by Hayley White
“It seems like you’re trying to frighten me.”
“A little fear is a good thing.”
That statement, above just about everything else he’d said, convinced Ever that she understood the implications of Stroud’s proposal.
Stroud sat back, spooned sugar into his coffee and stirred it. “I think we’ve communicated enough and, yet,” he added with a smile, “not so much as to destroy all anticipation.”
Ever nodded solemnly.
“Promise me you’ll at least think it over?”
“I will,” she agreed.
Much to her relief, Stroud did not try to coax Ever into allowing him to drive her home. A cab was called from the restaurant and he waited, his hand on her arm, until it arrived.
He opened the door and Ever slid into the back seat. He passed a bill to the driver. “Make sure she gets home safely,” he instructed. The driver nodded and Stroud turned back to Ever. “I’ll be in touch,” he assured her, pressing the key to the necklace into Ever’s hand through the window. “Sleep well.”
He stepped back and stood watch until the cab was out of sight.
Chapter Four
With the key suddenly in hand, Ever was tempted to remove the necklace in the cab but the ride was a brief one and she didn’t want the driver to see her fumbling with it.
It was such a relief to finally find herself secure behind her own front door, sheltered and concealed by the shadows of her apartment. She didn’t switch on a light until she reached the bedroom. As she set her purse on the oak dresser, she glimpsed a view of herself in the oak framed mirror on the wall above it.
The first viewing of the necklace startled her. As she’d imagined, the gleaming oval ring stood out against the black knit neckline of her sweater as though deliberately placed to be shown off at the best possible advantage.
She removed her coat and turned back to the mirror. She touched the necklace, studying in detail the way it nestled around the curve of her neck. The ring. Then she realized the key was still in her hand.
Instead of removing the necklace right away, Ever left the key on the dresser and went to the kitchen in search of something to supplement the four meager bites of crab cake she’d been able to choke down at dinner.
Ten minutes later, she emerged with nothing more than a cup of hot herbal tea that was abandoned, only half empty, on the dining table ten minutes and two cigarettes later. She stepped into the walk-in closet, a strange little area formed by the space beneath the staircase that led to the apartment above. She undressed, half wondering if Stroud might call when he got home tonight. By the time she returned to the bedroom, she had even considered wearing the necklace to bed.
The lock in the clasp released smoothly and Ever set the necklace carefully inside the box, which Stroud had given her along with the key, and closed the lid. It was silly to think of wearing the thing to bed.
Before turning in, she rummaged through the book shelf of bricks and boards she’d constructed beside her bed for a blank book and a pen. She climbed under the sheet and cotton quilt that covered her full-sized bed. For a few minutes she sat poised over the book before she bent to write. The words were inscribed on the third page in a tiny, secretive scrawl. They were the first words to be written in the book and, as she wrote them, she believed they would be the last.
‘There is a man who wants to dominate me.’
***
That had been the start of a very long week-end. Ever woke up early Saturday morning, pulsing with restless energy. She pulled on jeans and a sweat shirt, gathered up every piece of laundry she could find and left the apartment without breakfast, dragging her load behind her in a two wheeled granny cart two blocks to the laundromat.
She stuffed two machines at supersonic speed, forced the stiff mechanisms to swallow her quarters, and plopped down in a molded plastic chair by the window. She’d hardly got the filter of her cigarette between her lips when a young man with lank hair and dirty hands shuffled over.
“Can you spare a smoke?”
Ever didn’t look too closely at the fellow as she shook an extra cigarette from the box and offered it.
“Thanks.”
“It’s okay,” Ever muttered around the butt of her cigarette. She lit up and loaned her lighter to the panhandler.
“You don’t happen to have any spare change?” was the next, anticipated question.
“I’ve got my laundry money,” Ever replied, squinting up with a sympathetic if somewhat bitter smile.
“That’s cool,” he said, handing back the lighter. “I understand. Thanks for the smoke.”
The young man drifted outside and Ever observed through the window as he stopped on the pavement to converse with a friend who looked about as hard up as he did.
The sun was out, which was a blessing, but the street still looked dirty and ill used by the prowlers and trade she knew roamed there when the sun went down. It wasn’t really a bad neighborhood. It wasn’t a good one, either. A lot of gays had migrated into the area, which didn’t really bother Ever one way or the other. It actually made the neighborhood safer for a single woman, but there were a lot of dark and seedy elements creeping in, too. Things not so readily apparent in the daylight. Too many drugs and street people. Too many bars and domestic disturbances.
Despite the fact that Ever had finally adapted to life in this lifeless town, she had really grown to hate it. She wanted out, but had neither a direction nor the means. She was down with these people, living from paycheck to paycheck, handing out cigarettes and change when she was able.
The dryers were old and slow and Ever was edgy and almost frantic to be gone by the time her clothes were done. She marched the cart back to her building and hauled it up the four steps to her door.
The apartment was dim and quiet. The stereo from the neighbor’s apartment was pounding through the wall, an incessant thump that usually set her temper ablaze. This morning the sound was a strange comfort to her. She opened the venetians a small, security conscious crack to emit some light and launched into a hot fever of housekeeping activities.
