by Warren Adler
"Please meet me by the water tower at 3 p.m. tomorrow. Please." Under the note was a P.S. "I think you're the cutest thing I ever saw."
She tried to urge indignance upon herself, to will it. The idea of it, she whispered. I have got to tell Jake, she decided, wondering what his reaction would be. She had been a good and faithful wife for nearly fifty years, fifty years. No other man had ever touched her and, even in her memories, she could not think of a single other man who had ever kissed her, although she vaguely remembered playing spin the bottle when she was a little girl, during which some of the boys had kissed her cheek. Nobody had ever, ever written her such outrageous notes; nor had any man ever gotten fresh with her.
She read the note again, refolded it and put it in her change purse, discovering that the other two notes also were hidden there. Why am I saving them? she wondered. Someday I might need the evidence.
She lay in bed that night unable to sleep, listening to Jake's heavy breathing that, she knew, soon would turn into deep, resounding snores. It had been her natural habit to drop off to sleep before the snoring began in earnest. Now, the opportunity had passed and the noise was deafening.
Slipping quietly out of bed, she wrapped her dressing gown around her and sat on the living-room couch. The note was still disturbing her. She could not get it out of her mind. It was not a question of her going. That would be unthinkable. She would feel ridiculous. What would she say to him? Besides, he might by a psychopath, although she did not feel that his face was that of a crazy man.
Just suppose, just suppose I did go, she thought suddenly, ashamed of the idea of it. But the possibility loomed, rose in her mind, like the beginning ripple of a giant wave, forming far out to sea. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. Finally, she admitted to some curiosity.
Just this once, she thought. What harm would there be in it, after all? The wave continued to form, and she felt its power, its urging, heard it crash inside of her. Just once, she thought, her face growing hot. She also felt some odd stirrings in her body, warm, pleasurable. Her nipples were erect. My God, she cried to herself, watching the hardness in the large puddle of her nipple.
There could be no question of sleep that night, and she stayed up, trying to concentrate on her knitting until it began to turn light behind the blinds and, for appearances sake, she slipped into bed beside the snoring Jake.
But in the full light of morning, her resolve strengthened again and she saw how utterly preposterous it was to entertain thoughts of meeting this man. Besides, the lack of sleep had given her a slight headache, enough to rationalize her not being able to make her regular Mah-Jongg game.
She called her friends and told them to get someone else to fill in. She wondered why she had made the call after Jake had left the apartment. She washed the breakfast dishes and cleaned the apartment, then sat on the lounge chair in back of the apartment and busied herself with knitting.
A light breeze rustled the stalks of Bermuda grass and she heard the insects buzzing in the flowers she had planted near the screen porch. While she knew she was having a conflict within herself, it did not affect her sense of up-lift. 'What could he possibly see in me?' she thought, feeling good about his interest, her curiosity expanding.
By the time the sun stood high in the early afternoon, she had decided to go. What harm would there be? Besides, it was quite possible that he was only fooling. There were a lot of old kibbutzers around Sunset Village who did things just for laughs. He probably wouldn't even show up, she decided, although the sense of anticipation stayed with her, rising as she combed her hair and dabbed on some light make-up.
She had never fussed with herself with such diligence before, rubbing in a little rouge, leaving a faint glow at the edge of her cheekbones. When she was finished, she smiled at herself, a contrivance, to see how badly her face wrinkled when she did it. I'm an old woman, she said with resignation, but secretly, inside herself, her body was stirring with feelings she had never had before, or, if she had, she could not remember them.
Jake had come home and was watching television when she left, presuming her to be on her way to her Mah-Jongg game. She felt too much guilt to say good-bye, but slipped out, holding her knitting bag, a permanent fixture, and headed in the direction of the water tower, which rose above the low barracks-like white building of her condominium section. It actually was a short walk, but she timed it to arrive later, slowing her pace as she got closer to be able to observe whether he was really there.
When she saw him, she stopped dead in her tracks, hoping he had not seen her, but her legs would not move in retreat and, for a long moment, she stood frozen, indecisive. The area around the water tower was completely deserted and he was leaning against the slats looking in the opposite direction.
She could leave, she knew. She had not been spotted. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt a sudden tightness in her stomach. Just once, an inner voice might have been telling her as she responded to a compulsion, urging her on, and she felt her legs carrying her forward. The sudden action made him turn, and he moved from his leaning posture and stood up as she approached.
A handsome man, she decided, as she came closer. It was an odd thought, quite without logic in her state of mind. New things were happening fast, new sensations.
"I didn't think you would show up," the man said. He was a good head taller than her and the lines in his tanned face were deep, as if he had spent years outdoors. He was smiling, showing even teeth. Probably implants, she thought. She imagined his age about the same as Jake's, late sixties, early seventies, but there was a more youthful cast to his features and his body had not run to fat.
"I figured maybe if I came, you would stop bothering me." She smiled thinly, as if it were a joke, then lowered her eyes.
"You've got to be thinking that I'm crazy."
"Aren't you?"
