Writings

Trevor: The Gurdjieff Confusion

I was a nervous new initiate. Eighteen years old and summoned to meet Mrs. W., the head of the Gurdjieff movement in North America. I was awe-struck by the place we were told to gather. The Windsor Arms Hotel was a castle in the middle of the high-tech sleek midtown area of Toronto. Old World understated elegance…the lobby was complete with stately chairs, and a few older people seated there as if permanently part of the decor, pink-skinned, dressed inconspicuously.

“They said to be here by 10:30. Did that mean at 10:30 or before 10:30?” I didn’t know and neither did H, my timid life partner who was checking his watch.

I sat…waited…got up…wondering when the drama would unfold, when I’d be called upon to meet the Wise Woman of the legends repeated amongst the members of the group. Mrs. W only drinks Lapsang Souchang tea…she always insists that we meditate this way…no, one must never mix other exercises with the Sacred Movements.   The awe-inspiring reputation of the Lady was making me suspicious of anyone who looked into the stiff lobby. I never knew when the strange eyes would be appraising me, ascertaining if I was good enough, alert enough, alive enough to warrant Mrs. W’s attention.

After an hour, the eyes that looked in were dark black. A bald –headed man, short and intense was watching us. He announced that the time had come and he looked at me fully. I, wanting so badly to prove I was worthy, looked back at him, while thinking: “Judi, you are here, now. You are breathing. You are calm”.

Calm, I wasn’t. But, he turned his head and led us to a room on the second floor.

We walked into a glorious suite decorated in stunning red couches. We sat and soon enough were offered chocolates. I refused of course, but the lady who offered them, insisted that specially those on diets should indulge in chocolate that day.

I indulged in spiritual joy that day, for Mrs. W spoke in gentle tones, easing us into our questions. Answering our doubts and self-recriminations. I kept up my exercise of “You are here now” and so doing managed to pass the time without fainting. Afterwards, I desperately tried to recapture what I’d missed by being so painfully “self-aware” – so caught up in the act of appearing

Only years later, was I told how my gaze that day had been misinterpreted.

Trevor had a business for which he needed a factory. Being a real estate agent, I was hired to help him look. With all our trips to newly built concrete and steel industrial parks, that winter we drank cups of coffee together and started to talk. He told me he’d never really loved a woman til he met his mistress, Linda. I knew they’d been signaling to each other for about a year, but why he was telling me this, I couldn't quite understand. I remained professionally aloof, bearing in mind that Trevor was part of the Mrs. W entourage and a man of well over 60. (almost 40 years my senior).

We found the factory…we had the papers signed and then began the romance.
Trevor invited me up to his house when he knew he’d be alone. He sat with me and started to reveal the most desperate and fantastic intentions he had for me. Since I obviously had been trying to seduce him since the day in the Windsor Arms hotel, I would finally have my chance. His wife was going to be out of town, and his daughters would be away from the house. He wanted our time together to be right.

How was I reacting? Perhaps, catatonic would best describe it. Here was a man, almost a “holy” man in the jargon of the Toronto Gurdjieff group indicating that I wanted him. Who was I to argue…I did want him in the way that I wanted knowledge. I wanted answers and truth and the meaning to life. I wanted it and had no idea how to go about getting any of it. I wanted him to help me. Yes…okay, I wanted him….but seduction? That seemed a little farfetched.

But, I was naive and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. What do you want? I asked. He showed me his erection tugging at his pants. I said nothing but started to tease him and tickle him through the fabric. As if hit by a lightning bolt, he collapsed back into the overstuffed brocade couch and said…Yes, yes… oh….
What did I know? I assumed that this was a reasonable response and kept on stimulating him until he started to ejaculate…. I saw the moisture beginning to seep through his pants when the front door opened and in walked his 10 year old daughter, Nikki.

He looked at me, looked at his pants, and just smiled and shook his head, while he greeted his daughter: “Hello Nikki, you remember Judi. Uh, aren’t you home early, dear?” As Nikki put down her school bag, Trevor whispered to me one of the axioms that I still hold dear. He said, “Judi, when you’re with a married man, never wear perfume. Perfume leaves a trail that cannot be explained to a wife.” And how true that is. Too bad I was laced in Opium, that day …it was like leaving my calling card. But at the time, as I said, I was naive.

