Me Tarzan, You Jane

by Camelia Miron Skiba

  “You probably think I’m a freak coming to your parents’ house,” Lucas whispers. “I thought I’d be okay, but once here I . . . I’m so close to . . . to . . . to Mom and . . .” He clears his throat, his eyes big with anxiety. “It’s final.”

  I squeeze his hand and smile at him. “Don’t worry. No one judges you here.”

  He squeezes my hand back and lets out a long sigh then looks out the window. A glance at my mom and I see her arched eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Not sure how much she heard from our conversation with the radio on and Ella talking, but she sure looks intrigued. I’ll worry about explaining myself later.

  Indeed Mom has prepared a regal dinner, exactly what I expected. But Lucas is shocked to see all the dishes brought to the table. Like a famished wolf, he eats everything my mom places on his plate, complimenting her with every other bite. Truth is, I haven’t seen him eat anything since the frugal dinner in Disneyland. Ella feeds him from her plate too, telling him, “Try this one, it’s my faborite,” cuter than a bug with her mispronunciation.

  It’s a long dinner, but personally I’m not in a hurry. I get to spend more time with Lucas. Paris is the main subject, then Pete takes over the conversation. It turns out Lucas’s knowledge about old cars is quite vast. Mom and I pitch in once in a while, but when Ella falls asleep next to her plate, it’s a signal for us to get up and clean the table. I give Ella a quick bath before she crashes in my childhood bedroom. When I return to the kitchen, Pete and Lucas are gone.

  “The garage?” I ask although I know the answer.

  “Where else?” Mom smiles at me, rinsing dishes before loading them in the dishwasher.

  I clean the kitchen along with Mom, making small conversation. I seem to stutter a lot or sound too excited describing some painting in the Louvre or Voltaire’s statue in the crypt of the Panthéon. The more I talk the angrier I get at myself for not being able to talk about the elephant in the room when it’s obvious I try too hard to avoid it. The kitchen is cleaned, dishwasher on, and I’m out of nonsense subjects.

  “Fine, you win.”

  Mom folds beige with red poppies linen napkins one at a time, scrunching her gray eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ask me. I know you want to ask me, so go ahead.”

  “I’m not asking anything, honey. If you’re not ready to talk, I don’t need to know.” Mom pats my cheek then walks toward the laundry room.

  I follow her with a sigh. “The truth is . . . I don’t even know what to tell you.” My arms rise and fall in exasperation. “I met him at the writers’ conference in Phoenix and he annoyed the daylight out of me. No, annoyed is not enough. Arrogant, ill-mannered, cocky, rude, you name it. Lucas was all of that and I couldn’t stand him.

  “One day when I was working for Madame V he showed up and again he annoyed me to no end. It turns out the two of them are good friends. You can easily imagine my shock when I saw him at the airport in Paris. They had an arrangement that Ella and I would stay at this guesthouse on Madame V’s property, and Lucas was there too, and he minded his business and I minded mine, and then he found out that his father wanted to take his mom off life support without—”

  I can no longer take Mom’s smile. She sorts the dark colored clothes from the white ones with this look on her face, as if this is the first time she does it and as if she’s never seen those colors in her life. Her innocent demeanor could fool a stranger, but not me. I know that, exactly that look as if she’s interested in everything I say and yet she doesn’t believe one iota.

  “Mo-om!”

  “What?” She blinks quickly.

  “Stop it. I know you.” I shake a finger at her. “I’m telling the truth, seriously.”

  “And I’ve no doubt about it, honey, except you’re trying too hard to convince me you don’t like Lucas.” She pats my cheek. “I don’t need convincing. You need it.”

  Pete and Lucas come through the laundry room door. The two men walk ahead of us. I pinch Mom’s hand, following them into the living room. Leaning toward her I whisper, “We’re not done talking.”

  She winks at me and says, “Lucas, how about some ice cream?”

  “Thank you, Rose, but I should get going.” Lucas stops in the hallway by the front door.

