Chapter 22

In a diner a long time ago my waitress was talking to one of her regulars in the booth next to mine. He asked her why she was so chipper lately since she was usually rather serious. "I met a guy a month ago and we're good together. I have someone to share my life with now, the good and bad, which makes most everything better."

I know just what she meant.

The Rodney King trial was in motion, the video of his beating shown fifty times a day on every station, and L.A. had a lot of stations, the most in the world actually, even without cable. Everyone was on a hair trigger, especially with reports of random drive-bys almost daily. The cops were afraid of the public they were supposed to be protecting. My casual siesta town had become Crown Heights, Brooklyn. And though L.A. never had a true sense of community like Manhattan or Chicago, until Rodney King we basically got along. But after that video, the city I'd always known as home was beyond scary. It was ugly. Except I had Lee to shelter me from the evil outside, and even the darkness gathering within.

Little more than a grand to my name after paying my bills in the beginning of the month, including the extra on my Visa for my dog's indiscretions in Oregon, motivated me to get on the phone and find some paying gigs. February sweeps were in full swing and the studios no longer needed freelancers. Within a few days I had two projects, and between the credit union campaign and the bank merger package for my new client, I was busy all day. Lee and I met only for racquetball and/or dinner throughout the week, then I returned home to work, often staying up into the early morning hours to meet deadlines.

Friday evening after ball Lee suggested we go to Old Town Pasadena and try out one of the new trendy restaurants. Since his place was on the way, he asked we stop there so he could change out of his racquetball attire, and also show me his condo since I'd yet to see it. Instead of leaving my car in the lot to get ripped off or broken into after the club closed, or going backwards to my house to drop it off, I followed Lee to his place, a top floor loft of a sprawling three-story complex nestled in the foothills of Eagle Rock.

I followed him into the elevator and his warm thick hand slid to the back of my neck and pulled me in for a sensual kiss during the short ride up. Pure bliss from head to toe, we continued kissing even after the elevator door opened, stopping only when we noticed the couple waiting to get on. His condo was modest but clean, a narrow kitchen to the left of the entry beyond which opened up to the living room with an overstuffed leather couch, a giant projection TV, and a synthesizer with a full size piano keyboard hooked up to a complex stereo system. The Nagel painting of the woman and dog hung over the synthesizer. Across the room a sliding glass door opened up to a small concrete patio overlooking a garden with a large pool and small Jacuzzi three floors down.

He kissed me again on the balcony, then took my hand and led me up the stairs along the far wall to his bedroom. A three foot high glass wall topped with round brass railing ran along the open area of the loft overlooking the living room. The double bed, covered with a thick, white quilt, took up most of the space; the two small mission end tables on either side of it almost touched the opposing walls. Lee resumed kissing me and we eventually stripped and ended up in his bed. We explored and played with each other until I couldn't hold back much longer and asked for him to come inside me if he had a condom.

He rolled away and pulled out a gold-foiled coin, like chocolate Hanukkah gelt—a Trojan Magnum Gold condom from his end table drawer. I suppressed a giggle thinking of his size, and vaguely wondered if the condom would stay on him once he was inside me. He held the coin out to me with a teasing grin. I took the condom and peeled back one side of the gold foil and took out the moist rubber.

I felt clumsy and awkward as I tried to fit the long condom on him. Within moments his hard-on contracted, as did my heart. To avoid a total crash and burn for our second sexual encounter, I tossed the condom on the end table and gathered his cock in my hand, then my mouth, eventually arousing him again.

Lee moaned then grabbed for the condom and put it on, then virtually shoved me back on the bed and rolled on top of me, and then slammed himself inside me. He came an instant later. Even in the dim light from the courtyard I caught his haughty smile as he sank back on the bed and thanked me in a breathless whisper. A moment later, holding the condom around the base of his cock he got up and went into the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

Lee came back in a moment later, his dick flaccid, practically lost between his balls as he bent to kiss me, then he crawled under the covers next to me and moved his mouth to my breast and sucked gently. I closed my eyes as he slid his free hand down along my belly then pressed his palm into my crotch while tickling my nipples with his tongue. I moaned then gasped as the sudden surged of pleasure rippled through me. Lee gave me a soft, rather tentative smile. I put my hand on his face, pulled him in and kissed him, but there was a visceral disconnect.

The air was viscous between us when we finally cuddled up together.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm really not used to using a condom. I never liked em. Makes it hard to feel you. On top of which, I don't think I've had sex without being buzzed in ten years."

