by J. J. Murray
“But then I’d have more of me to wrap around you,” Angela said.
“You have perfectly proportioned legs,” Matthew said. “Don’t be surprised if you feel my lips on your thighs sometime.”
“When?” Angela smiled. “If I’m on top, I’d have to climb all the way up your body to the headboard for that to happen. Your head would have to be between my legs and . . .”
“Yeah.” Matthew exhaled. “That would be . . .” My poor boxers. “Yeah. Thanks for that image.”
Angela looked down. “I feel you. That’s all it took?”
“I have an excellent imagination,” Matthew said.
Angela tightened her shirt against her breasts. “Don’t you wish I had perkier breasts? I’d be curvier.”
“They’re beautiful,” Matthew said. “You are curvy enough for me. Any curvier and I’ll get motion sickness. I want to prove it to you, but you can’t move.”
“I’ll try not to,” Angela whispered.
Matthew put his hands on Angela’s face and moved them leisurely down her neck to her breasts, squeezing lightly before moving down her sides to her booty, hips, and thighs. “That’s curvy. My hands are dizzy.”
“Can we . . . can you lie back?” Angela asked.
Matthew slid down, and Angela became a blanket again.
“I wish I could get over my fears,” Angela said. “I imagine having you on top of me, and I get a little scared thinking about it. I imagine backing up on you to let you hold me from behind, and I’m terrified.”
“Angela, I completely understand,” Matthew said. “I wouldn’t be able to see your eyes or smile that well from behind you anyway. I have to see your eyes at all times.”
She moved higher and looked into his eyes. “I have to see yours, too. I only wish I was, I don’t know, sexier. I’m lying on you in a plain white T-shirt and some white underwear. How sexy is that?”
“Very,” Matthew whispered.
“It’s not sexy at all,” Angela said.
“Sit up,” Matthew said.
Angela rose and placed her hands on his chest as Matthew sat up.
“Raise your arms,” Matthew said.
She raised her arms.
“Close your eyes,” Matthew whispered.
“I don’t know if I can,” Angela said.
“Okay,” Matthew said, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it toward the window. “You can watch.” He kissed above each breast, lightly sucked on each nipple, and kissed between her breasts. “Very sexy. So is your stomach. Lean back.”
Angela leaned back.
Matthew kissed all over her stomach. “If you straighten out your legs and scoot up a bit, I can kiss your thighs. You may need to put your feet on the headboard.”
Angela straightened her legs, raising them to the headboard.
Matthew kissed each thigh while he massaged her calves. “You’re exceptionally sexy, Angela.”
“Matthew,” Angela said breathlessly, “can I go higher?”
“Don’t move,” Matthew whispered. “Let me go lower.”
As he slid down, he gripped and lifted her thighs off him. He moved her underwear aside with his teeth and found her sweetness, licking in rapid strokes while massaging her booty until her legs began to quiver.
I am holding Angela in the air.
“Matthew, you’re going to make me come,” she whispered.
He darted his tongue inside her.
Angela moaned. “Damn . . .”
Matthew eased her onto his chest and pushed himself back to the headboard, maneuvering her onto his lap. “Are you really coming?”
“Yes.” She looked away. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” Matthew whispered. “With your booty pressing against me like this . . .” Damn . . . “Oh shit, so am I.” I definitely have to get home to get more boxers. He tried to smile. “Sorry about the mess. You okay?”
Angela nodded, pulled the cover over them, and lay flat on top of him, her feet rubbing against his calves.
“You sure?” Matthew asked.
“I’m sure.” She sighed. “I’m happy.”
“So am I.” Geez! What did I last, five seconds? How can I be happy about that? He hugged her. “I like making you happy.”
“Now what do we do?” Angela whispered.
“We could rest,” Matthew said.
“Okay,” Angela whispered.
Two minutes later, Matthew whispered, “Angela?”
“Yes?”
“That was easily the most erotic thing I have ever done,” Matthew said.
