by Mia Soto
“Don’t even joke about that,” he says gravely.
“Well how do you think I feel then?” The tears are coming again.
“It’s different baby. I’m a man.”
I blow out some air. “And what’s that suppose to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. It just means the only bike I ever want you to ride is mine. Because you’re right, they’re dangerous. And I don’t even want you on mine that much. I have to take care of you. I can’t live without you.”
My heart is yearning after those words. I finally understand what those stupid romance novels mean when they say this. It is yearning with an ache and my eyes close even before he kisses me. He drops my legs but his arms keep me suspended in air as my arms encircle his neck. My feet are dangling in their worn black ballet flats since Mark is easily half a foot taller than me. I think I hear some of the women sigh dreamily.
One of the guys asks, “that’s Margo?” Someone must nod because he continues with, “Jesus, no wonder he’s whipped.”
We both break apart with smiles. And he says, “you see.”
I just roll my eyes and shake my head. “Let’s go.”
Once he sets me to my feet, he takes my hand and brings it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on it. He keeps his fingers firmly entwined with mine as he turns to our audience. “See you guys. Thanks girls.” I think I hear them sigh again. When we get to my car, it’s another fight because he’s holding out his hand wanting the key.
“I’ll drive,” I say not thinking anything of it.
“No, I’ll drive.”
“Don’t be silly Mark. You were just in an accident. You won’t be any less macho if I drive you to work. Although I don’t know how you’re going into meeting looking like that.”
He pulls me into him and while his gentle lips are befuddling my mind he slips the key out of my hand. “I’ll drive.” I shake my head exasperated. We’re driving along when he glances over at me and says, “so I guess this means you do love me.”
“Don’t try to manipulate this situation. I have compassion. And you clearly mean something more to me than just a get well soon card.”
“Just say it,” he’s grinning broadly. I’m shaking my head again looking out the window. “Come on, you can do it,” he coaxes.
I don’t, but I am thinking. Then I start thinking out loud. “Just because I reacted emotionally doesn’t mean anything. I’m Spanish. That’s what we do. When our loved ones are hurt or in trouble we’re there. And we’re noisy and emotional but we’ve got each other’s backs, always. And,” and he’s turning into my complex. So I look at him confused. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going home.”
“I see that. Why?”
“Because I’m going to make love to you now.”
My head drops in questioning disbelief. “I thought you were late.”
“I am.”
“And I am late.”
“I know.”
He’s pulling into my spot and getting out. I open my door and then stop. “Mark, I have to get to work.” I know Iris has covered for me, but they expected dinner, and if I can make it, then, I’d like to. But Mark is reaching across to un-strap me and kissing my neck and whispering in my ear.
“Baby, I want to make love to you, right now. I can’t wait until later.” His hand falls in between my legs, and I know my eyes are limpid.
I sigh raggedly, “ok, a quickie.”
But he shakes his head as he says, “no, there’s not going to be anything quick about this.”
“What about work?” I’m really confused and sexually arouse. It’s a weird state to be in.
“Good point,” he pulls out his phone. “Lewis, how’s it going?” He uh huhs and nods a bit. “Well tell them that’s fine but it will take another week and they are looking at a budget change. I don’t know call Mary and have her run the numbers. Yeah, I’m out for the day. You know how to get me.”
We’re standing in my living room now. My hands are on my hips as I look up at him. “You can just call in like that.”
“Sure, I’m the boss.” He’s taking his ruined shirt off. The sight of his rock hard body is sending chills up my arms.
“You are?” He nods. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that? You said Tampa was a step backwards.”
“It was, at first, but I’ve always been promoted quickly.”
I’m perplexed. “You talk about me not telling you things but at least when I tell you something it’s the whole story.”
“I would have told you but you never asked.”
“I did.” He looks funny at me but I insist, “I did.”
“I ask you every day about your day. I keep waiting for you to do the same.” He does. I just thought it was mindless conversation. I didn’t realize it was a test.
