The Seducer

by Claudia Moscovici

  Once again, Ana felt like the psychiatrist, her husband and probably anybody who hadn’t lived through a similar experience couldn’t really comprehend it. “You’re implying that I was blind for not seeing through Michael. And in some ways I was. But things aren’t so simple when you actually live through them. I mean, when a man gives you so much affection and support for months on end, it’s hard to see him as selfish and malicious.”

  “I’m not saying that you were blind,” Dr. Emmert calmly responded. “But clearly you ignored the red flags that revealed early on Michael’s core self­centeredness and insensitivity.” The therapist seemed lost in thought for a moment. “In fact, the more I hear about him, the more convinced I become that Michael’s a textbook example,” he concluded.

  Ana meant to ask him a textbook example of what, but Dr. Emmert continued, sounding somewhat rushed, “Listen, our time’s almost over,” he informed the couple, to wrap up the session. “But from what you’ve been telling me about him,” he took a quick glance at his notes, “Michael seems to be seriously lacking the two qualities that are essential to love: the capacity to form emotional bonds with others and empathy. Without forming genuine emotional bonds, people have no compelling reason to stay together over time. They don’t need each other when they’re together and they don’t miss each other when they’re apart. And without empathy, or the ability to put yourself in another person’s shoes and care about their feelings, they lie, cheat, con and manipulate people easily, for profit and fun,” the psychiatrist observed, examining Ana’s reaction to his statements. She seemed to be contemplating his statements. “I’d like to suggest that you take a look at a few psychology books,” he extended her a note on which he had jotted down three titles. “You don’t have to read them from cover to cover. Just browse through the parts that seem most relevant to you. These studies will help you recognize some of Michael’s personality traits. After reading this material, it will be even harder for you to see him as an ideal partner.”

  “Thanks,” she took the note and slipped it into her coat pocket: ironically, exactly where she had placed Michael’s phone number on the day they met.

  “Would you be interested in setting up another meeting with me?” Dr. Emmert asked the couple.

  Rob looked uncomfortable. He didn’t think he could suffer through more blow-by-blow analyses of his wife’s affair with another man.

  “We have to decide if it wouldn’t be more useful for me to have a few individual sessions with you,” Ana replied, after exchanging a quick look with her husband, who seemed hesitant. “It looks like before Rob and I can work on our marriage, I have to get Michael out of my system.”

  “And I’d rather not be a part of that process,” Rob hastened to add. “I’ve heard more than I ever care to find out about that guy.”

  “Alright, then how about you figure out together which configuration you prefer and get back in touch with me to schedule an appointment?” Dr. Emmert proposed.

  “Sounds good,” Ana agreed.

  Once they were alone in the elevator, she burst out: “He’s straightforward and has a lot of common sense!” She was pleasantly surprised by the discovery that sometimes her prejudices, not just her idealizations, turned out to be mistaken.

  “Yeah, he’s good. But I thought he was going to help us work on our marriage, not rehash your sordid affair,” Rob responded somewhat less enthusiastically.

  “Like the Dr. Emmert said, we can’t do one without the other,” his wife reminded him.

  Chapter 15

  “What are you doing with Kitt?” Ana asked her daughter. They had purchased the 1930’s doll, complete with her art nouveau bedroom set, only last summer.

  “Nothing. I’m just moving her to the basement.”

  “You’re bored with her already?”

  “I’ve outgrown dolls, Mama,” the girl rolled her eyes.

  With her diminutive frame, large blue eyes and delicate features, Michelle herself looked like a doll. “You’re only nine years old. How could you have outgrown dolls already?” Ana objected.

  Her daughter’s eyes suddenly clouded. “I’ve grown up faster this year, I guess.”

  Ana blushed at the allusion. “You never let us know you were so upset.”

