‘God,’ she mutters.
He turns a corner without slowing down. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, I was just thinking.’
‘You shouldn’t think on an empty stomach.’
‘That’s exactly what I just concluded.’
‘You’re a smart girl.’
‘I don’t know, I’ve been having a lot of doubts about myself lately, Mike.’
‘What kind of doubts?’
‘Is it all right if I have a glass of wine with lunch?’
‘You can have anything you like, Carmen.’
‘I need to talk to someone, Mike. It’s not something I can discuss with my parents. We’re really close, but…’
‘It sounds serious.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, we’re almost there, and I’d be happy to listen.’
Café Abracci’s round tables are white as holy wafers adorned with votive candles and pagan bouquets of flowers, miniature offspring of the massive floral explosion dividing one side of the room from another. A Big Bang of colors, shapes and textures explodes out of a single black vase. The restaurant is full, yet the flow of conversation is pleasantly muted, not the roaring river of voices common to lesser establishments. The attractive young hostess leads them over to an intimate little table in a corner, and a white-coated waiter promptly appears.
Mike consults the wine list, and asks her approval before ordering two glasses of the Chateau St John Chardonnay. The attendant then leaves them alone with their menus.
‘Everything looks so good,’ she remarks.
‘It’s refreshing being around another omnivore. Linn’s a vegetarian. She’s very,’ he snaps the menu closed and sets it aside while searching for a word to describe the gorgeous dish of his wife, ‘temperamental.’ It doesn’t sound quite right, but he leaves it at that.
Their Chardonnay arrives.
‘I’d like the Linguini Neri a la Frutto di Mare,’ she makes a quick decision. ‘I can’t help it, that’s what I always order when I come here.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try something different, Carmen?’
She lays her menu on top of his. ‘Not today.’
‘You said you wanted to talk to me about something?’
She sips her wine, actively seeking the mysterious truth serum contained in fermented grape juice. ‘It’s about Jay Westgate.’
‘Then you are seeing him.’
‘Yes.’
‘What has he said to you?’ He almost drains his glass. ‘I can’t believe he’s using you to try and get to me, not that there’s anything you can tell him, since you don’t know anything.’
‘Mike, Jay hasn’t asked me anything about Seaside, not a thing. That’s not what I meant. He’s not using me to spy on you, or anything ridiculous like that.’ She feels as though she is picking up a bomb when she asks, ‘What have you got to hide, anyway?’ She holds her breath, symbolically listening to it tick with every second he doesn’t answer.
‘It’s not something I want to discuss with you, Carmen.’ He is looking over her shoulder. ‘It’s a complicated business, and accidents happen. There’s no avoiding acts of God.’
‘Please don’t think I asked you that because Jay told me to ask you. Please don’t think that, Mike.’
‘I believe you, Carmen, but I also don’t want you thinking Seaside is some kind of monster. Ever since I came on board, I’ve seen to it that we do everything in our power to protect the environment while still turning a profit.’
She is reminded of the coiling dragon motif so prevalent in Viking art as she lets herself buy into his seductive twisting of the truth. Because she knows perfectly well that Seaside drills for petroleum, which is the leading cause of pollution, ozone decay and global warming. ‘I don’t think that at all, Mike.’
Their waiter arrives right on cue to take their order.
Having cleared the air, and ordered two more glasses of wine, Carmen senses they have finally arrived at the trail-head of the conversation she imagined having with him. Yet she can’t help hesitating as she wonders where it will lead, and how far she can go.
‘Okay,’ Mike grabs a roll from the basket between them, ‘I’m ready to listen now.’ He figuratively shoves her into the dense growth of her feelings, and waits for her to lead the way as he blithely butters his bread.
‘I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this…’ She beats around the bush a little, ignoring the bread. This is the truth. Even Carol would be shocked, and essentially unsympathetic.
‘So you said. You also said you had a problem in the form of this,’ he obviously swallows the adjective he was about to use, ‘guy from D.E.R.M.’
‘Well, it’s not exactly a problem.’
‘Carmen.’
The way he says her name forces her to look at him.
‘I’m interested in you.’ The expression on his mouth hardens slightly as he looks into her eyes, and fails to touch bottom. ‘Ever since you told me about what happened to you in the Grove,’ he sees something in her dark irises that makes him look away, ‘I’ve been thinking about you. At first I was just concerned, but ever since Saturday night,’ he pauses as his stare plunges back into her wide-eyed attention, ‘it’s been more than that. I realized you weren’t just a beautiful young woman, that you were much more… I guess what I’m trying to say is, I feel like I’ve taken you for granted, seeing you everyday at the office and thinking you were just…’
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing about myself lately, so don’t feel bad.’
‘I didn’t realize I was so eloquent. What was it I just said, if you don’t mind telling me?’
‘I know what you meant.’
The waiter sets two more wineglasses on the table.
‘We should have ordered the whole bottle,’ he comments. ‘Don’t worry about having to go back to the office, by the way. I’ll drive you back for your car, and you can go home. I’m not going back myself.’