He was looking at her directly with an odd intensity. She felt a warm flush cover her body. Then, without contriving, she smiled broadly.
"I couldn't help myself. I've been watching you for a long time. Then, finally I couldn't help myself. I really think you're as cute as a button."
She felt herself relaxing, unwinding. She liked being here, liked this bantering.
"You're blind as a bat. I'm a grandmother six times over and I just looked at myself in the mirror. Besides, I'm married and have been for nearly fifty years."
"Big deal."
"It is a big deal."
He reached out, touching her arm, squeezing the flesh lightly.
"I've got seven grandchildren." He lifted his hands, folding three fingers of one hand, to emphasize the number. "Also a wife. And we've been married for forty-eight."
"It's a miracle," she said coquettishly, "considering that you're such a flirt."
"Me? A flirt?" He looked at her in mock innocence.
"What then? A masher?" She was surprised that she had not moved away when he touched her. His hand had lingered and she was conscious of it, deeply conscious of his flesh touching hers.
I'm the one that's crazy, she thought. What am I doing here?
"I may be old, but I'm far from dead."
"Who said that?" She hated any reference to death. He must have sensed the offense.
"I thought it would be nice to meet you face-to-face," he said, almost as if his confidence had wavered and he had run out of brashness. "Ever since the first time I saw you, I have not been able to get you out of my of mind." He paused. "There. That's my confession."
He looked at her and rubbed his hand up and down her arm. Her eyes darted quickly to each side of her. The area was deserted and she let him continue to touch her.
"Anyway," he said, "I got you here. And that's what counts."
"So I'm here. So what happens now?" She regretted it instantly, knowing it was not what she meant. He removed his hand.
"I'm not so sure about that," he said, his smile disappearing. "I just know that I wanted to see you, that I'd like to
see you from time to time."
"I know what you're looking at," she said seriously, hitting the nub of her own curiosity. "But I don't know what you see."
"I see a lovely, beautiful woman, a desirable woman, an exciting woman."
She felt a strange flowing inside of her, a life force, an aliveness that she had not felt before, ever.
"I'm an old lady," she protested.
"Will you please stop that?" he said with some authority. He had a sense of command about him, she observed, and she suddenly reveled in the idea of obeying him.
"All right," she said.
"Besides," he said, "I don't feel like an old man. Not when I'm around you. Not when I'm thinking about you."
She observed him in detail now, her eyes exploring his face. There was definitely a youthfulness about him, she decided. It was the hair, tight, curly, white. It was lovely hair. He must have felt her looking at him. Then he moved his other hand to her upper arm and applied pressure.
"I don't think I'm more than seventeen right now," he said. "I feel so damned good."
"Maybe eighteen." She felt quite good herself.
"Listen, I'm here with a sixteen-year-old."
"I'll be sixteen next month."
"So you're going to let me rob the cradle?"
It was madness, sheer madness. Suppose someone saw them. What was she doing here? Why was she liking it? She suddenly was frightened and stepped away from him, disengaging.
"What's the matter?"
"Suppose someone should see?"
"So they'll see."
"I can't believe this is happening," she said.
"Believe it."
"I really better be going." Her fright was real now.
"So, when will I see you again?"
"I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't." Who is this talking? she wondered.
"Look," he said, moving toward her, holding her arms again. She did not try to disengage. "Meet me tomorrow night." He looked toward the edge of the road. "Over there," he pointed. "I'll be in my car. About eight-thirty. OK?" He looked directly into her eyes. "Please."
Tomorrow night, she was thinking. Wednesday. That was Jake's gin night. "I'll see," she said after a long pause, but she knew he had taken it as it was offered, an assent. He released her, and they stood there for a time. She was happy, yet she wanted to cry. There was no making any sense about it.
Finally, she turned, feeling her heart pound heavily as she moved more quickly than usual. It was not until she put the key in her apartment lock that she remembered that she did not even know his name.
"So early," Jake asked, when she stepped inside the apartment.
"I had a headache. So I decided to come home for a nap instead of playing.
She went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed, but she could not calm herself. What has come over me? she wondered, touching those places on her arm that he had touched, reshaping his face in her mind. It wasn't until she lay there a long time that the sense of guilt intruded. How can I do this to Jake? she thought. But it did not linger long. After all, she had been a good and faithful wife for nearly fifty years and soon they would put her in a box and lower her into the ground. Surely, she must be allowed one, just one, different experience with another man, before they closed the lid. It wasn't the first time she had thought about it, she admitted. But it hadn't been for years, many years. What woman of her generation had not wondered the same thing?
Getting through the night and the next day was a chore. The hours dragged on, despite her determination to keep busy. She spent the day rearranging her closet, cleaning out the refrigerator, redoing her drawers, most of which was purely make-work.
"You're certainly ambitious," Jake observed. He spent the day dozing on the couch and reading the papers. Occasionally, he would watch television. She made an elaborate dinner, including a stuffed roast chicken and a big salad.
"I ate too much," Jake said, pushing the plate away after his second helping. She had barely eaten.
