What I Did for Love (13 page)

He had already made the “no underwear” condition. I remembered Monday night when he had fingered me, first pushing aside the crotch of my panties, them pulling them downward, pleasuring me into a haze of sexual heat. I could feel the heat rising now, remembering. My panties were damp.

After washing away the city’s smudges, wrapped in a long robe, I finally ate my dinner. A glass of white wine was sitting poured for me in the refrigerator. Oh, Marilisa, I thought, you make me feel cared for… but I stopped my thought right there, by an act of will, feeling my loneliness for my mother and father, magnified by her generous caring. Her solicitude was a paradox, warming and saddening me all at the same time. Stupid Rand, I thought, so cold and hard, and so uselessly, when kindness would have won me over completely.

The wine made me sleepy. I was not eating enough these days to resist its effects. I would try to sleep late tomorrow, and then try on the outfit in my closet that seemed to fit Rand’s specifications. If not, there would be time to shop for something suitable. Long silky skirts, long cotton skirts, even little ruffles on tiered long skirts, were being worn in the city. They were cool on warm days, they hid legs that might have imperfections, bruises from the gym or clumsiness, or legs en route to be shaved, or waxed into smoothness. The skirts covered the proverbial multitude of sins, but the elastic waist he wanted, while concealing my nakedness underneath, would be easy to pull off when he desired. The front-buttoning blouse would be easy to open. I was getting hotter thinking of his opening the blouse one button after another, down, down. No bra, as our agreement specified. Thank goodness my breasts were firm, jutting small peaks rather than broad and generous. Well, he seemed to like them last time.

Despite the wine’s soothing, I was keyed up, and took a sleeping pill, hoping to collapse into dreamless sleep for a change. My little phone rang, making me smile again. “Hello, Bredon.”

He could hear the effects of pill and wine beginning.

“Sleeping, Sis?”

“On the cusp, but I’m so glad to hear from you. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Really good news.” He was laughing, lighthearted. “It looks like Rand is opting into the deal.”

“Fabulous,” I replied, all enthusiastic surprise. “When will it happen?”

“I think he’ll start transferring funds at the end of this week. He said he was drawing on accounts that were not too ‘noticeable’ right now.” Bredon and I laughed at the familiar ploy, our John and Mary Cole accounts, the kind of device that Rand was obviously using now.

This news that Rand had kept his word, and my brother’s
hopeful happiness, released a sob. “Bredon, I’m so happy for you.”

“Are you
crying?
” he asked me incredulously.

“Yes, can’t help it. I’m so relieved.” I knew he was too. “When did you find out?”

“Maybe an hour ago. Not even. And he said it with no explanations. I think he’s embarrassed to have pulled out abruptly the way he did. But his family will still be nervous, or so he hinted.”

“Nerves are part of a huge deal.”

“Really
nervous, Dray.”

“And you too?” I wondered if he would tell me.

“Me too, a little bit.” He laughed. “No sooner had Rand and I talked than the word seemed to be on the street. People are intrigued. We may get more investors.”

Again I was sure it would have happened if Rand had just continued with Bredon for my sake. We could skip these sex games. Or were the sex games a planned bonus? I’d know tomorrow night.

“Bredon, honey, I’m fading…” I could barely talk.

“Sleep, Li’l Sis. Catch you later.”

Friday morning I managed to sleep until almost nine, having wakened at two AM, coming wide awake instantly, frustrated, knowing I would be up all night tonight. In the locked bathroom drawer with its special anti-steam lining, where I had stowed the Plan B and condoms, I kept all the drugs I had been given in the turmoil after the bombing. There were drugs for sleeping, for anxiety, for depression, a pharmacy for serenity that I had been grateful for. I swallowed the most benign of my sleeping pills, and then ate a plain cracker that seemed to accelerate the pills’ effect, an accidental discovery I had made when I first used them. Sure enough I had been back asleep in twenty minutes.

I had set out the clothing I would wear tonight, adding a shawl-jacket in case it was cool, and to hide my obviously braless state. I chose closed sandals, a safer, cleaner bet for city streets, and would wear dark glasses and simply tie my hair back. I pulled a big black tote from a shelf, to hold a change of clothes.

