by Unknown
She pulls out a business card with a cartoon drawing of a crescent moon. It has her name and the address of the restaurant: The Crescent Moon Club.
“Sounds like fun! We’ll try it.”
She hangs out with us for part of the afternoon, and then she leaves to get ready for work.
Nathanael and Pamela are cavorting in the pool like kids. I wonder if she’s okay with a fling, or if she said yes to sex without strings, hoping that she was going to be able to tie him down before he goes.
By seven, there’s just the three of us left in the pool area. I’m reading a novel, and the two lovebirds are wrapped around each other in the middle of the pool. They hop out of sight into the Jacuzzi; I don’t see them anymore, but I can hear Pamela’s giggles.
I want to be happy for them, but I feel very sad. The piece of my heart that went missing is haunting me. It’s like an itchy phantom limb that can never be scratched.
Pamela’s giggles turn to whimpers that distract me from my reading. Is Nathanael crazy enough to be doing it here, in the Jacuzzi, without any protection? Perhaps he has a condom in his bathing suit. Is it possible to slide a condom on while in bubbling water?
There’s a world of questions going unanswered in my mind, but I don’t think that this one will keep me up at night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LOVELY MAY HAS TURNED INTO rainy June. On weekends, I hang out by the pool and warm up to Lyv. She’s excited because her son and her granddaughter will be arriving at the end of the month.
It’s been more than two years since she saw him last, and she can’t wait to meet her baby’s baby.
Listening to her ramble on about it makes me wonder if my own family gets this excited before I come to visit. Somehow, I very much doubt it.
The rest of the week, Nathanael and I are practically living in the lab. I get up at 6am, go play in the pool—which could just as well be my private pool at that time of day—and then make coffee for Nathanael when he’s not sleeping over at Pamela’s place.
When he’s home, we drive to work, and when he’s not, I ride my bicycle. More often than not, we order lunch and dinner, and have it delivered.
We’re making so much progress that he thinks he’ll be done with his part of the work by mid-July.
Nathanael teases me that he was smarter than me: he got a flat fee for his participation in the program, whereas I’m on salary. I guess if the whole thing runs smoothly before my contract expires, I’ll have to start looking for another job sooner than expected… unless I do go back to school. I have a few more weeks before I need to have a decision made.
Nathanael has already changed his initial plans: he’ll go spend the rest of the summer in France. He thinks that he needs to be face to face with Martine in order to decide what he will do about her.
I have a hard time processing how he can claim to be in love with the French girl, and still screw Pamela silly every other night. I’m trying to understand, so I ask him about it while we’re on our way to The Crescent Moon Club.
Lyv talked us into coming up there on a Thursday night because that’s when they have a live band playing. She’s decided that Nathanael needs an education on country music.
While walking with him through the clubhouse of the condo, I found out that he plays the piano. He sat down to test it, and just dazzled me. Every single piece he’s ever played is stored in his fabulous memory. It was not a total surprise, as it’s been asserted a while back that the part of the brain that processes music is the same as the one that processes math. My Wall Street pals are all mathematicians and musicians. But once again, Nathanael is outstanding, and, of course, he does not claim to be a musician. According to him, he just dabbles with the piano.
Nathanael is driving in the pouring rain, when I ask him, “How can you juggle two girls, like that?”
“It’s very clear in my head,” he says. “There’s no overlap; it’s two totally different things. There’s room for a lot of different relationships in my life. For instance, there is you. You know I love you, right? I love so many things about you that I won’t even begin to tell you because it would go to your head.” He extends his very long right arm and messes up my hair.
I laugh, and say, “Hands on the wheel!”
“I have another type of love for Martine because I think she’s ‘the one’ for me. I see a life with her in the future, but not now. Right now, she’s too young and too immature.”
“I’m not talking about you and Martine, versus you and me. I understand that we are on totally different planes.”
“Let me finish,” he says. “It’s the same with Pamela. She’s fun to be with, I think she has a killer body, she loves sex, and she knows I’m just passing through her life. I respect her, I have affection for her, and there is no contradiction in my head. I can have sex with this woman and still love another.”
“But when or if you finally have sex with Martine, will you keep playing around while you’re waiting for her to mature?”
“I’m not sure, and that’s probably why I did not do it, yet,” he sighs.
We remain silent for a few minutes, before he adds, “Just a few more weeks, and I’ll be gone, and I won’t have to put up with your silly questions about my private life.” I know he’s joking, but he wants to make sure that I understand it’s a joke, so he says, “I’m going to miss you more than I will miss Pamela.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” I know I will.
Living and working with Nathanael is giving me a glimpse at what a couple’s life could be like. A very symbiotic couple, that is, since we work and live together.
Some days I’m sorry that there is no physical attraction between us because he’s an ideal companion. Maybe he is the ideal companion because there is no attraction, so there’s no power play and no jealousy. Go figure.
We arrive at The Crescent Moon Club; it’s an old-fashioned Western bar in an almost rural part of the county. On the small stage next to the huge bar, there’s a four-man band: one piano, two guitars, and rudimentary drums. The piano player and one of the guitar players sing an old country standard. There’s a big crowd on the dance floor just in front of the stage.