The bed seemed to sag and swallow me up. We'd been clean for only six weeks, per my request, and it felt as if he was blaming me for prematurely ejaculating. But I let it ride. I didn't want to make him feel worse than he already did. "Well, I hope you weren't too disappointed." I tried to inject some levity, confident at least I'd gotten him off.

"You know I'm not." He squeezed me around the ribs so tightly for a second it was hard to breath. Then he brushed my hair back away from my neck and kissed it softly.

We lay spooning, but the silence felt like a wall between us until his stomach rumble loudly. He laughed. So did I, connecting us again.

"I'm starving. Let's go into Old Town and get something to eat." Lee gave me a quick kiss and got out of bed, went to his dresser along the glass wall and pulled out clean clothes. I borrowed a dark gray, long sleeve Polo shirt and a pair of his jeans, cinched at the waist with one of his belts, so I wouldn't have to put back on my sweaty skins and t-shirt.

We ate at some overpriced Italian place and window shopped along Colorado Blvd, recently renovated with high end clothing boutiques, home design shops and art galleries. The Santa Ana winds were up, the night cool, the air clean, sharp.

“Ever been up to Mt Wilson?” I asked as we were walking, hand in hand, back to his car.

He glanced at me, smiled. “No.”

“Well, it ain't Pearsoll Peak, but the view's pretty spectacular from up there. On a clear night like this, with the full moon and all, you can see the entire L.A. basin all the way out to the Pacific. Wanta check it out?”

“Love to.”

I drove his car on the winding, narrow roads up to the peak so I wouldn't bark up dinner, and I knew where I was going, having come up many times to shoot pics. It was a shame I didn't have my camera with me. Lee and I took the dirt path to the mountain rim and a sparkling sea of glittering gold spread out before us. L.A.'s vastness can only be seen from above, and only on the rare clear days. I often ventured to high place around the city when a storm was clearing or when the Santa Ana's were up to get the full view of the ever expanding menagerie I lived in.

“Oh my god,” Lee said softly, standing on the edge of the mountain surveying the scene. “This is surreal. I had no idea this was 20 minutes from my house.”

“Yeah, well, don't get too excited. You get this view up here maybe three times a year. The rest of the time it's foggy or too smoggy to see anything.”

“Well, it's beautiful now, but fucking freezing,” he said as he moved behind me, put his arms around me and pulled me in.

His body warmed me, outside and in. We stood huddled together in the fierce wind staring at the sweeping view of millions of pulsating lights blanketing the earth to the horizon and out to the dark silver sea. The full moon reflected on the Pacific and revealed the broad curve of the Santa Monica Bay.

“Thank you,” Lee whispered in my ear.

“For what?”

“For turning me on to things—places, even ideas, ways of thinking I'd never have gotten to on my own.”

I turned to him then, gathered his face in my hands and pulled him in for a passionate, sensual, loving kiss, trying to communicate how very glad I was to be with him, how empowered he made me feel, valued, safe in his embrace.

Lee fixed his eyes on mine when we separated, focused all his attention on me, into me. "I love you," he said with certainty.

"I love you, too." The words left my mouth before they processed in my head. But when I heard them, I absolutely believed them to be true.

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Weeks passed in a radiant blur, sure to be our glory days, never again this new between us. We explored new places from Catalina Island to Death Valley, or visited favorites, like the outdoor Santa Monica Mall, then a walk along the cliff-side promenade overlooking the Pacific. Sometimes we'd just hang out, watch videos or play Tavli.

He stayed at my house on Friday and Saturday nights, limiting sex to the weekends. It wasn't bad, exactly, but it still wasn't great either with him continually whining over my insistence he use a condom. We'd have intercourse without protection when he pledged his fidelity to me alone, in front of witnesses, along with signing a marriage contract that betrothed his loyalty forever.

Lee became a regular at my family's functions. And we had a lot of them. Birthday parties, Purim, we even joined my sister and her husband for a few Friday night Shabbat dinners. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, they were...if not fun, at least entertaining. I wasn't the odd one out anymore, the single, sad, aging spinster. I was with Lee, and though still on the outside looking in at my family, I too, had a partner to shelter me.

