Losing Johnny

by Rachel Dunning

  I shrugged. “Depends what you wanna see. The Promenade has the better view. No comparison. But the diagonal route is faster.”

  “I don’t want faster.”

  “OK.”

  “OK.”

  He grabbed my hand and we started walking.

  “Your hand’s sweaty,” I said.

  He smiled. So was mine.

  The grip wasn’t completely comfortable, not the comfort you get when you’ve been with someone for six months. Maybe it would have been better to let each other’s hands go, but we managed.

  It wasn’t long before our arms were swinging slightly with our steps.

  “Busy street,” he said.

  “You never been here?”

  “Not to this exact street, no.”

  He told me he’d lived in big cities all his life, and that the city is all he’d ever known.

  “Rio?” I asked.

  “Why Rio?”

  I shrugged. “It’s the only Brazilian city that I know?”

  “You’re forgiven. We did live in Rio once, very briefly...” His mind seemed to trail off in a memory, and then he was back. “No, actually, São Paulo mainly.” Tiago said São with that nasal dipthong sound the Portuguese use which us English natives have endless trouble with. It was the inability to pronounce that very sound which led to Johnny, who is actually called João, to be called Johnny by me and my dad. “It’s the biggest city in Brazil. Very busy. People everywhere. Very alive.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “It is. It’s beautiful. Brazil is beautiful. It is beautiful and sad. So many people, so much opportunity, and also so much crime and corruption.”

  I started to enjoy my hand in his. Our palms were clasped, and I decided to interlace my fingers in his. It was more intimate, and I wanted it to be more intimate between us.

  When I did it, Tiago stopped...and ravaged me again. His eyes were closed, and mine were only half open. We’d made it out of the busy street into a more residential area, stoops on either side of us with four-storey townhouses blocking what was left of the sun.

  This kiss was more romantic, slower.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just...” He shook his head.

  “It’s OK.”

  “I don’t mean to be too pushy. You just...”

  “It’s cool. This is a good pace for me.”

  His fingers tightened around mine, and I could feel his lust through them.

  I squeezed tighter.

  We walked in comfortable silence for another block.

  “The photos you took of me,” I said. “They were amazing.”

  “Thank you. I’d like a copy of them if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. I’ll, uhm—gimme your email address and I’ll send them.”

  When we got to Hicks Street, I told him that was the road I lived on.

  “You live alone?”

  “Uhm, no, with my mom. And Nicole.”

  I started telling him all about our roadtrip. He already knew my dad had died so it was easy to explain why we’d gone on it. When we got to the promenade, he stopped me. Grabbed my camera. “Stand over there,” he said. I stood by the palisade-style railing, the sun behind me, low. It would set in about an hour. We’d be at Pier One by then, probably chill out on the lawn under Brooklyn Bridge.

  The wind blew hair in my eyes. I wasn’t smiling completely, but I wasn’t frowning.

  I was comfortable being photographed by him. I liked how he saw me.

  After only a few shutter-clicks, he gave me back my camera.

  “You’re good,” I said.

  “Thank you.”

  “No, I mean it. You don’t take a lot of shots. You find your scene and you grab it, and it comes out perfect.”

  “Not always perfect.”

  “I didn’t find a single bad shot of me from the ones you took yesterday.”

  He shrugged, smirked. “I was taking extra care. I was trying to impress you.”

  “Har har.” I bumped him sideways. Our clasped hands now seemed to fit just right.

  “I’ve been taking photos since I was a kid. It’s just experience. You were telling me about your roadtrip?”

  I told him the rest of it, everything that didn’t include Johnny and why the trip got extended.

  “So that explains you and Nicole. I mean, when I first saw you two at the party, I figured you were just acquaintances.”

  “No, we’re best friends.”

  “You know she came up to me yesterday, just before I left to see you.”

  “No?”

  “Yeah. She stopped me at the door, put her hand on my chest. If looks could kill...

  “‘You’re gonna see Cat now, right?’ she said.

  “At first I didn’t realize who ‘Cat’ was.

  “‘Cathy,’ she said.

  “‘Uhm, yeah. Yeah.’

  “‘Be gentle,’ she said to me.

  “We stood there looking at each for a long moment. And then she flashed a smile, like Jekyll and Hyde, and she said, ‘Have fun!’

  “Bam, then she was gone, running down Battery Place in her jeans to catch the train.”

  “Yeah, she’s got my back. We used to be worst enemies in high school.”

  “No shit.”

  “No shit. But then, well...we have a lot in common, we discovered.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’s a good chick.” There was doubt in the way he said it.

  “You don’t like her?”

  “I don’t know her. She seems tough, hard to get close to. She seems more like, well... I don’t want to say anything negative about your friend. I don’t know her, let’s put it that way.”

  I found it amusing, if not a little disturbing, that Nicole and Tiago both had such deep reservations about each other. “No, go ahead. Just give me your opinion.”

  “Ice Cream?” he said abruptly.

  I turned my head and saw we’d arrived at Pier One, just by the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory (“Best Ice Cream in New York”).

