, or Institute!”
On closer inspection, I realised they were testing remote viewers and psychics, so I watched as they described locations in the United States and the technicians recorded the findings. After a short while, I pulled back into my body.
“They have remote viewers too,” I said. “Just like here. That’s what the place does.”
Max didn’t look as surprised as I expected, maybe he suspected all along as he just nodded and looked thoughtful.
After that, he took me shopping. He bought me a new dress for the party and I took a lot of care over my hair and make up, finding it difficult to decide whether to pin it up or leave it down. I surveyed my reflection in the mirror, feeling unusually self conscious. While I stood there, Max walked up behind me and looked at my reflection with me.
“You look beautiful no matter,” he said, kissing my neck softly. I closed my eyes and savoured the feel of his lips on my skin.
“I have a little something for you, to go with the dress,” he continued.
He opened a box and draped a necklace around my neck, while meeting my gaze in the mirror. I couldn’t believe it, the gems looked like diamonds.
“They’re genuine,” he assured me. “Only the best for my Tahra.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I turned round and kissed him sweetly on the lips. He reciprocated with a more lingering kiss, appreciative of my gratitude. To be honest, he was a damn good kisser and in my loneliness, I missed his affection, but Max put a halt to any further proceedings.
“We have to go,” he said. “You don’t want to miss the party, do you?”
Marianne lived close to us, a few blocks away, so we walked the short distance. I felt like a million dollars and Max treated me like a movie star, holding open doors in a chivalrous manner and looking upon me with pride. Marianne lived on the 31st floor, and we shared the lift with some other of her guests.
She had a sumptuous apartment with highly fashionable furniture, blending styles from different eras. I saw a huge brown sofa, lots of large cushions, and what looked like tapestries woven with a repeating leaf motif. It seemed typical of a sixties apartment, with some aspects of both the fifties and forties, evidence of furniture handed down from parents, perhaps.
In the kitchen, we helped ourselves to some punch, devastatingly alcoholic, and picked at the buffet. Music from both the fifties and sixties emanated from twin record players. A friend of Marianne’s took responsibility for selecting the tunes and he seemed very partial to Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, and early Motown. Everyone recognised Max, although few knew me so I felt a bit of an outsider, although they did make me feel welcome.
“So, Max,” said one man with collar length hair, “you’ve brought a date.” He spoke with some incredulity.
Max looked slightly disconcerted by the man’s astonishment.
“This is Tahra,” he said simply, and steered me over towards Marianne.
Her eyes clocked my necklace, then she gave Max a quizzical look.
“Nice rocks,” she said.
We mingled and the conversation varied from updates on family and friends, or something of a more political nature. I eavesdropped one such exchange.
“You know, Kennedy made a blooper in his ‘Ich Bin Ein Berliner’ speech,” one verbose man in his thirties said.
“How come?” asked his date, a pretty woman with blonde hair and big teeth.
“Well,” he began, puffing out his chest, “the indefinite article, and by that I mean the word ‘ein’, is omitted in the German language when speaking of a person’s residence. Although he was trying to show solidarity with Berlin’s citizens, they never actually call themselves Berliners. In fact, that term is used for a piece of confectionary, so in actual fact, Kennedy was telling Berlin ‘I am a jelly-filled doughnut’.”
His companion laughed and I smiled to myself, looking for the next conversation.
Once I became more comfortable with the crowd, I noticed people smoked a lot and sometimes shared cigarettes with a strange smell. Later I realised these were joints. Somebody offered a drag to Max but he simply said ‘not tonight’, looking over at me, wondering what I’d think.
We drank plenty of punch instead, which loosened Max up, and me too. I saw a different, more relaxed side of him and we danced together to some recognisable tunes. He clutched me with a passion I rarely saw, which frightened me in a way because he normally had such a cool demeanour. But was it frightening because I feared giving in to him?
