Long Slow Burn

by Isabel Sharpe

  Eventually, as always, frustration overcame him, and by now predictable fears. His professors had been excited about this project. He’d been confident, probably cocky, thinking he could improve on something that had been done before: design maximally green housing developments more cheaply than developments using traditional methods. First he hit snags. Then boulders. Now mountains, grown by uncertainty that fed on itself until nothing he did felt right, and his computer—where he’d spent many constructive hours, sometimes so absorbed he’d miss meals—that computer now felt like his enemy.

  He needed to go out. There was no way he could spend another hour imagining all the fun Kim could be having with some other guy. A guy she was really excited about, for chrissake. Nathan needed to be out having fun of his own. If he lay here like a dead jellyfish any longer, he’d start thinking Steve was right, that showing a woman you cared was like giving up your balls. He wanted to keep his, in the fond hope that someday he’d need them again.

  Fifteen minutes later, he’d called his usual crowd. John was home, but doing some prewedding thing. Everyone else was either busy or didn’t answer. He didn’t try Steve.

  He’d go out on his own then. Not the first time, probably not the last. Lonely guy walking into bar. There were worse things. Like lonely guy sitting alone in his living room, watching TV, pining after a woman who was out with someone else.

  He dragged on a jacket, went out into the damp, penetrating chill that was too often March in Wisconsin. In his secondhand Hyundai, he drove to Water Street downtown, home to bars filled with people in their twenties checking each other out. He’d been successful there many times, met some wild and willing women, and had a great time.

  Tonight he wasn’t sure what kind of time he’d have, and what kind of mood he was in. Maybe finding female company was the best cure for what ailed him. Have a few beers, then a few more, chat up some hot women. Probably just what he needed. Give him some pride back, anyway. Make him feel less vulnerable. He hated that feeling. He and vulnerable didn’t have much to say to each other.

  Brocach Irish Pub was packed tonight, just the way he liked it. He squeezed in, absorbing the noise, the energy, the heat and scents of bodies and beer. This was his element. Up at the bar, he ordered a beer, drumming in time to the music, looking around for a likely playmate. In the corner, a brunette in a low, tight tank top, talking with her friend. Nice. His beer came. He paid and took a gulp, then another one. Started toward her. She glanced over his way and he smiled. She smiled back. Bingo. He reached her, nodded like the oh-so-cool guy he was.

  “Hi there, I’m Nathan.” He had to shout to be heard.

  “Natalie.” She giggled. “Nathan and Natalie!”

  “Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

  “What?”

  He pitched his voice to cut through a hurricane, his head starting to ache. “I said it has a nice ring to it.”

  “Your phone has a nice ring?”

  “No, Nathan and Natalie.”

  “What about us?”

  He shook his head, thought about what to say next. Can I buy you a drink? Want to get out of here and go someplace where we can talk? He didn’t want to say either. He wanted Kim.

  Damn it.

  Natalie was looking at him expectantly. Someone jostled him from behind and he nearly fell into her.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  They stood again. Natalie started giggling. Nathan had to say something. Or shout something. “So what—”

  “Buy me a drink?”

  Buy her a drink. He should be celebrating. Steve would be. She liked him! He was in! Hurray! He had a chance to get some!

  All Nathan could think was that if he bought her a drink he’d be stuck talking to her. He shouldn’t have come. “What’ll you have?”

  “What?” She lurched away from the wall to get closer.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Anything.” She burst into giggles and he wondered how badly off she’d be after another drink.

  “Yeah. Sure. Be right back.” He headed for the bar, was blocked by a couple of guys in one direction, blocked in another. To hell with it.

  He turned and left. He wouldn’t be good company for Natalie or any other human being tonight. His heart wasn’t in it.

  His damn heart wasn’t even in his chest. It was beating lamely over at Mimma’s, with Kim.

