Connected

by Kim Karr

  Still sitting, twisted with his feet on the floor, his eyes roam my body and my skin begins to tingle. I bite down on my lip at the sight of him and try to focus on what has always been my morning priority, coffee. But even the thought of my beloved morning coffee can’t suppress my insatiable desire for him.

  He stands up and lets his unyielding gaze weigh on me for a moment longer. “We should probably take a shower.” He has a look on his face like he’s trying to convince himself that he should leave the room.

  As he stands there, grinning at me, he’s completely naked and absolutely sexy as hell. Without saying another word, I grab my bag and saunter off to the bathroom, pushing my shirt off my shoulders and letting it fall off my body, knowing he’s watching me. Shortly after I reach the bathroom, I hear his feet padding across the wooden floor, and I know he’s headed in my direction. Game on, I win.

  Having opted to wear the jeans and t-shirt I bought yesterday since they were my only clean clothes, I pull the jeans over River’s Pac-Man boxers and slip the t-shirt over my white bra with the black bow. Sliding my arms into my black leather jacket and tying my Converse sneakers, the ones I luckily threw in my overnight bag before I left home, I’m ready to visit a few retail establishments.

  I haven’t been shopping in so long that I am actually a little excited. My excitement only grows as I walk out of the bathroom and see River texting on his phone. He’s wearing worn jeans, a black Ramones t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and black work boots. When he smiles at me while slipping on his black beanie, I am transported into the past, to the first time I laid eyes on him, and he’s just as sexy now as he was then.

  While we’re driving, I check my many emails and listen to my voicemails. Both Grace and Aerie have left messages. I send Aerie a quick text and call Grace. I hang up just as my phone battery dies and I mention to River that I should be getting back to Laguna Beach by Wednesday. His eyes flicker to mine, and he very quietly says, “How about we take it day by day?”

  I want to argue that I really need to get home, but don’t because I couldn’t care less about getting home. I just really like being with him. So instead, I smile over at him and respond, “I can’t stay with you forever, you know.” Poking him in the ribs underneath his jacket, I add, “You’ll get sick of me and all my games soon enough anyway.”

  We walk into what appears to be almost a town unto itself. I have been to The Grove a handful of times. It really does have the best shopping. It hosts all of my most favorite stores including Nike Goddess, Pottery Barn, J. Crew, and H&M.

  Coincidentally, the first place we hit is Pottery Barn. I’m quickly learning that shopping with River is rather comical. As we enter the store, he approaches the more-than-willing-to-help young brunette, who instantly bats her eyelashes at him. She blinks at first, as if trying to place him, but blows it off as soon he mentions the wares he’s looking for. I laugh as he jumps on one of the mattresses and tries to take me with him. In a matter of no more than thirty minutes, we have selected neutral bedding, soft towels, and fluffy pillows. We also select a mattress, box spring, and a black leather tufted headboard. The flirty salesgirl didn’t have to bat her eyelashes to convince him to add the coordinating nightstands; he would have done it anyway. He quickly pays and arranges delivery for later today.

  As we walk among the stores, his arm slung over my shoulder and my hand in his back pocket, he tells me that he wants to take me to a place called Smitten’s tonight. It’s a local neighborhood bar that The Wilde Ones have been practicing at every Tuesday night for over five years. He informs me I’ll get to meet his brother, sister, and bandmates. That makes me a little nervous, but I’m more excited to finally see him perform with his band.

  Our next stop is Williams Sonoma where we select the newest Starbucks coffee pot and purchase coffee pods, cookware, modern white plates, and silverware. Once again, as he pays, he arranges for it all to be delivered later today.

  As we walk through the very festive outdoor mall, we pass by an H&M. “Mind if I duck in and grab a few things?”

  Nodding, he motions with his head to the side and says, “I’ll be over there. I have a few calls to return,” then he kisses me, slides his nose to my ear and whispers, “So take your time.” He knows what that does to me. I smile at him and run my fingers up his stomach. “It won’t take that long.”

