The Real Fling

by R. Silver

  Leaving Elsa's office, my mind was a jumble of thoughts. I had not been able to stop thinking about that afternoon with Trevor. Now, Elsa had shone the bright light of reality on my little fantasy. Here I was mooning over Trevor's kisses, his smell, his touch and his being. He probably had not given it a second thought after I left. After all, Elsa said he was a womanizer. Grow up, Sam. You had some great sex and that's it. Get your big girl pants on and move on.

  Feeling bolstered by my pep talk, I texted Claire. I definitely needed some girl time.

  Hey, time for a drink and a chat after work?

  My phone buzzed a return. YES. Update on hunky photog?

  I sighed. A few drinks with Claire and perhaps I would figure out what I was feeling. Will fill you in tonight. McCurdy's pub at 7?

  Three hours later after an exhausting session with Victor, I was looking forward to a cocktail and some bar food. I could play the same piece a million times and each time there would be something different. Strange that when the music was recorded every time it was played that piece of music would be the same. The upcoming album release made me excited but a little sad because some of the dynamism of the music would be lost. I hoped that the tour would give my audience a chance to feel the surge of excitement I felt with every component of the repertoire. I was especially excited to teach master classes to piano performance students and reveal to them the joy that lay in their hands when they shared their music.

  The dark mahogany paneling and intimate booths of McCurdy's Pub welcomed me. The trendier hangouts around town had postmodern furniture and sleek lighting that made every conversation echo off of the acid washed concrete floors. McCurdy's weathered wood and upholstered chairs promised to hold secrets as it had done for Manhattanites for the past fifty years. I sank into a back booth and the tension of the day eased its grip on me.

  "How about a vodka tonic for my favorite piano player," announced a burly man with forearms like ham hocks. Bill, the owner of McCurdy's, placed a healthy sized cocktail in front of me. "Where is that blond bit of trouble you call a friend?" Claire and I had adopted Bill's tavern as our favorite hangout and he, in turn, had always treated us like his surrogate family.

  As if on cue, Claire breezed in the door bringing the cool autumn air with her. "I hear you talking about me. Whatever she tells you, Bill, it is not true." Hugging Bill and squeezing me on the shoulder, Claire slid into the booth across from me with eyes wide with anticipation. "Bring us your greasiest bar food because Sam and I are going to need energy for all the girl talk we have ahead of us."

  While we waited for Claire's cosmopolitan and a various assortment of nachos, potato skins and cheese sticks, Claire and I caught up on her work and my work skirting the topic we both wanted to discuss. When I felt the beginnings of a comfortable hum in my head from the vodka, I took the plunge. "So, we used that condom you gave me."

  "Holy shit,” Claire choked down the potato skin in her mouth. "Talk about scoop! Well, was it good, bad or otherwise? I want lurid details."

  I slammed down the rest of my cocktail to give myself some false courage. Although Claire and I were closer than sisters, I rarely kissed and told. Again, I was venturing into unknown territory. I surprised myself because once I started telling Claire how the date went and then about the encounter at Trevor's loft, the whole experience seemed more real and less uncertain. "So, after everyone else left the loft, one thing led to another and we had sex. Really great sex. Elsa told me that he is a complete womanizer so it was probably just a fling for him,” I finished my tale to Claire as I ripped a napkin to shreds.

  "Who the hell cares if it was a fling. It is about damn time that the world got the memo that Samantha Lin is allowed to have fun." Claire was polishing off the nachos and motioning to Bill for a second Cosmo. "Hon, did you know that women in their twenties hook up with men, have a great time while it lasts, move on and the world does not end? Not every man is a prospective husband, no matter what your old world mama says."

  It was my turn to wave for a second vodka tonic. "I can't help it. Everyone in my family has met the right man or woman, gotten married and lived happily ever after. David and Grace work in the family business. They have perfect kids, perfect spouses, perfect everything. Then, along comes me. I have so little business sense even my parents acknowledged I should do something else. My marriage failed. Now, I am having sex with men after meeting them two times." I shook my head and nabbed the last mozzarella stick before Claire took it.

