Silent Pretty Things

by O. J. Lovaz

  “I’d be very happy if you visited me, even if we have to deal with this nasty business. My apartment is tiny, but—”

  “Oh, you need not worry about that,” Anna interjected. “We’ll stay in a hotel.”

  “Really? Because I could—”

  “No, really, we’ll be fine.”

  “Okay then,” said Diane. “How about next weekend? I get off work around four p.m. on Saturday, and I’m free on Sunday.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll talk to Frank.”

  “Great, I’ll send you my address. I’m glad you tracked me down, Anna.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  The instant Anna ended the call, she sent Frank a string of text messages about the conversation with Diane and the proposed trip. She laid back on the couch, mentally exhausted. She worried that she might fall asleep and wake up in some bizarre dreamscape.

  She jumped off the couch, grabbed her book and some water, and headed to the deck. It was nice out there. The memory of that kiss in Michael’s car interrupted her reading, but the intruder was quite welcome.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Thursday finally came. Anna put in her time at work and said goodbye to the school. For the next three weeks, she would be on vacation. She’d visited Frank the night before, mostly to plan their upcoming trip to Boston. Sarah would be joining them, Frank announced. He also suggested, though Anna thought it may have been in jest, that she should invite Michael. She hadn’t even considered that possibility—seemed too early for that.

  She was filled with anticipation about her night out with Michael. She had even bought a pair of black ankle boots—they’d look perfect with black jeans and a white blouse with open shoulders.

  He came to pick her up right on time. Anna received him at the door with a little kiss on the lips and asked him to come in for a moment; she’d been finishing up her makeup.

  They left the house at eight fifteen. The night bestowed upon them ideal conditions for a leisurely drive with the top down; they had clear skies, a pleasant, balmy breeze, and even a full moon, casting an ethereal light over all things, making it all absurdly beautiful. Holding down her hair with one hand, Anna took furtive glances at Michael, studying his moonlit figure. His eyes riveted on hers a few times.

  They arrived at the Fox’s Den just before nine. Moving past the place’s minimalist facade, they came into a spacious interior, delightfully decorated with guitars and various memorabilia. On a small stage the nineties cover band seemed about ready to begin. A large crowd had already gathered, but they were able to grab a table in the nick of time.

  Anna started out with a margarita, and Michael got a mojito. Shortly thereafter, the band started playing Pearl Jam’s song “Jeremy,” a song Frank had played for her many times. She started singing along, and Michael quickly joined her. He did his utmost to imitate the deep, soulful voice of Pearl Jam’s lead singer, Eddie Vedder, which Anna thoroughly enjoyed.

  His singing voice really wasn’t all that bad; she could envision him putting on a good show on karaoke night with Frank and Sarah. She surprised herself a little, already thinking about Michael in that way.

  Meanwhile, the band had started playing Nirvana’s “About a Girl.” Other timeless classics followed—The Smashing Pumpkins’ “Disarm,” The Offspring’s “Come Out and Play,” and Collective Soul’s “Shine.” Anna and Michael sang together every song. While the music made meaningful conversation nearly impossible, she felt that they were connecting at a much more primal level.

  The band’s female guitar player stepped forward, taking the place of the lead singer. The crowd erupted in euphoria as she began playing the distinctive guitar intro of the song “Zombie” by the Cranberries.

  Anna loved that song—she knew it by heart and sang it from beginning to end. The entire time Michael watched her absorbedly and, she imagined, lustfully.

  The dim light enshrouded him in a veil of mystery.

  Another mojito. Another margarita.

  She was starting to feel a little tipsy, so she’d better take it slow. They announced that the band would be taking a brief break.

  “This band is awesome. Thanks for bringing me here,” she said.

  Michael mixed his drink, sparkly eyes alternating between her eyes and her bare shoulders. “I’m having a great time, and I could watch you sing all night.”

  “How’s your work?” she asked, instantly regretting bringing that up.

