Wanderlust

by A. R. Hadley

  “What was that all about?” Annie marveled at her pure, unadulterated passion.

  “That?” Rosa asked, pointing to the ceiling as if what she’d done was obvious. “I talk with God. I told him how I feel about this — this senseless business of a man dying so young.”

  Senseless. No reason. Rosa had read Annie’s mind. Talk to Rosa about God, Annie, Cal had said. But Rosa talked to God, and there still were no answers.

  “You go. You go be with Cal." Rosa nodded toward the closed bedroom door and smiled. Then, she made her way upstairs.

  Annie hesitated. Go be with Cal. Wise woman or gentle tyrant? Love Cal. Simple. Comfort Cal. Let him comfort you. Be patient with Cal.

  It's. One. Summer.

  All that nonsense required thinking. And she wouldn’t allow herself to imagine anything beyond the summer. Annie wasn’t ready to think about making a life with someone.

  She was too busy trying to find her own.

  As Annie walked closer to the door, she heard what sounded like a cell phone ringing. It broke the noise inside her head. Thank God. She’d had enough of it.

  She wanted her camera — needed her camera. It's me and the camera. Always.

  As Annie entered the bedroom, Cal's voice seemed to grow louder with each step. It carried a strong determination to have his way, and it gave her a slight chill behind her neck. All over, actually.

  He sat at a desk to the far right corner across from the bed, his hair damp from the shower, his laptop open in front of him.

  What if she straddled him right now?

  He held his reading glasses by an arm as he continued to speak in a way which showed the caller he would not take no for an answer.

  He could breathe those damn determined words down her neck as she rubbed her crotch against his jeans. Then, she would slide a hand inside his pants and jerk his hard cock. Make him lose control while on the phone.

  This was ridiculous. She’d already had five. Five orgasms! Why was she daydreaming about sex? He’d turned her into a fiend.

  After Annie grabbed her camera and phone, she turned around and met his eyes. He now stood across from her on the other side of the unmade, sex-rumpled bed — an open briefcase and a few papers were spread out across it.

  Cal was not unmade.

  He was fully and neatly dressed, complete with socks and shoes.

  And he was single-mindedly focused on his phone call, or so she thought.

  Glasses on, he held one of those damn number-filled pieces of paper near his head. He peered at Annie over the top of it, watching her as she began to walk away. She could feel his eyes on her skin.

  His eyes were hands.

  Before she opened the door to exit, she peeked over her shoulder. Cal looked as if he wanted to leap across the bed, pin her body against his, paper in hand, phone tucked under his chin, and fuck her against the wall.

  Hmmm… A wall fuck would be nice.

  She smirked, acknowledging his silent desires by tipping her imaginary hat to him, and then she exited the room and made her way to the loft.

  "Cal got a phone call." Annie answered the surprise on Rosa's face before she had a chance to ask why Annie had already come upstairs. Even a wall fuck would have taken longer than that. "He's working. Do you mind if I play some music?" Annie took a seat in front of the media cabinet, legs crossed on the floor.

  "I see. Cal works too much.” Rosa made circles on the window with her towel. “Yes, play one of those cosas viejas. Some of those records are probably older than me.”

  They both laughed.

  Annie opened the cabinet’s double doors and started to thumb through the albums one by one. When strands of hair fell across her face, instead of twirling them, she pushed them behind her ears.

  Rosa's towel squeaked against the glass.

  Air squished between the record cases as each one fell against the next. A smile formed on Annie’s face while she fingered the vast assortment of vinyl.

  So many. So varied. The smell of old cardboard mixing with a barrage of memories she didn’t know but wanted to.

  INXS

  Nat King Cole

  The Temptations

  Van Morrison

  Sam Cooke

  Cole Porter

  The Beatles

  Mozart

  Ella Fitzgerald

  Bob Dylan

  Lead Belly

  The Bee Gees

  Wait. What? The Bee Gees? That cannot be his, she thought as she suppressed a giggle.

