Luna wrapped her arms around her legs and squeezed. “I thought you were having fun with him.”
“I was having fun because of him. He took the kids out and gave me some alone time. I got to sit and read books without anyone harassing me for a ride. That was awesome.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, he’s needy! Once he wanted me to wait to eat a sandwich because he needed to go buy mayonnaise for his!”
“And?”
“And I was hungry! Plus, he wants to touch me all the time…”
“I thought you liked that. The way you guys were at the bar…”
“That’s what you do at a bar. You make out. But when we’re watching TV, he needs to keep the hell on his side of the couch! Criminy!”
There was a silence then—a winter’s kind of crisp quiet—except for the dogs rattling their chains like Ghosts of Christmas past.
“He’s got an alcohol problem, too.”
“You like to drink.”
“I don’t drink beer in bed!”
“He does?”
“He did. I asked him to stop, because I didn’t want the kids to find empty cans under the bed, and also because it was tacky. Then he brought over gin and poured it in a cup.”
“Huh.”
The church bells rang in their eerie way. They played “Silent Night” every hour during the holiday season. “Christ in a miniskirt, can’t you make them switch up songs?” Sunny begged the sky.
“How’s the sex?” Luna asked.
“Ha! Like you can even call it that. You know how a conversation with him goes, the way you have to hold up both ends yourself? That’s what sex with him is like.”
This seemed normal to Luna. Nick had been pretty passive in the sack. But Sunny had a high standard. Sal may have been a loser and a crack-head, but everyone had a talent—and his was in the bedroom.
“So, bottom line: you’re done with The Coconut?”
Sunny nodded. “I’ve just got to tell him. He is a good egg. It’s just… I’m cracking from the strain of all his mundane.”
Luna wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Chickie, what’s wrong with you? Didn’t you have fun at that party?”
Luna told Sunny she’d kissed a guy. She told her how she’d danced in the streets afterwards. “But this morning I felt so empty. Worthless.”
“Sounds like you crashed after a high,” said Sunny.
“Kissing made me high?”
Sunny shrugged. “Everyone’s got their drug.”
Precisely, said Jiminy. She nailed it.
“So what do I do now?”
Sunny gave Luna a hard look. “You’ve always been a relationship person. Look how long you stuck with Mr. Gay Dot Com. Face it: You don’t want to touch strangers.”
Right again, said Jiminy. This girl is pretty insightful for a mere mortal.
“Yeah.” Luna traced her foot on a patch of ice just to the side of the walkway. “I don’t think I should go to any more snuggle parties. Finn is the kind of guy that could convince everyone to drink the Kool-Aid.”
“And he’s got those big teeth.” Sunny had seen a picture of Finn on the web. “You can’t trust a guy whose chompers take up his whole face.”
He’s got a mouth like Gary Busey, said Jiminy. ’Nuff said.
“I’m gonna try meeting someone online,” said Luna. “Maybe speed-dating, too.”
“That sounds okay. But…”
The dogs piped up again.
Sunny continued, “I’m just not sure that your happiness equates with finding a man.”
I second that emotion, said Jiminy.
“Tell that to Disney,” Luna said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the moment was interrupted by clattering steel. From the ends of their taut shackles, Flower and Spunky stood on their hind legs and howled at a guy starting up his blue Mazda.
Sunny addressed the dogs: “Would you girls please concentrate, so we can go inside? My ass is freezing!”
Flower and Spunky squatted.
SEVENTEEN
Luna didn’t love the internet, especially after all Nick had done on it, but it did seem to be her best option for dating. Everyone was doing it. So that night, when the kids were asleep, she turned on her computer for something other than a writing-related task.
Which site should she try? The other day, she’d heard a woman in Dunkin’ Donuts telling her friend she’d met someone on CraigsList.
Luna had thought CraigsList was for finding apartments and swapping tables. But she went on-line to check and there it was: a personals section.
Hey, it was free. Worth a shot..
She wasn’t sure what to write in her ad, but wound up with this:
A Lot of Love to Give
Loving, attractive, late-thirties female seeks mate to hold hands and cuddle with.
She almost added, “Must have tongue,” but she figured mullet man had been a fluke. And anyway, she could weed out any speech impediments on the phone.
But would you hang up? Jiminy asked.
“Yes, I would,” she answered.
Yeah, right, he said. You waste a lot of your life being too nice.
Within the first few minutes of posting, Luna’s e-mailbox had been inundated with answers and photos from men.
She was flush with the thrill of attention.
She wrote back to a few that seemed particularly sincere. And before she left the computer to go bake holiday Shrinky-Dinks with the kids, she’d secured the phone number of a guy named Glen.
When the kids were in bed, she called him.
He sounded good!
Here’s what he told her:
STATS ON GLEN
Name: Glen Rolf.
Ethnic background: German and Middle Eastern.
Marital status: Separated.
Children: Two daughters in their twenties.
Body: Tall and beyond buff.
Hair: Curly brown.
Occupation: Owner of a Gold’s Gym franchise.
Favorite physical activities: All.
Other likes: Protein shakes.
