Enigma Rose: A Novel

by SE Reynolds

  When we get home, JJ goes straight to his room and shuts his door. He has had enough stimuli for one day and needs to ease back into his comfort zone. I hear the light clanking of plastic coming from his room. He must have dumped out his Lego action figures on his bed. He likes to take them apart and put them back together again. Sometimes he puts Batman's head on Superman's body. Sometimes he puts Iron Man's arms on Batman's torso. Whatever it takes to calm him down, I guess. I tried to take them away when he was thirteen, but Melissa overruled me. I let her but insisted he hides them. I don't want anyone to think my son has special needs. Special needs, the new politically correct way of saying he is not normal.

  I don't make it a habit of telling people my son has ADHD. Only his doctor, his school, Mimi, and I know about his condition. I don't want JJ, or me, to be treated differently because of it. Although, sometimes, I think it could work to my advantage. I could hide it in my back pocket and only pull it out if poll numbers aren't in my favor. Those on-the-fence voters need something that impacts them personally or emotionally to sway them one way or the other. Maybe they have a child with special needs or are struggling emotionally with a juvenile delinquent. I'd only use it in desperate times. I have to be cautious, though. I don't want my base to see it as another weakness of mine. Joshua Steadman, oh, he's that guy with the dead wife that had cancer and the kid with mental problems. He's got too many issues, too many distractions. I don't blame them. I wouldn't want a leader with too many distractions. And, I don't want to be that guy. I want to be the guy, and I will be again.

  I pour myself a bourbon and relax in the lounge on my back deck. I listen to the summer night bugs that become even louder when it's humid. If I closed my eyes, I would think every neighbor has its rotary sprinklers on, but they don't. It is just the horny night bugs trying to get laid. Their sound helps me drown out the noise in my head, the noise that makes me angry thinking about my last night listening to Melissa's confession or that makes me hard thinking about the last time I touched Rose. I pull my phone out of my pocket and re-read the text that Virginia sent last night.

  Are you ghosting me? I guess I scared you off. Have a nice night.

  It's only been one date, and she's giving me shit? I should ghost her, but she is pretty, and her ass looks great in jeans. I liked the way she kissed the palm of my hand the other night, the same hand I use to whack off with nightly. Yeah, I won't ghost you, Virginia. My hand is exhausted, and so am I. I'll reach out to you tomorrow.

  Chapter 16 – Virginia

  Drunk texting, ghosting, my vocabulary has turned into that of a self-absorbed millennial. He must think I'm a needy bitch. That's the last thing I am. I could tell him it was the wine talking, but he'd think I was a drunk too. I need to grow up and focus on my latest project, "The Orgasm Debate, " an article written by Dr. Mary Lebowitz. Why did my boss Jerry assign this to me? Besides the fact I'm a woman, do I look like I'm an expert on orgasms or, on the contrary, do I look like I've never had an orgasm and would be biased? Jerry said it only needs a copy edit, which means my opinion doesn't matter. I am only correcting grammar and punctuation.

  Although it seems like it's the most straightforward kind of editing, it's challenging. If the sentences include clichés or pretentious words that nobody understands, I pass them by and make sure the commas are used correctly. If the story or the entire premise of the work is crap, I just cross the T's and move on. I take a shot of Five-Hour energy and return to "The Orgasm Debate". Lebowitz suggests there is no such thing as a vaginal orgasm, only a clitoral orgasm.

  The G spot is simply a myth; it is not even a part of the anatomy. There is only the urethra and the anterior vaginal wall. However, the clitoris is part of the anatomy. Stimulating the vagina without stimulating the clitoris is next to impossible. Therefore, the vaginal orgasm is just a clitoral orgasm. Most women polled have never had a vaginal orgasm through intercourse.

  Well, this is disheartening, Mary Lebowitz. You should talk to a real woman like me that doesn't require a man to get off. I'd set you straight. I recently determined I can have two different types of orgasms, thanks to the little pink toy I found on Amazon. After I left Harry, I missed orgasms and believed they were a thing of the past for me. But my pink magic wand proved me wrong and has never disappointed me. You are wrong, Mary. I have learned how to achieve a vaginal orgasm all by myself, no man required. So, you obviously have never masturbated or know how to do it properly. Maybe the site of your own vagina repulses you, Mary. You are probably a hideous fat old shrew that can't even see her own vagina. You just want to ruin it for the rest of us. Grow a dick, Mary, and leave our orgasms alone. I would love to add editorial comments, but instead, I switch out a semi-colon for a comma and move on. My phone vibrates on my desk, thankfully breaking me away from Mary’s shortsightedness.

