“Planning on a power outage or preparing for a séance?” I asked.
She peeked over my chest to see what I was looking at and then jumped out of bed.
Holding a candle up in her hand, she said, “One of the pharmacies down the block went out of business. These things are normally like ten dollars, but they were on sale for six, and then buy one, get one free…”
She lit the wick and placed the candle on the desk and said with a rebellious tone, “I splurged.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent. “Passionfruit?” I guessed.
“Very good!” she answered, crawling back into bed with me.
“Do I get a prize?” I asked. She sat on top of me and leaned into my lips.
“You sure do.”
We had sex twice that night. Although the actual act was incredible, I enjoyed just lying with her. Her head on my chest, talking, caressing each other. I ran my fingers through her hair. Our sweat and other bodily fluids mixed together into a somehow hypnotizing scent. I was so comfortable around her, that I felt like I’d known her forever.
She trailed her hand up and down my chest. “I like your body,” she said. “Do you work out?”
“Not like you do… I mean, I do pushups and sit ups every morning and run two miles. Nothing too crazy.”
“You guys have it so easy to stay in shape.” She laughed. “It’s so weird. I feel like I can tell you anything.”
“You can,” I said. “Not like I can tell anyone anyway.” I looked down at her, wanting so badly to tell her exactly what I was thinking, but I stopped myself.
“What?” she asked. “You look like you want to say something.”
“I do,” I said, looking straight in her eyes, still running my fingers through her hair. “I know I already told you I never cheated before. I’ve had plenty of opportunities, but I’ve never even been interested. Not until I saw you that night. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about you. I can’t control myself around you, from the minute I saw you. I’m more attracted to you than I have ever been to any other woman in my life. If I had to build a girl, it would be you.”
“You don’t think my breasts are too small?” she asked. “You can tell me honestly.”
It was hard to believe a girl as beautiful as her would have any insecurities.
“What? No way, not at all. They are perfect. Everything about you is perfect. But even more—I barely know you, yet I’m so comfortable around you. Am I making any sense, or you think I’m crazy?”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m been thinking the same thing. I have never done anything like this, like the roof, especially with anyone. There’s just something about you that feels—I don’t even know the right word.”
I just smiled. I understood exactly what she was saying.
Around eleven-thirty, I said I had to leave. I usually got home around midnight on poker night. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to lie in bed with her all night. Before I left, she reminded me that she now had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black in her house should I ever want a drink.
SAMANTHA
Vince was taking longer than usual to get ready for his poker night, and I was getting aggravated. I hosted a dinner party during his poker nights every month. My girlfriends were going to be there soon, and I wanted him to leave already. I walked into the bedroom, where he stood in front of the mirror, buttoning down his shirt. I could smell his cologne from the hallway.
“Did you shower today?” I asked.
“Of course, I showered. Why?” he asked, looking at me through the mirror.
“You smell like you took a bath in a bottle of cologne,” I responded. “Are you leaving?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m leaving, why you in such a rush for me to go? You got strippers coming or something?”
It actually wasn’t a terrible idea. Maybe next dinner party, I would hire strippers—that could be entertaining.
“Lisa is coming early to help me set up.”
He smirked. “Translation, you and Lisa want to talk shit about all your other friends before they arrive,” he said sarcastically.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Samantha, look around. This bedroom is literally like six-hundred square feet, why are you breathing down my neck?” he asked.
“It’s my intimidation tactic to get you out of here faster. Speaking of, did you happen to notice the changes we made to the room?”
I’d just had the interior designer over. They’d extended the dressing room and changed the floors from carpet to a beautiful marble tile to match the furniture. A white leather loveseat with blue throw pillows that matched the walls was placed under the bay window. He looked around the room like he was just realizing it was different. He walked to the loveseat and threw himself down.
“Your tactic may have worked better yesterday, but having this loveseat now somehow propels me to gaze out the window, perhaps drink a cup of tea?” he said, making a hand gesture as if he were holding a small cup with his pinky pointed up. “I did however notice the twenty-grand taken out of the account, which—by the way—what was the check you wrote for fifty thousand today?”
“Oh, a donation to the animal rescue charity,” I said.
He stood up and walked towards me, pointing at the beautiful Maltipoo I was holding. “Fifty thousand on rescue animals, yet I had to spend two grand on Tiny Tim for Christmas?”
He curled up his lip and squinted at the dog.
I pulled the dog close and covered his ears. “Can you stop referring to him as Tiny Tim? He’s going to start thinking it’s his name!”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot look at a five-pound dog that looks like a hamster, and with a straight face call him Rocky,” he replied.
The doorbell rang. Thankfully, Lisa had arrived just in time for me to end the conversation. I practically ran down the stairs to greet her.
