“So, how hungry are you?” he asked.
I looked into his bright green eyes, but I couldn’t remember.
“Not much.” I didn’t care about anything as long as I was with him.
“You wouldn’t mind a bit of a drive then?”
I shook my head.
“Good.”
He took me to Central Park. It was a two and a half mile stretch of greenery that was supposed to apologize for the fact that there were no other plants allowed to grow in the rest of the borough, except on the roof gardens of the rich. In the day, it was the playground of joggers, lovers, picnickers, horse-back riders, and a couple of muggers. At night, it was the hiding place of drug-dealers, hookers, the homeless, the gun-happy and cops. Or so it seemed in the movies. I’d never gone there before.
It was like nothing I could have imagined. We had breakfast on the grass under a big oak tree right outside the glass windows of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The sun warmed us as it rose. After eating a bagel with lox and cream cheese, I sat with Cristien’s head in my lap. He played with my hair, while I stared at the mist rising off the grass. The park was so lovely this morning, fresh and expansive. The first flowers of spring were making fairy rings at the bases of the trees around us. And the sky was so far away here. Everywhere else it was so close the skyscrapers could clutch it with greedy fingers. But here and now, it rose forever.
Cristien pulled at the one untamable curl that always fell in my face.
“Love in these Labyrinths his slaves detains,” he quoted, “and mighty hearts are held in slender chains . . . fair tresses a man’s imperial race ensnare, and beauty draw us with a single hair.”
He smiled, waiting for me to identify.
“Hmm,” I thought, stymied.
“The Rape of the Lock by Alexander Pope,” he said, smiling.
“I’ve read it,” I told him. “I just didn’t remember that line.”
“Sure, you know it,” he grinned.
“A girl has a bunch of fairies guarding two locks of hair, and some psycho cuts one off, slicing a sylph in half. There is a flirting war in which many lovers expire. The hair ends up in the sky immortalized.”
“Precise, but without poetry,” he frowned, “And say ‘sylph’ again.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sylph.”
“It’s like a kiss on your lips,” he said, rising and pulling me to him.
We spent the whole morning wandering Museum Mile. There was so much time to see, from prehistoric cave art to modern art, which looked a lot like bad cave art but had better frames. The Met was the best, hands down. The galleries were so large they echoed. There were so many art spaces you could get lost. The ceilings were so high they made the place sacred. The Greek and Roman sculpture garden was my favorite: open, airy, with lots of places to hide and kiss.
After lunch, we ended up at the diamond district admiring wedding bands and engagement rings. While we were in one store, Cristien had me sized. The merchant was all too eager. He followed us, explaining everything about how rings were made and designed down to the last detail. It really was an art form, he told us.
“Well, you know, first we have our artist, Shlomo, design the ring in wax. Then a mold is made around it by Moshe. The wax is heated out, and gold poured in by Hershel and Chaim, and then just like that you have a ring,” he said, stroking his long gray beard.
“Do you still use clay for molds?” Cristien asked.
“Not clay, a ceramic slurry. It takes the high temperatures like you wouldn’t believe.”
Cristien took his card. We left the store, and he said, “Did you like the band with the twisted gold?”
“Yes, I did. Very much.”
“Or do you like platinum?”
“With my skin tone I tend to favor white gold and diamonds.”
“With your skin,” he said, lifting my hand and kissing it, “I can see how gold would lose its appeal. So, have you told your mother yet?” he asked while we walked down the crowded street.
I swallowed past my suddenly dry mouth and throat.
“Oh, no, not yet.”
“Not yet?” he asked, tugging me closer and tilting his head.
“I didn’t have time. Why? Have you told anyone?” I asked, defensively.
“I told Lance and Abe.”
“Not your family?”
“They are all the family I have. How about you?”
“I’m an only child.”
“That figures,” he smiled, squeezing me to his side. “The universe couldn’t take more than one of you. Did the gods make your parents sign an agreement?”
“Hey, I’m not that bad.”
“No, you’re that perfect. The universe doesn’t deserve you. It can’t handle such creations. You’re throwing it out of balance.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said, sucking it up. Then a question came to me: “How old are you?”
“How old do I look?” he asked.
I tilted my head back and forth, “Early to mid-twenties.”
“That will do,” he said, walking on.
“You’re not going to tell me?” I chased after him.
He laughed when I caught up but volunteered nothing.
“Show me your wallet,” I said in exasperation.
“No.”
“You think I’m going to rob you?”
“No, I think you want to see my driver’s license.”
“We’re getting married, and you won’t tell me your age?”
“Now you know how many men feel.”
That’s when I remembered that I had never told him my real age. “Cristien?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he said, stopping again. “Are you coming to my house for dinner tonight?”
“If you still want me to after I tell you I’m only eighteen.”