  “Dull as hell,” he said, laughing. “But on a related note, I’ve started writing an article that I hope to publish in a journal.”

  “That sounds exciting. What is it about?”

  “You might be surprised because it’s a far cry from the local history articles I’ve written before, you know, the ones nobody reads.”

  “Ooh, I’m already interested.” Anna set her elbows on the table, chin resting on her thumbs.

  Let’s listen to the handsome professor.

  “Okay, the article is…about a what-if scenario—what if F. D. Roosevelt had lived another four or five years. And, of course, it’s as much about Harry Truman as it is about Roosevelt, because Truman only became president in 1945, at the worst possible time, because of Roosevelt’s death. Two radically different men, at a time when it mattered too much who was president of the United States.

  “I’m convinced that Roosevelt’s death and the rise of Truman changed this country, and the world. To be honest, others have already argued both sides of this debate, but I will do so with a special angle, inferring from Roosevelt’s decisions during his time as president the decisions he might have made in 1945 and beyond. Hope I’m not boring you.”

  Anna sipped her margarita. “Not at all. Sounds like a great article, very compelling. I’d like to be the first to read it when it’s finished.” She fiddled with the top button on her blouse as though she might undo it.

  Laying his arms flat on the table, Michael inched closer to her. “Or better yet, you could critique my first draft.”

  “I’m flattered,” she said.

  “You’re obviously very smart, and I could use the free labor.”

  Anna leaned a tad closer to him. If he breathed hard, she’d feel it. “Oh, I’ll be sure to get something in exchange.”

  “Whatever you desire,” he said softly, slowly, like honey dripping off a spoon.

  “Are you quite sure? I’m a greedy girl.”

  “Greedy?”

  “Greedy for life, if that’s a thing,” she said.

  “I get it. You want more from life—more intensity, more adventure, more freedom.”

  “And how do you know that about me?”

  “You favor new adventures instinctively. You have none of the brutal pragmatism of a conformist. You want life with the top down.”

  “Clever. The poet strikes back.” Anna pulled back a little and took a sip of her margarita, never taking her eyes off of his. “I do want more. If we only get to live this one life, I want to feel alive every day, not just wake up still alive every day.”

  “And what would make you feel alive every day?”

  “I’m not sure yet, or I’d be doing it,” she said. “I think I need to leave this place, though.”

  “There’s got to be more to it than a place. What do you need that you can’t have here?”

  Anna had to think for a moment. What a profound question that was. “A clean break,” she said. “Living here, walking these same streets, I’m but the second chapter in the story of a sad girl. I want to become a new book, full of crazy, unexpected chapters.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. I myself sometimes daydream about having a whole different life; not that I’m suggesting that you’re a daydreamer too.”

  “But I am, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Daydreaming is how the soul rehearses for happy moments. What have you been daydreaming about lately?”

  Michael looked keenly at her, running a hand through the back of his head. “Respected scholar has been a recurring alter
ego of mine.”

  “I like it. Respected scholar: it has a nice ring to it. Is that why you’re writing a scholarly article with the intent of getting it published in an academic journal?”

  “Actually, I’ve been toying with the idea of applying for admission to a PhD program next year. Having one or two articles published could really help my chances.”

  “Bravo!” Anna gave his hand a little squeeze. “Of course, you should. Obviously, it’s what you want to do, so go for it.”

  “How about you? Is getting out of here something you might do anytime soon?”

  Anna leaned forward, looked him in the eye and replied with playful emphasis, “Hmm, I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

  “It’s what you want, but I’d really hate it,” Michael said in a voice that got lower and huskier toward the end.

  “Would you really, really hate it?” she said, infusing her voice with both innocence and seductiveness.

  “I’d hate it so much,” he whispered, leaning in toward her until their faces were perfectly positioned for a kiss.

