by Robyn Carr
“Oh, you big liar,” she said. “You’ve obviously been having sex twice a day for years.”
“Huh?”
“You could never have done that, lasted like that, if you were... Well, you know.”
He smiled. “I concentrated on baseball stats,” he said. “I couldn’t let you down.”
“Okay, then you watch too much porn.”
“Andy, I don’t watch that stuff.” He laughed. “How do you feel? Okay?”
“What I feel is so much bigger than okay.” He made a move as if he’d leave her body and she grabbed his butt. “Not yet,” she said.
“My arms are going to start to tremble pretty soon.”
“Hang in there for the trembling arms,” she said. And then she laughed. “You’re amazing.”
“I can’t be,” he said. “It’s just not possible.”
“Bob, you’re amazing. Incredible.”
“Really?”
“If you’re as inexperienced as you say, how do you know what you know?”
“Wasn’t that pretty ordinary stuff?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “You didn’t take Viagra or something, did you?”
“How would I guess I might have use for something like that?”
“Well, you’re no kid. I mean, aren’t you getting to the age where things start to go a little...you know what I mean. Unreliable.”
“Yeah, I think I’m getting to that age, or at least close. Funny, I always thought it was such a cheap trick that I still had erections but lost the hair. I didn’t seem to have much use for erections. I could’ve used hair.”
“Who needs hair.” She laughed.
His arms, holding his weight, began to tremble.
“Okay,” she said, releasing him. He rolled over on his back and she curled up to him. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “I think the women you work for have all had their way with you.”
He laughed. “This is a first. Believe me.”
She shifted, propping her head in her hand. “Bob, I think I just took complete advantage of you.”
“I didn’t mind too much,” he said. “Would you like me to go now?”
“Go? As in leave?”
“I don’t want to wear out my welcome. I’m sorry, Andy, I have absolutely no idea the etiquette on...on...”
“On how to act after a spontaneous, spectacular roll in the hay? No, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay. Can you stay?”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m so sure.”
“I should take Beau out. Can he borrow your backyard? Can I give him a bowl of water?”
“Sure. Can you be back here pretty quick?”
He grinned. “You bet.” And then he pulled on the goofy, patterned boxers and trudged barefoot out of the room. She watched his departure and smiled. He was just so cute.
Andy visited the bathroom, then pulled back the covers on her bed and crawled in. It wasn’t long before Bob was back, slipping in beside her. She snuggled right up to him, sighed deeply and his softness, his calm breathing beside her rocked her to sleep.
Somewhere in the night, she felt his hands on her back, her bottom, her hips, stroking her, and she turned in his arms and gave herself to him. Again, he amazed her, took her to heights she hadn’t experienced before. As she came back to earth, she said, “God bless those baseball stats.” Then she curled up to him and went back to sleep.
The next thing she knew, he was leaning over her, kissing her on the cheek. She opened her eyes and saw that he was dressed. She glanced at the clock. It was 5:00 a.m. She started to get up. “Oh—I’ll make you some coffee....”
“Stay in bed, Andy. I made you some coffee. I get a real early start at the shop.”
“Hmm,” she said, snuggling back in.
“Andy,” he said. “Would you like me to call you sometime? Or would you like me to...” He didn’t finish. She knew what he was going to ask—should I just go away and never bother you again?
“I want you to call me today,” she said. “Promise?”
“Sure,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Thank you.”
“Believe me, Bob. The pleasure was all mine.”
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, Gerri had let Phil help her through the upset of Sonja’s hospitalization. They made pizza together for dinner before he went back to the city for a few more nights. The woman with the guesthouse had relented—he could move in the following weekend and leave it unpainted.
Once he’d gone and the house was again quiet, she summoned Jessie to her bedroom for another talk. Jessie had been in bed most of the day, recovering from her hangover, so this time they were able to talk about the separation without the snottiness and high drama. Gerri was so worn out from the events of the day, she was feeling quite calm. They sat together on Gerri’s king-size bed, cross-legged, and talked for at least the twentieth time about women’s health, about birth control, STDs, about when it seemed right to be sexually active and when it could be just stupid or dangerous. Of course, Jessie already had all the facts and understood them; Gerri had made sure of that.
