The First Time

by Joy Fielding

  Jake laughed, clearly not sure if she was serious. “I’m not sure my partners would appreciate it. They still haven’t gotten over the baked potato.”

  Mattie understood he was referring to the Claes Oldenburg lithograph she’d persuaded him to hang on the wall behind his desk. “I was thinking of your office at home.”

  Jake nodded, a guilty blush suddenly flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, Mattie,” he stammered. “I’ve been meaning to spend more time at home.”

  It took Mattie a few seconds to connect one thought to the other. “Jake, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s just been so hectic—”

  “I only meant—”

  “— what with the trial—”

  “Honestly, Jake, I wasn’t implying—”

  “As soon as this trial is over—”

  “Stop apologizing,” Mattie said.

  (Stop apologizing, Honey echoed.)

  Mattie gasped, brought her hand to her mouth. Did her husband spend his life apologizing to women? she wondered. Apologizing and seeking absolution?

  “What’s that?” Jake asked.

  “What’s what?” Mattie looked toward a young couple gesticulating broadly in front of the photograph of the surly-looking woman in the gold-flecked blue dress.

  “On your hand.” Jake caught Mattie’s left hand in his, turning it palm-up before she was able to twist it away.

  Mattie mumbled something about needing a phone number and not being able to find a piece of paper. Not quite a lie. Not nearly the truth. Jake seemed to accept it. Why not? Mattie wondered, hiding her hand in her pocket. She’d been accepting similar mumblings for years.

  “You really think this would look good over the sofa in my office?” Jake asked, his focus returning to the photograph.

  Now it was her turn to wonder if he was serious. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think it’s perfect,” he said, and laughed.

  “Sold to the gentleman with the great laugh.” Mattie found herself laughing as well.

  “Thanks for letting me tag along today,” Jake said, after they’d completed arrangements to purchase the photograph. “I really enjoyed myself.”

  “Thank you,” Mattie said in return. “I’m sure there were places you’d rather be.”

  (She made these plans without my knowledge. I can’t get out of it.)

  “Can’t think of one,” Jake said, managing to sound as if he meant it. He checked his watch. “Hey, it’s getting late. You hungry?”

  Mattie nodded, allowing him to take her arm. “Starved,” she said.

  The restaurant was already full to the rafters by the time Mattie and Jake pushed through the glass-paneled front door just after seven o’clock. A large number of patrons were stuffed, like well-dressed sausages, into a small waiting area, and stood jostling for position around the self-satisfied maître d’. Several delicate perfumes fought a losing battle with a conflicting variety of more oppressive scents, including a cigar being smoked by a ponytailed young woman at the bar. “Excuse me, but we have a reservation,” Mattie heard someone say.

  “Everyone here has a reservation,” came the maître d’s chilling response.

  “Half of Chicago must be here,” Jake said, shouting to be heard above the persistent roar of the impatient crowd.

  “That’s what happens when the papers give you a good review,” Mattie said, as Jake made a motion to indicate he couldn’t hear her. He lowered his ear close to her mouth so that she could repeat what she’d said. Mattie leaned forward, her nose brushing against the side of his neck. He smells so wonderful, she thought, losing her balance as a woman in a low-cut black dress pushed into her. She stumbled, her lips grazing Jake’s ear.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, catching her before she fell.

  Mattie nodded, looking past the crowd into the main room, which struck Mattie as no different from most of the other upscale restaurants in the area—a large square room with too many tables crowded between too many mirrors, a line of banquettes running along one side, an overstocked bar along the other. “There’s Stephanie!” Mattie pointed toward the last of the banquettes, where a middle-aged white woman with frosted hair was passionately embracing a young black man.

  Mattie and Jake began zigzagging their way through the tables toward the booth at the far end of the room.

  “Mattie?”

  Mattie felt a hand on her arm.

  Roy Crawford jumped up from his chair, leaned forward to give Mattie a kiss on the cheek. “I see I’m not the only one who reads the restaurant reviews. How are you? You look wonderful.”

  “Thank you. So do you.” He did look wonderful, Mattie thought, noting the mischievous eyes twinkling beneath his full head of silver hair.

  “I’d like you to meet Tracey.” Roy Crawford indicated the seated blonde to his right.

  “With an e-y,” Tracey said.

  Mattie digested this piece of unnecessary information, introducing Roy to her husband.

  “A pleasure.” The two men shook hands.

  “Roy is a client.”

  “Well, then,” Jake said easily, as if he’d never entertained any other possibility, “Mattie will have to tell you all about the fabulous exhibit we just saw.”

  “She’ll have to indeed,” Roy Crawford said with a wink.

  “Seems like a nice man,” Jake said as they continued on to their table. “His daughter’s a very pretty girl.”

  Mattie smiled, didn’t bother correcting him. Tracey with an e-y, she thought, as they reached the banquette where Stephanie and Enoch sat gazing into each other’s eyes, oblivious to everything but each other. Mattie cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I hate to interrupt,” she said, realizing this was true.

  Immediately Stephanie was on her feet. “There you are. I was starting to worry about you.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Let me introduce you to my honey,” Stephanie enthused, as both Mattie and Jake looked self-consciously toward their toes.

