Lovin' Blue

by Zuri Day

  Finally, one word staggered through the haze of her mind and reached her mouth. “More!” she panted.

  Jansen’s smile was predatory, victorious, as he plunged into his garden with gusto, alternating between fast and slow, and side to side. “Is this what you want, baby?”

  Eden moaned.

  “Is this what you need, Eden?”

  “Yes,” she managed between gasps and groans.

  He reached a hand around and fingered her paradise, doubling her pleasure. A light sheen of sweat broke out all over Eden’s body, mixing with the moisture that made Jansen’s body shine. The mating dance went on for over an hour, each partner taking and giving equally, wanting to please and to be consumed. By the time they mutually reached their last pinnacle of lovemaking, and called out each other’s names, Jansen knew he’d protect Eden with his very life, and Eden knew . . . she was in love.

  “I don’t want to leave,” Jansen said afterward as they both caught their breath in each other’s arms.

  “Me neither.”

  “I have to go.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad that little . . . conversation from earlier didn’t throw us off track.”

  Eden nodded and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “No worries.”

  Shortly afterward, Jansen got up, dressed, and left. Eden took a quick shower and then returned to bed— sore but satisfied. She lay awake thinking for a long time. She’d survived their conversation involving officers and quotas, and the sex had been otherworldly. Still, Eden worried. She wasn’t sure how well or how long she could coexist with Jansen’s worldview or, more importantly, what he’d deftly tried to conceal when he’d first entered her place—what he’d admitted was an extension of himself. Eden unashamedly adored his cock, but she absolutely, positively abhorred his Glock.

  27

  The next morning, Eden enjoyed a soy chai latte as she drove down Lincoln Boulevard toward Rose Avenue in Venice. Ariel had buzzed her first thing this morning and had launched into a sales pitch so filled with passion, Eden had capitulated and agreed to visit the Zen Den. Sure, Eden was curious about this newest new-age establishment, but even more so felt that Ariel would bug her relentlessly until she made an appearance. Plus, receiving no phone calls from the résumés she’d sent so far, she figured she at least owed a visit to the place. It did have some of what she was looking for in her next employment, even if it did seem a tad more alternative than Eden had experienced.

  She turned from Rose onto Main Street, noting how dense was this area that had been popular since its inception in the early twentieth century. Bicyclists effortlessly vied with skateboarders for street space, undaunted by the rush-hour traffic that crawled between traffic lights. Eden noted how amidst the obvious luxury walked homeless men and women—their grubby clothing striking a discordant note against the designer-filled shops these residents passed. Eden thanked her parking angels when she spotted a space just three doors down from the address she wanted, deftly maneuvering into the tight space. She finished her drink, gave some change to a man who approached her, and headed toward the Zen Den.

  Ariel was the first person Eden saw. “Eden! You came!” She leaped from her seat behind the modern reception area and came around to grip her unsuspecting friend in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Isn’t this place amazing?”

  “Uh, sure, from what I’ve seen in the five seconds I’ve been here.” Eden laughed, disentangling herself from Ariel’s exuberant embrace.

  “But I sent you the Facebook link. It’s amazing, if I must say so myself. I took all the pictures—a guided tour, if you will—and organized the descriptions of all our services, even writing a few myself. All that hard work, just for you,” Ariel winked, “and you didn’t look at it?”

  “I’m not on Facebook,” Eden said, turning to take in the airy, two-story lobby, lush plants, and bamboo flooring. The walls were painted a soothing light blue; a harp-driven instrumental played softly and added calmness.

  “What?” Ariel’s shriek resounded against the peaceful walls. “Oops,” she stuttered, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You’re not on Facebook? Everybody’s on Facebook, Eden. It’s like if you’re not on it, you don’t exist.”