Jessie told Gerri that she believed sex was only appropriate in a serious relationship. She’d had such a boyfriend earlier in the school year. But she confessed she had lacked the courage to go to a family-planning clinic, to face an adult and ask for birth control.
“Even with a social worker for a mother? Even with everything you know about how scary doing nothing can be?” Gerri asked, rather astonished as her daughter merely shrugged and looked into her lap.
Well, that was exactly typical of a young girl, Gerri thought. Teaching them to abstain didn’t help them abstain, and teaching them to ask for birth control to prevent an unwanted pregnancy didn’t drive them to the doctor’s office. It was an incredibly brazen yet vulnerable time of life, so hard on the kids in so many ways. And it was so impossible for the parents to get a grip on what was going on with their kids.
There were many times in Gerri’s role as a case worker that it became necessary to have a woman or juvenile examined by a doctor with due haste—injury, assault, molestation, the list was long and the reasons almost always unpleasant. To this end she had developed a close relationship with a woman practitioner at a family-planning clinic in Marin County—Joyce Arnold, M.D. For better than six years, Gerri had been seeing Joyce for her own medical exams, and they’d become friends. She knew she could call her, get Jessie in to see her at once.
“Okay, we’ll go to the doctor together,” Gerri said. “But our appointments will be completely separate and you’ll be alone with Dr. Arnold. She’s very nice, very modern and knowledgeable and you can talk to her about anything. Everything.”
“Is she going to have this whole STD conversation with me again? Because I’m kind of sick of being talked down to like that—I made sure there was a condom.”
“Very likely,” Gerri said. “One mistake should get you grounded or your TV privileges taken away, not dead. Doctors are pretty adamant about that, for good reason. Try to sit through it, let her talk—but ask for what you need and tell her anything you think she can help with. Your conversation with her will be confidential and she’s a pro. Anytime you need a ride there, I can chauffeur without asking personal questions, I swear. It’s a promise I make to you, Jess.”
“Sure. Okay.”
“Now, about me and Dad. The separation. Listen, I need you to try your best to understand this—I didn’t throw him out. He could have refused to leave—he’s a lawyer, he knows it’s his right by law to live in his house. I asked him to give me some time alone. To give me space while I get some counseling. I asked him to get counseling, too, and he is. Jessie, please. I’m not a bad person. I’m not being mean to your dad. This is terrible enough without you thinking that.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said, looking down. “I know. It’s just that...” She met Gerri’s gaze. “It’s just that this sucks. And I don’t get the point. He’s a screwup and wishes he
wasn’t. How is he different from other guys?”
Gerri actually felt a smile threaten her lips. It was pretty basic logic. Her teen daughter was so brilliant, such a dimwit. “He’s not very different, but the situation is a little more serious than that to me. Honey, I’m the one, maybe the only one, having a hard time with what happened. I know you and Jed and maybe Matt all think I should be a big, tough girl and tell him to just be good from now on. But it’s more personal than that for me. He was in someone else’s body and I’m just not ready to invite him back into my body until—”
Jessie covered her ears. “Eww! Stop! I don’t want to hear about this!”
Of course, Gerri thought. Parents only had sex when necessary. Grandparents never had sex. In Jessie’s mind only teenagers and movie stars and rock stars and pro athletes had sex. Okay, maybe people had sex until they were thirty, provided they were neither overweight nor icky, but after that, at the first sign of flab or wrinkles, it was over.
“It’s more personal to me than a little mistake I can just overlook. But I didn’t throw him out. He agreed to a separation and counseling. We both love you, want to be there for you through everything, and goddamn it, Jess, we’re doing the best we can. Cut us some slack. We can’t work on the marriage while you kids are going out of your minds.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jessie said. Then she shrugged. “Whatever.”
