An Illicit Pursuit (18 page)

My sex is so hot and soaking, I can get off
with a few strokes. Now that Adam is busying himself in the shower,
I can use the opportunity to give myself those crucial strokes. So
I roll on my face, slip my hand beneath me through the waistband of
my shorts, and feel my own flesh. The folds are swollen and
slippery between my fingers, and I dig two digits inside without
needing to play with my clit.

I’m so turned on, everything else tunes out
in the instant my fingers touch that needy bump right behind the
entrance. How I wish those were Adam’s thick fingers. I bet he’d
know what to do to take my edge off, and as soon as I come, he’d
stick his cock into me. I wonder how big he is and how long he can
last. A sizable cock is just what I need at this moment. I’d be
lifting my buttocks for him to drive it into me, taking me
mercilessly, then pumping into me until I cry out his name.

“Adam, Adam, Adam.” Oh, god, have I just
yelled his name? I rub my fingers one last time, as the orgasm hits
me with full force, and roll back to be able to breath, while my
ears are wide open to detect the noises around.

The sound of water… is gone. What the hell?
How didn’t I hear it? Suddenly, I hear Adam’s bed squeaking. Oh,
no. He’s in his room and has been probably listening to my own
bed’s crackling and my wanton weeping. He knows not only that I was
masturbating but also that it was him that I was fantasizing about.
I’ll shoot myself right between the eyes rather than face him after
the utter shame of being caught while masturbating.

I remain paralyzed in the bed, waiting for
another sound, another movement, anything. I don’t even have the
nerve to catch my breath for fear of providing him another piece of
evidence of my shameless masturbation.

The buzz of my phone on the side table makes
me jump in the bed, and I move to grab it. My heart is bumping at
its highest speed. Who can it be texting me at this hour?

It’s from Adam:
“You should get
professional help if you want the job done well. I’m way better
equipped for your needs than your fingers.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! He knows and
doesn’t shy away from using it to his advantage. What am I going to
do now? I can’t ignore it and pretend I was just sleep-talking and,
worse, sleep-fingering myself.

Me:
“Wasn’t the saying actually ‘if you
want a thing done well, do it yourself?’”

I hear his phone beep on the other side of
the wall followed by a laugh from him. Then another message buzzes
my phone.

Adam:
“You can always compare and contrast
using our test ride option. Satisfaction guaranteed or my complete
retreat provided free.”

Me:
“I’m not difficult to satisfy, but you
might end up losing your other customers in the process.”

Adam:
“All I strive for is just one
all-round, all-consuming customer. My loyalty is second to none.
Well, only second to the well-endowed package under my
ownership.”

Me:
“Fallacy is a federal crime,
punishable by letting Eleanor know the truth about the actual size
of your package.”

Adam:
“Fair and square. Just don’t lead me
on with empty promises.”

What am I supposed to do now? Is he expecting
me to go to his room now and test-ride him as he suggested? I can
use a good, wake-up scratch, but I can’t just give in to him so
easily, can I? It shouldn’t be so difficult to answer. Where is my
goddamn decency?

Another text comes from Adam:
“I’ve got
another hour to kill, and I’d love to kill it without the presence
of the wall between us.”

My fingers itch to type
‘Yes, yes, and
yes,’
but thank god my brain takes over control from my
genitals, and I type,
“I’d prefer having a second, possibly a
third date before removing any walls between us.”

Adam:
“As many dates as you wish. How
about I take you out to dinner tonight?”

Me:
“Only if you never mention what you
heard a few minutes ago.”

Adam:
“If it doesn’t mean I can’t
fantasize about it, my lips are sealed forever. Eight good for
you?”

Me:
“Eight is fine. Now, if you’ll allow
me, I’ll go back to sleep.”

Adam:
“Sleep tight and dream about
me.”

