The Art of Forgetting (8 page)

              Lloyd felt a gentle nudge pushing against him, like the flow of a lazy stream lapping at the barriers he had erected to block him from becoming attracted to women for any reason but to satisfy his sexual hunger. The feeling was like a mesmerizing drone which was oddly peaceful and intoxicating at once.

              “How long were you married?” Lloyd asked.

              “Six years.”

              “What happened?”

              “We were little more than kids when we got married. I grew up. He didn’t.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled wistfully.

              The droning grew louder in Lloyd’s ears. Monica’s words echoed in his head.
You’re smart, bold, beautiful
… He was letting his guard down. The current was growing stronger against his battlements. It was time to push back.

              “So it was his fault, of course,” he said.

              “I didn’t say that.”

              “Tell me something, Erin, in your professional opinion as an ethicist, what compels a woman to marry a guy she doesn’t particularly like, only to try to mold him into her ideal of the perfect husband?”

              “Well, let me ask
you
a question, Dr. Copeland, in your professional opinion as a neurologist, why is it that in men, brain development stops cold the moment pubic hair starts to sprout?”

              “Those are both excellent questions.” Lloyd lifted his wine glass. “I propose a new toast:  to professional opinions and pubic hair.”

              Erin touched her goblet to his. “That’s the dumbest toast I ever heard.”

              She brought back her glass, lifted her chin and brought the rim of the goblet to her lips. Lloyd fixed his gaze on her chin and followed the line of her supple neck. He followed it down pausing to witness the thyroid cartilage bob with the cycle of her swallows, then down still, past the suprasternal notch to the delicate valley formed by the medial curvatures of her breasts.

              “How long ago was your divorce?” Lloyd asked.

              “Filed nine months ago, finalized three months ago.”

              “And since then, have you had any flings? A new flame, a hot passion?”

              “Here’s a newsflash for you. When a marriage falls apart, most rational people are a little leery about flings and flames.” She set down her wine glass and rubbed the fingers of her left hand as if still unaccustomed to the nakedness left by the absence of her wedding band.

              For some reason, her words dropped to the pit of his stomach like a boulder. He felt like something had just been snatched away from him: a glimmer of hope, maybe. But why? Was he seriously toying with the idea of a romance? That could never happen. 

              The muscles of his jaws tightened. He reached for his glass, swallowed another mouthful of wine and allowed his face to relax into an unconvincing smile.

              “Do you know what that means?” Lloyd said.

              Erin shook her head.

              “It means Monica finally got it right this time.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “We’re perfect for each other. You’re not looking for a relationship and, God knows, neither am I. So we can dodge all the tiresome emotional baggage and just… hook up. When’s the last time you had some good sex?”

              “That’s none of your business. And I never said I didn’t want a relationship. I just don’t want a relationship with an overgrown adolescent. Besides, I didn’t think I’d be your type.”

              “What in the world gave you that idea?”

              “Your reputation at the hospital precedes you. I was told you favored medical students, a few years younger than me and a few bra sizes larger than mine.”

              “I wouldn’t be so hard on your breasts.” Lloyd gave a conspicuous glance at the cleavage of her blouse.

              Erin rolled her eyes. “And they said chivalry was dead.” She took a sip of wine, shook her head and laughed. “I hate to say this but… you kind of remind me of my ex,” she said.

              “Is that right? Is he smart, charming, good-looking?”

              “You’re way better looking than him. Don’t take that as a compliment. It’s a cold statement of fact. How did you phrase it? Oh yeah, it’s self-evident.” She smirked. “What I mean is that you’re immature, conceited, cocky…”

              “I thought women were attracted to confident men.”

              “Confident? Yes. Arrogant? No.”

              “Tomayto, tomahto.”

              Lloyd stood up, grabbed the barbecue fork and lifted the lid of the grill. Smoke billowed as the steaks sizzled in their juices. He flipped the steaks and lowered the lid. When he turned, he saw Monica sliding the glass door open with Mark in tow holding an over-sized salad bowl.

              Lloyd sat next to Erin and placed his arm around her shoulders. Monica’s eyes opened wide and her lips stretched in a broad grin. “So how are you kids getting along?”

              “Just dandy, Monica.” Lloyd said. “I can’t thank you enough for introducing me to Erin. We were just saying how perfect we are for each other. Isn’t that right, honey?” He leaned into her. His hand dropped and accidentally grazed the side of her breast.

              Erin lifted a glass tumbler of iced water, took the smallest of sips and in a play-acting voice said, “I wonder what time it is.” She tilted her forearm to look at her wristwatch and spilled the contents of the tumbler on Lloyds lap. “Oh, how clumsy of me, sweetheart, I’m dreadfully sorry.” She reached for the table and handed him a tiny paper napkin.

              Lloyd inhaled deeply as the iciness hit his crotch. He smiled a tight smile and casually wiped ice cubes off his lap with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, sugar. It’s quite refreshing. Speaking of refreshing…” he stood and stretched his arms behind his back, “how about a nice dip in the swimming pool, darling?”

              “Don’t even think of it,” Erin said, but Lloyd quickly scooped her out of the chair, lifted her in his arms and began pacing towards the edge of the pool.

              “Lloyd, I swear I’m going to kill you.”

              “Our first lover’s spat. How charming. I can’t wait to see how we make up.”

              “No really, I just bought this blouse.”

              “You bought a new blouse just to meet me. I’m flattered.”

              The smooth skin of her thighs pressed against his left forearm and he became aware of his heart beating ever more forcefully. He was becoming breathless and it wasn’t from the effort of carrying her.

