Prude

by Hilaria Alexander

  He chuckles and asks, “Did you always want to be in New York?”

  I haven’t thought about that in a very long time.

  “I guess, yes. I wanted to get away, so I applied to several colleges, but there was nowhere else I would have rather been. New York seemed like the perfect place to blend in. I remember at the time I would always put on a brave face with my parents, but inside I was terrified,” I say, and he smiles and nods back at me.

  “Think about it. Do you remember your eighteen-year-old self? Isn’t it crazy that we barely know how to do our own laundry, and then suddenly we’re one hundred percent on our own?”

  “I still don’t know how to do my own laundry,” he replies.

  “You know what I mean. You graduate high school, you are still allowed to be a part-time shithead, and all at sudden—bam!—welcome to adulthood!”

  I pause for a moment, remembering more of those years.

  “But . . . you know, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It was a year after 9/11, and my parents did not want me to go. I had to bring up the point that there was more of a chance of me dying in a shooting then in another terrorist attack. So, that’s what my life was before NYU. Now, tell me about life in the Hamptons! So you were saying you have lived out here since you were a kid?”

  “Yes. My mom, Iris, was a model. She's from Sweden. She had been modeling for a couple of years in New York, when she found out she was pregnant with me. She was only twenty-one and had been dating some businessman just a few months. They weren’t too serious, and he didn’t want to have any part in raising a kid. She had a few friends that helped her out over the years, and eventually opened up her own clothing store. Considering she was on her own in a foreign country, she’s done pretty well for herself.”

  “And she raised you. She did extremely well,” I say, smiling at him. He smiles back, but it’s a polite, sad smile.

  This is the first time I have heard any of this. I had always pictured Ben in my head as the son of some perfect family. The kind you see in the photo frames at the store. I had imagined him surrounded by loving parents and brothers and sisters, living in some huge mansion. He had always looked so confident, and I realize now that he probably feigned confidence all along. His mom must have had some really good friends helping her out, but it couldn’t have been easy. And I’m sure it must have been lonely growing up without siblings.

  He must be able to read my mind, because he asks, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a brother, Brian. He is four years older than me. He got married a couple of years ago, and he and my sister-in-law had a baby last Thanksgiving. I need to go visit them soon. My nephew, Noah, is getting so big, so fast! Maybe in September, if everything works out.”

  He asks me if I still live in the same apartment that I used to share with James, which I do, and he says he just moved to my same neighborhood, just a few blocks away from me.

  “Maybe we’ll run into each other now that we are neighbors,” he says. It’s an exciting prospect, but at the same time, one I don’t want to entertain.

  I’m too old now to start crushing on him again. It’s too easy to look at him and start daydreaming with puppy dog eyes. And it’s not just his good looks. I mean, we both work in the same field, love books, and apparently we have the same taste in music. It’s a slippery slope. I don’t want to get too close to anyone just to be rejected again. I refuse to be blinded by love the way I was with James.

  In the last two years I had a couple of one-night stands and a no-strings-attached type of arrangement with Jason, a cute guy that had the most beautiful features, but ended up boring me to death in bed. No thanks. I’d rather use a vibrator, although mine doesn’t get much use anyway.

  We make it back to the hotel. When we come to a stop, we say our goodbyes. I tell him he doesn’t need to open the door, and he doesn’t, but he says he'll walk me to the hotel.

  “How about lunch next week? So you can tell me you’ll work with me in person,” he says, smiling unabashedly. I smile and shake my head in disbelief.

  “You have a lot of confidence, don’t you?” I say, looking him straight in the eye.

  “I have to. My job depends on it. Give me your phone. Please.” I hand him the phone and he punches his number in.

  “I’ll call you in a few days, don’t worry. Does Thursday sound okay?”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan. Thank you for dinner tonight. I had a great time. I needed it.” I lean in and give him a casual hug with one arm, but he hugs me back and pulls me in.