As I backed out of his driveway, I thought about the explanations he’d have to concoct in order to deal with my scent and the clearly lap stained slacks.
Well, he was Trevor. Mrs. W’s close companion.

He called me the following Thursday, to make a date for Saturday morning. He, again, was supposed to be alone at home, for real that time, and I was invited. I wanted to make the day special, so I went to Kensington Market to pick out some gifts. I decided on an old Cheddar, some walnuts and some grapes. Trevor being English surely would appreciate that kind of food, and I certainly did.

I pulled up to his two-storey house and knocked on the door.   He answered with a smile and I felt elegant and graceful with the knowledge that we were about to embark on an Affair.

He was pleased with my gifts, but was anxious to mount the stairs to his bedroom. I saw the room, so foreign to my taste and I decided to make myself at home. I undressed and lay across the bed.

He watched me…his glance leaving a trail of goose pimples from my toes, finally reaching my nipples. I felt a little strange. He smiled, said I was beautiful and began to remove his clothes. He stood there, white sleeveless t-shirt, pulled over a huge belly, (really huge belly). White underpants over a tight little English backside and everything poised as Humpty Dumpty might be, over thin legs. His socks and shoes still on, he looked over at me…wanting to see my reaction as he stripped. I was lying there, forgetting my own nakedness as I waited for his. The shirt came off and then the underpants. He flexed his thin white arms and heaved in his stomach like a He-Man in the Circus. I smiled and said: You don’t have to do that. He released himself and came to join me on the bed.

He told me how he had been a Sea Captain in the British Navy and how they’d come to the Port of Malta to protect the English Monarchy. How he’d landed and spotted a beautiful dark-haired girl with big brown eyes. Not a smart girl but beautiful and he’d fallen for her, Elsa. He’d decided that he’d bring her home and marry her, for who but her could provide him with the beautiful. children he'd planned.

He had beautiful daughters…one of them a friend. Another older one away in New York and the third who’d walked in after our brief sexual experiment.

He came to lie beside me, appraised me briefly and then he kissed my lips. I wanted to lie back and invite him to lie on top of me… but Trevor began to back away. "No,,, no", he said, "…we can’t do this." "We can’t?" I said. I wondered why suddenly seeing the two of us naked on his bed would bring him second thoughts. Silly, naive me. I didn’t know?

I knew. He looked and he calculated the befores and afters of having a brief orgasm.
The exchange of bodily fluids which could change our lives irreparably. And suddenly, he started to propose to me. Perhaps, I’d consider coming away with him. We could find a boat and run away to an island, somewhere.

This plan popped out of nowhere, strangely following his pang of conscience.
I began to reach for my bra and shirt. He came over to embrace my nakedness once, and then he watched me get dressed. My trusting mind was beginning to look for ways out of the situation.

Trevor was beginning to get a strange look on his face.
I dressed…. I reminded him to eat the cheese…and I left.

A few months later, I was told that he had been diagnosed and was under special treatment at home. Elsa was with him…He apparently was very sick.   I was summoned by Mrs. W who wanted to question me as to how he’d behaved with me. He’d been known to pat the backsides of a few women, and to have compulsivlely complimented the wife of our resident Math professor. I confessed that he’d wanted to be with me and had proposed our joint escape to another place.

Mrs. W seemed greatly pained. "Such a great man. It’s such a pity", she said. I understood that Trevor was desperately searching for something with me. And that my nurturing instincts had been put to a strange test. I’d wanted to humour him…and give him back a dream. I’d been willing to play the part of a young mistress…perhaps re-kindling in him that first attraction for Elsa so long before on the Isle of Malta.

Trevor passed away that Spring. I didn’t go to the funeral…not knowing what his wife and daughters would think of my being there. Only his mistress, Linda, came to me and shook my hand. She looked at me and said, “ We understood”.

I didn’t want to belong to her club, so I didn’t return the comradery. Today I would happily reminisce about the ex-British sailor chief who could steal a young woman’s imagination with his coal black eyes.