  Nine o’clock

  THINGS HAD GOTTEN BETTER. Much, much better. Kim’s cosmopolitan had been followed by a couple glasses of wine from the bottle Dale ultimately had emptied, then he’d had a brandy and she’d had tea, unable to absorb any more alcohol, especially that potent. During dinner, conversation had flowed, finally, though, granted, Dale had done most of the talking, about his travels, about his work, about his life. Kim read somewhere that men talked about themselves a lot on the first date, in essence auditioning for the part of boyfriend, so she wasn’t entirely surprised, and didn’t hold it against him. If he wanted to see her again, there would be plenty of time to talk about herself.

  Dale pocketed the receipt for the meal, which he’d insisted on paying for. “Would you like to take a walk, Kim? Nice brisk night. A little sobering up isn’t a bad idea before we get back into our cars, either, huh?”

  “I’d love it.” She got up from the table and put on her jacket, glad she’d worn her warmest one. Fresh air sounded wonderful. Making the evening longer than going straight home after dinner sounded wonderful, too. She wasn’t ready to come back to earth and face Nathan. Though if this much booze didn’t make her brave enough, probably nothing would.

  They walked out into the chilly night air of Brady Street and headed east. The glow of alcohol lingered, making her warmer, making the night romantic and the neighborhood more enchanting than it was. Something about strolling along with a date was more relaxing and liberating than being imprisoned opposite him in a restaurant.

  “I have a confession to make, Kim.”

  Her smile started slipping. “Confession? Uh-oh. What is it?”

  “At the beginning of the date, when I saw you…”

  She slowed her steps. She knew what had happened when he saw her. He’d wanted to turn around and walk out. “Yes?”

  “You weren’t what I expected.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. She was sorry? “What was different?”

  “You were—I don’t know how to say this.”

  Oh, no. She thought they’d had a nice evening, even if it had taken a while to get going. Had he not enjoyed himself? “Just say it. I won’t break.”

  Oh, she wished she hadn’t said that. Her lips immediately started remembering the soft press of Nathan’s finger. If I touched you, I think you’d break.

  Stop.

  “In your picture on Milwaukeedates.com, you were shy and sweet-looking, easily approachable.”

  She stopped dead, forcing Dale to swing around to face her. “And I’m not now?”

  He gestured toward her. “You look so…done up.”

  Oh, Dale. If the streetlights went out around them, the street wouldn’t go dark, because Kim’s smile would be enough to light it. “The irony of what you just said…”

  “What do you mean?”

  She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been, worrying about her appearance like that. After they’d been emailing with such openness and frequency. “You seemed so sophisticated, Dale. I was intimidated, and afraid you’d be disappointed if I showed up looking like the girl next door.”

  “Disappointed? That’s crazy.” He lurched forward, grabbed her to him in a hug. “I picked you exactly because of how girlish and sweet you looked. Like the Ivory girl. Simple and uncomplicated, and beautiful.”

  She hugged him back, laughing and nearly crying at the same time. Exactly what she’d told Marie she wanted, why she hadn’t played herself up in the profile. He liked her for her, without the paint and polish. What kind of idiot had she been, thinking
she should change herself to get the kind of guy she wanted?

  He drew back, caught her chin in his hand. “Next time, don’t wear any of that, okay?”

  She nodded, not able to stop smiling. “I won’t.”

  “We’ll go somewhere casual. You can wear jeans. Okay?”

  “Yes. Yes. Okay.” She laughed, laughed again. This evening was turning out perfectly!

  His fingers tightened on her chin. His face sobered. He pulled her toward him, covered her lips with his.

  Oh, dear.

  She banished the immediate comparison, kissed him back wholeheartedly. He broke away, rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t believe I found you, Kim.”

  This was the man she knew. The romantic from his emails. “Yes, it’s amazing.”

  “You’re my dream come true. My angel of mercy.”

  Ooh. Words like that worked better in emails; in person they sounded borderline over-the-top. But okay. It was a first date. People always said stupid things on first dates. She had, she was sure.

  He kissed her again with a few lashings of his tongue that weren’t quite what she was in the mood for. Then he staggered back, breathing heavily. “Kim.”

