A Taste of Utopia

by L. Duarte

  Lottie jerks her arms trying to free herself.

  Desperate, I pull her to me and crush my lips to hers. The taste of our tears mingles, my lips bruising hers. She pushes and punches at my chest. My arms around her tighten in an unforgiving hold.

  “Please,” I say with my lips still against hers. “Don’t do this. Please.” I continue to hold her. “Give me a chance to explain.” Her body hesitantly starts to relax. “I beg you.”

  She relents. She drops her head, resting her forehead on my chest. After she collects herself, she steps back and inhales deeply. Her eyes meet mine when she asks, “Why did you do it?”

  I run both hands through my hair. In the distance, a flock of tropical birds chirps gaily. I pathetically envy them. I clear my thoughts, trying to be concise and consistent with my story. “When I got the instructions I was told to pretend it was casual. I swear, Lottie. I thought you were in on it.”

  “But I was clueless of who you were. I never gave any impression I knew you were an escort.”

  “God, Lottie, I thought it was your fetish. That you and Chloe had it all planned out. Some women don’t like me to mention I’m a hired fuck. It’s part of the fantasy or whatever.” Her face contorts at the mention of other women.

  “But you married me,” she said accusatorily. “Was it because you were bent on earning your wage?”

  I rub my face. “I know I don’t have the right to ask this of you, but I really need you to suspend your skepticism. I don’t know what came over me. God, Lottie. I have been doing this for a living for a decade. I never, ever lost control before.” I pace back and forth in front of her. “It all started wrong. First, I had felt a pull toward you. Then, I discovered Chloe and you had hired me. I drank too much. I never drink more than a couple glasses. I take my job seriously. Everything with you went wrong. And fuck me if I can tell you why it happened that way.”

  “I was a virgin, Seth. Did you seriously believe I would hire someone to deflower me?”

  I laugh bitterly. “Nothing surprises me anymore, Lottie. I’ve been doing this for too long, seen too many things.”

  “When did you find out I didn’t know you were hired to fuck me?”

  I wince. “When you were taking a shower. Chloe came to the room and started yelling at me. It all happened too fast.”

  “Why did you lie after that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say sincerely, but Lottie doesn’t appear convinced. “Because I couldn’t help myself. After we had spent the night together, I knew there was something between us demanding to be explored. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let you go.”

  “I can’t believe Chloe would do this to me.” She clamps a hand over her mouth.

  “She was desperate. Everything had gone wrong. According to her, when she spoke with Adriana, she was adamant that I told you I was an escort before we had sex. Somehow, I got the message reversed.”

  “God, Seth.” Lottie raises her hand to touch my face, but with a grimace, she lowers it before I can feel the softness of her hand.

  “I need to be alone.” She turns to the ocean and her arms go around her torso.

  “Lottie, please . . .”

  “Please leave,” she says.

  I linger for a moment, debating if I should stay. I decide against it. She needs solitude to digest all the information I dumped on her.

  Lottie

  ONLY YESTERDAY I believed almost nothing would keep me away from Seth. But this? How can I overlook the fact that he makes love to women for a living? He kisses their lips, whispers loving words to their ears, caresses their skin, and satisfies their arousal.

  Images of tangled bodies under sheets roll through my head searing me as if I touched red charcoals.

  It might say loads about my lack of character, but right about now I would rather have discovered that he was married than this.

  I stare out at the ocean, my mind replaying the last few days. Days of passion and discovery, moonlight kisses and carnal pleasure.

  There was reverence in Seth’s touch. Sincerity in his late night whispers. There was contentment when he drove inside me.

  I feel betrayed, lied to, handled, and used. Worse, I feel a deep sadness. Down to the marrow of my bones, I feel the anguish of losing something I didn’t even possess. And that’s a tragedy.

  I wander around the island. I lay under the shade of the palm trees, my feet sinking into the warm sand, my head churning over the words of a male escort.

  All the while, I think, hope, and wonder. Could I get over him being with other women?