  I quickly select a few things to hold me over until I figure out if River has a washer and dryer or until I go home. Approaching the cash register, I hear the urgent pulsing, almost soaring track of an unmistakable musical opus. The distorted vocals, heavy electronic chords, and pounding bass beat all mixed together are undeniably the masterpiece of Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back.

  Looking around to figure out where the music is coming from, I finally determine it is my purse singing. As the word sexy blares out and the lyrics of the first verse come to an end, I can’t help but smile and step out of line. Reaching into my bag, I grab my phone. The name River Wilde is flashing across my screen.

  “Heeelllooo,” I beam, glancing toward the front of the store. There he is, leaning against the wall between two glass window cases. His foot is propped against the pink flowery wallpaper of the store’s decor. He has one of his hands in his pocket and the other is holding his phone to his ear. He smiles his full dimple smile and I smile back. Holding his phone out for me to see, he then puts it back to his ear. “Do you like the ringtone I picked?”

  I watch as he pushes the phone to his shoulder as a couple of fan girls approach him, pens in their hands. He gives them an obligatory grin and signs the back of one’s shirt and the shoulder of the other’s. Shaking my head and rolling my eyes that he claimed no one really notices him; I bring myself back to the ringtone issue. I guess he must have assigned himself that ringtone when he added us to each other’s contacts. “Yeah, I do actually, Mr. I’m Not Really That Famous,” I answer while giving him a thumbs up and raising my shoulder indicating that I want an autograph too while miming a pen in my hand. Then I add while giggling, “But I didn’t know sexy ever left.”

  Shaking his own head, he hangs up the phone. I almost stop breathing from his perfection as he charmingly waves goodbye to his two groupies and starts walking toward me. I step out of line to greet him. “Hey sexy didn’t you . . .” I start to ask when he’s close enough, but he ducks his head and kisses me, quickly preventing me from finishing my question.

  “Hey sexy yourself”, he says when he pulls away, and I’ve forgotten what I was going to ask and figure it didn’t really matter anyway. Before taking my hand, he pretends to sign his name on my shoulder, and his touch sends shivers up my spine. “Thank you Mr. Rockstar,” I say and then he leads me back to the line.

  Leaving the store, he takes the bags. “I have something I want to show you.”

  “What? The line of groupies outside waiting for you to sign their bare skin?” I joke.

  “No smart ass, that was random and seriously hardly ever happens.”

  “If you say so, but you can give me an autograph any day of the week,” I concede and smile over at him, dropping the subject.

  We hop on the Green Trolley that travels between The Grove and the Farmers Market and get off at The Entertainment Center. The complex has dozens of buildings of all shapes and sizes. It is located on a landscaped park with picnic areas in the center. It even has a dancing fountain. There is a lively crowd of people walking around. Some of the entertainment seekers have shopping bags in their hands, while others walk casually drinking coffee or eating pretzels. The street-grid layout of the sidewalk and older looking buildings makes the area feel like an old-fashioned downtown.

  Exiting the trolley first, I grin as River steps off and moves behind me. Pressing his front to my back, he wraps his arms around my waist and guides me into an open red brick, double arched building. When my eyes adjust from the sunlight to the much darker room, I see lights and hear sounds everywhere. We’ve just walked into an arcade. It’s very much
like the one I frequented with my dad so many years ago. Shaken with emotion, overcome by happiness, and full of joy, I turn around, throwing my arms around him and kiss him. He runs his tongue across the roof of my mouth before closing his lips around mine.

  With labored breaths, I pull away. I clutch his shoulders while he wraps one arm around my waist, the other still holding my bags. “An arcade? Here at The Grove?”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d like it.”

  “Like it? I love it.”

  Looking around, I see so many black stalls, all of which house video games from the eighties. There’s Mousetrap, Asteroids, Centipede, Frogger, Pac-Man, Space Invaders, and Venture. Along with Skee Ball, driving games, and even a Chicken Clucker.

