Lost

by Jennifer Davis

  “Umm, do I look like I’m about ready?” My hair drips water, and my body is wrapped in a bathrobe, clearly displaying how unready I am. I shake my head with frustration and begin combing my wet hair.

  “We’ll be late if we don’t leave now,” Jack says, checking his watch.

  “Well then maybe you should just go. I can’t exactly leave the hotel looking like this.”

  “Come on babe, just throw something on. We can be a few minutes late,” Jack’s tone softens.

  “No thanks. I saw last night how much fun you are when you’re late to something. And I’ve had enough grumpy Jack for one weekend.”

  “Jess, please. What will you even do here without me? Sleep off some more hangover?” His snarky tone returns and quickly boils my blood.

  “I can entertain myself, Jack. I’m a big girl and I’m fully capable of taking care of myself,” I yell back at him, infuriated by his tone. Just like every day at home.

  “So, what, we’ll just meet up later for the festival?”

  “Whatever. Just text me later when you’ve gotten off your high horse. Heaven forbid we spend any time together this weekend. Only we could come all the way to New York to spend the weekend apart!”

  I turn back into the bathroom and proceed to slam the door behind me. I collapse onto the plush bath mat on the floor and draw my knees into my chest. I pray the noise of the bathroom fan covers my sobs, which begin to flow easily from me. I try to hold back any audible discontent until I finally hear the sound of the hotel room door close, signaling that Jack has finally left.

  As he exits the room my pent-up emotions escape. The tears flow easily now, and I try to wrap my head around my feelings. He’s an asshole. He’s married to his work. Now I’m not even a priority to him. I’m just an accessory in his life, one that he can easily leave home without. I sob loudly at my stupidity, and for the situation I’ve put myself in. Or, the situation I’ve created because I can’t let myself be happy.

  And then there’s Mr. Lust. Why, on earth do I even care about him? For the first time ever, I’ve had someone wonderful to love. And I do love Jack. But this slutty stranger from a world away cast some spell on me. A stupid, lust-filled spell. He is with Lia, and he apparently was when I stayed at his house, and when we nearly screwed at Ware.

  The sobs escalate and I replay all of the events in my head. The trip to Paris, and my first time with Jack. Meeting Max, the undeniable attraction to him, and our kiss in the bar. My first fight with Jack, and almost super slutty mistake at Ware. Making up and falling in love with Jack, and feeling like a part of his wonderful family.

  I focus more on Jack for a moment. Is everything with him my fault? Yes, he’s been busy with work. But is that really inexcusable? I haven’t really even talked to him about it. To tell him how I feel. That I miss him. And yes, we fought this morning. But I didn’t do anything to help settle it. He did offer to wait for me. Why was I so quick to push him away? Because you’ve been in lust with someone else.

  This startling thought pauses all others. Is it really possible to be in love with one man and in lust with another? My lust for Max has virtually ruined the first loving, meaningful relationship I’ve had. Shit, maybe this isn’t Jack’s fault. It’s mine.

  After a thorough emotional cleanse, the sobs finally end, my eyes red and body exhausted from the realization that I’ve fucked this up. My head feels clear, and my mind made up. Time to get my life back in order.

  thirty-one

  My second shower of the day helps to wash away the anger and frustration of the two men in my life. I throw on a sleeveless dark blue casual dress, adding a belt to give more shape to this flowing frock. I grab my black crossed heels, equipped with platforms to making city walking somewhat realistic. Screw the blisters that are inevitable today, they’ll simply match my chapped love life.

  I parade into Pier 94, home of this year’s Wine and Food Festival, tossing my long blonde waves over my shoulder at a crowd of young men nearby. My side vision, hid stealthily beneath my oversized Prada shades, allows me to enjoy their brief attention. It really is just what I needed. To feel sexier. More in control of the tailspin that has surrounded me.

  I walked straight up to the first place I could get a drink. “So how do I know if a Prosecco is good?” I ask the round-faced brunette staffing the La Marca booth.

