Dream Lover (26 page)
T
he weekend started out dicey for Marie. She left the office with Steve Marks but forgot she was staying with him, and started walking toward her apartment.
“Whoa! Where are you going?” he exclaimed. “You’re coming with me tonight, remember?”
Marie looked confused, and then memory fell into place. Right. “Habit,” she answered. “How are we getting home?”
“Subway,” he said. “The stop is four blocks from my house.”
She turned around with resignation, not thrilled that she had a trek ahead of her.
Bingo! Another reason to stay at her own place!
she thought.
He glanced at her as they walked side by side. She was obviously exhausted. Her head was hanging down, and if her arms were long enough, she would have been dragging her briefcase along the pavement. “Here, let me take that,” he said, reaching for the handle. She gave it up willingly, but with a long sigh.
“I’m so tired today. Are we staying in tonight?” she asked, hoping that he hadn’t planned anything extravagant.
“We are. I do have something planned, but you don’t have to leave the apartment or lift a finger.” He smiled at her.
Marie, suddenly energized at the thought of a surprise, picked up her step a little. He noticed the impact his words had had on her. That small revelation would carry a lot of weight in their relationship. They walked to the station in silence, but she had a smile on her face.
When they arrived at his apartment, she was happy to see that he had made an effort to clean it up a little bit over the past few days—not that she was a neatnik or anything.
“I’m going to prepare your bath, Madam,” he told her, after he had thrown their briefcases into the hall closet. Her heart sank; she wasn’t in the mood for a sex marathon tonight. He saw her countenance change and quickly said with a laugh, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do a thing.” She looked at him with suspicion, but let it go. “Sit down here,” he shoved her into his ratty recliner and pulled the mechanism that raised the footrest. She immediately closed her eyes. Steve Marks went into the bathroom and got the basket of feminine goodies out of the linen closet. The clerk at the store had told him to place the candles around the tub and light them after the bathtub was full. He put some smelly stuff into the bath water, and it bubbled up, but not too much. Clean towels and a new, terrycloth bathrobe, and the first part of the surprise was ready.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” he said to her. “Time for your bath.”
She was clearly amused, and a little embarrassed by all the attention. But she allowed him to lead her into the bathroom. When she saw the transformation—the candles and the bubble bath, the flowers on the back of the toilet, she gasped. “How lovely!” Then she frowned. “Are you sure you don’t have an ulterior motive?”
“I swear to God, no,” Steve said. “You have so much going on right now, and I just wanted to do something to help you relax…” He smiled broadly. “I’m going to leave now, although I would love to stay, humph, and watch.” They laughed, and Steve leaned over to kiss Marie. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything.” He left Marie, closing the door behind him.
She looked around the tiny bathroom with one motive: to find the hidden camera. She went over every inch of the room and didn’t see anything that set off any alarm bells. She knew all about spy cameras; Jack had been a pro at it. He had videotaped almost every one of their sexual liaisons in her apartment. Her heart jumped in her chest thinking about it.
Where are those damn tapes
? She hadn’t thought of them in months.
Oh well, there is nothing I can do about it now, and if they are in the house and Pam finds them, at least she knows the truth.
Deciding the comfort of the bath overshadowed the worry that her privacy might be invaded, she did a striptease to the invisible lens and got into the water. For the first five minutes, she overacted bathing, making sure to accentuate the washing of her breasts, standing up and scrubbing her crotch seductively and then finally, giving up with a laugh and sitting down in the water. It was so warm and the candlelight, comforting. She relaxed completely. Lying back, she closed her eyes. A man had never done something like this for her before.
Jack
had never done anything like this. Steve was really wooing her. Making an imaginary pro and con list, Marie thought of all the bad things about Steve first. He had behaved badly when she first met him, harassing her and stalking her. He was obviously broke, although he hadn’t come out and said it. There must be a reason a man his age who had worked all his life didn’t have much to show for it. She was determined to find out what it was; or was she? She didn’t even know if that was important. And why hadn’t he ever married? That was creepy. She suddenly thought of her own marital history and had a laugh.