I fall asleep immediately, thanks to the
relaxation of the morning rub, and wake up a little before the
noon. My appointment isn’t until three, so I take it slow with a
lazy shower and a meager breakfast out at the garden. My appetite
is still way below the charts, though I can’t complain. I must have
lost nearly five pounds in the aftermath of my breakup with Zach. I
drink a glass of orange juice and nibble on a plain bagel while
watching Joanne and her nanny playing in the sand.

In less than eight months, Joanne will get a
little cousin, and the already crowded family will enlarge. Eleanor
has definitely the most supportive people as family, considering
the elevated statistics of abortion among girls under twenty.

I finish up my orange juice but discard the
half of the bagel I can’t possibly finish and go back to my room to
get ready for my appointment with Miranda.

At three o’clock sharp, Miranda’s assistant,
Reese, walks me into Miranda’s sun-flooded, tastefully-furnished
office. Miranda stands to welcome me, giving me a brief hug, and
offers me a seat on a cream, leather sofa.

“The final draft of the contract came in
today. Everything is as we agreed. I managed to increase your
percentage, but you won’t be earning much from album sales right
away. You’ll have a lot of touring and live performances to do in
the beginning, but you know that already, right?” Miranda pulls
open the drawer of the coffee table to take out a bottle of lotion
and squirts some into her palm.

My stomach rumbles at the strong,
after-shave-like smell of it, and I ask, wrinkling my nose, “What’s
that?”

“Moisturizer. Want some?”

I wave no at her with my hands and turn my
face to the other side to avoid the potent smell. I start feeling
pale, as if the blood in my body is draining out of me, the
queasiness in my stomach taking on a whole new level. My eyes roam
around the room to locate a trash can, and luckily there’s one
right beside the sofa. I jump to my feet and grab the can as soon
as the first shot of vomit hits my mouth.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Miranda
beside me, with her hand patting my shoulder. I wish the earth
would swallow me up, rather than experience such a disgusting event
in a professional environment. Is it my nerves that are playing
tricks on me?

When my stomach is empty of whatever I ate
during breakfast, Miranda calls for Reese to throw away the trash
bag in the can, then escorts me to the bathroom attached to her
office.

“Is there something you want to share with
me? As your manager, I need to be informed about your private life
to be able to take preventive steps.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The smell of moisturizer doesn’t normally
cause puking, unless it has some industrially hazardous chemicals
as ingredients.”

“I suppose you’re right. It must be the
nerves. I’ve been like a cat on hot wheels these past weeks.” I
soap my hands and splash water to my face.

She hands me an extra toothbrush. “Maybe.
But, just to be on the safe side, we have to rule out
pregnancy.”

I swallow hard; a new wave of nausea turns my
stomach into knots. “I’m not pregnant. I got my period two weeks
ago.”

Oh, God! Please no!

After meticulously using condoms for years,
how could we risk it? I mentally curse myself for letting Zach
inside me bare.

Miranda’s eyebrows are pulled together,
forming deep lines in between, and her eyes focused on something
behind me. “Then we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.
However, I’d like to see a negative pregnancy test result before I
let you sign the contract. You can’t begin a music career with a
baby on the way.”

She didn’t wait for my response, which would
be a rejection, and orders Reese to get a pregnancy test. Of course
getting tested is the best way to go, but I may also be confronted
with a harsh truth that I have absolutely no idea how I’ll deal
with it.

I can’t be pregnant. No way! What will I do
with a baby? I can’t go back to Zach. He’ll blame me for this, and
his mother will hate me for tying him to a non-Jewish family
permanently. She’ll think I did it on purpose.

Whereas, raising a child on my own is an even
worse idea. I don’t have the money, which means I’ll have to go
back to Denver, live under my parents’ roof, as if I’m still a
teenager, and see the disappointment in their faces every day. What
a great role model I’ll be to my sister? A struggling artist coming
back to her parents’ home with a belly reaching up to her nose.
What a cliché. I bet my mother will hide me away in my bedroom for
the majority of my pregnancy.

I wait in the bathroom until Reese comes
back, pondering about the miserable future I’ll be handed if the
test comes out positive. I hear a door knock, and a few seconds
later, Miranda steps in the bathroom with a plastic bag, which I
assume has the pregnancy test in. I grab the bag, thanking her,
then close the door after she leaves.

