Losing Johnny

by Rachel Dunning

  “The evidence is that you’re friends with that skank. It shows off on your character.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know, she’s just a girl with her own hopes and dreams, just like you’re a girl. I mean, look at your Nicole friend. You told me yourself she went nuts in high school because she was lashing out. Simone has her own issues. She has...relationship...issues. And she gets catty sometimes.”

  “You know her awfully fucking well, Tiago.”

  He shook his head, slowly, confidently. “This isn’t a problem with me, Cathy. It isn’t. You’re feeling insecure. Like I told you, I stay in touch with past lovers. It’s no big deal for me. I promise you, I didn’t sleep with her or have any sexual relations with her after that Wednesday. She came over that day you and I kissed. We were not dating. She kissed me. I kissed her back for a few seconds, and then I stopped it. Hell, if you had been anyone else, I would have slept with her again. Why not? And I repeat: You and I were not dating!”

  He was insistent. Believable. Nothing in his eyes indicated that he was lying.

  Nothing.

  Either he’d done this a million times before, or he was telling the truth.

  “I need some time to...”

  “To what? I won’t give you any time, Catherine. You and I weren’t involved! Technically, she and I were! Hell, we’d been sleeping together since that Friday at the party, if you must know.” God, I didn’t need to know that. “That all she got out of me was a little kiss was a miracle.”

  “Wait a minute—so you were seeing her when you first met up with me?”

  “No! She and I weren’t seeing each other. We were...having sex. That’s it.”

  “Did she know that?”

  “Of course she did. Look, Catherine, with a girl like Simone, you have to be blunt. She’ll think something’s going on unless you tell her it’s not. There was nothing there between us. Nothing. No emotion. I told her even before I slept with her the first time that it wouldn’t be a relationship. No ways. I knew it wouldn’t work between us. Knew it. She agreed. She understood. The second day, Saturday, I told her again. She had come over, wanted to...” He looked around. “You know, she wanted to have sex again. I told her, ‘Hey, so long as you don’t get the wrong idea.’ I clarified it completely. She understood. We fucked. Sunday. Monday.” Oh, God, I’m feeling sick. “And then it was Tuesday, and I told her the fun was over. She was getting too clingy. She understood, agreed. I realized she is one of these girls who hopes to rope a man with only sex. It’s not good for her, not healthy. She doesn’t realize that. I told her. And she told me I was bullshitting, that she wasn’t doing that. Played it cool, you know. Tried to sound convincing. She was trying to convince herself.” He waited a second. “She’s a good chick, Catherine. She is. I’ll never be her best friend. And I’ll also never be her boyfriend. She and I are acquaintances. I’m not gonna stop talking to her. I see no reason to. She never did anything wrong to me. But that’s all irrelevant.” He grabbed me by the shoulders. “I never cheated on you!”

  “Maybe that’s how it works in Brazil, Tiago. But not in the USA. By fucking with me, she’s fucked with you. Or, let me put it this way: If I mean anything to you, then you’ll swallow your pride and not be ‘acquaintances’ with her anymore. For no other reason than that you and I are together.”

  He struggled with this, I could see. It was going against his entire philosophy of friendships.

  “Catherine. I won’t be put in thumbscrews by you. This is a two-way street. You and me. Together. I’d never do that to you, question your faithfulness. You can’t do it to me.”

  “Why can’t I? You’re... Hell, you and I are nothing alike in that regard. You’ve been with, what, dozens of women? Hundreds? I’ve been with... There’s no comparison.”

  “Look, Catherine, you asked me before where we stood, and I told you. We’re together, and that’s all there is to it. No other girls, and no other guys. I’ve seen how the guys look at you. I’m the one who should be nervous.” He raised my chin up with his index finger. His eyes looked magical ahead of the red glow of the skyline. “Catherine,” he said, “I...I’d like to date you. I’d like to ask you to...to become my first ever, true-and-proper girlfriend. ‘Going Steady’ as they said in the last century.”