  Anna closed the distance to within a breath of his lips and locked eyes with him. Michael cupped her cheek in his hand and met her lips with his. He kissed her delicately at first, but there was a raw intensity, an urgency, building up behind his tenderness and restraint. She parted her lips, inciting his invasion, which rushed in like a river of sweetness. She lost herself in the lingering kiss. She felt weightless, as if floating away, and her body tingled all over.

  A blaring guitar intro startled Anna back into full awareness, and she was reminded of the crowd that surrounded them. She gently pulled away from Michael. No words came from him, but a smitten look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Anna didn’t intend to spoil the moment with needless commentary either. She let their eloquent silence simmer a while longer.

  The band closed out their show with a string of popular songs from the likes of Soundgarden, Radiohead, Oasis, and Alice in Chains. They also played Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” which Krista—that was the name of their female guitar player—sang with searing passion, convincingly radiating the raw emotions that her audience craved. The band was done playing around midnight.

  They stayed for almost another hour and talked about their favorite artists and songs, favorite movies and series. Anna’s most adored movies were romantic dramas like Pride and Prejudice, while Michael loved high-octane espionage movies such as Mission Impossible and The Bourne Identity; but they also had some favorite movies in common, like Jerry Maguire, which they planned to watch together sometime soon.

  They kissed again in the car before leaving the parking lot. This time, his hands got a little busier, coming down from her neck and shoulders to wander up and down her back, and sliding under her arms, where a disoriented thumb crossed the forbidden frontier to the edge of her breast. The thin, silky fabric of her blouse did nothing to stop the jolts of electricity that his fingers sent rushing through her skin.

  On the way back to town, Anna’s anticipation turned into sweet, intoxicating tension. She felt like a college girl all over again. Life with the top down, he’d said—indeed, she wanted that, she wanted it now, with him.

  What they talked about in the car Anna would hardly remember later. She’d been thinking about what would happen fifteen, then ten, then five minutes later when they arrived at her house. And then they did.

  Michael pulled into her driveway. Not two seconds later, they were kissing with an unmistakable hunger. Her hand was resting just above his knee, and then it was moving, as if commanded by a force beyond her control, very slowly and delicately up his thigh.

  “Do you want to come in?” she whispered in his ear. He uttered his acceptance in a soft, breathy voice and carried on kissing her lips, her cheek, and her neck. Melting in his arms, she barely managed to regain control and pull out of his embrace. “Come on,” she said, getting out of the car.

  Anna fumbled with her keys for a moment, found the right one, and opened the front door. The lights had stayed on from when they’d left earlier. Michael walked in behind her and locked the door.

  They gazed at each other in silence. She wanted him. She hadn’t wanted anyone like this in a long time.

  He came close to her and would’ve said something, but Anna silenced him with a sweet, long, sensual kiss that progressed into a hungry exploration. Michael’s hands avidly explored her waist and hips. She pulled on him and pressed her body to his while deepening her kiss.

  As if by an unknown law of physics, they had pushed and tugged their way almost to Anna’s bedroom. She was now with her back to a wall. He grew bolder and undid the top button on her blouse, and then another, and another. His hands now eagerly explored her body while he kissed her and tasted the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. Her senses were overwhelmed; she felt warm all over.

  She pushed Michael against the opposite wall and looked into his eyes boldly, almost defiantly, while she unbuttoned his shirt and his pants. She kissed him slowly and deeply as she ran her hand from his neck, shoulders, and chest, down to his abdomen, and then lower. She pulled back from his lips to look at his face and his eyes. He was conquered, lost in sweet surrender to her touch.

  She pulled him into the bedroom and pushed him onto her bed. With deliberate movements, she removed her boots and slipped off her jeans. The way Michael looked at her made her feel like a goddess sent down to Earth to possess his body and soul. She invaded him in bed, and they became a single, perfect symphony of lustful abandon.

  Afterward, Anna laid next to him, wrapping her legs and arms around him, giving him little kisses on the lips, cheeks, and neck. They must have been like that for a few minutes when, on the verge of dozing off, Anna asked him, “Would you like to go to Boston with me this weekend?”

