It’s the start of a new week. I am
getting ready for work as an administrative assistant at RPM Management, a
small boutique financial firm. I
work for Alpha males straight out of Ivy League schools. Most of the young
associates are dating, engaged, or married to willowy girls in their early 20s.
I make note of this whenever I see the happy-couple-photo on their desk.
At
39, I am neither willowy nor in my early 20s so the potential of dating anyone
in this office is pretty low. It
doesn’t discourage me from being flirtatious but they never really take me
seriously. I am short and
overweight by a good 40 lbs, but that doesn’t stop me from at least trying. I
have two advanced degrees in English and Philosophy and I make a whopping 38K a
year. In New York City, this means
barely scraping by when I pay $1,000 a month on my studio apartment in Inwood
and I owe 50K in student loans. This
was never the dream but it’s a steady gig.
As
I dress for work, I realize every article of clothing I own has seen better
days. I opt for a purple gauzy tunic over a camisole and a loose-fitting pair
of work slacks. On my small
stature, I am just trying to hide the fleshy bits but really who am I kidding? It’s
my best attempt of giving the appearance of being put together. I apply mascara, eyeliner, a tint of
lip color and I’m off to face another day at work.
Mary
Klein, the office manager, is out on vacation this week. I always enjoy it when she’s out
because I have free reign over the office space. As I go through my morning
routine of looking through my email, Manny comes by with his new associate,
Brandon Oliver. Another 27-year
old boy fresh out of business school, he has dark hair and light grey eyes, he
is well over 6 feet tall, thin and reedy in that New York hipster way but this
one is wearing a suit on his first day.
I shake his hand, “Pleasure meeting you. If you have any questions feel
free to come by.”
Manny
agrees. “Clara is the person who knows how to get things done around here so
don’t be afraid to ask her questions.”
I
smile. “I’m here if you need me.”
Manny takes Brandon to meet the next analyst and I can’t help admire the
looks of this young new associate as I watch them through the glass office. For
a moment I wish I was twenty again and then Brandon looks my way and gives a
wink. I feel the heat of a blush start to rise and I give him a lopsided grin.
I turn around and head to the kitchenette where I make myself a cup of tea. A
strange sensation of wanting more makes my throat ache. More of what? I’m not
sure. I grab a blueberry muffin from the tray of leftovers from the 8 a.m.
meeting and go back to my desk. A
sweet treat will tamp down whatever is making me act like a schoolgirl over a
wink from a young new associate.
When I return to my desk there is a
post-it note, “Need your help. Brandon.”
What could he possibly need? I take a deep breath and walk over to his
cube.
Brandon has taken off his jacket and he’s
rolling up his sleeves while cradling the phone in his shoulder. I whisper. “I
can come back later.”
Brandon shakes his head, holds up a
finger and whispers back. “I’ll be off in a second.”
I lean against a pillar out of his sight line. The voice comes through the phone shrill
and insistent. He cuts the caller
off. “You’ve made your point. I’ve heard you. But I’m not paying for it. Let’s talk
about this later.” He hangs up without
waiting for a reply.
Brandon gives me a sheepish grin. “We all
want the last word.”
“Do we?”
“When we’re in the right, we do.”
I smile and wonder what he’s right
about. “Did you need something?”
“I’m having trouble logging into the LARK
system. I get the message, network access denied.”
It’s an easy fix. His cologne is strong and bright with a
lemony scent. It reminds me of
clean scrubbed bodies. I blush.
I punch an extension on his phone while
giving Brandon instructions. “Pull up your main screen so I can see your
computer name.” He does it while
the phone rings on the other end over the speakerphone. Jackson answers.
“Good morning Jackson, this is
Clara. I need terminal 75GHL to be
given network privileges.”
Jackson grumbles. “I took care of that
request.” I hear him type over the speakerphone. His tone turns apologetic, “Clara, I thought I took care of this
on Friday.” I hear him quickly tap
keys on his end.
“No harm, no foul Jackson. We just need Brandon on the network so
he can start earning his paycheck.”
“Try it now.”
