by Cj Paul
David shows up just as I’m finishing my last taco, which I think may be number six. He is quieter than usual, and I don’t know what to make of his mood. I expect him to head straight for his room and shut the door, but instead, he grabs two tacos and joins me on the couch. We fall into a comfortable conversation and before I know it, we’re cracking up and carrying on as we did during our first few weeks when he moved in. It is lovely, and I realize how much I’ve missed it. For all of our faults, we get along incredibly well, and I’m thrilled to have this time to re-bond with him.
The next morning, I awake to the heavenly aromas of coffee and bacon. He’s making one of my favorite treats – pancake batter poured over bacon strips on the griddle. ‘Baconcakes,’ ‘pancon,’ we’ve never been able to come up with a suitable word for the brilliant concoction, but a rose by any other name...
The weather has turned much cooler and crisper, and the days have gotten shorter. Perfect time for a fire. I have a stack of cut wood from when some trees had to be removed on the property, and David is a whiz at starting a log fire. We laze the day away, tittering and being generally goofy. After hours spent playing Guitar Hero, I get into something of a huff when I’m not able to play at the level of Jimmy Page.
Neither of us feels like cooking, so when we get hungry at dinnertime, we order half of the menu from the local Chinese delivery restaurant. At the end of the meal, we crack open our fortune cookies.
David reads his first:
All that you desire is already in your possession.
Awkward silence.
I read mine:
Be bold. Take what you want. You cannot loose.
We snicker at the typo, and then inexplicably both fall silent. At once, we both offer to clean up, though there really is nothing to do since we ordered takeout. Stuffed to the gills, we both collapse on the couch, rubbing our protruding bellies and reminiscing about things that give us the giggles. The giggles somehow lead to playing footsies, and our socked feet flirt with one another shamelessly.
I wake up in the dark still on the couch with David, and contorted in some position that is not only painful, but that I fear may have caused some sort of permanent damage. David is somehow contorted to an even smaller space than me, which appears all the more pitiful, considering he is nearly a foot taller than I am.
Half asleep, I stumble into my bedroom, shrug off my fall clothes and get into a tank top and boxers, my preferred sleeping ensemble for the goose-down oasis where I sleep. From the other room, I hear the couch creaking and hope that David is stretching out comfortably. The next morning, I arise with a smile on my face. I can feel it, and it fills me with incredible gratitude to be smiling again after all the weeks of being doom and gloom and teary.
David needs to leave at about 3:00pm to fetch Mom and the menagerie. I hope and pray that her buddies have not stuffed the animals with junk food this time. It made for quite a mess after the fact, when they came back from their last vacation.
We have about seven hours before David needs to leave, and we’d decided the night before that we want to clean the place spic and span for Mom, as well as pick some flowers and veggies from the garden, and do some grocery shopping before she comes home. David is still asleep when I tiptoe into the kitchen to make coffee. Or rather, when I shuffle in wearing my oversized Bugs Bunny slippers for the first time since spring. I am still in my tank top and boxers, and the warm sunlight beaming in through the kitchen windows feels like Mother Nature’s kiss on my skin.
Everything is going marvelously until I hit the wrong light switch, and instead of turning on the dim light over the sink, I’ve flipped on the garbage disposal. I don’t recall the last time I used it, and it immediately starts making strange and disturbing noises. David jumps, now completely wide awake. I apologize and turn it off, but as long as he is up, he wants to know what is going on with the disposal, in case he needs to fix it before picking up Mom.
He tries the disposal for a moment and appears concerned.
“Oh, that’s not good.” He grabs a flashlight to peer down into the unit, but can find nothing foreign rattling around. He then empties the contents of the under sink cupboard, crawls below to tinker with something, and tells me to turn on the faucet. When I do so, a geyser erupts from the sink, and I am instantly drenched with water, looking like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest – one wearing cartoon character slippers. I turn off both the faucet and disposal instantly.