  He whispers in my ear, “Goodnight Prudence. Be careful. Those two upstairs are a bad influence.” I burst out laughing against his chest. Oh goodness! It feels so good to be in his arms. Time to go. Pull away, Prudence, pull away.

  “Goodnight Ben.” I walk to the elevator and push the button. I turn to my side while I wait and I see him through the glass doors still standing out there. I wave at him and he waves back. The doors of the elevator open and I get in.

  Chapter 4

  I DON’T EVEN remember packing a swimsuit, but I do find one in my bag.

  I stare at Rebecca and Anya, but they are still in a deep, deep sleep. The beach is right across the street. I don’t have any sunscreen, but it’s still early enough where I won’t get sunburned. I get dressed, grab my sunglasses, water, phone, headphones, and a hotel towel to put in my bag and step out.

  It’s only nine in the morning, and since most of the Hamptons’ weekenders were out partying last night, the streets are pretty quiet. The air is crisp and almost a little too chilly right now for my taste, but I do need some sun, so I lie down and plan to be here until it’s time for us to check out.

  I left the ladies a note. I’m sure they will be sleeping for at least a couple more hours. I put my headphones on and start listening to the music, closing my eyes. An hour or more goes by and I feel the sun is getting warmer, but it still feels good on my skin. It’s so bright that I can’t see anything through my sunglasses.

  I forgot what it felt like to be on a beach. I make a mental note to do this more often. Suddenly, I feel a shadow over me. At first I dismiss it as a cloud, but I jump and sit up when I feel droplets of water fall on me and find myself face-to-face with Ben. He is mouthing something to me, but I can’t hear him. I take the earbuds out and say,

  “What? What are you doing here?”

  Then my eyes take him in and I register what’s going on. He was surfing. He is kneeling in front of me with his wetsuit around his waist and his board on the sand next to him. I really see him. Blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight, wet hair dripping water, lightly tanned arms and chest, and an amused, playful look on his face. God Bless America. And Sweden. And the Atlantic Ocean in between. I’m so glad I’m wearing my sunglasses, because I’m pretty sure my eyes are about to pop out of my head. I have to remind myself to make sure my mouth isn’t hanging open and that I’m not drooling. Dammit. Fucking fuckity-fuck.

  Apparently, this is what a dry spell will do to you; make you lose your fucking mind at the sight of a handsome guy.

  “I was saying, some of my friends were getting quite distracted because of a brunette over here, moving her hips pretty seductively. She looked like someone I knew, so I had to come see for myself. What are you doing here, Snow White?”

  Snow White? Ha-ha, very funny. Be cool, be cool, be cool.

  “Just chillin’, man. Trying to get a beginner’s tan.”

  He sits next to me and grabs my phone.

  “I want to know what were you listening to . . . it must have been good to get you to shake it like that!”

  “Oh God!” I cover my face with my hands, and I can hear him laughing.

  I glance over and he puts the buds in his ears. He looks at the screen.

  “What is this? J. Lo.? ‘First Love,’ huh?”

  He’s talking over the music while he’s still listening to the song. He starts making faces and mock-dancing, moving his arms and head to th
e music. I burst out laughing. He takes out the earbuds.

  “How does a girl go from an underrated Raconteurs song to this? Your sixteen-year-old self would be so disappointed!” he says.

  “Hey!” I wave my index finger in his face. “No shitting on pop music. Everyone needs some fun, sexy pop music in their lives. It’s summer, and that right there is the perfect summer song. It’s hot.”

  “You’re right, it is hot,” he says, scanning my body with his eyes.

  I suddenly feel naked. I have on a black bikini top and boyshort bottoms that probably make me look even paler. I’m suddenly self-conscious and hope my shaving job from yesterday is not as botched as I think it is.

  “You are distracting the surfers, young lady,” he says, all serious, biting his lip.

  I lean on my right side toward him.

