by Auden Dar
Yes, he can’t concentrate.
I love him, I think to myself. I know I love him. But how long can continue like this? I want to do different things. I close my eyes again, begging dear God for the image of the stranger to return. Soon, this will be over. It takes a minute or two for his piercing light eyes to focus. He stares at me and the entire image of the dark-haired man at the café reappears. Oh God, mmm, yes, he looks delectable. I bet he has washboard abs and an Adonis line that will lead me to a big, thick, juicy cock. I inhale and wonder what he would smell like. I bet he doesn’t smell like baby powder.
Fuck me deep.
Fuck me hard.
Fuck me senseless.
Surprisingly, Andrew doesn’t notice that my hands are kneading my breasts under the bra. The vision of the stranger coming on them leaves me breathless. Underneath this passionless man is a dirty woman who craves raunchy sex.
“Lina, I’m close. Did you come?” Andrew asks. He stills for a few seconds before continuing to make gentle, sweet love to me.
Opening my eyes, I look into my fiancé’s soft eyes and like I always do, I lie. I bite my bottom lip before nodding.
My ten-minute man tenses, shaking his head as he releases his orgasm. Slowly lowering his head, I feel him sigh with relief. With his forehead against mine, he murmurs, “Thank you for the silence. It’s hard for me to concentrate if I hear anything. You were great.” Yup, I was great. Our only form of contact after gentle penetration (yeah, that’s what it was) besides our foreheads touching is a simple kiss and an, “I love you.”
I love you, Andrew. I just don’t love having sex with you.
Without turning the lights on, he gets off me, stands up, slipping his old and so unsexy robe on and goes straight to the master bathroom. I should throw that robe out and get him a new one. It’s been years since we’ve made love for hours and cuddled together, basking in the afterglow of sex. YEARS. This has been the routine since Andrew set up our lovemaking schedule. I don’t join him in the shower, opting to wait until he gets out. I stare at the painted popcorn ceiling and wonder if this is how it will always be. Of course, it will stay this way. Andrew will never want it any other way. His rigidity will never allow it.
I hear the creaking of the bathroom door as it opens. Andrew turns on the ceiling light and heads to the dresser to retrieve matching light brown pajamas. I need to throw those out as well. I long to hide my disenchantment and vulnerability. Without another glance, I wrap the blanket around my body and quickly rise out of bed, rushing to the master bathroom.
I open the shower door and turn on the water. While waiting for the water to warm up, I close the bathroom door behind me, unable to hold back the tears. My new lingerie unnoticed, my new perfume undetected. My vajazzled pussy barely touched. I remain in the shower for at least fifteen minutes allowing the hot water to run down my body. I scrub every inch believing that the past few minutes of my life will fade from my memory. I feel guilty for fantasizing about another man while Andrew made love to me. After my shower, I walk over to the double sink and stand in front of the antique mirror. I am unrecognizable in my own eyes. Dripping wet, I can’t help wonder if this is how it’s supposed to be.
Six
The alarm clock wakes me from a deep sleep. After hitting the snooze button, I turn around and notice my fiancé has already left for work. His side of the bed is empty and barely touched. He’s a heavy sleeper who never moves during the night. Like a ninja, he is quiet when he readies himself for the day. While I lay asleep in bed, he always plants a quick kiss on my forehead before whispering, “Have a great day. I love you,” and departs for work. For the past few years, Andrew has been a courteous roommate.
Although I’ve slept in late this morning, I find it difficult to leave my bed. I know it’s not from the rigorous sex because I didn’t partake in that last night. With the window wide open, the ocean breeze comes through. Yet, it is unable to energize my untouched body. Getting up and facing reality is always the hardest part. If I could only wake up and be somewhere else.
Be someone else.
