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Click hereAuthorâs note: This is a story of love, not sex â an erotic coupling of hearts, not bodies (necessarily). A romance in the end, I suppose, though not a typical offering.
My goal was to tell the story of two people almost entirely through their conversation. Virtually nothing is revealed except through the voices of the characters â so be forewarned.
*****
We were seated on the restaurantâs patio under a trellis of leafy grape vines and a strand of white lights. I wasnât used to the humidity in L.A. I had been on a plane from crackling dry Las Vegas only two hours before, so I hadnât had a chance to decompress, and small beads of perspiration were gathered on my forehead. I had asked the hostess to seat us inside at first, but then I saw Addieâs frown.
âThen again, the patio does look inviting,â I had said to the hostess to correct our course. I could endure the sultry air for Addie.
We sat without speaking for a moment. Her eyes laughed and flirted, just like when we were kids.
âI am so glad we could make this happen,â I said. âI hardly got a chance to speak to you at the reunion.â
âDo you come to L.A. often?â she asked. I wished I could have said yes.
âNo, not on business like this. We used to take the kids to Disneyland every few years, but not anymore.â
âItâs not âcool enoughâ for them now.â
âItâs not that. Itâs my wife; Rebecca has lupus. Her joints hurt all the time. I suppose I should take the kids myself, before they really are too old and it isnât âcool.ââ
âHow old are they again.â
âTwelve and ten.â
âYour daughter is twelve, right?â she said with a knowing smile.
âYes, the hormone ride has definitely started. She is so sweet though; we hope she doesnât give us too much trouble.â
We were quiet for a moment and I heard the wind against the building high above us. I noticed faint wisps of gray in her jet-black curls. So she didnât use dye. It would be so easy for her, with such dark hair. Good for her.
âSo your boyfriend, umâŠâ I snapped my fingers lightly like I couldnât recall his name. She knew I was teasing her.
âYou mean Dave?â She raised her eyebrows. His name was Rob, and she knew I knew that. I laughed. We had fallen right back into our easy ways. It seemed so natural.
âNo, thatâs not it. Your other boyfriend, the one that had so much fun at our reunion.â Rob had picked up a nametag of someone who couldnât make it and had pretended to be one of us, with some humorous results.
âOh him.â
âHeâs a lot older than you, isnât he?â She knew it was a compliment.
âJust a couple years.â
âYouâre kidding. Really?â Now I was going to take a real shot at him. âI bet you and he didnât go to his twenty-fifth.â
âNo, we didnât.â
âNot âcool enoughâ for him?â
She smiled coyly, with me. âSomething like that,â she said conceding he had been a bit smug.
âI thought he was funny,â I conceded. âIâll probably do the same thing at my wifeâs twenty-fifth â make fun of all the staid and pudgy Midwesterners.â
âHe wasnât making fun.â
I rolled my eyes.
âStop it, Mark.â
âYes Addie.â
Our waitress introduced herself as Gwen and asked for our drink order. Addie handed her menu to Gwen.
âYou order for me,â she said looking at me with her warm golden-brown eyes. She had done the exact same thing twenty-five years earlier at dinner on the night of our senior prom. And she smiled, like then, but the light in her eyes seemed different now, less magical. There were some scars, I thought.
âOh no, not another challenge,â I replied.
âNo challenge; I like everything. You know that.â
I remembered her generous and adventurous appetite. I admired that about her.
âOkay. A double Stoly martini for her â lemon slices, no olives. Iâll have a double Glenfidditch rocks.
Addie started to speak but waited for the waitress to leave.
âAre you trying to get me drunk?â She whispered accusingly.
âSure, just like our prom night.â
âIt didnât work then, either.â
I was going to say that we were just kids then, but decided against it.
âHow long have you and Rob been together?â
âYou mean Rob whose name you couldnât remember?â
âI was just being a jerk.â I shrugged and grimaced appropriately.
âTen years.â
âExclusively.â
She frowned at me with exasperation. âYou think youâre so damn smart.â
She was right; now I was being smug. âIâm sorry.â
âOkay â seven years, âexclusively.ââ
But I was right.
âYou work together, right?â
âUsed to. Rob is making movies now: independent films.â
âProducing?â
âNo, directing.â
âAny luck?â
âNot yet.â
I could have said, âOh, so heâs unemployed,â if I had wanted to risk ruining the evening.
âDoes he treat you all right?â I asked instead.
âWeâre compatible.â
I asked her about the talent agency. We talked for a while about her job.