Brandon punches in his passcode and the
system moves into a starting sequence.
“That did the trick, thanks Jackson.”
“You owe me a coffee Clara.”
“For doing your job? I don’t think so. I think you owe me a soy latte for not
getting it done last week as promised.”
Jackson laughs. “Give me a call when
you’re back at your desk.”
“Will
do. Thanks again.”
Brandon looks at me and says. “You’re one
tough cookie.”
He hits a nerve. My demeanor turns cool,
“Hit enter for me. Enter this code: 7795468. Hit Return.”
The LARK system opens up to graphs and
e-tickers to the stock market, his computer is up and running. I walk off
without waiting for a thanks. I
could feel myself getting into a snit over being called a “ tough cookie.” The
term irks me.
I sip my tea while I wait for my desktop
to come back to life. I catch a
glimpse of my reflection in the hand mirror and my hard expression makes me
look every bit of my age. I notice grey hairs peek through my dark brown hair. I
need to pick up some hair dye.
Perhaps a lighter shade so I don’t have to color quite so often.
As I scan emails, a subject line catches
my attention from Alice, our HR rep, it reads, “Call me ASAP.” I dial Alice’s phone number. My mouth is
dry and sour from the strong cup of tea.
She picks up on the third ring.
“Hi Alice, it’s Clara. I just saw your email. What’s up?”
“Would you mind stopping by my office? We
need to talk.”
***
Twenty minutes later, I’m back at my desk
and my eyes burn with unshed tears. Anger takes over and the phone rings. “What?” I bark not
glancing at the number display.
Gary Sorin is on the line, my least
favorite person. “Clara, I still didn’t
get reimbursed for the Boston trip. It’s been a month. What’s the hold up?”
“You’ll have to ask Mary.” My throat is tight.
“If Mary was available, I wouldn’t be asking you now would
I?”
Gary is on the verge of being promoted to
analyst. Management gives him too much latitude, which makes him both entitled
and arrogant. He’s notorious for expensing high-ticket items without approval.
Mary wields her very limited power to make sure all items on the expense
reports are legitimate, which means she and Gary often go head-to-head over his
vouchers. Today he’s looking for
someone to vent his frustrations on but I am not in the mood.
“Gary, you’ll have to address the issue with Mary when she
returns next week.”
“But I’ll have to pay for this
out-of-pocket!” He yells.
“It’s out of my hands. Can I help you
with anything else?” Gary hangs up on me in reply.
I sit in my cube, list my finances and crunch
my numbers but I’m barely making ends meet. When I worked as an adjunct, I made
less than I make now. I taught five
classes a semester at three different colleges, which accounted for roughly 110
students, read and graded papers on the train and on weekends plus planned
lectures, and worked on my own academic work for publication. I worked constantly
to eke out a living. I took on temporary work just to supplement my
income. When temping started to
pay better than teaching, I decided to work in the private sector. I knew I was
overeducated for the assistant positions but that didn’t matter as long as I
had some steady income and decent health benefits for a change. Now I am staring
into the abyss of possibly losing this job and it scares me. I thought this post
would give me some peace of mind. Boy, was I wrong.
The phone rings. It’s Jackson. I forgot to call him back. I didn’t really want to deal with any office-related issues
so I walk over to Mark’s office to bum a cigarette off him. He asks. “I thought
you quit?”
“I did.” I borrow his lighter and walk
out into the stairwell. It’s against building policy to smoke in the stairwell
but there is a small group of junior associates that do it anyway. Management
lets them slide if it means keeping associates on the floor. I sit alone in the
stairwell, take a long drag and let the smoke linger in my lungs before
releasing it. Tears sting my eyes.
I try desperately to hold them back but they pool and slide down my
face. I blot my cheeks with my tunic
sleeves leaving black mascara behind. I notice that the edges are frayed and by
the look of it, the sleeves have been worn down and torn for a long time. I’ve been wearing this shirt for months
without seeing the condition of it.
Brandon walks down the stairs, talking on
his cell, balancing two coffees in a cardboard tray. He’s in a heated exchange. “It doesn’t change anything.
