For an instant, I stand there like an imbecile, contemplating the door, and my chest heaves up and down. What have I done? Maybe I’ve lost my mind. Unable to do or say anything else, I put on my pj’s and lie down on the pretty bed. I don’t want to think, so I turn on my iPod and sing along.
I finally turn off the light.
I need to get some sleep, but my subconscious betrays me.
I dream, and in my dark wet dream, Eric kisses me as he opens my legs to let another man penetrate me. I raise my hips, wanting greater depth, and the man, whose face I can’t see, picks up the pace, thrusting in and out of me, until he can’t take it anymore and comes. I’m panting and pleading for more. The stranger releases me, and Eric, my kinky, sexy, and captivating Iceman, takes his place.
He touches my thighs . . . oh yes!
He parts my legs . . . yes!
He forces me to look at him and says in that solemn voice of his, “Tell me what you want.” And before I can answer, my love drives into me, hot and sure, going right through me and making me scream, “Eric!”
Only he can give me what I really need.
Only he knows what I really like.
He buries himself in me over and over, driving me crazy. I scream and grab at his back until he takes me to the sweetest, most marvelous and devastating of orgasms.
I wake up, startled. I’m alone in my bed, sweating, and well aware of my dream. I don’t know if I’ll be able to continue enforcing this sexual abstinence; I need Eric, and I’m dying to be in his arms.
9
I leap from my bed at five to ten the next morning. Eric is an early riser, and I don’t want to seem like a hibernating bear. I take a quick shower, and, after putting on a casual black wool dress with high boots, I make my way to the kitchen. Eric is seated at a round table, reading a newspaper.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says, but he’s not smiling.
Simona is cooking and greets me. I’ve definitely come off like a hibernating bear.
“Good morning,” I respond.
Eric makes no effort to get up. That strikes me as odd, but I try to control my instincts and hide the bitter embarrassment of not getting a good-morning kiss.
Simona offers me cold cuts, but I shake my head and ask only for coffee, so she nudges me to sit at the table next to Eric.
“Did you sleep well?” he inquires.
I nod and try to forget my wet dream. If he only knew . . .
Two minutes later, Simona leaves a steaming coffee with cream on the table and a good-sized piece of plum cake. I’m hungry and take a huge bite.
“Mmm, it’s so good, Simona!” I say as soon as I taste the butter and vanilla.
Delighted, she nods and leaves as I continue with my breakfast. Eric isn’t speaking; he only watches me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Still not smiling, he leans back in his chair.
“I still can’t believe you’re sitting in my kitchen.” But before I can say anything, he changes the subject by adding, “When you’re finished, we’ll go to my mother’s. I need to pick up Flyn. I have something to do afterward, a basketball game.”
“You play basketball?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“With whom?”
“With some friends.”
“Why haven’t you told me you play basketball?”
Eric looks at me the way he often does. “Because you never asked,” he says softly. “But we’re on my turf now, and there may be a few things about me that will surprise you.”
I nod like a fool. I thought I knew him, and suddenly I find out he’s an Olympic shooter and plays basketball and will probably surprise me with more things. To see his mother again and meet Flyn make me nervous because I can’t always keep my mouth shut about what I’m thinking.
“When you said you weren’t very effusive in your greetings here, did that also mean there won’t be good-morning kisses?”
“There will always be kisses as long as it’s what we both want,” he responds.
Shiiiiiiiiiiit! He’s giving me a taste of my own medicine, and I’m a very bad patient.
I go on eating the plum cake, but my face must tell quite a story because he says, “Anything else?”
I shake my head, and he goes back to his paper, but when I sneak a peek at him, I see his lips curving into a smile. What a punk!
As soon as I finish my breakfast, he gets up, and I do the same. We walk toward the door and get our coats out of the closet. Eric makes a face.
“What’s the matter now?” I ask.
“What you have on won’t keep you warm. This isn’t Spain.”
