Tonight of all nights, Ed didn’t get home until 8:15. And he was the one who spoke first. “I thought I’d never get out of the office. The whole secretarial staff left early for the holiday, and I had to go hunt down everything I needed to finish a few jobs. Then the trains were stalled, and I had to change over to the A at Columbus Circle.” Ed flipped through the mail she’d placed on the coffee table. “Do you feel like eating?” he asked distractedly. “Why don’t we walk over to Victor’s? I’ve been dreaming about their veal piccata all week.”
They might as well eat, she supposed. Food was the easiest way for Ed to share with others—she couldn’t match his interest in music, but at least she ought to share his love for long, quiet dinners. If they relaxed a bit together she might find it easier to tell him what was going on. Victor’s had a pianist Ed enjoyed immensely, the music might act as a buffer. When he was listening to music, Ed’s usual edge of tension seemed to vanish.
They arrived to discover Victor had given the pianist the night off; there was only the candlelight to set an atmosphere. Jana found herself counting the checks on the red-checked tablecloth. Was this the level their relationship had sunk to—she could sit through dinner, avoiding anything that mattered, and Ed would ramble on about things that happened at work?
“I talked to my secretary, and she agreed to send out the advance copies of the exhibition catalog,” he began. “You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard lately, and you still have that show in Minneapolis to prepare for.” Sending out catalogs didn’t require a curator’s expertise, Ed realized. Much as he wanted to ease Jana’s work load, he knew her self-esteem relied upon her professional responsibilities.
“That’ll help. Thanks,” Jana mumbled, thinking more about the wart virus. But when she was able to push medical concerns from her mind for a moment, her thoughts drifted to Power and Light.
“Phyllis agreed her staff can easily pick up the catalogs from the printer and see to it copies are distributed to the six locations well before the show opens. She was also wondering if you and Natalie had a particular photographer you wanted to use for the gala, or if you wanted her to hire someone?”
“Natalie should have the names and phone numbers of photographers we’ve hired for other openings. But I can’t say there was anyone we were exactly thrilled with. To tell the truth, I haven’t given it much thought; the exhibition’s still six months away.”
“Phyllis suspected as much. Most of the best people are booked at least four months in advance, so she wants to get started on it now. She said to assure you she’s worked with some top people; if it’s okay with you and Natalie, she’ll make some calls to see who’s available and take it from there. The Times is considering a feature on the exhibition in their Sunday supplement, by the way.”
“He doesn’t even notice I’m not eating,” Jana thought bitterly. She pushed the food around on her plate and wondered if she was becoming anorexic, like she’d been at fifteen. She recalled those early days of their relationship, when she had played with her vegetables while he ate heartily. It had been a sign of progress, a mark of how comfortable she finally felt with Ed, when she could eat normally. Ed asked the waiter for a second cup of coffee while she stirred her now cold tea with brandy for the hundredth time. Tea with Courvoisier; Ed insisted on what he considered the best for her, his treat tonight.
At last they started walking home. She linked her arm in his. “I got through to Dr. Barbash,” she began.
Ed stopped walking, turned to face her under a streetlight. He broke out in a grin she’d have thought he’d be too tired to manage. Before another word was said they started walking again, arms around each others’ waists for support, more like drunks than lovers. She let her fingers play with a thread dangling from his tweed jacket.
“What did the doctor have to say?” he asked as they turned the corner and approached the entrance to his building. His voice was concerned but not anxious. There had been too much tension the past few weeks, with him irritated that she hadn’t spoken to the doctor yet, and Jana disturbed by his impatience.
“Well, I have fibroid tumors, for one thing.”
Ed stood motionless at her side, caught off-guard by the word tumor. Step by step she led him forward, the way you’d lead a frightened animal: one foot firmly in front of the other, no sudden movements. She rubbed her fingers gently along his backbone while he unlocked the apartment.
Once they were inside, Ed drew her close and held her, rocking back and forth. It was the same motion he used to get her stimulated, way back when she was still a virgin. “They’re nothing to worry about, Dr. Barbash says,” she began, trying to keep her attention on what she was saying. Ed’s touch itself was torture; she had to fight hard to keep her body from wanting him. But he wouldn’t let go of her. Softly, almost swallowing the words, she said “I love you.”
“Time to get you to bed,” Ed declared, still hugging her, leading her. “Sounds like you’ve had a hard day.”
He helped her undress, like a good nurse, his large hands fumbling with each button. Softly, almost innocently, his fleshy palms brushed against her neck, her chest, her breasts. He folded her blouse and jeans and placed them on top of the dresser. Her panties, bra, and socks were in a heap on the floor, the way he left his own underwear. Then, having second thoughts, he picked them up and put them on top of her other things. Jana crawled into bed; Ed pulled the sheet and blanket over her, tucked one side under the mattress. “Do you think you’ll be warm enough? I can get the quilt out of the closet …”
“I’ll be fine.” She stopped just short of reminding him that she could get up and get the quilt herself if she got cold later. She was half expecting him to offer to leave the light on, in case she woke up and was afraid of the dark. He’d done that for Kathe, hadn’t he?
