by Dee Ernst
“And every other word out of your mouth for at least a week will be ‘fuck’”
He laughed. “ He does say that a lot. Can I help?”
“Sure.” She was husking corn, and handed him two ears. “I’ve got crabs in the cooler in the garage, still kicking, so they’ll be great, and corn and tomatoes and half a peach pie from a farm stand down there. How does that sound?”
“Wow, you mean I’ll get to eat and everything?”
“Of course. You think I’d just have you move furniture then send you home?”
“Here.” He handed her the corn, then shook the silky fibers into the garbage.
“So, what did you say to Mark?” She poured iced tea and handed him a glass.
“Say to Mark about what?”
“About me being complicated?”
“Oh, I knew you weren’t going to let me off the hook about that one. Let’s see.” He took a long drink of tea and looked deliberately thoughtful. “I told him I didn’t understand a thing you said or did, but you gave the best blow job I’d ever gotten, so I didn’t care.”
Diane rolled her eyes and went past him into the living room. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the coffee table and Michael sat across from her on the couch, his feet propped on the table next to her. “So tell me,” she said softly. “Tell me everything that you did while I was gone.”
He told her, watching her face. Her hair was wild around her, thick and curling from the humidity. Her face was tan, lips pale with no make-up. Her eyes, as she listened, got wider, dancing as she smiled. She leaned forward, and he could smell the clean lemon of her shampoo. He had stopped talking, he suddenly realized, and was staring, listening to the hum of air conditioning. The music changed. The Temptations.
“Don’t you listen to anything recorded after 1982?” he asked her.
She tilted her head to the side, thinking. “I don’t think so. What are you staring at?”
“You look gorgeous.”
She chewed her lip, glancing downward, and he could see her starting to blush.
“I look like a gypsy,” she said, bringing her hands to her hair and trying to pat down the curls.
“Okay. You look like a gorgeous gypsy.”
She smiled, grabbed his hand and pulled him off the couch. He followed her into the bedroom.
“What about your back?” he asked as he pulled off his clothes.
“You can’t touch. At all.” She pushed him onto the bed, and climbed on top of him. “I mean it.” Her hair fell around his face as she kissed him. He tried to bring his hands to her face, but she caught them and pushed them back against the bed, holding his wrists on either side of his face.
“Close your eyes,” she suggested, “and try to relax.” He gave himself over. He could feel her, her mouth, her hands, the thick fall of her hair. He kept his eyes closed, his hands buried into the bedclothes. He heard thunder, loud and very close. She stroked him, licked him, and kissed him until he thought he would burst. Her voice was in his ear, a warm whisper. Is this good? How about this? Do you like it? Tell me what you want. Then he felt her, her weight on his hips, sliding onto him slowly, rocking, and he opened his eyes and saw her watching him, a smile on her lips as she led him, faster, until he rose against her as thunder rattled the windows and rain pounded against the roof. She slid off him and snuggled against his shoulder. He was breathing heavily, damp with sweat.
“I think the earth really moved,” he said at last.
She giggled. “It could have been the thunder.”
“Oh - okay. Well, still.” He turned his head to look at her. “How about you? Do you mind when you don’t come?”
Diane kissed him quickly. “Sometimes it’s not about the big orgasm, you know? Sometimes it’s just about being close.” She traced his lower lip with her finger. “I just wanted you inside me, that’s all.”
He exhaled slowly. “That is such a chick thing.”
She giggled again. “Oh, d’ya think?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure, in the entire history of mankind, no guy has every said to his buddy, ‘well, I didn’t come, but that’s okay, I just wanted to be close.’”
Diane blew into his skin, making a loud raspberry noise. “You men are pigs. Seriously.”
“I know we are.” He got up on one elbow and looked at her back. “Man, your ass looks horrible,” he said, startled.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, turning to look. “A little cellulite, maybe, but not that bad.”
“You know what I mean.” There was a large scrape, looking red and ugly against her pale skin. “Are you supposed to be putting something on that?”
“Yes. The doctor gave me salve and gauze and stuff.”
“In the bathroom?” he asked, rolling from the bed and walking naked across the floor. He returned with a white plastic bag, sat back next to her, and spilled the contents on to the bed.
“Here, let’s try this first,” he suggested, examining a tube.
“Michael, you don’t have to do this,” she said, feeling embarrassed.
“Who else is going to do it? You can’t reach. Besides, you just fulfilled one of my long-standing fantasies.”
“Oh? You’ve always wanted to make love to a woman with rocks in her butt?”
He chuckled and applied the salve gently. “No. During a thunderstorm. It’s very tricky timing. Now, I can check another one off my list. Want some on your back?”
“That would be good. Any other fantasies I can help you with?”
“Maybe. Since you don’t have a sister, are you close to your friend Carol?”
“Forget it. Next please?”
“How do you feel about handcuffs?”
“Oh, very cute. Ouch, not so hard.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Is that better?”
“Yes. It takes the sting out. Thank you.”
“Sure.” He wiped his fingers with gauze. “All done.”
“I really appreciate it. You’re always doing the nicest things for me.”
“I love you, remember?”
