Life was getting on, as it should. The job in the mailroom was the job and it paid the bills, albeit, barely. The girl had fled, taken up with a Wall Street lawyer and I had just gotten over her and decided I should do something about my life before it moved away.
New York was New York and though I felt suffocated by all the subways, garbage and people, I was glad to have made it my home, though I kept looking away, towards an invisible mountain, in hopes of another life. It was just a reoccurring daydream I had. Nevertheless, I didn’t console myself with too many big dreams. I was just an ordinary guy living an ordinary life.
But life is live and it should be lived. So, I consoled myself and put away my misplaced dreams. It was time to be grown-up, even though grown-ups seldom have any fun and rarely use their imagination. And grown-ups are usually boring people even when they are in extra-ordinary situations. Like when they visit the zoo, they complain about the stink. Or when they ride a rollercoaster, they complain about the line. Kids don’t even notice. Grown-ups think like, “It’s at least a two-hour wait” and they walk away. They walk away and walk around for two hours doing nothing. At least the kids get to take a ride. What do the grown-ups get? Blisters.
However, I was a grown-up and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I had just celebrated my twenty-eighth.
I had a few buddies in the mailroom, Bern and Tim, and a few here and there on the various floors of the small publishing house where we worked. We’d nod at each other in the halls, complain about “the man” in the toilet and meet for a beer afterwards to forget about it all. Sometimes one of us would pick up some chick and fuck her then the next day someone had a story to tell to help make the time pass.
But right now, there was this ass right in front of me.
I’d never seen such an ass. The way it wiggled, just right. The way it was shaped, my dear God, the sheer roundness of it. It was astounding, this ass. It was being held captive in a little black skirt. The skirt didn’t so much cover it as hug it, squeeze it and shape it. The skirt gave it a home. Damn. It was almost as if it spoke to me. It was almost as if I reached out and patted it, it would simply smile and say, “Thanks, I needed that.”
The rest of the body wasn’t too bad, either.
She, whoever she was, turned around and glanced at me. I averted my eyes, stared up at the ceiling and continued rolling the mail cart behind her. I didn’t pretend to whistle.
I noticed she was slowing down as the end of the corridor was nearing. She was headed to the elevator, but so what? So was I.
She got on, turned and held the door for me. I rolled my mail cart in behind her, not taking my eyes off her ass. She didn’t take her eyes off my face, staring at me long and hard, obviously liking what she saw. She thought I was a good looking young guy. And I was. Lots of women liked what they say when they saw me; they liked the dark hair and green eyes and muscular build.
But her… Her shoulder length blond hair smelled of mangos. Was it natural? Did the rug match the curtains? I’ve never been much for blondes. They’re okay, I guess, but nothing is sexier than long, shimmering dark hair on a pillow.
But that ass…
She glanced back at me again. I decided, that, yes, she wanted it. Should we stop the elevator?
Then it happened very quickly. It was as if a magnetic force was taking over us and all I had to do was lean in for that first kiss. So, I leaned in and she leaned back, grabbing my head as I buried my face in her neck and began to lick and kiss. She moaned softly.
The elevator doors opened momentarily. We didn’t pull apart. Good thing that whoever was waiting on that door had left.
The doors dinged shut again. We glanced at each other. She lifted one finger and pressed the big red stop button. I had a feeling she was gonna do that all along. She turned to me and I turned to her. We stared without hesitancy at each other. We knew what we were gonna do. Here we were, strangers. Strangers who were about to get acquainted in the best kind of way.
And then we fucked. How else could I put it? There was no other way to describe it. We fucked. We went at it like old lovers, like animals, like we didn’t have much time. Her short skirt was up over her hips and my hand between her legs, feeling her wet, swollen pussy. It felt so good between my fingers. I pulled her panties off and threw them over my shoulder. She gave a little gasp and looked into my eyes. I stared back. She grinned and I pushed one finger deep inside her until she moaned.
She grabbed the front of my khakis and began to stoke my dick; she began to rub it, fondle it, and press herself up against it like it was the most important thing to her. And it jumped to life, becoming so rock hard it quivered. It wanted her so bad. It wanted her hands around it, giving it a good, hard stroke. I took her hand and helped her unzip my fly. Then she was down on her knees, giving me head. I held her head there, enjoying the way her wet lips kissed my shaft, then sucked on the tip. Damn, I could stay like that all day long. I stared down at her. She stared up at me with my dick in her mouth; her red lipstick was smeared slightly across it. She got back on task, sucking it so hard I could have come in a second flat.
I then realized we didn’t have much time.
I pulled her up. She grabbed onto my face with her hands and we were suddenly on the floor of the elevator, her legs in the air, my dick inside her. I pounded against her as hard as I could. She wanted more. I gave her more, each stroke bringing us closer to the end of our ride.
She moaned and arched away from the floor. I pushed my hand inside her shirt and squeezed her breast, pinching at her nipple and waited. She moaned louder and louder and I knew she was coming. A flood of good feeling wrapped around me as I realized I was giving her this, this experience, this orgasm, this time in space that only she and I would share, perfect strangers that we were. I loved knowing she’d later think about this and maybe blush. I knew she’d definitely smile. I knew I would. I loved knowing it was my turn to come, my turn to fuck her like she needed to be fucked. Like all women want to be fucked. Fucked like a slut, like the girl next door, like a whore. Like a woman. I loved knowing that as I fucked her, her orgasm would be intensified. That, maybe, it would last as long as mine did.
I began to hammer inside her, feeling it come, marching right up to the pinnacle and jumping off, leaving me to soar along with it. I shuddered when I came inside her. I could feel her pussy tighten over my dick and squeeze. I stared at her. She winked. I couldn’t help but grin back and covered her mouth with mine, wishing we could do it all over again.
But, alas, it was over and when it’s over, it’s time to move along. We pulled apart and smiled at each other. I grabbed her head, pulled it back and kissed her, thrusting my tongue into her mouth. She held onto me and sucked on it, moaning as I kissed her, as she was being kissed.
Then she got off on the ground floor and disappeared into the busy lobby. We hadn’t exchanged one single word. It was more than perfect.
My life was like that.
I went back up to my floor and finished my day. Then, it was going on quittin’ time. Just as I was about to leave, I noticed a small brown envelope I had delivered to Mr. Palm laying sideways on the cheap carpeted floor. I picked it up, tapped on his door and then tried to hand it to him.
“Not another query!” he shuddered. “Throw it out, Mark.”
“Okay. Night.”
“Night.”
Without thought, I slipped it into my back pocket and forgot about it. I met Tim and Bern downstairs and we headed to the bar a few blocks over. I told them about my exploit on the elevator and they told me I was full of shit.
My life is like that.
We separated at 12:00pm and I took the train back to Queens.
I was home then, wanting bed and aspirin, but really a cigarette in the worse way when I felt the envelope. I pulled it out and started to toss it, but the return address caught my eye. It was from a small town somewhere in Tennessee. Where the hell was it?
I got out my atlas and found it, right above Knoxville. Huh. What the hell could someone from Tennessee be writing about? Chickens and pigs? Cement ponds?
I opened it and glanced over the query. 99 Martinis: Uncensored was the name of the book and it promised sex, love and misery, which all go along hand in hand, quietly. Sounded good enough. Enclosed were a brief biography and a picture of the author.
It—the picture—just took my breath away. The young woman sat inside an old truck, leaning out, the V-neck of her black dress displayed ample breast and the gleaming white of her smile roared in full Technicolor.
I stared at her for quite some time feeling a connection, a strong connection to her. It was one of the oddest feelings I’d ever had. She had on a pair of black sunglasses. This pretty girl from Tennessee smiled at me. I thought about her, her book, 99 Martinis: Uncensored. Good title. Beautiful girl. Who was she?
Her name was Kendra Hatmaker. Odd name, Kendra.
I felt myself, all hard. All wanting her. I stuck her picture in the side of my bureau mirror and pulled my dick out. I stroked myself while she smiled at me agreeably and thought about her stroking me, wanting me. It was all over in two minutes.
That’s where it began. That’s where it should have ended.
* * * * *
The next day, I took the letter to Mr. Palm. However, he was busy; he just didn’t have the time.
“But, sir, I think if you read it,” I said with faux authority. “You’ll see the book, not to mention the author, shows great potential.”
I could and should have kicked my own ass. I sounded like a robot. I’d been around these bookworms for too long. Of course, it was not my doing. I was on parole. For what? Drugs. Long story. None of it sweet. It’s just… You get to be a certain age and you think, “I better do something with my life.” And you study your options. There’s not much out there. There’s some crummy job or some big score. The crummy job is secure; it’s plain in its security. The big score twinkles and entices and it becomes the better option. For a while.
Needless to say, it hadn’t worked out.
“Look,” he said. “She’s pretty. So what? We don’t have any room on our spring list. Sorry. Give it to Zelma and tell her to send a nice rejection.”
“But, but—”
“Good God, Mark!” he screeched. “I don’t have time!”
He tried to push past me out of his office but then paused to adjust the collar of my shirt. He did things like that.
“You look like the dickens all the time. Comb your hair, Mark, and you might get a real job here someday.”
Then the old man smiled at me. I smiled painfully back and watched him go. Zelma, Mr. Palm’s secretary, glanced up at me and, having overheard our conversation, held out her hand for the envelope. I handed it to her then hastily took it back.
“Could I write the rejection myself?” I asked.
She shrugged. “You’re a nice boy, aren’t you, Mark?”
“No, not really.”
“Go ahead. The old fart will never know, not that he would ever care.” She went back to her computer monitor.
“Zelma, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What if…?” I paused. “I mean…”
She studied me. “Just say, ‘Thank you for your query but we are not currently accepting submissions.’”
That hadn’t been my question. But I nodded and walked away.
The whole day I thought about my beautiful girl opening the rejection and crying her eyes out. How sad she would be. “Not another one!” she would bawl. She didn’t know, but I knew about rejection, too. Somewhat.
I declined drinks with the guys and went back to my crummy apartment. I sat on the bed staring at her picture, wishing I could give her the world she so obviously wanted. Or at least a book deal.
I stood and put on some Sinatra. He felt the way I felt, it seemed. Sad and alone. The girl out there somewhere just waiting for us. Would we ever find her? Probably not.
But what if… No. I couldn’t do that. No. No. No. I stared at my computer. I stared at the wall. What if… Yeah. Okay.
I turned on my computer and typed in her address. I stared at it and thought, What the hell? What would it hurt?
I typed:
Dear Ms. Hatmaker,
Sungle Publishing would be happy to read your novel, 99 Martinis: Uncensored. Be sure to include a SASE and any address changes.
Thank you and have a great day.
Sincerely,
Miles Palm
I didn’t tell anyone I did it. It was harmless. I didn’t humor myself into thinking I could do anything for her. I just wanted to read her book. Maybe she would send another picture.
Down in the hole on the Monday following Valentine’s, I found it. It had come to me, addressed to Mr. Palm. It had come to me in a big brown envelope all the way from Tennessee. My hands shook. I found an inconspicuous place for it then put all the incoming mail into stacks.
I tried to forget about it all day, tried to conceal my excitement, but all the while I imagined it there, sitting and winking, saying “Come hither.” It was all her, I knew it would be.
The day trudged on. Zelma gave me a homemade brownie. Bern brought me a hotdog back from his lunch with his girlfriend and this chick, Windy, who had a crush on me, blushed and giggled when I had to deliver to her cubicle.
“Thanks, Mark,” she stammered and batted her brown eyes.
I stared at her and wondered why she didn’t do anything for me. She was cute, kinda. Albert in purchasing wanted to fuck her, told me I should.
“Read any good books lately?” I asked, knowing I should just walk away. The troublemaker in me wouldn’t let me, though.
“No, not really. Editors don’t read for fun.”
“They don’t?”
She shook her head. “Of course, I’m only an assistant editor. For now.”
I stared at her nameplate, then at her. “Why do you spell your name with an ‘I’? I mean, instead of with an ‘E’?”
“It’s short for Winifred,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask. It was my grandmother’s name.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Well, see you.”
“Hey, Mark!” she called after I had nearly departed.
I stopped. “Yeah?”
She ran up beside me. “This band I like is kinda playing in town next week and I…uh…”
Her face was so red. I waited patiently for her to continue.
“I was wondering if you wanted to… Uhhhhh…go…with…me…and some friends, of course. It would be a friend thing.”
“Oh? I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “’Kay. See ya!”
“Later.”
I felt her face sour the moment I turned my back.
And the day trudged on…
It was finally time to go home. I secured the package in my coat and headed out a little later than everyone else. The walk to the station was excruciating. On the platform, I had to take the manuscript out and touch it, touch where her hands had been. On the shaky ride home, I opened it and read her cover letter.
Dear Mr. Palm,
Enclosed is my novel, 99 Martinis: Uncensored. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Kendra Hatmaker
I put it back and ran out of the station and all the way home.
“It all began with 99 martinis. A joke, an ongoing joke, an ongoing threat, an ongoing dare. It was so stupid, embarrassing, but we’d do it anyway.
‘99 martinis on the wall, 99 martinis on the wall, take one down, pass it around…98 martinis on the wall…’
And that’s what we would do, all us girls—there was about ten or so—getting the boys—the actual number depends on the night at the bar, party or impromptu gathering—to join in.
The first martini was the easiest. By the time we got to the 34th martini or so, we were either sloshed, passed out, puking or fucking, which is why the guys went along with it in the first place.
It happened to me in the bar, the sanctuary where I found Cliff, where I would go when I felt alone. The bar where everyone knew my name, just like in that stupid cliché. They knew my name and would make bets on me. And I knew about the bets.
The bar. The bets. The bar where I would go when Cliff wasn’t paying attention. Cliff just didn’t seem to see me. I was there, walking on a tightrope and he watched me sway and looked away when I fell. I wanted him to be my everything, I did. However, he had other ideas.”
I stopped reading. Did she have a boyfriend? A husband? A significant other? I hesitated for a moment. I read on anyway…
“Then the sad realization that it was over, that it had been over for a long, long time. The longing was still there, the longing for something more, something extra. Then Cliff walking away for the last time, empty-handed and empty-hearted. I went back to 99 martinis. It was all I had.
Ray told me, ‘Go home, Victoria. It’s a little too late.’
I laid my head on the bar and sobbed. My life, so short, was over. I understood I was being overdramatic but I couldn’t help myself. I stared out the window and noticed it was drizzling outside. I looked back at Ray who looked away, who refused to be a bigger man than even Cliff and I walked home alone under the fog wishing I had seen Jesus just once and felt like running away.
A car came up along beside me. A horn honked. I began to run, not wanting to be bothered. The car stopped and I heard his voice, so sweet, so concerned, ‘Hey! Are you okay?’
No, I wasn’t okay. But what did they care? I stopped running and turned to see a man much older than myself getting out of his car. He stared at me, around me, past me. Was he thinking, What have I gotten myself into? or Should I help?
‘I’m fine,’ I called. I was shaking, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
‘Need a ride home?’
‘No, no thanks. I’m not that far.’
He nodded, got back into his car and drove away. For an instant, I wanted to grab hold of the bumper and hang on for dear life, convince him to take me somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was away, away, far far away from all this misery.
He ran the stop sign at the end of the street.”
I stopped reading and wondered if there were any good sex scenes in this book. I flipped a few pages, glancing over them until I found a word I liked: Fuck. I grinned and settled back into my couch.
“‘Yeah, so?’ I said. ‘I fucked him. Lots of girls have.’
He eyed me. ‘You don’t have to be such a bitch, Victoria.’
I dropped my head. He was right. He was just trying to be my friend. Well, he wanted to be more than my friend.”
I couldn’t believe my luck! Was there going to be some hot sex in this book?
“‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Come here.’
He shook his head. He was one of those guys like that. He needed so much, so much more than I could ever give him.
‘Come on, honey,’ I said and got up and went over to him. ‘You know, I have sex with a lot of guys.’
He refused to look me in the eye. He’d thought we had something different, something more special than that. But we didn’t.
‘But how can you?’ he asked softly. ‘I thought me and you were… Well, more special than that.’
His words hurt me. They were true, his words, and their impact was felt. I stared at the wall and didn’t know what to say.
‘Aren’t we?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t we more special than that?’
