by Jason Starr
“Pool?” Simon had no idea what he was talking about.
“Yeah, we shot some pool. Spanked me in that last game. I still don’t know how you made that combo shot. That was crazy.”
No one was flinching.
“What happened after pool?” Simon asked, wondering, Was it possible that they were telling the truth?
“We went up to the roof,” Charlie said. “Just to get some fresh air. You really don’t remember any of this?”
“Did I have anything else to drink?” Simon asked.
Ramon shook his head. “Nope, no one did. We just mellowed out, talking about our kids and, oh yeah, you told us how you got fired from your job.”
Simon felt a hollow, sinking sensation in his gut, as if a doctor had just diagnosed him with a terminal illness. Trying not to show any reaction, he asked, “What did I say?”
“Just how your boss totally blindsided you, how it wasn’t fair, how he wasn’t returning some e-mails, how pissed off you were at him. . . . You okay?”
Simon, dazed, couldn’t focus. Then he realized he was sucking on something—a straw. Charlie had given him one of his kid’s juice boxes.
“Drink,” Charlie said.
Simon sipped some apple juice and felt a little better. Well, at least he didn’t feel like he was about to pass out.
“You okay?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah,” Simon said. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t have been telling a bigger lie.
“What happened to you is perfectly normal,” Michael said. “Some people have strong reactions. It’s impossible to predict.”
“Yeah, and we told you it’s strong,” Ramon said, “but you wanted to give it a try anyway. You were like, ‘Strong beer, so what? I can handle it, no problem.’ ”
This was all true, Simon realized. They hadn’t forced him to drink the beer. He’d made that choice.
“Did you really wake up in Jersey?” Charlie asked.
Simon sucked in the rest of the juice, then stood and said, “I should probably get going now.”
“But you just got here,” Ramon said.
“Sorry,” Simon said. “I—I have to leave.”
Simon went to the sandbox, grabbed Jeremy’s hand, and said, “Come on, we’re going home.”
Knowing the key to avoiding an all-out fit was to move quickly, Simon picked Jeremy up in one arm and lifted the stroller with the other and walked quickly out of the playground, without looking in the guys’ direction, but he could sense that they were watching him and talking about him. He couldn’t make out what they were saying—they were whispering—but he heard his name in the conversation.
Outside the playground, Simon put Jeremy in the stroller and strapped him in, ignoring his protests. He walked away, heading uptown. He was angry and humiliated and frightened and he wanted to get away as fast as he could. What had he been thinking, coming down here? He’d wanted answers, but all he’d gotten was more questions. It had been such a perfect morning and now everything was a mess again.
Jeremy was crying, saying, “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go!”
Not only had coming down here been a mistake, it had been unfair to Jeremy—letting him play with his friends for a few minutes and then dragging him away.
“It’s going to be okay,” Simon said. “I promise.”
But Jeremy continued writhing and wailing. To distract him, Simon ran, pushing the stroller ahead of him. As before, he was going very fast and after a few minutes Jeremy calmed down, enjoying the ride. Simon made it uptown, over five miles, in about half an hour. That meant he’d been running, what, six-minute miles, pushing a kid in a stroller? He didn’t think he’d ever run faster than a ten-minute mile and, amazingly, he was barely winded. He still had no idea where all this energy and endurance was coming from, but now he had other things on his mind.
Jeremy said he was hungry, which made sense—it was after one o’clock and Simon had forgotten to give him lunch. They went to a Chinese restaurant on Broadway—Jeremy had moo shu chicken and Simon had pepper steak with a double order of barbecue spare ribs. With food in his system, Jeremy was suddenly in a good mood, talking and laughing, and seemed to have forgotten all about being taken away from his friends. Ah, to be three years old, when problems are so fleeting.
