Dear Adam (18 page)

He chuckled.

“
I don’t care what you say.
We have to be civilized and have a date. Let's pretend you and I
met face to face first. We got to talking and you ask me out.
Against my better judgment, I accept. So that weekend you come to
pick me up. How would it go?”

She looked at herself in the hall mirror,
imagining getting ready for a night out with Adam, primping, laying
out a dress, earrings, a pair of shoes. Styling her hair and making
herself up.

He was quiet.

“
You’d have taken your
second shower and smelling of Armani Code,” she prompted. “You’d be
wearing … ?

“
A black suit, black tie,
black shirt," he continued. “Silver cufflinks. My shoes would be
black and polished to a shine. When you open the door, you faint
from sheer pleasure at the sight of me.”

"Or I'd faint from you being so full of
yourself," she countered. "Where would you take me?"

"To a restaurant where the owner knew me.
Nothing fancy but with great food. Small, intimate. I'd ask them to
prepare a special menu for us and play music that I picked ahead of
time."

"Okay," she interrupted. "I have a problem
with that."

"Of course you do."

"Why are you ordering for me? Why can't I
choose what I want to eat?"

"I would take into consideration what I think
you would like and have it made especially for you. I want to make
the whole night extraordinary, no detail left to chance. It's not
because I think you're incapable of ordering for yourself. Although
I would have to end the date if you choose to order Pinot Grigio. I
cannot be part of such a travesty."

"That's the only wine I will drink from now
on. And I don't even drink, really."

Adam made a disgusted sound.

"And you wonder why I order your food for
you. Pinot Grigio is not wine - it's alcoholic water." He said
"water" in such an arrogantly sexy voice that Eden had to smile.
"You don't like to drink because you've never tasted real wine.
We'll change all that. I’ll find you something that’s not for the
mentally impaired."

"Let's say I go along with your patriarchal,
horribly sexist agenda - for now," Eden continued.

"Because you're unable to resist my
charms."

"Where would we sit? I assume near an exit,"
she half-teased. He didn't like attention. She imagined going to
shadowy places where he felt comfortable being himself. Almost at
ease, yet still on guard, ready to escape at a moment's notice?

He paused. "Well, somewhere secluded, in the
back most likely. Where there aren't too many people."

"I prefer the front, by the window, so we can
watch people going by."

"Sitting by the window makes me
uncomfortable."

There was a small silence. He didn't explain.
It was on the tip of her tongue to seriously ask him if he was in
hiding, and that’s why he won’t show her a photo.

"What kind of music would you pick then?"

"Frank of course."

Eden smiled. "Of course. When did this
obsession with Frank Sinatra start?"

“
When I was 13 or
so.”

“
Let me guess, about the
same time you started wearing suits?”

“
Yes, about the same
time.”

Everything about him was unexpected, but
fitting somehow. For someone who acted as if he didn’t care what
anyone thought, wearing suits and listening to Frank Sinatra as a
teenager showed individuality, someone who listened to no one
else’s voice but his own. Sinatra’s mystique and ties to the mob
probably struck a chord as well.

“
I like hip-hop, rap,
classical, and all other kinds of music, but Frank – Frank is
timeless.
I've got you under my
skin
," he sang unexpectedly.

Eden giggled at this sudden lighthearted
moment, so unlike the tough exterior he projected. She waited for
him to continue but he fell silent, as though he had surprised
himself by singing out loud.

"Go on," she urged, "I like it."

"No you don't. I've got a horrible singing
voice."

"I do like it, please. Please. Sing some
more."

"You want me to sing?" he asked,
incredulous.

"Yes!" He had seemed so carefree, as if he
hadn't any burdens. "It takes so little to make me happy - just
sing."

"Okay," he said, doubtful. Then in a whisper
more to himself, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

He started singing “I’ve Got You under My
Skin,” laughing as he did so. He wasn’t bad, but definitely not a
singer. Yet, Eden was entranced. It was like hearing him laugh out
loud when he told her he rarely did – an unexpected treat.

When he finished, she begged him for another
one. Then another.

“
Did Eden find a new toy?”
he asked, but still complied, doing his best to stay in tune for
her. She couldn’t get enough. With that deep, sexy voice, she could
listen to him all night long.

“
Sing Beyond the Sea next!”
she begged. “Please! It’s one of my favorites.”

“
But I don’t know the words
to that one.”

“
Then Google it,
silly.”

“
Alright, let me get my
iPad.” He was quiet for a minute as he looked. “For some reason
only La Mer is coming up.”

“
Then sing La Mer. Can you
understand it?”

“
Yes, but,” he murmured, as
he seemed to be scrolling through the lyrics, “It doesn’t really
correspond with the English version. It doesn’t make
sense.”

Eden perked up. “You understand French?”

“
Yes.”

“
Read it to me,” she
commanded, breathless.

“
La mer a bercé mon coeur
pour la vie
… “

As he half-recited, half-sung the lyrics,
Eden felt herself melting, getting weaker with each word. She saw
her face in the mirror. Her mouth was open, her eyes glazed. She
could feel heat spreading throughout her body. “Oh my god,” she
mouthed to her stupefied reflection.

If he sounded hot in English, Adam was
devastating in French. Quite possibly, if he had asked her then and
there to drop her panties, in that voice, she would have done so
without hesitation.

“
Eden.”

“
Whaa?” she said,
“Huh?”

“
I asked if you had any
more requests.”

