MAGPIE (20 page)

DANIEL: I’d say how much I want to lick it, suck that plump cherry

MAGS: What if I told you how much I want to fuck you

DANIEL: I’d say how much I want to fuck you from behind

MAGS: What if I told you I’m fingering my pussy, so swollen, wanting to cum

DANIEL: I’d say that I’m stroking my cock, ready to explode with cum I’d rather pump into your dripping pussy

MAGS: What if I told you I want u to cum all over my tits

DANIEL: I’d comply, cumming wherever you want, your tits, your ass, your face

MAGS: Cumming, hang on…

DANIEL: Me 2

I threw the phone down and came hard, splashing water over the edge of the tub. I screamed with uninhibited passion and, when I finally caught my breath, reached back for the phone,

MAGS: What if I told you that I came so fucking hard

DANIEL: I’d say so did I, hard

A few moments passed, then I wrote,

MAGS: How can it be so damn good with you, Danny?!

DANIEL: Dunno, duz it matter?

MAGS: No, just thinking

DANIEL: Don’t

MAGS: Greg called

DANIEL: Tell him to fuck off?

MAGS: Didn’t talk, didn’t want to

DANIEL: U have to some time

MAGS: I know

DANIEL: Mags?

MAGS: Ya?

DANIEL: I had a great time tonite

MAGS: Me 2

DANIEL: Better go

MAGS: Really?

DANIEL: Ya, have plans

MAGS: With a girl?

DANIEL: Ya

MAGS: Why did we do this?!

DANIEL: Cuz its nice

MAGS: Feels icky now

DANIEL: Stop it Mags, it’s our way

MAGS: I know

DANIEL: We good?

MAGS: Ya, thanks Danny, I needed tonite

Semi-conscious of our arrangement, I reminded myself that we both dated other people and lived our lives independent of each other. Still, it stung just a little to think a few hours after our bathtub frolic, he’d be out on the town with another woman. I wasn’t jealous, just a little dejected. Physically, I felt really good. Fatigue induced by an incredible orgasm and a day of exercise meant sound slumber—I couldn’t wait to crawl under my heavy duvet and crash.

It was still dark when I woke the next morning. My spirits were high, and I nearly skipped to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Cody was feeling sprightly, too, and gobbled up his kibble as I sat at the breakfast bar, reading the rest of the terrible novel I’d started in New York. I was fascinated by how books like that get published.

Twenty minutes and two cups of coffee later, I finished the book. I was pretty hungry, so I put on some oats. Something tickled my memory, recalling that I’d planned on sketching out my Thanksgiving menu. My mood moved up a notch higher thinking of my favorite holiday.

“Cody, it’s going to be the best Thanksgiving yet!” I said to my goofy-looking pal who was peacefully lying on his back with all four feet splayed in every direction, his ridiculously long tongue hanging out one side of his mouth. Cheerfully, I said, “I see that this is of great concern to you, buddy boy,” and opened my laptop, logging onto one of my favorite foodie sites.

Several hours later, I got up to stretch and longingly gazed outside. I yearned for my outdoor paradise, especially during Colorado’s cold, lifeless winter months, so I’d developed a ritual: Standing at my back door, looking through its good-sized window, I’d call forth Lady Spring and all the new life she’d bear, often losing track of the time. I suspected my routine might be a symptom of dementia and moved away from the door, returning to my incomplete Thanksgiving menu.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Bill…hadn’t heard from him since spring. I wasn’t sure if I was excited or annoyed. Our last date was unexpectedly enjoyable, but that was the last I’d heard from the man. “How strange is this,” I said out loud.
Another symptom?
I wondered.

I decided to pick it up, “Hello?”

“Maggie, so glad I caught you.” He said, in an awkwardly jovial tone that made me wince.

Miffed, I said, “Hi Bill. Long time no talk.”

“Yes, it has been a while, hasn’t it? Do you have a moment, Maggie, to talk I mean?” Pensiveness replaced Bill’s good humor, and I became curious.

With my “good pal” voice, I said, “Sure, Bill. What’s up?”

“Well Maggie, I have to say that I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit. In fact, I never stopped after our date last May.”

