Sex and the Social Network (14 page)

“I have a surprise for you. Pick a hand, any hand.”

“Oh . . . I love surprises.” I picked his right hand, the hand that had given me so much pleasure.

He whipped his hand around to reveal two tickets to see Wicked.

“Are you serious? I love Wicked! I haven’t seen it in years!”

“I know, darling. I remember you told me you were listening to the soundtrack on your iPod.”

This guy was freaking me out. Who actually remembers what song someone says they are listening to?

“Do you have a nice dress you can wear?” Tyrone’s eyebrows went up with his question. It was such a cute mannerism of his.

“Yup, I have something special I bought for Liz’s party. I can wear that.”

“Perfect, put it on. We have tickets to the matinee; we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

I quickly donned my dress so I’d have more time to do my makeup and hair. After fussing and primping, I walked into the living room where Tyrone sat reading the L.A. Times. His crisp, white shirt was pressed and expensive looking. His legs extended onto the ottoman, and his huge manliness couldn’t be concealed by the drape of his suit pants. Tyrone reeked of confidence. He slowly looked up at me, taking a full appraisal of how I looked.

“Julia, you look like a million bucks.” Tyrone’s whole face lit up, he sprung out of his chair and kissed me softly on the cheek. “I don’t want to mess up those lips. Well, not yet, anyway. You look fantastic!”

Tyrone hugged me, and his throbbing muscle confirmed that he found me irresistible. My panties dripped with gratitude. He reached up under my short dress and moved his hand slowly up the back of my thigh.

He took one ass cheek and massaged it gently but firmly. Then he swiped the g-string away from my booty, reached in from behind, and slipped a finger into my wetness. He took one swipe of my nectar and then pulled away and stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Yum! Sweet like honey.” Then he grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

Now it was my turn to be speechless. This guy had balls! Big ones and he knew how to use them, in and out of the bedroom.

It was a windy day, and the chilly air hit us like sharpened razor blades when we walked out of his apartment building. “Brrr! It’s cold out here,” I complained.

Tyrone put his strong arm around my shoulder and held me in close. “You wait here u
nder the awning while I pull the car around.”

Moments later I felt safe and warm again next to Ty. “You okay, baby? It is freakin’ cold out there.” His hand rested on my knee for the duration of the twenty minute ride. He told me about his job, which Broadway shows he liked, his favorite sports teams, but I only heard vague details. Instead, my mind kept rewinding the events of the morning.

This guy was like a dream. Honestly. Where had he come from? He bought tickets to Wicked because I mentioned once, in passing, I had been listening to the music on my iPod. He owned this time, this place, and this space. It showed in his command over me and my need to please him with my mouth. And now, as we simply sat in his car talking like two regular people, his hand never left my left knee. I felt like he owned me … and I liked it.

After the musical we got back into his car, and Tyrone announced he had yet another su
rprise for me.

“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of making reservations at La Reina. I did a li
ttle research, and they have the best paella in the entire city.”

“Wow, really? I love paella! I haven’t had it in a while.”

“Right, since you and your sister made it over the summer for a neighborhood party.”

“C’mon, Tyrone, you remembered that too? Do you have some kind of photographic memory?”

“No, I just pay attention. Julia, everything you tell me is important. You told me you love paella, so I knew I had to find the best Spanish restaurant in the city.”

This guy was too good to be true. That is why I was so overtaken by Tyrone’s gestures; he listened to what I said and did things to please me. Because if we care about someone that is what we do.

Saying “I love you, I love you, I love you,” those are just words. A parrot could say them as easily as he could say “cracker.” But I knew what real love looked like. I saw it in my daughter when she looked into my eyes, and I saw it in my grandparents when all they wanted was to hold each other’s hands. But I haven’t seen that look from Aaron in a very long time.

I searched my brain, scanning for a piece of a memory, something, anything. But it wasn’t there to find. Aaron didn’t love me. I don’t know that he ever had. It was that day—the coldest day of the year—that I had the realization that he was incapable of giving or receiving the kind of love that I needed.

I am a fantastic actress because it’s the one thing I’ve been doing all my life. I’ve always pretended to be somebody I’m not. My Mercedes and Jimmy Choos say to the world that I’ve made it, that I belong in the upper echelon of society, and that I’m a classy kind of girl. But inside I know the truth. I’m a fraud.

