“I had a nice time,” I told her honestly. I had enjoyed talking to her even if there wasn’t anything remotely romantic between us.
“I did too,” she said with a smile. “Give me a call if you want to go to the symphony or something like that.”
“I will,” I promised.
She smiled again and I watched as she drove away. I had never turned down a woman before and I felt a little uneasy. Lily was lovely, and a few weeks ago I would have been cautiously excited about dating her, but now I could only regard her as a friend.
I drove home quickly and opened a bottle of wine. I was wound up and tense and needed something to calm myself down before Julia came over. I checked my phone but she hadn’t written again, and I could only assume that she would show up as planned in one hour. I shrugged off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves while I tried to figure out what I would do when she got here. I had another glass and then another, but the alcohol only made me angrier and more worked up.
What had happened to me that I would discard a woman like Lily for someone who was so clearly wrong for me? Julia had happened. I felt as though she had bewitched me. She haunted my dreams and I woke up almost every morning painfully hard, longing for her. I thought about her constantly and stalked her Facebook profile relentlessly, trying to learn all I could about her. She had secrets, that was for certain, and it enraged me. I wanted to know everything about her. Somehow, I had been reduced to an obsessed, quivering pile of need whenever I was in her presence. I was willing to risk my career and reputation for the chance to be inside her, and the thought aggravated me even further. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t acting like myself. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she had put some sort of spell on me.
I poured another glass of wine, put on a Sinatra album and found the song “Witchcraft.”
Singing along, I finished the bottle and I found myself doing an idiotic dance around the living room.
“Oh, Frank,” I lamented drunkenly. “Did you have a Julia Wilde of your very own? What did you do about your witch?”
The lyrics told me that there wasn’t any nicer witch than his. I rolled my eyes.
“Well, you see, Frank, Julia isn’t nice. She’s naughty. She sends me dirty text messages when I’m out to dinner with another woman. She taunts me and haunts me,” I slurred and went to look for another bottle of wine. “This was supposed to be a simple thing,” I continued. “It was supposed to be some good sex and nothing more. Actually,” I chuckled, opening the bottle, “the sex isn’t just good. It’s fucking spectacular.”
I clamped my hand over my mouth and looked around. Then I heard myself laughing again. “You know what, Frank? Fuck it. I can say fuck. I’m a grown man. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I poured a big glass and drained it. “I love fucking Julia. But I fucking hate her for doing this to me,” I grumbled, starting the record over again.
I did another moronic dance routine and stumbled back in the kitchen where I left the bottle, muttering to myself as I went. “I love fucking Julia. I love f-fucking Julia. I fucking love Julia.”
Bringing the wine with me, I found my way into my office where I started puttering around, reorganizing my books and straightening up my desk, hoping it would make the time pass quicker while I waited. I came upon an assignment of hers that I had yet to read and flopped down in my desk chair, wine bottle in hand, diving into Julia’s thoughts on sexual manipulation in Lolita. She wrote so well and so eloquently on the topic, it made my anger come back full force. Of course she knew all about sexual manipulation! She’d been doing it to me since day one, dressing like a naughty schoolgirl in class, making suggestive comments, sending me dirty text messages. Gulping down more wine, I grabbed my red pen and starting scribbling in the margins with a scowl on my face, eager to give her a piece of my mind.
At some point, the doorbell rang and I looked up, feeling a little dazed. It rang again.
Julia. She’s here.
I ran to the door, nearly tripping over the shoes that I had thrown unceremoniously on the floor, and ripped it open.
Chapter 14
Oh, dear God, my head!
Groaning, I squinted through heavy eyelids. Daylight was pouring in through my bedroom window and blinding pain shot through my head. I closed my eyes again, rolling to the edge of my bed with difficulty. I desperately needed to relieve myself and had to get up, even though my entire body protested. I staggered into the bathroom. Afterward, I looked at myself in the mirror and winced when I saw my bloodshot eyes. My throat was completely parched, and I made my way toward the kitchen, glancing briefly into the living room and stopping dead in my tracks.