A Better Place to Be Page 13
and you can expect temps in the mid to upper-nineties as the front continues
to stall over...’
The announcer’s voice faded with the realization of tomorrow’s date, May twentieth. He stared through the window, seeing not the diner, but himself reflected in the windshield—not himself as he was today, but a glimmer of who he had been a dozen years earlier. Tomorrow was his twenty-second wedding anniversary...would have been, he corrected himself with the knowledge that the stranger staring back at him bore no resemblance to who he was now.
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, the memories running through his head—the story of his life—his history, but when he finally stopped, shook the memories away, and freed himself, he shut off the ignition and opened the door.
It was obviously a slow night; the diner was near empty. Two men, truck drivers he thought, sat at the counter. A half-dozen tables were occupied, and only one of the eight booths across from the counter had someone in it.
He walked past the woman in the booth, who was reading a book, and sat in the next one, facing the door,
He glanced at the clock; it was almost ten. He’d stayed at work longer than the shift required, because when Rodrigo had come in to work John’s off night, he’d cornered John with photos of his now two-year-old son, and went on to tell John that his wife was pregnant with number two. Then the conversation evolved into work things.
Just when he was about to make his escape, one of the cameras showed a couple of taggers slipping through the fence. Both he and Rodrigo went after them and, when they caught them in the middle of spraying across a large sheet of rusting metal, confiscated their paint and photo copied their IDs. John let them go with a warning that if they came back, they would be turned over to the police. By the time he left Miller’s, it was close to ten.
“Evening, John.”
John smiled at the waitress. “Evening, Emily, slow eh?”
“Sunday night’s always slow. Busier from four to seven with families. What can I get you?”
John flipped through the menu, shrugged, and ordered a rare burger with sweet potato fries and a cup of coffee.
When the waitress left, he looked at the woman a booth away just as she lifted her head from the book. His breath caught. She was beautiful, so beautiful, he thought, that she could warm a cold winter’s night just by being there. She had light brown hair with streaks of sun bleached blonde woven through it. Startling electric blue eyes, a small straight nose and a perfect mouth, her lips formed a flawless cupid’s bow.
But he saw how her eyes slid past him, not seeing him at all, which was exactly what he expected, yet he had to acknowledge that her beauty had somehow hit him in a strange and unusual way—hit him and then dug in. From the moment she’d lifted her head, he’d sensed a lonely desperation. No, he corrected himself, she was far beyond lonely, and he had no doubt about the fact that she was somehow lost within the emptiness of herself.
How he knew this, he couldn’t begin to understand, but know it, he did.
A few heartbeats later, she went back to her book, and Emily brought John his dinner. He ate slowly, pondering why he had picked up on the woman’s loneliness, and more importantly why he cared.
Twenty minutes later, he was finishing his second cup of coffee, when the woman lifted her head again. Her eyes tracked around the room, and then settled on John. She flashed a sad smile at him a moment before she went back to her book.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her eyes, or the sadness rising from her in invisible waves, or the smile she’d just favored him with, or the hint of white teeth from behind cherry lips.
Emily appeared next to him. “More coffee?”
John nodded but said nothing. After filling his cup, she went to the woman and did the same. A moment later, she was gone.
John spent another ten minutes on the coffee, and on something else: a decision. There was a low but perceptible sense of need emanating from her, something so primal he felt it throughout his mind and body. He sensed where she was, and knew he’d been there and was probably still there as well.
He remembered the last few times he had tried to initiate something with a woman, and was woefully aware that he was miles away from a pick-up type man; yet, something inside kept pushing, urging him onward.
Standing, his coffee cup in his hand, he went to her booth. “Ma...may I join you?”
She looked up from the book, her electric blue eyes locking with his. She looked nowhere else but into his eyes. “If you want to.”
John took that as a yes and sat. “I-I’m John,” he stammered.
“Hello, John,” she replied, her eyes no longer locked on his, but now strangely distant.
“I... couldn’t help but notice that you’re alone and there was something...something I...” he stammered on, trying his best to start a conversation. “I’m sorry, I’m being awkward and—”
She blinked, her eyes searched his face and then she shook her head, reached across the table, and put her hand over his. “John, I hear you.” She paused for a moment and searched his face, her eyes no longer as distant. Her fingers curled around his hand. “John, if you want me t—if you want me to come with you, well...” She hesitated, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “I’d like that too. You see, I’m going nowhere special, and anywhere, anywhere is really a better place to be.”
John’s voice lodged in his throat while her words echoed in his head. Somehow, the words she’d just spoken hit him like a donkey’s kick to his solar plexus. He understood her, understood what she had said. But even more so, he knew exactly what she was feeling in a way that could not be explained; only believed with absolute certainty.
Without speaking, he signaled Emily and asked for the checks. When she returned with them, he tossed two twenties on the table and stood. “My car is outside.”
She nodded, stood, and picked up the soft-sided overnight bag that had been next to her on the seat. “I’m ready.”