  CHAPTER IX

  “Finally, I get to meet you, Michael, the historian,” Frank said warmly, approaching him with his hand outstretched, which Michael quickly met in a firm handshake.

  “And I get to meet Frank Goddard, the rock star,” Michael said.

  “Oh, come on, just call me Frank…Sinatra!” They both laughed.

  Anna would have loved to have cameras recording the scene for her to analyze later. Never had Anna seen her brother more excited to meet a boyfriend of hers. He’d seemed ecstatic when she told him the day before, a bit embarrassed, that she’d invited Michael to go with them.

  Meanwhile, this was the first time Anna had seen Sarah since her engagement to Frank. They dashed toward each other and met in a heartwarming embrace.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Anna said. “We were already friends. Now, we’ll be sisters.”

  “Oh, thank you Anna. I’m so happy.” Sarah’s voice was full of emotion. When Anna stepped back from their embrace, she saw that her future sister in law had teared up. She was truly a gentle soul. What a great complement for the raging storm that was Frank.

  “Here, let me introduce you to my…um, boyfriend?” She lowered her voice for that last part, not wanting Michael to hear it. She was suddenly embarrassed. “We’re definitely dating, but it’s still pretty new,” she said, still in a hushed voice.

  “Ah, not to worry. Labels are a clumsy thing. You like him, he likes you, and here you’re together. And can I just say, good job, girl. He’s cute.”

  “He isn’t bad looking, is he?” For a split second, Anna giggled like a schoolgirl. “Well, come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Michael had been sharing a laugh with Frank about who knows what when Anna and Sarah joined them.

  Anna said, “Michael, this is Sarah, Frank’s fiancé; Sarah, this is Michael.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” said Sarah.

  “The pleasure is mine,” said Michael.

  Frank held his fiancé in a way that would’ve made for a perfect picture had she been ready to take it. Sarah was a beautiful woman in her own peculiar way. Hers was a petite, slender body, though not devoid
of curves. Her skin was quite pale. She had really big hazel eyes, framed by black hair as dark as a raven’s feathers, a large forehead, and a curious nose that was very thin—some would say too thin to stand between those huge eyes of hers—and appeared to point slightly down. Her lips were full and seemed constantly eager to smile. These unusual features gave her a quirky look, but that’s what made her especially pretty, like a porcelain doll.

  “We better get going,” said Frank.

  “Yes, we can talk in the car. It’s a long way to Boston,” Anna said, starting for the door.

  They went downstairs and toward Anna’s car. She unlocked the doors and got in first. Frank and Sarah got in the back seat, which left Michael with the front passenger seat.

  “Whatever you hear back here, don’t look back,” Frank said as Anna backed out of the parking space and drove away.

  “He’s kidding, of course,” Sarah said.

  “No, I’m not. It’s a long trip. I’m bound to get hungry, and you smell delicious.”

  Anna tittered. Michael also laughed. This started well, she thought. She looked at Frank through the rearview mirror and saw him looking back at her with a clever smile. She gave him that same look she’d given him a thousand times before, the one meaning, Are you going to be trouble? She knew that he was bursting with energy and would get talkative, which could go in any direction.

  “Michael,” Frank began. “Which time and place in history you’ve enjoyed studying the most? Which one you find most fascinating?”

  “I don’t know if I would call it fascinating, but I’m fairly obsessed with World War II.”

  “Hmm, I agree, lots of angles to explore, right?”

  “For sure.” Michael turned his head and shoulders, attempting to make eye contact with Frank, but he was sitting right behind him.

  Frank had his topic picked out for him. “I’ve always been intrigued by Hitler’s rise to power, as a sociological phenomenon. I mean, Germany today is a very progressive country. And yet that same country—what?—eighty years ago supported Hitler’s dictatorship and his war.”