by Matt Minor
“Say? What are you worried about?”
“I don’t know, I worry about everything.”
“You always have, Mason. That’s one of the things that drove Ann so crazy, but also one of the reasons she loved you so much.”
“How do you know these things, Keith? How many conversations about me did you and Ann have?”
“Lots.”
“Alright, whatever…what should I say?”
“Ask her what she’s doing tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, tonight, dipshit.”
“But we’re going to the game tomorrow night.”
“Sunday night is a lame time to do it for the first time. Both of you have to get up in the morning…her kid…”
“But her ex is taking Will to school Monday.”
“Okay, I still think you should go over there tonight. Ask if she wants to watch a movie or something. How the fuck did you ever get laid, dude?”
“Do you really think it’s good timing?”
“What are you, a moron? Of course it’s good timing. Think about it. You went out. First weekend y’all have been dating that her kid isn’t around. She gets sick. She’s worried you don’t want anything to do with her.”
“What kind of movie? At the theater or her place?”
“Her place, dummy. As for what movie, I don’t know…what’s in that vast collection you’ve got sitting in the den? I watched John Carpenter’s The Thing not too long ago.”
“What?” I ask him in utter confusion.
“I’m fuckin’ with you, dude. A chick flick or something. Something you can watch with a date.”
“I’m not a big chick flick guru. Any ideas?”
“Uh…have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally?”
“No. What is that?”
“Jesus Christ, people your age have no clue about good popular culture. Do you realize how lucky you are to have me as a friend and a guide? You should be paying me to live with you.”
“Right, can I write you a check or, do you even have a bank account?”
“Cash will be fine. As far as the picture goes, trust me. Go to the bookstore and pick up a copy. They should have it. It’s very popular. Trust me.”
“Okay, I’ll trust you on this. When Harry Met Sally.”
“That’s right,” Keith says as he crumples up his taco wrapper. He concludes with a snide, “Oh, after you text her, call her! And bring her one red rose.”
“Okay.” I text back: Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. I’ll call soon.
My phone pings. She responds with a smiley face.
When we get back to my apartment, I go into my bedroom and give Brenna a call. Keith flawlessly predicted how the conversation would go. I guess that’s a talent you have when you’re born a scoundrel.
I replay the conversation in my head, which consisted of her apologizing repeatedly then waiting for exoneration. Not that she did anything wrong, she’s just worried that she blew more than the contents of her stomach. When I suggested we meet tonight she jumped on it. I decided to throw both movie scenarios out: one at the theater and one at her house. She leapt on the latter like a lioness on a llama. She’s even heard of When Harry Met Sally.
I head out to buy the DVD.
There’s a nice September drizzle coating things with a mellow balm as I drive over to Brenna’s house. I feel the wasp nest rattle, but so far it hasn’t swarmed.
I arrive, park at the curb, and pace across the front walkway that cuts through Brenna’s freshly cut lawn. The supple smell of rain mixes with the odor of grass clippings.
I’ve remembered the single red rose. I hand it to her as soon as she opens the door.
“It smells lovely,” Brenna comments as she buries the tip of her pretty pink nose in the folds of the flower. “Did you get the movie we talked about?”
“Sure did.” I smile and pull it from the small plastic bag.
“Well then, come on in.” Her smile is both innocent and mischievous. I watch as her plump bottom shakes before me. She’s dressed very casually, in only a blue and white checkered tank top with a pair of Daisy Dukes. Her hair is pinned up and she’s wearing very little makeup.
This is amazing. She’s so proper in public.
She’s turning me on. Following Keith’s advice I’m wearing a short sleeve, collared shirt and pair of blue jeans. Bastard, he’s right again.
“I was going to cook burgers out on the grill, but the rain has kind of…”
I interrupt her with my lips when we reach the kitchen. Her tongue is so soft. As our lips pulsate about one another’s, my nostrils savor the fruity aroma of her neck. She smells so girly. We’re standing with our bodies against one another. I’m getting hard and wonder if she can feel me pressing against her tummy.
Brenna moves her arm from around my neck and places her hand on my bulge. Her fingers knead with the same rhythm as our lips. The plushness of her behind deepens as my hands make their way south. We break from kissing and I begin to nibble on her neck and earlobe. Her hand has not left my crouch when I run my fingers up her shirt. I joyfully discover she’s not wearing a bra. Lightly grasping her left breast, I run my thumb over her nipple, but it is covered by a petal.
“I didn’t want to show off too much,” she sexily whispers in response to my exploring. “Follow me,” she adds.
She breaks our embrace and turns towards the hallway. As she’s walking, she unbuttons her shorts and slips them off her hips, down her legs, from around her knees, then from her naked feet. Her skinny purple thong is almost invisible as it runs the ravine of her ass.
When we get to her bedroom, which is painted in a blue as cool and deep as the Aegean, Brenna pauses at the front of her bed. Now behind her, I lean my head slightly down and begin kissing the back of her neck. I drop to my knees and press my face between her cool, ivory, bulbous cheeks. With a deep sniff I draw in the rich essence of her identity, like an animal in the wild. Thrusting her panties off, I nudge my nose in further. From above she begins making sounds of pleasure. She then starts to giggle.
