Beware of Love in Technicolor (29 page)

             
He gave a small laugh and I was glad to see him loosen up a bit.

             
“We all make choices,” I continued. “You have made yours, Abby has made hers. If she’s as smart as you say she is, she’ll land on her feet.”

             
“That is all so very Zen of you,” he smirked.

“I’ve been reading a lot of Herman Hesse lately,” I replied. I was staring at our hands. It always amazed me how small mine looked in his.

“Can we be friends again?” he asked, his eyes urgent and sincere. “Like we used to be? I can’t lose you now, Greer, and by the way you look at me now, I know I’m losing you.”             

“You’re not losing me,” I answered, not breaking eye contact. “We’re not done yet.”

“Yet?” he asked, smiling now, big and genuine. The mischievous look came back into his eyes, and a wave of emotion washed over me. I remembered what it felt like to like the person you love.

“No,” I said, pushing his wet, freshly showered hair from his face. “I still have years of torture in store for you.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to each day of it,” he answered smartly as we heard Topher’s knock on the door.

***

And so we were in love. Again. My time under the blanket with Ben passed without so much as a whisper of it. He began spending more and more time with an ex-girlfriend of Jared’s, and so had become something of an issue around Cloud 9. I missed him in a strange way, but was glad to not have to deal with any residual feelings. John and I were on shaky enough ground as it was.

On my birthday, John took me to Boston, bought me dinner on Newbury Street, and insisted on buying me a deep red lipstick from the Chanel counter at Saks.

Don’t misunderstand me. Things were not perfect. We both were still skipping the majority of our classes, but we were spending more time together. He stopped brooding around so much, and we both took a step back from partying for a while. The LSD and mushrooms that had been hanging out on Cloud 9 had all been gobbled up, so my head was able to settle back down to normal. And I was happy with that. I figured that as long as I kept my grades good within my major, I could let the other stuff slide.

The Resident Advisor of my floor in Bristol was not so happy with my irregular comings and goings, or the tendency of my exclusively male group of friends to occasionally bang on the doors after hours, trying to get someone to let them in, even when I was off “God knows where.”

“If we had something better than hall phones, they would be able to call me and I could know to let them in, or they would know I’m not home.” I attempted to explain to the homely graduate student who liked to think she related well to “her girls.” She had cornered me on an afternoon when I had just wanted to be able to slip quietly into my empty room, and sleep for a few hours.

“You know, Greer,” she started in a condescending tone. “Maybe you could make a bit more of an effort to be a part of the gang here on the first floor, instead of working against us. We’re all getting together tonight in the lounge to watch that new show,
Beverly Hills, 90210
. All the girls really love it. It’ll be fun.”

“No offense,” I started, without caring at all if I offended her. “But I really have no interest in anything but keeping my stuff here and coming and going as I please, and maintaining a good relationship with Gwen. I’ll make more of an effort to attend your ‘mandatory’ meetings, but that’s about all I can promise you.”

“It’s too bad,” she said, backing into the hallway, but obviously wanting the last word. “You really could be enjoying your college experience, instead of wasting it with your bad attitude.”

“I know,” I agreed with her, smiling and nodding. “I’m sure a night of vapid television would do wonders for my disposition, but I’ve actually got tickets to see
Tartuffe
at the Crowley Theater tonight, so you understand. Thanks for stopping by, though,” I said, closing the door on the open-mouthed intrusion.

“Oh my God!” Gwen exclaimed, taking me by surprise when she stepped out of her closet. I hadn’t known she was in the room. “I can’t believe you just told her off!”

“I didn’t tell her off,” I laughed, kicking my boots off and flopping down on my bed. I had a stack of mail to go through. “But honestly,
Beverly Hills 90210
? Isn’t that a show about high school kids?”

“Something like that, I think,” she answered absently. She flopped down dramatically on her own bed. Her long, skinny legs could not be contained on the small twin, and draped over the sides.

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” I asked her suspiciously. “I thought I was the only delinquent who lived here.”

“Chad and I broke up last night,” she answered.

“Oh no,” I said, looking up from my mail. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I could feel it coming, you know? He was getting more and more caught up with the frat and his brothers,” she said, reaching over to her small, purple cassette player. She pressed play, and into the room wailed a thin stream of Sinead O’Connor’s
Nothing Compares 2 U
.

“I’m sorry,” I said. We were not so close that we knew many details of each other’s lives, but had a good, easy-going friendship where conversation seemed to flow naturally when we hung out. “It’s his loss, you know. What an idiot.”

“He is an idiot,” she repeated, then stopped short. “He was a cute idiot, though. Ugh. I hate being single.”

“I don’t remember what it feels like to be single,” I said. “Maybe it’s not so bad. You don’t have to shave your legs every day, or worry about every little ounce you gain.”

“Yeah, but it’s also work to get asked out every weekend, and Christmas is coming, and then New Year’s,” she said, trailing off. I could hear the downward spiral in her voice. Thoughts of a nap were put away.

“Hey,” I said, putting my mail down on my desk and looking at Gwen. I could tell she had spent time crying before I had arrived. “I have John’s car out front, and he doesn’t need it back all day. Want to go to the mall and act like girls for a few hours?”

***

Back at Cloud 9 that night, after attending Tartuffe with Topher and then dropping him off at his new chippie’s dorm on the outskirts of campus, I presented John with the fruit of my afternoon’s shopping spree. At the bookstore, I had gotten him a stack of new, horribly written science fiction that he loved so much. I figured a geeky science fiction nerd was better than a creepy, pervert, porn hoarder. At Victoria’s Secret, I stocked up on my favorite pear-scented shower gels and body lotions, and even purchased a black satin chemise and matching robe that I thought John might like.

