by Myers, Kelly
“It will come equipped with only American English as per our agreement last time.”
“Right. And that includes the back-end, too?”
“Correct.”
“Perfect. Now, you’ve assured me that the person running the initial tests would be a native speaker to catch any linguistic bugs. It can get very tricky.”
“Yes. An American citizen residing here. An employee of ours.”
“And they’ve signed the NDA, too?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like a copy of that as well, please.”
“You got it.”
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and discreetly pull it out, glancing to see that it’s a new text message from Nicky. Setting it on the desk away from the camera field, I clear my throat and direct my focus back to the call.
When the meeting is over, I pick up the phone with the intention to read Nicky’s response. However, it starts to ring the moment my fingertips touch the screen. It’s a call from our head of research.
“Patel?” I answer. “Not like you to call at this hour.”
“I have access to your calendar. I know you’re awake,” he explains. “Now, a local reporter was exchanging some information with a colleague or a source—I’m not sure.”
“Regarding?”
“A single company acquiring detailed and intimate reports about the users online. Not one of the big commercial names.”
“Was our name mentioned?”
“No.”
“Did they reference the DW?”
“Also no,” he asserts. “but hints of a bill and The Office were included.”
“When did you catch it?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“Send me an encrypted script.”
“I’m on it.” He then pauses and suddenly says, “I know I shouldn’t be saying this, Gabe, but… I have a really good feeling about it this time.”
I chuckle softly. “I’ll file that under ‘tentative’ then. Get some sleep.”
“You too.”
Hanging up, I sit back and cross my legs over the edge of the desk, resting my head against my interlaced fingers behind it. If word gets out about this project before the actual release by the committee, it will create a lot of noise that I would much rather do without. I need to find out who knows about this—if anyone actually does—and put them in their place until the bill becomes law.
Swiping across the phone screen, I open Nicky’s message.
It’s laughable you might think that I expect you to understand anything about women, Gabriel. The full extent of your knowledge on that matter is reduced solely to our bodies. Believe me, my frustration comes from my own unrealistic hopes, for which I’m fully responsible. You, my friend, leave no room for any expectations, and I respect you for setting your limits head-on.
I read the message over and over. The words don’t seem insulting in any way, yet I can’t help but sense the hostility behind every syllable. If Nicky’s emotions have led her to anticipate a change in our dynamic, then that’s truly on her. I have never claimed to be looking for a relationship, nor have I alleged to have feelings for her or any other woman for that matter.
I don’t have the time or the mind space for this.
Shaking my head, I push myself up and shut down the laptop, heading towards the gym. I have always enjoyed working out in the dead of night while the world around me slept. Something about being the only one awake, the only one performing strenuous labor, the only one working toward something better made me feel more alive than anything.
Inside the vast space with the tinted one-way glass façade that was both soundproof and bulletproof, I saunter through without switching on the lights. I step onto my favorite treadmill and switch it on, running faster as I crank up the speed. The thumping of my feet is the only company I have right here and now.
Defiant. Steadfast. Determined to push myself harder with every stride.
It’s laughable you might think that I expect you to understand anything about women.
Furrowing my eyebrows, I continue to run.
I understand women very well, far better than Nicky imagines. As a matter of fact, I identified how and why she was different, and that’s why we clicked. Perhaps she’s not that woman anymore. Maybe she wants more, now that she’s older. It’s clear that this was all about her and not me at all.
Feeling my heart beat faster inside my chest, I revel in the delicious strain of pushing myself to the limit. I bask in the sweat that purifies my body. Fixing my eyes on a tree out in the woods surrounding my house, I will the negative thoughts out, picturing them seeping through my pores along with the salty wetness and hasting breaths.
Nicky doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She definitely doesn’t know me well, which is fine once I come to think of it. Not once have I failed in satisfying a woman. Not once has a relationship ended because of me. I am always in control. I always get what I want and please them in the process.
And they love me for it.
However, this very well may be the problem. After all, Nicky and I have been seeing each other for years. Her emotions are evolving, and I need to do something about it before it gets out of control.
“Don’t call me anytime soon.”
Nicky… your wish will be granted.
4
Dina
I arrive home from work ten minutes to seven, which gives me exactly ten minutes to get ready for Michael. Instead of changing out of my suit, I set my priorities to tidy up the place and make sure the wine glasses are clean.
Standing in the kitchen, I kick off my heels and put on a pair of slippers instead. I quickly gather all the dirty dishes and plates, piling them up in the sink and turning on the faucet to wash away any crumbs.
“Jesus, I’m gross,” I chuckle to myself as I turn around, grabbing a washcloth and hastily wiping down the counter. “Perfume!” my eyes widen as I toss the cloth aside and rush to the table by the door, fishing out the bottle from my purse and spraying a few times into the air, stepping into the scented mist, eyes closed, the little droplets colliding with my skin.
