by Ava Zavora
Is this too rapid-fire? Am I not giving you a chance to get a word in edgewise?
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From: Adam -
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 3:55 PM
To: Eden E
No, I'm just enamoured by the general niceness of your tone with me since our discussion.
No, no, if alone and it's hot I am fine being without vest.
Do you ever sit around in your underwear/naked? I imagine it's different having a child in the house.
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From: Eden E
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:00 PM
To: Adam -
Lucky for you, I took my medication and now I'm even-keeled again.
When I'm alone in the summertime, I wear knickers and a cotton and lace chemise that comes down to just below my derriere.
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From: Adam -
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:03 PM
To: Eden E
You said knickers on purpose, I presume?
That does sound nice.
Thank the Lord for your pill happy nation.
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From: Eden E
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:08 PM
To: Adam -
Yes. That's such a sexy word. Can you say it to me over the phone later?
I had my prescription refilled on the way back from our discussion. Shame on me, I'd been lax the past few days. My psychiatrist warned me that psychotic episodes might occur if I didn't keep up on my meds.
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From: Adam -
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:11 PM
To: Eden E
I hope you are being sarcastic? It's a dreadful word.
What is your prescription? I may slip a few extra ones in your hippy herbal tea from time to time.
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From: Eden E
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:19 PM
To: Adam -
You are so new that everything you say sounds ... mmm ... enamouring. To quote you. Even when you're being stern with me.
Are you very sleepy? Maybe you should take a nap?
I think all I needed was a dose of you.
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From: Adam -
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:26 PM
To: Eden E
I'm OK for now, and I've made it thus far it would be senseless to sleep now when you're relatively close to being home.
You're on a roll with this sweet talk and niceness, darling.
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From: Eden E
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:29 PM
To: Adam -
Okay leaving!!! Cross your fingers.
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From: Adam -
Date: Thu, Aug 9, at 4:34 PM
To: Eden E
crossed x
“I want to go on a date,” Eden declared. She was sitting on the stairs, where the reception was clearest. The house was dim, but not dark, with the late afternoon light spilling through the windows. It was hot so she had stripped down to a thin cotton slip edged with lace before accepting Adam’s call.
He chuckled.
“I don’t care what you say. We have to be civilized and have a date. Let's pretend you and I met face to face first. We got to talking and you ask me out. Against my better judgment, I accept. So that weekend you come to pick me up. How would it go?”
She looked at herself in the hall mirror, imagining getting ready for a night out with Adam, primping, laying out a dress, earrings, a pair of shoes. Styling her hair and making herself up.
He was quiet.
“You’d have taken your second shower and smelling of Armani Code,” she prompted. “You’d be wearing … ?
“A black suit, black tie, black shirt," he continued. “Silver cufflinks. My shoes would be black and polished to a shine. When you open the door, you faint from sheer pleasure at the sight of me.”
"Or I'd faint from you being so full of yourself," she countered. "Where would you take me?"
"To a restaurant where the owner knew me. Nothing fancy but with great food. Small, intimate. I'd ask them to prepare a special menu for us and play music that I picked ahead of time."
"Okay," she interrupted. "I have a problem with that."
"Of course you do."
"Why are you ordering for me? Why can't I choose what I want to eat?"
"I would take into consideration what I think you would like and have it made especially for you. I want to make the whole night extraordinary, no detail left to chance. It's not because I think you're incapable of ordering for yourself. Although I would have to end the date if you choose to order Pinot Grigio. I cannot be part of such a travesty."
"That's the only wine I will drink from now on. And I don't even drink, really."
Adam made a disgusted sound.
"And you wonder why I order your food for you. Pinot Grigio is not wine - it's alcoholic water." He said "water" in such an arrogantly sexy voice that Eden had to smile. "You don't like to drink because you've never tasted real wine. We'll change all that. I’ll find you something that’s not for the mentally impaired."
"Let's say I go along with your patriarchal, horribly sexist agenda - for now," Eden continued.
"Because you're unable to resist my charms."
"Where would we sit? I assume near an exit," she half-teased. He didn't like attention. She imagined going to shadowy places where he felt comfortable being himself. Almost at ease, yet still on guard, ready to escape at a moment's notice?
