Sugar

"Religious?"

She smiled; it was a pretty smile, and she explained, "Drinking in a singles bar with a goyish on a Friday night; and what could I tell my mother about that suitcase?"

As she said this, I looked down, suddenly remembering my suitcase.

"Oh, I . . . well . . . I had to leave. It's her apartment, after all," I said, taking a swallow of the drink that burned all the way down.

Sugar/Amanda didn't really ask me any questions. She told me funny stories about herself and the people we mutually knew from the bankruptcy court. It's a small specialty, and everyone knows everyone else. She kept my glass full and tried to make me laugh. I guess she already knew I was engaged to be married soon, but she didn't seem surprised that I found myself in a Brooklyn bar on the Friday before my wedding with a suitcase. Perhaps she had been drinking a bit before I arrived and didn't understand the significance of the suitcase and where I currently found myself.

Pretty much the only thing I remember about that night was Amanda helping me into a car and saying, "It's a short ride."

Later, I had a dream about Eloise. She had me pinned to the bed and was riding me cowgirl style. Not her favorite position, but she seemed to be enjoying herself far more than usual.

***

I needed to pee. It was a definite must, but as I got out of bed, I realized I had no idea where I was. The apartment had changed. For a moment, I was wholly disorientated—and then it came back to me in one sharp and painful memory. I had walked out on Eloise and her apartment. So, where was I now?

My head ached and felt like someone had filled it with cotton. I could remember little of the night before. I remembered entering a little bar along Court Street. Someone I knew showed up. For a moment, I couldn't remember who it was . . . and then I did. Amanda Sugar Moskowitz. What was she doing there, and what was I doing here, naked, in an unfamiliar bed?

I was in a small room. It was barely able to fit the double bed. The room was barren of any other furniture. The bed abutted right up to a window that ran from the middle of the wall to the ceiling. I was alone in this bed that showed the signs of a second person having slept in it. The room had no closet, and my clothes were nowhere in sight. In fact, the room might have been an overly large closet fitted with a bed.

There was a door. It didn't open all the way, being blocked by the bed. I peeked out. There was a larger room. On one side, a window bayed out from the wall. You could see the sidewalk outside. I was in what they call in this part of the world an English basement. It's a floor sandwiched below the main building. It's half above and half below ground. The windows began just below the level of the sidewalk. The space had been made over into a small apartment, or in this case, as I was to learn later, two apartments; the one I was in and an even smaller rear apartment.

The main room was divided by a counter into a dining area and a kitchen. The bay window was a kind of living room nook with two small chairs and a window seat.

Seeing no one, I crept out, looking for a bathroom and my clothes. There was a door on the far side of the room. As I entered, it opened. Out walked Amanda Moskowitz in a bathrobe, rubbing a towel over her wet hair.

"Oh, you're up!" she said, noticing me. "About time. It must be almost noon."

My hands flew to cover my genitals, which only provoked a giggle.

"Bit late for modesty now," she said. "I saw it all last night."

All I could do was run past her, assuming that the room she had exited with damp hair was the bathroom.

I was right, and closing the door, I lifted the toilet seat and let loose the contents of my bladder into the toilet. It was a small bathroom, with only a shower stall, no tub. I decided to make use of this and grab a wash before confronting my host about the subject of what happened to my clothes and my suitcase.

Small the shower might be, but the water was hot and comforting to my very hungover body. Renewed, I searched in vain for a towel. Wet and naked, there was nothing for it but to walk out to confront Amanda.

I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, only to realize we were no longer alone. A young, dark-haired woman was seated at the table, staring straight at me with a big grin on her face. Amanda was in the small, open-plan kitchen fussing with cups and a coffee pot.

"How do you like your coffee?" Amanda asked, as easy as if I had not been standing there naked. I jumped back behind the bathroom door and called, "Could I get my clothes, please, or at least a towel?"

The two women were laughing, but Amanda stopped long enough to say, "The towels are in the closet, as is your bag and the clothes you shed last night."

Craning my head out from behind the door, I asked, "And where might the closet be?"

Still giggling, Amanda pointed with the coffee pot toward a set of louvered doors on the far side of the room behind the table and just before what must have been the apartment entrance door.

"I'd get them for you, but I'm busy, as you can see," Amanda said.

