Beautiful Illusions

by Annie Jocoby

  I rolled my eyes. When I was in high school, a guy like Ryan would’ve never looked twice at me. I didn’t have a single date in high school. Not even to my own prom. Not that I could've afforded to go to prom, even if somebody had asked me. I also didn’t get invited to a single party. Not one. Somehow, knowing that he was literally the most popular guy in his high school intimidated me more than anything else about him. And, since he was voted “most popular,” it had to mean that he was nice to everybody. I knew that the truly popular kids at my high school were nice to most people – that was how they were voted to be homecoming royalty and so-forth. The entire school votes for you, and if you were a jerk to the “little people,” you didn’t get very far.

  Of course he was nice to everybody. That was the kind of guy that he was.

  I sighed, moving on through the attic. This fuse box should be around here somewhere.

  However, I froze again, as I came up on a pile of watercolor paintings, which were exquisitely detailed. Some of the paintings were of an enormous palace on acreages of land, with a lake in front. The palace had two circular towers connected to a rectangular building with a flat façade. This place reminded me of an English country manor that I had seen in photographs. I looked at the back of the painting. “Cork, 1994,” it read.

  Other paintings were of a beautiful, dark-haired lady with sad green eyes. In some of the pictures, she was clutching a beautiful young girl. In others, she was clutching a young girl and a young boy. The young boy looked like Ryan. I looked closer. Come to think of it, the lady resembled Ryan, as well. The paintings were in great detail, and were beautifully drawn, like a professional did them.

  Still other paintings were more abstract. There were some that had a surrealist bent, others that were cubist. Some of the surrealist influences were evidently Salvador Dali, Max Ernst, and Francis Bacon. The cubist work was evidently influenced by Picasso, Georges Braque, and Juan Gris. There were also works that seemed to transcend genres, and others that were hybrids.

  Flipping through the paintings, my heart stopped. There were several portraits of me! I rubbed my eyes, not quit comprehending what I was seeing. There was a portrait of me which was made from a photograph. In the portrait, I was wearing a fishing hat and smiling. Another portrait of me was from a photograph of me on skis. A third portrait was of me in the backyard garden, staring at some of the flowers. This was a candid portrait, and I didn’t recall a picture being taken of me like this. A fourth one was of me sleeping on a couch. I vaguely remembered that there was a photograph like this somewhere.

  I was dumbfounded, completely forgetting why it was that I was in the attic in the first place.

  Just then, I heard a car pull up. Shit! I scrambled out of the attic, putting the ladder back and closing the attic opening. I ran into the den, and plopped on the couch, the flashlight in hand.

  “Hey!” Ryan called. “You wanting to surprise me with a candlelight dinner?”

  I called back. “I’m in here. In the den. With a flashlight.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. The electricity went out. Must've blown a fuse.”

  “Oh, ok. Did you go to the fusebox?”

  “No. I didn’t know where it was.”

  “I showed it to you when you moved in, silly. Give me that flashlight.” At that, he snatched the flashlight out of my hand. He walked over to the hallway, where there was a little tiny door, and, inside the door, there was the fusebox. He flipped a few switches, and the lights came on. The refrigerator resumed its familiar hum.

  “I guess I’ll find it next time.”

  “You should’ve found it this time. You don’t have a very good memory, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  He rolled his eyes, making a fist and knocking my head a few times. “Anybody home?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll remember next time.”

  “That’s all I can ask, I guess.” He went to the fridge and opened it.

  “Everything needs to cool down in there,” he said. “I hope that nothing spoiled.” He turned to me. “Looks like we’ll be going out to eat tonight.”

  My heart soared. I loved going out to eat, especially when I wasn’t expecting it.

  We ended up getting Mexican food. Over margaritas, I found a subtle way to ask about his mother.

  “You know, you don’t talk too much about your mother. What was she like?”

