The Learning Curve

by Collins, Kelly

  I’d given him a piece of myself I’d never given anyone. I’d given him my heart, and he had just shit all over it.

  I opened the building door and walked inside. I couldn’t look back because if I did, I’d never be able to walk away. Once in my apartment, I went straight for the open bottle of wine and sat on my white couch—the one on which he’d promised to do delicious things to my body—and got drunk.

  I woke up Saturday morning on the same couch dressed in the same clothes but wearing a different attitude. Today, I wasn’t the woman who kicked ass and took names. I was beaten and broken, and I needed my mom.

  I’d been squirreling extra money away and had enough to catch the eleven o’clock Greyhound bus north if I hurried. I threw a few things into a bag, changed into a sundress, and walked out of my apartment. The twenties were gone, but the couscous remained. A homeless man sat on the corner eating what was left of a hen.

  Glad my dinner turned out well for someone.

  By the time I arrived in town and hitchhiked out to the commune, it was early evening. I walked through the gates with the familiarity of a local, only I was dressed. It had been years since I’d been here, and my time away seemed to have given me new eyes.

  In a lot of ways, it was no different from living outside the gates, except people didn’t hide behind their clothes. Here the thought was everyone was equal, but they weren’t. Those who could afford more lived in tents or cabins; those who had little lived in the community barn or slept under the stars when the weather was nice.

  Pert boobs, saggy boobs, stretch-marked bellies, and perfect bodies walked around me without a hint of modesty. I strode through the village completely dressed and, oddly enough, ashamed of what I wore. Mark had done that to me in a matter of weeks. He’d taken what he wanted, gave me what I needed, and then he tossed out the word whore and made me feel less than what I was.

  Actually, I had allowed him to make me feel less, but at the same time, he also made me feel more. I had finally experienced romantic love—both giving it and receiving it—and I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to survive living without that feeling.

  “Sandra, is that you?”

  I turned around at the sound of a familiar deep voice and smiled. Of course, Jason was here. It was still the weekend. He was holding hands with a young redhead. He leaned over and said something I couldn’t hear, and she ran off toward a nearby tent.

  “Jason, good to see you.” I looked him over, all of him. He didn’t measure up to Mark, but what he did have that Mark didn’t was an open mind. “You upgraded to a tent. Putting down roots?” I nodded toward the army green tent the girl had disappeared into.

  He walked over to me with his soft dick swinging back and forth. “No, just like having my own space here. How have you been?”

  I let out a long, deep sigh and shrugged. “You know, living the dream.”

  “Oh yeah, I know what that dream is like. It’s why I’m here every weekend.”

  I laughed at his sarcasm. “You’re here every weekend because of the blueberry cobbler and sex.” I knew this was the place he came to unwind, but without those two things, he’d probably be sitting in some country club, sipping vodka martinis instead.

  “I’ve missed you.” He reached his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “Let’s take a walk.”

  We walked for over an hour while I told him how life had been in New York. I thanked him over and over again for the nudge, and the help he’d given me to start. Then I told him how I’d found a niche market of need.

  “You want to open a brothel?”

  I stopped in my tracks and glared at him. “You sound just like Mark.”

  “I know Mark, and I can’t believe you two are together. He doesn’t come across as the type of man who would skate the line of propriety.”

  “It’s not like we’re doing anything illegal. It’s not against the law to have sex with a single twenty-two-year-old.”

  “No, but many old-timers would look down upon him if he were caught sleeping with a student. Especially one who works for him and just received a scholarship from him.”

  I was beginning to question whether it had been smart to tell Jason everything, but he had always been there for me. You know, like a real mentor.

  “I get that. I don’t want to jeopardize his position, but the school is struggling to keep up with costs, and alumni donations are at an all-time low—or they were until I showed up on his arm and he introduced me as his mentee. Anyway, after yesterday we aren’t together anymore.”

  We walked to the bench by the barn and sat down. “I’m sorry to hear about you and Mark. I like him. He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is, but we’re different. Growing up here makes me different, and I’m not sure it’s a good thing. I’m an open thinker in a closed-minded world.”

  “I think you have something here, but you have to separate it from the school completely. Why can’t you open a service, and if you wanted to donate money to the school, you could do it anonymously? That way, he has no culpability. Prostitution is illegal, no matter how you cut it. He’d lose everything if he were involved. I could see why he’d want to separate himself from the situation.”

  And by the situation, Jason, of course, meant me.

  “What am I supposed to do? Open a corner Whores R Us?”

  Jason laughed. “It has a ring to it, and I’m sure we could come up with a great jingle if needed, but I was thinking of something a little less conspicuous.”

  A light wind swept over us, causing my skin to prickle. I reached into my bag and pulled out a sweater. Jason sat naked and unfazed. Years ago, I would have done the exact same.

  “You’re an ad man?”

  He lifted the corners of his lips and smiled. “I’m the ad man, and selling a product is never really about the product. It’s all about how you package it.” He leaned over, picked up a rock from the ground, and sat it on the table in front of me. “Do you remember the pet rock craze of the ‘70s?”

