Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

by Carly Alexander

  “Oh, my land, look at you,” he gasped.

  I lifted my arms and spun around again, feeling a surprising lack of inhibition. Amazing, what a day of primping can do for the ego.

  Judd stood opposite me, obviously happy to see me. I felt my jaw drop at the sight of his naked body, his meaty thighs and lean hips . . . so much smooth flesh.

  “Let me look at you,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful!”

  That made me feel modest. I brought my hands down and crossed them over my chest.

  “No, no . . . don’t do that. Come here,” he said, coming forward to take my hand and pull me toward the bed. He seemed so comfortable being naked, as if he did it all the time. Maybe he did. Was I the one with the underwear hang-up, wanting to have the important parts covered while I slept?

  “Relax,” he whispered, covering my breasts with his hands. From the way he cupped me, massaged me, kissed me, I could see Judd was a true afficionado of breasts. “You are beautiful.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the warmth rising inside me. My nipples were hard now, and I wanted him to move on to other places. I looked at him, feeling a sudden swell of willpower.

  “Hey, you,” I said, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back on the bed.

  He seemed surprised, but surrendered as I threw my leg up and straddled him, putting myself in the position of power. I was moist, and the feeling of him rubbing against me was exquisite.

  “Madison.” He threw his head back against the bed in surrender.

  I moved over him, slow and steady, gasping with each little thrust. I was shocked at the pleasure, shocked at my own actions. I hadn’t taken charge with a guy since . . . since the adolescent days with Ryan.

  I let my hips pause over him as I took in the feeling of power and excitement.

  “You are amazing,” he whispered, pulling me down on top of him to kiss me.

  I pressed against him, flesh on flesh, enjoying the thrill of an equal relationship.

  “I can’t help but think of Touchstone in As You Like It. ‘Am I the man yet?’ ” he asked dramatically. “ ‘Doth my simple feature content you?’ ”

  “Oh, you the man,” I said. “You are definitely the man.”

  In the morning, Judd wanted me to come back to his apartment and spend the day with him, but I felt bad about ditching Mom. Although I’d called her from the inn to let her know I wouldn’t be home, I didn’t want to completely ignore her during the rest of my visit at home.

  “Call me as soon as you can,” Judd said as he pulled up in front of the house on Nob Hill. He threw the car into park, then leaned across and kissed me possessively. “I’ve got plans for the evening, which I’d love to include you in.”

  Inside, the house seemed quiet and empty. The tree looked bare without the packages around it. “Mom?” I called.

  “Up here.” Her voice came down the stairs.

  I found her up in her bedroom, packing a suitcase.

  My eyes popped open. “Ohmigod! Are you leaving Dad?”

  “No, honey.” She squeezed my arm and smiled. “Not officially. I’m going away for a week. Clay and I are going to Tahoe. The trip was his Christmas gift to me. He just sprang it on me last night, and while I’m looking forward to spending a few days without having to sneak around, I do feel a little guilty. Clay didn’t realize you would be here while we were gone. I’m sorry, sweetie. I hate to abandon you.”

  “Oh.” It took me a minute to process the whole package. “Don’t feel bad,” I said. “You know I can fend for myself. I’ve been on my own for years.”

  “But I won’t be here to drive you to the airport,” she said. “And your last few days . . . I wish things hadn’t overlapped this way.”

  “Mom, don’t worry. I’m not leaving until next Sunday, and Judd or Wolf can drive me to the airport. I’ll be fine. You just have a good time.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she said, pausing to smile at me. “I can’t get over how much you’ve grown up. I really am proud of you, honey. Of you, not just your accomplishments.”

  Realizing we were veering dangerously close to a classic mother-daughter moment, I flicked the tag on her luggage. “What’s your cover for this trip, anyway?”

  “Emily, of course. I’m telling your father that she’s going for a skin peel, and I’m coming along for moral support.”

  “That is so lame. He’ll really buy it?”

  “He always does.”

  I sat on the bed and talked with her as she folded sweaters and slid shoes into shoebags. She was leaving late this afternoon, driving to the airport with Clay.