“Me, too,” Angela whispered. “I wasn’t too heavy, was I?”
“No.”
“You had me floating in the air,” Angela whispered.
Two more minutes later, Angela whispered, “Matthew? Can we do that again in a little while?”
“Yes.”
One minute later, Angela whispered, “Matthew? Has a little while passed?”
“You stay put this time,” Matthew said, kicking the covers off the bed and sliding lower.
“I doubt I can do that,” Angela moaned.
Matthew removed her underwear. “Then don’t,” he whispered, raising her hips.
“Especially if you do that . . . yes . . . and that . . . oh, yes, right there . . .”
Chapter 25
The next morning after again seeing Angela come out of the bathroom fully dressed, Matthew shoveled away what city snowplows had maliciously returned to the sidewalk, and Williamsburg came back to life under a shining sun. Customers trickled in, previously snowed-in vehicles reappeared and then vanished, and La Estrella opened again.
His cell’s battery flashing, Matthew waited until customers filled half the booths and chairs before approaching Angela.
“I’ve got to go back to my apartment for my charger,” he said. “Think you can manage for an hour without me?”
“An hour?” Angela asked. “It shouldn’t take that long to get a toothbrush.”
He had told her about brushing his teeth with his finger.
She had not been amused.
“I need to pack a few things,” he said. Boxers, mostly. “I’d like to hang around for a few more days. If it’s all right with you.”
Angela smiled broadly, leaned across the counter, and kissed him. “Hurry back.”
Matthew felt the eyes of customers on him. “You just kissed me in front of all these people,” he whispered. “Aren’t you worried about the scandal? Did you see that? They’re really partners.”
Angela kissed him again. “Hurry back.”
That kiss answered that question.
Matthew slogged through mountains of snow to Havemeyer, climbed the steps above the pharmacy, and entered his apartment for the first time in days. It didn’t smell or look any different, but his easy chair now commanded a view of snow-covered garbage bags.
He took a long hot shower, shaved, put on clean clothes, filled a bag with toiletries and two more changes of clothes and every pair of boxers he owned, and ate a slice of cold Mezza Luna pizza. He noticed his answering machine flashing, so he checked his messages. I have twelve messages. When is the last time I had twelve messages?
The first message was from Michael:
“Matt, when are you going to change your recording? You can’t expect to get a new woman interested in you if your ex is still on the recording.”
Oh yeah. I had better change that. I really should disconnect this dinosaur. What do I need an answering machine for when my cell phone has voice mail?
“Listen, Matt, Victoria is simply dying to see you again, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why. She has called me seven times asking for you. I don’t know what magic you used on her, but I think she is seriously hungering for you, big dog. What’s your secret ? I got nowhere with her and Debbie Does What Victoria Does for six months! She’s already talking about introducing you to Boops and Boopsie. I never got that far. Give me a call and I’ll set you two up again.
My treat for everything this time. Call me back!”
Why didn’t Victoria call me? She had my number. I guess it’s the same pattern. She needs a go-between or a buffer for dating. Sorry, Victoria. You were fine, but wealth for wealth’s sake isn’t sexy, and I’d rather eat cake than try to kiss through the makeup caked to your cheek.
The next message, from a 963 number at eight PM three days ago, was a few seconds of static. Probably a wrong number.
The next message dropped him into the easy chair.
“Matthew, please pick up, I’m begging you!”
It’s Joy. Why don’t I feel any?
“Please pick up. Recoja el teléfono maldito! Please give me a call at this number in about fifteen minutes. It’s a pay phone. It’s a matter of life and death! Call me!”
Joy sounds so desperate. She called three days ago. Hmm. There must be trouble in paradise.
He listened to the next message.
“Matty, I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have kicked you out.”
Monique?
“You were actually treating me with a great deal of respect. Not many guys have ever done that for me, and I’m not used to it. I didn’t know how to react. Maybe we could go, I don’t know, to a movie sometime. No dancing at The Cove, I promise. Give me a call. Please. I want to try again.”
