by Mel Bossa
“No.”
Nathan’s expression was somewhere in between befuddled and suspicious. “Strange.”
Some of the world’s most precious treasures have turned to dust at the slightest touch. Sometimes, the past is better left undisturbed.
“So he’s a cop, huh?”
I nodded and headed for the washroom, but Nathan slipped his fingers around my wrist. “He straight?” His fierce gaze punctured my confidence.
“He’s married, Nate, I told you—”
“Well, that means squat.”
“Trust me,” I returned, freeing myself from his clutch. “There isn’t a queer thing about Boone Lund.”
I ran the shower as hot as I could take it and stood under the water with my eyes closed.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Nathan’s voice pulled me out of my reverie.
I should learn to lock the door.
“No,” I lied.
He slid the glass shower door open and stepped into the marble stall.
In some countries, our shower is a hotel.
I turned around.
There it was. His big throbbing morning salute.
His mouth tasted like Scope and newspaper ink. He kissed me on the lips, and then moved down to my neck. He nibbled on my left earlobe for approximately twenty seconds, in which time I heard him panting over the pulsing sound of the water. “Derek, turn around.”
My eyes darted down to his erection. My buttocks instantly cramped up.
No way. Not today. Nah-huh.
His tongue worked at my sealed lips. “Baby, it’s been so long, I wanna feel you from the inside. I wanna fuck you, Derek. Turn around, come on—”
When Nate begins to talk dirty, I have a tendency to look around for the cameraman.
“No,” I carefully returned, retracting to the corner.
“No? Why?” He moved in closer, and his fingers began to crawl down my stomach. I was about as hard as a steamed zucchini. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he circled his fingers around the obvious problem. “Did you just jerk off?”
I had been in the shower for less than twenty seconds before he came in. I’ve been known to provide myself with phenomenally quick self-gratification, but twenty seconds, that, I’ve never accomplished. “Just tired.”
“Tired?” His fingers grazed my flaccid cock. “Sure?” His voice was thick with need. “I bet I can change your mind before the hot water runs out.”
Maybe.
“Come here.” His hands were hard pressed on my skin. His eyes, veiled with desire. “Blow me, come on, Der.”
I’m the catcher in this relationship. I understand the limitation of this position. I read the fine print when I signed up for it, but lately, I’ve been feeling more and more like a boy blow-up doll.
“Nate—”
“Come on, baby. Look at me, two minutes and I’ll come like—”
“Nathan. No.” I freed myself from his embrace. “I’m not feeling it. Okay?”
His eyes hardened as he yanked my hand down. “At least gimme a hand job—”
I snatched my hand away and shot him a murderous look.
He brusquely reached for the dial and turned the water off. “What the fuck is wrong with you Derek? You’re acting like a wife, you know that? Like I’m supposed to beg for sex? You know how hard I work for you? The shit I put myself through to satisfy your every little selfish need—”
“Na-Nathan, do-do not go there—”
“Yes-yes I will-will,” he mocked.
That line? No, don’t mind it. Go ahead and cross it.
It’s just a little thing called respect.
My mouth popped open, but nothing but a gasp came out. I bolted out of the stall, jerked a towel off the shelf, and slammed the bedroom door behind me. Those years of repressing anything remotely close to an emotional outburst had to serve some kind of purpose. I bit down hard on my lip and clasped my unsteady hands together.
“Der, I’m sorry.” Nathan stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist.
The man is absolutely breathtaking. Sexy mouth. Penetrating eyes. Thick dark hair. Not to mention, well hung. But the very idea of sucking him off makes me gag sometimes.
And I’m marrying him?
“I don’t know why you bring the worst out in me.” Nathan drew in a deep breath, and I watched his chest heave up and down. He’s a bit too hairy for my taste, but I don’t mind as much as I thought I would. “Derek, look, I don’t know how to say this without hurting you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and I braced myself for a confession. “Baby, I think you’re frigid. You know, I’ve been reading up on HSDD and I think you may suffer from this disorder.”