Dislikes: Losing control of a situation.
Religion: Christianity.
Favorite writers: Whoever wrote the articles in sports and health magazines.
Favorite dessert: Apple pie.
Favorite expression: “Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing.”
They decided to meet. Glen lived further out on Long Island, about an hour away. They agreed on a diner, midway between them.
Two days later, Luna headed to the Shorefront Diner. Shrinky-Dink ornaments made by Ben and Dylan swung from the rearview mirror—a wreath and a Christmas tree. She pulled into the lot of the typically grandiose Long Island diner, decked out in sparkling silver façade and lights that rivaled Times Square. She parked facing the bright ruby sign. Neon glowed through the minivan, illuminating the wreath and tree, which swayed slightly. She watched until they stilled.
Leaving her bulky, unattractive coat in the passenger seat, Luna got out of her van and ran toward the entrance. She wanted to look sexy in her first impression, even if that meant a few seconds of cold.
A Muzak version of Jingle Bells played inside. The counter sported shiny garlands and a mechanical Santa who waved. Ho-ho-hope, she thought. She’d passed under a mistletoe hanging in the doorway. Would she get a kiss on the way out?
She spotted Glen at the counter, waiting. Actually, she figured it was him due to a process of elimination. He was the only one sitting there.
“Hi! Are you Glen?
He nodded.
“I’m Luna.”
“Hello,” he said, without a smile.
Hmmm…
True to his word, Glen was a tall, burly guy. A bit intimidating. He’d described himself as “built like a linebacker” on the phone. Luna didn’t know exactly how linebackers were built as opposed to any other backers, but he seemed to fit the gene
ral football bill. He barely fit on the counter stool.
The big-haired waitress tried sitting them at a booth near the front of the diner. Glen pointed to the back dining room, “We’d like to sit in there.”
“That’s closed, Sir,” she told him.
“Perfect. We have some private business to discuss,” he said.
Business? Luna wondered. A strange way to describe a date.
The waitress wavered, seesawing between toe and heel on her thick, non-skid rubber soles as she thought. Then she said, “Follow me.”
Luna and Glen slid across from each other in their private booth. He ordered coffee for both of them.
“Something else?” The waitress asked.
Luna would’ve liked something else. Some kind of snack at least. But before she could voice her request Glen said, “We’ll let you know.” He pushed both menus toward the edge of the table, away from Luna.
The waitress returned with their coffees, banging them down. In the far corner of the room, a dessert case beamed like a beacon toward Luna. Glen swirled a whirlpool of sugar into his black coffee, scraping his spoon along the cup’s bottom like nails across a blackboard.
He stared at Luna. His eyes were steely gray.
She tried to start a conversation. “So, you mentioned football on the phone. Did you play in high school, or college?”
Glen leaned over the red Formica tabletop, so close his face was inches from Luna’s. “My father never let me play football. He said I wasn’t good enough – that I’d never be good enough.” His breath was hot, his voice distressed.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Ancient history,” he said. His voice was magically calm now. “But we are here to talk about today, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s what I have in mind.” His voice had morphed into a cool whisper. “I want to humiliate you.”
“What?”
“It’s called erotic humiliation,” he said. “I always had these urges to do… things… so I did some research on Google and found the name. It covers everything I have in mind.”
Luna just stared. Words failed her.
As nonchalantly as if he were listing ingredients in a recipe, Glen proceeded to name the degrading acts. “I want you to do what I want exactly when I want it. Like get on your knees and deep throat my cock so much you choke, while I call you my filthy little whore. And then open your mouth wide so I can piss in it. Stuff like that.”
Stuff like that???
“And when I’m ready I wanna doggy-fuck you from behind like the bitch that you are. I wanna hear you bark while I ram you, and I don’t wanna stop till your pussy’s so sore you’re howling for mercy. Oh yeah, and you gotta request permission to come. Three barks in a row. That’s how you ask.”
Luna was sure she felt her eyes bulging out of her head.
“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you like a lady in public,” he assured her.
Glen splattered the paper placemat advertising local businesses with brown drips from his spoon. Coffee pooled and soaked into ads for sewage treatment, a tanning salon and a bridal shop.
Luna didn’t touch her coffee.
She found her voice, finally. “I don’t think I…”
He interrupted her. “But we won’t be in public often. Can’t take the chance of my wife finding out about us.”
“You said you were separated!” Like that mattered, anyway. His being married was the most miniscule of the problems.
Apparently he’d hidden a lot of things on the phone.
Like the fact that he was bonkers.
“I meant mentally,” he said. “My wife doesn’t understand me.”
It would take a panel of top shrinks at a Vienna symposium to figure this guy out.
Glen then revealed that he wanted to give her catch phrases which would be her cue to “perform” at any given time. For example, when he said “ocean,” she was supposed to lick her lips provocatively.
Luna doubted she could flick her tongue across her mouth erotically for any stakes—even a million dollar book deal. It seemed like such a silly thing to do. How could she not laugh?
Plus, it could lead to chapped lips.
But Glen was not laughing. He wanted her to try it now.