  “I’m not your first girlfriend.”

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve never dated anyone.”

  “Three months is dating. Two weeks is dating.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s different. And those girls knew it. What I have with you, I’ve never had with anyone. If you want, I can explain the nuances, but that would require getting into detailed sexual descriptions of previous girls, and we’ve proven today that you don’t deal well with that. In a nutshell, I had sex with those girls. But there was no connection there. Nothing. Between me and you...” He touched the heel of his fist to my heart, then to his. “...there’s a connection. It’s different. I’ve never had it. And all I can offer as evidence is my promise.”

  “And that you’ll stop talking to Simone. For my sake.”

  “OK.”

  “OK?”

  “OK. I’ll stop talking to Simone. For you.”

  I smiled. I hadn’t wanted to, I had wanted to stay firm, but I smiled.

  “Look, Catherine, you have to understand, I’m...good...with women. I mean, how do I say this without sounding conceited?”

  “Just say it.”

  “I’ve always liked...female company. I have a lot of friends who are girls. I make a lot of girl friends—two words—wherever I go. It doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with them. I’m not going to change that. Women are...well...nicer to hang around with than guys. Guys are smelly, rough. Women...are...just nicer.”

  I dropped my forehead to my palm, shook my head. What a Casanova this guy was. And he didn’t even realize it. Grinning, still looking at my feet, I muttered, “Such a player.”

  “Hmmm?”

  I looked up. “Never mind.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he said.

  “OK.”

  “OK what?”

  “I’ll...I’ll be your first-ever girlfriend.”

  -6-

  Trust is a two-way street. I needed to give him reason to trust me in return.

  I needed to tell him about Johnny.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ~ The Seed ~

  -1-

  Saturday, June 27

  “This guy really fucked you up, didn’t he?” That was Tiago’s only response after I told him everything about my past. Everything.

  “I fucked myself up.”

  “Is that the ‘baggage’ you were telling me about?”

  I nodded, stared out across the river toward Lower Manhattan. We were at Brooklyn Bridge Park, not far from Pier One. About fifty people lay about on towels and lawn chairs, enjoying the summer sun.

  “Do you love him?”

  Every day I had a new answer to that question. Today’s answer was this: “I miss him. I feel sad that he’s not around. He was like a brother, only more. He was my soulmate.” I couldn’t believe what I’d just said. “I’m sorry, I just...want to be honest with you. I’m telling you not to make you feel insecure, but to...somehow...try and move on from it.”

  “You can’t move on?”

  I shook my head, ashamed. Played with some grass.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you love him?”

  “Not...in that way,” I answered now. I just couldn’t admit to it, I couldn’t seal the coffin with the nail which was those words—No, I don’t love him—as if saying them out loud would close the door forever. I wanted to keep that love, even if only deep in my heart, and I felt I was justified in doing it. It was my love, my own. And I was sharing the truth of it with Tiago now. But the love was mine. It didn’t mean I would ever be unfaithful to him.

  “OK, let me ask you this instead. If he arrived here tomorrow, would you go into doubt about me and you?” />
  Of this answer I was certain. “No. Definitely not.”

  “OK,” he said, “then I guess I can’t ask for more. I also ‘love’ some old girls I’ve been with before.” That stung.

  “I thought you’d never loved anyone.”

  “No, I’ve never officially dated anyone, but I’ve had my share of love.”

  “That’s a conflicting fact.”

  He shrugged, looked out at the river. “Not really. I’ve kept the love under control, never let it rule me. It’s been a choice of mine to not commit.”

  “Isn’t that the point of love? To let it rule you?”

  He looked me deep in the eyes. “If you let it rule you, you end up like...” He didn’t finish.

  “Like me?”

  “I didn’t want to be so blunt. But, uhm... You said it, not me.”

  “So, you’re telling me that love has never gripped you by the heels, turned you upside down, and left you out to dry?”

