by Nicole Casey
I asked if by ‘it’ he meant me or the training program.
“Both,” he said.
That’s Axel: he manages to be both flattering and frustrating at the same time.
At this point, nothing I said to Holly could shock her. Still, she wanted all the details, and I was happy to provide. With her work taking her from state to state, we hadn’t had the opportunity to hang out in a while. The day before she had to fly off to New York for the week, I took her out to dinner at the Marina.
“Gwen, you look simply dazzling this evening,” she said.
“Well, thank you Holly. It’s a new dress. I’m glad you noticed.”
She shook her head and raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t talking about the dress.”
“So, I’m glowing, is that what you’re saying?”
She raised her glass of wine. “Here’s to Gwen.”
“And to Holly.” We clinked glasses and took a sip.
“But tell me,” she said, “besides the visible euphoria, how’s it going?”
We were seated at a table next to the window. From my seat I could see couples walking hand-in-hand along the beach. In the restaurant, there were many couples dining together, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes.
“Well, it’s not all champagne and roses,” I said. “In fact, I haven’t had any champaign and I haven’t been sent any roses, actually.”
“So, the hunky Marines are a bit short on romance?”
I looked out the window where a young woman was chasing a man through the waves breaking onto the shore. I thought of Axel and how we’d taken a walk along the beach many days ago. I thought of how I’d asked him out and how he’d said that would feel like cheating. Finally, I looked at Holly and said, “It’s unusual.”
She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. “I feel like I’m in a relationship, but…” I didn’t know how to finish my thought.
“Do you mean ‘relationships’?”
I shook my head. “That’s just the thing. It doesn’t feel like relationships, plural. It feels like one relationship, one unusual relationship.”
Holly nodded. “I can’t say I can relate, but I think I understand.”
I leaned across the table and whispered. “Holly, you know I don’t want to be in a relationship.”
“Don’t you?”
I pulled back and looked at her with wide eyes. “Holly, I’ve said that countless times.”
She raised her hands defensively. “I know you’ve said that. But do you really mean it, or are you just telling yourself what you think you need to hear?”
I considered her comment a moment. “Maybe.” I sighed. “Apparently, it doesn’t matter. Apparently, I’m in a relationship whether I wanted to be in one or not.”
She raised her glass timidly and said half as a question, half as a toast, “Congratulations?”
I didn’t know if that was worth celebrating or worth worrying about; probably both. We clinked glasses anyway. “And you know how I am with relationships.”
She shook her head. “I only know about Michael.”
“Enough said.”
She frowned at me. “Gwen, not all guys are like Michael.”
“I know that. But a lot of them are.”
“Don’t make me take the side of your boyfriends,” she said half jokingly, “I haven’t even met them all.”
I laughed.
“And why are you still thinking about Michael, anyway?” she said. “You’ve moved on. Tell your mind that. It would seem it didn’t get the memo.”
“Ouch.”
I tried to veer the conversation away from me. I asked Holly about her travels and her job, but she wasn’t having it.
“No way,” she said. “You’re seeing nine guys at the same time. You’re not going to ‘how is work’ your way out of telling me everything. I want to know what it’s like.”
“Fair enough.” I smoothed out the napkin on my lap and took in a deep breath. “Well, for a start, it’s complicated.”
She smirked. “Thanks for the insight.”
“I mean, it was supposed to be just a fun game.”
“And it’s not fun?”
“It is,” I said enthusiastically. “But you know me, I get attached easily.”
“And who are you getting attached to?”
“My boyfriends,” I said, louder than I’d intended. We both looked around the restaurant. There were more than a few inquisitive faces looking back at us.
We looked at each other and laughed.
“I wish I knew how to relax and just enjoy the moment,” I said. “But when I start to feel something, I get… well, you know how I get.”
“Attached.”
I shook my head. “How do you do it? How do you manage to keep your heart protected while still having fun?”
Holly nearly choked on her water. “You make me sound like a heartless trollop.”
“Trollop?”
She waved her hands dismissively in the air. “Whatever. You know what I mean.” She leaned across the table and whispered. “But I’m not. I, too, can have feelings for a guy.”
I gasped and fanned myself in mock shock. “I never would have guessed.”
Holly nodded. “It’s true.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I said.
“And,”—she straightened in her chair—“having feelings is a good thing.”
“Unless the guy or guys you’re dating aren’t serious,” I said under my breath.
She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “They keep making excuses. They have to work; they have training. I don’t know, seems suspicious.”
“It seems suspicious that working Marines have to work and they have training?”
“Yes,” I said defiantly.
Holly put her hand over mine and squeezed. “Gwen, these guys, they’re not Michael.”
I frowned and nodded.
“You got burned once,” she continued. “It happens to the best of us. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go back to the kitchen.”
“Baking reference.” I beamed. “Nice one.”
