by Jason Starr
He saw a clearing in the woods up ahead, and then he reached a road. It was two lanes, occasional cars passing in each direction. He wanted to find some kind of landmark, a store or something, so he could call for a cab or car service. He had no idea which way the closest store was, but he smelled pizza to his right, so he headed in that direction. Whoa, smelled pizza? How was that possible? There was nothing along the road up to the nearest bend, maybe two hundred yards ahead. He couldn’t possibly smell pizza from so far away. It had to be some kind of hallucination; the way people stranded in a desert imagine that they see lakes and streams, he was smelling pepperoni and anchovies.
He ran along the road and made the turn and then stopped short when he saw the strip mall and Sal’s Pizzeria. Okay, this was weird, but then he decided that it had to have just been a lucky guess, or maybe the wind was blowing the pizza odor down the road. There didn’t seem to be any wind—the leaves in the trees weren’t moving at all—but whatever. He was just glad he was right and had taken another step closer to getting home.
He went into the pizzeria, and the teenage girl working at the cash register gave him the address of the restaurant and the phone number of a car service. He called for a car from his cell and was told it would be there.
The combined aroma of garlic, onions, green pepper, sausage, and of course pepperoni and anchovies was practically overwhelming, and he realized he was starving. At an ATM next door he withdrew two hundred dollars, and then he bought a plain slice, devoured it, and ordered another. He wolfed down the second slice and was still hungry, so he ordered a third with extra sausage and pepperoni. He normally never had pizza with so much meat—it was a cholesterol nightmare—but he had a craving and couldn’t resist.
He could’ve eaten a fourth slice, no problem, but the car arrived. The driver—a young blond guy—explained that it would cost $140 to go to the city. Simon had a feeling he was getting ripped off by at least forty bucks, but what the hell, he wanted to get home.
The cab reeked of Old Spice. Simon didn’t mind Old Spice—he used to use it himself actually—but how much had this guy put on? He opened the windows, but the exhaust from the truck ahead of them wasn’t any more pleasant, so he closed the window, figuring he’d just have to put up with the Old Spice.
He got a text from Alison:Leibner thinks it’s a virus get more Tylenol
He replied:Ok!!
The text from Alison was a little on the cold side; still, he was relieved that things at home seemed to be on the mend, but he didn’t know exactly how to deal with the situation with Michael and the guys. He wanted to call them right now and chew them out, but he didn’t have any contact info. He didn’t even know Ramon’s and Charlie’s last names. He considered looking up Michael Hartman to see if he could get a number, but what exactly was the point? So he’d call Michael and yell at him, curse him out, then what? There was no real way to get revenge. He could call the police, claim he’d been drugged, but did he really want to get into a whole mess with the cops? He wasn’t even sure he could prove anything had happened to him, and even if the police did believe him, so what? Michael would probably claim it had been a practical joke. Would the police really do anything to Michael, press any charges, or just let it go with some kind of warning?
Simon ruminated about it during most of the ride, and when the car headed over the George Washington Bridge, entering the city, he still didn’t know what to do. He was leaning toward trying to forget about the whole thing. He’d never see Michael or the other guys again, and he’d pretend that they didn’t exist and that last night had never happened. Despite his anger, there was no point in trying to get revenge when there was no real revenge to get.
He had the car drop him off in front of a Duane Reade on Broadway. After he bought the stuff Alison had asked for, he headed to his apartment. The odors of the Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Mexican, Cuban, and Indian restaurants he passed along the way reminded him that he was still starving and the pizza had barely made a dent.
He entered the apartment and announced, “I’m home!”
Coming quickly from the hallway, Alison whispered, “Shh, I just put him down for a nap.”
“Oh, sorry,” Simon said. “And I’m really sorry.” The second sorry was for last night, not for the way he’d arrived.
He could tell she was still angry at him. He went over to her in the dining alcove and kissed her hello. She kissed him back reluctantly.
“You smell great,” he said. He didn’t mean to say it; he’d blurted it out. But she did smell great.
“I do?” She was surprised. “I didn’t even have a chance to shower yet today.”
Remembering how he’d thought he was going to die earlier and he’d just wanted a chance to see Alison again, he wrapped his arms around her waist and said, “It’s so good to see you.”
She still seemed pissed off. “Last night was so awful,” she said. “You always call.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ll never put you through anything like that again, I promise.”
“I really thought something happened to you.”
“Nothing happened to me,” Simon said. “I’m fine. Mmm, do I smell hamburgers?”
“I made Jeremy turkey burgers last night, but he barely ate anything.”
“Are there leftovers in the fridge?” Simon had already opened the fridge, though. He took out the plate of turkey burgers and rice and removed the tin foil and started eating, standing up at the kitchen counter.
Alison was saying, “Leibner definitely thinks it’s viral. He said if his fever continues, or the sore throat gets worse, to call him and bring him in, but he says it’s been going around and he had a bunch of similar cases in his office last . . . What’s that?”
She was squinting, looking downward slightly, toward his neck.