  I would have to call Judd . . . This meant I could see him tonight, maybe spend the night at his place. With Mom out of the house, there was no reason to hang around. Hmm ...

  When Judd’s Saab pulled into the driveway that afternoon, I ran out the door of the house, my long cashmere coat streaming behind me as I flew down the hill, my red boots clambering over the stone steps. It was one of those gorgeous San Francisco days—cool but clear, with a sapphire blue sky that allows you to see for miles.

  Judd was out of the car, his arms open to me, and he seemed to hold out a promise, ready for me to snatch up like the brass ring on the old carousel at Golden Gate Park.

  I jumped into his arms and he whirled me around and kissed me hard. He had the top down and “Reelin’ in the Years” was playing loud, and for some reason the song sounded as hopeful and limitless as the sky above us.

  In that moment, I knew it was our future—hopeful and limitless.

  Judd danced me around the car, and though I knew the neighbors had to be watching, wondering if Dr. Greenwood’s daughter had totally lost her mind, I didn’t let myself care as I stared into his eyes, dancing and laughing.

  Was it destiny or a miracle?

  I wasn’t sure, but for the first time in my life I had stumbled into a real, grown-up relationship. Maybe that was why I couldn’t stop smiling.

  13

  Sunday

  Okay, this is probably totally insane, and I keep telling myself it’s only because Mom isn’t at the house, but I packed up a bunch of clothes and threw them into the back of Judd’s Saab and now I’m in the process of unpacking at his apartment.

  Just one moment of weirdness when he shoved aside a bunch of things in one closet and told me I could hang up my stuff in there. I was hanging up my long coat when I noticed the stuff he’d pushed back. A long rose silk nightgown. A full-length black crepe skirt with a slit up the side. A suede Liz Claiborne blazer in a beautiful shade of burnt amber. And a pair of tooled cowboy boots.

  The sight of the stuff choked me up a little. “Um . . . Judd? Have you been cross-dressing on the side?”

  “What?” He peeked into the closet and shrugged. “Oh, just push those to the back. I guess Stamata left a few things behind.”

  The old girlfriend.

  Judd went to get us two beers, but I shivered, still staring into the closet. Bad enough that he’d kept some of her stuff here, but seeing the eclectic mix of styles, I had a feeling I would like Stamata had I met her under different circumstances. I could just picture her, a dark-haired Grecian goddess vamping in her slit skirt and cowboy boots. I shivered again.

  The ghost of the ex lives on. Maybe, when Judd goes to school tomorrow I can bag up her stuff and drop it into a charity box. Bye, bye, Stamata.

  Monday

  Am writing from Backbend Café, four blocks from Judd’s place. A cute little find, with sculpted tables that resemble humans bending over backwards. Huge bulletin board that reminds me of possibilities. I can be a part-time nanny, take massage-therapy classes, learn to make potstickers on a Wok Wiz Tour of Chinatown. The world opens up before me ... life beyond my latte.

  My job for the day seems to be to make us an afternoon meal, since Judd usually eats when he gets home from school. Not that I volunteered, but before he left at the crack of dawn this morning he asked me what I was making. Presumptuous bastard, b
ut I enjoyed watching from bed as he dressed, the blanket stretched up to my chin with one eyelid cracked open.

  So anyway, I thought I’d surprise him and actually make a great dinner. Don’t think ramen noodles would really float his boat.

  Searched his kitchen and found Stamata’s cookbooks. Where the hell do you get filo dough? No way I can pull this stuff off. Roasted lamb and moussaka? You actually peel eggplants? Need to go home and dig out Mom’s cookbooks.

  Later

  Couldn’t find the right cookbooks at home, just books about baking and making pastries. In a panic, raided Mom’s freezer. Found bag of taco meat. Ran to market for tomatoes, cheese, green onions, sour cream, guacamole, Coronas. This cooking thing is a lot of work.

  Leo called as I was chopping onions and tomatoes, and it felt a little weird to be tracked down. “How did you get Judd’s number?” I asked him.

