Staying True - A Contemporary Romance Novel (3 page)

She waved me off. “She’s stressed and
brought you into her tailspin. I wouldn’t worry.”

“So is she really your boss?”

She smiled. “Yep. The best, too. She
takes her job seriously, unlike the other bozos in this place.”

“I could’ve helped her with that
stress. I’m a professional masseuse.”

“A professional masseuse, huh?” She
twirled her silver stud earring, staring off to the side before landing back on
me. “Give me your card, and I’ll tell her. Maybe next time, you’ll catch her in
a better mood and you can do your job.”

I handed her a business card.

“Ten-Minute Masseuse?”

I smiled. “It’s my specialty.”

She took it and placed it in her
pocket. “I’ll make sure she gets it.” She turned and walked away, tossing a
towel over her shoulder.

Chapter Two

Nadia

Something about this brazen blonde
girl from the lounge intrigued me. Her long, creamy blonde hair and her petite,
tight body turned me into a bumbling idiot. The skin on my neck and shoulders
still tingled from her touch.

Talk about a red flag.

That playful, carefree attitude of
hers sure teased that part of me that had been locked away far too long.

Whatever magic she possessed, I
wanted more of it.

I imagined her to be the type to wear
flip flops to a wedding and sunbathe nude on her rooftop. This liberal quality
excited me. It seemed rooted in something pure and natural. I could imagine her
chilling out to the sounds of Bach by a roaring fire while snuggling under a
blanket her grandmother crocheted. Everything about her spelled comfort,
mystery, and intrigue.

I poured myself a full glass of
Merlot and headed out to my hotel deck. I stared up at the starry sky, muted by
the light pollution of downtown Providence. Horns beeped below and the
heartbeat of cars rocked the otherwise peaceful night. I drew a thoughtful sip,
swirling the dry wine around my tongue. My nerves rippled at the slightest
thought of her long golden hair, flirty eyes, and soothing touch.

I reached into the pocket of my terry
cloth bathrobe and pulled out my harmonica. I placed it between my lips and
blew into it, playing a sweet, wailing melody that stilled my restless heart.
The lights of the city twinkled and played on that part of my soul that craved
light, beauty, and joy.

I gulped the last of my Merlot then
jumped into the shower. I turned on the water and stepped into the shower,
bowing my head under the spray. I soaped up, lathering bubbles around my skin
imagining her hands massaging the bubbles into great mounds of foam.

I circled my nipples and imagined her
dewy lips wrapped around one of them, sucking, pulling, and flicking it with
her rosy tongue. My body rose up in delightful tucks at her imagined touch,
softness, tenderness, caressing those parts of my heart and soul that craved
love. In need of a loving touch, a touch that harmonized and spoiled me, I
closed my eyes and sealed into this steamy moment. I drifted away from reality
under the massager head of a shower and escaped into the memory of this girl,
this pure and pristine flower child of a girl. I succumbed to the ultimate
point of ecstasy, bucking, groaning, and panting in absolute pleasure.

* *

When I first met my wife Jessica, I
feared I’d never be able to blend into her world. She was wild, uninhibited,
and the star of the show. I assumed that blending into her life would be like
blending into a car wash. How right I was. Car washes could be really fun when
you close your eyes and let them take you for a ride.

The first time I saw her work her
magic, my heart galloped along with her wild beat.

I discovered her by accident. My
friends, Janie and Roxanne, wanted to celebrate their upcoming wedding with
fun, so they begged me to throw them the most spectacular bachelorette party.
At first, I planned to take them to dinner with a few of our close friends, and
then surprise them with a fun trip to Manhattan where we’d lose ourselves in
cocktails, dance, and enjoy whatever else the night tossed at us. Then Jessica
fell into my lap, literally.

I had been lounging on the grass on
the quad reading my calculus textbook. The sun trickled through the leaves and
danced on the pages, making it difficult to focus on equations and variables. I
dug my mind into polynomials and tried to figure out how they could ultimately
fit into my life when a Frisbee smacked my head. Jessica stopped just mere
inches from my face to retrieve it. A tease whispered on her lips as they
curled up into a smile that I surmised she used on many occasions to jumpstart
hearts.

I asked her, “Where did you learn
that graceful move?”

She responded, “I’m a dancer. It
comes with the territory.”

