Plaza Erotica

by Gia Sola

  In the days since she’s gone, I’ve found myself too lost to function. I know I’ve got the power to overcome it. But, strangely, I haven’t had the will. It’s as if my time on this planet has lost all meaning, as if I’m living in the erratic time zone of dreams.

  Damn those dreams! I’m struggling through a labyrinth like Dante’s spiral, trying to climb my way out of the darkness - which I’d always preferred - up to some higher, more illuminated consciousness. Am I undergoing some kind of transformation? Am I on a path to destruction by allowing for what is actually a human condition?

  With Maya, I discovered an essence I’d never known before. We had a connection from the moment we met. You saw our shameless flirting in front of a hundred people. And our first kiss - in the elevator as it descended thirty-nine floors to the street - it was heady. And although I might have thought I was in control, I was not. Ever.

  At first lost in the passion that consumed us, we soon expanded to find mutual respect - and integrity - something I’d never believed in before. We came to understand and appreciate each other’s ideas and philosophies, shared under a banner of good humor. Rising at dawn, we’d waltz through the day, finding good reasons to do good deeds. At night, we’d sleep wrapped in the warmth of unbound joy and contentment.

  But the ecstasy that comes with those expressions seemed to rob me of my power. At one time, I could look her in the eye and cause her to remember - or to forget - and she would. But then before long I felt weak and tried to clip her wings. That’s when she fled, bringing an end to a divine dance.

  End of a divine dance? How about the beginning of divine intervention? There’s a connection between spirit and matter, I tell him. And finally Luke admits he’s close to believing it. I suggest this could be a promise of fulfillment, that maybe it’s time for him to embark on new journeys. “That’s just what she said,” he cries.

  And then I remind him that nobody can make a bond of love. We may give away our hearts, but we can’t offer up our souls. He knows that. But he attempts to cover his emotional pain with macho bravado. Tilting his head to look at the ceiling, the veins in his neck pulsing with a palpable beat, eyes brimming with tears, he says he’ll “contemplate those deep thoughts and see what kinds of dreams they bring.”

  We might try to interpret our dreams, but even centuries of experience won’t bring an understanding of how we come to love. It may be a question that can never be answered. And yet, I don’t believe she’s out of his life. He ought to know that even the gods are bound by her. I tell him it appears he’s found the perfect partner, that he’s got to let go of the reins he’d held on his own mortal desire. He takes one last look at the ceiling and says he isn’t sure if that’s what he wants.

  But sometimes even Lucifer is bound to get what he needs.

  Birds And Bees

  i.

  Where has all the time gone, he wonders. And what is it that makes us run from something when we should be moving toward it?

  Luke Degas looks at his watch while leaning his pin-striped shoulders against the far wall of the Lerner Hall auditorium. It’s fortuitous that out of some random flow of the universe, he finds himself here. Or is it? Was it by chance that today was his only opportunity to get Jack to sign those papers? By chance that he’d then roamed the corridors and wandered into her lecture class? Or was there some divine design at work?

  Conflict may have been a word he reserved for others, but he’d come to know what it’s like to be uncertain, at sea, at a loss to understand his feelings - even if his demeanor would appear otherwise to a casual observer, hands shoved in his pockets, booted foot kicked up on the walnut wainscoting. His facial expression, too, projects a degree of boredom. But his attention on the speaker, Maya Bartolo, is rapt.

  “...and so, we should remember that we sometimes need to view things in anthropocentric terms - that is, we need to ascribe human experience and values to a being that is not human, in order to reach some understanding of it. Darwin’s argument that animals have emotions has found favor among behaviorists, although some researchers believe they do not. But as we study the evolutionary biology of sex, it’s quite proper for us to take a look at it in those terms. The danger in anthropomorphism, however, is in thinking that it’s a description. Because it is not a description. It is actually a metaphor.

  “Take the battle of the sexes, for instance. It’s only been known since the nineteen eighties that the females of many species - including humans - are much more promiscuous than previously thought. It may seem odd. But there are benefits to this. The benefits are more - and healthier - offspring. And so we find that it is common, in insects for instance, for the male to produce gifts to the female - whether they hunt something to give her, or whether, like the butterfly, they secrete a gift. We’ve also come to find that the females of most species prefer males who come bearing large gifts.

  “Now, the honeybee is a good example to use in terms of conflicts that arise in the battles of the sexes. The male honeybee, in general, has small chance of ever mating - there being so much competition - and he will likely die a virgin. So, when he is successful, he makes it his mission to keep his queen from mating with anyone else...because otherwise it would result in fewer of his offspring being his.

  “Thus, in order to secure the continuation of his own line, the male honeybee must perform the ultimate act - and then offer the ultimate sacrifice. He mates with her. And then he explodes, leaving his genitals inside and blocking her up.

  “Oh, but this is not as bad as it sounds - not for the female, anyway. For she can clean herself up; assuming she’s so inclined. But if not - no problem - she’ll be assisted by the next lover, who will use the scoop-like tip of his phallus to remove the detritus of his predecessor.