  “Because it has our label on it,” she jokes with me as I finish my third tasting-sized glass, drinking in the refreshing bubbles. I giggle too, and feel my body relax a little for the first time after my emotionally exhausting morning.

  “There is no bad prosecco from Italia, but the best is D.O.C.G.” His pure sexy tone cuts through the air and the blood drains from my face.

  “Hi,” I stammer, my ears instantly telling me that it’s the beautiful Mr. Lust. My normal greeting for him, a smile and heated cheeks, is replaced today by ambivalence with a side of hate. Hate mixed with anger and hurt. Hurt that he almost used me when he was with Lia. Hate that he’s such a manwhore. And anger, well, at myself, for falling for it.

  “Hi, yourself,” he says with a big smile, which quickly fades as he realizes it goes unmatched. Despite my anger toward him, his presence quickens my pulse, and I repeatedly remind myself that I’m done with him.

  “Enjoy the festival,” the words fall from my mouth, unsure of what to even say. I pull my eyes from his and storm away, quietly enough that I’m the only one around us to realize it.

  “Jess.” He grabs my arm just as I’m nearly out of reach. The touch of his skin radiates through me, and I feel that pull to him. But my angry feelings quickly boil over and replace the lust I would normally have toward him.

  “What?” I snap back, pulling my arm out of his possession.

  “What’s wrong? What am I missing here?”

  “Nothing. I have nothing to say to you. Absolutely nothing.” His handsome face falls, wearing the look of a clueless man.

  “Ok.” He shakes his head, processing my atypical reaction to him. “Is Jack here?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” I say, leaving out the truth of why I’m not with him. “Where is Lia?”

  “Who knows. Probably off with some friends or something. I don’t keep track of her.”

  “Really? You don’t keep up with the whereabouts of your live-in girlfriend?”

  “Girlfriend?” He practically snorts at the word. “No, Lia is not my girlfriend. I let her stay with me while she gets settled in New York. She is like”—he pauses—“a little sister to me.”

  “Of course. I should have known you wouldn’t use the word girlfriend. But sister? Really? Let me help you with your English. Last I checked sister isn’t the right word for someone you’re currently fucking. And have been fucking for months,” I hiss at him, causing my voice to rise and a nearby festival-goer to gape at me.

  “What are you talking about, Jess?” His confusion looks genuine draped across his movie-star face.

  “I’m on to you, Max. I know that Lia was living with you back when…” I pause, unsure of how to verbalize our New York encounter. “When I stayed at your house. And frankly I have nothing else to say to you. I made a mistake that night, thinking you were something other than your reputation. So, shame on me.” I pause to catch my breath before delivering the final blow. “I hope I never see you again.”

  I thrust my clutch beneath my arm and begin my rapid escape from this man. I feel the tears flooding my rapidly blinking eyes for the second time today. The crowd and my jumbo heels are the only things keeping me from a full-on sprint rather than my more controlled gallop. I look up to keep the tears from falling and simultaneously search for an exit.

  Finally, I find one and blast through the door at full force, landing just steps from the edge of the pier. I drop to my knees and the tears instantly run free. I don’t dare look up at the two maintenance workers who occupy this space, but keep my head in my arms until I watch their cigarettes fall to the ground and hear the door close beh
ind them. Any last bit of self-control has now vanished, and the tears join forces with body convulsions to absorb my failing love, and the stupid lust that has left me so lost inside.

  thirty-two

  Despite my mental breakup and emotional cleanse of Max just hours ago, seeing him, and feeling his touch, makes this cut much deeper than before. I know he’s a lying, disgusting asshole, but my heart still feels broken, and my brain like a fool. The attraction I’ve had to him has been so real, so unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. What started as a chance meeting halfway around the world has ended with our lives crossing paths so many times. Was it really all just one big lusty coincidence? No, it doesn’t matter. I’m done with him. This thought elicits the biggest sob of all, and I hug my knees in closer.

  “Bella,” I hear the voice of the one and only evil Mr. Lust. Motherfucking son of a bitch. Can’t a girl have a breakdown on her own?

  “Just leave me alone. PLEASE!” I shout to him. “Please.”