  He had a faraway look. “Mom was a wonderful woman. She is a wonderful woman, still. Beautiful singing voice, and she always made me laugh. She was very caring, very warm, very funny, very smart.” He looked at me. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. I mean, I know about, your uh, father. You haven’t talked much about your mother.”

  He looked a little upset. I wondered why.

  Then I asked “What did she look like?”

  “Beautiful. Black hair, green eyes. She looked like a movie star.”

  I thought about the woman in the paintings. Black hair, green eyes. She was as beautiful as a movie star.

  Of course, those portraits had to be of her.

  He was onto another subject. “So, tell me again why you couldn’t find the fuse box?” He was looking at me, expectantly, his right eyebrow raised.

  “I don’t know, I just forgot where it was.”

  “Didn’t you look?”

  “Sure. I looked in the basement.”

  “Where else did you look?”

  “Nowhere,” I lied. I wondered how I could bring up the subject of the paintings. He obviously wasn’t going to volunteer the information. I would’ve never known of their existence if I didn’t happen upon them like I did.

  “Hmmmmm….You aren’t a persistent one, are you?” He looked skeptical. However, just as that moment, the waitress approached with our food. I had the chile relleno, he had the shrimp fajitas.

  That night, Ryan undressed me, kissing the back of my neck. “I think I’m ready,” was all he said. My heart skipped a beat. We hadn’t made love since that one night in the hotel room, when he freaked out. I was nervous about trying again. I turned around, and he kissed me passionately, yet slowly. His shirt was off already, and I was in a t-shirt and underwear, no pants. I was ready for bed.

  His body was beautiful. He had lost a few pounds in California, as his therapy took away his appetite. However, he had since gained them back, and he looked more buff than ever. I rubbed my hands up and down his arms, as he kissed my neck and my breasts. He picked me up and put me on the sink vanity, pulling down my panties. He then pulled off his pants, revealing his massive erection. I gasped. I hadn’t seen it in all its glory for awhile, and looking at it always made me hyperventilate a little, like the first time I felt it through his pants.

  He was kissing me hungrily, fingering me, getting me wetter and wetter. The sink was the right height for him, as his erection was level with it. I spread my legs open, and he plunged all ten inches into me, thrusting deep, kissing me the entire time. His hands were in my hair, messing it up and pulling it at the same time. My nails were digging into his beautiful, sculpted back, clawing deep into him. Then my hands were on his butt, as I fingered his sphincter slowly. He groaned, biting my breast hungrily. Then he shuddered, his head now on my shoulders. He was breathing heavily.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been so long. That was, uh, a little quick.”

  I didn’t care. I had an orgasm, as usual.

  Then he grinned. “Let me make it up to you.” At that he carried me into the bedroom, and laid a blanket next to the fireplace. We were still naked, and he looked at me longingly, his hands gently stroking my hair. “Such beautiful hair,” he said, before kissing me, more slowly than before. He stroked my breasts, and fingered me slowly. He was hard again, but did not thrust into me right away. “This will last longer, I promise.” I could hear him breathing in my ear. His heart was pounding louder than I have ever heard it. “Goddamn, I missed you.”

  “I’ve always
been here,” I said, innocently.

  “You know what I mean,” he said, as he kissed me passionately again. He kissed my stomach, then my inner thighs, then lightly started tonguing my vagina. I groaned. He was really very good at this part, the oral part, unlike most men I’ve known. His tongue was gentle, yet firm, and he took his time, patiently darting his tongue in and out, and up and down. I gasped, and moaned, coming to orgasm again. Then he slowly, slowly thrust his manhood inside of me, filling me up. He gently slid in and out, while kissing me slowly and deeply.

  Then he flipped me over so that I was on my stomach. He lay on top of me. “Uh, do you mind if we try anal?”

  I felt a little afraid. I had done that before with an ex-boyfriend, but he was not nearly as big as Ryan. I was afraid that it would hurt. I held my breath, then let it out. I nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. I heard him get up and get some lubrication. He squirted some out, and rubbed a little on the sphincter opening. He also rubbed some on his penis. He lay on top of me again.

