Heights of Desire

by Mara White

  The sounds of Jaylee’s grandmother and mother preparing food in the kitchen wake me. Their voices rising and falling in Spanish are comforting, they remind me of trips to the Caribbean and moments of leisure, unlike the excruciating high stress of last night and today and most likely every minute of my foreseeable future until I’m able to close this chapter of my life. Janet and Gladys are discussing whether or not they think Jaylee was picked up by the police last night. His grandmother, Gladys, suggests lighting a candle in the church for him while his mother prefers the more proactive method of calling his friends to inquire exactly what went down while we all slept. I wonder if they know I’m here. I push myself up on an elbow to get a better look at my surroundings. What I’m really looking for is any evidence that Jaylee came home last night.

  I’m embarrassed to just walk into the kitchen and present myself to these women who likely think I’m out of my mind. I’m so angry at Jaylee for not being here. My anger seems compounded by the fact that it’s the same reason I’m always angry at Robert, he fails me by not being there when I need him. How could Jaylee leave me alone on the night that Robert kicks me out of my own home? I don’t care about his street life or his stupid petty drug deals, and, after last night, I realize that he gives them priority over me. I have to find him. I need to tell him to his face that I’ve chosen my family, that it’s over between us.

  Janet and Gladys are gracious and generous. They fall over one another trying to overcompensate for my humiliation, for Jaylee’s conspicuous absence and even possibly, for Janinie’s callousness. Grandma pushes a steaming mug of café con leche into my hands and runs an arthritic finger affectionately along my cheek. Next a warm plate of mangú, mashed green plantains, and eggs is in front of me making me assume my presence in the house was obvious. I can barely eat but I choke down breakfast and the coffee appreciatively and ask for water. Grandma tells me not to worry, that Jaylee is strong, he has a good head on his shoulders, that he’ll surprise us, walking through the door any minute now. Janet is more reserved and skeptical. Her husband has yet to come back through the door. She seems to know that success on the streets is as random as failure. How can she let her son make the same mistakes as his father? Is she so powerless that she can’t influence him? Is he really the one calling all the shots in this family?

  I thank them for the coffee and the food and abscond to the bathroom. I change into the clean underwear from my purse and brush my teeth with toothpaste I find in the medicine cabinet. I decide against washing my face since my mascara is already smeared. My blue eyes are bloodshot and my wavy hair is a mess. I secure it into a bun with water from the tap.

  Janine is sleeping sonorously. Her face looks so relaxed in her slumber, all traces of meanness erased. I’m hesitant to wake her, but I remind myself of her openness last night and gently shake her shoulder.

  “Qué?” She growls without opening her eyes.

  “It’s me, Kate. Do you think Jaylee is around the neighborhood? I mean, assuming nothing happened to him?” The last part comes out sounding too casual, as if I’m already used to this possible alternative.

  “Check with Oscar, either the corner of 157th or the playground,” she mutters keeping her eyes squeezed shut.

  “Thanks,” I whisper and feeling suddenly affectionate toward her I lean in and give her a peck on the cheek. She groans disapprovingly and pulls the comforter over her carefully pinned, straightened hair.

  CHAPTER 13

  The car from last night is still parked in front of the building but Oscar is nowhere to be found. The neighborhood is quiet on a Sunday morning and the festivities of Saturday night are visible in the trash spread over the street and gathered up along the curb. Most people do not venture farther than their building stoop to celebrate the weekend in this neighborhood, dragging folding chairs out onto the sidewalk and pumping in the entertainment from whoever has a decent car stereo. The youth gather on the corners, and from what I’ve observed from Jaylee and his friends, corner usage is territorial. These are micro neighborhoods of which people like me are completely ignorant.

  There is no one out on the corner of 157th street. It’s early and likely not long since most of the corner boys made their way home to sleep. I’ve both heard and seen them out past dawn, conversing or arguing loudly, drinking the dregs of whatever liquor is left. My shoulders feel heavy as I imagine Jaylee getting picked up again; this is not the kind of lover I could have ever imagined myself having. But this is the kind of lover I do have, so I resign myself to finding him first and analyzing later. The air is damp and humid but holds a hint of sharpness signaling the arrival of fall. When the weather cools, much of the excitement, or nuisance depending on how you look at it, in the neighborhood cools as well and the action is either taken inside or goes into hibernation until the next summer. The corner leaves no clues save for some broken glass and an overflowing garbage can. Not even the deli is open yet.

  A block out from the playground, I recognize the sound of his shouting voice. When I come within view of the basketball courts, I see he’s engaged in an argument. It looks as if a scuffle has already happened. Jaylee is shirtless and glistening with the sheen of sweat all over his torso. There are maybe eight young men in the group. I don’t remember ever seeing the opponent before. Jaylee leans into him delivering his flow of never ending insults. His chest is pushed forward and the tendons in his neck are visible. As I get closer I can see that he’s taken a hit in the eye and he’s bleeding just under the brow. His face and body are covered with angry red patches where the other man has landed his fists. The opponent bears marks of contact as well and he leans forward, his chest puffed out, mirroring Jaylee. I move toward them as if in a dream. Under normal circumstances, a scene like this would prompt me to cross the street, keep my head down and get out of the way as fast as possible. My life has deteriorated so much in the last 24 hours that I have no qualms about walking straight into the fight.