“Don’t worry,” I say as I take my black Desigual coat in my hands. “It’s warmer than it looks.”
With furrowed brow, he raises the collar of my coat and takes me by the hand as we go down the hallway.
“We’re going to have to buy you something else because I don’t want you to get sick.”
I sigh and don’t say anything. Once we’re in the Mitsubishi, Eric presses a button, and the garage door opens; the car heats up in seconds.
The radio comes on, and I smile when I recognize Maroon 5. As Eric drives, he begins to tell me about where we are.
He explains that his house is in the Trudering district, a very pretty place where, in the light of day, I can see many more houses like his all around. Each one is more impressive than the last. When we get on the highway, he tells me that, a little to the south, there are farms and woods. I like that. To have nature close by, like in Jerez, is essential for me.
We pass the Riem district and come to an elegant neighborhood called Bogenhausen. This is where his mother lives. After driving down the streets with chalet after chalet, we come to a stop before a dark gate, and I tense up. I know Sonia, and I know she’s a dear, but she’s Eric’s mother, and that makes me nervous.
Once he parks the car in the garage, he looks over and smiles. He understands that when I’m quiet, it’s because I’m tense. Just as I’m about to say something silly to try to relax, a door opens and Sonia steps out.
“How wonderful to have you both here!” she exclaims.
I smile; I can’t do anything else. Sonia hugs me, and I hug her back.
“Welcome to Germany and my home, love,” she whispers in my ear. “We’re going to love you very much here.”
“Thank you,” I babble.
Eric gives his mother a kiss, then takes me by the hand, and together we go into the house. The noise is atrocious, and the music is repetitive. “Flyn is in the living room, busy with one of his infernal games,” Sonia explains. She looks over at her son. “He’s driving me crazy. He doesn’t know how to have fun without that cursed music.” Eric just grins. “Your sister called. She said to wait for her to eat. She wants to say hi to you and Jude.”
“Stupendous,” says Eric, but I’m about to blow my brains out because of the strident music coming from the living room.
Eric and his mother talk about Flyn’s nanny for a few minutes. They are both very disappointed in her, and I hear them say they have to hire someone new. As they talk, I’m surprised that atrocious noise in the background isn’t a problem for them. In fact, it almost feels like they’re used to it. Once they stop talking, a young woman comes up and says something to Sonia. Excusing herself, Sonia goes with her. Eric takes my hand.
“Are you ready to meet Flyn?”
I nod, and we walk together to the living room. Eric opens the enormous white sliding door, and the decibels shoot up. Is Flyn deaf? The room is spacious, full of light, photographs, and flowers. But the noise is insufferable.
There is an enormous plasma TV featuring a couple of battling warriors. I know the game, Mortal Kombat. My friend Nacho loves it, and we’ve played for hours and hours. It’s addictive.
The warriors leap and scra
mble on the screen, and I notice there’s a red cap moving around on the strawberry-colored couch in front of the screen. Is that Flyn?
The music couldn’t be louder. Eric lets go of my hand, goes to the couch, and, without a word, leans down, grabs the remote, and turns down the volume.
“Uncle Eric!” exclaims a little voice.
Suddenly a slight boy jumps up and hugs my Iceman. Eric smiles and hugs him back, closing his eyes.
Oh God, what a wonderful moment!
I get goose bumps from seeing the love my German feels for his nephew. For a few seconds, I watch the two of them sharing secrets, and I hear the boy laugh. Before he introduces me, Eric has his full attention on the boy, who’s so happy to see him and is telling him something about the game. After a few minutes during which the boy still hasn’t realized I’m here, Eric comes over to me.
“Flyn, I want to introduce you to Miss Judith.”
I can see the boy’s back tense up. That’s such an Iceman thing to do that I’m not at all surprised he does it too. I know the boy hasn’t looked at me. I walk over and say hello to him in German.
“Hi, Flyn!”
He quickly turns his face and looks me over with dark almond eyes as Eric takes the cap off his head.
“Hello, Miss Judith!”
