“Tonight, though, I want to take you out, ptichka. You brought a celebration outfit, I hope?” Mischa dug in his pocket for his cell phone. “I will make reservations.”
Outside, the business day went on, couriers flitting through traffic, pedestrians ignoring red lights and running across intersections, cabs honking at one another in a secret language. What was happening at home, she wondered? Had Galvin Gold come forth to take Daniel away? Maybe he wanted to steal him and then ask Dan for support. All Dan had told her was, “He was a mean-hearted son-of-a-bitch. He shouldn’t be around kids. He shouldn’t be around anyone.”
Avery looked up as the cab slowed and stopped.
“Here you are,” the cabbie said.
Mischa clicked off his phone and handed the man a twenty. “The change is for you.”
Avery started to open her door, but then stopped when Mischa smiled and shook his head, got out, and walked over to her side of the cab. “Please,” he said, “Let me.”
As she began to slide out, her nylons slipping on the leather seat, she thought, no. Don’t go. Stay. She imagined her hand on the door handle pulling the door closed. “Go,” she could shout. “Airport.” And the cabbie—always having waited for one of these moments after watching a hundred cabbie scenes in the movies and on TV—would accelerate through traffic, saying, “Lady, I knew this was going to be one hell of a fare.”
At the airport, she would call Dan, tell him, “I’m coming home. I’ll call you when I land.” She would hang up and go to the bathroom, ignoring her wet underwear, the drum beat in her womb and skin and breasts. A souvenir from her visit, nothing more. As fleeting as a postcard she might hang on the refrigerator, throwing it away when the writing yellowed and the person who sent it was forgotten.
But Avery didn’t say a word. She didn’t pull the door closed. Instead, she took Mischa’s hand and lifted her heels over and out of the door, standing up beside him, leaning into his body.
The bed was as promised, soft, luxurious, comforting. Mischa sat on it, watching her, as she opened her carryon, hanging up her other suit, smoothing out the wrinkles.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked. What about morphine or heroin or nitrous oxide? she thought, wanting the next minutes to take her into coma.
“What does this bar have?” Avery turned back to her unpacking, putting her underwear and bras into the dresser drawer, zipping up her bag, and putting it in the closet.
“No Stoli, I am sure. Or caviar.” Mischa winked, and she thought of the night he’d sat in a chair across from her, watching her, listening to her, not asking anything with words but she’d felt his questions all the same. She’d felt his want of her from the moment they’d met, the way their eyes connected when Ed in the St. Louis office asked stupid, repetitive questions about implementation, writing the same answer down at least twice on his yellow pad, his toupee shifting as he nodded.
Mischa and Avery were the same, liking things perfect, neat, clean. But this wasn’t clean or neat. She was married to a man she thought she still loved but maybe didn’t like so much any more. Mischa knew very little about Dan and nothing about Randi and Daniel, the drugs and the stealing. She’d never mentioned a word about Isabel and her annoying habits or how her father died too early, too young, before Avery knew all the things she wanted to say to him. He didn’t know a thing about the IUI’s and the exploratory surgeries or how she’d laid on exam table after exam table. And certainly, she didn’t know a thing about Mischa except what he’d told her between meetings and on short, choppy phone calls. He was from Georgia, where they drank strong red wine and the summers were hot and lazy, not the peaches-and-cream Georgia. The original. He was a computer genius. He was beautiful. It was possible he had as many secret stories as Dan—a family in Europe, wife, kids, parents, siblings, all waiting for him to come home. Maybe worse. Maybe desperate stories, sad stories, crime or jail or sex stories. She didn’t know anymore what people could hold inside and live with.
Mischa handed her a drink, clinking her glass with his. The glass was cold, ice to the top, and she shivered. “Here’s to you, A-Vary.”
She took a sip and swallowed, feeling like the liquid was going nowhere, her body disappeared, the drum beats stopped, everything below her neck in another dimension. With her eyes, she saw him put his drink down on the table and take off his jacket, moving toward her, his hand taking her drink and putting it next to his. She felt his touch on her elbows, his hands gliding up her arms, pulling her even closer as he held her shoulders, her back. She closed her eyes because if she couldn’t feel anything and now couldn’t see, none of this would be happening. But then the drum beats started up again, her skin feeling the pressure of his embrace, her nose remembering his smells, the still present layer of shaving cream and cologne, her tongue taking in the taste of his mouth—gin, tonic, warmth—her heart pounding as it hadn’t in months, not since Daniel slipped into their house through the phone lines. Not since everything became a lie.
She let herself kiss him and then forgot she was letting him do anything, kissing him back with lips and tongue and teeth and hands. She pressed against his body, leaner than Dan’s—forget, forget—and tighter, her hands at the small of his back, the muscles flaring away from his spine in hard, beautiful arcs. Pushing at him with her hips, she felt his erection through their business clothes. She hadn’t had sex with Dan since that night they did it in their sleep, remembering the rhythms from before their lives cracked open, and now her body felt full and ripe and ready.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, kissing her temples, hair, cheeks. “Perfect.” He grabbed her hair in his hands, strands between his fingers, and whispered, “Lubov moia, sladkaya.” Closing her eyes, she hoped the words were kind, and they sounded kind, gentle, his voice holding them gently, softly, giving them to her with his mouth and hands and body. But she didn’t know, and she couldn’t ask, her breath too high in her throat for words.