  “How could I forget it?” Everyone had a pet rock that sat on a bed of straw in a small cardboard pet carrier. People talked to them and pet them and spent millions of dollars on them. “Don’t tell me that was your brainchild.”

  His deep-timbered laugh warmed me to my bones, like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold day. “I wish, but I at least did the advertising for it. We took a rock, packaged it right, and sold millions. That’s what you need to do.”

  “You think prostitution is illegal? Try shoving a young coed in a box, selling her, and see what you get.”

  He reached across the table to hold my hand. “It’s all in the packaging. Let’s say you opened a—”

  “Don’t say a massage parlor that offers happy endings.” I rolled my eyes and hoped he wasn’t going to echo Jennie’s suggestion.

  “Oh hell no, you’d be arrested and in jail before you could say ‘strip.’ What I’m thinking is offering a legitimate service. What if you had an office on Fifth Avenue that offered concert tickets, theater tickets, dinner reservations, and other accommodations?”

  “Like a concierge service?” My mind began to catalog everything a tourist would do in the city, from going to the theater to visiting the Statue of Liberty.

  “Exactly. You could offer almost all your services to the public, but only your special services to school alumni who have money and influence.”

  A few people walked by and waved. It would only be moments before my mom found out I was here.

  “That would make me a madam.”

  “No, it makes you an entrepreneur. Can you be a smart one?”

  Could I? I considered myself smart, but after the previous night’s massive miscalculation with Mark, I wasn’t sure.

  “You make it sound like all I need is an office and a business plan. The latter is doable; the office, not possible.” I screwed for tuition, but my body would never be able to keep that up for rent.

  He patted his naked body down like he wa
s searching for a pocket. “You come up with the plan, and I’ll provide the office space. You can defer rent for a year. I think this has the potential to be something huge.”

  I stared at the man who had always taken the time to be with me. He embodied the true meaning of ‘mentor’. “You’re going to loan me an office space?”

  “No, I’m renting you a space.” He looked down at his naked body. “I obviously don’t have a card, but call Jason Crew Advertising next week, and I’ll take you to see your new space.”

  “Sandra, is that you?” My mother was running toward me with all her bits flopping under a thin cotton shirt. Fall was on the way, and the residents were holding on to the last moment before they had to replace nudity or cotton with down and wool.

  “That’s my cue to leave.” Jason rose and leaned across the table to kiss me on the cheek. “Next week.”

  Chapter 10

  “How long have you been here?”

  Mom wrapped me in her arms and pulled me to her cotton-covered bosom. When the weather started to cool, she always covered up—sort of—I can’t honestly say a transparent T-shirt and a gauzy skirt covered much.

  “I just got here a few minutes ago. I ran into Jason first.” Mom didn’t care for Jason because she blamed him for putting ideas into my head about living in the city and becoming something more than a cog in the community wheel, but I knew I could never be satisfied with so little. Mom was the salt of the earth; I was materialistic. I didn’t want a small piece of the pie. I wanted the whole damned bakery.

  “I don’t like him.” She pulled me with her toward the nosh tent. It was getting near dinnertime, and my stomach let out a grumble.

  “I like him, and that’s all that matters. He’s a generous man who never took anything I didn’t want to give him.” Sure, I’d given him a lot, but he’d done the same in return. And until Mark, he was the best lover I’d ever had.

  Thinking about Mark caused an ache in my chest. I’d fallen for the man, and now I needed to figure out how to get over him. Most people I knew would say to replace him, but I wasn’t sure that was possible. He hadn’t turned out to be just someone I slept with. He’d taught me a lot in the weeks I’d spent with him. He made me feel like I was something more than the poor girl who grew up on whole grains and hugs.

  “Why are you here?” Mom stopped and looked into my eyes. I smiled and hoped it spread over my face, but the look on hers told me it didn’t. “What’s his name?”

  “What?” I shook my head and rolled my eyes like I had as a teenager. “There’s no one. You’re crazy.”

  “Crazy … yes. Stupid … no. Let’s get something to eat, and you can tell me about the boy who broke your heart.”

  She walked me through the tent, and we filled up two plates. Tonight was pasta night, and I was relieved there was no mystery meat. The only meat anyone should eat here was found between the legs of a lover.

  After a dozen or so people said hello, Mom and I were left alone at the end of a picnic table outside.

  “Sweetie, college boys don’t know how to treat a woman. I’ve told you that a million times.”

  I forked some spaghetti and twirled it around the tines. The tables were filling up with families, which was a loose term around here. Family was whoever you bunked with, bathed with, ate with, slept with. It didn’t take blood to make a family. Besides, half the kids here were the products of free love; no one knew who their biological fathers were. Outside this compound, most of the women would be called whores. Inside, they were known as nurturers.

  “I’m not in love with anyone.” The words came out with a bitter taste because I knew they were a lie. I’d been with Mark for almost two months. We’d finally gone from swapping bodily fluids to sharing our dreams. He’d gotten inside of me in more than the physical way. “You taught me that love doesn’t exist between two people.”