  Michelle placed the doll on the living room sofa. She sat down next to her, a little doll and a bigger doll side by side, both with blond hair and blue eyes, only Michelle’s gaze was so much more expressive than Kitt’s. “I saw how you and Daddy were upset. I didn’t want to make you feel even worse. Besides, you were sure you wanted to leave us. There was nothing I could do about it.” Her usually sparkly voice trailed off with sadness.

  “You mean leave Daddy,” Ana corrected her.

  The girl shook her head. “Not just him. Me and Allen too. I don’t think that man would have ever cared about us. He wouldn’t have liked us coming by his house.”

  A few weeks earlier, Ana would have insisted that Michael’s house would have been theirs as well. But now she was much more inclined to agree with her daughter. “Maybe. But he couldn’t dictate my actions. And I’d choose to be a good mom to my kids.”

  “You say that now. But before, you chose him,” Michelle retorted. She approached her mother to give her a conciliatory hug. “It’s okay, Mama. You made the right decision in the end. That’s all that counts.”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid I’ve hurt everyone too much. Especially your father,” Ana replied.

  Suddenly, Michelle’s face lit up with an impish smile and she became a child again: “I have only one thing to say to that,” she replied, then paused for dramatic effect.

  “What?”

  “Build a bridge and get over it!”

  “Easier said then done.”

  Michelle once again assumed a more grown-up demeanor. “Think of it this way: at least things are better now between you and Daddy. Before all this happened, I used to pray that you wouldn’t get divorced. You and Daddy were so cold to each other. But now I don’t have to pray about that stuff anymore. My wish came true.”

  “What do you pray for now?”

  “For Allen to stop bugging me,” Michelle replied. Then she suddenly remembered that she was about to take Kitt to the basement, where she kept all the toys she had outgrown, unwilling to make the more decisive move of giving them away to charity. She glanced evaluatively at the doll. Kitt’s demeanor seemed pretty mature. After all, the doll was older than she was, being eleven already. She also dressed okay, considering her clothes were almost a century out of date. “I might keep her in my room for a few more months,” Michelle reconsidered her decision.

  Ana knew better than to approve too enthusiastically. “It’s up to you,” she said. But deep inside she was glad that her daughter was holding on to her childhood for a little while longer.

  That evening, when they were all sitting down to dinner, Michelle said a brief prayer for her reunited family: “Dear Lord, thank you for this meal, for keeping us healthy and for getting my parents back together. Amen.” Then they all dove into the chicken alfredo.

  “Chew with your mouth closed,” Michelle advised her brother.

  “I am!” Allen objected, as bits of chicken burst out of his mouth like fireworks.

  Ana could hardly believe that only days after her break-up with Michael, life was beginning to return to normal. Only this was a new, more normal normality, one which they never really had: with all the conventions like eating together as a family and sleeping with one’s spouse and nobody else’s, which they had skirted before, since after all, Ana was a subversive artist and Rob was too busy to be conventional.

  But later that night, when she and her husband lay side by side in bed, there was an aura of tension around their bodies, shielding them from physical intimacy. Rob wondered when he’d be able to make love to his wife again. Ana still emanated another man’s touch, another man’s scent and another man’s kisses. Would he be able to touch her without thinking of him? When he lo
oked at his wife, Rob saw a desirable woman who still looked attractive and youthful. But the difference between finding her desirable and desiring her wasn’t yet bridged. The other man continued to lie between them.

  For her part, Ana felt surprisingly at ease given the tension that still vibrated in the air. It was nothing compared to the tension of remorse and regret, of hurting those she loved. The thought of Michael made her think once again about Rob, in an association of opposites. Ana sensed that it was still too early to show any overt signs of physical affection towards her husband. It would seem fake after everything we went through, she speculated. When he’s ready to make the first move, he’ll make it, she decided. She nonetheless appreciated the comfort of lying in bed next to a man who hadn’t bedded hundreds of women and who wasn’t plotting whom to seduce next. A man who didn’t manipulate her or ask guilt-inducing questions like “Don’t you trust me?” or “Who was that man I saw you with the other day at the gallery?” A man who allowed her space and freedom, maybe to a fault. With Rob, it’s the real deal, Ana told herself. No bells and whistles, no ideal promises, no romantic gifts, no public displays of affection or wild declarations of love repeated dozens of times a day. But whatever he says or does, I can always count on it to be true and real. And that, she thought as she began drifting off to sleep soothed by the warmth of her husband’s presence, is what now matters to me most.

