by Shara Lanel
“There is no wrong way to have sex. Sex is sex.” Evan patted his shoulder. “Look, I know you’ve lived a very different life than I have. I don’t hold it against you. I’m just trying to understand, What were you thinking?!”
Rick laughed. “I was thinking, what do I do now?”
“What?”
“What do I do? What is the deed?”
“Oh, you are kidding me!”
“I wish I was. I was very young when I entered the monastery and I’d been traveling with my parents for years before that. I know some of the monks indulged in secular activities, but I was devoted to finding enlightenment. Whenever I had … an urge … I fasted or went for long walks.”
“No way long walks would have cut it for me!” Evan skirted around a man with a dog on a leash, and looked at his cousin. “Then why leave? You could’ve put the inheritance in a trust. I’m sure your lawyer explained that.”
“I couldn’t find it, enlightenment. I had delusions and hallucinations, but I never found the answers to my questions.”
Rick closed his eyes, remembering the disillusionment. Rama Prasad, the monk that had taken him in after his parents’ deaths and coaxed him to forsake Western lust and greed, had not given up his own lust and greed. He had used Inela’s services and possibly murdered her. Rick still smarted at the memory of her naked, bloodied body. Rick had tried to save her, tried to convince her that with his help she could change her profession and her life. She’d always humored him until the next customer entered her salon.
He still felt raw from the betrayal, but knew he couldn’t explain all this to Evan. Instead, he said, “So when the solicitor arrived, it was like an answer from the Buddha himself.”
“And not one to go by halves, you now want to enjoy all the secular pleasures.” Evan smirked.
Rick smiled in return. He abruptly stopped running and did a handstand, closing his eyes and holding the pose.
“How do you do that?” Evan asked.
“Training.”
Evan shook his head as he leaned into a tree for a leg stretch. “Listen, go to the bookstore and get a copy of The Joy of Sex. I think that has the basics in it. If not, find a human sexuality textbook, ‘cause honestly man, that’s not the kind of stuff I want to be talking to another grown man about. If all else fails, you can ask the woman. I’m sure she’d teach you. But pick a different woman—that girl will rob you blind.” He paused. “I do want to warn you to use protection, though.”
“Protection?”
Evan rolled his eyes. He reached into his back pocket and gave Rick a little packet. “Don’t open it now, or it’ll be ruined. Go home and try it on a banana. And you can buy boxes of them at the drug store. Ask for Trojans and they’ll direct you.”
“But what is it for?”
“For babies and STDs. You put it on before sex so that you don’t get the woman pregnant and so that she doesn’t give you a disease.”
“Women have diseases?” He thought about Inela. She’d said she was dying.
“You never know these days. Better to be safe than sorry.”
After a few minutes, Evan turned back for his home, which was several blocks west of Rick’s, leaving Rick to finish his jog alone. He was glad to have the time to try to bring order to his thoughts, which were consumed by memories of Inela and of last night with Kerry. And now he could add musings about these mysterious Trojans and what to do with them to the mix.
* * * *
Kerry dozed on the lumpy couch. Springs poked through the tattered upholstery digging into her side. No matter which way she turned, she remained uncomfortable. Every now and then she saw eyes peek out the rear windows of the buildings facing the alley. She expected a cop to turn up at any moment to tell her to move on or to arrest her for vagrancy.
Whenever Kerry thought about the stereotypical image of homeless people, she imagined them shivering in the cold under layers of newspaper, though she knew that image came from TV shows and newspaper photos. Here in Virginia in July the problem was not the cold, it was the unrelenting heat. The trees and buildings blocked the sun in the early morning, but now its full force glared down at her. She still wore layers of clothing. She’d fallen asleep in them, but now they felt glued to her body.
She sat up, wiping damp sweat off her forehead, and stripped off a layer of clothes. Sweat poured down her back and the air was thick enough to slice. Richmond was known for its humidity, making ninety-five degrees seem like one hundred and five. She leaned back as shivers racked her body.