“What’s what?” Simon said through a mouthful of food. He took another few quick bites, stuffing his mouth again, then went to the mirror in the living room and saw what looked like streaks of blood. “Huh, I don’t know.” Maybe he’d cut himself last night, when he was running around naked in the woods? Seemed plausible, except there weren’t any cuts on his neck, just the red streaks. Then he said, “I know, it’s pizza sauce.”
“Pizza sauce?”
“Yeah, I had a couple of slices in Jer . . . I mean, downtown, before. I mean, in Brooklyn. I don’t know how the sauce got on my neck, though.”
He looked closer in the mirror. It didn’t look like pizza sauce, it looked like blood. Eh. He’d probably scratched himself when he was running naked in the woods. He was lucky something worse hadn’t happened.
“Where’s your other shoe?” Alison asked.
“Oh. I, um, lost it.”
“How do you lose a shoe?”
“I didn’t lose it, lose it. I mean I left it at Michael’s.” He smiled, making it into a joke. “I mean I couldn’t find it, but I’m sure it’s there somewhere, it’ll turn up. Sorry, I have to pee like a racehorse.”
After he peed, he showered quickly, feeling refreshed and energized. Funny, you’d think after everything he’d been through last night and this morning he’d need to crash, but nope, he was raring to go.
He went to the bedroom and came out, wearing the Ralph Lauren robe Alison had bought him for Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago. He’d kidded with her that the robe made him feel like he was James Bond.
Alison was in the kitchen, rinsing some dishes, loading the dishwasher. He entered and said, “Hello, Moneypenny,” putting on his best Daniel Craig, but he barely sounded British.
Alison almost smiled. Mmm, she did smell great. It wasn’t perfume or even shampoo or conditioner; it was her.
“You smell wonderful today,” he said, thinking out loud.
She looked at him, surprised, as if thinking, Where’s this coming from? Then she said, “Thank you.”
She continued with the dishes and he watched her, admiring the curve of her heart-shaped ass in the
Gap bootleg jeans, the muscle tone in her forearms and biceps, the way a few short strands of her wavy brown hair fell over her forehead right above eye level, and, of course, her wonderful scent. What was up with him and his sense of smell today?
Maybe it was because this morning he’d thought he’d never see her again, but he suddenly appreciated Alison in a way he hadn’t in a long time.
He came up behind her, grabbed her hips firmly, and pressed up against her. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in, savoring her unique essence, and said, “Mmmmm.” Then, “Is Jeremy asleep?”
Alison turned off the water and said, “Yeah, he was exhausted, poor thing. But what’re—”
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
Getting his meaning immediately, she asked, “Now?”
“What’s wrong with now?”
He was kissing her neck, using his teeth a little.
“Wow,” she said. “That feels so good.”
He continued kissing and sucking on her neck. He couldn’t get enough of her.
She said, “You don’t have to do this just because you think I’m mad at you.”
He kissed and sucked her neck harder, then moved higher, to her ear, nibbling on the lobe.
“Wow, that feels so good.” She moaned softly, the way she did when she was starting to get turned on. “What’s gotten into you?”
He didn’t answer. He wanted her so badly.
He turned her around and backed her up against the fridge. While kissing her, he reached under her T-shirt, worked his hand up her already sticky back, and undid her bra. Then he shifted his hand back around, cupping one of her breasts. He felt her nipple harden against his palm.
She managed to get her mouth away from his just long enough to say, “We can’t.”
He massaged his pelvis against hers, wanting her to feel how ready he was for her. “Why not?” he asked.
He didn’t let her answer, kissing her, biting on her lower lip a little while grinding up against her.
Then she pushed him back with her hands against his chest and said, “Jeremy could come out of his room.”
He knew she was right, but he didn’t stop.
Then she was able to get her mouth free again and said, “Let’s go.”
She took him by the hand and led him to their bedroom. Normally, she took control during sex. That was just the way it had always been. She was the initiator, and their favorite position was woman on top. So it was a little unusual when Simon pushed her onto the bed, onto her back, and mounted her. But she didn’t seem to mind. As he pinned her down and continued kissing her neck and face, she wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take charge.
A bout half an hour later, he was on his back and she was curled into him, resting her head on his sweaty shoulder and chest.
“Wow, that was incredible,” she said. Her eyes were closed and she was starting to doze, but she was still smiling.
Without a doubt, it had been the most passionate, most energetic sex they’d had in a long time, maybe ever. Alison would agree that they’d never been a very sexual couple, but in addition to not having enough sex lately, the quality of the sex had definitely declined over the years. It was usually rushed, a little awkward, and—though Simon would never go as far as to describe it as boring—it was certainly predictable. It was almost like they knew each other too well. They knew what positions they liked, what turned them on and what didn’t, and there was no variation. Simon admitted that the problem was mostly his. Alison often made suggestions of new things to try, and had even brought home sex toys and provocative lingerie, but Simon just couldn’t get into it. He usually blamed it on job stress, but sometimes he wondered if she was right and he did have a libido problem, or some kind of hormone imbalance, because he just didn’t have the interest in improving their sex life that he probably should’ve.
Until today.
