Finding North (Naïve Mistakes Series)

by Dunning, Rachel

  I took a deep sigh, sounding almost wistful, flicked a strand of hair from my eye with a bad-girl exhalation of air.

  "Why, Mr. Robinson," I said breathily, "I think you might need a hand job."

  I rubbed my palm against his crotch, but he eased it away. "Nah, I'm good," he said. "I just need a cold shower." Then he eased into me and kissed me again.

  Round number two, anyone?

  -3-

  "You're such a mystery to me," I said, sitting with my feet on the one-seater while he lay back on the red settee.

  "Really, how is that?"

  "I don't know. I've offered myself to you twice and you just don't take me."

  "You're not satisfied?"

  Fuck yeah I'm satisfied. "No, it's not that. It's just, I don't know."

  "Call me old fashioned. I wouldn't read too much into it."

  "Okay," I said, not really meaning it.

  "You still leaving on Thursday?"

  His head turned quickly to me. "Leora," he sat up, "I'm not a player, as you Americans like to call it. What we did now on that table is not something I take lightly. I have to go back to work but I'm not leaving you."

  I played with my toes. "I know. I'm just gonna miss you, is all."

  Silence.

  "Can we make love before you leave?"

  He sighed. "Is it not too fast? Sex complicates everything."

  "What we just did practically was sex." And it already complicated things for me. Because now I'm freaked out you'll leave and never come back for this stupid little school girl that you had a fling with while you were in "America."

  "I'm not sure how to make you feel more secure about this."

  "Make love to me."

  "Leora, you're a virgin. The first person you do it with needs to be someone you...that you..."

  "Love? Is that the word you're looking for?"

  "Maybe... I guess. I think."

  I think I do love you. "I see." I looked out the window. Coca Cola was still advertising in Times Square. How interesting.

  Before I knew it, Conall was by my side, clutching my hands, on his knees. "Leora, what I just did with you is more than I've comfortably done with anyone since... You know."

  "I don't understand."

  "Shift over," he said, "this is killing my knees."

  I shifted over but we still couldn't fit. Conall lopped me over his shoulder. "Hey!" I said, punching his very sturdy ass with the bottoms of my fists! "Put me down!"

  "Well, I need to sit." He stole my seat.

  "Hey!" He put me down on the ground. "That's no fair!" I was laughing. "I'm trying to keep this conversation serious!"

  He patted his knees. "Come, sit."

  I sat across him on the one-seater.

  "Leora, the last person I slept with was before Alexandra passed away. Sure, I've fooled around a little bit. And, yes, I've touched other girls. And they've done—what did you call it?—'hand jobs.' Wow. Big whoopy doo. Because that's all it was: masturbation done by someone else while thinking about the rugby game."

  "Keep talking, I'm feeling better about your past flings."

  "That," he pointed to the table with his eyes (and I swear I would never be able to stay at a Marriot hotel again without thinking about how fucking awesome their tables were), "to me, was a connection."

  Yeah, bud, keep talking. Soon I'm gonna use the L word on you.

  "So, we didn't have sex. And? So fucking what? As you said, it practically was sex. Well, let's 'practically' do the next thing before we go all the way."

  The "next" thing...? Oh!

  "Um, about that 'next' thing. I, um, have never done it before."

  He laughed. "What, giving or receiving."

  "Well, which way?"

  "Huh? Christ, we sound like two prissy English women here. You've never given oral or never—"

  "Yes, that one! The first one you said. And, on receiving, well, it didn't count. I even hate thinking about it." I covered my face, felt myself go red. "Anyway, were at a party and—"

  "OK, stop! Too much detail!"

  "Why, Mr. Robinson—"

  "And stop calling me Mr. Robinson!"

  "Mr. Robinson," I fluttered my eyes and twiddled with the hairs on his chest, "are you jealous?"

  "Yes, I'm jealous. Every man is. Haven't you ever heard Chris Rock?"

  I jerked my head back. "Chris...Rock?"

  "Yes, the black guy, makes lots of jokes about white people, and black people, all people actually. It is my secret opinion that Chris Rock is one of the wisest men on earth."

  "You're losing me."