John smiled up at her, and then led her to his car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
And I went to turn on the only light to brighten up the gloom
But she said, "Please leave the light off, oh, I don't mind the dark"
And as her clothes all tumbled 'round her, I could hear my heart”
“The moonlight shown upon her as she lay back in my bed
It was the kind of scene I only had imagined in my head
I just could not believe it, to think that she was real
And as I tried to tell her she said, ‘I know just how you feel’”
~~~~
The windows of the boarding house were dark, as John knew they’d be. The boarders and the owners all went to bed early and rose early, except for himself. John turned the ignition off and looked at her. She stared straight ahead, her profile illuminated by the soft moonlight. Even in the semi-darkness of the car, he saw how beautiful and how incredibly sad she was.
He reached for the door handle and as he opened it, Claire’s face rose outside. John froze for a half-second, staring into her wonderful blue eyes. Then she smiled at him, and he knew she not only understood, but knew it would be alright.
She disappeared when he exhaled and got out of the car. He went around to the other side and opened the door for her. She looked up at him, and a shadow of a smile flicked across her mouth as she handed him the overnight bag.
Taking the bag, he stepped back, and she left the car. They walked together to his private entrance, and as they stepped in, he turned on the light. She paused and looked around. “It’s lovely.”
John couldn’t stop his laugh from breaking out. “I wouldn’t use that description,” he said as he too looked around the utilitarian room with its full-sized bed, a club chair, small almond colored Formica dinette set with two vinyl covered chairs. A single picture hung on the wall above the dinette table, a Chagall print of The Circus Horse. The blinds on the two windows framing the door wer
e down, but the slats were partially opened.
“The bathroom?” she asked.
John pointed to the door across from them. “Lock the far door.”
She nodded and disappeared inside. He stood where he was, still unable to move. His heart beating faster than it had in years as he waited. She came out five minutes later. John hadn’t moved.
“Wou—would you like a drink or something?”
She tilted her head to the side, her hair fell across her shoulder. “No,” she said and came over to him, walking slowly, her electric blue eyes locked on his. “Turn off the light, please, I like the dark.”
John stepped back to the light switch and shut it off. He blinked into the darkness a few times, and then saw her still standing across from him, aglow in the slanted fingers of moonlight reaching through the partially opened slats of the blinds to caress her softly.
He was locked in place as she slowly removed her top and the silky material floated to the floor, she unhooked her skirt, letting it join the tumbled blouse around her feet. Her pale skin shone like an alabaster idol in the soft moonlight, like an exotic treasure carved by an unknown artist just for him.
He stood there, transfixed, his mouth blotter dry as she removed her bra and panty and let them join the crumpled pile on the floor. Then she went to the bed, and slid down upon it. The moonlight striking her more clearly there, the casting of shadow and light revealing everything about her form, emphasizing the beauty of her body, the flowing lines from her neck, across her peach-tipped breasts, the curve and muscles of her stomach and the flair of her hips before they blended into the smooth round fullness of her thighs. He took a hesitant step toward her, paused for a moment, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
“I...”
She reached up, put a finger across his lips, and said, “I know exactly how you feel, John, because I’ve been so lonely, so all alone. Having someone next to me, someone holding me, someone loving and me loving someone, is a better way to be.”
John took her hand in his, and pressed her fingertips to his lips. She lifted up, pulled her hand free as she came closer to him, and then took his face between her hands and kissed him deeply.
Like electricity racing through him, her lips turned his muscles to liquid and he could do nothing as she drew her mouth away and slowly, carefully, unbuttoned his shirt. He came alive a moment later, and helped her with the chore.
When he was as naked as she, with the moonlight playing upon his skin as it did hers, he lay down next to her and drew her into his arms. She tilted her face to him, and wiped the tip of her tongue across her lips, then moved a little closer, and brought her lips to his ear. “Make love to me, John, make love to me now.”
He drew her face to his, covered her lips with his, and tasted the warmth of her mouth and the flicker of her tongue as it teased against his. His arms tightened around her, pressing her so close to him, that he could feel her heart beat and the blood pulse through her,
Her mouth tasted of coffee and sweetness, and her skin was the texture of satin. His hands roamed without his willful control, skimming over her back, cupping her buttocks, slipping between her thighs for a moment before he shifted them slightly so he could bend to her neck. He kissed the soft skin, then kissed the blue vein pulsing just below her ivory skin. A moment later he traced his lips along her skin, kissing the collar bone before taking the tip of her breast into his mouth.
Her hands tightened on his back, and a muffled groan reached his ears when he drew his mouth from her. He went to the other breast, and kissed it gently before taking its tip gently between his teeth.
She groaned again, and pressed his head harder against her breast. Then her hands travelled down his back, lightly, teasingly until she grasped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. She rose above him, kissed him, and then trailed her lips downward, nipping and biting at his neck, slipping down, kissing each nipple then running her tongue through the hair on his chest.
