by Zoe Fishman
“You feel so good,” Zach murmured. “Jesus.”
“Mrmrmrm, mrmrmm,” Sabine mumbled back. He felt better than she had ever imagined he would. All those months of subway longing, and she had never thought that her imagination was right on the money. She unbuttoned her pants.
Zach sat up suddenly at the sound of her zipper making its way down. “What?” she asked. She knew that they had talked about taking it slow, and in principle she did agree, but this felt too good. To stop now would be a crime against humanity!
“Sabine, I. . .I can’t. I want to, believe me, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I think it’s too fast.”
Sabine sat up, too, suddenly longing for her shirt. “Zach, I mean. . .I understand your point, but come on! Don’t you like this?”
“Sabine, I love this. You feel amazing. You’re beautiful, believe me. My feelings for you have nothing to do with not wanting to have sex tonight. Trust me.”
“Then what is it?” Sabine was embarrassed and annoyed simultaneously.
“No, that’s not what I meant to say. My feelings for you have everything to do with not wanting to have sex tonight. I like you. I want to take it slow.” What the hell? She wondered if he had a tiny penis. She hadn’t really felt any sort of tell-tale lump when they had been wrestling on her couch. What if it’s the size of a jelly bean? I knew there was a catch!
She attempted to regain her composure. Yelling at Zach about the validity of his manhood was not a good idea. That she knew. “Okay. I mean, I guess I understand where you’re coming from.” But she didn’t. Something wasn’t kosher here. What kind of guy denied himself sex? “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s really not so much to talk about,” answered Zach. “I’ve made the mistake of having sex too soon before, you know? I just think we should wait a bit. I mean, we have time. I’m not going anywhere. . .. Are you?”
Just to bed alone, jackass, thought Sabine. She was surprised by the intensity of her anger. She really liked Zach, too, obviously. She just thought that the waiting thing was a load of horseshit. She couldn’t help but feel that there was more to the story than Zach was letting on. Was he grossed out by her stomach roll?
“No, I’m not going anywhere,” she finally answered. She grabbed her shirt off the floor and slipped it on over her head. After she pulled her head through, she added, “Except to bed.”
“Do you mind if I stay over?” asked Zach. “I really want to sleep in your bed with you. Feel you.” He laughed. “Do I sound like such a mangina right now, or what?”
Sabine laughed. “Sort of.”
“Seriously. Wow. ‘No sex but can we snuggle?’ Who am I right now? I’m sure you’re pretty over me at this point. Sorry I’m acting like such a weirdo. I just. . .I want to try to do things differently this time,” he explained again, but it still sounded like he was holding something back.
“It’s okay,” Sabine answered, softening slightly. His humility was endearing, even though she still didn’t get it. “You can stay over if you want.”
She gathered her things and gave Lassie a pet as she deposited them in her hamper. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, still dazed by what had just happened. She emerged to find Zach lying on her bed in his underwear. Long and lean. Okay, so he’s not a total chick, she thought. She eyed his crotch. How could someone this tall have a jelly-bean dick? “You can use my toothbrush if you want,” she offered.
“Thanks.” He got up and walked into the bathroom, giving her butt a little swat on his way in. Sabine took off her clothes and pulled a tank top over her head. She climbed into her bed and shut out the light. Her mind was racing. Her libido, which had been a raging inferno just an hour before, was now reduced to a blown-out birthday candle—a stream of flimsy smoke trailing from its tip. She turned on her side. Is he really going to spoon me? she wondered. She just wanted him to go home.
Zach climbed into her bed beside her and answered her question immediately. With his arm over her and his chest to her back, she did feel warm and protected. But she also still felt uneasy. How could he be so capable of going to sleep beside her when her braless breasts were just a grope away?
“Good night, Sabine.”
“Night,” she replied. Dummy.
