by Ian Mark
“Relax, they’ll love you. And yes, my mother is directing the musical, of course she’ll be there. My dad probably will too.”
“Oh, yippee.” I lay back down. I grabbed the whip and took a hit. It really was kicked.
“So there’s that. And think about our third date.”
“This one, you mean?” She laughed and lay back down. My face was inches from her face.
“Yes, silly, this one.” I flicked her nose with my pointer finger. Her skin was warm. I don’t know why it wouldn’t be. I imagined her as a zombie, her skin cold and clammy, shreds of flesh in between her teeth and the light going out from her green eyes. Patches of hair would fall out as she chased me maniacally around my apartment, limping on a broken foot and a thigh with large chunks of muscle missing. “We’re starting in your apartment, lying on your bed. We’re supposed to end here, not leave here.”
“Well-”
“Omigod, just kiss me.” I kissed her. She rolled on top of me. I cried out in agony. “What? What did I do?”
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Wow, cliché alert.”
“No, I mean…” I rolled away from her and put one hand on my back. I tried to massage the pain away. “Yesterday my mom moved into the city, and instead of paying for large Latin men to carry her things in, she decided to save a few bucks and use slave labor. Me.”
“And you messed up your back? Why didn’t you tell her?” She moved my hand and massaged my back. The tension left. I relaxed.
“She always freaks out when I get hurt. If she thought it was her fault, she’d have been even more upset.” I hated myself as I was saying it. I knew that reasoning would make me look good, make Zoey like me more. I felt like a fraud who was manipulating her, even if it was true. I thought she must know I would know how she would react and be upset. She didn’t.
“That is so sweet.” She continued massaging by back. “Does that feel better?”
“Yeah, it went away almost immediately, I was just enjoying the massage.” I laughed. She tittered, but also punched me lightly on the arm.
“What was that for?”
“For taking advantage of my kindness.” She looked at her iPhone. “Now, come on, we’ve gotta leave.” I got up and smoothed down my shirt.
“Okay, let’s go. I hope you know the way.” She sat up and reached for her heels. I bent down and passed them to her.
“Me too.” She put on her shoes and took the hand I offered her. While she put on her coat I went and found my rain jacket.
“Hurry up,” she called. “This whole place smells like it was just febreezed.”
We walked slowly down Broadway. Cars honked all around us. I held her hand. We interlaced our fingers. As we crossed from 47th to 48th street, a cab almost hit us. I jumped back and pulled her with me.
“I’d hate driving in this city,” I said, staring after the cab.
“Really? Why?” She seemed to genuinely not get why. I handed her eye drops for her eyes, which looked as if she had been up for weeks planning a series of complicated and risky murders.
“Because I’d always be afraid I’d cut someone off and get honked at, or people would cut me off and irritate me, or I’d get hit by another car and die.” She put a few drops in each eye.
“Better?”
“Much.” I took the bottle back.
“How come you have those if your eyes don’t get red.” She stated it more than asked me.
“I used to always smoke with my friend whose eyes got really red. I wanted him to take the drops so people wouldn’t know. He didn’t care.” She turned left and pulled me with her. An old lady with white hair looked at me. The rain poured down. I moved closer to Zoey, ostensibly to get farther under her yellow umbrella. Our shoulders ricocheted off each other. She turned and looked at me. Her eyes were half closed. Or half open, I figured, depending on if I was an optimist or a pessimist.
“Why ‘used’ to? You don’t smoke with him anymore?” I pictured Brian’s smiling face.
“No, he’s uh, dead.” Her smile vanished. Brian vanished from my mind.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” We walked in silence for a little, our shoulders touching and separating repeatedly. I looked at all the bright lights and wondered when we were going to be there. I checked my phone, 7:24.
“If I was driving, I wouldn’t mind if you cut me off.” She said this simply, then her eyes flickered over to me to check if I was listening. I was, sort of. “I like being cut off.”
I bit. “What? How could you like being cut off?” She laughed. I chortled.
