Falling in Love (15 page)

First, we strolled along the winding walkways of Central Park, occasionally timidly holding hands. While crossing a stone bridge and overwhelmed by the view of the verdant park, the shimmering pond and the backdrop of the majestic skyline, we hugged and kissed. No one really took notice of us. Again, I marveled at the beauty of New York. No one cared what you did as long as you didn’t bother them.

As we neared the soccer fields, I noticed that one field was creating a lot of excitement but I couldn’t really see the players because there were so many spectators crowded around it. I didn’t really want to see. I had tried for years not to follow soccer because it hurt too much. I didn’t want to spoil our wonderful afternoon by mentioning anything to Claire, so I gently stirred her away without a word.

Later, we ambled along the Hudson River Walk and perched on a bench, tightly holding hands. The crimson sun was slipping behind the Palisades casting into silhouettes the splashing river, the cawing seagulls and the waves lapping against the pilings. Neither of us felt the necessity to fill the silence with conversation. Our feelings couldn’t be expressed in words. For the first time in our lives, we were beginning to know what real love felt like. Love without baggage. We didn’t have to talk about our backgrounds. We knew that both our childhoods had been stolen and neither of us wanted to bring up old, sad memories.

“You know what we are?” Claire said, finally. “Virgins.”

We both burst out laughing. Of all the names that I’d been called a virgin was never one of them and I suspected that neither had Claire. “That’s how it feels?” Claire insisted. “Before last night have you ever really made love?”

I thought about it. “Not really.”

“Me neither. We’re virgins, or we were virgins until yesterday.” We laughed again. “About every weekend since forever, I’ve been falling in love. And falling. And falling. This weekend, I feel like I finally landed in love.” She hugged and kissed me.

We lingered until storm clouds hovered over the horizon and decided we should move indoors. “Want to go to a movie?” she asked.

“I’d rather go home and be alone with you.” I answered, giving her a sexy smile. “What say we get a bottle of wine? Gregory’s got a million DVDs we can watch.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Claire said seriously. “Katherine thinks we’re just acting out. But what if tonight we don’t drink and don’t have sex. We just enjoy each other’s company. Then we can’t be acting out.”

“Can we make love first?” I asked wickedly.

“Look. Two sex addicts can’t have a relationship based on sex, agreed?”

Although I wasn’t thrilled about suddenly not being able to make love so soon after discovering it, Claire was right. “Okay.”

The soft breezes had turned blustery, so we headed for home. Outside a townhouse on Jane Street, someone had left out an old carved-oak coffee table with a glass top. Gregory didn’t have a coffee table, probably because the drawing room was too small. Claire assured me that we had enough room for the table and that a little furniture polish and glass cleaner could turn it into a lovely piece. A wobbly leg worried me but Claire figured some glue would solve that problem. So we carted it home and after a little polish we had a place to rest our pizza and diet colas.

We sorted through Gregory’s DVDs only to find that most were gay-themed. “Well, we’re gay, now,” Claire said cheerfully.

“Gay-men-themed,” I mentioned.

Claire decided on
The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert,
before she opened another drawer stocked with straight films, mostly love stories. “What a coincidence that the male leads are all gorgeous,” Claire noted. “Yes!” she suddenly exclaimed, retrieving
To Catch a Thief
.

Soon, I was curled up in Claire’s arms and watching Cary Grant and Grace Kelly fall in love amidst the splendor of the Riviera. Cary Grant’s character was a thief named John Robie and when the French girl called him the “the cat,” I laughed. “Okay. I’m a little slow.”

Claire smiled, gave me a wink. Suddenly, lightning flashed a bright beam across our living room and rolling thunder sounded like an impending train crash. Pellets of rain slashed against the window. Claire and I just snuggled closer together, lost in the beauty of Southern France and two beautiful stars.

I loved the film and I loved spending the evening hugging Claire. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. The closest we came to sex was a long, lush kiss goodnight, “in honor of Cary and Grace.”