I swallowed hard. I didn’t know. I didn’t know if we were more special than that. I knew he loved me and he wanted me to love him back. But I wasn’t sure I loved anyone, much less myself. I was like that. I was a miserable person who was miserable only because they thought they had to be. But I didn’t want to make him miserable, too.
I took his hand. ‘Of course, we’re special like that.’
This seemed to calm him. He gave me a shy smile and then gave my cheek a quick kiss. It made him happy, what I had said. He just didn’t want to believe that it might be a lie, something to console him. I stared at him, at his handsome face and soft brown eyes. He stared back and a look of self-consciousness crossed his face. Like he didn’t want to appear to be weak or vulnerable and I had caught him.
‘Kiss me,’ he muttered and closed his eyes, moving his lips towards mine. ‘Please, Victoria, kiss me.’
I kissed him.”
I stopped reading again and stared up at the ceiling. I mouthed, Thank you, God. This ought to be good.
“I wanted him then. I wanted to love him or at least make love to him. I definitely loved his body. He was so strong, so masculine, so mine right then, there in that moment.
He pushed me back on the bed and began to undress me. Soon, I was naked and felt the weight of his heavy stare across my body. He took all of me in, liking what he saw and wanting it, then he said, ‘Turn over.’”
This was better than good.
“I turned over.
I moaned and allowed him to dominate me. I loved being dominated, for someone to take control. I loved that he took control of my body, so ripe for the taking, so wanting to be fondled and caressed and just touched. I loved it when he commanded me to open my legs and let him kiss me there, on the most vulnerable spot on my body. I loved the way to took me with his mouth without thought, inviting himself onto me, into me, taking me without hesitation.
Then he began to give me little kisses along my thighs, stroking them with the backs of his hands as he made his way up and down, grazing my skin softly with his lips and nose. I shivered in ecstasy as he kissed his way up to my nipples and sucked one into his mouth, then bit down gently on it. I nearly rose up off the bed. The motion was so strong, so lust-driven, it elicited a strong moan from me and I grabbed onto his hair, pulling at it, wanting his lips on top of mine.
He didn’t bend to my want. He refused to kiss me. He was making me wait for it, to want it more. The man knew how to turn me on, that was for sure. Now he was stopping what he was doing and staring into my eyes. ‘Do you like that?’ he asked me.
I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
‘Do you want me to fuck you?’
I nodded slowly.
‘Do you want a big cock inside you?’ he asked, loving the way I was under his control.
I nodded again.
‘Tell me how much you want it, baby.’
‘I want it,’ I breathed. ‘I want it so bad!’
He frowned at me. ‘I don’t think you want it.’
I sat up and hugged him, pulling him into me and begging him, ‘I want it, please give it to me!’
‘Give you what?’
I stared up at him. ‘Give me your big cock.’
Without a word, he pushed me back on the bed and settled himself between my legs. I could feel his hard cock then and thought about it being held captive inside of his jeans. He needed to be naked like me. I began to unbutton his jeans and he helped me pull them down, then his boxers. His shirt was off, too, and then he was naked like me and I could feel the smooth shaft of his hard penis against the naked flesh between my legs. We began to rub against each other, creating friction, sparks, heat.
‘You ready to get fucked?’ he asked.
I nodded eagerly.
‘I’m gonna fuck you now.’
I opened my legs wider. ‘Give it to me. Give it all to me now.’
He gave it to me. He pushed it all the way into me. Ahhhhh! Yes! He clamped his mouth down my nipple and sucked as hard as he could.”
Oh, dear Lord, this girl had a bestseller on her hands! I stared down at my pants. There was now a tent in them. Could…I…? Should I? Nah, I’d wait. This was almost as good as internet porn.
“He knew how to suck tit, that’s all I could say. He took my breast and squeezed with one hand while his mouth concentrated on my nipple, on sucking it, teasing it, pulling it this way and that with his teeth, while his cock was inside of me, fucking me. I began to feel it. My legs began to feel weak. My body was succumbing to the big orgasm that was on the way.
I grabbed his head and pulled him to me, kissing him hard. I thrust my tongue into his mouth and kissed him as I rocked against his cock inside of me. It wouldn’t be long now, I knew that. Soon, this would be over and we’d be back to the fighting, to the crying. Then we’d fuck again and everything would be alright for a day until he got jealous again. I was sick of his jealousy, but I put up with it. I put up with it because I loved him. Well, I loved fucking him. I loved him fucking me. I loved the way we fucked. I’d had good sex with other men, but this guy went all out. He never held back. He would give me anything. Everything. Including his heart, which I did not want.
That was the only thing I had trouble with, love. Sex, not so much. Sex was just sex to me. It gave me freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted with whoever I wanted to do it with. Whether it be a college professor, a handyman, or someone like… Someone like him.
He was pumping into me. I was panting beneath him. It was on the way for both of us. We were so hot, we were on the verge of becoming flammable.
‘AHH YESSS!’ he grunted.
I wanted to grunt, too. I was coming and coming fast and hard. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t want to control it. I held onto his head and rocked against his body, pressing—”
The phone shook me back. I ignored it but it kept ringing. I glared at it and went back to the book.
“—so hard up next to him it was almost like we became one, like the way men and women should become one when they fuck.
‘Oh, yes, yes, baby,’ he moaned. ‘Come on, come on and get it, baby! Come ooooon!’
And I came. He did, too. It was over. I fell against him, out of breath. Then I fell away from his body, panting. We didn’t move for a while. Then he rolled over, propped his head up with his hand and smiled at me.
I didn’t smile back.”
I wanted to read more but the phone would not stop ringing. Fuck it. I picked up.
“What up!”
I smiled. “Hey, Rodney! What’s up?”
“Just you and me and two pretty blonde ladies. Oh, I forgot. Just me and two pretty blonde ladies. Unless of course… You up?”
I stared at the book. “No, I’m kinda busy.”
“Yanking again? Geez, you’re gonna pull that thing off. Come on over.”
“I really shouldn’t,” I said.
“Come on.”
“Rodney, I am busy.”
He whispered, “One of them has fake tits. She flashed me. Man, they are nice. Good job and God bless plastic surgery.”
“Oh…cool.”
“I’ll come get you,” he said.
“No, that’s okay.”
“Get your ass over here now! Fuck man, I get two horny chicks and you’re not even interested? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m kinda of seeing someone.”
“Liar. Since when?” he said. “You don’t tell me anything anymore.”
“There’s really nothing to tell.”
“What’s her name?”
“Uhhh…” I said, then for some reason, “Kendra.”
“She there?”
“No, she lives out of town.”
“How did you meet her then?”
“The book company is publishing one of her books,” I said and felt sure that I was going to make that happen.
“Oh!” he said. “Where’s she from?”
“Tennessee.”
He drawled, “TennAhseee… Cool. Love those fucking accents. When you get done with her, send her over.”
I chuckled. “Sure.”
“She pretty?”
I stared at her picture. “She’s really pretty, probably the most beautiful girl I ever laid eyes on.”
“You’re so full of shit.” He coughed loudly in my ear, then, “Well, come on over.”
“Nah.”
“Alright. Oh, shit, man! The other one just bent over, looking at my CDs. A heart-shaped ass, my friend. A heart-shaped ass.” He paused. “Is that a g-string?”
“Can they hear you?”
“Nah,” he said. “They’re stoned.”
“Oh. See ya!”
I hung up before he had a chance to reply. I picked up the next page and began to read. The character finally meets another man, fucks him—how she fucks him!—and then he proposes. A knock came on the door. Rodney and two pretty blonde women walked in. The shorter one threw herself at me then fell to the floor.
Rodney said, “I knew she shouldn’t have done that last shot. Sorry man.”
* * * * *
I finished the book over the weekend. The whole story was about this chick, Victoria, and her search for love. She never finds it and when she does, she throws it away with both hands. The sex scenes were phenomenal. There was this one scene set in a men’s toilet that I had to read at least ten times…
“…he led me into the men’s bathroom and before I knew what was happening, he had yanked my jeans down and his head was buried, literally buried, between my legs. His tongue didn’t flick against me—the way some men give head—he sucked at it, like the way he liked his dick to be sucked. I loved that feeling. I ground up against his face and tugged at his hand until it rested on my breast and squeezed.
He stood, staring into my eyes, staring at me like I was a goddess because that’s what I was to him, a goddess. I had his fate in the palm of my hand then. And I was going to use it to my advantage.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered.
I nodded, but I didn’t need that line at a time like this. I didn’t like bullshit.
‘Just fuck me,’ I told him.
He turned me around. I straddled the commode and placed my hands on the wall. I stared straight ahead and felt his hands on my ass, scooping the cheeks up with the palms of his hands and stroking them. I began to squirm, tensing with anticipation. I felt his hard cock fall on my ass and he moved it down, down until it found its place. He pushed it in. I gasped, nearly lost my balance and fell over. I straightened up and moaned. Ahhh! I loved the way his cock just filled me, made me whole.
He began to fuck me. Fuck me softly. At first. Then he drove it in harder and harder until he was thumping behind me, inside me. I moved my hand down and began to rub my clit. I stroked it, loving the feeling of euphoria it gave me when it was tended to. I moaned and wiggled against him until one of his hands found my breast. He stroked my nipple with the back of his finger and his cock stroked my pussy. My finger stroked my clit. All erogenous areas were covered. I loved all the stimulation. I also loved knowing we might get caught, that someone might come in and catch us. Catch us fucking. I wished they would. I wished that it would be a big man. A big, tall man. I wished he’d come in and stop when he saw what was going on. I wished he’d gasp, then his dick would get hard and he’d want me, too. He’d want to be the one fucking me from behind. I’d want him to shove this guy out of the way and take a turn. I’d want his big cock to fill me. Pressure me. Overcome me. Overtake me.
I began to gasp as the fantasy, combined with the reality, began to burgeon. It was too, too much. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle it. I had to come. I had to scream, I had to get it all out. My fingernails dragged down the wall, taking bits of paint with them as he fucked the orgasm right out of my body.
‘Fuck me!’ I screamed. ‘Fuck me harder!’
He did just that. His cock went so far up into me, it made the orgasm extend and amplify. He had hit bottom. I loved that he had hit bottom. It was hard to take it, though. I couldn’t take it. I began to pound back against him, sucking all this power out of him and into me. I wanted him so much then. I wanted that strange man that hadn’t materialized. I wanted everyone, everything. I wanted the world.
And then it was over. For both of us. I exhaled loudly, loving the feeling of post-orgasm bliss, which was always so sweet, yet too short. He shuddered and then erupted inside me. He fell on my back and hugged my middle for the longest time. I wished he’d move. The euphoria was over and it was time to leave, to disappear. To forget.
I jerked a little and he moved. I stood up straight, felt a little wobbly, then bent and picked up my jeans. My panties were nowhere in sight. I sighed and put the jeans on, wanting to get out of there.
‘By the way,’ he said and extended his hand. ‘I’m Albert.’
I nodded, but didn’t take his hand. ‘Nice to meet you. Albert.’
‘And you are?’
I stared at him and wondered why he was bothering with the formalities. It was over and time to move on. Surely, he had to know that.
I shrugged and made my way out of the bathroom. He called something after me, but I didn’t pay attention. What did I need to know his name for anyway? What could I do with that?”
I knew it would be a big hit. How could it not be with a scene like that? I had it in my gut. What had she written in her query?
“I know, to you, the sex scenes might seem a little gratuitous, and what sex scene isn’t? But I believe the public will not be put off. They will see into the heart of this character who is as lonely and as scared and as vulnerable as any number of them.”
As lonely, as scared and as vulnerable. Was that her? Lonely, scared and vulnerable? Lonely, scared and vulnerable. Not to mention extremely imaginative and creative and hot.
I bypassed Palm and took it to Windy.
“Where did you get this?” she asked with one raised eyebrow.
I wanted to reach out and push her eyebrow down. It made her look smarmy. It was a little disconcerting.
“Look, don’t bust my balls, okay?” I said. “This chick I know, she uh…she wanted me to—”
“I can’t. My list is full and if I take on another book about love, Palm will explode.”
“So, tell him it’s about the Navy or something.”
She giggled. “Did you read it?”
“I did.”
“Any good?” she asked and eyed me.
“The best book I’ve ever read.”
“How many books have you read, Mark?”
“Two,” I said. “This one and the Bible.”
“Which is better?”
“This one.”
She laughed quietly and stared at the synopsis. “Kendra Hatmaker. She your girlfriend?”
“No!”
She relaxed. “I’ll give it a read.”
“Thanks, Windy,” I said and turned to leave.
“Oh, Mark?”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“What about that band I wanted to see?”
Ball and chain. Fuck. If this was what I had to do, I had to do it. I had to get Kendra in this city. I turned back around and tried to smile.
“Pick you up at six?” I asked with a smile.
She grinned and nodded.
I walked away.
That Thursday, I picked up a few flowers and headed over to Windy’s apartment. Chicks and flowers? If I were a chick I would want some candy or a video game or something besides this shit that dies in a day. But that’s what they like, so that’s what they get.
Her doorman let me in. She wasn’t quite ready, but told me to make myself at home. I sat on a nice sofa in her nice living room and sipped the nice drink she handed me. I noticed the lights were dim—a little too dim—and a few candles were burning. The place smelled like a rose. It was bit nauseating.
She finally came out and said, “Had dinner yet?”
“I thought we could grab something on the way.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” she said. “The band thing was canceled.”
Thank God for small miracles. I really wanted to re-read chapter 10. I stood. “Oh, well, maybe next time.”
She pushed me back down. “We can still…you know, eat and… Stuff.”
“You’re more aggressive than I anticipated.”
She blushed. “What do you mean?”
She knew what I meant. Even so, I said, “Oh, nothing.”
She looked away and said. “I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“It’s okay. What do you like?”
“We can order in Chinese, if that’s okay.”
“Fine with me.”
She ordered the Chinese chicken and rice and gave me another scotch and water. Then she sat beside me, nervously twisting her hands. This was it. Might as well get to it.
I placed my hand over hers, drank the rest of the scotch, put the glass on the coffee table, then leaned over and kissed her. She gasped a little then opened her mouth. I slid my tongue in, grabbed her face and pushed her back on the sofa. Her legs opened. I settled between and began to unbutton her top. She stopped me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“This is a little fast, isn’t it?”
I shook my head, squeezed her breast and said, “No, this is fast.”
She didn’t protest as I made my way down. Moving down, I kissed her breasts, her belly and then the place between her legs. I chuckled at the thought of her giggling with her girlfriends over this and pushed her skirt up over her hips. She moaned and pulled me back to her. She kissed my face and neck.
“This is fast, too,” I said and undressed her, taking in her thin, naked body. Nice. I unzipped my pants, then put her hand down them. She responded with vigor and began to stroke me, a little too enthusiastically.
“Careful,” I said and grimaced.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Uh, why?”
I stared at her. “You’re about to nut me.” Her mouth fell open. I grinned and kissed her. “Just be careful. It’s okay.”
She nodded and got back on task. She grabbed at my shirt, pulling it over my head then pushed my pants and boxers down with her legs and feet and helped me in.
“Ahhhh…ohhhh, right there,” she moaned.
I fucked her hard then slowed down. She clung to me and nearly screamed when she came.
“Oh, yes, fuck me! Oh! God! Mark! Fuck me hard! MaaarrrkkkkkKKKK!”
I obliged. The things a guy has to do to get what he wants.
When it was over, and all the obligatory post-coital cuddling was done, I turned to her and smiled. She smiled back, so I asked her, “So, when you publish the book, what happens?”
“Not much,” she said and pulled a fluffy throw around her body. “Do some galleys, stuff like that.”
What the hell were galleys? It didn’t really interest me much, though. I went on, “You don’t meet the author?”
“We like to, most times, if we have the budget.” She leaned across me and lit a cigarette.
“You fly them up?”
“Yeah, sometimes we do. Once we put a guy up in this really expensive hotel. Turned out he had plagiarized most of the novel from this old one. You should have seen the room service tab.”
“Uh, okay. Listen—”
“It wasn’t really my type of story anyway,” she said and inhaled, then placed the cigarette in my mouth. “You are so cute.”
She ran her fingers through my hair. I pushed them away, but she went right back in. I decided not to fight it. Then she rubbed my shoulders.
“God, you have such big arms and shoulders,” she said, taking the cigarette back. “Do you work out a lot?”