Natasha, you apologize, then turn around and do the exact same thing. Will you
just grow the fuck up?” He hangs
up and spots me. “You seem to be
everywhere, don’t you?” He sees my
face and asks. “You all right?”
“I should ask you the same question.”
He sits next to me. “That stuff will kill you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He takes up one of the cups and offers it
to me.
“What’s this?”
“I have a knack for saying the wrong
things. As soon as ‘tough cookie’ came out of my mouth, I knew I made a
mistake. I’m sorry.” He looks
straight into my eyes when he apologizes.
I grab the coffee, take a sip and find
that it’s a soy latte. “Apology accepted.”
He passes me a napkin. “For your cheeks
before your mascara dries up.”
I take a hard swipe across my cheeks. “Thanks.” I dab closer to my eye line where tears are still welling up.
Brandon asks. “So what has you hiding in
a stairwell?”
How do I explain to this virtual stranger
how everything I’ve ever worked for never turns out the way I hoped? Instead, I
tell him the other part of the truth.
“I’m on probation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been written up. It’s the first step
before being fired. If I don’t get
my act together, I’m out.”
“What for?”
“It doesn’t really matter. My manager is just
looking for a way to push me out. And I’m just having a bit of a pity party for
myself.”
“What
a shitty way to start the week.”
“You’re
telling me.” My throat tightens and I hear my voice rise a bit. “Your turn. What’s got you all bent out
of shape?”
Brandon
takes a sip from his coffee. “I’m going to preface this by saying that I know
this is nothing compared to what you’ve just told me but you asked. Natasha, my fiancée…we’re planning our wedding. She wants to spend far more than our
very small budget. I want to make her happy but I don’t want to be $25,000 in
the hole. She doesn’t understand
that these decisions affect both of us now. She actually wants to buy a $10,000
wedding dress, a dress that she will wear only once in her life. Who does that?”
Brandon gets up. “I don’t want to
be the bad guy in all this. I want her to have a special day but I don’t want
to be bankrupt at the end of it either.”
“Shitty
way to start the week.” I try to
sound sincere but sarcasm edges my words. They are arguing over a $10,000 dress
and I’m trying to find a way to survive the next couple of months. I smooth
over the frayed edges of my sleeve and try to hide the damage.
Brandon gives me a half-smile. “Like I
said, I know it doesn’t compare to what you’re going through but...I have to
get back.”
I
nod. “Thanks for the latte.”
Brandon
goes easily down the stairs and looks back up at me. “For what it’s worth, she might not let you go.”
“Thanks. For what it’s worth, I’m sure
the two of you will figure things out.” Once he’s gone, I take a pull from the
last of my cigarette and squish it beneath my shoe. I look up at the ceiling
and let the smoke billow out above my head. Why did I ever quit smoking?
***
For
the next two weeks, I am desperate to land another job before the worst-case
scenario in my head plays out in my actual life. I work quietly but I’m
tense. Mary is back from her
vacation but she acts as if nothing is amiss. We talk about expense reports but
not much else. I spend the better part of my days skimming the classifieds
online and send out resumes at work.
It’s easier to look for work at the
office than to try to do it at the end of the day from home where the
desperation is deeply rooted in my self-esteem. I take more breaks and sit in the stairwell when the panic
starts to set in. Brandon joins me
from time to time. He talks me down from my worst-case scenario existence and I
talk him down from cancelling his wedding.
By Thursday I’m ready for a drink. I go to a local pub after work, pull
myself up onto a high stool at the end of the bar and order a Vodka Martini. I
need some liquid courage to face my empty apartment and my future. It’s still
early and the place is relatively empty. It will be another hour before the
analysts in the area crowd the place.
An hour is all I need before I head back to my apartment.
I
sip a very strong martini and my throat burns as the vodka goes down. The
alcohol loosens the tension in my body. When I was younger, I had high
aspirations to leave my mark on the world. I wanted to write and impact a new generation
of writers. I wanted my stories to be in the mix only to discover that I wasn’t
really very good. Passion far outweighed ability or talent. I was mediocre on
my best days. And one day I just gave up.
