Lovers and Liars (48 page)

Beth hugged her and tried to rock her, but Mary lunged away to pace rapidly around Beth’s bedroom. “How could he?
Now?
When I’m so fucking down?”

“I don’t know, honey, but give it up.”

“What?” Mary turned on her.

“Give it up. You don’t love him. Let him go—it’s for the best.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Mary said vehemently. “I don’t love him—I hate him. I want to kill him!” She sat back down. “Wait till my mother finds out,” she moaned. Her mother would tell her she was too fat to hold a man, to save her marriage. She’d tell her that she failed at everything—so what did she expect. All because of a few pounds! Fuck her mother. She hated her mother even more than she hated Vince.

Her mother had called earlier. “Mary, have you called Paul Socorro?” she had asked tightly.

Mary had belligerently said nothing.

“Mary? Have you called Paul?”

“No, Mom,” she said rigidly.

“Do you know how many of my friends have called up, asking about you? It’s embarrassing! What a terrible
incident
. Mary, are you listening? You cannot go on like this.”

Mary’s grip on the phone grew tighter.

“I’ve reached your father. Not personally, but I left an urgent message. He should be calling. Call Paul Socorro. Why don’t—”

Mary had hung up.

Now Mary wished she had a line. “Do you have any toot left?” She was horribly depressed.

“No. Mary, you’ve been doing an awful lot lately,” Beth said cautiously.

Mary knew it was true. Deep down she was worried because she knew she had a habit, and she wanted to break it. And she had to face it—she also wanted to lose fifteen pounds. Because her mother was right. She hated facing what she had known all along—her life was a shambles and she was a shambles, all because she was such a fat slob.

“Are you okay?” Beth asked worriedly.

Mary didn’t answer her either, and the phone rang again. She just looked at it. When Beth moved to answer it, she said, “Don’t. It’s my mother.”

Calmly Beth picked up the receiver, spoke, listened, then handed it to Mary. “It’s Abe Glassman.”

Mary felt a tingle of something close to anticipation. But she knew that was impossible. She was angry at that horny old goat—wasn’t she? He had used her and lied to her. But she had a flashing image of the two of them entwined, Abe’s big, thick prick deep inside, thrusting deeper and deeper, and her groin started a slow swell.

“Hello?”

“Mary, this is Abe. How’re you doing?”

Mary took a breath. She knew exactly where she would like to be right now. Under him. “Fine, Abe.”

“You’re not still pissed, are you, about our little misunderstanding?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said truthfully.

“Good. I want to see you. Can you come down to my office tomorrow morning—say, at nine?”

Mary was thrown off balance. When he had said he wanted to see her, her whole body had surged in anticipation. But his office? “Well, yes …”

“See you at nine.”
Click
.

Mary hung up the phone. Thinking.

“What did he want?” Beth asked petulantly.

“I don’t know.”

94

W
hen they got back Jack was finally gone.

Finally!

They had watched two movies, a B-grade sci-fi flick and Clint Eastwood in
Firefox
. Then they had gone out for pizza. Now they had the apartment to themselves. Rick produced a joint and lit it.

It had been the best day he’d ever had in his life. Being with Lydia was fun, nonstop fun, and when she wasn’t cracking jokes she was mimicking everyone—including him!—and Rick had never laughed so much in his entire life. He didn’t want the day to end.

They sat on one of the sofas in the living room and Rick handed her the joint, relaxing against the pillows. They passed it back and forth in a new, very easy silence. Rick had never felt so close to anyone before, and he was struggling to get a grip on his feelings. He kept feeling as if he were about to burst, a delicious sensation.

“You look so serious,” Lydia said, imitating his expression and jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.

He laughed at her face. “I was thinking,” he said.

“About what?” She stubbed the roach carefully in an ashtray, saving it for later.

“I was wondering if you’re ticklish,” he yelled, pouncing on her.

She shrieked, and he attacked her underarms. She was ticklish. She started laughing, and the more he tickled the more she laughed. “No, Rick, stop!” she cried.

Rick changed his area of attack. She was on her back, and he had her thighs pinned with his. His hands went to her belly, slipping up under her baggy T-shirt. She shrieked and wriggled to get away.

And suddenly the game became more than a game.

Rick had his hands on the smooth, firm silky skin of her belly. He was on his knees, suspended over her, no longer laughing but breathing hard, and not from physical exertion. Looking down into her face.

The moment his hands stopped their torture her own laughter stopped, and she stared up at him, her breath coming in short, fast gasps, her lips parted—and the moment was suspended.

His hands moved over her belly, slowly, enjoying the feel of her.

Breathless, her mouth hung open; her eyes searched his, dark, moist, trusting.

Rick’s arms slid around her, and he lowered himself on top of her. She raised her face eagerly for his kiss, meeting his lips halfway. He tightened his hold, his legs parting hers, not deliberately but instinctively, the hard ache of his cock settling in the soft, warm V between her thighs.

This time her mouth parted for his tongue, and she welcomed him.

Kissing her was better than all the hookers and even Patty Epherton put together. It was a dazzling realization, like a bolt of lightning. He loved her.

He had never loved anyone before.

Tenderly he cupped her face with both his hands and searched her eyes with his own, looking for a reciprocal feeling. He saw trust, innocence, desire, and something else—something like wonder. He kissed her with all the love he was feeling.

