by Hazel Hughes
“Don’t remind me,” Elizabeth groaned. She was complaining mainly for Emily’s benefit. Secretly, she was looking forward to the lack of options Fairfield represented, to its mundane routines and security. She was quietly afraid of who she had become without the restrictions of small-town life and family obligations. She wasn’t sure if she knew who she was anymore. Elizabeth opened her robe and looked down at the tattoo on her abdomen, running her fingers over it as she half-listened to Emily talk about the latest indoor soccer fiasco. It was healing, but still tender to the touch.
Outside the bathroom, she heard the sound of the room door clicking open. Sebastian was back. Elizabeth’s heart immediately started beating faster.
“Oh, God, sorry Em. I’ve got to go. They need me to, ah, you know, complicated movie stuff. I’ll call you when I get back,” she said, locking the door. She needed a few moments to herself, to think. Plus, her mouth still tasted rancid and she needed a shower.
“Oh, right,” Emily said, surprised to be interrupted mid-story. “See you soon.”
“Yep.” Elizabeth ended the call and stepped into the hot steam of the shower. As she let the water wash over her, she thought about Sebastian. She was both devastated and relieved that this would be their last night together. On the one hand, she had never felt more alive and desirable than she did with Sebastian. If her life with Steve in Fairfield was chamomile tea, the time she spent with Sebastian was Jolt Cola – sweet, enlivening, and clearly bad for her in large doses.
Basically what she and Sebastian had between them was lust. The way Elizabeth felt about sex with Sebastian was the polar opposite of the way she felt about the things she knew were good for her, like her daily run. She might dread going for her run, she might pull on her running tights and shoes with childish reluctance, but after she had finished, with her heart pumping and her skin flushed and glowing, she always felt amazing, like she had done something really positive for herself.
Conversely, she anticipated having sex with Sebastian with the fervor she normally reserved for artisanal Belgian chocolate, but when the afterglow had faded, she felt like she had gobbled a pound of Godiva – internally soiled and vaguely queasy. Unfortunately, that feeling passed all too quickly and it wasn’t long before she was reaching for the chocolate box again. In Fairfield, the chocolate box would be well out of reach.
Elizabeth rinsed the conditioner out of her hair and twisted it into a wet rope, which she tied in a knot to get out of her way. Then there was the issue of maintenance, she thought smiling grimly as she reached for her razor. It had been years since she had shaved or moisturized or fussed with her makeup as much as she had this past week. It had been fun at first. Something different. But now it was a bit of a drag. Life with Steve had really made her lazy, she thought, admitting that Steve wasn’t the only one to blame for the decline of their sex life. They had both just given up.
As she turned off the shower and stepped out, she had a moment of realization. Something had to change. While she couldn’t keep living this Jolt Cola existence with Sebastian, she couldn’t go back to her chamomile life in Fairfield, either.
Brushing her teeth, Elizabeth heard a soft tap on the door and, after spitting into the sink and wrapping a towel around her hair, she opened it.
Sebastian grinned at her, his eyes running appreciatively over her naked body. “I like that look,” he said.
She turned her back to him, smiling into the mirror as she started putting on her makeup. “You are dangerous for my ego,” she said, rubbing blush into her cheeks, “but I am going to miss the compliments.” She didn’t add that she couldn’t even remember the last time she had gotten an unsolicited compliment from Steve.
“Whoa,” Sebastian said, wrapping his arms around her. He was wearing jeans and a charcoal wool sweater, and the feel of the rough fabric against her naked skin was distracting. Of course, just being anywhere near Sebastian was distracting. “What are you talking about?”
Elizabeth turned to face him. “You know,” she said, linking her hands behind his neck. “I leave tomorrow morning.”
Sebastian lifted her up and set her down on the marble counter beside the sink. “Yeah, so?” He separated her legs and stood between them, his hands on her hips. He unfolded the towel from her hair, letting the damp strands fall over her shoulders.