Moments later, Zach was asleep, his breath heavy in her ear. His arm suddenly seemed to weigh a million pounds. She didn’t want to snuggle, damn it! She gingerly removed the offending limb and he rolled over in response. Ahhh, freedom. She stared at the ceiling and rehashed the night’s events. Had she inadvertently used her finger to scoop food onto her fork instead of her knife? Was her muffin top particularly offensive in her jeans? They were a little snug. Had he smelled the emergency, anxiety-provoked cigarette she had smoked that afternoon on her breath? Had she gotten spaghetti sauce in her hair? She sighed deeply. There was no point in torturing herself any longer. She wondered if dating was even worth it. All of the drama, and for what? When it was just her, she could do whatever she wanted. She didn’t have to shave, she slept like a baby, she could eat cereal for dinner with no judgment. . ..
She listened to Zach’s breathing in the darkness and felt his body’s warmth two feet away. Despite her anger, it was a nice feeling to have him in her bed; and one that trumped cereal any day of the week. She closed her eyes and drifted off, her doubt temporarily silenced by sleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bess
Bess squinted as she stared out her little porthole at the tarmac. LAX loomed, sun-dappled in the near distance. She was here. Even through the plastic window, she could feel the sun warming her face. She had left 20 degree slush-land and now, just six hours later, was about to break out her flip-flops. She sat up as straight as she could in her cramped seat and stretched her arms to the ceiling. Despite the red-eye and her close quarters, her body felt good. Yoga was working. And in more ways than one—while she was packing, she had pulled out a tank top that hadn’t seen the light of day in years because of her dreaded bra-bulge. She had tried it on, just for the hell of it, and had been shocked and surprised by the results. The bulge was no longer a bulge. It was more like a slight swell. Naturally, she hadn’t taken it off since.
As they pulled into the gate, Bess’s heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t wait to see Dan. She had never been picked up at the airport by a boyfriend in her life, but had always secretly dreamed of it. In the movies—how they always flew into each other’s arms with abandon, her hair blown back by a wind machine and he carrying a bouquet of fresh wildflowers. . .Bess’s inner girly girl always swooned at the sight. Not that she would ever admit it. I have a reputation to uphold, she thought, as she stood up to yank her bag out of the overhead compartment.
As she left the plane, she practiced her deep breathing. Bess, get a hold of yourself! Jesus, you just saw him less than a month ago. Take it down a notch. She wondered what her insane level of excitement was all about, really. Probably the fact that this was a huge trip for her—a huge trip for them. Whether she openly admitted it or not, this trip was about her feeling out LA as a possible new home, not to mention that he was meeting her parents. The fact that she had even gotten on the plane realizing her true intention was huge. Two months ago, the idea of relocating was ludicrous to her. It had been the combination of love, yoga, the article, and the women themselves that had opened up her mind to the possibility that she could chase her heart while accomplishing her goals.
At baggage claim, she searched as subtly as she could for Dan. Where is he? she wondered. Did he forget that today was the day? Shit. She scanned the area and turned around to do the same on the opposite side. There he was, grinning his lopsided, goofy grin and holding a single balloon. “Hi, lovely.”
It was all Bess could do not to burst into tears. The anticipation of seeing him and now, actually seeing him, was the equivalent of an emotional punch to the gut. “Dan!” she squealed and hugged him tightly. “Hi,” she whispered into his neck.
“Hel
lo, my love. It’s so good to see you. Damn.” Dan released himself from her grasp. “To see you here. In LA!”
“I know. It’s a trip, right?”
“Literally and figuratively,” Dan added.
“Hardy, har, har. Mr. Clever!”
Dan pulled her back into an embrace. “You smell good. Like airplane peanuts and hyacinth.”
“Mmmm. delicious. Let’s get out of here!” She pointed to her carry-on bag. “I’m ready to roll.”
“You got it,” answered Dan, taking its handle. “But take your balloon, damn it!”
Bess grabbed its string. “Thank you for this. It’s a nice touch.” She tilted her neck to gaze up at the pink sphere. “What does it say?” She tugged sharply at it to bring it down to eye level. IT’S A GIRL! had been manipulated to read IT’S A MY GIRL! Bess laughed. “You are ridiculously clever and cute.” She kissed him firmly on the mouth.