I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Dear Lord, what are you talking about?”
“Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder. It’s fairly rare, but it does occur in some young men, and you have most of the symptoms.”
“Please, I’m dying to know what they are.” My tone was charged with potent sarcasm.
Of course, self-centered people are immune to it.
“For instance, intimacy difficulty, relationship problems, you know, things of that nature.” He cleared his throat. “Lack of sexual appetite is another.”
I chuckled instead of punching him in the nose.
“Don’t laugh, Derek, this is serious stuff.”
I groaned and rubbed my face. “I’m going for a drive.” I sat up and shook my head. “I’m going to stop at the S.A.Q., need anything?” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him folding his arms over his bare chest, shaking his head in utmost disapproval. I ignored him.
Of course he wasn’t satisfied. “I think you should see someone.”
I flinched but kept my cool.
I slowly unfastened the towel around my waist and let it drop to the floor. Naked, I took my sweet time walking to the closet, making sure I was giving him an eyeful of my finest assets. If he was going to try to psychobabble me into sex, then I had every right to torment him.
His stare was hot on my skin. I could feel it roaming over my body. “You’re cold, Der. Real cold. I’d even say you’re a bit of a cocktease.” The hurt in his voice caused my brow to scowl, but I remained immobile, as supple as I could, staring at the contents of our closet.
“Okay,” he said, walking away. “You win. I can’t fight your silence. I can’t get past the walls you’ve built around you.”
I stiffened, holding in my breath and indignation.
I’m cold?
Nathan took a call last night. One that dragged him out of bed, to the terrace, where he stayed for over ten minutes.
I checked his phone this morning, just before he opened his lying eyes.
I dialed the last number. Some guy answered with sleep lingering in his young, crystalline voice.
You know who he sounded like?
Sounded like that bloody bellboy.
*
Dear Bump,
Just finished breakfast. Except it’s the afternoon.
I went to sleep on Tuesday. Today is Thursday. When I woke up, my eyes were stuck together. Like clams. Aunt Frannie smiled. “Welcome back, baby.”
She made me some banana pancakes. I ate five. But they were small.
“How you feelin’, hon?”
I dragged my spoon across the bottom of my plate to catch all the leftover syrup. “Okay.” I shrugged.
Aunt Frannie frowned. “Yeah?” She was putting the dry dishes away. “Sure? It’s okay if you don’t.”
The syrup wasn’t the good kind. More like water with sugar. I enjoyed it anyway.
“I mean, hon, you can tell me if you feel bad about things. Do you wanna go see your mom? See if she feels better today?”
If you let it sit in your mouth for a few seconds, it starts tasting a little like maple.
“Derek. Say something.”
I glanced up.
Aunt Frannie’s eyes were steady on my face. “You need to start talking a
bout your feelings more. Doctor says you might have low self-esteem problems.”
Low self-esteem.
Probably why I feel so tired.
She put the last plate away. “Can I ask you something? Is it because of your stuttering? Is that what’s keeping you from saying more than five words? Because if it is, we can see someone about that. A speech therapist.”
I thought for a moment. Could this person, this speech therapist, could he help Nick with his reading and writing?
Nick.
I remembered he was gone.
“Is Nick ba-back?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that all you can think about? I’m asking you something, Derek. I wanna know what I can do to help you with things—with your problems.”
“Is-is he?”
She threw her hands up. “No, hon, he isn’t. Him and the Pinet boy are gone. They haven’t called or anything. Got poor Johan worried out of his mind. Helga too, I suppose, but she’s too proud to show it. Red, you can’t be thinking about that. You got your own things to think about, okay?”
Gone.
With Dave.
Did he go to Vancouver? Where is Vancouver?
“Are you listening to me?”
Could I ride my bike out there in the spring?
