by Eva Sloan
I hadn’t fantasized about Gus the entire time with Dean, so I should be happy, right? But instead I was freaking miserable, lying there next to the man I‘d been with for almost two months, the man that was in love with me.
What the hell was wrong with me?
*****
The next morning, after Dean had left, I called off from work again. I didn’t know for sure that Gus would be coming in, but I decided to play it safe. I was munching on the second bag of Doritos when I suddenly saw the copy of Cosmo sticking up from my book bag.
The article.
I pulled it from the bag, checked the table of contents again, and then flipped to the right page. There was a rather erotic picture of a naked woman lying on a bed between two also naked men. No erogenous zones were visible, but the sight left me reeling. Looked just like my dream, where I was being pulled into bed with both Dean and Gus.
I shook my head and slapped my hand over the picture. I could practically feel it burning through the palm of my hand, so I pulled the page down, dog-earing it hugely enough to cover the entire photograph.
I started to read.
“For many women in the sexual jungle, in this new millennium, monogamy has lost its charm. Most of these newly emancipated women have suffered through bad relationships, failed marriages and the much hated toxic bachelors of the world. They have evolved from desperate single women into a force of nature that finds the love -- or better yet, sexual intercourse -- of one man not enough.
“In the past many men, if not all, have dated multiple women concurrently with impunity. Passing from relationship to rebound fucking, to dating, to just fucking around (stringing us along) at nausea.
“Today’s feral woman has decided enough is enough. Thus many beautiful, successful women of all ages have started fucking like their male counterparts. Mature women have started courting and bedding younger, more adventuresome men. Thirty-something’s have been dating and mating with two or more men at a time -- with fabulous results! And the young woman of today doesn’t even try to maintain the traditional relationship, finding the paradigms of their Mother’s relationships -- broken marriages, broken lives -- more than enough evidence of the marriage establishment's monumental failure.”
I stopped reading. There were two more four column pages left to the piece and I already felt dirty and depressed. I wasn’t any of these women. True I had slept with about three men my senior year in college, and I’d had four boyfriends -- three of them making it into my bed. But never had I dated more than one man at a time. I had certainly never slept with more than one...
But now I was mentally committing the same sin. I had Dean in my life, in my bed... and he loves me. And then there was Gus. Whom I thought was gay all this time, and now knew to be ardently heterosexual and interested in me.
I tossed the magazine in the trash. I wasn’t going to find answers to my problem between its covers.
*****
I watched Life Time Television for a few hours, pleasantly surprised to find the Mom from Family Ties was still busy making movies ... even if only for TV. Unfortunately the movie was both depressing and riveting. I watched and teared up and felt worse and worse -- yet I never once thought to change the channel.
By the time it was over it was twenty minutes till noon. I riffled through my stash of take out menus and found an Italian joint not far away. I considered just walking the short distance there, but then I got a look at myself in the mirror. I looked hideous. Mostly because I’d forgone a shower ... and crying somehow makes your eyes red and puffy -- has the same effect on your nose.
So I phoned the Italian restaurant and was told it would be a half hour -- they were swamped with the lunch rush.
Fine, I said. I decided I’d take a quick shower, maybe even brush my teeth before the delivery man arrived. Also I was wearing Dean’s boxer shorts and my stained night shirt.
I thought it hilarious he’d left my apartment commando. Such a gentleman, not asking me to part with them.
I was showered and my teeth were brushed in no time. I had put on a fresh t-shirt and was pulling up my long lost jeans when there was a knock at the door.
I drug a comb through my hair -- since it was sticking out at odd, ultimately scary angles. I had to admit the hair products Mother had bought me worked eerily well. I didn’t feel a thing as I pulled the comb fast and rough through my usually tangled locks.
I rushed then to the door, grabbing some money from my book bag. I swung the door open and felt my heart sink. Gus stood there with the Italian take-out in his hands. I gulped. We stood there in silence for a beat, and then he said, “You owe me eleven bucks.”
I stood there lost for words. Simultaneously I hoped I looked ill and presentable. Gus had seen me at my worst; so I was sure freshly showered would be an improvement. But If I didn’t look sick he’d know I was faking illness -- ultimately blowing him off.
Whatever he was thinking he didn’t show a trace of it on his face. Those cool eyes just stared into my eyes. I suddenly realized I was staring right back, and that my body was starting to heat up from the inside out.
“You don’t look sick.”
“Mental health day.” I pulled my gaze from his and shuffled my feet nervously. This wasn’t good, not good at all.
“Since you’re not contagious, may I come in?”
No! I thought, but “Suit yourself.” Was my answer.
He plopped the bag of Italian tack-out in my hands and walked past me into the apartment. First checking on Ozzie and Harriet, then taking a look at the laid out remains of yesterday’s takeout extravaganza.
“You can really eat, “ Gus said. “All these from today?”
“Yesterday.” I picked up the empty cartons and plastic silver-wear, and used napkins and tossed them unceremoniously in the nearest trash can. Strangely enough the same trash can my Mother had tossed Ozzie’s near dead remains two months prior. I groaned as I realized I hadn’t used it since.
