“I’m ready to get up. You like this bucher?”
“Yes, Ma. He cooks, he listens, and he’s exciting. He saved me.”
“What do you mean? Saved you from what?”
“Nothing. Just saved me from myself.”
“Look at you. You’re in love. Always a shegetz. Never a nice Jewish boy for Ma and Ta to kvell over.”
“Jewish boys are overrated.”
“Look at the shegetz you married. Was that a life? Running after every ponchka?”
“Enough, Ma. He’s dead and burnt. Ashes on my mantelpiece.”
“How do you know this one won’t be the same?”
“I said enough. How did we go from our nice warm conversation about how lucky we are that you’re safe to your nagging me about men?”
“I don’t know. Let me up.”
Sophia gave Ada a hand out of bed. They emerged into the run-down kitchen to find Max and Jonathan enjoying their Slivovitz while deep in conversation about guns. The pros and cons of certain handguns.
“I didn’t know you were a gun expert, Ta,” Sophia said.
“You don’t know a lot about him,” Ma said, shaking her head, her black curls bouncing.
“I don’t know a lot about either of you,” Sophia shot back with simmering resentment. You never ever talk about the Holocaust. It’s maddening.”
“I think we should get going Sophia,” Jonathan said. “We need dinner.”
“Aah, what a good boychick. He’s thinking of your stomach. I like this goy. I mean boy.”
After kisses and handshakes, they left Ma and Ta at the kitchen table.
Sophia bounded down the stairs as if an armed assailant were after her.
“Hold on, Sophia. What’s the hurry?” Jonathan managed to grab her by the arm just as she emerged onto the sandy beach, still dazzling in the descending sunshine in late afternoon. He disengaged her left hand from vigorously assaulting her ear.
“Ma drives me nuts. Ta drives me nuts. They both drive me nuts.” She mimed pulling her hair out of her head with both hands.
“They’re fine and dandy. Eccentric and agreeable. A lot of fun, if you’d loosen up.”
“Loosen up?” Sophia shouted furiously, her face roiling with anger. She slapped Jonathan across the face.
He snatched her offending hand and squeezed. While he was squeezing, Sophia unleashed her frustrated rancor. “They’ve never let me in on anything my whole life. I’m starved for knowledge. Nothing about their parents, siblings, their town, or their Holocaust suffering. Why won’t they tell me anything?” She started to cry.
Jonathan took her in his arms. He began licking her tears away. He worked his way to her lips. The desolation, fueled by her fury, ignited into passion. Her mouth opened to receive his thrusting tongue. Her shocking slap had enflamed him. They knelt in the sand in front of her parents’ apartment building, oblivious to the gritty sand, irritating their knees, locked in a mind-numbing embrace, their lips roaming deep for connection, wanting to go deeper and deeper.
“Ginger. Ginger. Ginger,” he whispered when he disengaged, his steamy breath stirring her hair ever so slightly.
Sophia came up for air, gasping. “Let’s go to a hotel.”
“Okay.” He rose from the damp sand and helped her up.
“We’re in the right place. Ocean Drive.”
They crossed the street and arm in arm, hurried into the Clevelander, just up the road, its name proclaimed atop the outdoor bar in huge purple neon letters, casting a purple glow over everything. The popular bar was already bustling, despite the early hour. It was only four o’clock. It crossed Sophia’s mind that between the locals and the tourists, this place may be booked solid. They crossed the lobby to the art deco desk, hands locked, unaware of the lobby’s décor or ambience.
“Do you have any rooms?” Sophia asked the cool, long-haired desk clerk. Two slightly sandy, disheveled people, desperate for a room, weren’t going to phase a South Beach hotel employee.
“You guys are so lucky. I just had a cancellation. I mean just now. You were born under a good sign. At least one of you. What are the chances? I’ve turned lots of people away tonight.” Jonathan’s steely glare stopped his babbling.
Archie, as his name tag proclaimed, obediently signed Sophia in.
“Room 508 he said, handing over the key.”
