“Hmm, let’s see…” Looking puzzled, “I give up, what?”
“Senator.”
The laughing and playfulness continued through Ellen getting dressed and leaving them a note, “Be back later, lovebirds. Stay out of trouble.”
They got up and Ben showered. Aware she couldn’t dress herself with only one available hand, he asked, “Would you like me to help you get dressed?”
The moment had arrived and she was unprepared. Feeling way too self-conscious, “No!” she stepped back from him. “I’ll wait for Ellen.”
“What if she’s gone a long time? Don’t you want to change out of those?”
Tears welling up, “I can’t…”
Seeing the light drain from her eyes saddened him. “Sara, I want to see your body.” His voice lowered, “Do you think I’m going to see something that will change how I think about you?” He went closer to where she was standing. “Right now, all I care about is how I make you feel. I know how I feel.”
“Yeah,” she relaxed, “how’s that?”
He reached toward her robe and opened it. “I want you. However you are.” Leaning in closer, he kissed her and lightly made his way down her body, below the bandage holding her ribs, to her abdomen. He lifted her nightgown to kiss and lick her bellybutton, to caress her thighs.
When he brought his hand back up to her chest, she panicked and grabbed hold of it. “No, I can’t.”
“Come here,” he guided her to the bed. “I want to be with you. Make love with you.” Sliding his hand to her hip, he fondled her thigh and opened her legs. Ben kissed her neck, and moved down over the bandage, touching his lips to the area where her breasts once were. “You’re so beautiful, Sara, inside and out.”
Sara’s muscles ridged into knotted tension and she pulled back. “Ben,” she cried, “I can’t do it.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Reservoirs of emotions scrambled her mind, refusing him entry. It didn’t matter that she ached for him, for normalcy, to realize her full sensual self. It was overridden by the fear she’d repulse him. “Ben, please, I’m not ready.”
The more she resisted the more he wanted her. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your pity. I don’t want any favors.”
“That’s what you think this is?” He put her hand on his swollen hardness. “I want you. Do you hear me? And I want to help you, for me.”
“Ben,” she sobbed, “I’m…”
“Tell me.” His cheek rubbed her shoulder while his lips continued to find new areas. “Talk to me,” he whispered in her ear.
“You won’t want to be with me,” she looked away, “if you see me.”
Sitting up and taking her face in his hands, demanding attention, “Sara, I’m not going to hurt you.” He held the gaze until he saw her eyes calm. “Have some faith in me.”
It was like her first hot air balloon ride; she was frightened of heights and sure it would deflate and crash, yet once she stopped resisting she enjoyed herself. Without saying another word, she yielded. Feeling her acquiesce, Ben moved his hand over the bandage. The delicate motion of his fingers on places untouched by a man since her surgery brought memories clamoring to be liberated. Off came the first time she saw her scars and the pain she felt with the way the nurse looked at her. She released the torment she felt over her father’s tears about seeing his daughter staring death in the face.
Finding his way to her panties, he gently pulled them down while his lips discovered places that sent her into waves of spine-tingling sensations. When she started to moan, he moved back up to carefully unwrap the bandage. Cautious to not press on her ribs, with his eyes on hers he unwound the last part. “Oh my, Sara.”
Mistaking his sorrow for shock, for revulsion, and shrinking back in, I knew it! she tried to grab for the sheet to cover up.
Stopping her, “Don’t,” he took hold to remove it.
“I knew you’d…” she wanted to get up, leave the room and the shame where the bed was, the den of intimacy, to put it behind her. Unable to break away, his every kiss a magnet, drawing her in, deep inside to the festering wounds chaining her soul.
“Shh,” he whispered into her neck. “All I see is you. All I want is you.” Moving his mouth to her chest, he kissed every inch of her, “You’re so beautiful,” as his hands moved back down between her legs.
