by Jessica Jiji
Feeling a huge rush of liberation, I turned and left.
- 20 -
Taking the nearest exit, I found myself in a moonlit garden full of roses and gurgling fountains. In a strange mixture of euphoria and terror, I sat on a bench under a trellis. I didn’t have a book contract, I didn’t have an apartment, I wasn’t a dog-walker anymore, and I wasn’t an aspiring author. Who was I? And who would help me? The boyfriend I’d had weeks before was gone, and I’d just chucked my Big Sister. My real family, never too helpful to begin with, was probably filing legal papers to disown me. I thought I had met a nice guy, but he was attached to someone else, and pretty soon, they’d be permanently attached.
Tossing my arm over the back of the cast-iron bench and looking up at the stars, I realized that although I had nothing, I had nothing left to lose. Six-hour concerts of random sounds were a thing of the past. I’d never have to worry about discussing hegemonic imperialism on a news show. I no longer owed Vanessa a mountain of eternal gratitude.
I felt so light and free, like a balloon untethered, I almost floated off the bench. Anything could happen, I realized, anything! I could join the Peace Corps. I could become a sushi chef. I could work on a cruise ship. Even that cute guy in the distance I could just make out might possibly be coming right toward me.
He was!
A second later, I realized that not only was he cute, he was Irwin.
Had my mother invited him to the party? Impossible. Why else would he be here? And then it hit me: In a sick twist of fate, Marisa’s birthday party was tonight at where else but Leonard’s.
His eyes were glowing, and he looked just as surprised to see me as I’d been to find him in this secluded spot.
Why did he have to look so damn good? Irwin was as tall, athletic, and graceful as ever, but this was my first look at him in a suit, and it was a painful thrill. I’d already seen him looking sexy in a sleeveless shirt. Even in that cold dentist’s smock, he was amazing husband material, and now he stood in front of me, sharp and classy, looking like he had just stepped out of the pages of Italian Vogue.
“Laurel,” he said, smiling at the miraculous coincidence. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, it’s a long story,” I said, “and not a very pretty one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just went and changed my whole life forever,” I sighed.
“Oh, I know the feeling,” he said, sitting down next to me. “Believe it or not, I just did, too.”
The pain was sudden and severe. Of course—he had just proposed. Marisa always said she wouldn’t turn thirty without a rock, and pretty soon she’d be serving that engagement cake.
“Aren’t they going to miss you at your party?” I tried not to let Irwin see my tears, but he immediately noticed something was wrong.
“Hey, city girl, don’t cry. What’s the matter?” he asked gently.
“First of all, I’m not city girl anymore,” I confessed, deciding that since Irwin was already attached, I might as well let him see how pathetic I really was. The whole story came tumbling out in sobs. “So that’s pretty much it,” I concluded. “I just turned my back on everything I spent my whole life trying to get.”
“Sounds to me like the boyfriend was no loss, the Big Sister was a Big Control Freak, and you acted with a lot of integrity when it came to your book,” he said, unbuttoning his collar and loosening his silk tie. Stop being so sexy! I wanted to scream.
It was time to end this misery. I knew that if I brought up his fiancée, that would get rid of him. “So how’d you end up with Marisa?” I asked. “You never told me.” People get all romantic when they recount the whole how-we-met tale, and I braced myself for the worst.
“Funny you should ask,” he said. “It was all your fault.”
My fault?
“I’m stupidly romantic, always have been,” he continued, “and I really wanted to find someone special. Trish had told me all about her gorgeous, cool, artistic friend. After weeks and weeks, she finally managed to set me up with her, and, well—”
“I’m sorry about that, Irwin.”
“No, you shouldn’t be sorry, let me finish. So I’m sitting in Spiro’s Diner, thinking here I am about to meet the perfect girl—she’s from my hometown, but she’s gone out in the world. We’ll have everything in common, and we’ll still have so much to learn from each other. My crazy romantic side took over. Until she showed up wearing a dreary, double-breasted navy suit, her hair plastered into the same shape as every other woman on the 7:23, with an accordion file under her arm like some kind of office drone.”