She
was creepy, too! She thought of her own failures, how she had betrayed her own sister for most of her life and now had AIDS, and the anorexia; she was a real prize, too.
So at the top of his pro list was that he was willing to overlook her diseased state. He was really interested in her. He wanted to protect her. The superficial stuff was that he was hot looking, no Jack by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn’t want that. She was thrilled that she didn’t feel overwhelmed by his appearance. Jack was too good to be true. Steve dressed nicely, had great teeth and breath and good hygiene. He was smart. Maybe he didn’t have the greatest common sense, but he had brains, alright. He had a good sense of humor, didn’t take himself too seriously, and the most important thing to her right at that moment was that he wanted her. He lusted after her. He thought she was great looking and told her so all the time. So the pros definitely outnumbered the cons. She’d give it whatever she had, she’d be honest with him, and loyal. She’d try to take better care of herself for his sake. Stop drinking so much, take her medication, and eat. She finished her bath and was getting out when there was a knock on the door. She told Steve to come in.
“Are you finished? Am I too late to wash your hair?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” Marie responded. “You think you’re Robert Redford?” she said, referring to the scene in
Out of Africa
in which Redford washed Meryl Streep’s hair while they camped in the African bush. Steve was embarrassed, and she caught that and back-pedaled.
“Hmm, maybe that would be nice.” She got back in the water, smiling at him. He came over and sat at the edge of the tub.
“I’m not sure how to do this,” Steve confessed. “Do you want to dunk your head?” It was disarming that he thought washing her hair would be something that would bring her pleasure. She thought she would probably have to rewash it, but was willing to go along with it just to keep from shooting him down. She didn’t want to be responsible for any damaged egos so early in the weekend.
“I’ll dunk down and you just take the shampoo and put it in your hand and then on my head. You don’t have to use too much.” She slipped down in the tub, wet her hair, and then came back up, water streaming down her face. Steve started massaging the shampoo through Marie’s hair. He had such a peaceful look on his face; she imagined he must have planned for this evening for days. When she’d had enough, she said she thought her hair was probably clean, and slid back down into the tub. For a second, she imagined Steve reaching down and putting his hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her. She popped back up, sputtering, water spraying from her lips. Steve backed off a little to prevent his clothes from getting wet.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded yes. “I think I’ll get under the shower for a bit, get some of the suds off, okay? I’ll be right out.” She reached forward to pull the plug on the drain and Steve moved toward the door.
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes,” he said, smiling at her.
She dried off and put the terry robe on. Revived, she didn’t bother putting underpants on; she was ready for the night now. She left the bathroom and smelled beef cooking; he had set the table and lit tapers; the lights were off and the candles provided the only illumination.
“Wow! All this for me?” she asked, walking into the kitchen and going over to Steve as he tossed a salad. She reached her arms around him from behind, pressing her body up against his back. “I’ll have to think of something special to repay you with,” she teased. Steve put the salad tongs down and turned around to Marie, looking down at her in the robe.
“You look wonderful! Robe is a little big, though.” He kissed her neck, slipping his hands under the terrycloth. “Your skin is so soft. I like everything about you.” He ran his hands over her back. Marie fell against him, enjoying the sensation of having someone want her for the right reasons, whatever those were.
“Will dinner keep if we wait to eat?” Marie asked.
“I’ll run out and buy more steak if it doesn’t,” Steve answered. “Allow me,” he said as he swept her up in his arms. She yelped.
“Yikes! You’re lucky I haven’t been eating lately.” She wrapped her arms around his neck as he navigated the narrow hallway back to his bedroom.
“You are light as a feather,” he replied. “Perfect, no matter what.” He nuzzled her neck. On the tip of his tongue were the words,
I love you
, but he swallowed them, not willing to put that pressure on either one of them yet.
Give it some time, jerk. There will be plenty of time
.
T
om Adams pulled up to Sandra’s Eighty-second Street apartment in the patrol car. He was unbuckling his seatbelt as she reached for the door handle.
