“Annie, are you all right?”
“Yes, just—” she pulled off her own yoga pants and underwear.
He grasped the top of her thigh in his big hands, his thumb fitting right into the groove of muscles along her inner thigh. He stroked carefully and lovingly and she fell back. “I’m not all right,” she babbled. “I won’t be all right until you’re inside me.”
He squeezed again as if to make sure, his other hand coming up to smooth softly at that thatch of hair where her legs joined and pressed down—eliciting another gasp from her—before he traced one finger delicately down through her folds, down, down to her ass again. She had waited for so long; she was ready before her clothing had come off. He continued to touch her, to make her mutter and thrash. By the time his eyes rose to hers, she could only gasp, “Condom’s on the nightstand.”
As he turned away from her, she rose to stroke his back, his butt. He laughed a little unsteadily before pulled the condom on and grasping her hipbones and entered her firmly and heavily.
As with everything he seemed to do, he took his time, moving in her carefully but deliberately, closing his eyes to savor the way she tensed and rocked under him. She listened to his harsh breaths coming out between clenched teeth. She loved watching him. She loved how his back muscles bunched and sweated under her sliding palms and the way he pressed down on her in just the right way. She whispered, “Do that again,” and her back arched under him, and for a while, she stopped watching and let herself feel.
Later, much later, while they lay in bed, still touching each other, still tracing with curiosity the lines of each other’s bodies, she tugged gently on a single straight silver hair among the curly ones, just down below his hipbone.
“Careful with that, woman. That’s my lucky hair.”
“I think you already got lucky.”
He kissed her. “I plan to keep my streak going for a good long time. Starting with that race we’re supposed to run next month—”
“But I haven’t trained in a long time.”
“Doesn’t matter how well we finish. I’ll be with you the whole way. Just like how I’ll be by your side when you attend Kwesi’s citizenship ceremony.”
How could she not love him? How could she not be scared? “You have a lot of plans for us.”
“I do.”
“I feel like for a while I forgot how to think ahead. Aside from moving to this apartment, living here. It’s not like our lives as people of color have ever been completely easy. But why has this year felt especially bad? I remember being here through New York City in the 70s and 80s, those scary years when the city seemed to be burning down, when it was nearly bankrupt. I worked downtown when 9/11 happened.”
“It feels bad because this year has been difficult. But we’ve survived worse. Thrived, even. I know you don’t feel like you’ve made a difference in this world—”
“I shouldn’t have whined about it. I’m sorry.”
He raised his head from the pillow to look at her. “Don’t apologize. Some days I feel that way, too. But not lately—not since I met you because I look forward to my time with you.”
She could feel the rumble of affectionate laughter in his chest, even before he spoke again. “Every day, you do something to change my world—to shake it up—even with a smile, or a gesture. You do something to me right now. I’m sorry that people like my son and your daughter are going to have to use all their youthful determination to fight for the future. I want to keep up with the struggle, too. But you—when I’m around you I feel curious again. Hopeful—for me.”
He picked up her hand again and kissed it. He didn’t let go.
Annie closed her eyes against a welling of tears. If he could hope, she could allow herself, too. She cleared her throat. “So where do we go from here?”
“We do what we’ve been doing—just like you told me once. But we do more and with more passion—more purpose. But without forgetting joy.”
“Proof that you can start anything at any age?”
Monroe snorted. “We’re not that old.”
She nodded and put her head on his chest. His heartbeat was strong. Annie whispered, “I’m ready again. I’m ready to do this.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much for reading “The Long Run.” My readers are such a source of joy and support. I could not do this without you.
I owe much to the thoughtful, warm feedback of Olivia Dade, Molly O’Keefe, Jane Lee Blair, and Jasmine Guillory. Thanks also to the magnificent Emma Barry for recruiting me to write for this anthology. I am so honored to be included with the talented Rogue crew.
Shout out to Susan and Bomi who, over the course of our long friendship, have taught me so much about cities and communities. To my husband, thank you for being a fount of ideas, information, and patience.
Finally, “The Long Run,” is as much a story about two fictional people as it is a love letter to the real, beautiful, historic neighborhood around Marcus Garvey Park. To my adopted city, thank you for being a home to these wonders.
Also by Ruby
Out now! The Practice Perfect trilogy
Acute Reactions (Book 1)
Hard Knocks (Book 2)
Clean Breaks (Book 3)
Practice Perfect: The Complete Series (bundle)
About the Author
Ruby Lang is the pen name of non-fiction writer, Mindy Hung. Her work has appeared in Salon, Bitch, and The New York Times. She also wrote about romance novels (among other things) for The Toast. She enjoys running (slowly), reading (quickly), and ice cream (at any speed). Originally from Canada, she now lives in New York with a small child and a medium-sized husband.
Learn about Ruby’s new releases and sales by signing up for The Rubesletter!