David emerges from beneath the sink, and seeing my bedraggled condition, he proceeds to laugh uncontrollably. In short, I’m soaked. He grabs a clean kitchen towel and starts to blot my shirt and hair. Something sparks and we both freeze. A moment later our mouths embrace with all the pent up passion of the last months and years. Neither of us says a word as we begin to claw at each other’s clothing. In one deft motion, David has tossed off my tank top and is cupping my breast with one hand, and pulling my dripping hair back with the other. His eager pecks begin a trail from my mouth down to my breasts and he kneels before me, kneading my breasts and tonguing my belly. I pull his shirt off and begin running my hands through his soft mop of hair. It feels incredible. Everything he is doing feels incredible.
A moment later, he scoops me up in his arms and takes me to the couch, lying me down and kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before. He reaches to remove my boxers just as I go for the drawstring of his PJ’s. In so doing, we both get in each other’s way, and giggle and kiss all the more in consequence. His fingers easily slide up through the bottom of my boxers, and he finds me desirous and willing. I moan my approval as his fingers toy with me inside and out. Involuntarily, my hips begin to move, and I stroke the outside of his fly, delighted to find him so hard and aroused. He removes his fingers in order to take off my shorts. I am totally naked and incredibly turned on. I want this. Very much.
For a flicker of a moment, I think back to my deep and earnest conversations with Alex about my desire to keep sex within the sanctity of marriage. And here I am, about to do just the opposite. It’s easy to be an idealist when the man you lust after is thousands of miles away. It’s quite another thing when his fingers are preparing you to receive him. I know full well that if I want David, it will have to be on his terms, or not at all. That’s a compromise I’m willing to make. At least I tell myself so, as my loins burn and I lay sprawled before him, as have so many others who’ve fallen for his insurmountable charms.
He stands next to the couch admiring me, and I am grateful he is pleased.
“Damn, Cece. You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says. And in an instant, he has dropped his pajama bottoms, and is towering over me, stroking his erection. Just as he is about to lower himself onto me and into me, the phone rings. It’s Mom’s ringtone, which threatens to ruin the mood. We both stall for a moment, filling the time by caressing one another. It goes to voicemail, but she does not leave a message. When the phone stops, we continue where we left off – his fingers back inside me, and now my hand stroking his throbbing cock. The phone rings again. We both hesitate, waiting for Mom to leave a message. Again, no voicemail. And again, our hands busy themselves with pleasuring one another. The phone rings a third time. We both look at each other and he nods. I answer the phone.
“Hello, is this Claire Eden?”
“Yes?”
“This is Delores Feldman, Head Administrator at Redwood Meadows. I’m calling about your mother.”
“Uh oh, what has she done this time?” I ask, trying to sound playful, but aggravated as heck that Mom would be responsible for thwarting my moment with David.
“My dear. I’m sorry to have to tell you. Your mother has passed.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine“Every warrior hopes a good death will find him.
“When I first heard that quote, while watching the film Legends of the Fall, it immediately resonated with me. Like many people, I have faced a variety of life challenges that threatened to crush me. In fact, I have felt like a warrior most of my adult
life – usually like one of the formidable female characters from Lord of the Rings. The idea of having a ‘good death’ might seem incongruous to some, but to me, it illustrates a life lived to the fullest, even in death.
“Lana Price Eden was a warrior in her own right. Years ago, she battled cancer and won. She dealt with the loss of a child, my sister Erica, who passed at the age of 23. Mom helped my father build a successful investment brokerage during some awful economic times. She was even kidnapped briefly as a young child, by someone who opposed a piece of legislation her father was trying to pass when he was in local government.
“I got the idea Mom, coming from a large family as she did, rarely felt special, or that she mattered much. I think today’s congregation tells a different story. She loved her friends at church and Redwood Meadows. In fact, she talked about all of you constantly, sometimes too much.”
The crowd giggles.