Sorry, Monique. You were strikingly gorgeous, but a drawer full of exotic condoms is scary, not sexy.
Joy struck again in the next message.
“Matthew, where are you?”
Desperation suits her.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay. Pick up! I know I hurt you, but I need your help desperately. I know you’re listening. I know you’re screening your calls. I don’t blame you. What I did was so foolish and stupid. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if you could wire me some money to get back home, I would really appreciate it. Call me at this number in the next five minutes, please! I’m running out of change!”
I was so cruel to her three days ago by not calling back, and I wasn’t even here to enjoy it.
Joy owned the next message, too.
“I don’t understand you!”
Joy has no patience. That wasn’t five minutes. It was more like two.
“Usted es tal ano! We spent a year together, Matthew. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Okay, so it didn’t mean that much to me in the end. That’s my fault, not yours. You see, I’m flat broke. No tengo ningún dinero. Carlo was F-ing married. He lied to me! He has four children. He put me up in un hotel sucio, some dingy, cheap hotel because, get this, he said he was remodeling his house and we couldn’t go there yet. Soy tan estúpido! I even loaned him five hundred dollars to get his roof fixed. When my money ran out, the hotel put me out on the street. Help me! Oh, and by the way, that cheap microwave you bought died the first time I plugged it in down here. Call this number now! Please!”
Matthew smiled. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he did. I’ve helped Carlo fix his roof for him, his wife, and his four kids. I have done a good thing for the man who stole my old girlfriend. And it doesn’t bother me at all. In the grand scheme of things, if it weren’t for Carlo, I wouldn’t have met Angela. The smell of oranges will no longer upset me.
He listened to the next message:
“I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching since we talked, Matthew.”
Mary! Wow.
“I realize that you’re right about me. I really haven’t changed. I still have very strong urges, and I felt something burst in me whenever you were around me. I also know that I’ve been wasting my time with you know who. Perhaps we could go out sometime, or we could just go for a walk, or you could come over to my place, and I’ll cook for you. Let me know.”
Sorry, Mary. You were stimulating to all my senses and even crept into my daydreams, but hypocrisy isn’t sexy.
The next message of static was from the same 963 number that called at eight PM two days ago. He checked the Caller ID on his phone—“NY GOV.” Jade from jail?
The next message made him check to see if he had locked his door.
“I hope this is the Matt McConnell who took me to the Rangers game.”
And now, Allison. This stuff never happens, not even in the most convoluted movies. But why didn’t she call my cell phone? She was blowing it up for two days!
“If it isn’t, please ignore this. If it is, I just want to thank you for making sure I got home safely the other day. I really embarrassed myself, didn’t I?”
I’m surprised she remembers anything about that night.
“I would have called you on your cell phone, but I must have erased your number from my memory while I was drunk. I am so sorry for everything I did or said to you. But guess what? Surprise surprise, I’m not drinking anymore. Five whole days. I went to my first AA meeting last night. I’m also giving my diaries a rest. I’ve been reading them, and they are really awful. They were fun to read when I was drinking, but they’re brutal to read when I’m sober. If there is any chance in the world we could, I don’t know, meet for coffee sometime, like at the place we met, I’d really appreciate it.”
That’s not happening.
“You’re a special man, Matt. And if you don’t call back, it’s cool. I just wanted you to know these things and know how sorry I am for the way I acted. Bye.”
Good for you about sobriety, Allison, but you might still be crazy, and insanity isn’t sexy at all.
More static from the same 963 number followed. It has to be Jade. I wonder if she has any new tats yet. Or a new girlfriend.
“Yo me siento muy cansado de esta mierda!”
Joy is really pissed now. She’s getting tired of this shit. So am I.
“Because of you, pendejo, I had to get money from my parents, and you know how much I hate them. If they call you, you are to tell them I was on vacation in the Dominican Republic when I got robbed. Got that? I was on vacation and got robbed.”