  “Jess, I just don’t understand. That night in New York, I think about it all the time. About you all the time.”

  I shake my head at him. “Why, because I puked all over myself so you missed your chance for a threesome? Newsflash, no matter how drunk I was that wouldn’t have happened.”

  “No. You don’t understand. Yes, Lia was living with me then. But she is a family friend. We are not dating. I’ve never slept with her—I’ve never even kissed her.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re lying. You’re just a lying slut!” I lift my head only to shout at him then return it tightly into my knees.

  “Jess. Believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.” I feel Max drop down onto the ground next to me, and he places his warm hand on my knee.

  “Jessa, please.” Just hearing his nickname for me makes my heart skip a beat, remembering how strongly I’ve felt about him. Max’s hand finds mine, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. The same touch that has lured me in all along doesn’t fail now. No matter how angry I am at him, or how much I remind myself that I’m still with Jack, my body still craves his touch.

  “Jessa, please talk to me.” This time he scoops up my chin, forcing my head to turn in his direction. I turn my salty eyes away, not wanting to catch his. “Jessa, come on.” He bobs his head around, trying to find my eyes, until I finally allow him to catch my stare. “My Jessa,” his eyes have locked on to mine, and I see the concern seeping from his gaze. “Lia means nothing to me romantically. Her mother was my mother’s dearest friend. I’m helping her because my mother would want me to. It’s nothing more.”

  “Right. Then what about Emma?”

  He lets out a big sigh. “I kissed her. That night at the St. Regis. But that was all. She means nothing to me. Please. Believe me. You know I could’ve left with her that night at your house, but I didn’t want to. You are the only woman I want,” he affirms. “But can’t have.” His last words are under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear given his proximity to me.

  Oh, how I feel myself still wanting him, too. And I want to believe him. Believe that this is all one big misunderstanding, that our encounters aren’t just a coincidence, and that his desire for me is as real as mine for him. I want you, too. So, so badly. My body won’t allow me to forget this notion.

  Max wipes away my tear, and I reach my hand onto his as he gently touches my skin. He wraps his arms around me, and for some reason this gesture unleashes the heaviest of sobs I had been holding back. He says nothing but holds me tightly, allowing me to finish the emotional cleansing.

  “Here,” he finally says, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence. I look up to see a concerned Max offering me a handkerchief. People actually still carry those?

  “Thanks.” I try my best to dab the tears and mascara smudge from my eyes, seeing the dark smears on his previously pristine cloth. God, I must look like hell. What do I even say to him now?

  “Come on, let’s get you back inside. I think you could use a drink?”

  I giggle at the thought, knowing I could use a full barrel of wine to wash away this day.

  thirty-three

  I stop into the ladies’ room to apply fresh mascara, powder and lipstick. Amazingly, a five-minute touch-up has given my appearance some sense of normalcy. I blink back at my pale complexion, now decorated with rosy cheeks, compliments of my meltdown. My thoughts, feelings, and outlook on life have been pulled in every direction in the last twenty-four hours, and I’m not sure my brain has caught up to my heart. Even though I should be on the righteous path with Jack, my mind defaults to those same Lustful fantasies I’ve had since we met.

  Max leads me back toward the festival, without a single word about what just happened. Thank god. My brain is spinning in too many directions to think logically, so I decide to simply be carefree for a moment. “Come! We’ll have to wait forever if we don’t cross now!” I shout at Max, and we race across the street from the bathrooms back to the festival area. My fingers are laced in his, laughing as we sprint across the lanes of traffic. We almost make it before the light turns, but a few taxis in the final lane must wait for us to cross, leading them to honk madly at us until we clear, and Max and I to laugh at the scene we’ve caused.

  We catch our breaths at the side of the pier, leaning over to watch the shimmering waters between New York and New Jersey splash from the force of faraway boats. The sun is partially masked by a few clouds, leaving the spring day warm but far enough from the unbearable summer heat. “I almost lost you back there!” he says with a laugh.

  “These aren’t exactly my running shoes!” I say with a defensive laugh, nodding to my strappy leather shoes. I feel myself wonder where this afternoon may take us, until he opens his mouth again.