So what’s the reason for that? I thought to myself.
“Starve a fever, feed mental turmoil?” He said, wriggling his eyebrows.
“Cute,” I said taking my food to the kitchen area. “Hungry?”
“You have enough to share?”
“You felt how heavy this bag is, what do you think?”
He chuckled and I felt both pissed and overheated with lust. “Depends on if you’re still full from yesterday?”
I missed the shy guy who barely used to look at me.
“Smart ass.” I cut the lasagna in half, and the fried mozzarella wedge, the garlic bread with cheese and the antipasto salad.
We leaned against the kitchen counter and woofed our food. I was impressed he could keep up. I was also irritated that my flagrant over eating hadn’t put him off in the least. I was hoping that would be my ace in the hole, yet as we ate our Italian feast all I saw in his eyes was lust ... maybe more. Looked a lot like the look Dean had had in his eyes for the past couple weeks.
That’s all I needed. Lust and love coming from yet another guy!
“So, will your mental condition allow you to go to work tomorrow? I like the boy’s fine, but you’re better at it.”
I tried not to smile. “Truth is, I’m the only physical therapist, well, almost. The other guys are all sport’s trainers.”
“I knew there was a difference.” He smiled with triumph. I caught myself staring into his eyes again. Pretty and blue. Eyes a girl could get lost in.
“How is your ...” I didn’t want to bring up his butt, not for the world. I could still remember how it felt in my hands as I ... “Your back! Is the stiffness going away?” I cringed at my choice of words. The last thing stiff on him was his penis, and I didn’t want to think about it. I certainly didn’t want him thinking about it! “Notice any improvement?”
He wiped his lips with a napkin and grimaced. “I’m good when I’m bending ... as long as I don’t try and pick anything up heavier than my shoes.”
“You shouldn’t!” I was surprised by my tone of voice. It was placating and cloyingly sweet. “At your age you could cause serious permanent damage if you push your ...” I was going to say recuperation, but my mind suddenly wanted him to think I thought he was old. “Convalescence.”
He cocked his head and peered into my eyes with a stung look on his face. Maybe my sudden ploy was working too well.
“Don’t worry,” he said coolly. “I won’t over do it.” Then he moved closer, close enough I could smell him -- not cologne but something wild and heated. He reached out and caressed his thumb over the curve of my lower lip.
I felt myself trembling everywhere. I felt a pang of disappointment when he removed his hand.
“Sauce,” he said as he showed me the red smear on the side of his thumb. His voice was as soft as butter. He brought his thumb to his mouth and gently licked the sauce from his thumb.
It took roughly six seconds from start to finish, but I suddenly felt like my legs had run a marathon. I leaned harder against the counter to brace myself.
He took another step forward and I was sure he was about to kiss me -- I wanted him too as much as I dreaded him doing it. His face was so close, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from his full, sensuous lips.
“Thanks for lunch.” He grinned and stood up straighter breaking the magic charm that had us almost in a lip lock. He looked around my apartment as I tried to get a grip on myself. “Hope to see you at therapy tomorrow. You don’t want to miss getting an old guy like me back in working order.”
And like that he turned and walked away. I couldn’t help but watch his firm not at all old ass as he moved toward the door. Just the right amount of jiggle, I thought. A moment later he was gone, my apartment was empty, but his scent lingered.
I riffled through my cabinets for air freshener -- something sweet to rid my home of his delicious scent. But I didn’t have any. I opened my refrigerator and found a ripe and forgotten slab of Icelandic cod. I tore the vacuum seal and let the odor fill my apartment. When I could take no more I threw the whole thing in my freezer to be thrown in the trash on another day.
*****
Chapter 20
After a long cold shower that did practically nothing to smother the lust boiling in my veins I speed dialed Bess.
“Have the lovers come up for air?” Is how she answered. Her voice practically dripped with sarcasm.
“I’m in trouble, Bess.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Don’t say anything. Just tell me which precinct you’re at.”
“Precinct? I’m not in jail, Bess. I’m ... I’m ...”
“Having a stroke and can’t finish a sentence?”
“Can you come over?”
“Sorry, cupcake, but I’m under the gun to dump this dump on forty-fifth. Maybe you could come over here and we could have lunch after I show it.”
The thought of telling this in a strange apartment had my head buzzing. “I don’t know.”
Just think of it as real estate psycho therapy.
Shaking my head I said, “What’s the address?”
*****
The apartment on forty-fifth had two major strikes against it, and that was before you even opened the front door. The building was ugly. Depression era shabbiness with liberal amounts decay and neglect. The second thing going against it was the five flights of stairs one had to traverse to get to the apartment.
I was sweating by the time I knocked on the door to the apartment. Plus my calves were killing me. Though I walked everywhere I went in the city, most of the going was flat. Everywhere you went had elevators or at least an escalator.
As I stood there waiting for the door to open I realized the building wasn’t air conditioned. So as my body broke out in beads of sweat I looked around at the grime covered walls, the cracked window panes, what very well could be dog shit in the corner ... at least I hoped it was dog shit.