Next, I walk toward the stereo and pick out a record. “Dylan,” I shrug, pulling out the CD from its case. “Should make for a good opener,” I swing my head from side to side as I pop it in and press the ‘play’ button.
Being the proper, punctual man that he is, Michael rings my doorbell at exactly seven o’clock. I open the door with a grin from ear-to-ear. “Gee, there’s the man I can depend on.”
He chuckles, handing me a bottle of wine. “If I’m not on time, then who am I at all?”
“Oh,” I draw it out as I examine the brand. “Fancy!”
“Nothing but the finest for Boston’s most outstanding business journalist.”
“You’re putting me on a pedestal,” I push myself on the tips of my toes, kissing him. “I can’t live up to this.”
“But you already have,” he walks over to the kitchen, opening the glass cupboard door. “They promoted you for a reason.” As he grabs the glasses, I hand him the corkscrew.
“Right.”
“I know it’s a month late,” he turns to me, apologetic. “and I’m working on my schedule, I promise.”
“I want to see you more often,” I tilt my head. “but those patients need you. There’s no comparison here.”
Putting down everything on the counter, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer, genuinely smiling. “I love that you’re so considerate. But you and I both work very hard, and we deserve to have a life, too.”
“I’m guilty of that as well,” I caress his cheeks with both hands. “So, now that we’re here.”
“We celebrate!” he turns back to the bottle, expertly opening it and pouring our drinks. “How did Peters take it?”
“My promotion? Well, we sort of caught hearsay before it was officially announced. He’s good at nursing his injured ego without letting anyone see it.”
“Yeah?”
“He was nice about it,” I shrug before grabbing my glass. “Signed the giant card and everything.”
“And he’s not being difficult?” he took a sip, looking at me from under his eyebrows.
“He’s not like that,” my eyes linger on the side at the small painting on the wall. “After all, we all just wanna do our jobs and make them count.”
“That’s a noble sentiment.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Is that Bob Dylan?”
“Affirmative.”
“God, I haven’t listened to him in a while.”
“Fan?”
“I was… in college.”
“Girl trouble?”
“Plural,” he chuckles. “What year is—
“Nineteen-seventy, Self Portrait. One year before he published Tarantula.”
“You know?” he spins around, almost in a dance. “I never read that.”
“You should.”
“Is it good?”
“That’s beside the point. Experimental prose doesn’t agree with everyone, but I consider it a classic.”
“I’m not sure I agree with people who say that you should read anything just because it’s a classic.” he sits down on the couch, positioning himself sideways so that his arm settles on the backrest.
“But this is not anything,” I argue with a smile, sitting right in front of him, shifting to face him. “It’s Dylan.”
“Should I start feeling jealous?” he jokes, narrowing his eyes once again.
“Would it help?”
“With?”
“You’ll never be Dylan—nobody ever will. Might as well get comfortable in your position as a brilliant neurosurgeon and lifesaver.”
“Maybe he should be jealous,” he chuckles, his eyes roaming around my living room.
“Oh, he saves lives, alright.”
“Really?” he raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Care to elaborate?”
“Wha—You don’t think music has that kind of power?”
“In a spiritual sense, yes—”
“And in the mental sense? Do you know how many times I would’ve contemplated murder if it wasn’t for music and a bottle of wine?”
Throwing back his head, he starts to laugh.
Michael is really attractive in his own unique way, with his smart glasses over bright, gray eyes. His shaven head with the short stubble goes well with his broad shoulders and muscular build, although I have always wondered what he would look like with a full head of hair.
“When was the last time you let your hair grow out?”
“Oh, like… a year ago? It’s just easier this way. More practical.”
“I’ll bet. The number of times you need to fully sanitize yourself.”
“Showers are shorter, no brushing time. More for the important things.”
“Amen,” I raise my glass and take another sip.
“By the way, there was a lovely breeze outside when I was on my way here.”
“Oh,” I excitedly shift. “Let’s take this outside, then.”
Out on my balcony, we sit side to side on the old swing that no longer sways without producing an obnoxious screeching noise.
“This is a nice view.” He gives me an appreciative look.
“Right? It’s pretty much the only reason why I took this place.”
“It’s a good—”
“Don’t you dare,” I chuckle. “The elevator’s always busted, the shop downstairs stays open until two in the morning, and don’t get me started on the upstairs neighbors and their weird, loud sex.”
Giving me a meaningful gaze, he lets a smirk pull up the corner of his lips.
I laugh for a moment before I admit. “I’ve never ventured a payback.”
“Maybe it’s good that I’m here to help you with that.”
“Yeah?”
“Why not? We’re both healthy, attractive adults—”
“Consenting,” I continue with a sparkle in my eyes.
“Accurate,” he leans forward, his lips touching mine. We kiss for a minute before I start to feel self-conscious. Are we in public? Is this considered outside? I’ve never been comfortable with public displays of affection.
“Uh—” I push myself away just as he was beginning to unbutton my blouse. “Is it getting cold?”
