Wet (12 page)

I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t compare Lourdes to Elle, but I found myself doing it anyway just minutes after my conversation with Lourdes starts. She’s very sweet and attentive but I miss Elle’s sass, and even her dirty mouth. Who am I kidding? I especially missed her dirty mouth.

I guess the upside is that with Lourdes’ conservative dress and mannerisms I haven’t been thinking about sex at all. It’s kind of liberating and disappointing all at the same time. She talks about her work being a teacher’s assistant at St. John’s. She’s almost done getting her teaching credentials and now she’s anxious to move up to being a full-fledged teacher.

Her eyes light up when she talks about how much she loves children and that she can’t wait to be a mom.

I note that’s a big check on the future mate list of requirements. I really want to have my own family one day.

As the night progresses I discover that there are surprising things with Lourdes though. For one thing she ordered her steak bloody—that’s just disgusting. She also makes a big point of closing her eyes and tipping her head down before she starts eating, and I’ve already dug in when I realize she’s praying. I awkwardly drop my fork and pretend to join her. I mean I knew she was religious but she must be really religious to do that in a restaurant. We get an impatient stare from the waitress since she has to wait until we’re done to grind the Parmesan cheese over my side of spaghetti.

At the end of the evening I drive Lourdes home and walk her to the door, where she thanks me and kisses me on the cheek. She doesn’t even invite me in. It’s not like I really wanted to go in, but I’ve always gotten some kind of offer from other women. I don’t even know what to make of that. I feel like I’ve entered an altered universe where at the end of the evening you get dry, precursory kisses on the cheek instead of wild-monkey sex.

The whole drive home I try to make sense of it. She’s certainly the most proper and nice girl I’ve ever gone out with. She’s smart and pretty. But hell, I didn’t think about screwing her once all night. I’m not sure how that will work.

Maybe I’m mixed up in the head. This is probably a good issue to bring up with Jim and the guys in my group meeting Tuesday.

Lourdes and my second date is just as surreal because we go to see a movie and after several failed attempts where she pulls away from me, she finally lets me hold her hand. I feel like I’m back in junior high.

When she calls me a couple of days later to invite me to dinner at her place I’m surprised. I’m not exactly excited about seeing her but decide there’s no harm in one more attempt to see if there’s anything between us. Dating is such a novel concept in my life. It’s sure a lot of work but it seems to pay off for plenty of people. I figure I shouldn’t give up so easy.

Saturday I take a shower and shave before changing into clean clothes, then stop at the florist and buy a bouquet of flowers.

Lourdes answers the door wearing a black dress that has lace running up her neck and down her arms. Through the lace covering her wrist I spot not just the cross tattoo peeking out, but an identical one on her other wrist. She looks particularly pale tonight, with porcelain skin and soft red lips. Her hair is pulled up and I realize that everything’s just more ramped up than our last dates. After taking the flowers with a smile, she pulls me inside.

I squint as I enter her living room. The walls are dark red and there are candles lit everywhere. There’s even some heavy-duty classical music playing. It certainly isn’t what I would have expected from Lourdes. I have a fleeting thought that maybe she’s a witch and she’s going to cast a spell on me. I half expect bats to start flying out of the fireplace.

She goes to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase and I realize that the brightly colored bouquet I got couldn’t have been more wrong. A bunch of dead red roses would have fit in this room better. Am I in a Tim Burton movie?

I step farther inside to study the paintings all hung in fancy gilded frames.

Every single one is with a crucifix painting or Madonna and child.

What the hell?
I lean into the doorway to the kitchen and wonder if I can make a break for it but she sees me.

She returns to my side with two tiny looking wine glasses.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Absinthe.”

I sniff it. “Is this some weird booze or wine?”

“Sort of.” She gives me a demure look and takes a tiny sip.

I take a larger sip and almost spit it out.
Damn!
My throat is on fire.

“Too strong?” she asks.

I nod my head while I try to stop coughing. Meanwhile she keeps taking small sips and the fumes don’t seem to bother her at all. For a tiny thing she’s pretty tough.

