The Longest Goodbye

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

Can one truly run away from their past? I thought I could by leaving New York City, a city with many faces, a city with many stories, a city with many secrets. It is October 2004, and I'm a 63-year-old divorced woman living alone in Florida. I've been divorced for over fifteen years and am still unaware about where my life is heading. I bravely put on a faade of contentedness, but I've made myself that way because I have no other options. I'm in my apartment watching reruns of the TV show Sex and the City. This extremely popular show jars my memory of a series of exciting and desperate events that took me away from my beloved Manhattan and the man I loved deeply. I thought that by going to Florida, the complete opposite of New York, I could run away from the haunting memories that started in the Big Apple. Sadly, though, the warmth and beauty of Florida could not erase my memories. The flow of the ocean, the softness of the sand, and the swaying palm trees could neither soothe nor heal my pain. My story of sex and the city began more than fifteen years ago - the centuries-old story of woman and man meeting and falling in love, a meditation of love's ebbs and flows. My story has many harrowing twists and turns. This is not the usual story of romance, love, and marriage but an introspect into my choices in life. This is how it all began; this is how my destiny unfolded.

The story begins when I was a married woman heading into my forties - an unsettling time in one's life. It was at this point that I met a seductively handsome man eight years my junior who permanently changed my life. Prior to our meeting, my life was a typical one. I was a young, attractive suburban, upper-middle-class Jewish girl growing up in the fifties. I had a good life. I was blessed with successful professional parents. I went to camp as a kid and had plenty of dates as a teenager. Since my parents belonged to a country club, I lived the typical country club lifestyle. As a young girl growing up in the fifties, I was expected to marry the right person. During that era, a young woman's goal was to meet a promising man, marry, buy a home, and have children. But that was not my goal. I always lived on the edge - I was always independent. Still, secretly, I always dreamed of having someone to take care of me. I was considered beautiful. I was very popular, and I was smart. Not intellectually. I considered myself streetwise more than anything else. Many young men pursued me, but, I also pursued. As smart as I thought I was, my judgment was marred. I was always attracted to and eventually married all the wrong men.

Looking back, I realize that I was drawn to men who represented excitement and glamour. I was in constant search of the thrill. I never looked for security or true love. My first marriage was very brief. Soon after we married, my first husband and I moved to Beverly Hills, California, into a beautiful home where we had an active, high-powered social life. After three unhappy years, we divorced because it was a loveless union. We married for all the wrong reasons. It was a childless marriage. Five years later, I met my second husband. He was a handsome man living in New York, and he was a challenge, which, of course, attracted me to him. It's the game of winning, conquering, being in control and on top that exhilarated me. I pursued him with a vengeance and won! We were together for over fifteen years, and it was a good marriage, at least as far as the outside world could see. He had a child from his previous marriage. We had money, the right house, the prestigious car, and socially prominent friends, yet these were not enough for me. I felt unfulfilled and empty; I felt unsettled in a way that could not be resolved. Our marriage lacked warmth. My needs were not being met, and because of that, I was not content. Something was missing in my life. I felt lonely even while my husband and dear friends surrounded me. At that time, I wasn't sure what was causing this emptiness. Later, for the first time in my life, I would find out what passionate, lust, and untamed love was all about. I recognize now that my marriage was void of mutual understanding, commitment, and unconditional love. Ironically, my husband and I never fought. We were good friends. On the surface, all seemed well.

Chapter Two

It was 1980, and I was heading toward the dangerous forties. One day, after my routine physical, I was sitting in my gynecologist's private office crying. He asked me what was wrong and I blurted out, "I must be going through my middle-age crisis." My gynecologist denied me my feelings. He responded that I had everything a woman my age would want: a successful marriage, a good husband, plenty of money, and numerous friends. So, when my doctor said something in jest, I took it seriously. He said, "Go and have a fling. It will make you feel better." Affairs of the heart are so delicate that a vulnerable person, ripe for any answer, is susceptible to such benign, innocent suggestions. It actually crossed my mind to take his advice, but, I thought, with whom? In retrospect, the answer was stored in the deep subconscious of my mind.