“She also loved David. I’m sure some of you have heard about him till your ears were about to bleed. What can I say? Mom had the hots for him. Can you blame her?
“And despite being a self-described animal loather, she came to adore the little brood of pets I have amassed over the last few years.
“Mom had impeccable taste and classic style. She always wanted to own a dress shop, but never quite got around to it. Instead, she shared her sense of beauty in the garden. It would be impossible for me to look at the foliage on my property without seeing Mom in every leaf and petal.
“And for those who didn’t know, she very recently began a new career as a talk radio show commentator. With great popularity, I might add.
“In closing, I just want to say how grateful I am to have had the mother that I did. She was always there for me, whether I liked it or not.”
More chuckles from the audience.
“I also have to add how grateful I am for David. He didn’t just add to my mom’s joy, he multiplied it. He brought out in her levels of youthfulness and ebullience and kindness I’d never seen before. He truly is the son she never had. And she couldn’t have loved him more.”
David is beside himself, sobbing uncontrollably, sitting alone, clutching Daphne, who insisted on coming to show her respects.
“As we exit the church, I want to play a song that remind me of Mom, who would never go out without her pearls – Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls.” It’s classy, just like her. Thank you all so much for coming today. And I hope, when your time comes, you too, find a good death. Thank you.”
* * *
It’s surreal having absolutely no family at all. And it didn’t really dawn on me till someone pointed it out at Mom’s funeral, that I have no immediate living relatives – no parents, no siblings, no kids. Though Mom and Dad had plenty of sisters and brothers, they all live in other states, so I’d never gotten to know them or their kids. Right now, the closest thing I have to family is David, and he’s been very distant.
In the days leading up to the funeral, he was a dream – supportive, loving, solicitous. We spent every night just cuddling, running our hands through one another’s hair, kissing deeply and embracing so completely that you would think we would pass right through each other’s bodies. Though all of it was very physical and intimate, it didn’t feel at all sexual, and we didn’t actually engage in any kind of real ‘sex.’ We just fondled each other with love, and often with tears.
This is the first time David has ever lost someone he was close to, and he’s taking it extremely hard. Ever since the funeral, he’s been drinking more frequently, and driving. The combination is something I can’t abide by, and it’s caused more than one argument at home, both when blotto and sober. He’s been staying out late again as well, and has adopted an ‘eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you may die’ attitude.
As for me, I’ve been burying myself in work. Now that Mom’s gone, interest in the show has slumped. So, I’ve had to do some tap-dancing to keep my sponsors and fans happy.
Neither David nor I think much of how the other is handling the situation. He tells me, “You can carpe diem and play workaholic all you want. I’m gonna carpe me some noctem.” And that’s exactly what he’s been doing – seizing the night, partying hard, doing anything he can so as not to have to face mortality. I suspect, specifically, his own.
* * *
A few days after Mom’s funeral, I finally brace myself to go back onto Facebook. I post a note about her passing, at the request of her friends, including information on donating to her favorite cause in her name. The well wishes and words of wisdom are overwhelmingly heartfelt and insightful. You never know how much of an impact someone has on others until they are gone – especially yourself. More than ever, I am striving to be an agent of healing in the lives of my fans and callers. What else are we here for if not to love one another? Poor David, on the other hand, seems hell-bent on self-destruction. And what’s worse, I am at a loss as to how to help him.
As I work my way through the mass of personal messages asking how I’m doing, I finally get to Alex’s. I noticed he’d sent one and wanted to save it for last – using it as a sort of grand prize for getting through the rest, since I knew his would be beautiful and profound. As such, I expected to dissolve into a puddle of tears, both for losing my mom and for losing him.
