Love at First Sight - Part III

In the late sixties, a photographer showed up at our family home to photograph my parents’ art collection. From the balcony of our living room, I saw a slim, graceful man dancing around an art piece, his thick hair winged out from his head in chaotic waves. I hadn’t yet seen the man’s face, but already I was in love.

THIS IS PART 3 of a SIX-PART STORY

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

My affair with Czech photographer, Werner Forman, was precarious and had to be kept very secret. Which was probably the draw for me -- all that drama. Certainly I couldn’t tell my parents what was going on. A romance with a man twice my age living behind the Iron Curtain, uh uh, not something to advertise. But I was in love, and so I made a few life-altering decisions. The first was that I would skip the next (my last) semester of school and remain in London. I rationalized this by telling myself I’d been going to school full time, summer, spring, winter, fall for almost four years and needed a break.

I had a little money of my own and rented a flat together with a friend from the States, Celia, who’d lived across the street from me growing up. Together we would set up a life for ourselves, art school, a new boyfriend for Celia, a dog, a car, a slew of new friendships. As for Werner, I was never sure when I would see or hear from him. Phone calls were dicey. He would let me know he’d be in touch at such and such a time, but then we had to be very circumspect because people (officials) listened in. I learned quickly that I couldn’t just open my mouth and say what I wanted. Instead we spoke in code: mention of an assignment at the Louvre at the end of the month meant I was to meet him in Paris. Mention of the British Museum meant Werner was coming to London. We couldn’t say anything affectionate or personal. Often I had trouble deciphering his words.

And then there was the problem of my parents who still thought I would be returning to school that fall. Celia was older than I, and had already graduated college. Since we had grown up together, she knew my parents well and was as scared of them as I was. But she agreed to go with me to Italy, where they would be vacationing, and talk to them about my decision, which kind of terrified both of us.

My parents were refugees from Hitler Germany, very cultured and educated, but also very opinionated. Their word was the law. One did not talk trivialities with them. And one had better be neatly dressed, nails groomed and every hair in place.

Celia and I arrived, armed with the marijuana we’d hidden in our luggage. We were staying at a less luxurious hotel than my parents, and we fortified ourselves with several glasses of wine before heading out to meet them for dinner. Perhaps it was paranoia from smoking weed, or perhaps it was sheer nerves about the confrontation with my parents, but we both had the distinct feeling we were being watched.

Next: Read Love at First Sight Part 4 >>