Honestly, it didn’t seem like he was asleep. He even seemed rather alert.
I’m just messing with you.
It didn’t matter after the fact, anyway. Men didn’t have much use, when you really thought about it.
Bottom line was, there was nothing they could do that women couldn’t. Especially not in today’s day and age—when women are actually allowed to do everything. It’s a little difficult being a bus driver if you’re relegated only to the back seat—but who truly wants to be a bus driver? And between us, the only people who limit us are the highly religious.
They most likely aren’t too crazy about the idea of it being us who would take them to Tel Baruch beach.
If every man I manage to seduce is considered a goal, then I should be sent to Mea Sha’arim (a hundred gates).
When I was old enough for my father to allow me to hang out with people who’d already gotten their licenses, I remember how we used to drive through the streets, enjoying the freedom of not being bound to pedestrian sidewalks.
We would even go there—to Tel Baruch beach—hooker central. We’d only go to look, if you know what I mean.
It’s not like I didn’t know what was going on there.
Once, two of my friends and I drove over there one night. After driving along , compromising couples who were too busy steaming up car windows to notice us coming, my friend, Suzie, asked me, “Noa, can you get out for a moment and check if we have a puncture?” or something along those lines… I can’t remember exactly. I love her, that Suzie. She’s a childhood friend. After I got out the car, she and the other friend who was with us drove off, leaving me alone on the sidewalk there. Just for laughs.
I remained a student among working girls. Hardly a comfortable position to be in. Today I work and study. When I’m helpless, I learn my lesson.
I love this guy. He’s so hot. And I love him best when he’s asleep. It’s when the advantages are maximized and the downsides are minimized. I also like hearing him talk. I love the way he speaks. I love the things he says. His intuition and everything else… I’ve long noticed how I started talking like him.
They came back only a minute later—those friends who abandoned me, I mean.
He’s always been able to affect me more than anyone else, Eran. Even when I fight it. He’s such a pain. you can’t get rid of him.
He doesn’t let go of me, either, when he’s around. Obsessive. Over me. And about sleeping.
I went down to the beach. I left him to sleep. It’s not easy for him, either. I’d take the night shift tonight.
What night shift—I had to make an impression tomorrow night, not show up panda-eyed.
Still… she was the prime minister. At least I can fuck her properly. A good memory from a bad situation.
Tomorrow morning, before the event, I’ll offer to do something special for Eran. Meaning, we’ll do something special together… which really means he’ll do something special for me.
Maybe breakfast on the beach. Though, it would more likely be brunch… but still, definitely on the beach. It’s beautiful here. I could count on him to bring or make something delicious. If everything is closed, he’ll go fish. Everything has a solution, though in this case, not a feasible one, since I don’t eat fish. I only lay the bait. Sometimes that’s enough, and sometimes Eran has to show up with the sharks. They get along with all the kinds of fish—even swordfish and electrogenic ones.
Our men are such winners. I mean, the Israeli men. And you can always find uses for them. Doubly so, mostly.
The ocean waters stirred gently. The waves and their continual movement a counterpoint to the static, famous opera house that stood to the left.
I had to pull it off tomorrow.
My parents still had three years left for their mortgage, and they were in their sixties.
My brother and his wife took out a mortgage for eighty percent of the value of their flat. Who the hell gives out mortgages to couples who can barely get through the month?
And who the hell takes out a mortgage of a million and a quarter shekels when eventually he’ll end up paying two and a half million with interest?
I’ll tell you who. Idiots who can’t calculate an accurate interest rate. And optimists.
With my experience in life, I’m telling you that the only way to act is to calculate the accurate interest rate and to always think pessimistically. It’s the only way to receive pleasant surprises and make sure the price for them isn’t too steep.
I silently crept back into the room. At least his eyes were closed. I told you before, this man never sleeps. I don’t have a clue how he manages to function with all the toxins in his body, either.
Well, I suppose I do know. He takes out all those toxins on the people who deserve to suffer from them. It’s not like there’s a shortage of those people, as I’m sure you well know. Schemers, malicious people, those with small hearts and little faith. Those with little faith are high on his list of people he hates.
I got under the warm blanket.
At least he released the blankets from their prison under the mattress—from the way only maids with over a week’s worth of experience can accomplish. I know how to do it too—or have you forgotten my shtick as a maid in the Krasnopolsky hotel in Amsterdam?
I’ve no idea why that particular thought popped into my head. I was going to sleep, and hopefully I wouldn’t dream about the different ways to fold sheets.
Should I wake him for another go? No… it’s ten minutes, that’s not what’s really important. Everything that surrounds it is—and that’s a part of me twenty-four-seven. If he isn’t physically beside me, then he’s in my head. That bastard. He only calls