  “Sure.”

  We stood in the long line and prepared to wait fifteen minutes before getting served.

  “You were saying...” I prompted.

  Tiago looked around at the people in line. “I’ll tell you when we’re alone again. You never know who knows who in New York city.”

  By now Tiago had his arm around my shoulder. I don’t know when that happened, but I liked it. The evening air had cooled, and having his body heat on my left was nice.

  He leaned down and kissed me softly while we waited. My stomach sank when he did it, my breasts feeling heavy. I’d learned enough from being with Johnny that physical and emotional are different things. But I could still enjoy the physical.

  When we got to the grassy area by Jane’s Carousel, just beyond the Brooklyn Bridge, the sun was almost gone.

  “Tell me,” I said, sitting on the grass with him. “What you were gonna say about Nicole.” I was glad I was in jeans because the ice cream was only making it cooler.

  “Well, she’s a little harsh at school, you know. But from what you tell me, she’s apparently sweet. So maybe it’s just some defenses she’s got up or something. An outward façade.”

  “That’s exactly what it is. She’s the most caring person I know.”

  “The way she carries herself at the college, she seems a little...antagonistic. Like you mustn’t fuck with her. And then, at that party, well, she hooked up with that guy. I mean, she’s just not a person I would ever have expected more of than what I saw. But I guess I was wrong.”

  “It’s a defense mechanism. I don’t think anyone knows Nicole like Alice and I do.”

  “Alice?”

  “My mom. I started calling her Alice on the roadtrip so we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves in bars.”

  Tiago looked out over the river, threw a piece of grass in the air. He was lying down, leaning on an elbow.

  When I was done with my ice cream I lay down next to him.

&
nbsp; “Cold?” he asked.

  I was shivering.

  He put his arm around me and I rested my neck on his elbow. We looked up at the black sky. The suburbs had more stars, I remembered.

  I felt his finger by my ear, pushing my hair away from it. “I like your hair,” he said.

  “It’s not my natural color.”

  He kissed the lobe of my ear, left it wet so that a chill pierced through me. “I still like it.”

  His voice set an earthquake off inside me.

  I turned to face him.

  Emulating what he’d said to me yesterday, I said, “I want to see you again. Soon. Tomorrow.”

  He laughed. He had the most glorious laugh. It gave him these little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. They seemed lighter now, almost like Tiger’s Eye.

  As we kissed, heat rose in me. I felt my defenses falling.

  He was confident, so confident. Each kiss was more passionate, closer. And it wasn’t the way it was done, or anything really noticeable in the technique. It just was.

  Maybe it was me.

  Maybe we were closer.

  Gentle though his kisses were, they were firm, deliberate. Calculated. He knew precisely what he was doing.

  He kissed my bottom lip, pulled at it. Then the left side of it, the top. His right hand tensed around my torso. Gripped me.

  I must have looked half drugged when he pulled away.

  “Mmmm,” I said. “You know just how far to push me, don’t you?”

  He shrugged noncommittally.

  “I bet you’ve taken many a girl under a tree into a park and done just this with her.” I was thinking out loud.

  “Done just what?”

  “Broken her defenses, slowly, first a kiss, then a slight touch, a movement lower with your hand. I’ll bet you’ve bedded a ton of women doing just that, haven’t you?” That I was speaking so freely to him was evidence that he’d broken some of my barriers already. I was speaking to him like I knew him.

  If I’d have been more naive, if I hadn’t been so afraid of getting hurt, I would have guided his hand down between my legs and let him touch me. At least that. At least.

  But I’m not Nicole. Doing that would mean I was committed to him, and that I expected him to be committed to me.

  I’d only known Tiago a few days. And though he seemed trustworthy, I didn’t know yet.

  “Not a ton,” he said.

  “Not a ton what?” I’d lost my train of thought.

  “Your question—not a ton.”

  “Sorry.” I was flustered, slightly hypnotized by the purple of his lips. “Remind me?”

  “Women. You accused me of bedding a ton.”

  “Hey, I didn’t accuse you.”

  “Well, it’s not a ton.”

  “How many?”

  “Is it important?”

  “It is. I won’t judge you. But I want to know the truth.”

  “I’ve lost count.”

  “Oh, God.” I bowed my head. He was a player, of course.

  “Your opinion of me has dropped.”

  I shook my head. “No, no, it hasn’t. Not at all.”

  “I only confessed to it because you asked. And I want to be honest with you. I don’t want to scare you away.”

  I sat up, overwhelmed. Put my arms around my knees.

  I liked him. I did.

  “I’m not a one-night kind of girl, Tiago.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He sat up as well, crossed his legs.

  I moved in to kiss him again. It was too good, too irresistible. No matter what happened, I needed at least that. “You have to shave your beard,” I chuckled. “It prickles.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Sure. My life is not defined by my beard. Now if you told me to shave my legs, that I would hesitate on.”

  I put my hand on his knee. Rubbed.

