The Seducer

by Claudia Moscovici

  “What do you mean ‘as a rock’?” she took offense.

  “I mean I can always count on you. Plus you’re a hard worker,” he went on. “And you smell nice.”

  “I smell like sweat right now,” she pointed out.

  “So what? Maybe that turns me on. Is that ten yet?”

  She counted by her fingers. “You still have one left.”

  Michael thought for a moment. “You’re all mine.”

  “And you mine,” she replied adding, after a few seconds, “most of the time.”

  Now that he thought about it, Michael felt somewhat disingenuous about saying that he loved all of Karen’s qualities. Because some of them had an underside. For instance: sure, Karen was steadfast and solid. But that’s also because she was so damn cold. It occurred to him that even her displays of emotion were generally manifestations of self-pity or efforts to move him, not genuine other-regarding impulses. Come to think of it, Karen never radiated any real warmth. He suspected that she gave to charity mostly to feel better about herself. Goodness was an act for her, just as fidelity was for him. All of this would have been all right with him, since after all he was no Gandhi either, if only she were more sexually available to him. What did I ever see in her? Michael wondered with the ingratitude of a man who has fallen out of love. He had a visual flashback to when they first met. Karen had been thinner, tall and leggy: the kind of woman he usually went for. She had posted a note in the Department of French and Italian that she needed a tutor to practice her French. As soon as he saw a female name, Michael spotted a potential opportunity for an easy score. Boy was he wrong...

  Karen smiled a lot and acted friendly enough, but she remained all business during their meetings. There was something puritan yet enticingly corruptible about this woman that drew Michael to her. For two long, tantalizing months she flirted with him, even going so far as to pet and kiss. In spite of his relentless efforts, however, she refused to go all the way with him. Michael had never actually encountered such a specimen: the semi-virtuous woman. He had frequently run into loose women (his favorite kind, at least from a pragmatic perspective) and, less often, women who weren’t interested in him (which he conveniently categorized as “lesbians”). He had also encountered the kind of women he wasn’t interested in. Generally speaking, after a few drinks, that category became negligibly small. But nobody had tried to pull the “I don’t have sex before marriage” crap on him before. Wasn’t that over and done with since in the sixties? After all, what did all those chicks burn their bras for? This was the one triumph of women’s lib Michael wholeheartedly supported. The rest, he thought, were sexist against men.

  Used to getting his way with women, after two months of dating Michael dropped the pining lover routine. One evening when they were making out in the back seat of his car, he unzipped his pants and pulled up her skirt. Karen objected, but Michael was no longer disposed to heed her protestations. I’ve put more than enough time into this freaking relationship, he thought, ready to reap his rewards. He pushed Karen’s shoulders down and lay on top of her, pinning down her arms with his hands and prying her legs open with his knees. She tried to discourage him but was cut short by a voice she hardly recognized, uttering something between a bark and a command. “Shut the fuck up woman!” Had she heard right? Karen blinked in disbelief. The man who stared into her eyes with a cold and fierce gaze was not the sweet boyfriend she was madly in love with, who respected and honored her wishes. Stunned by this sudden transformation, Karen closed her eyes. She lay there passively, waiting for him to finish and hoping that the real Michael would return to save her. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, he was done. “Oh God, how I love you! You drive me crazy,” Michael whispered heatedly into her ear, like a man who had been in the throes of an irrepressible passion. “I wanted to wait until our wedding night,” Karen said with a note of regret. “I know Baby, but I wanted you too much. I just couldn’t wait that long,” Michael replied in a raspy and melodious voice, covering her face with moist kisses. This familiar and tender lover almost instantly effaced the unsettling impression left by the double that had momentarily usurped his place.

  Although Karen’s virtue bent easily to Michael’s will, her general air of reticence, even coolness, persisted. Which is why their dating relationship became his top challenge in life, far more interesting than the merely physical conquests he continued to have on the side. Basically, Michael wanted to get a cold fish to behave like a cat in heat. If only he could manage that biological feat, not only would he live in marital bliss, but also he might even get an award for genetic hybridization from the National Science Foundation. Like all good scientists, Michael experimented extensively. He treated Karen warmly and tried to kiss and caress her copiously, but that only made her nervous and withdrawn. He withdrew and complained, but usually that only scored him the rebuttal that he didn’t communicate enough. He haggled, trading watching a chick flick for a little flicker of passion, but ended up getting the raw end of the deal since Karen remained lukewarm with him.

  Then again, Michael had to be fair about the whole situation. He didn’t screw around because Karen deprived him of sex. He screwed around because he liked chasing women and sleeping with them. I just haven’t found the woman of my dreams yet, Michael told himself. What do I really want from a partner? he asked himself. The two-year stretch of dating Karen had nearly made him forget his own dreams. Let’s see, he tried to recall. Basically, he wanted what most men want from their mate. A woman who was faithful and dependable yet a slut with her man. A woman who was sexy and elegant yet remained fiscally responsible, even frugal. A woman who was girlish with him yet mature and maternal with their children. A woman who was smart and accomplished, but never put her career before him. A woman who was ready to follow him around anywhere he wanted to go. And, ever since he was a sophomore in high school, he knew exactly where that place was.