She swallowed hard, tasting the salt of her tears. The covers held her in, tightly, warmly. She wanted to drift off to sleep, saving the rest of her story until tomorrow, next week, next year. But Ed slipped into bed beside her. Suddenly she felt herself pressed against his sweaty skin. The hairs on his arms prickled. “When are you going back to the doctor?” he was asking already.
“I don’t know exactly. Dr. Barbash says I’ll be easier to treat if we wait a little longer.” And this man, this animal next to her, was supposed to make her vagina larger. He didn’t even realize the tumors were best left alone, that the “treatment” Dr. Barbash recommended was for a wart virus, a contagious wart virus. Jana turned her head away. Sickness made her dependent on him again. It made her helpless, if not one way, then another. Well, she wasn’t about to submit to it. With any luck, by tomorrow night she’d be back home sleeping in her own bed, maybe with the lion’s head squeezed between her thighs, hurting him.
No, she wouldn’t. Whatever she was going through, it wasn’t Ed’s fault. He was concerned for her and, as long as she had chosen to lie here next to him, she ought to try and make the best of it. “Did I tell you Dr. Barbash said my vagina’s like a seventeen-year-old’s?” she asked, shifting her body slightly toward him.
“No, you didn’t tell me that,” Ed laughed. “I like your Dr. Barbash.” He reached out to cuddle her and she found herself pressing against him, enjoying his warmth again. All the tension drained out of her body.
She stared down at the blanket, moved her leg a bit so the sheet fell between their bodies. Safer this way. “The tumors are also blocking my tubes. Dr. Barbash says there’s no chance that I can get pregnant.”
Ed jerked away from her. “You can’t get pregnant?” He caught hold of himself, drew close again. Suddenly the bed was rocking. She clasped one hand tightly under the mattress to steady herself, while Ed threw the box of Ramses Extra up to the ceiling and stretched his arms out to catch it. A moment later he was on top of her, his bony knees pressing her calves, his heaviness pounding full weight on her brittle limbs. With two long-nailed fingers, he started fondling her clitoris so hard it hurt.
“Wait
,” she cried out. Then, softly, “I’m scared.”
“I know, dear. But you won’t believe how enjoyable this is going to be. You’ll feel me inside you, there’ll be nothing at all between our bodies. And I’ll be able to stay there, even after I ejaculate.” He was fondling furiously, determined to have her at the height of expectation before he entered. He tucked his cock between his legs, tightly, out of her reach until she was wet and ready.
She tried her best to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. “You don’t understand,” she screamed in exasperation. Then: “I’m scared you’ll leave me.”
“Why would I leave you?” His grip loosened slightly as he paused to formulate that question. In that brief moment she was able to work her body loose.
“Well, Dr. Barbash isn’t certain, but I might also have a wart virus. If so, then I’d more than likely infect you.” She crossed her legs. Tighter. “It would be stupid to take chances.”
His face hardened. His eyes glazed over. He’d gotten VD once, years ago, when he’d first graduated college. It was no big thing, he went to a clinic and got a series of shots—but those doctors insisted on lecturing him about what venereal disease could do to the body—diabetes, blindness. “I had a checkup last month and the doctor didn’t find anything suspicious,” he said, half to himself.
“I know. But women usually develop symptoms first.” She took his cock in her hands, fondling slowly, silently trying to see if she could feel warts, lumps, pimples, scabs. She couldn’t. “My mother could have taken DES without being aware of it,” she continued. “DES babies often display the same cell changes one finds in a wart virus.”
“I had a blister on my finger a few weeks ago,” he said. “Maybe that’s what spread the infection.”
“I don’t think the warts were from your finger. It’s probably my fault, not yours.”
“It’s nobody’s fault, dear. We were only being human. We were only loving each other.” He took her in his arms again.
Yes, she repeated to herself, we were only loving each other. Her body relaxed. His arms made her feel secure and protected. Even at a time like this, he seemed more concerned for her than for himself, as if placing the other person first was what love meant to him. For her it was more complicated—she’d had to work hard not to reject Ed, the way she’d rejected her parents’ love. If only she’d realized it would be so hard to draw away again, she would have been more cautious. When she thought of all the times she’d harmlessly pressed Leroy against her to satisfy some need. It somehow never dawned on her that Ed would have needs of his own. And so many needs. “I don’t know what to do,” she said through her tears. “I only know I love you. I love you so much.”
“Love you back.” He said the words abstractly, letting his body slide away from her. The two of them lay side by side, on their backs. Jana thought about how someday, maybe in twenty years, they’d have separate beds, like his parents did. If only it could be as simple as that. If only he never had to touch her again. If only she didn’t find herself wanting him.
She felt the need to keep talking, the way she used to take his cock (or she called it penis back then) in her hands so she’d be certain of where it was. She needed to keep him awake beside her. “I guess it’s up to you whether or not you want to risk sleeping unprotected,” she said.
Risk. Echoing in his ears, the word itself frightened him more than the sense of risk. To hear Jana use that word. “Life is a risk,” he answered, perhaps aloud.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Jana petted the back of his hand. Long, clean strokes, one direction only. The motion soothed both of them. A few minutes ago there had been so much to say, but the words wouldn’t come now. They would have to talk more about it, she supposed, then they’d decide together. With luck maybe it would take a week or two. She felt so tired.
