by J. J. Murray
PAE1: Large.
LS77: Did you have girth?
PAE1: !!! Yes.
LS77: I like girth. Are your curtains shut tight? I don’t want anyone to see you . . . sitting uncomfortably.
PAE1: Only you can see me. I’m looking into your eyes.
LS77: I’m looking at your picture, too.
PAE1 : No !
LS77: Your picture made me excited all day.
PAE1: Really?
LS77: Very.
PAE1: Define “very.”
LS77:
PAE1: Really? I was wearing coveralls.
LS77: You look so sexy.
PAE1: I hope I look better now.
LS77: I’m sure you do.
PAE1: It’s been many years for me. Now I’m even more nervous.
LS77: Me, too.
PAE1: Do you need a timeout, too?
LS77: Yes and no. I don’t want you to think I’m a hoochie, but I don’t want to slow down either. I’m feeling something, you know?
PAE1: You’ll never be a hoochie, Lauren, and I’m feeling something, too.
LS77: We need to do something about these feelings, don’t we?
34
Patrick wiggled his fingers over the keyboard. Something is happening, something wonderful, and I can’t think of anything to say.
PAE1 : I couldn’t possibly sleep tonight.
LS77: Neither could I. You make me feel happy and wanted.
PAE1 : I want you to feel happy and wanted. You deserve to be happy and wanted.
LS77: Believe me, I do feel that way because of you. But, Patrick, I am still on fire. I have a tingling in my neck and my nose, my whole body is hot, and my heart is trying to leave my chest.
PAE1: I’m feeling that, too.
LS77: If you hadn’t called a timeout, I know I would be having convulsions right now.
PAE1 : I had to call timeout. I can’t type one-handed.
LS77: ROFL!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
PAE1: It’s good to “hear” you laugh.
LS77: I’m laughing so hard, I’m crying. Are you right-handed or left-handed?
PAE1: Right.
LS77: So you were about to use your left hand to . . .
PAE1: Yes.
LS77: Me, too
PAE1: Really?
LS77: I’ve tried using my right index finger, and it wasn’t as good. I guess my left index finger is more sensitive or something. Maybe it’s more detached.
PAE1: I hope not!
LS77: I’d rather have you . . . touching me.
PAE1: Me, too.
LS77: I wish you were here with me.
PAE1: I wish I was there with you. It’s too cold here.
LS77: I need to hear your voice right now. I want to call you.
PAE1: Let me charge up my cell battery.
Patrick raced to charge up his phone and returned to the laptop.
PAE1: Charging my phone.
LS77: I’ll need the number.
PAE1: I’ll call you.
LS77: I don’t mind calling you.
PAE1: I mind.
LS77: Okay. (818) 555-2535. Hurry.
35
Lauren leaped out of bed and put on a slinky black silk robe.
I can’t receive my gentleman caller without a sexy silk robe, can I?
She lounged in her bed, letting the robe part to reveal a lot of leg. I feel so sexy right now. It is so good to feel like a real woman for a change.
Although the sound of her phone made her jump, she let it ring twice before answering. “Hello,” she said as huskily as she could. She ended up coughing.
“Are you all right, Lauren?”
Now, that’s a real man’s voice, she thought. Strong. Virile. Deep. Definitely Brooklyn. “I’m fine, Patrick. I was trying to do a little Bette Davis.”
“I like Lauren Short much better,” Patrick said.
“It’s easier on my voice, too,” she said.
“And my ears,” Patrick said. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too,” Lauren said. “What are you wearing?”
“Sweats and a T-shirt,” he said. “You?”
“A black silk robe,” she said.
“Oh,” Patrick whispered.
“You don’t have a black silk robe to lounge around in?” Lauren said.
“No, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wear it in Brooklyn in late November,” Patrick said. “Lauren, I want you to know that I have never done anything like this before.”
“Talking on the phone?”
“You know what I mean,” Patrick said. “Flirting like this.”
“Patrick, we’re not flirting with each other anymore,” Lauren said. “I think this is lust.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I didn’t know I could be this lusty.”
“I bring out the beast in you, huh?” Lauren whispered. She untied the robe and let it slide off her shoulders.
“I’m not much of a beast,” Patrick said, “but you almost undressed me from three thousand miles away. How did you do that?”
“I have skills I didn’t know I had,” Lauren said.
“Yes,” Patrick said. “You could probably get me to do just about anything.”
“I couldn’t get you to let me call you,” Lauren said.
“No, and don’t bother trying,” Patrick said. “I’m old school like that. I should have already asked for your phone number.”
“I respect old school,” Lauren said. “It shows you had home training.”
“I really trained myself,” Patrick said. “So, um, how do we proceed?”
Lauren ran her free hand down her stomach. “How do we proceed? Isn’t that what we’re doing? Proceeding?”
“True,” Patrick said. “But typing it is easier than saying it. At least for me.”
She slid her hand over her thighs. “You’re doing fine. We’re only cuddling now, anyway, right?”
“Oh right.” Patrick sighed. “How silky is that robe?”
Lauren pulled the robe back over her shoulders. “What robe?”
“So . . . you’re naked,” Patrick whispered.