  “Now, I would call that an illusion,” Eden replied, using one of Ariel’s common descriptions of anything she’d rather not acknowledge. For Ariel, poverty, war, and the like were all illusions to the truth of God being all there was. Even as Eden somewhat agreed with this position, in theory, she’d also felt an uncomfortable empathy with how Jansen must feel listening to her positive perspective.

  “Ha! Maybe, but you need to get on it. It will help you become a part of the viable holistic community that exists on it, and once you’re here, help you network with other areas of the country about the Den.”

  “You’ve already got me clocking in, do you?”

  Ariel winked. “You’re going to work here, and you’re going to love it. The cards told me last night.” With that, she gently grabbed Eden’s arm and pulled her toward a hallway. “This is a general room, used for yoga and other stretching exercises,” she said, beginning the tour. She showed Eden various rooms for the healing modalities offered, each bathed in calming nonfluorescent lighting, some with candles burning, others with fountains gurgling soft, liquid songs. Most of the offices were empty. “The practitioners work at various times,” Ariel explained when Eden asked why. “By noon, most of these rooms will be filled with clients, but the atmosphere is always like this—quiet and peaceful.”

  They walked from that hallway back through the lobby area to the back patio. “This,” Ariel said as they crossed a small bridge erected over a koi pond, “is where we conduct meditations. And this is the sweat lodge.” Eden took a step forward. “Shhh, no talking,” Ariel instructed, and they walked inside. The small square building was adorned with a mix of blankets and pillows on the concrete floor and a sunken fire pit in the middle. Various symbols were painted on the walls, and a Tibetan prayer flag was strung from one wall to the other. The place was embodied with serenity, but for Eden, there was claustrophobia as well. She was glad when they exited seconds later and walked back inside the center.

  They came to an office with the door open, and a darkly tanned man, his hair long and unbound, sat inside behind a simple, wooden desk. His dark eyes were bright, his smile genuine. Uncanny, but it was as if peace radiated from the man’s pores. For Eden, no introduction was needed. This had to be Ariel’s boss, Om.

  “Peace and blessings, my dear one,” Om said, bowing slightly. “Welcome.” He placed Eden’s hands inside his, holding them loosely while looking into her eyes. She thought she was imagining the heat she experienced until it traveled up her arm and burst through her solar plexus.

  “Oh!” she said, startled, pulling her hands from his.

  “It is only Spirit, dear one,” Om said, his eyes twinkling. “It is simply flowing to the part of itself already inside you, with desires to heal and make whole that which is broken. Some other time, perhaps, we can arrange a longer meeting, and a time of realignment with your source.”

  “Uh, sure,” Eden said, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry, though she couldn’t figure out the reason. “I think I’d like that.” She was still feeling out of sorts when they reached the last office, which sat directly at the end of the hallway. Here, too, the door was open. Ariel knocked lightly before entering.

  “Dr. K?” Ariel’s voice took on a fairy-dust quality, her admiration of this medical expert seeming to rival that which she felt for her sage. “If you have a moment, this is Eden, the woman I told you about.”

  Eden followed Ariel into the room, just as a tall, dark-haired man turned to face them. He was handsome, his facial features strong and defined, and his eyes the greenest Eden had ever seen. His eyes caught and held hers, darkening for an instant before a professional veneer was snapped neatly in place. “Alexander Kostopoulos,” he said, coming forward with his hand ou
tstretched.

  Eden watched him approach her, trying to collect her thoughts. For as much as Ariel talked, and as much as she’d gone on and on about the center in general and Om in particular, she’d mentioned nothing about this man’s good looks, obvious charm, or subtle accent she noticed with the uttering of his name. “Eden Anderson,” she said, her succinct greeting adding to the corporate image she displayed in her navy pantsuit, ivory shell, and sensible heels. She knew it was an alternative center, but to Eden, an interview was an interview. When Ariel mentioned she might meet the doctor, who was also on the center’s board, Eden had dressed to impress. But after taking in Ariel’s pink tee and jeans, and the doctor’s similar attire, she realized he might have been equally impressed with her yoga gear.