As fate would have it, a couple of months later, my close friend Anna called me and asked me to meet her in New York City for lunch. She was going to a high-priced Madison Avenue jewelry salon to pick out a gift for her husband to give to her for her birthday. Anna, her husband, my former husband, and I had met years ago when we were on vacation. We clicked immediately; we all got along famously. Anna and I contrasted and complimented each other; she was a stunning, earthy, blond and I was dark auburn-haired and classy. There were many times when, unbeknownst to each of us, we dressed identically - like twins. She knew my inner-most secrets, and I knew hers. So it was not unusual for me to go into New York and pick out an expensive piece of jewelry with her. We strolled with confidence and gusto down Madison Avenue arm in arm and excited about her future purchase and our carefree time together. It was a gorgeous sunny spring day; my spirits were soaring. I experienced an unexpected fullness of heart. When we entered the jewelry store that day, my eyes immediately were drawn to this very strikingly dark-eyed, long and wavy black-haired, slightly built, sexy young man, 30ish, who was standing behind the jewelry showcase. His intense eyes pierced into mine, almost setting me off balance. At first I thought he was Israeli, but he was Middle Eastern. Later I found out his name was Kamil. As I gazed at him, his eyes stared back at me. As handsome as he was, if you took him apart, he was not physically perfect. He had small lips and a prominent nose, and was slim of hips, but putting the entire package together - his long, wild hair; his dark, piercing eyes; his sensual, confident walk; and the way he wore his clothes - he was sexy, and alluring. He always wore a flashy diamond pinky ring, and in the winter, a long raccoon fur coat. Kamil was a Mel Gibson type. He would stop any woman dead in her tracks. Love is blind, and I was intrigued by his flash and carefree confidence. Neither of us knew it at the moment, but this was the beginning of a long, dynamic, intensely sensual, dramatic, dangerously illicit, and sexually romantic relationship.

As the months passed, I couldn't stop thinking about this exotic, sexy man. Thoughts of him consumed me. I kept finding random reasons to go to the jewelry store. I went in there with various aimless reasons - to buy this, to talk to someone, whatever excuse to see him again. My gynecologist's words keep running around in my head. "Have a fling. It will do you good." Whenever I went in there, I noticed him looking at me seductively; he was definitely coming on to me. With a strong magnetic pull, I was drawn to him; he was my sexual fantasy. With all this magnetism, I still stayed aloof. I kept reminding myself that I was a married woman. The old-world rules about commitment, honor, and marital fidelity were ingrained in me as a child, and now those rules haunted me.

After some inquiring, I learned that he was also a married man with two young children. Early on, our flirtatious looks never amounted to anything, although he kept dropping little hints about going out for a drink. I kept saying "No." But I'm sure my lustful eyes communicated something different. I had always been a flirt, and I enjoyed it, so I continued to flirt with him. I wasn't sure what I wanted from him, but deep down, I did want him! I tried to rationalize the situation. I had a good life, a fine husband, and many devoted friends. I asked myself over and over again, "What are you doing?" I was forty and very attractive. I had a lot to offer. Everyone turned their heads when my husband and I walked into a room. I wasn't married to someone who was unattractive. My husband, David, was a slim, 6'2", green-eyed, salt and pepper-haired gorgeous man. He resembled the movie star Robert Wagner. But when it comes to the affairs of the heart, no one thinks rationally. The heart wants what it wants. Do we ever know what we are doing when our hearts are clouded over with desire? The intrigue, the mystery, and the fear of getting caught become seductive addictions.

After that first encounter, time went on uneventfully. The summer of 1980, my husband and I took a European trip. While there, I bought a strikingly beautiful outfit from Yves Saint-Laurent. I will never forget it: navy blue linen with peasant blouse and peasant skirt with all imported bone lace running through it. When we returned, I decided I was going into Manhattan all decked out in this stunning outfit. My goal was to go into the jewelry salon where my seducer was and seduce him. A new and alluring outfit and a new free-spirited attitude gave me the confidence. With this cocky attitude, I strutted into the salon and boldly walked right up to Kamil and said, "Let's have lunch." He immediately responded "When?" and I blurted out "Now!" We walked out together and went directly across the street to an intimate coffee shop. Nothing fancy, but for me it was, you might say, the womb for my rebirth. He sat across from the table gazing at me intensely with those deep, passionate eyes and with an inviting, sensual smile on his face. My heart immediately came alive. I never realized how long it had been dead. He seemed comfortable and pleased, but I was extremely nervous. He sweetly said, "I want to be with you." Even though this is what I also desired, I froze. In the back of my mind, I knew I needed this one sexual fling. I convinced myself "Just one day. That's all." We planned to meet that following Wednesday at about four in the afternoon at a local hotel in Manhattan. After this brief coffee encounter, I went home filled with guilt. For the next seven days, I couldn't believe what I had decided to do. There were times when I wanted to back out, but something kept pulling me toward him; something was driving me to do this. I'm not sure whether it was depression, loneliness, curiosity, excitement, or the thrill of having someone new, but for whatever reason, I knew I would meet him.