  After finishing his Master’s degree, on which he had less than a year of studies left, Michael wanted to move to Phoenix, Arizona, a place he had scoped out with his parents during one of their trips across the country. Phoenix had it all. It was a big city yet also a vacationland lost in the mountains. It was warm and sunny all year round yet had seasonal refreshing rains that alleviated the scorching heat. Michael recalled the thrill of being caught in one of those monsoons. The revitalizing shower flowed like a warm curtain from the sky, a veritable benediction from nature. Ever since those summer vacations had whetted his appetite for sunny Arizona, his plan was to find an easy prep school job teaching French in Phoenix. Work would consist of rolling out of bed to entertain hot teenagers while incidentally also teaching them a few words of French, then come home to a horny wife waiting for him with her legs spread eagle on the appropriately named love chair.

  When he shared some of these plans with his fiancée, Karen didn’t seem too excited. She objected that her family lived in the Detroit area. Besides, she really liked the physician’s office where she was currently employed. But agreeing upon a location wasn’t the main obstacle to their future bliss. The more Michael got to know Karen, the more he realized that she could never be the kind of wife he had dreamed of. Did such a woman even exist? Or was he engaging in wishful thinking when he hoped to find a woman with the perfect mixture of seemingly opposite qualities—the faithful and devoted whore, the frugal and modest hottie—that was most men’s wet dream? If he couldn’t find the ideal woman, then he might as well enjoy his freedom and play the field, he concluded.

  Women have it so much easier, Michael mused. They don’t have to do quite as much empirical research. They pick the first fool who’s foolish enough to hand them an engagement ring. Wait a minute, I was such a fool, it occurred to him. Michael released a shiver of relief. Holy shit! I barely escaped the shackles of matrimony. He sprung up from bed and poured himself a glass of cognac, his favorite cocktail. He drank it slowly, allowing each drop to glide smoothly down his throat and t
ickle his palate. He then climbed out of his bedroom window to the roof, as he used to do as a child in his parents’ house. Michael stretched out his body on the warm shingles like a tomcat. He looked up at the expanse of blue sky. Not a single cloud in sight, he observed with a sense of inner satisfaction, perceiving the endless horizon as a symbol of his newly regained freedom.

  Chapter 6

  Karen drove back home, her eyes clouded by tears. She entered her parents’ house and headed straight for the refrigerator. A therapeutic gallon of chocolate swirl ice cream awaited her for precisely such dire occasions. Grabbing a soupspoon, she dug into it with a vengeance. She was consumed with anger and, even more so, with disgust. Yet, somehow, the icy tingles at the back of her throat, combined with the sugary taste melting in her mouth, momentarily took her mind off her emotional distress. She was simultaneously punishing and rewarding herself. She hated herself but blamed him more. What is a binge on chocolate vanilla swirl if not the perfect blend of opposites? Immediately afterwards, Karen knew what she had to do to expiate this moment of guilty pleasure. She went into the bathroom, leaned over the toilet, stuck her index finger deep into her throat and made repeated efforts to gag. Nothing came out at first, but she was eventually rewarded for her persistence by a little cascade of sour-sweet liquid that she quickly flushed away.

  She then lay down on the sofa and stared blankly at the ceiling. How I loved him! she lamented. And now it’s all over. I’m stuck in an impossible situation. I can’t forgive him but I can’t forget him either. He’s probably in her arms right now. Although she had never met Lisa, Karen had a graphic mental picture of Michael having sex with a big-breasted woman. Even if we tried to get back together, it would be impossible to trust him again, she tried to convince herself that she made the right decision. At the same time, the thought of a permanent separation was unbearably painful to her. In spite of what her fiancé had done, Karen loved Michael even more now that she had lost him for good. She needed to talk to someone about this. In the absence of any close friends, she decided to call her older sister, Maggie, who was indifferently married to a plumber with whom she had two kids plus one on the way. Generally speaking, Karen preferred to avoid discussing personal matters with family members. But this time she felt desperate.

  “Hello?” Maggie answered.

  “Hi, it’s me...”

  “Karen? Is something wrong?” her sister asked her, attempting to sound concerned about her evidently distraught tone, then addressed her eldest daughter, to the side: “Miranda, leave Adam alone!” Karen overheard the six year old voice a few squeaky protests, to which her mother replied, “That’s okay. He can play with your toys. What did I tell you before? You need to share.” After a pause she added, apparently in response to her daughter’s further objections: “So what if you don’t like his toys? The point is that if you did, he’d have to share them with you.” Then, recalling that her sister was still on the phone, she repeated, “Is something wrong?”

  As if on cue, Karen began crying.

  “What’s the matter?” Maggie asked amidst the background noise of feuding children. “Hold on a sec.” She then shouted in an imperious tone: “That’s it! Miranda, go to time out. And don’t you dare adopt that tone with me, young lady!” the mother added after the little girl questioned the fairness of her decision, since whatever she was being blamed for was all her little brother’s fault. Maggie let out a sigh. “Sorry about the interruptions. These kids drive me crazy. I hardly have a minute to myself.”