The other woman made no attempt to rise, and there seemed nothing for it but to make a run for the closet. So, I made a mad dash. On reaching the closet, I pulled the doors open. My clothes were right inside. My suit and shirt were hung up neatly, and my underwear folded over on the top of my suitcase. I grabbed for the latter, pulling the shorts and shirt on as fast as I could. But all the while, I could hear the women giggling behind me.

"Walter, this is my sister, by the way, Sonia Rabinowitz," Amanda said.

"Hello, Mr. Stillman," Sonia said.

"Hello," I replied while I opened my case to extract a pair of jeans.

"Don't feel you need to get dressed for me," Sonia said. "I'm the younger sister, but I'm already married with three children, two boys and a girl. Naked male bodies don't shock me."

They both laughed at this as I was pulling on my jeans.

"Come have some coffee," Amanda invited. "And Sonia brought Bialys."

"I'll be just a minute," I retorted.

"You didn't tell me he was so shy," Sonia stage-whispered to her sister.

"Didn't really know," Amanda responded, also whispering loudly. "We're kind of a new thing."

"You're a loose woman, Amanda Moskowitz," Sonia chuckled.

With my pants and shirt on, I turned to take a seat at the little table. I needed the coffee.

"I like my coffee black, no sugar," I said.

Sonia giggled and whispered to her sister, "I guess he got his sugar last night." They burst out laughing. It hurt my head.

Amanda handed me a cup of extremely strong coffee. As I placed the cup down before me, a cell phone rang. It was Sonia's, and she extracted it from a great leather purse that had been sitting by her feet on the floor.

"Oh, hi," Sonia said, answering. She covered the phone and whispered, "Aunt Hester!"

"Of course, I remembered," Sonia continued. "I'm at Amanda's right now to remind her, but she has company, and I haven't had a chance to mention it."

There was a pause, then Sonia said with a smirk, "No, her company is male."

Amanda passed her hand over her throat in a cutting sign, but Sonia continued unperturbed. "Yes, he's kind of cute, but a little shy . . . No, definitely not Jewish . . . Yes, I'm absolutely sure."

Sonia whispered into the phone, "I caught a glimpse when he exited the shower."

Sonia was now laughing uncontrollably. "She wants to speak to you," Sonia said, handing Amanda the phone.

"Hi, Auntie," Amanda said into Sonia's phone. "No, I would never forget Dad's birthday . . . Six tomorrow tonight, and we eat at seven. Got it . . . Oh, he's just a friend. Really!"

There was a pause while Hester apparently spoke.

"That's not going to work out. He's a work friend. I'm sure he'd feel uncomfortable at a family party."

Amanda handed the phone back to her sister.

Sonia listened while her aunt spoke.

"I don't know," Sonia said, and then turning to me, "She wants to know your name. What should I tell her?"

"Walter," I replied. "Walter Stillman."

"It's Walter, and I'm pretty sure they slept together last night."

"Sonia!" Amanda cried.

"Now Aunt Sofie is on the line saying they want to meet him."

"No! Oh, sugar. No!" Amanda shouted.

Then Sonia handed the phone to me, saying, "My aunt Sofie wants to speak to you."

I took the phone and put it to my ear.

"Hello, Walter, I'm Amanda's aunt Sofie, and my sister, Hester, and I are having a birthday party for our brother Leonard, Amanda and Sonia's father. We would love for you to come with our Mandy. Will you please? It would mean a lot to the family."

"I'm not sure. I wouldn't want to intrude. Mr. Moskowitz might not want me at his party," I said, fishing for a polite way to refuse. "I'll leave it up to Amanda."

Then I passed the phone to Amanda. She argued with her aunts for a good ten minutes while a mischievous Sonia smirked. The aunts on the phone switched off, each contending with their niece in turn. Finally, Amanda gave in.

"Okay, I'll bring him," she said, and then hanging the phone up, "Sugar, sugar, sugar!"

"She does that, you know," Sonia said.

"What?" I asked.

"Substitutes the word sugar for fuck, like we don't know what she is actually saying."

With a final laugh, Sonia rose and said, "Well, it looks as if my work here is done. Time to go relieve my husband before my kids drive him insane."

Now alone, Amanda turned to me and said, "Look, you don't have to come. My family can be a bit overbearing at times."

"I just don't understand why your aunts want an outsider at a family gathering."

Amanda gave a brief, almost sad laugh and said, "Sonia is my younger sister by almost four years. I turned thirty on my last birthday. She already has three children. My aunts, and for that matter, the rest of my family, think I should be married and pregnant by now."