  “Of course, in the case of the successful suitor, this may be seen as even more than a catastrophe. For not only does he explode, but right at the moment of climax, his genitals are ripped from his body with a loud snap...Yes, snap!

  “Well, I see by the clock that we’ll need to conclude on that melodious note. So let me leave you with the words of Charles Darwin as he embarked on the writing of the Origin of Species.

  “Quote: ‘What a book a Devil’s Chaplain might write on the clumsy, wasteful, blundering, low and horridly cruel works of nature.’

  “Thank you. Have a good afternoon. Enjoy your Spring Break.”

  Luke regards Maya’s cupid-bow lips, as she smiles at the audience. He’d been watching those lips. And as he’d listened to her discourse about the honeybee, he was not unmindful of the cautionary words of his old friend - one particular word - from what felt like a century-ago conversation.

  She walks across the stage to exit, hand over her heart. Her walk still reminds him of the strut of a model slouching down the runway. But her hair is longer than he remembered, and she’s got it woven into a loose braid that travels halfway down her back. When she turns, he sees she’s got it tied up with a ribbon matching the color of her dress: fire-engine red. Once upon a time, he might’ve taken a ribbon like that and tied her to the bedpost with it. Or she him.

  He watches for a minute more, then runs a hand through his hair, straightens his tie, and begins to move toward her. But a willowy blonde emerges from the audience and waves at Maya, who waves back. He stops, turns around, and puts his cell phone to his ear, following the women to the elevator and then taking the stairs to the ground floor entrance of the university café.

  Maya waits for her new friend to join her before picking up a utensil to eat. Stirring her coffee with a finger, she’d watched her standing in line at the cashier and then watched her approach from across the room, surprised to see those long legs taking such small steps.

  Wendy Finch was probably no taller than she was, but her legs seemed to go on forever. Holding her food tray balanced against her hip, she pulls out a chair across the tabl
e from Maya, puts down her tray, and sits. “Thanks for inviting me, Maya. That was a great presentation today.”

  “Thank you.” Maya says. “Glad you could make it. Interesting topic, huh?”

  “There wasn’t a man in the audience who’ll ever forget it,” Wendy says. She adjusts the bra straps holding up a rack Maya would’ve been just as proud to display in that V-neck sweater, then she leans her narrow shoulders across the table and whispers, “Could you see their expressions at the moment of the snap?!”

  Maya can’t see anything but the swell of the other woman’s breasts. Her interest surprises her. She hesitates before she answers. “I guess I had what you might call a bird’s eye view of the spectators,” she says, raising her viewpoint to look Wendy in the eye. “But I didn’t mean to make them squirm in their seats, so I cut it short.”

  “Very humane of you, Professor,” Wendy says with that same crooked smile she’d offered when they’d been introduced at the start of the semester. She takes her elbows off the table and leans back in her chair, giving Maya a wink that’s cute and quick and somewhat subtle - the same kind of wink Maya would sometimes give a man.

  And when she laughs, the timbre of Wendy’s voice deepens, just as Maya’s voice sometimes deepens too. The coincidence is a little disconcerting, but she likes it. They didn’t know each other very well, but she’d already noticed other traits they had in common. There was a comfortable familiarity with Wendy, and an exotic attraction she’d never felt for another woman.

  “...you made those references to female promiscuous behavior patterns,” Wendy is saying. “And what was that parenthetical phrase about humans?”

  Maya lets her racing heart calm down, reaches for her purse to search for her silver compact.

  “You look cute when you blush,” Wendy says.” There’s a vulnerability about you. I like that.”

  The woman was direct, just like she was. Another familiar pattern that made her comfortable. Something about it also made her feel sexy - and bold. “What is it you like about my vulnerability?” Tilting her head, she looks up at Wendy, making her laugh. “And what’s your problem with promiscuity?” Maya laughs too, but it’s a little too loud and a little too long.

  “Oh, I think it’s great...for some people!” Wendy says.

  “Ah, but what about you? Are you like the honeybee, or not?” Maya waits a few seconds for a response then holds the compact mirror to her face, feeling Wendy’s eyes watching.

  “Too personal,” Wendy says. “You’re asking for too much information.” She laughs again and cocks her head, mimicking Maya. “On the other hand, why don’t I turn the question around and ask the expert herself? Take a good look in that mirror before you answer.”

  Maya presses a tissue against her mouth and bites to blot away her lipstick. “I’m close” - she puts the compact back in her purse and crumbles the tissue - “but I’m not exactly like the honeybee. This queen doesn’t kill. And she would never castrate her men.”

  “Oh, me neither,” Wendy says, leaning forward to tuck a point of her napkin into the V of her neckline. She maintains that pose for an extra few seconds before picking up her soup spoon. “My men always leave whole.”

  “The key word being leave?” Maya smiles and then looks away as if to concentrate on cutting her turkey sandwich into quarters.

  “You got it,” Wendy says, blowing on her chowder, as if it were still hot, “But, you know, I actually have had a few interesting men in my life, including my ex-husband. Nevertheless, I’m still out there searching for the perfect man.”

