“Regret”

by Hillary Donitz-Goldstein

Dedicated to those who seek redemption for their mistakes. May they find their peace.

Dedicated to my husband, Aaron.

It was a cold night for October, Elliot thought to himself, as he stood on the roof deck of his office building in Midtown Manhattan. He was able to see his breath suspended in the air in front of him. He wore a long brown overcoat, and rubbed his hands together to conserve warmth. The unrelenting frigidity penetrated the layers of clothing he wore, and his heart, because he was alone in his self-imposed seclusion above the chaotic streets of the city, which had been his home for a long time, but now felt like a prison.

Elliot appreciated this sanctuary, because it was one of the few places where he had the illusion of solitude. He needed a place to escape from the incessant demands that the life of a top city developer entailed. He felt smothered by the confines of the empire he had built, and the expectations of his business and social position. All eyes were constantly on him, and wherever he went, the press and the hangers-on would inevitably follow.

When Elliot looked in the mirror, he saw a conventionally handsome man in his mid-thirties. His dark brown hair was flawlessly arranged, and he was always attired in the latest, most fashionable business suits. Even his blue jeans were tailor made, and cut from the very best cloth. He was the picture of confidence. But that carefully crafted image didn’t reflect the real man.

“Burch” wasn’t even his given surname. As he began to climb up the career ladder, he chose to make a clean break with his modest roots, where his memories were too immediate and painful. His parents, Stanley and Betty, did the best they could to educate and raise him with their limited resources, but Elliot always dreamed of more, which caused continual arguments with his father. Later, Stanley blamed his son for his mother’s premature death from cancer, and the rift between the two men further solidified and became permanent.

Elliot was always thought to have everything by those around him. He was envied for his business acumen, great wealth, and good looks. He was always splashed across the society and business sections of the newspaper with some socialite or another on his arm. However, he lacked what was most important: connection, deep and lasting, to others. The passing days brought the growing realization that he was a stranger to himself, a factor that contributed to the shallow quality and eventual demise of his relationships. He knew how to win the competitive games he constantly played in the boardroom, but he had forgotten how to feel with his heart in the outside world.

There was only one woman who ever really mattered to him: Catherine Chandler, former debutante, presently a crusader for the underdog. Her enigmatic qualities continued to perplex  him. He had never met anyone like her before. She was beautiful, quick to laugh, and had shining, shoulder-length brown hair. Her sparkling green eyes reflected vitality and intelligence. She had until recently, enjoyed a life of parties and late evenings on the town due to her father’s wealth of connections.

However, over the past year, her public profile diminished, actually vanished, to be more exact, and her striking image was no longer splashed in newspapers or magazines. People in her social circle observed that she virtually disappeared from the public scene, unceremoniously departed from her father’s firm, and worked for the District Attorney’s Office, where she now devoted her life to the service of others. If they wondered what brought about this seismic change, they never said. Some attributed it to her attack last spring, but no one could be sure. She kept the details of her personal life private.

Catherine was the only woman who really knew him, and he let down his guard and his carefully constructed façade for her. He wanted her to know everything about him. Despite his good intentions, he had let her slip through his fingers due to his own clay feet. He bore the burden of this mistake that he would regret for the rest of his life. He had cold-heartedly chosen a shady business deal with greed at its heart and attempted murder as its consequence, over love, and he had felt deep remorse ever since. It was Catherine’s diligent investigation that had revealed his role in the whole sordid affair, which buried him further, in her eyes.

He had tried to call Catherine many times to apologize, had even sent flowers, chocolates, and letters where he attempted to pour out his heart, but she ignored his attempts at reconciliation. One night, when he arrived at her apartment building to wait for her to come home and speak to her in person, she turned away. He knew that she would never forgive him. She had the temper of an alley cat. He had felt, at the time, that he could achieve redemption by having a principled woman like Catherine at his side. She redefined strength, character, and integrity. He didn’t nurture these qualities in himself; he was a climber and a slave to his unrelenting ambition. This was the factor that ultimately drove them apart.