“So,” Elizabeth said, smiling gently. “I go back to my life. You go back to yours. This has been an incredible week, but ...” she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
Sebastian wasn’t smiling. The look on his face was cold and stony. “But what?”
Elizabeth squeezed her legs tighter, hoping to get a response. She ran the back of her hand over the light stubble on his cheek. “Sebastian,” she scolded, still smiling. Of course he was playing with her. He knew as well as she did that their relationship couldn’t exist in the real world. “Let’s just enjoy our last night together.”
Sebastian disengaged himself from her and stalked out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Elizabeth sat on the counter, stunned. She eased herself off the marble surface and, pulling on her robe, followed Sebastian into the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched.
Elizabeth sat down beside him, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder, unsure if this was some sort of game. Sebastian looked up at her. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were glistening with repressed tears.
“Let me tell you a story,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. Elizabeth nodded her head, all amusement draining from her features.
“When I first went to Hollywood,” Sebastian began, looking down at his hands, clasped between his knees, “I was young and naïve. Full of myself. I got an agent and an audition for a commercial the first week I was there. Boom. Boom.” He slapped one hand against the other. “Toothpaste. A national campaign. I saw my future ahead of me, golden and glowing. The night before the audition, I lay on my friend’s couch picturing the red carpet, the Oscars, my star in the walk of fame. The next day, I have my audition. I’m nervous as hell. I flub my lines. I think, that’s it, I fucked it up. But the director calls me that night. Says he knows I was nervous, but he thinks I’m perfect for the part. He’s going to give me another chance. Can I come by his place, about ten? He’ll pay for the taxi.”
Sebastian looked up at her, his eyes burning with anger, one tear silently running down his cheek. His nose was red. He sniffed and looked down at his hands again.
“He had a sick place. Huge. Modern. Concrete floors and suede sofas. He says his wife and kids are out at a benefit. Would I like a drink? We go into his office. Stainless-steel desk. Big black leather sofa. All kinds of plaques and awards on the wall. He’s smooth. Chatting about this and that. Tells me how I’m perfect for the part. A beautiful mouth. Of course some of the other actors were perfect, too. There are lots of beautiful mouths in Hollywood. How bad do I want the part? Bad, I tell him. He says, let’s see how bad. He unzips my jeans, pulls them down. I’m figuring, Okay, I let him blow me, I get the part. It’s kinda win-win for me.” Sebastian laughed, humorlessly. “But he says, ‘Turn around, bend over the desk and say your lines.’ I say, ‘Hey, I don’t remember that from the audition.’ You know, trying to make a joke out of it. But he grabs my hair and forces me down. I just lie there. ‘Wait,’ I say, but I hear him unzipping his pants. He starts fucking my ass, and I just lie there, and he says, ‘How bad do you want it, Sebastian?’ over and over again.”
Sebastian was really crying now, the tears streaming down his face, his shoulders shaking. Elizabeth tried to wrap her arms around him, but he shook her off, rubbing at his face with both hands.
“The worst part is,” he laughed again, that dead, mirthless laugh, “I didn’t get the fucking part.”
Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap, uncertain of what to say.
Sebastian looked at her. Those burning, hating eyes. “But I learned something. Something every Catholic schoolboy learns,
but I forgot.” He paused. “I learned that in this life you can either fuck or be fucked. And I decided that I’d rather be a fucker than get fucked. And that’s how I lived my life. Until I met you.” He looked at her intently, but his voice had lost its anger.
She reached for him again, and this time he let her hold him, burying his face in her hair as he cried.
*
“Now don’t be a stranger, Lizzie,” Georges LaMieu, or Georgia, as he preferred to be called in his current incarnation, sang. “You either, Sebastian.” He fluttered his false lashes with a pout to rival Naomi Campbell.