Lisa was my best friend. She was a few years older than me. A redhead, who was in extremely good shape and always well dressed. The type of woman who only wore designer clothes paired with five-inch stilettos, no matter what the weather, and who always sparkled from the diamonds visible on every part of her body. Lisa had a very chic and sexy vibe to her and was married to Vince’s best friend, Jimmy. She excelled at being rich. Born to rich parents and married to a rich man, it was second nature to her. She was the only one who knew the truth about mine and Vince’s past and how we came to be as a couple. Everyone else thought I was older than I was, although I kept both my real and fake age a secret.
Lisa walked in, annoyed.
“Tonight couldn’t come fast enough. I needed to get the fuck out of that house with those kids. Heads up, Rachel is down the block, on her way,” she said. “Why do we keep inviting that bitch places?”
“How can we get away with not inviting her?” I asked.
“I just find it bizarre that she hits on your husband right in front of you,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “Please, if she thinks he’s such a gem, she can have him.”
“If she pulls out that sperm donor book, I might slap her,” she said.
Rachel, along with the three other women who were coming, were our friends from the country club. She had her own money; she was a successful dentist. Very plain and mousy looking with such frizzy hair that Lisa and I had contemplated taking her to a salon for a treatment. She was eternally single, probably due to the fact she was so irritating to be around. Currently, she was shopping for a sperm donor to impregnate herself and babbled on and on about it all the time, telling us about every donor’s bio and asking for input as if her unborn child was a communal vote. Sperm donor shopping was literally the only thing she had going on in her life.
Rachel walked in, holding a platter of cupcakes.
“I brought some cupcakes from that new trendy place down the block,” she said.
“Oh, thank you sooo much!”
&nb
sp; I took the platter from her and placed it on the counter, both of us knowing full well that not one woman coming over would ever eat a cupcake. Lisa and I shot each other the telepathic I hate her looks that we’d gotten so good at communicating. Vince came down, shuffling through the car keys on the wall to pick the vehicle he wanted to drive.
“Hi Vince!” Rachel pushed her chest out and playfully tossed her hair. Lisa and I shared our telepathic look again.
“Hi Rachel,” he said, not bothering to glance up.
“I saw the new addition to the family you got Samantha for Christmas. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘adopt don’t shop?’” Rachel asked.
Still not looking directly at her, he said, “If you can pay, why get a stray?” He grabbed his keys and finally glanced up. “Have fun, ladies,” he said, and left for poker night.
The other three women arrived shortly after Vince left. All beautiful women, married to rich men. No one worked, with the exception of Rachel. Their conversations were always about new improvements to their houses, their last gifts from their husbands, and who the best plastic surgeon was for whatever addition or subtraction of our bodies required.
“Ladies, let me share with you the festivities for tonight! First, here’s a menu of the entrée, coming directly from the sushi chef in the kitchen,” I began, handing out cardboard cards displaying the varieties of fish to choose from.
Rachel interrupted. She always had something to say. “Does he do anything vegetarian?”
Annoyed, I was about to reply with something snippy when Lisa let out a sigh.
“Why don’t you ask him for just rice and seaweed?” Lisa asked. “Samantha, please continue.”
“Secondly, I’ve had this very special sake flown in straight from Japan,” I said.
The women all moved forward to get a closer look at the bottle.
“Also, I have gifts for all of you,” I said, handing out silver and gold gift bags, all nicely decorated with ribbons. Courtesy of Bloomingdales, of course.
The women all started gasping as they opened their bags, each one containing a different colored silk nightgown and an aromatherapy eye mask. I walked over to the attached family room, separated by sliding doors, and opened them. The aroma of lavender and eucalyptus poured out. Inside, there were three massage tables set up, all accompanied by a massage therapist. The room had been temporarily transformed into a spa, dimly lit with candles.
“Oh, Samantha! You outdid yourself this time!” one of the women exclaimed.
I clapped my hands. “I’m so glad you all like it. So, three girls, ninety minutes each, two rounds. You can decide amongst yourselves who wants to be in the first group,” I said.
Just then my daughter, Casey, came down the stairs.
“Casey, honey—care to join us?” I asked.
I knew there was no way she would say yes. She thought my friends and I were ridiculous, and tried her hardest not to be home whenever they were over. Casey was beautiful, with blonde hair and Vince’s brown eyes. She looked a lot older than sixteen, probably because she was extremely well-developed. I’m not sure where her chest came from, considering I had to pay for mine.
“Oh, no thanks, I’m going out to meet my friends. Have fun, though!” Casey said.
“There’s snow outside, aren’t you going to wear a jacket?” I asked.
“Mom. I have a turtleneck on. I’m getting right into my friend’s car and then in her house, I don’t need a jacket,” she said.
“There are cupcakes on the counter for you and your brother,” I told her. She smiled and walked out without taking one. Lisa let out a chuckle directed at Rachel.
