"I noticed," she answered, trying to match his tone, and instantly regretted it as he quickly looked away, embarrassed.
The night clerk didn't seem fazed when Alexa wanted a room at four in the morning. She'd filled out the paperwork and he was about to hand her the keys to the room when she stopped him and asked almost shyly, "Do you have... a honeymoon suite?" The clerk grinned broadly, reached under the counter, pulled out the keys to a different room and handed them to her, saying, "Whirlpool. Water bed. Would you like champagne? On the house. . ." Alexa turned toward the front door and Adam's van, wondering if he liked champagne as much as he did beer, and watched him throw their bags to the sidewalk, then slam shut the van door, hitting it for good measure. She turned back to the clerk with a sigh.
"No, no champagne. And maybe you'd better give me those other keys, too."
It wasn't until she'd dropped her bags inside the door and sat on the decidedly not water bed to remove her shoes that she realized she'd given Adam the wrong room. She hoped he'd enjoy the whirlpool. Right at the moment, she wanted nothing more than a good hot shower.
Later, clean and snug in a terry cloth robe, Alexa combed her long, sleek hair in a mirror and thought about her promise to Joe that she'd write. She could see her first letter now. "Dear Joe, we've only been gone a day and already I've disappointed him. I think he hates me now. Please come get me...." She stared at herself in the mirror—trying to see what it was Adam saw. All she could see were the telltale marks of the battle her body was waging with itself, the wrinkles, the stress and fatigue, and worst of all the scars from the tests and the treatments. She knew what Joe's response would be, what Joe's response always was: "There's nothing between two human beings that can't be resolved by talking things out." She thought about it and decided, fine, she'd apologize to him. And then she'd explain that she wasn't who he thought she was, that she couldn't be that person. She wasn't perfect... and she certainly wasn't beautiful. And if he hated her, she knew the way back to Joe's.
When Alexa knocked on the door of Adam's room and got no response, she let herself in with the second key. She was determined to say what she'd come to say, and if Adam was asleep, she'd damn well wake him up to hear it.
But Adam wasn't sleeping.
She found him in the tub, up to the waist in dirty water, trying in vain to get the mud from his hair, looking tired and vulnerable and more than a little bit... lost. Her stern resolve melted at the sight. "I guess I got the one with the shower," she said.
"Alexa." She couldn't miss the way his face lit when he saw her. It seemed his whole body changed, like the weight of a thousand years had been lifted from his shoulders. She moved to him.
"Cleaner water might help," she suggested, unstopping the drain to allow the muddy water to run out. She busied herself gathering soap and towels and shampoo as the water ran low around him and then was replaced by water that was clean and hot.
She started with his head, lathering the short bristly hair on top, massaging deep into the scalp until she could feel him begin to relax. Then, cupping her hands, she scooped up water to rinse and poured it over his head like a baptism, again and again and again, until finally the water ran clear. She breathed in the fresh, clean scent of his hair, her chest rising and falling against the terry cloth robe, as she traced the outline of his ears with a soapy wash cloth. Such wonderful ears, and she explored every wrinkle and fold with her cloth.
"Alexa..." Adam said, his voice huskier now. She placed a finger over his lips, quietly shushing him, and began washing his face, bathing him like a baby, tiny, circular motions above his brows, beneath his eyes, across his cheeks. She could feel the blood pulsing in his temples. Then down the nose—a very nice nose, a splendid nose— and across his lips. She wanted so badly to linger there, to kiss those lips, to finally taste Adam for the first time, but she continued on. Down the chin and under, small tentative swirling motions of terry and lather. She heard his breath catch and felt his entire body stiffen as she reached a sensitive area around his throat, and then he relaxed, as if giving himself over to her touch.
She dug the washcloth hard into the muscles of his shoulders. His bulky sweaters and baggy coats had hidden a finely muscled torso, an athlete's body, or a dancer's body. So many things to learn, so much to discover. She could feel his breath slow and deepen as her fingers moved across his chest leaving soapy trails. She rinsed it carefully and laid her head against it as she reached for his arm. His other hand came up to clutch her head closer to him and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling until she thought he'd burst and exhaling with a sigh as she continued down his arm with her ritual cleansing. Each finger she washed individually, lingering on the sensitive webbing between them. She fought back the urge to take a finger in her mouth to suckle.
