Effortless

by Marina Raydun

  Jamie’s breath blew some of my hair off my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I felt his hands touch the small of my back and grew suddenly afraid that my knees would buckle.

  “Ms. Levit, Mr. Sola, come dance with us,” I heard Ofir shout behind me. Abbott aggressively gesticulated to get us to comply, trying to vocalize some encouragement over all the noise.

  “Okay, okay,” I mouthed back, dramatically popping my hip out to the beat. As Jamie, too, began to sway, albeit reluctantly, I could see him roll his eyes. This sort of music was clearly hurting not only his ears, but, by the looks of it, also his soul (or, at the very least, integrity). The drama did seem a bit overstated.

  Most of our kids danced in a circle, ‘a la junior high school spring formal. Loose and happy, their bodies gyrated and their hair flowed as the lights, synced perfectly to that painful rhythm, alternately lit them in pools of reds and greens. Once in a while, for a moment there, the anonymous bass would grow almost recognizable before regressing into a generic hypnotic beat again. No one seemed to care one way or the other.

  As the night swam past us and the club continued to fill, our bodies involuntarily rubbed against those of strangers, the way they do aboard crowded subways at rush hour. Hips touched and sweat flew as the now stadium-worthy crowd jumped in unison, pumping their fists in the air (as occasionally instructed by the DJ). To the side, I could see Abbott dancing with Sophie, twirling her around as if it were big band swing and not just noise masquerading as music that was their accompaniment.

  Distracted, I must’ve not been paying attention when our fingers interlaced, but suddenly, as if out of nowhere, there was Jamie’s ring cutting into the meat of my finger. The energy around us electric, I spun around to face him. Neither protested when our bodies were slowly pushed together. My hair coming undone from its loose ponytail, our hair touched as our faces continued to draw closer. Feeling our lips about to touch, our mouths already visibly parting, I placed my hand on his chest. My heart torpedoed into my heels, lighting my thighs on fire, en route.

  “Not here,” I screamed, hoping that he heard it only as the intimate whisper that it was intended to be.

  “It’s inevitable,” he replied wetly into my ear before drawing away from me to display his charming smile. “Want to go back to the hotel?” he mouthed, his hands careless on my waist.

  I nodded entirely too eagerly.

  “You sure they’ll be okay back there?” I asked when we emerged into the lights of the Piccadilly Circus at one in the morning, still screaming in spite of myself, my ears having not yet adjusted.

  “They’ll be fine. Abbott is there.”

  This was a moot point—we weren’t going back.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Condensed Milk

  The heat of Jamie’s mouth crawled its way up my neck while his expert, quick fingers made their way up my thigh, my wool pencil skirt putting up a fight, its lining creating static against the pantyhose that I now regretted wearing. As he squeezed my flesh into him, I allowed my hands to leave his hair to travel down to the small of his back, where my nails glided up and down the dimple above his hips for distraction.

  Without letting my body out from under his weight, pinned between his deceptively solid frame and the cool, beige wall of my hotel room, I kicked off my shoes, immediately losing a few inches in height, thus making Jamie drop his shoulders in order to stay in my mouth. When I felt him against my thigh, the sensation made me come up for air, suddenly desperate to gulp it with my mouth open wide. Wiggling out of his lips for no longer than a second, I drew him into me with what felt like all my might.

  Just as his impatient hands found their way inside my blouse, I hastily decided to pull my own pantyhose down, twisting carefully to avoid having to squat in order to snatch them off my feet in a manner that surely would be neither elegant nor remotely attractive. I tried to remember what underwear I’d worn that morning. It wasn’t lacy or silky, of that I was certain, given that I’d left all those behind on the Upper West Side. And of course, I was sure that my undergarments didn’t match, as per my unofficial dress code. As George would say, I was probably dressed like a super hero again. The first time the two of us were ever together, it was blue underwear and a purple bra for me; he’d snickered while examining me, circling me as if I were prey. With Javier, it was different—he was so focused on me, I could’ve been wearing a garbage bag and it would not have mattered.