“You don’t have to come in,” Sandra said, hoping he would get the hint. She was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, that she didn’t think she would be able to deal with even the most perfunctory interaction. Nothing good could come from their being together tonight.
He was taken aback. “I know I don’t
have to
come in!” He laughed. “I’d have put you in a cab if the point was just to get you home.” But he wasn’t slow and he got it a few seconds later. “Unless, that is, you don’t
want
me to come in.” He stopped on the sidewalk and grabbed her arm as she walked toward the apartment. He pulled her around to look at her face. She was white and drawn and there were dark circles under her eyes. It was the first time Tom had seen her look unkempt.
“What’s going on, Sandra? Are you okay?” He looked down into her eyes. She was unable to open her mouth, fear that a scream would escape that she’d be powerless to stop. Her face was set, lips quivering, and eyes glassy. “Oh boy, I completely missed this on the ride uptown. You really aren’t doing too well, are you?”
She shook her head no.
“How about if we just go inside? You won’t have to say a word. I’ll fix your dinner for you and get you settled, and then you can be alone for the night. Does that sound like a plan?”
Sandra didn’t really want him there, but how could she say no to the kindness he was offering her? It might help her to pull out of this despair and uncertainty. So, against her better judgment, she nodded yes. Digging through her bag, she got her keys out and handed them to Tom. If he wanted to help out, she would allow him to do everything. She wished he’d read her mind and sweep her up and carry her to the door. She mustered the strength to walk toward her apartment.
Tom sensed that something beyond the normal was at play here, not just food cart syndrome. Something greater than mourning for the dead boyfriend. She was struggling to stay ahead of the game.
How long had she been in this condition
? he wondered. He opened the door to her building and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the door. His touch energized her, propelling her along the hallway toward her apartment. They got inside and she went right to her bedroom, closing the door. He went into the kitchen to get her some tea and to see what was available for dinner. Sandra wasn’t one to keep a lot of food around. He didn’t feel safe leaving her to go out; if she wanted something he couldn’t fix, they could have it delivered.
I’m like an Italian mother
, he thought. He got her tea things together and put them on the tray she had used to serve him numerous times. He went through the motions of preparing it as though it were an old ritual between them. It was the first thing she had done for him; prepare tea.
He knocked on her door with the tea tray in hand and opened it when she didn’t respond. She was lying on the bed in her suit skirt and shell, with her shoes still on, her back to the door. He took the tray to the bedside table and put it down. She got up on her elbow and saw that he had made tea. The act was so simple, but so important to her, that she started to weep. He wasn’t used to seeing strong Sandra cry, and it scared him. He reached around her to pull the pillows up behind her back, as a nurse would do.
“Here’s your tea, honey.” He didn’t want to pump her for information like a cop, or tell her not to cry. He just wanted to be there for her. Tom took her shoes off and pulled the sheet and blanket up over her legs. There was a box of tissue on her nightstand and he gave it to her. She pulled one out and blew her nose, got another to wipe her eyes. Tom turned to the tea and took the bag out of her cup, adding one teaspoon of sugar to it, as she liked. She took the mug from him and held it in her hands, taking its warmth into her body. She blew on it and then took a sip.
“Oh, that is good. Thank you so much. You have no idea how badly I needed this.” Tom got a low stool and brought it to her bedside to sit on. They didn’t say anything, but he could see that she was relaxing, that whatever it was that had distressed her so much that afternoon was dissipating, and she was feeling better. She drank more tea and leaned back against the pillows.
“I’m going to fix dinner now, okay? Do you want a refill?” Tom asked.
“I’m good for now. Thank you, Tom.” She kept her hands wrapped around the mug, but she closed her eyes. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. Taking the tea tray with him, Tom went back into the kitchen and opened cupboards and the refrigerator. She had some chicken broth and rice; he would make soup for her. She had a few stalks of wizened celery, but he thought he could revive them in some cold water. He laughed a little; it was a desperate meal, at the very most. It would stave off starvation until he could order something more for her if she wanted that.