  The sounds, smells, and excitement of years gone by are right here, right now, and I can’t believe it. They remind me of a non-looping ambient audio track—beep, blip, ding, buzz, and a click. Closing my eyes and just listening, I can clearly recall myself hanging out at the local arcade with my dad while feeding quarter after quarter into Ms. Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, and of course, the pinball machines. My dad was a pinball wizard, and he taught me well.

  His favorite pinball machine was Flash Gordon. It was the first multi-ball table I ever played. It was equivalent to Black Knight, but better and faster. The table was amazing, and just the thought of getting that ‘fifteen seconds’ still gives me an adrenalin rush. I remember the first extra ball was easy to land, but getting the second was always a big challenge.

  My favorite, of course, was Baby Pac-Man. It wasn’t the game for everyone, and my dad didn’t really like it because the flippers aimed at the center of the game instead of the sides. I thought this offered greater challenges; he thought it was a flawed table design. It really did make getting to the mazes difficult, which I thrived on.

  “Look over there,” River says, pointing to Pac-Man. “How about it?” he asks with a twinkle in his green eyes.

  “Game on, hot stuff,” I answer as I head toward the machine.

  We stay here, playing different games for hours. Challenging each other, I sometimes win, but he mostly wins. I have no idea how. I decide to try my luck, solo, at the Drive My Course game while River goes to get more quarters. When I finish, I look around the room and spot him walking his sway of a walk my way. I melt.

  “Close your eyes,” he says as he comes to stand in front of me.

  “Why?”

  “Just close them.”

  Closing my eyes, I feel him take my hand and attach something around my wrist. It’s the same wrist where my Cartier LOVE bangle sits.

  “Okay, you can open now.”

  Staring down at my wrist, I can’t believe what I’m looking at. This adorably sweet and sexy man has just placed a very colorful linked bracelet of the cutest Pac-Man on my wrist. It has a yellow Pac-Man with the blue, red, pink, and orange monsters on it.

  “I love it!” I manage as I swallow back my tears of joy. I throw myself around him and say, “Thank you.”

  He lifts me up and twirls me just once before setting me down. “Happy?”

  Smiling up at him, I respond, “More than happy.”

  THE SECRET IS IN THE TELLING

  There is something you don’t know

  I don’t want to tell you

  But tonight somebody else will

  So please understand why

  Just remember the secret is in the telling.

  Every town and every city has something that makes it a little unique. For Brentwood, it must be the beautiful white Dogwood trees that line its streets and the serendipity of the quaint shops, all very different but co-mingling so well. Downtown Brentwood is a small but trendy area. Its old fashioned streetlights display banners, its stores are covered with different colored awnings, and its Main Street sidewalks are even paved in bricks.

  Having left the car in a small parking garage on a side street, we’re walking through the town where River grew up. We walk, with his one arm slung around my shoulder and my hand in his back pocket; he’s carrying ‘Stella’ on his other shoulder. We are on our way to what River described as his local neighborhood bar. It’s dusk, but light enough that I can see the town. It doesn’t look like an area where the word local seems to be the best description, but I’ll go with it. It’s actually very upscale. There’s a movie theater, a florist, retail shops, galleries, and many restaurants and bars. People are walking like they don’t have a care in the world, just browsing, talking, and laughing; just like us.

  One place in particular catches my eye; it’s a bookstore named Fiction Vixen. My love for literature draws my attention toward the two piles of books in the large windows located on both sides of its front door. The books are displayed in a Christmas tree-like fashion with lights wrapping them. Pointing the store out to River, he laughs softly and tells me his mother’s friend, Vicki Mixen, owns it. He goes on to say that she has always been crazy about books and that when he was fourteen she decided to open a bookstore. He spent that whole summer helping her get it ready to open for business. It was his first job. He tells me that he hauled and stacked so many books that he never wanted to look at another book again. Then he jokes that it’s why he opted not to go to college. Again we both laugh and continue toward the bar.