She stopped in surprise when she encountered the tattoo on his wrist. "I didn't realize you had this much of a past," she murmured. The words came out breathier than she'd intended.
"You have no idea," he responded, gently. She followed the outline of the tattooed circle with a corner of the washcloth. It fascinated her, its very existence hinting of the secrets she longed to know about her mysterious Adam. Impulsively, she kissed the mark that spoiled the perfection of his body and heard him gasp as she traced the winged symbol with her tongue. He reached out for her then, pulling her into the tub with him.
They kissed. A deep, soul-exploring kiss. A kiss that seemed to lock them together for eternity. He was at once gentle and savage, aggressor and supplicant. And when he finally released her from the kiss, she knew her world had changed forever.
He rose from the tub and scooped her up in his deceptively muscled arms like an infant, soggy robe and all, as she gazed into his bottomless eyes with amazement. He carried her to the waterbed of her honeymoon suite and lay her gently upon it, staring at her with wonder as well. She saw him fully at his most vulnerable—Adam/Adonis indeed.
Kneeling beside her, he reached for her robe and she tingled as he pulled it off her shoulders, pushed it away from her breasts. But she stopped his hand as he moved to untie the sash. "Adam, no..." she begged, "please..." She turned away slightly.
As if he hadn't heard her, he continued to carefully untie the sash, removing the robe from her abdomen. Placing an arm around her waist, he bent and began gently kissing her scars. Slowly, he moved up her body, kissing the tender spot between her breasts, the base of her neck, her throat, her lips, her nose, and finally her forehead. She was crying as he said, "You are the most beautiful woman in the entire world, Alexa, and nothing will ever take that away from you."
Tears streaming from her eyes, she reached out for Adam and pulled him onto the bed beside her. Maybe tomorrow they would see the Grand Canyon. For the rest of tonight, they had other wonders of nature to explore.
Postcards From Alexa
World Enough and Time III
by Gillian Horvath
Alexa's sodden robe clung to her, tangling around her as he laid her gently on the bed. Her skin was flushed delicate pink from her hairline to where the tops of her breasts were revealed by the folds of the robe. He leaned down to kiss her throat at the join of neck and collarbone, his other hand going to part the robe tentatively, afraid it was too soon but unable to resist. She didn't shy away; she arched toward him with a tiny moan of pleasure as his mouth moved across the line of her breasts. He moved his hand downward, pushing the robe aside, and felt her freeze beneath his touch as his hand brushed lower on her stomach.
"Adam, no... please." It was a plea, a sob, and he froze in place, horrified by the reaction he'd provoked. He started to back away and then he saw it, the tracery of puckered red lines and chalky white patches, the scars that had made her try to turn from him. Medicine had come so far, he knew, and yet the marks left here by oncologists and chemotherapists looked to him no better than the burns and bleeding scars left by shamans and charlatans of earlier times. They had kept Alexa alive, but at what price? She was afraid to look a
t her own body, afraid to share it with the man who loved her.
He couldn't let her see the anger that filled him. She'd think it was directed at her. She'd never believe there was a man who could see past what was happening to her. And from what he'd seen of the world, he couldn't blame her. Men of his apparent age of barely 30 who would have known her for what she was, loved her for as long as she had, were few and far between.
Then he saw the resignation in her eyes, the slight turning away, her hands moving to pull the robe back together. He didn't let her do it. He kept his hand on her abdomen, keeping her in place. She was so tiny that his oversized hand all but covered her from hip to hip. Wordlessly, as softly as he could, he ran a finger along the crescent curve of a neat ridge of scar tissue that traced the lower edge of her belly, just above where the silken blonde triangle disappeared under the folds of the robe, and felt her shiver in fear and pleasure. He leaned in to kiss just above his hand, running a line of kisses up her body, between her breasts, as slowly as he could bear to. He stopped when he reached her face, raised himself up to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her fists clenched hard at her sides. So filled with rage and sorrow, she couldn't make room for joy.