  "There's an act where he says that if you're, well, as he puts it, 'fucking' someone, don't ask that person about their old boyfriends. 'You've got her now! Be happy!' he says."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "No, it's true. As I said, a wise man. There isn't a man on earth that doesn't get jealous. Heck, it could be your first peck in kindergarten and a guy would get jealous."

  "I see. OK, no talk about old boyfriends."

  "No, no," he shook his head. "I mean, if it's important to you, sure, go ahead and say it," he said grudgingly. "Anyway, where were we?"

  I made a crude gesture with my tongue, my cheek, and my hand going back and forth.

  "Classic," he said. "Leora, we'll get there, OK? And don't get me wrong, I'm not 'hurting' or 'afraid of getting close' or whatever. I just haven't been interested since... I just haven't been interested in anything intimate since she died. As I said, it's been 'hand jobs' and whatever else that's been meaningless since then.

  "Part of the problem is that I never wanted to explain the meaning of that tattoo to some bimbo for a bar."

  "Aha, I see."

  "No, you don't. No one knows about that tattoo, Leora. No one. Why do you think I'm so pale? Sure, I'm English, but I'm not a flipping albino. I've never wanted to explain it to anyone, and I've never wanted to lie to anyone about it. You are the first. SO no one's seen me without my shirt off since then."

  "Wow. So I was your first?"

  "You were my first."

  "Hell, brother, I just popped your cherry!"

  He guffawed. It was exactly the right thing to say.

  -4-

  Conall rubbed my thigh absently as I sat across him on the one-seater. Before long, all of my skin was on fire.

  "Conall."

  "Yes?"

  "You're gonna have to stop doing that."

  "Doing what?"

  I moaned, exhaled forcefully. "Turning me on."

  "I'm turning you on? With this?" He lifted his hand and looked at his palm, confused.

  I snatched it and put it back on my thigh, eased my right leg onto the ground, lifted my left leg (on which the hand was) and put my foot on the arm rest, dug my knee into his chest as I opened up for him. My head was lulled back, my eyes starting to lose focus.

  He just kept rubbing absently, as if thinking about the Wall Street Journal.

  "Conall."

  "Uh-huh?"

  I lifted my head and glared at him. "You're gonna have to make me come now."

  On the last rub of his hand he went further down he left his hand there, started rubbing over my lace panties, up and down, up...press, in—my hand clenched—and then...down. The friction of lace against me was cruel, intense.

  "Fuck," I mumbled. "I can't believe we're doing this again. And that I'm totally ready for it."

  With my right hand I clutched the back of his neck, pulled my head and nested it on his chest while he touched me. I bit his nipple lightly. I was trembling, my breathing again rapid. He kept rubbing, slowly. I started banging my head slowly against him.

  "Conall, baby..."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "You need to stop doing this to me..."

  He stopped rubbing.

  I snapped my hand away from his neck and put his hand back there! Got it moving again! "Fucking Christ, that's not what I meant!" I bit my lip until it hurt. "I meant, you need to stop torturing
me like this?"

  "What, like this?" As he said "this" he pushed in so that I couldn't control the quiet whimper I released.

  "Oh," I moaned, "that is exactly what I fucking mean. Conall..." I didn't want to explain it. I let go of his neck, grabbed his fingers, moved them underneath my panties and showed that fucker what I needed him to do with them!

  I melted back like Jell-O. "Mmmmmmm..."

  He massaged me, pressed that sweet spot again (I no longer had any doubts about the G-Spot by the way) until I tensed up all around there and then my legs and torso until—

  "Fuck!"

  I shuddered, exhaled, curled myself into him so that he held me by the butt with his left and my shoulders with his right.

  "Conall," I whispered into his chest, my mind whirling with a sudden fear.

  "Yes?"

  "Please don't leave."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  -1-

  Maria was in the kitchen when I got home. I sat down at the kitchen island and pulled the cling-foil off an egg salad she'd made, started picking all the little egg whites out with my fingers. I thought of our stop at Teardrop Park, Conall's story, (the unbelievable Marriot Hotel table, and couch),..., his eyes, his smile.

  "Love?"

