"I love that dress on you," he said, deciding to play the game. He wanted her to know that he was looking. Ogling. "The color goes perfectly with your hair."
"Thank you."
More than that, it was unique. Not a generic number found on a rack at the local department mall. It also shows off your tight body and perfect tits.
"Is it silk?" he asked.
"It is. I got it in Italy last time I was there."
Italy. The word conjured an image of Elisabeth charging armfuls of designer outfits without regard. Allen didn't know her situation, but suspected she was financially liberated. If not, he didn't much care. The conjured image was sexy. And fairly close to the truth, judging from these posh surroundings.
He took his drink, shaking away the forward desires. Why was he afraid to make a move? He didn't lack for confidence, but suddenly he was eleven years old again. Standing on the playground at St. Anna’s School, fixating on the perfectly round and juicy bubble that belonged to Sarah Spradling.
Sometimes he walked right behind her just to get a look at it peaking out from beneath her schoolgirl skirt. He loved to look at her. And that was all he did. Because he'd been too timid to try anything more.
As much as he craved it, the thought of making a move on Elisabeth was enough to provoke heart palpitations and cause a tingling sensation in his fingers.
They chatted and drank. Elisabeth confessed to being a fashion addict, detailing her favorite places around the globe to shop.
"You've been to all those places?"
"Of course. There was a time in my life when I decided I was going to see the world. All of it. Been a long time since I've been back...to any of them. But I have been all over."
"And you live here? In Greifsfield?"
"So?"
"I don’t know. It seems so...plain? Especially when you start talking about all of the other places you’ve lived."
"I like Greifsfield because of its tranquility."
"But it's a tourist spot."
"And Rome is not? Besides, the tourists don't bother me." A smile. "I keep to myself and spend most of my time out here with nature. It inspires me and my work. When the creative spark inside me dims, I shall take the hint and move along once more. But for now I am content."
"You’ve only lived here for seven months?"
"I tend to get bored quite easily. That, and I see this place changing for the worse."
"The resort?"
"The resort among other things."
"Kind of makes you yearn for a nice little villa in the Mediterranean, huh? Malta, maybe?"
Her eyes, typically narrow and seductive, bulged with the kind of excitement he had not yet seen in her. "Malta is among my favorite places to live."
"And how can you prefer this place to Malta?"
"Have you ever traveled?"
"I've been to Canada twice."
She laughed. "You only think that way because you haven't seen the world. There are many beautiful places to see, sure. But then you see them, and you quickly realize that they, like Greifsfield, have their faults. There is no one place that equals paradise."
"Yeah, but man, I'd love to just get away from all this sometimes."
"Get away from what? This country?"
"Well, school. Then work."
"Won't you do those things when you 'get away'?"
"I suppose I'll have to. Gotta make a living."
"And after you've gone and relocated somewhere, do you not see yourself tiring of that 'escape'? Pretty soon, you'll find yourself craving a way out of whatever job you've taken. You'll become desperate to escape whatever debt you incur. You might even start to miss your home here."
"That is obviously experience talking." Allen sipped the special batch of wine. He decided it was as odd and exotic as she, and the taste was beginning to wear him down as much as the game. The back-ended bitter tang lingered in his mouth, on his tongue and in his throat.
Elisabeth finished her glass as if it were water. "Partly experience, yes. Another part, though, comes from seeing it happen to others. It's always the same. People tend to focus on some far off land or new opportunity. They insist it's the answer to their problems."
"I'm not necessarily saying I want to leave my country, but I can't help but wonder what it would be like to live elsewhere for a while."
"Maybe you'll find out. You've got your whole life."
"I suppose."
"Do you want another glass?"
I don’t think I can handle another one.
"Sure," he said.
Her warm hand slid into his. "Then come."
The kitchen resembled a sterile room from a futuristic movie. Elisabeth refilled both glasses from a large carafe and then led him down a long hallway to the opposite end of the house.
Are we going to the bedroom?
His heart fluttered and his mind danced ahead of his body, projecting images of them, sweaty and naked, entwined in each other's arms.
The last room on the right wasn't a bedroom. Elisabeth flung the billowy curtain aside and stepped through the doorway.
It was dark, save for flickering candles spread across the various furnishings. The room smelt of lilac and pine and came equipped with old, handcrafted furniture—the exact opposite of every other room. In the corner stood an easel, its canvas blank save for a very rough sketch of what looked like a tree line.
"This is your sanctuary?"
"It's where I come to get away from everything else. Reminds me of home."
"You are home, I thought."
"This reminds me of when I was a girl, back in Iasi." Her tongue shifted into a foreign accent for the pronunciation of her hometown.
"Where's that?"
"Romania."
"You were born there?"
"I was."
"Why'd you leave?"
Elisabeth paused. She looked uncertain. It was oddly refreshing to see her searching for an answer. "To pursue my art."
Allen examined the room's every detail with more interest now, as if something in here might provide a clue to the enigmatic woman before him. It was strange to think of her growing up in what might've been poverty, but it made sense that she'd want to keep some semblance of her home intact. Even if it was just a little piece tucked into one corner of her home.
