I dragged myself out of a dark blank sleep. I looked around the bedroom. I had no idea what time it was. Hell, I had no idea what day it was.
I called Kelly. I asked her.
It’s eight o’clock, Dad, she said, shaking her head. Saturday night.
Jesus, I said. That’s really weird.
It wouldn’t be nearly so weird if you hadn’t slept all afternoon.
I think you may have a point there.
Kelly was playing Scrabble with Peter. I joined them for a while. We ordered in Chinese. It was a family sort of thing.
It felt good.
On the other hand, I thought after losing a second game, I sure could use a Scotch.
At the Wolf’s Lair I ran into Jake. I thought of leaving. I wasn’t in a state to deal with his mood swings.
But I needed that drink.
Jake was in his faraway mode. Or just plain drunk. Staring into space. Speaking in monosyllables. Mumbling about the evils of the world. I couldn’t make out half of what he said.
I had a couple Scotches. I felt a little better. He put his arm around my shoulder. I propped him up. I was feeling charitable. He was a friend, after all. I had so few. A brother. A guy I might be able to lean on, someday. Like he was leaning on me. Sure he was a bit of a nutcase. But hell, I had to take what I could get.
We talked poker. We had a few drinks.
Andrea might be joining us, he said glumly.
Excellent, I said, remembering the flirtatious looks I’d got, last time.
It was going to be strange to see her out of context. The poker crew didn’t exist for me outside of the game.
Strange, but not unpleasant, I mused.
I caught myself. Jesus. Could I really be having such a thought?
The pure man doesn’t resist temptation, I remembered from some sermon or another. He knows he’s weak: he avoids it. I should go home.
Sure, I answered myself, but isn’t life for the living? Melissa’s gone. And she did it to herself. And me. And Kelly. And love is the best antidote. For loss. Confusion. Guilt. Longing. For anything that ails a man.
Okay, not love.
Maybe I could get Andrea to punish me. For my impure thoughts.
Hold me back. Tie me up. Please. Then do it again.
Minutes later she arrived.
Slinky, sharp, snakelike, I saw her through the haze of drink.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Jake and I were tottering. Loud. Annoying. Oblivious. She came up smiling. She could see, and I could see that she could see, that we were out of control. She seemed to relish it.
I was a better drunk than Jake. He was sloppy, incoherent. I was not entirely in control, but I could stand up fairly straight. Concoct a jest or two at the spectacle of Jake slipping off his bar stool to the floor. I raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Andrea. She laughed.
You look like somebody famous, she said to me. I just can’t put my finger on who.
Harrison Ford?
No. That’s not it.
Well, I’m not famous. But the only difference between me and all those famous people is…
Yes?
… that you’ve never heard of me.
She laughed again.
We talked of this and that.
Jake crawled to a chair. Pulled himself up. Sat down. Put his head on the table.
Andrea put her hand on my arm.
Her hand felt warm and strong.
Let’s go to my place, she said.
Okay, I said. Why not?
Jake lifted his head. Looked straight at me. There was pain in his eyes.
Shit. I was stealing his girl.
She pulled at my arm.
He put his head back down.
Damn.
He wouldn’t remember anything tomorrow anyway, I told myself.
We went to her place.
As we walked, she put her arm through mine. I felt sensations that I hadn’t felt in years. With Lisa it had been a tingle, not much more. This was the real thing. I felt full. I felt like a man.
My God, I interrupted myself. I haven’t even buried her yet.
I started to deflate.
I pushed away the thought.
We got to Andrea’s place. Fourth floor walk-up. Two tiny rooms. Kitchen at one end, couch at the other. Books and ashtrays. Dorothy Parker. Nice. We could talk.
But we didn’t talk. As soon as the door closed, she was on me. She put her arms around my neck. She fastened her lips to mine. Her mouth was wet, insistent. She pushed me up against the wall. She drove herself into me. I felt her body, every curve of it. I gave myself to the sensation. I almost fainted with desire.
She dragged me to the bed. Threw me down. I tried to sit up, to bring her with me. She raised a high-heeled foot. Pushed me back down.
All right. So that was how she wanted it.
She fixed me with a wicked playful stare. She pulled her shirt over her head. Nothing underneath but her. Her breasts were exquisite things. Firm, high and pointed slightly up. She cupped them in her hands.
God in heaven, I thought. I have an erection.
She took off her jeans. She put back on her high-heeled shoes. She stood before me. Muscular. Lithe. Honey-colored. A goddess, to my hungry eyes. She turned her back. The violin.
She told me to turn over. I did as she commanded. She grabbed my hands. Crossed them at the wrists. I felt leather. She strapped my hands together tight.
She ran her fingernails down my neck. I shuddered. I moaned. Every cell in my body was singing.
Turn, she ordered.
I struggled to obey. She pushed me over. I was on my back. She opened my shirt. She ran her fingernails down my chest. I thought I would explode. She reached my pants. Undid the belt. Pulled down the zipper. Pulled them off.
She went away. Left me like that. I sunk into the bed. I closed my eyes. My body floated. This was what I’d needed, all along. I knew. I understood.
I heard her heels on the floor. I opened my eyes. She had her yellow travel duck.
It comes with me everywhere, she said.
She reached down. She put it up against the inside of my thigh.
She turned it on. It hummed and strummed against my skin.
And then it happened.
Melissa sprawled dead, or dying, on the couch. My indifference. I walked on by. Hating her. Hating it. She was dying. I walked on by.
My body shut down. The gates to heaven closed.
Andrea stood up. Her hands were on her hips. She looked at me.
You’re kidding, right? she said.
Too many strong emotions, all at once. Excitement. Humiliation. Desire. Guilt. Supreme pleasure. Impotence. Anger. Guilt. I shut down.
Andrea was not the nurturing type.
Oh shit, she said. You’re not kidding.
She shook her head. She turned me on my side. I didn’t resist. She unbuckled the belt around my wrists. She flung it away. She picked up her clothes. She dressed quickly. She sat down on a wooden kitchen chair. Far away from me.
I think you should leave, she said.
I didn’t blame her. She didn’t know the story. I’d let her down. She was angry. I might be angry too, in her shoes. Her red stiletto shoes.
I’m sorry, I said again, pulling up my pants.
Yeah, she said, me too.
I buttoned my shirt. I left.
She didn’t say goodbye.