Every movement, every kiss, the feel of his warm skin on hers, released the tension from the last two years and the breakup with Henry. The balm of his touch soothed the soreness, calmed the ache, to help her slowly ease into a vulnerable acceptance of his passionate offering. Releasing thoughts, letting go any residual resistance, she disintegrated into a sensuality she’d never felt before. Aware of the union with him as he carefully maneuvered around her ribs, she disappeared into her body, alive only to the stimulation between her legs, the flush of heightened arousal, until she went out of her mind, over the edge into a frenzy of exalted rippling spasms. When nothing was left but ecstatic well-being, she broke into laughter. “Oh my God!”
They spent the rest of the day discovering ways to satisfy each other. The awkwardness she’d battled with, her scars, dissolved into their chemistry together, that inexplicable, magical connection that can only be physically experienced and not verbally or mentally described. More than orgasmic, the lovemaking between them was the beginning of the essential spiritual healing for both of them.
“Ben…”
“Uh huh?”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Pleasure,” he laughed. “How about an encore again tomorrow?”
Overjoyed with his proposal, “I would love to but,” she remembered she had a treatment, “I have an appointment at UCLA that I can’t miss.”
“I’m staying in a hotel in walking distance. You could spend the night there with me and I’ll bring you back Friday. Would that work for you?”
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do that for me,” he laughed. “I’m scheduled to see Zimmerman on Friday anyway.”
Chapter Eighteen
They bid Ellen and Tazzie goodbye and headed out in Ben’s car down the Pacific Coast Highway. Making the turn by Mugu Rock, “The Chumash Indians named that,” Sara pointed to the promontory separating the sea from the road, opening ahead to a magnificent stretch of miles of visible coast.
“What’s it mean?”
“Beach,” she laughed.
“Leave it to the Indians to keep it simple. I didn’t know they traveled down this far south. I thought they settled closer to Monterey.”
“No, they traveled and traded from Monterey county to as far south as Malibu. So many of what they considered sacred sites are gone, destroyed by outsiders.” Recalling the deep black hair and round tanned faces of the Navajo group she worked with, “It’s sad that Indian tribes have been so decimated and what’s left of them are beleaguered with problems: depression, alcoholism, lack of education, obesity, and all that goes along with those issues.”
“How do you know about the Chumash?”
“Ojai. I was curious what it meant. I found out that the Chumash named it. I think it means valley of the moon, but don’t quote me. I became curious to learn more.”
“That’s how you found out about your totem animal, the elephant?”
I can’t believe you remembered that. “No, that was from a man, a student of one of the elders, who I met at the Navajo reservation where I did my clinical rotation while in graduate school. I don’t know why it came up but one day he started to ask me questions.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, let’s see, what animal am I attracted to, what animal am I most drawn to at the zoo?”
Looking ahead, Ben saw a flock of seabirds in flight. “I don’t like zoos.”
“Me neither, unless they’re saving endangered species or harboring wounded animals that need care. Anyway, I said ‘elephants.’ I always feel so sad when I see them in pens or performing
somewhere. Breaks my heart.” What she didn’t say was she identified with those performing elephants, putting on shows in cages, needing man. “He went on to tell me about the importance of respect for nature, and that he sensed I had a strong connection with animals. He was right about that.”
“So, he told you ‘elephant?’”
“Yes,” she laughed, “that’s as good a guide as any.”
“That’s interesting because after you mentioned that to me yesterday, I remembered something I’d read about ancient elephants in America. Something about scientists affirming that mammoths and mastodons inhabited the Americas at one time.”
“That’s fascinating. Maybe their souls live on,” she laughed. “Really who knows about these spiritual metaphysical things? Like when I’m thinking of someone and my phone rings, and it’s that person. If anyone would be in touch with something like that, I think it would be the Indians. You can see it when they sense something.”
“True,” he smiled. “I respect the mysterious aspects of life. I admire Joseph Campbell’s way of approaching it. He doesn’t take it into an answer but stays with a questioning. There are a lot of things we can never know about, but we sure can be in touch with the awe.”
Cruising along, they saw the whitecaps breaking on the aqua saline waters inviting surfers to remain afloat until sunset. Waves and ripples rolled in and out with a soothing grace, and Sara was tranquil as the saltwater air gave vitality to her lungs, now well healed.