  "Correction, hon. You had sex with one man after meeting him two times. This does not automatically put you in the loser pile. Stop judging yourself. Enjoy the moment. Maybe you and Trevor will get together again and there will be something. Maybe not. Who cares? If you enjoyed it, chalk it up to experience." She lifted her martini glass to me in a toast. "Here's to Samantha Lin finally letting herself feel something other than parental disapproval!"

  The rest of the evening was filled with gossip and laughs. After a few cocktails and the carb load that I would have to work off at the gym, I could sense my fatigue creeping over me. Claire and I made plans for a girls' day at the spa and then parted ways. As I got into the cab, my cell phone buzzed.

  Hi, been thinking about you all day. Was at a photo shoot. Call me. Trevor. The letters of the text jumped off the screen at me. The message seemed sincere and I should answer it. I wanted to answer it. What was the point? I felt as if the two sides of my mind were arguing. Rational Sam said to blow it off; this was going nowhere. Emotional Sam begged to return the text because it felt so great to be near Trevor. I needed Claire were here to referee the argument in my head.

  Before I gave myself the chance to change my mind, I hit call next to Trevor's name in my contact list. He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Ms. Samantha Lin. I hope you've been thinking about me as much as I have been thinking about you," he breathed into the phone. It felt like raw sexuality coming out of the speaker. "I have this event tomorrow night for an artist at this gallery. Would you honor me as my date?"

  I could hear Claire's voice telling me, "Live in the moment, Sam."

  I smiled, "I would love to go." We chatted about time and place. Our conversation ended when I had to pay the cab driver and, as usual, could not manage my cell phone, bag and cab door. As I walked into my building, I could not stop smiling.

  Chapter 8

  So tired. I pulled the covers of my bed over my head to keep the sunlight that was leaking through the blinds from hitting my face. Yet, from under my comforter, I heard a thud, a clank and then some footsteps. I must be dreaming. What a strange dream, like there is someone in my apartment. What? Someone in my apartment? Get up! I sat bolt upright. Another clank and then a cabinet door slamming. Shit, someone was in my apartment.

  Heart pounding, I grabbed my bedside table lamp and yanked the cord from the wall. It was the heaviest thing I could grab. Slowly, I opened my bedroom door and crept down the hall. Whoever was in my apartment certainly was not making an effort to be quiet. Another cabinet door slammed in the kitchen. My hands were sweating so profusely that the brass lamp was slipping. Just a few more steps and I would be at the kitchen. I rounded the corner with the lamp above my head.

  "Ah, Samantha, you are awake." My mother popped her head out of the refrigerator holding a jug of orange juice. The lamp clattered to the ground. The kitchen counters were covered with shopping bags. I sank to the ground and held my head. "You did not call me when you missed dinner at Grace's house. Grace told me you were sick. So, I came over to check on you and bring you groceries." She put a cool hand on my forehead.

  Pushing her hand away, I stood. "Mom, you cannot just waltz over to my apartment unannounced. I thought you were a burglar." I started gathering the shopping bags. "Jeez, I appreciate your concern but you really scared me. I am fine."

  As she poured a glass of juice, my mother scanned my face with her dark brown eyes. With only a few wisps of grey amongst the jet black hair and hardly a line on her face,
Mei Hua Lin could have passed for my older sister rather than my mother. "I thought you were sick. Grace said you were sick. Drink this juice and take these vitamins." She shoved a napkin with four pills across the counter at me. "You look pale. I think you are still sick. It is a good thing I brought groceries. Your refrigerator was empty."

  I gulped down the pills and washed it down with the juice. The queasy hangover pit in my stomach roiled against the juice and vitamins. "Mom, did you hear what I just said? You cannot just enter someone's home unannounced. Couldn't you have called first?" I was praying that my throbbing headache would subside. Arguing with my mother required my A game, I was clearly at a disadvantage.

  As if I had not said a word, my mother bustled down the hall to my bedroom. I trailed behind her seething. "Samantha, when is the last time you did laundry? There are clothes everywhere! I will take these clothes home and you can pick them up tonight when you come for dinner." She was picking up clothes off my dresser and floor and piling them into the hamper. "It is a good thing I came over. Your house is a mess. Grace's house is never like this."

