All of Her: Chapter Five

I order an appletini. The girliest drink to ever grace a menu, as Noah would say. I suddenly wish he was here to tell me I'm an idiot for even thinking of going on with this venture. My pride won't let me text him.

"What do you do for a living?" asks Mr. Samson, who insists that I call him Clark.

"I work as an intern for an accounting firm. To pay the bills, however, I work at a local rare and used book shop."

"What made you choose accounting?" He takes a sip of his whiskey and soda.

"I love math and I'm good with numbers. But enough about me. Do you do anything besides teaching?"

"Flirt with women too young for me and drink whiskey and soda." He gives a saucy wink and raises his glass in a mock toast. "In truth, I don't do anything too exciting. I have a motorcycle that I take cross country once a year. I teach some boxing at the local gym."

He shrugs, as if that should be enough. I have nothing to really say. I have no idea what I'm doing here. This isn't exactly how I pictured this going. I've never dated anyone other than David. I've never even thought about it. David was all I needed. My be all, end all. And now all has ended.

I decide that I will just have to drink a little more. Drink enough that he gives me a ride home, or we grab a taxi. Drink enough that I loosen up a little. I am clearly not thinking this one through. I am so nervous. I have no idea what to do. The silence is stretching out in taffy long pulls of discomfort before me. This was a bad idea.

Just as I am about to excuse myself for the evening, just as I am about to give up on this foolishness for good, just as I am about to apologize for wasting his time, he kisses me. I close my eyes, in Hollywood fashion, and kiss him back. Very quickly, I lose track of time. My world narrows to his lips on mine, the slight scruff on his face scratching my chin. I don't know how long we are there making out. All I hear is the last call for the bar and we come up for air. We aren't up for long before we drop back under.

I don't even finish my second drink. The next few moments are a blur. He pulls me up and out of the booth we are in. He takes me to his car, a snow white Maserati. It is the classiest car I've ever been in. He doesn't ask where I want to go. He just drives to his apartment, which is on the south side of town. I am not even paying attention, I'm buzzing from the drinks and the sexual tension. I'm a pent up bottle about to explode. I have no idea what will happen once we reach our destination, but if the making out in the bar was any indicator I know what I should expect.

When we arrive he opens the car door for me. He takes my hand and leads me to his apartment. I'm nervous. I'm shaking. He smiles at me as he opens the apartment door.

His apartment is sparsely furnished and neat. He has a small book case stuffed to the brim with books on various topics, including anatomy and popular French names. There is a tiny kitchen, decorated with a rack of blood red wines and a basket of white glass apples. That's all I have time to see as he pulls me into his bedroom.

The bed is low to the ground and the plushest thing I've ever felt. He pushes me down and kisses me. Every exposed piece of skin I have, he kisses. He kisses the hollow of my throat, while his hands brush my hair away from my face. He kisses the skin below my ears. He nuzzles me and teasingly tugs my earlobe with his teeth. He kisses me and I think this is what heaven must feel like. I've never had someone pay this much attention to me. David didn't even care about these little details. As soon as he comes into my mind I push him out. He has no place in this scenario.

He tries to take off my dress, unsuccessfully. We stand up to remedy this situation. He unzips the back and grazes the exposed skin with his lips. I shiver. While I finish removing my dress he turns the lights down and puts on a CD of classical music. I unbutton his shirt and his pants. His desire to be rid of these items is very apparent at this point. I try to hide a blush. He unhooks my bra with ease, sliding the straps over my shoulders and down. I don't even notice when it touches the burgundy carpeting.

I am almost nude when he gently pushes me back onto the bed. He is almost naked too, but he doesn't seem to care. He kisses me some more. I feel like I'm going to explode in a moment. I've never felt so alive. I've never felt so aroused by someone. Or that someone was so aroused by me.

Before I can think about David and Alice, I am completely and thoroughly distracted. I am wrapped up in new sensations. It hurts a little. Not just physically, though there is a little physical pain as well. I let everything else go for the moment. The world could be going to hell and I don't care. I am lost in this new world and these new things. I feel as though I am a present that has just been opened. I don't remember how to breathe. Am I breathing?

I crest great heights, spiraling into a fresh world of delights. Each earthquake takes me higher; each note on a cello reverberates until I can barely see. I have never felt this way. I have never tasted something this sweet. With a final gasp for air, I am finished. He follows me quickly and I am drowned in pulsating sensation.

After, as we lie stretched out on his silky sheets, I promise I won't cry. I promise I won't allow David and Alice to ruin this for me. I promise I won't. I can't help myself. I curl into the curve of his arm and I bawl like a lost child. He kisses my forehead and just holds me. I thank him for that. I kiss him. I apologize for crying. I promise it was wonderful and the tears have nothing to do with the sex. Actually, it has everything to do with it, but not because it was bad. Those terrifyingly real and beautiful sensations are things I never had with David. Things I will never have with David. I also cry because I realize that, whilst this was a wonderful experience that I would never wish to trade for anything else, Clark Samson and I are not going to last. We may be perfect for a few months or even a year. But this relationship has no lasting powers. I sincerely wish it did.