Wow, what a surprise! Flyn is Eurasian?
“Flyn, you can call me ‘Judith,’ OK?”
The boy scans me and nods. His wary gaze is as penetrating as his uncle’s, and that gives me goose bumps too. Before I can say anything else, Sonia comes back.
“Oh God, how wonderful to be able to talk without screaming. I’m going to go deaf! Flyn, my dear, can’t you play with the volume a little softer?”
“No, Sonia,” the boy says, still looking at me.
Sonia?
How impersonal. Why doesn’t he call her “Grandma” or “Nana”? She talks to him for a minute until her cell rings. When Sonia answers, the boy sits down again.
“Uncle, do you want to play?” he asks.
Eric looks over at his mother, but she quickly leaves the room. He sits next to his nephew. As they start to set up to play, I join them.
“Can I play too?”
“Girls don’t know how to play this,” says Flyn, not looking happy. Eric is trying to contain a smile.
“Why do you think girls don’t know how to play this?”
“It’s a game for men,” says the boy, now looking right at me.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I say very calmly.
“No, I’m sure,” the boy insists. “Girls are really dumb when it comes to war games. You like games about princes and fashion.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
“What if I showed you girls also know how to play Mortal Kombat?”
The boy shakes his head.
“I don’t play with girls.”
My eyes wide, I look over at Eric for help. “What kind of macho BS are you teaching him?” I say in Spanish.
I give him a tolerant smile. I should be nice because he’s Eric’s nephew.
Eric gives me a silly smile back.
“Don’t be put off, sweetheart,” he says, ruffling Flyn’s hair. “He’s just doing that to shock you. And, just so you know, Flyn speaks perfect Spanish.”
I’m absolutely stunned.
“If I don’t want to play with you, it’s because I want to play alone with my uncle,” he says.
“Flyn . . . ,” scolds Eric.
This has not been a very good beginning with this boy.
“Don’t worry, I’ll sit the game out if you want me to,” I murmur, and smile.
He looks away and presses Play. The atrocious music comes on again. Eric winks at me and begins the game.
I watch them for twenty minutes.
Tired of staring at the screen while having those two little machos ignore me, I get up and wander around the living room. I notice the photos on the mantel above the fireplace. There’s one in which I see Eric with two girls. One is Marta, and I suppose the other is Hannah, Flyn’s mother. They’re all smiling, and I realize how much Eric and Hannah look alike: light hair, blue eyes, and an identical smile.
There are more photos. Sonia and her children. Flyn as a baby, dressed as a pumpkin in his mother’s arms. Marta and Eric hugging. I’m surprised to see a photo of a much younger Eric with long hair.
“Hello, Judith!”
Because of the noise, I didn’t hear her come in, but Marta is here. We hug and she grins.
“I see these two warriors have abandoned you for their game,” she says, taking me by the hand.
“According to somebody, we girls don’t know how to play.”
Marta sighs.
“My nephew is a little monster,” she whispers. “Surely Eric has told you that, right?”
I nod, and she sighs again.
“Let’s go to the kitchen and get something to drink.”
To leave the living room is a real relief, especially for my ears. When we get to the kitchen, there’s a woman cooking who greets us. Marta introduces her as Cristel.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Coke, please.”
Marta opens the fridge and grabs two Cokes. She signals to me to follow her to an adjacent dining room. We sit at the table, and through the window I see Sonia, outside talking on the phone, with her coat on.
“Mother and her boyfriends,” Marta whispers.
That surprises me. Isn’t Sonia married to Marta’s father?
“She and my father divorced when I was eight years old,” says Marta. She takes a drink of her Coke. “And while I adore my father, I realize he’s a very boring man. She is full of vitality and needs another kind of life.” I nod. “Just look at her. She’s like a teenager when she talks to one of her boyfriends on the phone.” I look out at Sonia and realize Marta’s right. At that moment, Sonia turns off her cell and gives a little jump for joy.
