His Five Night Stand (20 page)

It wasn’t as if this was the end of some grand romance, right?

I paced across the hardwood, arms crossed, hands shaking as I held that expensive fucking notecard.

Why was I so angry? So Hurt? It was just sex. Uncomplicated, amazing, incredibly hot sex. I had known it would end and so what if it ended on night three instead of five? This was the point of a one night, two night, whatever night stand, right? Have sex, fuck your brains out don’t get attached. And I hadn’t gotten attached so why did I feel queasy and why did my mind feel like a top spinning searching for a reason that Theo would have ended our engagement early.

I sunk to the ground beside my futon leaning against the makeshift mattress where Theo had repeatedly rocked my world. Wait a minute, where I had rocked my own world, I reminded myself. Theo had told me that I was the one in control of my own pleasure. I understood now that if I wanted to feel something I needed to want it, to ask for it, scream for it sometimes.

I actually giggled at that thought. I had come a long way from my nights of silent love making with Henry.

Odessa had warned me that Theo had rules. Hell, so had Theo himself. Maybe we had broken too many of his special rules. And maybe it didn’t really matter because it was over and the sooner I accepted that and moved on the better off I could be.

“I’m not attached,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. “I’m not attached because it was just a fling, nothing more.”

I sat on the hardwood floor fighting the urge to get up and pound on Theo’s door and demand he tell me we were done in person. I needed to talk to him. Even if it really was over, which was totally okay because I was cool with this whole situation, I just needed to speak to him, to hear his voice. I needed more than his handwriting on a note card.

But then I thought it through. What would I say to him anyway if he opened his door? “Um, sorry, you owe me two more nights?” I laughed out loud at the thought. Theo owed me nothing. I barely knew him.

But his body belongs with you, a voice inside my head whispered. You fit together, you crave him and you will forever.

No. I argued with myself. My body craves a lover. I had been with Henry for years and never felt the way I’d felt with Theo, but Theo had taught me about pleasure. I laid down on my futon, eyes closed, clutching the note to my chest. Was I stupid enough to believe that a bunch of orgasms added up to something that felt like love?

But it had felt like love. Feeling him inside me had felt like love and now the idea of missing a moment with him made me ache more than my grief for Henry.

“Pathetic,” I whispered, eyes closed. “You don’t need Theo. You don’t need Henry. You will find another lover. You know what you need now. You know how to ask for what you want.”

Theo was not a relationship, he was a lover, probably my first real lover actually and now he was part of my past. He was a memory, a beautiful memory that I would hold until I took my next lover.

My eyes snapped open.

Had I just thought about the concept of taking a lover?

Theo had changed me. I wanted him, I wanted him badly but I no longer felt totally broken.

Eventually I slept. I dreamt of him again. It was the same dream as before. I wandered down a dark hallway only half dressed, wearing a black button down shirt and nothing else searching for Theo.

He found me and pushed me against a wall. “Again,” he whispered.

At the sound of his voice I grew wet, I wanted him immediately.

Then his hands were under my clothes, and I felt him harden as he lifted me up and easily slid inside.

“Again and again,” he said.

In my dream we fucked against the wall until I felt the familiar wave of an orgasm rocking through me. I awoke gasping and moaning, my pussy wet and throbbing with pleasure.

I closed my eyes trying to forget that the only place I would make love to him now was in my dreams. It would have to be enough.

The next
morning, I lay in bed staring at the plaster ceiling overhead. Sunlight filtered through the long white curtains at the window. I listened to the hum of traffic from the streets outside; a siren rang in the distance.

For a moment I felt a sinking sensation in my belly. Disappointment. Rejection. There would be no notecard from Theo under my door. It was over and the sooner I accepted the situation the better.

I sat up in bed and stretched taking in the details of my tiny apartment. There was the beach scene above my bed, my antique table, and mercury candlesticks. I made my bed that morning, taking care to pull the comforter straight. My apartment wasn’t full of expensive pieces of furniture but the sum of its parts came together in a way that was more beautiful and peaceful than any room I’d ever shared with Henry.

Theo had complimented me on the way I’d made the space my own. I smiled at the memory. He was right. I was proud of my little home. It was beautiful and it was mine.

The apartment reminded me of how much I enjoyed taking a space and finding its personality. Using the natural light of a room to draw out hidden beauty. Discovering the potential of an overlooked piece of furniture, or how a grouping of dissimilar items could come together into a symphony of design.

