Dirty (17 page)

I didn’t ask him to do any of those things. Those date type things. I could have. I even wanted to. I just…didn’t.

Dan chewed. Sipped his soda. Swallowed. Wiped his mouth and fingers with his napkin. He ate without getting sauce or grease on his clothes, and I surreptitiously admired him. I had to struggle not to drip mustard on my skirt. I’d already splashed iced tea on my shirt.

We’d often sat in silence before but it had always been companionable. Comfortable, I realized with growing dismay. I’d grown comfortable with Dan, and today, we had become worse than strangers. We’d become people who had almost, but not quite, become friends.

I drank my tea but couldn’t force the sandwich down my throat. I crumpled the napkin in my hands, shredding it. Small shreds of paper littered my skirt, and I brushed them away.

“I didn’t mean it,” I said finally. “What I said before.”

“You meant it. Besides,” he said with a shrug. “It’s true. Isn’t it?”

It should have been true, but I knew it wasn’t. “I’m sorry, Dan.”

He shrugged again, not looking at me. His eyes scanned the Susquehanna River, wide but not deep, its gray-green surface ruffled today by the breeze. He wrapped up the remains of his lunch and tucked it back into the bag, sucked the last of his soda until the straw crackled along the bottom, and put that in, too. He tossed it in the trash basket next to the bench.

“Ready to head back?”

I hadn’t even eaten more than a few bites, but I nodded and packed it all up to toss. The trash basket was made of metal mesh, interlocking octagons formed by the intersections of the metal. I counted 123 of them before I turned back to him.

“Ready.”

Dan had put his hands into his pockets and undone his suit jacket. The breeze pushed his sandy hair back from his forehead. The tree overhead cast dappled shadows on his face, looking in profile so different than full-on. I saw small lines at the corner of his eyes I’d never noticed before.

I didn’t know his birthday, or if he had siblings, or where he’d grown up. I didn’t know his favorite color, or if he’d played sports. I knew how he tasted and smelled, and I knew the length and girth of his penis, the curve of his ass, the pattern of freckles on his shoulder, the number of hairs surrounding his nipples. I knew he liked to laugh and that he could be kind or demanding, or kindly demanding or demandingly kind.

“My favorite flavor of ice cream is teaberry.” As I said it, the flavor carried on memory burst on my tongue. “You can’t find it many places, but that stand over there on City Island has it. And waffle cones.”

One eyebrow raised, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

I didn’t deserve for him to give me an inch, and he didn’t. It made me respect him more, that he didn’t trot after me like a puppy expecting a treat. He looked back over to City Island. The breeze flapped his tie. Today it featured Sponge-Bob Squarepants.

“Maybe we could go there sometime,” I offered. “Get some?”

He looked at me again, and I saw in his face he wasn’t going to buckle. But I liked that about him, that he didn’t let me walk all over him. That he wasn’t willing to let me use him. That he was willing to push me.

“Maybe we could,” he said.

I gave him a tentative smile. One step forward. He couldn’t know how much courage it took, but then…I didn’t want him to know.

We stood apart like that for a bit longer before he took his hands out of his pockets. The smile he gave me wasn’t as bright as usual, but it seemed real enough. “I’ve got to head back.”

I nodded, disappointed but relieved, too, that he didn’t want to walk and talk. A little at a time was all I could handle. I needed time to think about this, all of it. Where it was going. Where I wanted it to go, or not.

“Want me to get you a cab?”

I nodded again. My office wasn’t within walking distance, especially not in business clothes.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said before I got in the cab. I hesitated, watching another pair of lunchtime trysters saying goodbye with quite a bit more passion than we were displaying.

I watched him from the window as the cab drove away. He waved, a not-so-tall man in an expensive business suit and a tie that flapped in the breeze. I waved back.

I had the best intentions when I got into my car and started to drive. My childhood home wasn’t far out of the city. A forty-minute drive, in Saturday traffic. Too close and too far, too.

The town of my childhood hadn’t changed too much. Wide, tree-lined streets. Houses more than fifty years old, some of them turned into specialty shops or boutiques. There were a few more gas stations and chain restaurants, but other than that, I could have been riding my bike, my hair in pigtails. Maybe going to the library or the swimming pool.