  "Mom, stop!" I stamped my foot like a frustrated toddler. "I can do my own laundry. I can do my own grocery shopping. Who cares if Grace's house is neat?" I started pulling the clothes out of the hamper and throwing them on the floor. "Stop, stop stop!" I was yelling now.

  My mother stepped back with her arms crossed and her mouth in a tight line. "You must be tired from being sick. Fine, you can do your own laundry but if there is anything that still needs to be washed, bring it tonight." She turned and walked out of the bedroom.

  "Mom, I cannot come to dinner tonight," I sighed. I almost ran into her because she stopped suddenly. “I have other plans." She turned to face me with a furrow between her brows.

  "Okay! Now you are ready to tell me what is going on. Now you can tell me where you were the other night and where you are going tonight," her eyes gleamed triumphantly. My mother planted herself in the middle of my living room couch and looked at me with a satisfied grin. The inquisitor had won round one.

  I needed coffee and ibuprofen to bolster my defenses against too many vodka tonics last night and my mother now. "I am going to make myself some coffee. Can I offer you a cup?" I prepared my black coffee and my mind was racing to come up with something, anything, rather than tell my mother about Trevor. Hell. I am just going to tell her. What is she going to do? It is a free country; I can go out with whomever I choose.

  When I handed my mother a mug of steaming coffee, her face was serene and calm. The only outward sign of agitation was her right hand twisting the jade bracelet on her left wrist. "So, you know how I am getting ready for the publicity tour for the album? Well, I went to dinner with the photographer who took my photos. He invited me to a gallery tonight for a showing of his friend's work." I spilled it all out at once in a rush. Well, I left out the part about the really great sex.

  Nothing. My mother said nothing. She just kept twisting her bracelet. Then, she took a breath. "Is that all? You are a grown woman, Samantha. It is only natural you should want to go out and date."

  My breath came out of my mouth in a whoosh. I had not even realized that I had been holding my breath. Truly, I had expected some yelling, a little recrimination, maybe even some angry crying. Acceptance was completely unexpected. I smiled at my mother. "Wow. I guess I misjudged you. I really thought you would be all freaked out about me going out and dating since you are so, you know, old-fashioned." My spirits were lifting already. Claire was wrong. I could be just like any American twenty-something and have parental approval.

  My mother stood and flicked an invisible piece of lint off of her sleeve. "This is very good news. Daddy and I knew you were very hurt by that horrible Michael." She embraced me and smoothed my hair. "If you are ready to date, we can spread the word that you are available. Auntie Chu just told me the other day about her friend's nephew who is an attorney with a big firm. Maybe we can make an introduction."

  I was speechless. Without another word, my mother grabbed her shopping bags and left. I fell back onto my couch. My hangover misery had returned one hundred fold with this turn of events. My mother on a mission was a powerful force to be reckoned with. My mother on a matchmaking mission just might be unstoppable.

  Chapter 9

  “Mr. Morgan,” the cheerful receptionist called from behind her desk, “Dr. Bergman is ready to see you.” Trevor threw the three month old copy of Golf Digest on the coffee table and walked through the entrance to the clinic. The receptionist smiled and batted her lashes at Trevor. Despite his sleepless night, he gave her a half smile and proceeded to the doctor’s office at the end of the hallway. Chuckling, Trevor made a mental note to learn the front desk lady’s name; he never knew when he might need to ask a favor to get an appointment.

  The walls had black and white nature photos tastefully displayed in stainless steel frames that echoed the muted grey of the carpet. Everything in Dr. Bergman’s office was subdued and minimal as if to avoid any jarring or disturbing sensations. When Trevor entered the office, he saw Penny twisting a handkerchief and murmuring to a man with a kind face and salt and pepper hair. Dr. Bergman looked up and gestured to a leather seat next to Penny, “Trevor, nice to see you. I am glad you could join us today for Penny’s appointment.”