Free at Last
He gave me a look but continued to his car. Boy, he was forgiving. We got to his place around 5:30. Lance came out yawning around six. I think it was because he smelled food. I was sitting by the granite kitchen table and watching Cristien prepare food when he walked in dressed in a blue pullover and black slacks. Six silver pots and pans steamed on the gas stove while Cristien moved back and forth, stirring and adding spices and ingredients. Lance winked at me and sat down to my right. He started to nod off but used his hand to hold up his head. His cheek was pressed to his eye. He must be terribly overworked at his IT job.
“How long is this going to take?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’d like to know too,” I added.
“You can’t rush perfection,” Cristien said, pouring some cream into a pot. Then he turned to us briefly, “And Lance, go out to Pizza Hut. There’s not enough for three.”
“Hey, I’m keeping Alexa company for you.” Lance sat up. “You owe me for that.”
“Some rice and chicken and that’s it,” Cristien told him, “and you eat in the kitchen.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, articulating flawlessly, “and will I be served on a dish or in a bowl?”
“Ooo!” I said.
“I will pay you back one day,” Cristien told him with a smile.
“I know, but hey, when do I ever get to tease you?” Lance asked, and then he turned to me. “He’s like the Man of Steel, and I have this lovely chunk of kryptonite sitting right next to me. The temptation is too much.”
“So, tell me all his secrets.” I leaned toward Lance, ears eager.
“Baby, the list is so long, we’d be here till forever and back,” he yawned.
“Really?” I glanced at Cristien’s tense face. “What doesn’t he want me to know the most?”
Lance thought about it.
“Lance!” Cristien warned.
“How much he really loves you,” he said at last.
That surprised me. “And why not?”
“‘Cause it would scare the hell out of you,” he said, eyes wide and serious.
“Food’s ready!” Cristien announced.
“I knew that would put a fire under the chef.” Lance winked at me, then rose. “I’ll be taking my winnings and going. My favorite show is on.”
“You mean porn? It’s on all the time,” Cristien said.
“That was low, dude,” Lance told him, “and so beneath you.”
“Ooo,” I said again, giving Lance a high five. “Nice one.”
“Wasn’t it?” he asked while he got a plate from the cupboard. He walked over to Cristien and held it out. Cristien slapped some things on it. Then Lance bowed to me.
“My lady,” he said, leaving.
“Lance is such a gentleman. Why can’t you be more like him?” I quipped. Lance roared with laughter as he left.
“Don’t you start too,” Cristien warned, shaking a saucy spoon at me.
“I’m kryptonite. You can’t touch me,” I told him.
“Oh really?” he asked, leaning toward me, over the stove, “Don’t make me test out that hypothesis. We’ll miss dinner.” He grabbed the serving dishes. “Stay here while I set up. I want everything perfect.”
I blew him a kiss as he walked out the swinging door to the dining room. I waited, tempted to peek in the pans. Then someone pushed the door open. I assumed it was Lance coming back to angle for dessert. I turned. It was Abe. I tried to hide my utter disappointment. Mikayla had lectured me at length about his failings as a human being. She also said she probably got mono from him, she felt so sick afterward.
“What’s cooking?” he asked, stretching. He was wearing an off-white T-shirt and ripped-to-shreds blue jeans. The holes were not in good places.
“Oh, nothing,” I told him, “Cristien is making dinner for me.”
“And you call that nothing,” he joked, coming closer.
I meant nothing for him. I turned away, but he remained, sniffing around.
“Cristien’s in the dining room,” I told him.
“Yeah, I know.” He sat next to me. My chair scraped the floor as I moved away.
“Don’t pretend you’re shy, baby,” he said, resting his hand on the back of my chair, “I’ve seen you dance.”
I didn’t know which opened wider, my eyes or my mouth.
“You know, when you’re done with Cristien, you can come to my room for a better time,” he said, touching my shoulder with icy fingers. I felt a draining chill run down my spine.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” I told him.
That’s when Cristien returned. I had never seen his face that way. It looked like he had murder on his mind.
“Hey,” Abe coughed, dropping his arm. “You know me. I was joking.”
Cristien crossed the kitchen in what seemed one stride. He grabbed Abe by his shirt and then they were gone through the swinging door that led to the living room before the chair Abe had been sitting in could hit the floor. I heard the sound of a window or sliding door being slammed open hard in the other room and then screaming started and got far away quick. Oh shit! I ran to the door but stopped when I heard Cristien.
“I swear to God, if I see him again, I’ll kill him. You tell him that, Lance. You make that clear. He’s gone.”
He was alive, and so was Abe evidently. I slumped with relief.
“Okay, dude, calm down. Alexa’s going to be worried,” Lance said.
“Why? If he comes near her, looks at her, breathes in the same state, that’s it.”
“No. I was referring to the noise and shit.”
“Oh, yes. I’d better make my excuses.” I heard him walk toward the kitchen.
I jumped back and ran to the kitchen table. I tried to compose myself, sit and arrange my limbs in a calm manner.