  Eager to get back inside Jamie’s arms, away from my own wandering mind, I kissed him as soon as I was truly barefoot, my adrenaline-fueled hands shaky as they pulled at his shirt, hungry for the feel of his bare skin under my fingertips. It was soft and warm, the shade of it reminiscent of the most deliciously sweet and smooth condensed milk. My limbs heavy and awkward, I let myself be led to my narrow bed, willingly falling back when I finally felt it behind my calves (which I was now grateful to myself for waxing).

  The chiffon of my sleeveless blouse itchy against my clammy body, it was tangled across my chest, my breasts trapped inside my bra, its underwires now more painful than supportive. I arched back and reached behind to unhook it.

  “Let me,” Jamie murmured, straddling me.

  I smiled up at him, let my arms fall to the sides, and arched my back further to let his wide palms under me. Though they were warm, goose bumps covered my skin as soon as his wedding band made contact with my ribcage and I felt my small breasts fall free.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll take it off,” he whispered, hurriedly.

  “No, don’t, it’s okay,” I was quick to respond, too afraid of letting so much as a second go by without seeing his face in front of mine, as if afraid of seeing another there. His hair swaying over me, I reached up and held his face in the palms of my hands; its dark stubble was almost silky to the touch.

  I watched him wrestle my skirt off of me, and then my blouse. Our bodies unnaturally contorted, I struggled to unbutton his shirt (his belt was already unbuckled and his jeans unzipped, his pelvis eager). Anxious, I kissed him hungrily, allowing my eyelids to finally draw closed and stay shut, taking a leap.

  Jamie must’ve had a cup of coffee at the Medieval Banquet, as if planning to stay up this late all along (I had to remind our kids on the way to the club, the presence of coffee on the menu didn’t necessarily sacrifice the authenticity of the affair). I could taste it on Jamie. It was bitter. A tinge of sweat was mixed in the scent, as well as a hint of beer from the club. It was a far cry from George’s cloud of cologne that always followed him around, leaving scented reminders for hours to come—in the bathroom, the staircase, and sometimes so far as down the block. Cologne and lube—that’s all George ever smelled of.

  Nothing of Jamie ever did feel of George: his muscles lean, not bulky, his weight solid, not suffocating, his thrusts rhythmic, almost musical, easy to follow, to imitate, nothing premeditated or choreographed about them; nobody was trying to reenact anything seen on a fifteen-inch laptop screen here.

  Our bodies naked and twisting blindly, limbs intertwined, I let out a breath over Jamie’s shoulder, relieved that it wasn’t George’s.

  What was it that Javier smelled of? I tried to remember.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Calavera

  It was a pair of yellow cotton hip-huggers—my underwear. I tripped over them at the foot of the bed when I snuck out of it in the morning, having carefully peeled myself from underneath Jamie’s rose-covered arm to shadow the wall to the bathroom. My bra was black. If Jamie cared about the lack of my color coordination, he never let it show.

  It was hard to wash the smile off my face no matter how hard I lathered, the steam around me rising up, engulfing me in a bubble of fragile, invisible borders. I didn’t want to move—not out of this bathroom, this room, the hotel, the city, or the country. Even my sinuses felt unobstructed for the first time in almost two weeks. Like Veronika, I liked London better than Paris.

  Images from last night replayed in my mind without a pause. There was grace in our moveme
nts, and confidence. I saw it all so vividly, feeling everything over and over again. It was so easy, so natural. Effortless—less contrived than with George, more certain than with Javier.

  I switched the water off and snatched a towel from the rack, quickly patting myself dry, impatient, eager to climb back into bed with Jamie, if only to lie still and not dare move for fear of further disturbing what was just beginning to take recognizable, tangible form. Why did I ever move in the first place? Why did I get out of that bed? The longer we’d stay under those over-starched sheets, the longer what we’d just shared would remain unaffected by whatever was left of our real lives outside the confines of this generic hotel room. Soon enough, there’d be ex-wives, and Georges, and Jessicas, and Javiers….

  Having triple-inspected my chin for any stubborn hairs, I popped in my contacts and hastily blow-dried my hair—first forward, then backward, to give it my minimal best. As I finger brushed the result, I thought of the many ways I could wake Jamie. My stomach soft with giddiness, I was just about ready to get back out there when I heard voices on the other side of that thin bathroom door. My heart sank into my heels, leaving them numb with its surprising bulk as I turned the handle. Cautious, an itchy hotel towel wrapped around me, I peeked into the room.