"It sounds like your biological clock is ticking on their shelf, but they still don't know me, and apparently, I'm the wrong religion."

"But you are the right sex," she said, and paused before going on. "You see, I used to have a roommate here. It helped with the thirty-five-hundred-dollar-a-month rent. As you must know, junior bankruptcy associates don't get paid that much."

I nodded, knowing the limited salaries in our end of the legal business; but then, it hit me. There was only the one bed.

"Your roommate was a woman?"

"Yes, but don't jump to conclusions," Sugar said. "I'm not going to claim to be entirely straight, but I need to be a little drunk for girl on girl. The booze was a deal-killer for Jesse, my former roommate. She wanted a relationship I couldn't give her. So here I am, an almost straight Jewish old maid."

I thought about what she said while I chewed on a baily; it looks like a bagel, but isn't.

Finally, I asked the question that had been bothering me. "Last night we—"

Amanda broke out in a big laugh and said, "Yes, we did, although I didn't particularly appreciate being called Eloise."

"Sorry," I said, feeling my face turning red.

"Hey, don't go all prude on me. We were both a little drunk," she said. "Make that, you were a lot drunk."

I took a long drink of my coffee and tried to unravel how my life had taken this strange twist. Yesterday morning, I was on the phone arguing a case against the woman who now sat opposite me in her bathrobe, one Amanda Moskowitz affectionally known as Sugar. Yesterday morning, I was excited about my forthcoming marriage to Eloise. A day later, I had lost Eloise and was discussing last night's sex with the same Ms. Moskowitz.

"It's too much," I said.

"What?"

"This," I said. "Eloise. And me being here with you."

She didn't laugh, but in hindsight, it must have been difficult.

"Listen, you've had a rough time of it with Eloise and all. How about you relax here today?"

I pondered that a moment. "I don't think I could stand being alone right now. If you don't mind, I'll stay."

She smiled at that and said, "Good. We'll redeem my heterosexuality."

That is just what we did. We got back into bed.

Sex with Amanda was different from Eloise. My new bedmate liked to be on top, and she preferred me going down on her to the other way around. However, Amanda showed an enthusiasm for sex that I found astounding.

"Wow, you sure enjoy this," I said, coming up from between her legs.

"It's been a long time between boyfriends," she mumbled, still enjoying the ripples of her last orgasm.

"But not girlfriends?" I queried, being curious.

She rose up on her elbows and looked at me, then replied, "I've slept with far more women than men, if that's what you're asking. But it wasn't because of the sex."

I was lying beside her and a little further down on the bed. With one quick flip, she was straddled on top of me. She looked down into my eyes and said, "In my view, nothing beats a man for sex. But I need more than sex in a relationship. I need someone I can relate to, and more than that, I need someone I can respect as a person."

"How do I fit into that definition?"

"You are a very respectable bed partner. Clearly, your fiancée has expended significant effort on refining your skills."

I didn't have a good answer to that statement. I resented its implications, but Eloise had actually coached me extensively on my bedroom skills.

"However," Amanda continued, "you are here in my bed because you are a good person. I have watched you. You never hurt anyone if you can help it. You are honest, and treat women like people, not objects. In short, you are one of the good guys. It's a group that is now in short supply."

"Hmm," I replied. "That's all very well, but is that how an aspiring lawyer should be described? And it sounds like you've been watching me."

"Watching you, well, of course I was. I saw you on Court Street and followed you into a bar, didn't I? If Ms. Eloise Shaffer loses track of her trophy fiancé, I'm not one to pass up an opportunity."

"I'm not a trophy," I insisted.

"You're not going to try and tell me she was in love with you?"

"No, I guess not," I said, feeling all the sadness of the situation washing over me.

"Sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

With that, she slid down my body and captured my hard cock in her warm, wet sex. Once again, we were caught in the grip of passion. Eventually, we ordered takeout for dinner and, after eating, fell into an exhausted sleep.

Morning brought a call from her aunts, reminding Amanda of the party that evening and asking if she might come by early to help with the preparations.

"Now, Mandy, be sure to bring Walter with you. Sonia has told us all about him, and we are all anxious to meet him," Aunt Hester told Amanda.

"I don't know what Sonia told you, but he's not my boyfriend."

"Well, bring him anyway."

