***
“That’s great!” Amnon responds, “I’ll come too!”
“I don’t know if you can,” she’s beginning to regret telling him, but then how could she go away for three days without telling him?
“Sure I can,” Amnon is confident, “it’s just a matter of money. They won’t say no to someone who’s willing to pay, certainly not if he can ride!”
“And what about the kids?” she tries, although she knows that this, too, is a matter that can be solved, very easily.
“They’ll stay with my parents,” Amnon says and holds his hands out to her. He’s excited and his eyes are shining, “A three-day vacation, Gari, instead of a weekend in Milan. You’ll see, it’ll be an experience of a lifetime.”
She doesn’t feel like dragging Amnon with her. Koby is hers. The bike is hers. The group is hers. She has exclusivity. True, Amnon’s been riding for years, but not with her. How strange it would be to go riding with him. Would she be ashamed of him, or proud? Will he embarrass her? Will he sense the look in Koby’s eyes when he looks at her? Will he notice the way she looks at him? Will he get in her way? In any case the whole group is riding together, it’s not like she can expect to have free time with Koby. She starts to give in.
“I’ll talk to my mother,” Amnon says and kisses her forehead, “and I’ll take a day off. It’ll be amazing, Gari, you’ll see!”
She smiles and finishes washing the dishes.
In the morning, before her riding lesson, she asks Koby about the trip to the desert and what he thinks about her rejoining the group.
“I’m not giving you up,” he winks and softly caresses her cheek, “I want you to myself…”
“It’s not instead of private lessons,” she reassures him, “what do you think? I would never give them up!”
“Them or me?” Wise guy.
“Both.”
“It’s fine, you can rejoin the group,” he confirms, “you’re perfectly ready. And sure you can come on the trip to the desert. I can’t wait to see your eyes shining in the light of the bonfire.”
“Bonfire?” she wrinkles her nose, “I thought it wasn’t a Scouts trip.” She’s not thinking about Amnon. Instead, she’s imagining the desert, the streaked yellow dunes, the peace and quiet. Three days without children. Three days with Koby.
***
“Should I talk to him or will you?” Amnon interrupts her thoughts.
“What?”
“With Koby,” Amnon explains, “about the trip to the desert.”
“Me, I’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” she assures him. That’s all she needs, for Amnon to talk to him! Maybe they’ll land up discussing the color of her panties, who knows.
She goes to sleep with mixed feelings of tense anticipation mixed and grave apprehension.
***
“Amnon also wants to come,” she informs him glumly over a cup of sage tea, when the morning ride is over.
“He can come,” Koby says generously, “anyone who rides is welcome. Did you think it would bother me?”
She shrugs. “It’ll bother me.”
“Don’t worry,” he takes her hand, “there’ll be a lot of people there. We won’t have privacy in any case. We’ll keep our heart-to-hearts for our private sessions.” He rests a warm hand on hers and whispers, “If you only knew how I look forward to them.”
“Me too,” she whispers back, gently rubbing the nape of her neck. “My neck is so stiff,” she says.
“There was a strong tailwind when we were riding,” he explains, “come here, I’m the best masseur in town.”
He puts his half-empty cup of tea beside the gas burner. She puts hers down and stands in front of him. His hands are big and rough. Gently, he starts to massage her neck and shoulder blades.
“Here?” he asks and presses hard.
She wriggles. “Ow!”
“Too hard?” he checks to make sure.
“No, no, that’s good,” she answers, “I like it when it hurts…”
“Interesting,” he mutters, embarrassing her slightly.
His thumbs massage her shoulder blades while his fingers hold her carefully under her armpits. Can he feel her heart racing? Should she stop him? She can’t. His fingers slip under the elastic of her bra. So gently she hardly feels it, , he lifts her shirt slightly and slips his fingers in. She likes the way his rough fingers feel. Again, they’re sliding under the tight elastic of her bra, past the crescent-shaped metal supports, feeling for her soft breasts. He cups them in his hands, touching her erect nipples as he presses her tightly against him. She can feel his erection. She doesn’t say a word, just stands there, paralyzed, like a puppet on a string. The trees are spinning. She tries to catch her breath. She can feel the heat between her thighs.
She feels like she’s going to come any moment, she has no idea how. She’s never felt this way before. Warm moisture fills her panties. She bites her lip. She can’t go to work like this, that’s clear. She’ll have to go home first and shower. She feels him breathing on the nape of her neck, his warm breath carries a hint of sage, and she wonders if they’re going to stand like that forever, with him massaging her breasts so tenderly, his beating erection touching her. And then he stops. She wants him to continue, but she doesn’t have the courage to say so. His hands abandon her breasts, emerge slowly through the elastic of her bra. They return to her shoulders, her neck, and slowly his hips break contact. She relaxes. The flush on her cheeks begins to fade. When in hell will she be able to turn and face him?
She’s still frozen to the spot, thinking about Lot’s wife, restraining herself so that she won’t become like her. She won’t turn around. She won’t be tempted. Stay like this, with your back turned. It’s safer this way.