The two minutes for the stick to show the
result feels like half of my life. My hands are shaking. My palms
are soaked in my own sweat. My nerves are ready to explode.
Swallowing hard, I grab the stick to read the result on it.

Two lines. Two frigging lines.

I drop to my knees. “Oh, God.” Tears roll
down my cheeks, making it difficult to see the lines clearly.

Miranda bursts in without knocking and leans
down to see the stick in my hand. “It’s not the end of the world.”
She straightens up then holds my hand to help me get me up. I wash
my face again, though the tears continue running.

How the heck did I get myself into this
situation? Finally when things were starting to look good,
something like this happens, and I’m shattered into millions of
pieces. I feel pity for the life inside me, half mine, half Zach’s.
It’s a child of love; there’s no denying that. But, he won’t find
love if he sees the light of the world.

“Let’s get you seated first,” Miranda says
and motions toward the sofa with her hand, making sure to hide the
lotion tube that started everything.

“I don’t know what to say. This was a
shock.”

“I can see that.” She pulls out a box of
tissue from the same drawer and pushes it in front of me. I draw a
handful of tissue and press them against my face. “You need to make
a decision very soon. Are you in a committed relationship with the
father?”

I shake my head no, my face still covered
behind the tissues.

“It’s not my place to tell you what to do. I
can only give you advice based on my view of your career. It’s not
all gone yet. You can always get an abortion, then sign the
contract, and move on with your life. You won’t be the first woman
choosing career over… well, I guess you know what I mean.”

My chest tightens painfully at the idea of
killing a life, the only thing that’s left to me from my love with
Zach.

“Once you get your name out there—” she
continues “—you can have as many kids as your heart pleases. But,
now isn’t the right time.”

I don’t speak; instead, I keep my face down,
gazing at my legs.

“I’ll hold the contract for you for another
day. Just think it through. If you want to go ahead with an
abortion, I’ll have Reese arrange an appointment for you and drive
you. You won’t need to worry about anything.”

“Thank you,” I whisper and throw the tissues
into the trash.

“No big success comes without sacrifice.” She
taps on my shoulder as I leave her office.

I wait until the elevator doors close to
burst back into tears. It’s clear what I’m going to do; I only need
to convince myself that I’ll be able to live with the mortifying
fact that I’m going to end the life Zach and I gave to this tiny
creature in me. I wish I could talk to other women who did this
before, to hear how they coped with it in the aftermath.

I make it my mission to stare down at the
floor while I walk out, so no one can see my tears. The fresh air
outside lifts my mood, but only a little. I stroll aimlessly around
and stop to catch my breath at the Westwood Park.

It’s a big, fat joke, one of fate’s cruel
pranks on me, because the park is full of kids running around. I
watch them in awe and marvel at the mothers’ close guard around
their kids. Can I be that? Leaving everything I’ve worked for and a
major part of who I am, to become one of those mothers with dark
eye circles and yoga pants. Maybe yes, if I knew I would have Zack
back without ruining his life and who he is.

My hands reach up for my belly, which feels
exactly the same size as ever, and I wonder how big the baby must
be. The pregnancy-related talks or information have never been my
thing, so I have no idea about the size or developmental milestones
of the baby in my womb. My baby must be too small to be visible to
bare eyes.

My baby.

Does its invisible size give me the right to
end its life? When I can’t even kill an ant intentionally, how will
I allow someone else to end my baby’s life?

I spend the next two hours at the park,
sitting at a corner far from the playground area, listening to the
cheerful sounds of the children, and trying to convince myself of a
future without my baby, and realize I’ll never be able to be fully
convinced of the rightness of aborting my baby. Still, I know I
won’t be able to keep him either, with or without a music
career.

My legs reflexively carry me back to
Miranda’s office as if my mind has stopped working, and Reese
greets me, her normally neutral face carries lines of sadness and
perhaps pity for me.