“I’m so mad about what you did last night,” Gerri told her.
“Yeah, I know.”
“It could have been so dangerous. You were compromised by alcohol, you could’ve been assaulted. And I know there was drunk driving involved—those boys shouldn’t have been driving. You’re just damn lucky all around.”
“It was more stupid than dangerous,” Jessie said. “I mean, going with them—the driving part, you’re probably right. One of them only had two beers, he said. But they’re just a bunch of idiots and believe me, I’m not going to be out with them ever again.”
“Correct. You’re grounded. You won’t be going out week nights at all and weekends will be an early curfew. And I will double-check where you’re going. If you break curfew or lie to me, you’ll be grounded for life.”
“Yeah, fine,” she said without argument. “I expected that. And, Mom? Get this thing with Daddy fixed up, huh? It sucks around here.”
This thing with Daddy. If only it was just a little thing with Daddy.
On Monday morning Gerri spent a long time in front of the mirror. Only five years ago she thought of herself as a woman who was holding up damn well, a decent-looking woman for her age. She was tall and slim, had high cheekbones, a nice arch in her brows, straight white teeth and a wide smile. Not many women could wear their hair cut so short, but she had the perfect oval face for it. Phil always told her it was sexy as hell.
But now she was conscious of every flaw. Her eyelids had drooped, laugh lines put frames around her mouth and there was something she’d never even thought about—back fat. Where the hell had that come from? That roll above the back of her bra. She could wear a low-backed dress well into her forties, but no more. Her breasts sagged and she had too much flesh. But she wasn’t sure when all this had happened. It had been happening. It just hadn’t seemed that important.
She leaned toward the mirror and pulled back on her facial skin, considering a little surgery. Maybe just the eyes and jaw; perhaps the neck.
After Jessie had her appointment with Dr. Arnold, Gerri took to the examination table in a gown. “What’s up with you?” Joyce asked. “It isn’t time for your annual just yet.”
“Menopause. I’m struggling. Hot flashes, the usual crap.”
“You’ve been trying to make due with all the natural aids, trying to avoid hormone replacement,” the doctor said, reading the chart.
“I’ve swallowed so many herbs, when I burp I taste grass. I worry,” Gerri said. “My mother died of uterine cancer.”
“I know. That doesn’t necessarily make you high risk. Years ago, when women took estrogen without progesterone, we saw a lot more of that. Let’s at least do a blood panel, get some hormone levels and—”
“My husband had an affair,” Gerri blurted.
Joyce looked up from the chart, startled. “Because of menopause?” she asked.
“It was over five years ago, but still...”
Joyce put the chart aside. “Okay, so you have menopause issues in addition to this, correct?”
“Is it my looks? I’m looking so much older. I’m starting to age fast. I’m grumpy. Goddamn Phil isn’t aging. Or he’s aging well.”
“It wasn’t your looks five years ago and it’s not your looks now,” Joyce said, leaning toward her. “You’re a fine-looking woman. Very attractive, very fit, very sharp. Please, struggle to remember, brains and wit are sexy.”
“But I can’t compete with those young city lawyers,” Gerri said. “I’ve gotten the message it was a lot about sex. The sex in our marriage was waning a long while back, but I thought that was normal.”
“It is for some people,” Joyce said with a shrug. “It’s not necessarily a given. A large number of my patients are sexually active well past fifty. And sixty. And...”
“But now I have a vagina like sandpaper and it hurts. I heat up about once an hour, leave the sheets damp. I’m uncomfortable, haven’t felt sexy in years, and, yes, I’ve run out of natural remedies.”
Joyce looked down, shook her head and moved back to her stool. She sat looking up at Gerri. “If you feel like telling me, how are you handling it? This thing with Phil.”
“It’s like it’s my fault,” Gerri said. “My fault he was driven to an affair, my fault I found out. If I hadn’t found out, we’d be the same. Now we’ll never be the same.”
“You okay?”
“Hell, no. I’m so far from okay, I’m not sure which end is up.”