  “Damn, it would seem that these surfers are easily distracted,” I say seductively.

  I’m surprised by how confident I feel talking to him today. I can’t help looking at his body either, just like he did with mine, and I’m distracted by the droplets of water running down his chest. He smells like salt water.

  When I meet his eyes, they are dark and serious, his jaw taught. I wonder if this is the look he uses on his prey. My heart starts beating out of control. Don’t get so worked up, I tell myself. I can’t hold his gaze, so I turn towards the ocean, where his friends have gone back to surfing.

  “Doesn’t this area get too busy with beachgoers to be able to surf?”

  “Yeah, usually it does. But there aren’t that many people this early in the morning, and it’s still pretty early in the season. In a couple of weeks, it will be nearly impossible.”

  I lean back on my elbows, and he doesn’t move from his spot.

  “Now that I think about it, where are Bad Influence Number One and Number Two? Why are you here alone?”

  “Ha! That’s a good one. You know how you took me back to the hotel right around midnight? I went upstairs to the room and they were gone! Gone! They left a note saying they had gone out drinking! They came back plastered at two or three in the morning, and they decided we were all going to sleep together! I found myself in a Rebecca and Anya sandwich, with both of them snoring in my face. I had to climb out and get in one of the other beds. When I left this morning, they were still completely out. As a matter of fact, I have to go soon and wake them up in time for checkout.”

  He shakes his head in disbelief, but he probably knows just as well as I do that when they can get away from the kids, they like to party. I can’t even handle their level of partying; I’m a total lightweight in comparison. I try to keep up the light tone between us.

  “You should have introduced me to your surfer friends. Since I was distracting them and all, I should apologize,” I say playfully.

  “Maybe I don’t want to introduce you,” he says seriously.

  Huh? What's that all about?

  “It’s for your own good, honestly. They are a just a bunch of sleaze balls. Unless you are looking for that type of guy, in that case, any of them would be perfect, really,” he says, giving me a glance that makes me shiver.

  “I’m not looking for anything. But you are correct, no sleaze balls please,” I say, letting out a sigh. I look away, but I feel his eyes on me.

  My heart rate hasn’t slowed down, and something in the way he looks at me has me completely turned on. I need to leave.

  “What time is it? I have to go and wake those two up!”

  “Too bad. I could have given you a surf lesson,” he says, sounding disappointed.

  “Ha! I took a surf lesson once. I don’t know if I’m ready to embarrass myself in front of you like that!” I reply, getting up and picking my stuff up quickly. I put on my sleeveless black jersey dress while he is still sitting down, never taking his eyes off me.

  He gets up, and as he does, my eyes roam over his beautiful body. He must be 6’2” or something. I look so short next to him, and I’m 5’6”. He is standing just a foot away from me, and I can’t make myself look at him in the eye, but staring at his chest doesn’t help either, it has me flustered in all kinds of ways. I’m already acting stupid as it is. Better cut it short and avoid any kind of awkward, semi-naked hug. But when I finally look at him, I see him staring at my lips, and that makes me lose my focus entirely. He leans in closer.

  What. Is. Happening? Is he going to kiss me, or is he just teasing me?

  “Prudence . . .” he says, almost whispering, but he doesn’t add anything else. Run, a voice inside of me says. Run away, now.

  “I got to go! Bye!” I say, breaking eye contact. I grab my things and walk away.

  I leave him staring at me, a puzzled look on his face, glorious in his half-nakedness.

  Chapter 5

  I REMEMBER talking to a friend of mine once,and he said something along these lines: “If you aren’t going to believe in yourself, who will? You have to, even when you feel like constantly questioning your talent or your value.” It’s more often than not that I have to remind myself that. Just about every time I start writing a new book.

  Some of my readers have been emailing me or messaging me on social media asking me when my next book will come out, if I have a sequel to any of my stories, if I will be writing a male point of view. I try to stay away from those if I can. I get it that sometimes you want a little more of a story because it’s so good, but nine times out of ten, it’s nearly impossible to recreate the magic of the first book. Sometimes there is no need to say more, to add more.