“These are great, thank you,” he said, thumbing through some of the titles. He settled on one and placed the rest in a stack next to his bed.

“I got a few more things,” I continued, walking to the bed where he was sprawling out and getting ready to read. I was wearing a new leather jacket over the chemise. He looked up briefly.

“Looks expensive,” he said, glancing quickly at the coat. “Lucky you.”

“Black, satiny things,” I continued, speaking coyly. I took the book out of his hand and tossed it to the floor.

My heart was thumping loudly. I was not yet fully comfortable with making the first move, especially so overtly, and while completely sober. But in my quest to discover the magic key that would unlock the world of sexual gratification, I had read an article in one of my magazines suggesting that if a woman takes more control over her sex life, the fruits of her labor would be well worth the effort. I figured it was worth a try. Now that I had his attention, what to do was still an uncomfortable struggle between my mind and my body.

“Come a little closer,” he said, grinning. He was certainly focused on me now.

“Should I turn the lights out?” I asked, pulling the jacket up on my shoulder a bit.

“No,” he said, sitting forward and pulling me by the lapels to the bed. He kissed me and unzipped the coat. It dropped to the floor by my bare feet.

Clear your mind and focus on the moment
, the article had said. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the kiss, on his hands finding their way under the nightgown, grazing the skin of my thighs, making my knees feel weak. The black satin felt cool and light on my skin in contrast to his warm and determined hands.

Communicate clearly with your partner. Don’t be afraid to be selfish in bed.
I summoned my courage at least half a dozen times before I finally found the audacity to suggest something new.

“Can we try me on top?” I whispered as he kissed my neck and began the usual routine. He stopped, looked at me, and smiled wickedly.

“Absolutely,” he answered, the fire back in his eyes. Before I could shift my weight, he was on his back and out of his jeans.

And I tried, I really did. As I moved over him, finding a rhythm that made him murmur and grab me tight and pull me in against him even harder, I tried to focus only on the sensation of him deep inside me, moving with me, responding to me. And it was there, right in front of me, like a pinprick of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Promising, teasing. It was there, waiting for me.

“Is that good,” he asked, breathy and broken, biting his lip, holding himself back.

And I was back. Back in the bedroom, 100 watt light bulb glaring next to the bed. Extra five pounds I had carelessly gained on display in the garish light. Random thuds and laughter from the roommates upstairs.

And it was gone. And instead of the satisfaction promised to me by the writers of
Glamour
, I was left with the same old feeling of being somehow broken. A failure at one of the most basic human experiences. And out of everything, the most frustrating thing of all was the knowledge I didn’t even know what the hell I was missing.

***

“Do you want to talk about it?” John asked me about five minutes later. Normally chatty after sex, I was quiet on this evening. It had been a while since I had made an active effort in bed, instead of phoning it in. I hated failing. I would have preferred not to play.

“Talk about what?” I asked defensively, sitting up to straighten my hair. I knew what he was getting at, but since I was already beating myself up, I did not really want any help. He sat up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Good God, you’re tense,” he said, kneading the muscles of my bare back. “You should be relaxed after sex. You’re wound tighter than a drum.”

“Sorry,” I offered weakly.

“For what?” he asked, his hands stopping on my shoulders. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He sighed heavily, and for the first time, I realized I wasn’t even very good at faking it.

“It’s been a year now, and I still don’t know how to satisfy you,” he stated bluntly. I was surprised by his honesty, and the urgency in his voice. I had always been so busy blaming myself, I had never thought of blaming him.

“It’s not you,” I said faintly. He snorted, and lay back down. His left hand rested on the small of my back. “Really, it’s not. I just don’t know...,” I faded off.

“You don’t know what?” he prompted.

“I don’t know what it is I’m even supposed to feel. I don’t know,” I searched my mind for what to say, how to rationalize the fear of that final let-go. That edge that was too overwhelming to get too close to.

“You’re thinking about it too much,” he offered. “You need to relax and try to enjoy yourself.”

“I do enjoy it,” I responded quickly. I looked at him, and I felt for him in that moment. How I wished I could just be normal between the sheets, if not for me, then for him. “But I start thinking, my mind starts racing, about everything and nothing at the same time. It’s like a war between my body and my brain, and my brain always wins.”

“I understand,” he said, propping himself up and kissing me gently on the lips. He turned over and fell asleep quickly.

And I knew he just didn’t understand at all.

Chapter Seventeen

              Thanksgiving came and went. Like all Bennett holidays, it was an affair without drama. As an adult, I have come to appreciate the simple peace of a small family that gets along, but as a young woman, I thought lack of drama meant lack of spirit. The four days passed by, and while I was thankful for the sleep and good food, I missed school and the unpredictability of my life.

             
In December, I began attending all of my classes during the week. It was getting down to finals time, and while I did not want to admit it, I was starting to stress about all the classes I had skipped. I began working on my writing portfolios, rewriting, editing, throwing away, everything I had been working on.

             
This meant that I was spending more time in my room at Bristol. I enjoyed the time I got to spend with Gwen, me pounding out pages on my Brother word processor, her reading market case studies and pouring over economics graphs. Topher would often work nights at the computer cluster, then head over afterward. The three of us would get a pizza and take a break from class work.