  I try with all my might to picture him coming to me after being with someone else. I rationalize it. Analyze it from all angles. I even put myself in his shoes. It would be like an actor that kisses the actress and then goes his merry way home to his wife and children. The same concept. All an orchestrated scene.

  After hours of agonizing thoughts, I come to the obvious conclusion. I can’t do it. I could never sit home twiddling my thumbs while my husband pleasures himself and another woman. The mere thought of it ignites a surge of jealousy that throttles me.

  When it becomes unavoidable to return to the house, I pick up my crumbled self from the sand and stroll back.

  In the way, I rehearse a reasonable, clean, and sterile speech. I’ll point out the reasons why this would never work. Oh, and I’ll thank him for all the help with calming my family. Also, I’ll request—no, demand to pay the fee for his services this past week.

  I do have a trust fund that I barely touch. Might as well put it to good use. Lastly, I’ll inquire about his future services. No, of course, I’ll never hire him. But it will give a touch of maturity and separation to the situation.

  I enter the house through the front door, but Seth is nowhere to be seen. I cross the living room to find the patio door open.

  Once outside I spot Seth. He’s sitting on the edge of the infinity pool, facing the sunset. A multitude of colors burnish the sky—red, purple, pink, and seashell.

  My resolve falters at the sight of him. He is so handsome and lonely. Almost vulnerable. A completely different person from the cocky man I spent the last week with.

  An intense physical pain unfurls inside my cavity chest. It feels like the after effect from the explosion of a homemade bomb. If someone peeks inside my chest, all that would be left is a mutilated heart, chopped lungs, pulverized bones, and charred flesh.

  With uncertain steps, I approach him. If he notices me, he doesn’t show it.

  Reluctantly, I sit next to him. My next words will set the tone of this conversation, so I remain silent for a while. We both watch the sun journey down toward the water.

  “I’m sorry,” Seth says so softly that I wonder if I heard him correctly.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I say, commanding the tears that are burning my eyes to stay at bay.

  “It appears I have a special talent for hurting those around me.” His eyes remain fixed on the horizon. “It’s always been that way. Whenever I love someone, I find a way to destroy it.”

  He runs both hands over his face. The scruff on his cheeks makes a soft swishing sound. My fingers itch to touch him.

  He turns and faces me. His eyes are dark pools of sadness. For the first time in my life, I understand that people sometimes don’t have the same upbringing I had: a sheltered life with caring parents, a respected surname, and a trust fund.

  “Seth, I don’t, I can’t.” The words scramble in my head. “I don’t want to judge you. You did what you had to do to survive. I get that.” That’s not my rehearsed speech. What am I saying?

  “Lottie, do you have any idea of what it’s like to roam through life aimlessly? Then one fucking day you find that someone who rocks your world, but you aren’t good enough for them?”

  His piercing eyes implore, beg for understanding. Before I could halt the words, they roll off my tongue. “I’ll do it. I’ll give us a try.” Relief and surprise battle inside me. I couldn’t settle on either. What
I just said derived from the feelings taking root in my heart, nonetheless, I couldn’t believe what I just spoke them aloud.

  “What exactly are you saying?” His lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow.

  My shaking hands clumsily cup either side of his face. “It’s all confusing, overwhelming even. But I’m not ready to let go of us either. Not just yet. Maybe I never will.” More tears fall. I mourn for the side of me I’m losing. But if having Seth comes at this hefty price, I’m willing to pay up. Does that make me a horrible person? Will Mom die of disappointment when she finds out? “If you mean it that you have feelings for me, I can overl—”

  “You’re saying . . . God, Lottie. No. Don’t ever say something like that.” His nostrils flare. I wonder in confusion why he is mad.

  “Don’t you want me?” My lips tremble pathetically. That’s definitely not what I rehearsed in my head.

  “Lottie. . . .” He puffs out a breath. “You’re all that I want since I first saw you.” He places both hands over mine. “You should never settle for someone like me. You deserve so much better.”

