by Anne Pfeffer
“Are you kidding me? You’re a hot tamale.” As she shifted position, I groaned, in pain from my unrequited lust.
She got that determined look she wore sometimes, her eyes the dark gray of a thundercloud. “I’m not, Travis. I have issues.”
“You do?”
“This is really hard for me to talk about. It’s personal.”
“Well, this is pretty personal.” Lying pressed against her with a raging erection, I meant.
“It’s embarrassing.”
I gave her a kiss for encouragement. “And…?”
She wavered.
“C’mon, Zoey.”
“It’s just that I’m really not good at this stuff,” she repeated. “You know. Romance. Sex.”
“What do you mean, you’re not good?”
“If you slept with me, you wouldn’t like it. I don’t know what to do in these situations. I don’t …. Enjoy it.” Her expression darkened. “Josh said there was something wrong with me.”
Comprehension dawned. “You mean, he couldn’t get you off?”
She cringed and dropped her eyes. “You do have a way of putting things, Travis. I’m just warning you that I don’t think you’d find me that much fun, if we slept together.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Is Josh the only guy you’ve ever been with?” That guy couldn’t feed a parking meter, let alone play a woman’s body like a fine guitar.
She nodded.
Any fears that I had nothing to offer Zoey vanished in one swoop. “Hey. Look at me.” I put my finger under her chin and raised it gently. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You had the wrong guy.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re the right guy?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” My confidence was peaking. We had now entered my particular arena of expertise. “One day, when you’re ready, I’ll prove it to you.”
Her eyes warmed now, and she looked happier.
I couldn’t help flirting with her. “Heck,” I teased, “we wouldn’t even have to have sex for me to prove it to you.”
“Meaning you could do it tonight?” she teased back.
“Sure could. You should take advantage of this special offer.” I was enjoying myself, lying in bed trading quips with the woman I loved.
“I guess I should.” And all of sudden, she wasn’t joking anymore, but rather looking at me kind of nervously, fingering her hair.
I realized she was serious. “A-a-are you sure? I don’t want to rush into something you’re not ready for.” I almost couldn’t believe words like that were coming out of my mouth. It was as if a space alien had taken over my body.
“It’s not too fast,” she said slowly, as if she were testing out the truth of it by saying it.
I lay there beside her, trying to think of the right response, while my dick telescoped its way up like an extension ladder at the fire station. Finally, I just said what was on my mind, my voice cracking a little as I spoke.
“I don’t want to lose you, Zoey.”
The tip of her tongue came out to lick her upper lip, raising my erection even further. “I’m ready.”
She was. Her lips and cheeks were flushed, and her breathing ragged. She didn’t seem to notice that her hand had glued itself to my belly, just above the waistline of my jeans, driving me almost out of my mind.
As if I were in a trance, my hand slipped under her shirt and up her back to the clasp on her bra. I waited for her nod, then popped it open with two fingers, a move I’d perfected with Jenny Taylor in the ninth grade.
Her breathing stopped as I moved my hand around to the front. “But no sex tonight.”
“No,” I said, “we’ll just fool around.” I slowly pulled off her shirt and bra and moaned at the sight of her breasts. I kissed first one breast, then the other, then moved up her neck to her lips, where our tongues kissed over and over. Being with her this way made me drunk with lust and just plain happiness.
God, this terrific girl’s sex life was like the Sahara Desert. How could it not be, when Douchebag Josh was the only man she’d ever had? Lucky for her, I’d come along. I knew it was my sacred duty to turn that desert into a lush, green garden.
My breathing was ragged now too, but this wasn’t about me. I kissed her neck and slid my hand down to the button of her jeans, then waited. I unsnapped the button.
It was time. She was ready. In one motion I stripped off her jeans. “Hold on baby,” I said. “You’re going for a rollercoaster ride.”
##
I woke up with my arms around Zoey. She lay naked on her side, sleeping, with me curled behind her. I was still fully dressed.
I hadn’t gotten laid. I hadn’t even gotten off. And yet it was probably the best night with a girl I’d ever had. I lay stroking her hair with one finger, really lightly, so she wouldn’t wake up.
Man, was I good. Last night, I’d been more than good—I’d been on fire. I should get some kind of award for my mad skills in bed. I stretched my legs slowly and carefully; she didn’t move.
One thing was sure: Zoey would never go back to Josh again. That tool. It fried my ass to think he’d been blaming their lousy sex life on her.
The bedside clock said six, and I had to be at work by seven. I slid my arms away from her and stood, stretching my arms and chest. I hated to leave while she was still asleep. On her little desk, I found a sheet of paper.
UR awesum, I wrote. CU at work today. Travis
I thought for a minute, then added: P.S. Tonight? 8:30?
I left the note on her dining table, with a sugar bowl on it to keep it in place. As I started to let myself out, I heard a stirring behind me.
“Travis?”
In a second I was back and crawling into bed with her. “Hey, you.”
She had total mermaid hair, streaming everywhere in huge ripples. Yawning, she put her arms out for me. “Were you leaving?”
“Yeah, but I wrote you a note. I wanna see you tonight.”