Daily, I remind myself this state that Andrew and I are in is just temporary. He is in the middle of tenure, teaching several classes and trying to finish a book that he had started almost two years ago. Andrew loves me without a doubt. He has always been there for me. He has helped me through so much tragedy. He has never asked me for anything except to pack up my life and move to LA with him. This … all this … as I look around me … this is just a rough phase. Because we love each other, we’ll get through this.
What to do today? I emailed the final score for the movie I had been working on the past few months to the director and Roger late, last night after Andrew fell asleep. New York is another week away but what’s keeping me here?
I lie in bed for over an hour, watching an episode of The Fall on Netflix when my phone rings. Nothing deters me from salivating over the hottest on-screen serial killer. The unknown caller ID continues to pop up, interrupting my time with Paul Spector. Dammit. I finally answer the call with a sluggish, “Hello.”
“Lina? Lina James?” On the other end is a male with a British accent and the sexiest voice I have ever heard. It’s deep, raspy, and it has a certain tone that instantly wakes me.
Warily, I respond, “Yes, it’s Lina.”
“It’s Julian.”
I remain silent.
“Lina, it’s Julian,” he repeats.
“Julian?” It takes me a second to realize who it is on the other end. “Julian Caine?”
“Yes, I apologize if I’ve caught you off guard. How are you?” he asks casually as if he and I haven’t spoken in over a decade.
“I’m … I’m well. Julian,” I pause. “This is ... this is unexpected.”
“Is it a bad time?” he asks, maybe clueless to my surprised reaction.
“Well …” Umm, I was actually eye fucking Jamie Dornan and thought about playing with myself. I was left unsatisfied last night. “No, not at all. Again, I’m just surprised. It’s been a long time. I haven’t heard from you …” I am unable to finish the sentence.
“Yes, I understand. I’m embarrassed to say it has been several years.” Fourteen years to be exact. He pauses. “I would like to invite you to an intimate party for my father. He would only celebrate on one condition−that you join us. I know that it’s quite an imposition calling after all these years, but he misses you.”
I start to choke thinking about the Caines. Saddened at the thought of them, “I don’t know … Julian, it’s been so long.” And although I miss both him and Marcel, I can’t seem to shake off this lingering feeling. The guy on the other line left me. He left me without a word.
“Lina, he’s turning sixty-five and he hasn’t celebrated his birthday since Mum …” he says with a tinge of melancholy. “I’m quite embarrassed right now. But I pray that you’ll join us.”
Closing my eyes allows me to remember how close we used to be. An image of him napping next to me comes through. Now, we’re strangers. “I … I don’t know. I don’t have much time to make arrangements…”
“You don’t need to do anything except attend. It will be a small gathering this Saturday at his home in San Francisco. I know it’s a last-minute affair.”
I sigh, still unable to give him an answer.
“Lina,” he says in an unfamiliar tone. Even his voice is foreign. Of course, it is, the last time you heard it, he was a thirteen-year-old boy. “I know it must be … strange to hear from me … I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”
Suddenly, I remember the boy who used to be my best friend. The boy who patiently listened to my teenage drama. The boy who would surprise me with cupcakes every time I was depressed. The boy who laid beside me on the floor as I wept for my dad. The boy who wanted nothing more from me than just my company.
I missed him. I still miss him.
“Julian, I’ll … I’ll go.”
I can actually hear him heave a sigh of re
lief on the other line. “Thank you. We can leave tomorrow together.”
“Together?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, I’m actually in LA and if you’re okay with it, we can travel together. It would allow us to catch up after all these years.”
“Do you live in LA?”
“No, I’m here on business, and I’ll be leaving tomorrow. If you decide to travel with me, we can leave on the jet. I know this is such an imposition. Please let me make traveling easier for you.”
“Well, if it’s not an inconvenience.”
“Not at all. Thank you, Lina.” Julian pauses for a brief second. “Father will be thrilled. Will you be inviting someone to join us?”
“You mean Andrew?”
“Andrew? Your high school boyfriend?” There’s no mistaking the surprised tone in his voice.
“Yes, he’s actually my fiancé now. But I don’t think he’ll be able to go.”
