by Ana Medeiros
As he walked up the stairs, he saw the shape of several picture frames and he didn't need to turn on the light to know of whom they were. Aware that Hazel’s family had turned their backs on her when she had refused to return to her abusive husband, at whose hands she had suffered a miscarriage that left her unable to conceive, Julian had always wondered why she kept pictures of them on her wall. If he had been her he would have burned them all.
For the last twenty-three years no piece of furniture, no shade of paint had changed inside of Hazel’s home, but one thing was gone—the smell of a warm meal. After he had moved in, Hazel hadn’t adjusted her cooking habits to accommodate his obsession with pizza and corn dogs. When she had served him Phoenix claws, Julian had given them one look before gagging all the way back to his room. Now, if Hazel were to walk out of the kitchen, stained apron tied around her waist, and put a plate of steaming Phoenix claws in front of him, he would happily have gnawed them to the bone.
Julian sat by the elderly woman on the bed and reached for her hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked in Mandarin, caressing the top of her hand with his fingers.
She faced him. “I’m waiting for my son.”
“I have a message from him.” Julian tried to show some semblance of a smile. “He wants you to know he still feels sorry for forgetting to feed your Halfmoon Betta while you went on your trip. He has been looking for one to replace it but he hasn’t found the right fish yet. But he will.”
“He’s looking for one?” Hazel asked delighted. “Mine was a beauty.”
“He also wants you to know he misses when the two of you used to watch basketball on TV together on Sunday afternoons. That was always his favorite time.”
“He hates watching the game on the black and white TV. Can’t buy a better one, we need the money for his school.”
“He knows that. And he didn’t hate watching the game on that TV as much he pretended to.”
“When is he coming to see me?”
Julian looked at her fragile hand on his, how brittle her skin had become. He had been a witness to the slow deterioration of her health for years now but, every time he saw her, he was taken aback by how difficult it was for him to accept it.
“Any day now.”
“Who are you?”
He paused. This was always the hardest part. “Your son, Julian.”
“You’re not my son,” she replied, confused. “He’s a young boy.”
He saw Carla, Hazel’s caregiver, walk into the room carrying a dinner tray. He took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to cease further upsetting her.
“I made carrot soup, Miss Cheng, your favorite,” Carla passed the tray to him. “Julian will help you. Would you like that, huh?”
As Hazel gave a small nod in agreement, he caught himself exhaling with relief. When antagonized, she would usually lash out in anger and it would take hours for him to be able to calm her down. He moved from the chair to the bed and, sitting beside her, carefully spoon-fed her dinner. She no longer recognized him but she appeared to enjoy his company.
Hazel didn’t speak for the rest of the evening and Julian took refuge in the silence that descended upon them. Opening the newspaper he had brought in with him, he flipped through it without reading any of the words printed on the page. He liked holding it in his hands; taking pleasure in the feeling of the paper against his skin. He was about to put it aside when a picture jumped at him. The article was about a recent change in the Tax Increment Financing to assist private redevelopment projects. The picture was of the mayor and some of the Chicago Community Development Commission members. Standing by the mayor there was a man the article identified as Steven Thompson, an entrepreneur. Julian recognized him—Steven Thompson was the man he had seen with Alana at the club.
It was past six in the evening when Julian left Hazel’s. He had received text messages from Peter but he put his phone back in his pocket without reading them. After seeing Hazel he felt tense and he was unwilling to deal with his friend. As he drove through town, he remembered Alana telling him she worked at an independent bookstore on Logan Square. He knew he should stay away from her when he felt the ominous side of himself so close to the surface but she was the only person he wanted to see.
Julian stood by his car, unbothered by the sharp cold, waiting for Alana to leave work. When he saw her walk toward him, wearing a pair of thick black-framed reading glasses and a plaid jacket two sizes too big for her, he smiled. She looked homely.
“What made you come this way?” Alana asked, not hiding her surprise.
“You.”
She struggled with the large bag she was carrying and he feared she would drop it at any second.
“Here, let me help.” Julian took the bag from her. “This is heavy. What do you have in here?”
“Books.”
“Why am I not surprised?” They both laughed as he put the bag on the back seat. It had started to snow and he saw a light dusting of white covering her hair. “Are you hungry?”
She rubbed her arms with her hands as she tried to stay warm. “Starving.”
“Get in. It’s too cold for you out here.” After joining her inside, he started the engine and turned up the heat. “I need to ask,” he paused, running his gloved hands over the steering wheel, “how old are you?”
It was dark inside of the car but he could see her silhouette, a small bundle attempting to fight the shivers assaulting her body.
“Do you really need to ask?”
He heard the amusement in her voice. “I do. Every time I see you it appears to me you look younger and younger.”
“I’m thirty,” she said, removing her reading glasses.
“If you had said you were twenty I would have believed you.”
“I know. I’m every pedophile’s dream.”
She tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a laugh. Soon Julian was laughing with her.