As the night progressed, he spent less time in conversation with friends, not that he ignored them but he regularly re-directed his attention towards me. We engaged in separate conversations to be sociable, discussing current affairs, family or music, but both of us frequently made eye contact across the room. Sometimes, I didn’t even concentrate on the conversation, I gazed at Max in realisation that the inevitable loomed. I was attracted to him.
The feeling in my stomach and between my legs became intensely distracting, and the sexual tension increased throughout the duration of the night. When we danced, he looked into my eyes with an intensity I’d never seen before. Would I be able to retain my virginity as planned and save it for my husband-to-be?
By the time we walked back home, about an hour or so after midnight, I felt the erotic tension in the air. I squeezed his hand and he quickened his pace. When we reached the door of our apartment, I noticed he fumbled a little with the key. Instead of letting me walk into the apartment, he suddenly picked me up.
“Max, what are you doing?”
He carried me into the main bedroom and placed me on the bed. I lay there, not knowing whether to halt the inevitable or to flow with it. I didn’t stop him, despite my principles about sex. There was no doubt in my mind that was what he wanted. Did I want it? Yes, at that point I didn’t want to resist anymore.
He threw off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. I saw that he had a muscular upper body, with a light covering of hair on his chest. I kneeled up on the bed, as I had to touch him and he enjoyed the feeling of my hands on his body, something he’d been denied for so long. We kissed, for a long time it seemed and I felt his hands on my breasts. Why had I stopped him before when it felt this good?
Before long, he began to undress me which didn’t take long. All I had on was a dress, and he slipped over my head. As he surveyed my naked body, I felt both vulnerable and exhilarated. I stretched out on the bed and as Max proceeded to stroke the skin on my stomach, I heard his breathing deepen. I found his touch hard to resist, no man as yet had caressed me like that, or seen me naked.
He kissed my breasts then worked his way down my stomach, and beyond… I’d never felt anything so exquisite. Deep down, I knew I should stop him but it was far too pleasurable. Max demonstrated an entirely different persona. He gave with humility, delivering such a sensuous experience that I soon became overwhelmed by an explosion that surged through my body, followed by a feeling of serenity.
As I lay there, contemplating what had happened, he threw himself on top of me and I felt the expectation and desire in his body. I saw the yearning and hungriness in his eyes and found it irresistible, then I realised what was about to happen. I wasn’t ready to give up my virginity. The orgasm I’d experienced had quietened my own erotic desire and because he’d just given me something incredibly beautiful, I felt guilty.
“I’m sorry, I can’t…we’re not married.”
Max looked crestfallen.
“What?”
“The time isn’t right,” I said. “I can’t, not yet.”
“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured. “I won’t hurt you.”
He was practically begging me and I felt so selfish, what could I do?
Looking me in the eye, he stroked my cheek.
“Tahra, I’m on fire here, I’ve waited for this for so long.”
What can you say to that? I wanted to please him, to return the pleasure he’d given me, then I realised what I could do.
“Max, do you trust me?”
He looked at me with a puzzled expression, although he nodded. I pushed him onto his back, which he didn’t expect and lay on top of him. Hopeful of physical satisfaction, he tried to gently push me downwards in expectation of reciprocation, but I shook my head. Disappointed, but not giving up, he took hold of my hand and moved it down in the hope of a little relief.
“I don’t need to touch you to make you feel the way I just did,” I said.
He didn’t say anything, but decided to let whatever was going to happen, occur.
I focused my gaze on his and dug deep into my memories. As a child, I could always affect the emotions of others, for better or worse. I knew I could find a way to pleasure Max in the same way. It’s hard to explain how I do it but I always visualise intense feelings as flames, flames that have their origin in the belly or at the base of the spine. I visualised this fire rising, curling up his spine and sending out intense waves of pleasure throughout his nervous system. Max seemed to respond, his breathing deepened and as the process progressed, he looked at me with an odd expression on his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Awakening the fire within,” I answered.
