Sex and Death in the American Novel

by Martinez, Sarah

  Chapter 17

  Jasper hauled the Olivetti, its hard edges wrapped in two layers of protective beach towels, to my study. I carried the books. We went to bed. After a day into our time back at my apartment—our apartment—every word, every glance, every touch was so much lighter.

  The next day he gave me the afternoon to set everything up.

  I rearranged everything on my desk. My laptop moved to one corner, my father's books, my references, my father's novel Staccato, and my latest, Boy in a Box, sat side by side. A familiar voice whispered to me, Not equal. Now it seemed silly to even believe this, to consider these words as anything but stupid, ignorant thinking. I had learned enough and grown enough to be able to tell where my father's words really shone, and as Jasper encouraged me to do, I was able to see myself in him, and I could see him in me.

  I tapped on the keys; this was my machine now. I glanced at my laptop. That was me. I switched the locations of the machines, so my laptop was in the everyday use position and my father's—my Olivetti—was where I could see it.

  Later in the afternoon I entered the living room. Jasper looked up and stuck one finger in a thick new book to mark his place and smiled.

  “I have something to show you,” I said. All the windows in the apartment were open as wide as they could go to let the air in, the sunlight streamed across the room, bright day easing toward evening. I led him to the bedroom.

  “You're going to kill me,” he said with a laugh in his voice.

  “You don't have to do anything unless you want to.” I wrapped a blue silk scarf around his eyes. He lifted his hands up and let his fingers move over the fabric until I placed my hand over his and brought it to my lips. He smiled. In the past he'd liked this game, only this time I would add something extra. “Can you be good for a few minutes?” I asked him and glanced to the clock on the nightstand. The red numbers were hard to see in the reflected sunlight.

  He nodded and smiled, lying across the bed.

  I shut the bedroom door and made my way through the living room and onto the porch. I closed the front door as slowly as I could so he wouldn't know I'd left. Alejandro drove up on time as requested. He'd let his hair grow out so that he now sported short black curls that I ached to run my hands through.

  I pressed my thumb to his lower lip and stroked his smooth chin while he met my eyes.

  After a moment he took my hand and turned toward the door.

  A few feet from the door he stopped. “You read Jasper's essay didn't you? I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I figured he should do that.”

  I pressed my lips together to avoid showing a smile and hoping to look grave.

  “I saw it, and it made me miss you.”

  He looked at me sideways and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked to my front door. At the edge I moved to stand behind him. I wrapped another blue scarf around his eyes. He placed his hands on his hips and turned and started to speak, I put my lips to his to silence him.

  When he pulled away I whispered in his ear, “What did you think about when he told you what he was doing?”

  “You,” he said, his hands rising to the scarf to try to remove it.

  I pressed my fingers to his face and said, “Wait. What else?”

  He let out a breath and furrowed his brow. He ran his hand over the top of his head. “What are you doing?”

  “Can you just tell me?”

  “I wanted to do something for him, to see him again. Okay?”

  “Yep. So can you just go with me on something?”

  His posture led me to believe he was not going to go with me as easily as I'd hoped. “How do I know you aren't going to try and walk me in front of a car or something?”

  “That's kind of funny,” I said in a deadpan voice.

  “Not from where I'm standing.”

  “Probably not,” I said. “I can see your point. Okay, here it is.” I came up close and breathed in his ear, and held myself there like when we danced. I could feel the smile on his lips across the skin of my cheek. “Does it feel like I am up to something bad?” I ran my fingers over the front of his pants. “I missed you.”

  He took my hand and stopped me. “This is lovely, but are you alright?”

  “I went to my father's cabin. I read all the letters. I went swimming. I cleared my head and thought about what I wanted to do with my life.”

  “That's good…” He still sounded skeptical.

  “I want to bring you inside but don't want you to make any noise.”

  He grinned. “Sure, chica. I can do that.” Before I could pull away, he passed his lips over my throat, scraping my neck with his teeth before pulling back. I was only in charge as long as he felt like letting me be.

  I held my hand to his lips and guided him into the living room. The sunlight that streamed in through the windows lit the room like we were moving through happiness itself. Anticipation built with every step. My skin prickled imagining the two of them meeting again and me just getting out of the way, giving them to each other.

  Sun-warmed air, the mingling scents of Alejandro's tangy cologne and my own sense that I was doing something important gave the moment a gravid quality, like right before my first communion when I was ten. I stood there before the priest with my mouth open, waiting for my life to change, for him to make me better, only now I was doing that for myself. Jasper sat up as soon as he heard me come in.

  “What are you up to?” he said. Alejandro grabbed my hand, squeezing tight, almost as if for strength. I led him to where Jasper sat.

  Jasper tipped his head, flared his nostrils and said, “Vivi?”

  With Jasper mere inches from our lover, I moved to take his hands and place them on Alejandro's hips. He pulled Alejandro closer; Alejandro's face was tight, waiting for Jasper's reaction. Jasper's arms stiffened and his knuckles stood out white. I came around to sit beside him. I hovered near his face, allowing my hair to tickle his skin, and said, “Are you afraid?”

  He shook his head slowly and held his position. Alejandro let his hands fall to Jasper's arms. They stood like that for at least a full minute until I moved behind Jasper to pull his shirt over his head, and over to Alejandro to do the same. With slow movements they began to explore the landscape of the other's flesh.

  Alejandro lifted his fingers to Jasper's face, ran his fingers over his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, to his lips. Jasper opened his mouth and closed it again. Alejandro's chest rose and fell regularly until Jasper moved his hands to the waist of his pants, feeling along the fabric until his fingers reached bare skin. I moved beside Jasper, reaching to Alejandro and helping to free him of the rest of his clothing. After I did this I moved back.