She leaned against his shoulder, rubbing his back through his shirt. He yanked at his tie, pulling it off, holding her tight as silk slid across silk, his hand flared and steady on her back. He began to push away her jacket top, and she pulled away, still feeling his body on hers, her skin a map of heats, red where his legs had pressed, where his hand had stroked, where his lips had touched.
“Let me . . .” she said, lifting her hand toward the bathroom.
He nodded, untucked his shirt, unbuttoning, undressing. She turned and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, leaning against the wood. Squinting against the bright lights that flickered off glass and marble and brushed nickel faucets and towel racks, she lifted her hands and watched them shake. Gripping them together for a moment, she closed her eyes, imagining her yoga teacher, the breathing, the body open and empty and pure, full of nothing and then nothing again. The moment. This moment.
She opened her eyes and brought her hands toward her chest, rubbing her hands together, both so cold, like everything in this bathroom. Breathing out, she slowly began to unbutton her jacket, one brass button, and another. She hung the jacket on one of the padded satin hangers on the back of the door, then slipped off her skirt, and laid it flat on the counter.
Turning on the water, she stuck her hands under the faucet but then didn’t know what to do except watch the water run over her hands and splash onto the marble. The minute after she picked up the soap, rinsed, and wiped her hands, she’d have to go back into the bedroom. It had been so long since she’d slept with anyone other than Dan, who was familiar with and liked her smells. Don’t. Stop. Should she clean herself like she used to do in college, ashamed of the smells that feminine hygiene sprays promised to eliminate? Or her underarms? She’d been on the plane and in a long meeting, no deodorant that good. Holding up her arm, Avery bent her head down and began to sniff, when she caught her reflection in the mirror. There she was, her arm raised over her head, her armpit darkened with a slight stubble, and yes, she did smell. She needed a shower.
Her hair was hanging lank on her shoulders. Avery put her arm down and stared at herself, her skin slightly green in the mirror, her body different from when she was at home, sort of lumpy. Her hips and thighs and stomach were lumpy. Her face looked mottled, her mascara smudged, her toes slightly purple from cold.
There was a thump from the bedroom outside the door and Avery pulled away from the sink and grabbed a towel, holding it to her chest, feeling her heart pulse hard until she remembered what she was doing. Mischa was waiting, wanting her, even though she looked like this? But he hadn’t seen her like this. He didn’t know her at all. It was Dan who knew her, who wanted her even if she couldn’t have a baby. Even though she had turned from him since July, ignoring everything, even his son.
Avery shut off the water and stared at herself, bending close, looking at her eyes, the way the blue was really speckled with darkness, browns and even blacks. Dan had made mistakes and fallen into them, forgetting they were mistakes, thinking that what he was doing was right. And then, years, later, he’d figured out what he wanted and hid the past, scared that Avery would see him like she was seeing herself right now. Sitting down on the toilet, her elbows on her knees, she could see it now, how easy it was to fall into what wasn’t right, to stay because mistakes often feel good before you realize the error. They felt like Mischa’s hands and lips. They felt like his erection under his pants. They felt like her mother’s long naps, her hazy grief, the worn, slightly dirty sheets that almost smelled like her husband. They felt like delirious nights and days on an apartment couch, Randi’s reality softened by whatever drugs she could get. They felt like the sun on Daniel’s neck as he crouched in the sandbox, the minutes slipping into the grains of sand on his cheek, the up and down of his breath, the noise of school echoing far away.
Avery stood up, turned, and stared at herself again, her long arms and legs, her stomach, slightly pouched out because she had missed so many days at the gym due to work. Mischa was wrong. She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t even good. The soft Russian words were not meant for her at all.
Grabbing the white cotton robe off a hook, she put it on, tying the belt tight, knowing that she would go into the bedroom and embarrass herself and humiliate Mischa by saying, “No.” She would probably lose a client and the entire Dirland account. Later, Brody might even want to fire her. In her other life, the one before Daniel, everything she was deciding now would have seemed like a terrible mistake. “What will people think?” she’d have asked herself, worried about the stares from people in the office, Lanny’s sarcastic laugh, Brody’s raised eyebrow, Mischa’s glare from across the dark hotel room. But by making this choice, she was finally right.
Of course by the time she’d turned off the bathroom light and opened the door, Mischa was under the covers, naked, his clothes neatly lain out on a chair. Belt, pants, underwear, socks, shirt. He’d prepared carefully—two condoms were tucked into the corner of the bed stand, their dark purple wrappers shining in the flickering light from the candles he’d lit. She looked away.
“Mischa,” she began.
“A-vary,” he said, pulling back the blankets. There was his thigh, smooth and almost hairless, his hip, chest, shoulders. “Come to bed.”
“Mischa.”
“You have already said that.”
