Vampires and Sexy Romance (88 page)

“Jesus, no!”  I was suddenly glad my problems seemed so small.

“Well, there is this look about you.  A glow.  Either you’re preggers or you’re in love.”

I dropped my eyes.  Was I in love?  I hadn’t thought of that, but maybe that was why I was feeling so guilty.  Love was a lot stronger emotion than just lust.

“So if you’re in love with the doctor, then what’s the problem?”  She saw the confusion in my eyes.  “You little hussy!  It’s not the doctor ... you’ve been stepping out on him!”

“No!  No I haven’t.  I swear.”

“Sounds like something I would do.  I’m so proud.”

“I swear,”  I pleaded.  “I haven’t cheated on Dean, not once.”

Bess smiled.  She’d figured it out.  “No, but you’ve wanted to.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Sure, of course it’s not.  But usually this fantasizing about other men thing happens after marriage, when you’re bored senseless fucking the same guy year after year.  You two have been going out for just two months.”

“Not even,”  I said miserably.

“Now you really sound like me.”  Her eyes moved about the room -- either she’d found something wrong with the bathroom, or she was thinking.  Her eyes shot to me again.  “It’s the not so gay guy with the flower shop.”

“What...how?”

“Oh please, that’s it, isn’t it?”  She chuckled and laughed like a demented hyena.  “You find out he’s straight and into you and now you’re into him too.  It would be kinda sweet if you didn’t already have a boyfriend.”

“A great boyfriend --”

“Who’s fabulous in bed --” 

“And who loves me --”

“Don’t forget the handsome doctor part!”  Bess looked like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. 

“You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

“Come on cupcake.  It’s funny.  A couple months ago you couldn’t even remember what an orgasm was, and now you’ve got a guy that gives you multiple orgasms in bed, and one giving you them in your dreams.”

I felt my face flush thinking about Gus actually being in my apartment earlier.

“You slut!”  Bess sat forward in the tub, her breasts coned in milky white forth.  “You’re not just talking about him in your dreams, are you?”

“He came over to my place,”  I said, my voice shot through with desperation.  “I didn’t mean to ...”

“So you two fucked?”

“No,”  Good lord I was actually disappointed that we hadn’t!   “But I needed a cold shower afterwards.”

“So he kissed you?”

I shook my head.  “Just took some sauce off my lip.”

“With a napkin?”

“His thumb.”

“Christ!”  Bess gesticulate with her arms, spraying foam and water over the shining tile floor.

“Sucked it off after.”

We both smiled wickedly.

“For the first time in the history of our friendship,”  Bess sang.  “I wish I was you.”

*****

Bess was running late so we grabbed some hot dogs on the corner.  “Seems sacrilegious to eat this shit after swimming in that tub!”

The hot dog vender gave her nasty look.

“No offense buddy, but you have no idea the bliss we just had in this fabulous bath tub.”

“What you two need is a real wiener to play with.”  The expression on his face made my skin crawl.

Bess leaned in to give the hot dog vender a terrific view of her ample cleavage.   In a tone so sweet and soft you’d think she were talking to a baby she told the man, “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get a hell of a lot more enjoyment out of this dog than yours could ever give me.”

The vender turned red and muttered “Dyke!”

Bess just smiled.  “No, but I do like big cock, and I’m certain you’d come up short.”

I followed her as she sauntered away down the street.  When we got maybe fifty feet away she said.  “I liked him.  I might stop back tomorrow.”

I shook my head.  “You’re really sick!”

“What?  I like a man that will argue with me.  It’s not like I’m all hot and bothered over two men ... now that’s sick!”

I pinched her arm.  “Bitch!”

“Oh no, and now you’re polluting the air with profanity!”

“I’m going to be littering the sidewalk with your blood if you don’t knock it off!”

She nudged me with her elbow as she looked back at the insulted hot dog vender.  “You’re just no fun.”

*****

I didn’t want to go home.  I didn’t know if I could look Dean in the eye yet, and a trip to Gus’ shop was out of the question.  So I ventured to Central Park West and walked over to my Mother’s building.             

“Miss Lucy, it’s been a long time.”  Carl, the doorman, said. He’d been with the building since before I was born.  It would take all of MIT to calculate how many times he’d opened these doors for me.  I didn’t want to think about how much he knew about me that I didn’t even remember.