“I like getting to use the horn. I’d give you the horn when you cut me off.” I looked at her. She smiled at me and bit her lip.
“You,” I began, “are very weird.” She frowned. I kissed her. She pulled back.
“We’re here.” I straightened up and peered through the rain at the sign. Fins Heureuses.
“I’ve never heard of this play. Is it any good?” She gave our tickets to a large Asian man in a red jacket and hat.
“I don’t know, but either way we are going to tell my mother afterwards that it was amazing.” We walked down a well-lit hallway. It had the standard red carpeting and other warm colors. There were posters for various plays and musicals on the walls. I had never heard of most of them. I chuckled as we made our way down into the front rows. An older lady led the way. She had white-blond hair and a soft smile.
“Enjoy the show.” She waved and was off to escort more theater-goers to their seats.
“I feel so cultured.” Zoey whispered in my ear. Her breath tickled. I slouched away.
“I just hope it has a happy ending.” Zoey looked at me for a second.
“I guess you don’t speak French, do you?”
“Nope. I speak American, and I’m not even good at hat. I mean that. I mean it.” I shook my tongue as if that would help me speak better. Zoey giggled.
The curtain raised. A petite man dramatically produced a diamond ring. He perched on one knee and proffered it to a beautiful black woman wearing a dark blue dress and black heels. She squealed in delight, and they kissed. The curtain dropped.
The play was… interesting. It was also very long. I spent the whole time alternating between laughing at the not funny parts and wanting to check my phone to see the time. It couldn’t go more than two hours, I told myself.
“It can’t go more than three hours, right?” I asked Zoey after the intermission took place two hours after we had first sat down. It was interesting, sure. It was about what happens after the proposal, after the happy ending of most plays. The problems people go through even when they are married to the love of their life. I had never really considered that. Ever since Randy had explained the two stages, I had convinced myself the only hard part was the time spent in between the stages, the intermission if you will.
“You don’t like it?” Zoey frowned, then giggled. I looked at her, laughing with a sad face, and something stirred inside me. I felt close to her, something that I had only ever felt with two people, Brian and Amanda. But more than that, I felt I could let my guard down, something I had only ever felt with Brian.
“No, I do, I’m just curious.” She smiled and squeezed my arm. I wondered what she was thinking.
Afterwards, we went backstage to meet her mother. As we approached an older lady who looked important, with heels and a black suit on, I stepped forward.
“That was amazing,” I said. I stuck out a hand to introduce myself. Zoey crept up behind me and whispered in my ear.
“That is not my mother.” I straightened up, embarrassed. The woman laughed and walked away.
We eventually tracked down her mother. You know that cliché about it being obvious where a daughter’s beauty came from? That didn’t apply at all in Zoey’s case. Her mother had platinum blond hair, brown eyes, and cheeks so tight I thought for the first five minutes she might be sucking on a lozenge. She was pretty, I supposed, but she looked nothing
like Zoey. We chit-chatted for a while, then she adopted a stern look.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?” Zoey giggled.
“Mom, don’t do this now. It’s our third date.”
“I’m going to marry your daughter,” I said with a straight face. “And we are going to have beautiful children.” Zoey looked at me for some sign I was joking. I stayed serious and didn’t look at her.
“I like him.” Her mother said to Zoey, and turned to me. She smiled. “You hurt her, and I’ll hurt you. Understood?”
I nodded solemnly. I was afraid I would hurt her. I didn’t want to, but I was afraid we’d end up like Amanda and I had, former best friends who no longer spoke to each other. We said our goodbyes, and Zoey clutched my arm with both of hers as we walked.
“Someone is getting laid tonight.” She laughed and winked at me. I chuckled. I was still high.
“By golly, I sure hope it’s me. Well, not just me.” She tittered and I removed my arm from her grasp and draped it over her.
We had sex that night. A lot of it. As soon as we were in the door she was on me, kissing all down my neck and taking off my coat. She flung it on the ground.