“Do you feel a little better? Less stiff?” he whispers in her ear, then plants a quick kiss on the nape of her neck and turns her to him. She has no choice but to look at him. She lowers her eyes. They’re filled with tears. It’s too much for her. She doesn’t know what to say.
“Hagar?” he tries to get her to say something, to respond. She doesn’t. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks tenderly.
She lifts her small, manicured hand to his rough face and whispers, “You did everything right.”
His lips twitch and he relaxes.
“I have to go,” she says, almost whispering, “they’re waiting for me at work.”
***
That night, after they’ve gone to bed, she pounces on Amnon, who, as can only be expected, doesn’t object. He’s merely surprised. He penetrates her, rising and falling monotonously. Her eyes are closed, and she’s still in the woods with her face in the wind. She comes instantly.
***
At eight-thirty in the morning, sitting in a traffic jam on the way to work,, she receives a message: “I can’t stop thinking about you, the way you smell, the feel of your skin. You killed me yesterday. When can we meet again?”
She pulls over to the side of the road. Her heart is filled with warmth and she finds herself writing, “Want to go out for lunch? I have a break around one.”
“I’m not really the restaurant type,” he answers in a shot.
“It’s on me,” she replies.
He sends a purple heart.
“Is that a yes?” she checks.
“Send me the address and time.”
Her heart leaps. Where should she take him? Maybe to the new Italian joint? Or for Chinese?
The area around her office is crowded with restaurants and they’re all packed at lunchtime. They all eat there on a daily basis, paying with their company meal cards at the end of the meal.
“Har Hotzvim,” she answers, “I’ll write later exactly where.”
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” he asks, adding a sad yellow emoji.
“Not at all! I’m just wondering what kind of food you like.”
“I eat everything,” he writes and adds another emoji, of a wild boar. She grins and disconnects; she has to get to work. A meeting is about to start.
The hours creep by agonizingly slowly. Her colleagues are having a stormy debate. She has no idea what they’re arguing about. Her thoughts are elsewhere, on Koby’s rough hands under her tight bra, the wild sex she had with Amnon last night. What does she want and where does she want to be? Can she do it all? That’s what she’s been raised to believe. And besides, she’s only playing. It’s not really cheating. She’d never cheat on her Amnon. No man will penetrate her but him.
In the middle of the meeting, she takes her phone out under the table and writes, “The New Italian. Ten to one.”
“That’s the name of the place??” he asks immediately.
“Yes,” she keeps it brief.
“What was there before? The Old Italian?” he asks, being a wise guy.
Her lips twitch as she writes, “I’m in the middle of a meeting. I can’t talk.” She doesn’t have time for his crap now.
By twelve-thirty her patience is wearing thin. over the meeting isn’t over, and Koby will be there soon. At twenty to one she starts to shift in her seat. “I suggest we break for lunch,” she says, clearing her throat.
Their eyes are all on her. They’re all hungry, but no one has the courage to say it out loud. As quick as shot, they all stand up and leave the conference room. She, too, leaps from her chair and leaves the room, taking her leather purse with her and striding toward the elevator, her heals clicking.
“Should we go to the Asian place today?” she hears Dan say. He’s already at the elevator.
“Oh. Sorry, I’m meeting someone,” she stammers. The elevator arrives and they go down.
He’s waiting for her by the New Italian, leaning on the stone wall. This is the first time she’s seen him in worn jeans and a black T-shirt. He’s always been in biking gear.
“Wow,” he says appreciatively as he looks her over, “who knew that you could dress like that…”
“You too,” she returns the compliment.
“You’re comparing these shabby jeans to your tight skirt?”
She giggles.
“All I lack are high heels and then you won’t be able to tell between us!” he adds and she laughs. “Where should we sit?” he asks and looks around.
She goes inside and searches for a private spot. They sit by the kitchen. The hostess places menus on the table and they sit.
“Are we deliberately sitting in the corner of the corner?” he winks at her.
She smiles but doesn’t answer.
“If you don’t feel comfortable, we can go elsewhere,” he suggests thoughtfully.
“No,” she refuses with a wave of her hand, “the crowd from work hardly ever come here. They don’t like the prices.”
“And you?”
“I don’t really care…”
“Well then, what do you recommend?” he opens the menu and they choose. She keeps turning to look around. “Hagar,” he says, laying his hands flat on the table, “we aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s only lunch…”
She exhales. Her feet are bouncing nervously. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” he continues.
“And sometimes it’s not,” she retorts, “like in our case.”
“I think you’re discovering a new world,” he says, “you’re finally getting to know yourself, your needs and desires. You’re learning who you are.”. “I think this is the first time that you’re being true to yourself, and it’s not easy.”
“What does that even mean?” She’s as taut as a spring. “Are you sure you want to use the concept of truth, Koby?”
“Look,” he sighs and sits back, his legs spread wide. “Being true or loyal is complex. As soon as you’re loyal to someone, you aren’t necessarily being true to yourself, and then you’re left with the question: What is more important—loyalty to yourself, or loyalty to others.”
“The important thing is not to hurt the people you love,” she snaps, playing with her fork.
