Too impatient for any more buttons, he pulled the dress up over my head. I felt utterly naked in my camisole, petticoat, and bloomers. If he was surprised that I wore no corset, he didn’t show it. Pulling the combs and pins from my hair, I let my locks unravel down to my waist. At least they made a curtain around my body. He lifted the camisole over my head. I unbuttoned my petticoat and let it drop to the floor. Even as the release of my clothing allowed me to breathe more freely, a grip of terror constricted my lungs. Where was my willpower? I must put a stop to this now, or I’d never forgive myself. The only place to hide was under the covers on his bed, or what remained of his bed—a mattress on the floor.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said as I slipped under the blanket. I couldn’t keep myself from watching as he took off his socks, pants, and then drawers. For the first time, I took in the sight of a living naked man.
So that was it.
He seemed proud to show me. I hadn’t expected … the thing … to stick out like that or to be so large. How could it possibly fit inside a woman? It didn’t seem possible. I envied his lack of shame for how it stuck out in such an undignified way. I felt embarrassed that he could glimpse my own tiny nipples while sliding under the blanket next to me.
He kissed my lips gently. Shivers tickled down my spine. I would stop him. In a moment. First I needed to visualize his hand as it rode up the slope of my hip and back down to my waist and then paused to cup my breast.
“Come lo fai?” he whispered in my ear. “How is your skin so soft?”
Not from the costly lotions that I sold but couldn’t buy. I loved knowing he found my skin soft, my poor neglected skin, always denied the touch of anything other than clothing and soap and water. How sealed off from other people I’d been.
He leaned over me. I shifted from my side to my back. He threw the blanket aside and lowered himself right on top of me so that his legs enclosed mine. It felt so right to be flat up against another human being.
I shut my eyes. Felt the hard thing poking between my legs. He rubbed it against me, hot breath on my face, kisses wet, slobber on my chin, my cheeks, his tongue in my mouth—disgusting! I pulled my face away. Willpower. Maybe I still had some.
“We ought to stop,” I whispered. “Before it’s too late.”
“Of course,” he said, “don’t worry, we will.”
He nuzzled his nose into my hair and began to work himself within me. He’d misunderstood. I said nothing, my mixed feelings no match for his drive. He burrowed deeper into the tightness inside me, and then came the pumping in and out—tentative at first and then a deliberate rhythm. I sensed him getting ahead of me and wanted to tell him to stop, slow down, he was going too fast, leaving me behind, going too deep, yet I remained silent. It was all so strange and curious, and then it began to hurt. Aunt Ida’s warning about my honeymoon night came back to me. The first time is painful and there will be blood. Of course, this wasn’t my honeymoon. I’d never see him again in my life.
Red-hot pain silenced my thoughts. I moaned as he jabbed in and out against a barrier deep within until he broke through, and we merged as completely as two human beings could. He continued to thrust, but softer and yet softer, and I began to feel it again—that desire. Was he done? Now I didn’t want it to end. I groaned again, this time to encourage, and he continued moving around, starting to grunt and growl like some kind of wild savage. I had to stifle a laugh and felt rather proud that my skinny body could inspire such a performance—until it dawned on me that this had to be the orgasm, and it was going to be too late!
“Joe!” I said in a cross between a yell and a whisper. Just in time, it seemed, he withdrew and then pressed back against me, smearing wet stickiness on my belly while twitching in a paroxysm of ecstasy such as I’d never observed in my life. Surely a woman wouldn’t do the same—I couldn’t imagine. Finally, he collapsed, depleted, done. I lay under him, annoyed and relieved, our bodies stuck together, wet with sweat.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“I can’t breathe very well with you on top of me.”
He peeled himself off and settled on his back next to me. The air cooled his sticky discharge on my skin. A patch of wetness lingered underneath my thighs. We lay next to each other, completely still with exhaustion, until he broke the silence to pose the inevitable question: “Do you want to use the water closet?”
I knew I had to clean myself, but the idea of leaving the bed in all my nakedness was too horrid. If only I could curl up and go to sleep. “You go first.”
I kept my eyes closed until hearing the door shut. Groping the floor, I found his shirt and, in short order, had it on, pleased at the way it billowed around me and swallowed me up.
When Joe returned, he asked again if I was all right.
I decided not to complain that he’d nearly neglected to withdraw. He handed me the key to the water closet, and I padded across the floor to the hall. Searching for the keyhole by the light of the blue-burning gas jet, I imagined Angelina’s door opening to reveal me in her brother’s shirt. At least she might be convinced that I’d changed.
I spent as little time there as possible and hurried back to the bed, where I promptly turned my back to Joe. He immediately put his arm around me. It felt remarkably cozy. I could stay exactly like this forever.
I was no longer a virgin.
I couldn’t believe I’d allowed it to happen.
I couldn’t believe I didn’t regret it.
A man had desired me, and I’d desired him back.
Thank god he was leaving the next day.
I dreaded facing him in the morning.
At least for now I could sleep.