In spite of myself, I laughed. “I had a job interview that day,” I explained.
Irwin, looking into the distance, continued as though he hadn’t heard me. “So I think to myself, ‘She’s hideous. Definitely not the one I’ve been dreaming of. But Trish’s husband is a good friend, so I’ll make nice, buy her lunch, and then get rid of her as politely as possible.’ But no! She catches a glimpse of me from behind and ditches me! How much worse can it get?”
“What does that have to do with Marisa?” I asked.
“All this time, Marisa was calling me, coming by, taking all her friends’ kids to my office. I’d never liked her much; she was exactly the kind of girl I’d been trying to avoid in favor of my romantic fantasy—the artsy city girl—but I always struck out with those types, and that afternoon, when an ugly version of one turned me down, I knew it was time to let go of the dream. Marisa was waiting for me at the office, I asked her out, and that was how it all began.”
“I hope you don’t still think I’m a hideous office drone,” I said, running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to muss it up.
“That’s the worst part,” he said. “I didn’t like you much when I first met you, but after that, I fell really hard. You were everything I ever dreamed of: fun, funky, gorgeous, and cool.” As Irwin spoke about how much he liked me, I felt myself go liquid.
“Why is that so bad?” I asked.
“Because I knew you existed, but you were totally out of my league. Your boyfriend was some French art critic who grew up in Nicaragua, and me? I’m just a dentist from Long Island.”
“Oh, Irwin, you’re so much more than that,” I said, wishing I’d realized it the first time we’d met and that I could trade lives with Marisa.
“Come on. You probably bolted as soon as you heard my name. Don’t tell me you didn’t think of it: Turnov, as in he’s a big turn-off? It’s a good thing my middle name isn’t Michael Andrew, or I’d be I. M. A. Turnov. I could never join the army because I might someday become a Major Turnov. And if I married someone named Delight, my kid would be Baby Turnov Delight.”
I’d been laughing, but at the mention of marriage, I remembered Marisa. With all my heart I wanted to jump into Irwin’s arms, but my mind knew he’d just gotten engaged. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to get back to your party now?”
“I guess,” he said. “But it’s not going to be easy. She didn’t exactly like the gift we picked out.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, thinking, Hmm . . . that’s good. “What happened?”
“I gave her the pearls in the limo on the way over, but she threw them right back in my face.” I felt hopeful, and hot, and I hung onto his every word. “She said she wanted a diamond. As in an engagement ring. Gave me an ultimatum: Either I propose tonight, or it’s over.”
I could barely take the suspense. “So what happened?”
“What can I say? I’m a gentleman. Of course I’m going to do the right thing.”
He proposed!
“I broke it off. Marisa was my rebound girl, a good salve for my ego after you ditched me. But that lasted about a week. After that, we fought constantly. All she wanted to do was go from mall to mall looking at engagement rings. She liked to talk about our kids, but only in a superficial way, like whether I liked the name Tyler. She never wanted to address the hard questions involved in raising
children—how to educate them, discipline them, turn them into people who will make a contribution to this world. Instead, she just wanted to know if I would get someone named Clowny Zary to perform at their birthdays. It was surreal.”
As he spoke, we had inched closer to each other, and he lifted his strong hands to cup my face. “That was cause enough to end it, but it wasn’t the main reason.”
“What was?” I whispered breathlessly.
“It all goes back to Laurel Linden,” he said, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear and looking at me like I was Miss Universe. “I couldn’t propose to someone else, because that would close off any chance I might ever have with you.” He locked eyes with mine. “So do I have a chance?” he whispered.
I didn’t have to answer. We just melted into the most delicious, passionate, all-encompassing kiss of my life.