I thought of Lee constantly when he wasn't around— what he'd said the night before that was cute or made me laugh, his adorable baby face, his punk, Cheshire grin. When I'd go shopping with a friend, I'd look in men's wear, buy Lee a sweater I thought he'd like instead of getting clothing I needed. I looked forward to being with him the moment we parted, and felt safe, and on solid ground when we were together regardless of our city crumbling around us.

Mid-March. The days were getting longer, warmer, the Rodney King trial hot, fueled by the media's coverage. Racial tension spiking throughout the city serving only reporters hungry for stories, which ironically they seemed to be creating.

Graffiti covered the sides of most every overpass. KILL ALL WHITE in red spray paint four feet high and ten feet long was scrawled on a concrete wall bordering the 101 as we drove through Hollywood. I looked at Lee driving. He stared out the windshield, either not noticing or at least not acknowledging the threat. He was doing 80mph, weaving smoothly through all four lanes of traffic without braking while managing to keep distance from other cars. Lee was an excellent driver, one of very few I'd known. Still, I thought I might barf passing Tinsel Town on our way to see his buddy, Mitchell, after racquetball on Friday night.

The giant glass cylinders of the Bonaventure Hotel appeared from behind the Union Bank tower as Lee got off the freeway and swung back over it on the 3rd Street off-ramp into downtown. Steel and glass office buildings lined the streets like any other city, but they were dwarfed compared to Manhattan. Between the skyscrapers were old brick buildings, though several of the office towers had been added directly on top of the old structures. But the most bizarre part about downtown Los Angeles was there was no one, literally no one walking on the streets.

It was just past 6:30, and though the sun had set half hour ago the streetlights lit the ghost town in perpetual twilight. Wholesale, finance, light manufacturing and some state offices were mostly what happened during the day in downtown L.A. Depending on what sector you worked determined where you went home to, but no one stayed here. Most restaurants served the lunch crowd and closed at night. Street gangs, homeless, and artists renting lofts were the only consistent residents other than the endless influx of Latino immigrants.

Mitchell's condo was on the 23rd floor of a skyscraper recently built across the street from the Music Center. It had been constructed, along with several other residents like it, when Mayor Bradley got it into his head that he could turn downtown L.A. into Manhattan West. For a year, maybe two, the price for a condo here was sky high, marketed as the new trendy place to live. That's when Mitchell had bought his. Unfortunately, it never caught on. No one wanted to live in a crime ridden, dirty, rat infested city. That's why they moved here from places like New York. The building Mitchell lived in was three quarter's empty. And now he couldn't sell it at even half the price he'd bought it for.

Mitchell shared all this as I gazed out the floor to ceiling windows in his living room. It was dizzying up there. Downtown sparkled, the expansive city beyond twinkling endlessly outward to the blackness of the Pacific. "It's beautiful, Mitchell."

"Well, I wouldn't want to be up here during an earthquake." Lee chimed in from the black leather couch.

"It's built on rollers. I was here during the '89 quake and it just swayed a lot. It's really quite safe." Mitchell handed Lee a can of Diet Coke, then extended another to me. "I wanta move out of here because it's really lonely." Nice looking, mid-thirties with dark brown eyes and brown hair worn short, slightly receding on the sides, Eastern European heritage, maybe ethnic Jew. He wore black jeans and a tight black tee-shirt that showed off his flat, toned stomach and braided muscles of his arms. "There's no one around and nothing to do. It's stupid to go for a walk at night. It's like asking to be mugged. You have to stay in or escape the area. Nothing is open except for the Pantry which never closes and caters to truckers and aging traveling salesman with food like brisket on mashed potatoes." Mitchell stood within inches, gave me an amused smile and sipped his white wine. He was tall, close to six feet and stood straight, though casually, like an athlete.

Lee sat on the couch popping grapes into his mouth, plucking them from a crystal bowl filled to the brim that sat on the Lucite table in front of him. He inquired about Mitchell's new cable TV show focused on the L.A. music scene. Apparently, twenty years playing guitar and a BA in Music Theory didn't pay off, so Mitchell gave up on being a rocker. He went back to school, got a MBA at UCLA and was now using his education and connections to market other musicians.

"Sounds like a worthy endeavor," I assured him, then looked at Lee to confirm but he scowled at me.

"So what's the plan, Mitch?" Lee said. "When are you offing this place and out of here?"

"I should be out by summer at the latest. Looking in the Valley mostly. Studio City area. I want a house this time. Four bedroom minimum. I can cover the down payment with what I get from this place."

