It Had Been Years

by Malflic, Michael

  Reston is a peculiar mix of businesses and overpriced housing littered amidst the non- descript government agency buildings. The Hyatt is situated on a corner along a street to the side that is lined with brand name retailers and eating establishments. Appealing and clean those few blocks were a modern ode to small town life and sense of community that had been long since lost in the crime riddled masses of the larger metro areas.

  Dinner was filled with wine and pleasant conversation of a mostly trivial nature, nothing all that uncommon to most courtships. Words carefully selected to ensure the proper interpretations. As the evening progressed, they took their time progressing from drinks to dinner, moving along from each course at a leisurely pace until the meal ended with them sharing a piece of flourless dark chocolate cake, the inevitable cappuccino and ultimately to the same homogenized lit street leading to the hotel that they had traversed on the way to dinner. The shops were all closed as Donna peered into the windows here and there as they passed. After a long week accentuated by a long meal, the pair finally retired to their suite for the remainder of the evening to enjoy each other’s company.

  Again night turned into day as it so often does and with the warm soft sun came two fruit plates and an over abundance of coffee. The casually dressed Husker toting his gym bag with a pair of jeans, a polo, sandals and a collection of towels in it.

  “What’s the plan for the day?” Donna asked not knowing if there was one.

  “Sailing lessons.”

  Donna just looked at him not quite certain if he was at all kidding.

  “All those ropes last Friday made me want to go sailing.”

  “Why so you could learn to tie me up?” Donna inquired knowing damn well that it was most likely not the case.

  “No, I could do that just fine” he said blushing, uncomfortable with the frank nature of what he believed was becoming a deviant conversation. Then adding “I was a boy scout you know.”

  “What if I asked you to?” she pressed, it was a routine she had played countless times before with others who might have been enticed by the idea.

  “Never mind” she added after a few seconds of silence.

  “So tell me again why we are going sailing.”

  “Have you ever been?” the Husker questioned back.

  “No” was the only truthful answer she could give.

  “Then that’s why. Besides my phones won’t work after we get a little bit off shore, so there won’t be any interruptions.”

  Donna proceeded to pack her BeBe jeans, a g-string and bra, a semi dressy blouse from all places Charlotte Russe and a playful pair of heels. The outfit was a stark contrast to the utilitarian one piece swim suit she decided to wear covering it with black nylon hiking shorts that were meant for the gym that day, an old gray t-shirt and running shoes. Her hair drawn back placed through the Husker’s favorite red cap that she had recently commandeered.

  So the drive began from Reston to a quiet harbor in Baltimore winding around the beltway on a lazy Saturday morning, one coffee stop and 76 minutes later they arrived at the marina. No sooner than they were walking toward the docks the Husker began vigorously reapplying SPF 60 sun block to his face and arms, a routine he was reenacting that he had not done so long ago before leaving the hotel. Donna just smeared on a little extra Carmex to her lips so the wind wouldn’t chap them too severely as she just went along quietly with his plan. What was it that made him want to take sailing lessons with her? Had she inadvertently made a comment that his usually keen senses had misinterpreted?

  Donna imagined the day would consist of a ramshackle old boat and the added company of a weathered old sea captain. She stopped just sort of giggling at the idea of an incarnate version of the Morton’s fisherman being their instructor. So as they approached the docks her eye was drawn to a small single hull, a tired green and white vessel that had to be no more than a 16 foot boat. At times she had forgotten that she was no longer a poor country girl and as the pair walked past the boat she let out an audible sigh of relief. The Husker hadn’t noticed, he just continued down the docks finally stopping at a 120 foot sailing yacht.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Yes, it’s very nice.”

  “Boats are a she” he gently corrected as he removed his shoes and stepped aboard “Stiff Shirts”.

  “Well are you coming?”

  “This is the boat we’re learning to sail?” She asked not realizing that it wasn’t sailing lessons that they were going to be taking. The day would not be filled with rout instruction with this rope and that thingy goes there.

  The Husker laughed “I said you were taking sailing lessons. For me we’re running her one last time before she heads south for the winter.”

  Stiff Shirts was owned by an old college friend of the Husker’s who had made his fortune in the less than glamorous world of dry cleaning by opening up a series of at home pickup and delivery dry cleaning services that eventually also grew to include a chain of high end brushless car washes from North Carolina to Maryland. The Husker had sailed before, one of his many secrets was he had his open water Capitan’s license allowing him to command a ship out on the open sea.

