Decadence (20 page)

The world disappeared. Hands bound, legs tied, they tortured me.

Soon Anaïs slid the scarf away from my eyes. She showed me her strap-on, oils, and butt plugs. I nodded, gave consent. I should've been nervous, scared, but I trusted her. I would be her mermaid. Tonight, as Chris pleased his wife, I would be Anaïs's nymph. She wanted to take me as if she were a man and at the same time I would give her husband oral gratification. I consented. Her desire was to take me from behind while I sucked her husband. To take me from behind while her husband took her from behind, to take me vaginally as he took her anally. She longed for me to take her from behind, become the woman releasing her masculine energy, and move my hips and massage every wall of her yoni, give her the full faux lingam as she sucked her husband and made him come. She said all of that in the softest voice, a tone that asked permission. She said it all in Spanish. Vulgar things always sounded better when asked with an accent.

I asked, “Can you make me come all night? Tame me tonight.”

“We can. We can both fuck you at the same time.”

The abnormal. She offered me the abnormal, and I needed the abnormal to get Bret out of my system, Prada out of my head, and Chris, he needed to be exfoliated from my heart for good.

I gave Anaïs my permission to please me and live her sexual dreams, to use her toys and husband and make fantasies come true, to make my back arch as I vanished from this world over and over.

Chris. Siobhán. I heard them. I felt their energy. Saw them on the screen. My mouth became the shape of the letter
O
and my eyes filled with tears. Pile driver. Siobhán was practically on her head, her knees pulled up to her face. Chris had sat on her and entered her from above. He was pile-driving her. Over and over and over. He did her as he had done me in college, intruded her as he had intruded me, forced himself inside of her as deep as he could. The sense of sight. The sense of sound. No sense of taste or feel, no sense of smell, not from them. Two-fifths of the senses were stimulated by Chris, the other three-fifths by Anaïs and her husband. But I did remember those three senses when they were from Chris. They were part of my past, part of my sense memory, part of me. On my tongue raised his taste, in my nostrils his aroma, at the tips of my fingers, along my skin, along every inch of my flesh, inside and out, was the memory of how he had felt. Siobhán came as I came. We came at the same time. We both sounded wild. We both had so much anger and envy inside of us. She stopped seconds after I stopped. But her concert didn't end. Anaïs and her husband took me the same way I had been taken during a summer in North Carolina, when his journey was only beginning. I could not escape my past. I turned my head, saw the screen beyond the parade of Watchers, the crowd of curious, the gaggle of libertines. Chris made a deep guttural sound, the sensual noise of exertion, of struggling to maintain control. He was fucking Siobhán with a glass dildo while their unicorn deep-throated his cock. A large crowd of Watchers was at their throne. They all wore masks. Minutes passed with me being pleased by my lovers. Chris's excitable murmurs, familiar moans, his sounds of submission and weakness, his pre-come grunts told me that he was beyond the point of no return and was being sucked into the mouth of orgasm. Siobhán wanted me to hear him come. His orgasmic sound rose and spread. As did mine. I wanted them to hear me living in a state of bliss. Our operatic moans danced. Watchers applauded for Chris, his wife, and their lover. Not long after, Watchers applauded for my lovers and me.

That sonofabitch Chris
had sent me his telephone number again and again and again and a-fucking-gain. Since we were members of the same club, I told myself that I was responding out of courtesy. I told him that it was okay to text. No calls. I didn't want to hear his voice. Not ever again. Then he had insisted that I call him. So here we were. The sea-green eyes of my past stared into my unfriendly face. We used FaceTime, the cousin to Skype, the big brother to texting and e-mailing.

In my most irritated voice I said, “I'm writing so make it quick.”

“So brusque.”

“Exactly what did you want, Mr. Alleyne?”

He paused and in a kind tone he whispered, “Long time since we actually had a conversation.”

“Speak. Get to the point.”

After another pregnant pause he shrugged. “Have no idea where to begin. A lot was in my mind, on the tip of my tongue, and now that I'm sitting here looking at you, I have no idea where to start.”

“Say what you need to say so we can be done with it.”