  “So Jack is supposed to meet you here?”

  “Yeah, with a friend. But I haven’t talked to him all day so who knows when he’ll show up.”

  “Well we are here. So, let’s enjoy this day, while I have you.” Have me. The same words he said not long ago. The irony is, despite me not being his, all I can think about is having him. I can’t help but remember the night we came so close to having each other. I remember his strong fingers stroking me, readying my body to take his. His hot, fresh mouth taunting me.

  “Let’s do it,” I say aloud, while affirming the double entendre to myself and subsequently feeling the guilt of such an adulterous thought. My Lust simply takes my hand again and escorts me inside the festival. His normal mysterious demeanor is notably absent today, and I’m even more drawn to this easy-going, divinely sexy man. He knows my boyfriend will be showing up at any time, but that doesn’t stop him from this seeming display of affection. It’s just flirting, not cheating, I think, temporarily placating my guilt.

  “This way.” He grabs my hand again and leads me through the growing crowd of attendees to a food station. The crowd forces him to pull me in close as we approach an oyster display. A look of horror covers my face as I look at the grimy dark oysters displayed neatly on a bed of ice. I’ve never eaten an oyster and have never, ever wanted to. That is until this sex on a stick offered one to me. I listen as an older man with salt-and-pepper hair describes the various types of oysters and regions they’re from. “Would you care to try one?” the oyster shucking man asks me politely. God no, I don’t want to put anything wet and slimy in my mouth. Unless it’s coming out of him. Stop it, Jess.

  “I’ll have a Prince Edward Island oyster,” my Lust requests.

  “And for the lady?” He turns to me anxiously, and I fret the words I’m about to say.

  “I’ll have the same.” I gulp fearfully, while the thought of eating this disgusting food takes over my brain.

  “What’s the matter?” Max asks me, sliding his arm around my waist as though I’m his. “Don’t you like oysters?” His comforting touch relaxes my fear a bit, and I decide to come clean.

  “I’ve never tried them before,” I admit, embarrassed to reveal that I’m not as worldly and cultured as he is.
He lets out a laugh.

  “Well now is a good time. You will like them. Trust me?” I nod my head wearily. “Just watch what I do.” He holds up his oyster shell on display, then he raises the oyster to his beautiful lips, tilts it backward, takes a few gentle chews, then swallows. “Delicious!” he announces to the oyster man. “Salty and briny, just how I like them.” Did he just say grimy? He picks up his glass of Prosecco and finishes his swallow with a sip of bubbles. “Now you try!” he says excitedly, motioning for the oyster man to give us another one. My uncertain stare gazes back at him and I begrudgingly accept the hard shell into my hand, wanting to embrace all of the adventure this day has brought me.

  “So do you chew it? Or just swallow it?” I ask naively, soliciting a laugh from my Lust.

  “Both. But you chew it first. If you swallow first it will be hard to chew it.” What? It takes me a few seconds to understand his attempt at a joke. I giggle, appreciating that he’s trying to be funny.

  “Ok. Here goes nothing!” I smile bravely at him and look down to the slimy blob resting on a rock. It’s then that I realize that I’m not sure how I actually get it into my mouth. Do I just suck? I begin to ask this question, but another giggle escapes when I think of the question in my head. So, Max, do I just suck it, and then swallow the slimy stuff? My juvenile and dirty mind foresees the parallels of doing this to him.

  “What is it?” Max questions me, clearly amused by my repeated giggles.

  “Nothing,” I lie. Here goes nothing! I raise the little rock to my mouth and tilt it backward, watching and mimicking a nearby oyster connoisseur. The salty, gritty blob falls on my tongue and I let it roll there for a moment, feeling the strange texture in my mouth. I slide it between my teeth and take a slight nibble, not realizing my expression reflects my undignified and horrified state.

  “Here,” he says, handing me my Prosecco and laughing at my reaction. “This will wash it all away.” I nod my head and force myself to swallow the slimy object. Thank God for delicious Italian bubbles.