“Hi Carl.”  It had been over a year, so I just threw my arms around his thick old neck and hugged him tight.  “You never take a day off, do you?”

“Been waiting for you to show up.  Now I can take a vacation.”

We laughed, but I could tell he’d really missed me.  Sometimes after school he and I would watch the ponies race on his portable black and white TV.  He’d always have beef jerky and barbeque potato chips.

“Is she home?”  I pretended to un-wrinkle his perfectly pressed uniform.

“Just came back from lunch with Donald Trump.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” he said matter-of-factly.  “He’s always asking her for advice.”

Again I felt like I had no idea who she was.  And again I suddenly wanted to know.

“Don’t be such a stranger, little one,” Carl sang after me as I walked into the building.

“I won’t,”  I promised.  And I knew I meant it.  She was a part of my life that had never abandoned me.  She was the part I truly needed to get to know better.  I owed it to her... I owed it to myself.

*****

Mother’s long time maid -- Isabella -- answered the door.  Her round Italian face turned from simply her usual broad, friendly smile to downright radiant.  Her accent so light it made her words silky and sweet. 

“Lucy!  What a wonderful surprise?”  She pulled me in for a hug.  I’d forgotten how one of Isabella's hugs could make everything better.  Like hot cocoa after losing the science fair ... or getting dumped a week before the prom.

“God, I’ve missed you, Isabella.”  I kissed her on the cheek.  

She pulled me into the apartment, apparently not sure that I was going to stay, and taking no chances.  A wonderful aroma wafted through the enormous apartment. 

“What are you baking?” I asked Isabella as we passed through the foyer and back toward the kitchen.  “It smells delicious.”  I looked into the living room but didn’t see Mother.  “Is Mother up stairs?”  I asked as we passed by the curving mahogany balustrade of the staircase to the upstairs.  Isabella had moved into one of the guestrooms long ago, and for some reason Mother had kept my room exactly as I’d left it.

I guess, in her own way, it was her way of showing me she missed me.

“No,”  Isabella said as she led me to the back to the apartment to the huge, gourmet kitchen.  “I’m baking nothing.”

I was dumbstruck when I walked into the room.  The spacious marble counters were all covered with large mixing bowls, each bowl containing a triple batch of cookie dough.  There were trays of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies cooling on industrial sized racks.  And in the middle of all this was my Mother, her silk blouse rolled up to the elbows, a Martha Stuart style apron, imprinted with flour and looking all too worn to ever be worn by her, is tied around her waist, protecting her gorgeous silk blouse.

Her hands were kneading a large blob of cookie dough, flattening it and balling it up, and then placing each perfectly round ball onto a greased cookie sheet.  The look on her face was so peaceful I mistook her for a fleeting moment for a Tibetan monk.

That was until her eyes locked on me.  She got that irritated look on her face, and I knew she was still my Mother.

“And I was just thinking on my way up here that I needed to get to know you better.”

“You’ve known me your entire life.”  She took the now filled tray and slid it into one of three professional sized ovens.  All had trays of cookie’s baking in them.  “I’d think you’d know me by now.”

“Mom ...”  I cringed.  I never called her that.  Not since I was ten years old ... not since her and my father had gotten divorced.  A memory flickered in my mind, but I pushed it out, instinctively.  “I ... uh mean ...”  I took a deep breath and picked up a cookie, using the warm confection to gesticulate what I was trying to say. 

“Do you blame me?  Out of nowhere I find out you’re sleeping with a younger man, you’re not only richer than Dad but a freaking business genius, and now this.”  I hold up the cookie.  It looked delicious, it smelled delicious.  I took a bite.  “Oh my god!  This is amazing!”

Mother smiled, looking not only happy for my praise but blissful ... in her element?

“Thanks Lucy, that means a lot coming from you.”

“So ... when did this start?”

Mother shook her head and started kneading more dough into perfect balls again.  “I don’t know ...”

Isabella piped up: “Three years and counting.”  She leaned in and whispered, “Thank god she hired someone else to come in and do the dishes.  I would’ve died from dishpan hands long ago!”

“I heard that.”  Mother said sternly, yet her smile gave her up.

“Martha Stuart and your Mother talk on the phone all the time.”

Mother broke in: “We met in the Hamptons a few years back, and I told her how much I loved baking with my Mother when I was a child.”  Her smile warmed and she looked happier than I’d ever seen her.  “Next thing I know she dragged me into the kitchen and we started making cookies.  I’ve been doing it ever since.”

