“Mmm, yes. Now, would you like to have sex with me again?”
“God yes.”
“Really? That’s funny, because I don’t think I heard the magic word.”
And now his smile widens to a full grin even as his chest heaves with desire. “Please.”
“Please?” I repeat. I’m straddling him again, my hands pressing down on his hard chest, my own nakedness completely uncovered. “I was looking for ‘abracadabra’ but I suppose ‘please’ will suffice.” And as he laughs I lower myself unto him.
And then the laughing stops . . . but not the smiles. As I ride him slowly then faster, his hands on my waist, my head thrown back, his eyes on my body, the smiles stay until the passion is so strong that our mouths stop working that way.
But the smile inside me never falters.
And I know without a doubt that his inner smile matches mine.
* * *
HE WANTS ME to stay but I’m not ready for that. Too much unfinished business. For years I’ve loved the idea of belonging to a relationship. I liked the rules, cherished the confines. But now I’m tickled with thoughts of freedom. I know I have to end things with Dave yet I’m not ready to be Robert Dade’s official anything. I want to ease my way into the relationship the way you might ease yourself into a cold swimming pool. Start with getting your feet wet, wade in up to your waist, wait until the water feels a little less shocking, and then throw yourself in.
I’m wading in, but I’m not ready to fully immerse myself yet.
I get dressed while he watches me. He wants to pull me to him but instead he reluctantly pulls on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. My eyes wander away from him long enough to take in a few more details of the room. There’s the expensive chair that he had sat in while he watched me remove my robe from miles away.
My eyes move past that to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city of LA is always the most beautiful at night. It’s as if the stars that can’t be seen in the sky have fallen to the ground and paved the streets with their brilliance. I give Robert a sideways glance. “Have you always lived like this?”
“Like what?”
“Umm, in affluence? In totally hedonistic opulence? Have you always driven cars with values higher than the GDP of third world countries?”
He laughs and shakes his head no. My eyes keep moving; this time it’s a framed photo of a couple that catches my attention. The frame is a little out of place. It’s made of an inexpensive wood that’s on the rustic side. I pick it up and see a woman who looks like she might be Latin . . . Mexican, Argentinean, maybe even Brazilian . . . I can’t quite tell. I can see that she must have been beautiful at some point. She has that thick, dark hair and a bone structure that plastic surgeons wish they could re-create. But even in this old photo—more than twenty years old, easily—you can see the dark circles. You can see the slight sag in her shoulders and you can see how the man by her side, his skin as white as vanilla ice cream, is helping to hold her up. But he’s tired, too. Look at the way his skin folds as he looks up at the camera. Look at the heavy smile as if the effort of saying cheese is almost too much.
“My parents,” Robert says as he comes up behind me.
“They look like they love each other,” I say, putting down the frame.
“They did.”
I hear the change of tense and understand the meaning. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he says with a sigh, leaning against the dresser. “It’s been a long time.”
“May I ask what they died of?”
“Oh, various things.” His voice is suddenly weary, like his father’s smile. “But mostly it was misplaced trust and disappointment. When taken in excess, disappointment can kill.”
I don’t know how to move forward in this conversation so I wait to see if he is going to volunteer more. When he doesn’t, I give him a nod and turn away from the photo, find my shoes, one by the corner of the bed, the other kicked clear across the room.
“How about you?” he asks as I fasten the straps around my ankle. “Are your parents still around?”
“Alive and well,” I say, scanning the room for my purse.
“Any siblings?”
I pretend not to hear him. “I can’t find my purse. I did bring it inside, didn’t I?”
He studies me for a moment. He knows I’m purposely ignoring his question but senses that this is not the time to push me. After all, I’ve already gone out on a limb tonight. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, I might as well be in Mozambique.
And I hadn’t planned on ending up in Mozambique. I don’t know the language or the laws and I’m completely unfamiliar with the currency . . . but, God, is it ever beautiful here.