"Every time I eat too much, I lose," he said, as he kissed her on the cheek, and went out of the apartment to play gin. Quickly, she cleaned the kitchen and took a shower, poured on her favorite perfume, carefully combed her hair and made up her face.
"Some old lady," she thought. She put on her white slack outfit and let herself out into the soft night. She was too agitated to walk swiftly, afraid that she would perspire if she moved too fast.
The car was there, idling softly, and when he saw her, he opened the door. When she got inside, he turned off the motor and slid closer along the front seat.
"I was frightened that you wouldn't come."
"I'm here."
"And I'm happy you're here." His fingers crept along the back of her neck. She did not stop him, savoring his touch.
"There was something I wanted to ask you," she said.
"Ask, I'll tell anything."
"A small thing." She looked at him. His white hair seemed to glow in the dark and she had the urge to touch it, but she resisted. "Like your name."
He laughed, his fingers gripped her neck now. He bent over and kissed the side of it.
"You're beautiful," he said. "And I'm a complete ass. I'm Milton Sussberg." He held out his hand, which she took in hers, their fingers entwining.
"Pleased to meet you, Milton Sussberg. I'm Rose Lefkowitz."
"That I know."
"You're a regular yenta."
"I know where you live. I know your husband's name. I know you have three children, six grandchildren and you used to live in Bensonhurst."
"You are a yenta."
"And this Sussberg has a wife named Elaine, three daughters who all live on Long Island. I worked as a housing inspector for the city of New York for thirty years. I was in World War II. And that's all I got to tell."
He bent over again and nibbled at her neck. She lay her head on the backrest.
"And I think you're cute," he whispered, his lips moving near her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath.
"And I think you're crazy."
"I like necking in cars," he said. "I never necked in a car before."
"Who had cars in those day?" she said, his lips moving lightly over her cheek now, finding her lips, pressing against them. She felt her heart lurch as she returned the pressure and moved into his arms. Her hands caressed his hair now. I am dreaming this, she decided, not caring how it was happening, except that it was happening. Maybe it is a reincarnation. Maybe I am sixteen again.
"You're the most delicious thing I ever tasted," he said, his hands moving over her body, touching her breasts. He reached into her blouse and caressed her nipples over her brassiere. She felt them grow erect. Just this once, she repeated to herself. Just this once.
His hands reached behind her and he tried to undo her straps, but they were complicated, with at least six hooks fastening them together. She undid them herself, letting her breasts fall free, suddenly not ashamed of their sag. His lips caressed her nipples, and she felt excited at her body's response. And she continued to caress his hair.
"You're crying," he said suddenly. Tears of happiness had spilled over her eyes and down her cheeks, His hand had felt the moisture.
"I don't know why."
"Sixteen-year-old girls do strange things."
"Will you respect me?" The words had jumped out of her, dredged up from some long-forgotten pool. She giggled.
"Respect you?" He hadn't understood.
"Well I am sixteen," she said. Then he kissed her breasts again and she felt him moving her hand down to his crotch, and she felt his hardness.
"And I'm seventeen," he said, unzipping his pants and putting his erect member in her hands. It had been a long time since she had felt something like this. He was bigger than Jake, and she caressed the soft skin. Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark and she had the odd desire to look at it, something that she had never been curious about with Jake.
"You're not disappointed?" he asked, obvious
ly noting her curiosity.
"You are seventeen," she said, kissing him again, continuing to caress him, feeling her own response as he fumbled with the catch and zipper of her slacks. She looked about her for any sign of movement, but the road was completely deserted.
"Maybe we should go in the back seat?" he suggested, and they quickly moved to the back. Then she removed her slacks, and he had pulled down his pants. They kissed again and what had briefly fallen rose again to her touch. It was all so strange, an odd fulfillment of an old wish. And she had not resisted, not in the slightest. The space was tight, the movement of their bodies awkward as they joined and she felt the opening of her body meet his member as it had never happened before, not with Jake, the only man in her life. There seemed an instant reaction as her body lurched and she felt her pleasure come instantly. My God, what is happening, she thought, feeling a wave of pleasure pound inside of her as she let out some odd primitive sound that she had never heard before. He too moaned briefly, and she knew he felt his own pleasure.
They lay joined for a longtime, then he was the first to untangle himself and pull up his pants. She dressed again, too, feeling a strange contentment. Now I know, she told herself.
"It was wonderful," she said, when they had zipped themselves up and rearranged their clothing. She leaned back in the crook of his arm and, turning her head slightly, looked out of the window into the canopy of stars, clear and sparkling in the moonless night.
"I can't believe this happened to me," Milton Sussberg said.
"You're not a big philanderer?" She had not really confronted the question before. It was just another aspect of her curiosity.
"Me?"
"You mean you don't ever write notes like that to other strange ladies."
"Never in my life. I swear it." He kissed her forehead. "I saw you, found the courage and did it. That's all there was to it."
She wondered if she should believe it. But then, she wanted to. That would fit nicely. She was still happy, very contented now.