Or maybe I don't. Maybe I am the problem. I don't want it to have lasting powers. We haven't even begun dating and I'm already posed to sabotage everything.

For now I fall asleep in his arms and sleep like I haven't slept in years. I want to be happy with this for now. If he asks to see me again, I'll say yes. For the time being.

The next morning, I wake up alone. I wonder if I dreamed last night. When everything comes into focus I realize I didn't. I am surrounded by fluffy pillows and white silk sheets. The smell of waffles drifts into the room and I am very hungry. Pulling the sheet up around myself, I walk out of the bedroom and into the little living room.

Clark is cooking. He is in a pair of plaid pajama pants that tie at his waist. Not a bad view at all. Another view comes to mind and I blush furiously. I clear my throat, quietly, and he turns. He smiles brightly in response.

"Do you like waffles? I am not the most skilled in the kitchen, but I do make a mean Belgian waffle."

I nod. I'm in shock. David never made me breakfast. Well, not a breakfast like this. A bowl of Oreo O's doesn't count.

"Do you like anything with your waffles? I have butter and syrup. I also have some apple or cherry pie filling that you could use as a topping. Being a bachelor, I don't have much in the way of breakfast stuff, but you can feel free to take whatever you want. Do you want milk or coffee?"

"I'll gladly take a glass of milk." I say. "Just butter for my waffles will be fine. Waffles are delicious enough without anything extra."

He smiles, again. He piles three thick waffles on a plate, placing a pat of butter on top, and motions for me to sit at a little coffee table. He piles another plate with waffles before he joins me at the little table. He looks at my sheet outfit and gets up again. He disappears into his room for a moment and returns with a large white shirt and a small pair of shorts.

"This might be a little more comfortable than the sheets, love." He says, as he hands the clothing to me. Even though we had sex last night, I am embarrassed for him to see me naked. Blushing, I get up and change in his room. When I come back, he is patiently waiting for me. There is steam rising from the waffles. I could fall for this man, if only for this moment.

We eat in relative silence. Though we sneak glances at one another through out. It is like we are children. After breakfast, we shower. A repeat of last night's pleasure occurs immediately after our shower. It's even better than the previous performance. This time, however, there are no tears. We talk and enjoy a few laughs. It is well past noon when he drives me back to my car at "The Wilford and Brimley."

"When can I see you again?" he asks. I dig in my little black clutch for my keys. Not quite looking at him, but not completely ignoring him either.

"Well, I don't know, Clark." I look up at him, with a hand above my eyebrows. It is bright outside and I can barely see him with the light behind him. "What works best for you? You have classes to teach. I have numbers to account and books to dust."

"Any evening is fine." He says. "You could come over for dinner sometime and we can talk while I grade papers. If you have time between accounting numbers and dusting books."

"I'd like that." I say. I am actually quite sincere. I really like him. Not just for the obvious reasons, of course. Though that does help in this situation. However, I'm already counting the minutes until it is over. I give this 'relationship' three months. It will be intense, passionate even. We will think we are in love and will be together forever. Eventually, we will grow tired of each other and everything will become a fight. We'll have hot, angry, sex a couple of times and then call it quits. At least, that is what I see happening.

I re-write my number down for him. I tell him to call me when he can. No rush. He kisses me goodbye and I watch as he drives off. I want him, but I don't. I will never love another man like I love David. No matter how much I may want to, it will never happen. In the meantime, however, I can have a little fun.

I have six messages on my phone. All of them, but one is from Noah. The one is from my mother. She called to check up on me. To let me know that Sophie is feeling much better today. With a pang of guilt, I remember my poor sister and her being abandoned at the dance last night. I should've stayed the night at Mom's house so that I could help continue to comfort her this morning. Instead I was in the throes of a burgeoning romance. A secret affair, if you will.

Noah's messages all consist of the same material: "Where the hell are you? And why aren't you answering either phone? If you don't call me soon I'm going to think you have killed yourself and I will be forced to resurrect you so that I can kill you again."

I smile at his messages and wonder what he would think if he found out what I did last night. I blush, remembering it. I will call him back after I change into some yoga pants and a tank top. Today is my last day off. I took a month off for the final wedding preparations and the honeymoon that didn't happen. What a waste of time and resources. I want to attempt to enjoy myself.

Before I can even dial his number, my phone rings. Noah, again.

"Yes, oh fairest of fair folk?" I say, laughing.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick! I tried to text you, I tried to call you. I thought you had gone a rampage and murdered a town of kindly Buddhists or something!" He is actually mad. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. Why is he so angry?

"I chaperoned Sophie's dance last night. I told you that I was going to."

"Yes, but that should've ended at what? Ten? Eleven? Where were you after that?"