  Ariel’s eyes twinkled as she looked from Alex to Eden. “Can I get you two something to drink? Water or tea?”

  Alex turned to Eden. “Ms. Anderson?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Thanks, Ariel. Could you do me a huge favor and bring one of the center’s welcome folders in, please, along with an application?”

  “Sure, Dr. K.”

  As soon as Ariel left the room, the doctor turned from his desk and headed to a love seat on the opposite side of the room. “Please, join me. It’s less formal over here, a much better setting to get to know each other a bit.” He waited until Eden sat and then sat on the other end of the love seat.

  “I e-mailed my résumé earlier, but brought another one.” Eden reached into her business clutch and pulled out the one-page document. “Should I call you Dr. . . . K?”

  Alex smiled, revealing a perfect set of sparkling white teeth. He took the paper but kept his eyes on her. Eden noticed the crinkles that formed when he smiled and also took in the slight wisps of gray at his temples. Instead of making him appear older, the subtle white streaks made him look both distinguished and roguish at the same time. And again, she noted, she’d never seen eyes so green.

  “Most of the staff and the clients prefer that to Kostopoulos,” he answered, emphasizing each syllable. “You can call me that . . . or Alex.”

  “And please, doctor, call me Eden. Kostopoulos is Greek, correct?”

  Alex nodded. “My father came from a small village near Piraeus, where much of my family still lives. When he arrived, he was encouraged to shorten his name to something easier to pronounce, more American sounding. But he refused. I was embarrassed by it as a child, but, in time, embraced it as well. Eden is a lovely name. As in the garden, I presume.”

  An image of Jansen’s lust-filled eyes swam into her consciousness as she remembered how he called her his garden while pounding into her over and over again. She suddenly warmed, much as she had at the shaman’s touch, and wished she’d taken Ariel up on her offer for water. “Um, not exactly. Though a Bible story is probably how my mom heard it, she said she simply liked the name.”

  “The Garden of Eden is said to be a beautiful place,” Alex continued. His tone was cordial, not flirtatious at all, yet his eyes seemed to embrace her. He was the kind of man whose simple “hello” seemed a come-on, and whose “how are you” sounded like a promise.

  Eden’s response was interrupted by Ariel, who walked into the room with two bottles of water. “Just in case you get thirsty,” she said cheerily with a nod to the doctor and a quick wink to Eden before she left the room. That girl and her intuition. Thank you! Eden reached for the water and took a long swallow, thankful that the slight discomfort she’d felt seconds before had dissipated. With years spent on Capitol Hill, she was used to being around attractive, affluent, powerful men. It’s just that this was so unexpected, Eden reasoned. Another thought of Jansen chased away the last of her flutters. She squared her shoulders and got down to business.

  “You’ll see that while most of my work history is in government, my degree is in business administration. I think that my skill set would lend itself beautifully to the running of this center. That and the fact that I am personally on a holistic journey could make this a wonderful opportunity for me.”

  Alex took a moment and scanned her résumé. When he looked up, there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “Ms. Anderson—Eden—I think this could be a wonderful opportunity for us all.”

  28

  Eden sat in front of her computer nibbling on veggies and sipping sparkling apple juice. She glanced down at her computer clock and was surprised she’d been online for two hours. No, more specifically, she’d been on Facebook for that long. Now I remember why I hadn’t joined this site. Michael had told her how addictive it could be, how sometimes he’d click on, intending to respond to one message, and stay on an hour reading other people’s mail, participating in various applications, accepting or turning down invites, and “liking” half the world.

  Eden had done much of the same but also felt this was time well spent. She’d sent friend requests to several holistic practitioners or establishments, most of whom had been recommended by Ariel. She’d also connected with her brother’s “like” page, browsed Jansen’s female-heavy list of almost five hundred friends, and reached out to personal contacts, including childhood friend Chandra Brockman and Capitol Hill associate Renee Newton. She was just getting ready to sign off the Web site when a pop-up appeared on her screen.