I thought I had this assistant position
down pat but what I continue to fail at is navigating the office politics. I forgot my place in the pecking order. Mary
is the queen bee and I am a threat to her if I’m too capable. Unless I curb my
ways, she’ll force me out. Now I’m left trying to figure out what to do next
with myself. What a huge cosmic joke my life was turning out to be. I polish off my drink and order
another.
A
song comes over the speaker with a female rocker who screams her way through
the music and it’s the perfect anthem for the frustration I feel. It also magnifies
the buzz from the first drink. I move with the beat and when the song is over a
new drink is in front of me. I say out loud to anyone within earshot. “Just in
the nick of time, I was starting to sober up.” The bartender smiles before he moves down to the next
customer.
I look at the young set of customers starting
to trickle in and resentment settles into the back of my throat. I remember
seeing their hopeful expressions on my own face not so long ago. They have
their whole lives ahead of them but time moves so much faster than any of them
realize. One day, they’ll wake up
and wonder where the hell did their life go. I stare into my Martini and I could feel hot tears begin to
cloud my sight. Damn place to be
crying into my drink. I dab my eyes with the cocktail napkin, force myself to
look up and smile to stop any more tears from making an appearance. If anyone had been watching me, they might
think I’m a bit mental, and at this very moment it didn’t feel too far from the
truth.
Gary, Mark, Richard and Joe enter the bar
and settle into a nearby booth. That should be my cue to finish my drink and
head home but I stay put. I do not want to rush the drink I have in front of me. It might be awhile before I can treat
myself again. I plan on saving every nickel and dime I make just in case Mary
decides to let me go. At this
point, my life is a bit of a crapshoot and the job situation could go either
way.
A pop song comes over the speakers and
the din of the bar picks up in volume as more people arrive. I sing along with
the upbeat song to help raise my spirits. Brandon sidles up, sits at the end of
the bar and starts to sing along with me at the top of his voice. When the song is over, I laugh. It’s an
absurd moment.
“You looked like you were having fun and
I needed a little fun too.”
Brandon’s comment makes me laugh harder, if he only knew. He laughs along with me.
I finally ask. “Are you grabbing a drink
with the guys?”
“I’ll go over there shortly. Do you mind
if I keep you company?”
“Hmm, that might be equivalent to social
suicide in these parts.”
“I’ll send over a round to hold them
over.” He waves over the bartender,
orders drinks for the guys before ordering himself a Guinness.
I sip my Martini. Avicci’s song ‘Wake Me Up’ plays, and we both
listen to it. He stares into his glass of dark beer. I listen too carefully and an onslaught of emotions washes
over me. Brandon looks at me and sings some of the lyrics to me. “So
wake me up when it's all over / When I'm wiser and I'm older.”
“Don’t wish to be older. Wiser yes but not older. We’re all
expected to forge ahead, no matter what life hands you. Make lemonade out of
lemons.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Right now all I see are lemons.”
Brandon gets the bartender’s attention
again. “Next round for her, make it lemonade”.
I look at the bartender. “Just top it off
with some Absolute.”
Brandon adds. “Make that two lemonades
with Absolute.”
“You haven’t even finished your beer.”
Brandon takes his glass and drinks down
half his beer. “It won’t be a
problem. What about you, you still
have quite a full glass there.”
I drink half. “Bring on the lemonade.”
We both watch the bartender mix our
drinks. Brandon drinks down the remaining beer in his glass leaving some foam
on his upper lip. I want to reach
over and wipe it away. Instead, I
gesture to his upper lip with my finger.
He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth to clear it off. It reminds me of how young he really is
and it leaves me feeling lonelier.
“Now you. Your turn to finish that Martini.” I oblige by finishing my drink. The bartender puts our new drinks within reach and clears
off the empty glasses.
“Okay before we drink our lemonade
concoction, I need to use the men’s room.”