  The opponent is the first to catch sight of me and he stops yelling and stares openly. Then all eyes are on me and the group goes silent. It must be shocking to them to see someone like me walking squarely into their territory. Jaylee’s reaction is not one of shock, but rather of anger. There is no hint of relief or acquiescence in his glare, just rage, leveled at me. His arm shoots out in my direction while he returns his gaze to the other man.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Kate, NOW!”

  “I can’t. I don’t have anywhere to go,” I say.

  The others are staring, looking slightly amused at this unexpected turn of events. I channel my inner Sarah and try to ease the tension with humor.

  “I’m with him,” I say directing my comment at Jaylee’s adversary, but nodding towards Jaylee.

  “Yeah, I got that,” he says to me with the beginning of a smirk.

  “Can I talk to him?” I ask.

  He doesn’t reply but puts both of his arms behind his head and takes a step back from Jaylee. He is only wearing shorts but he’s covered in sweat too. His hair is pulled back in two flawless French braids. He doesn’t break eye contact with Jaylee but jerks his chin in my direction, his face cracking into a gloating smile.

  Jaylee charges toward me with his impossibly long strides. It reminds me of the day I went back for him on the playground. His intensity is boundlessly attractive to me, even if it’s in the form of anger. I’m vaguely aware that this situation is hazardous and potentially life-threatening on so many levels. I trust that Jaylee won’t hurt me. He grabs me by the back of the neck and pushes me in front of him, marching us straight into the park house’s men’s room. Inside, he lets me go and paces half way across the room before he spins around to face me. He looks furious.

  I feel like a child about to be scolded. I’m also excited. Everything is such a train wreck right now that I have no problem taking things to another level. I’m at a new low that I never thought I’d reach. It’s liberating to me to challenge it to go even lower. I’m finding a st
range freedom in my own debasement and humiliation.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” he spits.

  The electricity between us never abates. He hasn’t slept and he looks like hell. It quickly becomes apparent that he’s high on something. I still trust him inherently even though it seems counterintuitive to do so.

  “I’m taking away your opportunity to ever abandon me again like you did last night. I want to break up with you,” I say.

  I’m both lying and telling the truth. I don’t want to break up with him. I have to. Not just for my family but for me too. These last two days have easily been the worst of my life. It’s almost comforting to experience your absolute bottom, but only if you know you don’t have to stay there. This is what Robert meant when he accused me of ‘playing poor’ I can just walk away from this life, Jaylee can’t.

  Jaylee’s face falls. I’m surprised my announcement has any effect on him at all in the state he’s in. I expected to be told off. He still looks angry but there is a spark of something else.

  “No you’re not!” he growls.

  He flies across the room to me like a demon unleashed. He throws me against the wall like he did the first time we kissed and lays his hot mouth on mine. The kiss, as usual, steals my heart. My body quakes involuntarily in response to his touch. He has me forced back and helplessly pinned against the wall, but his kiss is whisper-soft and loving. He is his usual contradiction of violence and tenderness. I’m not sure what to do with his reaction; I didn’t expect it and definitely didn’t plan for it. His hands release me but not his body. He finds my breasts and my ass and his kiss becomes urgent. My resolve trickles out of me like tears. I hold him to me and bury my face in his chest. I am immaculate in his arms and I don’t ever want to say goodbye. I crave this. I can’t ever get enough of him.

  “You can’t fucking dump me!”

  He looks hysterical. I feel hysterical.

  He unbuttons my shirt and lifts my pencil skirt up around my waist.

  He wants to fuck me now, in a public bathroom, in the middle of a fight. This is my Jaylee. His golden eyes are on fire and he searches my face waiting for me to say that I won’t leave him. He lifts my leg to his hip and pulls my underwear completely off my bent leg and over my shoe. He slides his fingers inside me. It’s immature and dirty but I still want it. His eyes catch mine and I feel like he can see into every corner of my being. I don’t like to even be in public restrooms – let alone get naked in one. The idea should feel repulsive, but with Jaylee, it’s hot. He has the ability to make anything sexy.

  He removes his fingers from inside me leaving me aching for more of him. I can’t stop this once it’s started. It’s too late to turn back now. With his signature lightning quick speed he undoes his fly. His erection is straining against his boxer briefs and his gaze smolders at me under hooded eyes.

  “Hold up,” he says and pulls a handgun from the back of his pants and places it on the sink beside us. His pants slide down to his ankles.

  He releases himself from his underwear and grabs his hardness at the base.

  Jaylee’s got a gun. Am I naive because I’m surprised? Why were they hitting each other when they had more efficient weapons at their disposal? Multiple literary references to guns and penises fly through my head, then penises and swords. I don’t think Jaylee would know any of them.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “A 380,” Jaylee says. The edge in his voice challenges me to ask more. He thinks I’m just supposed to accept it. As if all of my past lovers have had to set down their weapons before they take off their pants. He presses down on my shoulder and I fall to my knees. Does he know how to use it? Are we more, or less safe with that thing? I guess the conversation is over as he grasps the back of my neck and guides my head to his straining cock. I take him in my mouth and he moves me along his rock-solid length.

