She stepped back, and I stumbled a little crossing the threshold. There was a low couch with chrome legs and orange vinyl cushions. Beyond that was a glass door that led out onto a tiny landing. The sun was shining in on a large rubber plant in a terra-cotta pot. The living room and kitchen were one. But the couch was placed so that it marked the line between the two.
“This is very modern,” I said, sitting down.
Charlotte beamed with pleasure.
There was a console record player/radio across from the couch. She lifted the reddish brown lid and started the stack of records. I remember the first song was by Ella Fitzgerald, but I forget the tune.
“You want that coffee?” she asked.
“Where’s your roommate?”
“She went to see her sister. I’m’a call her later on.”
Charlotte lit on the couch next to me.
“I didn’t think you’d call,” she said.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m in trouble,” I said. “ ’Cause I’m in trouble, and I hardly know you to come over here and burden you.”
“I’m from outside Galveston,” she said. “Where you from?”
“Near New Iberia.”
“Where’s that?”
“Louisiana.”
She put a hand on my knee, “You see?”
“See what?”
“We’re both from the South. People from the South is just nicer. We don’t get all cold and push people away when they in need.”
“How long you been here?” I asked.
“Where?” She leaned forward and I slid a little in her direction.
“In L.A.?”
“Two months.”
I kissed her chin right in the middle of that scar. She shuddered and moved her hand up on my erection. She didn’t gasp or make any declaration about my size. That was fine by me. I didn’t want any big expectations. I just wanted someone close and caring.
“Bite it,” she said.
I knew what she meant and nipped her chin and lip.
“Li’l harder, baby,” she said and her hand tightened on my erection to show me how much harder she meant.
I groaned and bit harder.
“Oh, that’s it,” she whispered. “I wanted that ever since you said it. It’s like you caught me, just sayin’ you’d bite my lip.”
She shuddered again, and I grabbed her head with both hands to steady it as I ran my tongue slowly from her chin up across her lip. I spent many minutes on that scar. It drove her wild. She used those moments to take off our clothes and lead us to the bed.
Again it was a new kind of lovemaking for me. Usually there was a game I played with women. They adored my big thing and ignored my skinny chest. I pretended that I was a wild animal, furious and feral in my passion. It led all too quickly to something explosive and not quite real. But with Charlotte it was different. There were some explosions, but at other times there was a settling in. Like when we lay on our sides, me deep inside her, facing each other.
“A man cut me on the face, and when it healed I headed for L.A.,” she said in a strained whisper.
I stroked her cheek in reply.
“Would you do somethin’ like that?” she asked.
“Neither,” I said.
Her face framed the question that a moment of passion would not allow into words.