“Every week -- different kind each time.”  Isabella set a cold glass of milk on the counter next to me.  “And they all go down to her shelter.”

My head popped up.  “Shelter?”  I mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate chip delight.

Mother gave Isabella a glare.  “Must all my affairs be common knowledge?”

I grinned at the pun.  “So what shelter?”

“Your Mother here bought a building on Ave B, renovated it and made a two hundred bed homeless shelter out of it.  And it has a fully functioning kitchen -- for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”  Isabella handed me another warm cookie.  “These are desert every Sunday.”

I felt my eyes well up with tears, blurring my vision.  I sat down on a stool and held my fingers to my eyes, sniffling, trying to hold back the tears that were coming out of nowhere.

Suddenly Isabella and my Mother were gathered at my side; both had a hand on either side of my shoulders.

“What’s wrong, child?”  Isabella said sweetly.

“Sweetie, do you feel okay?”  My Mother’s voice was so sincere I burst into tears on the spot.  I felt like a child as Isabella hugged me tight on one side, making comforting noises, and my Mother held my hand and stroked my hair.

“How can I not know my own Mother?”  I sobbed into a dishtowel that was lying on the counter.  “I mean, I haven’t got a clue who you are anymore.  And I don’t seem to know who I am either!”

I blew my nose on the towel and tried to stop making this hiccupping sobbing sound I’d suddenly started making.

“Of course you know me,”  My Mother said, her lips soft as she kissed my cheek.  “And you’re the same wonderful woman you’ve always been.  Always helping others -- no matter how much I advise you against it.”

“No,”  I snuffled, shaking my head.  “I’m not a good person.  I’m bad.  I’m ...”

Mother and Isabella stood there with worry crinkled expressions on their faces.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known,”  My Mother said.

“Me too,” chimed Isabella.

“No, no I’m not!”  I stood and broke away from their embrace.  “You don’t know!  I’m such a hypocrite!  No, I’m worse, I’m ... I’m ...”

Mother got this look on her face.  She turned her head to get a better look at me, and then she said: “You’re not in love with Dean.”

Was she freaking clairvoyant too?  “How did you ...?”

She smiled.  “But you are in love with someone.”

It sounded even worse when she said it.

“No, I’m not ... there’s nobody else!”  I turned and looked at the two women who raised me.  “I swear!”

Isabella turned to my Mother and said something softly to her in Italian.  They both got this knowing look on their faces.

“What?”  I said.  I didn’t know a word of Italian.

“You’re in denial.”  They both said in unison.

*****

Chapter
21

Denial?

I loved them both, but come on!

I walked the streets aimlessly for about an hour, pondering how wrong Mother and Isabella were.  I was not in denial.  And I wasn’t in love either.  That was just ridiculous.  I was in lust and deep like with Dean.  And that was it. 

Period.

So what about Gus? 

What was I feeling for Gus? 

Lust ... okay, I was feeling some heavy lust for the man.  But even though he saved Ozzie and Harriet -- numerous times -- and me once, I wasn’t even really sure I liked him.  He was rude and arrogant ... that’s the word, right?  But he was so sweet when he was taking care of me, when I started passing out thinking about poor Ozzie’s damaged limb.

I shook my head.  I was so freaking confused.  And as I looked around me at unfamiliar streets I felt like I was suddenly in some weird alternate universe, like the freaking Twilight Zone, where a woman like me, with so little success with romance suddenly had too many men to handle.

I stopped, looked around at the people that passed me by, expecting some strange man to come up to me and ask me out.  Would I say yes, because this was some Bizzaro word and that’s what the me in this world would do?

Suddenly I get checked by two nuns carrying shopping bags.  Both were built like cement mixers, both had sardonic scowls on their faces.

No, this wasn’t some alternate universe.  This was just me letting things go all wrong.  And the two nuns and Mother and Isabella knew.  I was in denial.

I pulled out my cell phone to call Bess. But I already knew she’d agree with the rest.  After all, she’d seen it in me first, she just saw it as branching out to multiple sex partners.  I didn’t think she’d factor in the L word, but she’d certainly agree I was in denial about Gus.

I put my phone back in my jeans pocket and walked toward the Chrysler Building.  At least that would head me toward a familiar junction.  And the walking might clear my head.

