What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  Sam heard the front door latch close and set her glass of wine onto the nightstand. She stood, realizing the full effects of several glasses of wine, and quickly lit the candles on all her dressers as his shuffle of footsteps slowly came up the stairs. She caught her reflection in the mirror and turned away before she lost her nerve, then adjusted her cleavage in the silk corset, and the garter belts and stockings. She untied the frothy fat-concealing lace overcoat as she positioned herself into a flattering stance and waited.

  “Johnny,” she called out in a sultry whisper. “Johnny.”

  Jonathan stepped into the doorway, his body silhouetted by the hall light.

  “I have a surprise for you.” She grabbed his arm but he pulled back, causing her to trip.

  “I’m exhausted,” he said, turning toward the door.

  “Johnny,” she whispered as she ran her fingers over his shoulders. “Come here,” she said softly, kissing his neck and inhaling the masculine scent of scotch and cigars. “I want to give you a treat.” She rubbed his crotch and started to undo his belt.

  He pushed her hand away. “Not tonight, Ellen.”

  “You’ll love this, come on … I know you’ll enjoy it.” She tried to undo his belt again. She could feel a bit of a response. “See … someone wants to play.”

  “Ellen, this isn’t appropriate.” He pulled away. Sam fell backward, landing on her wrist.

  She looked up at him. “Appropriate? You always loved it when I did that. Is it because now I’m old? Is that it?” she cried out, rubbing her sore wrist.

  “No. Now, come on,” he said and reached to help her to her feet. “Be sensible.”

  As he grasped her hand, she pulled him down. “Make love to me. Give it to me, like you used to.” He leaned against her and kissed her. “I want you … I need you,” she whispered and pulled him closer, kissing his neck, his chest, her hands frantically unbuttoning his shirt.

  He grabbed her hands and held them. “I can’t,” he said, releasing his grip. “I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t. What do you mean, you can’t?” Sam yelled, hitting his chest with her fists. “You don’t want to—”

  “No. I can’t. You know my … my problem.”

  “Problem? What problem?” Sam stopped hitting him and glared.

  “My, well, I can’t … you know.” He looked sheepish as he struggled to his feet.

  “Like hell you can’t, I know you can—you liar.”

  He stood and fastened his belt. “Ellen, this is just like you. You have no understanding.”

  “I understand all right. Oh, I understand just fine. It’s my body, isn’t it?” Tears welled in her eyes, her fortress of confidence collapsing, as pent-up tears escaped. “It turns you off, doesn’t it? Admit it.” Sam couldn’t stop the tears, or her body from trembling as she wiped her cheeks with her hands. “Can’t you see I’m young on the inside? Can’t you look past this wrinkled skin … these saggy boobs and see … see me. I’m in here.” She pointed to her heart. “It’s me.”

  “It’s not that simple …”

  “But it is. You loved me when I had a young body on the outside. Why is this so different? Why can’t you see I’m still the same on the inside? Nothing’s changed, just my skin.”

  “Ellen, I’m sorry, here …” He tried to help her to her feet but she pushed him away.

  “Go away, you heartless—you monster. If I were in a young body, you’d be all over me, begging for it. You’d fuck me anywhere, anytime—but because of this … this damned old body …” Sam cried out, choking, unable to breathe. “You can’t even touch me now. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault I have this crappy old body. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want any of it …”

  “Ellen …” Jonathan reached down to touch her shoulder.

  “Go! Go away!” she screamed, pushing his hand away. “You’re such an asshole. Get out of here!” She picked up her fluffy evening slipper and threw it at him, hitting his chest. “Leave me alone … don’t ever touch me,” she pleaded, collapsing onto the floor. “Just … leave me,” she whispered, knowing in her injured heart that it was the last thing she wanted him to do.