No, my shoulders are cold. “Whisper to me again.”
“You’re . . . naked,” he whispered.
That was sexy. “I wish you could touch me right now,” she whispered.
“I wish I could, too, Lauren,” Patrick said.
“Where would you touch me?” Lauren asked.
“I would start with your . . . left ear,” Patrick whispered.
Lauren laughed. “Really? My ear?”
“I’d start at the top,” Patrick whispered. “And then I’d work my way down.”
“Okay, okay,” Lauren said. She rubbed her left ear. “I’m rubbing my left ear.”
“I didn’t mean for you to do it now,” Patrick said.
“It feels good,” Lauren said. “Where would you touch me next?”
“Lauren, I’m not very good at this,” Patrick said.
“Trust me, man,” Lauren said, “you’re doing fine.”
“Okay, I, um, I kiss your neck while I rub your right thigh,” Patrick whispered.
Lauren arched her neck, rubbing her right thigh with her free hand. “Your kiss is hot.”
“Your skin is hot,” Patrick whispered.
Lauren shivered. “Your kiss is making my skin hot.” And yet I’m shivering! What’s going on? She put on her robe, tying it tightly. “But I’m so cold.”
“I wish I was there to keep you warm,” Patrick said.
“So do I,” Lauren said. “I want you to know that I’m really very shy when it comes to sex. I’m not shy about much, but I am shy about sex.”
“You could have fooled me,” Patrick said.
“It’s the actress in me, I guess.” She pushed herself back against her headboa
rd, her body still shivering. “I love your imagination by the way, and I love your accent. It’s more Italian than Irish.”
“Because of my mama,” Patrick said.
“Is she . . . still around?”
“No,” Patrick said. “She died nine years ago. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lauren said.
“Thanks,” Patrick said.
No father, no mother. He’s really an orphan now. “No brothers or sisters?”
“No,” Patrick said. “I feel the need to say something to you.”
“Well, say it,” Lauren said.
“Thank you,” Patrick said.
Lauren stopped shivering. “For what?”
“For talking to me,” Patrick said. “For listening to me.”
“I should be thanking you,” Lauren said.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Patrick said. “You’re Lauren Short, the amazing actress, and I’m just a guy from Brooklyn.”
“You’re so much more than a guy from Brooklyn, Patrick,” Lauren said. “And I can’t for the life of me understand why such a handsome, strong, kind man like you isn’t with someone.”
“After Natalia, I gave up,” Patrick said.
“There has to be more to it than that,” Lauren said.
“I guess you could say that I put all my eggs in one basket,” Patrick said. “And when she flew the coop, I guess I got chicken.”
“Funny,” Lauren said. “So you haven’t even gone out with anyone in the last twenty years?”
“No,” Patrick said.
“I’m having trouble believing that,” Lauren said.
“It’s true,” Patrick whispered.
“You had to have had offers,” Lauren said.
“A few,” Patrick said.
“And you broke their hearts,” Lauren said.
“I doubt that,” Patrick said. “I wasn’t interested.”
Natalia broke him. “You’re not giving up now, are you?”
“No, but please try to understand,” Patrick said. “I’m not the kind of guy a movie star has on her arm. I’m more the kind of guy she gets to drive her places or to keep her safe.”
Which is exactly what I need! “What if this former movie star wants someone to drive her places and keep her safe?”
“Well, that’s different,” Patrick said. “I can do that. Except that I don’t have a car.”
Lauren smiled. “There are other ways to drive someone.”
“I would love to drive you all night long,” Patrick said.
This man’s timing is perfect! Oh, the movies we could make! “You would?”
“I meant,” Patrick said, “I would love to drive you anywhere all night long.”
“And I’d be right next to you all night long.” She looked at her screen. You know, we could make a movie right now. Sort of. “Do you have Skype?”
“What?”
“Sorry,” Lauren said. “Bad transition. Some people have random thoughts. I say random things. Does your computer have Skype?”
“Yes, but I’ve never used it,” Patrick said. “Does it cost anything?”
“Not if we both have it,” Lauren said. “Find the Skype button.”
“Here it is.”
“Did you click on it?” Lauren asked.
“Yes,” Patrick said. “It says I have to download it first.”
“Go ahead.”
“That was a quick download,” Patrick said. “Choose language. Ah, Italiano.”
“English, please,” Lauren said.
“Okay,” Patrick said.
“Do you speak any Italian?” Lauren asked.
“Some,” Patrick said. “But not enough to hold a conversation. Uh, it says to choose a Skype name.”
“It’s easiest to use your own name,” Lauren said. “I’m Lauren-dot-Elizabeth-dot-Short.”
“Elizabeth,” Patrick said.
“Alan,” Lauren said.
“Okay, I’m Patrick-dot-Alan-dot-Esposito. Oh, it’s telling me my video works. That light has never come on before. Oh, there I am. The picture is so small.”
“You can make it full screen,” Lauren said. “Add me as a contact, click on my name, and let’s . . . proceed.”
“Okay, I’m clicking on your name. . . .”
“Do you see me?” Lauren asked.
Patrick didn’t respond.
“Patrick?”