He was good at being what people wanted him to be, at telling them what they wanted to hear. It had kept him alive more than once. He wanted to do it for Alexa now, to say whatever it would take to soothe away her pain and sadness, to restore her for just one moment to the woman she had been a year ago, before she had known how mortal she was. But he didn't know what to say, wasn't sure there was anything good enough, cute enough, wise enough, to heal her. So he just said what he was thinking:
"Alexa... You are the most beautiful woman in the world. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Nothing will change that. Nothing."
He heard the sob that broke his voice and cursed himself for it, for not having the strength to hide it from her. But she reached for him then, tangling her hands in his hair, pulling him down onto her with a fervor that surprised him. This time, when his hand slipped between them to push the robe aside, she did not resist.
Postcards From Alexa
Natural Wonders
by Donna Lettow
"Closed? What do they mean, closed?" Adam was indignant. "How do you close a very large hole in the ground?" Two cars ahead of the VW, the Arizona State Police were systematically turning cars away from the main gate to the Grand Canyon.
"Guess we should've been watching the news," Alexa noted. "Looks like the government's closed again." And when they approached the State Trooper blocking the road, the trooper confirmed that the largest natural canyon formation in the world was closed due to governmental shut down. Adam, lowering his voice, leaned out the window and tried to explain to the Trooper about Alexa, about how they were on a bit of a tight deadline. Whether the Trooper believed him or not, there was nothing he could do. He ordered Adam to turn the van around and head back out the access road.
"What is the point of having a government if they're going to shut down? What do they think they are, the fishmonger's?" Adam fumed as they rode back down the highway away from the Canyon. Putting on his best blue-haired pensioner voice: "‘Sorry, luv, tea time, you know. Pop back 'round at five.'"
Alexa laughed until she grimaced. "It's not all that bad," she said. "Maybe they'll be open tomorrow. The Trooper did say that Congress was Working as fast as they can."
"Oh, there's a comfort."
"Let's just go back to Flagstaff and check into the hotel. I've never been to Arizona before, I'm sure there are all kinds of things to see here." He found her optimism invigorating. "And then later, we can have a nice dinner... relax...." She reached across the narrow gap between the driver's and passenger's seats and placed a hand on his knee. "Or not...." She gave what she hoped was her most wanton smile as she drew her hand up along his inner thigh.
She heard him growl slightly as his foot pressed harder on the accelerator and they both laughed.
Just outside of Flagstaff, Adam pulled the VW into the drive of a huge Victorian house. "This is it," he announced as he helped her from the van. "The Crow Canyon Bed & Breakfast."
"Have you been here before?" Alexa asked.
"No, but it comes highly recommended. I've got colleagues in the area." No need to tell her that the last time he'd actually stayed in Flagstaff, he'd been brought there by a Sheriff's posse and was to be hung at dawn. Thank goodness for Sundance.
As Adam removed their bags from the van, a large, matronly woman hustled down the steps of the house, her obviously Native features a bit incongruous with the extremely European architecture. "Greetings, honored mother," Adam said in flawless Hopi as she approached. The woman broke into a huge smile, while Alexa looked at him with astonishment.
"You are most welcome here," the woman answered in the formal tongue of her people, then switched to English. "You must be Adam. Garrett warned me you were a linguist. Mary Crow, pleased to meet you." Mary shook Adam's hand vigorously. "And this must be Alexa. Come on, dear, let's get you inside. You must be exhausted."
Alexa's "No, really, I'm fine," was lost as the innkeeper wrapped a motherly arm around her shoulders and swept her toward the house. Alexa shot Adam an accusatory look, but he could do nothing but shrug his shoulders with a smile and gather up their bags to follow.
As he entered the parlor, he could hear Mary talking as she gave Alexa a tour of the downstairs. "Your Adam went to school with my son Garrett. "
"I didn't realize Adam had gone to school in the U.S." Alexa filed it away with the few other sketchy facts she'd learned about Adam in the past week.
