Come Undone (2 page)

      
I forced
myself to focus on the second half. A bewitching Odette mournfully enthralled
the crowd as her story unfolded. Why did it feel as though she watched me
between sequences?

      
Back in the
lobby, in the most unobvious way I knew how, I scanned the crowd for a clue or
hint as to who the man might be. To both my relief and disappointment, I did
not see him again and tried to forget the feeling while we dined and drank into
the night.

~

The
heavy door of our Lincoln Park apartment threatened to slam behind me, but at
the last second, I caught the knob and eased it shut. I yawned as I hung up my
coat and slid out of my pumps. Bill flipped on the television set in the next
room as I sorted through the mail, tossing half of it into the trash. On the
brown polyester couch his mother had given us some years ago, I found him in
his boxers, languidly watching replays of the basketball game he’d grudgingly
missed.

      
Three
glasses of red wine coursed through my veins. I stripped off my emerald dress
in one sinuous motion and let it drop onto the floor. When he didn’t look up, I
shimmied over and settled myself onto his lap.

      
“Hi,” I
said in a sultry whisper. His hand righted a stray strand of hair as he glanced
between the screen and me. I wet my lips and kissed him full on the mouth. I’d
been humming with electricity since intermission and was impatient for human
contact.

      
 
“Well, well,” he said when we broke.
“What’s gotten into you?”

      
“It’s late.
Take me to bed,” I pleaded with a scrunch of my nose. His eyebrow rose and his
mouth popped open as if connected by an invisible string. He looked about to
protest and then relaxed as he thought better of it. In an uncharacteristically
graceful motion he stood, with my body secured to his, and carried me to the
mattress. Fingertips tenderly caressed the outside of my thighs as he hovered
over me.

      
“Shit,” I
said, just as his face dipped. I sat up in a panic. “I forgot to pick up
condoms.”

      
“It’s
fine.”

      
My brows
furrowed. “It is not fine. You know I’m not on birth control.”

      
“Come on,
Liv, just this once.” He sighed, annoyed, even though we’d never done it
without one.

      
“Nope.” A
friend of mine in high school had tried birth control and ended up ten pounds
heavier and horribly moody. The day she slapped another student, I swore off of
it forever.

      
“There’s
one in the kitchen drawer,” he said finally, rolling his eyes. I slid out from
underneath him and shuffled to the kitchen. I rifled through the cluttered drawer
until I found one in the back. “Liv,” he called impatiently.

      
I grabbed
it, checked the expiration date and ran back, jumping onto the bed. “I’m sorry
babe, where were we?”

      
Frown lines
faded as he propped himself up on long, wiry arms. I touched his pecs, trailing
my fingers down to a soft midsection while goosebumps sprang to attention
across his skin.

      
“My, my,
Mrs. Wilson,” he crooned. The designation still recalled the image of Bill’s
mom, but I’d managed to control my grimace finally. It remained one of the
reasons I hadn’t officially changed my surname. “What big green eyes you have,”
he continued, touching his lips to the corner of my eye. “And such pretty
blonde hair,” he added, brushing a lock from my forehead. His hips ground
against me in anticipation. I reached up and ran my hand through his floppy
brown hair, cocking my head to the side.

      
“Not
blonde, just plain brown,” I said with a pout.

      
“What?” he
asked with feigned surprise. “You must be colorblind. I see some blonde strands
in there.”

      
“You just
want to tell people you married a blonde.”

      
“Agree to
disagree, then.” His crooked nose creased with a smile. He loved to say he’d
broken it during one-on-one, but the truth was that it was just naturally that
way.

      
He unhooked
my bra swiftly, gently cupping my breasts in each of his hands. His fingers
were long and I didn’t quite fill them up. From the living room, the unmistakable
sounds of a heated basketball game blared from the television.

      
The motions
were familiar but pleasurable. His soothing touch had become defter, more
confident, over time. And his usually awkward nature became more fluid. He
groaned my name as he pushed himself into me, pulling my hips closer. I echoed
his movements, my arousal growing with his satisfaction. I watched beads of
sweat form on his brow, more apparent when his face screwed up with pleasure.
He didn’t kiss me again, but I’d become accustomed to that. Making out, I’d
decided, was for teenagers. I inhaled his natural scent, enhanced by a salty
concoction of unwashed hair and fresh perspiration; it was always sharper when
we were making love. I felt a twinge inside and sighed softly, but then it was
gone. It wasn’t long before he came, squeezing his eyes shut as he called out
and collapsing onto me.

      
“I’m
sorry,” he breathed into my ear after a moment. “Do you want - ”
      
“No,
it’s fine,” I reassured him, suddenly tired from the wine. “It was nice.”

      
It took him
less than two minutes to fall asleep; I knew because I often watched the clock
as I waited. I untangled myself from his clutch and tiptoed out of the room.
Once the apartment was dark and still, and I’d washed my face of the day, I
returned to cocoon myself in the soft sheets. He stirred and reached for me,
but I expertly dodged his grasp. I’d had to learn to find the comfort in
postcoital cuddling. I was always the one left with tingling limbs and
uncomfortable sweating as I willed myself to sleep.

      
A twinge
. Though the sex was comfortable
and good, a twinge wasn’t going to get me very far. I let my head roll to the
side to look at my husband. At one point he’d wanted my orgasm as much as I
did, but it was the one thing I couldn’t give him. There were times when we’d
been close, when the stars and the body parts had aligned, and I’d shuddered in
response. But when it came time for the grand finale, I’d buckled under the
pressure.

      
Bill had
found comfort in the fact that it wasn’t just him. I’d been with other men
before him, mostly in college, but despite my efforts, had yet to find my slice
of Nirvana. I couldn’t find comfort in that, though. To me, it was my eternal
flaw and as a wife, my greatest inadequacy. If things were the other way
around, could I live with the fact that I couldn’t pleasure Bill?

      
I was happy
though. I had other ways of getting myself off when necessary. I had my
husband, who loved me in spite of everything. My life was pretty much as
perfect as a night of good friends, wine and sex. I lay in bed and watched the
ceiling, waiting for sleep. Yes, I was happy.