Today it had been completely different. He was suddenly incredibly horny and passionate and virile. But the biggest change was how he’d behaved mentally. He was usually passive in bed; when something didn’t feel good he would just wait for her to decide to do something else. Today he’d told her exactly where to put her hands and how he liked to be kissed and touched. He’d taken control in a way he’d never taken control before, and he had to admit it had felt great.
“Why don’t we do this more often?” Alison asked, shifting a little to kiss his shoulder, right above his armpit.
“I don’t know,” he said, squishing against her closer, hugging her a little tighter.
“Well, we should,” she said. “Especially on weekends. We’re both home and Jeremy usually takes a nap. It’s a perfect time to be together.”
“Deal,” he said.
They were silent for a while. It was nice being together like this in the middle of the day, and she was right, they should do this more often. He could tell, by the sounds of her breathing, that she was starting to doze, but, despite everything he’d been through last night and this morning and a round of energetic sex, he was alert and awake, as if he’d just had a strong cup of coffee.
“Promise me,” she said. She was almost asleep. Her voice was soft, barely audible.
“Promise you what?”
“What?” She was disoriented.
“You wanted me to promise you something.”
“I did?” She opened her eyes. “Oh . . . Promise me . . . Promise me you’ll never do that to me again.”
“Do what again?” He was confused; had he done something during sex that she hadn’t liked? He was much more aggressive than normal, but she’d seemed into it. He said, “I thought you thought it was wonderful.”
“What?” she said, confused. She’d closed her eyes again. Then she added, “No, I meant about last night. I was so worried about you, you have no idea. Promise me . . . Promise me, you’ll never . . .” Her voice was fading. “. . . scare me like that . . . again.”
“Promise,” he said.
She was asleep. He held her, gently twirling pieces of her hair, and then he felt something and could hardly believe it. Having great sex and taking charge was one thing, but what was happening now was almost unprecedented. After all, they’d only finished having sex, what, five minutes ago? He shifted and pulled up the covers; nope, it wasn’t a false alarm. He was ready for another round.
ELEVEN
Simon was so horny he considered waking up Alison, but she was sleeping so soundly he decided against it. He distracted himself by thinking about the usual—basketball. Didn’t work. If anything, thoughts of all that physicality and aggression got him more aroused. He thought about last night with the guys at the brewery, waking up in the woods naked, and how angry he’d been. Then he started thinking about Tom Harrison and the work situation; that got him soft in a hurry, but he knew it wouldn’t last for long. He felt such a strong attraction to Alison that it seemed impossible to be near her without getting turned on.
Then Simon heard Jeremy stirring in his room, so he got out of bed quietly, put on boxer briefs and a T-shirt, and went down the hallway.
Jeremy was just starting to wake up, and Simon wondered how he’d heard him stir. The master bedroom was down the hallway from Jeremy’s room, and Simon and Alison usually never heard him when both doors were closed unless he screamed at the top of his lungs. When he was younger they’d had to use a baby monitor to hear him.
Simon sat on the bed and felt Jeremy’s forehead.
“Cool as a cucumber,” Simon said, smiling.
Jeremy sat up immediately and asked, “Where’s Mommy?”
“Sleeping,” Simon said, “so how’re you feeling, kiddo?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You have to know. Are you feeling tired? Do you want to go back to sleep?”
“Let’s play basketball,” Jeremy said, getting out of bed and grabbing the Nerf ball from atop the dresser.
“I guess that means no,” Simon said.
They took t
urns shooting baskets. Despite being sick, or recovering from being sick, Jeremy had his usual unbridled three-year-old energy. He was dashing around the room, chasing after the ball. Usually Simon sat on the bed and took a couple of shots, then watched Jeremy play, but today he had more energy than his three-year-old son, and he was chasing after the ball too, moving practically nonstop.
Finally Jeremy, clearly exhausted, asked, “Do we have to keep playing, Daddy?”
Simon realized that running his son around while his body was still fighting off a virus probably hadn’t been such a great idea.
“I know, how about a food break?” Simon asked. “Hungry?”
“I don’t know,” Jeremy said.
“I don’t know means yes,” Simon said. “Come on.”
Talk of food reminded Simon that he was still famished. Jeremy’s leftover dinner from last night was still on the kitchen counter, and Simon gobbled it up in several poorly chewed bites.
“How about peanut butter and jelly?” Simon asked.
“I don’t know,” Jeremy said.
“I’ll make you a sandwich. You can watch TV meanwhile. I TiVo’d The Wiggles.”
“Yay.”
Simon wondered what was up with him and his appetite today. He felt like he could keep eating nonstop and still wouldn’t get full. While he made Jeremy’s sandwich, he made one for himself, globbing on the peanut butter until it was about an inch thick. Simon ate his sandwich standing up and then served Jeremy his with a glass of milk.
After a bite or two Jeremy announced that he was full. Then he said, “I want to go outside and play.”
“You can’t,” Simon said, “not when you had a fever last night. You have to be fever-free for twenty-four hours before you can go out.”
Jeremy made a sad face.
Simon had to admit—he was pretty bummed too. Lately he’d been a homebody, especially on weekends, content to hang out and watch TV or goof off on the Internet. But now he felt extremely antsy and cooped up. He was in a good-sized two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, but he might as well have been trapped in a cage.
