At Your Beck & Call

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I cringed, knowing that he must have heard her. Worse still, I was jealous. I was horribly, violently jealous that she knew what it was like to have his weight pressing down on her naked body.

  “Oh hell yes,” she said, as we watched him walk away. “He’s got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen, and he definitely knows how to use it. Costs a fortune to fuck him, but it’s totally worth it. I know a couple of other women who use his divine services. You ever want to be fucked to within an inch of your life, let me know.”

  And she laughed.

  “I’d always assumed he was your boyfriend,” I said, quietly. “When you mentioned him, I just thought…”

  “He’s hardly boyfriend material,” she snorted. “Beautiful, yes; amazing in bed, but that’s all. Besides, you’re such a prude, I wasn’t going to tell you I was paying for a professional prostitute.”

  I cringed, but then replied, “I’m not a prude!”

  “Of course you are, Laura. You were married forever.”

  “You could have told me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Jealous?”

  God, yes.

  “Of course not.” I paused. “He seems very … nice.”

  “Hmm,” she said, having lost interest in the conversation.

  “Did you know he paints?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, looking at her watch. “It never came up.”

  I didn’t know what to think.

  I was also shocked to realize that this beautiful, cultured, art loving man was the red hot fuck that she’d been telling me about for years. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe he wasn’t capable, because a blind person could see that he oozed sex appeal and sensuality. But he was just so sweet, too. Well, he’d been sweet to me.

  Sian had never mentioned his name—and it was only now I’d met him that I thought it strange.

  Yes, I was jealous. Horribly jealous. I was assaulted with erotic visions that left me furious and damp. Why her and not me? Hadn’t I offered him enough money? And then I felt sick for thinking that way. Her words had hurt him—any fool could see that. Although not Sian, apparently.

  I’d seen him the next day, and he hadn’t tried to hide the hurt. I saw a man in pain, who didn’t have the strength to keep the mask in place any longer. And I couldn’t blame him when he’d walked away from me. I’d used him—just the way all the other women like Sian had used him.

  I’d been afraid to book another date with him after that, but it was clear that Eloise didn’t have the same reservations, because she invited me to a family dinner—and there he was. His chagrined look when he saw me caused an unpleasant stab of guilt, but then we’d talked. For hours, we’d talked. And I wondered if we could be friends, even as I imagined what it would be like to be his.

  When Eloise told me that he was having his first solo art show in Santa Monica, I’d been intrigued, desperate to see his work. For the first time in a long time, I’d gone stag to an event. But every woman that I’d seen there I kept wondering, Is she one of them? Maybe her? What about that one? Has she slept with him? I was bloated with jealousy and disgusted with myself.

  Thank God he asked to see me again. I was stunned. Almost speechless. The first thing I thought was, Yes! And the second thing I thought was, How much will this cost me?

  I even took my checkbook to the MOCA gallery the next day, in case I’d mistaken his meaning.

  But he kissed me, and I felt such a surge of passion, that I practically humped his leg, right there in front of the gallery crowds. It was so unlike me, it was almost an out of body experience. I wanted him. I’d only slept with two men in my entire life, but I wanted to have sex with Hallen Jansen—a beautiful, brilliant man who’d slept with who knew how many hundreds of women. Which officially made me a fool. A poor, deluded, over-the-hill fool.

  But one taste was not enough.

  And then he asked to see me again.

  It was so hard to believe he wanted me. I continued to carry my checkbook to every date, wondering if and when I’d be given a bill. I’d stopped caring how much it would cost, but still I wondered.

  And then he’d gotten so angry with me, saying I was ashamed of him. I felt sick, because he was right. He was right, but for the wrong reasons. I was ashamed to be seen with him, because he was too lovely, too perfect, and so obviously wrong for me. I felt I should apologize to him every time people gave us a second glance—which they did, and often.

  But as the weeks rushed past, I began to wonder if he was sincere after all, impossible as it seemed.

  I didn’t really believe it until the first time we made love, and he said he didn’t know what to do—because he’d never made love to anyone before.

  Describing that night—those moments—the way his body trembled when I touched him, his eyes were full of hope and despair. And I knew, I knew that he wasn’t lying to me.

  I fell desperately in love with him from that moment, but I never thought it could last. Not for one second. He was a dream—a wonderful, memorable, impossible dream.

  But then cruel reality came crashing down.

  Maggie had confirmed what I’d suspected: that the differences in age and looks made our relationship obscene—disgusting, she’d called it. And I believed her, because deep down I’d always thought the same thing.

  And yet … here he was, crying in my arms because we’d lost our child.

  I felt so ashamed of how I’d treated him, of my own stupid prejudice, for refusing to believe what he’d said over and over again. I believed him now. He loved me. And I loved him. And we were both lost.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and dry.

  “I don’t know. I was scared, I think. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He cleared his throat several times, his voice dropping to a nearly inaudible whisper.

  “What … what went wrong?”

  I sighed. “They don’t really know. Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  His head lowered and I could see tears trapped in his long lashes.

  “I named her Anika for you,” I whispered. “Anika Rose.”