  “From Wolf, Mata Hari. Get over yourself! What the fuck are you doing there that’s so secret? The painters came and the apartment is now a Pepto shade of fuschia.”

  “You’re a big fat liar,” I answered. Then we both cracked up, and I felt a little better about the fact that I’d sort of dropped my friends while I was busy falling in love with Judd.

  Leo says the apartment is coming along. Sugar introduced Leo to a friend of hers—some chick studying psych at NYU. Leo says she seems cool, so I told him to go for it.

  After I hung up, had a major case of the guilts. It scares me a little that I don’t care who the hell they recruit, and that leads me to the difficult possibility that I might not be moving into that apartment. Can’t go there yet. Leo would kill me.

  Later

  Judd raved about my tacos. Said Stamata never made tacos. Ha!

  As he watched me chop, he sang along with Steely Dan. “‘Before the fall, when they wrote it on the wall, when there wasn’t even any Hollywood . . .’” A great song. Thank God Judd can act better than he can sing.

  So nice to have Judd for the evening! He’s usually on stage.

  Went to the movies, Crying Game again. Makes my butt hurt. I was interested in Lorenzo’s Oil, but Judd needs to study acting technique, thinks Stephen Rea is huge talent. Didn’t get into it with him.

  Drinks in the neighborhood at the Saloon, where Judd knows the bartender. Fun night until a waitress told Judd that Stamata had been in last week. That ruined it for me. “Is she that close?” I asked Judd.

  “She moved to Oakland. I don’t know what she was doing here,” he said defensively. Like I’m overreacting. Maybe I am; I don’t know. Must run it by Wolf when I see him tomorrow; he’s so judicious, he’ll know what’s right.

  Tuesday

  Supposed to have lunch with Wolf but when I called he had to cancel. He felt so bad; then I felt bad for him. “You sound so far away,” he told me. “I feel like I need to reel you in.”

  I was sort of relieved that he cancelled. Wolf is great but he seems so much a part of my past life, and I don’t know how to explain my relationship with Judd yet. I mean, is this it? Are we really shacking up? Looks that way.

  Some “Mommy Squad” girls just came into the café. Grunge mommies, I think, one with a pierced tongue. Other notables: the goth lesbians who talk so loud, everyone in the place knows what they’re drinking (a latte and a soy cappuccino) and why they’re taking their landlady to small-claims court (a long story). There’s also a lone bald man who sits at the corner table and hums while he reads. He has never said a word to me, and I like that about him.

  I steal a glance at him, wondering what he’s planning for dinner. The dinner issue weighs heavily upon me. I drop my head to the table (which makes it a little hard to write this, but, whatever).

  Wednesday

  Drizzle day. Tiny rivulets of water flickering in the air. Note: Look up rivulet to make sure it’s the right word. Or is it a word at all?

  Started to call Leo or Sugar or Wolf, but lost my momentum. Feel too vulnerable. Not sure what to report . . . where I stand. Can’t open myself to advice when I don’t have a clue what I want.

  Am so tired, but I must cook a meal today. Yesterday I opted for sensational takeout—fresh sushi and salad and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream from a gourmet market in North Beach. The meal was fabulous, but Judd seemed a little disappointed, tapping his chopsticks on the table so thoughtfully as he kept saying dinner was fine, really. Really. Then he asked me what I did all day. Like I was supposed to spend the day cooking his dinner.

  Big sigh. I’m making him sound like a monster, when the truth is I’m probably a little edgy about being compared to Stigma, or whatever her name is.

  Must make an original dinner tonight. Something that says, “I love you.”

  Later

  Made a meatloaf for dinner. Never really liked meatloaf, but it seemed like such a cozy, domestic thing to do on a drizzly, damp day, and nothing says “I love you” like a cozy meal. It ended up tasting very beefy, probably because I used ground beef (what the hell do I know?) instead of the standard mix of three meats—veal, pork, and deer? Something like that. Still, Judd was very appreciative and seemed to enjoy his 4 P.M. meal, though he’s a little obsessed with getting naked at home. Intriguing, but I like to eat dinner with more than a napkin on my lap.