  “Me too,” Maya says. “Only there’s no such thing as the perfect man. When I was with Neil, we lived a pretty cool life...for that time in my life. And for a while I thought he was my Mr. Perfect But he wasn’t perfect - ” She stops as Wendy taps her spoon against the bowl.

  “Nobody’s perfect,” Wendy says. “I know that.”

  “Exactly.” Deciding to confide more of her history, Maya continues, “Neil was a cheater in those days. It’s embarrassing. I don’t know how - or why - I put up with it. He had something of a free spirited attitude, like some kind of hippie...although he was never a hippie.” She picks up a sandwich quarter and bites into it, chewing slowly, as Wendy sips at her soup. “He made some money and we had fun. But I used to think he was too old for me, even if it seemed he’d never grow up.”

  “Was it a congenial parting? When was that?”

  “A lot of years ago, and I guess I shouldn’t have been so smug about growing up myself, because I never stopped liking the bad boys. I still fall for the unsettled...and dangerous...ones, although I prefer them closer to my own age.”

  “You don’t need to tell me about that,” Wendy says. “Except for Charlie’s cheating and some occasional condescension, I’ll admit that he was a good guy. But I’m not sorry he left me.”

  “We like the wrong men for reasons that seem right at the time,” Maya says, “as if we really weren’t paying close enough attention...or because we should’ve known better...or waited longer.”

  “And so what happened with Neil?”

  “What happened is I thought I’d matured and that he didn’t.”

  “And you’ve reconnected to find out that now he has?” Wendy’s finished her soup, pushes the bowl away, and wipes the space in front of her before resting her arms on the table.

  “No wonder you’re so lean, Wendy; you eat like a bird.” Maya smiles, picks up another piece of her sandwich. “But, no, actually Neil hasn’t changed much, which is part of his charm, in a way. He’s kept an element of that man-boy persona and some of the bad-boy too, even as he’s finally settled down. So...well...he’s still appealing - although he’s not as appealing as before - and yet, uh - ”

  “It’s still complicated, huh?”

  “No. Well...yes,” she says, watching Wendy frown at her. “Oh, I don’t know...except that he’s finally found the right woman. She’s young of course. In fact, she’s about the same age I was when he met me. That makes him a lot older than her. The high school running back is sixty today.”

  “But not running anymore, huh?”

  Maya puts her sandwich back on the plate, and sighs.

  “Listen to yourself, girlfriend...if you had waited, he’d not only be too old for you...you’d be too old for him now!”

  “Yes, I know that. I’d meant that it took him all this time to become the man I thought he was back then.” She sighs again. “It’s so hard to find a good man.”

  “I agree,” Wendy says. “A good man is hard to find.”

  “Indeed,” Maya says. “But then, a hard man is good to find.”

  “Amen. Maybe we should just stop looking for love altogether.”

  “Absolutely. We should just look for lust.” Maya’s laugh is high-pitched and loud again. She catches it and stops. And then suddenly she turns serious. “What I really want...I mean, the reason I’m on this Earth, I think - is to find my alter ego.” She hesitates, as Wendy sits up straighter. “What I want is a partner who fills my gaps, one who is yin to my yang; one who will not only excite me but who will also want to share in the building of something larger than ourselves.”

  “A noble goal,” Wendy says.

  “What I want is someone with whom I can make a difference somehow. I know I talk about it as if I’m certain...but I’m actually ambivalent about it, about how to go about it...or maybe I’m ambivalent as to whether that’s truly what I want.”

  “We’re all ambivalent or conflicted about something,” Wendy says.

  “But it’s bigger than that.” Maya leans across the table, motioning Wendy to do the same. “Sometimes I feel as if there’s some dark character who’s struggling inside me trying to fight its way out,” she whispers. “Or it’s fighting against my better judgment, or fighting against my best interests. Some
times it’s as if my soul is being fought over, in a way.”

  Wendy leans forward - her breasts half exposed again in the low-cut sweater. “You’re a scientist and you believe in that stuff?”

  Maya talks into Wendy’s cleavage. “It isn’t anything I can expect a mortal to understand,” she says, reaching for the chestnut-colored braid hanging over her shoulder. “But in the end, the good twin always seems to win.” She looks up and offers an embarrassed smile.

  “Who’s the mortal, me?” Wendy smiles back. “And what does that make you? You wear yourself out just talking about it,” she says, “as if you’re hanging onto that braid like a rope - for dear life. You’ve got heavenly goals. Why the struggle?”

  “I don’t know why the struggle. It’s been like this all my life... and it seemed to get worse not too long ago. Or rather, something shifted,” Maya says, as she repositions herself in her seat.

  “What’s that mean? What’s shifted? I mean, besides your body language just now.”

  “A power play, maybe...Oh, never mind. This is too heavy a conversation for this place. Let’s save it for another time.”

  “No,” Wendy says, “finish what you were saying about a struggle and something shifting. And what’s that about a power play?” She smiles. “I kinda like that idea. But, um, look, explain what you’re saying, girlfriend. You’re trying to express something I don’t totally understand.”

  Maya picks up the last quarter of her sandwich then puts it back on the plate. “What I’m trying to say is that I was once involved in a relationship that virtually changed me.”