“Some,” I said. “Listen. When you publish my friend, will you bring her up?”
She ignored me. “And you have the prettiest green eyes. Like jade.”
“Jade?”
“The stone, Mark.”
“I thought you meant the movie, smartass.”
“And your lips, so full and sweet,” she muttered and kissed me, then bit my bottom lip, pulling it away. She let go and smiled, then came back for more.
I stopped her. “So, when you publish my friend, will you bring her up?”
She shrugged and one finger slid down my arm, resting on my tattoo. “And I love the arm band. What’s it of?”
I stared the tattoo I’d gotten years ago. “It’s just something tribal. I didn’t know what to get, so I just got it.”
“I think it’s super cool,” she said.
I could tell she did. I shook my head and said, “Anyway, about publishing my friend…”
“I don’t know if we will publish her or not,” she replied and took a hit off the cigarette and then ground it out in a crystal ashtray.
I sat up. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t like the book.”
My mouth dropped. “You didn’t like the book?”
“No, not really. Not much market for it. It was a little literary,” she said and scratched her head. “And somewhat poetic.”
“So?”
“So, literary doesn’t sell much now,” she said. “And poetic never. Nonfiction is big, though.”
I stared at her then realized something. “You just read the first chapter, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” she said and scoffed.
“You can’t tell anything about a book from the first chapter!”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “You can tell everything about a book from the first chapter.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No. Sorry, honey, I know she’s your friend, but I can’t just publish every Tom, Dick and Barry.”
“It’s Harry.”
“Whatever,” she said and rolled her eyes.
“I’ll just show it to Palm, then.”
“I already did,” she said and kissed my shoulder. “He hated it.”
“He hated it?”
“Yeah. He said, ‘Romance is quiet dull,’ or something like that.”
“It had great sex scenes!” I exclaimed and began to feel a little sick. It might have been the aroma from the burning candles.
“Sex doesn’t sell anymore,” she said. “There has to be more.”
“Sex doesn’t sell? Sex? Are you kidding me?”
“No, not really. Everyone’s a bit skeptical.”
“If sex doesn’t sell, what sells?”
“Just good stuff,” she said and seemed to consider. “Like Hemingway.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yeah, and he sells more now than he did when he was alive.”
I stared at her and shook my head. “Like what sells?”
“Plot’s big now.”
“It had a plot,” I said defensively.
“Not much of one.”
“It did, too,” I said. “And since you didn’t read it, I will fill you in.”
“Please do,” she said and crossed her arms.
“When someone is on a quest for love and they do all this shit to find it, and then they finally find it and it makes them obsessive, then that’s a plot.”
“Noooo…” she said as if considering. “Plot is like…a caper!”
“So she should rob a bank and find love too?”
She giggled. “Nah. It’s an okay book. It would need a lot of work.”
“That’s your opinion,” I said and pushed her away. I stood, feeling like a gigolo who’d just been stiffed. I should have gone to Palm first and had it over with. Now I’d never get to meet Kendra. She’d hate me, though she’d never knew who I was to begin with. I didn’t know which was worse. The fantasy of her would disappear but the remnants would still be around to turn me on from time to time. I’d have to burn her book and picture or having them around would come to torture me, knowing what I’d missed out on.
I began to put on my clothes.
“Where are you going?” Windy asked.
“Home.”
“Why?”
“Because I need some sleep,” I said.
“No, you’re mad ’cause we’re not going to publish this girl. Is she your girlfriend or something?”
“I don’t know her that well,” I said, really wanting to leave. “I met her online and she sent me her novel. I didn’t promise her anything, okay? I barely know her.”
“Then why are you so upset?” she asked.
Why was I upset? How could she be so blind? It was obvious, wasn’t it? She knew I was lying, she knew why I had come over, why I had fucked her. She might not admit it, but she knew.
“Look, Mark,” she began, pushing her cuticles down as she condescended, “The industry has a certain criteria to go by. This girl, whomever she might be, isn’t the least bit talented. I saw her picture; she’s not even that pretty. Why are you getting so wound up over this nobody?”
If I had been a violent man, I might have done something I would have surely regretted. But I wasn’t. Besides, how dare she say anything about Kendra? She wasn’t good enough to shine her shoes.
She looked up at me and bit at her thumbnail.
I stared at her and hoped the disbelief in my eyes told her everything she needed to know. I hoped my eyes told her she was standing in my way of meeting the very woman I dreamed about, the very woman I needed. I hoped they told her, too, that she wasn’t that woman.
“Well?” she asked.
“Because I think it’s a good book and you are too tight-assed to see that.”
“I am not a tight-ass!”
“Yes,” I said. “You are.”
“A tight-ass wouldn’t fuck on the first date.”
“Number one, this wasn’t supposed to be a date. A ‘friend’ thing, you said, remember? And number two, you’ve been wanting me for years, so it’s not a big deal anymore as long as you get what you’ve been waiting for.”
Her face flushed. She screamed, “You used me!”
I said calmly, “There are two people in this room, Windy, and we both know who got what they wanted. And we both know it wasn’t me.”
“I hate you!”
“Yeah, well, get used to that feeling,” I told her. “It’s gonna last awhile.”
“You’re damn right it is! I am not a slut, you…you…you bastard!”
“Coulda fooled me,” I said and pulled my shirt on.
She picked up a glass and threw it at me. I ducked, it hit the wall and then I shook my head at her.
“You are a sorry sack of shit!” she screamed.
I was dressed. On my way out I said, “Congratulations, Windy. Now you know why I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I didn’t slam the door behind me.
I reread the whole novel the next day.
“Albert found me. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I ignored his messages, his gifts of flowers, his emails. Why wouldn’t he leave me alone? Well, I knew why. He wanted a repeat, didn’t he? He wanted the sex we’d had in that nasty bathroom, with all the thrills of getting caught by doing it in public thrown in.
He was good guy, though. I knew that. I just didn’t want anything to do with him. He was tall, cute. He had a big dick, but so what? He also had a job. He was stable, secure. Boring, boring, boring. He was so fucking boring. Tedious even. One day he would make someone a wonderful husband. But I wasn’t looking for a husband.
And he was getting on my last nerve.”
It was corny in places, sure, but nothing to make you cringe, more like she wrote it because she thought you would get a kick out of it. It was never sophomoric, that’s the important thing. It was just pure good. Windy just couldn’t see that! She couldn’t see genius! Tight-asses never do. Now it didn’t have a chance in hell. And that meant I didn’t have a chance in hell.
Damn, damn, damn.
I got a crazy idea then. I would call her and tell her everything that happened, leaving out the fact I fucked an assistant editor—albeit for her benefit—and Kendra would feel so grateful that I believed in her she would invite me down south and I could impregnate her with our love child and we would live on a mountain and fuck all day and grow corn.
It was the best idea I’d had in years.
I was shaking with excitement. I stared at her phone number for a long time. I picked up the phone once, set it back and prepared my monologue.
“Hi, this is Mark O’Daniel and I work for Sungle Publishing. I’m just in the mailroom, but…”
No. That wasn’t going to work.
“Hi, this is Mark from Sungle and we’re happy to tell you that we are going to publish your book. Will you fuck me now? Please? I’ve been told I have a knack for cunnilingus.”
Nope. But I sure would like to try.
“Hi, this is Mark and you don’t know me but I am in love with you so if you turn out to be a bitch I am going to be crushed and you will have to be destroyed.”
She would hang up. Then she’d call the cops. Maybe I could meet her in court.
“Hi, this is Mark and I am a millionaire who just happened to come across your novel through a friend of a friend. Guess what? I loved it. The scene where the main character strips in a barn for that one guy caused so much exhilaration that I jerked off so hard that I’m now raw. Wanna see?”
Pervert. She probably got calls like that all the time. I was never one for obscene phone calls anyway.
Fuck it. I would just call and get it over with and then I could get back to my miserable existence. The tips of my fingers were so numb they tingled as I punched the numbers in. It rang, far away, inside her house. I wondered if she lived in a trailer. It rang four times. Then an answering machine kicked on.
“Hi, please leave your message at the beep.”
Then the beep.
Beeeeppppp! I hung up. I thought about her voice, so sweet and that accent gave me goosebumps. She might not like Yankees.
Ah, fuck it, I’d call again.
“Hi, please leave your message at the beep.”
Beeeeeepppp! I hung up and paced around the apartment. I touched myself. I was ready for her. How I could make her moan. Hadn’t tight-assed Windy been in a tizzy? How Kendra would cling to me, marvel at my ability…
Fuck it. I would call one more time and be done with it. I loved hearing her voice.
“Hi, please leave your message at the beep.”
I hung up before the beep.
“I think I might love you,” I whispered, feeling crazy the way love makes a person feel. “Please love me back.”
I had fallen asleep to The Beverly Hillbillies and was dreaming of Elly Mae when I heard the phone. I decided to ignore it then decided I should pick up. The answering machine decided the same thing.
“Hold on,” I said. “Hold on, it always does this.”
“Okay.”
I froze. That bright chipper voice… No! It couldn’t be? Could it be? It was! It was her! Who else could it have been? How the fuck did she get my number?
I hung up quickly, my heart in my mouth, choking me as it pumped and pumped. I watched the phone. It rang again. I backed away from it.
“Machine. Beep. Get it? Then, leave it.”
My message was so corny. BEEEEEPPPPP!
“Hi, this is Kendra Hatmaker and your number was on my caller ID three times today and… Well, just wondering why. Obviously, you’ve got my number, so if this wasn’t a mistake, then call me or…something.” She paused and I heard her sigh. “Bye, then.”
Bye, then.
Kendra, Kendra, Kendra, oh, honey, what have I done?
I sat down with my head in my hands and wanted to cry. What could I do? What the fuck could I do now? The little red light blinked. I pushed the button and listened to her message replay. I fell back on the bed. I played the message again. Her voice—maybe a little hopeful? Her wondering why I had called, why me, of all people in the world, had called her?
And I would crush her with the news. I could tell her it was all Windy’s fault, even though I was feeling a little bad for all the terrible stuff I had said to her.
But I could tell her I had tried. I had tried, tried to do something that was out of my control. I was just as helpless as she was! I had done it for her; her so far away even the message seemed lonely.
I had to do something and fast. I had to think. I could call her and tell her everything…then… Then she would think I was a nut.
I paced around the apartment, kicking stuff out of my way. What to do? What the fuck could I do now? Forget about it? I knew that wasn’t an option. How many minutes had passed? I looked over at the clock. Not even one minute. Huh? Seemed like much longer.
I said, fuck it—out loud—and picked up the phone. I already knew her number by heart, so I waited in agony for her to pick up.
She got it on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Uh, uh…”
“Yes?”
“Uh, uh… This is Mark O’Daniel.”
“I know.”
“You know?” I asked.
“Your number is on my caller ID, along with your name.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I need to get one of those.”
“Did you need me or something?” she asked in that super sexy Southern voice of her. “Did you need me?”
Did you need me or something? Did you need me? Did I ever. Please, baby, just sit still and listen. Try to understand. It’s quite flattering when you get right down to it. Of course, I have basically lied to you and you’ll hate me forever. But don’t think I’m a creep. Because I’m not. I would hate for you to think that.
“Hello, you there?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Well, I knew you were.”
Her voice was so sweet. Like an angel from heaven. “Oh?” I asked.
“Yeah. You’re breathing a little heavy. You’re not asthmatic, are you?”
Quickly, I said, “Just a touch, a little, not much. Still smoke like an idiot.”
“Stop it, Gomez!”
Gomez?
“Gomez! Now! Sit!”
I sat.
“Sorry,” she said. “Every time I’m on the phone, he thinks he has to hump the cat.”
What?
“Good boy, baby. Yeah… Stop licking my toe! I’m sorry, Mr. O’Daniel. He’s just so frisky. Ain’t you, baby? Mama’s little baby.”
I was going to die. Right here, right now. Now. Open the fucking coffin and I would lie down quietly, no arguments.
“Hello?” she called.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” I said. “I was working on something at the moment you called…”
I took part of her book and rustled the papers around.
“Are you from Sungle?” she asked a little timidly.
“Yes! I am from Sungle and that’s why I called.”
I could feel her smile.
“Really?” she said, then squealed, “Really?!”
“Really.”
“And?”
“And…” I began. And… Come clean, hope she’s got a great sense of humor to go along with her looks and pray boy, pray she ain’t a tight-ass! I continued, “And… I loved your book, just let me say.”
“Really? Thanks. My face is so hot from all this. Fry some bacon on it!”
“Oh, ha ha,” I muttered. Ha Ha? What was I? Some middle-aged English professor?
She giggled, “So, what part did you like best?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“My book,” she said. “Which part did you like the best?”
She wanted my opinion? Why would she want my opinion? Oh. Oh. Oh! She thought I was… Oh, God. She thought I was an editor or something. What the fuck?
“Mr. O’Daniel?” she said. “Which part of my book did you like the best?”
Without thinking, I said, “The sex scenes.” Did I just say that? Surely I hadn’t said that out loud.
“Oh,” she said. “You don’t think they’re a little over the top, do you?”
I must have said it. Damn it. I stammered something unintelligible.
She began to speak, hesitated, then, “I mean, most of them are over the top, they’re meant to be. Which scene were you thinking of?”
All of them. I took a breath and said slowly, “Ummm… Well, the one on the tractor, maybe, maybe, but I’m a guy.”
“You’re a guy? Oh! You mean you can’t drive a tractor?”
What a little flirt! God, I loved her! Give her to me! Please! I said, “Uh, no I can’t drive a…tractor… Can you?”
“I grew up in the Tennessee woods, baby, what do you think?”
“Umm….” I said. “Oh.”
“Well, I only learned because one day my daddy was baling some hay on this hill at my folks’ house and he was like, ‘Kendra! Go move that tractor down here!’ And I was like, ‘Daddy! I can’t drive a tractor!’ and he said, ‘Go move that tractor down here now!’ I was like, ‘Make Jimmy do it!’ Jimmy’s my older brother.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I moved it.” She coughed. “No biggie. It’s not like it was an eighteen-wheeler.”
“Oh.”
There was a bit of a silence.
“So, anyway,” she said. “What about the book?”
“I—like I said—loved it. But there is one problem.”
“Oh, what?”
I could feel the desperation in her voice. I could sense the apprehension. I couldn’t do it to her. I wanted to give it to her, all of it, the whole world. But I had to hand it over in lies.
“It’s just, the format, really,” I said. “The chapters are a little short.”
“They’re supposed to be,” she said a little defensively.
I imagined her rolling her eyes. I muttered, “Uh huh.”
“Haven’t you ever read Bukowski?”
Who was Bukowski? I pretended to know who he was and said, “You like Bukowski?”
“My favorite.”
“Mine too,” I lied, thinking I might need to read some of his stuff.
“What about that?” The teasing was back.
“Yeah, what about that?”
“Now what?” she asked sweetly.
“Now you come to New York,” I said. I stopped moving and wondered if I had said it out loud.
“When?” she asked.
I guess I had. I set my disbelieving eyes on the calendar, stood and went to it. I said, “Oh, around the first of March?”
“Shit! I wonder if I can get off work. Is this when I’ll sign the contract and stuff?”
“Yes, a contract would be good.” I steadied myself but fell to the floor anyway.
“Yes, it would. Oh, thank you, Mr. O’Daniel! I just knew if the right person read it everything would go as planned.”
“As planned?” I asked.
“Yes, as planned.”
“Oh.”
“Great!” she squealed. “Well, anything else?”
“Nothing. Can’t think of a thing.”
“Great. I’ll see you the first of March. Do you make the travel arrangements or do I?”
“No, my secretary will,” I said for some reason. My secretary?! Where the hell did that come from?
“Of course.”
I had to ask this, I had to ask, “There is one thing. Are you married?”
She laughed. “No, is that a prerequisite?”
“No, no, it’s just a few guys in the department, not me of course, saw your photo and now all of them want to take you to dinner when you come up.”
She laughed as if she heard this sort of thing all the time. “Tell them my dance card is full.”
“It is?”
“Well, I’ll be there on business, Mr. O’Daniel.”
“Please call me Mark,” I said. “Mr. O’Daniel is my father.”
“Are you sure about that?” she teased.
I laughed. “Pretty sure…yeah… Great. You can call me if you have any questions.”