“Give me some time to practice,” she said, figuring it was better to humor him than to refuse. Just play along until you get the hell away, she told herself.
She worried about what would happen when they left. She didn’t want to be alone with him in the parking lot. He could force her in his car!
On the other hand, she was kind of alone with him now. In a second, he could reach a little further across the table and snap her neck with those bear-like hands of his.
She decided to make a run for it.
“I have to go to the ladies room,” she told him. Clutching her purse, she headed toward the front of the diner. Safely out of Mr. Crazy’s view, she pushed through the kitchen’s swinging doors.
“Is there a back exit?” she asked the surprised cooks.
One of them pointed, and she headed toward it. The scent of the diner’s fresh-baked goods filled the air, and she teetered for a moment in a sugared-brain fog. Was there time to get a large sprinkled cookie? Diner cookies were the best…
Just go! Jiminy said, and the sharpness of his tone slapped reality into her. She could get a cookie at some other diner… as long as she wasn’t locked in Glen’s trunk.
Luna sprinted into the cold night, toward her Windstar in the lot.
She thought of Glen’s catch phrase—“ocean.”
An ocean was what she wanted between her and Glen.
She couldn’t cross it fast enough.
EIGHTEEN
Luna was grateful for the caller ID on her cell phone, so she was able to decline calls from “Crazy.” Glen also emailed her several times. She deleted them unopened.
The meeting had not been a promising start to her dating life.
But Luna was determined to proceed. What else could she do?
She decided to try speed-dating.
It was in a Greenwich Village bar/lounge called Madame X, modeled after a 1920s French bordello. The walls and couches were scarlet velvet. The lampshades were beaded. The dim red lighting gave skin a crimson hue. Madame X didn’t look like the kind of place one where would find their soul mate.
If you can see that, why are you going through with this? asked Jiminy.
Well, I’m here already, so what the hell. A girl can hope.
Yeah, hoping always works out, Jiminy said. Just like at the diner.
She stepped up to the bar for a drink. The bartender had curly black hair and striking green eyes. And dimples. “Sex in the bathroom?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s our most popular martini,” he said. “Chocolate vodka, Frangelico hazelnut liqueur, creme de cacao, three olives and a vanilla sugar rim. Yummy and it relieves tension.” He gave her a wink.
“I don’t think so,” she told him. She couldn’t handle sex in the bathroom, real or in a glass.
Elbows propped against the bar, he leaned closer. “Your place or mine?”
She studied him for a moment. “Is that another drink?’
“It is.”
“You might want to clarify these things,” she told him. She ordered a white wine.
The place was packed with speed-daters raring to go. It smelled of alcohol and perfume. The women were looking va-va-voomish, which was intimidating, because Luna was not the va-va-voom type. She disliked makeup except for the basic foundation, which she wore because she looked red-nosed without it. But lipstick… well, she didn’t see the point of something you had to continually check and make sure was still there. The worst was when it partially came off, because then the wearer just looked deranged. There were enough things to do over and over in life. Why add applying lipstick to the equation?
But tonight she’d worn it as well as eye shadow, mascara, blush, the
works.
She knew what she was up against and when in Rome…
Ever stop to think that maybe you don’t belong in Rome? asked Jiminy. This is not your scene, Luna.
Shhh, she told him. I can handle this. After all, I’ve got glitter. She’d spotted “iridescent body shimmer” in CVS. It reminded her of pixie dust. Wearing a few dabs made Luna feel brave.
She wore a body-hugging silky blouse trimmed with lace, the kind of top that looked like border-line lingerie. She looked good, but still, her jeans were not quite as alluring as the short skirts some of these women wore. She did have a cute pair of burgundy Nine West shoes, though. Comfortable, unlike the spiky slivers most of the other women precariously balanced in. Luna’s footwear slipped on like a clog, but had a thick, raised heel. Its tapestry stitching really dressed up an outfit and raised her height.
A whistle blew. Time for the women to sit at the tables.
It blew again. The first man arrived.
He wasn’t bad looking, as far as she could tell in the red light.
“Hi, I’m Steve.”
“Luna,” she said.
“So, what do you do?”
She told him, and then asked what he did. He was a sales manager somewhere.
“Interesting,” she lied. “So what’s your favorite dessert?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“Thought I’d mix it up a little.”
“I fail to see how my favorite dessert could be the judge of anything.”
“I’m not trying to judge you… I just thought it was a fun question,” she said.
The whistle blew.
Steve got up. “Baked Alaska,” he said, shaking his head.
The next guy was Randy. He worked in banking.
“Interesting,” she lied.
She asked him about his favorite dessert. “I don’t like sweets,” he replied.
The whistle blew.
The evening wore on. Faces blended. It was annoying telling the same story of what she did for a living over and over, and no one liked her dessert question. She told one guy she was shy. He said, “Shy girls don’t wear glitter.”
The last guy was Ari. Tall and lean, he looked old for 45. Not bad, just… older than 45. He was Israeli.
Ari told Luna that when he was twenty he’d lived in Africa, working for a human rights organization. He’d adopted an orphaned chimpanzee.
Luna Rising Page 12