  “It has started to. But I’ve always checked it. I don’t like that feeling of being out of control.”

  “Wow. That’s...different. I’m the opposite. The complete opposite. When it grabs me, it rips me to shreds.” And I think it’s grabbing me now.

  “I guess it’s similar,” he said. “You and this Johnny. And me and Simone. We both need to trust each other that there isn’t anything current, and that there won’t be anything future with these people while we’re together. Honestly, I think I have more to worry about than you.”

  I laughed. “Yeah right. You have every girl in New York looking at you. I swear it’s like you let off some freaking pheromone or something.”

  I was trying to be funny, but Tiago remained serious. “I do have more to worry about. Sex is one thing. The heart is another. No man every destroyed cities for sex. But for love...?” He shrugged. “Whole civilization have gone to dust. No one gets in the way of a man in love. Or a woman for that matter.”

  I swallowed hard. Because I felt the seed of love in my heart for Tiago right now. Not a fountain, not a mountain, not a gushing river. Just a seed. But it was there.

  And it was undeniable.

  And its roots were firm.

  -2-

  Friday, Jul 3

  Nicole and I spent a week chilling. We’d lived in the same house together, and hooked up with friends at bars, but it was like I’d lost touch with my best friend for eight weeks.

  She signed up for the screenwriters workshop. Another eight weeks, but she had a week to spare in between. She said that acting and modeling are cool, but it’s not where her heart was. And she didn’t want to end up as just another hot waitress in LA who dreams of becoming an actress.

  “How’s your diary coming along?” I asked.

  “Lots of sex.”

  I looked over at her on the promenade bench, not believing it.

  “What?” she said.

  “I might never see you, but I know you’re not hooking up like you used to. What’s changed?”

  “Nothing.” She licked her ice cream.

  “Come on, don’t bullshit me. When was the last time you hooked up?”

  “Last week.”

  “Sex?”

  She licked her ice cream.

  “Not sex?” I prompted.

  She licked her ice cream.

  “Oral?”

  She huffed out, frustrated. Looked away. “Why’s it so important?”

  “You met someone, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You did too.”

  “I DID NOT!”

  “OK, fine, chill.”

  She settled back down... Licked her ice cream.

  “At least confess that you’re not hooking up as often as you used to.”

  “Am too.”

  “Christ. OK, let me be specific, you’re not having casual sex as often as you used to.”

  She looked away from me. “OK, I confess.”

  -3-

  Saturday, Jul 11

  “Damn, you clean up nice!”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Thunder said me. He wore a light blue dress shirt. And slacks. And a blazer. And he was standing in our apartment, waiting for my mom.

  He looked nervous. I hadn’t seen him since Marfa back in February. He and mom had always met up secretly or when I wasn’t around. But tonight seemed like a big night.

  “Hello, Nicole,” he said. She and I lazed on the couch, getting ready for a romantic comedy movie marathon.

  “Thunder.” Even Nicole was turned on by the guy. The dude looked...wow. I mean, for an “older man,” he was a frickin babe. Like an ex-marine.

  “So, your mom gonna be long?”

  I shrugged. “Women, y’know. Want a drink?”

  “No, no. I’m fine.”

  “When was the last time you wore a dress shirt?” I asked.

  “The eighties? Damn thing itches.” He scratched his chest.

  “You’re so cute, Thunder,” Nicole said. He rolled his eyes. “Where’s the gang?”

  “Club. It’s—”

  “—NOT A GANG!” Nicole and I cried in unison.

  “So, where are they?” she repeated.

  “Upstate. They’re not much into cities. Too cramped.”

  “Do they also know you’re in a dress shirt?”

  He scowled at her with his perfect blue eyes.

  After five minutes, he finally sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. Another ten minutes went by. Thunder stood, walked to mom’s bedroom door. “Alice, you gonna be long?”

  “No!”

  “OK, fine.” Then to us he mumbled, “Just asking.”