I put a livery car number into my phone, for a company that I knew had women drivers. I planned to phone for a car to take me to the corner behind Rand’s block, coming up the side street again. My Mary Cole credit card was in the skirt pocket along with cash for the ride and a tip. I would hang the security pouch around my neck under my blouse, to hold everything else valuable.

Marilisa phoned up, and yes, I would like breakfast. She brought coffee up, soft-boiled eggs, triangles of toast, cut-up melon and grapes, and The Times. I opened the door for her, glad to see her, glad for her normality and sanity and steadiness. I was in a long, light robe, my hair tied back, rested yet weary, emotions as taxing as exercise.

“Are you going out this morning?” she asked pleasantly, no
urgency. No mention of the note, the roses, my disappearances, just confining herself, ever tactfully, to daily routines. “If you won’t be here, I’ll send up the cleaners.”

She gave me an idea. Rather than fretting or pacing or wandering different neighborhoods, I would try for the delights of the city, and put thoughts of tonight out of my head. “I’m going to a museum. They open at eleven, and I’ll be gone until about three. I’ll have lunch there,” I told her. “But could you please leave an early dinner for me? Something simple, a sandwich, milk. By five?”

She nodded, sure, and said laughingly, “Oh, I love the way you eat lunch at dinner, and how often you eat dinner for breakfast.” I was known to finish a roast chicken in the morning and have cereal and fruit at dinner time.

“Thanks.” I returned her smile. The eggs were perfect, and how she got them cracked and into the dish while they were still hot, always amazed me. She used a kitchen towel, but nothing messy ever happened. I was still trying to accomplish this. She quickly set a place for me and arranged everything, including the paper, on the dining table.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“No, thanks Marilisa, this is fine.” And with a smile, she was gone. I turned on the radio station that gave news and weather all day, relieved to hear the temperatures would be moderate tonight. Switching to the public classical station on FM, I broke pieces of toast into the eggs, looked at the stories filled with the conflicts and struggles of the world, skimmed the op-ed, and read the Arts page. Rand’s museum trusteeship would be in tomorrow’s early delivery of the Sunday section but I looked to see if any hint was there yet. Not finding one, I folded the paper open at the crossword puzzle, and put it in the magazine holder for later.

Breakfast finished, showered, dressed, I set out for the Morgan. I did not want to call any friends, too distracted for the
normal conversations even of my most congenial peers. I especially did not want to talk about Bredon, and I did not want to mention Rand. So I followed my resolve to learn the public transportation system more thoroughly, going by crosstown bus to Madison Avenue, walking in the sweet air, the long blocks down to 36
^th
Street. I had worn comfortable shoes, jeans and tunic, and the distractions of the scenery could for a few minutes at a time make me feel lighthearted and happy. Thoughts of Rand intruded; however I tried to turn them aside, remembering the touch of his hand between my legs, my body growing warm, pushing the images of him out of my mind.

At the museum I bought several books including the exhibit catalog from the gift shop, still struggling to keep myself distracted from thoughts of tonight. Rand, and whatever he was planning, kept slipping back into my imagination. When hunger drove me to the garden restaurant, I pressed my thighs together to quell the sexual itch I felt, and tried to focus on reading while waiting for the food, and then while eating it. After one last walk around the paintings I most loved, I made my way on foot and by bus back home. Sundown was a few hours away. I used my laptop as a diversion, answering emails, and using emails to answer texts, so much easier than thumbing my way along the phone’s keyboard. There was a call from my school for volunteer sponsor-guides for the new freshman class. Robin and Dina and I had already planned to volunteer for this. I looked at the message list on my land line, no replies needed right now. Finally, I traced the electronic paths, one encryption after another, to Bredon’s account for his current project. It showed money in the process of being transferred in. That had to be Rand’s payment.

And now there was no more time. As usual, electronics ate up hours, and it was past six when I went to get dressed for the first night with Rand.

In the street I shifted the tote bag, which looked like the ones carried by foot travelers all over the city. Mine held a pair of jeans, running shoes, a t-shirt and plain white bra and panties, along with the pack of condoms at the bottom of the bag, a last hope. The cover-all shawl-jacket concealed my braless top, and would do double duty over the jeans when I came home.