For the first time in almost a week I noticed my leather portfolio on the bottom shelf of my bookcase. I hadn’t looked at it since the break up after that long day at work.

I picked up the portfolio and opened it on my antique table, spreading out the drawings I’d recently added for the Smith Tower contract. I’d worked on the presentation for two weeks straight. I’d barely slept, but it had been worth it. I was so proud of what I’d created. The color palate a tribute to the weather and sky, cool blues and grays mixed with ivory and accents of bright white. The floor to ceiling windows obscured by nothing aside from a custom designed privacy window I’d placed in the bath. I’d wanted to create a sense of the sea besides the sky, an oasis, a retreat. It was beautiful and it was all mine, my creativity, my vision. I had been so caught up in the drama of being dumped I’d forgotten to feel proud of myself

“Tell me what you want,” I heard Theo’s voice in my memory.

He’d been asking me how I wanted to be loved, but truly there was so much more to that question. What did I want in my life? Did I want a job where I felt used and exploited? Was I okay with having my work stolen from me and presented as somebody else’s?

“Hell no, that’s not okay,” I said, my pulse racing. I pulled up a folding chair and spread out all of the material in my portfolio. I was missing some key samples. I had never made it a priority to showcase my work. That needed to change. If I was going to quit my job and find something new I really needed to spend some time preparing.

My hand froze over the sketches. Quit my job.

Had I really just thought about walking away from the firm that was supposedly giving me my big break? Didn’t I need to pay my dues?

I thought of that last breakfast with Henry, the way he’d counseled me to be confident but not too confident. Take credit, but not too much. He had warned me not to get cocky, to remember that I wasn’t the one in charge.

How had I spent so much time with a man who basically told me it was acceptable to be treated like a doormat?

I picked up the drawings and stacked them, my hands shaking. My agreement with Theo was over, it was time for me to dig in and take responsibility for my life, to take charge and ask for what I wanted and needed. I would use the weekend to go into the office and put my portfolio together. It would take a couple days to get all the images I needed, and then I’d be ready to quit. And as much as I wanted to depart in some dramatic righteous scene, I needed my job. I would prepare first. My mind was made up. I was going to ask the universe for what I wanted and I’d accept nothing less.

I woke up early on Saturday, ready to go into the office and start pulling pics for my portfolio when my cell phone rang.

“Cal.”

There was only one person who called me Cal. I walked across my apartment standing in front of the window that faced the alley, paying attention to how my body felt. My heart rate neutral, in fact I wasn’t sure I felt anything at all.

“Are you there?” Henry asked, his voice uncertain.

I enjoyed that moment.

“What do you want, Henry?”

“Hey, you’re there and sound good, I wanted. I thought . . .”

For once I didn’t chatter and fill the silence. I let him hang there blowing in the wind.

“I thought we could talk,” he said.

“About what?”

“About life, about how you are? About how crazy things got between us,” he laughed.

I did not. “How crazy things got between us.”

“Yeah, it’s just I miss you.” His voice sounded thick with something. Sadness. Loneliness. In spite of all that neutrality, hearing that emotion felt like a punch in the chest.

“You miss me,” I repeated, feeling the familiar need to comfort him rising up. “What does that even mean? It’s been a week Henry.”

“Coffee,” he said. “Meet me for a drink, something, anything. Whatever makes you comfortable? I need to see you.”

He needed me.

“Coffee.”

And that is how I found myself having coffee with my ex about a week after he’d broken my heart.

We met downtown near the old condo. Henry suggested the location, a small coffee shop where we used to get crepes on the weekend. It was later in the day so we’d missed the morning brunch crowd.

Henry sat at a small cafe table near the front door, a series of black and white photos by a local artist hanging on the wall behind him. We’d sat at this table many times before always ordering the same thing. Non-fat lattes, since Henry felt we should watch our fat intake, and two different crepes. He always picked the order looking for the perfect balance of sweet and savory and of course good nutrition.

Henry’s eyes lit up when he saw me; he stood awkwardly, his mouth turning into an uncertain smile. He had circles under his eyes and his dark brown hair looked unkempt. He wore a grey suit and a white button down, no tie. He looked wrinkled and tired. It was odd but instead of looking messy it made him look more normal, more approachable.

As I walked toward that tiny cafe table I found myself remembering the boy I’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Hello Henry,” I said, smiling in spite of everything that had happened.