Usually, she skated by, taking care of the barest essentials – accumulated dishes, a thorough vacuuming, a change of bathroom, kitchen and bed linens. This day, by four o’clock, every surface had been cleared, dusted and polished; the refrigerator had been emptied, cleaned and re-packed, the shelves relieved of rotten, forgotten leftovers. The kitchen and bathroom floors were mopped; bathtub, sink and toilet bowl, scrubbed; front stoop, swept; and even the mass of typed and handwritten pages, pencils, erasers and paper clips that were perpetually strewn across the surface, were sorted into a neat arrangement on the dining table – which also wore a fresh coat of polish.
She was exhilarated. She was exhausted. She was famished. She prepared the old standby – a toasted sandwich layered with lettuce, tomato, fried egg, chopped green onions, fresh cilantro and crumbled blue cheese – and carried it back to the dining table, along with a cup of hot decaf. There was a book she’d been meaning to get to.
She’d eaten half the sandwich and turned seven pages before she just stopped cold. She couldn’t recall a word she’d read. She hadn’t been reading. She’d been thinking. Thinking about Stroud. Those unwelcome thoughts she’d been running from all day.
And what conclusions had she come to? None. She’d avoided thoughts, speculations and, most of all, conclusions. She was no less keyed up now than she was this morning when she wakened with the memory of last night in her head.
She tried a bite of the second half of the sandwich, but it was no good. It was nearly sunset. One half of her precious two days off, nearly gone. Darkness would soon fall and there she’d be – alone in her little time capsule, doors locked, private and safe, cut off and empty.
Ever took her coffee with her into the bedroom. She stood looking at the white box that had not been on her dresser at sunset the day before. She caressed the lid, flipped it back for another look at the necklace.
Although undoubtedly beautiful, this object represented more than a simple piece of jewelry. Ever’s eyes drifted over to the rose, which she had also placed on the dresser in the only single bud vase she owned. It was beginning to bloom. Even though the necklace made her uneasy, it was impossible to be intimidated by a rose. She permitted herself to love it a little.
Without launching into too much analysis over it, Ever granted herself enough leeway that Saturday night to release all fear and doubt. She lay down with herself and, in a prolonged and detailed union between hands, body and mind; she danced Stroud into her wildest fantasies, a union that culminated in a series of eight intense orgasms that dropped her into a sweet, cum drenched slumber.
***
On Sunday morning the memory of Friday night could no longer be detoured. Short of emptying and sorting through the entire contents of the walk-in closet, there were no chores left to perform. No corners of the small apartment left to hide in.
Ever was not an individual short on personal resources, but there was no task or distraction compelling enough to hold her concentration. She tried to sit down and work at the typewriter, but it did not succeed in blocking a replay of Stroud’s words to her and the emotions he had stimulated with them. Emotions she’d experienced before, but never with such intensity – raw, uncontrollable emotions, tempered only by the need to keep them silent and private.
That afternoon, she took a long walk in the brisk sea breeze by the shore and allowed the thoughts to flow at will. She scratched the surface of every syllable and nuance of Stroud’s remarks and her own reactions.
‘Go with it,’ every instinct cried, but Intellect argued: ‘With what? What did he really want?’ And the Self, which had been largely sublimated for nearly two decades, countered: ‘What do YOU want?’ Then Logic retaliated with the most obvious question of all: ‘Was this really the way to meet someone?’
Over the course of the afternoon two points became patently clear. Firstly, there are no rules concerning the manner in which two people may meet and form a meaningful connection. Secondly, she finally admitted she had longed to find a man who was willing, even anxious, to embark on the kind of relationship Stroud had alluded to. She had spoken the truth when she’d told him she didn’t believe such people existed. Now that there was even a glimmer of hope that she had found one... A door had been opened.
There was one other point which could not be ignored. Whatever happened, the necklace must be returned.
Come Sunday evening, Ever indulged in a long hot oatmeal bath, one of the few luxuries she splurged on. In the tub, she stroked every inch of herself with sensual, appraising caresses. She was in pretty good shape; nothing to be ashamed of. Everything that had attracted men to her since she budded into early womanhood was still there – still willing.
After her bath, Ever reverted to pure practicality, slipping into a flowered flannel nighty; blue, full length faux fur robe and cozy slippers. She treated herself to a grilled chicken breast, tossed salad and garlic angel hair pasta, the first really substantial meal she’d eaten since Friday lunch.
Ten minutes into the eight o’clock movie the phone rang. Ever’s heart jumped at the sound of it, but it wasn’t Stroud. Three minutes later an appointment had been set for the following afternoon and the mood of the week-end was broken.
***
The phone began to ring shortly after Ever stepped through the front door on Monday evening. She’d left work early to cross town to fulfill the commitment she made the previous evening. She dropped her purse on the coffee table and grappled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Ever?”
“Yes, just a minute...” Ever set the receiver down and turned away to blow her nose into an already soggy tissue. She drew a couple of ragged breaths and retrieved the receiver, her mouth compressed against the sobs still threatening to break through. “Stroud?” she asked in a strained voice.