“Sure will,” she said. “And you, too.”
“I’ve got your number around here somewhere.”
“It’s 4—”
“Oh,” I said. “I found it.”
“Oh. Well, goodbye then and thanks again.”
“Uh, Kendra?” I said. “Who is Gomez?”
“My Chihuahua. Why?”
I laughed. “Oh, no reason. Have a good night.”
“You too,” she said. “Bye now.”
“Bye.”
I stood with the receiver next to my ear for the longest time. I would get her here then I would tell her. Free trip to New York would soften even the toughest old bastard, right? So why wouldn’t it soften Ms. Kendra Hatmaker?
In Chapter 10 of 99 Martinis: Uncensored the main character tortures a man by masturbating in front of him.
“I’d show him. I’d show Albert. I’d show him that he could do without me. The best way would be to piss him off. Then he’d leave. That would get rid of him. And I could go on with my life. Without having to bother with him.
I reclined back on his bed and opened my legs as wide as they would go. His eyes darted to my between my legs, to the wet stain in my panties. To me. He couldn’t take his eyes off the wetness. Off me.
I grinned, but I felt a little vulnerable, a little nervous. I’d masturbated thousands of times, but never in front of someone. They always joined in. But I liked what this was doing to him, how it was making him anxious. And how it made me feel superior, empowered.
He started at me, towards me. I held up one finger and halted him. He nearly stumbled over his feet. I rolled my eyes.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I think I’m going to play with myself,’ I said and did just that. First I began to unbutton my shirt. And I took my time, too. I did it slowly.
He reached over and tried to help me. I slapped his hand away.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘I can do it myself,’ I said.
He nodded.
‘Go sit in that chair over there,’ I said and pointed.
He scampered over to the chair, sat down, then pulled it up next to the bed. I wanted to kick him away.
‘Oh, my boobs are so sore,’ I said, moaning and began to stroke them. ‘I just don’t know what I’m gonna do.’
He stared at my breasts with rapt attention.
I stared down at them, too. They were nice, one of my best assets. They were full and firm. I loved having my breasts played with. It was one of best parts of sex to me. I grabbed one and squeezed it.
He moaned.
I glanced over. He had his cock out! He was stroking it while watching me. Who did the little bastard think he was dealing with here?
‘Put it up!’ I yelled. ‘Put it up now or I’ll stop!’
‘But, but—’
I sat up and started to button my shirt.
‘I’ll stop,’ he said and put it back in his pants.
‘You do that again and I swear to God, I’ll walk,’ I warned him.
He nodded then motioned with his hand for me to continue.
I continued. I pulled my shirt back open and let it drop off my shoulders. I squeezed my breasts together and rubbed the nipples with my thumbs. I stared over at him, loving the way he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
My hand made its way down my flat belly and to the waistband of my panties. Albert watched, barely breathing. I slipped my hand in and began to play with myself, stroking myself. I almost wished then that I wasn’t trying to get rid of him so that I could command that he put his mouth on me. But I wanted rid of him.
My finger was now inside me. It was up inside of me. I moved it around until I found the spot, and then I stroked it. My juices began to flow.
He made a move to touch me. I put one foot on his chest and pushed him back into the chair.
‘You better stay there,’ I told him. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’
He didn’t say one word. He knew what was good for him. I almost laughed. He was now a quivering mass of nerves. He was twittering and jerking slightly at this new form of torture as he watched me touch myself, get myself off. And the kicker was he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t touch himself. He couldn’t touch me. He was a bystander and that’s all he was.
He’d better get used to it.
‘Get my vibrator,’ I commanded.
He leapt up and found it on the dresser. He brought it to me, holding it out like it was a crown jewel. I grabbed it, turned it on and rubbed it up and down, up and down then I pulled my panties to the side and stuck it in. I arched away from the bed and towards heaven. There was nothing like this in the whole wide world. This was the best feeling. No drug, no adrenaline rush could ever compare to this feeling.
I looked over at him, at his nervous face, his hands on his knees like a good boy. He wanted me. He wanted me so bad. If I could only want him. He was the first guy in a long line of guys who actually gave a shit about me. Who wanted me to be happy. Who wanted to help make me happy. He should have known better. I wasn’t built like that, for happiness.
“OOOHHH,’ I moaned and nearly rose off the bed as the vibrator began to fuck me, as I began to fuck the vibrator. ‘YEEESSS!”
His mouth fell open.
I rode the vibrator like it was a hard cock, like it was the only cock in the world. I rode it until it made me burst, made me blow up. I jerked this way and that, taking the orgasm, claiming it and making it mine and only mine. I rode it until it ceased, then I rode it some more and got a little more out of it. I rode it until there was nothing left, until there was nothing else to do but fall back on the bed in exhaustion.
I eyed him. His dick was still in his pants. And it was hard. I’d love to sit on that thing right about now. I’d love to have it in me. But it wouldn’t help matters at all. It didn’t go along with my plans of getting rid of him.
“Why didn’t you jump on me and fuck my brains out?’ I asked.
His entire face took on a total look of disbelief, of shock. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He couldn’t believe he’d let that opportunity pass him by.
‘You said not to,’ he muttered and dropped his head.
‘I knew all along you weren’t really a man,” I told him and meant it. “But now I’m convinced you’re a eunuch.’”
Truth be known, I wasn’t in a much better situation. I needed money and money fast. I dropped by Rodney’s, who always had a fat bankroll, due in part to a little pushing on the side.
“Well, howdy do!” he said and let me in. “What’s the priv-i-lege?”
“I need money.”
He shut the door. “And why do you need money?”
“Look, I won’t go in details—”
“Then you won’t get any bread.”
“It’s about a girl—”
“Oh, it always is,” he said and flopped down on the sofa. “Who is this girl?”
“Okay, remember that chick I told you about?”
“The one from TennAHHHsee?”
“Yes, I want to bring her to town,” I said. “But don’t want to set her up in my place.”
“’Cause it’s a shithole?”
“Precisely.”
“How much you need?” He pulled his bankroll out of his pocket and began to count.
“I was thinking about five-grand.”
He let his mouth drop. “What for? A gold toilet seat?”
“No, I want to set her up in a nice hotel,” I said, ignoring his look. “And get a limo, then there’s the airfare…”
“Why are you doing all of this for this backwoods chick?”
“Because I think I might be… Listen, that’s none of your business.”
“You like her?”
I nodded.
“Like is awfully expensive,” he said, shaking his head. “And does she only expect the best?”
“No, I only want to give her the best.”
“I’m sorry, bud, but I ain’t got five-grand.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t,” he said then pointed at me. “But I know where you can make five-grand in a couple of nights.”
“That’s how I got in this situation in the first place and got set up with the crummy job I have now. I’m off.”
“So, can I help it if you’ve got a shitty parole officer?” he said and nodded at me.
I stared at him.
“Does this chick got big tits?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” I exclaimed.
“She’s your girl and you don’t know how big her tits are?”
“I do,” I said and crossed my arms. “But don’t feel like discussing it with you.”
“36C? Tell me they’re a 36C.”
“They’re a 36C.”
“34C would have been better. Small frame, tight ass, big tits. Course girls with 34C usually have been surgically enhanced.”
“Get off her tits, please.”
“Well, then tell me,” he said. “Does her pussy taste good?”
He roared with laughter. I could have slapped him. “Any pussy tastes good, asswipe,” I hissed. “Are you going to give me the money or not?”
“Don’t got it.”
“Shit! You’re such a liar!”
“You know if I had it, it would be yours,” he said. “But, you know, also, how you can make it.”
I sat down on his black leather sofa. It seemed as if I really didn’t have a choice.
“Give me the details,” I said. “And if I get busted, your name is gonna come up.”
“It always does.”
So, I got the money. Does it really matter how? Needless to say, a few days later, I got my cash, half of what I was expecting.
“Where’s the rest?” I asked Rodney.
“That’s good cash for driving a truck and delivering a package,” he said.
“Give me the rest, motherfucker.”
“Nerves, man, nerves. Here,” he said and handed me a joint.
I took a big hit, sucking it down hard and holding it deep in my lungs. I held out my hand.
“Don’t I get a cut?” he asked.
“No, you don’t unless you want a cracked fucking rib to go with it.”
“Man, this chick must give good fucking head.”
“Why else would I go out with her?” I snapped.
“Good comeback, douchebag,” he said and handed me the rest of the cash. “Here.”
I counted it. “Five-hundred short.”
“That’s my commission. I’ve got to take that, at least.”
I let him.
* * * * *
Bern’s girl, Patsy, worked as a travel agent for an exclusive clientele. She said she’d help me out and get me the best deals.
“First class?” she asked and raised her eyebrows.
“I’m paying, ain’t I?”
“Money must grow on trees for you,” she said and moved the mouse on her computer so the monitor lit up. “Here we go. From Knoxville to Atlanta, then to La Guardia.”
“Can’t you get her into Kennedy?”
“Mark, La Guardia’s closer to where you are.”
“Oh. La Guardia’s fine.” I watched as she set it up. “What about a nice hotel?”
“A nice hotel?” she asked and raised her eyebrow again. “You sure you don’t want me instead of this hillbilly?”
“She’s not a hillbilly.”
“Really?” she said dryly and stared at the monitor, then ran her finger down the screen. “What is she?”
“Does it really matter?”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said. “A nice hotel, oh la la. How much cash you got?”
“Hopefully enough for a week,” I said.
“How much you got?” she asked and turned to stare at me.
“After the plane fare and limo?”
“You didn’t say anything about a limo,” she said.
“I got this other guy working on it.”
“Oh,” she said. “So how much you got?”
“About three-grand,” I said. “But I need to keep a couple grand for dinners and stuff.”
She grinned. “What sort of stuff?”
“Flowers and shit! Come on, Pats! Just do it!”
She did it.
* * * * *
I got a call at work the very next day. I answered, “Mailroom!”
A slight pause, then, “Is this Mark O’Daniel?”
I froze. It was her. It was Kendra. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “Yes,” I stammered. “May I help you?”
“I thought you were an editor,” she said. “Oh, this is Kendra Hatmaker.”
“Oh, Kendra!” I gave a hoarse, fake laugh. “I had to come down here to find a few things.”
Tim and Bern gave me a couple of looks.
“Oh! Of course,” she said. “I hadn’t heard anything. I thought maybe I was being canceled.”
Easy way out. Easy man, jump on that train. Too easy for me, though. “No,” I said. “I was going to call you later with the details.”
“Oh. I just called the receptionist and she sent me to you. It’s strange she would know your every whereabouts in the building.”
Fuck! Nothing got past this chick! “Yes, that is strange,” I said. “Maybe someone saw me come in here.”
Tim said, “I saw him come in here. Did you, Bern?”
“I ain’t seen nothing,” Bern muttered.
I waved my hands at them.
“Well, okay, then,” Kendra said. “I was getting nervous about the whole ordeal.”
There was no way in hell she could be half as nervous as I was. “Sure, sure,” I said. “I gotta go. Those bozos in the mailroom lost a package and I have to find it.”
“At least those bozos ain’t lost their minds,” Tim said.
She said, “Okay. Bye then.”
Bern muttered, “Like some people.”
“Bye, Kendra.” I hung up and banged my head on the wall a few times.
“She the one you’re setting up in that nice hotel?” Bern asked.
“You know something?” I said. “Your girl has a big mouth.”
“And she sure knows how to use it,” Tim said and roared with laughter.
Bern glared at him. “How would you know?”
* * * * *
I called Kendra later. She wasn’t home, so I left a message. She woke me up about one a.m.
“Hello?” I said sleepily.
“Hi-dy!” she squealed. “What ’cha doing?”
“Sleeping.”
“Oh,” she said. “Did I wake you?”
“Just from a nightmare.”
She laughed. “God, that was bad. And you’re an editor?”
“Yes, yes I am,” I said and yawned. “But not a very good one.”
“You better be good,” she told me. “I expect the best.”
See? I knew it!
“You know what, Mark? I just came up with this crazy idea.”
I sat up. “Go on.”
“I think you really do work in the mailroom.”
Well, it was almost a relief.
“And then you saw my book and opened it before it got to Palm and since Palm didn’t discover it, or whatever, they made you an editor, but you have to work out a notice in the mailroom.”
She was even more unsuited for reality than I was. Of course, that’s what made her a good writer.
“Uh, you found me out,” I said. “Your book will make or break me, essentially.”
“Hopefully, it will make you.” A slight paused, then, “Mark?”
“What?”
“Are you in bed?”
I felt my dick move. It knew what she meant before I did. “Yes?” I said.
“Do you sleep in the nude?” she asked.
I lied, “Yes.”
“I don’t,” she said, her voice changing tones.
“Oh, really?”
“Really,” she said. “I sleep in Chanel No 5. Like Marilyn Monroe.”
“Marilyn Monroe?” I asked, not getting it.
“Oh, you don’t know that one?”
“No.”
“Someone asked her what she slept in,” she said. “And she said, ‘Chanel No 5.’”
“Only?” I asked.
“Yes, only.”
“Oh…” I said. Only… Oh. Ohhhhh… So she… Yeah. This girl was almost too much for me and I hadn’t even met her yet.
“God! I’m so bored,” she said. “I can’t wait to come to New York. I really want to go see the Statue of Liberty. The line was too long last time I was there.”
“It’s always long.”
“I’m hinting.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Sorry. I’ll take you, of course.”
She spouted, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, liberty and justice for all.”
“Amen,” was all I could think of to say.
“Remember we had to say that every morning? It was like Lenin or something.”
“John Lennon?”
She cracked up, “Yeah, John Lennon!”
“I mean—”
“No, the Russian Lenin. His face used to be on their diplomas or whatever they’re called. I got a few Russian friends. You must have not taken social studies.”
“No,” I said and felt like a dumbass. “I didn’t.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” I said. “Goodnight.”
“Hey! What about the ticket and all that stuff?” She suddenly burped. “Sorry. Drinking a beer.”
“They’ve been overnighted,” I said and smiled.
“Thanks very much.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“You know what?” she squealed. “I just can’t wait to meet you! You seem so nice!”
I couldn’t help but smile broadly. “Well, thanks.”
“And I like your voice. It’s so… It’s just a good voice.”
“You really like it?” I asked.
“I love it.”
“And I love you.”
“Huh?” she said. “Oh, you love my voice?”
My stomach bottomed out as realization set in. “Isn’t that what I said?”
“No, you said you loved me, which was weird. I was like, what the hell? Uh, I love you too, I guess…”
She broke out into hysterics; her loud laughter made my ear pop. I said hurriedly, “Sorry…it’s just that…sorry.” I didn’t know what to say. Had I said that? Thankfully, she didn’t dwell on it.
“Well, goodnight,” she said. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Will do,” I said. “Or not.”
“Okay. See you then.”
“Bye,” I said. “And Kendra?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
“Okay…Dad,” she giggled. “You be careful, too.”
I began to stammer, “I mean, I just uhh…so when you’re flying and stuff.”
“I think that’s up to the pilot.”
“It is, sure, it is, but tell him I said to be careful.”
She giggled again. “Okie dokie. You need to tend that bump.”
“What bump?”
“That one on your head.”
I chuckled. “Okay.”
“Bye.”
“Bye,” I said and waited for her to hang up.
She yelled, “Hang up!”
I hung up.
Never in my life had I been so nervous. She was supposed to arrive early afternoon, Saturday, so she could settle in and see the city. So I could tell her about the whole dumb plot. So I could be brave and she could leave on Monday, if she chose.
I have never been fastidious about my appearance. I like to dress nice, but if it’s clean, I usually just put it on and go on my way. I bought new clothes, decided they were too fancy for the airport then dressed in jeans and a regular Joe shirt. I cleaned and trimmed my nails, both toe and finger. I even cleaned my apartment just in case she wanted to see it.
I arrived, in limo, at the airport at one o’clock. Her flight was delayed till three-thirty. With nothing to do, I wandered around aimlessly. Finally, the flight arrived right at five o’clock. I went to baggage claim, thinking it would be easier to find her there. I waited some more.
By that time, I was shaking I was so nervous.
People began pouring off the escalators and swarming around the baggage carousel, looking for their suitcases. I looked at everyone. None of them were her. Where was she? I glanced over at some limo drivers who were holding up signs for passengers. “Mrs. So and So” and “Mr. So and So.” I didn’t have a sign. Would she recognize me? How could she? She’d never seen me before.