  You know I had to google ghosting. No, I'm not ghosting you. Had a family thing to deal with. Dinner tomorrow?

  My anger at Mary disperses. I wait ten minutes and respond.

  Sorry, I briefly turned into a millennial. Dinner sounds great.

  ∞∞∞

  I feel like I want to jump out of my skin. I desperately want a glass of wine, but I don't want Joshua to smell it on my breath when he arrives. So, I keep pacing back and forth between the mirror and the window while I wait. He better get here soon before the hot flashes engulf me, causing embarrassing perspiration stains. I don't have time for a last minute wardrobe change.

  Joshua is taking me to Fisher's tonight, which is fifteen minutes north of the Beltway. It's your typical steak and chop type of place; very American, like Joshua. I told him we could go to Jackson's in Old Town. It has the same type of menu and is much closer, but he said he needs a change of scenery. I was a bit disappointed. I wouldn't mind being seen around town with our mayor, and it would be exceptionally gratifying if we ran into Harry. The doorbell rings. Joshua is precisely on time. He is wearing a light blue dress shirt and a red and blue striped tie with khaki pants. He looks like he just came from his office. Harry would have lost the tie and dressed it up with a sports jacket. But he's not Harry; he's the opposite of Harry.

  Joshua is right. The restaurant is crowded and full of laughter and clinking glasses. It's good to get out, see new faces, and not run into the same Old Town regulars that hog all the good bar seats. This is the perfect place for a people-watching night with Misty. She and I have dissected many of the townies, but here there is a whole new batch of specimens to cut into. She and I can be such evil little bitches as we scan the crowd in search of that one unsuspecting bystander to dehumanize, to rip to shreds for our guilty pleasure.

  Don't look now, Misty, but the fat guy in the table, just catty-corner from us, just ordered the forty-ounce T-bone and a loaded baked potato. His poor wife; she's such a little thing. Can you imagine having to go home with that and perform your wifely duties? I bet he stinks. It's impossible to wash in between those rolls of fat. They're probably filled with sweaty lint and fungus. Gross!

  But not tonight; Joshua has my full attention. I order the braised pork chop paired with a California Merlot, and Joshua orders a burger and a beer.

  "I'm sorry I sent you that ridiculous text. I don't know the dating protocol, and when you said you wanted to see me again, I guess I expected some kind of follow-up. But it's all good."

  "I had every intention of following up, Virginia. I just got distracted by a few things."

  "Another woman?"

  "Uh, no."

  "Sorry, I was just kidding. I can't believe I just said that, actually."

  Joshua ignores my apology.

  "I don't exactly have a long line of women knocking at my door, Virginia. I have a son that doesn't have a mom. I have a job that keeps me working late most days. So, I get distracted sometimes. I'm sorry if I failed to follow proper protocol, but like you, I'm clueless."

  "No need to apologize. We both are struggling with being single after so many years."

  "Yes, we
are, so give a guy a break, okay."

  "Okay. But you only get one."

  "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

  "You mentioned in your text you had some family matters to deal with? Kids?"

  "Yes, my son JJ. He can be a handful sometimes. He is an oversized Energizer bunny."

  "Teenager?"

  "Yes, he's fifteen."

  "I have a teenage son too, but he is more like a sloth, especially in the mornings, until he's had a thirty-minute shower, that is. My water bill has never been so high."

  "Yeah, but in our house, JJ isn't the only one taking an extra-long shower."

  "Oh, yeah? How many kids do you have?"

  "Just JJ…only JJ and me in the house."

  "Oh, I see."

  "Wow, you're blushing, Virginia! I never thought I'd see the day. You know what I need?"

  "Uh, Sex?"

  "Yes, but more importantly, I need a distraction from my distractions. Maybe you could be that for me?"

  "I'd like to be, Joshua. I'm sure you need to escape now and then. You have been through so much."