  Annie finally settled on one and pulled it from its sleeve. But first, she held the record up and looked at it. The light from the window glistened on the grooves. She could see the imperfections, the particles of dust. It always amazed her how an hour or so of beautiful songs could be stored on an LP or a CD — and now on a chip in her phone.

  Annie was seized with the need to photograph it.

  She wanted to remember his collection.

  Remember this moment.

  What it felt like to be on the precipice of so many different things at once.

  After taking her camera from its case, she began to capture the different ways the light bounced off the big black circle. She shot stacks of albums, separate and together, in the sleeves and out. Then, after photographing the naked turntable, she dressed it with the record and carefully dropped the needle onto track ten.

  Taking the sheet out of Use Your Illusion I, she set the camera aside a moment and began to read the lyrics to "November Rain".

  She knew the song. She’d chosen it, after all.

  She knew a lot of before-her-time songs. Mainly because her brother or father had introduced her to them. But she didn't know these particular lyrics very well, and she wanted to know them. And after sharing songs with Cal, she didn't think she would ever look at any lyrics the same way again.

  The incessant piano, the crashing, violent sounds, and the words filled her mind — words she applied to Cal, herself, and life. Especially the stanza at the end. The words she knew Axl would repeat over and over, a mantra after her own heart.

  The closed off places.

  Did she have those?

  Would Axl's scratchy, pleading-with-you voice be enough to make her believe those throaty, begging words? Did Cal believe them?

  Rosa had been quietly watching Annie from near the bookshelf in the corner, wiping around novels with a cloth, hips moving to the rock-n-roll beat when Annie caught her eye and lowered the volume. "Is it too loud?"

  "I like this. Guns N' Roses. Yes?"

  "Yes." Annie laughed, then held the camera up. "Can I take your picture?"

  "I am not dressed for a photoshoot.”

  "You look stunning.”

  Annie remained on the floor, stood on her knees, and photographed Rosa in her orange capris with a cross around her neck pointing into the V of her satin blouse — basically in her prime and ready for any impromptu photoshoot any time.

  God... Her skin. The chunky curls. The jaguar eyes. The age lines.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  "Cal took me to the gallery by the beach," Rosa interrupted. "I saw your photographs." Annie stood and lowered the camera as Rosa finished speaking. "They’re beautiful."

  A clothespin pinched Annie’s tongue or something.

  He’d taken Rosa to the gallery.

  Words weren't forming. Forget the clothespin. Her tongue was a brick or something else heavy, and it was pasty. Thick. Nothing about her could move. No hands. No feet. No breath.

  Axl continued, though, singing about needs.

  Annie couldn’t need anyone.

  Cal didn’t need anyone.

  The eight-minute song had reached the crescendo, the climax, the part that had affected her as she’d read the lyric sheet. Perfect timing. And by perfect she meant not perfect. Singing and pleading mixed with the sound of the instruments. It colored her disbelief that Cal would do something so intimate with someone he loved dearly.

  Cal had taken Rosa to the
gallery.

  To see her photographs.

  Axl's voice. The shredding of the piano, fingers across several keys, raking-raking-raking until Annie went blind with fright.

  I don't need someone.

  We have to move on.

  Nothing is permanent.

  "Annie..." Rosa touched her arm.

  Annie tried to smile. Had it worked? "I'm sorry." Tongue untwist. Please. "I'm just..." At a loss for words. In shock. Making a big deal out of nothing.

  "I didn't think… I didn't know he cared about…"

  "You didn't think he cared about what?" Rosa pushed Annie’s hair behind her neck and cupped her chin.

  "My photos." Liar.

  "About you, Annie." Rosa spoke as if the answer to the question was so completely obvious, as usual, but Annie must have somehow missed the bulletin, or she refused to acknowledge it.

  Annie looked away.

  "You know he cares for you." Rosa placed Annie's hand over her heart. "Here."

  Annie met Rosa’s eyes, which was a terrible mistake because now Annie might cry. She refused to cry. And the fault would lie with this woman and her onyx, all-knowing, truth-seeking jaguar eyes.