âI specialize in kids,â she said wrapping it up, âand I enjoy it â the few nice kids, anyway. I get invited to their birthday parties sometimes. Sometimes I feel like family, watching out for them.â
âBut most of them are spoiled brats with pretentious parents?â
âIt goes with the territory.â
Ironic, I thought. I so much wanted to know why she didnât have any kids of her own â but that was too personal, for now.
âSo youâre a famous author now,â she said.
âI am not famous. Occasionally one of my students will ask me to sign a paperback. And the only reason anyone has ever heard of the book is because of the movie.â
âThatâs not true.â
âYes it is. And trust me, the movie is better than the book, and the movie isnât all that good.â
She patted my hand on the table. âI loved your book.â
âThank you.â I suppose I wasnât surprised that she had read it, so I didnât pretend to be.
âIt is a very moral story,â she said trying, at least, to sound sincere.
âA morality play about hookers, criminals, drugs, gambling, and deviant sex.â
âI suppose, but some of the characters were very decent, and very brave.â She looked at me sympathetically.
âIâve got three âliteraryâ manuscripts sitting on a shelf. Much better stuff, really, but I could never get anyone to read it. So an agent at one of these writing conferences says to me, rather pointedly, âJesus, Mark, youâre a criminal law professor at UNLV â write a goddamn Vegas crime story. I might read that!â So I did, and he did. I still canât get anyone to read my good stuff, though. âWrite another crime thriller,â they say.â
âMaybe I could get someone to take a look at your good stuff.â
She busted me. âActually, theyâre not ready yet,â I said like a man caught in a lie.
âThe good stuff never is,â she said knowingly.
I ordered lamb for her, duck for me, and a bottle of Merlot. We shared our meals like a married couple, forking at will at the otherâs plate (just like when we were kids). The conversation was pleasant and uneventful. Half the wine was left when Gwen took our dishes. She asked if we wanted dessert, and I said we wanted to talk.
A floral scent in the breeze, gardenias maybe. The grape leaves rustled. All around us, steely blue skyscrapers lurched into the darkness. We were in the heart of the city, and yet it was quiet and green and the lights were soft. So we talked.
âYou know what always amazed me about you?â I started, feeling emboldened by the alcohol.
âHmm⊠my relentless and naĂŻve devotion to virginity?â
The glint in her eye â it was like she winked at me without winking. I coughed a laugh and had to cover my mouth.
âOkay, that too,â I said catching my breath, âbut I was thinking about how you used to talk to your mom after school, right after, you know, âhomework time,ââ I said raising my eyebrows. I used to sneak into her basement after school, and she would meet me there under the guise of needing a quiet place to do her homework.
âYou mean after having your tongue in my crotch and your dick in my mouth,â she said brightly and wryly. I had to cough again, this time in surprise.
âYes; that would be the more direct way of putting it.â
âYou could hear us?â
âYes, through the vent grates. Thatâs why we had to be soâŠâ
âQuiet, I knowâ she interrupted, âbut I didnât know you were listening.â
âSometimes Iâd linger in the bathroom. I thought it was so funny I had to listen.â
âWhat was so funny?â she asked warily.
âNot âfunnyâ funny, but cute. Youâre not mad at me?â
âI donât know.â
âIt was nothing, really â church picnics, piano lessons, volunteer work. I never had a life like that, and how you could switch gears like thatâŠâ
âOh, from being a slut?â
âNo. I didnât mean that,â I said solemnly.
âI know you didnât.â She smiled. âI was just giving you a hard time.â
âI meant it as a compliment; I thought it was great how you were this genuinely nice, sweet person, and yet you could seem to enjoy yourself like that, at least I thinkâŠâ I was sinking now, hoping sheâd throw me a line.
âOh, I enjoyed it.â
âI learned a lot from you â a lot about being a decent human being.â
âThank you. I learned a lot from you too,â she said with a coy smile that reconnected us to the past.
We sipped our wine and wondered what the other was thinking.
âHowâs your mom,â Addie finally said, more seriously now.
âSheâs great. Sheâs never had another breakdown. Must have gotten it out of her system. Sheâs got a condo in a high-rise near the loop, right across from the campus.â
I paused to gauge my words. âI am sorry about that, by the way,â I sighed.