“I know.” She sat at the desk chair, holding the robe so her knees didn’t show. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
He blinked a few times, his blue eyes there, gone, there, gone, and then he pulled himself up to a sitting position, his mouth tight. She felt chill bumps scurry up her skin, her hair at the back of her neck rising. The Mischa of minutes ago was gone. He could be crazy. He could force her to have sex, rape her, hurt her. She’d led him on, he’d say, and it would be partially true. She hadn’t let go of his hand at the airport until they’d reached the car—she’d leaned into his body, opened her mouth to his, felt his skin under her palms. She hadn’t said no until they’d both taken off their clothes. Avery swallowed and tried to find her voice.
“I—I’m not ready for this. I thought I was. Really. I’m very attracted to you, but I think I’m doing it for the wrong reasons.”
“What could be more reason than this?” He brought a hand to his heart. “I am not understanding you at all.”
“My husband,” she said.
“Oh, this. Always this American guilt. Always this husband at home who suddenly is important. I ask you, where was he before?”
She had to be soft and reasonable, and he had to leave, now, without hurting her. “We’ve had some trouble. My husband—he found out he had a son from another relationship. A ten-year-old boy. He’s living with us now, Mischa. His mother died. I didn’t . . . I don’t know how to deal with it. That’s what I was doing here, and I’m sorry. Really.”
Mischa stared at her, and she held his gaze as long as she could. Just as she was sure she needed to bolt to the door and run into the hall in her robe—his face flushed and hard and angry—he cocked his head, nodded, and sighed. “This must be hard.”
“Yes. That’s why I wanted to do all the traveling,” she was almost panting with relief. “I haven’t figured out how to, well, be.”
“So,” he said, sliding out of bed and grabbing his pants and underwear. “I will go.”
He kept his back to her, slipped on his shirt and tie and jacket, and turned to her. She stood up and crossed her arms. “I really don’t know how to—“
“Never mind that. I think I will go back to the office and try to make some more money for the company and go out for a few drinks. This, I can do.” He sat down on the chair and tied his shoes, his hair hanging over his eyes. He finished and pushed it back with one hand and almost smiled.
Grateful, she moved toward him, but he waved her off. “No more. That’s enough. And Avery?”
“I hope that maybe your company can send someone else on the trips for awhile. What about that terrible Lanny person. He, I don’t want to look at. It is good, yes?”
“Yes,” she said, opening the door and letting him pass, a yard of air between them. “It’s good.”
Avery went into Dirland in the morning, but kept herself busy, giving the presentation to the company’s representatives from other offices, passing out the implementation calendar, handing out Lanny’s card to everyone. “I’ve got a family crisis,” she said. “Lanny will take care of everything.”
As the day went on, she swallowed her anxiety that burned in her stomach, smiling at the right times and clicking her Power Point presentation at just the right tempo, the audience murmuring their appreciation for her organized lecture, clear demonstration, the sharp blues and greens and lively fonts on the screen. Mischa was nowhere to be found, and she thanked him for the way he left the night before and the way he left now, leaving her to clean up and get out, almost without a trace.
At the Oakland airport, Avery hailed a cab and was silent for the entire twelve miles home, ignoring the cabby’s comments about Iraq, Saddam Hussein, Bush, and the Raider’s prospects for the season. When they pulled up in front of her house, she paid him and stepped out, breathing, it seemed for the first time since last night. She closed her eyes, and listened to her street, the whine of lawn mowers, the cabbie turning into a driveway, backing up, accelerating, scrub jays squawking in the bay laurels and oaks.
“Avery?”
She jerked her eyes open and turned, Val standing in front of her, Tomás in his brand new backpack. “Val. Hi. Val.” Avery let go of her carryon handle and looked at her friend. Valerie was tired, circles under her eyes, her shirt stained with carrots or sweet potatoes, a swirl of orange on her sleeve. Her Keds were fraying and spotted with dark drops—garden dirt, beet juice, baby food green beans. Her pants weren’t ironed and neither were they entirely zipped, Val’s waist not having gone back to her pre-pregnancy form yet. Maybe it never would. Maybe this was what she was supposed to look like.
Tomás crowed, waving his hands, a smile on his face, a
nd Avery felt her insides melt, fall, leaving nothing but her heart, beating, beating. She wished she wasn’t in her suit or even in clothes at all, wanting the fall air to wrap around her. She wouldn’t even care if Ralph Chatagnier or Frank Chow saw her lumpy thighs and greenish skin. She wouldn’t care about anything.
Avery walked over to Val and smiled, putting her arms around her friend and the backpack, hugging her tight. Tomás squealed and patted Avery’s head, saying, “Maaa!”
“What is it?” Val asked, her voice muffled in Avery’s shoulder. “You’re home early. Are you okay?”
“Maybe,” Avery answered. “Maybe I am.”
“What happened? Is it something with Dan?”
She pulled away from Val and looked up into Tomás’ face, his little head a smiling pumpkin. Since her father had died, she’d made it a point to always know what she was going to do. That’s why she’d gone back to work. That’s why she’d cancelled her appointments with Dr. Browne. If she could plan, if she could decide what to do, then she was in control, wasn’t she?
One Small Thing Page 24