His shoulder is swollen and I’m frowning. “We should put some ice on your shoulder.” He’s picking me up by the waist again. “Put me down Mark,” but he kisses me instead and I’m smiling when his lips pull away to hover close by. I don’t even open my eyes. “So what do you do?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he laughs and silences my thoughts again for a few minutes. Now all I’m thinking about is getting him in bed and not to convalesce either.
“Well then, don’t tell me until after you take me in the bedroom.” His arms tighten on my waist and my eyes open to his stormy gaze.
“I’m going to make love to you right now.” I nod. That was the deal I thought. “And I’m going to kiss every inch of your body, multiple times. It may take hours. So call the church if you need to.”
“As long as I can get Sam by six, we’re cool,” I say wrapping my legs around his waist.
He looks over at the clock that’s saying four ten and then he looks back at me with a wicked smile, “deal.”
Chapter 10
I’m a Beer Man Cocktail
1 medium to light beer, cold
1 can of ginger ale or ginger beer, cold
½ oz of ginger liquor
½ a lime, juiced
Starting with a freezing cold large beer tumbler, pour the cold beer in, add lime juice, liquor, ginger ale. Basically a Shandy with pizzazz! Enjoy!
I’m just crawling into bed at one when I hear the door opening. Mark did end up having to go into work. They had a bust and called as we were leaving to get Sam. So I went to get Sam and we did our thing. Then I fell asleep in front of the TV until just now. Instead of lying down, I sit up waiting for him to come into the bedroom. Even through the darkness, I can tell he’s surprised.
“What are you doing up baby?” He sits on the bed and kisses me. “You didn’t wait for me did you?” He told me not to. He also told me he’d call and he didn’t.
“I fell asleep on the couch and just woke up.” His shirt is off, and I can see that his shoulder is black and blue. “Your shoulder looks terrible. You should go to the doctor.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m worried about it.” He’s lying down in bed and pulling me into his arms. My head rests on my favorite spot on his good shoulder. My hand is resting on his chest feeling its rise and fall. There is a calm to us right now, a familiarity that is so comfortable I smile. Then I kiss his chest before saying, “You don’t have to get rid of your bike if you don’t want to.” I have no right to ask that of him.
“Shh, let’s talk about that later. My head hurts.”
I sit up, “do you need something, Advil?”
He pulls me back down. “I need you right where you are and some sleep. That’s it.” His hand is caressing my hair gently. I’m silent thinking about the day and my reactions and what all that this means. I know what it means. Those words refuse to fall from my lips just yet, but I want to say something that gives him some hope.
So I say, “I think I’m falling in love with you.” It’s something, right? His hand stops and lies flat on my head for a minute before starting its caress again
.
“Don’t worry baby. I’ll catch you.”
I hope so. Because the last time I fell it was a long, slippery slope that ended in a big, deep, empty cement pool and it was not a happy landing for anyone.
***
When I get up at six the next morning, he’s already showering. For all my denial of what we are to each other, the tell tale signs are readily apparent. He has at least a few changes of clothes at my place and multiple toiletries. We haven’t spent a night apart in almost three weeks, not since he first declared his love for me. He’s winning and he knows it even if it’s not coming out in the traditional format.
I’m in the kitchen getting Sam’s banana and oatmeal ready when Mark walks out all sexy and disheveled. His starched cream shirt is hanging open from his impressive frame and his hair is all wet and tousled. I push aside the shirt to take a look at his shoulder and grimace when I see it. He’s pulling me into his arms, and I place a couple of soft kisses on it. Maybe they will help. It seems to work on Sam. He places a few kisses on a much better place on me. I should have thought of that.
“Shouldn’t you have that sling on?”
“No, they said wear it if I think I need it. I don’t.” He’s buttoning up and tucking into his khakis. That’s pretty much his work uniform, Dockers and button downs, crisply ironed and dress loafers.
