by Alison Tyler
Gabriel had second base. Chloe was on the other team. She hit the ball and ran, almost tripping, falling. She passed first base. She saw the ball tossed to the cute guy on second base, Gabriel, whom she had hardly ever spoken to. She ran fast, slid, hoping to touch the base before he touched her with the ball. She miscalculated. She slammed into his legs as she slid and he fell on top of her. The two scrambled in the sand, their legs entwined. His hand, with the ball, was on one of her breasts. His other hand was on her bare leg.
They were face-to-face.
“You’re out,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, her hand touching his crotch. She was drunk and didn’t care. She wanted to know if being on top of her made him hard. He was half-hard. Her touch made him harder.
His hand went from her leg to her ass.
They were again face-to-face.
“Wow,” he said.
“I’m sloshed,” she said.
Half an hour later, the two were in Gabriel’s car and making out, taking their clothes off.
“This is crazy,” Chloe said.
“Should we stop?” he asked.
“Hell no,” she said.
They fucked in the backseat like teenagers on a wild date.
9
The next day, Monday afternoon, Gabriel and Chloe met in the office supply closet and kissed for five minutes straight, tongues mutally exploring mouths.
Chloe broke away. “Wait.”
A strand of saliva connected them.
“We can’t,” she said.
“We can,” he said.
“We can,” she agreed.
10
That evening, in Gabriel’s bed, after some rigorous sex, Gabriel made a suggestion and Chloe said, “That’s preposterous. You realize this. It’s absurd, insane, inane and unrealistic.”
“No it’s not,” Gabriel said.
“I’m not going to leave him.”
“You could.”
She held out her left hand. “Look at this diamond ring. I love it. I am not going to give it back. I dreamed about such an engagement ring ever since I was eleven years old. I’m not going to give it back.”
“So don’t.”
She said, seriously, “I am not going to give it back.”
“Call it off,” he said. “The wedding.”
11
Saturday night: Gabriel sat at home, eating Chinese takeout, watching Star Trek reruns on TV and feeling depressed.
The doorbell rang. He got up and answered it. Chloe stood there, wearing a long fur coat and high heels.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he said.
“May I come in?”
“Please.”
She walked in, her heels going clack-clack-clack on the hard-wood floor.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said.
She turned and faced him. “Why am I here?”
“Because you want to be?”
“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”
“You need to be?”
“No.”
“You were meant to be?”
A small smile appeared on her face. She opened the fur coat and let it drop. She was completely naked. All she wore were the high heels.
He rushed to her, grabbed her, kissed her, put his mouth on her breasts. They didn’t bother with the bed. They did it on the floor.
The answering machine picked up and Hannah’s voice said, “Gabriel? Baby? Are you there? If you’re there, pick up. I need to talk to you….”
“Who is that?” Chloe asked.
“Nobody,” he said, “nobody at all.”
Twenty minutes later, they lay spent on the floor. Chloe felt cold and snuggled with her lover.
“Okay. This really is the last time,” she said.
“I know.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I do,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“I hate you,” she said.
“No. You don’t.”
“No…”
“You love me.”
“No,” she lied.
12
The artistic director of a tiny off-off-Broadway space that Hannah had given some of her plays to—and had slept with after—said he wanted to produce a one-act in a festival. He was in his late forties and Hannah wondered why she had sex with him. She didn’t even remember what it was like. How many men had she gone to bed with in the past two weeks? She wasn’t even counting.
He invited her out to drinks to talk about her play. They sat in a small, dark bar and drank beer.
The director said, “I’ll say again…your play is one of the finest I’ve read in a long time. A long time. So many people think they can be writers, playwrights, screenwriters, poets, novelists, you name it. They think they can sit down behind a computer and bang words out and it’s art. The truth—it’s shit. It’s all shit. Your work, I can safely say, your work—well, it ain’t shit.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said, “for those kind words.”
He reached out and touched her face and she let him. “You’re so pretty,” he said.
He moved to kiss her and she stopped him.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Not here.”
He said, “I think we have reached the point in this artistic relationship where it would be wise and advantageous for the two of us, as they say in the vernacular, to have carnal knowledge.”
“We already did that.”
“Did we?”
She laughed. “Oh, really? How many women do you fuck that you can’t remember?”
“You’d be surprised,” he said.
“No,” she said, “I wouldn’t.”
While this was happening, on the West Coast, Gabriel and Chloe were relaxing after having carnal knowledge with each other.
Chloe said, “I really do hate you.”
Gabriel replied, “Why do you say such a thing?”
“For what you’ve done to my life.”
“‘Done’?”
“You’re trying to derail it. You’re trying to change my future.”
“I am? I mean, sure I am.”
She said, “It’s not going to happen. You’re not going to stop me from becoming a wife. Do you hear me?”