After lunch they returned to the apartment. Jeremy had fallen asleep in his stroller, so Simon carefully transferred him into his bed to continue his nap. Simon was restless and easily did a hundred push-ups, but it didn’t help to relax him. As he did crunches, in his head he kept repeating parts of the conversation with the guys. He wanted to talk himself into believing they were lying, that they were all in collusion on some elaborate hoax, but he couldn’t make a compelling argument. They all seemed too convincing, and there was no way they could’ve made up the part about Simon trashing Tom. The night had probably gone exactly the way they claimed it had—Simon had had a strong reaction to the beer, then blacked out and went to New Jersey on his own. But why had he gone there? To talk to Tom? To confront him? Was it possible he’d even talked to Tom before he was killed? And how the hell had he gotten to New Jersey anyway? He remembered that about sixty dollars had been missing from his wallet. That wasn’t enough to cover cab fare over an hour out of the city. Was it possible he’d used the money for the cab fare, or at least part of the cab fare? Maybe he didn’t have enough money to pay for the fare, and the driver caught on and dropped him on the side of the road near the woods. Okay, that was possible, but Simon had no idea why he’d run into the woods and taken off all of his clothes. That part made no sense at all, and it was so terrifying and humiliating he didn’t even want to think about it anymore.
When Jeremy woke up from his nap, Simon, anxious and stir-crazy, suggested going back outside to fly a kite or play more soccer, but Jeremy said he was tired so Simon parked him in front of the TV for the rest of the afternoon until Alison came home from work. Alison hadn’t seen Jeremy all day and Simon wanted to give them some time alone together, so he announced he was going for a run. He ran around the reservoir five times. He didn’t know how fast he was going, but he was practically sprinting and no other joggers passed him. He wanted to go around a few more times, but it had gotten dark and he had to get back for dinner.
Before he got in the shower he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Why was he so scruffy? He’d just shaved this morning, and he could usually go two or three days without growing anything resembling a beard. As he shaved, he noticed the muscle tone in his arms and shoulders. Was it new tone or was it just because he was looking at himself more closely, the way you notice details in a painting when you stare at it? Whatever. He looked great and he felt great, that was all that mattered.
When he was through shaving, he flexed for a while, admiring his physique, then weighed himself: 182. Last time he weighed himself—when was it, last week?—he’d weighed 175. He checked again, to see if it was a mistake, but 182 came up again. Funny, he didn’t look like he’d gained weight. He looked trimmer, more fit. Muscle weighed more than fat, but how could he have put on seven pounds of muscle in a week? If eating steak and sausage could pack on muscle so quickly, why would athletes waste their time with steroids?
After he showered and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he went out to the dining room, where Alison was setting the table for dinner, and asked, “Is something wrong with the scale?”
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“Nothing, I just gained a little weight.” Figured he’d minimize it, but was there really anything to minimize? What was the big deal about seven pounds anyway? It wasn’t like he hadn’t gained weight suddenly before. Hell, he’d put on four pounds after he put too much soy sauce on his sashimi.
Alison smiled seductively and said, “You look great to me.”
If Jeremy hadn’t been awake, playing with his Leapster in the living room, Simon would’ve seduced her right then. He imagined pulling down her pants and panties, then swiping a
way the dishes from the table, letting them shatter on the floor, and then bending her over the table, grabbing her ass hard as he . . .
“Oh my God,” she said.
She was gazing downward slightly, covering her mouth with her hands in mock surprise as she noticed the tent in his sweatpants.
Simon was surprised too. He knew he was excited, but not that excited. He must’ve gotten hard almost instantly. When was the last time that had happened? When he was sixteen?
“I guess I should cancel the order on that Viagra,” Alison said. She checked to make sure Jeremy wasn’t coming and then came to Simon and rubbed up against him. She whispered flirtatiously, “I wish I could take care of that for you.”
“Oh God, you smell so amazing right now.” Simon breathed deeply.
“Well, I’m feeling better tonight,” Alison said. “I think I’m ready for another date.”
“You’re on,” Simon said, and he kissed her softly, enjoying her scent for a while longer, and then she went into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.