Uh huh…

“Something happened to me soon after that. Something that knocked me over, and it’s taken this long to get back up.” Bill’s voice began to quiver, but he continued, “I don’t know where to begin, actually. I suppose I’ll get right to it. I lost my son, my only child, in early June. He was a sailor. He enlisted right after high school…”

Frozen, I no longer heard Bill’s words. Thoughts of Michael swirled like seagulls, their loud squawks drowning out whatever Bill was saying.

“ … And they came to my door, two sailors in their sharp dress uniforms, and I didn’t really understand because I hadn’t seen my son in over ten years and…”

I vividly remembered opening my own door but can’t recall a thing afterward, except waking up to Katie’s soft crying as she rubbed my head.

“ …You have to know that I just fell apart, totally and completely. I’m just now coming out of a black pit of anguish, Maggie. I’m still terribly sad, but I can get dressed now and go to work, and I’ve begun to live again…sort of. Maggie? You there?”

Quietly, I said, “Oh, Bill, I am deeply sorry for your loss. I don’t have many words right now, but I am so, so sorry.” Shaking my head, I came ’round and gently nudged Michael’s ghost aside. I wasn’t sure if I’d told Bill about my son. How could I offer support—or whatever in the hell he was looking for—to a parent who’d lost a son much like I did, when I wasn’t entirely over my own loss?

I could hear him crying now, “I just didn’t know who else to call. My friends and family have been great. But, to tell you the truth, none of them have kids in the military, let experience with losing a child. I remembered you mentioning losing your only son in the Middle East and I thought…Oh hell, I don’t know what I thought. I was drawn to you, that’s all, Maggie.” Bill sounded resigned, almost as if he expected me to end the call.

With a hint of distain, I replied, “I don’t remember telling you that. Hell, I don’t remember a lot of things about Michael since his death. Bill, I wish I had the answers you’re looking for. I wish I had the magic words to ease your pain. But I don’t. I just don’t.”

Painfully recalling the few months after Jack and Michael died, I idled on how miserably I lived, later resigned to a constricted life—emotionally and physically. It was like I operated on autopilot by day, losing all control at night; weeping turned into sobbing, which turned into immeasurable despair. I drank too much, tossing and turning twelve hours a night. My free time spent on my sofa, crying uncontrollably; when I ran out of tears, I’d gaze out in a zombie-like trance.

Awkwardly, Bill asked, “Do you think we could get together and just talk? Would you be up for that at all? I know you never get over losing a child—at least that’s what the books say—and I’m sure you’re still hurt over your son, but I need to talk to someone who get’s it, Maggie.”

I’d always hated the idea of support groups. Many were recommended after I lost my family in one day; I refused each and every one. I imagined a circle of people sitting in hard plastic chairs holding Styrofoam cups full of stale coffee, bowing their heads as one member relived his terrible tale, shredding other members’ already ragged wounds.

No thank you, sad ones…

Bill, it seemed, was offering membership in his two-member group, and I hesitated doing something that I’d sworn off years ago. Friends and family told me I was in denial; I simply knew I was trying to move on as best as I knew how.

I mustered as much empathy as I could, and said, “Bill, I know what you are going through, trust me. Yes, we now belong to the same wretched club. We share the same loss, but I don’t have any interest in reliving mine. I am sorry for how this may come across, but I’ve moved on. I really suggest you do the same. It’s what worked for me all this time, anyhow.” What came out of my mouth was not what I’d intended; it was cold and arrogant, and I instantly regretted saying anything.

“Ok, Maggie, I just thought…”

“Wait! That did
not
come out as I’d hoped. Please forgive me, Bill. You really threw me. I’m trying to figure it all out as we speak, but I don’t think I’ve done a good job. Let me propose this. Let’s meet for coffee, promise not to go too deep, and see where things go. Does that sound fair?”

Relief in his voice, Bill said, “It does. Thank you. How about tonight?”

Gimme a break!

“Well, gee, let me think for a minute.” I had absolutely nothing planned, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to meet him so soon. I powered through my own bullshit and agreed, “Sure, Bill. I insist on casual, though, or the deal’s off.”

Adnan’s coffee house closed at four o’clock on Sundays, and I didn’t feel like meeting at Starbucks surrounded by perky baristas and not-so-hip hipsters. I Googled, “coffee shops” and included my zip code. A couple of them seemed okay, but noticing the hour, I decided a place with real food was a better idea. I didn’t dare recommend Varsity Grille, but I knew of a trendy hamburger joint that served beer and wine, just in case. I texted Bill the name and location of BurgerMiester, just a couple blocks from my house.