“I’m not feeling it.” He shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on mine. “Wanna go inside?”
“Yeah.” I stand up, picking up our glasses.
“Leave them.” His hand touches mine. “We’ll come back out and enjoy them later.”
“Okay,” I smile, putting the glass back down and letting him kiss me one more time before we go inside.
In my living room, he settles on the sofa and smiles. Something about the anticipation on his face turns me off instead of rendering me excited. But I decide to shake it off, stepping forward and joining him.
“Where were we?” I whisper, my hands gliding over his shoulders.
“Here,” he gives me a quick peck on the lips.
“No?” I playfully roll my eyes.
“Here?” he gives me a deeper kiss, which I found rather forced.
“Warmer,” I chuckle, pressing my lips together before licking them.
As he pulls up his leg on the couch, I follow his movement, which leaves me hovering over him. I look down, and there he is, waiting. This is only our second time together, and he already assumes that I should be on top. Interesting.
Playing along, I begin to kiss him and let my hands feel his pecs and chest, sliding down to his ribs and stomach.
“Oh, God,” he suddenly chuckles. “I—Uh…”
“Don’t say,” I humorously stare at him from under my eyebrows.
“Unfortunately.” His eyes grow more apologetic, but his lips stay in a smile.
Rolling my eyes, I try to make it appear as though it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t care if the grown man I’m dating is ticklish. But then again, how did I not notice it last time? Ah, last time we went missionary style and didn’t really indulge in much of… whatever this is that we’re currently trying to accomplish.
“Fine,” I dip my head closer and kiss his nose. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
With another kiss and several gropes and squeezes, he begins to grow more excited. His voice deepens, and so does the color of his eyes. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
Shaking my head, I giggle. “No, buddy, I ain’t movin’. If you wanna go inside, then you’re gonna have to carry me.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he quickly shifts, sitting up and wrapping his arms around my hips. “I’ve been working out.”
With one swift motion, he stands up, lifting me with my legs around his waist. He makes his way into the narrow hallway and heads for the next door to the right.
“Bathroom!” I giggle, throwing back my head. “That’s the bathroom.”
He suddenly stops to a halt, and I don’t know what happens next, but all I feel is a bang on the back of my head. “Aw!” I yelp before giggling once again.
“Sorry! Shit,” he places his hand over my hair and feels my scalp. “Sorry, it’s my first time here.”
“There, there,” I point toward the bedroom, and he makes the turn, carefully this time.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing,” I shake my head, kissing his chin. “Where were we?”
“The bed!” he suddenly drops me onto the mattress, prompting it to spring me up a tad, and I laugh.
As he lowers himself onto me, his knee hits me in the stomach, and this time, I groan. “Jesus, Michael,” I giggle again.
“What is it with me tonight?” he hisses, tittering.
With the moonlight shining in through the window, I watch the dark side of him as he unbuttons his shirt, throwing it aside. He then leans forward, securing his knees by either side of my waist. My hands reach to help him with the zipper, and he recoils.
“Dina,” he giggl
es. “No, no.”
“Here, too?” my eyes widen in shock.
“Just with the fabric and all.”
“Fine,” I shake my head, raising both hands in the air as I watch him undo his pants and let them drop down around his knees. His boxer shorts soon follow, but he doesn’t fully take them off.
“Oh, Dina,” he leans in, kissing me again. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I kiss him back, cradling his face with my hands.
He starts to press himself against me, his weight falling on my lower half, rendering my legs completely motionless.
“Just, ah—” I shimmy underneath in an attempt to free my thighs, spreading them in the process.
“Yeah, sorry,” he whispers, his lips still on mine.
Despite the distracting shadows from the streets drawing peculiar shapes on the ceiling, I draw deep breaths and push myself back into the moment. The moans, the groans and everything in between seem like the proper soundtrack to what’s happening. But for the life of me, I can’t get myself to focus.
I close my eyes and try to picture him in a sexier light. Perhaps a vintage black light. And music, yes… music. Dylan is no longer audible from here, so I imagine something different. A heavier kind of rock, perhaps. Stronger base. A more powerful riff.
I don’t know how much time passes, and I don’t need to. But all I realize in those moments is that I can’t take the thought of him being ticklish out of my head. Oh, my head hurts. But it doesn’t matter.
Here comes his inevitable shudder that holds my body hostage underneath his weight.
And it’s all over now…
5
Gabriel
I wake up at five o’clock to the sound of my radio-alarm. It’s been a habit since high school, and I couldn’t shake it. I’m not even sure if I want to since the tunes, the radio broadcasts in the morning are essentially the only bit of musical update I get. They’re rather disappointing, reminding me of what a blessing it was to have grown up in a house that appreciated the cultural arts.
Checking my phone for new messages, I make my way into the bathroom and turn on the water, but halt for a moment before stepping in. While I read my emails, I sense the vapor surrounding me like mystical smoke.
