by Fiona Zedde
“Lucas. I love you.”
Lucas sipped his beer. “But?”
“There’s no but. There is more, though.”
Lucas sighed. “Of course.” His mouth twisted. “I told you before, I don’t want your pity.”
“You’re not getting my pity. You don’t deserve that. What you do deserve, is clarity.”
“Clarity?” Lucas raised an eyebrow.
I’m not ready to be with you again.
The last time they talked, that’s what Stephen said to Lucas. Those words were weak and unfair. He would never be ready to be with Lucas again. Saying it aloud was what Stephen owed him.
“Yes.” Stephen thumbed the mouth of his Heineken bottle. “I love you. And because I do, I want to tell you that we’ll never get back together. You know that and I’ve said it. But I know you still think there’s a chance for us. I want to be absolutely clear with you. There’s nothing between us. There will never be anything between us again. If Rille will have me, I’ll be with her for a long time.”
A spasm of pain crossed Lucas’s face again. Stephen looked away from it, tipping his glance instead toward Sara. To his surprise, she wasn’t alone anymore. A woman sat at the table with her. Long-haired. Velvety dark skin. A diamond flashing on her ring finger. He thought he heard Sara call her “Raven.”
The woman reached for a lock of Sara’s long, loose dreads and tasted the texture with her fingers. Sara laughed. There were two wine glasses on the table, and the bottle was nearly empty.
Stephen forced himself to look away. Lucas stared down at the table, not noticing his straying attentions. He took a careful bite of his cheeseburger to give himself a moment to consider what was happening at Sara’s table. Who was that woman? They were obviously on very intimate terms.
“I suppose I should be grateful for your clarity,” Lucas said. His teeth clenched around the last word. “But I’m not. After you didn’t return my last few calls, I assumed, for you, it was really over.”
They’d spoken on the phone once since that night Lucas came into his apartment uninvited. During that call, Stephen mentioned Rille in passing, as a woman he had met and wanted to get to know. He’d done that not to share information but to let Lucas know that he was moving on. But Lucas needed more from him than hints.
“I can’t say I’m surprised you have someone new,” Lucas continued. “But I am surprised that it’s a woman like that.”
“Like what? You don’t even know her.”
“I know enough for me to wonder. She’s an academic. Her whoring around aside, I didn’t think she’d be exciting enough for you. A physics professor? Really? I think you’ll be bored in no time, just like you got bored with me.”
Stephen’s jaw tightened, but he let Lucas finish. From what he’d already seen from the window of his shop, Rille took full advantage of the freedoms Sara allowed in their relationship. But that didn’t mean she was a whore.
“She is not whoring around,” Stephen said, forcing himself to speak without anger. The matter of him being bored with Lucas he let settle into the silence. It didn’t matter why they weren’t together anymore. “I didn’t invite you here for you to attack her character,” he said. “She’s a good woman.”
“As long as you say so. She only has to show that to you…” Lucas paused. “And her other lover.”
They both turned to look at Sara. She had settled into quiet conversation with her drinking companion, both women with their knees turned toward the fire, the bottle of wine between them now empty.
“If that’s the person you want to love, I can’t stop you. I wish I could. You know that I love you, with no conditions, no buts. I’m not going to chase after you like some desperate twink, though.”
“I never asked—”
“I know. I know. You never do.” Lucas sighed. “She doesn’t deserve you, Stephen.” He put the beer bottle to his lips. “You should hear what they say about her on campus. She’s a grown woman who messes with young kids.”
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “The people I see her with aren’t underage.”
“But they don’t know any better than children. You do, or at least I think you do. She’s a slick bitch able to talk her way out of any shit she steps into. Nothing sticks to her.”
“I don’t know the person you’re describing. And you don’t either. All of that sounds like rumor and jealousy.”
“Rumor and jealousy don’t start lawsuits, Stephen.”
He drew in a deep breath, pushing away the dart of irritation. “This is none of your business. It really isn’t.”
At Sara’s table, the two women stood to leave, talking quietly as they gathered their purses and noisily shoved the chairs under the table.
I hope she had a better dinner than mine.
Across from him, Lucas shrugged. Stephen could see that it cost him a lot to give that simple, dismissive gesture.
“I have to go,” Lucas said. He quickly drained the last of his beer. “I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.” He plucked a twenty from his wallet and put it on the table. “This should cover my part of the bill. Leave the rest as tip.” He stood and his thick Adam’s apple bobbed heavily in his throat. “Take care, Stephen. I’ll see you around.”
He grabbed his briefcase and jacket then he left. By the time Stephen paid the bill and walked out of the restaurant, Lucas had already disappeared. He sighed.
Despite the hurtful things Lucas said, he was just trying to take care of Stephen. Even with Stephen telling him over and over again that he didn’t need a replacement father. He didn’t need someone to take care of him, especially someone he didn’t ask to take on that responsibility. When his parents died, Lucas was there. Holding him during the worst of his night terrors. Understanding his coldness during the endless days. Eventually, Stephen had become numb and even Lucas’s loving strength hadn’t been enough.
