He was born the exact same year as me. However, after finishing primary school, he disappeared. Only when I, already married and had three children, and had a good job at a popular women's magazine, did I hear his name again.
This wasn't the boy I remembered, the one who tugged at my braids – this was a man. The kind of man dreamed of by generations of women, both teenagers; those who had just come of age, and those who were more mature, and those who were a bit more mature. It's time to introduce this man, who, as it turns out, caused quite a stir in my life. And yet, it was so orderly.
Władysław – it sounds a bit dignified and suited him perfectly.
For the little boy I knew, it was a bit of an exaggeration. But my parents knew what they were doing, because right now everything was perfect.
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I was just leafing through one of our competing monthly magazines in the editorial office; At one point, I came across what I thought was the face of a very handsome man, dressed in tweed trousers and a velvet jacket, with a traditional T-shirt peeking out from underneath. I scanned his photos until I came across his name in bold print. "Władysław Marcel"—it hit me like a hammer—"Oh, shit!" A colleague standing next to me asked what had happened.
And when I explained the whole situation to her, she was thrilled that we, the Fiona editorial team, and of course, with my help, had a chance to interview this newfound star. The next day, the entire Fiona staff, including the management, already knew I knew Władek. When the boss asked me to come in, which of course didn't surprise me at all, she gave me an assignment, which came out of her mouth with exceptionally little words:
"Do you know him?" "
I do," was the reply.
"Then get to work." And that was it.
I left, and for a moment I had no idea what to do or which way to go. Fortunately, at that moment, Ania, the old woman's secretary, approached and handed me a folder with information about Władek. This snapped me out of my hypnotic trance. I knew I had to review it...
Sitting at home, in a comfortable armchair, I reviewed his biography and all the other information I'd gathered and confirmed so far. First, he graduated from a vocational school, studying to be a car mechanic. After three years, he began high school, his goal being to graduate and pass his final exams. He did it out of love; his girlfriend, before their wedding, wanted her to study. He did it for her, and she dumped him the same day he passed his final exam...
His subsequent fate was a mixture of luck and a career. First, he won a modeling casting for a popular women's magazine. Then a year-long contract in Paris. It was there that he was discovered and, consequently, earned millions just by showing off. (Unlike me or my husband, who worked full-time plus part-time). His fame was enhanced by his participation in charity work. Here, he sponsored a campaign for starving children, there, he supported cancer patients. And now he's come to Poland, and the frenzy is slowly starting. And I have to "help" unleash it. "God, why?"
I reached for the phone on the table. I dialed the number.
A moment later, a man with a warm, thick voice answered. It wasn't the voice of the little boy I knew. This was a mature man. I introduced myself, and before I could tell him where I worked, he was already talking to me like an old, dear friend, inviting me for coffee tomorrow.
I agreed, of course, but with a heavy heart.
I was a bit confused, and for today I simply had, "Enough!" ...
I was sitting at a table in the most beautiful café in town, admiring the view. Suddenly, a tall, portly, yet oh-so-handsome man entered. His appearance alone made me feel a little dizzy. And if I had been standing at that moment, it might have been bad. He approached and greeted me. He began with a brief but significant remark that I had changed a lot over the years—for the better, of course. I honestly admit, I could have said the exact same thing about him. He captivated me from the very beginning, from our first glance, from every subsequent gesture, right up to the very end of this story. I was enchanted. I thought nothing could surprise me that evening. And yet, when the orchestra began to play a tune that perfectly captured the atmosphere, Władek asked me to dance. I rose from the table on slightly unsteady legs. So, I gladly leaned on his strong shoulders. We pressed together, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. His chin caressed my forehead and hair. The evening with him was like a fairy tale, one I became increasingly immersed in. It wasn't until he dropped me off at home that I finally came to my senses. "You have a husband and three children!" my conscience roared. Meanwhile, he lightly brushed his lips against mine. From then on, we met every day. I was mesmerized, neglecting work and home. At home, I'd say I worked too much and had to work overtime. At work, I'd say I had problems at home. And so I'd make excuses. And I felt like I was experiencing a second youth. Sex with him was so pleasurable, it made me feel more valued than ever before.
Once upon a time, we met at a hotel, where I was supposed to be arriving a little later. I opened the door. To my great surprise, the entire room was awash with flowers. He then said he couldn't send them home, so... We went to the park, the cinema, and our favorite pub together. He rented that pub one evening. It was just for us. We made love like crazy then. This idyll would probably have continued if not for one thing: the children found out, and so did my husband:
I spent about two weeks wandering around the house, blasé, and everyone in the house was looking at me askance. Finally, my husband and I had a heated exchange. He told me, "CHOOSE IT!" and I chose... It was 11 a.m., and I was crying as I rode the local bus (my husband wouldn't let me take the car) to the hotel, to Władek's. I stood in the doorway, and he didn't even hide his surprise. I remember he said, "You can't be with me." He explained that it was his lifestyle and that he needed freedom, and while I was married, there was a lot of distance, etc., etc.
Looking back, I can only reminisce, but the bitter taste of rejection remains. My husband never forgave me. Today, we've been divorced for five years. And the children, my dear children, have grown up a bit, but they still live with my ex-husband. They often come to visit me and even spend the night.
Today, I know that I simply overlooked, or rather squandered, true love when everyday life began to creep in.
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