He looked puzzled, afraid and in retrospect, I don’t blame him for I don’t think he’d ever experienced such an intensity of emotion before, or even experienced emotion at all. Max clutched me tightly and he stayed with me all the way, frequently making eye contact. I intensified the fire within him and he began to tremble slightly, then his body stiffened and he cried out in a climax. We experienced a quiet moment when he looked into my eyes, fully connecting with me for a minute and then he pulled away, walking over to the window. For what seemed like a long time, he just stared out of the window and didn’t say a word.
***
Standing naked in front of the window, Max didn’t care if anyone saw him from the opposite apartment. He wondered what the f*ck had just happened. He’d tasted her for the first time and pleasured her, and then she’d changed her mind at the last minute. Only half an hour before, he’d been certain he’d finally win her over. Was she doing this on purpose? Did she know the extent to which she was f*cking around with his head?
The climax he’d just shared with her both disturbed and blew his mind. It was like having the most intense sexual experience you could think of, without touching anyone. The arousal he’d felt in his groin had been intensified and dragged up through his body, into his head and his very soul. It had taken him from a level of sexual frustration to the heights of ecstasy, with nothing physical actually occurring. He’d begun confused and vulnerable but felt alive, satisfied in a completely new yet strangely familiar way. It was better than any drug. She was better than any drug.
For someone who avoided emotional involvement, he needed more of her magic. Was this a good thing or was he unwittingly opening Pandora’s Box? Tahra could teach him to feel again. She could also destroy him; there was the dilemma, the dichotomy. Now he knew he needed to hold onto her, she was too unique.
Tahra got out of bed and walked over to him, pressing her naked body against his and wrapping her arms around him.
“Come back to bed,” she said.
Silently, they stood like that for a few minutes and neither of them spoke. In the end, he let her take his hand and lead him back to bed. He lay on his back and she rested her head on his chest, unable to fall asleep, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. It was a truly perfect moment and nothing else mattered. Before too long, he spoke.
“Tahra, you know what I’m thinking?”
She didn’t answer, but rose up onto one elbow and looked at him, wondering what he was going to say.
He turned to look at her and said something she didn’t expect at all.
“Marry me, Tahra,” he said.
***
In the morning, Max woke first. He felt at peace, as here was this beautiful young woman, asleep in his arms. What more could a man want? He stroked her skin lightly, and sleepily she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a smile.
Max made her breakfast and they sat together at the table, making civilised conversation. They both skirted the important topic raised in the early hours of the morning. She didn’t know whether to take his words seriously, the ones concerning marriage. Had he been sincere or had he said it in the heat of the moment? Was it the only way he saw to get something that he wanted? Would she accept a proposal of marriage from him?
However, a bigger issue tugged at her conscience. Who was Max Richardson really? He shared very little of himself and his life, and he was often emotionally distant. On the other hand, he often demonstrated kindness, never shied away from spending his money on her, and was capable of being a good provider. The key driving force was the growing physical magnetism. He was very handsome and she found him attractive, most women probably did, and she knew he was incredibly attracted to her.
They finished breakfast and Max became heavily preoccupied with something. Tahra felt awkward with the silence.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shrugged and played with a spoon.
“Well, there must be something wrong, last night was wonderful, and now…”
“I’m just trying to think of a strategy,” he gave as an explanation, “to address our adversary’s remote viewers.”
“You can’t control the consciousness of another person,” she pointed out.
He gave her a wry look.
“That I’m well aware of,” he answered, sharply.
His mood shift unsettled her, but she decided to ride it through and cut through to the core of the matter.
“Did you mean what you said last night?”
He seemed unwilling to answer until she showed some sort of interest or commitment.
“Would you really marry me?” she pressed.
“Would you really marry me?”
He turned the question back on her, which she didn’t anticipate.
The words wouldn’t leave her lips, especially when put on the spot like that. It took a while to give him a response.
“I think we need to consider it carefully. You’re away on business much of the time.”
“It’s a necessity.”
“I – I don’t know anything about you,” she continued.
Max stood up from the table abruptly and disappeared into the bedroom. A moment later, she followed him and found him lying on the bed. She realised she’d hurt his feelings, and sat beside him, reaching out to touch his hand. He didn’t resist her touch, although he refused to make eye contact.