“Need an antidepressant? I know you don’t need a physical exam.”
“I need someone to tell me what I should be doing,” Gerri said angrily. “I asked him to move out, get counseling. I’m getting counseling—and it’s not good counseling. I get better counseling from my next door neighbor.” She shook her head. “I feel like I never met this counselor before and I’ve known her for eight years. We’re not accomplishing anything. Well,” she said, giving a sniff but managing to keep her eyes dry, “we’re keeping the tissue industry in business.” She took a breath. “Joyce—how do other women deal with this—I have to know.”
“Oh, shit, in a million ways. Some work on getting their husband’s back, some leave them, some shoot them in their sleep, some ignore it and carry on. I don’t think you and Phil are going to be able to do any of those things.”
“He’s been gone for weeks, though he’s around when I need him for the kids. The kids want him home, need him home. And I can’t share a bathroom with him, I can’t. I can’t do his laundry—half the time I want to torch his clothes. I’m trying to get past the anger, if only for the kids, but I hate him for what he did to us.”
“So—that waning sex drive. That okay with you?” Joyce asked.
“I never even noticed,” Gerri said. “Well, I barely noticed.”
“You talked about it? With Phil?”
“I didn’t know there was anything to talk about. We’ve always done a lot of talking, about everything, but that didn’t come up, so I thought it wasn’t an issue.”
“And the menopause symptoms? Really getting to you, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Some of my friends glide right through it, but I’m not. You know you’re flashing when your bra is wet. When your scalp is wet and your hair goes flat. Throw in an extramarital affair and it’s like the bottom’s falling out.”
“Let’s try something—we’ll get a blood panel, see where you are and try some bio-identical hormone replacement, used in the form of creams. We can start with a low dose, see if you get some relief. Some women have good results. And I’m going to give you a tube of cream with testosterone in it. You can
apply it anywhere the sun don’t shine—try the inside of your thighs every evening before bed—see if you begin to develop a libido. And in case you do and want to enjoy it, I’ll fix you up with some lubricant that’ll make you much more comfortable.”
“Now? Right now I don’t want to sleep with him!”
“Then you won’t,” the doctor said easily. “On the other hand, if you decide you do want to, he’s still your husband. Right?”
“That could really screw up my potential divorce! I don’t want to give him false hope!” But, Gerri thought, the truth is, I don’t want to give myself false hope!
“Gerri, I’m going to be frank,” Joyce said. “You don’t have to give up sex yet. Remember how much fun it was in your younger days? A lot of women are still having fun at your age.” She shrugged. “Some are lying back and thinking of England for a few minutes a couple of times a week, but some are having hot sex. Women in their fifties often rediscover that part of life. It’s pretty common, in fact.”
“I don’t think I’m one of the hot-sex girls,” Gerri said.
“Maybe not—that’s not confirmed yet. After talking with my patients, I’m convinced the ones who don’t use it, lose it. Seriously, women who used lubricant for intercourse in their forties because they had to are having fun with it in their fifties, sixties. Whatever the case may be, in a marriage, it helps if you can assess each other’s needs.”
“Honestly, I didn’t know these needs existed.”
“Yes, you did,” Joyce said, straight out, pinning it on her one more time. “You did. You know you did.”
“I didn’t,” Gerri said angrily.
Joyce took a breath. “I attended this seminar once. We had workbooks and completed little homework assignments before each weekly workshop. They were silly little things that I thought were such a waste of my valuable time. One assignment was to go to your closet and take out the one outfit you know looks terrible on you and get rid of it. And I thought, I don’t have an outfit like that! And who cares? I wear scrubs most of the time. Obviously my reaction was common because the next sentence said, ‘Yes, you do and you know it—go take it out of the closet and get rid of it.’ So I went to my closet and pulled out this beige outfit that made me look sick and fat. I’d spent a lot of money on it and I was determined that eventually it would look as good on me as it had on the mannequin. But I threw it out, because even though I didn’t want to admit it, I knew. In fact, I had always known.”