  ***

  As Ellen opened the next box lid, she knew what she would find: more unpaid bills. They seemed to be everywhere. She found parking tickets, months overdue, and all unpaid. No wonder Sam didn’t drive anymore. The only reason she had a phone was because it was in Sienna’s name. Morty was right, this was serious debt. Ellen put the piles on the bed as she went through every drawer, pocket and box in the room. She found them stuffed under the bed, in magazine piles, everywhere. The amount owing pile seemed to grow while the paid pile remained thin.

  Sienna rapped on the door. “Hey, you …” Sienna slouched against the doorframe, holding her lighter. “Cleaning again? What gives?”

  “I can’t live like this. Not only am I stuck in this disgusting apartment filled with weirdoes, in a horrible neighborhood, and in a job I can’t stand; now I have to put up with this?”

  “Yah, well some of us don’t get the choice, princess. Some of us are also trying to make it, in case you decide to get off that new pedestal you’re on. Oh, hey …” Sienna tossed a small pink case onto the bed. “I found your missing diaphragm.”

  Ellen glanced up at Sienna. “Mine?”

  “Relax, it’s not like I used it or anything. You left it in my evening purse.”

  Ellen opened the pink case and stared at the contents, trying to imagine using someone’s … “Yuck.” She made a face and set it on the nightstand to deal with later.

  “Hey, sorry.” Sienna entered the bedroom and picked up some of the papers on the bed. “Do you have any idea how much debt I have?”

  “More than me, I bet!” Sienna laughed until she realized Ellen was serious. “Really? That bad?” Sienna leaned against the desk, tossing the papers back onto the bed.

  “Yes. Too much.”

  “So declare bankruptcy,” Sienna said, lighting her cigarette.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ellen stared at Sienna, uncertain how to take her remark.

  Sienna shrugged. “You already got bad credit, nothing to lose.”

  “That’s exactly why I have bad credit. Look at this …” Ellen held up a stack of bills and shook it. “How could this go on for so long and never get taken care of?”

  Sienna exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed, tapping her ashes in the ashtray. “Isn’t Johnny going to help? When you get married, sorta wipe it all away?”

  “That’s not for a while; in the meantime, I need money. I can’t live like this. Look at this—I owe more than I make in a year.” Ellen faced the stack and frowned. “No—two years.”

  “Ouch! That much?” Sienna entered the room and sat, resting her cigarette in the ashtray.

  “Even if I just make the interest payments, I have nothing left over. How can anyone live like this? What if there’s an emergency?”

  Sienna picked up some of the bills. “That’s why you have Johnny.”

  “I should have a nest egg. I need more money. I can’t keep borrowing from you or Rory.”

  “So get a job at night, like at a store or bar.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Or sell some of your photos. My friend Steve has a booth at the art market by the museum, you could—”

  “That trash?” Ellen laughed pointing under the bed. “Who would ever buy that garbage?”

  “Maybe make jewelry or something. My friend at the bar sells bracelets at the market.”

  “I do have good taste and I used to be a bit of a designer—”

  “How much to get started?” Sienna retrieved her burning cigarette.

  “That’s the problem, it takes money to make money. I keep thinking I’ll discover a bank account with some money—so far, all I’ve found are those.” Ellen stood and picked up a handful of the bills. “This is how you ruin your future.” She tossed the bills into the air.

  “But all that spending
got you Johnny. If you didn’t look so hot, would he have noticed you?” Sienna reached down to pick up the bills, her cigarette dropping ashes everywhere. “Be honest, it takes money to get money, you said so yourself. It was an investment for your future.”

  “Some future, all of this debt.” Ellen sat down brushing the ashes off the bed.

  “When Johnny dumps his boring old wife and you move into that big house, you won’t even remember any of this.”

  Ellen set the bills down. “I would be in my house again … with my kids.”

  “Kids? You want kids? I thought Johnny insisted, no babies.”

  “Er … no … I was just daydreaming.” Ellen shook her head, changing the subject. “I wonder how long I’ll stay like this. I could become his wife again and start over. Everything would be as it was—better—yes, much better this time …” Ellen’s voice trailed.