  “Now, if you don’t want to do this, you need to tell me. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  He entered me slowly. At first, the pain was excruciating. I moaned softly in pain, although I hoped that he thought that I was moaning in ecstasy. I wanted to try it with him, and I knew that if he thought that he was hurting me, he would stop.

  “Are you okay, beautiful?”

  I nodded, breathing heavily. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, and tried to imagine something else.

  God, it hurt!

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, it feels great!” I lied. Imagine something else. You are on a beach on a warm, sunny day, drinking Mai Tais. Feel the breeze on your skin and the sound of the waves. The sound of the steel drums.

  God, it hurt!

  At that he plunged a little deeper. I felt that my insides were being ripped up. He was going slowly, as gently as he could, but the pain was becoming unbearable.

  Then, all of a sudden, the pain went away. I gasped. It felt amazing. Now he was able to thrust in and out, rhythmically. I had a powerful orgasm like I had never experienced before. This orgasm came from deep within me. I screamed in ecstasy, getting up on all fours. He was still going gently, and I commanded him to thrust harder. At this, he started thrusting faster and harder. It felt so good! I never knew that it could be like this. I never wanted this to end.

  Unfortunately, it did come to an end. After about a half hour of his pounding, he groaned mightily, then laid on top of me, hyperventilating. Both of us were drenched with sweat. I, too, was breathing heavily. I was shaking like a leaf, like the first time that we made love. My entire body was shaking. I could feel his body shaking as well.

  He rolled over on the blanket, and I rolled over on my back. He drew me to him, stroking my hair. “That was fucking amazing,” he said.

  I agreed. “Oh, yes, it was. Yes, it was.”

  He looked at me. “Thanks for doing that.”

  “Trust me, it was my pleasure. Trust me.”

  “You want some water?”

  I nodded, eagerly. I was incredibly thirsty.

  At that, Ryan bolted down the stairs, and came back up, two glasses of water in his hands. He handed me one of the glasses. “For my lady,” he said, laying back down next to me.

  As we drank our waters, Ryan looked at me, brushing some of my hair off of my face. He stroked my face lovingly. “Thanks for being patient with me. It looks like things are going to be better now.”

  That was an understatement. I knew that Ryan had continued his therapy, with Dr. Halder, and he had confided that most of what he was talking about to him was about Rochelle. It was because those memories were new to him. He was slowly getting over what she had done. I knew that he was feeling confident that making love wouldn’t trigger him anymore, but I still had my doubts that it wouldn’t happen again.

  “Sweetheart, I have no trouble having patience with you,” I said, as I took a deep breath, and looked into his eyes. “I love you.”

  His eyes widened, and then I saw that he started to tear up a little. It was my first time telling him this, at least while he was conscious. He smiled broadly. “I love you, too.”

  At that, we got up off the blanket and got into bed. He wrapped himself around me, and both of us fell asleep.

  There was nothing more to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Christmas was only weeks away, and Ryan and I were talking about getting a tree. Actually, two trees.

  I explained to him “I grew up with a silver tree. Yes, it was ghetto, but some of my fondest memories surround that tree. And there was a little disk under the tree that made the tree glow different colors. Like a color wheel.”

  “So, you want a silver tree.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, but I’ve always gotten a live tree. I want that this year, too.”

  I must’ve looked crestfallen, because he quickly added “but, of course, we’ll have a silver tree for you as well. With the color wheel.”

  I smiled broadly. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  He laughed. “Anything for my beautiful girl.”

  That was how we got two trees. Ryan’s tree was magnificent. We chose a fifteen foot spruce, because Ryan’s ceilings were a good twenty feet high. I thought about my sad little apartment and how this tree would have been too tall to fit in there.

  My tree was bought at K-Mart, and it was about six feet tall. We assembled the silver branches on the pole, and it filled out pretty well. I loved my little tree, and I loved the way that the color wheel made it glow different colors at night.