Catherine was the other reason that he enjoyed his rooftop perch. He could feel close to her here. He imagined that he could still smell the flowery perfume she wore. When they briefly courted, the couple admired the view of Manhattan’s glittering skyline from this vantage point. He remembered how he tried to show her where his new buildings were slated for construction. She feigned interest for his sake, but he knew her interests were elsewhere. Their worlds were different: she extolled on the beauty of the nighttime sky; he spoke of financial and real estate matters. Her lovely face haunted him. When he dressed for business functions, and regarded himself in the full length bedroom mirror, he’d see her in the reflection next to him. Was she the type of woman who would straighten his tie and give him a kiss afterward? He didn’t know, and suspected he never would.

Elliot couldn’t remember the last time he attended a function that didn’t involve business. The women he dated were shallow and superficial.  One woman lived on a trust fund and didn’t want to develop a career or interests of her own; another enjoyed basking in his spotlight. He suspected that others would love his money more than him. But not Catherine. She was different. How could he have been so self-absorbed and passionless? He no longer craved the admiration and hero worship of others. He wanted the right person for him: someone who could help him grow and become the man he could still possibly be.

Elliot now intuitively knew that Catherine had someone else, someone very special, in her life. Sometimes he accidentally glimpsed her in the diner near her office, or rushing by in a crowd of pedestrians, and, always careful to conceal himself, he’d notice a sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, and certainly not for him. It was the special twinkle that came with the sudden thought of a loved one. Elliot fervently wished that he was the source of that special light. He should have been happy for her, but he was consumed with jealousy and sadness. He could have given her everything, except what mattered most.

Elliot felt lost. He would do anything for her forgiveness, but couldn’t find a solution. Her dreamy look puzzled him, and he wanted to discover the source. On nights that sleep evaded him, he would sit in one of his smaller, more practical cars outside of Catherine’s building. He wasn’t sure of his intentions, but wanted to discover the source of her changed demeanor. Perhaps he’d follow her at a safe distance to get some answers to his questions. He rationalized that he wanted to make sure she was all right, but he knew it was more.

One evening, his efforts bore fruit. As he looked out his car window, he noticed Catherine hurriedly leave her building with a lightness in her step and an eager smile of anticipation on her face. She wore a brown trench coat and carried a small, plainly wrapped parcel. A gift, perhaps?

Didn’t she know it wasn’t safe to be out on the streets this late? It was past 11:00. How could she take chances after her assault one year ago? It was foolhardy, at best, but she must have a reason. He decided to walk behind her at a careful distance, and, if caught, he’d find an excuse.

He left the car, and quietly closed and locked the door. He saw her approach an entrance to Central Park, and walk determinedly and purposefully to a deserted area deep within its confines where there was a drainage ditch carved into a massive stone wall. Why was she in such a desolate location?

It looked like she awaited a silent signal, as she paced back and forth. Concealed behind a bush about ten feet away, Elliot suddenly saw a figure stealthily emerge from the shadows around Catherine. He almost cried out a warning, but stifled his protest in time. He couldn’t see its face, as it was hidden in the recesses of a dark, hooded cloak, but he could tell by the shape’s stately height, the set of the broad shoulders, and the strong, athletic walk, that it was a man. Elliot felt his heart shatter as he watched Catherine tenderly look up at him, give him the package, and enfold him in a loving embrace. They stood that way for a long time. She looked like she was comfortable there.

Embarrassed at this unexpected display of affection, and feeling disgruntled, Elliot left the park as quickly as he had come. It was no place for him. Would he ever find a place anywhere? He realized the eccentricity of the question, since he already had a key to the city, but not to Catherine’s heart. She looked at that “mystery man” like there was no one else in the world. Perhaps they had made their own world. She always had a romantic streak. When was the last time anyone ever looked at him like that? Never, he realized, and he felt his contrition more deeply than ever before for the woman that was now, he realized, forever lost to him.

Who had possessed her heart so completely? Who was the man that emerged from the shadows on silent feet? Why did it seem so secretive? He would do his best to find out. There was so much more to her than met the eye.

Elliot checked the Rolex that was stationed on his wrist. In a few minutes, he would leave his rooftop abode, and go downstairs to his private bathroom where he would shower and change. He was expected to attend the opening of an exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art with some colleagues whose names he could barely remember, and didn’t care to. He enjoyed art, of course, had even donated pieces of his own private collection to various galleries in the city, but more profoundly realized that his agenda was populated with too many faceless people with no substance. He hoped that one day, he could graduate to more. He had to work on his own character, first.

Elliot would do his best to win Catherine back, to be the man that she wanted and needed.

But deep down, he knew he had already lost her to a more extraordinary man.

END