  So shortly after a peaceful troll out of the harbor during which “Captain Stiffy” (as the Husker called his friend by the amusing nick name) provided Donna with a nauseating discourse on the history of man and sailing, of wind and water and this and that mind numbing fact. Finally with sails raised into place the ship went barreling out into the glistening waters, soon after losing sight of land, later losing sight of birds overhead as well. A few hours later they stopped, lowering the sails to the deck and floating with the rise and fall of the waves out at sea. While everyone gathered on the aft deck for a truly gourmet lunch, the Husker, Donna, Captain Richard, his Missus, and daughters sat around the tables and benches tending to this and that, Richard’s oldest son was below deck ignoring all of the day’s beauty. He did however emerge with hand wrapped prosciutto around fresh bite sized balls of Mozzarella for appetizers, four on each plate, a plate for each guest that was garnished with a sour cream sauce. His longish bleached blonde hair flowed in the ocean breeze. The cheese was followed by a baby greens salad dressed with fresh strawberries and a sweet dressing to offset the bitterness of the lettuce choice. As he and his friend emerged to clear the dishes from the first two courses, Donna began to question his orientation, after all here was a teenage boy obsessed with food and presentation, well built and so was his “friend”. Only moments later he reemerged again with braised lamb, grilled asparagus and brown organic rice.

  “Did he really make all of this?” She asked.

  “Yes.” his father said proudly “he’s 16 now but started cooking when he was 12.”

  He lowered “We were worried for a while… he always fussed about his hair and clothes, our décor, even the quality of the towels and linens when we traveled.”

  The captain continued until his wife added, “Yes, he’s just like your mother.” The Missus added as the pair of boys came above deck again this time trailed by two teenage girls. “He uses the cooking to get girlfriends” his father added boastfully. “I see” Donna said observing the two model type females who ate the veggies, and pushed the lamb around the plate occasionally picking at it.

  The afternoon consisted of strong winds and more open seas. Despite her initial trepidation Donna had enjoyed the day immensely. Her final lesson was on tying off onto a cleat on the dock, learning to wrap and weave the ropes so as the ship moved it would tighten rather than loosen, a concept that her lifestyle had long ago made her aware of.

  After a long day in the sun and a few hours of conversation once again at the dock the Husker and Donna bid “Stiff Shirts” adieu before winding back around the beltway and stopping at Tyson’s Corner for a little shopping. The pair changed outfits before leaving the ship in their jeans, the American made car stuck out at the mall from all of the other German numbers and high end rice burners at the valet
stand. After an aimless hour where the only purchase was “sport boxers” for the Husker they departed retreating back to their suite where Donna joined the Husker who was soaking his tired weary muscles and tight chaffed hands in the bath.

  Sunday morning began lazy and late, there was nowhere to be and no brunch to attend. Instead they worked out in the fitness center and engaged in leisurely packing of the abundance of unworn outfits before a walk to Starbucks and heading out for the day to the Air and Space museum next to Dulles where the Husker would while away the hours looking at planes and spaceships that to Donna might as well have been tractors and muscle cars from the boys back home, it was not her thing and she simply didn’t care.

  They were standing in the lobby as the bags were loaded into the car by the bell man. The Husker spotted a colleague, as he began to approach stopped cold.

  “What’s up?” Donna asked after he stopped thinking perhaps he realized he had forgotten something.

  “I know him.”

  “So say hi.” Wondering why a man who asks strangers and enemies for their support on a regular basis as he roamed the halls of power with world leaders would suddenly seem so awkward and shy.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “So?”

  “That’s not his wife.”

  “I’m not your wife would that stop him?” Donna replied annoyed at the thought that such a thing might matter.

  “No. But then again I don’t have one. He does and I know her, she’s a friend of mine.”

  Share and Share alike

  Meanwhile Friday night that week found Nadrea without her usual accomplice, Instead she was at a lifestyle party with Mira and Tiffany in tow. It was the type of party where unaccompanied men were allowed only by invitation and while it was an event primarily designed for couples unaccompanied women were never turned away, even if they came in threes.

  So as Tiffany and Mira danced into the night topless in nothing more than hot pants and a pair of high heels Nadrea meandered in a listless manner, occasionally flirting with a woman in a couple while in most cases the man watched in hopeful anticipation.

  Nadrea was in fact simply tired, it had been a long week with a particularly long night prior to this one. She went inside the voyeurs lounge that was filled with beds and platforms and chairs for lovers arranged in a fishbowl of a room that could be watched from nearly anywhere around the club. Reclining on chase lounge skirt partially lifted caressing her own thighs looking for someone to join in with or a particularly interesting set of an audience to put on a little show for, inspiration of any kind was not to be found and a few minutes later she wondered out to dance with Mira and Tiffany.

  The pair was not worn, or weary, or preoccupied with thoughts of other people. Nadrea was as much enamored with the actions of the night before as she was the past. For all of her life of privilege there were secrets that she kept, unspoken little truths hidden away from everyone’s view point, most of the time even her own. She had always lived life on her terms and was always on the eclectic side, intellect and wealth had provided quite nicely for those luxuries. Nadrea reflected on the conversations she had had the night before. When asked about being in love she had in fact answered honestly. Nadrea with romantic intention had only once told someone she loved them, a fact mired in the secrets that hid what she had once felt. She was very much by a common man’s definition been promiscuous, a slut and a whore for years. She did love the sensations, the freedom, the experience and in many ways the exchange of power both given and surrendered.

  The word “love” cut her through, she would only use it in the shallowest of context. The mere thought of uttering it to another person made her physically ill. Looking deeply into her past she dredged up the place where it had all began.