The door flung open and Bess scared the shit out of me -- she had her real estate agent smile on her face.
I jumped reflexively. “Jesus Christ, Bess. You know I hate it when you do that!”
Bess rolled her eyes at me, looked over my shoulder, and then pulled me with preternatural strength into the apartment. “My newlywed couple hasn’t showed up yet. Probably can’t keep their clothes on long enough to make it out the front door.”
The first thing I noticed was the air was crisp and cool, and smelled clean. The next thing I noticed was the apartment was gorgeous. Wall to wall polished hardwood floors, spotless bay windows on every wall -- making what was once a decent view now near spectacular. There was enough square footage to fit my apartment in there at least three times ... and then I saw the best part. Somehow I’d left Bess in the dust and had bolted though the apartment like a Great Dane that had broke his leash. I was standing in the bedroom and was peering into the bath.
“Oh ... my ... God ...”
Bess was suddenly right behind me. “There you are! One second I’m closing the door, the next I’m standing there talking to myself.”
“This is ...”
“Yeah,” She said lighting up a smoke. “It’s great. “
“Great’s not the word for it. “
“I know, it’s like finding heaven in a landfill.”
Yep, Bess summed it up perfectly.
The bathroom was completely gutted and fixed with every new amenity you could think of, including a corner walk in shower, black and white tile flooring, and fancier tile work running half way up the walls, a gleaming black porcelain toilet, and a bidet.
And there in the middle of the room was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. Raised on a two step wrap around pedestal was a restored claw-foot tub: gleaming, unblemished porcelain with brass fixture. Not to mention it was big enough to swim in!
“You called this a dump?”
“You saw what this place looks like from the outside. I keep telling the owner of the building that he’d start selling these babies off in record time if he improved the rest of the place. Maybe some new paint in the halls, new windows ... a goddamn elevator! Cause what middle class couple in their right mind is going to climb all these stairs!”
“Are there apartments on the lower floors?”
“Sure ... but there the old tenants. Same paint on the walls as from the day they moved in ... rent controlled bastards. And they’re healthy as horses. He only has the toe four floors to work with.”
Bess flushed her cigarette and shook her head. “He thinks if he makes the halls better, and puts in an elevator the old tenants will never leave. I keep telling him they’re never going to leave anyways.” She made a face like she smelled something rank. “They’re like cockroaches!”
I suddenly noticed, “I can’t smell the cigarette you just smoked.”
“Ionic air filters in every room. Cleanest air in the whole goddamn city... and no one ever gets to breathe it.”
We waited for another twenty minutes before Bess called the newlyweds. When she hung up she looked disgusted. “Husband said they got tied up! I asked him what their safety word was ... he didn’t have a clue. Sounded like he’d been running a marathon. Made another appointment for tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” I said in my most sympathetic voice. But I was really thinking whether Bess would let me take a swim in the bathtub?
“No sweat. If I keep making appointments to show this place I’ll be able to cancel my gym membership.”
I kept looking back toward the bathroom. It really did look like heaven.
“You wanna try out the tub, right?”
“Can I?”
“You mean, can we?”
We raced back to the bedroom tearing off our clothes, giggling like school girls.
*****
With both of us in the tub our feet still only barely touched. There were decorative bath beads that we used liberally to create a whipped cream froth atop the steaming hot water. It was like heaven ... okay, it was heaven. It was
quiet and air conditioned enough that the hot water felt great. And the view from the tub alone was worth the trek up the stairs.
Suddenly I noticed Bess had her arms crossed over her ample bosom, and her eyes fixed on me. “Okay, spill it.”
“Nothing, really.” I didn’t want to spoil our little moment in heaven.
“Nothing, really ... that always means there’s something.” She kicked my foot. “Tell Doctor Bess.”
“Don’t know where to begin.”
Bess drummed her manicured nails against the edge of the tub and let out an impatient sigh. “Let me guess ... you lied to the good doctor and told him you love him. He asked you to marry him, you told him you need time to think it over -- in the mean time you’ve found out you’re pregnant.”
“Jesus, no!” I was suddenly glad my problems seemed so small.
“Well, there is this look about you. A glow. Either you’re preggers or you’re in love.”
I dropped my eyes. Was I in love? I hadn’t thought of that, but maybe that was why I was feeling so guilty. Love was a lot stronger emotion than just lust.
“So if you’re in love with the doctor, then what’s the problem?” She saw the confusion in my eyes. “You little hussy! It’s not the doctor ... you’ve been stepping out on him!”
“No! No I haven’t. I swear.”
“Sounds like something I would do. I’m so proud.”
“I swear,” I pleaded. “I haven’t cheated on Dean, not once.”
Bess smiled. She’d figured it out. “No, but you’ve wanted to.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Sure, of course it’s not. But usually this fantasizing about other men thing happens after marriage, when you’re bored senseless fucking the same guy year after year. You two have been going out for just two months.”
“Not even,” I said miserably.