Instead I drove my car and turned down the street toward my parents’ neighborhood. The same houses, painted the same colors, greeted me. The trees had grown. Porches had been added or driveways paved. A vacant lot had sprouted an out-of-place apartment building.

I meant to visit my father. I truly did. My mother might be a martyr and a drama queen, but for her to admit his illness meant he was really sick. Dying, perhaps. I should talk to him before he did that. I knew all too well the empty feeling left behind when someone I loved died before I had a chance to make my peace with him.

Yet, when it came right down to it, I didn’t pull into the driveway. I stopped across the street to look at the house in which I’d grown up. My stomach twisted, acidic as if I’d drunk too much coffee.

The last time I’d been in this house had been the day I left to attend a college my mother didn’t approve of. She’d told me never to come back, and I’d been too happy to oblige. Her tune had changed but mine hadn’t. I hated that house and the things that had happened in it, and I couldn’t go back. Not even to see my almost certainly dying father. I drove on by, made the turn at the end of the street and headed back toward the city I’d adopted as my home.

Marcy seemed surprised to see me when she opened her door, and no wonder. Night had fallen by the time I got there, and I hadn’t called first. She opened the door to let me in, and I saw Wayne at the table as I stepped inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.” I turned to go, but she stepped in front of me.

“Don’t be silly. We were just having something to eat. C’mon in.” Marcy looked at me. “Elle. Come on. Want a drink?”

I’d been drinking already, a few shots of vodka at a bar down the street, but I nodded. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

They exchanged a look I could have interpreted if I hadn’t already been blurred with booze. Wayne got up and went to the cupboard to pull out a bottle of lemon-flavored vodka and a couple of shot glasses. Marcy pulled some lemons from the fridge and the sugar bowl from the counter.

“Lemon shooters?” she asked.

I nodded again. “I’m sorry to barge in like this on a Saturday night. You must have plans.”

“Actually, we’re just waiting on some friends.” Marcy sounded embarrassed. “We’re going to play some games.”

“Board games?” I blinked at her answer. It seemed so incongruous with the picture of the Marcy I knew.

Wayne laughed. “Yeah. Board games. Some Saturday night, huh?”

His arm went around Marcy’s shoulders and he kissed her temple while she swatted him. They smiled at each other, sharing a secret. I watched them, feeling an outsider.

“I should go.”

“No, Elle, stay. It’ll be fun. I promise.” Marcy reached to pull me toward her. “Stay.”

I stayed. We drank. Marcy’s friends arrived, and we pulled out board games. Balderdash, Guesstures, Pictionary, Trivial Pursuit. We divided into teams, boys against girls, and we drank lemon shooters while we scarfed nachos and pretzels. The girls won two out of three, but the boys didn’t seem to care. I was the only singleton there, but nobody seemed to care about that, either. At least nobody mentioned it, and if there were any pitying looks shot my way I didn’t notice.

It had been a long time since I’d been part of a group like this. Laughing, playing games. In fact, I had to think about if I’d ever been part of a group like this. In high school I’d been quiet, a brainiac. My best friend Susan Dietz had moved away when we were in tenth grade and after that…well, after that, things changed. In college I’d had friends. Matthew had pulled me into his group and made me a part of it. Late-night laughing, drinking, playing games. Kissing and more under blankets while watching scary movies. I’d had a year, at least, of friends and parties and love, before that too had changed.

Those memories didn’t make me melancholy. They were part of my past. The truth. Not all the memories were bad.

The party dispersed around 1:00 a.m. with much hugging and tipsy taunts about mental prowess. I was soundly squeezed and petted by most of the people there, as Marcy’s friends seemed to be as hands-on as she was. I didn’t really mind, although I’m not much of a hugger.

“I’m glad you came over tonight.” Marcy wrapped her arms around me. I gave her back an awkward pat. She kissed my cheek, and I squirmed away with a laugh.

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Are you gonna be all right getting home? Wayne can take you.”

Wayne looked up from his flopped-out place on the chair. “Sure, Elle.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I can take a cab. Don’t worry.”

I might’ve been drunk, but not so drunk I’d get in a car with Wayne, who’d been drinking steadily all night. He gave a languid wave and a goofy grin, then turned his attention back to the television. Marcy walked me to the door, stopping me just outside it and closing it partway behind us.