I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I should have just run. This might be a sign. I popped my knuckles then I heard her voice. She was laughing. What was she laughing about?
She was coming down the escalator with a guy, some jerkass guy. They laughed and chitchatted. Then, I saw her and her only. And, just like I knew, my breath was taken away. It was as if time stopped and she came to me in slow motion.
A song floated into my brain—it coulda been Pulp’s Babies—and she was surrounded by this aura, by this film that separated her from everyone else. She was more beautiful in person. I couldn’t stop looking at her, at her small frame, at all the features of her face and body. Her long brown hair, nice and shiny. Her face glowed from laughing. What was she laughing about? She wore a casual black outfit, pants tight and showed off the ripeness of her absolutely gorgeous ass. Her black leather riding boots hugged some fabulous looking legs and her black top tight—but not too tight—showed that delicious curse of breast. I could tell her breasts were firm, her nipples were under that fabric somewhere. Oh, there they were. She must have had a sheer bra on.
She got off the escalator and looked around. She was obviously looking for someone—me!—but when she didn’t find them, she shrugged and pointed and she and jerkass walked over to a carousal and waited. She didn’t know what I looked like. She had never asked. Looks might not be important to her. The guy she was with looked okay, for a guy, I guess, but I wasn’t paying any attention to him, whoever he might be.
I soon realized I could watch her for days and she would never know. She had such a fantastic wiggle to her walk. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her ass. I noticed a lot of other people—men and women—were staring at her, too.
Then the jerkass leaned in close and whispered something in her pretty ear. She threw her head back and laughed. What was she laughing about? The bastard was stealing my thunder! I mustered up my courage and approached them.
She was saying, “No, never been there. Do you know they built that tunnel there? Right through the mountain.”
He said something stupid like, “Oh, yeah, I read about that. That tunnel was a huge undertaking.”
We got tunnels in New York, smart man! All kinds!
“It was,” she said and glanced at a suitcase. “Oh, that’s mine!” She picked it up off the carousel and placed it beside her. It looked like she was packed to stay awhile. Good.
“You need a ride into the city?” he asked.
She looked around hopefully. I turned my back to them. “I was supposed to meet someone,” she said.
“Let me give you my card,” he said and took one out of the inside pocket of his suit.
“Oh, thanks,” she said.
“Call me and we’ll look into that.”
“Well, I haven’t officially signed yet, so unless some unforeseen circumstance arises…”
I would have to interrupt them soon. I knew I would. But I just couldn’t get the courage up. I didn’t have to wait for long, however, as she turned, spotted me and squealed, “Mark?”
The record seemed to be cut off. All I heard was people swarming around. A few glanced at us. An old lady smiled.
Again, “Mark!”
Yup, it’s me. This was it. Step up to the plate. Batter, batter, swinnnng batter!
I turned, almost wishing I had a pipe in my mouth, which may or may not have made me look sophisticated, almost wishing I was buried in a newspaper or something so I didn’t come across as a complete loser who walked aimless around airports with nothing on his mind but finding his precious passenger. As such, I had nothing to conceal my excitement, i.e. nervousness, but a weak smile.
I called, “Kendra? That you?”
Her mouth fell open and she stared. She bent a little at the waist then squealed, “Mark!”
I nodded, extending my hand. “Yes.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you made it!”
She threw her arms around my neck and gave me a hug. She really did seem happy to see me. I was too weak in the knees to return the affection.
“Mark, this is Joe Armstrong,” she said and pointed at the guy with her thumb. “He’s an editor, too.”
The bastard was trying to take my scheme, too.
“Really?” I sneered. “What company?”
“Henry Longfellow.”
“Oh,” I said. “We need to get going. This yours?”
I picked up her suitcase and nearly dropped it because it was so heavy. I began to walk away, dragging the thing behind me. She didn’t follow.
“I’ll be right with you, hon,” she called.
I turned to watch her talk with Longfellow or whatever-the-fuck-his-name was, then just when I was about to explode, she turned and tossed me a magical smile. She turned back before I could return it. I melted and waited. They shook hands, then she caught up with me and we were on our way.
* * * * *
The ride back was torture.
She tried to make it easy, chitchatting, but she was one of those touchy-feely people. A touch on the knee, which jerked, a smooth of hair off the face, which burned, an arm grab after joke, which shivered. And wouldn’t you know it? I got a hard-on right then and there. Why? It wasn’t like I could do anything about it anyway. It must have been my nerves or my uncanny ability to look like an asshole when I least need to. Self-destruction might have been the reason. Even so, I was so hard, it took everything I had not to grab her hand and put it on my crotch.
I crossed my legs to keep it hidden.
She was suddenly quiet, staring at the tollbooth up ahead. I stared at her, not saying a word and knew then and there I was already gone on her. So far gone, I’d never get home. She was my fantasy girl, the one I made up in the sixth-grade. She had the body, the spirit and the mind. She was my Jessica Rabbit. And, as she talked, laughed and joked, I began to realize I was already lost. I was so in love with her, I couldn’t muster the courage to look her in the eye, lest she see. If she knew how much I loved her, she’d run away. But I would follow.
We pulled up in front of her very nice hotel.
“Wow,” she said in awe. “I thought Sungle was a small company.”
Not in my reality, I thought, then said, “Oh, no, not really. Business account.”
“So, I can order room service?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great.”
We checked her in, rode up to her fabulous room, tipped the bellhop and then she began to unpack. I have never seen so many lacy things. She pulled bras, panties, thongs, things I couldn’t identify out of that suitcase. She laid them on the bed, sorted through them, changed her mind and stuffed them in a drawer.
“You certainly have a lot of underwear,” I said, then mentally kicked myself in the ass. Why had I said that?
“I spend my money on stupid things, I guess. What little I have. Oh!” She pulled a notebook out of the suitcase and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“I started on the screenplay,” she said and, while standing, tried to slip off her boots, nearly falling. She finally gave up, sat at the foot of the bed and pulled them off along with socks, then stood and kicked them behind her, pushing her toes into the carpet. Her toenails were painted cherry red. “I hate shoes,” she said. “Comes from growing up in the backwoods.”
“Oh.”
“Read it,” she said and waved at the notebook in my hands.
“Oh, right.”
I opened it and pretended to be interested when all my interest lay in watching her pretty ass scoot and scurry about the room. How to get her mind on sex? I should have brought some pot as that always brings out the horny in chicks. Sex? Sex! I couldn’t be thinking about sex now. I wanted it, sure, but the very thought might cause me some future discomfort/embarrassment. I couldn’t take another ride with a hard-on. And I didn’t want her to see/suspect anything that might make her think I was totally and truly a creep.
Oh, but just looking at her made me want to fuck. Just fuck. Making love could come later. She brought out the animal in me. I wanted to pound up against her, hear her moan and purr. I imagined myself bending her over and fucking her from behind. I imagined her moaning, getting into it and that was always sexy, when they want it.
A knock on the door. A fruit basket! Compliments of the manager, whom she had charmed in the lobby with a little tale about back home.
Another knock. Champagne! Compliments of that lame prick Longfellow Armstrong, or whatever his name was, her company on the plane.
“Now this I can use,” she said and uncorked it. “Here’s mud in your eye.”
She gulped it from the bottle, handed it to me then went into the bathroom.
I gulped down half and was buzzing when she came back out. She flopped beside me and smiled. I foolishly smiled back.
“Dinner?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I mean, if you have time.” She stared at me. “I mean, I’m a big girl, so if you have something to do…”
I shook my head, trying to come up with a hasty excuse. All I could think of was, “No, I was told to look after you,” and then prayed the floor would swallow me up.
“Great,” she said. “Do you know what I want? A big ass piece of pizza.”
All I heard was ass. I said, “You want a big piece of ass?”
She stared at me for a millisecond, then threw her head back and laughed. I could see the silver fillings in her back teeth.
“Yeah, Mark, I want a big piece of ass. That would be nice.” She looked behind me and stared at my ass. “Yours is not so big, though. Men usually don’t have big asses. Women do. Women have big asses, that’s life. Well, some women anyway.”
“Your ass isn’t that big.”
She stood halfway up, bent a little and slapped it. “Oh, it’s alright. It’ll do.”
I’ll say. I took my eyes off her ass and stood, willing myself not to think about sex in any way, shape or form. But… No. Knock it off.
“Did you say something about pizza?” I asked.
“Yes, I did, matter of fact.”
She put her boots back on, threw on her jacket and held out her hand. Held out her hand. There she was, from pin-up to real person. She could have any fucking guy she wanted and she wanted me to go with her to get pizza.
Of course, she wouldn’t want me after I told her what a vile little shit I was. But I won’t think about that right now. I was working on a plan anyway. I just wasn’t sure if I could convince her of it. She seemed really on the ball.
After pizza, we walked towards Times Square, but she complained about the crowd, so we stepped into a bar and ordered a beer. When she tried to light a cigarette, the bartender told her she couldn’t smoke so she huffed and said, “We’re leaving,” and we did, without paying for the half-drank beer. As soon as we were out of the bar, I turned to see if anyone would come after us. Nope. I stared through the window. The bartender and a customer were laughing, pointing in our direction. I realized that she could get away with murder.
“What do you want to do now?” I asked, shaking my head at the situation I was in.
She linked her arm through mine and smiled. Her sweet nature was restored. I stared at her, wanting to kiss her so badly. Not a gut-wrenching kiss, just a peck on the forehead would do.
Just as I leaned in, she said, “I say you take me to Sungle and show me what’s going on with my book.”
My heart dropped. Quickly, I said, “Uh, uh… You haven’t signed the contract yet.”
“Oh,” she said. “Then let’s go to the Upper West Side.”
“Why?”
“I got friends there.”
* * * * *
Her friends lived four blocks from Harlem. We took the subway and walked through Columbia to get to their walk-up apartment. She banged on the door. A tall, muscular guy threw it open.
“Rednecks in tha’ house!” she yelled.
“Rednecks in tha’ house!” he yelled back and picked her up off the floor.
They hugged for what seemed like minutes then a pretty, tiny redhead stepped into the frame. She was only wearing a sheer nightgown. I stared at her pink nipples then caught myself. The guy only had boxers on. We must have interrupted…something.
“Marcy!” she squealed and hugged her with the same vigor.
“If it ain’t Mrs. Black!”
“Ms. Hatmaker, to you, you little shit!” she kissed her full on the mouth and they walked in.
“I’m John,” the guy said. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Mark O’Daniel.”
We shook hands with haste and followed the women inside.
Two hours later, after an impromptu drunk compliments of a liquor cabinet stocked with Jack Daniels, we were all relaxed and I found out my little angel was not only a divorcée, but had been involved in several near threesomes with our gracious hosts. This information was gathered from bits and pieces of conversation and only added to the infatuation.
“Oh, yeah, remember when we tried it the last time?” Marcy asked.
“I remember we were all drunk and Big John couldn’t get it up!” Kendra sang. “Couldn’t get it up, couldn’t get it up…”
Marcy joined in, “Couldn’t get it up…”
Big John just grinned from ear to ear. His biceps were huge, I noticed. Probably as big as both of mine put together.
“Threesomes, I dunno,” Kendra said. “All I can say is, tried it, couldn’t get off.”
“People tend to break off into groups,” Marcy explained to me.
“So, did you use to live here, Kendra?” I asked.
“No, this happened back home.”
Back home… I decided then and there that I had to move to Tennessee. I imagined one big, barefoot orgy.
“All it was was, uh…” Kendra said. “Experimentation. Everyone does it.”
I felt like saying, No, they don’t, they really don’t. Instead, a moment of silence ensued. I stared into space then decided to ask, “So, what do you do for a living, John?”
He was staring at Marcy and Kendra, who were whispering in each other’s ears. He smiled at them like he thought they might be whispering something nice about him then narrowed his eyes at me, like I had interrupted his thoughts.
“I’m an associate professor at Columbia,” he replied.
My mouth dropped. “Really? Which department?”
“English.”
Kendra said, “John is an authority on Shakespeare.”
“Otherwise known as a know-it-all,” Marcy said and rolled her eyes.
Big John nodded, but didn’t venture. We sat in silence for another moment. Again, I decided to break it. “So, how about those Mets?”
They ignored me and John poured more shots. Kendra took another shot then stretched.
“Can we crash here?” she asked and yawned.
“Oh, you have your room at the hotel,” I said hurriedly.
“So?” she said and shook her head, then turned back to Marcy. “Why don’t we get a cab and you guys can crash with me tonight? I get all the room service I want.”
Jesus, from the looks of Big John, this could run into the thousands. He could probably eat an entire farm and then ask for seconds.
“Nah,” Big John said. “You stay here and we’ll go tomorrow.”
You, which meant her, but not me.
“But I want to go tonight,” Marcy huffed and disappeared into the adjacent bedroom. Big John exited as well.
Kendra leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek “Having fun?”
“Oh, you know it.”
“Thanks for everything,” she said. “You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.”
I melted. Big John, order any damn thing you want from room service and I’ll go deliver another package. I heard a moan from the bedroom.
Kendra stood and went to the door, opened it a crack and said, “Y’all, we’re leaving. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, sweetie,” Marcy called. “Tell that boy bye too.”
That boy?
“I think he heard you.”
Back at the hotel, Kendra invited me up for a nightcap. I would have looked like a jerk if I had said no. I followed her back, like a monkey. Once inside, she opened up a few airplane bottles and poured us a stiff one.
“Here’s to the future,” she said and smiled, clinking her glass to mine.
“And good sales,” I said, for some reason. I felt like such an asshole then, knowing she would soon be wise and would hate my guts. I downed the drink and set the glass down. “Is John really a professor at Columbia?”
“No,” she said quickly. “He and Marcy are in the witness protection program.”
My mouth dropped.
She bent at the waist and began to giggle hysterically. “God! You are so gullible! Yes, he is! Is that so hard to believe?”
“It’s just that, he…uh…uh…”
“He is big. And in more ways than one.” She gave me a knowing look. “But all big guys have a soft side and his just happens to deal with Shakespeare. He’s nuts for the Sonnets.”
I watched her sit down on the bed. I looked at the door and muttered, “I guess I’ll be going then.”
“So soon?”
“It’s nearly three in the morning.”
“Oh. I’m a night person,” she said and yawned. “That’s when I get all of my writing done.”
“Oh?”
She nodded and leaned back on the bed. “99 Martinis: Uncensored was my eighth novel, you know? I just knew this would be the one.” She took a sip of her drink. “But I say that with everything I write.”
“Eight novels?” I asked. “Wow.”
“Yeah. I felt like such a loser, like someone was trying to tell me something. After so many rejections, you begin to feel like there’s something wrong with you. When all along, you know you’re a good writer and you know you can sell the books and just want that one chance. That’s all I ever wanted. If it sells, it sells. If not, I can always go back to my miserable existence.” She smiled sadly.
“You’re a good writer,” I told her and I meant it. I thought she was terrific.
“It doesn’t really matter how good you are, Mark,” she said. “It’s all got to do with who you know, I think.”
“Oh?” I said.
“Yeah, I know lots of other writers who, let’s just say, can’t get their foot in the door for whatever reason. It’s a tough industry. I just wonder…” She stopped and stared at me.
“What?”
“I just wonder why me?”
She was giving it to me, again. She was giving me the opportunity to come clean. I couldn’t come clean. I wanted to, so badly, but I couldn’t. I had a feeling she didn’t want me to, either.
“Because you’re a good writer,” I said again.
“You’re kind of biased, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I know.”
“You do?” I was stunned. It must have shown on my face.
She nodded. “Any girl knows when a guy has a crush on her. Y’all think we don’t, but we do.”
Oh, that. Phew. “How can you tell?” I asked hoarsely then cleared my throat.
“The looks. The holding of the doors,” she said and scooted to the edge of the bed. “The way you laugh at the silliest jokes, the way you overlook my bitchiness.”
Oh.
She sat her glass on the floor, then bent down and took off her boots, rubbing her feet into the carpet. She liked doing that, it seemed. She glanced at me to see if I was paying attention and continued, “The way you watch someone in an airport, thinking they don’t see you or know who you are, then make yourself known just as another man asks them to dinner.”
I looked away, then back at her. She smiled and stretched her arms over her head. My face burned with her words, her realization that I was gone and, really, she didn’t have the slightest problem with it.
