Sex as a Second Language

by Alisa Kwitney

  After the second block, her shoes hurt so much that she tried to hail a cab. No luck—they were all off duty. Walking slowly and painfully past the crowded sidewalk cafes along Columbus Avenue, Kat noticed that despite the deceptive, springlike warmth of the evening, some of the trees planted along the sidewalk were changing color. I shouldn’t have worn my long coat, Kat thought. This is probably one of the last nights I won’t need it. Everywhere she looked, Kat saw people taking advantage of the good weather—older couples strolling hand in hand, buxom mothers and proud new fathers pushing baby carriages, young couples embracing each other with blissful obliviousness in the middle of the sidewalk.

  It had been a lovely day in April when Logan had announced that he was leaving. Kat took one last drag of her cigarette before stamping it out, wishing the rain and cold would come and chase all the happy people away.

  chapter two

  k at used her key to open the inner lobby doors and greeted the night doorman, who was carefully trimming his luxuriant mustache with an assortment of specialized tools. He put down the tiny scissors and mirror and smiled with a shade too much enthusiasm. “Hello, Miss Miner.”

  “Hello, Pedro.”

  “Hot date tonight? All dressed up, looking good.”

  Kat murmured something noncommittal and kept moving toward the elevator, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Lately, she’d begun to feel a disconcertingly lascivious vibe from Pedro, and suspected that he might have been viewing the newly released DVD of Zombie Prom Queen, which contained her one brief topless scene. She missed Pedro’s predecessor, Kurt, who had watched her grow up in the building.

  Kat stood, quietly watching the numbers change on the elevator display.

  Pedro continued to observe her. “You making more movies, Miss Miner?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “But you’re not too old.”

  “Thanks.” Kat said, as the elevator finally opened its doors. Pedro had a talent for backhanded compliments.

  “You have sweet dreams, Miss Miner!”

  “You, too, Pedro.” But please don’t think of me while you’re having them. Kat had made her topless horror film when she was twenty-two, and although her breasts looked much the same, thanks to a certain Dr. Berman on Park Avenue, her attitude about casually revealing herself to strangers had changed completely.

  Which was one reason she didn’t expect to be having sex again in the foreseeable future.

  Another reason was that she was living next door to her mother, which made for convenient babysitting but awkward explanations.

  “Kat? Is that you? You’re back early.” Lia Miner lowered her reading glasses so that they dangled on a gold chain between her formidable, silk-covered breasts. Like Sophia Loren, Lia had gradually exchanged the sultry beauty of her youth for a solid, affluent handsomeness.

  “Is something wrong, honey? Don’t you feel well?”

  “I was just a little tired, Mom,” said Kat, bracing one hand against the wall as she removed her shoes.

  Lia walked over, gesturing at the location of her daughter’s hand. “You’re going to leave marks on the paint if you keep doing that. Not that it matters, considering the state of that wall, but you do need something to sit on there.”

  Kat shoved her heels in the bottom of the closet, on top of a pair of old sneakers. “It can wait.” Just before Logan had left her, Kat had embarked on a major renovation scheme. The electricians had already started drilling holes in walls when she discovered that Logan had invested their savings in Internet start-ups. Since their ensuing argument and breakup, the apartment had remained like Pompeii, a perfectly preserved record of the moment disaster had struck.

  Lia bent down and arranged Kat’s shoes more neatly. “They’re not going to last if you treat them like that, Kat.”

  Kat grunted. She didn’t plan on wearing them again in a hurry.

  Straightening up, Lia muttered something about shoe trees and organizers. Then, more clearly, she said, “Listen, Kat, you can’t just keep living like this. It looks terrible. If money’s the issue, I could give you something—that little chair of grandma’s?”

  “No, thank you, Mom.”

  “But it’s a lovely chair,” Lia persisted. “I had it right there for years. Why not take it for now? Or I’ll advance you the money so you can repaint the apartment.”