How odd. It’s certainly not cold. What’s wrong with me?
There wasn’t even a breeze. Kerry closed her eyes and the sun beat on her face. She needed to find shelter, somewhere with more shade. She needed water. A church! A dark stone cathedral would be cool and have water. But would it be locked? They would most likely have some sort of charity program. Or a library perhaps, with a water fountain.
She tried to remember the location of the nearest library. It couldn’t be too far. She would just have to put her layers back on so that she could take all of her belongings to the new locale. Perhaps the librarian would know of some place that could help her out. A shelter maybe.
The thought of a shelter brought queasiness to her stomach. During her former life, she’d often volunteered for committees and fund drives, and while working on a committee to help the homeless in San Diego she’d met Christine, an enthusiastic social worker who’d convinced her to volunteer at a local shelter.
As she’d toured the facility, she’d witnessed a fistfight over allegedly stolen shoes, and a woman in the corner had retched into a trashcan while another sobbed nearby. All of the women had slept fully clothed, some clutching shopping bags. When Kerry had asked about this, Christine pointed to the ongoing fight. Two burly employees had stepped in to try to break it up.
“If they leave their possessions under the beds or in the lockers, they invariably get stolen. We used to provide locks for the lockers, but we began to have a problem with stashed drugs.” She’d nodded to the two women, who by then sat on the floor sporting lesions. “We’ve had many cases where shoes and gloves have been taken off a sleeper in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t they feel it and wake up?”
“Some do, those that have been on the street for a long time. But the newbies are often so sleep-deprived that when they finally do crash, they’re like the dead.”
“How quickly do they leave here?”
“Some leave quickly, but we almost always see them again. Others can stay for months before they’re told they must move on, since we’re a temporary shelter.”
Kerry had hugged her arms around her body. “Where do they go? Don’t you help them get back on their feet?”
“We always try, but many are too sick to make it work. And sometimes the assistance is so tied up in red tape that we can never get it untangled.”
“Oh.” Kerry had been afraid to ask more.
Shaking off her reverie, she continued to shiver, her body cemented to the couch, too leaden to move. The smells emanating from the nearby trashcans grew riper and Kerry’s stomach rebelled. She leaned forward and puked, or tried to. There was nothing in her stomach but bile.
A pair of feet appeared before her, bare feet. Curls of brown hair led her gaze up bare muscular legs. Not the police then, but someone. Kerry tried to look up, but couldn’t seem to regain control of her body. She held her stomach, trying not to fall off the couch.
Hands gripped her shoulders, massaged them. She was lifted, her head flung back against a strong arm. The man’s face blocked the glaring sun, leaving his features in silhouette, but Kerry thought she knew this man. They were near his house, after all, and his body felt familiar, lean and hard. She closed her eyes. He’d humiliated her last night. She wondered why he hadn’t finished what he’d started. Perhaps just perversion. But here he was, taking her out of the sun. She tried to speak to thank him, but her voice came out as a croak. What was
wrong with her?
The air around her turned cool and fragrant as they entered Rick’s Florida room. Rick laid her on a wicker couch with a crunchy-sounding cushion. “I’m getting you some water. Don’t go anywhere.”
As if she could. Kerry thought about her bag. She couldn’t leave it out there. It was all she had left in the world, but she couldn’t move or speak, other than to shake. The sweat rolled down her forehead and chest, and she felt chilled where the air-conditioned breeze hit her neck.
Rick returned with the water. He lifted her head gently and tilted the glass to her lips. The water tasted odd, like something had been added, an herb of some kind.
Kerry slept for a time. When she awoke, she found she was once again in Rick’s bedroom, encased in his short terry robe. He must have taken off her clothes while she slept. A fan set on low hummed quietly. A glass and a pitcher of water sat on a Shaker table near the bed, along with a small basin of water and a washcloth. She smelled fresher. Had he touched her, washed her? She knew she should feel embarrassed by the idea, but at the moment she was just grateful for his intervention. Kerry pushed herself up to a sitting position and realized she was still weak. As someone who rarely got sick, she couldn’t comprehend how this illness had struck so fast.