I walked several blocks to the corner where I had arranged my car service pickup. It was almost sundown, the rush hour finished so that we made good time southward. The driver seemed to sense my preoccupation. Her look was kindly, but she did not try to start a conversation, and my mind was far away as she navigated the city streets neatly and quickly.

When we arrived I waited until she had driven away and turned a corner before I started walking up the street to Rand’s gate. My sense of caution was in high gear. I felt shaky without any part of me actually showing any sort of tremor. In science class I had learned this feeling was a symptom of starvation. How suitable, how apt. I was in an emotional desert, no nourishing ground beneath me.

The quiet click of the gate, opening at my approach, seemed very loud on the dark, empty street. After I slipped in and started for the house, the metal gate seemed to lock behind me with an echo. I pulled the hidden purse from under my blouse and stuffed it onto the bottom of the tote bag, along with the credit card and cash from my skirt pocket. Rand pulled the door open as I got near. He was in shadow, outlined by his long robe which was narrow like a tunic, rather than an ample spa robe. The only light came from a doorway beyond the sitting room. He pointed us there, moving me ahead of him, his hand pressing my back and releasing a surge of heat and desire. His touch could evidently magically arouse me no matter where we were.

I tried to see everything as we came to the doorway, entering in the dim light, my heart thumping a bit, wondering if it was always set up this way. I had read enough erotic literature to recognize why he would have this strange mix of furniture, a setting for sexual fantasies. There was a narrow bed like a cot surrounded by pillows, a dresser, tables of unusual heights, a kind of love-seat chaise, a small sofa with unusually wide rolled arms, a wider bed with silk scarves looped around the head and foot posts, and a small table with various implements. I could just make out a wide short strap and a small cat o’nine tails. I could not see what Rand picked up from the table, as it was on the other side of him, but his other arm came around me to move me into an even further room. It was a luxurious bathroom, the raised tub filled with sweet-smelling foaming salts. The scent of roses. Beyond I could see the wooden enclosure of a sauna. He had retrofitted this old house into a love nest.

Putting down whatever he was holding, he turned me around, pulling off my shawl and pulling away the tote handles, tossing them into a corner with one hand, all the while pulling me closer with the other, and kissing me, his tongue tracing my lips in light circles, making my knees weak. He held me against him, one hand cupping my buttocks, the other unbuttoning my blouse, feeling my breasts between each button, his breath quick and hot. He tossed the blouse into the corner on top of the shawl, and I vaguely admired the precision of his blind aim. His robe came loose, and he pulled my hands up to lock them behind his neck, moving me back toward a small table that sat against the wall, leaning me against it while he pushed the elastic waistband of my skirt down to my thighs. One hand inserted between my buttocks, his other hand played with me. I was so wet, and my vision was hazy from desire.

He bent and pulled my skirt off and then my sandals, tossing them away. The room was steamy from the bath, but the chill made my nipples even harder, and Rand almost groaned as he
pinched and caressed them, bending to give each one a quick sucking kiss.

I was barely able to stand, but he held me, and half-carried me to the tub, up the two steps, his own robe pulled off, and he got in first, bringing me in after him. The seat in the bathtub was just the right height for him to sit with the water at chest-level. His hands passed over my body as he parted my legs and positioned me to straddle his lap, facing him, his erection ready to enter me. I felt his penis pushing hard, and closed my eyes and clung to him, not caring if my nails dug into him, and with a great thrust he was inside me. I thought I would faint. I could see nothing, I closed my eyes, feeling a tiny pain as he thrust hard and exploded in me.

Our fluids floated upward, and a small pinkish staining of the water making him alert, and what seemed to be angry. “Are you a virgin?” he demanded, and when I remained silent, remembering our bargain, he said, “This is the one exception. Are you a virgin?” he repeated.

“I don’t think so,” I gasped. “I’ve done stuff…”

“Not enough stuff,” he said roughly.

I knew I had had intercourse, but the boy I had been with was as young and inexperienced as I was, and he was small, his penis narrow. So maybe he had not completed the task after all.