  “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

  “Why isn’t it a good idea? I know you’ll pay me back when the divorce is final.”

  For a moment, Kat was tempted to say yes. In the final analysis, it didn’t really matter that she’d given up gourmet takeout, seasonal accessories, and taxi cabs. Well, okay, she hadn’t completely given up taxis. But the main point was that she needed to bring in more money.

  Lia took Kat’s coat off the back of a chair and hung it in the closet. “And next time, Kat, I hope you’ll listen to me when I tell you I have a bad feeling about the guy you’re dating.”

  Ah, there it was—the hidden cost of taking out an interest-free loan. If Kat accepted her mother’s offer, she knew she’d wind up fighting to retain even a vestige of control over her own life. Kat had a nightmarish vision of herself arguing with her mother over how to pack Dashiell’s suitcase as he headed off to college. Socks down the side, Kat, you never take full advantage of the space. And then Dashiell would be gone and it would be just Kat and her mother, squabbling over how long to cook the meatloaf.

  Kat shuddered. “Thanks for offering, Mom, but I just don’t think it’s healthy for us to be any more enmeshed than we already are.”

  “What’s enmeshed? We’re close. And why are you so worried about my helping you? I know it’s only temporary. By next year, you’re going to find something better than that fershlugginer teaching job, but until then, why should you live in a dump?”

  “Because I refuse to mooch off of you.” Kat walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of seltzer. “Want some?”

  “I’ll just have a sip of yours. And don’t insult us both with this mooching nonsense. I know you’re a very hard worker, it’s just that at the moment, you’re not in a job that pays very well. Of course, every time I suggest that you stop wasting your time there, you ignore me.”

  Kat sighed and poured her mother her own glass of seltzer. Ever since the day last spring when Marcy had suggested the idea of working at the language institute, Lia had been throwing up objections. It was a waste of Kat’s time and energy; it didn’t pay enough; she was never going to meet anyone new to date there. In the back of her mind, Kat wondered if her mother’s real objection was that it was not something she herself would have done. Saying so out loud, however, would simply cause a major argument. “I don’t ignore you, Mom, you ignore me. What other job could I find that would allow me the kind of flexibility to be there for Dash and go on auditions?”

  “Copyediting, for one.”

  “For you, you mean. Come on, Mom, I can’t work for you as well as live next door.”

  “It wouldn’t be for me, precisely. Well, maybe in the beginning, before you had experience…”

  Kat folded her arms under her breasts. “Mom.” It was complicated enough, living in the apartment she’d grown up in and paying off her mortgage to her mother. The fact that her mother had moved to an apartment across the hall added an extra dimension of weirdness.

  But in the savage world of Manhattan real estate, leaving home was a complicated equation. There was a serious dearth of affordable apartments, and once you found a place you liked, you soon discovered that co-op boards were like country clubs, able to refuse you without explanation.

  Of course, if you were an actor, that was explanation enough. Most Manhattan co-op boards had a prejudice against actors, since the struggling ones had trouble paying the maintenance and the successful ones attracted gawkers and paparazzi.

  Which was why Kat and Logan had been happy to purchase the big, six-room, prewar apartment Kat had grown up in
. Or, at least, Kat had been happy—Logan had later claimed that he’d had misgivings from the start. He also claimed not to have realized that his mother-in-law was moving just one apartment away until after the closing, when it was too late.

  As if reading her mind, Kat’s mother said, “You’ve gone awfully quiet. Are you thinking about Logan again? Because you can’t let him convince you to sell this place. He may make it sound like it’s a way of declaring your independence, but believe me, all he cares about is reaping a profit. And where could you and Dashiell afford to move?”

  Kat took a leftover pastrami sandwich out of the fridge and unwrapped it. “Don’t worry, Mom, I have no intention of selling, no matter how much Logan’s lawyer tries to drag things out.” If Logan wanted to tie up their divorce in an endless discussion of major assets, then that was his choice. It wasn’t as if Kat were dying to resolve the issue so she could run out and get married again.