  I usually like to start from scratch; new storylines, new characters. That’s one of the things Cora and I would argue about on a regular basis.

  While I was gone, Cora called. God knows why. I blocked her number on my phone because I didn’t want to get in any arguments, but she left a couple of voicemails that I couldn’t even bring myself to listen to.

  Today it’s Monday, and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do next. Publisher or no publisher. Agent or no agent. Just thinking about the word agent makes me think about him. I don’t want to, because that scenario has complicated written all over it. I don’t have anything against Ben, but I don’t want to be around him. I know I could fall victim to his charm and get in over my head. Things are different from when we were in college. I’m no longer the insecure, pudgy, nerdy girl that he once knew. I’m now a beautiful, confident (okay, mostly confident) woman.

  As I tell myself that, I realize I have been staring at a blank page all morning. I have been doing anything in my power to avoid it. I want to get started on something I have been thinking about for a while, but unlike others, I’m an unorganized writer. I don’t outline. I don’t write following the flow of the book . . . well, sometimes I do. I usually think of scenes, parts of the story, and then I start writing. Sometimes I look at the white page and it just petrifies me.

  Other times, the words come out of me and I barely acknowledge them. They come out like a continuous flow, the ideas are so clear in my head and the scenes I want to describe translate perfectly on the page. But I have to do the work, and I need to get started.

  I’m not one for inspirational shit, but I do have a framed “inspirational” quote on the wall by my desk. It simply says, “Do the work.” When things don’t work out, when I’m stuck writing on a book and it seems I cannot move forward with a story, my eyes inevitably fall on that. Do the work. Do not complain, do not whine, and just do the damn work. It might take a while, but eventually it sinks in and that does it. I go for a walk, reboot my brain. I start thinking of changes I should make to plot lines and dialogue. Do the work works well for me.

  Unfortunately, Andrew, my trainer, uses the same inspirational quote against me, because whenever I want to be lazy and eat ice cream by the pint, he tells me, “You cannot constantly complain about how big your butt is, and then expect results. You remember that nice, framed artwork thingy you have in your apartment? You need to do the work, bitch. Like Britney says, you bette
r work, bitch.”

  This, however, is one if those times when I’m not ready to start writing something. I just find all kinds of excuses not to. I start doing research, and then I get stuck on Facebook or Twitter, responding to readers and so on . . . that’s what I do all morning. I do research on self-publishing, on potential characters, and then . . . a whole bunch of nothing. And, yes, that’s what I did all day yesterday too. Plus I snuggled with Lupin a lot. He was really appreciative of mommy allowing him to sit in her lap all day.

  I also skipped my workout with Andrew. I try to live a pretty simple life despite New York’s price tag, but if there is one thing I cannot go without, it’s my personal trainer. He is the only one who can keep me in check. He left me a menacing voicemail for blowing him off. I tried to be disciplined on my own before, but I failed.

  The first two years I worked as a writer were the hardest. I hardly left my apartment, let alone my desk. So, after a couple years of an extremely sedentary life, I found myself with twenty extra pounds. I had to do something, and came across Andrew at just the right time. He is funny and gorgeous, and gay, of course. He looks like an Italian male model. I was so blinded by his good looks and masculinity, it took me a week before I could be sure he was gay. He doesn’t flaunt it openly. I think he just likes to keep people guessing and loves to be flattered, by both sexes.

  I look at the clock on the laptop and realize it’s one in the afternoon. I should just head to the gym to work out and see if he is available later. Maybe I can start thinking of something on the treadmill and then I’ll finally start writing once I get home. Wishful thinking.

  “Stop slacking and do the repetitions all the way through. You aren’t done until you do them right!” He slaps me on my butt while I’m trying to do some mountain climbers.