“I’ve had a very long day,” she finally said, a deep sigh escaping her lips.
“So have I.” He rested the back of his head on the car seat. “Why are we laughing?”
“No idea.”
“After our encounter at the coffee shop I thought you were shy. Now I’m reconsidering.”
Alana looked shocked by his assessment of her. “Did you really think I’m shy?”
He nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“The first time you saw me was at a sex club. Then, within two hours of running into each other, I’m sucking your cock in a bathroom. If you think those are the actions of a shy woman, I wonder what kind of company you keep.”
“You also have no decorum.” Julian added.
“You’re the one waiting for me outside my work. I think you like my lack of decorum.”
“No, I just like how you give head.”
His comment made Alana laugh harder. “You’re lucky I’m not uptight.”
“Very,” he agreed, grinning.
Julian leaned toward her and, as soon as his lips touched hers, all he wanted was to remove the layers of clothing Alana was wearing. He craved the feel of her skin. She ran her hands through his hair and he couldn’t get enough of her touch. Julian deepened the kiss and she matched him with as much ardor.
“The things I want to do to you,” he whispered, moving his lips from her mouth to the curve of her neck.
“Tell me.” Alana tilted her head back. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”
He took her earlobe between his teeth. “I want to make you stand in the middle of my bedroom and have you undress for me as I watch,” Julian continued, running his mouth along her jawline. “I want you to do it very slowly, keeping your eyes on mine the whole time. You’ll sit on my bed, naked, with your legs open, completely bare to me.” He felt her close her hand on his nape, gripping his hair. “Will I kneel between your legs and lick you until you’re so wet you’ll be able to smell yourself all over my face? Will I get on top of you and fuck you slowly, kissing your beautiful neck? With my hand
s on your hips, on your hair, will I flip you over and enjoy your tight grip on me until I come deep inside of you?”
Alana inhaled sharply and he heard her make a soft sound of satisfaction.
“I want to do all of those things to you,” Julian said. “I want to watch you. Hear you. Feel you. I want you to surrender your pleasure to me, Alana.”
Holding his face between her hands, she ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip. “I want something in return.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“I can’t do all of those things to you unless you have me too.”
She smiled. “I don't want your body. I want you.”
“I can’t give you something I don’t know how to give.”
She didn’t reply and he felt a creeping sadness weighing on her. “Let’s get something to eat.” Julian caressed her cheek. “What are you craving?”
With her eyes closed she pressed her cheek into his palm. Seeing Alana seek out even the smallest gestures of tenderness he was willing to show her, brought back the feeling of affection he had experienced when he had seen her at the coffee shop. The knowledge he was, in that moment, helping to keep her warm made him happy.
“Cheese fries and a Nutella milkshake with whipped cream. That’s what I’m craving.”
“Sugar overload and grease coma it is. Do you know of a place?”
“Pick Me Up Café? It’s in Wrigleyville.”
“I know where it is.”
“Really? You don’t look like the type of guy who would go there.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, amused.
“You look like you go to Magnificent Mile to get dressed in the morning.”
“I do?”
“C’mon, you must know that. Your dress shirt probably cost more than everything I have on me right now and you drive around in this fancy Mercedes.”
“I guess I never thought how I would come across to someone like you.”
Alana didn’t say anything for a while. They sat side by side and Julian continued to watch her, letting the pleasant sensation of her fingers move through his hair in a rhythmic cadence spread through his whole body.
When she spoke her voice was playful. “Someone like me? You mean someone who makes close to minimum wage, shops at Village Discount Outlet, eats at Pick Me Up Café and happens to think you must be an unusually well-paid psychologist and Associate Professor?”
Their faces inches apart, Julian felt her breath on him. In that moment the silence inside of the car was as full of meaning as any words they might say to each other.
“To someone as smart as you, Alana,” he finally said.
Julian drove them to Pick Me Up Café and soon they were sitting down with a large plate of cheese fries between them. He wasn’t hungry but he was enjoying watching her eat.
“Wondering how I can possibly eat this much?” she asked, laughing.
“Do you even have to ask?”
“I have a high metabolism.”
“And the normal aging process the rest of us mortals are subjected to appears to have skipped you,” he said, shaking his head. “Most women I know would hate you.”
The café was full of locals, and Julian thought what an odd pair they must look—an overdressed man watching a younger, quirky-looking woman eating ravenously. Julian glanced at the wall covered in customer drawings and pictures and then at the colorful LED outdoor lights on the ceiling.
“What part of town do you live in?” he asked, hoping she would slowly start to share more about herself.
“South side.”
“South side?”
“Yeah, south side.” She continued to eat, not making eye contact with him.
“Do you mind being more vague?”
Alana finished drinking her milkshake and gave him a slanted look. “There are things in my life I would like to keep private. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“The guy I saw you at the club with, the one with the grey hair, how do you know him?” Maybe they were strangers, randomly having sex with each other at the club. It happened all the time. “I know his name is Steven Thompson,” he added.
