Just One Night, Part 2_ Exposed(15)

He positions one of my legs above his shoulder. “Follow my lead,” he whispers.

And with that he thrusts again and my world is filled with ecstasy. The music, the art, the man who makes my heart pound . . . it brings me to the brink of nirvana and as Chagall’s lovers swirl in their blue light I come with a cry that echoes through the room.

His sweat is mingled with mine, my nose is filled with the sent of our sex . . .

. . . and we’re not done.

He turns me on my stomach and again he enters me. On the ground I can see fragmented reflections of blue, a cool contrast from the red heat inside me.

As he pushes farther and farther inside, his hand strokes the length of my back with a subtle pressure that brings me to crescendo. And as I come again, I hear him cry out, too. We climax together in the blue light of Chagall’s concert hall, surrounded by music.

My name is on his lips and it’s what I hear as he lays his head between my shoulder blades. “I love you,” he says again as the musicians transition to a quieter song.

And in the perfection of that moment I know it’s true.

Just as I know the sunset I see right now is beautiful.

But like my fantasy, it’s fading. Darkness is coming.

The door opens to my office. I don’t turn to see who it is. I know just by the way my ring seems to get heavier on my hand.

“The workday’s over,” Dave says; his voice is laced with his newfound cruelty. “Get your stuff together. I have plans for us.”





CHAPTER 6





WE DON’T SAY much as we crawl along with the late rush-hour traffic of the 405. Dave keeps his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel. I can smell the smoke of cigars on his clothes. He stopped by his men’s club before coming to me, sat in a leather armchair, chortled while some stockbroker told him a dirty joke, basked in the glory of being one of the elite. But whatever cheer he derived from those interactions fell away as soon as he got within touching distance of me.

I want to tell him that if he’s truly repelled by me, he should just let me go, spare us both. But I know it’s not that straightforward for him. There’s pride involved and maybe, to use Asha’s word, entitlement. There’s more, too, emotions and motivations I can’t yet read, but I’m too tired tonight to dip deep into that brew. I rest my head against the passenger window and wonder how long I can extend the silence.

“I talked to your parents today,” he says.

And I can feel the smog in my lungs.

I force my brain to start running through the facts rather than giving in to the panic that’s ebbing its way in. Dave is not like Asha. He can lie. He could be lying to me now. He has every reason to want to unnerve me.

“You called them,” I say, making my words into a statement rather than a question. If I’m wrong, he’ll smirk, inadvertently giving me a clue as to what’s going on. If I’m right, he’ll think I know him better than I do.

But of course I don’t know him at all. The man sitting by my side is little more than an ice sculpture of the warm human being who used to hold me through the nights.

Dave doesn’t smirk. Instead he nods, almost reluctant to acknowledge the accuracy of my statement. Perhaps he wants to keep me guessing about everything.

“Do you want to know what I told them?”

It’s funny, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard menace and hope mingled together like that. He wants so badly for me to take the bait. He wants to win the game. For him this is a sporting event, one that he’s only beginning to master.

For me it’s a war.

“Only if you want to tell me,” I say, a false retreat as I work to lure out the truth.

He gives me a sharp look. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Obviously I told them enough to keep them from calling you.”

“Is that obvious?” I ask. One more bullet deflected.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, aren’t you trying to prove a negative? You’re assuming they didn’t call me after your conversation, but you haven’t actually asked me if that’s the case.” I reach over and take his hand, ignoring the frostbite sting of his touch. “If you truly want to help me, like you say, then you need to communicate with me honestly.”

Again the silence comes as Dave keeps his eyes on all the brake lights ahead; they’re like the intent red eyes of demons watching a show.

“Things are supposed to be a certain way,” he says after we’ve rolled through another quarter of a mile. The statement isn’t meant for me; it’s not exactly like he’s talking to himself, either. This has the sound of a prayer, like he’s gently correcting God, reminding the universe how to act.