  This time I would get to do something for them—as they had for me. In each other we had found a way to be truly free, for Jasper he was able to love who he wanted, I was free of my anger, and Alejandro was free to be loved. Really loved. I vowed always to continue in this way for the both of them. I would do for them what they had for me. I would be honest, sincere, brave, and whenever I could, give them pleasure.

  I made a move to pull away, but as soon as Jasper felt my weight leave the bed his hand moved to the back of my neck. Alejandro reached out and found my face, stroked my chin, and sat beside me, pulling me to him. Within moments I had a scarf tied to my eyes, and another around my wrists. I felt a second of panic at how vulnerable I had become, then Jasper's voice came in my ear.

  “You are going to get what you want. Everything you want.”

  Alejandro's firm heat slid next to me, and hands began working my clothing off. His lips rested on the spot behind my ear, gently pressing his lips to me, then a pause. A set of arms pulled me up to sit against the headboard.

  “Tell me what you think is happening,” Jasper's voice was farther away, and a weight left the bed where he had been and I heard him come around to our side. A set of hands worked under my ass and around my back, moving me to the other side of the bed. Both of them settled b
eside me so I could hear everything, feel every movement. Only I would have to use my imagination to fill in what they did.

  “You are sitting next to Alejandro, neither of you has any clothes on.”

  An amused noise, Alejandro.

  Their weight settled again, and there was a soft sound, a groan, very low. A soft laugh, and then a moist sound that went for a while.

  “Slow kisses.”

  Another movement on the bed, a hand came to run over my chin and nose.

  I was afraid to name what was happening.

  Jasper's voice, “Wow. I—”

  Alejandro made a shushing sound, and then there was rustling, the bed moved almost continuously for over a minute, my breath caught in my throat. Jasper's slim fingers came around my wrist. He gasped.

  I felt toward his face, contorted and with his mouth open, I stroked his hair back, feeling his fast breath on my open palm. He reached up to wrap his hands around my shoulder and pulled me to him until it was over, breathing hot and fast against my neck, on my face. Almost a whimper escaped at the end, and I released a hot tear of happiness. He wiped it away and we laughed together.

  A minute went by and I felt Alejandro come to lie beside me. Breath hit my skin at my sides, my navel, the backs of my knees.

  “She didn't do much talking. You write about this stuff all the time, but you couldn't describe what was happening just then,” Jasper said.

  “Maybe she's blocked?” Alejandro said.

  Jasper chuckled, and I think it was his fingertips that gave me shivers as they ran from my forehead to my toes.

  I found my voice and twisted my head in the direction of each of their voices. “I don't know how to name this.”

  With both of them on either side, the energy began to build as it had before. When a hand grazed my body, crossed my breasts, or passed over me to reach farther, I rode the waves of excitement, and disbelief that I was really doing it. We were doing it, the three of us.

  I opened myself between them. Two sets of fingers worked over the planes of my face, sweeping over my eyelids, running through my hair.

  Through their hands, their nimble and sure fingers, they made their way into my mind. It was always about words, how they got into me, how they changed me, and how they stayed there—showed me a new way to be— prepared me for themselves and ruined me for all others.

  Yes. That's exactly what happened.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to all those writers, living and dead, who take their words seriously. Especially those who generously share their inner working lives and speak to the public about their Art. I continue to learn from your thoughts, ideas, and example. This book is for you. Vanessa (Vivi) Brown—your belief in me so many years ago is something I will never forget. You are missed.

  My publisher, Kenneth Shear. You get me. And that whole fatherly thing you've got going is most appreciated. Katherine Sears, Marketing Goddess, thanks so much for all you've done and continue to do, and for your interest in my project in the beginning. Laura Kalpakian, your comments and Fiedler recommendation saved this book and gave it a new title. The brilliant young editor Katie Flanagan, who read this book in the very early stages as well as at the end, thank you. You are going to rock the world! And thanks to Joanne Erickson, most necessary copy editor, you saved me from more than one embarrassment. Loretta Matson: book designer, copy editor, photographer, web designer and crisis manager are just a few of your talents. I continue to be amazed by how much of yourself you gave to this book.

  A big thanks to Terry Persun, who even before this book was written gave me inspiration and advice when I needed it, and continues to remind me what this whole writing deal is all about—and thanks for the introduction to Mr. Robert Penn Warren. Bharti Kirchner for encouraging me when I needed it. Cindy Hurn for reminding me to back off and take a breath when I am about to explode. Ditto Renda Dodge, who tries so hard not to let me take on too much. To Andrea Hurst for so many things, professional and personal. There is no better training for a nascent writer than reading manuscript submissions. And you even let me edit! Whidbey Island is for you and in recognition of all the ways you helped me out of my hole in the last part of 2010. Loretta Matson, Everett Maroon, and Adrian Magnuson read this book early on and spent hours helping me sort the seeds. My birthing coaches.

  For my husband, David Martinez Viveros. Among your gifts, the biggest gift was time. Gracias mi Corazon. You gave me countless hours of peace in which to work. To my girls for reminding me that there is still a place for me when I find my way back to reality, and for your understanding while Mommy is working. Te amo.

  I owe a special debt of gratitude to Priscilla Long for her extraordinary text on writing and her friendship. I can't recommend The Writer's Portable Mentor highly enough, especially for all those knuckle biters out there. This book changed my life, and it was a happy surprise to find the author herself such a delight. Priscilla, you gave more of yourself than I ever expected. For those hours at Tully's, the sunny afternoons in Taos, and everywhere in between, you showed me a way to make this the best book possible and in so doing, become the best me possible. I continue to try and live up to your high standards. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  —Sarah Martinez