The next morning, I awoke to hear Claire on her cell phone. Peter was trying to get her back. She finally told him that if he didn’t stop calling, she would block his number.

Claire returned to bed and we caressed each other. We both hated that this was our last real day to spend time together until the following weekend. We knew that our relationship would suffer dearly if during the week, we only saw each other for an hour in the morning and late at night.

“I’ll try to get a second-shift job,” I offered.

Claire loved the idea of us both working the same hours and having all day to ourselves to take strolls or just lie in bed on rainy days. “What do you think about not getting out of bed next Saturday, rain or shine?” Claire wondered

“Gregory is having a luncheon. It’s not a group thing but I’m sure we can go.”

“Think we will be brave enough?

“We’ll see.”

First we had to face Elaine. I wasn’t sure what to say to her because I was at a loss myself. Two days before, I was, or at least thought I was, totally heterosexual, having never once thought about being with a woman and now I felt completely in love with Claire. But the moment I again saw the picture of Elaine and my mother on Elaine’s mantel, I was even more lost. Was I so obsessed with my mother that I had experimented with bisexuality just because she had?

Over cups of herbal tea, Elaine assured us that it wasn’t that simple. “A lot of women don’t realize that they are bisexual because they never get the opportunity to find out. And there is probably more intimacy. It’s the old cliché, men want sex and women want love, and every couple has to work out some compromise. In theory, two women are both looking for love. So they should be perfectly compatible, but it doesn’t always work out that way.”

Elaine served us sugar-free cakes made with something called stevia, which was really sweet and supposedly good for you. Claire and I helped ourselves to seconds while Elaine continued. “You see more of this with women in recovery because they usually have so much baggage with men that they try to make a new start with a woman. This may be some quick fling or you may last for decades.”

Elaine laughed lightly. “As you know, damn few relationships last decades, anyway. But some women have told me that even the sex is better than with men, especially when they enhance it with artificial devices that never, well, go limp.” Claire gave me a girlish smile and Elaine looked embarrassed. “Good luck to you both,” she said finally.

Claire took my hand. “Does this mean that we have your blessing?” I asked.

Elaine smiled. “I’m not sure that my blessing would mean all much.” She sipped her tea. “You do know that group doesn’t recommend you getting into a relationship during the first year of recovery.”

“I’ve been in recovery for three years,” Claire insisted.

Elaine glanced at her. “The first year of sobriety.”

“Couldn’t it be better, helping each other stay sober?” I wondered.

“Sometimes,” Elaine admitted. “But usually people new to sobriety have so much shit to work through. With two people involved, it may be hard to figure out which person’s shit you are dealing with.” Elaine sighed and then added. “But you do have my support. Just don’t hold hands in Rosebud.”

I nearly laughed at the thought. I never expected to again return to the place of my birth but even if I did, I would never be stupid enough to go back there with a lesbian lover. I’d rather cut my throat in the Big Apple and save myself and them the bother of having to stone me to death.

After the dressing down that Katherine had given Claire, we were both encouraged by Elaine’s comments. Claire had to go to work in a couple of hours and I wanted to spend our last minutes strolling through Central Park. But she had another idea. “What say we get one of those ‘artificial devices,’” she suggested with a fiendish smile. I was too shocked and embarrassed to answer. But Claire was adamant and we headed over to Eighth Avenue. I waited outside as Claire dashed into the first two adult bookstores for quick peaks. In the third one, she found what she wanted—a girl behind the counter.

“I can’t do this,” I admitted caught between a laugh and a scream. “It’s just too much.”

“Wait here then.”

I shook my head. “I can’t even do that.” I noticed a Fifties-style malt shop across the Avenue. “I’ll wait in there.”