I don’t really belong to the country club, no matter what the roster reads. Underneath my three-hundred-dollar highlights and blow out is a mousy head of unruly hair. Ten-thousand-dollar boob job, fifty-thousand-dollar war
drobe, seventy-five-thousand-dollar car, million-dollar home. If you take it all away and peel back the layers, what do you find? Just . . . Julia.

I’ve never understood the reasons that people put so much weight on money and material things. They assume that I must be happy because on the outside, I have so much going for me. But no one sees the inside of me that just wants to be loved for who I am, not for what I look like or what kind of car I drive.

Sometimes I’ll see a couple together that is obviously middle-class: Gap jeans, shirt from Target, cheap shoes, beat-up Ford sedan. On the outside, their life appears so average to me. I almost have disdain for them. But then I’ll notice the way she looks up at him with such admiration, so much love, such a connection. And then I gulp when I see how he can’t take a step without touching her, his arm around her shoulder or waist, reaching for her hand. I feel sick to my stomach because I am so hungry for that, for someone who just wants to be near me, someone who is so in the moment that I am the only thing that matters to him.

And that’s what I got for marrying for money.

I recently heard a celebrity, now on her second marriage, talking on a show, and she said, “I used to think being taken care of meant financially. Only recently did I realize it meant emotionally.”

She took the words right out of my heart.

My birthday was coming up, and to celebrate, I was throwing a big party at Caramella’s, a new restaurant downtown that was getting rave reviews. I couldn’t wait to celebrate my special day with my friends and family.

The party also provided a much needed distraction from the flurry of thoughts in my head. I had been thinking a lot about Nick and was consumed by the memories of our past. Would I ever be free of him?

When I saw Julia come in the door, I was thrilled. She was dressed to the nines in an e
xquisite cocktail affair that was at the same time sexy and elegant; she looked positively radiant. I hadn’t seen her since our luncheon; I wondered how she’d decided to proceed with Ty. I had been so wrapped up in my own life that I hadn’t bothered to ask. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to know. I already knew about Maria and Enrique, and Gabby had told me she was meeting Todd tonight after the party. I was surrounded by infidelity, and I was beginning to think it was contagious.

Tyrone arrived shortly after Julia, and I thought I was introducing them for the first time. Silly me. When I glanced over to them later on, the chemistry between them was obvious. The way she leaned her right shoulder in and pursed her lips while he spoke. More than this, though, was the fire in their eyes as they looked at each other. It suddenly occurred to me that this was probably not their first meeting.

When I approached Julia, she confirmed my suspicions. Apparently, they connected the very night I had warned her about him. They had been flirting and cyber-sexing ever since. I’d like to say that I was surprised, but that’d be a lie. Julia was a beautiful woman who was desperate for that kind of attention.

Watching her, I was reminded of a post I’d seen just that morning on my friend Sh
aron’s Facebook wall:
“Guys, it’s all about how you look at her. There is always someone willing to pick up your slack.”

And isn’t that the truth? Being looked at like that is enough to make even a happily ma
rried woman take pause. It had sure made me take pause.

I saw Gabby not far from Julia and Ty. She seemed giddy; I know she was excited to meet up with Todd after my party. Still, I was worried for her. Here I was playing moral police again. I had to at least try and talk some sense into her.

“Gabby, are you sure?”

“Yes, Liz, I’m sure. He is so sexy, and oh my God, you should read the things he writes to me. I can practically cum from his words.”

“Um, T-M-I, Gabby.” We both giggled.

“I get that you think he’s sexy, but what about the fact that you’re married?”

I didn’t know a lot about her husband, Steven, other than that Gabby didn’t seem to care for him very much. The words she used to describe him didn’t paint a very nice picture; boring, dull, annoying, and uptight all came quickly to my mind.

“Ugh, c’mon, Liz, get real. No one is fucking faithful anymore. Look around this room. I bet half of these people are fucking around.”

I quickly glanced around the room and felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. Right away I noticed Julia, Tyrone, and Maria. I had to stop looking before I started trying to guess who else had been unfaithful. Gabby was right. I was surrounded by cheaters.

A group of us decided to do a round of shots. Not surprisingly, all of the infidelity crew was in. Then I realized I was not guilty by association; I was actually guilty. That I hadn’t actua
lly slept with Nicholas didn’t mean I was innocent.