“There’s no need to make a mess,” I told her. I took off her coat and threw it on the couch. “But then again, why not?” She chuckled as I kissed her. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom the first time. I didn’t last long.
“Sorry,” I panted heavily. “Increased sensitivity and all that.”
“It’s okay, we’ll have plenty of more tries.” She bit my neck and got up. I watched her naked cheeks sway as she walked into the kitchen. “Let me get you some orange juice. You go wherever you keep all your condoms and bring back all of them.” I got up and practically ran to the bathroom. I pulled off the condom we had just used that I kept in my raincoat. I threw it in the toilet and flushed. I went under the sink and grabbed a roll of condoms.
I walked into the bedroom. Zoey poked her head through the door. She was holding a glass of orange juice. I drank it while she wrapped herself around me. As soon as I finished she spun me around and mounted me.
I had never felt like Amanda withheld sex from me, or that it was a chore for her. But once was always enough for her, while Zoey was insatiable. We’d finish, I’d go to the bathroom, dispose of the condom, and stumble back to the bed. My back was on fire, but I didn’t care. We’d cuddle for a little bit, then she’d look up at me, or I’d tilt her chin up to me with my finger, and we’d be off again.
Zoey left around three the next day. I was sweaty, exhausted, hungry, and weak in the hips. My penis was a shriveled peanut. I looked at it as she gathered her things and prepared to leave. She came back to the bed and kissed me fiercely.
“Before you go, I want to make something clear to you.”
“If you tell me you’re not looking for a relationship now I’ll cut off that tiny salami.” I looked down in shame.
“He’s tired, all right?” She laughed. She sat down and stroked my hair.
“I’m still kind of messed up from Brian dying and Amanda leaving me.”
“Brian’s the friend who died?” She put her hand on my cheek and turned me to look at her.
“Yes. So if I act weird, or like a douche, or whatever, I want you to know it’s not you, I’m just kind of fucked up right now.” She laughed and got up. I stood up and grabbed a pair of boxers. I got into them, almost tripping.
“Nice try.” She looked at me sternly. “You don’t get some sort of get out of jail free pass because you just broke up with a girl. If you treat me like shit, my large gay friends will have a word with you.”
“Scary.” I laughed. She was weird. So was I. I kissed her good bye. She grabbed her umbrella and went to the door. Just as she opened it, she said to me, “Do I need to leave something here, or will I be invited back?”
“I don’t know, might want to leave something just to be safe. Your bra, maybe.” I smiled so she knew I was kidding. She waved and left. I stood there, half-naked, smiling, as happy as I had been in a long time. I went to the kitchen. My khakis from the night before were hanging off the refrigerator. I dug through them for my phone. Kevin had called again. I called back.
“Thanks for bailing on us last night.” He sounded pissy. He hated Sundays, I knew. There was never a reason for a failed Christian like him to wear a suit. I dragged the khakis back into the bedroom. I opened the closet and tossed them onto the mountain. A few articles spilled out onto the floor.
“Sorry man. But I’ve met someone, and she’s amazing.” My voice seemed higher than normal.
“Oh. Well that’s great. Is it that girl that your mom knows?” He seemed happy to hear the reason I hadn’t seen him in so long. I absentmindedly tossed the clothes back into the closet one at a time and made no effort to stop the pieces that fell to the floor and replaced them.
“Yeah, her name’s Zoey. She just left.” I was unable to hide my excitement. I always told myself I wouldn’t brag, but I always did. But this wasn’t supposed to be a “I just had sex” brag, it was more of a “the love of my life may have just walked out that door,” kind of brag.
“She’s been there since last night. Jesus man, that’s insane. How’s the back?” Kevin didn’t see it that way apparently. I twisted back and forth.
“Surprisingly better.” I gave up on reassembling the mountain and shut the closet door. I grabbed a stress ball that was lying on the ground and lay back on the bed.
“You know what they say: sex heals all wounds.” I laughed. I tossed the ball straight up in the air and caught it. I squeezed the purple foam and read the writing on it. It was from NYU.
“Yeah…” I wasn’t sure what to say.