I
watch him saunter to the back of the bar to find the men’s room, like he doesn’t
have a care in the world. Brandon has
his whole life ready to play out ahead of him. I smile because just for a moment it’s sexy and full of
possibilities.
Gary walks over and sits on Brandon’s stool.
My smile disappears.
“Whatcha doing Clara?”
“Having
a drink. You?”
“Same. What are we doing with our young friend
Brandon?” Gary takes a sip of
Brandon’s drink and makes a sour face. “What the hell is that?”
A giggle slips out. “Just a little
lemonade.”
He puts the drink down. “Just don’t get
your hopes up, he’s engaged.”
My face tightens. The dig hits its mark. “I’m
not expecting anything from him. I don’t want anything from any of you boys.”
Gary’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by the
icy tone in my voice. He’s never seen me quite so direct. He doesn’t know what
to make of me.
When Brandon comes back, I excuse myself.
“My turn.” I slide off the high
stool. Once I feel steady I walk
towards the back of the bar. The
two Martinis did the trick and I could feel the buzz slow down my pace. I enter the nearest stall and empty my
full bladder. When I wash my
hands, I catch my reflection. My
face is blotchy from crying, laughing and alcohol. It’s time I went home.
Brandon and Gary are talking
intently. I can see Brandon’s face
smile, laugh and shake his head. I
could only guess what Gary is saying to him. Once back I announce. “All right boys, I think I’m done for the night.”
Brandon says, “You can’t leave yet, we
haven’t finished our drinks Clara.”
Gary stands up. “I think the lady’s had
enough.”
I turn to Brandon. “You are absolutely
right. Let’s drink our lemonades,
I think we deserve that at least.” I turn to Gary. “I think you have a table to
get back to. Buh-bye.”
Gary doesn’t like being dismissed but he
leaves without saying another word. I am thrilled at the small victory but
really it’s the alcohol talking.
Brandon says. “You just keep surprising
me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen
anyone put Gary in his place.”
“I just don’t like him speaking for me.”
“Ah.”
I
switch drinks so Brandon is drinking from the glass Gary tasted. “Gary’s a tool.”
Brandon
laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Gary was my roommate in college. He helped me get this job.”
“Oh.” I sip my lemonade.
It’s strong and sour but cold. It hits the right spot.
“It’s all about connections in this industry.”
“So what was he saying before I walked up?”
Brandon drinks from his glass. “Warning
me off. Not to get entangled with
you.”
“What makes him think that?”
Brandon shrugs. “He’s seen us taking
breaks together in the stairwell.”
“Does he know? About you and Natasha?”
“You’re the only person I’ve told.” He looks worn thin around the edges.
“You look tired.”
“I’m just starting to feel it. I haven’t been sleeping.”
“Go home. Get some rest.”
Brandon shakes his head. “I don’t want to
go home. I was thinking of crashing
at Gary’s tonight.”
“You can crash at my place.” The words pop out before I stop myself.
Brandon takes a long hard look at me
before he says, “Okay. I’d like that.” He finishes his drink and sets the glass
down.
He motions for the bartender for the check.
I open my purse to pay for my drinks.
Brandon looks at me and says. “Put it away. I’m paying for all of them.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
I try to peek at the bill but he says. “I
mean it. No.” Brandon hands over
his American Express card and pays the tab. He offers a hand to help me down from the high stool. The last drink has my head swimming. I steady
myself by holding onto the bar but I catch sight of Gary watching us. I pull my
hand away.
As we take a cab uptown, I start to feel
nervous at the prospect of bringing him back to my place. My place is a mess.
Not to mention that I don’t actually have a couch that he could crash on.
It’s been a long time since I felt this
kind of physical attraction to someone but I’m fooling myself to think he wants
more. Brandon is so thin and young with a full head of hair. The men I’ve dated
tended to be rounder with less hair on top of their heads and more hair
everywhere else. I tell myself that he’s not coming over to have sex but I’m
still nervous.
“You’re coming over to my place just to
sleep, right?”
Brandon is quiet on his side of the cab
and he lets out a sigh.
I thought his sigh meant that he just
wanted to sleep and that I was complicating matters by asking the question. I
speak softly. “If you’d rather not do this, I understand.”