  He closed his eyes, a fresh tear trickling down his cheek. “Anika Rose. Thank you.”

  We sat in silence for several minutes, each adrift in our thoughts.

  “How are you now?” he asked, quietly. “Are you … okay?”

  “I will be. I’m still … sore. They say that will last several weeks.”

  His expression was pained as I forced myself to explain.

  “They’ve given me exercises to do. It’ll be better when I can get around a little more. The kids have been great. Maggie’s moved back in, so she’s here in the evenings and at night. Joe comes to see me every day.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “I could help,” he said, quietly.

  “I’m fine, really. The kids…”

  He interrupted me. “I want to. Please let me help you, Laura. Don’t say no. Please don’t say no.”

  He sounded so tired, so defeated.

  I wanted him with me, but it felt wrong, confining him here. I had nothing left to offer him now—no possibility of a family of his own. But I was selfish, as well, and I’d been without his beautiful face for far too long.

  “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  He smiled, and a little of the pain lifted from my chest.

  “You could come and stay with me,” he said, hesitantly. “Or I could come here?”

  I blinked rapidly. “You mean … move in?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Of course! How else am I going to look after you?” Then he frowned. “Unless you don’t want me like that. Sorry. Sorry…”

  “No, that’s fine. I was just … surprised. Um, I don’t really feel up to leaving the house, so…”

  He smiled unhappily, but with relief.

  “That’s okay. Here—my place. Whatever you need. I’ll just go pick up some of my stuff.”

  He stood and
leaned down to kiss me, his lips lingering on my cheek, soft and warm.

  I felt the love in that gentle kiss.

  Maybe, I thought, maybe we can do this. Maybe we’ll be okay.

  There was a tentative knock, and the door opened slowly.

  “Uh, just thought I’d see if you need a drink or anything, Mom, Hallen?”

  Hallen smiled sadly and kissed the top of my head. Then he looked directly at Joe.

  “Your mom said I could move in temporarily—take care of her while you’re at school. Are you cool with that?”

  I could see the surprise on Joe’s face, but he recovered quickly.

  “It’s Mom’s house—she can do whatever she wants.”

  I felt there was a double meaning in his words, and it made me smile.

  Then Joe said, “But I’ll feel better knowing that she has someone with her the whole time.”

  Hallen held out his hand and Joe shook it solemnly.

  “I’ll be back soon, hjärtat,” he said to me.

  He didn’t stay to translate, and I don’t think he even knew he’d spoken in Swedish but he’d once told me the word meant sweetheart. Joe walked him out, and I heard the soft rumble of their voices before Joe came back to the kitchen.

  “He’s a good guy,” he said.

  “Yes, he is.”

  I looked up at my son, so grown up. “You went to see him?”

  “Yes. Are you mad at me?”

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m glad you went. You were right—I should have told him. He needed to know.”

  “How did it he take it?” His eyes dropped. “Sorry, not my business.”

  I sighed. “He’s devastated.”

  Joe nodded. “Yeah. We all are.”

  I looked up in surprise.

  “She would have been my sister, too,” he said.

  Hallen was back in less than an hour carrying a heavy-looking suitcase and a messenger bag stuffed with sketch pads, oil pastels and pencils. I had no idea how he’d managed to pack so quickly.

  And then I realized we hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements. I didn’t know what he had in mind. Was he coming back to us, or was he just coming back to look after me until I was—for want of another word—better?

  A headache started to build behind my eyes.

  Joe hovered uncertainly, and each of us seemed unsure of our role. Then Hallen dropped his bags and took charge.

  “You look tired, Laura. Maybe you should take a nap? Do you need your pain meds? I’ll bring them to you. Did the doctor say you should take them with food? You probably should.”

  Joe smiled at me over Hallen’s shoulder, then waved and left quietly.

  I don’t think Hallen even noticed that he’d gone.

  He led me into the living room, plumping up the cushions on the sofa and shaking out the blanket that was folded on the coffee table.

  I stretched out painfully and he sat next to me gingerly, holding my hand and looking at me with me such love and concern that my unhappy heart began to beat again.

  “How was the exhibition?” I asked, after a few moments of silence.

  “Oh. Good,” he said, shortly.

  I looked at him in surprise.

  He shrugged. “Everything sold. The reviews were … positive.”

  “That’s great, Hallen! I’m so proud of you.”

  He grimaced and stood abruptly. “I’ll go make you a sandwich. And tea. Herbal tea is good.”

  He strode away and I wondered what I’d said to upset him. Because I’d said I was proud of him? That must have sounded incredibly condescending, maybe even false, bearing in mind how and why we’d broken up.

  But when he returned a few minutes later with ham and cheese sandwiches for each of us, and a chamomile tea for me, he seemed to have regained his equilibrium.

  We chatted about neutral topics for a while, and then the painkillers began to take effect and I felt sleepy but too tired to move.

  My eyes flew open when I felt my body leaving the sofa. Hallen scooped me into his arms and began to carry me up the stairs.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I began.

  “I want to,” he said.