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say.
She stood and walked over towards me. She kind of dropped one shoulder as she walked, cocked her head to the side. She kind of smiled through her blue eyes, kind of laughed, too.
“Is that all?” I asked to break the silence.
“The way you go along with whatever we say, even if it’s just a load of horseshit, like the threesome thing tonight.” She stopped in front of me and smiled a little.
“So, it was all horseshit?” I asked.
“Most of it.”
My heart beat wildly in my chest. I trembled. I was so nervous. She took my hand and placed it over her heart.
“See?” she said softly. “I’m nervous, too.”
I nodded and she lifted her head towards mine. Our lips grazed, lightly, then she puckered hers and I puckered mine, and we kissed. It was the sweetest kiss I had ever known, that kiss. I was smooth, yet urgent; it wanted to lead somewhere else. I wanted to take it.
She placed her hand over mine, which was resting on her chest and moved it to her breast and squeezed it. I grabbed her breast and she moaned, then pushed me back against the wall. I bit at her lips, sucked on her throat and squeezed her ass, which felt as good as it looked. I wanted to touch all of her right then, that instant. Now. Right now. I wanted to feel her, all of her. Every glorious inch. I wanted to be so close to her I could feel the blood rushing through her veins. I wanted to be inside her, letting her know how much I loved her. I wanted her to know that. I wanted to prove it to her.
She ground herself against me, twining her leg around mine. I walked her back to the bed and undressed her; she helped and soon she was completely naked.
I took a moment to gasp inwardly at her body, to admire it. Some worship was involved, too. She was built like a brick shithouse. Her body was tight, toned, and one hundred percent woman. It was curved and soft. Curves always drove me crazy. They are pure woman, curves. Her body felt so good beneath my hands and mouth. Her nipples were standing erect; I stared at them then back at her. She stared back at me, sucked on her bottom lip and pulled me to her. I kissed her; she kissed me back then pushed my head towards her breast. Which one first? I took number two.
Good choice. She moaned. I moved down.
I went down and breathed her in, smelling perfume and soap and her. She moaned and wriggled and I began to lick and kiss and suck gently. I began to kiss her there, just like I had kissed her mouth. She moved her hips this way and that, helping me to find the right spot. She moaned more and her hands were in my hair, pulling. I slid my hand back and forth across her; she was so wet she dripped. Then I put a couple fingers in while leaving my hand flat. She nearly rose off the bed and ground against my hand. She rocked and moaned and held on tight as the orgasm overcame her. Then she trembled and sighed with passion.
She pulled me up and helped me get my clothes off. Soon, we were naked, pressed against one another. I got between her legs then pushed all of my hard cock into her; it was such a nice place to be, like I had always been there, always should be there, that close to her. We sat up and she got in my lap and licked the corners of my mouth before she stuck her tongue in, then sucked on mine. I had to slow down. It was coming and it was coming hard. But so was she.
She moved her hips, pushed my mouth to her nipple and gasped, “Oh, yes! Come on!”
I pulled her back, forced her to be still and hugged her waist, and felt it let go, all of it, inside of her. Then I was a million light years away, inside of her. I was alone. It was just me then and this feeling, which was her. This, oh so nice feeling that I had done well, that I had shook hands with fate then allowed whatever to happen, happen. All the scheming had paid off. It was worth everything, all the worry, all the money. I would have done double, done double every single day of my life to be this close to her… She was so close I felt like we were one person.
I kissed her again before she pulled away. I tried to hold onto her, wanted to keep her this close, knowing this was the first and only time it would be this good, this new. It would get better, but it would never be new again. Not this new. Not this fresh. Not this close.
“Come on,” she said, pulling away. “I need to get up.”
* * * * *
The next day, she was up bright and early. I felt her mouth on me before I heard her words, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I replied and fell back on the bed.
She was under the covers, giving me head. And she was good; she knew what to do, how to do it. No teeth, all tongue and lips and ooohhhh… What was that? She was going into some uncharted territory with her fingers.
I was about to explode when she snuck up my body, using her tongue to make her path. She came to my mouth and kissed me.
I held her head and kissed her hard, thrusting my tongue into her mouth. I didn’t give a fuck about morning breath or bed-head. I wanted to wake up every morning like this. She got on top and rode me. She started slow, moved her hips, held onto the bedpost and threw her head back and her long hair fell against her naked back; her beautiful breasts bounced up and down as she fucked me.
She moaned, “This is my favorite position, Mark.”
Mark. Maaarrk. I absolutely loved the way she said my name, with that little twang. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“I could stay here all day,” she said and moved up and down.
“Ummm…” I moaned and rose up to suck on her nipple. She pushed me back, gave me an odd look, like I was doing something she didn’t like and closed her eyes again, then she rode me.
“Oh, there,” she moaned and moved her hips in a semi-circle. “Right…there…”
She took my hands and placed them on her breasts. She groaned and began to really ride me. “Oh, come on, honey, come onnnnnn!”
I didn’t need much persuasion.
She fell on top of me. We lay there quietly for a second. Then she was up and running. I fell back to sleep. I was having a nice dream. Kendra and I were snorkeling in blue ocean waters. Next thing I knew she was standing next to the bed, tapping her foot.
“You said you’d take me to the Statue of Liberty,” she said with an accusing glare.
She was only wearing a pair of crisp white cotton panties. Her skin glistened from the water of her shower. Her eyes were bright and alert. I rolled over and stared at her. I thought…
Can’t we just stay here and fuck all day? I wanted to ask her, so badly. Please, just lie down and let me fuck you. I can be gentle, I can be rough. I can be good, very, very good. But I can also be bad, if that’s what you prefer. But that’s all I want to do, is to fuck you. That’s why I was made. To fuck a woman like you—no, not like you, you! I was made to fuck you, all day, all night, doesn’t matter which.
I got in the shower. The water felt good. She came in the room and started brushing her hair. I peered around the shower curtain and watched her. She looked so good standing there doing that in just her panties.
My dick jumped to attention. No. Not now. I closed my eyes and tried to think of outhouses or something, but the fantasy began anyway. She stepped in behind me. Her arms came around my chest and she pinched my nipples. Then she was kissing my back and then she was in front of me, down on her knees giving me head and I could have come so fast and furiously. I could have white-washed the back of her throat. Then she was up and I was down, between her legs and she held me there for a little while and the water was warm. Then she rode me, just like she knew how and—
She started out of the room, then stopped and said, “Don’t stay in there all day, okay, Mark?”
“Okay,” I called. Just need a few more seconds… She was almost out of the room. Should I chance it? “Uh, Kendra—”
“Hold on, the phone’s ringing.”
The phone? Who could be on the phone? She exited. I hurriedly finished up and stepped into the room just as she put it down.
“Who was—?”
“You done?” she asked, smiling, then swept past me into the bathroom. She came out fully dressed a minute later. No make-up, hair in ponytail, white t-shirt and tight faded jeans. She looked stunning. Like a movie star.
By the time I could pull on my shirt, she was impatiently standing by the door. “Let’s go!”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Because everyone always says they’re gonna take me and then they fuck around and then line’s too long. Hurry up!”
I wanted to give her a hug or a kiss, but I knew if I got too close she might explode. I wanted to hold her. She didn’t want that. She might have killed me if I tried. I got ready in a flash and she was at the door, at the elevator, holding the door for me. We rushed through the city and to the ticket counter and when we got there the line was already too long.
“We’re waiting,” she told me.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“You go find something and bring it back,” she said and turned around. “And bring me back a water.”
Fuck! Damn! Shit! She was so defiant! When she wanted something, you better just get the fuck out of her way or plan on getting stomped.
I found a hotdog stand and bought a couple of waters. I looked longingly at the hotdogs. They always managed to make them smell and look so delicious. I ordered two.
She was near the front of the line when I got back. She grinned. “It moved quick!”
“Great,” I said and handed her a hotdog.
She stared at it, in her hand, then back at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t want this.”
“Why?” I asked and took a bite of mine. Umm…it was good.
“It came from a vendor, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “So?”
“That’s food poisoning waiting to happen.” She threw it into a garbage can and downed her water. “Look! We’re next!”
An hour later, we stepped off the ferry and onto Ellis Island. Kendra listened patiently to the tour guide, then broke from the group and took a picture. She motioned me into the frame.
“Say cheese!” she squealed.
I shook my head and glanced at two kids who were staring at us.
“Say cheese, damnit!”
“Fuck!” I hissed. “Cheese!”
The kids giggled and ran off. An old lady wobbled up and said she would take a picture of us. Kendra squealed, handed her the camera, told her which button to push then raced to my side.
“Lovely!” the old lady said and pushed the button. “Gotcha!”
“Thanks, hon,” Kendra said and took it from her.
The old lady wobbled off.
“Can we go into the torch?” she asked.
“I don’t think they let people do that anymore.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know.”
She mocked me, “Don’t know,” then ruffled my hair. “God, Mark, who cuts your hair?”
“A barber. Why?”
“It’s full of cowlicks.”
She stuck a finger in her mouth and smoothed my hair down. She repeated this a few times then stuck her finger in my ear. “Wet willy!”
We fought for a moment, then she tripped me and I fell to the ground.
“You’re very rambunctious,” I said and stared up at her. She was also very precocious. Like a child. It was kind of annoying. Or a lot annoying.
She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
She held out her hand. Just as I grabbed for it, she pulled it back and I fell again. She broke out into hysterics. People began to stop and watch the live Larry and Moe show.
“You should have seen the look on your face, man!” she laughed. “It was priceless!”
I stared up at her disbelievingly.
She framed her hands around my face like a director. “Yup, we’ll print that one.”
I stared at her, almost getting pissed off, and got up, wiping my ass off. She helped then slapped my ass.
“You’ve got a sexy ass,” she said and smiled at me.
I melted. “Thanks, you too.”
“Thanks!”
“Kendra, I need to talk to—”
“I’ll go ask about the torch. Here, hold my camera.”
“No—”
But she was off, to ask. I wandered around, holding the stupid camera. I sat on a bench and waited. Someone sat beside me, but I didn’t glance over. I was too involved with the storyline I was preparing. I would tell Kendra tonight. I’d take her to a nice dinner and then I’d let her down easy. I’d take her to this nice Italian place near Greenwich. Or maybe we’d go to this Irish place in Mid-Town. They had Shepherd’s pie or corned beef. Cabbage. Good lager. But, I’d take her somewhere nice and make her pay attention and then I’d tell her. She’d be upset. Maybe she would cry. Maybe she’d throw her water into my face, like they did in the movies. But I’d get down on my hands and knees, I’d kiss her feet, her ass, anything it took to get her to see how much she meant to me. Anything to make her not hate me. Anything to—
“Mark?”
I froze. I recognized that voice. It was Windy.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Mark?”
“Oh, hi,” I said and sat up straight.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“My parents came into town.”
“Oh.”
“You know,” she said and scooted closer. “I’ve been thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking that we could forget that night and start over.”
She certainly didn’t beat around the bush, did she? I said, “We could?”
“Yeah.” She placed her hand on mine and whispered, “I mean, we did have good sex and that’s something.”
“Anyone can have good sex, Windy. It doesn’t take much.” I took her hand and put it in her lap.
“You’re an asshole.”
“And?”
“And you’re an asshole,” she seethed. “You used me.”
“No, you used me. It works both ways.”
“You know, I was going to tell you that I didn’t show that novel to Palm.”
It didn’t even surprise me.
“I was going to, but now I won’t,” she hissed. “Since you’re such an asshole.”
Windy was as sneaky as she was sniveling. I didn’t even let my hopes get up. The cure to all my angst, the prized book deal, was still dangling over my head like a fucking carrot. I’d never be able to jump high enough to get at it. I suddenly knew how Kendra felt.
“I’ll show it to him myself,” I said.
“Suit yourself.”
I stood and started to walk off, but who should show up but Kendra and she had great news! They were going to let us into the torch, as long as we, and she whispered, “Don’t try any funny stuff.”
And then who should hop up and introduce herself but Windy? As an editor at Sungle Publishing. Not as an assistant editor, mind you, but as an editor.
And it went a little something like this:
“I’m Kendra Hatmaker. Nice to meet you.”
They shook hands pleasantly enough.
“Kendra, are you the girl who wrote 99 Martinis: Uncensored?”
Kendra, innocent that she was, nodded happily.
“You are! I really liked that title. But I was so sorry we couldn’t find a place for it on our list.”
Kendra’s smile was frozen. Windy withdrew her hand first.
“Nice to meet you, though.”
I shivered. Here it comes.
“See you around the office, Mail Boy.”
Windy pranced off, head held high.
And it was all over like that. Snap! Any hope I had was snapped in two like a twig. The little bitch! Since when did Ms. Bookworm get some balls? It was that damn bitch thing. They all got it and it only comes out when it can punch you in the gut and knock you on your ass.
I didn’t look at Kendra, who was watching, mouth agape, Windy’s hasty departure. I could not, if my life depended on it, look her in the eye. Not those trusting eyes, which I had betrayed to get some—no, to get hers. She had what I wanted and guess what? I wouldn’t be getting it anymore. It was over. Anything we could have had was over.
I could not say one word. I was so ashamed. If my life depended on it, I could not speak. Not one word. I was muted by my shame. But then I found what courage I had left and muttered, “I’m sorry.”
She stared at me, then turned on her heel and walked away. She didn’t run, her shoulders drooped a little, but that pride she had would not be wasted in this terror of a moment we were sharing. And no matter what, we shared it. That moment. That fucking sickening moment. That’s all we had.
I saw her go into the Statue and disappear.
I sat back down, lit a cigarette, was told to extinguish it then waited for her to reappear. I felt so bad, like one-hundred percent shit.
She could have at least slapped me.
I didn’t think she would ever leave that Statue. I finally saw her making her way through the crowd, then jump on a departing ferry. I jumped up and ran like hell, barely making it myself.
Where was she?
She sat alone near the back of the boat. I walked quietly, said “excuse me” like a nice young man to the other riders and sat beside her. She got up and found another seat. I followed her. She again moved. I moved too. She moved once more, this time situating herself between two Germans and an Indian woman. She looked straight ahead. There was no trace of emotion on her face.
I leaned against a wall and tried not to look at her. I couldn’t help it. I kept stealing glances. She chatted with the German’s broken English. She smiled at the Indian woman, admiring the red dot on her forehead, said she thought it was cool and what, exactly, did it mean?
She was so special, I realized then, more than ever. She was just so damn special.
Finally, we got back. She jumped up and was off that boat faster than a jackrabbit on a date, leaving the Germans and the Indian flabbergasted.
But I wasn’t worried about them. I wasn’t worried because I was running.
* * * * *
No one at the hotel had seen her, but if I happened to, tell her a Mr. Armstrong badly needs to get in contact with her. Would I do that, please? Fuck, no!
I went to Big John’s and Marcy’s but they weren’t home. I called the hotel from my cell, but, no, she still wasn’t in.
I contemplated going over to Windy’s and giving her a piece of my mind. I thought about autoeroticism. I thought about the backs of Kendra’s arms, which were so baby smooth, mine were so rough. I wanted to know how she kept them smooth. Would she tell me?
I went back to Big John’s and Marcy’s.
Marcy answered the door, gave me a snarl and said, “If you value your life, you little fuckrag, you will get the hell out of here. If my husband sees you here, he will tear you apart.”
I didn’t doubt it.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind him doing it, but someone like you isn’t worth it, you miserable little bastard. Preying on young girl’s hopes and dreams, you fuck! Who do you think you are?”
Who did I think I was? Nobody special. I was actually relieved to hear her say those words. They put me in my place, confirmed what I had done. I was the bad guy. No, it was Windy and Palm and the whole stinking publishing business. I couldn’t help it if the system was fucked! I wanted her to make it! It was just out of my control.
A little voice inside my head said, “And you took advantage of that, didn’t you?”
Sure did.
I went back to the hotel and waited on a sofa in the lobby. I watched the door constantly, but nodded off around ten. Then a door slammed and I woke up to find myself in the next day, about one in the a.m. I looked around. I saw the elevator doors close and I could have sworn she was inside. I took the next one up, got off and, sure enough, she was letting herself into her room. I ran and before she shut the door, pushed myself in.
“What the hell!”