  “Penny, do you want to share with Trevor what we discussed?” The doctor nodded to Penny with an encouraging smile. “Trevor, we talked about some of the events that occurred including last night and, I think, your mother and I have formulated a different approach.” Trevor turned to face his mother with his arms crossed over his chest as if to protect himself from any emotional bullets she might fire at him.

  Penny pushed her disheveled hair from her face and crossed her ankles unaware that she had a blue flat on her right foot and a pink house slipper on the left. “I think I am allowing my disease to get the best of me. I apologize for my behavior last night. Dr. Bergman is giving me a new antidepressant. I am going to sign a contract with you that I will not drink any more alcohol, I will take my medicine and go to my therapy sessions as scheduled.” Penny's monotone voice and dull expression were a stark contrast to the nervous fluttering of her hands.

  Trevor hunched forward passing his hands through his hair making it even more wild looking. “It isn't enough to say these things, Penny. You know as well as I do that we have had this conversation before and you have made promises with great intentions. Once you start feeling better, you decide you're not sick, stop your meds, start drinking and we’re back to square one.” He directed his intense gaze straight at his mother not letting go of her eyes even as she began to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

  “God, I have been up and frantic since three in the morning looking for you. Calling the cops, waking Dr. Bergman, dragging you out of that dive of a bar. Do you have any idea what you are doing?” Trevor’s low voice was getting louder by the sentence and his foot began tapping in agitation. “No, of course, you don’t! You were in your pajamas when I found you in that bar. I need more than a promise from you.”

  Dr. Bergman cleared his throat. “Penny, did you want to tell your son the conditions of the contract? I think it may reassure him because I believe you can see that you have really upset and hurt him.” Trevor thought silently that Dr. Bergman had a horrible job trying to get people to see the truth about themselves. Photos did not lie, no matter how much the subject tried to hide. Trevor was out of patience for lies and empty promises.

  In the silence that ensued, Dr. Bergman quietly wrote a few notes in the chart in front of him and Penny sniffled into her soggy handkerchief. “Well, I agree to be admitted to an inpatient facility if I go off of my medicine, start drinking or create trouble like last night. Trevor, honey, I love you and I am so sorry. I wish you wouldn’t be so angry at me.” At this point, Penny dissolved into tears and everything else she said was absorbed into the handkerchief.

  Trevor covered his face with his hands and willed himself to
keep the wall around his heart unshakable. Standing, Trevor jammed his balled fists into his pockets. "Fine. Deal. Hope it works. Penny, Marisol should be here to take you home. Let's sign this contract." He did not want to hear anymore pleading about being sorry or asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness wouldn't bring back his childhood. Being sorry would not heal the little boy who had to be a mother and a father to himself since one parent was physically gone and the other mentally absent. Just let me sign this damn thing and hope she really turns around this time.

  Penny threaded her frail arm through Trevor's and they walked together to the waiting room. Marisol was waiting for them with her ever patient smile. Patting Penny's hand, the two women left the office. Trevor turned to face the receptionist. "You'll send me the bill, Ms. ..." he flashed his winner smile at the woman behind the desk.

  "Cora. I am Cora,” she was leaning forward and the desk pushed her décolletage into full view. "I could call you to let you know when we file the bill, if you would like."

  "Thanks, Cora. That won't be necessary,” Trevor arched a brow at her and left the office. Why didn't Samantha respond like that to him? Once their bodies touched it was like an uncontrolled wildfire. But, beforehand, she was so reserved, Trevor didn't know if she was not really that interested, wary or afraid. Usually once he had slept with a woman, his cell phone would be full of texts and messages. Trevor had to admit that his ego was a little bit bruised. There had not been one call from her until he texted her. Hopefully, tonight would go well. He had never felt this anticipation about spending time with someone.

  Was this his fourth or fifth espresso today? Trevor sipped his coffee as Chip navigated through midtown Manhattan. The evenings became dark early as autumn transitioned to winter. The dusk and his lack of sleep made his mind feel groggy but he was not changing plans with Samantha. Just thinking about their last encounter made him feel more alert. Hopefully, a few quick greetings, a drink or two, some fancy hors d'oeuvres at the gallery and they could make a getaway.