Mary went on with the tour. "Here's the breakfast room. I generally have breakfast on by eight for the guests, but if you kids want to, you know, sleep in, by all means, take your time." Then she explained, "They went to a special school in Geneva, about ten years ago."
"Switzerland? Really?" Adam had told her he had traveled a lot, but it piqued Alexa's interest all the same.
Adam caught up with them in the dining room and broke in quickly. "Only for about a year. It didn't really work out for me. Where should I put these?" He indicated the baggage he was carrying to Mary, exaggerating its heaviness. He knew she didn't know much more about what Garrett Crow did for a living than what she'd already said, but he'd much prefer a different conversation all the same.
"Follow the stairs all the way up. You've got the whole third floor to yourselves. Go on up, it's unlocked. Give you a hand?"
"No, no, that's all right." He started up the stairs. "Why don't you show Alexa the view from the back deck. Garrett tells me it's spectacular."
"But you have the same view from your—" Mary started to call up to him, but Adam cut her off by clearing his throat. "Oh, right... Do you like kittens?" Mary asked Alexa as she led her to the back of the house. "There's a brand new litter under the porch...."
Adam hurried up the stairs with the baggage and opened the door to the third floor suite. Perfect. Everything was just the way he'd requested it. He pulled the drapes closed—he hadn't planned on arriving in the daylight—and went around the room lighting candles that had been strategically placed. Digging through his duffel, he pulled out his CD player and speakers and made a place for them on a dresser, then selected just the right CD. Looking in the mirror, he ran a quick hand through his hair and licked his lips. Everything was ready. Turning on the CD player at a low volume, he left the room and went back down the stairs.
When Alexa and Mary returned from their trip outside, Adam was leaning casually against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. "You were right," Alexa told him excitedly, "I have never seen such a view. The way the light plays on the mountainside—c'mon"—she took his hand—"you need to see this."
A smile played over his lips. "I'm told by a reliable source that the view from upstairs is even better. Care to see it with me?" he asked, reaching down and scooping her up in his arms.
"Adam!" Alexa laughed, "what are you doing? Put me d
own!" She struggled playfully and turned to look toward Mary for help, but the motherly innkeeper simply said, "It is a very nice view," grinned broadly, and walked away as Adam began to carry his precious burden up the stairs.
"Adam, I'rn too heavy for this. You'll hurt yourself." But to Adam she was as soft and light as the newborn kittens under Mary Crow's porch. He silenced her with a gentle kiss. There in his arms he could sense how delicate she was, how fragile, how... mortal. And how much he loved her for that. As he climbed the last flight of stairs, he nuzzled his face against hers and whispered "It's time we finally did this correctly."
Alexa lifted an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we were doing anything incorrectly." They arrived at the door to the suite and Adam realized, a bit awkwardly, he'd have to set her down to get the door open again. He let her feet touch the ground just long enough so he could open the door with his free hand, then he scooped her up again. "What are you doing? I can walk," she protested.
"Carrying you over the threshold, milady," he responded solemnly, and he carried her into the room he had prepared for her.
The scent reached her before her eyes adjusted to the candlelight— the scent of the hundreds of roses that adorned every surface of the room. She looked around in wonder—roses of every hue, long- stemmed in vases, buds woven into wreaths, and gentle, delicate petals strewn an inch thick on the canopied bed upon which he finally set her down. "Adam... I...." She was speechless, struck dumb with wonder. But her eyes said everything Adam had hoped he would hear.
He had planned their marriage bed practically since the first moment he'd seen her, weeks ago in Joe's. Across the bar he could see her surrounded by roses, their perfection echoing the perfection of her skin, their purity the purity of her spirit. And while theirs was not a marriage by modern definition, legalistic and bound by the dictates of governments and modern religions, he sought marriage with Alexa more ancient than any of that—a uniting of their bodies, their minds, and their souls, for as long as they had.
An Evening at Joe's Page 11