  “That’s the spirit,” Sienna said, as she patted Ellen’s back. “And be able to buy whatever you want, don’t forget that.”

  “Yes,” Ellen agreed as she stuffed all the bills into a box. “I can’t wait.”

  Sienna got up and walked to the door. She turned and stubbed out her cigarette. “You are a lucky girl. You snagged a real winner.”

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Ellen laughed. Twice in fact.

  “Just make sure he leaves that wife. Don’t let him stall too long. I know some girls who thought they were in, then suddenly, out of nowhere, he wants to stay, rekindle the old flame.”

  Ellen lay back against the pillows. “I could see her try. I would. I would try anything.”

  “Then get busy, girl!” Sienna demanded, rapping her lighter against the doorframe.

  Ellen sat up. “Right!” She threw some bills off the bed. “Who cares about all this?” Sienna laughed as the phone rang. She answered. “It’s your mom,” Sienna said, raising her eyebrows as she handed the phone to Ellen.

  “My mother? But she’s—oh, my mom … yes.” Ellen grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

  “Sammy, how yah been?” A coarse voice called out. “I need some cash … again.”

  Ellen rolled her eyes at the thought of lending any money to anyone. She should be the one asking. “I don’t think I—”

  “Come on, you got that fancy job and that fancy boyfriend—”

  “But I also have financial problems—”

  “Sammy, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency … it really is this time.”

  “How much?” Ellen hoped her mother’s idea of an emergency was small.

  “Just a few thousand is all.”

  “A few thousand? For what?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “You want money and you don’t want me to ask?”

  “I need a bit of surgery.” Ellen could hear sobs at the other end. “You’re all I got. Bob’s in jail again. I don’t know where else to turn. I’m counting on you. This time … I really need it.”

  Ellen looked at the stack of bills. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Well, shitty. I got my lungs so clogged … I can’t breathe no more. They say it’s emphysema, makes me so damn tired. And I haven’t been sleeping lately—hurts everywhere.”

  Ellen lay back as Mom went into a detailed list of ailments. There are people who enjoy suffering, and as the call dragged on, Ellen realized Mrs. Miller was definitely one of them.

  “I should go now.” Ellen tried to end the call for the fourth time.

  “I got the parcel.”

  “Parcel? What parcel?”

  “The stuff. You know—good stuff, too.” Mom sounded pleased. “Benny said it was the best he’d had in ages.”

  “What stuff?” Ellen was curious. And who is this Benny?

  “My … habit. You know, the goodies. Hell, I sure need ‘em now. Send more anytime.”

  “Sure.” Ellen glanced toward the clock, eager to get off the phone. “Well … take care.”

  Ellen lay back on the bed and wondered about this bizarre mother of Sam’s. She thought back to the private investigator’s report. Drugs. Her mother had drug charges and was a former dancer. Benny was the brother … also with a drug record and more serious charges. Everything was clearer now.

  One of the piles of bills slid off the bed and spread all over the floor. Ellen was about to pick it up when she noticed a bank account with large cash withdrawals; not an account, but a line of credit—from a different bank. She grabbed the other monthly statements … every month, big cash withdrawals. She remembered Morty’s insinuation about the hidden debt—the appliance purchases and loans. No wonder Samantha Miller was willing to do anything for Jonathan to get away from this disaster of a mother and all this debt. Who wouldn’t try hard to escape? Ellen knew she sure would.

  ***

  Several days later, Ellen sat staring at the group of friends surrounding her at the table, as each these friends fought to interrupt each other. No one was listening to anyone; instead, they created a symphony of clatter about nothing.

  “So then, we like, crossed the line and he said …” Clatter. Clatter.

  “And I told him, don’t you ever …” Clatter, clatter, clatter.

  “And I said no way so …” Clatter. Clatter.

  Ellen thought of Brianna, who was barely older than these girls. Ellen contrasted Brianna at this age. She was intelligent and charming, yet to Ellen, she had been immature and irrational. They had fought over everything. Ellen wanted her to be a lady, to be elegant and graceful, while Brianna fought to be rugged and casual, a natural girl.