  “And all I want is you. I’m willing to try to accept you. Just as you are.” There is a begging tone to my voice. But I don’t care. Unless he’s just trying to get out without hurting my feelings. Shit, I would love to be confident at times like this.

  “Lottie, I’ll never ask that of you. Whether or not you will take me, I’m done being an escort.”

  The tears roll fiercely now. “Seth, I don’t want to change you, or who you are. My entire life, I tried to please my dad. I know how it is to have the essence of who you are living in shackles. I don’t want you to resent me. Ever.”

  “No. Not only I would never ask you to be with me while I have this job, neither could I be with someone else. Ever again. Not now that I love you.” His fingers dab the tears wetting my cheeks. “I love you, Lottie.”

  I open my mouth, but before I say anything, he presses his fingers to my lips. “No. You don’t have to say it back. Or feel sorry for not saying it. Or think I’m premature for saying it.” His eyes are so forlorn, so vulnerable. “I’ve lived most of my life craving, coveting love. I do know what it is. Because it’s rare and pure and dazzling and tangible. You might think it’s too soon. Society sets rules of when we should fall in love, but I have loved you since that night I saw you under the Major Ursa constellation. You returned laughter to my heart, breathed life into my dreary bones. You gave me the courage to feel again, to connect to the present, to obliterate the past, and to hope for the future. This love, rooting deeper and deeper into my heart, is a treasure. So I boldly confess to you, Lottie, I love you. I know I love you like the sun knows to brighten and warm the days from the ancient times.”

  “I love you too, Seth,”

  “No.”

  “I do.”

  “What I mean is, I’m not Seth.”

  “Huh?”

  “Seth is a fraud. A cover-up. An identity I picked up, literally and figuratively, when I started to work as an escort.”

  Seth

  CONFUSION MARS HER flawless face. “What?”

  I tuck my hands under my thighs. The feel of Lottie under my hands intoxicates me. When I reveal the next part of my secret, I want to do in absolute sobriety. Because it is a truth that has the potential to destroy us.

  I stare at the last rays of the sun burnishing the water red. If I want to give us a shot, I need to own up to the liar that I am. Come clean. Or else this relationship will be doomed.

  “This is a small world, Lottie.” I ponder on what to say next.

  Her silence encourages me to continue.

  “My real name is Jacob McCoy.” The name tastes foreign on my tongue. I haven’t uttered it in over ten years.

  “I was born in Westfield, Connecticut.” I allow the information to sink into her mind.

  Her eyes widen. “Whoa.” Her mouth is agape. “Wait.” She blinks repeatedly. “Westfield?”

  “Yes. And, uh, the cousin I mentioned. . . . Her name is Luna.”

  “What are you saying Se—?” She shakes her head. “Jake? The Jake? The one who died in the fire? Luna’s cousin?” she asks, astonished.

  “Jacob McCoy. The one and only. Except for the dead part.” I meet her eyes.

  “Oh my, God. It can’t be. No, there was a funeral. Your funeral. And your mom’s. Is your mom alive, too?”

  “No, mom did die in the fire. But the other body they found wasn’t me. It was Jerry’s. He was one of my mom’s boyfriends.”

  “Oh my, God.” Lottie clamps her hand to her forehead.

  “So you faked your death?” she asks.

  “No. I just allowed everyone to believe it was my body they found.”

  “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I wanted to give Luna a fresh start. Without my screwed-up baggage,” I say.

  “I don’t understand. Luna never got over your death. She still mourns you. God, she named Jake after you.”

  “I figured as much when I met him.” I smile. “He looks just like Uncle Simon.”

  “He has your eyes,” Lottie points out. “Luna always said that.”

  “Indeed he does. We both look like Uncle Simon.”

  “You must have had a reason just to disappear like that.” She frowns, her voice holding a hint of accusation.

  “In hindsight, it’s easy to see the flaws in my plan, to see the long-term damage my decision would cause. The price I would have to pay.” I stare out at the horizon. The sky is in limbo between day and night.