As if reading her thoughts, a voice from the far side of the room said, “A touch of heatstroke, I suspect.” Rick’s voice. Kerry let her eyes focus and saw his sunlit features. “Why do you insist on wearing all those layers of clothes?”
Kerry still felt dreamlike, but she roused herself to answer. “I can’t carry them all. They won’t fit in my bag.”
“Why not your closet then?”
“Don’t have one.” Kerry’s mouth snapped closed. She hadn’t meant to say so much.
Rick walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. The motion of the mattress reminded Kerry of how queasy she’d been earlier. “Heatstroke?” she asked.
“They say it’s ninety-five in the shade. It reminds me of the beastly monsoons in India. The air is thick enough to slice open and serve on a platter.”
Kerry cringed at the analogy. “Monsoons?”
“They begin in June usually. The temperature lowers slightly, which would be good if not for the high humidity and heavy rain.”
“Wow. La Jolla always had cool ocean breezes to balance out any hot temperatures. Here the air doesn’t even move.”
“La Jolla?”
“California, where I’m from.”
“A long way from home then, as well. How long have you been in Richmond? And how long since you drank something today?” He handed her a glass of cool water, this time it tasted of herbs, mint and something else. Kerry swallowed rapidly until Rick took the glass away.
“Hey!” she bit out.
“You must drink more slowly or you’ll get vicious cramps.”
“Oh.” Kerry took the glass once again, this time sipping and pausing until it was empty. “I’ve been in Richmond a few weeks. Don’t remember what I drank today, soda at breakfast perhaps.” Her only breakfast, she recalled. “Um, my bag. Did you happen to bring it inside?” Kerry felt ill at the thought of losing that as well.
“Yes, it’s there by the door.” Rick laid his hand on Kerry’s forehead. She knew she still felt clammy. “I’m guessing you could use some food. I promised you a dinner, if you’ll recall.”
Kerry closed her eyes, uncertain how to respond. Finally, she said, “I won’t turn down food,” but avoided his eyes.
Rick rose and moved toward the door. “Is there someone I should call for you? Family or friends?”
“There’s no one nearby.”
“There must be someone…”
“Really, Rick, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible. You don’t need to call anyone.”
Rick looked at her. “I’m not telling you to leave. Please stay, as long as you need to.” He sighed and left the room.
* * * *
Kerry sipped the flavorful water and examined her surroundings. On the night stand were several books, Chop Wood, Carry Water, Bhagavad-Gita, but the book on top of the stack that lay open face down was the most astonishing. A copy of The Joy of Sex. The receipt for it sat next to the stack of books. Curiosity got the better of Kerry and she lifted the book to see what page was marked. It was a diagram of the missionary position. How odd. She’d expect the book to be open to some exotic position or some particularly erotic photo, but this reminded Kerry of the library book her Mom had handed her at age eleven to teach her the birds and the bees. Hearing Rick’s steps on the stairs, Kerry quickly returned the book to its position and averted her eyes.
Rick appeared at the door carrying a tray full of food. Cantaloupe, watermelon, kiwi slices, mango, cheese, bread and a bowl of soup covered the tray. Kerry’s mouth watered and her stomach growled. “I don’t need all this,” she said, even as she popped a slice of kiwi in her mouth, squishing the flesh between her teeth and sending juice dribbling down her chin
“I didn’t know what you liked, and all of these fruits are full of water to rehydrate your system.”
“Thanks.”
Rick perched on the windowsill again and watched her eat. His gaze focused on her mouth and tongue as she licked the juice away. Feeling edgy under his scrutiny, Kerry gestured to the tray. “Why don’t you join me?”