Brandon slides his upper body towards my
side and quietly replies. “If I didn’t want to come over to your place, I would
have crashed at Gary’s.” He
reaches over and holds my hand.
“Have you changed your mind Clara?”
“I think I’m just sobering up.”
“Ah,” he says softly. “If that’s the case, I can drop you off
at your place, turn the cab around and head home.”
“When I offered you a place to crash, I
meant only to sleep. I wasn’t expecting more.” I feel the hot flush of embarrassment wash over my face and
I’m grateful for the dark cab.
Brandon whispers. “When a woman invites a man over to her
place, it usually means the woman is receptive to his overtures. If sex is off the table, tell me
now.” His directness takes me by
surprise.
I touch his face with the palm of my
hand. He looks vulnerable but the shape of his mouth and the contours of his
face are sensual. So beautiful. I want just for a moment to be young and beautiful too. I kiss him
softly.
I look into his shadowed face and tell
him. “Yes, I want you.”
Brandon kisses me deeply. The nervousness
tightens into desire. We part. He pulls my hand up to his lips and kisses the
palm of my hand. Who does that in
real life?
When the cab pulls up in front of my
building I open my purse to pull out my wallet. Brandon swipes his credit card to pay the cab fare. “Who
have you been dating that you keep wanting to pay for everything?”
I give him a crooked smile. “You don’t
want to know.”
I turn to open the cab door. “Don’t you
dare touch that handle, just give me a minute,” Brandon grabs the taxi receipt,
gets out of the cab a little unsteadily and walks around to open the car door
for me. He offers his hand as I
step out of the cab. “Now that’s
the way it’s done.”
I laugh. I’m unsteady on my feet so his hand helps. I tease him. “Is
this the part where you offer me your arm and escort me into my building?”
Brandon puts his arm around my shoulder
instead. “This is the part where we lean on each other to stop from falling
over.”
I manage to find my keys. Brandon laughs
as I struggle with the heavy outside door of my building. “Boy, you’re drunk.”
Once in the lobby, I lean against the
sidewall as we wait for the elevator.
“I wasn’t feeling this drunk in the cab.”
“It’s the cold air. It doesn’t sober people up, it makes
them feel how drunk they actually are.”
“You’re a bit of a know-it-all aren’t
you?”
“It’s one of my more charming qualities.”
The elevator arrives and Brandon opens
the door for me. “After you.” I
hit the 7 button, last floor in the building.
Brandon jokes. “The penthouse?”
I laugh. I move to the corner of the small
elevator to help me stay upright. Brandon
corners me in, leans his body against mine and kisses me. His hands travel up the sides of my
body to my breasts where he squeezes them hard. I like the strength of his touch. I could feel his growing excitement against my body and I
palm his erection only to feel him get harder under my touch. He groans.
The elevator doors opens, I take his hand
and lead him to the door of my apartment. He lifts my hair and playfully bites the back of my neck. It
makes me gasp, a fine line between pleasure and pain. I open the door and flip
on the dim foyer light. I realize my apartment is messier than I remembered. Brandon takes off his jacket and hangs
it on a hook by the door. I start
to say, “excuse the mess” but Brandon moves me up against the wall aggressively
kissing my neck. He makes quick
work of pulling off my top. I
unbutton his shirt while he unbuttons the cuffs. His shirt comes off and my hands go beneath his t-shirt to touch
his smooth firm chest. He pulls off the t-shirt letting it drop to the floor. I
take off my bra and press myself against him. My hands trail down his trousers where I unbuckle his belt
and open his pants so my hand has room to slip in. He groans and kisses me hard.
We start to sway, the alcohol heavy in our
system. I stop and he grabs my hand. “Don’t stop.”
“Just to the bed. I don’t want us to fall
over.” We move closer to my bed each
taking off our pants. He stands at
the edge of the bed in his black boxer briefs looking down at me. His look makes
me self-conscious so I pull him down onto the bed, on top of me. He settles his
face between my breasts. His mouth over the flesh of one of my nipples, he
sucks hard.