  My mom dropped her fork and her jaw at the same time. “I did no such thing.”

  I huffed out an exaggerated breath. “You did, too. Look around you.” I made a point by looking from table to table. There were a lot of people I knew, and many I didn’t. I pointed to the table under the tall oak tree. “Jerry over there doesn’t love one person. He’s with that woman tonight and may be with you tomorrow.”

  Mom twirled spaghetti on her fork and took a bite. She chewed and looked around. She picked up another bite and made me wait for her reply. This was her standard mode of operation. She was a thinker—far from stupid. Everything she did was thought out and planned, except for my conception. That had been a surprise, but she always assured me it was a nice one.

  “Jerry has the capacity to love many women. In fact, love isn’t finite, Sandra; it’s infinite and can be shared with others in abundance. Giving your body to a person is different from giving your heart to them. Loving someone is respecting them for who they are and what they bring to the relationship.”

  I looked around the compound at the faces and thought back to the times I’d seen people together. I’d always thought of Horizons as a sex fest. There were the lifers who had lived like this since Woodstock, and there were also those who just wanted to give it a try. People came and went, so I never considered love to be a factor.

  “Don’t you miss coming home to one person?”

  Mom tilted her head as if the question weighed heavy on one side. “Why come home to one when there are so many to love?”

  “I never wanted that.”

  She smiled and reached out to take my hand. “That’s why you don’t live here, honey.”

  I shook my head hard enough to rattle my brain. “No, Mom, I don’t live here because I want more for my life.”

  She pulled a piece of garlic bread to her lips. “How’s that working for you? Is more making you happy?” She bit into the bread and looked at me with raised brows.

  “I’m not unhappy.” There was some truth to that. I liked living in the city. I liked shopping at Macy’s. I liked the power and control that being my own woman gave me.

  “You look absolutely ecstatic.” Sarcasm rolled off her tongue. “I’d say you have a perfect recipe for bliss.”

  “You’re bitter because I left.”

  “Yes, a bit. But I’m more concerned that what you’re chasing doesn’t exist. Every mother wants her child to be happy. I’m no different, and I can see you’re not.”

  I played with my spaghetti and sipped at my iced tea—sun tea, rather, because somehow tea brewed by the sun was better tasting and better for you. There were people who stood outside every morning and opened their mouths to the sun because they believed eating the sun was all they needed to survive. I’d stick to a bagel and cream cheese.

  “Happiness is a process, and I’m working on mine.” I finally put a bite into my mouth and chewed. It tasted like childhood and basil.

  “Happiness is what this is. It’s waking up and knowing you’re a child of the world. You get to live in this place.” She lifted her hands in the air and twisted in her seat as if she was offering me everything around her. “You make it too complicated when you put labels on everything, and you want more than you need.”

  I rolled my neck until it popped into place. “I love you, Mom. I spent six years here, living your dream. Now I’m living mine.”

  She slopped up the rest of the sauce with her bread. “Are you really living yours, though?”

  I nibbled on the corner of the bread. “I think I could be. I’ve made a few mistakes. I fell in love with an older man.”

  Mom looked toward the tent where Jason had disappeared. “Not your first time.”

  I laughed. “I was never in love with Jason. I loved how he made me feel.”

  “You loved how he made your body feel.”

  She had me there. That man could eat me like no other. Well … until Mark. “He had a certain set of skills I appreciated.”

  “Any plans to revisit those skills while you’re home?” Mom always had a way of getting to the bottom of what she
wanted to know.

  “I didn’t come home to see Jason. I came home to see you.”

  It was odd thinking of this place as home. We didn’t have a door to walk through; just a corner of a community barn where everyone snuggled up together. People weren’t desperate for someone to love here because there was always a shoulder to lean on and a set of legs to climb between. It was a place where everyone could express their sexuality on their own terms with no limitations.

  “It’s been years.” She reached over and swiped my bread from my plate.

  “I’ve been busy.” I pushed my spaghetti around my plate some more and then dumped what remained on Mom’s plate. She loved pasta night.

  “I’m proud of you. All I want is for you to be happy.”

  “Walk with me.” I slid from the bench and picked up our tray. “Can I be honest?”

  “I want you to be honest. Lies don’t make us happy.” She brushed the crumbs off her skirt and followed me to the table where used plates and trays were collected.

  I flipped my bag over my shoulder and led Mom to the lake. It was the one place I always went to think. There was tranquility in watching the ripples as they moved across the water. We sat at the rocky edge where we could hang our feet over without getting wet.

  “I could be happier. I screwed up a few things lately, and I needed a hug.”

  Mom smiled and leaned in to me. “Here at Horizons, hugs are always available.”

  “Among other things,” I teased.

  “Was it so bad living here?” Mom was an inch shorter than me, so she rested her graying hair against my arm.

  “No. I loved it here. I just needed more.”

  “I understand. When I was your age, I wanted more, too. The problem with the concept of more is, it becomes complicated. I could never figure out when I had enough. Is that your problem?”

  I picked up a pebble next to me and skipped it across the water. My best was seven jumps across the still water, but today it skipped three times and sank.