“You got a bad apple,” she said. “That doesn’t mean you should throw out the apple tart recipe.”
I frowned and furrowed my brow.
Holly put her hands out, palms up. “I’m trying.”
We finished dinner, left the restaurant and headed to a nearby bar for a quick drink before the walk home. While we were standing at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention, two guys came up to us.
“Good evening, ladies.”
They were both handsome, though maybe a bit too old for my taste.
“Is it a good evening, though?” said Holly.
One of the guys, tall with dark eyes and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, leaned against the bar and said to Holly, “It could be, with the right company.” He raised a hand toward the bartender and the bartender came over to him quickly.
The guy turned to us. “What are you having?”
“Cosmo,” said Holly.
“Make that two,” I said then I glanced at Holly and shot her a look of ‘what are you doing?’.
She returned my look with one of her ‘don’t worry; I got this’ looks.
“Two cosmos,” said the guy to the bartender, “and two apple martinis.”
Holly and I chuckled.
“Something funny about apple martinis?” said the other guy.
“No,” I said. “It’s just that we were talking about apples a little while ago.”
The guy who’d ordered the drinks said, “In a good way?”
I shook my head. “No, not in a good way. Not at all in a good way.”
He frowned.
We drank our drinks. I tried to be civil, in case Holly was interested in one of them. But it was difficult. The guys wouldn’t stop talking about themselves. One told us r
epeatedly about the sports car he’d just bought, and the other guy talked about the firm he worked at and how prestigious it was.
I was trying to think of a way to politely get away from them when Holly finished the last of her drink, set it on the bar and slapped one of the guys on the arm. “Congratulations on the car, thanks for the drinks, now if you’ll excuse us.” She took me by the hand and started off.
“Hey, wait,” said one of the guys. “Where are you going?”
“To the other end of the bar,” said Holly.
They didn’t follow us, not after the dry and direct way Holly shot them down.
At the other end of the bar, we had similar luck—or lack thereof—trying to get the bartender’s attention. A guy in a suit, collar unbuttoned, with a golden medallion hanging from his neck, approached Holly. “What are you having?”
“We’re trying to order cosmos,” she said, “but the bartender’s ignoring us.”
The guy raised a hand and the bartender came right over.
“Two cosmos,” he said, “and a whiskey sour.”
“But we’re paying separately,” Holly said to the bartender.
He ignored her.
“Holly, remind me never to recommend this bar again.”
She shrugged. “It could be worse. We could have to pay for our drinks.”
We had a good buzz going for our walk home. And despite it being early October, it wasn’t too cold outside—or maybe it was, but the alcohol was doing a good job keeping us warm.
“How drunk would I have to be to go home with one of those guys?” asked Holly.
“Hopefully, you’ll never find out.”
She locked her arm in mine. “Thanks for dinner, Gwen.”
“Thank you,” I said.
We walked arm in arm—admittedly not in the straightest of lines—for a few blocks.
Out of the blue, Holly said, “How did a catch like you end up with such a sleaze like Michael?”
“Well, he wasn’t always such a sleaze.”
“No? Do you think he turned into a sleaze or he was always a sleaze but managed to hide it from you.”
“I guess you’re right. He was always a sleaze but he managed to hide it from me.”
“Men!” she said angrily.
I thought of the men I was currently seeing—though not often enough. I couldn’t help comparing them to Michael, and I couldn’t help finding similarities—at least similarities to how Michael was in the beginning. “There’s definitely nothing sleazing about the men I’m seeing now.”
“Is that a question?” asked Holly.
She was right. I hadn’t said that with any conviction. “I mean, how would I know? I didn’t see the sleaze in Michael. Maybe the Marines are hiding their sleaze from me, too. Maybe I’m just bad at seeing the sleaze.”
“How long did it take you to spot the sleaze in ponytail guy tonight?” she asked.
“Well, that was easy,” I said. “He had a ponytail, for starters.”
“Plus, I think that place was literally called Sleaze Bar.”
“Yeah, not a true test of my sleaze-detecting abilities.”
“So how long did it take for you to spot the sleaze in Michael?”
I thought about it. Had I always suspected? Was I just lying to myself because the sex was so good?
“We were together for almost three years,” I said. “I only found out after we broke up that he’d been cheating on me the whole time.”
“Men!” said Holly angrily. “I bet he didn’t even have a new sports car or work in a fancy firm.”
I chuckled. “Nope. He drove a clunker and he worked at a bar.”
“How’d he score a catch like you, then?”
I shrugged. “He had his qualities. And it was a fancy bar. Tree Top, you ever heard of it?”
Holly shook her head no.
“Well, next time you’re in Los Angeles, you should check it out.”
I will.
“And if a tall blond with sparkling blue eyes is behind the bar, promise me you won’t let him try to charm you.”