  “Yes?” She couldn’t help being alarmed. Was he having a heart attack?

  “I can’t believe this.” He clutched at his chest.

  Oh, God. She’d taken CPR, but it was a while ago. “Dale, are you—”

  “I forgot to give this to you.” He fumbled in his jacket and brought out a small box. Whew. Not heart attack. Too much brandy plus her present in his breast pocket. “It’s a little something I picked up in Jamaica. I told you.”

  “Oh, Dale. You really—”

  “Ah, ah.” He waggled his finger like a disapproving parent. “Don’t say I shouldn’t have. I wanted to.”

  “Thank you. You’re very sweet.” She opened the box, and gave an inadvertent “oooh” of pleasure. Inside lay an exquisite pair of earrings, coral carved into tiny roses. “Oh. Dale. They are so beautiful.”

  “From one of the finest shops in Montego Bay.”

  She was bewildered by his generosity. “This is too much.”

  “Nothing’s too good for you.” His voice was low and full of emotion. “I know this will sound crazy, Kim. After a few emails and one date, it’s crazy. But I really think I could fall for you.”

  Ten o’clock

  HOW THE HELL LONG did it take to have dinner, anyway? Not that this Dale creep had taken her to a place where you had your entrée dumped in front of you and sucked it down in ten minutes. No, he’d taken her to Mimma’s, and would probably spend on her as much as Nathan made in a week.

  At this rate, they’d probably stay there a week.

  How short could you cut a fancy dinner date if you weren’t having a good time?

  Shorter than this.

  Crap. He’d recently traded lying on the couch for pacing and drinking beer. His latest, Bass Ale tonight, was just about ready to be tossed into their recycling bin. Then it was time for another. After his outing to the bar had been ludicrously unsatisfying, he’d driven by Kent’s apartment. Not there. Monday night? What was so special about Monday night when it wasn’t even Packers season?

  What was Kim doing now? What if Dale had taken her home? What if she didn’t come back until morning? Nathan would go nuts. He’d never survive. He’d have to drink himself into a stupor, buy sleeping pills and take enough to knock out a rhinoceros. Otherwise he’d sit here—or pace here—pain burning a hole in his chest, missing her. That old devil vulnerable. Not a feeling he was used to.

  Maybe he’d better move out now. Maybe he’d better give up this losing battle before it destroyed him. Before his balls left him to find a real man.

  But how could he leave after those kisses?

  Jeez, listen to him, he was becoming exactly the wuss Steve accused him of being. Mooning around after a woman. Lovesick moose, that was him.

  He turned into the kitchen and pulled out another beer. Might as well get completely hyphenated. The hangover couldn’t be any worse than what he was feeling now.

  Nathan paused just as he was about to open the bottle. What if she was trapped in a long evening? What if she was having a terrible time? It could happen. She shouldn’t come back to the house and find Nathan staggering drunk. That could ruin any advantage he might have gained by the explosive chemistry of their kisses.

  She had to have felt that; he hadn’t been kidding when he said she’d been glowing. Did she do that for every guy who kissed her? Was she doing it for Dale? It had taken everything in Nathan to act as if it was nothing special. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered trying.

  He flipped open the beer defiantly, went back into the living room, popped a Slipknot CD into the player and turned the volume up loud. Heavy metal filled the room: angry, throbbing violent sound, perfect for his mood. Couldn’t do his work, couldn’t get the girl…

  Oh, yeah. He raged around the living room, now playing air guitar, now drums, lip syncing along to the throat-busting vocal track.

  This was more like it. No more moose for him.

  He executed a jumping kick and a couple of most excellent air-guitar-playing spins that landed him at the entrance to Kim’s bedroom.

  He stopped playing, stood in the doorway.

  Kim wasn’t here. He was supposed to look for pictures, a keepsake and…her underwear.

  The first song, “Execute,” ended. The next one started with a guitar riff and growling monotone vocals.