  Afterward we both napped, then woke up and made love. I tried to spice things up with a new position, but he told me there wasn’t time, that I should save it for Monday when he didn’t have to do a show.

  When he left for the theater, I attacked the kitchen. Took me forever to get meatloaf gunk off the pan; then I wondered: Was gunk there for years? My poor hands. Must get rubber gloves. Buy rubber gloves!

  Thursday

  Ugh! Woke up with Judd’s alarm at six-thirty and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I decided to make the most of the day and work on my cooking skills. I showed up for this walking tour of Chinatown that I’d seen online, and the fearless leader, Shirley Fong, was a real hoot. Great tour! We visited two temples, Taoist and Buddhist. Still not sure of difference, but they were lovely. (Maybe a Buddhist blessing is just what my cooking skills need!) Tea-tasting ceremony reminded me of Japanese Tea Garden with my buds. Miss my friends. Wolf owes me a lunch.

  Shirley also took us to meet a famous artist, then to an herbal shop. Amazing place with walls of drawers. Twigs and powder and grains. Bought some herbs to break writer’s block, but haven’t used them yet—must cook into tea.

  Dim sum on the street—yummy!

  Tour ended with Chef Shirley demonstrating secrets of wok cooking. Awesome! Plan to wow Judd tomorrow, as soon as I collect ingredients and purchase wok. Wonder: Did Stamata ever make potstickers? Am writing from Backbend Café. Came to soak up ambience, study character, but nobody here. Music good, though . . . Mellencamp and the Stones. Have noticed Steely Dan lyrics floating in my head while asleep at night.

  Later

  Ugh! Had to leave café due to small man asking intrusive questions about my writing. “Ever published? What makes you think you can write? Do you know what the average writer makes?” Where was my reclusive, humming bald man when I needed him?

  Then when I got back to Judd’s he was upset, wondering what happened to me, what’s for dinner? At four-thirty in the afternoon. Double ugh!

  Told Judd I wasn’t hungry. He made himself an omelette and napped while I stewed. Woke up horny, but I was still pissed. He just left for the show, and now I feel like a total jerk. Going to movies, hoping to see Enchanted April again. Will even sit through Crying Game again if I have to. Might try to wait it out at Backbend Café until after Judd gets home.

  Ugh!

  Friday

  Judd left this morning without a word. Sort of harsh, I think. Is he still pissed?

  Will make it up to him by preparing fabulous wok dinner. Must find wok and ingredients for Shirley’s potstickers. No time for café today.

  Ended up seeing Scent of a Woman last night. Am in love with Al Pacino. Is he married? Not sure. Fantasize Al falling ma
dly in love with me, loves me for my mind. Al has enough money for full-time housekeeper and cook. Would teach his cook how to make potstickers.

  Later

  Am the luckiest, most loved woman in the world.

  Didn’t know yesterday, but I guess that was our first fight. Making up was divine. After school Judd brought me flowers—sterling roses, pale lavender. I cried. We made love—fast and furious. I cried through half of it. Then when it was over, I told him I wanted to do it again, taking it slow. He quoted something from Shakespeare. Something from As You Like It about a ragged voice. “I know I cannot please you,” he said. I pressed his hand between my legs and told him his touch was very pleasing. May have taught the teacher something. Interesting handiwork.

  Afterward, he lounged in the kitchen naked while I cooked the hand-hacked potstickers. Kept sneaking a peek at his butt, wondering how he compares to Al Pacino. Hard to say. Never saw Al naked.

  Potstickers and garlic chicken with white wine. Judd was ecstatic, says he loves having me here. Says he won’t let me go back to New York. “Why don’t you cancel your flight to New York? Stay and see how things develop.” I almost cried again when he said that.

  Can’t bear to tell Mom and friends, but I’m going to stay. Judd is a wonderful guy, and I’m getting the hang of this cooking thing.

  Tonight, I’ll meet him after the show and we’ll go for drinks since he has the daytime off tomorrow.