It was that fuckrag Armstrong.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I asked her. “Oh, I get it. Is he going to help you now?”
Kendra gasped and Armstrong came at me, but she held him back.
I wish he would have come at me. I would have liked to beat the shit out of him and everything he stood for, everything I wasn’t, one of the reasons she now hated me.
And I could have taken him in a second flat. The bastard. Find a good woman? Forget it. There’s always a vulture lurking in the background, waiting to take her away, like they can’t find a woman on their own. And she was mine, you mindless fuck! Mine! No one would stand between us, no one and if you even try, so help me, God—
Kendra said, “Why don’t you go get us a bottle of something, Joe?”
“I don’t think I’m leaving you here with this raging maniac.”
Maniac?
“He’s not a maniac,” she said dryly. “He’s a worm.”
Ouch. She could get away with it. He couldn’t.
Joe complied and said, “Be back in ten minutes. Call downstairs if he gives you any trouble.”
“Thanks,” she said and sat on the bed.
I waited until he had dispersed, then said, “Look, I am truly sorry, truly, very sorry and I am…just so sorry, Kendra, forgive me. If you let me explain—”
“It’s no big deal,” she said offhandedly. “Free trip to New York.”
“It wasn’t about the sex.” I wanted her to know that. She had to know that.
“I know. Obviously, you could have hired a hooker for a lot less. Where did you get the money? I mean, obviously, you’re not independently wealthy.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She lit a cigarette and laughed harshly. “It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter… Nothing matters to someone like you. Right?”
Right! That word rang in my ears. “No, you matter,” I told her and felt it. “Why would I have done this if you didn’t?”
“I think you’re a little off, is all.”
“I’m off?” I asked.
“You’re off.”
“Oh.” I hoped to God she was wrong. I didn’t like the idea of being “off.” But maybe she was right. As I stared around the room, as I tried not to look at her, I wondered how in the hell I’d gotten here. Here she was, in real life, in person. Here I was, shifting my feet, wondering what I could say, wondering what I could do to make it right. It was just the idea of her, really, that drove me to this. The idea of loving someone special, the idea of loving someone like her. The idea of wanting something more than I had. Something different. Something more alive and real. I got women, hot women at that, all the time. What made her stand out so much? I didn’t know. There was just something about her that made something in me want what she had.
She inhaled, exhaled then said, “The best thing you can do is walk out that door and leave. I’ll forget about this and so can you.” She pointed at the door.
“I don’t want to forget it.”
“And? Look,” she said and stood, pointing her cigarette at me. “You hurt me. What is this bullshit? Why couldn’t you have just called me and said, ‘Liked your book, let’s be pen-pals’ or something?”
“I don’t want to be your pen-pal.”
“Then what the fuck do you want?”
“I want,” I began, hating to say the words, knowing they made me sound pathetic. “I want to be more than that. I want to be your lover and your best friend—”
“And your reason for being,” she said and scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Mark! Grow up! People don’t stay in love for very long!” She stood, waving her hand around dramatically and glared at me.
“Kendra, just let me explain. I’m not the bad guy here. I love—”
She went on, ignoring me, “All the love in the world amounts to shit in the end. It’s guts that matter, love and hearts and all that bullshit gets its ass kicked, every time! Love lasts for days, it’s years you want and you’ll never have it with anyone, not with me, not with anyone!”
“Bullshit!” I yelled, hating the sound of my own voice. “I don’t believe that and neither do you.”
She stared at me.
“You can’t believe that, can you?”
“I can believe whatever the fuck I want to believe.”
“Kendra, I—”
“You can’t go trying to fool someone to appease your emotions, your fucking heart on your fucking sleeve! People are people and they hurt each other because they can’t help it. I just got hurt and it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
“Oh, you did. You and the rest of those fuckers! Fuck all y’all.”
“All I can say is—”
She threw me a sharp glance, almost daring me to continue. What right does he have to say anything? she seemed to wonder. I shut my mouth and hung my head. I prepared myself to take anything she was going to throw at me. I would take whatever it was, I’d take double, triple even. I’d take anything as long as long as she’d let me stay.
She sighed and looked across the room towards the window. It was open.
Quietly, she said, “I’ve been writing since I was eleven years old, completed my first book ten years later. I’m going on thirty and have never been close to it, to acceptance, then you call me, you lunatic, and I fall right on my face.”
She glared towards the window, then sighed heavily as if she’d changed her mind about being mildly upset, as if she’d made up her mind to be good and damned pissed off. The anger that came out in her voice then made her sound like a totally different person.
“I should have known! Mailroom!” She glared at me, waiting for me to respond. I didn’t have anything to say. She went on, “The receptionist told me you worked in the mailroom and I—me! Me! I made up the lie and made myself believe it because I was blinded by the very thought; blinded by wanting it so much I would do anything to just taste it. And why you didn’t try to tell me then and there I’ll never know. Could have saved us a bunch of trouble.”
“I wanted to…to tell you.”
“You should have.”
“It was worth it all,” I said quietly.
“Oh? Oh, really? Well, if that’s how you get your kicks, fine. I knew I should have just given up, all you assholes could give a shit less about real books and real people.”
“It’s not like that. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“You have it wrong, asshole, not me. I had it right. I just wanted to believe.”
“I know you wanted it and you can still have it, I can help you!”
“You haven’t got one clue! Not one clue as to how fucking hard it is! Not one clue as to how much I want it. And why do I want it?” She paused and sighed. “I’ll tell you why. Just to know it was worth driving myself crazy for.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She stared at me, long and hard. “No, you have no fucking clue.”
“I told you that your writing—”
“You don’t understand, Mark, you never will!”
“Understand what?”
She stared at me for a long second, ground her cigarette out, lit another one then said, “All I ever wanted to do is be somebody. Somebody!”
Her voice reverberated against the walls. It stung to hear her talk like that. It made her more human. More real. But more intriguing.
“Anybody but who I am! That’s why I write, because then, nothing matters in the whole world because I’m inside of one I created. All I ever wanted was to share that. That would make me somebody, Mark.”
“You have shared it; you shared it with me.”
“And that’s supposed to be good enough, ain’t it?”
I only stared at her.
“No, you don’t know shit, Mark, you never will. Ambition sucks the life right out of you. Persevere, they all say! Yeah, I have and I am damn sick of it! Look at what it’s got me.”
“Kendra, you are a good writer. A little rejection shouldn’t stop you.”
“If it were only just a little,” she muttered. “But it’s been more than that, Mark, and it’s killing me. It’s killing to know I’ll never get what I want, to know that I’ll never have it, that it’ll never be mine because of whatever reason. It’s making me mean, it’s making me miserable.”
“I’m just so sorry.”
“Mark, you just don’t know. You couldn’t know.”
“I know I love you.” And I did. Now she knew, for sure. What next? Was there a next? There had to be a next.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” she asked softly. “Just go now. Get out.”
“No. I won’t have that guy…” I couldn’t finish. But she knew what I meant.
“He means nothing to me,” she said. “I just ran into him in the lobby and he followed me up here. But that’s none of your business. What’s it to you anyway?”
“Everything.”
She rolled her eyes then went to the door and opened it. I went and shut it, then tried to kiss her. I had to kiss her; that would soften her. Please let me kiss you!
She pushed me away, screamed that she would call the cops, like they would suddenly appear and rescue her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said and I wasn’t.
“Then I’ll go. It’s your room.”
She grabbed her purse. I took it out of her hands. She started out without it. I barred the door; she tried to push me away.
“Let me go!” she yelled.
“No.”
She was becoming angry, more angry than before. She grabbed an ashtray and hurled it at me. I ducked and it hit the wall. She called me a son of a bitch, a rotten bastard, a bully. Then she slapped me. She was trying to hurt me. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. In fact, I wanted her to.
“Get the fuck away from me!” she yelled.
Her face was red, angry. I didn’t move.
“Mark, I’m warning you!”
But, I held her back, getting angry myself, becoming so angry that all I saw was black, with a tiny dot of white, which was her. There she was floating in my subconscious, smiling, drifting away, pushing me back to what I had been before I knew her, putting me back down. That’s when I realized how we were connected—we both wanted something we couldn’t have. Maybe we were both pretending to be someone we weren’t just so we could get what we wanted. And not having it drove us to extremes and made us believe in things that weren’t necessarily true. It made us try so hard to get it. And she was right. It was driving us both a little crazy.
But her… I just wanted to show her I was good and if she would just shut up and hear me out, she would realize how good a person I was, deep down, and she would love me like I loved her, like I had to love her because, really, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It just happened, like all the storybooks say it happens. Look for love and you’ll never find it. Turn your back on it and it knocks you down.
And then all I had to do was push her down and there she was on the floor, below me, a terrible look on her face, a disbelieving look in her eye.
She pushed at me and asked, “What are you doing?”
I had to make her stop and listen the only way I knew how. That’s what I was doing.
She was struggling and screaming, “What are you doing?!”
I didn’t know what I was doing but maybe I did and I couldn’t help myself. And I was then shoving myself onto her, pathetically trying to kiss her, which made her rigid. She groaned miserably.
She was crying softly, “What are you doing?”
Then she stopped screaming, stopped talking, stopped moving. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. And then, she was suddenly sobbing this terrible sob and I stopped. It was so terrible, that sob, it hung in her throat and made her look away at the muted television, like she was ashamed for having that sob, for letting it be heard.
And I froze. What was I doing? Was this what love did to a person? I was acting crazy, deranged. I had to get a grip; I had to get out of this room. I wanted out so badly I could have jumped through the open window. I wanted to get away from her and live in a cave where she would never have to see my face again. But then again, what would be the use in that? We were too entangled in this wed of deceit and lies. We were so caught up in it that we’d never get untangled.
I turned back to her and I felt so bad for the both of us, for the whole world. I felt bad that she wanted something I couldn’t give her.
I touched her face gently, I couldn’t resist. She jerked away then stared me dead in the eye. Our eyes wandered into each other’s for a very long time. It was seconds. It could have been days. That stare attached us. Made us whole. It said a lot, that stare. It said, Where we gonna go from here?
She opened her mouth to say something, but then I was suddenly pulled off her and was being screamed at by Joe that I was going to pay! How dare I touch her? Who did I think I was?
How could I have forgotten about him? Joe Armstrong, indeed! And there she was, staring at me, staring for the last time, understanding for the first time that she didn’t know what she had gotten herself into. How she had been led, then humiliated, all for the honor of seeing her work in print. Could it be worth it, she wondered? How could it be worth it?
Our eyes locked for a moment. I tried to tell her with my eyes that I was sorry, that I hadn’t meant to do it. That I wasn’t myself. I hadn’t been myself since I saw that brown envelope on the floor. I didn’t know what I was doing; I had never loved anyone before, not like this.
And I think she understood, through the madness of the moment, she understood that crazy things happen and people should be forgiven. Even if they aren’t “somebody.” Even if they have no education or big dreams of their own. Even if they are low enough to hurt people they love in order to make them understand.
People are just people, Kendra. Just like you. Just like me. We can’t help the things we do sometimes. We just can’t help it. Sometimes bad things happen. It may be our fault, we may be responsible, but we’re just people and we can’t help it. Right?
She looked away first.
I heard Kendra left for home that night. How did I know this? I called the hotel and pretended to be her brother and the clerk on duty told me.
I quit my job at Sungle and did a few small jobs for Rodney and kept myself afloat for about a year. I still had her book and picture but didn’t look at either much.
I knew I had fucked something up by doing what I had done. How could I have done that? I tried to recollect my thoughts, but they were gone. I mean, I knew I couldn’t justify what I had done but I only wanted to commit to memory exactly what had lead up to the actual event. But none of it made much sense. I guess I hadn’t been myself during that time.
They say time heals all wounds. If so, then it passed excruciatingly slow. An hour felt like a week. A day like a month. My wounds were still open. Obviously, they’d heal at a snail’s pace.
I didn’t go out much. I didn’t eat any of my favorite foods or see any funny movies. I punished myself because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought about what I’d done and I needed to set it right with her. I needed to see her one more time. That’s all I needed. I’d set it right then. I’d make up for it all. I didn’t know how I’d do it, but I would; if it killed me, I would set it straight.
I just needed that one chance.
I kept wondering where she was, how she was doing, if she still loved pizza, if she still smoked. If she’d gained or lost any weight. Had she changed the color of her hair? More importantly, what was she doing? Did she still write? What kind of job did she have now? What was she doing with her time? And how much of it was spent hating me?
To make myself feel better, I would create scenarios in my head, playing them out in minute detail of what was happening in her life. She had a wonderful life in these scenarios.
First of all, she and I made-up in all kinds of ways. Like, one day, we’d just happen to see each other on the street. Our eyes would meet and we wouldn’t say a word. We’d just know. I’d walk towards her and she’d walk towards me. It would be pouring down rain. We’d stop right in front of each other and, without a word, we’d just kiss. The kiss would be passionate. It would put jelly in my knees. It would make her lean up against me and hold my head still with her hands.
She’d decide she loved me and couldn’t live without me. She’d invite me down South and meet me on the front porch of her shack.
We would fuck in the front yard, then watch the sun set.
I’d get a job of some kind so she could stay home and do what she did best—write. After work, I would run home to her.
She had a closet full of calico dresses. She would meet me in the blue one, the one that was just a touch tight across the ass. She’d be barefoot. I could smell the chicken frying.
“Mark,” she’d say. “Supper’s on the table.”
“It’ll wait,” I’d tell her and take her by the waist.
We would fuck, even though I needed a bath because I had been working in the mines all day and was covered in coal dust. She always got a bit of black coal dust across her nose. I would wipe it off with my thumb when we were done.
And then she’d giggle and talk about the babies we were going to have and all the fun we were going to have making them.
I’d never been happier.
* * * * *
I remembered the last time we talked. I mean, really talked. It was on the ferry that day, just before we got to the island.
She had asked, “Mark, do you believe in fate?”
I considered. “I don’t know.”
She said very matter of factly, “I do. I believe in fate.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Marilyn Monroe was on her way to an audition and she got into a minor fender bender. She begged the guy in the other car to give her cab fare so she wouldn’t miss the audition. He just happened to be a photographer.”
She paused for effect. I nodded for her to go on.
“He gave her five bucks and put her into a cab. Two years later, she repaid him by posing for a few nude photos. The same nude photos that were on the first issue of Playboy. The same nude photos that took her from being a starlet into being a star. That’s fate, Mark.”
I was bowled over. I stared at her, my mouth open in disbelief. “Is that really true?”
“Every word,” she said and smiled a secret smile, like she knew something else, but wasn’t about to tell. She shook her head and said, “Did you ever notice that she never once looked away from the camera? She lived in a fishbowl.”
“That’s a terrible thought.”
She eyed me. “Is it? I never thought about it like that.”
I realized then she wanted that, that lifestyle. It didn’t seem like a pain in the ass to her. It seemed more like appreciation, adulation. I realized she wouldn’t settle for any less.
There was something in her I couldn’t touch. There was something in her that drove her. That same something that was missing in me. Maybe that was fate. Maybe some people have it and are guided. Perhaps it’s missing from the rest of us. Or, maybe we just don’t recognize the signs. Like they do. Maybe we don’t follow suit.
She broke my rambling thoughts, “Did you know she had six toes?”
“What?”
“Marilyn Monroe. I heard she had six toes.”
“Now that you’re making up.”
She smiled at me. “Am I now?”
One day, I was walking by a bookstore and right there in the window, I saw it. I saw her book. 99 Martinis: Uncensored.
I nearly fell down. I went to the window, put my hands on the glass and stared. There it was. That had to be it. I raced inside to check. It was. 99 Martinis: Uncensored a novel by Kendra Hatmaker.
Kendra, Kendra, Kendra.
I held it close, thinking of her, smiling on the inside and on the outside. She had made it! She’d done it! Here it was, in the flesh. I had to have it.
I picked up an armload of books then set a few down, staring around me to make sure no one had noticed my erratic behavior. I finally decided on five copies, to help sales.
After I paid, I raced home. I stared at the black and white photo of her on the dust jacket as I trotted along. She was in a black turtleneck, her hair pulled back and she sat forward with one arm going across her chest and her other hand touching the back of her head. She looked stunning.
She stared straight at the camera, staring at me or whatever person was holding this same book. She didn’t smile, but the look was far from sour. Like she was contemplating something…sneaky.