“I’m glad you came tonight. Are you all right?”

I nodded. “I just thought I’d stop by. See what you were up to. I didn’t mean to crash your party.”

“You didn’t.” Marcy glanced over her shoulder, then back at me. “You had a good time?”

“I did.” I didn’t have to fake a smile. “I haven’t played a board game in…well, forever.”

“You should come again.” Pause. “Bring Dan.”

I made a face before I could stop it, smoothing it with effort. “Sure. Okay.”

“You won’t? Did you stop seeing him?” She leaned in her doorway, arms crossed, and I realized Marcy had barely been drinking at all.

An awkward position to be in, deflecting questions from someone way less intoxicated than myself. “No. I’m still seeing him.”

“Good.” Marcy grinned.

I said nothing. She squeezed me again. This time I hugged her, too, if only so she’d release me sooner.

“Elle? Are you all right?”

Her question stopped me at the elevator, and I turned. “Sure.”

“Are you sure? You look a little down.”

I almost told her about my dad then, but it’s not something that should be blurted out in a hallway at one in the morning. Especially not after the consumption of much alcohol. So I did what I do best. I lied.

“No, just a little tired.” I smiled and waved at her as I got on the elevator, and the closing door cut off the sight of her concerned face.

Again, I had the best intentions. Plenty of cabs cruised past the block of bars and clubs still swinging in full gear. I’d heard this section of Second Street referred to as Hookup Alley because of the crowds of young singles cruising it on club nights. The police probably called it something else. Their cars lined the street as officers patrolled in groups of two and three, keeping the rowdy and the horny in line. I headed for the bus stop, but I didn’t make it.

Three years ago I’d been one of the regulars on Hookup Alley. I’d had no problem letting boys buy me drinks in exchange for a dance or a feel. Sometimes, lots of times, a hand job or even a fuck. Because I didn’t dress like a tramp, or dance on the bar, my hookups were less like conquests and more like secrets. My little secrets.

Tonight I wasn’t dressed for clubbing, but I went inside, anyway. The bouncer scanned my driver’s license and took my ten dollars without cracking a smile. I had a better reception when I went inside. The club at this hour had a sense of desperation about it. Last call was in less than an hour. Time was running out to make the hookup. As I pushed through the crowd gathered around the door and entered the bar area, heads turned. Fresh meat had arrived.

Girls looked me up and down, checking out my clothes and turning to comment behind their hands to their girlfriends. Boys stared, their beers in their hands. And I? I, for my part, slipped into an old role with as much ease as slipping into a favorite pair of worn jeans that hug your ass just right.

I didn’t stop to think about why I was doing it. Why, when I had Dan, I had come to a bar to see how far a stranger would take me. I moved through the crowd without making eye contact until after I’d ordered my drink. Then, sipping, I turned and surveyed them.

Striped shirts seemed to be in season, and two out of three men there wore them. The rest wore T-shirts emblazoned with clever slogans like Kiss Me, I’m a Pirate. I wasn’t looking for a pirate.

The group of girls in front of me had clustered around three young men who appeared to be enjoying the attention. They bumped and ground individually with the ladies, all of them laughing and looking quite drunk. They made quite a spectacle.

The man next to me, tall, dark-haired, slightly older, pointed with his beer bottle. “Five girls. Three guys. Someone’s gonna get left out.”

He had to lean in close so I could hear him, and I didn’t bother looking any further. I turned to him and smiled. I raised my beer in his direction, like a toast.

“They look like they’re having fun,” I said.

He nodded. The music here was inconsistent, one minute a hip-hop ode to the female posterior and the next a hard-edged rock ballad full of angst and woe. At the moment, the song had softened into a retro-pop tune that seemed to make everyone want to bounce.

He was cute. I leaned closer. He smelled good, even after a night sweating in smoke. I leaned back. Our eyes met. I let him take me out to the parking lot, where I got in the backseat of his car and he put his hand up my skirt.

I didn’t ask his name, and he didn’t offer it. I told him my name was Jennifer, and I was twenty-two. He seemed to believe me. He got into my panties with fumbling fingers as he unzipped his pants and put his erection into my hand.