“You’re whiskers are ticklish.”
Keith told me not to shave. Bastard, he’s right again.
Still standing, but collapsing forward, supported by her two hands, Brenna unfolds like a spreading flower.
While she climbs towards the front of the bed on all fours, I start undressing. I unbutton my jeans, and Brenna, who is now reclining completely naked against the pillowed headboard, stares at my erection as it begins to reveal itself. She runs her fingernails up her bent knee and the curve of her ample hip.
As we’re kissing and feeling and…a fear comes over me.
Something wholly unnatural—a feeling that I’m betraying something. The blood begins to rapidly recede from my groin. My thought process is switching from one head to another. Everything starts firing in reverse. This is not a good scenario.
Brenna is kneading my cock with her hand.
She must know that something’s wrong. I’ve got to stop thinking about Ann. GO AWAY!
I fall away and stare up at the ceiling with an air of doom.
“Are you okay?” she asks, nestling up against my side, her fingers tickling my chest.
“Yeah, I’m alright. I just haven’t had sex with anyone since my wife…”
“I understand. I’m nervous too. I haven’t slept with anyone since my divorce more than a year ago.”
“Really, then you understand?” I turn my troubled gaze to meet her eyes.
“Just relax, Mason. Everything is alright. I want you. We can take our time.”
I can feel everything start to flow again—and I mean everything. It isn’t long before I’m immersed in her hot moisture.
It isn’t long before we both…
We end up watching the flick, eat a couple of bags of popcorn for dinner and hang out with Sargent.
Keith, that bastard, he’s right again.
I’m not going home tonight. I’m stay
ing here.
And before tonight…Ann was all I’ve ever known.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SUNDAY
It’s damn near 9:00 a.m. The morning light across the room is filled with youth and life. It smells like the future. I feel well rested, probably because I didn’t have anything to drink last night. It’s been a long time since I woke up without a hangover.
Brenna is curled up beside me, her back and bottom all inviting and warm.
I nudge her awake by spooning with her.
We do it again.
What a way to kick off the opening of football season.
We sit on the sofa and eat a breakfast of eggs and toast. Brenna is suddenly able to talk casually about herself. We can now begin to learn something about each other.
“So why did you and Will’s dad get divorced?”
“Oh, I don’t know, James and I just changed from the people we were when we were in our twenties.”
“It happens.”
“The things you want in life just…change. We met in college, at Sam Houston. Neither of us were Greeks, so that was the first attraction. He was a business major and I was in marketing. We started dating. Looking back, though, we were totally self-absorbed. We weren’t that interesting. When we graduated, he took a job in Dallas and I moved back home to Houston and in with the folks, because I couldn’t find a job. We both dated other people for a time.
“A few years later, James landed a job at Merrell Lynch down here. He didn’t know many people, but he had my parent’s number. He called and got mine. By then I’d gotten a job and was working in the energy industry.”
“You mean the energy industry has a marketing department? I thought their standard PR was just, ‘FUCK OFF! We’re the energy industry.’” I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in front of her. Or have I?
“Shut up,” Brenna snaps back a little embarrassed.
She knows I’m right.
“True, they’re not known for treating people very well,” she concedes.
“Honestly, they treat people like…shit. I deal with Imminent Domain issues all the time. Oil and gas is sadistic. If you’re a property owner and you try to fight them, they’ll try and get your pregnant wife to miscarry!”
“Mason! That’s terrible.”
“Okay, I’m exaggerating.” I’m too comfortable. My bad personality is coming through. Stop with the opinions… stop projecting.
“Yes, you are exaggerating. But…you’re right, too. They don’t have any regard for people. They see them as a barrier to profits. I saw that when I worked at Exploration, Inc. But, I didn’t do any real public relations there. I was a glorified secretary. But, this is Texas; oil is king.”
“Yeah it is. Our state savings account, the ‘Rainy Day Fund,’ is from oil and gas taxes. They know they run the show and they don’t let property owners forget it. I’ve seen these companies destroy people’s lives, take everything they have if all they have is surface rights. The Railroad Commission is totally in the bag for the industry, as well. Texas is terrible about property rights if it involves a private company.”
“What does Haliburton Crane think about your opinions?”
“Oh, he doesn’t know. I can’t really talk to him about anything. I mean, he’s respectful when I disagree with him from time to time, but he still disregards it.”
“You definitely have an interesting job, Mason.”
She sets her plate on the coffee table between us and crosses her legs.
“Yeah, sometimes too interesting.” My interests are monopolizing the conversation—again. Get back to her. I chide myself.
“So, to hell with my job and opinions, what happened with your husband, again?”
“Oh, it’s okay. I like listening to you. You’re so passionate about what you do. It’s kind of refreshing to meet someone our age who still has values, and that kind of leads into why James and I drifted apart.”