She looked out over the deep mysterious blue expanse, feeling one with life. A few clouds moved across the horizon followed by seagulls dancing and diving to find their dinners. A large bottlenose dolphin jumped out of the water, succeeded by another and another, moving with the current. “Dolphins, Ben! Did you see them?”
“No, I missed it. Maybe there’ll be more.” His eyes were on the road. “You watch for both of us.”
“Aww, what a sweet thing to say.”
They arrived at the dinner destination she had chosen and Ben pulled in. “Very nice,” he commented.
“Geoffrey’s Malibu is one of the best. Every seat has a panoramic ocean view.”
Situated where they could hear the waves, Ben took in the vision. “It’s still working,” referring to the marijuana he’d taken to curb the nausea that came in cycles throughout the day. “Your help and the fresh sea air. I have an appetite.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Sara glanced around at others in the room. “It’s funny, this place attracts politicians and famous people, yet the owner came up from the ranks of the working class.”
“Lots of well-to-do did.”
“Highfalutin’ folk congregate here, so does the paparazzi, but for me,” laughing, “want to know who I like best?”
“Who?”
“The busboys.” She told him the story, the history of the place, that Jeff Peterson evolved from within the restaurant’s company to become its owner in the late nineteen-nineties. “He started out as,” continuing to laugh, she spat water, “a busboy.”
And when the busboy came to refill their glasses, they told him what they were laughing about. “That gives me hope,” he smiled.
Taking their time with the menu, they gave their orders to the waiter; both had soup made with wild mushrooms, which Sara said was good for the immune system. For the main course Ben ordered pan-seared Chilean sea bass made with heirloom tomato marmalade and basil oil. “Basil oil, haven’t heard of that before,” he said.
“Me neither,” Sara smiled and proceeded to order herb-crusted salmon. Neither wanted wine. “Got to stay away from that while on chemo.”
Noticing the vase of orange-red flowers on their table, “Zinnias,” Ben felt the lance-shaped sandpaper texture of its leaf as he appreciated the lush succulent plants cascading down to the sand. “Lot of activity out there today,” he said, referring to surfers riding the waves.
Sara, watching Ben appreciate the environment, felt satisfied and grateful to have this moment of perfection with him. I could never have scripted this for myself, not in my wildest dreams. “Oh look,” she motioned to the server arriving with their plates.
Enjoying the meal, “You picked a winner,” Ben took a bite.
“You can’t beat the food and ambiance here.” The rest of the meal was spent welcoming taste bud sensations, listening to the jazz being played in the background, and delighting in each other’s presence. Content that they didn’t feel compelled toward idle chatter, “It’s so nice to be able to eat mindfully.”
“Not sure what you mean,” as he finished the last bite of his food.
“Paying attention to what I’m tasting, chewing my food. Not zoning out, like when I’m driving somewhere and arrive with no idea how I got there, distracted the entire time. I’m surprised I’m still alive,” she laughed. “There are some things it’s lovely to be present for. To experience the flavors of what I’m eating, the aroma, and not just related to food but what my eyes see, my ears hear.”
“I guess the idea is to try to be awake for all of it. Easier said than done. My mind has a mind of its own.”
“Whose doesn’t?” Pleased to see he’d eaten everything, “How you doing?”
“No complaints. You,” he motioned for the bill, “feeling better about that phone call with your mother?”
“I’d say you took good care of me, Ben.” She moved her hand over to his side of the table, the warmth of his skin a sensual reminder of the beauty they’d shared. “My mom said I shouldn’t pick up every stray that comes along.”
“I take that as a compliment.” He stroked her arm as they joked about dog metaphors.
“Thank you, Ben.”
“For what?”
“Bringing up my mother.” She lowered her voice, “I know I have to face it. I don’t know what to tell her about us. My mother has a memory like a gorilla when it comes to me and,” she took a sip of water, “I have to be careful or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Tell her we’re together. That’s all you need to say.”