  “I’m glad to hear it, honey. If you ask me, you’re already letting him take advantage of you by not asking for alimony.”

  They’d been through this before. “I don’t need him to support me, just to help support his son.”

  “Very noble, except that he’s rich and you can’t afford to repaint. By the way, this came for you earlier, certified mail. I signed for it.” Lia held out an envelope.

  “Who’s it from?” Kat took another bite of her sandwich. “I have mustard on my hands.”

  “Don’t squint like that, it causes wrinkles. It’s from your father.” Lia, who tended to overreact to minor events and underreact to major ones, suddenly looked at her daughter suspiciously. “You’re starting to need reading glasses, aren’t you? You’re at that age now.”

  “Can we please stay on topic here?” Kat turned off the tap and dried her hands on a kitchen towel. “What do you mean, it’s from my father? What is it?” Considering the fact that she hadn’t heard from the man in thirty years, it seemed unlikely that he’d remember that his daughter had a birthday coming up.

  “I have no idea. Do you think he actually sent you a card? Maybe he’s dying. Did I ever tell you that in eleven years of marriage, he never once remembered our anniversary or bought me a birthday present?”

  “I believe you might have mentioned it, yes.”

  Lia raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so it’s boring to hear me complain about my lousy ex? Remind me of that the next time you get going about Logan.”

  “Yes, but this is just six months later. I believe I’ll get over it by the time Dashiell needs bifocals.” Taking the envelope from her mother, Kat stuck it in a drawer, on top of a growing pile of bills.

  Lia stared at her. “You’re not going to open it?”

  “I need to digest a little first.” The truth was, Kat hadn’t thought much about her father in the past decade, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to think about him now.

  “But it might be important.”

  “He waited thirty years. I think I’m allowed to wait a couple of hours.” Jesus, what if it was important? What the hell was she supposed to do with something important from her father? She’d accustomed herself to having one absentee parent, with whom there was absolutely no contact. She was used to being fatherless at every single parents’ visiting day at school, on all her birthdays, at her wedding. She’d had to endure reading those awful kids’ books on divorce, which all insisted that both your parents still loved you, even though, in her case, this was clearly not the case. On the cusp of turning forty, she didn’t want to try to form a relationship with the man.

  Lia polished her reading glasses on the hem of her shirt. “I still think you ought to open your father’s letter right away. Maybe it gives us some clue as to how we can get the money he still owes us.”

  “God, you’re obsessed.”

  “I am not obsessed!”

  “Mom, it’s been thirty years, and you’re still complaining that my dad didn’t buy you a birthday gift.”

  “Honey, at least I didn’t renounce the entire male gender.”

  Oh, great, now her mother was getting on her case about that, too. “Sure, you dated, but you never found anyone you wanted to stay with.”

  “That’s true.” Lia gave her daughter a frank look. “But I did have fun.”

  Kat recalled that her mother had seen a few different men after her divorce. But as far as Kat could tell, Lia had reserved most of her passion for hating Kat’s father. She’d talked about making phone calls to the State Department, tracking him down, attaching his earnings. “Not that it would do any good,” she’d say. “He’s got too many favors he can call in.”

  In the end, Lia’s antipathy toward her ex-husband had outlasted any of her subsequent loves. Looking at the few old photographs of her father, Kat was always surprised to see how benign he appeared: a slender, small-boned, almost delicate man, with fine, fair hair, almost colorless eyes, and a way of standing that told you he wished you weren’t taking his picture. He looked like a man who wasn’t there, even when he was. Kat was surprised that her vibrantly attractive mother had married him in the first place, but Lia had explained that he’d had a startlingly sharp, muscular, wholly unsentimental intelligence, completely at odds with his mild looks. “I was taken by the fact that he was so brilliant and unsparing,” Lia had told her. “I felt like his choosing me was a validation of my own intelligence. Of course, I was very young when I met him,” she’d added. “When you’re twenty, you don’t realize how much simple kindness matters.”

