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SOFT WATER

 He is only a pair of dark glittering eyes in the dimly lit bar.

The lights are flickering for the last call, and my ankles are wobbly from too much wine. I stumble my way off the stool, and his hand is suddenly there, holding me steady. He smells like rain on fall leaves, and I agree to share a cab.

The doorman nods us in with a smile.

I stand in his doorway, suddenly cold, shivering with need and fear. He draws me in and fills the bath for me, the temperature perfect, the water soft with oil. He begins with a sponge, then places his hand everywhere, fitting each contour. There is no greed in his touch; it is slow and full of care. The towel blankets me when he helps me step out. His kindness undoes me, and I cry with big hurting sobs.

“Little girl,” he says, “you are so far from your home.”

He picks me up in his arms and settles me in his bed. I try to slide over, but he presses his finger pads hard, straight down on my head. He shoves, pushing into my hairline with his hand slowly flattening and stretching open. A starfish of pleasure blossoms inside me. The loneliness knotted behind my eyes melts, spreads like hot honey from my head to my limbs

Is this love? Is this what love feels like?

I take a deep breath and my eyes flutter closed.

The small sounds of his cufflinks hitting the dresser, the rustle of clothing sliding off skin, a soft shush on the carpet and he returns to the bed. He lies with his back against me, his flesh cool as crisp linen, where it rests against mine.

Who are you? How did you find me?

I feel safe and fall asleep.

 

HARD LIGHT

I open my eyes, my head is pounding and the ceiling above me is unfamiliar, smooth, and even in the dim light, it glows. No dips of loose plaster, no rusty stains from old leaks above. The walls are bare, no photographs, nothing but reflected spots of moving light from the windows.

Someone is lying next to me. Oh God, not again. What have I done?

Carefully. Oh, please don't wake up. I ease away, slide from the warm sheets and crouch by the side of the bed.

Light seeps into the room from a space below a door.

The bathroom. Yes, a bath. I took a bath. No, he gave me a one. Oh God, did we do it?

I peek over the edge of the bed, squinting, and I see the man. I am looking at a stranger. He is older than me, his face is lined, his hair thin at the temples. His eyes are closed, his face looks peaceful.

My head pounds harder, squatting on the floor sends tingles from my feet to my legs.

Where are my clothes? Shit, where are my things?

I sweep my hand under the bed. Nothing on the floor. I look at him again, and rise, keeping my eyes on him and toe, heel, toe, heel I walk backwards to the bathroom door. The tiles are cold, the lingering scent of lavender clings to warm damp air. The light hurts my eyes.

Get out. Get dressed and get the fuck out of here.

I see my clothing, stacked neatly on a stool beside the tub. Dizzy, I shimmy into my panties, pull my dress over my head. Icy cold against my belly, looking down, my little black dress is on backwards. I pull my arms through the sleeves, twist the fabric around me and thrust my arms through again.

Shhh, what was that? He's moving, something changed.

I hold my breath, listening, eyes flying around the room.

Oh, God, I'm going to be sick. No, not here. Not now, you idiot. You ass. Your shoes!

I find them, side by side near the door, my handbag upright on the floor next to them. I pick them up and step- heel, toe, heel, toe - back onto the bedroom carpet. His leg moves on the bed, his body curls towards the warmth I left behind. I tiptoe across the room, the knob moves smoothly in my hand. One glance back, his hand is on the pillow where my head was when I awoke. I hear him sigh, I watch his fingers open and I pull the door closed.

Easing the noise of the lock, I leave him behind, and run to the elevator. I see myself fleeing to infinity in the mirrors that line the hallway. The elevator carries me to the lobby. I stand in the sun blinking, looking to see where I am.

Who was he? Who was he? Does he know who I am? Will he remember me?

 

GREASY AIR

Home, climbing the stairs, avoiding the squeak of loose floorboards and the snag of torn, curled, carpet; my heart is still jumping in my throat.

What? What happened? Did we?

My stomach is scalding, my hand shakes, I drop my keys, and their noise jangles my head. Recollection burns through me.

“Little girl too far from your home.”

I stoop, and blood whooshes through my head. I remember his eyes, kind on me, in the bar.

What did he look like?

I can’t find his face in the jumble of pain in my head. I manage the key, and I’m inside with back pressed against the door, the chain lock dangling cold on my shoulder. It is dark, with slats of light, too bright stripes, from the blinds holding the dust in midair. The room is dank.

Seeping through my pores, rising from my skin, the scent of lavender oil, and the smell of too much wine. I remember his hand squeezing the sponge, soft warm water flowing over me.

Was that love? Is that what love feels like? Slippery hands, pleasure like an ache, like scars dissolving.

I have trouble with the zipper and look down at my dress. It’s inside out, threads stick from the seams, the hem is loose and dangles open.