The weirdness continues through dinner where she serves up some strange soup she probably cooked in a cauldron with thick bread that has a tough crust. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to stop for a burger on the way home.

I find myself absentmindedly taking sips of the absinthe. Maybe subconsciously I’m hoping to numb my mind and after a while it’s working. We move to the living room for dessert. I’m halfway done with my dark chocolate mousse when I get the guts to confront her.

I sweep my arm across the interior view. “So what’s this all about? Are you a goth or something?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t expecting this. At all.”

She licks the chocolate off her spoon and sets it down.

“Really? What were you expecting?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. White wicker furniture and pale yellow walls. English landscape paintings. Like you see on TV shows.”

She laughs softly. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I don’t know if I’d say disappointed, just surprised.” I take a sip of the weird wine and realize I’ve almost finished my second glass.

She refills it.

“Are you really into
Phantom of the Opera
or something?”

Her eyes grow wide. “No. Actually my home is a reflection of my spirituality. It’s my refuge here, akin to a place of worship. I hope you know how rare it is for me to invite a man here, but I feel a really strong connection to you, Paul.”

“You do?” I can’t help but be surprised. She may have been attentive during our dinner date, but that little peck on the cheek when we parted didn’t say
strong connection
to me.

“Definitely, I had to pray on it before I understood His will where you’re concerned.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

She slides off the couch and down to the floor. I’m wondering if she dropped something, but suddenly she pops up, kneeling right in front of me. Just the sight of her kneeling is making my palms sweat. There’s no way I’m letting her give me a blowjob. It’s not just that I don’t want dark red lipstick all over my cock, but this is all wrong and not just because I’m abstaining until I meet the right girl. As much as I love a good blowie, even I have my limits and she’s freaking me out.

I grasp her shoulders. “Please, Lourdes, get up.”

She gazes up at me, as she rests her hands on my knees. “Paul, I want to offer myself to you.”

Suddenly a quick blowie sounds preferable to getting naked between the sheets with goth girl. I will my cock to behave despite the sex offerings, and clear my head as best I can in order to reply coherently.

“Offer yourself? But we haven’t even gotten to second base yet. Hell, we haven’t even kissed!”

“Yes, although I knew you were the one when I met you, I was waiting for a sign.”

“A sign? What sign was that?” ’Cause right now all I’m seeing is a big fat stop sign . . . the same dark red as her walls.

“I was waiting for a spiritual sign. I want to be frank and speak from the heart. I want to offer you my virginity, and I hope you understand how sacred that is.”

I don’t know if it’s the heat from the fireplace, or this screwy wine but for a few seconds the room goes black. When my vision clears she’s patiently waiting for my response.
Damn this isn’t just one of those freaky dreams you have when you mix too many different kinds of booze.

“You’re a virgin?” I whisper.

“Spiritually I am.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“When the Lord gives me the sign that I’m supposed to give myself to a man, I say a prayer to resurrect my spiritual virginity.”

Oh, that’s rich. And I thought Elle was way out there.
“I didn’t know there were virginity do-overs,” I mumble.

She nods, lifts herself off the floor and reaches for my hand.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and close my eyes to keep the red room from spinning. “I’m dizzy,” I moan.

She places her hands on my shoulders and I immediately sense the teacher of small children in her as she speaks to me in a soothing voice. “It’s okay. It must be the absinthe. Here, lean forward and drop your head between your knees. Stay like that. I’m going to get you a glass of water and a cool cloth.”

I nod as I drop down and face the fabric of the couch. “Yeah, water please,” I mumble.

I hear her walk away and my mind races, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t want to hurt this girl’s feelings but she’s a whack-job. I’m half waiting for someone to pop out and say I’ve been pranked. My mother would lose her shit if she knew how much she missed the mark on this girl.

When she returns I slowly ease up and take sips of water while she studies me. I shake my head. “You know I really didn’t see any of this coming from our previous two dates.”