  Kat looked at her mother now. “Tell me something, Mom. How old were you when you gave up on men?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It happened gradually. The men just get more and more damaged and arrogant as time goes by. After a while, you meet some guy you considered a nebbish back in high school, and now he’s stringing three different women along and acts like he’s doing you a favor to ask you out.”

  “But with me, you think it’s going to be different?”

  Lia smiled. “Absolutely. Listen, at your age, I was still having adventures. I’m not saying you’ll find someone to marry again, but I hope you’ll meet someone who makes you feel wonderful for a while.”

  “You do realize that there’s something a little ironic about getting this advice from a woman who edits romances?”

  Lia gave a low laugh. “Honey, if we were all getting it in real life, then we wouldn’t have to read about it.” She stroked Kat’s hair back from her face. “But I think you’ve still got some nice surprises in store for you.”

  “I don’t need that kind of surprise. All I want is a chance to do what I’m good at again. And if I could make enough money at it to send Dash to private school, that would be nice, too.”

  Lia picked up her pocketbook from a chair and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Get some rest. But you will let me know what you find in that letter from your father, won’t you? I mean, I was married to the man for eleven years, I have a right to be curious.”

  Kat locked the door behind her mother and walked quietly into Dashiell’s room. He was sleeping as he always did, with his chewed-up stuffed elephant clutched in his arms and one skinny, pajama-clad foot dangling over the side of the bed. Kat gently lifted his leg and moved it back onto the mattress, then pulled the covers over him. Dashiell instantly rolled over on top of the blanket. Kat attempted to pull the blanket out from under him, but Dash threw up one arm in unconscious complaint, and she stopped, hearing the ghost of Logan’s voice: Leave him alone, you’re going to wake him up. Kat sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

  She wondered if having a father leave was harder on a son than it was on a daughter. She suspected that it might be, particularly for a boy who was academically gifted but socially immature, like Dash. Little boys had a different culture from little girls, and there were some lessons that were easier to learn from a parent of the same sex.

  Well, they would just have to make do. Leaning down to kiss her son on his forehead, Kat whispered, “It’s going to work out.
”

  Going back to the living room to turn off the lights, Kat saw that her mother had left some work on the couch. Recognizing the author’s name, Kat sat down and flipped through the beginning of The Passionate Imposter, searching for the heroine’s first encounter with the hero: “Her first thought was that he had the coldest eyes she’d ever seen.”

  Move this intro up a bit, her mother had written in red pen along the margin. Nobody wants to wait two chapters to meet the hero.

  Kat swung her feet up on the couch and settled down to enjoy the sexual attention of a dangerous man in perfect safety and comfort.

  chapter three

  m agnus Grimmson had made sure to arrive fifteen minutes early for his first class in advanced English at the Persky Business and Traveler’s Language Institute. At six feet four, he’d felt he would be more unobtrusive if he were already seated when the rest of the students arrived. He’d also wanted to claim the strategic advantage of a corner seat.

  The first student to arrive after him was a beautiful Japanese woman with long black hair that nearly reached her waist. She was wearing a bright green Izod shirt and white Capri pants, and she was still young enough that her face didn’t reveal anything much about her. When she spotted Magnus, she gave a startled gasp, then sat herself down as far away as possible, smiling and apologizing but making no eye contact. Magnus couldn’t tell if hers was the kind of shyness that came from insecurity or cautiousness or from a quiet, deep-seated conviction of superiority.

  Of course, she could also be having a reaction to being alone with a strange man. So hard to tell what was personal and what was cultural. Which was the point of this class, actually. According to the Persky catalog, “The Advanced American English Communication Skills course provides instruction in the idiomatic phrases, subtle social cues, and unwritten rules that underpin most social and business interactions.”