“So when do I get to meet her?” A good question. Did I want her to meet my friends yet? Would they judge me for dating her so soon after Amanda, or think she was just a rebound? More important, was she just a rebound? I didn’t think so. I pictured her looking up at me while she kissed my belly button. My shriveled member tried to rise, but gave up.
“Uhh, soon. Yeah, soon.” I said I was starving and had to go. I had some cold pizza in the fridge, a rarity.
“Okay man. Don’t forget about us.” He hung up. I laughed while looking at the phone. I would never do that. Brothers before whores and all that jazz.
Chapter 9
But he didn’t meet her soon. She was so busy I barely got to see her, let alone take her around to meet my friends. We spent as much time as possible together, but she was nearing graduation and had to apply for jobs as well as do all her work for her classes. She was always so frazzled when I saw her. Sex was the only thing that relaxed her, she claimed. I wasn’t going to argue. Weeks passed, and before I knew it we had been dating for three months. The time passed quickly, I had thrown myself into a new game at work. It was like a dolphin version of Farmville. Users would play as different dolphins and interact. They could buy coral, which served as currency in the dolphin society. Bob left the company, and I was promoted to his old position. I did the same thing, I just had the word “Senior” in front of my title. I realized one day that I was among the three oldest programmers there. I checked my hair everyday for signs of gray or balding, and each day I resolved to get a haircut. I never quite found the time. The irrational part of me feared Zoey wouldn’t like my haircut, and would leave me for a strapping young Puerto Rican pool boy. I made a concerted effort to see my friends whenever Zoey was busy. We still went to bars and smoked pot together, but something was different. I wasn’t as interested. I’d say it was because I was taken, but I had gone to bars when I was with Amanda and simply enjoyed the scenery. I thought it might be a sign I was moving from stage one to stage two. I asked Randy if he agreed.
“Stage two? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.” I reconsidered the wisdom of measuring my life’s progress according to the advice of a stoner who couldn’t even remember advising me.
Every girl I saw reminded me
of Zoey. I’d catch a whiff of perfume and be convinced she had come to surprise me. I’d spin around and see a bunch of college freshmen and be disappointed. One of them would bite her lip or fiddle with her hair and I’d see Zoey performing the same maneuver. I would sit and watch my friends strike out with girls. Picking up chicks is like hitting a baseball: the best players in the world are out of luck seventy percent of the time. My friends were not the best players in the world; Kevin was at best a promising double-a prospect. Randy and Louie were like the superstars of slow-pitch softball who lament the mysterious knee injury that ended their promising careers while drowning beer after beer and citing obscure rules that no one cares enough about to look up.
My friends jokingly would doubt Zoey’s existence. I thought the newfound cleanliness of my apartment would serve as evidence that there was some new woman in my life. If I refused to wingman for them, they’d ask if Zoey was sitting next to me. I’d laugh, but longingly glance to my right or left in the off chance she’d appeared in the last ten seconds without me noticing.
“Enough’s enough.” Kevin yelled to me over the loud rock music at Josie’s one night. He had two drinks with him. I took one without asking. We’d been there a few hours. Louie had left with some girl, who was most generously described as “having a nice personality.” Randy and Murph were floating around somewhere, prowling around like a pride of lions searching for wounded gazelles. I had sat in the same spot all night, downing beer after beer and glancing at my phone hoping Zoey had finished her work and would be joining us. I thought sadly of all the other grad students who got to spend so much time with her working on various projects in close quarters. I considered quitting my job and pursuing a career in physics. The still-sober part of my brain pointed out a few of the many flaws in that plan, most notably the level of stalkertude I’d reach if I did so.
“When am I going to meet this woman?” Kevin sat down next to me.
“I don’t know, she graduates in a few days, and she hears back from a few places she applied to, tomorrow.” I selfishly wished she wouldn’t get the job she wanted, so we could have consolation sex. I then realized celebration sex was probably better, and knocked on the wooden table in front of me. Kevin looked at my hands, deep in thought.