  “I think Ms. Levit should hear this,” I heard Veronika say before I saw her and her mousy hair pulled into a tight (and grossly unflattering) ponytail.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, forcing my legs to finally move forward, to step out of my warm cocoon. My bubble was burst. Poof.

  Jamie stood hunched in the shoulders, a bed sheet wrapped around his frame, a burgundy rose bush keeping it up across his naked torso. He motioned for me to come near. Cold with the change in temperature, I obliged, nuzzling up to his veiny, decorated arm. A calavera, a sugar skull ‘a la Day of the Dead, peaked out from behind the flowers. I’d never registered it there before. I needed to be more present, I told myself with a shake of the head. Maybe once the dust would settle, I could learn to meditate from George, I told myself. Maybe we could become friends, the way Javier and I had become along the way, I considered.

  “Ms. Levit, Sophie…. Well, she’s upset. She’s saying these things—”

  “Okay, not that this is any of your business, but Mr. Sola was right here all night,” I was quick to protest, uncomfortable heat rushing from my feet to my neck.

  Veronika blushed as she crossed and uncrossed her arms. Her smile was wide.

  “Well, just look at you two,” she beamed. “So this finally happened! Just like I’d hoped,” she laughed, rubbing her palms together—the underweight mastermind. “I’m telling you, you guys are, like, aesthetic equals—all lanky and lean and stuff,” she giggled, gesturing to our scantily covered bodies. Who knows how much trauma we were imparting. She shook her head, brushing off her smile with her dry hand. “But no, it’s not about Mr. Sola, Ms. Levit. It’s…look, Paz said she’ll talk to you, herself, when we’re back in school on Monday, but right now….”

  Veronika stuttered and stammered, blushing a deeper and deeper shade of burgundy.

  “Do you want to speak to Ms. Levit, alone,” Jamie asked her.

  The girl nodded, enthusiastically.

  “I’ll go take a shower,” Jamie whispered into my freshly blown out hair, kissing my temple. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”

  He wouldn’t move until I acknowledged him with a nod of my head, my ears thumping with anticipation, estimating the potential magnitude of the information about to be shared with me.

  “Let me just get dressed,” I told Veronika, my throat tight. I waited to hear the lock announce Jamie’s departure.

  I motioned for the girl to sit on the ottoman, embarrassed to even look in the direction of the mountain of wrinkled sheets likely sporting various spots from the night before. Before heading back into the bathroom, I demonstratively threw my suitcase on the bed, hoping that it would serve as some sort of deterrent to her young and curious eye; it could, of course, do the exact opposite, I knew.

  On my way to the bathroom, I pulled out the only outfit I hadn’t worn over the course of this trip out of my suitcase—sweatpants and my old AU sweatshirt. I dressed quickly. Reemerging with some reluctance, I tied my hair in a messy knot, took my phone off the charger and turned it back on. Before I could so much as glance at its screen, I shoved it into my pocket.

  “Okay, hit me,” I finally said, sitting on the edge of my unmade bed. The barrage of messages that my phone began to burp before I was even able to make contact with the mattress did nothing to sooth my violently burning chest.

  Veronika sighed.

  “I was going to wait until we got home. Like I said before, it isn’t my place to tell but—”

  “Oh my God, Veronika, I beg of you, just please, please spit it out,” I groaned, anxiously. My finger itched to trace my jaw.

  “Ms. Levit, you know how Paz tried to say that Mr. Sola came to our room after the club? She wasn’t totally lying—”

  “Ver, I must’ve heard you go on and on about this and not get anywhere more times than I care to count. Please just say what you mean!” I nudged her along with more urgency now that my phone seemed to be utterly convulsing inside my pocket. I dug it out and threw it on the vanity table without looking. With shaky hands, I began to clumsily fold my clothes.

  “Umm, okay, sorry. Well, somebody did come to our room. It just wasn’t Mr. Sola,” the girl tried with a shrug of her skinny shoulders.