  Everyone should have a Honey, Mattie thought.

  Enoch Porter leaned forward, kissing Mattie’s cheek in almost the same spot as Roy Crawford had mere moments ago.

  “Is he not the most delicious thing you’ve ever seen?” Stephanie whispered.

  “He’s pretty delicious,” Mattie agreed as Enoch and Jake made their own introductions.

  “His skin is like velvet,” Stephanie whispered.

  “He seems very nice.”

  “Forget nice,” Stephanie confided, covering her mouth with her hand. “He has a tongue that just won’t quit.”

  Mattie’s smile froze on her face. As far as necessary information went, this was right up there with Tracey with an e-y. “Listen, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the washroom,” she said, already out of her chair.

  “Are you all right?” Stephanie’s voice trailed after her. “You just sat down.”

  “Be right back.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  Mattie dismissed her friend’s offer with a wave of her hand. But Stephanie had already returned her attention to Enoch, her arm sliding around the back of his neck, her large breasts flattening against his side. Everybody’s having sex but me, Mattie thought, locating the washroom beside the busy bar.

  What was the matter with Stephanie? How could she be so brazen, so shameless, so obvious? She had two young children, for heaven’s sake. How would they feel if they knew their mother was making a complete fool of herself, that she was throwing herself at a man ten years her junior, hanging all over him, for God’s sake, letting him paw her in front of everyone, shouting his sexual prowess for all the world to hear? Had she no pride? No self-respect? No sense of propriety? Didn’t she know this ill-matched relationship would never work?

  Who cares? Mattie thought. She and Jake were the same generation, the same color, the same everything. Had it worked? “You’re just jealous,” Mattie told her reflection, which promptly hung its head i
n shame. What she wouldn’t give for the opportunity to hang all over a young lover, to feel his velvet skin lying, like a blanket, across her own, to have him paw her mercilessly in front of her envious friends.

  Everyone should have a Honey, she thought again, applying fresh lipstick to her mouth, although there was no need. But her fingers lost their grasp on the slender tube, and the lipstick shot across her cheek, leaving a line like a pale trickle of blood. “Oh, God,” Mattie whispered, reaching for a tissue from her purse, watching helplessly as the purse fell to the floor, its contents scattering across the white-and-black mosaic of the tiles. Mattie slowly lowered herself to her knees, her hands sweeping the floor to retrieve a smattering of felt-tip pens, a packet of Kleenex, her sunglasses, her wallet, her checkbook, her house keys. What else? she wondered, noticing a pair of stiletto heels beneath one of the stalls, realizing for the first time that she wasn’t alone in the room. How can anyone walk in those things? Mattie wondered, pushing herself to her feet, teetering for an instant on legs that refused to stand. “Please,” she whispered into the collar of her pink sweater, grabbing the countertop for support. Please, she repeated silently, not bothering to finish the unspoken prayer.

  Mattie heard a toilet flush and smiled at the young woman who emerged from the stall, her black hair as high as her stiletto heels, heels that, Mattie noted, she had no trouble at all managing. The young woman studied herself in the mirror while she washed her hands, seeming pleased enough with what she saw. As well she should be, Mattie thought, eyes trailing after her as she left the room. She was young, beautiful. Everything was working properly. No doubt she was returning to a boyfriend who adored her.

  My turn, Mattie thought, taking a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and walking out of the washroom.

  Roy Crawford was standing just outside the door. “You were in there a long time,” he said.

  “I dropped my purse.” A stupid thing to say, she thought. Had he been waiting for her?

  “What’s on your face?” Without waiting for an answer, Roy Crawford gently rubbed at the skin beside her mouth. “Looks like lipstick.” He lifted his index finger to his mouth, licked its tip provocatively, then returned it to her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. Mattie felt the coolness of his saliva as it soaked into her skin, leaving her breathless. “There. That’s better.”

  “Thank you,” Mattie whispered, fighting for air.

  “So that’s your husband,” Roy said, as if this were the most normal thing to say under the circumstances.

  Mattie nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “I thought you were separated.”

  “He came back.”

  Roy Crawford smiled a long, slow smile. “Call me,” he said.

  EIGHTEEN

  They were lying in her bed, wrapped in newly purchased pink-and-white gingham sheets. “Special for the occasion,” Honey had quipped as they tore off each other’s clothes and jumped into bed, only seconds after Jake’s arrival. Half an hour later, they lay side by side, naked in one another’s arms, sweaty and unsatisfied, confused and conciliatory, the cats playing with their exposed toes near the foot of the bed.

  “I’m sorry, Honey,” Jake was saying, impatiently trying to shake the cats from his feet. “I don’t know what the problem is.”

  “It’s all right, Jason. These things happen. No apologies necessary.”

  “God knows I want to.” Jake brushed an impatient hand across his eyes.

  “I know that.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem—too much thinking.” Honey sat up in bed, the sheet falling to her waist, exposing large pendulous breasts. She shooed the cats away from Jake’s feet. One hopped to the floor, mewing in protest; the other remained silently at the end of the bed, yellow eyes focused accusingly on Jake.