Another moment of silence hangs over us, and I wonder if I should go to the party now. This is weird. We used to talk like the world was ending. Our conversations were always easy. Fourteen years, I remind myself. “Julian, are you still there?” Did he hang up on me by mistake?
“I apologize. I’ll pick you up at eleven thirty tomorrow morning and we can fly out of Santa Monica Airport. If you need anything, please feel free to call this number.”
“Okay,” I say lamely before asking, “I’m curious. How did you find my number and don’t you need my address?”
“Father gave it to me.”
“Oh, of course.”
“And Lina.”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re coming,” he offers before our conversation ends.
Marcel and Elisa Caine were my parents’ best friends. My father and Marcel met at boarding school before attending London School of Economics together. Elisa had met my mother at an art gallery showing and became fast friends. It was the Caines who played matchmaker to my parents.
Julian was a creative boy. Hours at a time were spent in his bedroom, dissecting computers and cameras and working with modeling clay. When he wasn’t creating, he was a voracious reader, reading everything he could get his hands on.
Growing up, we were inseparable. Weekends were spent exploring the city, playing hacky sack at Sheep Meadow in Central Park, catching movies at the Angelica, museum hopping, attending shows, and just entertaining each other. Even though we were two and a half years apart, it was never awkward between us. We shared our dreams, our fears, and some of our deepest secrets.
I open the top drawer of my nightstand in search of a small manila envelope. It’s been years since I’ve opened it. An old photograph greets me.
It is a photo of me with Julian a few weeks before he left me. We are standing side by side, our arms wrapped around each other’s waist. I’m smiling, my face staring directly at the camera. His face held a grin as he looked at me. He was an inch taller than I was. His frame was thin and frail. The Police t-shirt he wore swallowed him at the time. The razor short black hair made him look edgier in contrast to his Harry Potter styled eyeglasses. The braces he wore to straighten his teeth were anything but flattering. I wonder what he looks like now.
Suddenly, Julian’s deep, raspy voice is in my head. It can’t possibly be him?
Seven
Okay. What to do? What to do? I should tell Andrew I’m going away for the weekend without him. He’s not going to be thrilled that I’ll be seeing the Caines. While I think of a way of informing him, I search my closet and realize I need a new dress for the birthday celebration.
Lying in bed, I glance at the George Nelson clock I bought a few weeks ago on eBay. A clock that Andrew thought was a waste of money. It’s almost 12:45 p.m. and this might be a good time to call him. Although my stomach is growling, the call to Andrew takes precedence.
I dial his office number hesitantly, knowing he doesn’t like to get personal calls in the office. I can count the number of times on one hand I have ever called him there. I don’t even know the number by memory. Since I plan to leave tomorrow, I don’t want to wait until tonight to have this conversation.
After the fifth ring, he finally answers. “Andrew Nielsen speaking.”
“Hi, Andrew.”
“Lina?” There’s no mistaking the surprise in his voice. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to bother you,” I answer with a hint of embarrassment.
“You’re never a bother. I’m just surprised to hear from you. I can’t remember the last time you called me at work. To what do I owe this honor?” I can hear him munching on a granola bar.
“Julian Caine just called and invited us to Marcel’s 65th birthday party this weekend. I know I haven’t been in touch with him for years but I would really love to go.”
Andrew continues to munch. “Julian Caine?”
“Yes, Julian.”
“This weekend?”
“Yes, this weekend in San Francisco.”
“Come on; you haven’t seen or talked to him for more than a decade. He left you high and dry years ago. And didn’t you just send the old man a gift?”
“I know … and by the way, that was a bit insensitive of you … but I want to go … I miss them and really want to be there.”
“Insensitive of me? I’m not the one who never returned your calls.” Before I can retort, Andrew continues. “Why? Why do you want to be around them, especially Julian, after all these years?”