  "Not as much as my son. I can always find another wife, but he will never find another mother, not like Melissa."

  "You want to get married again?"

  "Sure, Fairview deserves a better first lady."

  "Better?"

  "Oh, I meant healthy. She was so sick in the end; she deteriorated quickly."

  As we leave the restaurant and make our way back to his car, I have the sex debate in my head. Should I invite him in when we get back to my place? If I do, am I required to have sex with him? Maybe we can kiss, and I can let him touch my breasts, and that's it. Would that make me a tease? Am I too old to be a tease?

  "Want to see what all the cheering is about?" Joshua asks, pointing to Off the Rocks Tequila Bar.

  He doesn't wait for an answer as he takes my hand and leads me into the bar. The Stanley Cup Finals are on all three big screens. The Washington Capitals just scored a goal. Folks are cheering "Let's Go Caps!" Joshua grabs my hand.

  "Let's stay and watch!" he yells.

  Joshua asks if I want a glass of wine. By the looks of the place and that they only have one white and one red on the menu, I order a beer. The energy in the bar is infectious as it pulls Joshua into the center of the crowd. He reminds me of a teenager as he high-fives strangers every time Washington makes a play. People are instantly attracted to him; he is magnetic, and he doesn't have to try. I'm surprised he's only a small-town mayor; he could be so much more. He just needs the right first lady. Maybe I could be. The final buzzer goes off—the Capital's win. Joshua takes me in his arms and hugs me so tightly I think I'm going to suffocate.

  "Finally! Washington has a winning team, Virginia!"

  "Yes, yes it does!"

  I'm still buzzing when Joshua walks me to my door, and I am not ready to say goodnight. I don't wait to see what he will do next, so I grab his face and kiss him deeply. I press my body against his so there is no confusion about what I want to do next. I don't want him to escape me, but he finally breaks free from my kiss and steps away.

  "Thank you for hanging out with me tonight, Virginia. I will talk to you soon?"

  "You don't want to come in?"

  "I think we've had enough excitement for one night, don't you?"

  "No, I don't think so, Joshua. I want more excitement."

  "It's only our second date, pretty lady; I respect you too much."

  "Why?"

  "You are funny, Virginia. I'll see you soon."

  "I hope so," I say as I let myself in and gently close the door behind me.

  Chapter 17 – Stacie

  I hadn't been to Misty's in a week. Instead, I took Benny up on his offer for free ice cream for life or at least for this week. I feel guilty taking anything for free, so I put a five-dollar bill in his tip jar at each visit. JJ hasn't been back. Benny said he'd give him another chance, but I know JJ won't take it. JJ is only a teenager. Incidents like flailing an ice cream boat at a human head are not something he can brush off so easily. JJ noticed the couple staring at him grossly that day and heard the shameful tone of Benny's voice ordering him to leave the counter. He was mortified at the very least. Like me, I'll bet the humiliating feeling he experienced will creep upon him for the rest of his life.

  I was probably JJ's age when I worked the register at McDonald's. I was lazily wiping down the counters between the breakfast and lunch rush when the french-fry bell rang. The fries were done. I watched as the fry cook removed the basket full of fries from the steaming oil and dumped them on the hot metal service. Then, he doused them all over with salt and mixed them, so it was evenly distributed. He scooped them out in bunches and jammed them into their different size cardboard pouches. They smelled so good, and my stomach was rumbling. It was like an out-of-body experience. Without hesitation, as if I were in my mom's kitchen, I walked to the deep fryer and helped myself to a freshly made, large fry. Warm and crispy, I'd never had fries so fresh before. Suddenly, I heard my manager's voice yelling.

  "Stacie, stop stuffing your face. There is no eating on the floor. I'm docking the fries out of your next check. Go wash your greasy hands and face and get on the register, now!"

  I could feel the heat from the fryer hit my face. I wanted to throw up the french-fries I'd just inhaled. I ran to the bathroom and tried to pull myself together, painfully swallowing back the choking feeling of a sobbing cry. I couldn't control the tears. I wanted to go home. But I didn't want to explain to my mom why I no longer had a job at McDonald's, so I went back to the register.

  "You okay, French-Fry?" one of the fry-cooks yelled from the back of the kitchen.

