CHAPTER 12 – A HEAVENLY PROMISE

They necked furiously in the last row of a Cineplex. Not one for public displays of affection, if they didn’t include coitus and a snack afterward, Suzanne nevertheless allowed Colin to search her mouth with his tongue. He kissed with endless enthusiasm, rolling his tongue and sucking her breath. His hands never rose higher than her forearms, which he stroked briskly. Once in a while Suzanne gently eased him away, so she could wipe his saliva from her lips.

In the same row a short distance away, she caught a solo moviegoer staring at them. He leered, his face illuminated by the flickering images on the screen. Suzanne gave him the ­finger.

Colin kissed her and rubbed her thigh. Open-mouthed, lips full and glistening, he pulled her in.

“Colin,” she whispered. “Hold on. Wait.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Baby, please wait.”

“You drive me crazy.”

He bit her neck, which made her writhe. She’d have to put an end to this. She sighed and held his hand. “Calm down, son.”

He stopped in mid-motion. “Did you just call me son?”

“You didn’t hear that.”

A couple finally glanced back and shushed them.

“I didn’t mean it that way. Just that we can’t, uh, we gotta calm down. Wait. Let’s watch the movie.”

Afterward, Suzanne and Colin sat in the Cineplex’s neon café watching a popcorn machine burp corpulent puffs. Colin drank cola and chewed ice cubes. For the first time, she thought Colin felt awkward with her, maybe even mistrustful. She’d have to settle him down. Do something. The honourable thing would be to break it off and let the young man cavort with girls his own age. For many weeks they had been inseparable, going to movies, taking walks in the park, laughing about commercials they saw on TV or imitating people they saw on the street. But they had not consummated their relationship. As eager as she was, she hesitated. She gave him an out, as she had all previous boyfriends, of which there weren’t many. Every few years, Suzanne collided with some ill-starred male who, through idiosyncrasy and ineptitude, made himself attractive to her, usually sex-starved bachelors too sensible to be misogynist but too insular to court companionship. She developed relationships with these men out of pity and the need for sexual release. Leaving presented no problem. They invariably understood.

Why, then, did she think about Gordon, by all accounts a well-adjusted male, and hope for a phone call? She pictured herself actually sitting by the phone. Gordon had become music she couldn’t get out of her head, a Bach invention, as played by Mr. Gould. Finger me, Glenn. She looked back at Colin, his open face, and his sea-green eyes rippling with doubt. She’d have to distract him before he asked too many questions.

“Let’s play air hockey!”

She steered him toward the games area and fed coins into an air hockey table. A glowing puck popped from a net. She pushed a paddle toward him.

“Prepare for some old-fashioned annihilation.”

Suzanne placed her hand over the steady stream of air that buffered the table. She leaned in and banked the puck against the boards. It slammed into Colin’s goal. He studied the table.

“Okay. I see.”

“You’re going down, my friend.”

His turn. He smiled at her and then blasted the puck in a straight line, sinking it in her net.

“Oh. How about that?” he said.

She gawked. How could she have missed it? She hadn’t prepared for something so simple. She knew his game now. Basic 101 air hockey. She wouldn’t immediately destroy him. She’d put on the brakes halfway through the game and then roar back with two consecutive goals.

Warmth spread between her legs. She smacked the puck. It tore from side to side and broke into his zone. He lunged at it and fired back. She pounced and sliced it back at him, missing the slot by inches. They chopped at the puck, their play wild and intense. Heat and fury consumed her. Skin from her hand blistered as she gripped the paddle and swung at the puck over and over again. Colin’s face betrayed no savagery. He focused on the puck with serious intent, ripping it at her with gentlemanly form. She missed blocking it and saw it drain into her goal.

“Hmm,” he murmured.

Dumbstruck, she stared at him. How could this boy barely out of his teens beat her, the air hockey queen of downtown Montreal? Had she lost her touch? She’d once defeated a skinhead in a seven-to-six match. For a few days she’d felt like a ­legend in her neighbourhood, a scrawny stoner girl who’d triumphed over a skinhead. Briefly, the gangs at her high school had acknowledged her presence in the hallway. Those few days may have been the best of her life because she was no longer a weak little girl at anyone’s mercy. But now, she was no longer queen of the arcade. What was she? Who was she?

Suzanne snarled and grabbed the paddle. She would win. And kill him.

But she didn’t win. She couldn’t keep up with Colin. Her mild-mannered young lover graciously trounced her. After the puck sank in her goal for the last time, she whipped the paddle at his head and kicked a nearby garbage can. A few arcade patrons noticed her outburst and laughed.

Colin suppressed a grin. He put his arms around her. “C’mon, Sugar Crisp.”

She pushed him away but he came back and held her tight. She struggled against his embrace.

“Fuck off!”

“Come on. We’re just having fun.”

“Yeah. Fun.”

Her eyes blazed. She turned her head so he wouldn’t see. An image rushed. On a black-and-white TV set cartoons bounced.

Processed-cheese sandwiches were fanned on a green serving plate. The blond boy sat beside her on the couch, giggling nervously. Her stomach clenched. Diana lit a cigarette and wiggled her toes. Mr. Audi laughed and slid a magazine onto Suzanne’s lap. There were pictures, gross pictures on the page. Mr. Audi said, “I love you.”

Her stomach a lead bar, she wanted to punch Colin.

“So, what do you want to do?” he said.

I say, old chap, pass the tartar sauce. Suzanne wiped away tears. She’d pull herself together and blame some external force for her mood. She’d pin her tears on Wilma. Might gain her some sympathy, or perhaps even score her some physical consolation.

“Look,” Suzanne said, hanging her head, “I’ve had a rough few days. I just found out that my neighbour Wilma has breast cancer. It’s really making me sad. I feel terrible.”

As predicted, Colin responded with tenderness. “Oh, darling. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you feel sad. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

She raised her head. “I’ll be okay. Just be with me, Colin.”

He nuzzled her hair. “You know what you need right now? A beer. Let’s go get you a beer. That always cheers you up. Would you like that?”

They ended up at her place, the only place for them to have privacy. Mollified by a couple of pints and Colin’s tenderness, Suzanne relaxed into a faint benevolence. She apologized for her behaviour and for embarrassing him. She forgot about the sympathy ploy. She almost attempted to articulate what was in her heart, but the words caught in the strangulated canal that was her throat. His eyes made it all better, made her believe that the meek shall inherit the earth.

They lay on her bed gently kissing. She stroked his cheek. He’d forgiven her so much. He’d forgiven her for being her. Did he know that? A tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

He kissed her tear. He reached for her hand and guided it down to his jeans and the bulge between his legs.

“Oh, Colin, I don’t know,” she whispered in his ear.

“I do. I’m ready.”

She held his hands and pressed them to her chest. “I have to ask you something. When you say you’re ready . . . does that mean you’re ready ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Listen,” he said. “I care about you. We have fun together. You excite me. I want to express my love for you.”

A heavenly promise. A virgin. She gazed over at the snow crystals, infinitesimal light and water patterning the windowpane. She kissed him, their lips a cosmos.

“Sweetheart.”

He sat up and pulled off his sweater. He lay beside her, his chest hair blond and sparse. She touched his skin, a gift she didn’t deserve. She turned her head toward the windowpane and swallowed the dark thoughts and words that churned. I wanna fuck your inner child.

A party to his unveiling, her heart beat violently.