  Chapter 16

  Michael felt something tickle his back. He brushed it off with a somnolent, half-conscious gesture, but the sensation persisted. He turned over and opened his eyes. A young woman with pale blue eyes and platinum blond hair lay by his side in bed. “Morning sleepy face!” she whisked away the sheet from her body. By now fully awake, Michael’s gaze went straight to her large, semispherical silicon breasts, white as powdered milk, with protruding, rosy nipples. His mouth gravitated to one of the inviting nipples, which he suckled greedily, then to the other, so that it wouldn’t become jealous. He slid her body towards him and gestured unambiguously toward his erect member. As she was slowly, skillfully undertaking to bring him to orgasm, like trained professionals do, by using both her hand and her mouth in a synchronized, rhythmic motion, he tried, absurdly, to remember her name and how they met.

  Was it “Hallie?” or “Hollie?” That sounded about right. She was his second pick up on the previous evening, as he made his rounds to the clubs. Despite the lack of adequate sleep, Michael recalled that she had mentioned something to him about being an advertising major. The one before her that evening, a cute little oriental doll whom he nailed in the parking lot near another local bar, had also been a business major. These business majors sure know how to get down to business, Michael thought, looking down at his partner. Her mouth was opened into a perfectly shaped oval, her cheeks caved in from the sucking efforts which were beginning to arouse him. “Stop!” he said, motioning her to get on all fours. At the sight of her rounded, athletic posterior and the parenthesis of her slim legs revealing a set of pinkish-gray partially unfolded lips, Michael could hardly contain himself. He quickly placed on the condom he had left on the counter. After a few deep, violent thrusts that made her whole body plunge back and forth like a piston, he exploded inside her in a sequence of diminishing spasms, releasing a series of grunts that gradually dissipated into a complacent silence. Though Hollie might have been the business major, after he was done with her, Michael was the one who became all business. He sprung from bed and hit the shower.

  “Mind if I join you?” she coyly peeked in through the plastic curtain.

  “Actually, I’m in a big hurry,” he spoke louder over the running water. “I have to teach a class in a few minutes.”

  “I understand.”

  As he lathered up, Michael considered how to get rid of Hollie and make sure she understood that she wouldn’t be visiting him again. Going over her assets, he thought that she was hot and a pretty good lay. But she was too ditzy to be girlfriend material. In fact, he couldn’t recall having had much of a conversation with her other than a volley of flirtatious comments culminating in the classic hook up line, “Do you want to go somewhere else?” that led them straight to his place. An easy score, Michael summed her up, drying himself with a large white towel he had taken as a memento from a hotel where he had once been with Ana, in the early days of their relationship, when Karen was still in town. A light current of nostalgia passed through him at this recollection. He still found his former girlfriend more interesting and sensual than the women he was currently hooking up with. He catalogued each of them in turn. He was back together with Lisa, thanks to her horny disposition and big tits. Mireille also occasionally kept him busy at the office, though she was more moody and less reliable lately. In the evenings, he went out for an early tryst at the local bars. Then, between nine and ten, he had daily phone conversations with Karen, who was back in Phoenix, attending six different support groups plus a pole dancing class, trying to figure out how to boost her sex appeal and save their relationship. Afterwards, he made his rounds at the bars once or twice, depending on whether or not the first session had been a quickie. Michael was somewhat amused by the fact that Karen, so plain, wooden and solid, was trying to compete with the practically professional hoes—or “prohoes,” as he facetiously dubbed them—he was dating. Even the previous evening, during their conversation, Karen told him that she was reading erotica, to learn how to please him.