She had stopped eating and was now looking straight at him. Julian had to lean back in his chair, her expression so fearful it felt as if someone had kicked him in the chest.
“Alana, I understand you don’t know me. I’m a man you saw at a sex club and to whom afterwards you gave a blowjob in the bathroom of a coffee shop. I get that. Asking you to trust me might be too much right now, but you can talk to me.”
Julian watched her demeanor change. From being witty and cheerful, Alana shrouded herself with the remoteness he had only seen in people who had suffered in ways he hoped would never be known to her. Tears started to form in her eyes.
“I need you to promise me something,” Alana said, trying to regain her composure. “When you see me at The Raven Room, don’t approach me.”
“What?” he asked, taken aback by her request. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you why. You can watch me, but don’t talk to me.”
“Because of Thompson?”
“It goes beyond him.”
Julian rested his elbows on the table. “When will you be at the club next?”
“I don’t know.”
He reached for her hand. “Listen, Alana—”
She didn’t allow him to continue. “As you said we’re strangers. Please don’t get close to me at the club. It’ll save me a lot of trouble.”
Julian remained silent. Alana’s hand was still on his and he felt her rapid pulse from her wrist against his fingers. She was afraid. “I’ll do as you ask. I won’t approach you.”
As they got ready to leave, she wouldn’t let him pay for the bill. She only agreed to let him pay for half of it when he jokingly threatened to drive away with the bag of books she had left in his car. He sensed Alana wasn’t used to having someone do things for her or go out of their way to please her.
“Come over to my place.” Julian had his eyes on her as he spoke. He wasn’t ready to say goodnight to her.
They were standing outside of the Pick Me Up Café. It was no longer snowing and the sidewalk was covered with a thick layer of clean snow, something that didn’t last long in the city. She agreed by giving him a short nod. They walked side by side, to his parked car.
“I love the sound of walking on loose, fresh snow,” she said, hands in her pockets.
“Do you like winter, Alana?”
“I love winter.”
Julian heard the joy in her voice. He looked up at the night sky and smiled. “Me too.”
Soon after they were entering his warm, softly lit condo.
“You have such a beautiful home.” There was wonder in her voice. “It’s perfect.”
“Thank you. I spent over a year putting the place together. Art Deco is a weakness of mine.”
He watched her admire his favorite painting.
“This one doesn't belong…why do you have it?”
“I don’t have a good answer for you. I saw it and I fell in love with it. Maybe because I can’t decide if the woman in the painting is dead or alive.”
“That’s not why you have it.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why, Alana.”
“It’s her eyes. You stand here, you stare at her, and you hope she’ll raise her eyes and look at you. You want her to see you.”
“Maybe she has already seen me.”
“Then I would say she’s dead.”
Julian winced and his reaction made Alana chuckle. She gravitated toward the large built-in bookshelf running along one of the living room walls and he noticed she was still holding the bag of books against her chest.
“You know, it’s safe for you to put the bag down. I promise I won’t harm them.”
She stood with her back to him, running her fingers along the spines of his books. “You have several b
ooks written in Hungarian. Do you speak it?”
“I do. It’s my first language. Thanks to my adoptive mother I also speak Mandarin. But I’m dreadful at it.”
Usually, when Julian revealed that about himself, most people would want to know about his past, asking more questions than he would ever feel comfortable answering. But when Alana didn’t probe further, he was intrigued. It would be a good opportunity to casually make the conversation about her but, if he did, she would refuse to give him any information and the non-threatening atmosphere he was trying to build would be ruined.
Leaving her to enjoy his collection of books, Julian made his way to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly texted Meredith. They hadn’t seen each other since that night at the club.
He looked up and saw Alana standing by the bedroom door. She was still wearing her oversized jacket. When they had arrived he was about to ask her if he could take it from her but her body language told him she didn’t want to part with it. She was in his territory and Julian believed she felt vulnerable, not yet sure it was safe.
Alana walked in and stopped a few feet from him. “That must be the largest, most comfortable looking bed I have ever seen in my life.”
“When you have as many orgies and threesomes as I do, you do need a big bed.”
“Do you like it?”
“Group sex or the bed?” He wasn’t sure if she had realized he had been joking.
“Group sex.”
“I prefer threesomes. You?”
“I have never had one.”
He lifted his eyebrows, not hiding his astonishment. “Really? What else haven’t you done?”
“Anal sex.”
He had to stop himself from saying he didn’t believe her. The more time he spent with her the more mystified he was. “I love anal sex. A favorite.”
“Why do you love it, Julian?”
Alana took off her jacket and placed it, with her bag, on the reading chair in the corner of the room. She sat on the edge of the chair, staring at him with vivid interest. The light coming from the nightstand lamp bathed the room in a golden glow and softened the dark masculine décor. It complimented Alana, giving her an aura of serenity and, somehow, diminished her apprehensive demeanor.