“I see you,” Patrick whispered. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Who else would it be?” Lauren asked.
“I meant . . .” He sighed. “I meant what I said. I can’t believe it’s you.”
“I’m nothing special, Patrick,” Lauren said. “I’m just an ordinary woman. Well, tonight I’m an ordinary horny woman, but it’s your fault.”
“You’re special to me,” Patrick said. “I’m going full screen now. Wow.”
Lauren expanded the dark box in front of her until it focused on a man’s nice, hard chest. “Tilt up your screen. I’m staring at your chest.”
The screen tilted up until Lauren could see Patrick’s face. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” Lauren said. “You don’t look like Bruce Springsteen.”
“I told you my mama was drunk a lot,” Patrick said.
“What do you see?” Lauren asked.
“I see a whole lot of delicious-looking brown skin,” Patrick said. “Will this pick up sound?”
“I hear you,” Lauren said. “You’ve noticed that our lips don’t match our words.”
“It’s like a dubbed movie,” Patrick said. “So I can hang up the phone?”
“Sure.”
Lauren watched Patrick close his phone. “Patrick, I’m going to give you a tour of my body.”
“This is the best movie I have ever watched,” Patrick said. “I wish it was in HD.”
“Hush,” Lauren said. “Tell me what you see.” She set her laptop on the edge of the bed and moved her foot close to the lens.
“I didn’t know this would be in three-D,” Patrick said. “Nice foot.”
“I have two of them,” Lauren said, “but my right foot is my best foot.” She scooted closer and leaned forward.
“Um, are you cold?” Patrick asked.
Lauren looked down at her breasts. Whoa. My nipples are trying to shred this robe. “A little.” She tilted back the screen, set the laptop on the bed, stood, then turned around and shook her booty.
“Oh, Lauren,” Patrick whispered. “That is very nice. If someone made a sculpture of you and put it in a museum, I would pull up a chair and look at you all day.”
“Which part of me most?”
“Your booty,” Patrick said.
She sat and brought the laptop to her chest. “Can you see the look on my face?”
“Yes,” Patrick said.
“This is the face of a happy woman,” Lauren said. “This is the face of a woman who feels like a woman again. You bring out the beast and the best in me. I am so happy, but I want to be happier. I have to be with you, Patrick. I need you beside me, and to be completely honest, I need you inside me, too. I want to come see you.”
36
She wants . . . to come see me.
She wants me . . . inside her.
Wow.
“I want to see you, too,” Patrick said. “I need to feel you. I need to hold you.”
“Yes, you do,” Lauren said. “I’m flying out tonight to New York.”
Tonight? Tonight is too soon! Look at this place! “But I have to work tomorrow.”
“You don’t work all day, every day, do you?” Lauren asked.
“Just about.”
“Could you make an exception for me?” Lauren asked.
She can’t come here! Not here to this dump! “I probably could. I don’t know.” How can I make her understand that? I’m forty years old, and this is all I have to show for it! Most of my furniture came from my mama’s apartment after she died. The only thing I ever bought is the be
d, and it’s nearly fifteen years old!
“Probably?” Lauren said. “You have to have some vacation time, right?”
“I’ve never taken a vacation,” Patrick said. “I was supposed to be off last week, on Thanksgiving, but I ended up working. I’m on call twenty-four hours a day, and some people seem to wait for Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day to call me. I have plunged far too many toilets on Thanksgiving Day and Christmas morning to count.”
“I don’t mind waiting for you,” Lauren said. “I’ll be warming up your bed.”
“Lauren, that sounds wonderful,” Patrick said. “Really. But I don’t know if you’ll want to wait that long.” How can I slow this down?
“It’s no trouble for me to fly out,” Lauren said. “I have to be with you, Patrick. You have me aching, man, and I haven’t ached in such a long time.”
“I want you to be with me, but I’m . . . I don’t feel . . .” He sighed. “Lauren, I live in a dump.”
“So do I,” Lauren said. “You should see where I live now. I live in a studio apartment, and there isn’t even a sink in the bathroom. I brush my teeth and wash my face over the kitchen sink. Let me show you.”
Patrick watched as she panned around a small apartment. “You’re not in your mansion on the beach?”
“It was never my mansion,” Lauren said, her face returning to the screen. “I was only the mansion’s maid. Maybe that’s all Chazz really needed me for, huh? To cook and clean for him. I was his housekeeper for seven years. I should sue him for back pay.”
Her place isn’t much bigger than mine, but . . . “But this place is a mess. I can afford only seven hundred square feet, and that’s because I get half my rent paid as part of my salary. I don’t have any carpeting, I sleep in a double bed, I have one window, the only things on the walls are dust and cobwebs—”
“I don’t care about that, Patrick,” Lauren interrupted.
“You might,” Patrick said. “You’re Lauren Short. You deserve better than this. Everyone in the world knows you.”
“I doubt that,” Lauren said.
“They do,” Patrick said. Even fifty-year-old Dutch women in Boerum Hill know who Lauren Short is. “You deserve better than I probably could ever give you.”
“But I don’t care about that at all,” Lauren said. “Trust me on that. I grew up in Congress Heights, in D.C. I grew up with very little.”