Acid comes up my windpipe, and I run for the bathroom. I turn on the light. Roaches scatter. Hexagonal tiles dig into my knees.

There is no love. Everyone knows that.

I find his cufflinks in my pocketbook.

 

REVOLVING DOORS

I sit, stiff-backed, in my chair.The woman on the phone drones, her order was filled incorrectly. Now it is my problem.

70, Madison and Park, I can get there and back during lunch, if I hurry.

I say, “Yes, Ma’am, I'll connect you.”

She doesn't stop. She tells me, again, “It doesn't fit. Your shipping department sent the wrong one.” My mouth is a dry canyon. Her voice hurts my ears, echoing through the pain like thunder.

One more time, “Yes, Ma’am, please hold.” I disconnect.

A deliveryman gets off the elevator. He carries a bouquet of flowers to the reception desk. My phone rings, two lights flashing. The loudspeaker blasts my name through the room; I feel everyone watching.

The scent of a garden blooms from the counter, so sweet it makes my stomach turn. The card is small and discreet, anonymous in an envelope. I sign my name.

Thank you. No name. Nothing but the neat formal script. No mention of cufflinks. I keep the envelope, my name, spelled correctly, on its face.

It must be him, no one sends me flowers.

Why is he thanking me?

I carry the vase, arms extended in front of me, back to my desk. The women surrounding my station crane their necks and sniff.

He knows my name.

He knows where I work.

My address?

Smile, for Christ's sake. They are staring.

I leave the flowers on the edge of my desk. My stomach rebels when I bend to stove the envelope into my bag. I make it to the ladies' room, just in time.

What now? What am I going to do now?

I splash cold water on my face and it wets my sleeves.

I file out at 12:15, at the end of the line. The women glance at me, greedy for gossip, angry at my tight smiling silence. One of them falls in behind me. She pushes the revolving door, hard, as I exit. I trip coming out of it, catch myself. My pocketbook sails through the air. A cufflink flies; I find it, eight feet away, at the side of a cement planter.

I walk, fast as my heartbeat. His face pops into my head.

You're making it up. You don't remember. You don’t know him. Stick the cufflinks in the envelope; tell him it was a mistake. Tell him... His hands were so kind... Stop it you idiot. Write, I made a mistake- I'm sorry, on the envelope. Leave it with the doorman. Cut and run. Cut and run. Leave it. But what name? What was his name?

I know the building the minute I see it, but not the doorman. He slowly guides the spin of the door, pacing my entrance. The cool air crawls over my skin.

He tilts his head, watching me. I rifle through my bag. He waits, patient, impassive, as the gold links come out in my fist. I stare down at them.

Initials. His initials. Copy the initials, and write 5th floor.

A reckless black line flows from the pen to the envelope. I scratch out my name.

A gloved hand calls for attention. “Mr. Mathew told me to send you straight up, Miss.” He waves me on.

I stand, shifting from one, burning, unstockinged foot to the other. Grit from the sidewalk hot between the soles of my feet and my too tight high-heels.

 

TRAPEZE TWILIGHT

Grow up. Look him in the eye and apologize. Do something right for once.

Thick carpet swallows my footsteps. The elevator stands open, ready. I press five, cufflinks biting into my palm, my throat constricted.

“Send in the Clowns,” Muzak-style.

Perfect.

My vision blurs, grief spills out of me.

He is standing with his back, relaxed, against the opposite wall. More and more of him is revealed as the doors slide open, and he is smiling. Boyish, gentle. The weary lines I remembered are gone, his hair is tousled.

My hand opens, flat palm, cufflinks nesting, interlocked. I step out, my stomach churning, my pulse beating against my voice.

“I am sorry. I don’t remember taking them.” He interrupts, “Were you frightened, waking up?”

He holds his hand out, makes them jingle inside a cage of fingers.

Go. It is finished.

His eyebrows arch, his other hand opens toward me, a question.

“Did you know they were missing when you sent the flowers?” I ask.

He nods. “I put them in your bag while you were sleeping. I was afraid you'd leave and never come back.”

I didn't take them.

But I could have. I didn't even know. I believed I did. What does that say about me?

He doesn't know you.

“I might have though, I’ve done things like that before.”

“But you didn’t. I might have hurt you. But I didn't.”

No. Not you, not those careful hands.

“Please, come inside.”

He isn't real.

“I have to get back to work.”

I wish, I wish I were different.

“What about later? We could take a walk, have some dinner?”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?”

His face closes, he shuts his eyes, then they find me again, “Yes.”

“Why are you kind to me?”

“I am tired of the man I've been. I am ready to be something else.”

Am I? Am I ready to be something else? Are such things possible? Why me, why would he choose me?

I put my hand out. He takes it.

He smiles, wide, walks with me, his hand different now as it rides the small of my back. My head is swimming, my heart stutters, my hand trembles inside his. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and winks.

I fly without a net.