"You ready to lay out close to a million?" Lee narrowed his brows at Mitch. "You oughta consider something smaller to start, think about going in with someone, sharing a place maybe."

"Oh, I'm looking to share, with a wife preferably." Mitchell smiled at me then looked back at Lee. "I'm not planning on staying single forever. Four bedrooms is a good starter house. I'm trying to get my life in order, ya know, stabilized. I want to have something to offer a woman when I find her."

"Fancy degrees and family money aren't enough anymore?" Lee shot Mitchell a quick look and they exchanged some shared knowledge then Lee looked at me. He pat the empty place next to him on the couch, like he was calling his dog, his bitch to come. But I didn't.

"So, how will you know when you've found the right woman?" I asked Mitch almost mockingly, it laughable he believed there was such a thing as the one. Lee may be my knight, but only because his timing was right and not because he was the only one for me. Reason assured me our obsessive natures would likely come to the fore again somewhere down the line, but I was out of time to find a man without glaring frailties that wanted to be with me, or to try and establish the intimate connection I felt virtually from the beginning with Lee.

"I don't believe in 'the right woman,' Rachel. I am eternally grateful to my family for showing me what real love is—that it's not a given with a marriage contract, but must be earned. Daily," Mitchell said. "My parents will be celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary in April. My older brother is married ten years and has two amazing kids. My twin sister is married four years now and has two year old twins that I'm mad about. Ask any one of them and I believe they'll tell you they're happy." Mitchell paused to sip his wine. "I hope, well, plan to model my family's examples."

That was probably the highest compliment I'd ever heard anyone say of their family. And I flashed on marrying into a family like Mitchell's that would adopt me into their fold and supplement all that was missing from mine. Lee sat perched on the edge of the couch draining the crystal bowl of grapes. I considered asking him if there was anyone in his family he'd like to emulate, but with what I knew of his history I doubted there was. And though I could sympathize, the notion felt rather disturbing.

"So, we going to dinner or what?" Lee smiled at me with his cheeks full, and vaguely reminded me of a chipmunk.

We agreed on Langer's, one of the oldest delis in L.A., just west of downtown across from McArthur Park. Urban legend had it that every year when they dredge the tiny lake they'd find at least a couple of dead bodies down there, which says something about the neighborhood, but Langer's was the only place open for miles worth eating at.

Lee ordered a corned beef sandwich dripping with jack cheese and mayonnaise. I ordered the smoked fish platter. Mitchell got an omelet, with fruit instead of the hash browns, and he and I shared some of our college experiences, then exchanged stories of our travels around Europe and the Middle East. Lee didn't have much to contribute since he'd never gone anywhere except for Vegas. I tried to orient the conversation to a common thread and focused on TV. Mitchell and I recapped our favorite episodes of Thirty-Something, then critiqued a new cop show, Law and Order, where sometimes the bad guys actually got away with the crime. Lee claimed he only watched Nick at Night, and was rather monosyllabic with his responses throughout the meal. He insisted on paying the bill and Mitchell didn't argue.

The boys sat at the baby grand piano in the corner of Mitchell's living room and played show tunes together. They weren't brilliant, but could follow a song and Lee goaded me into singing tunes from West Side Story, Man of LaMancha, and finally Funny Girl. Mitchell gushed over my voice and picked songs to keep me singing, but when Lee ran through his repertoire and went and sat on the couch, I feigned tired and quit.

"In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked upon as something shocking, but now God knows, anything goes." Mitchell sang the classic tune with exaggerated cadence as he stood at the piano and played. "Good authors too who once knew better words, now only use four letter words, writing prose anything goes." He laughed and gestured for us to join him.

I joined Mitchell in the chorus but Lee did not. "The world has gone mad today, and good's bad today, and black's white today, and day's night today." We were spot on key and blended beautifully. "When most guys today, that women prize today are just silly gigolos." I stopped singing with Lee's piercing glare.

"And though I'm not a great romancer." Mitchell continued, though toned it down, as if tiptoeing around the lyrics. "I'm bound to answer when you propose, anything goes."

"Will there be an encore or are you ready to go?" Lee kept his eyes on mine.

He gave Mitchell some excuse about being tired and we left. He was silent going down in the elevator and remained so in the car driving home.

"What's going on, Lee? What are you so upset about?"

"Like you don't know." He snapped.