‘Oh, no Mike, I couldn’t—’
‘Am I, or am I not, your boss, Carmen?’
‘Yes, you are, Mike.’ His tone thrills her.
‘Then you’ll do as I say.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Her tone is such a contrast to his lighthearted one that his attention sharpens. ‘Talk to me, Carmen.’
‘Oh, God, Mike, I can’t. I can’t possibly talk about this with you. I mean,’ she looks him up and down as far as the table permits, ‘you’re a man.’
‘Thank you for noticing, but I’d also like to be your friend.’
She sips her wine for the courage to ask, ‘What was it Vronsky said to Ana?’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind. “We can be strangers or we can be lovers, but we can never be friends…” Didn’t you want to learn more about the Vikings?’ She attempts to change the subject. ‘I want to know why you feel Jay Westgate is a problem. That’s the wrong word. He’s just different.’
‘In what way?’ he asks, very patiently.
‘He’s into bondage and domination,’ she explains casually, gazing around the restaurant, ‘and it scares me how much I… enjoy it. It’s like there was this door inside me I never knew was there leading into a whole new world, and it’s so intense it worries me a little. It’s almost like a drug… not that I’ve ever done any… I mean, I can’t seem to think about anything else. And it’s affecting all my perceptions, including how I feel about myself. Because I shouldn’t like it, you know, it should make me furious, actually. Women have been fighting to be treated like equals for centuries, and here I am loving it when…’ She stops dead, utterly amazed she told him as much as she did.
He raises his wineglass to his lips without taking his eyes off her. ‘I see.’
‘You do?’
‘You like being dominated.’
‘Yes, but that’s not like me. I mean, my real personality is—’
‘Stubborn, strong-willed and independent.’
‘That goes without saying.’ He doesn’t smile.
‘Thank you.’
‘In any case, entirely different laws operate in the bedroom than in the rest of the world, Carmen. You’re not a better, or a worse person because you like… certain things. What’s important is that you’re not afraid of him, and that you enjoy what you do together because you know it’s just a game. You do feel safe with him, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I trust him completely. But the point is, I can’t help wondering,’ she takes another sip of wine, ‘I can’t help wondering how I’d react if another man I was attracted to acted that way with me.’
A different waiter sets a large oval plate in front of her. Black squid-ink fettuccini glistens beneath a red marinara sauce topped with a generous variety of shellfish. In contrast, Mike receives a handful of ravioli sparingly drizzled with pink sauce and adorned with an inedible sprig of parsley.
‘I’m obviously going to need a doggie bag for most of this,’ she says.
‘Just start eating and see how you feel.’
She obeys him.
He finishes before she has even dented her food. ‘You said something in the gallery about fate and freewill being interwoven, Carmen.’
‘Mm…’ Her mouth is full.
‘Swallow, that’s a good girl.’
‘Yes,’ she agrees breathlessly, ‘like all the twining, serpentine beasts in Viking art.’
‘But didn’t they believe they couldn’t change their fate at all, that no matter what they did, they would die where, and when, and exactly how it had been decided at the moment of their birth?’
‘I thought you said you didn’t know anything about the Vikings, Mike.’
‘I saw that in a movie. Is it true?’
‘I guess so. It explains why they were so fierce in battle. If nothing you do has the power to change what happens to you, then there’s no point in being afraid, you might as well be brave. After all, cowards stayed poor, and warriors either died in battle and went straight to Valhalla, or they got rich. They’ve unearthed amazingly large silver hordes never recovered by whoever buried them for safekeeping.’
‘Those were the days,’ Mike says wistfully. ‘No virtual money or ethical gray zones, just kill or be killed, die poor and hopeless, or achieve immortality as a rich warrior. No half-ass compromises. No permits to file, no paperwork, just your sword.’
She laughs. ‘I have no problem seeing you in a cape made of wolf pelts, standing at the bow of your ship and shooting a flaming arrow into the mist yelling “Odin!”’
‘You saw that movie?’
‘What movie?’
‘What you just described is a scene from the Thirteenth Warrior, Carmen.’
‘Really? I never saw it. That’s a scene from a dream I always have.’
‘You mean a recurring dream?’
‘Yes. I had it again yesterday, only this time I remembered more details. I was crouching on the deck of a ship and you – I mean, the man in the wolf cape – was there. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen that arrow burning through the mist. I can still feel its hot trail in my chest when I wake up, you know, that feeling you get when you’re trying not to cry? It really upsets me that I can’t remember more.’
‘Hmm. Shall I have them bag that for you?’
‘Yes, please, it’ll make a great dinner.’
‘Isn’t one of your boyfriends taking you out tonight?’
‘I don’t think so.’
He motions for the waiter. ‘Do they know about each other, Carmen?’
‘Yes, sort of.’
‘She’d like to take that with her, and I’d like an espresso with the bill. Would you like some coffee, Carmen?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘So, are they planning to fight a duel for you?’