They hurried off.
Mister Talkative couldn’t resist calling after them, “You don’t have any luggage, I see. It might be noisy. It’s under the Q Bar on the sixth. The roof top bar.”
They ignored him.
“The noise won’t bother them,” he muttered to himself, twirling the small gold earring in his left lobe. “They’re on a mission.”
When they entered the room, they picked up where they left off, kissing hotly, wanting to merge into one being. They moved away from the door, beginning to shed garments as they made their ravenous way to the bed. By the time they hit the bed, Sophia pulled Jonathan’s plaid boxers off while he ripped at her bra. Naked at last, they coupled furiously, moving to the tune of an antediluvian rhythm. Crying out together as they peaked in unison, they fell back, exhausted and satisfied, into a dead sleep.
Sophia awoke to multiple hubbubs. The bar above was booming, the pool party was swinging, and the front entrance bar was alive with competing voices vying to be heard. She dashed over to close the open window and dashed back to bed to cuddle up to Jonathan’s smooth body. She nibbled on his ear to rouse him.
“That was a lovely snooze,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Snooze?” Extricating one arm, she punched him playfully. “What about before the snooze?”
“No hitting. Look what happened last time?” He propped himself up on his elbow and stared into her sparkling emerald eyes with such unmistakable love, she hastily looked away, burned by his gaze. She felt tears welling up in her eyes.
Her anxiety was escalating. “Let’s get something to eat. And drink, too. I’m starving and parched.
“Me, too.”
“Should we go to the pool restaurant? It’s great.”
“Are you crazy? We’re staying right here and getting room service. You didn’t shell out all that dosh for this room to run out to the restaurant after a quick slap and tickle. Leave it to me. I’ll order.”
They finished their exotic pasta dishes full of artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes, spinach, and goat cheese, efficiently delivered in a timely fashion, and were savoring a Brunello Di Montalcino.
“This tastes almost as good as you do.” Jonathan held his glass up, admiring its color. He put his glass down, turned to Sophia propped up high on the pillows, and said, “I want to give it a go. You and I.”
“Aren’t we doing that?”
“I’m serious about you. I met you in a time in my life when I was salivating for a change. I’m thirsting for stability. I’m sick of the skullduggery, the coldness, and the ruthlessness. I want to quit MI6 and open a restaurant. Right here in South Beach. And I want you with me. You were a sexy vision when I first laid eyes on you in Maria’s back yard. You stuck in my head from that first breathtaking encounter. I realized you were more than a fabulous lay. You’re the real thing. Substantial. We can make each other happy.” He took her wine glass, set it aside, and embraced her.
“I want the same thing. I met you when I needed a change, too. I was spinning out of control with the whoring, the piles of money, the insane thing with Maria. I have to stop and get back to basics. I’d want to be with you, seeing my therapy patients, helping with a restaurant, having you take care of me. I never had that. Now that I tasted it, I want more.”
“Sophia, I’m chuffed.” He kissed her.
“The skeptical Jew in me can’t believe it’s true. Pinch me. We both want each other? We both want the same things? It’s too good to be true.”
“No it’s not. It’s wonderful. Don’t question it. Here. I’ll pinch you.”
The pinch led to another b
out of lovemaking. When they finished, sated and hopeful about their future, their bodies slick with sweat, intertwined on the bed, Jonathan said, “That seals the deal.”
Fifty Three
“I’m coming over, okay?” Amanda’s tense tone signaled something serious.
“When? I just woke up.
“You’re back? I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow.
“Amanda, you’re not making any sense.”
“Yes I am. I was going to leave you a message to get to you as soon as you were back tomorrow, but you answered the phone, so I’m coming over today. I’m desperate to talk to you about Keith. I don’t know who else to turn to.”
She looked at the time in disbelief. It was ten. “Give me a couple of hours. Lunch? Bring something? There’s nothing in the house.”
“I’ll bring two big salads. Yours will be chicken free. You supply the oil and balsamic vinegar.”