—
When I woke, Joe was already dressed and making coffee. If only I could’ve snapped my fingers to magically transport back to my own room. I closed my eyes as if that would make him go away, but no luck.
“Could you hand me my clothes?” I asked.
“Buongiorno.”
“My clothes.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I would very much like my clothes.”
They were just out of my reach on the floor. He handed them to me. “Signorina.”
“Could you wait outside a moment?”
He bowed like a servant. “Of course.”
As soon as he was gone, I began to dress and noticed dried smears of blood between my legs and, horror of horrors, on the bedsheet. I hid the stain under his blanket; nothing else to be done about it now. After buttoning up my dress with relief—one step closer to escape—I opened the door. “You can come back in.”
“Thanks. Are you all right?”
“I just need to use the …”
I nodded toward the hall. He handed me the key and opened the door to the hall. Revisiting that dreadful little chamber, I took care of my needs as efficiently as possible so I could leave. Even the mirror over the sink didn’t tempt me to linger over fixing my hair.
When I returned to the room, Joe was sitting on one of the trunks while drinking a tin mug of coffee.
“I ought to go,” I said, searching the room for my combs, hairpins, and hat.
“So soon?”
I found the combs and pins on the floor by the mattress and remembered that my hat never made it out of the Majestic. “My head doesn’t feel right. I’m not used to alcohol.”
“The coffee should help,” Joe said, nodding toward the other trunk, where he’d already set out a mug for me.
Perhaps there was no reason to hurry. After putting up my hair as best I could, I sat down on the other trunk. “Thank you.”
“Sorry there’s nothing to eat. I could run out for something.”
“That’s all right. My stomach feels strange.” The hot liquid did help to clear my brain, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“Relax,” he said. “We did what we did. It was good, right?”
“Depends on your definit
ion.”
“Grande. First-rate. Swell. At least I thought so. Maybe you, too? Just a little?” Joe waited with hope in his eyes, as if my opinion on the matter actually meant something to him. He was a handsome devil, no doubt about that. I managed a tiny smile. “So why beat yourself up about it?” he said.
“People saw us leave together.”
“They don’t know where we went.”
“You’ll tell Angelina.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Do you promise? I would die if she found out.”
“And she’s the last person I’d tell. As for the others, I’m as good as gone.”
“That’s right,” I said, mustering cheer so he wouldn’t think I planned to suffer over his absence. “Today’s the big day. You must be excited.”
“I can’t wait to be out on a boat in the San Francisco Bay.” He leaned back as if already floating on the waves. “Much better than being cooped up in a store.”
“Going to a new place,” I said, “starting over … sounds grand. I wish I could go.”
Now he leaned all the way forward, elbows on his knees. “You wanna?”
“Oh, but I couldn’t. I just meant the idea of it sounded nice.”
“Why don’t you, then?”
“Your parents would be none too pleased.”
He laughed. “Come! It’ll be an adventure.”
I used to imagine Joe as more grown up than me; now I could see he wasn’t very mature. Or perhaps I’d caught up with him. “It’s entirely impractical.”
“I wasn’t kidding about being crazy for you, Olive.”
“That’s sweet—”
“And I don’t take it lightly, what we did. I know you’re a high-class girl—too good for a fellow like me.”
“Nonsense. But think about it. What would we do, tell everyone we’re engaged? Married?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Now you’re being utterly ridiculous. This is the first genuine conversation we’ve ever had. I’m sure we’d wear on each other’s nerves soon enough.”
“Maybe I’d get on yours—not the other way around. ‘Potrei quasi innamorami di te.’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“Someday …”
He looked into my eyes, and I feared he might try to kiss me. I couldn’t let it happen again. “I mustn’t stay any longer.” I rose, accidentally knocking my cup and sloshing coffee on the trunk. So much for an elegant departure. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing.” He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the spill. “Di niente.”
I went to find my shoes. After I’d buttoned them up and was ready to go, he walked me to the door. Clasping both my hands, he pressed his lips on my forehead and gave me a chaste kiss. “Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
In the hall, I passed Angelina’s closed door. My footsteps echoed on the stairs like a hammer nailing a coffin shut.
Metropolitan Tower
Toiletries counter
East Side tenements circa 1900
AMANDA
JEFF’S VOICE WOKE me up. “I confirmed everything with the insurance people.”
Wearing pants but no shirt, he spoke into his cell phone while looking out the window to the street. The clock on his nightstand said ten past eight.
“Everything is covered, even the ambulance.”
I wondered who he was talking to. Was this about his wife? I kept my eyes closed while listening.
“Great, so that’s all been taken care of.”
I’d slept horribly. At least I didn’t have any weird dreams—not that I remembered, at least.
“Okay, thanks for your help.”
He hung up and dialed another number. I kept my eyes closed.
“So it’s all arranged,” he said into the phone. “I’ll tell her tonight.”
Tell who, his wife? I waited to hear what he’d say next.
“I’m hoping she’ll be agreeable.”
Maybe he was leaving her.
“It will be good for Denise. For all of us.”
Maybe I didn’t need to make an ultimatum; he’d been thinking along the same lines.