“Well, thank you,” Dan replied with a satisfied grin. “I thought that was way better than the whole recycled red rose experience.” He took her bag. “Now let’s get the hell out of here before the paparazzi swarm.”
Driving down Sunset Boulevard, Bess gazed out the window and relished the sunlight already browning her pale, New York–winterized arm. Being in LA brought back so many memories of her adolescence. Can I really make a new start here? she wondered. Adolescent Bess really wasn’t that much different from Adult Bess. Yes, she had grown up in LA, but the whole experience had never really seduced her. No fake ID, body glitter, beach blanket bingo, or beer bong moments for her. It had been all about school. And journalism. Maybe one or two boy-related slips, but they never lasted long.
“You know, it’s crazy, Dan. I’m sitting here staring out the window, thinking about growing up here, and I realize that there was nothing truly Californian about it—at least in the general sense.”
“Whaddaya mean? Because you were such a nerd?” Dan smiled.
Bess laughed. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, the only time I came to Sunset was to buy CDs.”
“You never OD’d at the Viper Room? Or snuck into any of those hellacious clubs?”
“Nope, not ever. I barely went to the beach.”
“Do you regret it? Does part of you wish that you had embraced your inner Paris Hilton?”
“Not at all. At least I don’t think so. I mean, I honestly can’t remember wanting to do the sunny California, surfer girl type shit. It just didn’t appeal to me.”
“Were you the class freak?”
Bess ruminated on the question for a minute. “No, I don’t think so. My looks saved me from that superlative.”
“Yeah, you might not have had an ounce of California in you, but you definitely look the part. My hot, blond, beach bunny.”
God, I’m only an hour into the trip and already I’m having flashbacks, she thought. Would living here again submerge me in the past? Or would it give me a chance to enjoy the things about LA that I basically ignored growing up?
“You okay?” Dan asked. “Your brow is all crinkled up like you’re deep in thought.”
Bess relaxed her face and immediately thought of Charlie. She loved it when she massaged their faces at the end of class. She’d be lying on her back, with her eyes closed—certainly feeling relaxed—and then Charlie would knead her forehead and jawbone gently. Bess had no idea that she held so much tension there. “I’m great, Dan. Sorry, it’s just that being here brings up all these questions and memories. It’s pretty wild.”
“I bet. Listen, we’ll get back to my house, you’ll take a shower—”
“I’ll jump your bones,” interrupted Bess.
Dan guffawed. “Jump my bones! What is this, 1989?”
Bess gave him her best vixen smile and dug in her bag for her sunglasses. Why hadn’t she put these on before? It was part of the LA uniform. Minutes later, they parked on the street in front of his apartment. “Here she is,” Dan announced. “Home sweet home.”
“I can’t wait to see it!” gushed Bess. “Is your roommate home?”
“Alas, no. My good man has taken one for the team and gone elsewhere for the entire weekend. The palace is ours.”
“You’re kidding me! He didn’t have to do that. I feel like an asshole for kicking him out.”
“But you’re also sort of psyched, right?” asked Dan as he climbed out of the car. “C’mon, let’s be real.” He grinned at her. “We can make all the noise we want now.”
“Walk around naked,” added Bess, as she grabbed her bag from the trunk.
“Use his sex swing,” added Dan. He took her bag from her hands.
“Get out! He has a sex swing?”
“Dirty girl! No, I’m just yanking your chain. Let’s get in there already. Follow me.”
In bed, Bess lay on Dan’s chest, relishing her bliss. “I like your place,” she said. With three bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom and a half, and a kitchen with an island, it made her apartment in New York look like a dressing room at Target.
“Yeah, the third bedroom makes a cool office, right? When I first moved in here I was like, there’s no way we’re going to be able to use all this space! But Jesse looked at me like I was nuts. He’s never done the whole New York, live in an apartment the size of a bathroom thing.”
“Lucky man,” said Bess.
“Is he, though? I think everyone should have to endure the abuses of New York real estate at least once in their lives. Puts some hair on the chest.”
“If you’re implying that New York men are particularly manly, you are out of your mind.”