Find Ruby online at:
www.rubylangwrites.com
Never Again
Stacey Agdern
About This Book
Actor Sam Moskowitz has an overdeveloped sense of social justice and strong feelings for preschool teacher Deb Taubman. Deb adores Sam but doesn't trust him (or their chemistry) enough to let him into her life. In the wake of anti Semetic attacks, they're drawn closer together, but will their newfound closeness be shattered when the secret he’s been keeping is revealed?
To my readers:
* * *
This is a story I’ve been tiptoeing around for two volumes. It’s not going to be easy at times, so if you’re not in the mood to read it, it’s fine. If you skip it. I understand.
This Story contains references to anti-Semitism, Nazis and associated symbology.
However, within its pages, there’s also love, resistance, Chanukah, kittens and hope.
* * *
This story is dedicated to those who say Never Again and work to keep it from happening.
This story is dedicated to those who find the light of hope in the darkness.
To those in Mount Kisco, in Charlottesville, and in so many other places where people have found themselves searching for words to explain things they thought they’d never have to explain, my heart is with you.
And to Jane Agdern, my mother, who knows what it’s like to start a lesson with ‘we’re still here.’
1
Wednesday Night
Manhattan
It was a truth universally acknowledged that a Devon Rex kitten in the mood to cause trouble must be in want of something to climb. Toby, the Devon Rex kitten in question, true to his nature, had decided to climb the blinds.
Sam Moskowitz, owner of said fuzz ball, rolled his eyes as he flopped on his couch and looked towards the squirt bottle he kept on the coffee table. “NO.”
Unimpressed, Toby continued to scale the blinds as if he was some kind of feline mountaineer.
Sam shook his head, too tired to squirt the kitten. Instead, he grabbed his phone and opened up his email program. This, he decided, was living his best life.
His muscles ached all over, but he was on his couch
and not obligated to move for any reason. He was free. He had done publicity for the second Shadow Squad movie and filmed a cameo for the Moonlight Shadow solo film, which finished all of his commitments for the year. This meant he was entering the time off he’d built into his schedule, from what he called American Sukkot to the beginning of Chanukah.
His first act as a free man was going onto a website called TzedakahExchange, a clearinghouse for people who, like him, liked to give to various charities. His particular interest was the section of the website called SchoolFund. Once he’d entered his password, he clicked into the section of schools that needed only a small amount of money to make their target and finished them all before clicking the link that took him to the requests made by his favorite teacher.
His weakness was always the teachers who taught preschool; they had the littlest kids who needed the most attention. It was both difficult and rewarding. His mother had been a preschool teacher, and he found himself drawn to the teachers with the most innovative lesson plans that took into account the particularities of teaching preschoolers.
That was why Deborah Taubman, from DC, had become his favorite over the last six months. Taking units that seemed too much for preschoolers and bringing them down to their level. Sure enough, she’d made another request. She wanted to do a unit on Jewish practices around the world and had a gorgeous description of the way she’d teach her preschoolers. She’d cited a cost for materials, so he clicked the donate button. He began entering his password as a strange noise split the silence of the room.
Part crash, part wail, the noise sent him to his feet almost immediately. He’d crossed the room before he’d realized what he’d done, and immediately picked Toby up off the floor and lifted him out of the chaos the small ball of fluff had created.
“Nope,” he said as he rubbed the tiny miscreant behind the ears. “I don’t think so.”
Toby squirmed as Sam crossed the room, curling his toes in the soft carpet he’d decided to put in his living room. He sat back on the couch before lying down, the kitten choosing to cuddle along.
“I adore you,” he informed the little cotton ball. “But you’re not doing any more adventuring.”
Once he and Toby settled in, he grabbed his phone and returned to his email program, bracing himself for the insane number of emails clogging his inbox. As he expected, the inbox contained a whole bunch of junk (which he deleted), random correspondence he ignored, three invitations and something that got his attention.
Sam had subscribed to a tiny mailing list called the BlueChorus. Clicking on this week’s email brought him to a paragraph talking about a small movie the editor had recently seen. There was even a link to the video of the movie. Further reading informed him the movie, ‘Rogue Acts’, was looking to gain distribution. For the moment, the email said, the movie had been made available on a tiny platform; which he also subscribed to under his mother’s maiden name.
He looked at the sleeping kitten on his chest, and decided he wasn’t moving anytime soon. So he clicked the link and fired up the movie.
True to the description he’d read, the movie was about resistance. But it went deeper, and told the stories of the inspiration behind it. What drove people to protest? Who had created groups on social media and email lists that gave people direction and a space to talk online? Why and how would creatives decide to turn their art towards inspiring change?
The movie also profiled the people who made resistance and activism in the age of President Crosby accessible for everybody who wanted it. It told the personal stories behind some of the movements. He was riveted. For just under two hours, he sat, staring at the screen of his phone, watching this documentary. It was powerful. People needed to see it. Why was he just learning about it now?