  I take in all the splendors that surround us. The visual makes me think of the Entertainment Complex at the Grove. I can’t help but smile at the memory of the wonderful day we had there, along with everything else we did. After the arcade we stopped at Whole Foods to purchase a few items, my priority being coffee and creamer. Picking up a late lunch from the deli, we made it back to the house in time for the prearranged delivery of all the items River purchased earlier today.

  Throughout our day, we talked about our lives and I discovered so much more about him that I didn’t know. When he asked me questions about USC and I asked him how he knew the campus so well, he told me he visited his brother and sister there many times. He also told me his brother was in the Kappa Sigma Fraternity, but lived off campus. I mentioned that Ben was in the same fraternity, but skirted the topic. He told me he went to a few parties at the frat house and then crashed at either his brother or sister's place. I got the impression that who he stayed with depended on which sibling took someone else home with them. Funny, we only saw each other that one night, but good I guess.

  I found out River’s mother moved out of Brentwood a couple of years ago when she got remarried; she and her husband actually live in River’s neighborhood. His sister lives with them, and his brother lives in what used to be their grandparents’ condo in downtown Beverly Hills. His grandparents both died within six months of each other last year and left a sizable inheritance to River and his brother and sister. Xander inherited their condo. I learned his grandfather was a silent partner in one of the first and most successful retail stores on Rodeo Drive and was extremely wealthy. I also found out there is another wing to River’s house. It’s located behind the garage and that is where the laundry room is. I laughed that he had no idea if there actually was a washer and dryer at the house, but we discovered, once we returned, that there is. I also laughed, because just like him, laundry is not something I actually think about or even do for myself. Since we hadn’t bought laundry detergent we couldn’t wash the new sheets. Instead we put the sheet from the air mattress on the new bed and proceeded to christen it.

  Right now, thinking of laundry makes me think about Ben, something I haven’t been doing much of lately. But since he always took care of the laundry, I can’t help but remember him. When I say Ben took care of the laundry, I mean he dropped it off at Fluff and Fold. He was so funny about dirty clothes, he hated when they’d pile up. There were only a few things he was OCD about and the care of our clothing was one of those things. Although, I remember one time when the large pile of dirty clothes didn’t seem to bother him.

  We had piled our laundry on the floor in the laundry room. Neither one of us had gotten around to bagging it in the special b
right yellow bags provided by Fold and Fluff. Ben had been busy on a story, and I was trying to write my thesis. It was a Sunday morning in the early spring, and Ben was headed out to a flag football game, but he couldn’t find all of his gear.

  “Dahl, have you seen my jersey?” he yelled from the laundry room.

  “Nope,” I said without even giving him a sideways glance from my desk in the kitchen.

  “Could you help me look? I’m late!”

  “Sure,” I said as I pranced his way.

  When I walked into the laundry room, there he was, bending down over the pile in only his track pants. Freshly showered, his back glistened with droplets of water. I had been cooped up at my computer for far too long over the past week, and the sight of him brought a yearning I didn’t expect.

  Walking over to the pile, I stood there in my Ugg boots looking at him as he rummaged through the huge pile. “Find it yet?”

  When he looked up at me, he noticed I was wearing nothing but one of his long sports t-shirts and my boots. I hadn’t showered yet because I wanted to finish another section of my thesis first, so while he was in the shower I threw on something comfortable and warm and made my way to the kitchen for coffee and writing.

  He shot me a wicked grin, and I rolled my eyes. “What?”

  “I found my jersey,” he said as he stood up and sauntered one step closer to me.

  “You did? Where?” I whispered, barely able to pull my eyes away from his smoldering blue ones.

  He cocked a brow at me and pointed. “You’re wearing it.”

  Then lifting the jersey over my head he said, “Fuck flag football today.”

  As I’m reminiscing about Ben, River bumps my shoulder. “Nervous?”

  Suddenly transported back to the here and now, I shake my head and say, “No. Should I be?”