  He looks at me and, if I know anything about Lucas it’s that he actually doesn’t want to go. The way he shuffles on his feet, the way he puts a hand in his back pocket only to take it out the next second and push it through his hair.

  “I’ll drive you,” Pete offers.

  “No you’re not,” Mom replies. “You don’t see well at night, remember?” Pete’s smile turns into a frown as Mom turns toward me and says, “God forbid he wears those glasses. Jane, why don’t you drive Lucas? Take our truck.”

  “It’s okay, guys. I’ll just get a cab.” Lucas smiles, pulling his cell phone out. “Thank you for your hospitality. Dinner was one of the best I’ve ever had. Rose, you’re the best chef ever.”

  “You’re welcome, Lucas,” Mom says.

  “Looking forward to seeing you again.” Pete scratches the back of his head then rearranges his Dodgers baseball cap. “Anytime you want, come by.”

  Lucas glances at me. “If Jane doesn’t mind, I’d like to.” He shakes Pete’s hand. When he tries to do the same with Mom, she hugs him. He also earns himself a cheek pat, which coming from Mom means she likes him. Of course, how else would it be? Everyone falls for him, including my own mother.

  “Come help me with the dishes,” Mom takes Pete’s hand and drags him away.

  “Dishes? I never do dishes, what are you talking about?”

  Lucas and I exchange a look. We both smile. Mom wasn’t as subtle as she wanted, but I give her kudos for trying.

  “So . . . I should get going,” Lucas takes a step closer. His thumb touches my cheek, his green eyes staring into mine.

  “Yeah, it’s late,” I nod.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, when I get to Salt Lake City.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You will call, too, right?”

  I swallow hard. Can’t talk, but manage, “Mm hmm.”

  “Good night, Jane.”

  “Good night, Lucas.”

  He lingers a moment, looking at his shoes, then walks away. He opens the door and walks out into the night. Halfway down the path he turns to face me.

  “My bags and the address. I forgot to ask the address.”

  I hit my forehead. “Duh, the bags are in Pete’s truck. What was I thinking? Of course you need the address. It’s 35297—”

  Lucas interrupts me, “I can drop you off at your house, if you want.”

  I know it’s not right. And I know I only prolong the agony of seeing him gone. But I don’t care. Truth is, I’d do anything to spend another minute with Lucas. I’ll deal with my demons in my own bed, trying to think of anything else but Lucas. All I want right now is to be with him, even if it’s only for a cab ride.

  I rush to say goodbye to Mom and Pete. “I’ll come tomorrow for Ella.”

  “I’d like to have her for a few days if you don’t mind,” Mom says and Pete nods. “Make up for the time you girls were gone.”

  “We’ll talk. Love you guys.”

  “Love you too,” Mom locks the door behind me while Pete opens the garage door.

  I call for a cab as Lucas pulls our bags out of Pete’s truck. We wait outside in front of the garage after Pete closes the door.

  We don’t speak much in the cab. Once again we intertwine our fingers. I’d like to believe it’s as comforting for him as it is for me. When the driver pulls in front of my house I want to kick myself for not talking a little bit more during the ride.

  We get out and Lucas helps me carry the bags in.

  “Nice home.” He places the last two bags in the living room.

  “Thanks.”

  “Very colorful.” He draws a circle in the air.

  “Kills the monotony.”

  We st
are at each other for lengthy moments.

  “Okay, then. I should get going,” Lucas shuffles.

  “Thanks for dropping me off.” Rocking on my feet, I bite my lip.

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  I know for a fact I didn’t grow roots although that’s exactly how I feel. We didn’t talk about seeing each other in the future. The column I agreed to write for his magazine can be done without face-to-face meetings.

  Lucas turns the knob and opens the door in a slow motion. He starts down the path in front of my house. I stare at his back. The cab’s engine muffles his steps. He reaches for the cab’s door, and opens it.

  And I freak out. Running to him, I yell, “Don’t go!”

  Lucas turns and I throw myself at him, my arms latching around his neck. “Don’t go,” I mutter, closing my eyes and inhaling his scent.