  Witnessing other people’s problems helped soothe Karen’s nerves. “I broke up with Michael,” she announced more calmly.

  “What? You mean the wedding’s off?”

  “Everything’s off. We’re no longer together.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Karen hesitated for a moment. “Promise not to tell Mom about this?”

  “She’s bound to find out eventually if there’s no wedding anymore,” Maggie pointed out.

  “I know. But I want to tell her myself. If I ever find the strength.” Before meeting Michael, her mother had been predicting for years that she’d end up a lonely old maid.

  “So why did you guys break up?”

  “He cheated on me with one of his students.”

  “Who?”

  “Some slut with big boobs.” Having gotten this bit of information off her own modestly sized chest, Karen regretted sharing her problems with her sister. The last thing she needed now, she belatedly realized, was a show of fake sympathy.

  But Maggie didn’t try to console her. As during a dispute between her children, she wanted to determine the facts first. “Are you sure about that?”

  “One hundred percent. She left a sexually explicit message on his answering machine.”

  “You heard it with your own ears?” Maggie persisted, intrigued.

  Karen recalled Lisa’s chipper tone and suggestive language. “Yes,” she confirmed. But she couldn’t bring herself to give her sister any of the sordid details that the latter, waiting in silence, seemed to expect. She felt humiliated enough as it was.

  “I’m sorry ... ” Maggie finally said. “Listen to me. I’ve been married for eight years. I know how men work. These little trysts don’t mean nothing to them.”

  “They sure mean a lot to me!”

  “Probably John’s been no saint either,” Maggie said, referring to her own husband.

  “You mean he cheated on you?”

  “Who knows? He’s a plumber. He goes from house to house all day long. I’m not there to monitor him. Most of the time, it’s the women who wait for him at home. But as long as he puts our family first, I don’t give a hoot about the rest.”

  “How can you not care if your own husband sleeps around?” Karen asked, surprised by her sister’s permissive attitude.

  “Because he draws a line between me and the other women. Those floosies are disposable to him, like Kleenex tissue. When it comes right down to it, it’s me and the kids he loves and supports.”

  Karen attempted to process this information. “Do you have a lover?” she reached the only possible conclusion that made any sense to her.

  Maggie laughed out loud. “Don’t I wish! I hardly have time to brush my teeth, let alone tend to other body parts. Why? Do you have somebody in mind for me?”

  “How can you joke about something like this?” Karen objected. Her sister’s inexplicable tolerance got on her nerves. “I don’t see things the way you do. I could never forgive Michael.”

  “It’s up to you. But mark my words: no man’s a saint. The best you can hope for is someone who takes good care of you and treats you with respect.”

  “How does a man treat you with respect when he’s cheating on you?” Karen countered.

  “Bah! A little fun on the side don’t mean nothing. Plus, now that you left him, he’s probably learned his lesson.”

  Though still intolerant of her sister’s first argument, Karen was open to the second. “So you think he won’t cheat on me again?” she asked her sister, in need of reassurance.

  Maggie obliged. “Well, if I were him, I’d think twice before messing around next time. I mean, losing a good, decent woman—my future wife no less—over some floozy!”

  “Yes, but would you forgive him? This isn’t the first time he’s done it, you know. It’s the second time I caught him.”

  “As they say, boys will be boys. If I were you, I’d give up all those romantic ideals floating in your head.”

  Softened by the moment of rare complicity with her sister, Karen felt like she had just been slapped in the face. She recalled why she generally avoided confiding in Maggie, or any other family member, for that matter. “I don’t think that expecting mutual fidelity between future husband and wife constitutes immaturity.”

  “Maybe not,” her sister conceded. “But life will teach you that nobody’s perfect. If you love Michael half as much as you say you do, you should find it in your heart to forgive
him.”

  “Give me a break! How much did he love me when he was in the arms of another woman?” Karen exploded. “Besides, I already forgave him once. And this is the thanks I got.”

  “Well, you could give him just one last chance,” Maggie proposed a reasonable compromise. “If he screws up again, he’s out. Like in baseball. Three strikes and you’re out.”

  Karen contemplated her sister’s advice. Although she rejected the truisms validating philandering, she wanted to believe that Michael was worth a final chance. After all, no matter how much he had hurt her, surely he still loved her. And maybe Maggie was right. Maybe this time Michael had finally learned his lesson. Seen that she meant business. Understood that she wouldn’t put up with the kind of mistreatment that some women, including her own sister, were apparently all too willing to tolerate from their men. She had higher standards. But she also had a strong spirit of generosity and forgiveness. In fact, if she took him back this time, Michael would be so touched by her magnanimity that he couldn’t bear to hurt her again. “Yes, I can forgive him,” Karen declared, speaking more to herself than to her sister. “We could start over from a blank slate, as if nothing happened. Otherwise it wouldn’t be real forgiveness, now would it?”