“The kids will understand it’s for the best.”
That’s right. Who wanted to live with two parents who didn’t love each other?
“At the very least, it’ll give her a chance to relax.”
Wait a second. Divorce was not relaxing.
“It seems to be a nice place,” he said. “Expensive enough.”
Vacation? He was making her take a trip somewhere? I opened my eyes. Now he faced the room and saw that I was awake.
“Listen, I’ll call you later, I’ve gotta go.” He put the phone into his pocket and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”
“That’s fine, go ahead.”
“Make some coffee if you want,” he said, stroking my hair. “There’s some good bread, and that jam you like in the refrigerator.”
“Thanks. Who were you talking to?”
“Just my father-in-law.”
“Your wife is going somewhere?”
“Yeah, she might take a cruise with her parents.”
“Oh really? Where to?”
“Barbados. I’ve never been, but it’s supposed to be great.”
His deliberately casual tone of voice convinced me he was lying, but I didn’t press. “Sounds nice.”
He took off his pants and threw them on the bed. “I’ll be right out.”
As soon as he shut the bathroom door, I got dressed. What a slut I was, or should I say tramp, falling into bed with Jeff when I needed to assert myself, and now what? I went to the window, leaned my forehead on the glass, and stared down at Park Avenue. No other city could boast having a cluster of twelve yellow cabs waiting at a red light. I thought of Angelina in her “gentleman friend’s” room at the Plaza as she looked out the window at the horse cabs.
Jeff had taken his wife to the hospital in a cab. So what was he saying on the phone about insurance to cover an ambulance? The only explanation would be if she’d been taken to another hospital. If that was the case, her injury was more serious than he was letting on.
The shower was still running on the other side of the door. I’d never snooped around in his stuff. Now I wondered why I’d always been so honorable. My heart pounded as I reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. The last outgoing call was to someone named Bob, presumably the father-in-law. The call before that had no name, but it was to a 203 area code. Connecticut. I wanted to dial it to see who would pick up, but not on his phone, so I dashed into the dining room to get mine, punched in the number, and returned his phone to the pants pocket. The shower was still on. I put the call through.
A woman answered. “Silver Hill.”
“Silver Hill?”
“Yes, may I help you?”
“Hi, yes, I’m wondering, could you give me some information … about Silver Hill?”
“Admissions won’t open until nine.”
“Okay, I’ll call back. Thanks.”
I hung up and took a seat in front of his computer and turned it on. At this point I didn’t care if Jeff caught me red-handed. While I waited for it to boot up, I looked at a framed photograph on his desk. It was of his two handsome boys and his wife—blond hair, dark roots, and a pretty enough face. She wasn’t smiling.
As soon as I got the Internet connection, I Googled “Silver Hill Connecticut.” The top listing was Silver Hill Hospital. I clicked on the site.
Restoring Mental Health Since 1931. A Psychiatric Hospital Distinguished by Eighty Years of Excellence.
Wow. Not exactly Barbados. I stared at Jeff’s wife in the photograph. That woman didn’t have an accident while slicing an onion. She had an accident … while slitting her wrist?
—
By the time Jeff emerged from the bathroom, I’d dressed, made coffee, and eaten a piece of toast. He leaned over and kissed the top
of my head. Smelling slightly of lime, he glowed with clean-shaven innocence.
“We have to talk,” I said.
“Now?” Jeff knew I wouldn’t normally want to have a conversation before reading the morning paper.
“Now.” I’d waited long enough.
“I need coffee.” He got a mug from the cabinet.
“Your wife. She didn’t really have an accident, did she.”
“Amanda,” he said, pouring the coffee, “we went over this already.”
“You mean you lied about this already.”
Without responding, he went to the refrigerator for milk.
“She isn’t going on a vacation, is she, Jeff. Your wife is going to a mental hospital.”
He silently poured the milk into his coffee as if mixing dangerous chemicals.
“She tried to kill herself, didn’t she.”
He didn’t ask how I knew. No denial sprang from his lips. So it was true?
Leaning back against the counter, he sipped his coffee and stared at the floor. His face was hard. With anger? Resentment? I couldn’t tell.
“Is it true?”
He looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
So it was true. “I don’t understand,” I said. “How could you have an affair when your wife is …” I didn’t know how to put it, so I let my voice trail off. Crazy? Depressed? Suicidal?
He was done looking at the ceiling; now he looked at the floor again.
“Jeff! Speak! What happened? Did she find out about us? Is that why she tried to kill herself?”
He shook his head. “That’s your imagination.”
“What else do I have? You don’t tell me anything about your marriage.”
“You don’t ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Okay.” He came to the table but remained standing behind the chair opposite me. “Okay. You’re right. She did try to kill herself.”
“Oh my god.”
“And I’m very upset about it, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t her first attempt. And it wasn’t so bad that … Let’s just say she wasn’t close to dying. I was home. She knew I’d find her.”
“She found out about us, right? And couldn’t handle it. She needed to keep you home, get your attention.”
Astor Place Vintage: A Novel Page 26