She reached further down and captured him, stroked him, and held him tightly with her hand. Then she rose further above him, and settled over him. She took him inside in a single movement, and arched her back when she did.
They stayed like that, she astride him, his hands on her waist, her hands on his chest, until she finally moved, slowly and easily upon him. She bent, licked at his lips, and then kissed him deeply. “Love me, love me now,” she pleaded.
John did what she asked, his body responding not by passion alone, but with the memory of what it meant to make love to someone, to hold them close to be both inside and outside. To watch and to be watched.
There was no rush; there was no urgency in their movements, just the need to be together, to hold each other—to not be alone. And then, from somewhere in the distance, the need to finish grew in them both, until finally, each rose to that special place within them, the point where they both gave and received exactly what they needed in that very particular moment in time.
She fell upon him, her breathing harsh in his ears. He held her close, stroked her back and felt her heart beat begin to drop. He kissed the top of her head while he continued to stroke her back. He didn’t mind her weight; rather, he enjoyed it.
Sometime later, she stirred and slid from him only to curl next to him when his arm slipped under her neck and head. She snuggled closer, her arm going across his chest, her knees pressing his thighs.
He held absolutely still, accepting that for the first time in twelve years, he was sharing his bed with another, and holding a woman close to him. And as the rhythm of her breathing turned to a low and gentle pattern signaling sleep, a single tear fell from his eye.
<><><>
It was sometime later that movement woke him. Opening his eyes, he found her leaning over him, kissing his chest, stroking the inside of his thigh. He shifted, drew her mouth to his, and kissed her.
“Again?” she whispered in both a plea and a question.
“Again,” he agreed in answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“When the morning came so swiftly I held her in my arms
She slept like a baby, snug and safe from harm
I did not want to share her or dare to break the mood
So before she woke I went out to buy us both some food”
~~~~
May 20th, Hicksville, Long Island
The sun slanting in through the blinds woke John up. His arm was still beneath her neck, her arm across his chest. After they had made love a second time, and she had again snuggled close, neither had moved during the night.
But with the daylight upon him, he knew things would be different today. He pulled his arm gently from beneath her neck and rolled carefully off the bed so as not to wake her. He closed the blinds, then used the bathroom, dressed, and went out, glancing at the clock when he did. It was ten-eighteen.
He walked the three blocks to the corner deli, where he got bought bagels with cream cheese, two cups of coffee, and a cinnamon bun in case she liked sweets. He walked slowly back, carrying the brown bag in one hand. When he turned the corner toward the house, a bus passed behind him, its exhaust washing over him.
He reached the house fifteen minutes after he’d left, went into his room, and stopped dead in his tracks. The bed was empty, the bag she had brought was gone, and he knew she was as well.
A strange sadness hit him then, not the sadness that had beset him a dozen years before, but a strange and bluesy lonely feeling that he had found a better place to be, last night, and now it was gone.
He went over to the dinette table and set the bag down. When he did, he found her note.
It was a simple note, six words long and written in a flowing neat handwriting:
‘It’s time that I moved on.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
“It was an early morning bar room
And the place just opened up
And the little man come in so fast and he
Started at his cups
And
the broad who served the whiskey
She was a big old friendly girl
And tried to fight her empty nights
By smilin' at the world
And she said, ‘Hey Bub, it's been awhile
Since you been around
Where the hell you been hidin'?
And why you look so down?’”
~~~~
May 27th, Hicksville, Long Island 4:20 a.m.
John parked his Honda in the lot. His was the only car at the Treasure Inn, which was what is known as an early morning bar room. A local ordinance required every restaurant and bar serving liquor to close for at least one hour a day: almost all bars closed between one and four. The Treasure was the only one that closed at three and opened again at four. John had known it in his drunk days, and in the last few years, occasionally stopped by after work for a nightcap before heading home.
Today was Sunday, and with the end of his shift, his day off began; and, rather than go right to bed, he wanted to unwind a bit, and the Treasure Inn was his only option. He did not want to go back to the Eastern Diner, at least just yet.
He left the car and went inside. The bartender, Sally, was a big old girl, and sweet by nature as well. As he strolled across the floor to the bar, she looked up and smiled.
“Hey, John, it’s been a while. Gin and Tonic?”
He nodded. “Perfect, Sally. You just come on?”
Sally shook her head. “Started at eight last night. I’m off at five, when Kenny comes in. But hey, enough about me. Where you been hiding?” she asked as she mixed the drink. When he sat, she added, “And why are you looking so down?”
He sat, reached across the bar to pick up the tall drink, and took a long pull. He stared at the drink and the lime wedge floating among the bubbles, but didn’t answer.
Sally coughed once, wiped the rag across the bar where she’d first put the drink, and said, “I don’t mean to bother you, that’s the way it is. And I damned well know I’m not some beautiful movie star. But, John, I am a damned good bartender, and an even better listener, so if you want to talk to me, you know it’s what I do...but if you don’t, well, that’s okay too.”