Chapter 1

Portrait Of My Desire
by Rhonda Findling

Sharon shivered from the biting, icy cold, draft coming through her bedroom window. Another dreary, lonely, Wisconsin winter night, she thought to herself as she sketched the dark, exotic looking man from the fashion magazine. The frenzied lashing of the howling wind, intensified Sharon's growing restlessness that she'd been trying to stave off for the past few months.

She put her new "Saturday Night Fever" album on the record player to keep her company while she drew. Inspired by the Bee Gee's romantic songs of love and longing, Sharon went back to sketching the model's almond shaped, deep, brown eyes, that almost appeared to gaze back at her. Examining the model's picture more closely, she thought he was beautiful in a masculine way. As she drew his full sensual lips with charcoal, she imagined him kissing her passionately, then touching here, she could barely hold the charcoal anymore, as she felt his lips on her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her …

"Stop it!" she thought. "You can't do this. You're not a teenager. You don't even know what making love really feels like, Frantically, she took off the "Saturday Night Fever" album, scratching the record with the needle. Her eyes burning with shame, she went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She looked searchingly into her violet eyes, framed by thick black lashes, reflected in the bathroom mirror. She knew she was pretty, because her father always said so. Standing sideways in front of the mirror, she admired her petite but shapely figure, grateful that she had at least made it to 5'2". Anything less would have been way too short she thought.

"Sharon," her mother yelled from the kitchen. "Can you help me get the Christmas ornaments down? I want to start decorating the tree before Nina and Ned get here."

"In a minute," Sharon yelled back. Although Sharon was happy her sister Nina would be here soon, she was besieged by hopelessness that his was her 26th Thanksgiving in the house she grew up in, and wondered if her life would ever be any different. Nina, who was two years younger, had married Ned last year, and moved with him to New York where he had just begun working as an attorney in a large corporate law firm.

Holding a flashlight she lowered the ladder to the attic and climbed up. Shining the light over the dusty dark attic she saw her old Barbie dolls. She got a lump in her throat remembering how her father always bought her Barbie doll clothes when she was sick. Her father had mysteriously left her mother, Nina, and herself fourteen years ago when she was only twelve and Nina was ten. He has just taken off and never contacted them over again.

She still felt like crying when she thought of her father, even now after all these years. The loss of her had was like a festering wounded that never healed. Unfortunately her mother refused to talk about him, so they all pretended that he never existed.

Sharon found the Christmas decorations near her old dollhouse. She reached over to get it, accidentally knocking over a box hiding a large old yellow envelope. Christmas cards and letters fell out of the yellow envelope. She thought it was her over active imagination when she saw a white envelope with her father's name on the return address part. She opened the envelope and took out a birthday card with flowers. Her hand trembled as she opened the card and realized it wasn't her imagination at all. It was definitely her father's distinctive handwriting next to the card's poem.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY

Sorry I haven't written for so long, but I've been going through some difficult times and I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday. I figured things must be going well for you or else you would have written or called me. I've been moving around a lot, so the last phone number I sent you has changed. My new phone number in case you need me or want to talk is 213-IN9-0902. Hope to hear from you soon.

All my love,
Daddy

P.S. Give my love to Nina.

The card was dated 7/12/66. Twelve years ago. Oh my God! My father had tried to contact us! Frantically Sharon searched through the yellow envelope and found five other envelopes with her father's name and different addresses in the upper left hand corner. They were all birthday cards. Six altogether. Three for Nina and three for herself. All the cards had short notes from her father asking why they didn't call him, along with different phone numbers where they could reach him.

Sharon held the birthday cards to her chest. This meant her father hadn't just disappeared. He had been trying to contact them. She had to speak to him immediately and explain that she had never called him because she had never received the cards. The most recent was postmarked 7/12/76. Two years ago!

Sharon hurried back down the ladder and ran to her bedroom. She dialed one of the numbers in the card. A recording came on announcing the phone was disconnected. Damn! She called the rest of the phone numbers but they were disconnected too. She tried New York information.

"Hello? Could you tell me if there's a Michael Walters listed?" shared spelled out his name and gave the address.

"I'm sorry there's no Walters listed with the first name Michael."

Sharon hung up the phone wondering who could have hid her father's cards in the attic? She ran down the stairs and found her mother in the kitchen seasoning the turkey.

Her mother was all dressed up for the holiday, wearing a brand new brown, lined slacks outfit and genuine pear earrings that Sharon had bought her for Christmas two years ago. Most people said they looked so much alike they could pass for sisters.

About the Author

www.rhondafindling.com
Rhonda Findling, M.A.,C.R.C. is the author of "Don't Call That Man! A Survival Guide To Letting Go" (Hyperion), "The Commitment Cure" (Adams Media) and "The Dating Cure" (Adams Media) and her debut novel "Portrait of My Desire". She is a dating coach and psychotherapist. She has been in private practice in New York for the past 20 years and consults (by telephone) with clients all over the world.