“I know. And I’m grateful every day.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No, not really.”
“Will the crabs keep?”
“For a while.”
“Then let’s just stay here. When the rain stops, we’ll get out of bed.”
“Good plan.”
He stretched out on his back, and she curled against him, and they fell asleep with the sound of the rain on the roof.
Marianne Thomas gave Diane a call. Classes were starting, and Marianne had come back from her annual pilgrimage to Crete. They agreed to meet for lunch.
Marianne could not believe how lovely Diane looked. Her hair was long, glossy and curling. Her face was tanned, her eyes bright and happy. Marianne clucked her tongue as Diane sat down.
“I take it you’re still with that beautiful boy?” Marianne asked, arching a plucked eyebrow.
Diane made a face. “He’s not a boy, Marianne.”
“No, but he is beautiful. What happened to your face?”
“I fell. I tried to go roller-blading with Megan.”
“God, why would you want to do that?”
Diane shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m having a midlife crisis.”
“I would think,” Marianne said carefully, “that having frequent sex with a man roughly half your age would ward off any impending midlife crisis.”
Diane examined the menu. “So, tell me. Tell me about Greece. Did everyone remember you again this year? It must be like a family reunion by now. You’ve been going back to the same place since before I knew you. What, eight years?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. It has been eight years. They even fixed me up this time, with a lovely English woman, who was as desperate about the dearth of Greek lesbians as I was.” Marianne shook out her napkin. “She left me feeling pretty much the way you look”
“How do I look?” Diane looked over the top of the menu
.
“Cherished.”
Diane took a gulp of the wine the waiter placed in front of her. Marianne sipped hers, watching her friend.
“Are you in love with this man?” Marianne asked suddenly.
Diane set down the menu slowly. “I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately. The girls are home next week. I won’t be able to see him every day, once I’m back to work. The play is going to take up so much time, I had no idea. I feel like a junkie about to be taken off drugs. Is that because I need him? Love him? I don’t know. I think I do. He says he’s in love with me.”
“He says?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Have you been living with him?” Marianne asked.
“No. Not exactly. I’ve been going home everyday, usually on my way to school, to feed the cat, get mail. Change clothes. All I’ve got at his place is a toothbrush. I do stuff at the house. I can’t call my mother from his place, it just feels too weird. She never forgave me divorcing Kevin, and I can just imagine what she’d think of all this. But we haven’t been apart more than a couple of nights in a row all summer.”
“How cozy.”
“I know. And it’s all about to change. And Quinn Harris is coming back and teaching another class this fall. It’s a done deal. Sam told me.”
Marianne took another sip. “This is all so interesting. Maybe I shouldn’t go away next year. It seems I’ve missed an awful lot.”
“I’ve been living in a very artificial world all summer. I mean, he has a boat, we sail. We have lunch served by the pool. We run into The City whenever I want. There’s all this great sex at the drop of a hat. That’s not how I usually run my life, you know that. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fit him into my real world.”
“Well, this can’t be the real world for him, either, can it? I mean, isn’t he usually doing something other than catering to your every whim? Doesn’t he tour or record or make videos or something?”
“Yes. Right now he’s working on a score for a movie. He’ll probably be going up to Toronto in the next few weeks. For a month or so, he thinks.”
“So, you won’t be able to see him all the time anyway, right?”
Diane shrugged. “We haven’t really figured that out. He says he’ll fly back. I could go up on weekends”
“There, see, aren’t you glad I’m back? I’ve solved all your problems for you in half a drink.”
Diane shook her head. “I don’t know what to do about Quinn. Until I met Michael, I kept hoping he would divorce his wife, come back here and sweep me off my feet. Apparently he has divorced her, and he’s on his way back. Now what do I do?”
“My dear woman,” Marianne said severely, “You’ve already been swept. Don’t get greedy.”
“You know how I felt about Quinn,” Diane said. “He was everything I ever wanted.”
“What’s Michael?”
“Michael is more,” Diane said softly. “He’s wonderful, but let’s face it, he’s almost twenty years younger than I am. How much longer can this possibly last?”
“Have you asked him?”
Diane stared down at the linen tablecloth. “He says there’s no reason we can’t have a future together. He just hasn’t exactly figured out what it would be like, and neither have I.”
“Well maybe it’s time you did, especially if he’s going off to Toronto. How would you feel if he got lonely up there and latched on to somebody else?”
Diane gaped at her friend. “Michael? He would never do that.”
“How the hell do you know? You’re sitting here, trying to decide if you should make a run at some man you met two years ago, just in case the whole Michael thing takes a dive. How do you know he’s not thinking the same thing about some cute little Canadian groupie he met up there?”
“He would never walk away from what we’ve had for the past three months,” Diane said indignantly. “He’s in love with me.”
“And you aren’t in love with him. How long do you think he’s going to be happy with that?”
“Shit,” Diane said softly.
“Amen to that.” Marianne signaled the waiter, who came and took their order. They sat quietly for a few more minutes. Diane chewed her lip thoughtfully.
“So I guess it’s time to fish or cut bait, huh?” Diane asked at last.
