FEAST OF MEN

by Ayn Dillard

  “Natalie, honeee. Honeee, wake up. I have to be going.”

  “What?” I respond sleepily as I look up at him, “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, I need to be on my way. Told my sister, Terese that I’d meet her at noon to go visit my Aunt Bessie in the old folk’s home. Aunt Bessie’s ill and I really need to see her. I didn’t know or plan to stay the night when I drove down here.”

  I respond, “Oh, how disappointing, thought we’d spend the day together.”

  “I’d love to, but have to be on my way.”

  I continue, “Well, talk to me a minute here. A lot happened yesterday.”

  He sits down on the bed, “Yes, a lot did happen, but we’re adults and we both wanted it to happen and next time we make love, it’ll be on a different plane because we’ll be at a different place in our relationship.”

  I think to myself—whatever that means? “Um okay, I had a good time and enjoy being with you.” I feel stupidly strange and what is he talking about different plane? Obviously, he’s freaked out that we made love and so am I.

  With a countrified grin, “I had a real good time too and like being with you a lot. You’re a real passionate woman.”

  We continue talking and before we know it another hour has passed. He Looks at his watch, “As usual, when we’re together time flies. Now, I’ve got to be on my way so I can visit my relatives.”

  I answer, “Um, okay.”

  He kisses me and I walk him to the door.

  He says, “Call you later today sweetieee.”

  It’s strange that he’s leaving now, after all that occurred, but just as I think this—I am glad he’s gone. I have a sick empty feeling in my stomach, but fall back to sleep for another hour. Since, I barely slept last night. After getting up, I feel lonely after spending all yesterday with someone. At aerobics, I replay the events in my head and look forward to spending more time with Art. Although, the Aunt Bessie deal sounds a bit corny—if not fake. He may have just made that one up to have an exit or I guess, he could carry a strong responsibility to his family and that’s a good thing—perhaps? I don’t know enough about this man to come to any conclusions and certainly don’t know him well enough to have had sex with him. He seems way too ‘country’ for me. Even though, he’s intelligent—he isn’t sophisticated. Another first, having sex with a man on the first date, while being in love with another man. And now, I feel all sorts of emotions at once—including guilt, sadness, anger, weirdness, loneliness and more.

  I just needed to be close to a man, or am I turning into a slut? I continue to argue with myself then decide, perhaps it’s that I’m taking ownership of my sexuality. This might be an important step for me. Being a sensual woman, I desire sex. There’s nothing wrong with that and there’s nothing wrong about having sex with Art. We’re both single adults. So, why am I feeling so incredibly empty?

  Arriving home after my workout, there’s a message from Art. He sounds extremely tired. I feel anxious just hearing his voice. I feel very uncomfortable and don’t exactly understand why. Several days pass, before we talk again and I feel uneasy having shared so much of myself so quickly. The next week, we talk a couple of times. He’s getting busy at work and not sure when he’ll be able to get back to Dallas. Hearing this makes me feel even more vulnerable, but we’re still having a great time talking and laughing on the phone. Often times, we just leave messages—when we miss connecting.

  March begins and we continue our phone conversations. I enjoy his friendship and the way he makes me laugh, I write him a letter sharing my feelings about having slept with him so quickly. While I feel there could be something special between us, I am not sure what.

  He exclaims “Yowza, Natalie. I’m looking forward to reading your letter.”

  “I’m an enthusiastic communicator as you’ve probably noticed and like to dissect and understand feelings.”

  I try consistently to make contact with Tanner concerning the book collaboration, but get no response. I am so ready for him to finish his part—so the book will be complete. I need the ten thousand dollars owed to me, but at the same time, I dread seeing him because of his behavior at our last meeting. Except, my money’s running out and I owe property taxes.

  I become ill—throwing-up—fever—the works. Lying on the tile in my bathroom, I wonder if I died how long it would take for anyone to find me. I fall asleep and have a dream. My head is on Art’s shoulder and I feel safe. Perspiring and shaken when I awaken, I have the desire to talk with Art. I leave a message on his answering service that I’m ill and tell him about my dream.

  Later that afternoon, Art calls.

  Art states, “I know how it feels to be really sick and all alone. I wonder how many women have a dream like you did about being in their man’s arms? Are you okay honeee?”

  “I sometimes have prophetic dreams. I think I am okay now—just feel very tired.”

  “You probably just need sleep, honeee.”

  After we talk for a while, he says, “I’ll call you tomorrow, to see how you’re doing.”

  The next day, I stay in bed and rest to get my strength back. Later that afternoon, I make vegetable soup then that evening around nine-thirty Art calls.

  “How are you feeling, Natalie?”

  “Better, just tired.”

  With excitement in his voice, “Sweetieee, I’m in Dallas.”

  Surprised, “You are?”

  “I needed to come down on business, but didn’t know until the last minute when I would. That’s why I didn’t mention it. I’d like to come see you. I understand that it’s a surprise and you’re ill. So, if you don’t want me to come, I’ll understand. We can still talk on the phone.”

  I reply, “God—I look so awful.”

