Dying For Sex(3)
Yet he looked confused. Suddenly he studied her mother’s face, then met Mara’s eyes again, and she knew -- just fucking knew -- that he saw her naked soul. By his expression she knew he understood her completely. He was like that old white lady in the movie Airplane who spoke jive. She felt like an open book and he just finished the last page.
“Welcome to the club, Mara. You must be dying to become a member,” he said, since it was literally true, still paralyzing her with killer eyes so blue they should be weaponized.
No pity, no apologies, no trace of condescension. Just who the fuck was this guy?
“What?” Dana asked, embarrassed. Dana looked from the mother to the daughter, then blushed from shame. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“You thought mom was terminally ill?” the girl asked. Since Mara got sick, her mother aged quite a bit and looked very haggard. She ate too much and slept too little. Knowing her only child was dying sucked the life out of her. “You hear that, mom? You look deader than I do. You better start eating my Wheatties.”
Dana and mom exchanged knowing looks. Dana knew what mother would be going through, and the two of them were on the brink of tears. Mara put her hands on her hips in disapproval.
“Mother, no! You promised no tears today.”
But poor mom was past self-control.
“Would you like to dance?”
Mara looked at the suit, not believing what he just asked her. With a shuck of his head, he gestured to the two ladies who were about to make a scene, and it suddenly dawned on her that he was rescuing her from public embarrassment. He was like a psychic who could see one minute into the future.
“I’d love to dance,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the middle of the floor right before the two women started wailing in grief.
“Try to keep up,” an elderly man, dancing with a woman half his age, joked to Mara.
“Don’t you dare cut in, Frank,” the suit insisted. “You can have the next newbie.”
“But you can’t dance for shit,” Frank argued.
“Don’t make me hide your oxygen tank.”
“Bully,” Frank said with a laugh.
“What’s your name again?” Mara asked.
“You forgot it already? I’ll try again to make a first impression. I’m Michael.”
“Michael, you can’t dance for shit.”
She loved fucking with him!
“I’m not dancing. I’m burying my head in music so I don’t have to hear all that crying. It’s hard for normal people to imagine how much crying I have heard in my life.”
“I only cry at the movie theatre because I can’t believe how much they charge for soda and popcorn.”
“Then you’re my kind of girl.”
“I think my mom wants you.”
“She can’t have me. I’m saving myself for someone special.”
“Thank you for saving me,” Mara said. “Dr. Blake just told us that I have just a year to live and mom’s having a hard time of it.”
“We all understand. It can be really irritating, but we all understand. What I can’t understand is how you move like that.”
It suddenly occurred to her that he liked to divert the subject away from death.
“I’ve studied dance and gymnastics since I was six. I was actually training for the Olympics when I got the bad news. In fact, that’s how they caught it. At a competition they found it while looking for those new synthetic drugs that boost performance. The doctors did surgery and radiated my tummy, but some of the cancer survived.”
“Then how come you don’t look scared like everyone else?”
“I’m not afraid of death. It’s dying I don’t look forward to.” He chuckled and she could tell that he liked her. “How did you know I was terminal? My mom looks sicker than I do.”
He stopped doing the robot. “You’re right. I suck at dancing. Want a beer?”
“You haven’t had a bad idea yet.”
He took her hand and led her to the kitchen. Several bottles of wine lined the counter and they found a sixpack of Budweisers in the fridge.
“What’s your poison?”
“I’m not even 21,” she said.
“You wanna wait until you’re 21 before you drink?” he asked rhetorically, passing her a Bud, since they both knew she would not live that long.
“I’d do shots if I had someone handsome to do them with.”
“Well, Frank’s busy, so you’ll just have to take shots with me.”
His smile melted her. Completely at home, he knew exactly where the good doctors kept the hard liquor.
“Tequila or whisky.”