"He knows he's invited. If he comes, he comes," Amanda said, and hung up.

"I take it I'm expected," I said with a chuckle.

"You don't need to come," she told me.

"What else do I have to do?"

I didn't want to be alone; not just yet. Amanda had taken my mind off the catastrophe in my personal life, and I had no wish to sit and stew about what Eloise had done.

"All right," she said. "But be aware that you are going to be subjected to intense scrutiny and be treated like a prospective bridegroom."

"Well, in a way, I am a bridegroom. But if you don't mind, let's keep my personal problem to ourselves," I said.

"Sounds good to me. That slut Eloise no longer exists—but only for today, because you are going to have to deal with her, and the sooner, the better."

"I know," I said with a bit of a sigh.

Amanda reached across the table to cover my hands with hers and said, "Walter, you either have to go through with the marriage or end it tomorrow. Either way, you are going to have a big problem."

"I can't go through with it. Not now."

"Don't be so hasty. There will be big consequences to your career and your life if you back out now. There will be a huge scandal."

"Why? I don't intend to broadcast the reason, and I'm sure she won't."

"Oh, my poor innocent," she said, squeezing my hands tight. "Do you really think people didn't know about Commissioner Ruis and Eloise Shaffer? They've been a thing for quite some time."

"I thought they broke it off."

Amanda didn't laugh, but her crooked smile said it all. I'd been played. Eloise was seeing Ruis all the time we were together.

"But why?" I asked. "If she wanted to continue as his mistress, there was no point in bringing me into the mix."

"He wants to run for governor next year," she said. "Your marriage to Eloise seemed to put an end to the affair, and you were a good catch. The kind of young, decent, professional, heterosexual male every ciswoman in New York is looking for."

"Ciswoman?"

"A person who identifies with their birth gender; in this case, a female woman, Eloise Shaffer. A young woman who is in need of a mate to put the lid on the rumors of her affair with an older, married politician."

"She played me for a sucker, as you New Yorkers like to say."

"Oh, don't get all sorry for yourself. She may have been just saying goodbye as she claimed."

"The week before our marriage?"

"Would you rather she did it the week after?"

"I'd rather she didn't do it at all. In fact, I insist on it."

"Well, you got back at her with me. You can still go to Westchester and marry her."

"Not going to happen!"

"Hey, you need to get a hold of yourself before you do something rash. If you don't show up at the church tomorrow, people will ask why."

"Let them!"

"Okay, time out here. A scandal is good for no one. You, my friend, are a junior associate in the bankruptcy department. Commissioner Ruis is, on the other hand, a very big deal. You make waves and his boat may rock, but yours will go under."

"You're saying I'll lose my job? Well, so what!"

"I'm saying you will lose your career. No one will hire you."

I had to pause at that, but only briefly.

"Amanda," I said, "I may be just an unsophisticated guy from Iowa, but when Eloise accepted my proposal, she made a commitment to me. She didn't keep her commitment, and I won't be forced into keeping mine."

Amanda only shook her head. Finally, she said, "Come on, you stubborn corn husker, get dressed. I'm taking you to meet my family. It's not every day they get to meet a real, live Presbyterian."

"My family's Lutheran, actually."

"Same difference." She winked.

****

At five that evening, we took a yellow cab to the Moskowitz house on Beverly Road. Taking a car service was not permitted. Uncle Morty was a taxi driver, or had been until he retired. Now Morty lived on his social security with his two sisters, Hester and Sofie, in the house the sisters inherited from their parents. Morty had been married, but his wife ran off thirty years before with a shoe salesman, a fact that was apparently never discussed. Aunt Sofie's husband was killed in Vietnam. Hester never married. Only Amanda's father, Leonard, the youngest sibling, had children. Leonard and his wife, Rebecca, had the two girls, Amanda and Sonia, and now three grandchildren, thanks to Sonia and her husband, Gerald (Jerry) Rabinowitz.

The Moskowitz family house was in an area of Flatbush, Brooklyn, that the realtors call Ditmas, or Ditmas Park. As we approached an oversized, two-story house on a larger lot than the standard for city living, I could discern no park. Unlike Amanda's apartment that was across the street from a little park in a quiet neighborhood, her aunts and uncle lived off what seemed to be a heavily trafficked avenue. The house was in a faux Queen Anne style. Not large enough to be a mansion, but it was a larger single-family house than you would expect to find in a city like New York.