  “So, who was it?” I asked as I tried to discreetly pick out my skirt from last night from amid the wreckage that was this bed.

  “Mr. Abbott, Ms. Levit.”

  “What about Mr. Abbott?” I scoffed, ignoring another call vibrating against the table.

  “He stopped by our room that night in Paris, Ms. Levit.”

  “Why would he stop by your room in the middle of the night, Veronika?” I muttered, confusedly, feeling a headache coming on. Would we still be able to make breakfast? I wondered. “Oh, I guess to check up on you guys, right?” I rambled on, mostly to myself. “I think Stephanie mentioned something like that. Paz sounded drunk on the phone at the curfew call—”

  “Ms. Levit—”

  “Stop saying ‘Ms. Levit!’” I cut her off. “I know my name. Just say what you came here to say,” I barked.

  Immediately embarrassed, I folded and refolded my skirt and blouse to avoid having to make eye contact. Abbott was right—young teachers need to work on boundaries with these kids. Sure, I looked barely older than Veronika, but we weren’t friends. She had to know this. I had to know this.

  I heard Veronika emit another sigh.

  “He and Paz, well…stuff, Ms. Le—. Paz had gone along with it earlier in the year because she was failing French. She’d missed a midterm or something and then…you know…. He even paid for this trip! Paz told her parents that she was paying for it out of her earnings, but really, he put up the money for her. She says she paid him back in other ways, if you know what I mean. He was hoping…well, I guess he was hoping for more alone time. The way I figure, when she started saying these things about Sola, Abbott thought that she was getting ready to spill the beans for some reason, so to speak. So he shipped her home to keep her quiet.”

  My fingers grew cold and the room began to sway. I clearly needed calories.

  “Abbott?” Abbott? The “spring chicken” Abbott? The “sweet Levit” Abbott? “He’s holding some of my things for me,” I told no one, too quiet to be heard, anyway. “Why wouldn’t he just book Paz a single room?”

  “You’d have to ask him, I guess. But Sophie says…. Well, like that day when he took her back to the hotel when she wasn’t feeling well…. And then yesterday, when we all came back, he took her to her room….”

  I felt my sinuses begin to swell again and snatched my purse off the vanity to fish out my pills, quickly swallowing two without water. That was my last dose.

  “Are you sure about this? These are some heft
y accusations. These things ruin careers. More so—lives!” I said, after coughing through a bit of stubborn phlegm, uncomfortable having to maintain Veronika’s gaze for more than a second at a time.

  “I mean, if you want to talk to Paz now, I guess you can call her, though it’s the middle of the night back there. Sophie is pretty upset right now—she said he told her he’d fail her if she doesn’t…well, you know. Anyway, you can talk to her yourself,” Veronika suggested when she saw me bolt up and begin to rush around the room, throwing my things into my suitcase in random order. I hoped she hadn’t noticed Jamie’s pants, shirt, underwear, and socks in a mess of my clothes. His tennis shoes were tucked underneath the bed; I felt them with my heels.

  Images rushed to my head.

  Paz and her black eyes. Abbott and his gum. And then—Sophie: tiny, petite Sophie, with her beautiful dark skin and breathtaking hazel eyes (as well as a shapely cello that seemed to only come alive underneath her fingertips).

  Where were hands laid? Were fluids exchanged?

  I closed my eyes, wishing to turn back the clock, if only by two hours. I would have never climbed out of that bed. I would’ve stayed pasted to Jamie’s chest, staring at the roses, never mind the skull hiding cleverly within.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Chaser

  It was even harder to think clearly without Veronika’s keen eyes on me. I’d sent her back to her room to finish packing, promising that I’d somehow “get to the bottom of things.” I was hardly of any comfort to the girl, though, to be fair, she hardly seemed scared. Looking back, her tone, her posture, it was all almost journalistic in nature. As if she were here to report facts, maybe inspire action, but nothing more, really.

  “Were you ever in one of Mr. Abbott’s classes?” I’d asked as she was walking out the door.

  “I told you, I take Spanish, Ms. Levit,” she’d replied before turning her back to me again, already walking away, her hunched shoulders leading the way, as usual.