Anxiety. No doubt about it.'
I talked on, covering over bis words. 'I knew I couldn't go home again… to Peter, to the house. It was all so… meaningless. So empty. I had to run… to escape.'
French cut in. 'I know… filled with a restless urge to move, to wander. To seek new horizons, new experiences-'
'Yes, yesf Then, when I realized he was poking fun at me, I lapsed into silence. I thought for a few moments, then spoke on, with less animation. 'That was it… what you said, regardless of what you think of it. That was it.'
French coughed. 'I wasn't makin fun of you. Not really. I'm sorry.'
I didn't need his sympathy, nor his apologies. I searched for words to match my feelings. I reached out, blindly. 'It was almost as if… I was looking for something.' 'What do you think you was lookin for?' I brushed my hair away from my face, as if I were brushing cobwebs from my brain. 'I… I don't know. Escape, maybe. Happiness? I don't know.' French snorted. 'Happiness?' 'Why not?' I said, defensively. 'Life should be happy, shouldn't it? I mean, I'm twenty-eight. Twenty-eight! All my life… everything, everything has been meaningless. Life should be more than that Life should be happy.'
'Why?' French asked. 'Who says it should? Television? The Constitution?'
I ignored him again. My brain was racing, like the dark, starless sky that was gushing past our dart-Mke car.
'It's funny,' I said, but it wasn't really funny. It was sad. 'I can hardly remember what Peter looks like, do you know that? After eight years of marriage, and I can hardly remember what my husband looks like.'
'Maybe you never really looked at him,' French suggested. I tried to think about Peter, but memories of 42 Adam kept getting in the way. My mind kept confusing the two. I kept remembering Adam in bed with me, naked, and snoring like Peter. More than anything else, I thought, that must mean something. I mean, not remembering…
'Do you think he'll miss you?' French asked, cutting into my thoughts. 'Who?' I asked.
'Peter… your husband. Do you think hell be worried?'
I shrugged my shoulders.*7 suppose so. For a while. But he has his job.' 'What about kids? Do you have any?' I tried to remember. 'No. No children.' 'A nice clean break,' he said.
'Yes, that's it.' I stared at French, but he stared at the road. 'That's it. A nice clean break. No call to Peter, no notes of explanation. I had no argument with him. Just leave. Period.' 'Because you're not happy-*
'I took nothing with me,' I continued, justifying it for myself. 'Nothing from the past but the clothing I was wearing. Just this dress.' French gave me a funny look.
'I had to go,' I said, softly, softly.*1 have to find… something before it's too late. Too kte for me. Do you understand?'
French snorted again. 'And you saw all this in a flash. In the split-second of orgasm. Right?'
I nodded. 'Yes. I saw it. Just a glimpse. But it was there.'
French shook his head. The typical American syndrome: a life filled with material things… Things and none of it means a goddam thing. Not one fucldn thing. All your dreams come true, and you're still not happy.'
I felt my cheeks color. 'You must think I'm s. fool, going on like this. Well, I'm not… I just wanted to get it out… Say it before I lost the perspective. Before I couldn't recognize it for what it was. I'm sorry if I bored you, French.'
He shook his head. 'Hell, Sally, you didn't bore me-' Then you must think I'm crazy.' 'Not that either.' I looked across at him. 'What then, French?' 'I think it's all kinda… sad.' We fell into another silence, and I could feel the heavy oppressiveness weighing over the air like a cloud of humidity. I attempted to lighten the mood, 'French,' I said. 'What kind of name is that- French?' He shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't rightly know. All I know is my Mama liked it, so she named me it. French. French Grandall. God, if you knew how many fights I had because of that name…' 'That's a nice name. I like it.' 'Well, don't go namin you kids it, cauz-' 'No, I don't think I'll be doing that,.. Naming my children, I mean.'
French flashed a look at me. 'Jeez, Sally, I'm sorry. I didn't think…' 'Forget it,' I said, with a wave of my hand. 'And thanks, by the way.' He looked at me again. 'For what?' 'Letting me talk.'