Nostalgia was a very human trait.
Her paintings littered the room. They ranged from the abstract to renaissance and most failed to garner his attention, until he came to the one hanging above the couch. It depicted several nude women impaled on pikes, stabbed between their legs, the pointed tips ripping through their gaped mouths or throats. Blood poured down their lengths.
Jack had shown him a movie once depicting a similar scenario, though he couldn’t remember the title.
"My favorite piece," Elisabeth said, probably noticing his lingering fascination with the image.
"Why is that?"
"Reminds me of how brutal and unforgiving this world is."
"That's grim."
"That's the world."
"Wow, Elisabeth."
"You disagree?"
"Not necessarily. I mean, I guess I don’t dwell on it. You can bum yourself out thinking about everything that’s wrong with the world."
"I choose to dwell...on occasion. Helps me keep my perspective."
Allen turned toward the picture again. "Is this part of your perspective?"
"A result of the Spanish Inquisition," her voice abandoned its sultry resonance. "These women were accused of being Satanists. The method depicted shows a crusader’s means of cleansing a village of the devil's brides."
"Seems like an overreaction."
"The luxury of hindsight, yes? Many did not believe there was legitimacy in their work even then. They saw it as an opportunity to make some money in plague-ridden times. The road they traveled was long and the pleasures of the flesh were too much to deny. That's what it was really about. Have their fun and then sentence them to die."
"The stuff they leave out of history books."
"They leave everything out."
"I bet."
She sat on the fresh-made mattress tucked against the wall, folded her legs and took a sip of wine.
Allen studied the painting longer, transfixed by the image, and was appalled that it had been born from historical accuracy. He felt Elisabeth's blues on him, his fascination with the picture fascinating her.
She refused to break eye contact when he turned.
Allen took a seat and slid up beside her. Moon glow beamed through the skylight above, casting Elisabeth in an ethereal glow.
"This house, this room especially," he glanced up at the open skylight, "is perfect."
"It is," she said. "You would not think places like this still exist in an overpopulated world. Makes me wonder how long it will last. Not hard to imagine endless apartment blocks littering this place one day."
"You pessimist." Allen smirked. She hadn't spewed this much negativity in the last two weeks combined. The conversation with Lucy must've amped her up. He should've known they wouldn't get along.
"Am I so awful?"
"Of course not! But I doubt you have to worry about Greifsfield selling out. Its industry is tourism. It would take some persuasion, and a pretty penny, to lie down for Big Business. Livelihoods would be ruined across the board."
"I worry about that pretty penny, though. All it takes is one person with enough money. You can see it happening now. The resort you are staying at, for example. What would you assume was on that land prior to that abomination?"
"Forest?"
"Correct."
"Does that mean Greifsfield's days are numbered?"
"I would be willing to bet. Someone will want to put a McDonalds here sooner or later."
"Probably won't happen in your lifetime. And that's not much of a consolation I bet, but we're here right now. No sense in worrying about it."
"If everyone thought like that, nobody would stand up against anything."
"Greifsfield's okay for now. That's all I’m saying."
Her lips parted. Something on the verge of escaping them. She reconsidered, offering a simple laugh instead. "You are kind to indulge my tirade."
"I love it. When you're passionate about nothing you're not truly alive." Allen wondered if he believed that.
"Artistic individuals are tenacious in our beliefs," she said after a long sip of wine. "Certain things enrage us all..."
"I have a cousin who moved to Greenwich Village in New York City. He works at a Barnes & Noble to pay the rent and he's virtually broke."
"He should not live in Greenwich Village, then."
"This is true," Allen laughed. "But he's an artist. And by that, I mean he's incredibly thick-headed. Real stubborn-like, ya know?"
"Of course."
"So my cousin, Donnie, he spends his weekends and most of the week playing guitar...those coffeehouse gigs. But he's so determined to make it as a singer/songwriter he can't be reasoned with. Doesn't want anything else out of life, either. Just wants to keep trying until he makes it. He'd be the first to agree with your sentiments about McDonalds and Wal-Mart."
"Well then...where did you say your cousin lived, and does he look like you?”
"He's gay."
"We'll see."
They both laughed. It was the second time tonight he'd heard that sound and it was fantastic. He was eager to hear it again and again, and he pictured her laughing at all the witty observations he'd probably never actually make. That didn't matter right now, because Elisabeth was warming to him. That or she was drunk off her home brew.
"It is the nature of the beast," she said.
"What is?"
"Your cousin. People like him. Artistry, of any kind, is never a lucrative vocation, save for a chosen few. But I have met many in my life who are content with their existence. More so outside of the United States, I suppose. Things are too materialistic here. We assume that the more money one has, the happier they must be. That sentiment is true in other corners of the world as well, but it's not as predominant. When I lived in Italy, I knew many artists. Material possession was the furthest thing from their desires. We didn't spend evenings cruising around the city in a sports car."
"Like a Spyder-Eclipse?"