Gabby proposed a toast and said the sweetest words about how I was such a great friend and deserved the kind of love I had in my life.

I was touched by what she said; tears filled my eyes and I thanked everyone for coming.

“Tonight I feel like the luckiest woman alive. To be here on this beautiful night celebra
ting with all my loved ones; you all bring such joy to my life and I am truly blessed. And to all my sorority sisters, I wish you joy and love and happiness.”

All my sorority sisters cracked up at my joke. It was a line from one of our songs, but the meaning could transcend to everyone I knew. I hoped and prayed that all of my loved ones would be happy. I wondered, would my cheating friends ever find it?

When we got home from the party, it was late. I got changed into the negligee Braden had gotten me at Agent Provocateur. Just wearing it made me feel sexy; I was hoping I was going to get lucky that night, but he seemed a million miles away.

I was lying in bed, facing away from him, but wishing he’d make a move on me. He was focused on his iPad, half playing and half working, but not paying one bit of attention to me. I put my hands under the covers and felt my tummy. It felt so flat, better than it had before I had kids. My friends noticed, my trainer at the gym noticed, and even Nick had commented on how light I was when he picked me up. Why didn’t Braden notice how hard I was working on my body?

I was suddenly angry at him. Why didn’t he want me? Here I was lying in our bed, and he would rather be playing Angry Birds than making love to me. I was horny and aching for his touch, but I wasn’t going to ask him for it. I wanted him to want me, to crave me.

I scooched my ass back so it was touching his thigh and danced it around a little. He grabbed one ass cheek and caressed it gently. He put the iPad on the nightstand and curled himself around me. “Hey, baby, how YOU doin’?” He was teasing me with his awesome impression of a New York Italian a
ccent.

I exhaled deeply as he kissed my ear and reached around and fondled my breasts.

“Mmm, you feel good, baby,” I whispered.

“I’m going to make you feel great.” He tugged at my panties until they were off. He reached around and started massaging my pussy. His touch was slow and precise. I got wet i
mmediately and could feel his hardness against my ass.

He spooned me with his cock now released from his boxers. He rocked his hips, and my wetness pulled him in.

“Mmm I love when your pussy gets so wet. You’re dripping, Liz.”

“I’m so horny, Braden. I need you.”

He pulled me back so his dick was as deep as it could go. We rocked rhythmically, his hips thrusting while his balls massaged my ass with each movement.

We didn’t say much else. A bunch of “mmms” and moans, and before I knew it, my body, no longer my own, came in waves of bliss. When I was done, Braden thrust a bit faster and har
der until my pussy milked out every last drop of his cum.

It was simple, but powerful. Maybe I didn’t need fireworks every time. Calm yet expl
osive could be just as breathtaking. Couldn’t it?

Later, I thought back and replayed the night at the hotel with Nick. The way he looked at me was seared into my mind; the lust in his eyes lit a fire in me. That feeling was so familiar, like I had just lived it yesterday. I started having more flashbacks of our time together in college.

Flashbacks are like movies. They aren’t real. Well, they are, except somehow our memories like to hold on to the good parts and delete the bad. I keep hitting rewind, replaying our past over and over again. But in my mind, somehow the only memories that get replayed are the good ones. I know there were some bad times, but my heart won’t let me remember them. And that’s a problem because I want to remember the bad. I want to remember that he cheated and that he was materialistic and egocentric.

On paper, I remember. On paper, I know. But in my heart, in the darkest, deepest corners of my mind, that is not what I see, and it’s not what I feel. I feel the first kiss, the first tears, that first dance. I feel the falling in love, making love until the sun rose. I feel his hands caressing mine, the way he’d undress me with his eyes. I feel all of the good, but only the good, and every last bit of it.

During our painfully long breakup, I would say, “I’m just fine!” But I wasn’t, and he knew it. One day he said, “Well, is ‘fine’ how you want to live your life? Just fine?!? Because I don’t. I want my life to be great, to be amazing, and I want that for you too. For both of us. For us together. So go ahead and marry Braden. He’s nice and I bet he treats you well. But don’t be surprised if you wake up one day twenty years from now and fine isn’t fine at all. Fine sucks. Fine is for people who cop out and take a job that they hate because it pays the bills. Don’t ever settle for fine, Liz. You deserve so much more.”