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Part 6: Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
Suzanne and I were together for nine wonderful years.
Such sweet and sad memories carry me through my life.
I remember evenings at her house, snuggled together as we talked and kissed softly, such tenderness, such love. Other times, she would demand I bend over the bed, hands bound while she caned my bottom until the tears ran down my face.
I remember the time, soon after our relationship became public, she took me again to that private club down by the river, pushed me face down over a table and fucked me with an obscenely pink strap on while the audience cheered.
There was the other time she took me, naked under my skirt, to a seedy tattoo shop where she had some old man tattoo a black rose next to my pussy. He kept staring at my bald cunt while he worked my face crimson as people wandered in and out of the shop as Suzanne smoked and smiled down at me.
Another time, instead of going home, we drove to the airport and flew to Paris for a wonderful weekend of love, sex and submission. I remember being spanked in the hotel while the city of Paris spread out below me.
We worked well together and I became editor while she remained as publisher. 'Cut' magazine was a real force, the voice of alternative fashion. After a one successful year, tipsy with wine, she informed me I was going to get pregnant so we could raise a daughter together. She just hadn't figured out how to do it but it would happen, she assured me.
Such a crazy beautiful woman but her plan failed, as she became very sick. It came in a rush and the diagnosis hit me, a sense of loss that overwhelmed me. Suzanne became very ill so quickly and I spent all my time nursing her at the Chelsea house.
She lost so much weight as well as her energy but she never lost her love of life. I read the poems of Leonard Cohen to her while she lay in our bed, her long dark hair splayed out of the white pillow.
One morning as the weak Sun was trying to stir some life into the city, she took my hand, a faint smile on her lips and for a moment I saw the old Suzanne. "Thank you," she said simply, squeezing my hand as tears fell from my eyes. "I remember you well at the Chelsea Hotel ," she quoted softly and smiled.
And died.
I held her and sobbed, my whole body rocked with pain and loss as the noise of the living city sounded from the streets outside. The one reason for my life had gone, the one guiding and directive force in my life had vanished and I was all alone. When I finished crying for Suzanne, I cried for myself.
Everyone from the fashion industry was at the funeral and I sat in the front row, so alone, so sad and so afraid. It was a small church and the grey and dismal day outside contrasted with the flowers that lay around the coffin.
At last, it was my time to speak and the church was absolutely silent as I stood in front of the microphone, everyone wondering what I was going to say. My hands were trembling as I looked at the small white cards I had carefully printed my speech on and a sudden image of a sardonic smiling Suzanne flashed in front of my eyes.
I took a deep breath and tossed the cards into the air and the audience gasped. "That was my speech," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "All nice things about fashion and the world but this is what she would have wanted to hear." Tears pricking my eyes, I began to recite.
"Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind"
The church was hushed and I knew the tears were rolling down my face and even the black veil no longer hid them. Trembling, I removed the hat and veil and stood proudly staring out at the audience, my face streaked with tears.
"And I loved her so," I said and I could hear someone crying in the church while others sniffled. "I love her so much and I know she loved me. Goodbye, Suzanne, I don't know how I will live without you."
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