No real preparation went into my burger date with Bill. I managed to swap jeans for my yoga pants and a dark green pullover sweater for my sweatshirt. Other than that, I went “as is.”

Stepping into the narrow joint, I was surprised to see there was a wait. I gave my name and sat down on a plastic retro-looking chair that was surprisingly comfortable. A few minutes later, Bill arrived. I was glad to see that he’d put as much time into getting ready as I had. He wore faded jeans, bright white sneakers and a light gray wool sweater that drew attention to his hair and still moist eyes.

Waving in his direction, I said, “Hey there!” I sounded overly chipper and felt silly for trying so hard.

Bill approached and gave me a tight hug. Pulling back, he said, “Thanks for meeting me, Maggie. It means a lot, you know?”

“I suppose I do, yes.” I had no idea what else to say.

We stood for a couple of awkward moments when a waif-like hostess called my name. “That’s us,” I said, avoiding Bill’s eyes.

She sat us at snug little table in the corner. “Perfect,” Bill and I said simultaneously. We chuckled and sat down facing each other, providing a nice buffer—for me, anyway.

Not sure why, I felt apprehensive. Our last date was superficial and easy to fall into. It was very different this time; the rawness of our emotions outweighed any urge to impress.

How strange is that
?

“Are you hungry?” Bill asked kindly.

“A little, yeah,” I said as I glanced over the menu.

Just then, our waiter approached and asked what we wanted to drink.

“I’ll take a Stella and, Maggie? What would you like?”

My favorite beer, hmmm…

“I’ll have the same, thanks.” Relaxing just a bit, I explained that I rarely drank beer, but when I did, it was Stella. He met my smile and went on about the various beers he enjoyed depending upon the event, location or other -ism upon which beer aficionados choose their suds. His boyishness captivated me and, leaning in, I propped my elbows on the table and laced my fingers, signaling to Bill that I was honestly interested.

Out of nowhere, Bill said, “You look great, Maggie.”

Mid-swig, I choked and gurgled a polite, “Thank you.” I was confident in my own skin, yes, but I also knew when my look was “Second Hand Rose.”

“What I meant was I know you’re not all dolled up, but I like you natural, no makeup, jeans, you know? It’s appealing.” Jack used to say the same thing, though I’d shrug it off as something couples said after years of marriage, when everything about each other is known, accepted and loved. Bill and I, on the other hand, didn’t have that kind of history, and I squirmed a little in my chair.

“You look nice too, Bill. I like you casual. It’s more approachable.”

“Approachable?” Geez, Mags.

Smiling, Bill asked, “Is that a compliment, Maggie?” I nodded, scrunching up my face with embarrassment. “It’s okay, I know what you meant. I can see through you, Mags, in a good way. You are so real. God, if you only
knew
how awful and fake women can be!”

I chuckled, thinking about my boss. Bill looked at me inquisitively, and I said, “I think I do. I work for one of ’em.” We both laughed and, for the first time, I looked deep into Bill’s eyes. I could see his pain, and a lump formed in my throat. I wondered if I could get through the night, after all.

Bill sensed the shift and asked if I was okay. I nodded and we ordered a couple of burgers; he asked for regular fries, I chose a side salad instead.

We talked through our meal and a couple more beers. After a while, our waiter interrupted and said they were closing in a few minutes. I looked at the time and inhaled sharply after calculating that we’d been there over three hours. Bill was equally shocked and quickly asked for the check—I’d learned not to offer.

Standing up to leave, Bill helped with my coat and asked, “Want to take a drive?”

“Where?” As if it mattered.

“It’s such a clear night, why don’t we head west, along 285. There’s no snow on the roads; it’ll be nice. I have satellite radio and can find a station that suits you.”

We were already walking in the direction of his car, when I gave in and said, “Oh, sure, why not?”

As soon as I laid eyes on Bill’s car, I understood why he wanted to go for a long drive. He owned a new carbon black BMW 650i Gran Coupe with an interior I would have chosen; black trim with off-white Merino-leather seats and side panels. It was beautiful, and I sunk into the passenger seat with a newfound joy and interest in sports cars.

“Wow, Bill, this is very nice,” I said.