  Nadrea was pretty as she always had been but as was often the case she was alone, distraught and often sad. Much of the time if someone looked past the seduction and wanton disregard of her gaze there was something truly sorrowful waiting to be found. When she wasn’t alone it was because the family’s live in was around or a parent happened to be home when going from here to there. Most of the time she kept the company of others in much the same predicament, those who also lacked quality time with their families, time that had been exchanged in the endless pursuit of even greater wealth. Standing against the cold hard stone wall of that evening’s club she was reminded of that school on a cold April day when she was sixteen. She thought about how he had approached her. Nadrea had known him for over ten years by then. He was in fact a family friend and the oldest consistent friend she had to that point in life. He was from a family of even greater wealth than hers. His reputation was of immaculate discourse unlike the somewhat sorted interpretation of her by many others. As a favor Nadrea would accompany him to his academy’s spring formal. Like most pretty teenage girls she did have a boyfriend but he was given an explanation of the circumstance and no option was given to him. Nadrea was in fact going to the event with her old friend.

  On the night of the dance she had arranged for her boyfriend to pick her up afterwards, an attempt to placate his untrusting emotions and give him at least a part of her evening, an evening that they wouldn’t have seen each other much before on anyway, The pair had been a couple for just under six months, at that age much longer was unrealistic, many celebrity marriages don’t last that long. So on that cold April night Nadrea was remembering waiting outside for her ride, leaning against the building much like the wall of the school as the cold damp stone pressed into from that school in the city.

  Back then she was heated from dancing and still sweating from the frivolity of youth. To that point it was a routine and uneventful evening. She stood outside waiting as the sweat dried on her young skin, passing the minutes discussing music and clothes with her escort for the evening. They laughed at the minute absurdities of their lives, not realizing the distance between their realities and so many others. As her boyfriend drove up her date did the gentlemanly thing and escorted her to the curb to meet the car, innocently kissing her good night on the cheek as he had done so many times before. A custom seen as normal by many cultures, there isn’t a natural born Italian or Frenchman in the world who would have mistaken the kiss for anything more meaningful than a ritual greeting or farewell.

  A male American teenager on the other hand is not nearly as accepting. Thoughts of betrayal and deception were flooding his otherwise shallow mind. Thinking nothing of it she entered the car finding an angry and confused boy. A young man so betrayed not by Nadrea but by his own emotions and insecurities that he could only imagine the worst. Dreaming up in terrified semblances of reality that he and his emotions were nothing more than playthings for Nadrea, his emotion and virtue to her alone were of no consequence. Pulling away he shook as he began to cry. Nadrea not at all oblivious to him asked what was wrong, thinking that he had soldiered on to get her, wanting and need time with her despite some grave personal tragedy.

  He began with a line of questions about her evening, each less insightful but more accusatory than the last. Nadrea reassured him of his place exclusively in her heart, but his distrust of her grew with each passing second. “Whore” he yelled at her, Nadrea reeling at his unexpected reaction to what she considered to be nothing more than a social function, it was just a simple obligation that was merely part of life. She tried to comfort him to no avail. Between his hateful angry chastising words and their combined tears and sobs she whimpered “but Ben, I love you”. Words said where things rarely ever came from, her heart, well intentioned, long before thought about but never said and in the way that only youth or old age could provide for, honest with out other motivation or intention. The words were returned without the same devotion or sincerity, powerful words uttered by him as a means of control.

  They continued on as a couple for a short time longer but as is so often the case the intensity and temptations of so many other things in life made young love fall away, accompanied with all the pain and
scarring that a lost first love will bring. Every time he disagreed with her he would manipulate her feelings and self esteem by berating her telling her she was a whore, a slut, and worthless. Foolishly these words somehow mattered to the otherwise headstrong young lady. It became Ben’s routine method of control breaking her down a word at a time, the more he insulted her the more determined she was to make him see her as wonderful and special. Oddly enough he never did he had his own demons, he was not man enough to put them aside and be honest with her about his own feelings instead he criticized everything she did, how she looked and constantly question her devotion to him, keeping her heart in his hands and his own feelings just beyond arms length. The relationship was not lost at all to Nadrea’s infidelity or tiring of his cruel words but to Ben’s, instead she discovered him in the intimate comfort of another one evening. She found him with a close friend of hers, James. It was never again discussed, James and Nadrea remained friends to this day, perhaps because they both appreciate the same thing in a man.

  The Modern Love Note, Sweet Nothings & Sexual Overtures

  The weekend was not without contact between Vincent and Nadrea, but no quality time of any sort was spent together they might as well have been on different continents. A few passing conversations, an occasional indecent text message begging for Vincent’s reply. Which of course he did, nothing at the time seemed quite as fun as talking dirty by painstakingly typing out one letter at a time on a phone’s keypad. There was a brief series of instant messages during all things a tax planning review. Vincent attempted to end the exchange with “That was really sick! Stay right where you are, the morality police are on their way”