  Yet compared to these immature brats, she was more than Ellen ever realized. Ellen thought back to the last time she saw Brianna and the horrible scene at the hospital. What pain she must be going through now, and no one to help her with any of it. Ellen wondered how she was dealing with her new mother. Samantha wasn’t capable of helping anyone, especially her children. Or could she? A pang of jealousy shot through Ellen, and before she realized, tears formed in the corner of her eyes.

  “Hey, Sam, you okay?” one of the girls asked.

  “Oh, yes. Sorry,” Ellen said, dabbing the wetness with her napkin.

  “Is it Johnny?”

  “No, no. I just got bad news from home. My mother’s very sick,” Ellen lied.

  “That sucks.”

  “My friend’s mom got shingles, God, talk about harsh—”

  “Harsh. That’s like a VD or something. So anyway, like I told him, no way …”

  The clatter returned to gossip and themselves. Ellen realized how much she missed Patty, how good a friend she had been all these years. Compared to these scatterbrains, there was no contest. She sat silently blocking the babble, wondering how she could find new friends—friends with at least something in common. Perhaps at the church she found nearby.

  Ellen missed so many aspects of her life. All the interesting and important friends, all the charity events that benefited others less fortunate. Instead, here she sat in a coffee shop, surrounded by slackers and latte divas, too consumed with their meaningless lives to even hold an interesting discussion. While the noise of the shallow conversations droned on, Ellen started a mental list of all the places she could go, the ones she could afford, where she could sit and not have to endure these pathetic youngsters. She visualized being back in her home, back at the parties and opening nights. Ellen knew that her only hope was with Jonathan and she would do anything to win him; except this time, she had the upper hand. Yes, this time she would win.

  As she ignored the girls, Rory walked in with a pretty girl and headed toward the counter. He had a black portfolio case in his hand and they sat down at a table and joined two other men. The men were looking through the portfolio and Rory and the girl were talking. She laughed often, a sort of a playful, giggly sound. When he finally glanced up, he caught Ellen watching them and waved her over but Ellen quickly turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him approach her table and felt a raw nervousness when he stood
next to her.

  “Hey, Sam.” His eyes met hers as he spoke. “How are you?”

  “I see you have interesting company.”

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “And I see that you don’t.”

  Ellen glanced toward the girls at her table and smiled, rolling her eyes as she turned away from the group and faced Rory.

  Rory looked down at her and grinned. “So what are you up to—besides wasting your time away, waiting for lover boy?”

  “I’ll have you know I’ve been quite busy. I’m starting a jewelry line and selling it at the Sunday market. It’s just a trial run, with more to sell in a couple of weeks. I desperately need …” her voice reduced to a whisper, “money.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Ellen pointed to his black case. “Is that your work?”

  “Yes,” he stated, with pride in his voice. “Come see. I have most of my newest pieces.” He grabbed Ellen’s arm and pulled her, coaxing her to her feet.

  She stood and excused herself from the table. “I’ve wondered what your paintings were like. Nothing like your sloppy paint clothes, I hope.”

  “I think you owe me for the rescue.”

  “Rescue?”

  “From boredom. Come on Sam, I know that look. You were bored out of your skull and you needed me to save you.” He nudged her side with his elbow. “Admit it.” Ellen felt a shiver as he touched her.

  “You sound like a child. What do you want?”

  “For you to come to my gallery opening. I know you said no contact, but this is a big deal. I’d like you to be there.”

  “Where?” Ellen loved the thought of attending an opening, of sipping wine, staring at art and talking to a gallery full of interesting people. She hadn’t done anything fun like that in a long time. She and Jonathan used to go to Soho all the time, many years ago.

  “Here.”

  “Here?” Ellen let out a laugh. “In a coffee shop? You can’t be serious. No one holds openings in a coffee shop; what’s next, a donut shop?”