“Ok, Superman, do whatever you want.” I’m tired of trying to reason with him. It’s really not my responsibility, yet. He smiles as he loops his belt and then disappears into the back to finish dressing. When he comes out, he looks just delicious. Even with the clean square bandage on his forehead, he looks awesome. If anything, the bump on his forehead gives him a touch of vulnerability that no doubt the women he meets today will eat up. I know I am.
“Well, beautiful, have a nice day,” I say. I can’t help it. He is.
He scrunches his nose. “You be the beautiful one and the gorgeous one and the hot one. I’ll just be the one you’re leading around by the nose.” I laugh before he kisses me and Sam wakes up with a call for me. He gives me another quick kiss before he says, “I miss you already. See you later baby and see if your mom can babysit tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to take you out to dinner and then I want to make love to you all night.”
“Didn’t we do that yesterday?”
“Well we didn’t do dinner and it definitely wasn’t all night. A few hours…that’s not nearly enough.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say as he kisses my temple before leaving. I could get used to those kinds of nights.
***
I’m going to a wedding with Mark. I don’t know what he slipped into my drink to convince me of this. He did something. I’m sure of it. His “it’s no big deal” and “it’s just a party” was coupled with the twenty mega watt smile of his that blinds me to reason. He’s also gotten very good at plying on my sympathy after the accident. I’ve already told him that game is about played, and he just flashes that superstar smile. His power is multiplying, and he knows it, and he knows I know it.
I’m still dressing when the front door opens and Sam calls “Mar, Mar.” Mark went home to get ready since I only have one bath and on a night like this I’m not into sharing it.
They are playing ball as I admire myself in the mirror. My Tahari ensemble of a fitted ribbed bustier with a matching pencil skirt is provocative to say the least. It hasn’t been on my body since long before the idea of childbirth even crossed my mind. I guess some things on my body have not returned to normal post child birth. I’m filling this thing out in a way I’ve never done before. I can’t help but be a little bit proud of my Selma Hayek curves. They are new to me.
“Are you ready? We’re late,” he calls to me. Men are always impatient.
I slip on my jeweled Gucci stiletto sandals, which I got on super sale at Century 21 a million years ago, and take one more look. My hair is all sex goddess full because I used some fat rollers on it instead of wearing it slicked into a pony tail like I normally would. Hopefully the fullness will last more than an hour. The only reason I’m wearing it down is for Mark. Makeup is set, and now all I need is his approval.
So I walk out. He looks up from Sam and gives me the best dropped jaw, hot damn, look I’ve ever gotten. It’s that look that has the ability to wipe away years of low self confidence and insecurity. It’s the look every woman wants from her spouse, man, boyfriend, partner, and it doesn’t matter if no one else feels this way as long as he does. My smile beams as Mark gives it to me, and I can’t help but mentally note that maybe I’ll get a little bit of the power back with this. He’s never seen me deck out like this before. Usually I’m in jeans or capris and flats. He’s gathering me in for one of his infamous kisses when I stop him.
“You can’t do that. You’ll mess up my makeup.” He half laughs and keeps on. So I say, “I’m serious.”
His eyes finally tear away from my mouth to realize I am serious. “I can’t not kiss you right now.”
“If you kiss me, it’s going to smear all over you and me, and I’ll have to redo my makeup. And you just said we’re late.” His look of pain is laughable. A moment of inward struggle ensues before he groans and kisses my neck.
“This is not good enough. But if I really kiss you, you won’t be leaving this apartment, and Sam will be scandalized for life.”
“I’m glad you’re using your thinking cap.”
“I don’t think that’s what I’m using,” he says staring at my swelling chest line.
I transfer a few things from my super sack into an evening bag. Mark is holding Sam, but his free hand is on my waist possessively. Once in the lot, Mark starts to lead us away from my car.
“We have to take Sam to my mom’s,” I say. I have Sam because the ex is on a project that’s ‘going live’ this weekend. Whenever possible, I get mom to babysit before Stacy because Stacy doesn’t come cheap. Babysitters make a pretty coin these days.
