Louder Than Love

by Topper, Jessica

  “Sleeping, fighting, shagging, dying . . . same as they are at the fleabag motel down the road.” His ice received another stab with the stirrer. “Doesn’t mean their lives are any better, just because they can afford to stay here.” His words caught and burned in his throat, like the vodka did. He cleared it. “What do you think they’re doing?”

  I allowed myself a moment’s pause. “I’d like to think maybe somewhere up there, someone is putting the finishing touches on their manuscript, maybe the next great American novel . . . or taking their time making love for the first time in a golden bed.”

  He dragged his stirrer along my wrist. “Your optimism is quite a turn-on,” he observed as I shivered in delight. Leaning over, he kissed the icy trail of alcohol.

  “Mr. Singer-for-the-Children is not a glass-half-full kind of guy?”

  “Hey, I sing about things for kids that are just as serious, as real as the heartbreaks adults feel. Whether it’s about your dog running away or your lover running off, it’s the same emotional center. It’s the same . . . yearning,” he pointed out, quite passionately.

  Suddenly, I had grown weary of being out in public on a date. It shouldn’t have bothered me, since we were practically alone in the bar, being discreetly ignored, but I wanted to be with just Adrian. Just with him, no one else around.

  “I want to be alone with you . . . to get away from all these businessmen ogling you,” he whispered, and the look on his face mirrored mine; our brainwaves didn’t need us to speak the rest. “I’ll be right back.”

  I concentrated on draining my drink both for something to do and for courage. The bartender was preparing a bloody Mary and smiled at me as he garnished it with a plump pink shrimp. It made me think of Adrian, unresponsive in my car. My heart tripped in my chest, and I glanced at my watch. Twelve thirty. We had spent two solid hours in each other’s company. I still felt I had no clue who he was at all, but was so incredibly drawn to him. I wanted him back at my side; I wanted to know what our next adventure would be.

  More minutes ticked by before he rushed in and grabbed my hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To jump in the fountain.”

  We scurried out past the lobby. The emptiness of the corridors seemed surreal, like Times Square emptied out in preparation for a movie scene. I wondered if he had paid off the bellhop, the elevator operator, the concierge. No one was in sight as we hopped into the wood-paneled elevator, and with a satisfying sweep of the doors, we were finally alone.

  “Adrian Graves, what have you done?” I giggled, pulling him toward me as we traveled upwards.

  “I done rented us a room, darlin’.” He grinned, kissing me long and fierce. A strange thought suddenly occurred to me: Pete had been twenty-nine at our last kiss . . . I had skipped a whole decade and was now kissing a man in his forties. It was different, yet I refused to get sucked into fruitless comparisons. Adrian had worked his way down my neck and, as the elevator climbed, he dropped to his knees and put his mouth on the skirt of my dress. I felt his hot breath on me; it was wildly sexy. I frantically pulled him back up, literally popping the snaps on his shirt in the process, and we necked like a couple of teenagers until the door slid open with a sophisticated ding.

  We half stumbled, half dragged each other down the corridor to our door, Adrian doing a stellar job of still being able to work the key as I kissed his neck and ran my hands over his firm backside. He lifted me up with one forearm under my bottom and the other arm supporting my neck, fingers tangled in my hair as he kissed me and slowly brought me into the room. I helped the best I could, kicking off my shoes, wrapping my legs around him, and leaning my heaving chest to his. His hand moved under me, grazing my panties, and he murmured, “Oh my, you are ready, aren’t you?”

  “It’s been so long.” I sighed, letting him lay me down on what was, indeed, a golden bed. Stripes of teal and gold ran up the duvet, folded down midway to display a crisp plump white featherbed and a dozen decadent pillows waiting for us to crush.

  “I have condoms,” I blurted. “In my purse.” Adrian’s face, just centimeters from mine, looked amused. “I got into town early. Killed time in Duane Reade. You know . . . gotta be a Girl Scout. Always prepared.”

  “I thought Girl Scouts brought cookies,” he teased, lightly biting my left earlobe as I turned my head to locate my shoulder bag. Marissa always likened it to a clown car, impossibly tiny and yet stocked with an unlikely quantity of goods: juice boxes, baby wipes, animal crackers, book, umbrella. And now birth control.