âAbout what?â
âFor taking you to Mercy to see her that day.â
She pursed her lips. âNo. I am glad that you did that.â
âI thought at the time that if she saw I had a girlfriend it might help her, but I shouldnât have put you through that.â
âDid it help her?â
âNo. It was all about her. My happiness wasnât really weighing on her, obviously.â
Her eyes were wet. âI felt so bad for you. I canât imagineâŠ. For you to have to see her so frail and âŠâ
âWith her wrists in bandages like that.â And her eyes so dark and sunken, I might have added, but my mood was slipping, and I wasnât going let my mom, my mom back then, do that to me.
âMark, we were together. I needed to be there. I learned a lot about you. I was so⊠proud of you. All alone like that, no family⊠I donât know how you did it.â
âDid what?â
âHow you took care of yourself so well, got to school every day, and you were still so friendly and smart. I wanted to feel pity for you, but I couldnât â you were so damn strong, and it felt so good to be with you.â
I had to swallow and concentrate to keep from welling up.
âShortly after that day,â she started with a smile, âmy mom was going on about how you were a bad influence, and for the first time in my life I just unloaded on her.â Addie sighed like she was reveling in the memory. âI told her how I felt about you, and about who you really were, in here,â she put a clenched fist to her breast, âand then I called her a hypocrite and told her to go to hell.â
âYou did?â
âScared the hell out of her. Then she came to my room that night, and she asked me if all those things I told her about you were true, about your life and how well you did in school, and I said of courseâŠâ
âYou never told me this.â
â⊠And thatâs when she suggested I invite you to dinner.â
âThat turned out to be a mistake,â I said facetiously. The food had been so good, and it felt so good to be part of a family meal, that I implied, at least, that I would be happy to come to dinner anytime, and I think I made them feel obligated to offer.
âWe loved having you for dinner. Even my dad admitted, after the second or third time, that he liked you, and he meant it when he said you were always welcome at our table.â
âIf only he knew.â
âOh, I think they knew more than we gave them credit. And Joey,â she rolled her eyes (Joey was her little brother), âhe wanted you to come every night, and when you werenât there he pouted. He thought you were so âcool.ââ
âYou know, one of the reasons I so much wanted to see you tonight was because I wanted to thank you those invitations. It meant a lot to me.â
âIâm glad. It meant a lot to me too.â
âIt beat the hell eating spoonfuls of peanut butter and swilling cans of Old Milwaukee in that crappy little apartment.â
âI know.â
We were the only ones left on the patio, and I detected a slight chill in the air (finally). Addie was sleeveless. I looked inside, and there were still a few people at the bar. I saw a dimly lit booth we could hideaway in.
âLetâs have a drink, inside?â I offered. She looked vaguely hesitant. âSomething light â trust me.â
She started to say something and I gently interrupted her. âI am ordering: remember?â
âIâd love to.â
We were seated in a darkly stained booth. It might as well have been lit by candlelight. The booth faced a window that looked down a long boulevard. Lights flickered and the skyscrapers seemed to be falling away from the street.
I ordered a limoncello in a frosted flute for her and Campari with a twist for me. When our drinks came, I lifted my glass.
âA toast?â I said without a clue as to what to say next.
âTo old friends?â she said holding up her glass with an exaggerated, comic wince.
âNo. To all the young lovers of the worldâŠâ I started, but trailed off not knowing how to finish. And then Addie finished my thought.
âMay they share an evening as lovely as this many years from now.â
âThank you,â I whispered as we touched our glasses. âI had worried that you really didnât want to be here.â
âPart of me didnât, at first, but that was just the timid little girl part of me.â
âYou know, it was such a great coincidence. I was so glad you came to the reunion, and then we were talking about L.A., and I realized that I was going to be here in just a few weeks. When you agreed to meet me for dinner, well, I shouldnât have said that thing aboutâŠâ I stumbled over my words. âI shouldnât have said how I wouldnât tell my wife about our plans.â
She didnât say anything. I donât know what I expected her to say. It was my topic.
âI didnât mean it the way it probably sounded, itâs justâŠâ I was sinking again. âI did tell Rebecca I was going to have dinner with you.â
She looked at me with no expression, like she was waiting for me to dig myself a deeper hole, so I continued.