  "Huh?" I asked, realizing I was sitting with a piece of egg white an inch from my mouth but not moving.

  "Joo are in love?" Maria had turned from the sink. She smiled at me, wiping a glass as she eyed me curiously.

  I think I blushed. It felt like it. I shrugged, dug my fingers into the salad to grab a tomato slice.

  "Well, joo might not know it, but I can see it. Joo are in love!"

  The tomato paused mid-air as I processed the new information. When had this gotten so serious? It had only been...barely three days? And, three— No, technically, two dates?

  "Who is he?" she asked.

  "A man."

  "A man? Hmmmm. It is always good to be seeing a man. Although so many men are really boys, and many boys are really men in the making. So, is your man a man, or a boy, or a man in the making, or a man who is really a boy."

  I cocked my head for a second, looked up as I thought. "I think...he's a man. And a gentleman."

  "Oh!" She put her hand to her chest, looked up. "Then be sure to keep him. Men are a rare breed in this world. Gentlemen are practically extinct." (Only she said it as: estinct!)

  A wave of fuzzy warm emotions washed over me. That was Maria. Never critical. Never judgmental. Always watching for my reactions to tell what was happening with me.

  I shoved the tomato into my mouth, got off the chair and went to Maria, hugged her. She rubbed my back. "I love you, Maria."

  "I love joo too, sweetheart. Now, your mother is in the bedroom. She is not feeling well. A little too much..."—she made the boozing motion—"joo know? Go and give her a kiss and tell her you love her too."

  I smiled at Maria, pecked her on the nose, and went to my mom's room.

  Mom's hair sprawled in an ungainly fashion across her pillow. Her skin looked pale and clammy. The last pair of shoes she'd worn lay spattered on the floor as if she'd landed on the bed in a besotted mess, kicked them off and then had gravity take care of the rest. I sat next to her on the satin sheets. She had the same sheets as mine, the same hair, the same eyes. Too much of her looked like me for me to be comfortable.

  But that was all going to be fine now. I wasn't my mom. And Conall wasn't... Who wasn't he? Well, I could say he wasn't my father but my dad is a good man. Why he and mom got divorced was something I'd never understood. And something I'd always held against her.

  I moved her light brown hair, gently. It was soaked in sweat. On her nightstand was a glass with a clear liquid and a crystal decanter. I took the top off and sniffed it. Then, not believing it, sniffed it again. I smiled.

  "Water," I whispered, turning to look at mom. "Maria." I smiled again and shook my head.

  I rarely came into my mom's room. She had a lame Matisse picture of a pond and flowers on the wall. A simple dresser on which was a photo of me and her when I was seven. Maybe that's how she liked to remember us: Before it all went wrong for her.

  This was clearly not the room she used for "entertaining." It was smaller than mine. Of course it was, because I was the one who really lived here. Not her.

  She gave a light snore, no doubt from the booze congesting her breathing passages. I bent down by her bed and kissed her on the head. "I love you, mom," I said. And I thought of Maria.

  -2-

  I texted Kayla when I got up to my room, feeling slightly odd at having my mom in the house. It was so rare to have her here.

  Leora: What's up?

  Kayla: Just hangin. You?

  Leora: Hanging where?

  Kayla: With bad boy Brad (wink wink)

  I laughed.

  Leora: Getting serious, eh?

  Kayla: Are you fuckin kidding me? He's just a good screw. Speaking of which. Conall?

  Leora: Don't know how he screws. But he's AMAZING at something else...

  She called.

  "What the fuck!? Tell me all!" she screamed.

  I laughed. "Is Brad with you?"

  "Of course he is!"

  "You left me in the lurch today. Where were you?"

  "Aha, so now you whet my appetite with lurid text only to bitch-slap me when I call you? Skank."

  "Whore."

  "Bitch."

  "Cow."

  She started whispering (no doubt cupping her phone; she always did that): "Are you going to fucking tell me or what?"

  "First you tell me what's up with this Brad dude. You guys are serious, aren't you?"

  A pause. "Nah, you know me, I don't get serious about anyone."