“Andrew, you know how close we used to be. Julian was the closest thing I had to a brother. It’s difficult to explain, but I just want to go. I know you have a lot on your plate. I can go with Julian tomorrow on their jet so I don’t have to pay for airline tickets. I don’t even need to get a hotel room.” My fiancé loves free things.
“I don’t want to see you hurt again. It took you years to forget Julian. Remember?” I do remember the years of crying. I remember the feeling of abandonment. I remember my grandfather being upset that I had lost another family. I remember that when my grandfather died, all I wanted was to have my childhood friend with me. I remember it all. “Lina, did you think this through?”
I continue to stare at the photo of me with Julian. “No, of course not. I just received the invitation a few minutes ago. I don’t need to think it through. I want to go. I just do.”
“I don’t want you to go by yourself, but I have to work this weekend. I don’t want you to go.”
“Andrew.” My tone is more forced than usual.
“I know I can’t tell you what to do.” He sighs before asking, “Do you think you’ll be fine without me there?” This is the Andrew I love. The man who, although has been preoccupied with work, still wants to be there for me.
I wait a good second before responding. “I do. I think so.”
“I still don’t want you to go but if you think you can handle it.” He stops as he mumbles something to someone. In a concerned tone, he admits, “Even if I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t have the stomach to go. I could never forgive Julian for hurting you. Lina, I’m sorry, but I have to go teach my next class. I’ll see you this evening. ”
“I’m sorry for interrupting you at work. Love you, Andrew.”
“It’s always nice to hear your voice. I love you, too,” he murmurs before ending our call.
I turn on some disco music and head for the shower. It’s the only time I can listen to music at home without headphones. Andrew hates popular music. I join Donna Summer when she belts out, “Heaven Knows.”
Warm water runs along my body and I am thrilled to be going to Marcel’s celebration. I think about some of the folks I might run into. The Caines are a small clan, and I can only think of a handful of relatives who would be invited. Relatives were distant, and I can only remember a few who had visited him in the past. I wonder if Julian’s cousin, Alistair, will be there. Then I recall the wedding announcement Marcel had sent me twelve years ago, and I am curious to see what his second wife is
like.
The Caines were known for throwing extravagant parties at both their Park Avenue apartment and Westport home, but Julian had mentioned that the celebration would be intimate.
After putting on my usual attire of a wrap jersey dress with Havaianas flip-flops, I grab my car keys and pull out of the driveway. Please don’t let me get into an accident. The car is another subject of a heated argument between Andrew and me. He was adamant I purchase a Subaru because it was safe and economical. Everyone at the university drove one. We argued for several days before I bought a Volvo S60 with my own money. It was rated as one of the safest cars for new drivers. He couldn’t argue after I told him I didn’t touch our joint checking account.
I should just Lyft it, but I need to fulfill my weekly quota. Driving through the side streets like an eighty-year-old woman, Neiman Marcus beckons me. Time to buy a beautiful dress.
I am on a mission, pounding the aisles of Neiman Marcus with a purpose. Knowing the Caines, the celebration would call for a cocktail dress rather than a full-on evening gown. I try on several dresses before finally deciding on a racerback beaded dress by Mandalay. It’s jade charmeuse with exquisite beadwork that my fingers trace over with excitement. The front deep V neckline and its racerback reveal a bit of skin. Internally debating because of the hefty price tag, I decide to purchase it. Andrew would have my head on a platter if he were the one paying for it. He would never buy this dress for me. I laugh to myself when I’m reminded how frugal my fiancé is.
While waiting in line to pay, I hear, “Lina, Lina? Lina Nielsen?”
Ugh.
It’s hard to ignore that high-pitch, irritating voice that belongs to one of Andrew’s female colleagues. This particular woman is newly divorced and is infatuated with my fiancé.
I take a deep breath and feel the need to hide the dress. Turning around, I purse my lips. “Hi, Janice. It’s actually Lina James. Nielsen is Andrew’s last name. I’m surprised to see you here.”