Of course, it hadn’t done any good so far.

*****

My apartment felt stifling hot so I threw the windows open as soon as I dropped my book bag. The fish smell had faded away, but I could swear I could detect Gus’ scent lingering in the air.

Cripes!

I searched my cabinets, frantically searching for something to rid my apartment of his distracting aroma.  I finally found a can of lemon flavored Pam.  I never cooked, so how it got into my apartment was a mystery.  But that didn’t keep me from spraying it liberally around the kitchen area. 

The can petered out in no time, so I took in a deep breath and tried to detect his smell.  Nada.  Nothing but a greasy lemony odor.  Good, it did the trick. I turned to search my fridge for something to drink and slipped on my now Pam slicked floor, landing flat on my back.

I hit my head.  Not hard enough to do any damage, but added together with the force of falling on my back, I suddenly felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.  I lay there, the smell of lemon flavored Pam pressing in on me, making my breaths all the more labored.  I coughed and tried to sit up, finding it was really hard to sit up and cough like an asthmatic.

When finally reaching my hands and knees,  I crawled across my floor until I felt the slippery coating of Pam no more.

Great, I thought.  I’m not only in denial and morally reprehensible, but now I’m suicidally stupid.  Maybe I needed to commit myself for observation?  For My own safety.

I flung myself onto my couch and checked myself for any wounds.  Crawling across a hard wood floor in my state had to have left something: cuts, scratches, splinters?

I found nothing, so I sprawled out on the couch and tried to clear my head with some mindless TV.  Immediately Life Time Television came on -- two lovers in the throes of heavy petting while an intense orchestration swelled in the background.  I flicked the channel and there were two lovers in the rain, on the Hallmark Channel, clenched in a deep kiss as the orchestra music swelled.

I sat up and changed the channel.  Soap Operas!  At least it wasn’t a romantic interchange but a grizzled, psychopathic old man with a gun, threatening to blow anyone away that got in his way.  Wait!  Suddenly the scene changes and there’s a mostly naked young man in bed with an even more naked young woman, going past third base and sliding for home.

I turned the TV off and dropped the remote on my coffee table.  “What the hell?”

I was suddenly starving and in dire need of distraction.  I suddenly thought off the Kwik King two blocks away.  They had fried chicken and jo-jo’s that were as delicious as they were unhealthy -- plus they had a descent DVD selection.

I grabbed my keys and my wallet from my book bag and headed out the door.

*****

It was late afternoon already, and the city had a beautiful golden sheen to it.  I was usually just getting off work, so usually I dismissed it, wanting nothing more than to get home and crash on my couch.

The streets were overrun by those who’d just escaped from work, and those desperately trying to make it to work without being too late.  The Kwik King was full of people, most of them vying for takeout dinner and snack food.  I stood in line and waited to place my order. They’d sold out of fried chicken, but they had just put down another batch.

“Twenty minutes,”  the jaded middle aged woman said from behind the counter.  “You gonna wait?”

“Sure.”  I had nothing else to do.  I ordered extra jo-jo’s and coleslaw.  Then I wandered back to the video selection. 

If I didn’t want to watch any romantic crap this was the place for me.  Action movie, action movie, slasher flick, comedy ... action, action, action!

I picked up one I hadn’t seen before.  Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie trying to kill each other.  Sounded promising.

I turned around to head back to the cash register.  I’d pay for the meal and the DVD, and then I’d fall back to the hot foods section.  But as I rounded the corner of the aisle I spotted a familiar man up by the cashier.  Gus was buying a newspaper.  I stepped back far enough he couldn’t see me, but I couldn’t help but to stare at him.  His easy smile, his broad shoulders -- and that terrific derriere!

I bit my lower lip just thinking about how it felt to have those two beautiful orbs in my hands.   Shaking my head I backed up a few more steps, enough that I couldn’t see him.  Out of sight, out of mind ... right?

I counted to a hundred and then peeked out around the corner.  Gus was gone, thank god.  I walked up to the cashier and was hit hard by his lingering scent. Even in a convenience store, with all the scents and ripe odors, his scent haunted me as I paid for my order, and my movie.