She nods with a solemn expression. “I know. I keep this side of myself very private. It’s precious and should only be shared with someone who appreciates it.”

“And that would be me?” I ask with my eyebrows scrunched together. I’ve never felt so freaked out by a woman.

“Yes, I’m certain it’s you.”

She leaves the room again and returns with a small fancy bottle filled with a clear liquid. Before I can ask about it she lowers herself to her knees again and offers me the bottle.

“This is holy water from Lourdes in France. Will you sprinkle it on me?”

I take the bottle and hold it up. It looks like tap water to me. “Are you sure this is holy water?” I wonder how many guys have sprinkled this stuff on her and then taken her virtual virginity or whatever the hell she called it.

“Yes.” She tips her head back like wants me to pour this over her head or something.

“Umm, Lourdes?”

She lowers her chin and looks at me. Her expression is so peaceful it’s creepy.

“I’m not sprinkling anything on you. I mean that’s really cool of you to resurrect your virginity and all that for me, but I think I have to pass.”

“What?” She frowns and looks so crestfallen that I have to imagine not a lot of dudes have turned her down. “I was so sure,” she whispers.

“But I’m not so sure.”

“Maybe we should just try.”

I hand her the bottle of water and stand up, scanning the room for where I left my jacket.

I’m almost to the front door when I turn back. “Actually, I’m super-duper sure, like one hundred percent sure, and I just remembered that I have a really early meeting tomorrow.”

“On Saturday?” she asks with a pout as she slowly stands up.

I nod. “Yeah, but thanks a lot for dinner.”

Her eyes narrow but I shoot out the door before she can do her voodoo stuff on me.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as relieved as when I hear that click as I pull the door firmly shut behind me.

Chapter Seven

GET A LEG UP

I
n the gothic aftermath I try not to call Elle to vent. God knows I try, but the compulsion is stronger than my will. I need to hear her voice. I know it will ground me.

“Hey, Paul Junior. What’s shakin’?”

I let out a big sigh of relief remembering that not all women are scary.

“I’ve been dating.”

“Dating? You mean like with a girl?”

“Not a girl, a woman,” I huff.

“Oh yeah, sure . . . sorry. You know what I meant. I was just stunned. What compelled you to go on a date?”

“Maybe you’ve inspired me the way you just put yourself out there.”

There’s a long silence.

“What?” I ask.

“Well if I inspired you, why didn’t you ever take me on a date? Am I merely a conduit or something? I know, me and my filthy mouth represent everything you don’t want to have in a woman. Right?”

The fact that she’d be pissed off at my omission didn’t occur to me. As I try to figure out a pithy answer she jumps in.

She sighs. “So how was the date sex? Was it hot?”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m serious.”

“Then what did you do? And don’t tell me you talked.”

I lean back in my chair and stretch out my legs. “Well we did. And we ate food. And we saw a movie.”

She chuckles. “Sounds freaking awesome. What did you see?”

My mind races but comes up empty. “I didn’t pay much attention. Some historical chick flick.”

“Did she at least give you a hand-job in the theater?”

“No. See . . . there goes that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What’s wrong with her? Has she even touched the anaconda?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I’ve got to say Paul . . . your street cred is going down the toilet.”

“Well, this girl’s . . . different. It’s kind of hard to explain. Hey, what are you doing?”

“Watching the game.”

“What game?”

“What else? My kick-ass Trojans and those wimpy UCLA Bruins. Some serious booty is getting kicked tonight!”

Oh, for God’s sake. This woman likes football? It’s almost more than I can take.

“Can I come over and watch with you? Is the Viking there?”

“The Viking?”

“Balding, beady-eyed Stephan.”

“Stop it with that! No, he’s not here. He’s on a business trip. Besides he’s only for sex. He probably doesn’t even watch football. He’s probably reading the Atlantic in his hotel and wondering about the future of urban planning in undeveloped countries.”

“And smoking a pipe,” I add.

“What? Mr. Clean would never smoke a pipe! That’s a dirty business.”