  There had been no mistaking in Rosa’s tone.

  Or her stance.

  The truth had been in her words.

  Her eyes...

  Annie moved her fingers away from her heart and shook her head. She looked at the floor.

  It's a fling. Tab said don't overthink it. I say don't overthink. I say.

  Annie teetered on the edge of erupting, of embarrassing herself, of crying, but instead, she held it all inside and locked it away, afraid entertaining any kind of future with this man would eat away at whatever time they had left. They’d discussed this. Rational and adult-like. They’d made a decision.

  Be in the now.

  No talk.

  No plans.

  No what-ifs.

  Only the summer.

  An end.

  "He bought one, you know?" Rosa had gone back to the shelf. Annie seemed to still be choking and tripping over the new piece of information.

  "Oh, I'm always telling you things I shouldn't." The fragile lines next to Rosa's eyes creased.

  Why shouldn't Rosa have told her? Why hadn’t Cal told her?

  Privacy...

  "Which one?" She slipped her thumb nail past her teeth. The cove.

  "Pfeiffer Beach."

  "Where is it?" Annie looked around the room even though she knew it wasn't there.

  "He sent it home." Rosa's eyes said more than her words. "It was a gift."

  Annie's heart hit the floor with a thud.

  "He wanted her to see something she used to love. To be able to look at it every day."

  This time, Annie cried. Not blubbery, but quiet. Tears slid down her cheeks.

  "Oh, mi amor,” Rosa said, waiting for Annie’s gaze, and when it came, it was haunting. "Your heart, preciosa, is opening his back up. He has been waiting for you."

  Annie wiped away the tears and allowed Rosa to pull her into an embrace. She tried to escape, but it was pointless. Useless. Her throat, tighter than ever, had sealed shut. Her body remained rigid, unsure, afraid.

  The phone in Annie’s camera bag made a ping.

  The women released each other.

  Rosa placed her palm against Annie's cheek and sighed, and then she whispered in Spanish as she returned to the tasks she seemed to do only because she loved him.

  Annie checked the text message.

  Cal: You haven't left me?

  "It's getting late," Annie said to Rosa, phone in palm as she walked over to the large, sparkling-clean window.

  The noon sun made its way through the leaves on the trees, shining into the loft, and some of the things in the room reflected off the glass. Annie leaned her head onto the pane, closed her eyes, and just felt the vibration of the song as it played. She didn't recognize it, only Axl’s screech.

  "Where is your family, Annie?"

  "Seattle."

  "You are from there?"

  "Yes."

  Annie’s phone chimed again.

  "Hmmm," was all Rosa said, looking as if dots were connecting in her mind.

  Cal: I'm sorry I have work today.

  Annie dismissed Cal's second message and opened the Uber app, knowing he’d be mad. She should’ve let him call Carl, but she needed to go — and now — before her feelings completely consumed the lot of her.

  Annie placed the needle on the holster, put the record away, then stood.

  "I won't see you the rest of this week. I'm going home to visit my sons and their family." Rosa gave Annie’s bicep a squeeze. "I like talking with you." She winked. "It’s easy to tell you things. I can tell you are different than…" Rosa made herself laugh.

  “Than what?”

  “I came here, Annie, because Cal had lost the light.”

  Annie opened the bedroom door and walked toward her bags where they lay on the floor by the bed. Cal was no longer on the phone, but he was still at the desk, working in his chair, glasses neatly over his face, studying a paper he held in his hand.

  After making sure she had everything in her suitcase, Annie zipped it up, threw her backpack over her shoulder, grabbed the handle on her luggage, and walked toward the door, wheels squeaking behind her as they made contact with the wooden floor.

  Cal lowered the paper and peered over his glasses as she neared the door. "First you ignore my texts, and now you leave without saying goodbye." He smirked.

  Annie stopped just behind the closed door and looked over at him as she let go of the suitcase.

  "No, but I sent for a car."