He nodded. He said: 'You might as well be gettin some sleep, Sally. We gotta long way to go yet.'
I decided it was a good idea, and I curled up on the front seat, leaning against the door, closing my eyes. I was suddenly very tired, I realized. Very, very tired. And like a dark cloak, sleep came down over me.
The car was no longer moving when I woke. There was darkness all around us. Even the dash was unlit.
I woke with a start, frightened, disoriented. French was pushed into the far corner of the front seat. He was sleeping soundly.
Panic made me sweat, and for a moment I was afraid to move. 'French…' I whispered. Then louder and louder, until I was shouting. 'French!' He woke with a start. 'Huh? What is it?'
I moved towards him, across the seat. 'Hold me, please. I'm frightened, French. Hold me, please.'
His arms opened, and he pulled me toward him. I could smell the musky fragrance of sleep clinging to his clothing. 'Easy, Sally, easy,' he whispered. He patted my hair. 'Ifs okay. Don't be scared.'
I slipped my arms under his, and I pressed my face against his chest. I could hear his heart beating. His chest was narrow and thin, and I could feel his ribs under the thin fabric of his tee shirt.
'Hold me tight, please,' I said. 'I feel so… alone. So… lonely.'
He moved his arms around my back, and his hands slid softly up and down. His caress was gentle and soothing, and I felt myself relaxing. 'Easy, easy… easy.'
Trench… make love to me,' I said. I felt no passion yet, only emptiness. 'Please, French… make love to mel'
He laughed softly, tenderly. 'All right, SaHy. If you want me to. If it will make you happy.'
I pulled my face away from his chest. 'Yes, yes…' I whispered, eyes closed. I pressed my mouth against his lips and I kissed him. 'Ye$r
French's mouth opened, and his tongue slid forward. I greeted him with my tongue, and we pressed against each other in wet, exploratory kisses. His tongue was soft and spongy, and I slid over the top, into his mouth. His teeth were twin hard ridges that came down and bit playfully into my tongue, chewing my flesh sexually.
I dropped my hand away from his back and I pushed it between his thighs. I touched his cock. It was already hard and throbbing.
'My goodness, Sally,' French said. He broke the kiss off wetly, and spoke the words around the rim of my lips. 'Tou are anxious, aren't you? It looks as if you kin hardly wait.'
I grasped his cock between my fingers, and I sighed in relief at his hardness. I ran my hand up and down the length of his organ, pinching it through the material of his jeans. From what I could judge, his cock was long and thin; not such a monster as Adam's was, but certainly as long as Peter's. And perhaps even longer.
'I need you,' I moaned. I licked my tongue against his face, like a cat licking at a bowl of cream. My hand worked feverishly in his crotch. 'French… I need you. 1'leaser
French stilled my words by kissing me again. This time it was his tongue that pushed into my mouth. I parted my lips and accepted him. I sucked deeply in, drawing the full length of his tongue into my wet, drawing mouth. I felt him flitting over the slippery wet sides of my cheeks, over my palate, and behind the line of my teeth. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked in. Hard.
My hand worked up and down against his cock I could feel its heat baking up into my palm. I pressed down with my fingers and imprisoned the throbbing shaft against his leg. I rubbed up and down until I could feel his balls at the base of the organ, and the crown-like ridge near the tip of his cock. I squeezed the bulb of his cockhead, and French moaned into my mouth. 'Oohhh, Sally,' he moaned. 'That feels good.'
I gripped his cock as tightly as I could, pressing my fingernails deeply into the fleshy pole. 'Touch me… please. Please, French… Touch me before I go crazy.'
He laughed against my mouth. 'What parts do ya want me to touch?' he teased. He pulled his hips back and then thrust forward, driving the shaft of his cock through the pinched hollow of my fingers. 'Name em for me, Sally. Say the words fer me.'
'My cunt, damn itl' I moaned. The passion was there suddenly. The emptiness was gone, and I needed a new kind of attention-a sexual one. 'My cunt, my tits, my ass. My whole body! But touch them, damn it. Touch