  “Ha ha,” I intoned, pouting in order to kiss the tip of his nose. “Not to spoil the moment, but perhaps we should discuss . . .”

  He entwined his fingers through mine, pulling them up to his chest. “I’ve been tested regularly. Not recently, but I haven’t been with anyone in the last year. I’ve learned to be a good boy. Clean bill of health.” He kissed my knuckles and smiled. “Now then, luv . . . I’m happy you arrived prepared, but I’m in no hurry . . . I plan on enjoying you at a leisurely pace.”

  The way he said that, all the while running his fingers still entwined through mine down the side of my face and over my lips, made me want to strip him down and have him right then and there. Instead, I breathed deeply, allowing myself to relish the feeling of his solid body straddling mine. We were still fully clothed, exploring with our eyes, our hands, our mouths. Drinking in and marveling at each other’s presence.

  Adrian began to peel off my panties, never taking his eyes, or his lips, off my face. “I have to taste you” was all he whispered, and in a flash, I felt hands gently push my dress over my thighs, the softness of his hair as he ducked down, and then one amazing, rough stroke of his soul patch before he zeroed in on the spot deeply with his tongue. He lingered, he teased, and steadily began to increase the speed of his pleasuring. Gasping, I tried to go for longevity, but it was hopeless. My toes with their pretty paint job were curling against his shoulders, and the climax hit me sharply before rolling slowly up me in waves that left not only my lips but my fingertips buzzing and numb as well.

  I could barely breathe as he kissed his way down one leg and up the other, taking a moment to unbutton the front of my dress and lightly tongue from my stomach up over my cleavage, bra still intact, and back to my neck as I rasped, “That. Was. Amazing.” Reaching down, I frantically unbuttoned his shorts and helped free him, all while kissing, nibbling, licking his ringed earlobe, his chin, his neck. His approval was apparent and rock-hard against me as I slowly began to make my way down.

  “No, no, I won’t last a second, come ’ere,” he mumbled, and flipped me on top of him. My brain was starting to come back to earth as I leaned to kiss him, feeling him suck a breath of air as the heat of my skin burned through the thin cotton T he wore under his unsnapped shirt. I went to remove both, but again, he stopped me. “I have . . .” He reached up to touch my face, and I kissed each of his fingers. “Burns . . . some scars . . . I don’t want to scare you . . .”

  “Do they hurt?” I whispered, lightly running my fingers down his biceps. I traced the inked outline of his Celtic cross with my nail.

  “Nah. They’re just ugly. I want to keep this moment beautiful.” He smiled up at me, those eyes a gentle yet tormented rocking sea of blue, dark with desire. Without another word, I slowly pivoted my hips and began to gyrate against him in small circles, not taking my eyes off of his. He groaned, arching his back and aching to meet me. “Quick,” he breathed, “do me the honor . . .” He reached, grabbed, and tossed my purse onto the bed in one deft move. “Before I soil your dress, luv.”

  Our ragged sighs echoed one another as our bodies finally locked. The pinnacle he had brought me to earlier allowed each thrust to induce multiple aftershocks deep within me, and I could tell he felt and enjoyed each one. “Oh, Kat,” he moaned, biting and twisting his bottom lip as he reached to pull me closer, deeper. Our breath and mov
ements flowed evenly, measured, in unison. He brought his torso up to meet mine as he heaved, hands grasping at my bra straps, my curls, anything tangible to keep him from floating into the ether. I witnessed his face speak a thousand words as his lips just uttered one: my name again. He was all at once demonic, blissful, tortured, humble, and at peace.

  “Why are you crying?” I whispered as we both collapsed into the ballooning channels of the featherbed.

  “Only because you are,” he whispered back, wiping my cheek with his thumb and kissing the moisture left behind. I hadn’t even realized I was. “You all right?”

  I nodded, letting myself be gathered into his arms for a moment. We were both spent and silent. My back was against him, and his wrists were clasped under my breasts. I studied them, marveling at their sinewy detail, their delicate veins. His hands leisurely rubbed my ribs as if strumming his guitar. “I should get rid of the rain gear.”