“So? What do you wanna do about your stuttering?”
“Dunno.”
She sighed. “Fine.” She faked a smile. “We’ll talk about it some other time. Go get cleaned up.”
I bounced out of my chair.
“Oh and Derek,” I heard her cry out as I ran down the stairs. “Your dad called. He’s coming home. Gonna be here next week.”
*
Dear Bump,
Everything has changed.
Since Kenya said she wouldn’t go to the Valentine’s dance with him, Boone’s been moping around. We don’t even do anything. Just sit around and watch the same old movies over and over. Stare out the window.
Wait for Nick.
“I love her,” he keeps saying. “She’s my soul mate.”
Soul mate?
Sounds like something that doesn’t come cheap.
“I’ll never kiss another girl again.”
Boone needs to see a special doctor, not me.
“Kenya stole my heart.”
It’s because he misses Nick, but won’t say it.
*
As we turned the corner of Crawford Street, I had lost the ability to frame a single coherent thought.
I did not sit, rather, I was perched, staring out the Jeep window, my eyes drinking in Boone’s world—his neighborhood, in deep swills of visual imagery. Two boys zoomed past us, riding their bikes with no handlebars, and I smiled, catching sight of their fleeting youth as they raced against the invisible threats of time.
I was them once. A sweet dream ago.
“Derek. Could you please relax?”
As I oscillated between reality and possibility, Nathan’s voice was a pesky fly at the edge of my ear.
“What number is he?” The Jeep slowed down. “Oh wait, here it is.”
Surges of electrical synapses stirred my brain and nerves.
We were parked in front of Boone’s house.
Nathan turned the engine off and combed his fingers through his thick black hair. He looked smashing in his De La Renta jacket. He smelled like the expensive shelf in the men’s cosmetics aisle. “You have the wine?”
Boone has a house. A lovely house too. With a small yard and a fence. There’s a wicker chair on his porch.
“Der?” Nathan’s hand swept past my eyes. “Hello? Are we going in or what?”
The front door swung open and a girl, some kind of blond fairy, ran down the steps. “Derek!”
Nathan had climbed out and was shaking her hand.
Lene’s voice was the flickering candlelight in a stranger’s window. I sat, with my sweaty hand clasped firmly around the handle, unable to move.
She came round and tapped the window. I dared a glance. She has a mouth full of teeth. She plucked the door open, and laughed. “Come on, I swear I won’t make you look at my panties.” She winked. “Besides, I’m not wearing any.”
I heard myself chuckle.
“Get out here so I can get a better look at you, come on.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me out. Within seconds, her warm, soft hands were on my face.
Our eyes met. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe it.” She turned to Nathan, but her hands never left my face. “Don’t hold this against me,” she said, her voice thick with femininity.
Her mouth found mine.
She moved her velvet lips against mine, and without a thought, or any hesitation, my hand reached up for her neck, and I pressed her curves against my body, deepening our kiss.
At our left, Nathan let out a hard breath, “Hey.” He chuckled, but his laugh was tense. “Okay, now, that’s enough.”
Lene’s mouth fluttered against mine, and regrettably, her lips moved away. She bent her face to my neck and giggled softly, embracing me. “Let’s go inside,” she murmured. “My dad is dying to see you.”
“Your dad?”
She slipped her hand into mine. “Yeah, him and Mom are here. You know us Lunds, everything is a family affair.” We climbed up the stairs, with Nathan a step behind. As she pushed the door open, her indigo eyes peered into my face. “We’ve all wondered about you, Derek. All these years.” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
And with one shy step, I entered another dimension.
The first thing I saw was Kenya’s dark, luminous eyes. “Hello, Derek. Welcome.” She glided toward me. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Her long fingers cupped themselves around mine. “You’ll have to forgive me. Boone says you and I were in the same grade, but I can’t seem to remember you.”
I can hardly remember me either.
“And you must be Nathan. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise. It smells like heaven in here.”
