Triple Sec: Three Distilled Love Stories

By Joseph Roccasalvo

The trio of stories in TRIPLE SEC is like the high alcoholic liqueur: a bitter-sweet extract of orange rind thrice distilled for intensity.

In The Vital Instinct, Nick is in love with Laura who is losing her memory. He discovers that one perfume alone, helping her to remember, rekindles their dying passion. But only Andre her jilted ex-lover who hates her but wants her has access to the formula of the defunct fragrance.

In Sign of the Archer, Justin an archeologist gifted with clairvoyance is asked to join homeland security to become its living deterrent. His foresight is clouded by falling in love with Priya, an Indonesian model, who is his partner in anti-terrorism, as they both seek to safeguard a presidential visit.

In The Blue Hours, a graduate student of journalism takes as his subject Juro, a renowned Japanese sculptor. In conversations held only at dusk, he learns how the sculptor has discovered an identical twin sister Mika after thirty years separation; and how forbidden love heightens passion at the cost o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479730728

Joseph Roccasalvo

A native New Yorker, Joseph Roccasalvo followed his graduate degrees in philosophy, English literature, and theology with a Harvard PhD in comparative religion and a specialty in Buddhism. He has lived and taught in Boston, Bangkok, and Chicago. For over ten years in New York City, he was a professor of religious studies at Fordham University´s Bronx and Lincoln Center campuses. He was also a visiting professor of Buddhism at Columbia University in New York City and Franklin University in Lugano, Switzerland. Now engaged in graduate school mentoring, he is also a fiction writer. He has published five novels: Fire in a Windless Place, Chartreuse, Portrait of a Woman, The Odor of Sanctity, and The Devil’s Interval. Two novellas, The Powers That Be and Beyond the Pale were printed as Double Entendre. There followed three books of short stories: Outward Signs, The Mansions of Limbo, and Triple Sec. Two solo performances, Waging Waugh and Gospel Limericks, appeared as Two for One and were followed by a memoir, As It Were. Two further novellas have been published: Island of the Assassin and Alina in Ecstasy. These novellas were followed by a book of poetry, Poems for Two Violins, and the collected short stories, Twists of Faith. He has guided students in journalism and international studies at The New School for Social Research and has contributed essays to the New School’s newspaper in his online column, A Word to the Wise.

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Copyright © 2012 by Joseph Roccasalvo.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

The Vital Impulse

Sign Of The Archer

The Blue Hours

THE VITAL IMPULSE

A place in your memory is all that I claim:

to pause and look back at the sound of my name.

—Gerald Griffin

N icholas Braga met Laura Revsen at a party for Columbia’s junior faculty in the fall of 2009. He noticed her immediately as she stood among colleagues. She was striking for her sense of style. Most of the women wore pantsuits with shapeless tops, and except for lipstick, you had to look twice to recognize gender. Not so with Laura Revsen. She wore a tuxedo dress with a satin collar that ran the full length. High heels displayed her shapely legs. Chestnut hair fell in waves to her shoulders while mascara made her blue eyes prominent. Lipstick heightened her mouth which showed even white teeth whenever she smiled. A beauty mark on her chin completed the face. She resembled a film star on the red carpet for opening night. She looked anything but legal.

While the men reordered their drinks, Nick walked over. Noticing her empty glass, he asked, Can I get you something?

As a matter of fact, you can. I’ve been nursing this spritzer out of respect for the dean who gave it to me. It’s flat and tasteless. I want something I can feel.

Which is what?

Champagne. If it’s French, it would endear you forever.

I doubt they have it. I’ll try for a duplicate.

He returned with her glass, and she took a sip.

It’s better than that awful spritzer.

It’s domestic and not what you wanted. I’ll remember for the future.

I hope I can test your memory.

During her law career, she and Nick often drank champagne. Their meetings occurred after intervals because his photojournalism took him away for weeks. When he did arrive back, he phoned Laura to learn of her ongoing saga. He noted her acute dissatisfaction with lecturing and counseling students.

Nick, I’ve finally removed my name from tenure review and resigned my position.

What will you do?

I’ve been madly interviewing and just got offered a position at Citigroup.

Did you take it?

I hate explaining myself on the phone. Can we see each other?

Yes. Let’s meet in the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis. The scene may be calm or crowded, so I’ll arrive early and commandeer a table. Come at 8:00 p.m.

It’s a bit grand for what I have to say.

It’s the place to make an impression.

You and I always do.

If I flub it this time, you can take heart. Parrish’s mural of Old King Cole dominates the room. It will look on approvingly.

Later that night, Nick and Laura were lucky enough to secure a table at the banquette and were settled in. She sipped a champagne cocktail while a Bloody Mary stood in front of him.

Perfect, she remarked as she glanced around.

Yes, he said as the well-heeled guests murmured in corners, but why have you left the law faculty?

I resent a job that offers prestige but puts a cap on salary. I want more money, Nick, to meet my expenses. I recently closed on a co-op by taking a sizable mortgage. The monthly payment is hefty. Still, I won’t stint on clothes or travel.

So Citigroup made you an offer.

Yes, she said. I’m near the top of the heap.

Clinking glasses, they took refuge in the woody warmth of the bar as Old King Cole viewed them with approval. Most of all, they took refuge in their vitality. It had fed their romance and kept them together for three years.

Here’s to us.

It’s friendship with benefits, she said. I always liked yours the best. Before you, there was André Guerlain. He enjoyed my zest for living and thanked me with jewelry and fancy trips. He had a perfume made he said I inspired. I had benefits but no friendship.