“
Uh, no,” she stammered,
trying to break through the trance caused by his hypnotic voice.
“So you speak French fluently.”

“
Yes, but with a Swiss
accent.” He chuckled.

“
I can’t tell. You … learn
languages easily? How about Italian?”

“
Yes.” His tone was casual.
“I speak the Sicilian dialect of Italian fluently, which is quite
different to the Italian of the mainland, which in turn differs,
but less so, region to region. Would you like me to find
Il
Mare
and sing it for you?”

“
No!” Eden said quickly.
“That’s, that’s okay.” Italian was even more dangerous. Italian
could send her stumbling and falling down the stairs. “Why do you
speak French with a Swiss accent?”

“
My Uncle taught me. The
one I told you about. He’s Swiss.” His voice became more
respectful.

“
You look up to him,” she
remarked. “You trust him above everyone else?”

“
No,” he clarified. “I
trust myself above everyone else.” He seemed so remote then that
Eden felt sad. As though no matter how hard she tried, she would
never reach him. “I trust him second.”

“
Does he know the most
about you? Everything in your life?”

“
Not everything. No one
knows that but me. But yes, he knows the most.”

“
Friends?
Girlfriends?”

“
Everybody knows part of
the whole but no one knows everything. Girlfriends think they know
everything.”

“
But really, they only know
what you want them to know,” she concluded. He seemed to be warning
her not to presume anything.

“
I’ve learned not to trust
anyone completely.”

He’d been betrayed, many times it sounded
like. She pondered what would make him reach out to her then.

“
This is probably the only
way we could have met, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

“
What do you
mean?”

“
You don’t like people
prying into your business, your secrets. So you keep people at a
distance, even girlfriends. And I’m as distant as could
be.”

“
That’s not why,” he
protested. His lightheartedness was gone, as if it had never been.
She wanted to bring it back, that almost carefree air when he was
singing for her.

“
Tell me about where you
grew up,” she said, ravenous for every little detail she could get
about him.

He started telling her about Liverpool,
patiently answering her never-ending stream of questions. After
repeated requests, he reluctantly demonstrated a Liverpudlian
accent, which prompted her to ask in disbelief, "Are you sure
that's English?"

"Well, Edie, it's late," he said,
businesslike, "And I've got a meeting in five hours."

Eden's throat suddenly closed up. It was the
end of twilight, the beginning of night for her and a very early
morning for him. She was quiet, reminded of how far away he really
was.

"What's wrong?"

In a small voice, she said, "But I don't want
you to go."

She must have surprised him because it took
him awhile to reply. "I don't want to go either."

The silence sat between them. A melancholy
longing filled up the darkened room she was in. She was missing
him, right at that moment, and the ache was sharp. With anyone else
she would have hidden how she felt, but with Adam, she didn't
care.

"Soon," she said, "It will be
unbearable."

"Yes," he agreed softly, "But we must bear
it."

He waited for her to say good-bye, to let him
go, but she couldn't say it. She knew he needed sleep, but
selfishly, she wanted to hang on.

"Oh, Edie," he sighed.

Still she didn't say anything.

"I'll send you mail to wake up to, I
promise."

"We'll talk tomorrow."

"I'll sing La Mer next time."

"Please."

"You know I can't go unless you say
good-bye."

"Let me sleep so I can dream of your thick,
hairy thighs."

A laugh escaped Eden.

"Oh, good," he said, relieved, "Go, Edie, go,
while you're still laughing."

"Alright," she conceded. "Good morning,
Adam."

"Good night, Edie."

Chapter 10

Subject: Saturday

------------------------

From: Adam -

Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 6:36 AM

To: Eden E

Good morning, sexy.

How are you today? I imagine you woke up
late. Lazy.

Where is my breakfast?

I've been up since 7AM, being busy and
working. Are you familiar with the concept?

Miss you.

----------

From: Eden E

Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 7:22 AM

To: Adam -

Good afternoon, dear Adam!

I was just thinking how I was going to miss
mail from you this morning and shocked at how I've gotten used to
them so fast. And there you were.

I had a dream about you last night. How
could I dream about you when I don't even know what you look like
you ask? I too wonder the same thing. But it was definitely your
voice, and your face was blurry. We were outside. I was rolling up
spinach leaves and eating them raw. You, being you, said something
lewd. I laughed in my dream and almost choked on my spinach. I hope
you know how to do the Heimlich maneuver.

The world would be lucky to get a shower out
of me today. I'm bitter because my class was cancelled and now I
suppose I will spend the day in bed reading.

Breakfast coming right up. Espresso with a
pack of Camels. Would you like the hollandaise sauce on the
side?

----------

From: Adam -

Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 7:37 AM

To: Eden E

Good afternoon, darling

Well I had the same thought, so I left my
meeting to come out and write to you. See, nice guy.

Haha, even your dreams are left wing. My
comment wouldn't have been lewd, it would have been critical of
your raw spinach eating.

Don't be too bitter, it means we'll have
more contact at least.

I do know how to do the Heimlich
manoeuvre.

I like the idea of you being dirty.

May I have
you
on the
side?

----------

From: Eden E

Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 7:50 AM

To: Adam -

I'm happy you did.

I want you here. Next to me. Even if you are
critical or lewd.

----------

From: Adam -

Date: Sat, Aug 11, at 8:00 AM

To: Eden E

I'd like to be there. Engulfed in you.

What are you wearing?