Nathanael and I are seated at a table in the far back corner of the room, far enough from the band to be able to have a conversation without shouting at each other.
Following Lyv’s recommendations, we order the house specialty: burgers and sweet potato fries. We enjoy the music, and have fun watching the dancers.
The lights dim on the dance floor, and the band starts a slow dancing series of songs. They play a couple of songs, and then Lyv comes onto stage with an older guy. Well, he’s a man in his fifties: the right age for Lyv, I guess. He makes me think of my mother’s heroes: Bruce Willis or a more mature Jason Statham.
Together, they sing one of the songs from the first season of Nashville, “No One Will Ever Love You.” They look at each other when they sing, and there’s true chemistry there.
At the end of the song, the entire room gives them a standing ovation, and the guy grabs Lyv by the waist. He gets closer, and he’s staring at her lips like he’s going to kiss her. Then he stops, slides his mike back into the stand, waves at someone on the dance floor, and exits the stage. I look around the room, and I see my disappointment mirrored in most other women’s eyes. We all expected Lyv to get a Hollywood toe-curling kiss from the man. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s what they both wanted. What a horrible tease this man is!
Lyv remains on stage and looks like she’s taking it in stride. The band switches to a cheerful song as the lights brighten a bit. It’s a Shania Twain hit. The entire crowd is singing along with Lyv “Man! I Feel Like a Woman.” Since I can’t slap her man silly, I cheer at the top of my lungs when she stops to let her know that I’m rooting for her.
When she gets off stage, and the regular band singers take over, Nathanael says, “I had no idea that this woman could sing! She looks hot when she does!”
>
“Seriously?” I ask. “She could be your mother!”
“I’m not saying I’m tempted, I’m just saying that all the straight men over forty had a hard-on when she sang the first one.”
I look back at the stage and notice that one of the singers is a younger copy of Lyv’s singing partner - probably his son. He has the same face, but it’s topped with dirty blond curls, which frame his face nicely. He looks really cute; soft. He’s got a good body, great shoulders, and something about him screams that he’s not an aggressive alpha male like his father.
Maybe Lyv is right: the best way to feel better is to get right back in the saddle and with a different type of animal.
Nathanael is looking at me as if he doesn’t know me anymore.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“You just had an incredibly feral look in your eyes. For a second, I didn’t recognize you.” He’s amused. “Who’s the target?”
I blush. Crap, I had no idea that I was so transparent. I have to learn to hide my thoughts better. Since the cat is out of the bag, I confess. “I was thinking that the lead singer is a possibility.”
Nathanael looks up and comments, “The young version of Lyv’s guy? Not a bad choice.”
He gets up, but I grab him by the arm before he moves away. “Where are you going?”
“Just going to ask Lyv if she can come sit with us for a minute. Don’t worry, Jade, I wouldn’t embarrass you.”
As I am not so sure, I watch him cross the room and find Lyv by the bar. He points in the direction of our table. She waves at me, and they both come back to the table.
“You’re amazing,” I tell her. “And your partner wasn’t bad, either. Who is he?”
“He’s runs the place,” she says.
“Oh, he’s your boss?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” she says, and I can see that it’s weighing on her.
“Wanna talk about it?” asks Nathanael.
“Yes, actually, I do, but certainly not here. I thought that mixing business with pleasure would be interesting, but it’s turning out to be a nightmare. Now that I know I have two geniuses at my disposal, I’m certainly not going to miss an opportunity to get their two cents.”
“So, you’ve Googled us,” says Nathanael.
“Yes, and I was very impressed by the achievement of my pool buddies. So, in consideration for your analysis of my problem, I will cook you lunch. How would Saturday at the pool work for you?”
“Isn’t that when your family arrives?” I ask her.
“Yes, but I don’t foresee it as a problem; on the contrary.”
I have my doubts about this, as I’m not crazy about babies. But then, she calls everybody her babies, including her son, who’s at least thirty, so maybe her granddaughter is not really a toddler, anymore.
Nathanael looks at me to check if I want to go. I say, “It’s good for me, but I’m not sure that my two cents will be worth anything, unless your issues are somehow biology-related.”
She hushes me. “Don’t underestimate yourself. I know you can put your good mind to use in any field you decide to invest yourself in.”
“I second that,” says Nathanael. “Saturday is perfect; we look forward to it.”
“Good! In the meantime, could you do me a big favor?” Nathanael asks.
“I don’t know, Nathanael, what do you want?” She’s smiling, but I can see that she’s preoccupied.
“Jade’s been thinking about the advice you gave her… you know, the ‘get back into the saddle’ thing.”
“Yes, and?”
“Well, she thinks that the lead singer of the band is kind of hot. Would you introduce them?”
A mad rush of heat comes to my cheeks. God, I must be beet red. I’m pretty sure that I’m lighting up half of the room.
“I’m so sorry,” Lyv says to me. “He’s a real sweet boy. I’d be happy to introduce you to him, but he’s not for you. Nathanael has a better chance at bringing him home tonight.”
Just my luck: the second guy that I find sexy is gay.