  Nicole grinned. “Where you taking her?”

  “Le Jacques.” (With Thunder’s Texan accent, it came out as Le Jacks.)

  “Yikes, what did you do? Rob a bank or something?”

  Thunder just flicked his eyes around nervously.

  Eventually he joined me on the couch and watched the opening sequence of Hitch with us. When mom walked out in a brilliant black evening gown (thirty minutes later), Thunder actually stumbled getting up. His eyes popped open when he saw her. “Alice,” he said in his gravelly tone. “God...you look...you look... I’m honored. Just...honored.”

  Mom blushed. Her hair was done up. She looked like Lauren Bacall.

  “I don’t think that dress is gonna hold up on a Harley,” Nicole said.

  “Oh, we’re not taking the hog,” Alice said. “Thunder rented us a limo.”

  Thunder cleared his throat. He looked like he wanted to get out of there, not wanting us to grill him with any more questions. They left in a hurry.

  Nicole and I looked at each other for a while before saying anything. She fanned herself. “Is it just me, or is your mom’s boyfriend hot?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ~ I love you ~

  -1-

  Friday, Jul 17

  “I want you to meet Tiago.”

  “Does this mean it’s serious now?” mom asked.

  I looked at my plate a moment too long. “Maybe.”

  “Wanna invite him over for dinner?”

  “I already have. He’ll be here tonight. And...and we’re going on the road tomorrow...for the weekend.”

  Mom’s expression was hard to read. I wasn’t sure if it was concern or excitement.

  -2-

  Saturday, July 18

  Tiago and I took a cabin near Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire, a six hour drive from New York. We took the I-91, because I still couldn’t handle the memories on the I-95. Even during our roadtrip we’d avoided that road. I think I’ll avoid it for the rest of my life.

  We arrived at ten AM. Tiago had driven almost all night. I had slept most of the way.

  We’d rented a breathtaking cabin, lake-facing, hidden away under greenery and tall spruces. A deck surrounded it completely. An open-air barbecue. Inside, there was a fireplace, and the place smelled of pinecones. I wasn’t sure if we’d need the fire in the middle of sum
mer.

  We went hiking, visited the “Castle in the Clouds,” hired a boat, swam in the incredibly warm water.

  And it was in the water that we finally started doing what we’d come here to do.

  Tiago and I were just two days short of our two-month anniversary. I had no more doubt of who he was as a person. I believed I could trust him.

  And so I would give myself to him.

  -3-

  He wrapped me in his arms in the water and pulled me to him, kissed me. His hands slid under the strap of my bikini and tugged. The cabin was relatively private, but surely someone with binoculars could see us if they wanted to. But he just played with the bra, didn’t slip it off.

  I kissed the two knife scars on his cheek, first the top one. Then the bottom.

  He turned me around, kissed my neck and shoulder-blades.

  And then his hand slid inside me, in the water. And all external movement stopped.

  The sun sat low behind him when he pulled away, his eyes glistening like Tiger’s Eye. “You ready?” he asked me.

  I was.

  He went in and made a fire. Being close to the water made the area cooler at night than further away. We probably could have gotten away without making one, but it was romantic. He popped open a red wine and poured me a glass.

  “You really went all out, didn’t you?” I said.

  He shrugged, sipped his wine.

  The fire crackled and my toes warmed up from the swim. Tiago drained his glass. Stood. Extended his hand to me.

  And then he led me to the bedroom.

  -4-

  It was quaint, woolen bedding. Simple.

  Logs snapped in the living room from the heat. Tiago had put on some music I didn’t recognize. Soft, a slightly haunting sound. Female vocals.

  We hadn’t told each other that we loved each other yet. I knew that what I felt for him was strong, very strong. But neither of us had said the words. I was OK with that. I didn’t want to overthink it. We were in a good place, both of us. I was comfortable with him. I’d grown more and more comfortable with him over the weeks. And then I’d finally told him I was ready.