He crossed the street, pausing in the middle of the crosswalk for a tiny green VW Beetle to turn left in front of him. The night hummed with evening traffic, music from the outdoor restaurant and live band on the next block, conversation from the bums and street kids on the street corners. As he approached the white brick façade of his building, a shadow moved near the doorway. He stopped and dropped a hand inside his pocket. His other hand tightened on the strap of his messenger bag.
A few months ago, a customer from one of the neighborhood bars had been mugged, shot and killed for nothing more than the thirty-seven dollars in his wallet. Since then, Stephen didn’t take safety for granted. In his pocket, he gripped the box cutter he kept with him just in case.
“What can I do for you?” he asked the shadow.
It stood up from the steps, unwrapping itself from the darkness, and moved toward him.
“Hey,” Sara said.
Stephen stared. He thought she’d be well on her way back to Rille’s arms by now after her cozy dinner with that other woman. And a married woman at that. Sara dusted off the bottoms of her jeans and stared up at him from under the thick fall of dark, curling dreadlocks. The white blouse glowed against her dark skin.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Not much. I wanted to stop by and speak with you for a moment.” She glanced toward the red door at the top of the stairs leading into this building. “Can I come up?”
Why? But he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse her.
“Ah, sure.” He let himself in with his key and walked quickly up the short flight of stairs to the condo. He opened the door. “Come in.”
Once inside, he turned on the light and dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and his bag on the couch. Sara came in behind him into the spacious living room, peering around the condo with curiosity. He was suddenly conscious of not cleaning up before he left that morning. The hardwoods needed sweeping, an empty drinking glass still sat on the coffee table from the night before, a couple of plants on the windowsill drooped from lack of care.
Stephen cleared his throa
t.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water, please. Sparkling, if you have it.” She settled into the sofa, an arm draped across its back, stretching her neck slowly this way and that as if forcing herself to relax.
He got a bottle of Perrier for her—one of Lucas’s leftovers—and poured himself a glass of water from the tap. With an apologetic noise, he whisked away the old empty glass from the coaster in front of her and replaced it with the green bottle. He sat in the armchair across from her and waited.
The last time he saw her was weeks before when all three of them met at a restaurant then went home together. The night was a blur of skin and sensation and the hot glow of Rille’s happiness at finally having them both in bed with her. He spent the night but woke up to only Rille’s warm skin in the bed beside him and sunlight spilling across their bare bodies. Sara was already gone. Out of the bed, out of the house. For a jog, Rille said.
On the sofa, Sara slowly twisted the cap from the bottle, watching her own movements as if there was some peril in it. Stephen swallowed his impatience.
“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.
She finally unscrewed the top from the Perrier bottle and put it on the table beside the coaster. Sara took a long sip.
“I don’t want to fight you for her,” she said.
Stephen kept the surprise behind his face. “I don’t want to fight. Period.”
Sara dipped her head. “Very diplomatic.”
“Not really. Listen. I like Rille. A lot. I think you already know that. The day I met her she told me she was involved with someone else. She said it wasn’t a problem. The last thing I want to do is step on your toes or make you uncomfortable—”
Sara laughed harshly. “Now you’re just telling lies. The real truth is you don’t give a shit about me. All you care about is being with her. If anything, you want me to be uncomfortable. You want me to go away.”
Stephen looked at her. “Isn’t that what you feel, too?”
“I’m trying to care about my self-respect. Sometimes it’s not an easy thing to do with her.” Sara looked down at the bottle in her lap then lifted her eyes to him. “I want to let you know how things will be with us. I can’t afford to let circumstances carry me along just because Rille wants them to.” Her eyes hardened.
“Rille wants you. I don’t. When we’re in bed together, you don’t touch me. Ever. I’ve never been with a man and I have absolutely no curiosity about what it’s like.”
When they had been making love with Rille, there was no connection between him and Sara. Except for that brief moment when she sat up in the bed and examined him with clinical and curious hands, they never deliberately touched. Rille was disappointed. Sara didn’t care.
In one moment, with Rille’s body soft and liquid under his, she had reached out blindly for Sara, called her name. But Sara had withdrawn her beautiful body to the other side of the bed. Even with the frantic rush of desire pulsing through him, Stephen understood. Despite the fact of them lying in a bed together naked and making love to the same woman, he and Sara felt like hostile strangers. He didn’t want to imagine touching her.
“Okay,” Stephen said. “I have no problem with that.”
“And even if you did have a problem, it wouldn’t matter.”
His jaw tightened. He nodded.
“I don’t want to fight for her and I’m not going to. I’m letting you know now. If you have a problem with that, you can leave. If you don’t want me in the house when you and Rille are there, you can leave. If you want to bring another man into this relationship, you can leave.”
Stephen’s mouth twisted. “Basically, you want me to just leave right now?”