He nods, “I brought my car.” He points to some sport thingy. And yes, he still has the bike. It’s in the shop.
“What’s that?” I laugh.
“It’s a Crossfire.” He seems a little offended.
“I don’t know what that is,” but I can see that it has all of two seats. So unless I’m sitting in the trunk, the three of us cannot fit into it. “Sam has to sit in his car seat.”
Understanding dawns. Sometimes Mark is such a single, well nearly single, childless man. Although to be fair, Sam’s dad still has these moments, more often than I care to admit. “You can follow me to Mom’s, and then we can take your car from there.”
Mark walks back to me as I open Sam’s door. “We’ll have to do that because it’s too late to get your car clearance for the base.” The wedding is being held at the officers club at MacDill air force base.
“Ok, well, meet me there,” I say as I close the door and prepare to walk around. He stops me by the hips struggling again with control. Then he sighs heavily before letting me go and walking away to his car. I’m taking Sam out of his seat when Mark pulls up. Sam’s hand falls in his normal place right on my chest. It is a habit I can’t seem to break.
Mark laughs as he takes Sam from me. “Kid, you read my mind.”
We drop Sam off, and Mark helps me into his car. The key is in the ignition, but he turns to me before starting the engine and says, “I don’t think you understand the level of control I’m exercising right now.” I raise my eyebrows with a smile. He groans again, “I’m not going to make it through this evening. Next time, you have to put on whatever you’re going to wear the night before. This is like torture.” He must figure fast driving will ease his sexual frustration because we get to the base in a way that makes Camilo’s driving seem tame. I let out a shaky sigh when we finally come to a stop.
“Sorry,” he laughs. “Stay there.” He jumps out and opens my door. It may very well be since high school prom since this has happened. He presses me into the door
with his mouth hovering over mine. At this point, I want it as badly as him, and I’ll take the consequences of that kiss. “Let’s go,” he finally says and takes my hand to lead me.
We sneak in just before the bride heads down the isle. Alan and his girlfriend Crystal are in the two chairs in front of ours. They turn, and Mark quietly introduces me. While Alan knows me from my recent swath of destruction, we have never met formally. As for his girlfriend, right now, she strikes me as trouble with a capital T and some bad double DD implants.
The minister is talking about forever and ever and women are weeping. Mark’s hand is warm on my back and caressing my hair. He leans over and kisses the curve where my neck and shoulder meet. Crystal gives us a sidelong glance that does not seem friendly. He nuzzles his way up to my ear and whispers, “I love you.”
He could not have picked a more tragic time to revive those words. I don’t know if he’s been biding his time, but the only good thing about him braving these waters again, now, is that I can’t, in all fairness, respond. So I just raise a hand to caress his cheek as he continues to nuzzle my neck. The ceremony is over pretty quickly. This is going to be one of those hard core party weddings.
We’re standing in a circle with Mark’s buddies and significant others. I feel like I’m in one of those ‘one of these things doesn’t belong’ games. Among the wives and girlfriends, I’m the odd woman out. I can’t stand false modesty, and I know I pull together nicely, chicly, but I’m usually among others who are at the very least equally pulled together. I’ve never been the clear winner even by my own estimation.
I’m surrounded by frumpy women who’ve given up the fight and Bebe hoes. The Bebe hoes we all know. They’re hateful and looking down their noses at the frumpy women. They use sex like a weapon in all its dirty and baser forms. The frumpy women just confuse me. Most of them are attractive. With just small effort they would make the Bebe hoes look like exactly what they are, but they’ve given up. This would never happen in a Latino country. Women don’t give up their power to Crocs and ugly Laura Ashley paisleys in other countries. And I don’t mean size zero women either. I mean women: big, small, tall, dainty. They squeeze and preen themselves into womanly silhouettes and remind their men daily to be appreciative because it could go somewhere else easily. It’s a power and not one to be tossed aside lightly. Being a woman is an art form, and these women have traded in their Cézannes for Dogs Playing Poker.