  It was an instant chat from Chandra. Girl, is this really you? OMG, Eden, long time!

  Eden responded. :-) Yes, sistah, it’s really me. And, yes, it’s been too long. How are you?

  I can’t complain. Wouldn’t do any good anyway. . . .

  I heard that! Are you still in St. Louis?

  Yes, we’re still here. But you know what? We’ve got too much to talk about for this chat box. Here’s my number. Chandra typed her number, and within seconds, she and Eden were talking on the phone.

  “Oh, my God, Eden! I can’t believe it, girl. After all these years!”

  “I know, girl, me neither. How long has it been—at least ten years?”

  “At least. My oldest child is ten, and the last time I talked to you, I didn’t have any!”

  “How many children do you have?”

  “Too many! I’m just kidding, I love my babies. We have two boys, two girls, a dog, and a cat, but I’m drawing the line on this gerbil my youngest daughter is demanding.”

  Eden chuckled. “Wow, Chandra. Out of all my friends, you were the last one I’d imagined living a more traditional life—you know, husband, kids, the white picket fence. I thought you’d be in Hollywood somewhere making a name for yourself, or married to some rock star.”

  “Well, you know what they say. Life is what happens while we’re busy making plans. It’s not what I expected, but I’m happy with my life. I have a husband who’s loyal and dedicated to our family and kids I don’t want to murder every other day. Instead of a white picket fence, ours is wrought iron. But I got one of the good ones, Eden. Ours is a happy home. What about you?”

  Eden gave Chandra a brief rundown of her time in Washington, DC, and life with Gregg. “I’ve been back in LA less than a month, but it feels good to be here. The change is what I needed.”

  The two women continued chatting, catching up on each other’s lives and families. After asking about Michael, Chandra remembered his best friend. “I wonder whatever happened to Jansen McKnight. That was one fine brother! I would love to know what he’s up to now. Probably either married or has a string of exes and child-support payments. Oooo, but he was handsome. And talk about doing the do! He’s one man I don’t regret—”

  “Actually,” Eden interrupted, not wanting to hear Chandra’s remembrances of Jansen’s exploits, “Jansen is back here in LA as well.”

  “What? You’ve seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d that happen? I bet you tracked him down the minute you returned home. I know I would have.”

  “No, I didn’t go looking for anyone when I arrived here. Too busy. He and Michael are still close. I saw him when I was visiting my brother.
”

  “Is he married? What’s he doing there? Does he still look as good as I remember? Man, he probably looks even better. God knows I love my husband, but Jansen McKnight . . . unh-unh-unh.”

  The more Chandra rambled, the more uncomfortable Eden became. She began to second-guess her decision to reconnect “for old time’s sake”—had forgotten the side of her former good friend who’d slept with Mike, Jansen, and probably a dozen or so more of their classmates. Eden knew Jansen had been around the track a time or two but didn’t want to hear a play-by-play of any individual races.

  She didn’t want to pass on any information either. “Jansen is still Jansen,” was Eden’s succinct reply. He’s on Facebook. If you want to know more about him, look him up and ask him yourself.

  Eden was glad to have spoken with Chandra but was grateful when the call was interrupted. “I have to go,” Chandra explained after a child’s voice yelled something in the background. “Dinnertime here, and my husband just walked in. But let’s finish catching up soon, okay?”

  After ending the call, Eden took one last look at her homepage. She noticed that the doctor, Alex Kostopoulos, was online. She toyed with the idea of sending him a quick chat message, thanking him for his time during their earlier interview. Would that be appropriate? She clicked on his profile. Other than that he was a doctor located in Los Angeles, nothing personal was listed. No birthday, marital status, or other information that could tell her about the man who might become her boss. Again, she toyed with the idea of sending a quick thank-you by chat. Or perhaps inboxing the note would be better. She clicked to send him a message, and then her phone rang. “Hey, you.”