Alison had made chicken salad with a side of steamed carrots and broccoli. Simon was dying for that last steak in the fridge, but he resisted, wanting to do the right thing for his cholesterol. Still, his appetite was ravenous and he was eating much faster than he normally did, barely chewing some bites.
“Wow, Daddy eats fast,” Jeremy said, impressed.
“Don’t you imitate him,” Alison said. Then to Simon, “You should really slow down, sweetie; you’ll give yourself reflux.”
Simon nodded. He chewed the next few bites slowly, then couldn’t hold back and started shoveling the food down again.
Alison spent most of the evening playing with Jeremy. Simon was incredibly horny and couldn’t wait for Jeremy to go to sleep so he could make love to his wife. Like a pent-up schoolchild who couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring so he could charge out of the school, Simon kept checking the time. He checked at seven o’clock, and when he checked again at 7:05 he couldn’t believe only five minutes had passed because it had to be eight o’clock, seven forty-five at the earliest. Maybe like a watched pot didn’t boil, a horny man didn’t get laid. Every time he thought about sex or imagined Alison naked, he got a hard-on, so he had to pace around the apartment and occasionally did push-ups, crunches, and jumping jacks. Though it was nearly impossible to think about anything but sex, it was a nice distraction; at least he wasn’t thinking about that other stuff.
Finally it was Jeremy’s bedtime. As per the nightly routine, Simon went in to read him a bedtime story. Wanting Jeremy to fall asleep as fast as possible, Simon read Where the Wild Things Are so quickly it was barely comprehensible.
“Daddy, you do everything too fast,” Jeremy said, smiling.
Almost as if unconsciously trying to prolong Simon’s sexual frustration, Jeremy wouldn’t go to sleep. He kept calling for Alison and Simon, asking for water, saying he had to pee, claiming there were monsters in his bedroom—anything to stay awake. Finally, a little before ten o’clock he fell asleep. Alison was in the bathroom, bent over the sink, washing her face, but Simon couldn’t wait. He grabbed her from behind and started kissing and biting and sucking on her neck, loving how she smelled and tasted. He ran his hands through her hair and kissed her. Her face was still wet and sudsy and the water was still running, but who cared?
“I’m not done washing up,” she said.
He ignored that and carried her into bed. Within a few seconds her clothes were off and they were going at it. Kissing her, smelling her, biting her; it was unrestrained and intense on so many levels. Between moans Alison said she was concerned about the noise, so Simon stuck her iPod into its docking station and then resumed making love to her with Nickelback drowning out their sex noises.
Maybe half an hour later, Simon lay in bed, Alison’s warm body nestled into him. Simon breathed deeply. God, this was amazing; how come he’d never appreciated the scent of his wife before? He’d had this amazing sex goddess in bed with him for years, and he’d taken her for granted. After a few minutes of talking and cuddling, he climbed on her again.
“But I have work tomorrow,” she said.
“What’s more important, work or sex?”
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him onto her.
Later, around three A.M., after they’d made love for the fourth time, she passed out, but he wasn’t tired at all. If anything, he was more turned on. It almost seemed ridiculous now that over the weekend he’d thought something could be wrong with him. He felt better than he had in years; he had limitless energy and a raging sex drive.
So, he asked himself as he lay on his back next to his amazing, sexy, irresistible wife, what exactly is the problem?
THIRTEEN
Alison had no idea what was going on with her husband lately, but she was liking it—a lot. Before—when was it? Saturday? Just three days ago?—it seemed like she’d be in a distant, troubled marriage forever, but now, suddenly, it was like she had a brand-new husband.
She’d been complaining for years about the lack of intimacy in their marriage, but now suddenly he was all over her? Naturally she was skeptical. Was this really Simon? Her Simon? The same guy who sometimes went days without touching her suddenly couldn’t get enough of her?
At first she figured it was only because he felt guilty for pulling the all-nighter. Maybe instead of showing up with flowers or jewelry, his way of apologizing was transforming into a Don Juan. But it was hard to fake that kind of passion. It didn’t seem like he was just trying to make up for bad behavior; for the first time in months she felt that Simon was genuinely making an effort to save the marriage.