  “I guess I’m just tired.”

  “It’s been a tough few weeks.”

  Honey flopped back down on the pillow, snuggled into the hook of Jake’s arm, gently caressed the hairs on his chest. “How’s the trial going?”

  “Great. I think we have a good shot at an acquittal.” Jake laughed. He’d been waiting all day for seven o’clock to arrive. He’d thought of little else since he awoke that morning, already hard. He’d made small talk with Mattie over breakfast, all the while imagining Honey’s body and elaborately plotting in his mind the various things he was planning to do to her as soon as he got to her apartment. Nowhere in his elaborate scenario of sexual acrobatics had they ever taken a time out to discuss business. Never had the sexual acrobatics failed to get off the ground. “Actually,” Jake heard his voice continue, “it’s the prosecution’s own witnesses who are winning the case for me.”

  “How’s that?” Was it his imagination, or did Honey sound as confused by his sudden loquaciousness as he felt?

  “Both the victim himself and the arresting officer admitted that my client was in a zombielike state at the time of the shooting. Even the court-appointed psychiatrist was forced to admit the likelihood my client was temporarily insane.”

  “Forced by whom?”

  Jake laughed. “Well, by me, I guess.”

  “So you were good, were you?”

  “I was very good.” He felt a slight stirring in his loins.

  “I’ll bet you were.” Honey’s hand slid between his legs, taking his penis in her hands, encouraging it gently with her fingers.

  Jake moaned, as if the sound might further encourage his body toward the proper response. “That feels good.” A little verbal incentive, he thought, glancing toward his stubbornly limp organ. What was the matter with the damn thing? Why was it just lying there? Damn it! This had never happened to him before. He glared toward his groin, as if he could intimidate his penis into action.

  “Try to relax,” Honey encouraged, planting a series of soft kisses up the center of his chest. He felt the warmth of her breath, the soft touch of her lips as they fastened onto his own, the gentle prodding of her tongue as it explored his open mouth. “That’s better,” Honey said, a noticeable smile in her voice as her hand continued massaging his cock.

  Jake closed his eyes and buried his hands in Honey’s red curls as her head disappeared between his legs, her lips surrounding his penis, drawing it slowly in and out of her mouth until it began to respond. She was a wonderful lover, Jake thought, so adventurous, so expressive, so willing to do anything to make him happy. And she was being so patient, so understanding about this whole thing with Mattie. How many women would have put their lives on hold for him the way she had? The way Mattie had, he realized with a shudder, for almost sixteen years.

  “Jason, what’s happening?”

  “What?” Jake looked from Honey’s confused eyes to his once again flaccid organ.

  “I thought we had something going there for a few minutes.”

  “I’m sorry.

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “Nothing.” He took a deep breath, released it, glanced at the cat staring at him from the foot of the bed. Again he thought of Mattie. She’d seemed awfully chipper all day. He’d heard her singing along with the radio, one of those stations that specialized in golden oldies, while he was working in the den, and he could still picture her Mona Lisa-like smile when he said he had to go out tonight, that he might not be back till late. She hadn’t even asked where he was going, although he had an explanation all prepared. “I’ll be out too,” she told him simply.

  “You’re thinking about Mattie, aren’t you?”

  “Mattie? No.” Was he that obvious?

  “How’s she doing?” Honey continued, clearly not convinced.

  “About the same.”

  “I hope she realizes what a wonderful man you are.”

  Jake forced a smile onto his face. Mattie knows exactly what kind of man I am, he thought ruefully. And therein lay the difference between the two women: one knew him all too well; the other didn’t know him at all.
Was that why he was here?

  “I love you, Jason Hart,” Honey was whispering, her face stretching toward his.

  “I’m sorry,” Jake said. “What?”

  “I said, I love you.”

  “Why?” Jake asked, surprising himself. “Why do you love me?” Why was he asking that? He hated when women asked questions like that, as if feelings had to have reasons. And now he was doing the same thing. Why? he wondered, and almost laughed.

  “Why do I love you?” Honey repeated. “I don’t know. Why does anybody love anybody?”

  That answer, which was word for word the answer he would have given had she asked it of him, was strangely, almost irritatingly unsatisfying. There were times for the truth, he realized, and times when the truth just wasn’t enough.

  “Let me see,” Honey backtracked, as if sensing his displeasure. “I love you because you’re smart, sensitive, sexy—”

  “Not very sexy tonight,” he qualified.

  “Ah, but the night is just beginning,” Honey reminded him. She laughed, though the laugh was hollow, the way Mattie sometimes laughed when she was unhappy. Jake shook his head, trying to shake thoughts of Mattie from his brain. You weren’t invited on this excursion, he told her. Go home.

  Except she wasn’t home. She was out. Where? Probably at the movies with Lisa or Stephanie or another of her friends. Mattie had a lot of friends, Jake thought, realizing that aside from the friendships he’d made through Mattie, he had no real friends of his own.

  “How’s your book coming along?” Jake asked as Honey’s tongue circled his nipples.

  “My book? You want to talk about my book?”