Truth and Love

There is an article in today's NYT about a couple who got engaged at the Temple of Dendur in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (p.26). It is indeed a very special place, but my most significant memory associated with it is quite different from theirs. I try to have a sense of humor whenever I visit, as I recall the sharp pangs of the night I had my heart squashed, but mercifully, not broken, there.

I was thirty, divorced about a year, and my son was three. A college friend, to whom I had lost my virginity, and who, after a semester of ballet, jazz, theatre, folk dancing, dinner and movie dates, persuaded me to take a dinner course on Marriage and Jewish Law, but then failed to pop the question, had recently resurfaced as my #1 most supportive friend during both my separation and divorce. Dan took on this role with great commitment, making sure that no matter where he was I was able to reach him every day. His assistant recognized the sound of my voice on the phone and was ready to patch me through to Dan as he literally traversed the globe. One day, while chatting about the terrific pressure he was getting from friends and family to marry, now that he was over thirty, he asked me if I would co-host a conference he was organizing for the Young Presidents Organization, of which he was also a member. The conference was just over a month away.

I hesitated, not being a jet-setter, or unencumbered, but he persisted, stressing the importance of the conference to his global business relationships and insisting that he needed me at his side to make it the best possible experience. Thrilled at the possible import of his words, I agreed, arranging to stay with my parents and to leave my son with them every evening.

For his part, Dan set about planning the most extraordinary series of social events to which I've ever been invited. He playfully kept his plans for the week secret, only advising me in advance of the dress code for each evening so that I would arrive in New York from Cincinnati with the appropriate wardrobe. Dan insisted that there was no need for me to buy anything new - "you always look great" - but after consulting with my mother and aunt, I concluded that, despite my limited income, I had better pull out all the stops to ensure that I made the best possible impression every night. "Nothing's more important than this," my maiden aunt remarked.

I hit all the best stores in town and acquired a small collection of elegant, sexy dresses for the line-up of events, with the exception of a black and white gown required for the closing event. I also went on a crash diet.

My mother took her newly slim(mer) daughter and three year old grandson straight from Laguardia airport to Loehmann's Back Room, where a figure hugging column of black satin, delicately embroided on the bodice with small white butterfiles, was obtained. I spent each day entertaining my son while Dan attended fabulous lectures and seminars given by world renowned business leaders. I was also busy designing, shopping for and creating a pair of masks in the style of Venetian carnevale, which Dan knew I loved. He apologized for the short notice, but said he had shopped for our masks and concluded that I would surely make something more spectacular than anything money could buy. (No pressure or anything)

Each evening, I would arrive in the city and discover once again that Dan had clearly planned the night's social event with my passions and preferences in the forefront of his mind. He introduced me to many people, bragged about me, and explained that he had asked me to fly in from Ohio to host this week with him because there was simply nobody better than I. Together, we hosted a pair of cocktail parties in the shops of what Dan knew I considered the world's most elegant jeweler, Asprey and Garrard, and the world's most elegant clothing designer, Georgio Armani; a dinner party in a penthouse featuring not only the best possible wrap around view of midtown Manhattan but also exquisite murals; and for the grande finale, a formal, black and white Venetian style ball with my favorite flowers and food, in my favorite space in my favorite city, the majestic Temple of Dendur. To say that this was a thoughtful and romantic gesture seemed at the time possibly the world's greatest understatement.

Dan and I stood at the head of a receiving line and greeted each pair of guests as they arrived. Those whom I had met earlier in the week were very friendly to me. The women complimented my gown and mask, and I complimented theirs. Some people who had not met me earlier in the week greeted me formally as Mrs. Schwartz. It was a fair assumption, perhaps, as pretty much everyone else there seemed to be married, but nonetheless one I found deeply embarrassing. I felt, as I corrected them, that they had clumsily revealed my most secret wish. Dan pretended not to notice.

As the organizer and event planner of each evening's activity, Dan had been consistently very preoccupied whenever I saw him. I was left alone each night to converse in English, French and Spanish with a wide array of succesful young businessmen and their wives, which reminded me several times of the joke about Harvard's core curriculum, that it prepared you for the ultimate cocktail party. It had indeed. But by the time the black and white ball was well underway, that last night, and I had learned all about the Alexander technique from the charming dinner companion on my right, while the seat on my left remained mostly empty and the meal in front of it mostly uneaten, I decided to seek Dan out and ask for a dance.

I found him deeply engrossed in conversation with two handsome men. I sidled up beside him, took his arm, and playfully insisted that I had been ignored long enough and thought I deserved at least a short spin around the temple grounds. Dan looked a bit taken aback, but he smiled sheepishly, and awkwardly excused himself, making me wonder if I had just been too pushy and demanding. Moments later, I realized that I had. The handsome, tuxedoed man I was dancing with was not holding me. He was stiff as a board, allowing me to hold his left shoulder and right hand but not yielding or responding physically in any way to the proximity of my body. It almost felt like he wanted to lean away from me as we slowly circled the dance floor. The lyrics of a romantic song, which I have mercifully forgotten, wafted overhead as if to underscore the incongruity. Here, in this most romantic setting, made as magically beautiful as could be through the great efforts of my dear friend (along with the city's foremost party planner), it flashed through my mind, as we danced, that I was utterly alone.

This was just not a normal way to dance with one's date, and thus it became patently obvious, finally, that this was not a date. If it were a romantic evening for many couples here, as I am sure it was, we were not to be counted among them. Dan was not about to become my boyfriend, nor would we stand together at the end of the night awash in the moonbeams that flooded the temple floor, and speak in hushed tones about love and second chances.

By myself, I returned to my married friends' apartment, where I was spending the night. I told them how I had finally and suddenly just come to realize (after more than ten years) that Dan was not attracted to me. They exclaimed and protested, and then exhorted me to believe that Dan had procured my services as a beard, certain that I would provide extraordinary value as a co-host, without making personal demands upon him, just as I had proved I could do in college. They passionately expressed outrage on my behalf, and loudly insisted that my very wealthy and closeted friend now owed me a great deal of money, and at the very least, should pay for my clothing and transportation expenses, which were incurred under false pretense. Of course, they were right, and of course, I was far too hurt and humiliated even to begin to imagine making such a claim.

The truth can hurt, but it can also set you free.

I am spending this Valentine's day with my darling husband of almost eleven years, whom I met just one month after getting my heart squashed in the Temple of Dendur.

I thank my Creator for the supreme resilience and elasticity of my heart. It has grown and expanded so greatly since that dark night, embracing not only a new husband, but also two more children, many nieces and nephews, wonderful in-laws and countless friends. The love that surrounds me now is literally beyond measure.

That long ago night, after donning an elegant gown and jewels and paying an egregious sum of money to have my make up professionally applied, I felt so utterly and completely alone - there, in the arms of a man I loved in vain, in the special place he had chosen for us to be, while elegant couples in love, swirled happily around us on a beautifully lit dance floor.

Today, as I sit in my kitchen, sipping coffee, typing in my flannel pajamas, listening to my children play, I feel so utterly embraced and connected by love to the whole entire universe.