  And then I fell into him again, my head lolling, losing control. Falling. The increased weight of my breasts pulling me down. And then my head was upside down, looking up at the sky, and he was kissing me from above. Drunk with desire, I think they call it. “Oh, God, what am I getting myself into?” I said out loud.

  The more I kissed him, the more I wanted him. The more I wanted to be touched and felt. The less I cared about the other girls, because right now, there were no other girls. There was me. Only me.

  And then the lust took over me completely. And I did something I thought I never had in me.

  I stood up abruptly, stuck my hand out to him. “Come,” I ordered.

  “Huh?”

  “Come, quick!”

  He gave me his hand and I yanked him up. I ran, actually ran, to a nearby construction site with him in tow. The site was on a colonial-era street with no name, very damaged, lots of potholes. And quiet. Just beyond the lawn we’d been sitting on.

  I pushed him up against a fence, kissed him passionately. My hands fisted against the lapels of his vest. By now he knew what I wanted.

  I flipped us around so that I was now the one with my back to the fence.

  We heard voices approaching, a group of teenagers. We sidled over to a darker spot, typical construction site.

  There were more voices. “Fuck it,” I whispered.

  I looked at the fencing surrounding the site. There was a sign threatening prosecution for trespassing. We looked at each other. Both grinned.

  And then we scaled the fence.

  We snuck into a half-built concrete room. Our sounds echoed inside the structure while we kissed—our breaths, my moans. My whimpers as his hands explored me.

  He pushed me up against the cold wall. The back of my head scraped against the concrete as he inhaled me into him.

  I undid my belt, the snap of my jeans, felt them pop open.

  Tiago stopped, just for a second.

  And then I grabbed his hand, and I slid it between my legs.

  -4-

  His finger found me violently.

  I was wet, so wet.

  My body collapsed onto his as he plied me. My pelvis rocked in rhythm to his hand. Groans echoed around us like gunshots. I yanked and tugged and pulled at his vest. Spittle dripped from my mouth as the ecstasy found me.

  And then I burst.

  And the concrete room burst with me.

  I lost myself for a moment, and my shriek pierced a hole through the night sky.

  Remembering where I was, I bit into Tiago’s shoulder madly. He groaned in pain. And I groaned with rapture.

  The world rocked under my feet. A six-point-seven quake.

  Rivers dripped from my forehead when we were done. And my breaths were those of a four-hundred yard sprinter.

  I clutched his neck, pulled him into me and kissed him like I loved him. I didn’t love him, I knew that. But I kissed him like I did.

  Because I loved the passion. I loved how alive he’d just made me feel.

  I could ride this.

  I could.

  And I would.

  -5-

  He clutched my hair in the dark, kissed me. “When can I see you again?” he said through desperate breaths.

  “Tomorrow? The weekend? Memorial Day?”

  He shook his head sadly. “I’m shooting all day on Memorial Day. Doing a documentary and I want the parade footage.”

  “We’re spending Sunday with...some friends.” We were going to see the Abreus.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “OK.” I kissed him.

  “And Saturday.”

  I kissed him again.

  We kissed until we heard what sounded like footsteps. And then we hightailed it out of there.

  -6-

  Friday, May 22

  I posted a picture of a construction site on FB the next day. The lighting and angle I’d used made it look like an old ruin, neglected and dilapidated. The poem I attached to it went like this:

  Forgotten.

  The ruin of a city,

&n
bsp; That no more aroused their pity.

  But then there was you.

  Abandoned.

  A building forgotten.

  A love turned so rotten.

  But then there was you.

  Ignored.

  A girl on a carousel

  Who no one could tell

  Was actually looking for you.

  Betrayed.

  By life and its fortunes,

  The coming of four horsemen.

  And I looked for you.

  Yearned.

  A child in the crowd

  Screaming out so loud.

  I cried out for you.

  Hoped.

  A mother holding a babe,

  A glint which could not fade.

  I hoped for you.

  Found.

  A rose in a battlefield,

  Where dreams were maimed and killed.

  But now I found you.

  And I won’t let you go.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ~ You wanna dance? Let’s dance. ~

  -1-

  Thursday, May 28

  “How’s the sales?” mom asked me.

  “They’re OK.”

  “Just OK?”

  “They’re good.”

  “How much did you make this month?”

  “About four grand.”

  “So they’re about the same.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mom spread honey on a buttered toast. I sipped my coffee.

  “I like the shots you’re doing—of all those kids in the parks, the group photos.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are they selling?”

  “Not as good as the biker shots, but they sell.”

  “You’re so talented, hon, you know that?”

  I was about to say, Not as talented as Tiago, but I didn’t. Mom didn’t know about him yet.

  I hadn’t seen him romantically in a week. He’d been shooting all week in the city, and I’d gone over and watched him, using the time to take some photos. But we hadn’t gotten to spend any intimate time together. High pressure, these NYFA courses. Real high pressure. By the end of the first semester they shoot three documentaries and four “Vlogs” (video blogs), from conception to completion.

  Nicole’s program, the acting workshop, although also intense, was much less so by comparison.