I cry out. He loosens his grip on my sensitive flesh. His hands pull my thick legs up around
his waist. My hands move from his upper
arms to his back. He shifts, moves
his hand down between my thighs. I am wet and his fingers slip inside of me and
stay there without moving.
Brandon watches me as I move my hips
along his fingers and rub myself against his hand. He slips his hand out, pulls
my panties off and I push down his briefs with my bare feet. He asks. “Do you have
something?”
“No. You?”
“For Christ’s sake.” Both feeling the heat of the moment
slipping, I throw caution to the wind. “It’s fine.”
Brandon
pushes his body between my thighs and he guides himself inside of me. The first
time a man penetrates me and fills me up is the single best moment whenever I
have sex. I tell him not to move
for a second, I just want to savor the feeling. I push my hips up to draw him deeper.
Brandon doesn’t let me savor the moment
too long because as soon as I push deeper against him, he pushes down hard
against me. He pumps hard and fast
into me. He grunts as his body slaps against my flesh. I let him fuck me hard
and when he finally comes he moans out, “slut” and it’s over. He collapses on
top of me, to catch his breath, rolls off and stares at the ceiling. “I didn’t
mean anything by it. It’s just what I say.”
I don’t respond. A tear slides down the
side of my face and I wipe it away.
“Did I hurt you?”
I lie. “I’m fine.”
“Let me see.”
I cover myself with a sheet. “You didn’t
bruise me, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
He turns to face me and sees the tears. “Let
me check. I can be a brute
sometimes.”
I want to tell him that he hurt my feelings. Instead, I say. “It’s
nothing.”
“Don’t be that way.
I can’t deal with another passive aggressive woman right now. I came here to get away from that.”
“What did you just say to me?”
Brandon clearly seeing the anger in my face.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this way.”
“Wasn’t this all about you doing whatever
you wanted to me? No holds bar.”
“Clara, I thought you and I could have a
little fun after the last couple of weeks we’ve both had.”
“Are you having fun Brandon?”
His face closes up into a dark flat mask.
“Far from it.” He gets up from the bed and starts to pick up his clothes from
the piles we left on the floor. I
watch him get dressed and I see he’s trembling. I don’t know if it’s from cold or anger but I take pity on
him. I extend a hand and he takes it.
Brandon lets me pull him back down to the bed and he lies next to me. I
wrap my arm around his chest but he’s stiff. I whisper in his ear. “This will
pass.”
Brandon touches my arm never taking his
eyes off the ceiling. “I didn’t want to hurt you Clara.”
I
let out a sigh. “I know.” The silence consumes the small space between us.
He turns and kisses me, a short quick papery
kiss, where our lips are cold and dry against each other. “Will you be okay?”
I nod unable to answer. He pulls himself off the bed and goes across
the room to put his shoes on. I ask him. “Do me a favor? Don’t tell Gary.”
Brandon
replies. “This stays between us.”
Brandon gets up and goes to use the
bathroom. I listen to him take a long
drawn out piss. When he comes back
to the room, he looks around. Just
scans the room briefly. It doesn’t seem like he really sees anything and I
realize he doesn’t really see me either.
Brandon walks towards the door, grabs his
jacket off the hook all without saying a word before he finally walks out.
Once gone, I let out a deep breath. I look across the room and see that it’s
only 9:30 pm. I turn on the small lamp next to my bed and look around my small
apartment. It really is a mess. Clothes are in small piles around the place, on
the floor, over my desk chair. I have a week’s worth of mail and the New York
Times covering my desk in the corner.
A layer of dust covers every surface since I can’t remember the last
time I cleaned. There is a scent of sex permeating the air. I don’t recognize
myself, this person in the middle of a dirty apartment allowing herself to be
fucked and discarded.
Then something shifts. I grab a t-shirt
from the floor, put it on only to realize it’s Brandon’s and I start to clean
my apartment. By midnight, I’m
finished. I take a long hot shower and for the first time in a long time start
to feel human again.
The End.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2015 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