11:03am
Alexander Armstrong
My Dearest Claire,
I just learned from your status update that your mother has passed. And I know that there's little I can say or do to assuage your grief. I love you, though, and it crushes me that I can't be with you now, if only to quietly hold you while you grieve. Do you recall the day we met online? I knew instantaneously that you were extraordinary. I felt you, felt your warmth, felt your generosity, felt your gratitude, felt your strength and felt your joy. I knew, too, and just as immediately, that such obvious and genuine love must come from a place pure and divine. I won't presume to tell you what you already know. But I will say that I have no doubt your mother loved you deeply and was prouder of you than you could ever imagine. You and David gave her a happy and nurturing home environment in her senior years – full of love and laughter, pets and even poker. Many people dream of this kind of family life. Few are fortunate enough to actually live it. So please, dry your tears. Or let them fall on me. I'd gratefully bear all of your sorrows if I could. I'm always here for you, love. And neither time nor distance will ever change that.
* * *
The next day I buy stock in Kleenex. It seems the most sensible thing to do.
Chapter FortyIt’s a miracle! David has quit drinking, altogether, just like that, and with no coercion! The night I read Alex’s note about my mom, I was a wreck. David didn’t know how to handle it and took off to go partying as a way of dealing with everything. I still haven’t written back to Alex. I want to. But I literally don’t know what to say or even where to start. My feelings for him have never diminished, and I am still just as in awe of him as ever – all the more reason I struggle knowing how to approach him now. So much has been happening with David. Although it’s been difficult, it’s brought us even closer together. And I know that would make Mom happy. Wow. I can still feel her influence from beyond the pearly gates.
The morning after my Alex’s-consolation-note crying jag, I waken to find David standing next to my bed, clear-headed and sober.
“Claire, there’s something I want to tell you.”
“Sure Dahveed, you can tell me anything. You know that.”
“Not now. Tonight. Let’s go to Masa’s. It’s been forever since we did anything together in town.”
The word ‘together’ sends a chill up my neck. I know of a certainty he’s been doing plenty in town, just not with me.
“There’s nothing I’d love more. I can’t wait.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven!” And with that, he gives me the one-two punch – his megawatt grin followed by a seductive wink. Then he turns on his heel and leaves again.
“Wait. Pick me
up? Hello, we live together!” I call after him as the front door closes.
* * *
Masa is one of my favorite restaurants. I never care what they are serving. I expect to love every morsel of it, and as a result, always do. This will be the first time I’ve ever dined there with another person in tow. I can’t wait to see the look on the maitre d’s face when he sees me arrive on the arm of a man, a dishy man, no less. I just hope he doesn’t think David’s a gigolo I’ve rented for the evening. He’s dreamy enough to be one.
The last time I got all gussied up was for my two aborted attempts at meeting Alex. The mere thought makes me choke up, even now.
Tonight I know just what to wear. I am an avid ‘little black dress’ lover, and have one that is a classic, late 50’s, early 60’s cut. Wearing black can hide a multitude of sins, including the fact that I am bloated. Earlier in the shower, I thought I’d cut my leg while shaving, but realized that my monthly period had begun. Just my luck, as always. Feeling decidedly unsexy now, I go to my lingerie drawer, and pull out the big guns –black-seamed, thigh-high stockings, trimmed with lace. I then slip into my highest ‘just-do-me’ heels, and dab my favorite perfume in a few key, discreet spots. I now feel sufficiently vixenish.
I can’t decide whether to wear my hair up or down, so I ask the menagerie for their input. At length, the issue is put to a vote, and it’s decided that I should compromise and gather the front into some interesting updo, while leaving the back down and curled. I do all the things girls going on dates do, primp and preen, pinch and push-up, and after all of the torture, I feel like a million bucks.
Good to his word, David arrives at seven on the dot, looking quite dapper in what appears to be a new suit. Wow, but this guy was made for suits, or vice versa. He asks if I want to drive with the top up or down. Down, of course, is my response. About twenty seconds down the road, it becomes apparent that my hair is under assault, and he suggests putting the top up. The damage is already partially done, but I don’t care. Nothing can rain on my parade tonight. And if it does, que sera sera. The convertible top is already up!