by Heidi Lowe
“Miss Anders, please get your things and leave,” my mother said in a stern, schoolteacher voice, without looking at Autumn. “We allowed you to stay under our roof, and as thanks you disrespect us in this manner.”
“Get the hell out of my room! I'm a grown woman. I can do whatever I like.” Saying those words set my age back about ten years; I sounded like a stubborn teenager who wasn't getting her own way.
“I can assure you I didn't mean to disrespect you both. I'm sorry that I did.” I could still feel her bean, her wetness, and wanted to hold on to that feeling forever. But she broke away, separated her beautiful body from mine – a body I had seen dozens of times but had only now truly appreciated it for what it was. Now, when she was being thrown out.
“You can't throw her out. It's late,” I protested.
“Elle, it's fine,” Autumn said soothingly, collecting her clothes off the floor and climbing into them. “We passed a motel about half an hour away. I'll take the car and stay there.”
“Then I'm coming with you.”
“No, stay with your family. I think you all need to have a talk. I'll see you back in San Francisco.” She pecked me on the cheek, so softly her kiss seemed ghostly. She smelled of mint, and me, and sex.
Five minutes later, from my bedroom window, I watched her drive away, my heart and body aching for her.
My parents came back to my room, distinct looks of disappointment penetrating their features. Disappointment and bewilderment.
I stood before them, arms folded across my chest, more furious than I'd ever been. I'd been robbed of my orgasm, and the woman I longed for had just driven away to God only knew where. It felt as though I would never see her again.
“Where do you get off?” I started, feeling more like the parent than the child.
But my mother was quick to reverse those roles. “How dare you bring that woman into our house and...do that stuff under our roof!”
“We were having sex. Jesus!” I threw up my arms. “It's not like we were burning people alive.”
“This house is not a brothel!” My mother screeched.
“Maybe if it was I never would have been bored out of my mind and fled the state to escape it.”
“Just listen to yourself. Who are you?” This was from my father. “You swan off to that sinful city, and you lose your morals, start doing ungodly things with that woman. Did you ever think about all the other women she's done that with? Huh? Were you thinking about that?”
“This isn't about me being safe, we all know that. The odds of me catching something from another woman are much lower than if I were sleeping with a man. Just say it, you're disgusted that your daughter likes women.”
My mother tutted. “Don't you dare make this about sexual orientation. We've always been tolerant of that sort of thing.”
I laughed humorlessly. “That sort of thing. Sure.” Despite my reaction, I had to admit that she'd spoken truthfully. As far as Catholics and bible bashers went, my parents were the most tolerant. They had their opinions, their beliefs, and they had said things that many ignorant people had about LGBT people, people of color, people of different religions, people from different states. But they'd always taken a live and let live approach to life.
“We've known about you for some time,” my father said.
I'd assumed as much. Although I'd never spoken about my inclinations toward women, my lack of boyfriends growing up, my complete lack of interest in boys period, and my increased interest in gay culture over the years was pretty telling. An open secret; a glass closet case.
“We just want you to be safe, love,” my mother said, her voice back to its usual, even tone. “And we don't want you getting your heart broken.”
“Just please go.” I turned away from them and waited until I'd heard the door click shut before I let out a depressed sigh. The best night of my life had morphed into the most cringeworthy night of my life in the blink of an eye.
I felt the memory of Autumn deep inside me, could still feel her hard nub against mine as I settled down to bed. I smelled her on my sheets, tasted her on my tongue and lips. Her essence was everywhere, but she wasn't.
I longed to see her again.
TWELVE
When I crept into my apartment, all of the lights were out. That was Jessica – asleep before eleven, every night, unless she was going out. I tip-toed along the hall to my room, luggage in hand, trying not to make too much noise and wake her. But about a minute after I'd set the suitcase down, I heard her bedroom door creak open.
“Man, it was peaceful when you weren't here. I almost forgot how loud you are.” She stood in the doorway with a tired grin, rubbing the grit from her eyes.
“Oh, come on, I barely made a sound. You're just the lightest sleeper in the world.”
She perched herself on my bed as though it was her own. “Wow, so the wanderer returns. Must be a bit of an anticlimax coming back here after your epic tour. How was it?”
“It was work, that's how it was.”
“You have to give me more than that. How was Reno at least?”
I shrugged. “Busy. And the people weren't very friendly. Oh, but I did win fifty bucks on the slot machines, so it wasn't all bad.”
She let out a groan. “You woke me just to tell me that? I could have stayed sleeping.”
“I didn't wake you on purpose!”
“So how was our loveable little town?”
“Still the same. You know nothing changes in Ferndale.”