Dan laughed. “Point taken. Maybe it just puts hair on women’s chests, then.”
Bess pinched his thigh.
“Oww!” he shrieked. They burst into contented laughter. “You know, if you moved here, we could get a place just like this, for like, half of what you pay in rent now.”
“I know that, Mr. Trump. Thanks for the real estate sell.”
“I’m just saying,” said Dan. “We’d be living together, but not living on top of each other a la New York.”
“I know, I know. And we’d go for hikes every day in the morning and swim in the ocean at night. It never rains in sunny California, blah blah blah.”
“You sound like such a New York cliché right now,” said Dan, visibly annoyed by her brush-off.
“I’m sorry, Dan. I do think that LA is beautiful, I really do. And the idea of moving here does not repulse me.”
“Really?!”
“Slow down there, sparky. The slightest bit of overexuberance from you could send me into an anti-LA spiral. I’m taking baby steps, here.”
“Okay. I will be as unenthusiastic as possible. One step up from an amoeba.”
Bess laughed. “Dan, I am starving! Do people eat brunch here?”
“Sure they do. Egg whites only though, across the board. Carbs cost three dollars extra an ounce.”
“Seriously, do you have a favorite spot? I’m about to eat your comforter.”
“Yes, my little love crumpet. It’s down the block a bit. Put on some clothes and we can be there in thirty minutes max.”
“Oh, good.” Bess leaned over and gave Dan a kiss. “Magic words. Let’s go.” She rolled out of bed and searched the floor for various articles of clothing. She reassembled her outfit and washed her face. Yikes, she thought, gazing at herself in the mirror. A long flight was always brutal. You board the plane looking like the travel-ready version of yourself, but then disembark as Keith Richards. She patted on some eye cream in an attempt to de-puff.
“You ready, Bess?” yelled Dan from the living room. Bess turned out the light and made her way to him, her stomach growling violently.
“Yep. We can walk, right?”
“Walk?” Dan asked. He looked at her like she had just told him to go fuck himself. “Bess, no. Walking is a no-no.”
“But didn’t you say the place was just down the block?”
“Yeah, so? That’s not how we roll here.”
; “It is today,” retorted Bess. “Let’s walk, come on. It will be nice to get some fresh air.”
Dan looked at her in horror. “Really?”
“Really. Come on!” She led Dan out the front door and into the warm sunlight. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the palm tree in the front yard. “I can’t believe this,” said Bess to a pouting and shuffling Dan as they made their way to the restaurant. “When I left New York last night, it was freezing and damp and just generally winter sucky. Now, I’m in flip-flops and getting sunburned.” She shook her head in wonder. “I had forgotten about what a difference nice weather makes. I’m actually smiling! Smiling, outside, in March!”
She looked at Dan, who had accepted his walking fate. He smiled back and took her hand. “I can see that, Bess. It looks good on you.”
So, are you excited to meet my parents tonight?” asked Bess at lunch, her french fry halfway to her lips.
“I really am. I think I might even be nervous.” Dan chewed a bite of his omelet and swallowed, watching Bess’s reaction. “What if they don’t think I’m good enough for their precious baby girl?”
“Oh God, please. My parents love me, but there’s no ‘precious baby girl’ thing going on. I’m sure they’ll like you, if you act like a gentleman.” But would they? And if they didn’t, would they even tell her? They were so low key about everything. Or at the very worst, passive-aggressive low key, which would mean a response like: He’s nice, followed by silence.
“I am always a gentleman! Should I get your mom some flowers or some wine?”
“Hmmm. Wine, I guess. My mom’s a fan of the wine spritzer, so maybe a white.”
“Got it.” Dan gazed at her. “Do you look like your parents?”
“I do. Mostly my mom, though. We’re both blondies.”
“Ooh, a MILF.”
“Gross! Dan, she’s. . .shit, how old is she? Oh, sixty-four.” Sixty-four felt like a big number. Next year she could get the senior discount at the movies. And her dad was three years older. Sixty-seven. How did this happen?