To this I asked, “A dancer? As in
ballet?”

“As in Burlesque,” she said, then
jumped to her feet and strode away. She looked over her shoulder and winked,
then ran towards the coeds waiting for her return.

The idea to hire a Burlesque dancer
had never occurred to me until that moment. After this girl walked away, I
wanted her. I wanted her to be the one who would add value and mystique and
thrill to my friends’ bachelorette party. For the days that followed, I sought out
this girl. I spied on her playing Frisbee under a canopy of sunny skies.

My bravery arrived when her Frisbee
once again landed in my lap. Her eyes lit up as if in the presence of someone
beautiful. This warmed me straight through to my core.

The night of the bachelorette party,
she stood amidst a circle of gorgeous women, swinging her hips and bending in
all the right places. She epitomized the beauty of a Burlesque dancer. Her
smile, the flirty crinkle around her eyes, the subtle snarl of her nose as she
captured the stage, stole my breath. Her hair bounced up and down along with
the rest of her God-given, prized features. She knew just how to land in front
of people and tease them into submission.

Jessica stole the show, blinding us
bachelorettes to anything not golden-brown, not hot to the touch, not doused in
gritty skin and sex. Before long, all of us swooned together in one massive
wave of euphoria, sweat, and womanly lust. We swayed to a universal melody,
lacing our fingers, tracing them along each other’s curves, mesmerized as if
under a spell where beginnings and endings blurred into one ever-flowing vessel
of rippling highs and lows. Legs pretzeled against legs and arms caressed hips
and guided them in a fluid dance, bringing us to the root of ecstasy right
there at the base of this grandiose entertainment force known as Jessica.

As I clung to the body of a blonde
girl with wide hips, Jessica and I locked eyes and shared a liberating moment.
Swooned by the flirt in her eye, I transformed into an empowered woman under
the strobe lights. Turned on by this drug, this nirvana, I changed. I was no
longer Nadia Chase, the boring girl with mousey hair and eyes set just a bit
too far apart. I was Nadia, the girl who could morph into someone capable of
bringing myself to orgasm on a dance floor.

Jessica turned life into a party.
Everyone loved her. My parents couldn’t invite her for enough homemade pasta
dinners. My sister, Sasha, debated with her on everything, which meant she
admired her. My friends hated whenever she didn’t tag along for our happy
hours. My college clubs demanded she join us. Jessica knew how to stir up life
and get it rolling in no other direction than that of fun. Smiles followed her.
Laughter erupted around her. Sweet alcohol flowed in her presence like a
cascading waterfall.

I adored her. Life couldn’t get any
better.

Then one night, we were sitting in
her car staring out over the horizon at a full moon, and she just started bawling.
I begged her to tell me why. She just buried her face in her hands and bawled
more. Finally, after an hour or so of coaxing, she admitted that she had a
confession to make. She told me about Robby, her boyfriend. “I love him, but
not like I love you,” she said under the cascade of fresh tears. “I broke it
off with him last night, and he didn’t take it well. He begged me to stay
friends. You know how that goes.” She pouted and unleashed more tears. I just
hugged her and reassured her she did the right thing. She agreed.

“I just feel guilty for hurting him
and for keeping him a secret from you. I just didn’t know how to bring him up
to you and you to him.”

“I understand,” I said, cradling her
against me, so happy to be on this end of the confession instead of Robby’s. I
pitied the poor guy. I would’ve wanted to jump off a cliff if she ended this
joy ride for me.

After that confession we grew even
closer. She referred to me as her anchor. People treated her like a celebrity
of sorts. Small films contracted her to work with them. She appeared in
commercials for local cable channels. She even hung out with some of the
players for the local professional women’s basketball team because one of them
opened up a Burlesque club, and Jessica headlined it. People flocked to get a
sight of her, my girlfriend, the woman who would whisper into my ear, “You look
beautiful, my Butterfly.” I would melt at this nickname each time.

Activity filled every moment of her
day, and to keep that smile blazing like it did, she relied on me to take care
of the “business” end of things: to pick out her clothes, to prepare nutritious
snacks and meals, and to motivate her to exercise and rest in between her wild
romps at the clubs.

Without me, she would have fallen
victim to the abuse of such a demanding life. She needed me. I loved being
needed. Being needed by her was my elixir. It breathed life into my day.