It seemed like an eternity before my fried chicken was finished.  I wound up biting off my nails, something I hadn’t done since high school.  I also felt another craving hit me again.  Cigarettes.  I hadn’t had one since college.  And I’d only smoked them for my last two terms, and yet there I was waiting for my super unhealthy fried meal, and I couldn’t stop ogling the rows and rows of cellophane wrapped tobacco products.

I trudged back up to the front and bought a pack of Camel lights, my old favorite.  I was tempted to light up there and then, but I was sure I’d be arrested and locked up with all the other riffraff: the hookers, and the vagrants, and of course all those dirty old men that used to prowl Time’s Square.

*****

By the time I finally made it home I had had enough of the world at large.  I locked my door.  I turned off my cell phone and unplugged my home phone.  I even found some earplugs and shoved them in my ears ... just in case someone appeared at my door.

I needed some peace and quiet, even if I had to lock myself away to get it.

*****

An hour later I woke up to find myself on the couch.  The main menu of the Angelina/Brad movie played and flickered on my TV screen.  Christ, I thought as I stretched and felt the tightness in my neck and lower back.  The movie hadn’t been what I’d bargained for.  Sure, as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the two Hollywood starlets had tried to kill each other with heartfelt glee, but soon enough I found their resurrected passion, and their fighting, to be more than mere foreplay. 

The movie was a Thriller/Romance hybrid, which not only got me thinking about my own romantic problems, but then made me think about love.

Bastards!

I stumbled back to my bedroom and slithered under the covers.

*****

When I awoke the next morning someone was beating on my door.  I rolled over, the feel of my sheets and soft mattress intoxicating.  But the knocking at the door persisted, growing with intensity and my annoyance.  I crawled out of bed and shuffled toward the noise.  But then I thought again.  It could be anyone--it might even be Gus!  So I trudged back and pulled my bathrobe on, tying it around my waist -- I even stopped long enough to brush my hair out.  Half way through this I had to ask myself about brushing my hair.  I knew the robe was to keep a possible Gus from getting any ideas, but brushing my tangled hair out was possibly sending that message anyways.

When I pulled the door open I sighed with relief -- It was Dean.

But then I got a real good look at him.  His hair was disheveled and his eyes were blood shot, not to mention his clothes were wrinkled.  He looked a complete mess.

He grabbed hold of me, crushing me against his chest.  “Thank god,”  He said, and then he held me out away from him at arm’s length.  “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone?”

Couldn’t take the chance Gus would try making a move on me last night ... or that I’d let him.  “Just needed some alone time.”  I tried to give him my best smile, but his eyes were impenetrable.

Finally his eyes started to soften.  “I was just worried.”

“It’s okay.  You’re allowed.”  I touched his face, right where his cheek met with his chin.  “You look terrible.”

He pulled me to him again and held me tight.  This made me close my eyes even tighter. 
Why wasn’t this enough?

He started kissing me before the door was even closed, and before we knew it we were on the couch, me in just my panties, Dean’s shirt unbuttoned, as well as his pants.  He snapped on a condom and then pulled my panties down off my hips, over my legs and off over my feet.

When he entered me I felt like I was being torn apart.  I felt guilt slithering through my veins.  I closed my eyes to that and wrapped myself about his body all the more.  Dean was wondrously hard, so hard he seemed like someone else.  And for a horrifying yet irresistible moment I let my brain think it was someone else ... Gus to be specific. 

My spine arched as I imagined that it was him cross-stitching himself into my body.

I felt myself physically jerk when I suddenly could smell him.  My eyes snapped open and my sex tightened about Dean’s.  I panted with relief that it was still Dean I was with, but as he moaned and buried his face in my neck, churning his granite member into me, I felt so guilty. 

I was certain Dean was lost in me.  He was probably incapable of thinking about anyone else.

*****

Dean dressed clumsily after sex.  I’d tried to fake an orgasm, just so he’d stop, or at least finish quicker.  But instead he just kept going at it, and soon I didn’t have to fake it, I was orgasming all over the place.  Of course one moment I was with Dean, the next with Gus.

Dean still looked like hell, but he looked happy again as he left.  And without his polished exterior, the fact that he was in love with me was all the more apparent.  He had even moaned it again when he came.

When I finally had my apartment to myself I trudged back to the bedroom and fell over on my bed.  The sex had been fantastic.  What it was doing to my mind I didn’t like.  My eyes were just starting to get heavy when my alarm clock went off, making me jump just as a dream about pancakes and bacon dropped into my head.