  I thought on that for a second. "No, I know you, because you're like me: You pretend to not get serious. You fight to not get serious. But when you fall (and you do fall) you're heading down a five hundred foot cliff without a parachute, straight for the rocks."

  "Fuck. Me. He was that good, huh?" she said.

  I gave an involuntary chuckle. "You have no idea."

  -3-

  "Motherfucker!" she said when I finished describing Conall's slow and calculated movements that made me feel like I wanted to rip him apart completely had he not held me back every time I tried.

  "You can say that again."

  "Damn, that is hot! Who would've thought the British had it in them?"

  I didn't tell her about that tattoo on his back, or about Alexandra. It just didn't feel right. I wanted to ask him first.

  "So, you comin to the block party this weekend, right?"

  "Shit, I totally forgot about that."

  "C'mon, what else you gonna do? Unless Jude Law there is still gonna be in town. When's he going back?"

  My throat caught. "Thurs—Thursday."

  And when is he returning? I thought.

  "See? Of course you should come along. It'll be a blast."

  "Yeah, fine, whatever. Why are you still whispering?"

  "Brad's sleeping."

  "At seven P.M.?"

  "Baby, we don't only use our hands here. It's a full-on aerobic workout."

  I chuckled, and didn't feel jealous at all. I liked what I had with Conall. I liked that he took it slow. (Although, not really...) Faster and I think I might have been repelled by my own fears perhaps. "What's happening to us, Kayla?"

  "Speak for yourself, sister. I know what's happened to you. Just find a parachute while you're falling off that cliff, OK?"

  "Kay, you've never been on a second date with someone you met at a club. And you certainly never called someone to come over to my place to watch my drunken mother!"

  "Well, your mother doesn't get drunk that often—at least not at your place."

  "Yeah, but you know what I mean. That's 'uncool' stuff. You'd never have a guy see that if you wanted to get it on with him. By the way, did you, um, use my bedroom?"

  "No. Of course not."

  "My mom's?"

&n
bsp; "No, look, Leo, I gotta—"

  "Um, you did have sex with him when he came over, didn't you?"

  Silence.

  I continued: "So, you called him over and did what, oral? Hand job?"

  "No-job, OK?"

  I paused for a second. "Nothing. Nothing at all?"

  "A kiss. A long, passionate kiss as he walked in. And then, we, um, talked. And I fell asleep on the floor," she said.

  "Wow. Convince yourself all you want, girl. You are in Luh-huv!"

  Silence again. "Damn it. I need to end this with him—"

  "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Stop! Don't do that!"

  "Can we talk about this some other time?"

  "That depends. Are you gonna be at school tomorrow?"

  "No."

  "I didn't think so."

  "You'll be with Brad all week?"

  "Just two or three more days. He took some sick leave."

  Sick in love.

  "Look, Leo, I'll talk to you later. That's awesome about Mr. British. Love you. Bye."

  She hung up abruptly.

  -3-

  After a shower in which I reminisced about the day and thought about Conall while soaping myself (but did nothing else, I swear it) I got to my bed and saw a message on my phone.

  Conall: What are you wearing?

  Leora: Right now? Nothing.

  Conall: You're teasing.

  Leora: So far I've learned that YOU'RE the tease... Mr. "Nice and Slow."

  Conall: Maybe. Maybe I like to savour my pleasures. Pick you up after school 2mrw?

  I started writing Learn how to spell. It's savo— then realized I was about to make an ass of myself. (Or, an "arse").

  Leora: I think I'm gonna skip school tomorrow.

  Conall: Nope. I won't have it. No kidding.

  Leora: Oh you're so fucking 'proper' and well-behaved!

  Conall: Well-behaved? Only people who know me bring out the bad in me.

  I thought of his complete composure, confidence, asserted control over me...

  Leora: Mr. Williams, I have already seen a taste of that bad boy. Can I come over?

  Conall: You told me you had homework. That's why you left so early.

  Leora: That's why you MADE me leave early!

  Conall: Please don't let me text you about your schoolwork. That will turn me off faster than a steroid-pusher's zits.

  Leora: Ew! Fine. Yes, pick me up after school tomorrow.

  Conall: Even if the world comes to an end.