‘Jay doesn’t want me to see Will again. He’s made that quite clear.’
‘And how do you feel?’
She shrugs. ‘I can’t make head or tail of my feelings lately, Mike. They’re like that Viking doorway, all tangled and at each others throats.’
‘You know, Carmen, I like talking to you; you’re very expressive.’
‘Thank you, Mike.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you. You keep surprising me.’
‘Thanks, Mike, I really needed to hear that. I was beginning to feel, I don’t know, like I wasn’t really worth as much as I thought I was. But what you said, about different laws operating in the bedroom than in real life, makes a lot of sense. I just hope I can manage to draw the line. With me, everything tends to bleed into everything else.’
‘It’s called being a woman.’ His coffee arrives, along with the check and her doggie bag. ‘I live with one, remember?’
She would rather forget.
‘This dream of yours,’ he downs the espresso, ‘how often do you have it?’
‘I really can’t say. A lot, more than normal lately.’
‘Do you think it means anything?’
‘I don’t know, but I do believe our dreaming mind is much wiser than our waking consciousness. There’s all sorts of fascinating new research about how we can learn in our sleep, and how important it is for our mental health to dream.’
‘That’s interesting.’ He glances at the check. ‘We’ll have to continue this conversation another time.’ He pulls out his wallet, quickly counts out some bills, and slips them into the black folder.
‘Thanks, Mike, that was delicious.’
‘It was my pleasure, Carmen. We should do this more often. It’s nice getting out of the office.’
She follows him up.
Outside the sky is strikingly blue and there is not a cloud in the sky.
‘It’s a shame to waste a day like this inside,’ Mike remarks as they walk towards the car.
‘It makes me wish I lived in a building with a pool,’ she agrees.
‘I’ve got one at home. How would you like to spend the afternoon soaking up some rays,’ he opens the car door for her, ‘and I don’t mean the radioactive ones from your monitor.’ He smiles.
She returns his smile but gets into the car without answering. She doesn’t dare believe he was serious, and she has no desire to run into Linn.
He gets in beside her. ‘Well?’
‘You mean it?’ she asks stupidly.
‘I usually mean what I say.’
‘That sounds great.’ She hates herself for sounding so trite, but she feels as though her brain is shutting down, unable to handle the electrical storm of all the wild hopes and fears charging through her.
‘Good. I’ll take you to pick up your car, then you drive home, put on your swimsuit, and come on over. I live right here in the Gables. Do you have a pen and paper?’
‘Um, I think so.’ She quickly fishes through her purse, and finds an old grocery list and a pen. ‘Okay, shoot.’
He gives her his address, and neither one of them says another word.
By the time they arrive in Seaside’s parking lot after battling the lunch rush hour, she has managed to calm down. The thought of his wife being home, or showing up at any moment, is sobering enough that she is able to convince herself he is only being nice, that he is a mature married man who doesn’t have sex on the brain like she does. She is suffering from the very enjoyable delusion lately that every man wants her, which obviously isn’t the case, especially a man with a wife as beautiful as Linn.
‘Thanks Mike,’ she opens the door, ‘lunch was delicious.’
‘As I said, it was my pleasure. I’ll see you in a little while.’
Carmen rushes into her bedroom, a surprised and sleepy Sage on her heels. She throws her purse on the bed, intending to slip right into her swimsuit and run back out to the car, but when she catches sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door, she pauses to admire herself.
She couldn’t be more different th
an Linn Peterson, and Mike probably enjoys the contrast.
Staring at herself, she kicks off her boots, peels off her skirt, her pantyhose and her underwear, then turns around to get a good look at her ass.
It is crisscrossed with faint red paddle marks, wordless statements that cannot be completely understood or argued with, only accepted and prized in a mysterious way. She imagines men must feel this way about scars gotten in wars, or as the result of excitingly dangerous recreation.
Facing the mirror again, she peels off her shirt and bra, and tosses them away carelessly.
More than ever, her body feels like a horse her soul is riding through life. It has a will of its own, and needs she has to fulfill so its muscles don’t atrophy and its spirit doesn’t whither away. She has to nourish it properly, exercise it and discipline it, but most of all, she has to have the right man to ride her. Her body has to belong to someone who will also love and care for her, someone who will hold the reigns of her thoughts and feelings skillfully in his hands. Jay Westgate? William Reed? Yet she is picturing Mike Peterson as she cups her breasts in her hands.
Sage meows, breaking Carmen’s trance-like gaze into her own inscrutable dark eyes.
She pulls out her bikini. Compared to the thongs and tiny patches of cloth women are wearing these days on South Beach, her suit is almost modest. It leaves something to the imagination, which in her opinion is sexier than exposing everything for just anyone. It came with a gauzy cotton ‘shirt’ open in front, and a pair of white high-heeled sandals completes the ensemble. She grabs a towel, retrieves her purse from the bed with Mike’s address in it, and rushes out of the house without even petting Sage.
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