“It might not be a bad thing, you know. Wouldn’t you like to know where this is going?”
Diane shook her head. “No. And this is so unlike me. You know how I am about stuff. Although the phrase ‘control freak’ rarely comes up in conversation with my close friends, I like knowing exactly where things are going, and how, and why. I think I love him. I really do. I feel like a kid with my head in the clouds. But what if I’m not? Does that mean it will all end? I don’t want this to end.” She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her glass. “He’s in my head all the time. He crowds out so much. Maybe it’s a good thing he’ll be gone, because I don’t know how I could concentrate on anything with him right there. I feel like it’s him and then everything else. But the everything else is my life. It’s my job and my house, picking up the girls after school, doing laundry. I don’t know how I’d say no to him because of something I had to do for Emily. I’d hate it.”
“Don’t you think you’re not giving him enough credit?” Marianne leaned forward, covering Diane’s hand with her own. “He’s not a selfish person, is he? Surely he would understand your choices.”
Diane sighed. “It’s not about him. He’s very generous. Of course he’d understand. He makes no demands on me, Marianne, even when I know that maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m doing, or why. He never questions me, never tries to talk me out of anything. It’s me. I’m projecting, I guess. Isn’t that the current psycho-babble? He doesn’t ask things of me, but I feel the need to change for him. For his happiness, or comfort. It’s scary. It’s confusing. I don’t know how to get my mind around it.”
The waiter appeared, setting their plates in front of them. Diane cut her burger in half and began eating, slowly and carefully. Marianne watched her.
Diane put her burger down suddenly. “So - how can I even be thinking about Quinn? God, I am such an awful person.”
“No, you’re not. You’re one of the best people I know.” Marianne speared a tomato and chewed thoughtfully. “Quinn isn’t quite so scary or confusing. Maybe that’s why. He would be a much simpler choice.”
Diane looked at her burger. “When I’m under stress, I tend to eat lots of red meat,” she said.
“Yes,” Marianne agreed, “I’ve noticed that about you. You’d better buy lots of steak.”
Diane nodded glumly, and finished her lunch in silence.
She drove out to Michael’s that afternoon. The sky had become cloudy, rain threatened, but she found him out by the pool. Seth was there, a beautiful, leggy redhead beside him. Stephanie had become a regular visitor. As far as Diane could tell, she had no job of any kind, other than making Seth happy, and she seemed to do that fairly well. The table was littered with glasses, wedges of lemon, and a half-empty bottle of tequila. Diane took in the scene with mild alarm. Michael did not drink often, not to this extent, and never so early in the day.
Michael was sitting at the table, wearing shorts, his Hawaiian-style shirt unbuttoned, and his feet bare. His hair had grown longer during the summer, his skin was smooth and brown. Seth saw her first, and shouted a greeting. She liked Seth a lot. He was smart and very talented, took very few things outside his music seriously, and was a great friend to Michael.
“Sit down, my sweet,” Seth yelled at her as she came out of the house. “We have decided to go to Bermuda. Stephanie says there are pink beaches in Bermuda, and I want pink beaches. Lochinvar here is coming with us.”
Diane came up behind Michael and kissed the top of his head. “Lochinvar hates to go anywhere. How did you manage this?”
“Come with me,” M
ichael said, grabbing her hand. “We’ll only be three or four days.” His eyes were slightly unfocused, his speech loose and happy.
Diane shook her head. “I cannot go to Bermuda. Sorry.”
“Why not?” Michael kissed her hand.
“For one thing, I just spent eight hundred bucks on the car and I can’t afford to go.”
“That’s bullshit,” Michael said happily. “I’ll pay for everything. No, don’t get all huffy. I know you don’t like me paying for shit, but this would be different.” He drew her head in closely and whispered loudly, “Once we get there, I fully intend to exploit you sexually.”
Diane laughed. “Oh? Well, then, that’s different.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her cheek against his. “Would costumes be involved?”
Seth and Stephanie were smiling, but Michael looked thoughtful.
“Well,” he said finally, “Maybe just that French maid thing. I like you in black.”
Seth threw back his head and howled. Michael turned to him in mock anger.
“Oh, yeah, like you never played ‘The Pirate and the Princess.’”
Seth was laughing, pounding the table with his palm. “I can’t believe you, man, you are one fucked up dude,” he sputtered. “Pirate. Oh man.” Seth took a breath and sat up straighter. He looked at Stephanie seriously. “Maybe we’ll try that tonight?” He asked, and then burst into laughter again. Diane was laughing with him.
“How long have you guys been out here?” She finally asked. “I’m going to have to play catch-up, I think.” She sat down and poured a shot, then sprinkled salt on her hand. “And why did we decide on this little trip anyway?” she asked, licking the salt and downing the shot. She grabbed the lemon wedge, sucking it as Seth answered.
“Because London is going to be so fucking cold,” he shouted, pointing an unsteady finger at her. “London is always so fucking cold. I need a major dose of sunshine before London. I hate the fucking rain.” He turned to Stephanie, nuzzling her neck. “Will you keep me warm and dry in London?” he asked, and she giggled.