She ended the call. She yawned widely. She and Jonathan had come back to the house in the wee hours of the morning. He left in the wee hours to finish up the Mathilde case at the Miami CIA office and interface with her son’s captors in Philadelphia. He would stay with her for a week before heading back to London to tie up loose ends and resign. It wouldn’t be easy. Just the thought of his leaving. She missed him already.
The phone rang, reminding her she had her own loose ends to tie up. She picked up the receiver absent-mindedly.
“Hey, Sophia. I missed you.”
Jack’s reassuring voice temporarily halted her anxiety about dealing with Maria and the Mamma’s Boys.
“You sure did. You called me a day early.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I wasn’t due back until tomorrow.”
“Then why are you back?”
Reflecting on that question darkened her mood. The room turned gloomy as if a threatening storm cloud, pregnant with rain, had blotted out the sun, plunging her into a dread of impending doom.
“Sophia?”
She shook it off.
“I’m here. I just felt this sense of doom.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. Actually, I have some wonderful news. I’m in love. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“That’s great news. About time.”
“Yes. You’re right.”
“Dinner tonight? “
“Why not? Come here. We’ll order in. Maybe you’ll meet Jonathan.”
“Great. So why are you back early?”
“That’s a horrible story and I think you’re the only one I can tell.”
“Sorry. I hope I can help.”
“See you at seven?”
“Sure. I heard about your mother. Is she okay?”
“Yes. I saw her yesterday right when we got back.”
“We?”
“I came back with Jonathan. I’ll fill you in tonight.”
“See you then.”
Sophia began rushing around, preparing for Amanda’s visit. She was apprehensive. She didn’t need her judgmental nonsense. She wasn’t in the mood to monitor everything she said before the grand inquisitor.
Before she knew it, the doorbell rang.
Amanda, haggard and skeletal, in a white jump suit, stood on her doorstep, weighed down with her two salads. Not a fortuitous beginning. The utilitarian white jump suit, although nothing like her elegant silky one in Barbados, sparked a flashback.
“Sophia, aren’t you going to let me in? Sophia, what’s wrong?”
For a few moments, Sophia couldn’t speak. She stood rooted to the spot. Although frozen with fear, her eyes ran the gamut of highly charged emotions, darkening and dulling with the relived images flashing through her brain.
“Sophia?”
“Did they put roasted garlic in the salads?” Sophia managed to ask, before crumpling to the floor.
Amanda, alarmed despite her awareness of Sophia’s epilepsy, quickly deposited the food inside the door, closed it, and stepped over to the inert Sophia, rubbing her hands and stroking her face.
“What am I doing here?” Sophia asked.
“You looked sort of horrified and then you had a seizure. Here. Let me help you to the couch. I need to get that food off the floor. Bugs could get in the bag.”
Sophia looked at her skeptically.
“You know how OCD I am.”
Amanda helped a groggy Sophia to the yellow couch, covering her with a chenille throw, before retrieving the salads and depositing them in the kitchen.
“You want anything?”
“No. I’m fine now.”
“You want to eat in the kitchen? I’m pressed for time.” She glanced at her wrist watch, loose around her bony wrist. “I have back-to-back patients all afternoon and into the evening. When are you coming back? Next week?”
“No. I need another week off.”
“What? You just had a vacation.”
“It was grueling.”
“You’re kidding me. Did you get involved with a lot of men?”
“What do you mean by that? Listen can you make me some herbal tea? I still feel a little wacky. Not fully grounded.”
“Sure.” Amanda jumped up, happy to be off the hook after her condemnatory statement.
“Just one man.” Sophia shouted into the kitchen.
“Huh?”
“I got involved with one man and it was a big mistake.”
“Mint okay?”
They continued shouting back and forth.
“Perfect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not going into it now, it’s the proverbial long story.” Or, ever, she thought. Amanda would be gloating with self-righteous hindsight.