“And your parents?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that they were the worst people I'd ever had the displeasure of knowing, for throwing Autumn out in the middle of the night; and that if it were up to them I would have never lost my v-card. But if I told her that, I would have to come clean about the act preceding Autumn's banishment. As much as I wanted to share it with the world, to shout it from the rooftops that I was no longer pure and wholesome, that I had lost my innocence in the most beautiful, most intense way, beyond anything my imagination could have conjured up, I wanted to keep it my little secret. At least until I had a chance to see Autumn again. It had been three days since we'd made love; seventy-two hours of replaying and reliving the night and all its scandalous goodness. My body wouldn't let me forget.
“They're fine,” I said eventually. “They send their love.”
She got up. “Well that was worth getting out of bed for. Not!” She waved a dismissive hand at me and stormed back to her room.
I didn't think I would ever get to sleep, so consumed by my excitement at seeing Autumn again in the morning. I'd never looked forward to work so much before. Things would be great now, I just knew it.
As usual, the mansion was lifeless, quiet when I arrived the following morning. She's still in bed, I thought, smiling to myself with a Cheshire cat grin as I climbed the steps to her bedroom. If I play my cards right, maybe I'll be able to join her, and we can finish where we left off, uninterrupted by my snooping parents. That was how it had been – three days of nothing on my mind but sex. My first experience with it had effectively transformed me into a teenage boy. But now I totally understood why men could think of nothing else; if you found someone as compatible as Autumn, someone that felt so damn good, and knew your body better than you yourself did, it made perfect sense.
“Autumn?” I called out. I twisted the knob on her bedroom door.
A sleepy, naked Autumn sat up in bed... and another woman, in a similar state of undress, sat up beside her. Although I was staring right at them, and had witnessed this scene a thousand times before, it took a moment for my brain to adjust to what my eyes were seeing.
“Oh,” was all I managed to say before backing out of the room and taking off in a dash down the stairs. I thought I would keel over, collapse from having my heart torn from my chest and crushed in the hands of the woman I had erroneously, and so easily, given it to. One of many things I'd easily given to her...
I hated my eyes for s
eeing, and now for the tears that they allowed to burst forth. This scene wasn't new; only the woman was. It had never brought me to tears in the past. But now was different, at least for me. Just three days ago I'd given her something so valuable we only got it once; and three days later she'd moved on to her next screw. Just like that.
“If your intention was to hide from me, you might want to start somewhere I wouldn't look for you first. Somewhere you don't always hide out...” There was amusement in her voice when she found me down in the garage five minutes later.
I turned away quickly, pretending to do something to her car while wiping the tears away beneath my glasses so she wouldn't see and would never know they were there.
“I wasn't hiding from you. The car needed a shine.” Perhaps signs of my crying were gone from my face, but it was still very much present in my voice. If she didn't pick up on it immediately she wasn't listening to me. “Is your friend still here?”
She laughed. “My friend? You mean the hot brunette I spent all of last night exploring? She just left. Why? Did you want a piece of her too?”
I turned on her with a scathing look that came from the deepest, darkest recesses of my soul, almost physically sickened by her complete lack of compassion. Had she forgotten what she'd done to me just a few days prior? What we'd done together?
“Why would you think that I would want to hear any of that?”
She frowned, cocking her head to one side. “I tell you this stuff all the time... Why are you only protesting now?”
“Oh my God!” I said through gritted teeth. Was she really this oblivious? “Just forget it.” I turned back to wipe the car, but now with such furious intent I could have peeled the paintwork off. I wanted to destroy that car, despite how much I adored it. It was something she liked, evidently more than she liked me, and I wanted it to suffer the way I now was.
I thought she would take a hint and walk away, but I should have known it wasn't in Autumn Anders's nature. She was more the kicking the hornets' nest type rather than the seeing it and leaving it the fuck alone type.
“You know I don't pay you to spend half the day cleaning my cars.”
“No, you just pay me for the privilege of taking my virginity.” It was out before I could stop myself. I'd had enough anyway. Whatever she said to me now wouldn't matter; she couldn't make me feel any more used than I already did.
She didn't speak for the longest beat, and I could just hear her breathing – hers and my own. I didn't dare turn to look at her.
Then she said, “I never pay for sex. What I took, what you gave, you gave freely and willingly. And someone had to take it, so it might as well have been me. Better the devil you know and all that.”
Now I couldn't not look at her. She was making this into a joke. Something so serious being treated so frivolously. Expecting anything less from her was my mistake.
“How can you be so cold about it? You're talking as if you took a cupcake from me! You took something I can never get back, that I can never give to another person. You knew I wanted it to be special, and I thought it was... until now–”
“Your first time isn't supposed to be special,” she snapped, the sudden appearance of her anger startling me. “It's supposed to hurt, and be awkward, something you want to be done with. I did you and whatever douche you end up living happily ever after with a goddamn favor.” Her tone became one of mocking. “Twenty-four-year-old virgins aren't attractive, no matter what people tell you to make you feel better.”
“If that's the case why did you feel compelled to have your wicked way with me, sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, concocting that ridiculous story about being thrown out of your hotel just so you could spend the night with me?”