  “Will you make love to me in the park?” Michael asked her, to test her new openness.

  He could hear Karen hesitate in the awkward silence.

  “Ana did,” he prompted her. He knew that button never failed to arouse his fiancée’s competitive instinct, if nothing else.

  “What a slut!” she commented.

  “That’s what a woman’s supposed to be with her man.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us have self-respect.”

  Michael had to bite his tongue. Given the way Karen was bending over backwards to please him, her self-respect wasn’t exactly in evidence. “I’d respect you even more if you become a little more flexible,” he tried to entice her.

  “We’ll see,” she said reluctantly. “I have to learn to become more comfortable with my body first.”

  “I can help!” he graciously offered.

  “You’re being very helpful nowadays. A regular humanitarian!”

  Rather than making Michael feel guilty, Karen’s wry comments only titillated him, reminding him of his recent victory. “What can I say? I’m selfless in that way.”

  “I don’t care to discuss your whoring around, okay? It’s very difficult on me.”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one who came up with this stupid arrangement,” Michael shot back, putting the blame squarely on her shoulders. “Besides, it’s not like I’m taking advantage of it. I’m not even ‘whoring around,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

  “Don’t add insult to injury by lying to me!” Karen exclaimed. “I’m sorry,” she added more quietly, struggling to control her temper. “But I’m really uncomfortable with this topic.”

  “The pole dancing classes should help,” Michael suggested, returning to their earlier, more pleasant, discussion.

  “How so?”

  “Because once you become more comfortable with your own body, you’ll also be less inhibited with me. And that will make us both happy,” he pursued, still wishing to squeeze out, like from a nearly empty tube of toothpaste, the remaining sexual use-value of his fiancée.

  “I hope so,” Karen replied, her tone not quite matching his in optimism. When they hung up the phone that previous evening, he really needed a pick­me-up. Or rather, a pick-her-up, he thought, easily amused, as usual, by his own puerile play on words.

  Later, as he looked into the mirror and combed his dark, shinny hair away from his forehead, Michael felt satisfied with himself. The reigns of power are back in my hands, he observed, feeling like he had handled the breakup with Ana pretty well. No depression, no m
ourning period, no nothing. He had jumped right back into the saddle. This thought reminded him of Hallie, or Hollie, or whatever her name was, who was probably still waiting for him in the bedroom.

  Michael stepped out of the bathroom still in his boxer briefs and noticed that the young woman was already dressed. If you could call the halter-top that emphasized her most impressive assets and the jean micromini that had initially attracted his attention to her long, lean legs being dressed, he observed with a smile. He was almost tempted to give her his number for a future rematch. But as soon as she opened her mouth to say, “I really had a great time last night. Wanna go out to dinner?” with a slight drawl and a needy edge in her voice, Michael recalled why he had ruled her out. “Why don’t you give me your number?” he proposed. She hastily opened her silver sequin purse and took out a dingy piece of paper on which she scribbled her name and number.

  “Hallyie. That’s an original spelling,” he observed.

  “My mom chose it,” she said almost apologetically.

  “Thanks,” he said, putting the note on top of the dresser, fully intending to toss it away later. “Do you need a ride back to campus?”

  “Sure. I left my car at Zephyr’s,” she named the bar where they had hooked up.

  “See you around sometime,” he said noncommittally once they pulled into the parking lot of the bar where he had been so eager to lure her the night before. By the absent look in his eyes and the flatness of his tone, Hallyie could tell that nothing else would follow. A look of disappointment clouded her pale features as she said goodbye to him. Her sadness led Michael to experience a fleeting sense of triumph. That’s what you get bitch for fucking around with me! he said to himself, feeling like each woman he used and discarded was in some indirect way payback for Ana leaving him.