As I watch him finish his meal, I realize that I want to be something he can count on. And I want him to make my worries vanish like the invisible money he hides away in tax shelters.
He eats his last bite and I stand up and walk behind him. My hands go to his shoulders and I begin to knead away the tension. “Stay the night, Dave.”
“Hmm, I was planning on it.” He lifts the glass of wine to his mouth while I lift my fingers and run them through his blond hair. Moving in front of him I straddle his lap.
“I want you, Dave.”
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks with a wary smile. The wineglass goes back on the table.
I lean forward and let my teeth graze his earlobe. “It’s what I want to get into me that’s important.”
He doesn’t respond. His hands go hesitantly to the small of my back.
This could be good. This could be real.
“You don’t need to be gentle with me tonight,” I whisper. Again my hand goes to his hair but this time I gather it in my fist and pull his head back so he’s staring into my eyes. “I want you to tear off my clothes. I want you to hold me down while you press inside.”
“Wait, you want . . .” His words fade off; I can feel his hands trembling against me.
“Mmm, I want a lot, ferocity, passion, animalism. . . . Overpower me. Tonight I want to be wicked.” My voice is teasing and sweet. “Dave, will you fuck me tonight?”
In an instant he’s pushed me off of his lap; I have to reach for the table to steady myself as he leaps away from me.
“What’s going on?” He appears disoriented and lost. “This isn’t you. You never talk like this.”
The sweetness is gone. His bewilderment is pushing him toward anger.
He’s looking at me with . . . disgust. “You don’t even swear!”
Shrinking back, I can feel the shame spiraling up my spine and taking hold of my heart. “I was . . . I just thought . . .”
I wither under the hostility of his stare. The power I felt only a second ago is gone. “I guess I’m just overtired,” I finish, lamely.
He hesitates. He knows that being tired doesn’t explain anything at all but I can see he likes the simplicity of the excuse. He wants to accept it. “You’re overwhelmed at work,” he says carefully, testing his own ability to defy logic. “That’s always exhausting. I know how it is.”
“Yes,” I say, although my voice is so quiet, it’s unclear if he can hear me.
“I think we should call it an early night after all.” He takes his jacket, pulls it on. His words are coming a little faster now as he implements his escape. “Sleep is what you need. I’ll be back at . . . shall we say eleven tomorrow morning? I have a list of jewelry stores we should start with.”
I nod. I can’t speak. Not without crying. Dave wants to get away from the demon that briefly possessed me. He assumes it will slither away after I slip under the covers, alone in my bed.
He crosses to me again, and gives me a brief, gentlemanly kiss on the lips. It’s the kiss of forgiveness.
My shame curls up my throat, choking me.
As he opens the door to leave, he turns back with a sympathetic smile. “We’ll want to go to several of these stores before we make a decision. Weigh our options and all that.”
Again, I nod.
“So don’t forget to wear sensible shoes. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
He blows me a kiss just before the door closes behind him.
Gently, I pick up his wineglass. I take a moment to appreciate the way the overhead lights make the pale liquid sparkle before I bring it to my lips. The taste is floral, sweet, pure. Angelic.
I let these notes play on my tongue before hurling the glass across the room.
I walk forward and step down on the mess I’ve made, enjoying the sound of shattered glass crunching beneath my sensible shoes.
* * *
IT’S LATE NOW. I’ve taken a shower, tried to rinse away the embarrassment and anger with a cheap shampoo. I went too far, that’s all. Like the corporations I work with, I am multifaceted, complicated. And like the corporations, there are some departments of my soul that just need to be shut down.
But I do have my strengths. I’m good at my job. I can recognize untapped potential, see strength where others see nothing, and I can find ways to optimize those strengths until all anyone else sees is power.
I sit down at my computer, my hair wet and hanging over the white cotton of a short Donna Karan robe. The terrycloth lining soaks up the moisture from my body and adds a softness that the night has lacked so far.
I send Mr. Dade an e-mail: “I need to meet with the director of your mobile phone security software division. Can we set up a meeting for Monday?”