“Yes. Is everything alright?”
“Oh yeah... Well, actually, not really...”
“Should I call at a better time?”
“Oh, no...” she said, still fighting for control. “It’s alright...”
There was a pause.
“Ever?”
Ever pulled in a shuddering breath and flopped down on the couch, allowing Stroud’s presence on the line to act as a tranquillizer.
“Ever, please answer. You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m sorry,” Ever apologized, pulling her purse across the table to access her cigarettes. “I’m afraid you caught me at rather a bad time.”
“I can call back—”
“No. Please don’t hang up...” Ever lit up with unsteady hands. “The truth of it is; I just got back from signing my divorce papers.”
There was another pause. “Ever, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“I know. It’s alright. Really. We’ve been separated two years. It’s just...well, tough.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to burden you.”
“This is very relevant to your present state of mind.”
“I suppose I should have told you. I, uh, didn’t think I’d be so upset. It’s been over a long time. I mean, it’s not a hateful thing. No recriminations or anything like that. I guess I’ve been in a kind of limbo. Mark finally volunteered to file the papers. Said it was time to let me get on with my life...”
“I understand loss, Ever,” Stroud said in a tone colored with the truth of his remark.
Ever sat slumped on the edge of the seat. Tapped her cigarette repeatedly on the edge of the ashtray. She felt drained. “I’m glad you called.”
“Well, I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s not an intrusion. Actually, it’s a comfort. My grieving should have ended months ago. Mark’s right. It’s time to move on. I just didn’t know how...”
Stroud refrained from comment.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” Ever told him. “Your proposal.”
“If you’re not ready—”
“Stroud, I’m ready.”
***
From that point on, Ever’s week passed with astounding speed. Still reluctant to divulge the location of her apartment, Ever had made arrangements to meet Stroud at seven o’clock on Friday, outside the fish house where they’d dined the previous Friday.
Throughout the week, her emotions fluctuated between dread and wild excitement, peaking highest during moments of inactivity. More than once she entertained the idea of calling to cancel, stopped only by the dismal prospect of how her life might continue if she cut Stroud off.
She knew she hadn’t gone into the exhibition to buy. There was no reason for her to purchase anything, no matter how alluring, since there was nothing there with anything more than a symbolic meaning to her. She had stepped through that black curtain for another reason. A reason with no clarity beyond the need to believe that the objects displayed there could achieve something beyond a purely symbolic meaning – to someone somewhere.
Now is the time, she reminded herself, clearly assessing the contrasts between her attitudes and prospects now and prior to her chance meeting with this intriguing man at the exhibition. There was no comparison and she had to admit, no matter how frightened she might be, she’d never felt so astonishingly alive.
All of Tuesday evening had been spent going through the walk-in closet in search of a suitable outfit for this tryst. So many old, mismatched clothes; as embarrassing as it was depressing.
Then she remembered the suitcase on the floor of the closet which, in summer served as storage for winter clothes and, in winter, vise versa. It also contained the things she never wore but couldn’t bear to discard. Things that no longer fit her or any place she was likely to go.
Something quite specific had come to mind. Something that should satisfy the criteria Stroud had stipulated.
The suitcase and most of its contents were strewn out acros
s the floor between the closet and dining table before Ever found it. Right at the bottom still sheathed in the plastic glove from the dry cleaners. She picked it out, hung it in the door frame and raised the plastic.
There was the entire outfit, intact. A sharp twinge of regret stabbed her heart as she realized how long it had lain in the bottom of that suitcase. She had only ever worn it once. But it was perfect.
Chapter Five
Despite Stroud’s intention to be at the rendezvous when Ever arrived, once again she was there before him. The rain had already begun, as yet only a light drizzle that misted the scene, forming hazy halos around the yellow lights illuminating the boulevard.
He’d been arrested by the traffic light across the boulevard, but he could see her, alone on the corner opposite, her hands steeped into the pockets of the black coat. If she had recognized the car, she might have crossed over to meet him, but of course, she’d never seen it before and could not, at this distance, distinguish him within the dark interior. In fact, she was not monitoring the traffic at all but appeared lost in some private reverie.
He was pricked by a tiny guilt at his voyeuristic observation of her through the stippled windscreen. She looked deserted and forlorn, her hatless head defenseless against the threatening night sky, a small overnight bag set on the damp ground at her feet, as though she was running away from home.
The image caused Stroud’s heart to clench with a sudden anxiety to get across and draw her into the warmth and security of his car.
***
At the restaurant, Stroud managed to coax Ever out of the black coat and was delighted with the woven raw silk suit and silk blouse with pearl buttons. He was also pleased to note the suit was white, as per his request.
Once again, she ordered light and ate hardly anything. She volunteered barely a word of conversation but Stroud didn’t press her. In view of her circumspection during the previous meeting, her behavior now could easily have been predicted.
Her apprehension was alluring and, although he was somewhat nervous himself, he was not worried. She was here, having made a conscious decision to come. Evidently, no amount of doubt during the previous week had been sufficient to cause her to beg off. She was determined to see this through and, once again, he found himself admiring her courage.