âI said it because through some strange coincidences, my wife has managed to meet every significant girlfriend I have ever had. Homecomings at NU, trips back to Chicago, our tenth reunion â my circle of friends isnât too big, and itâs not a long list, mind you, but itâs still eerie. Anyway, we have a rule that we never talk about our past affairsâŠâ
âThatâs a good rule.â
âYes. It is. So shortly after our tenth reunion, where you met my wifeâŠâ
âI remember her. Sheâs very pretty.â
âThank you.â I was hurrying now to try and make my point. âSo shortly thereafter your name came up, and out of the blue she says, âI sense there is some kind of unresolved sexual tension between you two.ââ
âShe said that?â
âTruth. So I said, âYou probably think that about all my ex-girlfriends,â but she assured me no, it was only with you.â
âSo you think thereâs something to that?â
âI was only trying to explain why I thought it was funny to say, âI better not tell my wife.â I just didnât want you to get the wrong idea.â
âWhat idea?â
âIâll shut up now.â
There was an awkward pause, and then Addie said, âSheâs not only pretty, sheâs smart. Iâm sorry she couldnât make the reunion. I hope she feels better.â
âItâs hard.â I didnât want to talk about that. I changed the subject and tried to lighten the mood.
âSo what did Dave or Rob or whatever his name is think about you having dinner with me tonight.â
âI didnât tell him.â
We just looked at each other for a moment.
âHeâs out of town with his buddies on a âshoot.ââ Addie made the quotation marks with her fingers. âI didnât see the point.â
âYou think thereâs more partying than shooting going on?â
âI donât know.â
âWell, I wouldnât worry, as long as his buddies arenât gayâŠâ Dammit! Her eyes pierced mine with a startled and icy glare â some of them were gay; how did I know and why did it matter? I donât know what joke I was trying to make.
She looked away with pursed lips. âIâm not worried.â
I had to change the subject. âWant to see pictures of my kids.â
She was appropriately impressed. She thought my son was the classic surfer-boy model.
âI could get him into magazines tomorrow,â she said with believable earnestness.
âThank you, but I have a hard enough time trying to give him a ânormalâ childhood out there in Sin City.â
âI understand.â
âNot that there is anything âabnormalâ about being a model,â I backpedaled.
âNo, itâs different.â
âItâs hard, bringing up kids these days â Internet smut, global warming, terrorismâŠâ
âI canât imagine.â
We were quiet for a moment, and then she started to answer the question without me having to ask it.
âRob is not a âfatherâ kind of guy. And all those costs, the worriesâŠâ
She trailed off and I waited for her to come back.
She turned and looked me in the eye. âI canât have children,â she said with obvious pain. I didnât know what to say. She looked away and waived her hand like she was chasing a dark cloud away from our table. I dared to lighten the mood at the risk of ruining it.
âYou mean all that consternation, and there was never a chance of you winding up in a family way?â
She smiled, and I closed my eyes in a moment of thanks.
âSeems like such a wasted effort, doesnât it,â she said, her good humor apparently restored.
âYou know how you said it felt good to be around me?â I seemed to have captured her attention. âWell, I felt good around you too.â
She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, as if to say, âGo on,â so I continued.
âI was always trying to figure out who I was in high school. I wasnât a jock. I might have hung around with the greasers, but hell, I was on the debate team. I was playing up that âbad boyâ image when I started going out with you, but that wasnât me.â
âI know.â
âI always felt like I could be myself around you. I didnât need a definition because you didnât have one, and you didnât attribute one to me. We just were.â
âYes we were.â
âI wish I had respected you more... I mean your⊠as you put it, your âdevotion to virginity.ââ
âItâs okay.â She sighed deeply. âIt was quite a challenge.â
âIâm sorry.â
âStop. I loved it. Trust me.â
âI was barely ânotâ a virgin myself, you know.â
âI suppose I knew.â
âI had no idea what I was doing. And then that one time in college, when you invited me outâŠâ
âTo test out my new diaphragm.â
I laughed again at her unabashed bluntness. âOh, so thatâs all it was. I donât feel so bad now. At least after that, you knew I wasnât nearly the stud I tried to portray.â
We both laughed. It seemed so horrific to me at the time, but not now. I reached and took her hand over the table. She looked at me and pouted playfully.
âYou were the first man I ever slept with,â she said almost dreamily. âThat morning, you were lying there, naked â I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.â
Be gracious, I said to myself. I wasnât good with compliments.
âThank you,â I said. âThatâs about the nicest compliment I have ever received.â
âI was hoping youâd call me.â
âAfter that?â
She looked at me like I was being stupid. âYes.â
âI felt⊠stupid.â
She closed her eyes.
âI should have.â I wasnât being wholly honest with her. âI think the reason why I couldnât make love to you that nightâŠâ â how was I going to say this? âSomething was going to change, Addie, something big, and I wasnât man enough⊠I wasnât ready for it. I was scared to death of it.â I squeezed her hand. âYou were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I fucked up â twice.â