  A hand over his jaw, a damn smile still cresting his face, he shook his head.

  “I wanted to have my things ready and in the foyer."

  Cal removed his glasses and set them on the desk. "Turn around, Annie." He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, his hands on his biceps as he stared at her, unflinching.

  Annie peered at him, wondering whether this little show of power was her punishment for leaving early or not using his car.

  Nevertheless, she dropped her backpack to the floor and did exactly as he asked. She turned around in her halter-style dress, its back open, skirt flowing while feeling a little foolish — silly — as if she was some sort of display at an event.

  Even with her backside to Cal, she could feel those eyes on her again like hands, and it gave her a massive chill. Gooseflesh. He could probably see the pinheads breaking out across her skin.

  After making the complete three-sixty turn as slowly as she could, she faced him again — Mr. Serious, looking like he wanted to have her for lunch.

  Head pointing down, he peered up at her through his sandy lashes and cracked a smile — a devious one. "You don't have to leave on account of my work."

  Annie crossed her legs at her ankles. "I know, but I'm anxious to see Maggie.” Annie had texted Maggie yesterday on the rose-petaled ride to Cal’s. “And I want to be in my own space again after being in New York almost a week."

  It took great concentration for her to stop her knees from knocking.

  Why was he making her nervous?

  After everything he’d done to her last night, she should’ve been at ease in his presence, and she was, but her body responded to the way he moved his pieces across the board with exact precision and timing.

  Cal smiled at her as he played with a pen between his fingers. "Hmmm, yeah." He cleared his throat. "I don't know how much work I could actually get accomplished after looking at you in that dress." He dropped the pen, folded his hands, and sat up tall.

  Annie rolled her eyes and smiled. "There are other things we can do." Although, Annie was pretty sure she was up for more sex.

  Cal grinned. "But we do that so well." He glanced toward the bed.

  Annie dropped her chin toward the ground, but she couldn't hide her big, fat grin. Her hair fell. Maybe the strands would cover the insta-b
lush she felt on her cheeks.

  "We do other things. Pick something. Anything. We'll do it tomorrow," he said.

  Annie studied his face. His self-control had never been more evident than right now, fire hidden beneath the calm.

  "I'll have to think about what I want to do." The man didn’t even own a television. Was a movie out of the question? "I'll look online this afternoon."

  Cal's phone rang, and Annie thought it might be her exit. Nope, he just looked at the screen and ignored it.

  "Does it make you uncomfortable that I make it known that I want you?"

  He maintained direct eye contact while she mulled it over. Maybe she wanted him to want other parts of her. He’d bought a photograph. He’d sent songs. He’d bought flowers and had a veteran named Carl pull them apart.

  "You're a beautiful woman."

  She shifted her eyes to the side. "Uncomfortable, no, but sometimes it feels like that"—she glanced at the bed—"is all you want. I want to know you." She would surely burst now like the toad in the fable.

  "Come here, Annie," he said, eyes blunt, voice smooth.

  "Do people always do what you say?"

  "You like to listen to me."

  "Oh yeah?" She tipped her head, but her body stayed in place.

  "You don't think I know how to pick the ones who will listen?"

  In a haste, she grabbed her backpack off the floor.

  He stifled a chuckle. "Annie..."

  "The ones? I'm not part of a category."

  "Come here."

  "No."

  As if in a duel, they stared one another down. Annie kept her hand on the doorknob, but she couldn’t move. He lassoed her to him from across the room.

  "You are your own category entirely." He laughed. "Now, come here."

  She huffed, made him wait a few seconds longer, seconds in which he seemed rather amused — fucker — and then she dropped her bag and went toward him. With each step, the anger lessened and the ache increased. His face drew her toward his body, his sexy amusement beckoning her.

  She stood. He stayed seated. They were inches from each other's skin.

  "You like to listen." His voice oozed sex as his fingers went under her dress. "And you like it when I lead you."

  She smacked his hand away, but he put it back on her ass immediately.