“This is a big decision for me, I’m still very young and it’s something I’ll live with for the rest of my life,” she explained.
He said nothing. She cuddled up to him and put her head on his chest. This was at least something she could do everyday for the rest of her life.
***
Max disappeared on business for a few weeks, which gave Tahra some thinking space. This time enabled her to acknowledge how much she missed him, and how she needed his touch and devotion. When he returned, he seemed relaxed, confident, and warm. He remembered her birthday and they dined out, enjoying fine food and wine although when she queried his business trip, he dismissed it and told her not to worry as it would only bore her anyway. Tahra came to understand that business and interpersonal relationships would always be two distinct entities in Max’s life. Maybe there was a reason for that, and maybe it was for the best.
As the evening progressed, she began to analyse what he had to offer. She drew up a list of the benefits and counted financial security, his undivided attention when he was around, and a potentially generous side to his personality. Max had style, poise, charm, sophistication, and last but not least, she was irrevocably attracted to him.
It was now or never.
“Max,” she began, “I’ve been thinking, real hard.”
He put his knife and fork down then looked at her hopefully.
“I know I said a lot of negative things a few weeks ago,” she continued. “I just didn’t expect you to say…anyway, marriage is a serious commitment.”
Instead of his usual silence, he reached across the table and took her hand.
“I know, you’ve only just turned nineteen… I’ve come to realise though, that after so many years as a bachelor, I do want a wife. You’re the woman I want to fulfil that role.”
Max pulled a little box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a gold ring studded with what appeared to be diamonds.
“Tahra, I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life with me. Will you marry me?”
She gazed at the ring then to Max, recognising the sincerity in his eyes. Everything about this evening seemed so perfect, therefore she had to conclude it in a like manner.
“Yes, yes I will. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other better.”
She thought she caught a flicker of worry on his face, but relief and elation soon replaced it. They walked home arm in arm, slept in each other’s embrace and Max didn’t pressure her for sex. Before falling asleep, they decided to marry in the spring, sufficient time for him to set up contracts and deal with clients to ensure financial security, to enable them to enjoy a long honeymoon. No one else knew of their plans, least of all her father.
***
November 1963 granted us happy times and even though Max disappeared a few times, he didn’t remain absent for long, I didn’t ask where he went. We celebrated Thanksgiving with Marianne, who found it amusing that we arrived together, although we didn’t discuss our impending marriage with her. Max wanted to surprise everyone with the invitations to the wedding.
The death of President Kennedy dominated the news later that month, when Lee Harvey Oswald shot him in the head from the Book Depository. I wondered if any psychics at The Observatory or The Institute had foreseen this. How it would affect world politics didn’t cross my mind at the time though.
On December the 13th 1963, we celebrated Max’s 43rd birthday. He said it was only the second time in his life that he’d shared his birthday with someone, but when I asked him about the first time he’d spent it with someone special, he clammed up and didn’t want to discuss it. Perhaps he’d been hurt in the past, and one day he might tell me about it but I think it was a long time ago. I’ve never seen any pictures of a previous lover, not even his mother come to think of it.
Christmas in New York was a charming experience, I enjoyed the festivities, as I had done last year at The Institute. If anything, this Yule proved even more special. I must admit, I did start to feel homesick for The Institute, even though in many ways it had been a prison, but I sent gifts there for everyone to show that I remembered them. I hadn’t written to Oscar as much as I promised, so I bought him something extra to address my guilt.
I spent the New Year with Max on an excursion to Philadelphia, where he met with an old business friend, someone called Thomas. The men discussed business, so I made conversation with his wife. Often, my hearing strayed towards their discussion though, as my prying mind wondered what business my husband-to-be and Thomas conducted. I caught snippets of conversation that aroused suspicion, such as ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be dealt with, like the others’. The way he said it sent a chill down my spine.
During the next few months, Max alternated between business absences and making wedding plans, such as choosing my dress, flowers, a place for the ceremony, and a location for the reception afterwards. He made a long list of invitations that needed sending out, almost like it would be a celebrity event.