  Another faceless utterance followed it.

  "Don't call her that man; she's not a fry, more like a tater tot!"

  I could hear the laughter throughout McDonald's and not just by the staff; the customers had joined in on the fun. To this day, I cannot stand the sight or smell of a McDonald’s french-fry. My stomach is swollen from too much fattening dairy, and I feel like a cow that needs to be milked. It is time to pick myself up and start over again.

  "What happened to your eye, Stacie?" Misty asks when I walk into the studio.

  "Oh, the usual, I showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Looks like you were at the wrong end of something? Were you in an accident?"

  "Yeah, you could say that."

  I didn't want to tell Misty I caved and spent the entire week drowning my sorrows in soft serve and banana splits. But if anyone would understand, it would be Misty. Even if she never experienced what I've experienced, she does a wonderful job acting like she has. She is my only real confidant that's not related to me. So, I tell her about the cross-dresser match, the no-shirt cheater match, and then tell her about JJ and the flying ice cream boat.

  "I guess JJ is having some issues. His dad showed up and apologized. He was very kind. He's got a tough job being a single dad to a teenage boy. I don't know all the details, but…."

  "Joshua!"

  I hear a voice behind me. I turn, and a woman is standing in the corner of the lobby staring at me with her huge round eyes.

  "Excuse me. Did you say something?" I ask.

  "Oh sorry, the man with the son, is his name Joshua?"

  I turn to Misty. Misty's eyes widen.

  "Um, yes, I think so. Joshua…"

  "Steadman?" the woman finishes my sentence.

  "Yes, Joshua Steadman."

  Misty laughs.

  "It is a little old town in which we live, isn't it? Stacie, this is Virginia, one of my oldest and dearest friends. Virginia, this is Stacie; she is a member here."

  I notice Misty doesn't introduce me as her friend, but that's okay. I am sure she meant to.

  "Hi! Virginia, that's a pretty name."

  I offer her my hand. She stares at it deciding whether or not to shake it, and finally, she makes a decision and takes it just for a second, and then drops it.


  "So, you know Joshua?" she asks.

  "Not really; I met his son JJ…well sort of. A bit of a long story."

  "I heard most of it. Sorry didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was waiting to chat with Misty."

  "Yes, well, I'm sorry for hogging her. I'll go warm up. Nice to meet you, Virginia."

  Virginia ignores me and hovers over Misty. I put my things in the locker and begin warming up. I can see Virginia and Misty whispering through the studio mirrors. Virginia is pretty and thin like Misty, but she is not a beauty like Misty. I would say Virginia is subtly pretty, but it's her eyes. They are all-consuming. I can see them clearly through the mirror. They are intense. I feel like I am in high school, watching the pretty girls whisper, probably talking about their boyfriends or their next date. Suddenly, I remember the voice, the voice in the bathroom stall. Virginia, Virginia, had a date with Joshua. I wonder how that went? I can see them together; they are of the same grade, I suppose. I look at myself in the mirror while Virginia and Misty are still in the background of my reflection. I try to avoid looking at them. It's obvious I'm not; I'm not of the same grade.

  Chapter 18 – Joshua

  It sounds so basic, but I want to fuck Virginia. I want to feel myself inside of her, inside of a warm, inviting vagina. The need to put my dick into something other than the palm of my hand is overwhelming sometimes. JJ and I go through so much lotion in a month; I should buy stock in Nivea. But whacking off isn't all bad. Lately, it's been my escape back to a dorm room where giving pleasure to a woman wasn't a chore that I rushed through just so I could get my nuts off, but something I reveled in for a while, drinking in the most addicting love potion ever created. The thought of my first-time worshiping Rose Umbra's body still makes me hard and still makes me cum way too soon.

  I could have easily broken my jack-off streak with Virginia last night, and if I were eighteen and back at Dominion University, before Rose, of course, it would've been a done deal. But I'm not some horny adolescent whose only fear of having sex with a random woman is waking up with a lousy crab infestation and an itchy jock. Now I have to worry about perception. What would my supporters think if they find out I'm fucking a woman who lives in the town where I reside as mayor? I can hear them now. She is no Melissa and never will be. She's divorced, single mom, she left her home, and now she wants to sink her claws into the mayor. Bad, bad!