And the changes went way beyond sex. The way he looked at her and treated her was completely different, and she felt like he wanted her in a way he never had before. When he looked at her in the kitchen or across the dinner table, she could see the lust in his eyes. Sometimes it was almost too much, as if he were a character in a corny romance novel, but compared to the way things had been lately, any change was welcome.
Did the sudden changes have something to do with all of the protein he was eating? It was strange to see Simon eat so much meat. Maybe she’d been right and the problems weren’t just in their relationship—maybe there was some chemical component as well. Maybe it wasn’t testosterone; maybe he’d had some kind of amino acid deficiency that screwed up his sex drive. But it seemed weird that some steaks and burgers had had such a drastic effect, and besides, how had a burst of protein changed his personality, made him more interested in her? He’d been complimenting her maybe fifty times a day, telling her how beautiful she looked or how great she smelled. He was really into smells lately—in the park, in the Indian restaurant, in the bedroom—especially in the bedroom. In bed he was sniffing her everywhere, and how many times had he asked her about her perfume? She’d worn Juicy Couture for the past few years and it had never even garnered a comment. But now he seemed very fixated on her scent and she loved how, when he smelled her, his nostrils flared a little, as if he were savoring the odor, as if he were tasting wine or something.
But, all the weirdness aside, she was enjoying the new Simon. After all, a husband who wanted to have sex all the time and couldn’t seem to get enough of her—what wasn’t to like? In between sex, he snuggled with her and actually talked to her. Was this the same guy who used to roll over and turn away and fall asleep after doing it? In a matter of a few days, she hadn’t only gotten her lover back, she’d gotten her friend back as well.
She was enjoying the sudden change so much that she didn’t want to overanalyze what was going on. She was just hoping it wasn’t just a phase, that they could build on this and put the difficult period in their marriage behind them forever.
On Monday night, she was washing her face, getting ready for bed, when Simon started kissing the back of her neck, the way he’d been kissing her lately—using his tongue and teeth—and then he actually carried her into bed. She loved how he took control
during sex; it was so different from how the sex used to be. In the past they’d do the usual positions and there would always be a rush to finish, but now he seemed to really enjoy making love to her—looking into her eyes, acting like he actually wanted her.
Simon’s behavior in bed had changed too—he was suddenly doing things he hadn’t been into in the past, like going down on her. He used to do it, grudgingly, but in recent years he’d stopped completely. When she’d brought it up during a counseling session, he’d gotten very uncomfortable and changed the subject. There was something different about his tongue too; it was firmer or seemed bigger and hit the right places.
Alison just couldn’t get enough of her sexy husband. She loved the muscle tone in his back and shoulders—was he getting in better shape or had she just not paid attention lately? His chest hair seemed sexier somehow too.
In the morning, she was running her fingers through his sweaty chest hair, saying, “You’re so sexy.”
“Don’t stop,” he said. “That feels so good.”
She continued caressing his chest with her fingertips, just enjoying being with her husband in bed, when Simon suddenly sat up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Jeremy’s up,” he said.
“He is?” She listened. “I don’t hear him.”
“Daddy!”
Simon’s look said, I told you so.
“And check that out,” Alison said, “he’s calling for you now in the morning.”
“Don’t be insulted.”
“I’m not. Actually I think it’s wonderful.”
Simon went to Jeremy’s room, and Alison stretched out in the bed, thinking that this was wonderful. Now that she felt that Simon was making the extra effort to save the marriage, her resentment about not being home with Jeremy during the day was fading. Jeremy seemed happier too the past few days and was clearly starting to bond with Simon, the way he used to be so close with Margaret. There was something special about a father and son having so much alone time together; maybe the decision for Simon to be a stay-at-home dad was working out after all. With the concessions they were making, they were getting by financially, and for the first time in ages, they were all happy.