Jessica treated me like a princess.
She treated me to Tiffany jewelry, to gorgeous artwork, to romantic dinners,
and to a life where she wanted to show off my knack for things like public
speaking at social events, for negotiation skills, and for my sense of style.

We shared a sweet spot for each
other. This sweet spot swaddled us in the kind of love where no words needed to
be spoken. Back in the early days, I would look into Jessica’s eyes and get
lost in them. This woman loved me so much more than Sasha’s fiancé loved her.
This woman placed me on a pedestal higher than the one my father placed my
mother on. I became that woman she looked at and whispered into the deepest
recesses of a winter’s night, “You’re the love of my life.”

I loved this moment of our
relationship. I would’ve done anything to keep it intact. Whatever she wanted,
I would’ve done. In our early days I learned that Jessica loved to drink.
Alcohol livened up her spirit like nothing else. She smiled, laughed, and added
charm to a room when sipping on alcohol.

She claimed to have her drinking
under control. As we started to become more serious, I’d ask her straight out
why she needed to drink so much. She laughed this off saying she didn’t need
it. She just enjoyed the taste like I enjoyed the taste of coffee. She laid out
a deal. “You stop drinking coffee, and I’ll start drinking orange juice instead
of alcohol.”

So, I gave up coffee and suffered
mega headaches for weeks. I didn’t mind. Jessica drank orange juice instead of
beer. She still wore her radiant smile and joked about the funny things that
happened the night before while she danced at a party with strangers. My
Jessica was still Jessica without the alcohol.

Shortly after, we got married. We
hosted a huge wedding filled with family and friends who supported us and our
love.

For our honeymoon, we trekked to the
mountains. We set out like two wild spirits on the verge of something
incredible. We drove through valleys and up mountainsides singing Billy Joel
and Eric Clapton songs, hooting and laughing. The sun shined all over our life.
I had everything. I couldn’t imagine living without her by my side.

This rosy, cheerful halo hung around
us for the first year of our marriage. I had stepped into a life others only
dreamed about living. My wife and I hosted parties, vacationed on yachts,
enjoyed season tickets to the Giants thanks to an adoring fan, ate at fancy
restaurants, and lived a life full of laughter and spontaneity.

On our anniversary, we drove to the
mountains. We laughed and joked the entire ride up to our mountain getaway. A
smile as natural and beautiful as the wind blanketed me in a peace I didn’t
want to share with anyone. I owned it. I was whole. Life danced with me.

Then, as we unpacked the trunk of our
car, reality hit me like a bomb. I reached down for the containers of orange
juice which were sandwiched in a crate between a gallon of milk and water. I
cradled the crate, even though Jessica insisted she should carry it because of
the weight. “It’s a good workout,” I said, swinging the crate from the trunk
and wrestling my way towards balance. Well, my balance caved and the crate
tumbled out of my arms and smashed onto the concrete driveway. Milk and orange
juice exploded and spilled into a gooey mess at my feet. Jessica dropped to her
knees fighting to control the carnage that ensued. Her face sunk as the orange
juice and milk spilled from the crushed containers onto the gravel. She gasped
like someone had punctured a life-giving bubble, like someone had murdered her
child, like someone had reached down from the mountaintop and yanked her heart
right out of her chest. I’d never seen a grown woman cry like this.

My life changed in that moment. That
pivotal moment would forever be etched in my history as that moment when my
wife plucked the keys from my front pocket, climbed into the front seat and
drove away muttering, “I can’t do this trip without my juice.”

I stood under a ripped veil, as I
watched our sedan hug the curved driveway and settle into the steep decline.
Jessica wasn’t talking about orange juice. My wife, the woman everyone loved,
was a woman unable to house a smile without first dousing her liver with
alcohol.

I decided standing on that
mountaintop that I would help her. I would blend-to-mend if that’s what it
took. That’s what married people did. She’d do it for me. Whatever it took,
we’d get through this. No one would have to know. No one would ever know. I
would guard this with everything I had in me. This would be our secret. We’d
deal with it quietly. Yes. That’s how I planned it. A quiet descent from a new
hell into the arms of safety, of protection, of peace. I’d sweep away the
perils that laced into our life and polish it best as I could.