Suffice to say, I felt nervous yet excited. Max proved to be the perfect gentleman, respecting my wishes to remain a virgin until my wedding night, and making my life wonderful in every way. He was perfect. Everything was perfect.
Before long, February arrived and our wedding date drew nearer. In between all the planning and assignments at The Observatory, I happened to catch an iconic broadcast on the TV on the 9th of February 1964. The Beatles made their first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show at 8:00pm that evening. They played ’All My Loving’,‘ She Loves You’ and ‘I Saw Her Standing There.’ These songs would later remind me of the time I made wedding plans with Max, and exemplified the latter days of my time in New York.
Everything happened at such a dizzy pace, that I felt apprehensive as well as invigorated. I was going to marry a wealthy and handsome man, what more should I want? The truth was, I wanted to know who Max really was. Where did he go during his absence? What did he do whilst away from me?
He kept appearing in my dreams, emerging out of shadows to receive cash in suitcases, pass fat envelopes of information to dangerous looking people, oversee shipments of unknown goods or speak on the phone to faceless people, securing deals. Was I unconsciously following him by remote viewing without realising it or were they simply dreams, fuelled by my suspicions? For so long, I’d avoided using my gift to observe him and his life, but should I still procrastinate, considering I was about to spend the rest of my life with him?
One night, when he’d been absent all week, I decided to investigate. I needed to prepare myself for the nature of his business and be absolutely positive I wasn’t making a mistake. It became essential to understand my future.
Reclining on the sofa, TV volume low in the background, I closed my eyes and held a clear picture of Max in my mind. Once I’d done that, I allowed my consciousness to drift and focus on his face. It brought me to an apartment not far away.
I discovered he’d attended a party without me, and wondered why. Everyone drank wine and smoked joints, and they appeared to be having a great time. Feeling sore about it, I considered retreating from the scene, as I loved parties and wished I could be there but instead, I decided to fulfil my objective.
In the corner of the apartment, I saw Max chatting with a dark haired woman, who touched him affectionately and leaned in far too close for my liking. What annoyed me more was the fact that Max reciprocated.
Looking around, I noticed Marianne although when I realised what she was doing, I almost jolted back into my body. She sat on a man’s lap, her skirt around her waist, moving up and down in a rhythmic motion. Surely she wasn’t…? Oh…she was! What the hell..?
I started to feel wary. Returning to Max, I discovered he’d moved elsewhere so I scanned the apartment, wondering where he’d gone. I located him in the kitchen of all places, and when I realised what was happening, my consciousness froze. I saw the dark haired woman bent over the table, her skirt hitched around her waist and her bare buttocks on display. Max stood behind her with his fly unzipped, and… I felt something stick in my throat…a scream.
I wanted to throw up. My heart sank, my stomach lurched, and a part of my soul died in that moment. Unable to bear watching the expression of pleasure on their faces, I withdrew my consciousness.
Why was he doing this? I asked myself this question over and over. For what reason did he need to satisfy himself inside this woman? All this time he’d been the perfect gentleman, kind and affectionate…but had he been doing this on a regular basis? I couldn’t bear to think of Max…my Max enjoying sex with other women. For the rest of the night, I sobbed, wishing I hadn’t spied on him now. There was no going back. How could I give myself to this man now?
***
A few days later, Max let himself in the apartment and placed his keys on the coffee table as usual. Hanging his coat and loosening his shirt, he looked around for Tahra and noticed how untidy the place seemed. Plates still had uneaten food on them, and everywhere appeared neglected. Puzzled, he called out.
“Tahra?”
Silence greeted him, and he began to search the apartment, finding the whole thing disconcerting. With few rooms in the place, he quickly reached the bedroom and opened the door.
Tahra lay huddled on the bed with the blankets wrapped tight around her. When she heard him enter the room, she sat up and he saw how red her eyes were, and how dishevelled she appeared. Max lingered in the doorway, confused.
“What’s wrong?”