Lydia kissed him back, her hands beneath his shirt, roaming his back, her hips responding and arching against him.

And then, just like that, it happened. He clutched her tightly and came in his pants.

“Rick?” Her tone was soft, confused.

“Sorry,” he murmured, still on top of her, still holding her, wondering if she could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“Nothing,” Rick said, kissing her.

They kissed for a long time. It was growing dark outside. Rick wanted to touch her everywhere but respected her too much to treat her like a tramp. Instead his hands roamed her back, her waist, even curled in her thick, wavy black hair. His desire renewed itself. He wanted her so much.

Lydia shocked him when she took his hand and guided it to her breast. “Please,” she said. “Don’t you want to touch me?”

“Yes,” he gasped, sinking his hand into her soft flesh. “I didn’t think,” he said, squeezing her breast and finding an erect nipple, “that you’d let me.”

She moaned very softly.

Rick wasn’t sure how far to go. But one look at Lydia’s face told him he shouldn’t stop. Daringly he slid his hand under her shirt, fondling her through her brassiere. Lydia’s moan encouraged him, and he slipped his hand beneath the bra, found the bare, swollen flesh, caressed it and stroked it and wondered if he was going to come in his pants again.

“Oh, Rick,” Lydia cried. “I’ve dreamed about this, about you and me.”

“You have?”

Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Ever since you first came to school.”

“Lydia? Are you—?”

“Yes.” She stared at him through long black lashes. “I want you to be the first.”

His heart careened madly.

“I am sixteen,” she added, sitting up. “Don’t you want to? Or don’t you like me?”

“I want to,” Rick said quickly. “I just didn’t think you did.”

She smiled. “I thought boys didn’t care about what the girl wanted.”

“They don’t,” Rick said. “But I care about what you want—very much.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Rick was confused. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset, you fool,” Lydia said. “I’m happy. I didn’t think you’d ever like me.”

“I like you, all right,” Rick said, standing and pulling her up. He held her hand and led her into his bedroom. Rick locked the door behind them. Who knew when Leah might appear?

She looked at him shyly, blushing.

Rick smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’m pretty experienced.”

“I’ll bet,” she said, like the old Lydia.

He stripped off his clothes rapidly, only to find her staring, still fully dressed. He wasn’t embarrassed—he was proud.

“I’ve never seen it quite like that before,” Lydia said, staring at his erection. “I saw my father once, and when I was younger, my neighbor. It looks awfully big,” she added dubiously.

“It will fit perfectly,” Rick said, trembling with excitement but wanting to appear nonchalant. “Are you going to undress?”

She sat down on the bed. “I don’t look like Patty Epherton,” she warned.

“I don’t care,” Rick said. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Maybe we should wait until it’s completely dark out,” she said anxiously.

Rick sat beside her, took her hand, tried to think of how to reassure her. He had never said the words before, but suddenly he wanted to, desperately. And he wanted to hear her say them back. “Lydia? I love you.”

She stared. Then her face crumpled. She fell against his chest. “Do you really?”

“Yes,” he whispered, stroking her back. “How do you feel? About me, I mean?”

“You fool,” she said, raising a teary face. “I’ve been in love with you since we first met—when you only had eyes for Patty Epherton.”

“Do you mean it?” He was overwhelmed.

“Yes.”

He helped her undress. It was twilight, and the calm
grayness filled the room, giving him just enough light to see. He was stunned as her body was revealed—broad shoulders, nice strong arms, big beautiful breasts that put Patty Epherton and all the hookers to shame. A small waist and hips, long, curved legs, muscular from all the sports she was always doing. Her body belonged in a centerfold, and he couldn’t understand why she was always hiding it.

“I told you,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“You are so beautiful, Lydia. Patty can’t hold a candle to you!”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Oh, no,” he said, lowering himself down on her. “I mean it.”

He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her throat. Working his way down to her beautiful breasts. When he tongued a hard nipple she gasped and grasped his head tightly.

“No one’s ever done that to me before!”

He suckled her with fervor until she was writhing, until their bodies began to film with sweat. His mouth explored the rest of her—her ribs, her navel, the patch of dark, coarse pubic hair. He slid his hand into the moist V, and she bucked against him, gasping, panting. He wanted so much for her to feel what he felt.

He had tried it once—it had been not particularly pleasant. But now—with his face hovering so close and his fingers spreading apart parts of her that were so different, so new, so exciting and beautiful—the urge to taste her came over him. He lowered hesitant lips and kissed her gently.

She cried his name.

He deepened the kiss. And was surprised at the jolt it gave him and the surge of need it produced. It seemed to have the same effect on her, for she was spread and arching for him, and he experimented. Probed with his tongue. It became a whole new world, a delicious, erotic, sublime experience. He became lost in the taste and smell of her.

Lydia’s hands tightened so hard on his head that it hurt. She emitted a strangled cry, arched up, and shuddered convulsively.

Beyond reason, unbearably ignited, Rick was on top of
her, kissing her, probing. He found her entrance, pressed, couldn’t even get more than the bare tip of himself in. Reflexively he reached down, guided himself into a space that was tight, not accommodating, but wet, hot. He put his arms around her and pushed. And then he was moving surely, steadily, and she was moving too, eager, but awkward, her rhythm missing his, but it didn’t matter—it didn’t matter at all.