  He was up swiftly, walking bare-assed to the bathroom and whistling a dead accurate intro to the Violent Femmes’ “Blister in the Sun.” He grabbed his underwear in a smooth move along the way. I wrapped my arms around the area that his had just vacated, a smile breaking through on my lips. Now where the heck had my panties gone? I popped up and peeked around, finally locating them under his cargo shorts on the floor. I pulled them on, entertaining the notion that I could retain a modicum of mystery after he had been all over me. Then I paused to take stock of the room for the first time. Decent size for Manhattan, tastefully decorated. A bit too stuffy beaux-arts style for me. I had been in a few luxury hotels, none as famous as the Plaza, but ones that certainly had rooms that compared. The big showstoppers here were the windows, each as large as a pool table and faced out over the northeast view of Central Park. Not too shabby at all.

  Adrian returned, now wearing his black boxer-briefs and fishing in his shirt pocket again for his cigarettes. “Will you look at that!” He leaned over the bed so I could inspect the pack. All had broken during our frolicking, save one.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed, reddening.

  “Don’t be.” He kissed my shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to cut down.” I wanted to pull him back into bed, but respected his need for nicotine. Besides, I didn’t have the energy.

  “How’s the view?” I asked, sinking into the crisp sheets and plush down. He struggled with the window and positioned himself so he could lean and flick ashes between the bars of the Juliet balcony.

  “Meh. About sixty blocks of trees, lakes. You know. Not bad,” he wisecracked, looking back at me over his shoulder. “But pale compared to the view I see right now.”

  “Oh please.” I laughed, stretching out on the bed into an advanced tree pose, my palms meeting over my head in a V and my right foot pressed high into my upper left thigh. It was a delicious stretch, made more glorious by Adrian’s eyes. I knew he was watching me, even with my own eyes shut. All my connective tissue felt relaxed, having been warmed and loosened by his touch. The pillow had captured his cologne and caressed me with its scent. I tried hard to pull out the notes, like those professional noses who get paid for smelling. Definitely the essence of black pepper. Bergamot? Maybe basil as well. It was masculine and mysterious and so completely him. I allowed it to envelop me.

  Sex with Adrian had swept clean the corners of my brain I had long ago abandoned, dusty and cluttered with despair. I couldn’t help myself. I was falling. Falling for him, and falling asleep like I had been drugged.

  The next thing I remembered was focusing in on Adrian, who was sound asleep next to me. We were facing each other with only our hands touching, our fingers locked and elbows bent at an angle as if we were getting ready to arm wrestle horizontally. I studied his lips, relaxed in slumber. My own lips felt swollen and bruised, overdosed on kissing. I gently ran my hand along his hip, noting how his boxer-briefs clung to the muscle of his thigh and how the hair on his legs looked golden in the afternoon sun. He was deep in sleep and didn’t stir. The T-shirt he still wore was slightly askew, and I could indeed see a scar that traveled around his midsection, deep purple like the sun setting over the beach back at the lake. Home.

  I started. Abbey. The bedside clock read 2:18, and I double-checked my watch. Wednesday was Abbey’s long day at school. Dismissal was at four, and Marissa had assured me she would collect Abbey if I didn’t make it back in time. Still, I wanted to be there for her. I was a good hour drive from home, so long as I beat rush hour traffic. But I still had to get to my car. “Adrian . . . hey,” I whispered, but he seemed as drugged as I had felt earlier. A note seemed stupid, and shaking him awake seemed cruel. I crept out of bed to make quick use of the bathroom, hoping he would wake up in the meantime. The shower had two rain showerheads, which made me long to stay, but instead I buttoned my dress, smoothed my hair, and surveyed myself in the beautifully adorned mirror above the pedestal sink. I approached Adrian a final time. “I have to go,” I whispered, kissing his prone lips. “I have to get home to Abbey.” It felt like he kissed me back, but he still appeared sound asleep. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Getting in the elevator was a whole new experience this time. I kept my eyes on the doors as everyone else around me did the same. The elevator made me think of the picture book Abbey loved to hear about Eloise, a little girl who lived at the Plaza. I was so anxious to get home to my little girl. Hotel staff was abundant now, stepping lively, and the lobby was abuzz as I glided out on shaky legs. I probably looked like countless other guests that day, breezing out to do some retail therapy.