That day, I painstakingly dressed "to the nines" in stiletto heels and drove into the City, leaving behind my beautiful home and secure life in the New Jersey suburbs. When I arrived at the hotel, I reserved a room, as he had told me to do. I went upstairs to the room and anxiously waited for him. He was late, but he finally arrived. Later I learned that he was always late. We had drinks, ate, and had a lively conversation. Clearly, we were both nervous. Then it happened. We were in bed together having wild, untamed sex. We weren't making love; the love came later. The first time we had sex, I must admit that I was disappointed. I thought it would be earth-shattering, phenomenal. I guess we were both frightened; it was new, unfamiliar, and I was a little weird. Kamil was gentle. He was good, but I expected it to be more. We said our goodbyes, and while I was driving back to New Jersey, I became overwhelmed with guilt and began to cry. I knew I was wrong. Yet, I certainly wasn't going to tell my husband the truth. When I got home, I told him I had spent the day with the girls. As usual, David was working at home in his office. After I went up to him and gave him a kiss, I don't know what made me do it, but I said, "Honey, let's make love." He looked at me as if I was crazy. I don't think we were "doing it" even once a week at that time. I put on an alluring nightgown, and we had sex. I recognize now that I was trying to cling onto something, but at that time, I didn't know what. Immediately I realized that what I had done early in the day was wrong, and I decided I wasn't going to do it again - or so I thought. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a clandestine relationship that not only lasted years but has lasted to this very day.

This is a love story about a man whom I worshipped and adored. And even now, he has never been out of my heart. He's a man whom I will love to the day I die. My tale will continue over the next fifteen years.

Chapter Three

As with many romantic relationships, ours started out with wild passion, playful teasing, secret meetings, clandestine dinners, seductive meetings at intimate cafs, and other contrived liaisons. At first, it was nothing great, nothing unusual - a delightful fling. It didn't start out as a close, authentic relationship. We both had active separate personal lives. We both worked and had private home lives. I was a wife, spent some weekends with my mother, and at times we visited David's daughter. In general, nothing unusual. Fantasy cannot endure when reality exists. Or so I thought!

As Kamil's and my relationship progressed, I pestered him for a position at the jewelry salon. You see, I was tired of commuting back and forth for nonsensical reasons, and I feared David would start to get suspicious. When I first asked Kamil to give me a job at the store, his response was an emphatic, "No"! I guess he wanted to keep his personal life separate from his professional life. At the time, Kamil had no clue that I was a capable salesperson. He viewed me only as a customer, a woman to have fun with. Kamil was not aware of my prior experience in the industry. At this point, I was just a part-time lover and nothing more. Yet, I was an experienced salesperson. At the age of nineteen, I worked for a high-priced jewelry store near my home. I left that position when I got married and we moved to California where my first husband lived. While I was married to my second husband, David, I worked in boutiques and beauty salons that sold costume jewelry. After much coaxing and begging, Kamil hired me. The real reason I was so insistent and excited about working for Kamil was because I desperately wanted to be closer to him and also to be out of my boring home. New York City was glamorous and fascinating to me. I never gave the long commuting with its heavy traffic a second thought. I viewed it as a wonderful opportunity to spend more time with Kamil, so I totally negated how exhausting it could be. When I first started working, the commute and hours on my feet were exhausting, and I felt disillusioned, but once I walked into the jewelry salon and took one look at my lover, knowing that I would be standing next to him for an entire day, all that was eradicated. To me, all the effort was well worth it.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Longest Goodbyeby Helena Farrell Copyright © 2009 by Helena Farrell as told-to-by Marcia Temple. Excerpted by permission.
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