“You don’t know my mother. She’ll kill me with a guilt trip if I don’t tell her what’s up.” Me telling my mother I’m spending the night with you? Trust me, it’s not going to be easy!
The ride to his hotel through Malibu and onto Sunset Boulevard took them past the Lake Shrine Temple of the Self-Realization Fellowship. “That’s one marvelous piece of property,” she motioned ahead for Ben to see its sign. “Ever been there?”
“Don’t know that I have.”
“It’s too late to stop now but another time—it’s really beautiful. The Fellowship does good things, continuing the spiritual and humanitarian work of its founder, Paramahansa Yogananda.”
“That’s a mouthful.”
“Yeah, sure is,” she laughed. “I spent a lot of time here when I was into meditation. It has nicely landscaped grounds with a spring-fed lake full of ducks, swans, koi and turtles. Yogananda is revered as the father of yoga in the West.”
“Didn’t he come to America in the twenties?” Ben changed lanes to get beyond a driver going under the speed limit.
“Yes, I believe so.” Sara closed her eyes and drifted off to before she married Henry, when she used to love to come and sit quietly, soaking up the peace she felt at the Lake Shrine Temple. She knew the Fellowship to be benevolent but couldn’t stop the mental reminders of worshiping and beliefs, how they can tear apart relationships. Bad memories from her split with Henry lingered.
As far as she knew, Henry was still in the Descartes Global Movement, known as DGM in the closed circles of the elite, of which he was one. She had no problem with the original ideas and courses, to help people look at their thinking, at the very nature of thought, with the main premise being thought is never the thing. That she was fine with. However, when a group member graduated up to becoming “The Wise One,” a vision attained through costly courses, and everyone else below them was deemed “The Unwise,” that’s where she drew the line. She argue
d this was judgmental, biased, elitist dogma. DGM labeled her persona non grata for disagreeing, and Henry was made to choose between the group and her. She was out and he stayed in.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Nothing worth commenting on.” She looked at the lights casting a glow to structures below and wished it were still daylight so she could see the mansions along Sunset. “We were so lucky with sundown tonight.” They had stayed at the restaurant long enough to watch the sun transform into an array of red and pink as it brought down the crystal blue sky. “So breathtaking.”
“Nothing compared to you.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that.”
“Well yeah, I am. But let me tell you, the last twenty-four hours have been my best in months. Maybe years. Maybe ever,” he laughed.
“Okay, now you’re stretching it.” A solemn wave washed over her. “You must have been with plenty of women.” Clearing her throat, “You’re sure you’re not with anyone now?”
Taken by surprise, “No! Don’t even think that. Do you actually believe I’d do that to you?”
“Ben, we hardly know each other. Our circumstance is so unusual and I…” She pulled back from telling him she felt she was falling for him.
“Sara, there’s nothing unusual about how I feel, which I assume is how you feel. I’m happy with you.”
Reflecting back to the images that had surfaced of Henry’s goodbye and the bad taste it left, “I feel the same but I have my insecurities.”
Not understanding her change in attitude made him uneasy. “Ask me anything you want.” A car in the right lane coming too close for comfort caused Ben to swerve. Luckily no one was in the far-left lane. “What do you need to know to put your mind at ease?”
The effort Ben made took the edge off her worry. “Okay, that helped. Let’s wait till we get back to your place though. I don’t want to distract you while you’re driving.”
More thoughts bubbled up. Henry making love to her one minute and gone the next. An obese man entering a bedroom and a fussy baby flashed before her eyes. She wondered about there being a connection with the nightmares and a sense of betrayal she had felt most of her life. Henry breaking up with her validated this violated feeling. Her father being a workaholic and hardly ever home along with her mother’s inability to show affection, to hold and hug her, reinforced issues she had with trust. Relationships with men, especially intimate and sexual, softened the unloved place in her heart. As long as she could make love, she felt loved. Now with so much stripped away, she knew that wasn’t honest or real; it was a solution and a distraction. What she was opening to with Ben scared her. She needed to know that she could believe his word meant something, and that he wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t bear to open and risk that kind of pain.
His Name was Ben Page 9