“Just as well.” Amanda put the steaming tea and the salads on the table, found the oil and vinegar, and sat down. “Come on Sophia. It’s all ready.”
Sophia shuffled in, still under the influence of the seizure’s aftershock.
“You asked if they put garlic in the salads before you went down.”
“I always smell it before a seizure. It’s so real to me. You know that.” She was becoming more and more irritated with Amanda. Like Teflon, she thought. How did she listen to patients?
“I’d love to hear about the vacation and the man, but I’m here to tell you about Keith. He’s terrifying me.”
“What do you mean?” Sophia was all ears.
“I told you he was peeing the bed.”
“Right. You were going to take him for help. That’s when he ran.”
“Well, since the clown incident, he’s deteriorated. More peeing than ever. He’s having accidents in the day. And he’s masturbating all the time. I caught him rubbing on the pillow in his room the other day. His penis was all red. He must be going at it a lot.”
“Didn’t he masturbate before?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t all the time.”
“Do you think the clown did something to him and the other kids?”
“Yes.”
“Well. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I stayed in touch with the other two parents. One day the mother of the other boy, Tommy, came over with him. We found them in Keith’s room. The boy’s pants were down and Keith was sucking on his penis.”
“Did you talk to him? How did you handle it?”
“I’m afraid I became a little hysterical when we found them. Not good. Later, when we were alone, I had a talk with Keith. He’s always been a secretive boy. It’s much worse now.”
“Did you get anything out of him?”
“I got an earful.” Amanda looked distressed.
“The clown took him into a room. Just the two of them. The midget took charge of the other two children. He gave him one of those big, spirally lollipops. The clown had no pants on. Nothing. Naked from the waist down. That didn’t seem to frighten Keith. He asked him to sit beside him on the bed in the room. He took one of his hands, the free one without the giant lollipop, and moved it up and down his thing
. That’s what Keith called it. Keith said it was growing big and hard. Then he told Keith to suck it like a lollipop. Keith obliged. He said it tasted good. He’d put maple syrup on it. Then, Keith said, he started getting wild and the white stuff shot out of him and into Keith’s mouth and onto his face.” Amanda put her head in her hands and cried quietly.
“I’m so sorry.” Sophia went over to Amanda and patted her back. “He doesn’t seem traumatized, but his behavior is troubling.”
“I’m traumatized,” Amanda said, lifting her tear- streaked face.
“I know. Of course you are. You’ll have to take him to a child therapist who specializes in sexual abuse. He’s a young ten. Play therapy will be helpful. Everything’s been awakened too early.”
That statement sent Amanda into paroxysms of grief. “I have a few therapists’ names. I don’t know any of them. I don’t want to try the other one again. He ran. It feels like bad luck trying her a second time.” She sobbed. She rummaged in her bag and handed Sophia a wrinkled, lined page torn out of a legal pad, with five names on it.
“I only know one. Montague. Charles Montague. He has a good reputation. I think a positive male authority figure would be best. To counter the lascivious clown as a male model. And Keith doesn’t have a male father figure at home.”
Amanda bridled at that, but said nothing.
“Thanks, Sophia. I better get going.” She hadn’t touched her salad, which was wilting away on the table.
Sophia retired to the bedroom for a nap, much needed after the seizure and the sad news about Keith. She wondered if Amanda had seen or heard the news about her mother and Mathilde. It must have been everywhere. Not a peep. Was she so self-involved? So insulated? Sophia drifted off. She awoke to Jonathan’s deep, soothing voice.
“Sweetheart, wake up. We don’t have much time today. I have to go back and work late. Thought I’d pop in for a late lunch.” He rubbed her shoulder.
“All I have are two wilting untouched salads. Amanda was here for lunch. We didn’t touch them. She had some disconcerting news about her son. A clown sexually abused him and he’s acting out.” She pursed her lips for a kiss.
“Sounds alarming. You’ll have to fill me in.” He bent down to kiss her proffered lips, lingering a little.
Time's Harlot: The Perils of Attraction, Seduction, and Desire Page 24