  * * *

  My phone sprang to life as I was gunning the Mini Cooper through the Bronx. I grabbed it before it could vibrate down into the crack of the passenger seat.

  “I had the most glorious dream that you were here with me in this golden bed . . . but then I woke up and you were gone, and it nearly broke my heart.” I smiled into the phone upon hearing his voice. “Was I what the kids refer to as a booty call?”

  “Oh my God.” I sputtered a laugh. “Hardly!”

  “Come back. We’ll order room service and make crumbs in the bed.”

  “A third breakfast of the day sounds tempting . . . but I have to get back. Abbey, school . . .” I drifted off. “Thank you, though . . . for a most delightful afternoon.”

  “It was a pleasure.”

  “That it was,” I agreed, feeling my stomach do an hourglass flip with the memory of what we had been doing a short while ago.

  “When can I see you again?”

  “I’ll check my calendar. My people will call your people.”

  He laughed, and now I could absolutely picture his smile. Before meeting him again today, it had been hard to conjure it up in my mind, but now I knew the image was there to stay. “One condition next time,” he warned. “You bring Abbey along.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, definitely. We need a chaperone.”

  ***

  Deep down

  within the rusty valves

  are

  dry, neglected chambers

  that someday

  by care and coincidence

  may lubricate into

  a devil’s machine of power

  and translate into

  a roaring upheaval of emotion and energy.

  (A.G., Plaza Hotel, 5 May, 2004)

  Kiss and Tell

  Had I conjured up the afternoon’s events? The burn between my thighs and the tingling of my lips told me no. It was surreal and strange to be back in the neighborhood A&P, watching customers squeeze melons and listening to children beg their moms for sugary cereal. Abbey drove the little plastic car attached to the front of our cart, swinging the wheel to the left as I maneuvered what was roughly the size of an El Camino down the narrow aisles, contemplating boxed items, canned goods. Dreamily savoring the press of Adrian’s mouth and the smell of his skin, I tossed in chips, fresh salsa, and lim
es, paid, and found myself in my kitchen without even remembering the drive home.

  Following dinner, the Falzone minivan swung into the driveway. “Trade you these two for your one,” Rob offered, thumbing back toward Marissa and Leanna. “We’re going for ice cream.”

  He didn’t have to ask Abbey twice; she was already jumping into the chair with the built-in booster seat. Brina and Joey waved from the back.

  “Come on, we’ve probably got forty minutes before they come back, all sugared up,” Marissa announced as soon as the van reversed out of the drive. “Spill the dirt, Tree.”

  “Great second date?” Leanna prompted.

  “Yep.”

  “No attempted killing involved?” Marissa wanted to know.

  “Nope.” I led the way to the kitchen.

  “He was where you wanted him to be?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, you’re killing us, Tree!” Leanna groaned, crunching a tortilla chip in frustration.

  “Drinks first.” I uncorked a new bottle of Patrón Silver. “Talk during.”

  Marissa pulled perfect avocados, a Spanish onion, and a lime from a bag and got to work at the kitchen countertop. She had a knack for spotting avocados in their exact stage of ripeness; it was truly a gift.

  They carried the food into the living room, and the drinks and I joined them. I could see they were practically keeling over in suspense.

  “So . . .” Marissa prompted as I handed her a glass, and then one to Leanna.

  I casually crossed my legs and took a sip. Then I began. “Incredible. We had an amazing time.”

  “And the sex?” If Marissa had been waging bets tonight, I would have won in knowing sex was going to be the first bullet point on her agenda.

  “What sex?”

  “Come on! You slept with him, didn’t you?” She kicked my bare foot dangling near hers. “You got rid of the monkey paw,” she noted, referring to my freshly exfoliated heel, “your nails have red polish on them for the first time since Brina’s christening—”