She answered his question by picking up a shoe from the floor and hurling it at him. On instinct, he raised his arms, although it narrowly missed his head and struck the door frame. As he lowered his arms again, another incoming missile struck him on the chest.
“What…Tahra!”
She bombarded him with a brush, a can of hairspray, and a bottle of perfume which smashed on the wall, filling the room with the odour of Chanel No.5. Max was stunned to see this virago of a girl vent her incomprehensible fury at him, eyes brimming with tears again.
“How could you?” she screamed.
“I – I don’t understand…”
“Liar!”
A book came hurtling towards him and he batted it away with his hands.
“Cheat!”
This time the alarm clock headed straight for his head, causing him to duck.
“Gigolo!”
He approached her, dodging the bedroom flotsam and as he neared the bed, she launched herself at him. Striking his chest with her hands, she seemed unable to control herself. Max hated to see her like this and rather than lose his cool, he took hold of her wrists.
“Tahra, please tell me what’s wrong.”
She allowed him to hold her wrists, but turned her head away from him in disdain.
“What’s happened?” he asked her, determined to unravel the mystery.
Tahra glared at him through her tears.
“I can’t marry you.”
Now Max’s stomach lurched with her unexpected statement.
“Why the hell not?”
“You know why! Stop trying to play innocent! How often has it happened?”
He looked at her with an accusing, yet helpless stare.
“How often has what happened?”
“How often have you had sex with other women at parties?!”
Max froze, relaxing his grip on Tahra’s wrists. She must have remote viewed him. Jesus Christ, how could he crawl out of this one? For a long moment, he looked at her with regret while she cried. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he’d been exposed. In this situation, he could lie or tell the truth. Instead of continuing the deception, he treated it as an opportunity to clear the air.
“Tahra, what you must have seen... Look, my whole life revolved around easy sex, and lots of it. I’ve been part of that scene for years, and for years it gave me great satisfaction, but do you really think I’ll continue this after we were married?”
His calming voice began to soothe her anger, although the tears still flowed.
“But why did you do this knowing we’re getting married?”
Max sighed and decided to be completely honest.
“Tahra, you’ve point blank refused to have sex with me until we’re married. I’m just a man at the end of the day. Do you know how f*cking sexually frustrated I’ve felt ever since you walked into my life? You’re the only woman I really want to make love to and yet you’ve refused. Being celibate to respect your principles is impossible. Sometimes Tahra, you’re impossible.”
She frowned at him, and he detected a snarl of disgust on her face.
“Couldn’t you just… wait?”
Max tried to hug her to console her, but she pulled away so he continued to explain.
“Oh Tahra, you need to live in the real world. A man needs sex…physical sex on a regular basis. I need sex. If you’d have had sex with me, I wouldn’t have been to any of those parties.”
“So now it’s my fault?”
She looked incredulous and in his frustration, he tried to justify himself.
“Would you rather I force myself on you to gratify myself, or me lose my frustration at a party? It was the only way I could respect your wishes, if that makes any sense.”
“You’re about to be married, and you’ve had sex with other women?”
Max began to get exasperated.
“You’re thinking like a woman. For a man, sex and…love are separate. Men can f*ck women but not have emotions, whereas women cannot separate the two. You’re the woman I chose to marry, doesn’t that mean anything to you? I don’t want to party anymore, I want a wife. I want you.”
He tried to put his arms around her, to take the pain away and demonstrate his attachment to her but she refused him. In frustration, he placed his fingers under her chin and tried to kiss her, but she jerked her body away from his grip, threw herself on the bed and wrapped the blankets around her.
Max stood there, helpless and afraid. How could he remedy this mess? However, Tahra provided the conclusion to this matter.
“I want to go back to London, to The Institute,” she said, between sobs.
Max closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the impending sense of collapse. All those hopes and dreams, their wedding plans…shattered. The joy of their upcoming union had been torn asunder, and he felt empty.
Therefore, in late February of 1964, they arrived back in London, because the dream seemed to be over. What lay in store for them both now?