“How are you?” Cristien asked, walking in. He looked truly concerned. His face was blotchy and flustered. He righted Abe’s chair, pushed it back under the table.
“Okay.” After all, Abe had only touched my shoulder. “You?”
“I think so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I actually saw red there for a minute.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” I asked, getting up and going to him.
“Hurt me?” he asked, surprised. “Never.”
I threw my arms around him. “I was worried.”
“You thought I was getting the worst of it?” he asked, peeling me away from him. His expression was that of surprised amusement.
“No, but I assumed you might be getting some of it.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He folded me back into his arms.
“Okay,” I said, rubbing his arm to calm him.
“Are you ready for dinner?” he asked. “I made lemon-basil chicken, baby carrot and asparagus risotto, and dessert is in the fridge. I even baked bread.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I said. I was going to get a husband who could cook. Was there anybody luckier than me?
He kissed me on the forehead then seated me in the dining room before an opulent place setting. I had so many gold utensils in front of me, he had to explain what they were all for. The set looked expensive and old. The plates were real china, festooned with leaves and vines, the kind you that were so intricate you could lose food in the pattern. He admitted that they were from an heirloom set. I was afraid to touch them, but the food smelled so good.
“Buon Appetito,” he said, and we broke bread.
Cristien was a great cook. The chicken was rich yet smooth. The dessert was a mousse. I loved chocolate mousse. We fed each other. Sometime between spoonfuls the front door slammed.
“Finally. Alone,” he whispered.
“Well. Got to go,” I joked, pushing back my chair.
He almost collapsed. I laughed at him. We went to sit in the living room. Somehow, sometime later, we did end up in his bedroom. I stopped at the doorway and stared at the bed.
“You have nothing to fear,” he whispered in my ear. “That sad hopeless creature that frightened you is gone.” He stroked my hair. “And it’ll never happen again.”
“It was my fault too,” I said, not wanting to think of that terrible time. “I shouldn’t have let it go so far, but I guess I was tempted.”
“Will you let me earn your trust again?” he asked.
I nodded, and he took me inside brought me to his bed.
“There are lots of other wonderful things we can do besides sex,” he told me.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Take off my shirt.”
He pulled me into the bed, grabbed the single zipper that could undo my whole outfit.
“This has been driving me crazy all day,” he confessed.
“My zipper?” I asked, glancing at it.
“How easy it would be to do this,” he pulled it. I caught his hand halfway down my body. He put his lips to my bare chest. He slammed the door and drew me across the room to his bed. Then he stopped.
“Take off my shirt,” he told me.
I could feel blood rushing to my cheeks and nose. He kissed me, then moved my hands to his buttons. I fumbled a little but then I was undressing him, my hands sliding against the muscles of his chest and stomach, and then his arms as I pulled the cloth away, drawing it out of his waistband. I ran my hands over him, skirting around the top of his pants, running my finger along the edge.
He took my hand again, put it on his belt. When I didn’t move it, he yanked down on my zipper and opened my dress. So, I tossed his belt. Then he pushed me down. He was on top of me. He felt so good, so insanely good. When he moved to rise, my body followed him.
“God, what are you doing?” he cried.
“I don’t know. What did I do?” I asked, dazed.
“Okay. That’s okay.”
We switched positions. He moved me on top. I looked down at him laid out before me, half-naked and gorgeous, like a feast. I was suddenly hungry. I wanted to . . . I didn’t know. I wanted him. I didn’t know how. I tried my mouth. I tried to devour him. I tried with my hands. I tried to contain him. He squirmed and moaned and gasped. I felt insane, like I was going to explode. I wanted so
mething, but I didn’t know what. I wanted him, but I didn’t know how. I kissed his chest, his belly, to the edge of his pants. I stuck my tongue under the band, and licked his skin. My hands went for the button on his jeans, my teeth for the zipper.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Alexa, God, don’t stop,” he groaned, touching my hair.
His voice brought me back to myself. I blinked. I climbed off him. I was actually shaking again.
“Hey,” he said, coming after me. I flinched when he touched me. “You okay?” he asked.
I didn’t know how to answer that.
“We got a little carried away, that’s all,” he told me. “It’s okay though.”
I got more than a little carried away. What the heck was I doing? Who was that? Where was the nice girl from Brooklyn I used to be? I took a shuddering breath.
“Maybe I should go home again,” I whispered. “I don’t think I’m fit for company tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, taking my face in his hands and kissing me gently. “You’re fine. You’re safe here with me.”
He pulled me down onto his chest and stroked my hair. He held me until I fell asleep. I thought I never would. My mind was racing with recriminations, but then it stopped.
I woke the moment Abe came home. By the brightness of my bedroom, it must have been right before dawn. Lance had come in hours ago. He was waiting for him. He would be the bearer of the bad news. I needed him to do this for me because if I were in the same room with Abe, I didn’t know what could stop me from killing him. I held on to Alexa, watching her dream peacefully while I listened.
The Innocent Page 14