Ed reached out to draw her onto his shoulder, maybe hold her until she drifted off to sleep. But his arm froze in midair. They’d come so close, another minute and he’d have been inside her. He wanted to pound the bed, strike out at something. Anything.
Quickly he was on top of her, large, enormous, catching her off-guard. Her legs spread wider than ever, he was inside her before either of them could think twice. He was naked, full, inside her with passion, loving her, proving she was worth the risk, and always would be. Proving to himself how much he was able to love her.
Jana’s mouth fell open. Instinctively her arms closed tight around his back. “That was dumb,” she laughed. She felt alive, awake again. She wanted to keep him next to her forever. She wanted to keep him inside her forever. She felt his sperm trickling warmly down her leg. “That was dumb,” she said again. What a dumb, wonderful way to begin the holiday season.
CHAPTER TEN
Mix Grenadine and Seltzer
“I THOUGHT executives had secretaries to do their Christmas shopping,” Jana teased as she and Ed headed down Lexington Avenue toward Gimbel’s.
“Sounds to me like your vision of executives comes from the those Hollywood comedies they made in the forties and fifties,” Ed laughed.
“I’ll make it clear from the start: I am not buying gifts for your mistress. Besides, if I recall those movies correctly, the lacy black nightgown always ends up in the box he gives his wife, and the perfume is a fragrance his wife’s allergic to.”
“Right. I’m amazed your parents let you see such movies. They could have ruined your character.”
“They did, they did,” she laughed.
“You can say that again.” Ed pulled her close and playfully felt her up through her down jacket. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost three months. Haven’t you learned more from me than from those movies?”
“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt to remind you,” Jana teased.
“Seriously, though,” Ed said, “shopping for Christmas has always been a high point of my year. Even growing up, I loved Christmas—not only getting things, but trying to pick out the right gifts for people I cared about. I always felt shortchanged by those aunts and uncles who wrote out a check and told me to buy what I wanted.”
“If you feel that way, why did you ask me to come along tonight? I’ve never met your sister and her kids. How am I going to help you select presents for them?”
“I trust your taste.” Ed pushed her before him in the revolving door.
“You don’t know my taste.”
“Sure I do. Look at that hat you’re wearing. Now that’s taste. Wherever did you find it?”
“Oh, I have my places,” Jana said, stopping herself before admitting she bought it at the Canal Street flea market. She’d learned early on that Ed had a distaste for anything purchased secondhand. Her hat was unusual, to be sure, a tapestry cap with flaps over the ears and fur trim. Ed probably assumed she’d bought it in some Madison Avenue or SoHo boutique. Surely he would know that such things couldn’t be purchased at Gimbel’s. It had been years since she’d been in a department store, and never during the Christmas rush.
“If I were smart, I’d probably be keeping one eye out for something for Ed while we’re in Gimbel’s,” she told herself, at the same time questioning if she’d have enough energy to come back here. She’d been wondering for weeks what to get him. Records seemed a natural choice, but his taste in music was too esoteric to pinpoint. She knew he loved Sarah Vaughan, for example, but might look askance at an album recorded in 1956 because the albums she cut in 1953 or 1958 were far better. When they were in Tower Records last week he found a John Coltrane album he wanted, then double-checked it and realized he wasn’t playing with quite the right people, so put it back in the bin. There was always clothing, but she’d never shopped for a man before. The jackets and shirts that caught her eye in windows were the Italian cuts, and let’s face it, Ed had a conventional body.
Losing patience with the men, women, and children roving through the aisles, she began pushing people aside to make a path for herself. Ed mumbled apologies as he followed in her wake. “This cr
owd’s nothing compared to what it will be three weeks from now. That’s why I suggested we get started right after Thanksgiving,” he told her. “I sometimes like the excitement of all the people shopping at the last minute, though—that’s part of the holiday festivities.” Ed wandered over to a table of Hummel music boxes. “My eleven-year-old niece might love these,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think they’re tacky and exactly what she could buy in a department store in Indiana, or anywhere else in the country. Why don’t you get something distinctly ‘New York’? We could probably find great music boxes at the WBAI craft fair.”
“I know, but children—or at least my sister’s kids—don’t want to be different. They expect exactly what everyone else has.”
“That’s what used to drive me crazy about the kids I grew up with. You don’t think you ought to try to improve her taste?”
“There’s not much I can do about it, is there? I see my sister and her kids maybe once every two years. It’s especially hard now that they’re getting to be teenagers, but I try to buy gifts that fit their lifestyle.”
Jana was speechless. The ground floor of Gimbel’s at the start of the Christmas season was definitely not the place for earth-shattering insights, but she couldn’t help remembering how, when she’d first left home, she’d bought a few birthday or Chanukah gifts for her parents. She finally gave up when she realized they were never used—the vase sat on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet, the unique stone candle holders were shoved in a drawer. Her selection of gifts, even gift-giving itself, had been a defensive statement that she was an artist now, that she’d escaped their value system. It never crossed her mind to shop for the sort of gifts they might want.
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