Joy doesn’t want her parents to know how truly foolish she is. I’m sure they already know. And what does that say about me? I asked Joy to move in. I was foolish, too.
“I should be home by the nineteenth.”
Joy may already be here.
No. I’m sure the storm delayed her. Nothing was flying in or out of JFK or LaGuardia during that storm.
The last message, however, proved him wrong.
“Comer mierda y morir! Where the freak did you put my clothes?”
I guess her plane got through the blizzard. And somehow, she got into the apartment.
He leaped out of his chair.
“I need them, you hijo de puta! You’re wondering how I got in. I had another key made three months ago, pendejo! Don’t be surprised if you have a pissed-off visitor very soon, and I will not be knocking first!”
He erased all the messages, unplugged the answering machine, and searched the apartment for any signs of Joy, relieved he didn’t find her or smell any fresh vanilla.
Do I change my locks or go retrieve her clothes? I’m sure the thrift store sold them the first day. She had some really nice stuff. Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have gotten rid of her clothes. Or her shoes. However, it was the logical thing to do at a very illogical time. At least I didn’t throw them out into the street. I could have done that.
Matthew smiled.
Joy has returned, badly dressed and broke. I think I’ll call her parents in Staten Island, just to see how she’s doing . . .
Unfortunately, Joy answered. “Matthew, is that you?”
Shoot. I wanted to talk to her parents. Maybe one day. They’ll answer first eventually. “Hi, Joy.”
“Where are my clothes?” she whispered tersely.
At least now I know her parents are nearby. Joy has never been a whisperer. “How was your trip to the Dominican Republic? I bet they didn’t have any snow down there. Did you bring back any neat souvenirs?”
“I want my clothes, Matthew,” Joy whispered.
“And I wanted a
commitment,” Matthew said. “Easy come, easy there you go to the DR with a married man who smelled like oranges. You should have known that vanilla and orange only go together on a Creamsicle.”
“I’m not going to ask you again,” Joy whispered.
“Good,” Matthew said. “I don’t like echoes.” He heard a door open and shut. I’ll bet she’s going outside so she can yell at me.
“Where . . . are . . . my . . . clothes?” Joy screamed.
She’s so predictable. She’s outside, and she’s so dramatic. I can be dramatic, too. “Your . . . clothes . . . are . . . at . . . the . . . Salvation . . . Army . . . Thrift . . . Store . . . on . . . Bedford . . . Avenue.”
“What?” she screamed.
“I thought you were gone for good with my rent money that eventually repaired Carlo’s roof,” Matthew said, “so I donated your clothes to the less fortunate.”
“That’s so f-ed up, Matthew!” Joy shouted. “I’m the less fortunate now!”
And like desperation, her misfortune suits her, too. “And you owe me eighteen hundred dollars.”
“You aren’t getting it,” Joy said. “You can’t prove I took your money.”
I could take her to court, but I don’t want to have anything more to do with her after this conversation. “Were Carlo’s kids cute? And he had four? My, he was a potent one. Were you using protection? I hope you were.”
“Bastardo!”
“Would any child you had with Carlo be considered a Hondur-ican?” Matthew asked.
“Le odio!”
I rather hate you, too. “What was his wife like? I’m thinking she was beautiful. Dominican women are gorgeous, you know. How’s that roof look? What’s it like hanging around a pay phone? Meet any interesting people?”
“Beso mi culo!”
Oh, I know this phrase. “No thank you, Joy. I’m done kissing your ass. I am seeing someone with amazing initials. Adios. Sorry. Smiley face.” He hung up.
That went very well.
I think I have gained closure.
He looked at the front door. Should I change the lock? I’m almost out of this apartment. What’s the point? I’m practically living with Angela as it is.
Matthew felt a flutter in his heart.
And I miss her.
But if Joy has a key, she could return the favor. I can’t have that.