He paused. "Well, somewhere secluded, in the back most likely. Where there aren't too many people."
"I prefer the front, by the window, so we can watch people going by."
"Sitting by the window makes me uncomfortable."
There was a small silence. He didn't explain. It was on the tip of her tongue to seriously ask him if he was in hiding, and that’s why he won’t show her a photo.
"What kind of music would you pick then?"
"Frank of course."
Eden smiled. "Of course. When did this obsession with Frank Sinatra start?"
“When I was 13 or so.”
“Let me guess, about the same time you started wearing suits?”
“Yes, about the same time.”
Everything about him was unexpected, but fitting somehow. For someone who acted as if he didn’t care what anyone thought, wearing suits and listening to Frank Sinatra as a teenager showed individuality, someone who listened to no one else’s voice but his own. Sinatra’s mystique and ties to the mob probably struck a chord as well.
“I like hip-hop, rap, classical, and all other kinds of music, but Frank – Frank is timeless. I've got you under my skin," he sang unexpectedly.
Eden giggled at this sudden lighthearted moment, so unlike the tough exterior he projected. She waited for him to continue but he fell silent, as though he had surprised himself by singing out loud.
"Go on," she urged, "I like it."
"No you don't. I've got a horrible singing voice."
"I do like it, please. Please. Sing some more."
"You want me to sing?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yes!" He had seemed so carefree, as if he hadn't any burdens. "It takes so little to make me happy - just sing."
"Okay," he said, doubtful. Then in a whisper more to himself, "I can't believe I'm doing this."
He started singing “I’ve Got You under My Skin,” laughing as he did so. He wasn’t bad, but definitely not a singer. Yet, Eden was entranced. It was like hearing him laugh out loud when he told her he rarely did – an unexpected treat.
When he finished, sh
e begged him for another one. Then another.
“Did Eden find a new toy?” he asked, but still complied, doing his best to stay in tune for her. She couldn’t get enough. With that deep, sexy voice, she could listen to him all night long.
“Sing Beyond the Sea next!” she begged. “Please! It’s one of my favorites.”
“But I don’t know the words to that one.”
“Then Google it, silly.”
“Alright, let me get my iPad.” He was quiet for a minute as he looked. “For some reason only La Mer is coming up.”
“Then sing La Mer. Can you understand it?”
“Yes, but,” he murmured, as he seemed to be scrolling through the lyrics, “It doesn’t really correspond with the English version. It doesn’t make sense.”
Eden perked up. “You understand French?”
“Yes.”
“Read it to me,” she commanded, breathless.
“La mer a bercé mon coeur pour la vie … “
As he half-recited, half-sung the lyrics, Eden felt herself melting, getting weaker with each word. She saw her face in the mirror. Her mouth was open, her eyes glazed. She could feel heat spreading throughout her body. “Oh my god,” she mouthed to her stupefied reflection.
If he sounded hot in English, Adam was devastating in French. Quite possibly, if he had asked her then and there to drop her panties, in that voice, she would have done so without hesitation.
“Eden.”
“Whaa?” she said, “Huh?”
“I asked if you had any more requests.”
“Uh, no,” she stammered, trying to break through the trance caused by his hypnotic voice. “So you speak French fluently.”
“Yes, but with a Swiss accent.” He chuckled.
“I can’t tell. You … learn languages easily? How about Italian?”
“Yes.” His tone was casual. “I speak the Sicilian dialect of Italian fluently, which is quite different to the Italian of the mainland, which in turn differs, but less so, region to region. Would you like me to find Il Mare and sing it for you?”
“No!” Eden said quickly. “That’s, that’s okay.” Italian was even more dangerous. Italian could send her stumbling and falling down the stairs. “Why do you speak French with a Swiss accent?”
“My Uncle taught me. The one I told you about. He’s Swiss.” His voice became more respectful.
“You look up to him,” she remarked. “You trust him above everyone else?”
“No,” he clarified. “I trust myself above everyone else.” He seemed so remote then that Eden felt sad. As though no matter how hard she tried, she would never reach him. “I trust him second.”
“Does he know the most about you? Everything in your life?”
“Not everything. No one knows that but me. But yes, he knows the most.”
“Friends? Girlfriends?”