She traced a suggestive finger along my ribcage. “You’ll see me at work.”
“It won’t be the same.” My mouth began a southward journey.
“No, don’t!” She pulled my head up to hers. “I’m not going to be able to resist you.”
“Told ya I was the right guy.”
“Omigod, last night…. Travis.” She nestled her face into my shoulder. “I owe you one.” She reconsidered. “Actually, more than one.”
“Yeah, but who’s counting?” I was hard again, my mind busy planning tonight’s agenda.
“Travis, really…” She pulled back to look at me. “Last night was … I have no words.”
We shared a tender, hot kiss that tore through me like a hurricane. All of a sudden, we were both breathing hard, our lips just touching, her hands reaching for the button of my jeans.
“How come I’m the only one naked?” She gave me a sultry pout.
I groaned. “Don’t do this to me.” I had to go to work. “I don’t want a five minute quickie. Not our first time.”
Her hands fell away from me. “You’re right.” Her eyes began to sparkle. “Tonight then? We can think about it all day.”
“Tonight.”
I love you. I almost said it, then bit it back. That, too, would wait for a better time.
Terror
Mrs. M was patrolling the ground floor of my building as I bounded in that evening, thinking quick shower, change of clothes, and dinner from the soup kitchen bag in my hand, then over to Zoey’s by 8:30. I’d spent the day in a haze of horniness, picturing myself ravishing Zoey in various sexual positions.
I gave her the usual jaunty wave. “Hey, Mrs. M! I’ve got more for you on Friday!”
“No my building.” Her normal pissed-off demeanor had altered into something new. I would have read it as almost sad or regretful, if I thought her flinty little heart were capable of compassion.
“What?” I slowed down to a w
alk.
“No my building. I no decide.” She clearly had worked herself up over something.
“Okay, well, thank you.” I had no idea if my answer corresponded to whatever she was trying to say. A strange thread of fear curled through me, but I thought nah, she hadn’t said bye-bye or anything to indicate she had finally dropped the axe.
For once, the elevator was working. On the ride up to the fifth floor, I tried to put thoughts of homelessness out of my head. At first, I told myself the note pinned to our front door was to Mom from one of the neighbors. Then I saw the words “Notice of Eviction.”
I stood there in the hallway, unable to take it in. It had happened. In a few days, Mom and I would become part of them. The street people. The beggars. The people who smelled and talked to themselves, who other people crossed the street to avoid.
I wouldn’t let it happen.
I ran down the stairs, not willing to wait for the geriatric elevator, and burst into the shitty little space that passed for a front lobby. Mrs. M was still there.
“Why? I was catching up. I was almost current on the rent!” It wasn’t true. In fact, I’d slipped further behind, but maybe she’d forget.
Mrs. M backed away from me, sidling toward the door of her apartment. “I no decide! No my building!”
That’s what she’d been talking about. But she was lying. She owned the building and she was the one throwing us into the street.
“Please give me more time!”
“I give much time. No more. Now go!” She opened her door and disappeared.
I attacked the door and pounded it with my fists. “I need to talk to you!” In a rage, I kicked the door.
“Go! I call police!”
She would, too. I had enough problems without getting hauled to jail. I took the elevator up and arrived at our home-for-the-next-three-days, where the eviction notice still hung, and tore it off the door.
What would I do with Mom? On my own, I could find a way to manage. But no way could Mom and I live in our car together. Some kind of adrenaline rush overtook me, probably induced by blind terror, making me light-headed.
I sank to my knees in the hallway, trying to decipher the gibberish on the page. Mom’s words ran through my mind – three days notice. I put my forehead against the wall in the hallway. Never before had this place seemed good to me. It was a dump, a teardown. But right now, I would have given anything to know that we could stay.
Mrs. Somebody—I couldn’t think of her name—from down the hall, walked up. “Are you all right….?” I could almost see her mind search for my name and come up empty, just as I had with hers.
I jumped to my feet. “Yeah, I … I dropped something,” I muttered. “Thanks.” I nodded to her as I opened the door to the home we would have to leave in just a few days and slid in, then reached for the flashlight we kept by the front door.
“Mom?”
She was sitting on the living room sofa. “A man came by today. He gave me this.” It was the same notice posted outside on the door. “This is bad,” she said. She didn’t seem to really understand though. She stared around her without seeming to register much, then took the soup kitchen bag from me and began rooting through it.
I sank onto the sofa next to her. Think, think. Funny how I’d spent so much time trying to avoid this moment, but none on how I might actually deal with it if it arrived. I guess I thought if I did good on one, the other wouldn’t matter.
In three days, where could we go? We had no friends who would take us in. No family near by. No savings. Our best bet was probably a shelter. No matter how bad, it would be better than the street.
Why didn’t I check this stuff out earlier? I’d thought I could handle Mrs. M. I blew it on that score.
Zoey would have some good suggestions. But I could never tell her. I would never allow her to look at me the way she looked at Johnnie and Hilda.
“Travis, what are we going to do?” Mom nibbled a piece of corn bread, crumbs falling onto her lap and the sofa. She seemed removed, distant from the drama unfolding in our lives.
“Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll figure something out.”
My cell rang. I’d have to figure out a new way to keep it charged. I punched “talk” on the phone. “Hello?”
“Travis?” It was Zoey. “It’s nine o’clock. Is everything okay?”
Shit. I’d said I would come at eight thirty. “Oh, sorry.” If I saw her right now, she’d know something was wrong. I needed time to think.
“Travis?”
“Zoey, you know what? I’m not gonna make it tonight, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow, though.” I hated the way I sounded—remote and impersonal. All I wanted was to crawl into her lap and let her hold me. But I couldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice rose in alarm.
“I already said nothing! Jeez!” It came out in a furious outburst.
“No you didn’t!” Then, a silence laced with confusion and anger. When she spoke, her voice was eerily calm. “Maybe we should just talk tomorrow.”
She hung up.
I swore and would have hurled my cell phone across the room, except I couldn’t afford to break it. So I threw my back pack across the room then knocked over a lamp with my fist while Mom cried out. “What’re you doing? We need that!”
“No we don’t.” We had no power. In a few days, we’d have no home to light. I threw another lamp across the room, listening to it shatter.
“Stop! You stop that right now!”
“I’ll throw lamps if I want to.” We wouldn’t be in all this trouble if Mom would get off her ass and do something.
Like a sore spot on my mind was the thought that I’d been a shit to Zoey, who I loved, who was the best thing in my life. Standing her up was bad enough, but to do it tonight…. I had to call her.
What would I say to her though? Sorry. I was a dick because I found out I’m homeless? Zoey would help a person like that, but she wouldn’t date him, or sleep with him, or look up to him.
I was fucked. My life was over.
I fell onto the sofa where I lay punching my fist into my hand. Zoey’s voice came into my head. The Haven. A shelter for women. Pinecrest Avenue.
Maybe they would take Mom. I’d go there first thing tomorrow.
But what about me? What options did I have?
I couldn’t think any further than that.
Zoey. I couldn’t go to sleep like this, knowing I’d been a jerk. But her phone was switched off. “Hey, Zoey,” I told her voice mail. “I hope everything’s okay. I kinda had a bad night. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow at work.”
But I still couldn’t sleep. I turned over on the sofa, punching my pillow to make it the right shape. Two more nights after this one. Only two more nights. I’d have to remember to take towels and pillows. And blankets. It would be cold at night in the car. I shivered in the bed, pulling the blanket tight around me.
What was going to happen to us?
Charm
As I barreled down Pinecrest Avenue the next morning, I spotted the sign. There it was—The Haven. Zoey had said they took women in and helped them put their lives back together.
Sounded good to me. The next woman they took in was going to be Celeste Walker.
I pulled over. I’d seen this house before and never realized it was a women’s shelter. It was an old sprawling house with a deep front porch and a classic white picket fence. In the front yard, some kids played on a little jungle gym, while a woman oversaw them. Next door was an empty lot with a tree and overgrown shrubbery.
I opened the gate and walked in, noticing a couple of women settled on a porch swing, sipping coffee. Under the windows were planter boxes filled with flowers. I pulled out my cell and called Benny and left a message. “I got delayed. I’ll be maybe half an hour late.”
I’d never been late before, so I hoped he wouldn’t mind. If he did mind, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I wasn’t leaving until they’d given me the “yes” I need
ed to hear.
This place looked great. I squared my shoulders as I walked up the front steps.
Because this had been a private home, the reception area was in one side of what probably had been the living room. The desk was a big old-fashioned wooden one, as were all the filing cabinets. The other side of the room was a seating area with comfortable sofas and reading lamps, more like what you’d have in a home than in an office. They had little lace things and flowered fabrics all over the place, and soft flowered rugs, too.
Mom would totally like this place.
The receptionist had long, dark lashes, sexy lips, and a tiny waist. She made sultry eyes at me as I leaned over the desk, while my admiring glance telegraphed to her how hot she was. “Hi. Could you tell me what kinds of assistance you provide the women who live here?”
“Whatever they need to get back on their feet—we help them get it.” The girl rattled off a long list containing some of the most beautiful words in the English language: Jobs. Apartments. Medical care.
“And it’s free?”
She nodded.
“Who would I speak to if needed a place here? For my mother.”
Maggie Lewis. She’s the Director. But she’s gone to a meeting, and I’m not sure when she’ll return. Would you like to leave your name and number?” A beat. “For her,” she added hastily.
“I’ll just wait, if that’s okay.”
She touched her hair. “It could be an hour or two. Even longer.”
“I don’t mind.”
I installed myself on a sofa and called Benny. This time he answered.
“I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna be later than I thought.”
“How late?” The words hit me like pellets from a shot gun.
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you in an hour, okay?” Trying not to worry about the cold silence on Benny’s end, I hung up and called Zoey. No answer again. “Hey, Zo, just checking in. Talk to you later.”
I picked up a magazine and read about what to do when a guy cheats, then moved on to Eight Styling Tips for Curly Hair. I stared at the pages, unseeing. I had to get Mom in here. They would take care of her. I hoped Benny wasn’t too pissed off at me.