She laughed without humor. “I wanted to be the first, that's all. Nothing more. There wasn't anything special or romantic about how it happened. I screwed you while your folks were down the hall, in a single bed that you probably had since you were a kid. I had to keep telling you to keep it down so no one would hear you moaning. And then they walk in and catch us going at it like animals anyway. You call that romance, or something special? I call that a normal Saturday night for me.”
“Is that really all it was for you?” How many times did I need to hear it for it to register? My nose began to tickle, my eyes started to water. Surely this was all a macho act, of her playing tough and uncaring but hiding her true emotions. After the way she'd made love to me, how gentle and loving it was, how she looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in her life, the only thing that made sense, that had to have been unique to me. To have that sort of connection with every woman she slept with, or even a fraction of them, would have been emotionally draining. “You said...you said I felt perfect.”
“I wanted to be the first.” She'd already started walking away by the time she delivered her final blow, and I never got to look into her cruel eyes. “If for whatever reason you decide you no longer want to do this job, just say the word and I'll find someone who does.”
At that point it wasn't so much that I didn't want to, it was more that I simply couldn't.
Taking the following day off was the least I could do for myself. When the morning came, and the alarm buzzed me from my slumber, I fired off the shortest, most concise text to Autumn informing her that I was feeling under the weather and wouldn't make it in. I didn't bother checking it for spelling mistakes. What did meticulous attention to detail and pedantry matter now that my heart had been crushed? And when she called, mere minutes later, twice, I set my cell to ignore. I needed that time to myself, to make more definite plans for my future, not just knee-jerk reactions, emotionally charged. Would I stay or would I go? If I stayed, would I cope? If I left would I find a replacement job straight away? So many questions, asked and left unanswered as I stayed cooped up in bed all morning, and into the early afternoon, skipping breakfast and lunch.
By night time that day, I'd given myself a serious pep-talk, and tried to convince myself that whatever I thought I felt for Autumn was just awe, nothing else. A weird, fucked up awe that had allowed me to be seduced by someone who stood for everything I was against. Had prompted me to give my body to her without a second thought.
It was just sex, I kept repeating to myself whenever that irritating pang in my heart reared its ugly head. Good sex. Fantastic sex, even. But she'd moved on, so now it was my turn. Don't be the victim; you used each other.
When I returned to work, I went with a new attitude. Fuck Autumn Anders! What did I want with a washed out thirty-four-year-old woman who couldn't keep it in her pants long enough to get to know the women she was screwing?
These words should have been comforting enough to get me through. I needed them to be, for my mental health. But after two weeks of seeing a new woman in her company pretty much every day, being flaunted under my nose as though done purposefully, I knew no words of positive reinforcement would make my pain disappear. Each day it increased in magnitude, until I thought I would burst and say every hateful thing I'd ever thought of Autumn.
“They always ask the same questions, and I always give the same answers. When will they take a hint and stop inviting me to do these things?” The hair and makeup people at the television studio were working on Autumn in her changing room, as I watched from across the room. Her manager, a man with too much hair on his arms and chest but sadly not enough on his head, sat on the edge of the dressing table, listening to his biggest client bellyaching for the hundredth time about the same problem. She hated doing interviews, all interviews; radio, talk shows, internet, magazines, it didn't matter.
Her manager nodded in agreement, the safest move he could make so as not to piss her off. “I get that, you get that, but we have to keep up appearances, give the people what they want. With the new album out the smartest move is getting you in front of the people again. You don't want them forgetting about you.” His tone was so obsequious, and he spoke to her as though he was trying to appease a
toddler, using some sort of reverse psychology. It made me want to throw up listening to how much everyone gave in to her. It hadn't before; but now that she'd stamped all over my feelings, all types of deference toward her sickened me.
“The interviewers can't be trusted to report my precise words, and my truth is often distorted, warped, so that I come out looking worse than I actually am.”
“Is that even possible?” I mumbled, but not quietly. From the quick, worried glances some of the other people in the crowded room turned and shot me, I suspected they all heard. Autumn narrowed her eyes at me briefly, as she had been doing the past two weeks in response to my snide little quips, of which there had been many.
“We'll get approval before they air anything. It's boilerplate in every contract now. Don't sweat it,” her manager went on.
“They still print and air whatever they want, you know that. And they know what topics not to bring up?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Because I wouldn't want to lose my cool if anyone crosses a line.”
“You mean lose it again?” Another of my quips that didn't go unnoticed. It was as if the room as one turned to Autumn, waiting for her to attack me, and were surprised when she ignored me once more. Even I started to wonder why she wasn't reacting. It was no fun being spiteful when she wasn't giving anything back; she knew that better than anyone.
“For the most part they'll address the new album, the tour, stuff like that. All business, nothing personal.”
“Good,” she said again. “How much longer will this take?” This was to the makeup and hair guys. Letting other people doll her up was one of her least favorite things, I'd realized that over the months. She seemed more impatient than ever when someone was working on her face, or fussing around with her blonde tresses.