  Then I got an idea. I knew that the Christmas ornaments were in the attic. I saw them when I was up there the last time. He, however, was not aware that I had been in the attic. I decided to test him a little.

  “Uh, Ryan, I’m going to go into the attic. I assume that’s where the Christmas ornaments are?”

  “Yeah. Let me get them. You might fall.”

  “I won’t fall.”

  He gave me a look. “Bitch, please.” Then he smiled.

  I frowned. He made a good point. I was pretty clumsy.

  At that, he brought down the ladder and climbed into the attic. I decided to try to climb in the attic with him.

  “Come on, Iris, I told you to stay out of here.”

  He called me by my name. That pretty much meant that he was serious. I pouted a little. However, his reaction told me that he didn’t want me in the attic, probably because he didn’t want to explain those paintings.

  My curiosity about them was killing me.

  He brought down a large box, full of ornaments. Then, he went back up, and brought back another box, filled with figurines. “This is my little town,” he explained.

  We spent the evening dressing the trees and assembling the little town beneath Ryan’s tree. The town was pretty elaborate – there were multiple buildings, and multiple little people – the women were dressed in bustles and old-fashioned high boots, the men were in top hats and tails. There was a railroad and train that ran on the outside of the town. There were children as well, and little dogs. Also, a horse-drawn sleigh, with people inside. There were also multiple churches, with little steeples. There was a little newspaper boy, and we put him right in the middle of the town.

  “This town is really cute,” I said.

  “Yeah. I’ve had it since I was really little. Before my mom left. It was always a tradition for us to put this town up.” Then he looked sad. “After she left, the town never went up in Benjamin’s house again. But I took it with me when I left home, and I started putting the town up again when I stayed with Nick’s family. I’ve been putting it up every year since then.”

  I stroked his hair. Sometimes he looked like a little boy, and now was one of those times. “It’s important to keep traditions up.”

  “Yes. Now, you and I have to make a new tradition, to go with the old ones. I h
ave my little town, you have your silver tree. We have to make something together, which is all our own.”

  My heart soared. I knew that he was serious about me, but I always loved to hear the words which told me that he pictured me as a permanent part of his life. If he wanted to create a new tradition, then it meant that he felt that I was here to stay.

  We decided that our tradition would be that we would go ice-skating at the Crown Center on December 23 of each year. Even if it fell in the middle of the week, which it didn’t this year, as it was on a Saturday. And, on Christmas Day, we decided that we would make a tradition of going to the casino. Yes, it was unusual, but both of us agreed that Christmas Day was often a let-down, and gambling at the casino was something that both of us loved to do. Christmas Eve would always be spent with my family, we decided.

  That last decision, however, sparked a disagreement. “Ryan, I know why you don’t want to spend Christmas Eve with your father. But, what about your mother?”

  He deftly handled it, though. “Listen, you love your family. I love your family. I’ll see my mother some other time. I want to spend Christmas with you and your family. I, uh, hope that they will officially be my family someday soon.”

  It was getting peculiar. I had yet to meet Maggie Gallagher, even though Ryan said that she lived in town. I wondered if there was a story there as well. I shook my head. How many awful stories can one man have? No, there must be a logical explanation as to why the mother, whom he loves so much, had never met me.

  But what?

  On the 23, just like we said, we headed down to the Crown Center and joined the throngs of people skating around the rink. The mayor’s Christmas Tree, the enormous 100 foot tree with elaborate decorations, glowed in the background.

  I was just learning to skate. Ryan, of course, was a pro. There wasn’t anything that he couldn’t do well, I decided. However, he was very patient with me, showing me how to stroke and glide. At first, I clung to him, when I wasn’t clinging onto the wall. However, after a few hours, I was getting my bearings, and we skated, hand in hand, for the rest of the evening until the rink was almost closed. I had to admit, it was one of the most fun evenings I’d ever had. The night air was crisp and cold, and the rink was brightly lit. There were probably hundreds of people on the rink at any given time.