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.
80.
I woke up with pains in every joint. The room was black. I’d had some awful dream. Something vague. Something fearful. It had left me tense and uncomprehending. I knew that if I went right back to sleep the dream would only start again. And I didn’t want to be there. So I propped open my eyelids. I got myself a glass of water. I walked circles around the room. I lay back down. I passed right out again.
I woke.
I was afraid.
I staggered to the bathroom.
I got another glass of water.
I paced.
The whole night was like that.
Finally, the light came through the curtains. I got up. Looked at the clock. Six in the morning. I took a hot, hot shower. I cleansed myself.
It didn’t work. I was still unclean.
I made some strong and bracing coffee. I checked the porch. The Times was there.
It was awfully slim. I looked more closely. Monday. Shit. What happened to Sunday? I felt a moment of panic. I tamped it down. You’re under a lot of stress, I told myself. I took a Valium. I took another one.
Relief. Routine. Routine was good. I drank my coffee.
I read the Times. I felt half normal.
Laura called.
She wanted me to come over to the morgue. Some test results were in.
I didn’t want to know. Why couldn’t they just let us cremate her and get it over with?
When I got there Laura was smiling. Not the nervous smile she’d had the time before. A real smile. And Harwood wasn’t there.
Two good signs.
Well, she said as I sat down. It’s not you.
I stared.
I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that, she continued.
She said it lightheartedly. It was a joke. Why would I be relieved?
But I was relieved. I was almost overcome with relief. I was lightheaded with relief.
Concealing my confusion, I smiled and said, as playfully as I could, that I was indeed relieved, though