"Sophie got stood up. I ended up staying at Mom's with her until two. After that I went for a drink at 'The Wilford and Brimley'. What does it matter? You are acting like the sky is falling." I tuck the phone in-between my shoulder and my ear to pour myself a soda.

"I was worried. I hadn't heard from you in like a week. You haven't been online, even. I don't want you to become one of those creepy old lady recluses who never get over the asshole that left them. You know, like that one character in that one Charles Dickens story. Havisham? That sounds right."

"I seriously doubt I'm going to end up like Miss Havisham. After all, I am not sitting here in my wedding dress with rotting wedding cake, though the cake did rot before I could finish it all. Besides, I've been busy." That last bit sounds a little suspicious. Especially the way I say it.

"What do you mean by busy? You haven't gone back to work yet have you?"

"No…"

"Then how have you been so busy you couldn't even text me a line to say you weren't an old cat lady recluse wasting away in her wedding dress?"

"Well, I met someone."

There is a significant pause on the other end of the phone. This isn't good. Noah being quiet is surely one of the seven signs of the apocalypse.

"Who?"

"A teacher at Sophie's school."

"Did you meet last night at the dance?"

"Yes." I say, knowing that is a mistake.

"Did you go for a drink with him after the dance?" He is definitely catching on. He isn't an idiot, I know this. I really wish I hadn't brought it up. I'm such an idiot.

"Please tell me you did not go home with someone you just met last night."

"Okay, I won't tell you." I reply. I know this is stupid and I'm going to get lectured.

"You did! You could've been murdered or raped or something equally awful! Why would you do that? You know what, don't even answer. I'll be at your place in ten minutes." With that he hangs up on me.

Well, shit. This is not what I wanted. Over the phone lectures I can handle, because I can tune most of it out. Now he is going to be here and all in my face. Probably yelling at me for being a stupid idiot. Which I was, but that is beside the point. Instead of trying to escape my fate like a sensible person, I set about making some coffee and setting out some snack like food I have in the cupboards. I need to go grocery shopping soon. I'm running out of snack foods.

Noah doesn't even knock. He bursts in while I am making my mental list of foods I would like to get the next time I go shopping.

"Stop what you are doing and tell me everything that happened last night." He grabs my hand and drags me over to the couch. He sets me down, firmly, and then sits next to me in an angry/impatient funk.

"I met a guy, he asked me to go out for drinks at 'The Wilford and Brimley', I said yes and I did." I purposefully leave out the awesome sex, the delicious waffles and the second round of awesome sex.

"You aren't telling the whole truth, Abra Faye." Well, he just pulled out the big guns. Middle name and everything. I'm really shaking in my boots now. Not.

"You do know that using my middle name isn't going to bother me right?"

"I know, but it makes me feel better. Now tell me the rest of what happened. What did you drink? Who is this guy? Did you go home with him? Did you two have an 'intimate' encounter?"

I just look at him for a moment. I've never known Noah to be shy about anything. The fact that he just phrased it as 'an intimate encounter' kind of frightens me.

"I had an appletini." I say, stalling.

"The girliest drink to ever grace a menu." He says, just like I knew he would.

"His name is Clark Samson. He teaches Latin and Roman history."

"How old is he, Abe?"

"I don't know. Late thirties?" I know immediately that was another mistake.

"Late thirties? What are you thinking? He's more than ten years your senior! You were just learning to ride a bike when he was graduating high school!"

"Look whose talking!" I say in a huffy tone. "You were dating Matthias for three years and he was fifteen years older than you. Why can you do it and I can't?"

To avoid an argument, he ignores my last comment and goes straight into his next question.

"What did he drink?" Noah is a firm believer in drink analysis. Supposedly whatever he (or she, depending) is drinking tells everything about him (or her).

"Whiskey and soda." I stand up from the couch and go to grab a handful of something. Anything. I'm not actually hungry, but I'm about to spill the beans on my plans and I'm already getting lectured enough.

"Whiskey and soda? That's a hard drink. Which means he's a hard man, who probably beats women in his spare time. Honey, what were you thinking? Never go for a man drinking whiskey!"

I turn to face Noah. I'm a little pissed right now, actually. I would say something except I just shoved a handful of cereal into my mouth. Instead I just give him a malevolent stare and go to get my drink.

"You went home with him right? After those drinks. Or drink. How many did you have? It must have been a lot, since the Abra I know isn't a fool who sleeps with just anyone with genitalia."

"I didn't even finish my second drink." I say. "I really like him. And I am tired of being alone. He was a pleasant distraction from my woes."

"Let's hope he is a pleasant distraction that you can forget about." He looks pointedly at my stomach, as if just thinking about sex can cause pregnancy.

I roll my eyes and grab another handful of cereal. This is a losing battle. I just have to tell him my plans. He'll never rest until he finds out anyway. Just as I open my mouth to speak, there is a knock at the door. And if anyone was guessing it was David, you just won the grand prize.