“Girls . . . ,” says Sonia, now back in the house and shedding her coat, “I’ve just been invited to Switzerland. I said yes and leave tomorrow.”
Her effusiveness makes me laugh.
“Who with, Mother?” asks Marta.
Sonia sits with us, ready to confide.
“He’s a very handsome man, Trevor Gerver.”
“Trevor Gerver?” asks an astonished Marta, and Sonia nods.
“That’s right, my girl!”
“Wow, Mother! Trevor is hot.”
“Marta, I already told you that man looks at my legs too much,” says Sonia, touching her hair. “In fact, the day I went skydiving, I noticed that . . .”
“You skydived?” I ask, aghast.
“Not a word to my brother, or he’ll be all over us, OK?” Marta says.
Amazed, I nod.
“If my son finds out either one of us took skydiving classes, he’ll be insufferable,” says Sonia. “He’s been very strict about our safety since my precious Hannah’s fatal bungee-jumping accident more than three years ago.”
“I know . . . I know . . . I’m into motocross, and the day he saw me, he just about . . .”
“You’re into motocross?” asks Marta, surprised.
I nod and Marta claps.
“Wow!” says Sonia. “Hannah used to do that too. And my son hasn’t gone into a rage?”
“Yes, he did,” I say, “but I’ve made it clear motocross is a part of me, and he can’t do anything about it.”
They both grin.
“I still have Hannah’s motorcycle in the garage,” says Sonia. “You can take it whenever you want. At least you’ll use it.”
“Mother!” protests Marta. “Are you trying to make Eric mad?”
Sonia sighs. “Eric gets mad just being looked at.”
“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” says a jovial Marta.
“And even though he wants us to live in a bubble so nothing will ever happen to us,” says Sonia, “he needs to understand lif
e is to be enjoyed. That riding a motorcycle or skydiving doesn’t mean something horrible will happen to you. That’s what Hannah would say to him if she were alive. So, if you want the motorcycle,” she says in my direction, “it’s yours.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind,” I say, delighted.
As we continue laughing and sharing stories, I learn that Trevor owns a skydiving school on the outskirts of Munich. I’m terribly curious. I would love to learn to free-fall. As Sonia is talking about her trip to Switzerland, I realize it’ll be New Year’s Eve in four days.
“You’ll be back by New Year’s?”
“No, my dear. I’ll be in Switzerland with Trevor.”
“Eric and Flyn will be alone?”
The two of them nod.
“Yes,” says Marta. “I have plans, and Mother does too.”
I must be giving something away in my expression, because Sonia feels obliged to explain. “Since my daughter died, that night has ceased to be special for us, especially for me. Eric understands, and he usually stays with Flyn.” And then, quickly changing the subject, she turns to Marta. “So, what should I take with me to Switzerland?”
For a long time, I listen to them, but I can’t help but think my father would never in his life, not for any reason whatsoever, leave me or my sister alone with my niece on such a special night. Then Marta says something that makes me smile, and our conversation is cut short when Eric comes in with the boy.
He’s no fool, and he quickly understands we’ve been talking about something we don’t want him to know about. Marta gets up to greet him.
“Not a word of what we talked about to my quick-tempered son. Let’s keep this secret, OK, love?” says Sonia.
I nod almost imperceptibly and see Eric smiling at something Flyn has said.
Twenty minutes later, Eric and Flyn join us at the dining room table for a delicious meal. Everything is wonderful.
At three thirty, we’re all chatting in the living room, when I see Eric glance at his watch, get up, and come over to me.
“My love, I have to be at the Oberfohring All Sports Center in an hour. I don’t know if you like basketball, but I’d love it if you’d come with me and watch the game.”
His voice, his proximity, and the way he says “my love” make thousands of little butterflies flutter inside me. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. But this is not the place to release all that contained passion. Without my needing to say a word, Eric knows what I’m thinking. He intuits it. In the end, I nod, delighted, and he grins.
Now and Forever Page 6