“So this is the last time?” he asked.
Chloe screamed in frustration and jumped on top of him—
13
—while in New York, Hannah screamed during sex with the director, but it was not out of pleasure but out of disgust. She pushed him off her. There was a funny, wet pop sound when they disconnected.
“What’s the matter?” the director asked. “Did I hurt you?”
She sat up, head in hands. “Everything is wrong.”
He touched her bare shoulder. “Sweetheart.”
She shrugged his hand away. “Don’t.”
“What? What’s the problem?”
She stood up, got out of his little bed and started to dress, picking up her clothes from the floor. “Want to know the problem?” she said. “The endless stream of losers like you. Yes, you heard me. Like you. One after the other.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Of course. You guys never do,” Hannah said, and paced back and forth as she delivered her monologue: “Okay, you want the blunt truth—I’m not in the mood to have your tiny dick inside me. Don’t look so shocked, buddy boy. Let’s face it, your cock is small and you’re small-minded. You think you’re the cat’s meow here, the hottest theater director on earth, but you ain’t shit, as they say in the vernacular. A small fish among many small fish in a giant ocean, Shark Food stamped on your forehead in glittering neon.”
He didn’t know what to make of these belittling words.
Her voice gradually got louder. “‘Sweetheart’ this and ‘your play is so great’ that. To what? To get in my panties? You fuckers. You—fuckers. I’ve been in this city for—what? Three weeks now. Three weeks an
d what have I learned? It’s the same everywhere. Locations don’t matter. And to think I left the man I loved—the man who loved me—to think I abandoned him to just let asinine nobodies like you talk me into bringing you home so you can shoot your semen inside my body. You make me sick. The way you talk, the way you direct, the way you smell, the hair on your back and the lack of hair on your head. Your teeth, your eyes, your nose, your lips, I hate everything about you. And your small penis—and the way you touch a woman, it is so slimy, and I just know you’re a lousy, awful fuck who probably premature ejaculates!!!”
She walked out.
“Lock the door, will you?” the director called after her.
It was snowing outside. She wandered around in the snow, wondering if Gabriel would take her back….
14
In San Diego, it was lightly raining. Gabriel had been walking around, wondering how he was going to stop Chloe from getting married. He walked into a bar, to get out of the rain and to have a few beers.
At the same time this happened, Hannah was also in a bar in New York. She sat alone, with a beer and tequila shooters. A man in a suit, whose name was Ted, a man in his mid-thirties, Hannah guessed, this man was sitting near her and watching her. She said to him, “Didn’t your mommy teach you that staring is bad manners?”
Ted flushed. “Sorry.”
“’Tis okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
“People stare at people. It’s what people do. Like theater. Ever go see a play?”
“Sure.”
“So what do you do? You stare. You stare at the actors. If one of them has a nude scene, you stare at their body parts. You stare at other audience members. It’s the way the world works, if you have eyes and can do it.”
“I see,” said Ted.
“You do see! Because you have eyeballs. So stare away, but for your sins, you must buy me another drink.”
“I can do that.”
“And sit over here with me.”
“I can do that, too.”
“I bet you can.”
He sat across from to her, and waved at the bartender for another round. He said, “It’s just that you resemble someone I used to know.” He added, “That’s why I was staring.”
“Don’t tell me. Your very first love?”
“My long-lost wife.”
“Ee-gads,” Hannah said, “I need another shot of tequila—now!”
Meanwhile, in San Diego, Gabriel sat at the counter drinking and feeling sorry for himself, and he overheard two people talking in the booth behind him. A man was saying:
“…my wife meant everything to me, the world, the universe, like the song goes, so that day, when she died, I had lost the world, the universe, and while I didn’t plan on committing suicide, I just wanted to get away from the earth, the ground, and mortality….”
Gabriel got up.
The bartender asked, “Off to leak the ol’ lizard?”
“I have a wedding to stop,” Gabriel said.
15
Hannah invited Ted back to her place and they had quick sex. After, they lay in bed, quiet for a long time, and Ted stroked her hair.
“That’s nice,” she said. “You do know how to touch a woman. You’ve had experience.”
“I don’t usually do this.”
“This?”
“Sleep with a woman I just met in a bar. In fact,” Ted said, “I never have.”
“So I’m your first?”
“Seems so.”
“It’s my pleasure to pop your cherry then,” Hannah said.
Neither laughed. It just wasn’t that funny, the way she said it: more like sad.
“You’re beautiful,” Ted said, touching her face.
She asked, “Is it really me or because I look like your dead wife?”
“Dead?”
“Isn’t she dead?”
“No.”
“You said—”
“Long-lost.’”
“She’s not…?”
“Not at all.”
“You two are…”
“Separated.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe I should have said ‘estranged.’”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Have you ever slept with a married man before?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then I’m your first. I popped your cherry.”