“What happened?”
“He just got caught up in this whole corporate ‘thing.’ I don’t really know how to explain it. James just really turned into another person. But when I look back at it now, he was really that person all along. Then my father got sick and he just wasn’t there for me at all.”
“I’m sorry. How did he die?” I ask removing a band of wild brown hair from her sleepy face.
“He had a major heart attack out of the blue one day. He couldn’t work, and then, he had another. It killed him.”
“I’m sorry your husband wasn’t there for you.” I want to console her. I move over and pat the slight puff of circle beneath her left eye with my thumb.
Her sleepy eyes look up at me.
“We really need some coffee,” I remark.
“Does that help?” she asks.
“I can’t believe you don’t drink coffee.” I yawn.
“I never have. Everyone I know does, though.”
“Maybe you should follow their lead,” I tease.
“Shut up,” she says. “I know I look bad in the morning, you don’t have to rub it in.”
“Hey…” I cup her chin with my right hand, then turn her face back to mine.
“What?” she asks. She is staring into my tired, but enraptured eyes.
“I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”
“You’re just saying that, Mason.” I’m not, I mean it. “No, I’m not, I mean it. I’m just an idiot.” Fuck me. I’m being truthful.
“You’re not an idiot. You just don’t think before you speak.”
Her smile must mean that I’m forgiven. “But, I mean it…” I pull her mouth towards mine and we kiss, morning breath and all. It’s wonderful.
“I really enjoyed last night,” I whisper, a glisten of spittle visible on her bottom lip.
“…and this morning?” she adds and asks with an uncertain guile.
“…and this morning, totally!” I confirm.
“Me too. It was really nice…really nice.” The wild band of rebel hair falls back across her face.
I leave it be.
“Okay, back on subject, what about…?” I start to ask.
“Forget about it for now, we have to get ready! The game starts at noon! We can talk on the way!”
We are sitting in traffic on Main, which, due to H-Town’s lax zoning looks as if various slabs of junk fell from space and opened for business. I’m in the passenger seat this time. She said we could talk on the way. “So what happened to your husband?”
“He had an affair with one of his corporate whores,” she discloses, bluntly.
“Corporate whores?”
“Yes, corporate whores. They’re all whores in that world—or haven’t you heard?”
“I don’t know. I’ve worked in or around government most of my working life. When I got out of school I did campaign work for different candidates. Then, I taught school for a few years.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, American History. Waste of freaking time. You think you’re going to be discussing something you have an interest in…but you soon realize you’re talking to yourself. Or, maybe I was a bad teacher. Either way, I got out and worked for the Land Office in Austin for a few years. But, I really wanted to get out of Austin—it’s overly crowded. Then I landed the gig with Crane.”
“Interesting.”
“We’re talking about me again, Brenna.”
“It’s just that your life is much more interesting than mine. I mean, my life is Will and my job with the county judge.”
I desperately want to ask her if she is still in love with her husband, if that’s why she hasn’t slept with anyone since…but I don’t. I let her keep talking.
“When I discovered James had been having his affair I called him out on it. He said he would break it off. But, I followed him one day after work and realized he was just a liar. It was all a lie, our entire relationship…our marriage.”
“Does he love Will? I mean…Will is with him this whole weekend, right?”
“Yeah, I think he does. But James is a narcissist, always taking selfies…it’s ridiculous…he’s ridiculous. Sometimes I wonder if he really loves anything other than himself. I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much time with him. It hurts you know, when you’re with someone for so long and it falls apart. It’s like starting a business and having it fail—or something like that, I would think. You’re left with the feeling that it was all wasted time, wasted resources, wasted passion…just a waste in general. Will is the only redemption.”
“I’m sorry, Brenna. In a way I know how you feel.” I run my left hand through her brown hair. The sun is at its meridian, tossing dashes of gold through selective strands.
“I know you do, Mason. At some point I’d like to know what actually happened to your wife. There are so many rumors, you know.”
“Yeah, I’m still surprised that Crane didn’t fire me after that.”
The stadium is packed to capacity, smooth sold out. This place is typical of modern sports arenas, giant and super expensive. Of course, it’s splashed with a corporate logo. It sits next door to the Astrodome, the eighth wonder of the world. Few find it wondrous anymore. Houston is seamlessly a city without a past.
We get to our seats just a few minutes before kickoff. They aren’t bad, near the fifty yard line. No doubt it helps to know people. The roof is open and it’s getting warm out.
The clock is winding down the first quarter. I’m thirsty. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“A beer?”
“Just one.”
I go over to the concession stand and wait in line. When I get to the stand I open my wallet and hand over the money…just like that. I just bought two beers, without even thinking. First time in more than a year. It’s Brenna.
I move back to our seats, careful not to spill the expensive liquid gold in the plastic cups.
“Here ya go,” I say as I deliver her beverage to her eager, open palm.
This sun is hot. This beer is cold and sweating. I take a long swig and savor the crispness. This is the life: a beautiful girl, opening day football, and a cold beer.