  He retrieved his beer, walked into her room, turned on the light. The air smelled like Kim, like the perfume she’d been wearing when he kissed her. His groin reacted. He wanted to kiss her again. Like crazy.

  Oh, man, he should not have had this many beers. His inhibitions were nonexistent. If she showed up now he’d probably attack her. She was so beautiful. So sexy. So—

  Okay, didn’t he say enough of the moose?

  Yup. He said that. He did.

  Pictures. He scanned her bookshelves vainly, put his bottle down on her desk and guiltily tugged open the door to her closet, not wild about the violation of her privacy. Inside, hanging clothes on one side, neatly organized shelves on the other. If she had albums they’d be here.

  He found one on the top shelf, with a black, red and white geometric cover. He brought it to her bed and sat, opened to the first page. Baby Kim. He put the book down, went out into the living room and hit Pause to silence the music. He couldn’t look at such innocence listening to heavy metal.

  Back on her bed, he looked again. Kim had been an adorable baby. Big blue eyes, chubby cheeks, a smile that practically split her face in half. He turned another page, grinning almost as foolishly. Kim again, a more solemn little girl, standing close to her plump, pretty mother’s side, blond hair to her chin. Kim, Kent and a handsome man who must be the cheating father. Kim in ballet slippers and a pink tutu.

  Another page turn and he stared for a long time. Kim, standing beside her dollhouse, smiling proudly. She wasn’t kidding; the little palace was amazing. Three stories, tiny yellow shingles with gingerbread trim, what looked like a slate roof, shuttered windows, chimneys and balustraded balconies. Another shot, of her and the house’s interior. Inside, tiny fireplaces, chandeliers, elegant wood and metal furniture graced each room. Nothing plastic. Nothing cheap.

  Impulsively, he slipped pictures from the pages: the dollhouse shots, Kim as a baby, as a little girl and ballerina. From her desk he scrounged an envelope to protect them.

  Keepsakes? Another brief search in the closet turned up a small pink shoe box containing a pair of small, well-used toe shoes. Her first pair? He fingered the worn satin gently, imagining her girlish determination, her grace. What had it taken for such a shy girl to dance? He imagined her coming alive on stage. He’d like to have seen that.

  He replaced the lid, and took the box and the envelope of pictures into his room, shoving the former under his bed and sticking the latter under a pile
of books on his drafting table. Heading back toward Kim’s room, he felt the silence in the apartment closing in on him, so he punched off the pause button and let Slipknot deafen him the rest of the way to the most dangerous part of his mission: Operation Underwear.

  He stood in front of her dresser for a few seconds, nodding to the beat, feeling even more like an interloper than when he was ransacking her closet, then resolutely tugged open the top drawer. Bras. Lacy ones, plain ones, all kinds of colors, red and black, beige and white, some with polka dots, one leopard print. Nathan groaned. He’d never be able to look at Kim again without imagining one of these wonders under her clothes.

  This was going to kill him.

  He lifted out the leopard bra, fingered the soft cups, imagining Kim’s breasts filling them. For her he’d even become a pervert, very much enjoying fingering her underwear. He should be ashamed. But by now he was too drunk and too horny to care.

  He did manage to remember his mission and peer at the tag: 34C. He’d save that to his mental hard drive. Thirty-four and a capital C done in silky, sexy leopard.

  Oh, yeah.

  He was hard now. Couldn’t help it. No matter how stupid and teenaged it was to be standing here pawing lingerie with a stiffy, he couldn’t overcome the simple fact that he was a man and underwear was something women wore next to their priceless parts. And these were all Kim’s.

  He draped the bra over his shoulder, went for another drawer, hoping to score matching panties.

  On the CD, “Gematria” ended. “Sulfur” began. You don’t always know where you stand.

  He knew. He was standing in front of Kim’s underwear drawer, aka heaven.

  Nathan snorted, even knowing the joke was way beyond lame. Maybe this should be his last beer. Speaking of which…he picked up the bottle from her desk and took a long swallow, exhaled in satisfaction.