  “Luna was my only family. The only person who truly loved me. Because of her I know what love is.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. It settles in my stomach like lead. “I started using drugs before Luna moved in with us. I don’t want to be the victim here, but when your dad’s favorite pastime is raping you, drugs are a welcome oblivion.” The memories of those days roll in my head like a bulldozer.

  “I grew up lonely. Then, Luna dropped in my life. I was twelve, I think. Her grieving soul connected with my tainted one like Siamese twins. We clung to each other, trying to master the skill of survival.

  “Luna, my moon.” A wistful smile spreads across my lips. “She was so vibrant and sweet when she came to us. Life at my house corrupted her. After a few years living with us, Luna became a murderer and a drug dealer. All because of me.” I shake my head, the pain of the memories squeezing my heart. “Luna was just a child when she killed my dad.” I smile. “‘It was either I killed him, or he would have killed you, Jake.’ She repeatedly said when guilt dug at her in the quiet of the night. Had not Luna killed Dad that day, surely he would have ended me.” Memories that are now scar tissue resurface. “For the first time in my life I had attempted to get away from him. I punched him in the nose. It didn’t even bleed or anything, but he was livid. I passed out way before Luna got home. Before she killed him.

  “I digress. Let me get back to how I ended up pretending to be dead.

  “Luna and I always went to sleep with an empty belly, in a cold house. My mom used all the money we had for drugs and booze. So genius here had the brilliant idea of my selling drugs. But Luna wouldn’t have it. Instead, she started selling the drugs. We had an agreement that when I entered high school I would do it, too. We did all right for the most part. Luna was shrewd enough to learn the ins and outs of successful dealings. Her tactics hindered greater profits but kept us under the cops’ radar. Until the day stupid me decided to make more money. I needed to fund my use, which according to Luna was breaking the holiest of cardinal rules. A drug pusher should never use.

  “I started to get some gigs on the side. At one of the drop-offs, I got caught. Long story short, I went to jail. Luna bailed me out, but I faced jail time for trafficking. In hindsight, I was the most stupid motherfucker you can think of. But I thought I was too sleek and smart. Like any other teen, I assumed adults were just stupid grownups trying to keep up with my adolescent clevernes
s. What an asshole I was.”

  I stare at the horizon. The sun is long gone. The sky is a solid midnight blue. The only sound we hear is the waves crashing on the shore.

  I gather the courage to continue. “The night of Luna’s prom, I went to a luau by the beach. Jerry knew how to get the parole bracelet off my ankle and onto his.

  “At the party I drank too much and left early. However, I passed out on a bench at the beach.

  “When I woke up, I went straight home. I approached one of the remaining firefighters at the scene. He told me that they had identified the bodies. He wouldn’t tell me their names, but he said they were a female and her teenage son. Though I was too horrified to think clearly, I realized that what they assumed to be my body was Jerry’s.

  “I had to find Luna. Explain everything. Tell her I was alive, that they had misidentified Jerry’s body as mine.

  “When I stepped around the house, I spotted Caleb standing by his car. He was arguing with an older man. As I approached, I heard Caleb saying. “Nothing will keep me away from Luna now, Dad. Jake is dead. You can’t blackmail me anymore.”

  I shake my head at the memory. “I retreated a step. Caleb’s dad, your dad, was the judge presiding over my case. Even though I was a moron, I quickly added everything up. The fucker was using me to separate Luna and Caleb. Which explained Caleb’s attitude toward Luna.

  “Again, I went back to the blue bench. I sat there for hours. Thinking. When night fell, I hitchhiked a ride and skipped town.”

  My shoulders sag, relieved of the weight of years of secrets.

  “The rest you already know.”

  Silence follows. Lottie becomes eerily quiet.

  I want her to say something. But I wait.

  “Wow,” she finally says. “That’s a lot to process.”

  That’s when I ready myself to beg for her understanding.

  “I was just a child, but I remember how devastated Luna was. She spent the days prior to your funeral at our house. She was like a zombie. As soon as your—whoever’s—body was laid to rest, she disappeared. It took Caleb the entire summer to find her. He almost went crazy.”