As I was savoring my first spoonful of the thickest raspberry malt I had ever tasted in my life, Claire strolled in with a nondescript brown plastic bag, looking like the average weekend shopper that she most certainly was not. I guess I didn’t expect a porn shop to advertise their wares but Claire’s broad smile said it all. “I asked the girl a million questions and she was great. I swear, I think she’s demoed them all. And,” she laughed, “because all these guys in there were so embarrassed that I was there, it was more fun. Anyway, we ended up getting the standard job with no bells or whistles. Medium size. No horses, no mice.” She then pulled the contents out of the bag. Although it was boxed, the contents were obvious. “Meet our Artie,” she said, “as in Artificial Device.”

I nearly sprayed my malt all over my top. I tried to chug it so we could get out of there quickly but instead I got brain freeze. Claire pulled a sheet of instructions from the bag. “You can heat it in the oven or freeze it,” she kindly informed me. This time, I nearly sprayed raspberry all over the wall photo of some Fifties crooner. Claire glanced at her watch. “I don’t have much time. Maybe we can take Artie home for a quickie test drive.”

That was it! I was panicked that the sweet mothers with their children might actually get the gist of our conversation. Even liberal New York City must have its limits!

Forlornly, I abandoned the awesome malt and yanked Claire out of there. Of course, Claire thought my mad dash was some insane need to consummate Artie. Rather than risk losing valuable time waiting for a subway, we jumped into a cab and within minutes, we were jumping into bed. Having read the instructions, gratefully to herself, on the ride home, Claire offered to do the honors for Artie’s inaugural. Despite rushing home, Claire was slow and deliberate responding to what turned me on and then took me to an incredible ecstasy. When I got my breath back, I returned the favor and then we languidly lay in each other’s arms easily seeing how some women could go a lifetime without ever needing a man.

We both hated the idea of Claire having to go to work but she didn’t want to risk another absence. We walked quickly over toward Sheridan Square until I heard a train slowing down. “Hurry,” I yelled and sprinted toward the station. I darted down the stairs, shot through the turnstiles and held the doors open until Claire caught up.

“Jesus,” she said. “Did you run track when you were in school? You’re a goddamn bullet.”

“I didn’t want us to miss it.”

We got to Columbus Circle early enough to stroll courageously hand-in-hand to the restaurant.

The wait staff got a free dinner, especially if there was a new special, like that night, so they could honestly tell people that it was fabulous. The chef not only let me sit with Claire but also fed me. I had never before heard of the special, Lobster Thermidor, but it was so fabulous that I wanted to eat it every meal for the rest of my life. Until Claire told me how much it cost. I nearly went into shock. Claire explained that I could pay it off in monthly installments before laughing that it was free.

I had planned to then go home to wait for Claire’s call during her break. But instead, I ambled around the Upper West Side for hours occasionally stopping for coffee but staying well away from any bars. My new relationship may not last but I didn’t want it to end because I’d spent our third night together drunk and in bed with some guy.

I admired the skyscrapers’ myriad lights. Dark clouds hovered on the horizon but they didn’t open up to drench this city that I now suddenly loved. Sellers of cheap umbrellas appeared on street corners. Despite this ominous sign, I forbore from buying one.

I returned to the restaurant a little after eleven to see a man milling around the entrance. He was muscular with tattoos on his arm and neck and gave me such a dirty look that I suspected he was Peter. I passed by him and waited near the corner. Claire finally emerged and they immediately began to argue. I ran up to stand beside her. I really had no idea what I would do but I didn’t want Claire to have to face him alone.

He turned to me and snapped, “Is this the dike?”

“It’s none of your business who she is,” Claire shot back.

Peter glared at us as we stood shoulder to shoulder. He looked like he wanted to smash both our faces in but knew that this would realize Claire’s, and my, worst fear. He grabbed Claire’s arm. “I just want to talk to you. Alone!”

She wrested away from him as a cab cruised down the street. Claire flagged it to a screeching stop, yanked open the door and shoved me inside as Peter grabbed her. “Damn it, Claire! I just want to talk!”