"No. I don't." But I did. I wanted him to talk to me instead of me having to pull it out of him, but he remained silent. "Am I supposed to guess or are you going to talk to me?"

"I saw the way you were looking at Mitchell."

"What are you talking about? I wasn't coming on to him in any way. We were all screwing around with singing until you stopped—"

"I saw desire," he said flatly.

I flashed on lying then thought better of it. Can't build a foundation on lies. "I'd be lying if I said I don't respect Mitchell's choices, like getting degrees, traveling the world, looking for a house and planning for the future." I saw Lee's eyes narrow but he didn't look at me. "But I don't even know him. He's your friend, Lee. And I'd never date him, unless you like... died or something."

"Oh. So now you want to date him."

"I didn't say that."

"Do you know Mitchell's parents paid for his education, his rent, food, his dates, everything, so he took five years to graduate with a BA and another three on that for his MBA. He bought that condo with daddy's help too. He has a different job every other month. I make more money than he does, by a lot. I've given Mitchell thousands of dollars to get this cable show he told you about off the ground, and a year later I still haven't seen anything. Mitchell is a sponge. He mooches off of everyone."

"Wow. Those are pretty harsh words to say about a friend."

"All I'm saying is if I had the kind of support at home that he does, I'd probably have gone to college, and traveled the world too. I was on my own by 17 and have supported myself since the day I moved out of my father's house."

I felt miffed Lee expected kudos for gambling himself into debt since I'd been on my own since 19, paid for college and traveling without any support from my family. "Lee, I am not interested in Mitchell." I said with certainty, though part of me knew I'd lied. Sometimes lying helps sustain a foundation.

"Right." He practically whispered then pushed on the CD changer and we listened to The Cars, Heartbeat City as we drove the rest of the way to my house with the music between us.

By the time we pulled into my driveway it was after 1:00a.m. but the lateness of the hour did not dissuade him from wanting to get it on. He got on top of me when we got into my bed and slammed his groin into mine again and again. I felt him get hard, paused our passion to pulled a condom from the wooden box on my nightstand and fumbled to slip it on him but he grabbed it out of my hand and did it himself. He was back on me, and then pushing inside me. Small though he was, it was still quite stimulating with him bumping and grinding against me. I hoped he'd stay inside me, connected, but he lost his hard-on almost instantly, a common occurrence if he didn't get off inside me within moments of putting the condom on. Lee rolled off me.

"I can't feel anything. It's like wearing a fucking glove. I can't feel you. I really hate this." He was mad, shamed. "I don't think I can do this. I can't continue like this. I feel inadequate, and I'm starting to resent you for it. Can we please just do it without the condom?” He wasn't really asking. “I'm absolutely sure it'll be better for both of us, Ray.”

'You're not just sleeping with the guy, you are sleeping with everyone he's ever slept with,' the AIDS mantra was in my head, especially since Lee had previously confessed he hadn't worn a condom since high school.

"Look Rachel, if we're building a relationship on trust, you're just going to have to trust that I don't have AIDS or any STDs.” He read my mind again. "I trust you."

It was easier to trust me, knowing I'd slept with only five guys in my entire life, all of which had been with a condom. "I trust you, Lee, but I'm pretty sure neither one of us is ready for me to get pregnant?"

"You're right on top of your period. I can always tell."

It was true. And he'd know if I lied just by the timing. "OK, I guess, just for tonight."

Lee rolled on top of me, put his hands on my breasts, leaned on his elbows and stared down at me as he pushed his pelvis into mine. I felt him stiffen and grow. Hard to make out his expression in the dim room but I thought I saw him smile as he entered me. Crushing me under his weight he pumped harder and faster. He came in a surge with a loud grunt. I couldn't wait for him to get out of me, off me so I could breathe. I arched my back and groaned, faking an orgasm, then put my hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back. He took the hint and rolled off of me. I inhaled and exhaled sharply.

"Thank you." He kissed my forehead and snuggled into me. "I love you. I love the way you make me feel. We're finally on the road to something real. I was starting to think we'd never make it together if we couldn't get it on without a rubber between us."

I practically stopped breathing, the bed beneath me suddenly disappearing and I was free falling. Lee had considered breaking up because he hadn't fucked me to fruition. His implication was skin on skin intercourse tonight insured we'd have a tomorrow. But sex was an immature and fragile thread to hang a lifetime commitment on.

03/27/92

Sex is 5% of the relationship when it's good and 95% of the relationship when it's not.

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