“Very funny.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was bound to happen.”
“Like I said,” he said, “I’ve never done this before.”
“It was bound to happen.”
“That’s why I have been thinking…that’s why I want to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“I know what I must do now,” he told her. “I must go back to her and beg. Plead for marriage. To make it work. You made me realize this.”
Hannah jumped out of bed and started to get dressed.
Ted said, “I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to tell you.”
Hannah was excited, happy. “It was the right thing,” she said. “I have to thank you! Because I know what I have to do now. I have to get on the first flight back to San Diego and do some begging myself!”
16
She had an excuse for being in San Diego anyway: her play was about to open. Not that she cared; she knew it would be awful. The first thing she did was go see a dress rehearsal, which was in the morning. She did her best not to scream and run out. Yes, it was terrible. But she had another reason for being here. It was just an idea. When the director gave the cast notes, Hannah went backstage and stole the prop pistol from the monologue scene. Well, borrowed it. She’d bring it back. She had a feeling she might need it. The wedding was this afternoon.
17
Gabriel stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and practiced the speech he planned to give:
“Yes, I object—I object to this union. This marriage is all wrong and I will tell you why…listen to me, Chloe, this man is not who you think he is. He’s a whore. Chloe, listen to me…ask your mother…Gretchen, tell Chloe the truth…you talking to me, punk? Yeah, you, Gregory, Greg, the Gregmeister, I know what you are. You looking at me? I don’t see anyone else, so you must be looking at me, ya freakin’ gigolo….”
18
Chloe was also looking at herself in the mirror, wearing her long white wedding gown. The image looking back at her was beautiful, on the outside. Inside, there was uncertainty and torment. She knew she was doing the wrong thing, but she didn’t know how to get out of it. All she wanted right now was to be in Gabriel’s arms as he made love to her.
Run, run now, run far away, Chloe thought, but her feet could not, would not move.
A woman appeared behind her: Gretchen Binkowski. Soon-to-be mother-in-law, who looked Chloe over. The woman was weaving. She held a martini in her hand. She was drunk!
“You look wonderful and stunning, my dear,” Gretchen said.
Run…
19
Gabriel now had his tuxedo on; staring at his reflection, he winked and made a gun finger, posing like James Bond.
The doorbell rang, and rang, and rang frantically. Who the hell could it be? “Coming!”
He opened the door and standing before him was…
“Hannah.”
“Surprise!” Hannah said, and walked in. She looked around. “At least the apartment is still clean. I’m impressed.”
To say the least, Gabriel was flabbergasted. “Hannah—what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in New York?”
She smiled, hesitated. “Well…”
They stared at one another.
She said, “Why are you so dressed up? I’ve never seen you looking so good. What’s with the tux, Gabe?”
“What…why…what are you doing here?”
She hugged him. “Oh! I came back!” She kissed him,
looked him in the eyes. “Long story short, I made a mistake, I messed up, I learned my lesson, I ask for your forgiveness, so here I am. Kiss me again, darling!”
“Hannah—wait.”
“Kiss me, fool.”
He backed away.
“What’s wrong?” She looked hurt.
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Wanted to be a pleasant surprise.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand?”
“Why are you here?”
She threw up her arms. “So we can be together and be in love and everything will be okay, okay?” Hannah kept trying to kiss Gabriel but he wouldn’t let her. She took offense. “Do you hate me?” she said.
He looked at his watch. “Hannah, I have to go.”
“Go?”
“Leave. Or I’ll be late.”
“Go where?”
“I have somewhere to be.”
“Can I come?”
“Absolutely not!”
“What? Why? Why are you dressed so nice?”
He told her, “I’m going to a wedding.”
“Whose? Whose wedding?!”
“Mine!” he said.
“Yours? You’re getting married?”
“I’m going to a wedding,” he said. “I’m in love,” he said.
“Love?” She looked at him as if he was crazy.
“When you left…I started seeing Chloe—you remember Chloe?”
“Didn’t she get married?”
“Today! And I have to stop it! She’s making a mistake!”
Hannah processed this. She was getting it now. “What will you do? Go to the chapel and whisk her away?”
He thought a moment. “In fact, yes.”
She laughed. “Who do you think you are? Dustin Hoff man in The Graduate?”
He moved past her. “Gotta go,” he mumbled.
She cried out, “Halt! Mister!”
He stopped, turned.
She reached into her purse and pulled out the prop gun. She pointed it at his head.
“You’re not going anywhere, buddy.”
20
I can be a runaway bride, Chloe thought, touching the fabric of her gown. Why not? Plenty of brides got cold feet and split…if only her feet could move. She thought she was going to be sick.
I could puke on my dress and ruin it and…
But there was nothing in her stomach. She couldn’t eat all day yesterday, or this morning.