After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, he pulled back. “God, I want to stay here with you all night, I really do. You’re so fucking gorgeous to me.” From the king-sized bulge in his pants, I knew he wasn’t lying. “But I can’t just vanish. I really have to go back.”
Although I wanted to rip off his shirt and touch those cut-up pecs, I realized that what he’d said was true for me, too. “I guess I should show up at my party also.”
We kissed more, and when he licked my neck I thought I’d lose all control. “We really should go.”
“Yeah,” he said, running his hands up the sides of my dress. “Yeah.”
I almost started screaming “yes, yes, yes,” but Irwin spoke instead, pulling back with finality. “Let me go make a clean ending so you and I can have a perfect beginning.” He splashed his face in a nearby fountain. “I could sure use a cold shower first, though.”
He was so sexy I could hardly stand the wait, but I knew I had to.
Stirring under my pink blanket the next morning, I awoke before opening my eyes and saw a parade of images from the night before. Did Uncle Lewis really play the Macarena on the accordion, causing Aunt Helene to throw out her hip? Did the members of my writers group stage readings of their work, with Margo bringing down the house? Did Viv Capelle and Irene Hirsch really come to blows at the Viennese table?
And did I really have the most mind-blowing kiss of my life from Dr. Irwin Turnov?
I opened my eyes and looked around.
And will he call?
Getting up, I saw the bruise on my wrist from when I tried to stop Irene from pressing Viv’s face into a seven-layer cake. On my night table I found the wine-smeared chapter of Margo’s book, which had become really touching now that she’d changed the main characters into humans. And I knew I couldn’t have dreamed up the image of Aunt Helene trying to continue dancing as she was wheeled off by emergency medical technicians.
As for Irwin, I could smell his delicious scent on my skin, and if I really tried, I could almost recapture the ecstasy of his lips against mine.
So when will he call?
I brought my cell phone into the bathroom while I showered and then down to breakfast, where I found my parents in their usual Saturday morning routine. My mother was microwaving waffles, and my father was deeply engrossed in the sports pages. I gathered my courage and entered the room.
“We have waffles, muffins—or cantaloupe if you’re feeling a little bloated from last night,” Mom offered.
“Listen, guys,” I said, trying to make eye contact. “Dad?” My father looked up. “I’m so sorry about all the trouble I caused. I know you worked really hard to host an elaborate party, and I ruined it.”
“Ruined?” my father asked.
“You didn’t cause any trouble, honey,” my mother said. “It was your sister who had to go and bring up the subject of the Hirsch–Capelle lawsuit.”
I silently thanked Jenna but pressed my parents. “Seriously, didn’t my decision put a damper on things?”
“Aw, who noticed?” Mom asked.
“By the time the ambulance came, everyone had forgotten all about you,” my father said. “Anyway, it was worth it to see Viv up to her neck in buttercream.”
Leave it to my parents to not even notice when I back out of an eight-year career pursuit. “Well, I was going to offer to pay for the party,” I said, “since it was to celebrate a book that I’m not publishing.”
Mom squeezed my cheek. “Cookie, we’re actually relieved there’ll be no book. As far as we’re concerned, that’s worth celebrating.”
“You finally learned to get your head out of the clouds,” my father put in, resuming his backwards leafing through the paper.
“Keep your money—you’ll need it,” my mother said. “Just next time, pick a career that won’t give me acid reflux disease.”
When the phone still hadn’t rung half an hour later, I checked my messages, and my heart leapt when the electronic voice announced that I had one, but I was disappointed to hear it was only a lawyer from Gallant saying the papers breaking my contract were ready and I should stop by on Monday morning to sign them.
That made it all the more real. In two days, I’d be out of a job. I took my trusty cell phone to the computer in the den and started frantically surfing career help websites. Within minutes, I’d learned that with my qualifications, I could make half as much money as I did walking dogs by working twice the hours doing data entry, cleaning hotel rooms, or wearing a sandwich board advertising sample sales. Girdle and Support Hose Quarterly was starting to look good, only they’d never have me.