Rick stood slowly and ambled to the bed. He had a lithe grace when he moved, which seemed at odds with his muscular body. He sat on the bed without rocking the tray at all, then helped himself to a slice of kiwi. His nearness reminded Kerry of last night. She shivered, watching him take another fruit and recalling how his hands had felt touching her all over, how she’d come beneath his fingers. Her vagina contracted with the memory. She met his eyes, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny.
“I did not mean insult last night, Kerry.”
Kerry nodded and looked away.
“You do not believe me?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Kerry forced down a bite of cheese, suddenly losing her appetite.
“It does.” He looked down and seemed to pinken a bit. “I…” He shook his head. “I felt like … like I didn’t want to mess it up, like I wanted it to be perfect. Women like romance, do they not? I wanted to romance you.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that first.”
“Yes, I should have. I was not thinking clearly at all, which is not like me.”
Kerry bit a strawberry. “I don’t really need romance. I’ve had romance and it’s all smoke and mirrors.” She thought of her fiancé—her ex-fiancé—and her stomach tightened. Why hadn’t she realized what a monster he was? Because of the romance, the wealth, the fancy dinners, fancy cars, smooth talk. “Really, straightforward is best. That way we both know where we stand.”
Rick held her gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Moving his gaze from hers, his face reddened once again. Kerry turned her head to see what he was looking at. Ah, The Joy of Sex on his nightstand. She nodded.
“It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?” Kerry asked.
“That I’m a pervert with the Playboy channel and a book on sex.”
“Are you?”
“No.” He crossed his legs with his toes on top of his thighs in a lotus pose. “I was a monk.”
“Yes, so you said.”
“We believed that chastity was necessary for enlightenment, that such worldly sensations would lead us from the path.” He paused, his face reflecting an inner debate. “We also believed in charity.”
Kerry’s face heated. Was he reminding her what she owed him? After a moment she said, “How long were you a monk?
“Since my parents died eighteen years ago.”
“Wow.” Kerry was stunned. “How old were you then?”
“Sixteen.” He leaned back. “I’ve been in the monastery ever since, until I returned to the States a few weeks ago.”
Kerry nodded. “That’s a long time to go wit
hout. So you’re worried that you’ve forgotten how? I imagine it’s a bit like riding a bike.”
Rick looked perplexed. “Riding a bike?”
“You know, something you never forget how to do.”
Kerry watched Rick’s face and saw signs of embarrassment yet again. He turned his face to the window. What was the big deal? Oh! In her high school, virginity had been the exception, especially among the guys. Kerry had resisted the peer pressure until she was eighteen and in college. Since then, she’d only had a couple of lovers. Rick, however, had grown up in an entirely different environment it seemed. Could he still be a…?
“Well, I believe I shall leave you alone for a bit so you can recover.” Neat change of subject. “But I meant what I said, you can stay as long as you need to.”
After Rick had closed the bedroom door, Kerry leaned her head back against the pillows. As long as she needed to—how long would that be?
She evaluated her options. Call her sister and risk being found, find a homeless shelter and hope to beat the odds, or stay with Rick until she was back on her feet again? Would he expect sex in return, or perhaps a repeat of last night’s performance? Reminding herself that Rick wasn’t Jason, she decided she’d be safe here for a while.
And how do I get back on my feet? One step at a time, she supposed, starting with lots of water and rest, then laundry. If Rick got the daily paper she could scan the job listings. Then I need something decent to wear to the interview, if I get one. And to get an interview she probably needed a resumé.
When she’d graduated from Stanford with honors, she’d already been dating Jason for a year. Right after graduation he’d proposed to her, both he and her parents insisting she didn’t need to start a real career. Her career would be society wife, and eventually mother. And she had been so blinded by love that she’d given in without a fight. So she’d had little work experience, only a summer in retail until that fiasco in Roanoke. Besides, a few days as a waitress hardly counted.