  I often think of Jaylee residing somewhere between boyhood and manhood. Now that I’ve seen the gun, the boyishness seems more like a personality trait. Jaylee is perhaps more grown up than I am. I know absolutely nothing about his reality, where he’s been, what he’s seen. My eyes wander back to the black gun on the side of the dirty sink. Jaylee pulls my hair and focuses my attention back on him. He slides my hand from his hip around to his ass. He is perfect in so many ways and so imperfect in many, many more.

  My musing stops dead in its tracks when another man walks into the bathroom. I take my mouth off of Jaylee and bow my head to hide my face. Jaylee keeps me kneeling with a tightened grip on my shoulder. I look up at him for guidance and he seems to be engaged in an unspoken exchange with the other man. Adrenaline rushes through my body. I look to his face with pleading eyes; I don’t understand what’s happening.

  “Keep going,” Jaylee says with no hint of compassion in his voice.

  “What’s he going to do?” I am a child to this world, Jaylee’s world.

  “What the fuck you think?” Jaylee says.

  Oh, he’s going to masturbate. Did Jaylee invite him? Is he one of the guys from the fight? Why is Jaylee being so mean?

  “Is he going to touch me?” I ask. I have no experience in bathroom sexual encounters and therefore absolutely no idea what’s expected of me.

  “Yeah, if he wants to get shot in the fucking face.” Jaylee says flatly and urges me to resume pleasuring him, pressing the back of my neck. I suspect his answer is more of a warning for the other man than a response to my question.

  Okay. He’s not allowed to touch me. He’s just going to watch.

  I’ve never had sex with more than one person at a time. I’ve never had someone else in the room, even as a passive voyeur. I can see the man undo his pants and begin to pleasure himself. He is young and Hispanic, handsome, but not as polished as Jaylee. He looks like a thug. I choose to obscure him from my view and try to imagine that it’s just me and Jaylee.

  But no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise, the mood has definitely changed. My arousal is heightened by the other man’s presence. I feel slutty and lascivious and the performer inside me, whom I never knew existed, is more than obliging to put on a show.

  I open my throat and take Jaylee deeper, suppressing my gag reflex. His guiding hand on the back of my head becomes more demanding. Looking down at me he gives no indication that someone else is participating.

  Does it turn him on to have another man watching? His familiarity with it seems way too casual for it to be a coincidental, first time endeavor. If he likes it, how come he’s never brought it up to me before?

  I sense Jaylee stiffen in my mouth and I pull back gently teasing his tip with my tongue. He’s rock hard and his abdominal muscles are flexed in tension. Rivulets of sweat trickle down his sculpted form. I take him back fully into my mouth and he gently cups the back of my head. His other hand searches out my breast and he greedily toys with my aching nipple. I can hear the other man breathing heavily. I assume Jaylee will come in my mouth but when he stiffens again, he withdraws himself completely and I quickly realize that he’s aiming for something more dramatic due to our newfound audience. Jaylee wants a money shot. I oblige tilting my head back and sticking out my tongue, while he rains hot droplets on my mouth and face. I surprise myself by locking eyes with the stranger. This is bold for me. This is the new Kate. The stranger groans and releases. I take Jaylee into my mouth again and gently massage his throbbing length with my tongue.

  Jaylee jerks his head at the stranger signaling the other man to leave us alone. Something about the gesture confirms for me that they do indeed know one another. Maybe they’ve even done this before.

  The water in the first sink, the one with the gun, doesn’t work. The faucet knob has no resistance and it slips around and around in my hand. It’s bad enough to be unshowered and disheveled, but I’d rather not walk around with the evidence of my pornographic debut all over my face. I try the second sink and if offers up a resistant trickle of ice cold water.

  I hear Jayl
ee’s tennis shoes scrape on the cement behind me and I turn around just in time to catch him lash out and throw a serious punch against the cinder block wall. I yell out but it’s too late. His hand makes contact and he recoils in agony.

  “What the fuck, Jaylee?” is my immediate response.

  He shrugs my hand off his shoulder and doubles over cradling his injured hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Kate,” he says. He’s not crying but emotions seem to rack his body.

  “For leaving me last night?”

  Jaylee’s eyes widen in response.

  “No, for what I just made you do. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Made me do?” I repeat. “Jaylee, you didn’t make me do anything. I’m an adult. I do things of my own volition.”

  He looks beside himself and seems afraid to respond.

  “I feel like you’re too much of a lady for shit like that. I shouldn’t have made you do it.”

  I grab his hand and bring him over to the sink with the freezing drizzle. I run his mangled fist under the cold water and pump the soap dispenser with one hand. There are a few drops of industrial pink soap left and I rub it gently into Jaylee’s split knuckles. He winces in pain.

  “Listen,” I say. I have to be careful here. I really do need to break up with him today. “Jaylee, I liked what just happened. I would have made you stop if I didn’t. I like being with you. I think trying new things with you is exciting.”