  “I know, you probably look like hammered shit, but you’ve been sick and I don’t care what you look like. I’d just like to see you and see how you are—to see for myself that you’re really okay.”

  “Well, it’s okay for you to come over just don’t look at me.” I laugh nervously. “Where are you now?”

  “On the toll road headed your way.”

  In a short while my doorbell rings. Wearing a three-piece business suit with watch fob, he still looks short and countrified—just groomed. I’m wearing a long white cotton dress and look wrung out. Art gives me a big hug then follows me into my bedroom, so I can get back into bed. He sits in the chair across from me and we chat. He shares what he’s been up to and I do the same.

  “Art, I want to hold you.” I think to myself, I need physical closeness so badly.

  Countrified smile, “Um, sure.”

  I sit on his lap. Being physically close feels comforting and lifts my spirit. I need physical closeness like I need air. We locate a comedy show on TV and lay on the bed and watch it. Art lies down with his complete suit on. It looks as if he’s been laid out to be buried, I chuckle inside as I rest my head on his broad shoulder—the place I like most when I am close to Art. Having my head on one of his shoulders relaxes me and feels as if I’m safe and all is well with the world. After a couple of hours watching TV, Art states he must be going because he has an early morning meeting. Except, we stand for an hour in the entry hall talking. I tell him about Tanner ignoring me, now that I’ve completed the research and that I need the money he owes me.

  “Natalie, it’s clear Tanner’s playing games. He’s a predator and likes to be in control. He enjoys putting you girls through the paces. No ethical man does what he’s doing in his business. Why would he hire you to write a book with him then treat you disrespectfully? He’s trying to be the master of the game. You girls are onto him, so he’s pulling back to see if he can win.”

  “I just want to be paid for the work that I’ve done, have the project over and away from him.”

  Art suggests, “Be up front and tell him what you expect. Guys like that are really wimps. Bet he’s not used to people standing up to him. He thinks that he can pull the strings because you need the m
oney. Confront him. Trust me, it’ll scare him and you’ll see what he’s made of. This guy’s a joke.”

  I state, “If I didn’t need the money and worked so hard on the research, I’d walk away, but I signed an agreement.”

  “Just stand up to the guy, tell him you want your money and to back off his tacky sexual remarks. That you’re not interested in him, and if need be, you’ll take him to court for sexual harassment. I hate to see you so torn up about this. It’s probably, why you got sick.”

  I reply, “Could be—because I’m stressed to the max about confronting him.”

  “Are you talking much with that Sondra woman?”

  “A bit, since Tanner’s treating her in the same way.”

  “Be careful with her. She’s not your type of person.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Just a gut reaction, while I was talking to her on the phone that Saturday.”

  I continue, “I only met her because of Tanner. I wouldn’t know her otherwise. We’re been support for each another, since we’re both dealing with Tanner.”

  “Well, be careful and take care of yourself. Just turn the tables on him, sweetieee. Example, when I’m with a really tall man, I shake his hand by pulling him a bit forward. Not expecting me to do this, it throws him off balance—so then I’m in control. It begins the meeting in a whole different way.”

  I chuckle silently as I think, I can’t believe Art plays such silly games to feel in control and to make a tall man feel uncomfortable. “Art, I understand that I need to confront Tanner. I just dread doing so and really still can’t believe what he’s doing. He’s avoiding me now after I’ve done all the work that he rushed me to complete. He’s married and I know his wife. It’s all so distasteful and I want no part of it.” Then I think, Tanner’s short like Art, perhaps, they’ve got the same issues. Tanner’s just playing a different sort of game using the sex arena with Sondra and myself to make him feel in control and like a big man. Damn, there is really something to this short guy thing, especially if a man can’t find his personal power in some other area. That’s why Art recognizes it so clearly in Tanner. He has the same issue, only handles it differently—what a hoot.

  Talking, we bounce from topic to topic. Art states again that to him compatibility is more important than love.

  “Art, I agree compatibility’s important, but love’s the most important.”

  “No, love’s this thing that you don’t know what to do with and it has a life all its own. It’s this thing out there that can really get you into trouble. This love thing can get you hooked into someone that you’re really not compatible with.”

  “Well, I want love and compatibility. I want it all.”

  Art states, “I want compatibility then if love does happen, it’ll be an added plus.”

  “That’s sad, Art.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel about it. I was in love and love doesn’t work.”

  “That was one experience. Love can and does work all the time. You can’t base the rest of your life on what happened with that Russian woman.”

  We continue talking. Being with him has lifted my energy and I’m feeling better. Kissing a bit, we fool around, then talk some more. My main attraction to Art is the quickness of his mind. He’s a Gemini and since my mercury’s in Gemini, we have a mind connection. Except his Venus is retrograde, so he doesn’t have much luck in love and probably will never understand why. Physically, I’m not especially attracted to him except for his shoulders. Funny because in the past, I gravitated to his physical type, but now am more attracted to tall more elegant and refined looking men. I understand the height of a man doesn’t really matter, but having found continually that short men usually have insecurity and ego problems as Art clearly demonstrates. Now, I’m naturally more physically attracted to tall lean men, like Richard. Interesting, how tastes change. Except, do looks even really matter that much? Isn’t it the feeling, the connection and the spirit of the man that really matters? For so long I’ve had little feelings for anyone else, except, of course Boyd. So, I am going to thoroughly check out this connection with Art.