She was more beautiful than I remembered. It was almost like the first time I ever saw her, when I realized how special she really was.
I smiled at the picture, traced my finger along it, then opened the book and flipped through. I came back to the front.
On the dedication page she had written, “For M.O.D.”
* * * * *
“He came back into the room and even though I knew what he was doing and what he was capable of, I couldn’t stop myself. I took everything I had ever felt out on him. I dumped all of my emotion, fixating him in time and for the reason my life was so very fucked up. It was him, I kept telling myself, him, he did this to me, he made me play the fool and I had tied the fucking strings. I was the puppet.
I accused him of leading me, for making me the way I was, even though I knew it wasn’t true. There was no way it could be.
Poor Albert. Poor, poor Albert.
‘Go fuck yourself!’ I screamed at him. ‘I can’t stand you!’
That did it. I felt the shift. It overcame him and I knew he didn’t know what he was doing. I had triggered it and now I would have to let him do what he was going to do. There was nowhere to escape. He had to do something. Do something you bastard!
He stopped himself. Why did he do that? Couldn’t he see, didn’t he know I needed drama, that I had to have it? That my life depended on it?
I kept on anyway, my words not making much sense, ‘You know something? It’s not every day they let morons, total morons, onto the street. It’s a wonder you don’t kill yourself and save me some trouble.’
‘I’m warning you,’ he muttered.
Warning me? Warning me? Good, good boy. Keep it coming. Give it to me, give me this drama, make everything better by making it worse. Then it’d all be fine. I’d be better. One day, I swear to God, I’d be better, I’d get over all this petty shit. Then I’d live, but right now, I had to have this. I had to have it more than I had to have food or water. Or air.
‘Fuck you, you limp fucker!’ I went at him then, slapping at him, screaming like a mad woman. How angry I was and he was going to pay for it all. Even if it wasn’t his fault.
Poor Albert. Why did he put up with me?
‘I hate you!’ I screamed.
‘Oh, you hate me now, huh?’
I nodded.
‘What about my feelings?’
‘They mean shit to me!’
Then it was his turn to lose control. I was almost relieved.
Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing. I knew I could call stop at anytime. I believed that. He knew, though, he knew how to do it, how to overcome me, how to push me to the floor and grab me between the legs. I tried to hold him off, I tried to tell him I was sorry, that I didn’t mean it, that I’d take it all back! I’d do anything! If he’d just stop.
And he said, ‘Now you’re sorry, now you take it back! Now!’
I stopped suddenly, and thought, How did we get here? Where did this come from? What did any of this matter? But my anger wouldn’t let me rest; it wouldn’t let me walk away. He stopped, too. I could get out of it. I could walk away now. Should I walk away? He was letting me off, easy.
‘I knew it,’ I said and though I hated saying it, I couldn’t stop myself. ‘You have no balls.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
The tone of his voice had changed. This was it. He was going to let me know what he thought of me. His look told me everything I ever needed to know—that I had a big mouth, that I was shit and he’d show me, show me what it all boiled down to.
And I had brought it all on myself.
He stopped moving but wouldn’t let me up. That’s when I began to get scared. I had gotten so close to myself, to my true nature it had turned on me. Why couldn’t I be happy? Why did I delight in making others miserable? That’s what really scared me. I had underestimated Mother Nature, once again. I had underestimated her and this time she might get the best of me.
I begin to feel really sick. It wasn’t sex he wanted, he wanted to show me who the man was. What was he going to do now? What was I going to do?
‘Please stop,’ I begged, meaning it. “Please stop.’
And that’s all it took. All of a sudden, he moved away from me. Once again, I had shamed him into submission. And I hated myself for it.
The room was suddenly very quiet. He turned to stare into my eyes. I wanted to hug him, to kiss his cheek, to tell him many, many good things to make that awful look on his face go away. But how could I do anything? We were trapped, that’s all, trapped. In this moment that would never be erased. No matter how far we got away from each other, no matter how many miles apart we were, we shared this, this awful thing. Could we ever make it better? Could we ever do anything right again? Would it haunt us? Had we gone too far this one time?
He was shaking. I wanted to hug him, to do something, but that thing deep inside of me wouldn’t let me. It had to make him pay and pay dearly. I hated that thing. But it was part of me and it wouldn’t let me rest.
‘I don’t know what gets into me sometimes,’ he said quietly.
I knew exactly how he felt.”
I stopped reading and set the book down. I was alone in my apartment. The street outside was quiet. I put my head in my hands and cried like a baby. I didn’t stop for a long time. It felt good to cry, to get it out. Once I was done, I put the book up and didn’t take it back down for a long time.
Say Hello and Then Say Goodbye
It was a year later when I saw her again. Suddenly, out of the clear blue sky, there she was. Kendra.
My heart began to pound madly; I began to sweat and breathe heavily. I could have passed out. She was walking along Madison, swinging a shopping bag and chatting with Marcy, of all people. She laughed and joked, then stopped at a hot dog stand.
“I thought you didn’t eat those,” Marcy said.
“This crap in the air will kill me before this.”
She took a big bite and stared right at me. She stopped mid-bite and didn’t bat an eye. I stared at back, afraid to move, blink, breathe. Then she bit down and chewed, staring at me. She hesitated for a moment then looked away.
They walked along but I didn’t follow. I wanted to, sure I did, but I didn’t. For obvious reasons. But mostly because I knew she wouldn’t want to talk to me.
All of her dreams had come true. She was now a big author, going on talk shows, publishing her books, doing all the things she’d wanted to do. Everyone loved her. Sure, she had her critics, but everyone does. Haters gonna hate.
She was dating a rock star. I had read about it on some blog. He had asked her to marry him, the dick. Who did he think he was?
The rock star should take a hike and save himself some trouble. The bastard. He didn’t know her like I knew her. Couldn’t he see that she was only stringing him along? Bit by bit then she’d dump him and come home to me.
Eventually, she would come around and I could tell her then. Could tell her “Hi.” The rest would take care of itself. I was sure of it. There was a passage in her book that really resonated with me, that made me believe she might just forgive me. It was in chapter four. In it, the character is about to leave the only man who ever really loved her.
She wrote, “I thought about how easy my life would be if I loved him. If I loved him the way he loved me. He was so good to me. So good and kind. And I was a complete bitch. I said things that had no purpose other than to hurt his feelings, to drive him away. But he stuck with me, through thick and thin. Why did he stick? Why didn’t he let me go and get what I deserved? The misery of loving someone more than they love you? The game fools play forever, over and over. The one that never ends but always ends badly. He didn’t need me, as the saying goes, no more than a fish needed a bicycle, or a crane needed a canoe. I needed him, though. If I would just let myself believe it for one minute.”
Maybe, just maybe, that’s how she felt about me. If only I were fool enough to believe it.
* * * * *
I finally got another job and moved out of my crummy apartment in Queens into a crummier one in Greenwich, which was closer to the new job. The place was crawling with roaches.
I fumigated and was scooping up the dead insects when I heard the knock on the door. It was her. I knew before I opened the door that it was her.
It was. It was her. There she was, right in front of me. My heart skipped a beat.
“Long time no see,” she said and strolled in like she owned the place. “What a shithole.”
“Thanks,” I said and put down the dustpan. “Let me clean up.”
“No, don’t bother. I won’t stay a minute.”
“Why not?”
She smiled. “You don’t even act surprised to see me.”
“I knew you would come.”
She was obviously taken aback, like she would never in a million years think she was being predictable.
“I mean,” I said. “I hoped you would come.”
“Oh.”
“Here, let me get you a seat.”
I grabbed the only chair I had, a wooden one splattered with paint. She ignored it and stared at me, then away. She cleared her throat, smiled.
“Want a drink?” I asked.
“No,” she said and walked to the window. “This is a good location. Eric and I were thinking about finding a place here. But I’m a country girl.”
She plopped down in the chair, put her hands behind her head and leaned back.
“Oh, yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I bought an old farmhouse that has a lot of acreage. It’s near my mom’s. My mom got sick, you know? I need to be there for her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
She nodded.
“So, where is he?”
“He?”
“Your…” I cleared my throat. “Your boyfriend.”
She stared at me for a moment, a look of displeasure on her face. She seemed annoyed, as if she got asked that question a lot and she was sick of it. “Why? You want his autograph or something?”
I was a little taken aback. “No, I mean…no.”
“Oh… He’s somewhere, I don’t know. I don’t keep tabs on him.”
“You gonna marry him?”
“I don’t think so.”
She left it at that. I wondered if she was lying. I let it go and asked, “How did you find me?” I tried not to look at her, even though I couldn’t help myself. She was still such a hottie, every inch of her black outfit hugged every inch of her one-hundred percent perfect body.
“You found me, remember?” she said.
“At the hot dog stand?”
“Yes.”
My bottom lip trembled. Here it comes. I had played this moment out over and over and now I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.
“Is M.O.D. me?” I asked quietly.
“Mark O’Daniel, that’s you.”
She smiled a little at me. I tried to smile back but I was so nervous it came out as more of a grimace. There was not much more chitchatting we could do before we got to the real reason she came here. The silence hung in the air and we were all alone. It was just us then, all three of us. Me. Her. All the stuff we didn’t want to face up to. But we’d have to, sooner or later. There was no going around it.
She stood, went back to the window, and stared out. We stood in silence for a long moment, shifting our feet, staring at invisible objects, listening to mute noises. Everything distracted us then and we let it.
“So,” I said and nodded, not knowing what to say.
“I don’t want to drag this out,” she said. “I just stopped by to tell you that I forgive you.”
“I’m so sorry, Kendra,” I said and felt a rush of relief.
“I know,” she said and smiled softly. “You’ve let your hair grow out, Mark.”
I touched it, then shook my head. “I mean it, I’m sorry.”
“And that’s why I forgive you.”
“I know, Kendra and just let me say how sorry I am. I am really, truly sorry. I—”
She came to me and pressed a finger on my lips, shaking her head. “I know you’re sorry, Mark. I saw your eyes that night and eyes never lie.”
“Okay,” I said.
She stepped back and pushed her hands in her pockets, staring around for a moment before she looked back at me. “I knew when you called the first time it was wrong, all of it, but I wanted to see, you know? I could have called stop ten minutes, ten hours before then and you would have crumbled. To be honest, I suspected it all along.”
“You suspected what?”
She only stared at me, gave a slight smile then turned back to the window.
“Suspected what?” I asked again.
“That you were lying.” She sighed. “I should have never fucked you that first night.”
“Then why did you?”
She shook her head, fumbled in her bag and took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, then held out the pack to me. I shook my head.
I repeated, “Then why did you?”
“Why did I? Why not?” She inhaled, exhaled. “I fucked you because I wanted to, that’s why. I was horny and you were hot.” She smiled at me. “You are a damned good looking man, Mark. Anyone ever told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You didn’t feel anything for me?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not, sorry,” she said.
I sat down on the chair and stared up at her. Was she lying? Was she telling the truth? Oh, God, please don’t let her be telling the truth.
“Why did you come here?” I asked.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” she squealed and rummaged in her purse again, then took out a thick envelope. “I brought you a little something.”
I took it. It was an envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills.
“That’s my first few royalty checks I saved it for a rainy day. And the sun just kept shining on me. So, I saved it and carried it around because one day I knew I would see you and I wanted you to have it because for all of your craziness, none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.”
I stared at her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She smiled though them and tried to laugh. “Anyway…”
“I don’t want this,” I said and threw the envelope to the side.
“But it’s yours,” she said and flicked ash off her cigarette.
“I don’t want it,” I said, then looked her in the eye, knowing what I wanted to say and wondering if I could verbalize it. I had to say it, even if meant I looked like a fool, “I want you.”
“That you can’t have, Mark.”
“Please don’t tell me that,” I said and felt like crying myself. “Please don’t.”
“I gotta go.”
“Kendra?”
She stopped at the door, her back to me.
I took a breath and said what I’d longed to say for a very long time, “You know I love you. I loved you since the day I saw that picture and read that letter. I loved you since the moment I heard your voice on the phone. Since I can remember, I have loved you. It’s all I can think about.”
“What am I supposed to do with that, Mark?” she asked quietly, her back still turned.
“Tell me you love me back, so…so…”
She faced me. I could tell she felt bad about something. “So what?”
“So I can know it was all worth it.”
She looked away, puffed on her cigarette then crossed the room, stared at an old picture of Jesus the previous, deceased tenant had left behind.
“You know how I got published?” she asked and turned to face me. I shook my head. “It wasn’t Joe, if that’s what you think. He turned out to be a big flake. I mean, fake.”
I had figured as much.
She rolled her eyes, then continued, “Remember Marcy? Her husband? John? Well, he got a new job and then he met someone at a cocktail party who knew someone who knew someone who… Get it?”
“I get it,” I and smiled at her.
She genuinely smiled back. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve really had to bust my ass and all that. It’s been hard work, but worth every minute.”
I nodded. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mark.”
“So, you did it?”
“Yup,” she said and smiled at me. “I guess I did.”
“It must have been hard,” I said.
“Yeah, it was. The worst part was critiquing my own work. No one knows, but I am one of the worst critics of myself, of my writing. I am a doubting Thomas in that way. Is that how you say it? Doubting Thomas?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
“Look at what you’ve accomplished! That’s great.”
“Yeah, but I always think someone will jump up in my face and say, Gotcha! And it’ll all be over. I take nerve pills to calm my nerves. That’s why I seem happy all the time. No one knows. But me and my pharmacist.”
I nodded.
“That was a joke, Mark. I’m not on anti-depressants.”
“Oh.”
“Geez, stop being so serious!” she exclaimed.
“I mean, uh… I’m just happy to see you.”
“I know,” she said and gave me a little wink.
“You look beautiful.”
She roared with laughter. She nearly doubled over.
“What is it?”
“It’s just… People are always saying that to me, even when I know damn well I look like shit.”
“But you do…always look beautiful.”
“You’re such a charming bastard,” she said.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Anyway, that’s why I saved that money so if it did end then I could still stay home and write. But, now, I feel more secure and I wanted to tie up this one loose end.”
“I’m a loose end?”
“Yes,” she said. “I mean, you’re the reason.”
“I’m what?”
“The reason,” she said. “Just leave it at that, Mark.”
I nodded. “I’m just so sorry it happened.”
A look of pain crossed her beautiful face. In a flash it was gone. “While I don’t thank you by any stretch of the imagination, I do understand.”
“How?” I asked.
“It’s just one of those things that happen, Mark. It was wrong, wrong of both of us to pretend to be people we weren’t. And that’s the kind of thing that happens when you do something like that. It’s our fault, but then again, it’s nobody’s fault.”
“You don’t blame me?” I asked.
“How could I without blaming myself?”
“Oh.”
She chuckled and stared away for a moment. “You’re not a bad guy, Mark. I feel terrible for fucking up your life.”
“You didn’t fuck it up,” I said shaking my head. “It was already pretty fucked up before I met you.”
She threw her head back and laughed loudly. “Okay, then.”
“Did you ever…” I paused and summoned my courage. “Did you ever love me?”
She nodded. “Yes. I love you, I do. Love is weird, Mark. Love is strange. It makes no sense. It can’t be explained. And shouldn’t.”
“Then why won’t you…”
“Huh?”
“Tell me more.”
“Oh, I see…” She smiled, relaxed. She didn’t say another word. But it didn’t matter.
“I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you,” I said. “Never.”
“And that’s why I think of you fondly, Mark.”
She bent down and gave me a peck on the cheek and went to the door. Then she opened it. In a moment she would be gone forever. Goodbye, Kendra. Obsession. Love, sweet love. Please don’t go.
“Can I at least have a kiss?” I mumbled.
And there she was, bent down, lifting my face to hers, slipping that sweet tongue in my mouth, pressing up against me, lying back on the dirty floor, smelling of pesticide, of hope, licking the corners of my mouth, arching away from the floor and telling me goodbye the only way a woman you love can.
“I love you,” I muttered, feeling it grip me, fuck with me and want to be reciprocated. To be reckoned with. I said it knowing it didn’t matter; it didn’t make sense to tell her something we both knew. We were both on different paths, words apart, worlds away, laced in time, in tiny pockets of time, giving to one other then and only then what we could. Each other.
“I love you, too,” she whispered softly.
It mattered. But it didn’t make a difference.