“I don’t think you’re hurting anyone,” he sounds sure of himself, “but you’re discovering abilities in yourself that you had no idea you had and you’re allowing yourself to experience pleasures you never dared to before.”
She massages the back of her head without realizing it.
“Do you need another massage?” he asks with a wink.
She glares at him. How did he enter her life so suddenly, with such force? How did she let this happen? She seems to have no control over it.
The caprese salad arrives at the table. She stares at the drizzle of olive oil and mounds of fresh, sweet basil arranged on top.
“Amnon’s all for you riding,” he continues, “and you know, part of loving someone is letting them enjoy themselves even when you aren’t in the picture, on their own, but also with other people.”
“Come on Koby,” she snorts, “we’re not talking about cycling here. And Amnon is really supportive, but there’s a limit.” She sticks the fork into a slice of fresh buffalo mozzarella.
“You set the limit, Hagar. That’s what I’m talking about—about being true to yourself, your desires, your passions, to whatever you want to be or do.”
“I don’t want to hurt Amnon,” she says, having trouble swallowing the mozzarella. Why is she telling him this? What business is it of his? And what does she want him to do with all this information? It’s her responsibility, not his!
But he remains patient, attentive, his fork in a slice of tomato on her plate. “You also deserve to live how you want to and to fulfill your dreams, Hagar,” he says softly and he moves his hand closer to hers. He doesn’t touch her. He knows that she’s tense. He knows that her colleagues may be sitting at the next table. “Right now, you aren’t hurting Amnon.”
She finally manages to swallow the mozzarella and pick at a leaf of basil. A drop of olive oil lands on the table and she quickly dabs it with the white tablecloth.”
“What’s going to happen in the desert?” she asks anxiously, leaning back as the waitress serves the main courses.
“It’s going to be a blast,” he says with a wink. “Stop worrying so much!” He pops a steaming ravioli in his mouth, fans his mouth with his hand and gulps down some water.
She bursts out laughing. He’s such a child.
“I told you I’m not into restaurants,” he apologizes and wipes his mouth.
“What does it have to do with restaurants?” she doubles over laughing, “It’s about basic intelligence.”
“I don’t have that either,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. She stares into his warm, brown eyes, thinking that she’s in love.
***
Gradually, they start eating lunch together more often. She dictates a place and time, and he arrives. She pays and they both eat.
Sometimes they eat at The New Italian, the next time at a nearby café, or fish restaurant. Sometimes they eat at the French bistro. They never go to the Asian place, her colleagues’ favorite spot. She doesn’t want to take the risk. The eggrolls aren’t worth it.
“Tomorrow the kids are coming to me for the weekend,” he tells her over a bowl of finely chopped Arab salad they’re sharing at a café. “I have no idea what I’m going to feed them.”
“Yes, I already realized that you aren’t a great cook,” she laughs and drinks her diet coke.
“That’s not actually true,” his feelings are hurt. “I’m not a bad chef at all. Don’t forget I did everything before I got divorced.”
“I don’t understand what ‘everything’ means,” she declares and offers him a taste of her fish. He takes a bite straight from her fork, then tells her how he met his wife in the army. He was a combat soldier
, of course, in a select unit, and somehow, they met at a party one weekend. She was stunning, a true beauty, with flowing chestnut hair, a button nose and long eyelashes. He fell for her immediately. She’s still beautiful beneath the wrinkles and stretchmarks.
“Two months after we met,” he talks while he chews, “my father passed away suddenly, from cardiac arrest. Just like that. One day he’s as healthy as a bull and the next day he’s dead.”
“Wow!” she stops eating and rests her hand on the back of his. He smiles and says it’s all right, it was a long time ago.
“It broke me,” he continues, “I felt completely lost. A few months later, I completed my army duty. I proposed to her the same day. I don’t know why, maybe because she was my hold on reality, the only sure thing in this world.”
She nods and listens, fascinated. It doesn’t feel right to carry on eating, but she has to. She must get back to work soon.
“And that’s it. She said yes,” he continues. “We got married a year after the funeral, when we could celebrate without feeling guilty.” He stops and stuffs a fork full of lettuce into his mouth. The sauce splashes everywhere and she offers him a napkin. In any other situation she would have wiped his chin herself, but not here, in full view of everyone.
“She fell pregnant right away,” he continues and wipes his sauce-splattered chin with the napkin, “I started studying. Computer science, you remember, along with a few buddies who served with me. That’s what my mother wanted at the time, and since she was also funding my education, I didn’t put up much of a fight. I had no other direction in any case…”
“And your wife?” she asks curiously, digging at the fish on her plate.
“Kareen decided not to continue her education and stayed at home to raise the children. First Elad was born, and she stayed home with him until he was three, and when Elad went to preschool, Noam was born and again she stayed home, this time until he was four…and a year later Shaked came along…and somehow that’s the way things stayed, I don’t know how. Throughout all those years, she almost never left the house. She didn’t study anything, she didn’t work. I did everything.”
“Everything financial,” she adds.
Riding Lies Page 5