"Hypocrisy is another human characteristic, wouldn't you agree? But anyway, it wasn't about dinner at the most exclusive restaurant. We spent the evenings congregating. Dinner at the local pub with pitchers of beer and bottles of wine."
Her hypocrisy was off the charts. She was a woman who gallivanted around town in the hottest new car and spent most of her evenings in a post-modern castle. Nor was she starving. Saying she'd done okay didn't begin to cut it.
"That's how I pictured you to live," he said. "When you told me that you were an artist, I had you pegged for someone who lived off the land. Or at least in a one-story, one bedroom. But you've practically got your own street."
Elisabeth sat silent. Her eyes narrowed. Even by candlelight, they were intoxicating. Beautiful ocean-blue, as wild and unpredictable as the waves in a raging storm.
He found his buzz at the bottom of the wine glass. When finished, he put it on the floor beside them. Suddenly, this felt right. The insecure schoolyard boy disappeared as he moved in for a kiss. Before closing his eyes, he saw Elisabeth moving forward to meet him.
Their lips met. He pressed against them and she reciprocated, their mouths pushed against one another with tiny smacks. Her tongue rimmed his bottom lip, leaving tiny wet trails that tasted like full-bodied red wine.
Allen licked her bottom lip before pressing on. She exhaled slowly as his tongue probed her mouth. She tasted like wild berries.
Their tongues paraded around each other like two curious animals. She caught his between her teeth with gentle force, backing off it with a slow suck. Allen pulled away for a momentary grab of breath. Then he was back on her, licking and sucking with ferocity. His hand caressed her shoulders in mounting passion.
This was every bit as sensual as he'd imagined. Elisabeth's flesh was pillow soft and her sexuality, the way she moved against him, was so raw that he wasn't sure he'd be able to match her once their clothes came off.
Which should be any minute now…
Slow fingers traced the outline of her round breasts and faint moans sounded at his touch. She arched her back and pushed her full chest against his hand.
Testing the waters.
She breathed approval into his ear with a sticky hot exhale.
And his caress became a grope. His hand worked one breast, then the other. Elisabeth's kisses strengthened and she leaned against his chest without regard for his explorer's hand caught between their bodies.
His pants throbbed and begged for release. Her hand brushed the top of his bulge, and Allen was disappointed that it didn't last longer.
Through mashed teeth he whispered, "I want you so fucking bad."
Elisabeth broke away but stayed nose to nose. She licked his mouth like an animal, snarling as she did it. "I want you too, but now is not the right time."
"Feels right to me." He tried kissing her again.
She rejected his advance with a turn of her cheek. "It's not," she said with finality.
You cunt! It was Allen's first thought. Wasn't bad enough she'd treated his friends like lepers, but now he was leaving with the bluest balls of all time?
"So the night's over?" He said, trying not to sound aggravated.
"Didn't you want to get an early start tomorrow?"
Allen suppressed a sigh. "Absolutely." Tomorrow they were going to one of her favorite spots in the forest so he could watch her paint. The interminable things guys did for a chance with the opposite sex.
"Good. Why don't you take my car back with you tonight? You can pick me up in the morning."
"I could always stay here. Might be faster."
She brushed her fingers against his cheek and smiled. "You're cute."
&nb
sp; Worth a shot.
When Allen wasn't with her, he obsessed over her. Even borrowed Jack's car (unbeknownst to him) for a quick ride past her place when he hadn't heard from her all day. A total stalker thing, but he couldn't resist.
Allen followed his goddess back into the kitchen, hoping his throbbing erection would subside before she noticed it remained alive and well.
He loved the way her ass looked in that dress, how it clung to her shape and teased him with every sway. He drank the image up as they walked.
Elisabeth grabbed her keys off the barren countertop and underhanded them to Allen. "Seven AM, right?"
"I was hoping to avoid seven AM until September."
"I prefer the nights as well. But this piece requires daylight, and I like the way the morning sun hits the lake."
"That means the most I can get is eight hours of sleep...if I leave now."
"Better hurry then," she said. "Unless you weren’t serious about seeing my craft." Her voice was suddenly cold.
He kissed her goodnight.
The drive back to the Big East was excruciating. Just fifteen minutes ago, he was sure this was the night. That body, writhing under his, and then writhing on top of his, and all the combinations in between. He couldn't feel more defeated than he did now. So far, this relationship had been less than lucrative.
The Big East was lit up like an exaggerated ski lodge. It peeked out between several rows of pine trees as the road wound right to it. He pulled up to the guard gate and flashed his room badge. The partition separated and allowed him to drive through. He took a parking spot at the edge of the lot, isolated from most other cars. Didn't trust other drivers and wouldn't be responsible for denting this joy ride.
The trek back to the cabana made the night feel even longer. Elisabeth had awakened specific urges that required attention. That tight black dress flashed in his mind as he hurried his pace.
Allen was relieved to discover an empty room upon his arrival. He poured a glass of water to alleviate the inevitable dry mouth symptoms spurred by the wine. He carried the glass into his bedroom, killed the lights, cranked the air conditioner, stripped off his clothes and climbed beneath the sheets.
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