“Everybody knows part of the whole but no one knows everything. Girlfriends think they know everything.”
“But really, they only know what you want them to know,” she concluded. He seemed to be warning her not to presume anything.
“I’ve learned not to trust anyone completely.”
He’d been betrayed, many times it sounded like. She pondered what would make him reach out to her then.
“This is probably the only way we could have met, isn’t it?” she asked softly.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t like people prying into your business, your secrets. So you keep people at a distance, even girlfriends. And I’m as distant as could be.”
“That’s not why,” he protested. His lightheartedness was gone, as if it had never been. She wanted to bring it back, that almost carefree air when he was singing for her.
“Tell me about where you grew up,” she said, ravenous for every little detail she could get about him.
He started telling her about Liverpool, patiently answering her never-ending stream of questions. After repeated requests, he reluctantly demonstrated a Liverpudlian accent, which prompted her to ask in disbelief, "Are you sure that's English?"
"Well, Edie, it's late," he said, businesslike, "And I've got a meeting in five hours."
Eden's throat suddenly closed up. It was the end of twilight, the beginning of night for her and a very early morning for him. She was quiet, reminded of how far away he really was.
"What's wrong?"
In a small voice, she said, "But I don't want you to go."
She must have surprised him because it took him awhile to reply. "I don't want to go either."
The silence sat between them. A melancholy longing filled up the darkened room she was in. She was missing him, right at that moment, and the ache was sharp. With anyone else she would have hidden how she felt, but with Adam, she didn't care.
"Soon," she said, "It will be unbearable."
"Yes," he agreed softly, "But we must bear it."
He waited for her to say good-bye, to let him go, but she couldn't say it. She knew he needed sleep, but selfishly, she wanted to hang on.
"Oh, Edie," he sighed.
Still she didn't say anything.
"I'll send you mail to wake up to, I promise."
"We'll talk tomorrow."
"I'll sing La Mer next time."
"Please."
"You know I can't go unless you say good-bye."
"Let me sleep so I can dream of your thick, hairy thighs."
A laugh escaped Eden.
"Oh, good," he said, relieved, "Go, Edie, go, while you're still laughing."
"Alright," she conceded. "Good morning, Adam."
"Good night, Edie."
Chapter 10
Subject: Saturday
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From: Adam -
Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 6:36 AM
To: Eden E
Good morning, sexy.
How are you today? I imagine you woke up late. Lazy.
Where is my breakfast?
I've been up since 7AM, being busy and working. Are you familiar with the concept?
Miss you.
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From: Eden E
Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 7:22 AM
To: Adam -
Good afternoon, dear Adam!
I was just thinking how I was going to miss mail from you this morning and shocked at how I've gotten used to them so fast. And there you were.
I had a dream about you last night. How could I dream about you when I don't even know what you look like you ask? I too wonder the same thing. But it was definitely your voice, and your face was blurry. We were outside. I was rolling up spinach leaves and eating them raw. You, being you, said something lewd. I laughed in my dream and almost choked on my spinach. I hope you know how to do the Heimlich maneuver.
The world would be lucky to get a shower out of me today. I'm bitter because my class was cancelled and now I suppose I will spend the day in bed reading.
Breakfast coming right up. Espresso with a pack of Camels. Would you like the hollandaise sauce on the side?
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From: Adam -
Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 7:37 AM
To: Eden E
Good afternoon, darling
Well I had the same thought, so I left my meeting to come out and write to you. See, nice guy.
Haha, even your dreams are left wing. My comment wouldn't have been lewd, it would have been critical of your raw spinach eating.
Don't be too bitter, it means we'll have more contact at least.
I do know how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre.
I like the idea of you being dirty.
May I have you on the side?
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From: Eden E
Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 7:50 AM
To: Adam -
I'm happy
you did.
I want you here. Next to me. Even if you are critical or lewd.
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From: Adam -
Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 8:00 AM
To: Eden E
I'd like to be there. Engulfed in you.
What are you wearing?
I'm dressed to the nines today, a standard for when I'm working.
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From: Eden E
Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 8:08 AM
To: Adam -
You wouldn't mind if I was smelly and unwashed?
My usual lazy getup. You know. Blue cotton slip, trimmed with dark gray lace.