Sebastian winked at the six-foot-two black transvestite in the hot pink vintage Chanel suit, holding the door open for Elizabeth. She stepped out into the cool night, casting one last look over her shoulder at Abbie as she did. Abbie, however, was making a point of ignoring her, as she had done for most of the evening, clearly not pleased that Elizabeth had brought Sebastian with her. She had been professional, of course, introducing Elizabeth to the other eight authors at the long picnic-bench style table, and dutifully passing her the shrimp dumplings and five-spice pork. But the hard look in her eyes and the way she made small talk with everyone at the table but Elizabeth made it clear she was furious. She wondered if it would have been better not to have come at all.
Leaving Sebastian hadn’t been an option. Not after his tearful confession and the sweet, slow love-making that followed it. Elizabeth had never felt closer to another human being in her life.
It was eleven o’clock, Elizabeth noticed, glancing at her watch. They had been at the restaurant eating and talking with the other authors for almost three hours. Sebastian had been more than patient, listening to Kurt Brent’s latest book proposal and flirting with the outrageous Georgia, but toward the end of the evening she could tell his patience was wearing thin. He had started by casting suggestive looks her way, then progressed to casually slipping his hand between her thighs while he carried on a conversation with the person on his other side. Cathy Miller, who was sitting next to Elizabeth discussing the finer points of the craft, had been silently scandalized, her eyes darting around the room like a super-ball.
Finally, Sebastian had leaned over and whispered. “Let’s go. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“So what’s my surprise?” Elizabeth asked as they walked down Canal Street, huddling close for warmth. She was wearing the suede dress that Sebastian had bought her the day of their first date, but instead of her snakeskin heels, she had on a pair of slim black leather boots with a four-inch razor thin heel. Sebastian had gotten them, along with the black lace bra and thong she was wearing under her dress, while she had been sleeping off her red-wine hangover.
“Chill,” Sebastian said, his mouth on her ear. He slid a hand under her dress, caressing the back of her thigh. “Delayed gratification, remember?”
*
The long line of beautiful faces outside Crack was almost exclusively male, Elizabeth noticed as Sebastian exchanged greetings with the enormous muscled bouncer and steered her past the velvet rope.
“Is this a gay bar?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the pounding bass of a Lady Gaga song.
Sebastian just raised his eyebrows and grinned. The answer was obvious. Slim young boys in tight white t-shirts and leather leggings sipped cocktails, looking over the rims of their glasses with bored eyes. Steroid-ripped men in tank tops danced with each other while waxed-chested blond boys in nothing but work boots and daisy dukes gyrated on raised platforms, grinding against floor-to-ceiling poles like cheap strippers. Elizabeth spotted a few women, and a few more men dressed like women.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, noticing that, unlike at the Latin club they had gone to that first night, they were definitely not being ignored here. She saw many quick glances and more blatant stares in their direction. At first she thought it was because she was a woman. Then she realized that the men were looking at Sebastian.
“We’re here to dance,” Sebastian said, pulling her onto the dance floor. She felt a little self-conscious at first, but as Sebastian made it clear that all his attention was on her, she loosened up and let the music flow through her.
He held her close to him and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Gay bars play the best dance music, don’t you think?” Elizabeth nodded, swaying her hips and closing her eyes, lost in the music.
They had been dancing for about an hour – or ten songs, as Elizabeth counted – when Sebastian asked, “Do you want something from the bar?”
“Water,” Elizabeth said, looking at him gratefully.
She kept moving to the music while Sebastian went to the bar. Her eyes were closed, but she felt someone moving beside her. She opened her eyes.
The boy dancing next to her looked to be in his early twenties. His white-blond head was close-cropped like Sebastian’s but he had wide blue eyes and his skin was milky pale in the blue light of the bar. He was watching Elizabeth, smiling.
“Nice catch,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the bar where Sebastian was talking to the bartender. Elizabeth noticed several men watching Sebastian, practically licking their lips. Not that she could blame them.
“Thanks,” she shouted over the music. She closed her eyes again, winding her hips with the beat, but she felt a hand on her shoulder and opened them again.
It was the same boy. He moved closer to her, synching his body with hers. He was very pretty, Elizabeth observed. His face had that androgynous beauty that she associated with paintings of angels, and his body, under his Hanes t-shirt and jeans, was slim yet muscular. He looked up through his blond lashes at her, coyly.