“I promise I won’t,” said Holly. “But that promise is valid for Los Angeles only!”
11
Axel
I had become addicted to cinnamon rolls and coffee. Either that, or I couldn’t let more than three days go by without seeing Gwen—though the two weren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. I was busy, but I could find the time for my fix by skipping lunch and jogging to the cafe. At least, that way I didn’t have to worry so much about the calories from the cinnamon roll.
Sometimes Manny would come with me; sometimes Nolan; sometimes we went all three of us. But we could never stay long.
“You’re such a tease,” Gwen would say.
“But you’re the one with the hot ass,” I replied. “And the one who’s flaunting freshly baked cinnamon rolls!”
She put her hand on my chest, her fingers lightly touching my quivering skin. “Yeah, but you get to have those cinnamon rolls. When am I going to get to have you?”
“It won’t be long,” I promised. “Hang in there.”
“Tease,” she said, and she sauntered off.
I had Travis send her a text: ‘We’re being punished for our poor performance in morning drills following our night together. How does it feel knowing the US Military has had to take extra precautions to keep its Marines safe from your hot body?”
Her response: ‘I think the Marines in question should treat these ‘precautions’ as an obstacle, an obstacle they will overcome.’
I had a word with both Travis and Santiago. “I can’t tell if she’s just kidding around or if she’s genuinely impatient.”
“Sounds like a bit of both,” said Travis. And Santiago agreed.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“We’re Marines,” said Santiago. “We’re going to overcome.”
We had a meeting to talk about Gwen—as we did almost every night. But this night was different: a little less dreams and fantasy, and a little more practical reality and urgency. We were in agreement: Gwen’s texts expressed a certain degree of genuine impatience. We were in agreement: we were all experiencing degrees of genuine impatience. Just when things were starting to heat up, our jobs and our duties were keeping us from taking things to the next level. We had a potential problem surfacing, so instead of talking about how great she was and the things we would do together once we’d finished our deployment, we talked about the here and now; we talked about practical actions we could take immediately.
Unorthodox problems require unorthodox solutions.
Travis sent Gwen a text: ‘Have you ever wanted to be a mail-order bride?’
Gwen’s response: ‘?’
Travis sent Gwen another text: ‘Let me rephrase that. We’ve booked you a room at the Marina Hotel for the 15th. Be there at 2 pm.’
Travis’s follow-up text: ‘btw, it’s going to be a long day and a longer night.’
Three days after our meeting and after sending her our invitation, Gwen had still not confirmed. In fact, her texts didn’t say much of anything: ‘Doing well.’ ‘Nothing special.’ I went from feeling anxious and impatient to feeling worried.
I skipped lunch and jogged down to The Bean Counter.
Jenny waved to me from the terrace as I approached. I waved back, and she disappeared into the cafe.
A moment later, I arrived, and Gwen came out to greet me.
“Hi Gwen.” I gave her a kiss. “How’s it going?”
She took my hand. “Shall we go for a walk?”
I frowned and shook my head. “I’m afraid I don’t have time. I just came by to say hi. I have to jog back to the base before I’m missed.”
She was visibly disappointed, and I felt bad.
“But this Thursday,” I said, “at the Marina Hotel.”
“Yeah, what’s that about?”
“The hotel is right next to the base. We’ll be able to pop out between exercises.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe, not all at once,” I continued. “But that’s the only way we can see you.”
“And what was that comment about mail-order bride?”
I shook my head. “Poor word choice. We just thought, you know, like you order a woman and she comes to the hotel.”
“That’s called a prostitute.”
I furrowed my brow and looked off to the side. That word hurt. I would never think of Gwen that way. I looked back at her and said, “Yeah, but we thought of mail-order bride. A prostitute is just for a few hours. But a mail-order bride, you keep.”
She squeezed my hand. “Ah, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
We laughed.
I gave her a kiss. “I’ve got to get back to the base. I’ll see you at the hotel?”
She nodded. “At two o’clock.”
Thursday morning was the longest morning in the history of time. I kept looking at my watch every two minutes though it felt like every two hours. Morning exercises were supposed to finish at noon, but they dragged on until one fifteen.
I raced back to the apartment, took a quick shower then raced to the hotel where Gwen would be waiting for me. The excitement, the thought of being with Gwen: I couldn’t fight off the erection. I entered the hotel lobby with my stiff cock bulging in my pants. The receptionist noticed. She glanced at my crotch before giving me the room number.
Gwen was staying on the second floor. I took the stairs; I couldn’t stand still and wait for the elevator.
I knocked on the door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
The door cracked open revealing only a sliver of Gwen who wore a long white gown that fell to her ankles. A shawl draped her shoulders and a thin veil obscured her face. “Yes,” she said, as if she didn’t recognize me.
I pushed open the door and barged in.
She took a step back and put up her hands defensively. “Who are you? What do you want?”