The sake was well worth the money. The rich beverage was chilled to perfection with a crisp apple and grape taste but more importantly, just a few hours later, we all had nice buzzes going. That was when everyone started sharing the first time their significant other told them they loved them. Aside from the fact that Rachel didn’t have a story to tell, none were particularly nice enough to even remember.
“Samantha, how did Vince tell you he loved you?” one of the women asked.
I smiled and looked up to the ceiling, as if I were reminiscing about the best day of my life.
“Oh, it was so romantic,” I began, playing with my hair. “We were still in California, dating for a while already. He was so handsome that I could barely take my eyes off of him. We’d been shopping all day long on Rodeo Drive. He told me to buy anything I wanted. That night, he had reservations for us at this romantic restaurant on the cliffs of Malibu overlooking the beach. He ordered this fancy bottle of wine, and we gazed at each from across the table. After, he said he wanted to go for a drive. He had this beautiful sports car—a Corvette, I believe. We drove an hour and a half, and he surprised me with a three thousand square foot suite in this hotel in Huntington Beach, directly across the street from the water.”
The women were all staring at me in awe, so I continued. “We walked across to the beach later that night, he didn’t even care what time it was or if we were trespassing or not. He led me right over to the ocean, just before water could touch our feet. Then, he got down on one knee, and took out this.” I held up my five-carat engagement ring. “He told me he was so madly in love with me that he couldn’t imagine spending another day without me.”
The fairy tale I spun was nothing at all like the real story. The truth was, I’d gotten pregnant at sixteen, back when Vince was still a baseball player. He never spoke about playing baseball to anyone except Jimmy. We got married when my parents kicked me out of the house. He didn’t drive a Corvette, he drove a Camaro. It was nice, but not anywhere near the same caliber of car. The engagement ring I was showing off wasn’t even the original. We had to pawn the first one to make rent when we were forced to move to New York so that Vince could go for his Series 7. The one I was wearing was the replacement he bought me after his first real bonus.
As far as the first time my husband told me he loved me, it wasn’t on the beach. That happened in a hospital two years after we were already married. I wasn’t feeling well that night and didn’t make it to his game. I was holed up in a hotel room with Nick, who was only fourteen months old at the time. I only left him unattended for five minutes so that I could go to the bathroom, and by the time I came out, he’d gotten into the minibar. Vince had been informed that we were in the hospital during the seventh inning of his game. They gave him a police escort. By the time he arrived, the staff had already pumped Nick’s stomach. Vince found me sitting on the floor of the waiting room, sobbing hysterically.
I was only eighteen years old. I had no right being a mother. I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. Being a father came so naturally to Vince, and he was so good at it. He wouldn’t even change his uniform in the locker room with the other players, instead, rushing straight home to spend time with Nick. In the hospital, he kept trying to calm me down. He assured me that I wasn’t a bad mother at all, and that accidents happened, and luckily, Nick was okay. Then he pulled me into his chest and said, “You know what else? You’re a great wife too. You cook for me, keep the house clean, come to my games even though it’s obvious you hate baseball…”
“Is it really that obvious I hate baseball?” I remembered asking through my tears.
He’d laughed. “Yes, it’s extremely obvious. And even though you got stuck with me, you never complain about it. I love you.”
I still don’t know if he said the words because he meant them, or if he was just trying to calm me down.
A laugh drew me back to reality. I started clearing the sushi plates and bringing them to the kitchen. Lisa followed, helping me with the mess.
“You can write a book on the love story between you and Vince,” one of the women commented.
Lisa leaned into me and laughed. “Or you could work on Wall Street,” she whispered.
The door opened, and Vince walked back in. The women stared at him with dreamy eyes. He
cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“Sorry, didn’t realize you were all still here. You look like you just got through watching The Notebook.” He headed over to the bar to make himself a scotch.
“Samantha was just telling us how you proposed to her,” Rachel said.
He smiled at me.
“Oh, that story—oldie but goodie. Thankfully, she said yes!” he said, making his way upstairs. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, honey.”
Once he disappeared from sight, I looked up at the women and shrugged. “After all this time, we still can’t keep our hands off each other!”
SARAH
Vincent’s visits became more frequent. He would show up randomly at my apartment. He always texted first, and he always had a reason. “Happy Presidents Day.” “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” “Happy Easter.” “Happy Cinco day Mayo.”
This time when I opened the door to my apartment, I held up my cell phone and displayed the text message he’d sent.
“Happy Thursday?” I laughed. “What’s so special about Thursdays?”
“Oh, it’s my favorite day of the week. Nobody likes Mondays, and Fridays are so overrated. Wednesdays are too in the middle. But Thursday is a pretty perfect day.” He walked in and handed me a Nordstrom’s bag that was beautifully wrapped with a gold ribbon on top.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Just something I got for you.” He smiled. “Open it.”
Wounds of Time Page 4