One thing about Nathan, he is smooth.
“Come on,” urged Lene. “Everyone’s in the living room. Come on!”
Nathan laughed, pushing me forward. “You heard the lady, move it.”
I stalled a little. I wanted to take the time to scour the surroundings, to let my eyes roam. There was so much to take in, so many details I wanted to pause on, but I could do that later. “All right,” I whispered.
As we passed over the living room threshold, Boone jumped out of his chair. “My man,” he cheered. “How’s it goin’? Glad you’re here.” He slapped my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. “Lookin’ good. Nice shirt. Don’t you think, Ma? Look at this guy. I mean, shit. Where that skinny geek go?” His blue eyes shifted to Nathan. “Hey, how are you.”
There was a chill in Boone’s voice. I caught it.
Everyone caught it.
Nathan seemed to hesitate, but carefully, he extended his hand. I watched Boone’s bear paw swallow it. Nathan is five feet eleven, yet he was staring at Boone’s chin.
Boone is colossal. Like his father.
Johan rose, followed by Helga. They circled me. Embraced me. Soon, all of us are sitting at each other’s side, drinking Johan’s homemade wine, exchanging news in waves of short sentences that carried the power of our mutual affection.
The room buzzed with excitement. It was intoxicating. Kenya busied herself with the various starters, canapés, and refills, dazzling me with her quick moves and apropos comments, as if she was neither here nor there, never missing a single word of our fast-paced conversations.
Lene and Boone had sandwiched me into an interrogation.
“So? Accounting, huh?”
“Ducati, huh?”
“Doctor Penfield Boulevard, huh?”
I nodded myself through it, giggling at their childlike enthusiasm.
“Well, shit,” said Boone, more seriously. “You did good for yourself. To think I worried about you.” He raised his glass. �
��Salute.”
The silence fell gently on our heads like November’s first snow. For a moment, serenity visited my heart. I looked around. My eyes went from Johan’s charismatic face, to Helga’s sharp, crisp blue eyes spying on the world, then over to the mantel, which was cluttered with pictures frames of all shapes and sizes.
“Do you mind?” I had gotten to my feet and stood by the foyer.
“Take a look, man, it’s all there.” Boone came to me. “There’s even one of you.” He moved a few frames around and picked one out of the last row. “Yeah, see? The school picture you gave me. Fourth grade, I think. Yeah, that’s right.” He laughed softly. “Man, that is one ugly brown sweater.”
My eyes wandered over the redheaded boy who seemed to be staring back at me.
“It’s elegant Derek,” Mom had said that morning. That was before you died, Bump. When her eyes glowed with health, when your presence vibrated inside her round, protruding belly. “You look handsome. Look at me.” Her fingers had lifted my chin. “There is no child more beautiful than you.”
She had never looked at me like that again.
She’s lost to me.
I set the picture down. “Seems like forever.”
Boone’s eyes echoed my ardent emotions. “Yeah, sure does.”
My gaze wandered, passing faces, smiles, and all shades of blue.
My heart leaped.
Nick.
The second frame to last. It was him.
I burned from within, but walked slow, to the edge of the mantel. I wanted to pick the picture up to study his heartbreaking face more closely, but was afraid I wouldn’t be able to let it go.
“That’s Nico,” said Boone, standing behind me. “In case you didn’t recognize the cocky son of a gun.”
Nicolai Lund.
An abysmal omen.
All of hell’s temptations, and some of heaven’s expired offers.
Boone bent to my ear. “Take a breath, man.” He pinched my side. “Mr. Roboto’s watching you.”
“Who, Nathan?” I asked under my breath, still gazing at Nick’s smile. “Stop it. He-he’s okay-kay, just comes off as—”
“Whatever you say, man.” Boone’s voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. “Just hope your boyfriend loaded up on KY, ’cause he’s gonna be hurting when that stick comes out of his ass.”