  “The doctor says it’s important for me to walk…”

  I wished I could have bitten off my tongue.

  “Oh, of course,” he said softly, placing me carefully on my feet. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No … that was nice,” I laughed, uncomfortably. “Romantic, really.”

  Oh God, I was making things worse.

  He smiled tiredly. “You’re a terrible liar, Laura.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I was surprised when he followed me into my bedroom, turning down the bed covers and drawing the blinds.

  Then he kicked off his shoes and settled back on the bed looking up at me expectantly.

  “I didn’t sleep much last night,” he said, quietly. I fidgeted nervously, and he sat up, frowning. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No, sorry. This is … strange. Nice, but strange.”

  I lay down, moving carefully. My abdominal muscles protested and I had to hold back a whimper. Hallen hovered restlessly, trying to work out how to help me without hurting me. When I finally got myself situated, he pulled the covers over me. A warm feeling filled my body as his face relaxed and some of the tension fell away.

  He scooted down next to me on top of the covers and rolled onto his side toward me. I could feel his eyes on my face, aware that my hair was limp and lifeless, and I wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup.

  I closed my eyes but inclined my head in his direction and felt his warm breath on my skin.

  “Rest now,” he whispered, and then I felt his lips brush against my cheek.

  I woke when I heard voices outside my room. The space next to me was still warm and I wondered how long I’d been asleep. The door was ajar and although they talked in low tones, I could hear every word.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your brother came to see me. I’m here to help your mom, that’s all.”

  “So … what? You’re moving in? Just like that?”

  “You can’t be here all the time—you have classes. I can take up the slack.”

  “Your freakin’ suitcase is in the hall!”

  There was an edge to his voice when he spoke again. “I’m here to help Laura for as long as she wants me. That’s all that matters.”

  There was a pause before Maggie replied. “I want to talk to Mom.”

  “She’s sleeping right now.”

  “Don’t you dare try to keep me from my own mother!”

  His voice was harsher now. “I’m not trying to keep you from her—she needs to rest. She’ll wake up in her own good time.”

  “I’m going to call Joe!”

  “Go ahead.”

  Great. Hallen and Maggie were fighting already.

  I decided against getting up—it seemed like too much effort. I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.

  When I woke up again, the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was his face. He was sitting in a chair next to my bed, a sketchpad balanced on his knee. I had an uneasy feeling that he’d been drawing me again.

  “Hey, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?”

  I stretched tentatively. “Okay. Not too bad. What time is it?”

  He smiled and tossed the sketchpad under his chair. “Nearly five.” Then he reached out to take my hand, playing with my fingers. “Maggie’s here,” he said, quietly. “Should I tell her you’re awake?”

  “Sure. I’ll be down in a few minutes. I’ve just got to … freshen up.”

  “You need me to help you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine, thanks.” No way was I having him help me pee!

  It took me several minutes to make my way to the bathroom and then cope with the stairs.

  From what I could hear, it sounded like round two was taking place in the kitchen.

  “I don’t see why you have to
be here at night! I’m here—she doesn’t need both of us.”

  His reply was quiet and I couldn’t make out the words, but his tone was of restrained irritation.

  “I think it’s horrible that you’re wheedling your way back in after everything you’ve put her through. I can’t believe Joe says I should…”

  Maggie bit off the end of the sentence as I walked through the door.

  Hallen was standing stiffly by the window, his arms crossed and his face tight with anger.

  “Hey, Mom!” said Maggie, throwing her arms around my neck and then pulling out a chair for me, patently ignoring Hallen. “I got us salmon blinis for dinner.” She threw a burning look at Hallen. “I didn’t know you had a visitor. But I’m here now so he doesn’t need to stay.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Hallen’s going to be here for a while and help take care of me. And it’ll give you two a chance to get to know each other.”

  Maggie looked furious, but swallowed her annoyance with cloying sweetness.

  “Sure, Mom. Whatever you need. We can talk about this later.”

  Some of the tightness left Hallen’s face, but I could tell he was upset. I held out my hand to him and he forced a smile, walking toward me and taking a seat at the table.

  Maggie handed me a cup of tea, then, at my request, fussed around the kitchen, grudgingly setting a cup of coffee in front of Hallen, who murmured his thanks.

  “So, what have you two been doing today while I’ve been sleeping?” I asked, my voice too bright.

  Maggie entertained us—well, me—with an account of her classes and professors, and what her friends Jinny and Carla said, as well as the fact that they both wanted to come say hi on the weekend.

  Hallen was silent, drinking his coffee, his blue eyes fixed on me.

  “What did you do?” I asked him, when Maggie finally ran out of her daily dose of gossip.

  He shrugged, smiling slightly. “I watched you.”

  “Ugh, creep much?” snorted Maggie.

  “That’s enough!” I clipped out. “Apologize to Hallen!”

  There was a tense silence before she muttered, “Sorry.”

  “Sure,” he said, without much enthusiasm.

  The evening passed without further incident. Maggie and I watched some TV while Hallen caught up with messages and sent emails from his laptop.