I was hysterically trying to plump up my résumé when the doorbell rang. Figuring it was Viv or Irene about to serve papers on my parents, I ignored it, but a second later he appeared in the room: Irwin, wearing a faded green T-shirt that brought out the olive tones in his skin and a beat-up pair of jeans faded in all the right places.
“I found you,” he said, coming over and giving me the lightest, but sexiest, kiss on the lips. “Ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
“Our great new beginning.” He pulled me to my feet, put those strong hands at the base of my back, and kissed me again, this time excruciatingly slowly. I felt so wet I almost forgot about my career problem. Almost.
“I want to, I really do, but I’m in serious trouble here. I’ve got to figure out what to do for the rest of my life.”
“How about spend it with me?”
It was so forward, I blushed deeply. “No, I mean my job. I have no marketable skills, unless you count poop-scooping.”
“You think it’s time to bag that?” he joked.
“Seriously, I have a college degree in English Literature, but these days that’s not even as good as a beauty school diploma, and I don’t know Adobe or Spanish or any other special skill, and I’m twenty-eight years old, and—”
I could have gone on and on, but Irwin started unbuttoning my shirt. I squealed, but I was too into it to stop him and started tearing at his clothes, too. He was unclasping my bra, and I was gasping for breath when it hit me: My parents were one flight up!
“No, no, stop,” I said with difficulty.
Irwin pushed me back against the couch, and, forgetting myself, I started grinding my hips against his oh-so-hard on. But when I began to moan, I imagined my parents bursting in on us, and the ridiculous high school scenario was just too much. “Stop,” I said, pushing him away but smiling. “This would be a bad way for you to meet Mom and Dad.”
Irwin kept tracing his fingers around my breasts, shoulders, neck, and back. “Come to my place then,” he said urgently.
We just barely made it over there before making crazy love all over his living room. I hung onto the staircase railing as he stripped me bare and caressed my entire body with his gorgeous hands. We fell together onto the couch where I had my turn, tasting the sinewy muscles I’d been admiring for so long. Just when the ecstasy was almost too much to bear, he decisively pushed me to the floor, threw on some protection, and, holding my arms back above my head, made me come so hard I forgot all about my future as a dat
a entry, sandwich-board-wearing hotel maid.
Almost instantly, with a sudden, deep thrust, Irwin exploded too.
As we collapsed together rapturously, he stroked my hair and blew softly on my sweaty face.
After a few blissful minutes, he threw on his clingy black boxer-briefs and padded to the kitchen to blend some drinks. We brought the piña coladas out to the deck by his swimming pool in the fenced-in backyard. Wearing only a black velour thong, I dipped my feet in the water, and he started tossing rose petals at me. “I want to decorate you with flowers. You are so beautiful the way the sun is reflecting in your eyes, the natural highlights in your hair, and God, those luscious tits,” he said, kicking water playfully in my direction.
I laughed and slipped into the heated water, diving under into its soft depths. When I came back up, he said, “This is what my pool’s always been missing: a beautiful nymph.”
“Try nympho,” I said, pulling him into the water and wrapping my legs around him. We started insatiably kissing all over again, and he carried me to the Jacuzzi. “I’m going to have to keep a box of condoms in every room now that you’re around,” he said with a grin.
“How come? Didn’t you need them with Marisa?” I asked coyly.
“Change the subject, please,” he said. Right answer!
Amidst the hot, tumbling waters, we realized how much more we still had to discover about each other.
Later, after we’d showered and finally come up for air, we sat together on his bed, and he suggested we just cuddle up and watch a movie. Although I knew he’d never subject me to a four-hour drama about the peasants of Turkmenistan, although I’d never tire of touching his carved physique, and although I was perfectly comfortable in his home, which was a near-replica of the one I’d grown up in—split-level colonial on a quarter acre, foyer leading into stairs with kitchen to the left, living room to the right, and half-bath in the middle—I somehow felt restless.