“You looking for a third?” he asked.
Elizabeth laughed, shocked. She shook her head.
“Maybe,” she heard Sebastian’s voice behind her, then felt him pressing against her. She turned to look at him, but his eyes were on the boy. She stopped dancing.
“You like women?” Sebastian asked.
The boy shrugged. “I like her,” he said gesturing to Elizabeth, touching a strand of her hair. “I like you.” His eyes met Sebastian’s. The look in them wasn’t hard to decipher. It was pure sex.
Sebastian stared at the boy for a moment. Elizabeth just watched, speechless. Then Sebastian nodded. “Meet us at the Mercer in half an hour..” He scribbled her room number on a piece of paper and handed it to the boy with a wink. Then he grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, pulling her off the dance floor. She followed, stunned into silence.
By the time they got outside and hailed a cab, Elizabeth had recovered.
“Uh, Sebastian, what the fuck is going on?” she said, though she thought she had a pretty good idea.
Sebastian frowned at her, putting gentle fingers on her lips. “Sh. You shouldn’t curse. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Sebastian!” Elizabeth hissed. The cab driver glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.
Sebastian put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her close to him. He whispered into her ear. “I’m going to bring your fantasy to life.” Elizabeth shivered. Something about his voice so close to her ear made her clitoris throb.
Elizabeth remembered Sebastian coaxing her most secret sexual desire out of her. She had admitted to fantasizing about a ménage a trois with two men, but she had never thought of making it a reality. “I don’t know ...” Elizabeth began, her pulse racing. Some things were best left in the realm of the imaginary.
“Sh,” Sebastian said, touching her lips again, looking into her eyes. “I do.” He kissed her, long, slow, and deep, oblivious to the cab driver watching them in the rear-view mirror.
*
By the time Brandon – at least that was the name he gave them – knocked on the door of Elizabeth’s room, Sebastian had his shirt off and Elizabeth, stripped down to her panties, bra and boots, was aching with desire. Sebastian had been playing with her, teasing her into a state of uncontrollable arousal.
“Come in,” Sebastian said. They were standing
facing the door, Sebastian behind Elizabeth, tracing her lips through the thin fabric of her panties with one hand and clutching her hair with the other, twisting her head to the side so that he could flick his tongue along her neck. As the door clicked open, Elizabeth realized that Sebastian must have given the boy his key.
“Join us,” Sebastian said, as Brandon closed the door behind him, sliding out of his black down jacket. Elizabeth and Brandon made eye contact and she could see that in addition to the lust in his gaze there was something else, like he almost wanted to laugh in disbelief. Elizabeth imagined that she must be wearing the same expression. Surreal didn’t begin to describe this.
Brandon stripped off his t-shirt and pressed himself against her. His skin was almost translucent, he was so pale, and covered with a soft blond down. He smelled of clean sweat and a smoky citrus cologne. His hands were still cold from outside as he ran them up and down her sides, his palms touching her, his fingers touching Sebastian.
“Kiss her,” Sebastian said, and Elizabeth felt him stepping away. She closed her eyes. Brandon’s lips were soft, almost hesitant. He held her lightly, his hands continuing their dance up and down her back.
He moaned and Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. Sebastian was behind Brandon, his eyes on Elizabeth’s face as he placed delicate kisses along Brandon’s neck and shoulder. She felt Sebastian’s hand slide down the front of the boy’s pants. Brandon grabbed Elizabeth’s head and began kissing her harder, his tongue plunging into her mouth as Sebastian stroked him.
“Nice cock,” she heard Sebastian whisper. Brandon moaned again. Sebastian withdrew his hand, placing it on the small of Elizabeth’s back. It was warm and slightly sticky.
“Do you know how to lick a cunt?” he asked Brandon, his voice just above a whisper. Brandon nodded his head, still kissing Elizabeth, pressing his erection against her. “Do it,” Sebastian hissed.
