elizabethlevett

(another very old story)

         Actually, we wanted to keep it a secret. But since you pressed it, no really, I don’t mind telling you. After all, I can’t keep it locked inside forever, even though I promised him I would try. It’s hard to understand, I know. I’m sure it’s even harder for some of my friends to believe it’s true. After all, someone with my background. But you don’t know him like I do. He has a very sensitive, very cultured side that most people never get to see. I have.

         Harrison Ford and I met at a sumptuous party in the home of some important and gifted scientists from my university.  There were a lot of  sculpted and well groomed people there.  Everyone was perfectly nice, I actually didn’t notice Harrison at first. But he must have noticed me. There was something unsettling, something electric in the air that night.  After awhile it was too much – so many glamorous people, delicious food, excitement, and stimulation. Even as I conversed with the other guests, I could feel his eyes in me, could feel the tide rising in my soul. It was as though the room was disappearing and only he and I remained in a silent dance. I escaped to the veranda. Harrison followed me discreetly. He was just suddenly there, staring at me. Immediately I saw something rare, something sweet and vulnerable in his eyes. It was something I could tell he didn’t show most people. And then the waves of intensity and desire coursed through his gaze and I was breathless. I had to look away. Harrison kept right on staring.  (That’s one of the things I love about him.  He’s so honest about his feelings.)

         I moved over to the railing.  I was wearing a long satin dress, backless and very elegant, midnight blue. Harrison’s eyes tracked me with the stealth of a lion on the heels of a gazelle. As I gazed out at the city lights below us and the moonlit clouds above, I finally spoke: “Beautiful, isn’t it?”  “Yes,” he answered hoarsely.  “Yes, it’s… beautiful…”  His voice stopped before he got it all out.  He took my shoulders in his hands and turned me around to face him. Suddenly it was as if a sack of hot coals had been dumped at our feet. (Or it could have been the flames of hell licking up at us in their frenzy.)  He looked into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity. If he waited one more second to move, I’d have been as close to tears as Donna Reed with Jimmy Stewart breathing on her hair in “It’s A Wonderful Life.”  But with Harrison and me it wasn’t Capra directing. He took me into his arms and kissed me and a thousand Roman candles seemed to explode in the sky — just like that one scene in It Takes a Thief.

         “I really should go.”  I said suddenly, feeling as helpless as a kitten.  “When will I see you?”  He was still holding me very tightly.  I pulled myself from his grasp and walked away like a new colt on wet grass.  He stood there silently watching me go, fury and lipstick coloring his face.

         For a few days I moved through life shakily and distracted.  One afternoon when I returned to my office from lunch, a box was waiting on my desk. In it were a dozen long-stemmed roses that would have been pure white but for the soft blush of passion that shot through their petals. Their fragrance was the glorious scent of guilty pleasure. The card inside (“Please, I have see you…”) contained a map and a date. The location shown was somewhere like Big Sur only more private. It was crazy, I know. But how could I refuse the destiny of my heart?

         When I arrived at the cabin he opened a heavy wooden door and I walked out of the past and into his arms. We held each other for a long time before Harrison said softly that it was too soon, that we’d have plenty of time. So I changed into some shorts (Harrison Ford is a leg man) and a soft white blouse. He was wearing faded jeans and a black tee shirt. His arms were tan and magnificent. We walked together through the woods and out along the strand until the afternoon light on the Pacific was golden and impossibly beautiful. Then he took my hand and said, “Let’s go back.”

         We nearly ran through the clinging forest and into the cabin.  He pushed me playfully down onto the bed and then raised me up to him.  It was pure passion from that moment on. We were like two people who had searched for each other down a thousand streets and through a million dreams. And then we were quiet. We stared at each other across an eternity and then spoke in low tones about something for dinner.

         Neither of us wanted to spend our tender moments together sitting in a restaurant ducking the inevitable cameras.  So we pulled on our clothes– Harrison tossed me a bulky sweater he kept around–and headed up the road in his jeep.  We found a little grocery store fairly close to the cabin. I picked out some good bread and cheese while Harrison chose some wine and fruit.  I suggested that we probably ought to have a vegetable.  Harrison had his heart set on a bunch of scrawny carrots that reminded him of “It Happened One Night.”  (He’s really such a romantic.)  I gently brushed his cheek with the backs of my fingers, kissed him in the produce aisle and put the carrots  back in the bin.  My eyes then settled on some ripe tomatoes that were as red and shiny as devil masks.  We bought a pound and hurried back to the cabin.

         Harrison built a fire and we ate and spoke and laughed quietly.  Then we rose and moved together to the rug, where we made strong and certain love in time with every ocean known to man, until the fire had wasted itself into embers and we settled  into pretzel positions of exhaustion on the big oak bed.  We slept until the light of a thousand suns flooded the room.  Then Harrison woke me with a kiss.

         We breakfasted in a small cafe, sharing a spinach omelette and buttery bran muffins.  As I started to lick the last remnants of butter and honey from my fingertips, Harrison stopped me and smiled.  “Let me do that,” he said, and I did.  Back at the cabin we played and wrestled and spooned like young animals.  The afternoon we spent sleeping in the sand and swimming in the foamy surf of our love.  The night was as glorious and tender as a dance.  We needed no words but told each other stories and even sang a little until it was time to leave our wine glasses by the hearth and reveal to one another secrets not shared by any lovers before or since. 

         The following morning dawned cold and rainy.  We woke slowly, tentatively.  We were both so aware of the coming melancholy that comes with parting.  I had to prepare for a prestigious lecture tour.  Harrison had to gear up for a sequel to one of his movies.  He’d be filming in the jungle and staying at a brand new, four-star hotel.  The cloud that loomed over us was oppressive.

         I could tell you every detail of that day.  It is imprinted on my memory like a moth on a windshield.  Suffice it to say that I left him there with a kiss, a few tears, a smile.  Promises were whispered.  They always are.  But was our story to be continued?  Could there ever be a sequel to perfection?  Life is full of questions.  For now, Harrison and I have beautiful memories of a cabin, a beach, some ripe tomatoes, and the secrets that were shared by the light of a blazing fire.