Lyv pats my shoulder affectionately, and adds, “Also, I’m not sure that I’ve given you the best advice. Something tells me that you’re one of the lucky ones. Your first could also be your last, if you give him a second chance.”
She gets back to work, while Nathanael and I hang out a bit longer. When the band stops playing, we hit the road. Tomorrow is a workday.
While we drive home, I try to remember what I told Lyv about my love life, or, actually, my lack of love life. I remember that when we first met, I spoke about my first broken heart. I breathe out. For a second, I thought Nathanael had gone to speak to her about me behind my back. But he wouldn’t do something like that. How untrusting of me to even consider it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FRIDAY, AT THE CRACK OF DAWN, Nathanael knocks on my door. He walks in without waiting for an answer. He’s standing by the door in his boxer shorts, waiting for me to pay attention to him. I’m half asleep, but I can see that he looks like hell. His eyes are puffy; I guess he’s been fighting with his pillow since we got in, and did not get any sleep.
I’m on autopilot, and react as I used to when, in college, Agatha would come knock on my door, ready to drown herself in a pool of tears. I slide from the middle of the bed to one side, and motion for him to come lay next to me. He slides under the quilt, and holds on to me for dear life. I make soothing noises, and run my fingers through his hair as he nestles his head between my neck and the pillow.
For a while, I just hold him, and then I say, “Nat, baby, tell me what happened.”
“Pamela sent pictures to Martine.” His voice has a defeated tone that I’ve never heard before.
In my half-sleep state, I have a hard time refraining from laughing out loud. Had he been thinking with his brain instead of with his dick, he would have seen this coming.
He’s a catch, and Pamela has been playing for keeps. She’s really not the silly bubble brain that she claims to be. Pamela must have taken some interesting pictures of them, and found a way to send them to Martine… probably from his smartphone. I close my eyes, and I remember her playing with it yesterday at lunch.
Martine is just a kid; she must have freaked out, and whatever she did to lash out has really upset Nathanael. Did she call him to insult him, or email him to let him know how she felt? Whichever, it will teach him to turn off his phone at night. For all of his smarts, he’s not really any more mature than a teenager, himself. No matter how much I love him, I can’t really feel sorry for him.
“I’ve lost her,” he says. He’s so pitiful that I want to slap him into adulthood.
“Yes, you probably did. And you gave her a very bad opinion of men. I’m pretty sure she hates your guts right now. I know I would.” That’s the first slap.
“What am I going to do?” He asks, miserable.
“You’re going to get over it, and continue with your life.” There’s the second slap. He doesn’t like it, but he stays snuggled against me, since I’m the only comfort he’s going to get around here, and tough love is better than no love at all.
“Of course, you can also try to run back to her, and beg for her forgiveness. But, if I were you, I would give myself a hard look in the mirror to check whether or not I was really in love with her."
He snorts, “It does not matter now; she’s done with me. She made it very clear that she did not ever want to see me again.”
“She’s seventeen years old! What else is she going to say? I’ll bet you my life savings that, right now, Martine thinks she’ll never love anyone again. It’s probable that she’ll need time to come around and get over your betrayal.”
“God, I’ve been a selfish bastard,” he mutters. Give the man a prize; his brain has engaged, and now we can really talk.
“Yes, I think you acted like one, but that does not define who you are,” I tell him as tenderly as I can. My fingers are in his mess of curly hair, and t
he texture brings on a familiar feeling from childhood: it conjures images of Happy, my mother’s poodle.
I rock him a little against me, saying, “It’s going to be alright. You’re a nice person, I know you are.”
He pulls away enough to look at me, and asks, “Do you really think so?”
I nod, and, as I do, I notice his gaze moving from my eyes to my lips. One of his interminable hands wraps around my waist to pull me to him, while the other comes up under my t-shirt to cup my breast. His lips are gently pressing against mine.
It’s so unexpected that I’m paralyzed with indecision.
What’s surprising me the most is that my body has a mind of its own. His body feels so nice against mine that I instinctively lean into him. My breasts feel like they’ve doubled in volume under his touch.
Still, I’m trying to make an intelligent decision.
I don’t rule anything out because I’m certain that Nathanael knows his way around a woman’s body; Pamela’s sweet cry during those past weeks told me so. This could be good.
Nathanael is an exercise in contradiction. While his hand is deliciously torturing a nipple, his kiss remains tentative, almost shy. I think he’s waiting for my reaction to push further.
I’m still battling with myself when my own mouth betrays me. The pleasure I feel from his fondling makes me moan. As soon as my mouth opens to let the sound out, he pushes in, and, for a time I cannot measure, I lose myself in our intimate contact.
This is sweet, and, while I enjoy his touch, the second my mind goes back to a hotel room in Bangkok, I know that it’s wrong. It’s plain that there is no passion on either side of this bed. Nathanael’s touch is delightful, but it does not spark the all-consuming fire that lit up every time Oliver touched me.
I take a mental step back, and I see Nathanael for the very selfish and fickle man that he is being right now. Once more, his brilliant analytical mind has been neutralized by his physical urges. He did not stop for two seconds to think about the consequences of his actions. The very moment his morning hard-on sparked, he just lunged for me.