Sara didn’t see the humor in it. “That’s what I would prefer, but we both know that’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She stood. “Thanks for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” He followed her to the door.
Her heels tapped solidly against the floor as she walked, hips rocking in the tight jeans, spine held absolutely straight. She didn’t look back.
“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Stephen called out as she walked down the stairs and out the door leading to the street.
The red door clicked shut with a soft finality behind her.
Nostalgia
Sara/Atlanta
Night had closed in on the house, leaving its insides a dark cocoon. Sara sat before the flickering gray light of the television barely paying attention to the nature channel’s special on predators of the Sahara desert. The sound was muted leaving only the softness of her quiet breathing. Stephen lay upstairs, supposedly asleep after a long day at his shop. And she was alone, in the near dark. Thinking.
A sound at the door pulled her attention from the television and its closed-captioned text giving away the juicy details of a spider’s seduction and conquer technique.
Rille stepped into the living room and dropped her small purse on the sofa table. “I’m surprised you’re up,” she said.
The light moved over Rille’s face, into the hollows of her cheekbones, creating shadows between her chin and slender neck, the shallow groove between her prominent collarbones.
“I don’t know why.” Sara had had insomnia for years now. Ever since college. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gotten more than four hours of sleep.
Rille made a noise, a laugh maybe. “Just something to say.”
“Hm.” Sara hummed in response. Sometimes it seemed as if Rille didn’t even know her. Fourteen years be damned. “How was the party?”
“The usual. Nothing unexpected.” Rille sank into the sofa at Sara’s side. The white slacks and ice green lace blouse looked too big for her body. Sara did mental calculations. The outfit was nearly five years old. When they’d bought it together, the soft cotton had fit Rille like a second skin, clinging to her slim legs and rounded thighs, the blouse’s web-like lace a tattoo on her breasts and shoulders.
“Why go to the party then?”
Rille’s finger conjured a caress along Sara’s jaw line. “Sometimes, I like the expected.” She smelled like gin and lime.
“You shouldn’t be drinking.”
Rille drew her hand away, made a sound of annoyance. “I’m tired of being told what I can and can’t do.”
And that had always been her issue, the words that she fell back on. Rille wanted to do what Rille wanted to do. Nothing else. If someone offered her sky, she’d take earth. Over the years, she hadn’t changed much in that regard. Selfish. Seeking. Willful. Weren’t those the things Sara saw in her at Vreeland all those years ago? Weren’t those the things Sara had run to for destruction’s sake?
With a slow sigh, Rille kicked off her high-heeled sandals and stretched full body like an animal in the sun. Toes out and off the floor, hands smoothing down her thighs then sweeping up to hover in the air above her head, as if shrugging off whatever made her brows wrinkle. Sara’s concern. She curled back into the sofa, close to Sara again.
“I wish you had come with me to the party.”
Sara didn’t look at her. “You know how I feel about those kinds of things.”
On the TV screen, a sand fox with wide ears and a long, graceful body swiped at a pale lizard. With a flick of its tail, the reptile disappeared into a hole, barely disturbing the sand around it.
“You didn’t mind in college.” Rille’s after-dark voice dipped even lower, effortlessly evoking the first party, their first time as lovers.
“That was college. I’d like to think I’ve outgrown the naïveté that made me pretend to enjoy those things.”
“Do you still enjoy me?”
Now Sara did look at her. At veiled eyes. Petulant mouth. All of her waiting for admiration.
“Not everything is about you, Merille.”
Rille flinched at Sara’s use of her full name. Spiky lashes flickered as her gaze moved over Sara’s face, searching
for something. “I didn’t say that it was.”
Right. “Anyway, tell me about your party. You’re back early. It’s not even two o’clock.”
Rille drew back. “I think I need a drink before I talk about that.” She looked at Sara as if expecting her to say something, but when nothing came, she went to the small granite topped bar near the window. Moments later, she sat down again with a glass of red wine.
Sometimes it was pathetic how Rille always seemed to need something to rebel against, no matter how trivial or inconsequential. Even when the rebellion endangered her own health. After a recent car accident that left her with severe neck pain, Rille had been taking Demerol to ease her discomfort. The drug didn’t mix well with alcohol.
Sara moved the remote from the light blanket spread over her lap to the small coffee table. And waited.
The words came a few minutes later, sulky and reluctant, between sips of wine.
Marjani, a friend of Rille’s from graduate school, had invited her to a birthday party in her big house in Marietta. The internist invited her every year, and sometimes she went but never stayed long. This time, she made an exception. Like her, Marjani was very liberal in her attitudes about sex and sexuality. Every year after each party, Rille’s friends told her about what an amazing time they had, that she should hang around afterward because it was just her kind of scene.
Over the years, Rille had gone to a few of the parties but always left before the main event, going out to drink or dance with a few other self-described prudes then heading back home. But tonight it was different.
“I decided to stay,” Rille said.