For all the intensity, Laura’s separate apartment avoided daily intimacy. By focusing on her career, she let nothing soften her resolve. Nick was the exception. Their easy relationship made her plan dinner whenever he returned to New York, and Laura, adjusting her schedule, welcomed his return. He never forgot her birthday which yearly meant an original card. Her natal day was flagged in red, and his birthday message celebrated her personality. It was an earned pleasure to receive a note of appreciation: The card was beautifully expressed, Nick, and a work of art. You outdid yourself. It’s open on my desk.

This year he heard nothing. Something was wrong.

Several weeks passed since they had spoken. His e-mails had gone unanswered. But a chance phone call managed to reach her. Nick dismissed her reluctance to see him.

Meet me at the Hungarian café before the lunch crowd arrives.

Nick, I’m not in the mood for—

I’ll see you there.

When Laura arrived, Nick was sitting at a corner table for two. Walking over, she gave him a weak smile. Sunglasses hid her face. When she removed them, he noted her fretful look. She sat down, and the shadowy corner made her feel safe.

Thank you for the card, she said.

I’m glad it arrived. I never heard if you liked the fox in sequins.

That’s because I don’t feel foxy. I haven’t for a while.

Laura, have I done something to upset you?

It’s not you, Nick. I’m in a financial hole and can’t seem to climb out.

Your work has gone well. And Citigroup pays you handsomely.

It’s not enough.

But what about the roll over account from Columbia?

I used it as down payment for my apartment.

And your mother’s will? You were the beneficiary.

It cleared up her bills at the nursing home. What remained took care of the funeral.

Laura, I don’t want to pry. But weren’t you on safari at Christmas? I received a postcard from Tanzania. In February, one came from St. Moritz. It said you were skiing with friends.

In the pause that followed, she remembered too well. After returning home, she learned her travel expenses had far exceeded her income and her accounts were overdrawn. How deep the hole was, she could only guess. At the time, she could not explain the compulsion to travel beyond her means. She had always been prudent in her choices. The impulse to spend without thought of the consequence was new. Feeling somehow her life was running out, she had splurged to keep pace.

Nick, I borrowed against my investments without checking what was left. They had already taken a hit because of the recession. I’ve exhausted my savings and risk losing my apartment. I can’t focus on my job because I’m anxious. My friends think I’m well-off, so I avoid them.

Does that mean me?

I can’t see anybody.

What will you do?

I’m dropping out for a while.

You’re quitting your job?

I mean people’s lives. I need to concentrate on my own.

I respect your decision. But I can’t be sure you’ll return.

I’m not one to declare myself, Nick, but you’re never far from my heart.

How can you say that and still walk away?

I need to understand how I got here. Otherwise, I’ll keep repeating.

Let me help you.

That’s the point. I have to do it alone.

Why?

You read me so well, there’s no place to hide. I can’t see myself in your light. It’s too intense.

Clarity is what I do best.

That’s your choice, Nick, not mine. I’m consoled by shadows.

Laura, I’m not trying to judge you.

Your presence is judgment enough. It’s not easy being near. Like the photos you take, you’re so focused. You get what you want and finish what you start. The world will end before you do.

She looked at her watch and rose from the table.

Please don’t phone or e-mail. Let me muddle through.

How long does this take?

I don’t know. Will you respect my silence?

I’ll try, but I can’t promise.

Her eyes filled as she turned and left him.

After months of self-imposed exile, Nick broke his promise and tried communicating with calls and e-mails. Laura refused to acknowledge them. Then suddenly she was back in character, professing her devotion in a card that said, You’re never far from my thoughts. Soon after, she insisted he not contact her but followed the demand by inviting him for a drink. So began a maddening cycle of advance and retreat in which she met Nick and then left him with the threat of not seeing him again. Some instability was causing her erratic behavior that Nick felt he could change by being constant. He accepted each invitation even when he guessed she might not show. For his birthday, she invited him to dinner and gave him a book entitled Commitment for Life. He thanked her when he read the tender inscription only to watch her make a scene.

I feel like I’m suffocating. You need to lean on someone else.

He held on as he strove to save their relationship by exploring every option. During an alert moment in which she promised to change, Nick made Laura agree to a medical exam. Shortly after, Nick accompanied her to the hospital’s unit for a PET scan and MRI. Since he had presented himself as Laura’s committed companion, the doctor phoned him later in the week. Explaining the results to Laura would have fallen on deaf ears.

Mr. Braga, Laura Revsen is suffering from a brain disorder called progressive aphasia. It’s a frontal lobe dementia that incites erratic conduct easily mistaken for mental illness. Symptoms are confused with Alzheimer’s disease. Unlike Alzheimer’s, recall of events is at first preserved. But you can expect the degenerative illness to impair her judgment. It will induce irrational acts before erasing all memory.

Thank you for being frank, Doctor.

He then referred Nick to a medical journal when he asked for more details. What he read confirmed the diagnosis.

Personality changes appear as a disregard for the feelings of others. Mental decline is displayed in poor judgment. Compulsive spending is followed by retrenchment and isolation. Balance is lost in the ability to keep promises and act responsibly. As the illness advances, swings in personality continue. Memory loss and difficulties with language are common. Patients may sit doing nothing and then pace unceasingly. Restlessness gives way to apathy with no response to the surrounding world. In five years or less, patients enter a vegetative state where only supervision ensures quality of life. There is no known cure.

Laura’s memory lapse about the medical procedures spared Nick the pain of sharing the results. Proceeding normally, he kept long-term plans to share weekends with her. When at the last moment Laura cancelled saying she wanted to be alone, Nick acquiesced. During the times apart, she sent gushing e-mails saying he was missed. When he responded by meeting her, everything changed.

I can’t see you now, she said without warning.

Nick steeled himself against her erratic fervor, which felt like cruelty. He told himself countless times he could not endure it and had to say good-bye and then wired flowers with cards saying, I miss you. He longed for a clarity that was trustworthy and stable. Before he ever