  Lucas cups warm palms over my cheeks and forces me to look into his eyes. The street lamp cones light above our heads and for a moment my boldness shocks me, but I shake it off. No time to overthink. No time to admonish myself for being reckless. No time to question what I’m doing. Because I have no time.

  “Stay.” I push a hand through Lucas’s hair then rub his neck. “Please, stay.”

  He bows, stopping an inch away from my lips.

  I stand on my tiptoes afraid he won’t find my mouth, pulling him closer. And I kiss him, middle of the night, middle of the street in front of the whole world, muting the voices in my head, my body burning with desire.

  I want to crawl under his skin. Hold onto him and keep him, even if only for a night, not sharing him with anyone. Tomorrow he can return to his life, return to his fans. But tonight, here and now, I want Lucas Oliver to be mine.

  Breathless, he rests his forehead against mine, placing little kisses on my mouth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 21

  Since Lucas returned from the funeral I steal time to be with him whenever I can. While Ella is at daycare I go to his house, setting my alarm an hour before picking her up. After Ella goes to sleep Lucas sneaks in my house and leaves at sunrise, before she wakes up.

  The passion and hunger this man brings out in me is unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.

  Evan taught me how to make love.

  Lucas shows me the difference between making love and having sex. It’s purely carnal, flesh on flesh until ultimate combustion. It’s beyond me what possesses me to do what I do, not only living in sin but enjoying it. Me, the woman that back in high school wrote her own commandments in addition to the biblical ones.

  Don’t get me wrong, I have hobbies and I’m passionate about some things, but I never so much as screamed at a concert, no matter how much the music moved me. I never developed addictions no matter the temptations. My whole life I despised people with addictions, couldn’t and didn’t want to understand or accept them.

  Until now.

  I’m an addict. Lucas is my drug. As strange and twisted as it sounds I hunger for him. The way his big and warm hands cup my face, pulling me in for long, hot, ravaging kisses. The way his hands yank at my clothes and explore my body with the same wonder as a sculptor with a piece of clay, molding it, shaping it into a masterpiece. The way he calls my name between short, ragged breaths, imploring me to not let go . . .

  I know it’s wrong. And I know there’s a price to pay. No sin goes unpunished. I dread what is to become of me, what torments my poor heart will endure. But the thing is . . . aside from what Lucas does to me, he gives me something. Something I didn’t think possible after losing Evan. Lucas gives me the will to be whole again. The determination to heal a shattered heart. The need to move on.

  For so long I haven’t cared and have been stuck in an empty place. Numb with pain and grief, numb with guilt. All this time I’ve punished myself for surviving Evan in the most hurtful way possible. I’ve only been a mother, a daughter, a sister and a friend, refusing myself the most basic form of being I was supposed to fulfill here on this earth: as a woman.

  Unknowingly, Lucas’s desire for me opened a door I, in all conscience, barricaded for good, locked and destroyed the key. And for that I’ll forever be grateful, loving him in ways he’ll never know.

  Seeing him depressed is disheartening. I don’t know this Lucas. His teasing I know how to handle. His need for people’s adulation—with a roll of my eyes, I have that under control, too. I understand his misery, and I understand his frustration and sadness. I understand all the feelings and emotions associated with losing someone. But I don’t know what to make of his holding my hand, be it in the car, on the sofa watching a movie, or even when he’s on the phone. I don’t understand why, out of all the people that offered to be with him, he wants me. Only me.

  “I knew Mom was sick,” Lucas says with a long exhale. We sit on his terrace facing the restless ocean. “I knew she was in pain. I’ve seen the sclerosis shriveling and twisting her body, and later her mind swallowed by darkness but I kept hoping that . . . that she’d be around for much longer.”

  “She’s in a better place now.”

  “Is she really?” Bitterness peppers Lucas’s voice. “I’m sick of how many times I’ve heard that. How can anyone be better off in a place away from their family? How? Her body is ashes, her soul gone, and wherever that is no one has ever returned from to confirm it exists.” Lucas gets up and walks to the wooden rail.