Sam clicked on the website and did some investigation. He recognized the name of the production company; most of their projects had gotten wider distribution. This one hadn’t. Not yet. The director had written a few things, but this was one of the first times she’d gotten behind the camera. And yet…the name sounded very familiar.
Taubman was an Ashkenazi name, and yes, Deborah Taubman was the teacher of the school he’d been secretly funding since it showed up on SchoolFunds. But were Lisa Taubman, director, based in DC and Deborah Taubman, teacher, based in DC, related?
Did it matter?
No.
Helping the movie became his first priority, and that sent him back into his inbox. He’d built a vacation into his schedule, but what kind of person would he be if he didn’t take advantage of it? Time was finite, and he couldn’t just laze about when there was work to be done. He had his cousin’s empty apartment in DC lying in wait, and the ability to travel in a way he couldn’t expect others to.
A plan in mind, he fired off a few emails, – one to his cousin, one to his business manager (his sister) and one to his agent. The two most important replies came back first. Then he emailed the production company. That email came back fast enough to burn his inbox. Once he’d responded he’d lifted Toby off of his chest and headed to his bedroom to pack. There was no time to waste. He was going to D.C.
Thursday, Early Morning
Washington D.C.
Deborah Taubman awoke to the sound of her sister’s squeals.
She sat up in the darkened room, the only light coming from her alarm clock and her charging music player.
Her sister was still screaming. Her voice was loud on the old fashioned answering machine.
“OMG DEB you have to call me! I GOT THE CRAZIEST EMAIL ON THE PLANET AND YOU NEED TO CALL.”
She rubbed the pain out of her temples, clearing enough of her head to realize three things: her sister wasn’t in danger, her sister was happy, and her sister wanted to talk. So, she lifted the handset and braced herself. “Hello?”
“OMGSAMMOSKOWITZ JUST EMAILED ME!”
There were words, but Deb didn’t understand them or what they meant. “What?”
She heard an impatient sigh on the other end, in typical Lisa fashion. “So,” Lisa continued, having found her voice again, “I opened my email last night to find Sam Moskowitz saw my film and wants to help in some way…”
“What??”
“The resistance movie. He wants to …”
“Who?”
“Mr. Shadow. Sam Moskowitz.”
“Who?”
“You need to see Shadow Squad,” Lisa scolded. “But more importantly for your purposes, he posts videos of his kitten, Toby, who climbs everywhere.”
An image of a video posted on social media of a very active and excited kitten penetrated her sleep-fogged brain, and the connection was made. “Oh. Toby. His owner? Got it. What’s up?”
“Toby’s owner. Sam. Emailed me and told me he’s interested in the movie,” Lisa replied.
Deb wasn’t sure whether her sister was being clearer or whether she’d gotten a bit more awake. Either way, the conversation was starting to make sense. “So…Toby and his owner are coming here?”
“Yes. He wants a meeting with me, and the production team.”
“That’s cool…is it happening and when?”
“Like soon. They’re arranging it. I’m just…wow.”
“Why wow? I mean it’s great you’re getting some outside help, but you gotta help me here. I’m not familiar with this guy, though from the way you’re talking he’s a big deal?”
“He’s been acting for a while,” Lisa finally said. “But when he got the role of Mr. Shadow-from Shadow squad?”
“Okay?”
She didn’t know where her sister was going, but she’d go with it for now.
“Anyway, Mr. Shadow is pretty much the embodiment of the fight against Anti-Semitism, and Sam started to use his platform to do it in reality.” Her sister paused, and she could feel the excitement in her voice over the phone. “He’s one of the good guys, Deb.”
“That’s amazing, Lisa. Really. I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah,” her sister c
ontinued, “anyway, he’s coming to DC. To our offices, and meeting with us during the day. Then they’re arranging a wine and cheese for tonight, and I want you to come. You think you could finish with enough time to change before?”
Deb stretched and thought about the day’s schedule. If her most recent request had been fulfilled, she could go and pick up the books she wanted to use to teach the Jews of the World unit. “Depends on what time.”
“Make time, please.”
This was a command performance. No getting out of it. “And who’s they?”
“Liz and Marcus. They want to introduce Sam to everybody who worked on the movie, and they figured a low key wine and cheese reception would be the best way.”
She rolled her eyes. Lisa’s wife and producing partner liked the parties Lisa didn’t. That meant Deb needed to be on hand to help her sister through the fear while Liz worked her magic. “You can’t talk Liz out of it?”
“’Fraid not,” her sister replied. “But seriously, Deb. I don’t want to talk her out of this one. Seriously. Sam. Freaking Moskowitz wants to…”
“Yes. I get it. Ok. Fine. I’ll see you later.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When she hung up the phone, she decided that trying to sleep was going to be a losing battle. So she turned off her alarm, moved into the kitchen and turned on the coffee. When she turned on her phone, she noticed a message from SchoolFund. It seemed she’d have time (and money) to head to the bookstore during her break. Maybe she’d look over the novelizations from the Shadow Squad movies. Just in case.
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