  We continue our communication by letter and phone, but I begin noticing Art doesn’t always call when he says that he will. He repeatedly asks that I call him, since he’s so busy. He usually returns my calls if I leave a message. Except, I don’t like the way this is playing out and am beginning to feel anxious because we don’t see each other often. If I’m going to be in a relationship, I want to spend time together. I’m beginning to feel love for Art and it’s strange because I’m still in love with Boyd and April 21st is fast approaching. I want to spend more time with Art to understand for sure what I feel about him. And of course, to see how he feels about me before the April deadline.

  I am uneasy about having had sex with Art because he seems to be retreating and it’s triggered my insecurity. So, instead of pulling back as I know I should. I’m pulling forward, but not liking the way I feel. It’s as if something is compelling me to force Art to admit his feelings for me. The more he stays away, the more determined I am to make this happen.

  Art comes to Dallas again on a beautiful chilly Saturday in mid-March. On our way to Jason’s deli for lunch, he states with sarcastic humor in his twangy voice. “I’m trying to see, if you’ll be an asset or a liability?”

  “What?”

  “You women—you’re either an asset or a liability and most of you are liabilities.”

  “Oh, really?” as I think what an asshole, “Well, I’m definitely an asset. You’ll probably be the liability.”

  Art laughs, but I have the feeling that he was dead serious about what he said. I am getting real sick of his arrogant put-downs of women even as he tries to disguise them with his twisted sense of humor.

  While eating lunch at the deli, Art states full of pride that he tries to get everything at a bargain price. Even down to buying a pizza that’s been made for someone else who doesn’t pick it up because he can get it at a cheaper price. Listening to him, I feel disgusted. A cheap pizza—this from a man who’s supposedly buying an eighty-thousand-dollar sports car.

  I ask, “Why would you try so hard to get a deal on a ten-dollar pizza?”

  “Why not, if they’re going to throw it away anyway. I had a date walk out on me once when I did this.” He chuckles.

  I state, “I don’t blame her.”

  “She called a taxi.”

  I ask, “You’re kidding? You let her leave in a taxi rather than buy her a pizza at regular price?”

  “Nope and yep.”

  I continue, “Didn’t you realize that you probably insulted her?”

  “Why? Getting a good deal on something is smart and she’d said that she didn’t care what kind of a pizza we got. If she insults that easily, who cares?” He laughs.

  Cheap jerk, but even as I think this—there’s something still drawing me to him. We continue our day together, running errands and going to bookstores while talking about everything as usual. Art buys me a gift of some music tapes.

  I state, “Art, I wonder why we didn’t meet a few years ago when you lived in Dallas? We would’ve had fun.”

  “Yep, it would’ve saved a lot of time and heartache for me. I wouldn’t have to drive so far to see you because you’d already be with me—plus, would’ve missed having that last divorce.”

  Back at my house, we watch TV and do end up making love. I’m the one who instigates it. Art begins to kiss me heatedly then backs off and it feels weird as if I’m being teased. And I don’t like it. So, I press on and we end up making love. I don’t like his hesitancy. I find it unsettling and game playing, since he obviously does really want to make love. Also, sometimes when we kiss, it feels as if I’m playing the man’s role, with him the woman’s, and this gives me the creeps.

  Art leaves at around five in the afternoon because of a business meeting. At the front door, after kissing goodbye—I ask him flat out why we’re not spending more time tog
ether.

  “Just swamped Natalie, I have more work than I can handle and have got to stay on top of it because I have a lot of people depending on me. Like tonight, I’d much rather stay with you, but I have got to have dinner with these yokels, who’ll most likely want to go see some strippers.”

  I laugh uncomfortably, “Really, you’re going to one of those fake-boobs-big-blond-hair-Dallas-lap-dance dens. Do you, frequent places like that often?”

  “Fortunately no, but am not joking here, these particular clients are rude and disgusting. I am only entertaining them for their business. Sure, I’ve been to strip joints before with men who want to go.”

  “Repulsive,” as I think Bible belt and fake boobs with pasties—what a combo.

  “I’d much rather be with you, sweetieee.”

  I continue, “I understand about tonight but I’d like to spend more time together and see where you live. I may be going to see my parents in a few weeks.”

  “Great—please, come see me when you do. Just let me know when, okay? Love for you to come to OKC to visit.”

  After he leaves, I feel the usual ache inside. I guess, it’s because I like him, even perhaps am falling in love kind of—sort of, but don’t see him often enough. Surely, eventually we’ll be able to spend more time together. Anyway, I still have April 21 to look towards. Boyd, my darling will I ever see him again? This is too weird, caring for two men. Only I guess it’ll work out the way it’s meant to be.

  Art and I continue having our long phone conversations during March. One of them, I find disturbing.

  “Natalie, hell, I like all women, all shapes and all types. I just want to have a lot of them and drive fast cars. I’m not ready for commitment and don’t know what I want? I could have the flavor of the month club where women are concerned.”