  “She’s no longer in pain, Lucas,” I offer, stacking dishes on the rattan table. “If nothing else this should give you closure.”

  He turns to look at me, crossing his arms over his broad chest and leaning against the rail. “Closure how, Jane? Why do I have to trade her being alive with her being no longer in pain?”

  I get up and walk over, stopping in front of him. My fingers push through his black hair. With the sun behind him, a sheen of gold frames Lucas. “It’s a good question to ask God when you’ll face him one day.”

  “God?” He spits the word out. “Which God are you talking about? The one who allowed twenty-some innocent lives to be taken at Sandy Hook School by a sick bastard? Or the God that allows war and destruction all over the world, children killed, women raped . . . not buying it.”

  “It’s okay to be angry.” I cup his cheek. He doesn’t look at me but rather to the side. The salty breeze mixes with his scent I’ve come to crave. I pull him down to kiss his temple, down his face and stop at the corner of his mouth. Between tiny kisses I say, “Our world is made of evil and good . . . night and day . . . happiness and sadness. Sometimes bad things happen, sometimes good. But there’s always a balance and a lot of questions without answers.”

  He uncrosses his arms and his legs, corralling me with his arms. He toys with my sweater’s zipper. “These days . . . you’re nice, very nice to me. I almost think aliens switched snarky Jane for caring Jane, but I do enjoy the change. Very much.”

  “I might be snarky but not heartless.” I lace my arms around his neck, playing with his hair. “I’m only giving you time to regroup. I like an equal adversary, not a wounded duck.”

  “Nah, I don’t think this change has anything to do with that. I think you really like me and you can’t resist my charms. You know I’m a great, awesome, incredible guy who deserves all your attention, adulation and veneration.”

  I laugh. “Whoa! Not so wounded, huh? I know you didn’t like school, but adulation and veneration mean the same. I’ll gift you a dictionary for Christmas.”

  “Yes, Miss Author of the Year.”

  I lose myself in his kiss. Small and steady at first then deeper, and impatient passion explodes in me like a dawdling fire doused with gasoline. Why can’t I ever get enough of this man?

  My alarm goes off. “I need to go . . .” I whisper against his lips.

  “One minute.” Lucas takes my head between his palms, holding me his mouth’s prisoner.

  “I need to pick up Ella.”

  He lets go. “Sorry. I’m selfish. Can I come with you? I haven’
t seen her since we returned from France.”

  We walk into the house. Grabbing my purse, I say, “Let’s keep things simple, Lucas. We talked about it. The moms, the kids at daycare . . . no one has ever seen me with a man. They’ll start questioning, you know how it is.”

  With an arm around my shoulders, the other in his jeans’ pocket, he walks me to the door. “I don’t know how it is, Jane. Never been with a woman with kids. I’ll be leaving in two days for the magazine’s launch. You don’t want to come with me, you don’t want to go out with me. All we do is stay in, sneaking around like teenagers. The only time we go out is when we run on the beach. It’s almost like you’re afraid to be seen in public with me.”

  “That’s not true.” My words come out rushed, my guard up, ready to defend myself, but I instantly realize I have no reason. Lucas doesn’t accuse me but rather states the facts. Taking a deep breath I say, “I’d love to come with you, but Ella needs her routine. I can’t drag her from one hotel to another. Your lifestyle and mine obviously clash, as much as we try to adjust to it. You do what you have to do and I need to do what’s in the best interest of my daughter.” The snoozer’s irritating sound startles me. With the few minutes buffer gone now I really have to leave or I’ll be late.

  I kiss Lucas before opening the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Can I come over after Ella goes to sleep?” Lucas follows me to the car, holding onto the door as I get in.

  “Not tonight. I’ve edits to do for my critique partners. I’m new to the group and want to make a good impression.”

  “Let me come,” Lucas holds onto the car door as I start the engine. “You won’t hear a peep from me. I promise I’ll let you work. Please?” He tilts his head, looking not only as a lost puppy but darn good with the white V-neck shirt stretched over his muscles. “Please?”