              She turned to look at the pool, only a few feet away now and kicked off her pumps. She faced Lloyd again and said, “Really Lloyd, that’s enough.” She put a hand over his chest as if to push him away and then he felt a slight flutter of her fingers. By now his heart was thumping against his chest like a sledgehammer. Could she feel his heartbeat?

              He gazed in her eyes and saw them shift from a peeved expression to a puzzled look as if she had come to a sudden realization. He held her gaze and noticed something peculiar: the color of her eyes was indescribable with a single word. There was a starburst of yellow crowning the pupils, melting into a background of rich olive.

              “Your eyes,” Lloyd whispered.

              “I know. I’m a freak.”

              By this point he would have set her back on her feet, but he wanted the moment to last. He wanted to keep feeling her body pressed against his. But there was something more. Again, he felt a strange intimacy that he never encountered in his sexual romps. He wanted to savor the feeling just a little longer.

              He took a few more steps in the direction of the pool, but his grip, which had been firm and taut, softened, and he felt her muscles relax as well.

              A memory flashed through his mind: that afternoon in fifth grade when Suzie Cavanaugh taught him to French kiss in the alley behind the school’s tennis courts, the tattered green tarp flapping against the chain link fence at his back. Lloyd thought he recognized in Erin the same look of innocent anticipation, of complete acceptance, of tender communion that he had witnessed on that languid afternoon.

              He curled his toes around the edge of the pool suspending Erin over the water but the utter lack of conviction in his pose betrayed his bluff.

              “Please don’t,” Erin whispered. The hand behind his neck reached up and touched his hair in a surreptitious caress.

              “Say you’re sorry,” Lloyd said in a strangely high-pitched voice, his focus shifting from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes. He took a half-step back, away from the pool’s edge.

              Lloyd felt a sudden thrust between his shoulder blades. He struggled to maintain his balance on one foot, the other leg splayed behind him. He wobbled with Erin in his arms and realized he had no choice but to jump in the pool. With an unceremonious hop he plunged feet-first in the water, gently tossing Erin clear of him in mid-air.

              He quickly surfaced and looked for Erin. She stood in chest-high water, her crepe blouse clinging to her chest, wet hair pasted to her forehead. Her expression showed no anger, just a somber dismay.

              Mark stood bent over the edge of the pool laughing. “Sorry guys. I couldn’t resist.”

              Lloyd stepped in Erin’s direction and stretched out his hand. “Are you okay?”

              She didn’t answer. She stepped around him and trudged towards the shallow end of the pool.

              Monica shouted, “I’ll go get some towels.”

              Mark, who had been grinning by the side of the pool, took a few steps back, rubbed his guilty hands on his haunches and looked around as though he had misplaced his keys.

              Lloyd followed Erin, keeping a safe distance behind her. She climbed the tiled steps of the pool, let out a sigh and cocked her head to the side to wring out her hair. Then she casually unbuttoned her blouse as Lloyd and Mark gawked at her, removed it and stood bare from waist up except for an apricot-colored bra. She held out her blouse with both hands, gave it a shake and muttered, “Great. Just great.”

              “I’m gonna help Monica find those towels,” Mark said pointing in the direction of the patio door. “Lloyd, keep an eye on the steaks!”

              Lloyd stepped out of the pool and stood behind Erin. “He pushed me,” he said.

              Erin said nothing as she squeezed a rivulet of water from the blouse then held it up in front of her again.

              “I’ll pay to have it cleaned,” Lloyd said. He stepped to her side and his gaze settled on her breasts: supple mounds, glistening in the afternoon sun.

              “No point. It’s ruined.”

              “Then I’ll buy you a new one.” His eyes darted up to her face but lazily drifted back to her breasts.

              “I can manage by myself. Thank you.”

              “I swear I didn’t mean to throw you in. Mark snuck up behind me and –”

              “You’re staring at my breasts.” She said this with a gleam of satisfaction.

              Lloyd felt his cheeks grow warm, and that wasn’t the only part of his body that his blood was rushing to. He felt a tautness develop against his wet shorts and was unable to stifle it. He reached back with his arms and tugged on his tee-shirt, slowly pulled it over his head, hoping its wetness would cool his cheeks or at least hide his face long enough for him to regain his composure. Once his tee-shirt was off he stood and spied Erin who now had her back to him, unfastening the zipper of her skirt. With a roll of her hips, she pulled down her skirt, bending down at the waist with straight legs. She stepped out of the skirt, gave it a crisp snap and stretched in on the back of a patio chair.

              Matching apricot panties. Phenomenal thighs.

              When she turned to face Lloyd she noticed the bulge tenting his shorts, made all the more noticeable by the way the wetness made them cling to him. Her jaw dropped with melodramatic flair and she smiled.

              “Geez, Lloyd, what happened? Did your shorts shrink?”

              “It’s just a reflex,” Lloyd said under his breath.

              “Just a reflex? What do you call it, Pavlov’s log?” She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. “Tell me something.” She stepped up close to him. “Do you like me?”

              Lloyd stared in her kaleidoscope eyes. They looked at each other in silence for several seconds. Then he slowly leaned forward and kissed her lips. Erin didn’t budge. But when he brought his hand to her side and let his thumb wander over the mound of her breast she slapped him on the cheek with a torpid nonchalance. Lloyd pulled back and rubbed his cheek, more stunned than hurt. Erin beamed a stern smile, entirely devoid of malice.

              “Maybe I should leave,” Lloyd said.

              “Don’t be silly. I’m not mad. I just don’t want you to get the wrong message.”