And there we were, thanks to technology, many miles apart, yet face-to-face. I wanted to flee this moment. But I would never run from anyone again. I studied his face. His chin. His nose. His forehead. His lips. His eyes. I studied him as if he were a photograph that I had just removed from an old dusty box. It was not what I had expected. When a man came inside of you, he never left. I had heard that many times. I had never truly believed that. Not until I sat and stared at him. We had not been alone, not since back in the day. Despite that ending, that horrible ending, I felt our intimate energy, even in this setting.

We said things about Decadence, again keeping the conversation safe as we spoke of the architecture of the establishment, the art, the sculpture, and then the Sinner's Bible that greeted all upon entry.

He said, “The Bible is nothing more than an astrotheological literary hybrid.”

“Nice to know that even though you cut your locks, some things haven't changed.”

He laughed.

I said, “Just to think I dated and fell in love with an Aquarius.”

“And once again, as I have stated before and will again and again, anyone who wants to use celestial placements in order to explain the fate and behavior and destiny of people is a moron. No scientific evidence has ever been found to support astrology's claims.”

“Aquarius and Gemini. That's what I get.”

“I don't believe in astrology or any superstitions invented by man, but in this case, even with its falsities, I should've heeded that arrangement and all of the warnings that have precluded its union.”

I understood his rambling, his going back to that familiar place, to that conversation. He was nervous. Our foundation was built on such conversations. And in that moment, in my mind, I was in a long-ago place, a faraway place, a place before the pain that interrupted pleasure.

I laughed a little. Rubbed my neck. My feet bounced. I exhaled.

He said, “The thing between you and Rigoberto didn't work out.”

“Why would you think that it would?”

“Just saying.”

“Have you seen your best friend since Hampton?”

“He's not my best friend, not any longer.”

“Have you heard from him since . . . since your fight?”

“Not at all. You?”

“Not at all.”

“All these years I had imagined that it had somehow worked out.”

“Obviously not. Not the way it did between you and Siobhán. I was crazy for you. Rigoberto and I never had a chance at a real relationship. He was just being a good friend when I needed one.”

“Siobhán was surprised to see you.”

“Likewise.”

“Very surprised.”

“The first time she looked right in my face and pretended that she didn't recognize me.”

“She didn't have her contacts in.”

“Sure. Right. Whatever. I was two feet away.”

“The makeup, the high heels, the late-night costume that all the women wore. I didn't recognize you in that extreme makeup. I was practically standing in front of you and I wasn't sure that was you. She had had a couple of drinks and you were the last person on her mind.”

“I would've recognized her if she had been dissected into a hundred pieces, sent through a Jack LaLanne power juicer, run through a crisscross shredder, and thrown into the James River.”

“I wasn't sure that was you until I heard you moan. That was when I knew it was you. I'll never forget that sound. Delicate. Sweet.”

“My moans.”

“I don't recall seeing you in more than sweats back in the day. Big change.”

“Well, if you must know, my collegiate attire, that is still what I wear most days. I work at home so I look like I do now most of the time, keep my hair pulled back into a ponytail, plain and simple.”

“It's down your back now. Looks very appealing.”

“I stopped cutting it a long time ago.”

“It looks nice. You look really good. Amazing, actually.”

“Can't believe that you chopped off your locks.”

“They were down to my butt.”

“Why did you cut them?”

“They had become pretty heavy, especially when wet.”

“You had the most amazing locks ever.”

“This is funny. My hair is shorter. Your hair is longer.”

“As it should be on a man and a woman, let society tell it.”

We stopped talking for a while. Had a hard time looking at each other. A heaviness rose up inside of me. My throat felt tight.

I found my center, took deep breaths, found control, and I stared at his clean-shaven face, so professional, that face of the Mensa and former football player, that look that had changed without asking for my permission, as I had evolved without needing his consent.

I walked around and asked, “How's marriage? Seriously. Not being facetious. I mean besides the obvious fun, besides the interesting sex. How are things with you and Siobhán?”

“All marriages are happy at the start.”

“I heard that some are even good until after the honeymoon.”

“You and that mouth.”

“There are no absolutes in this world. You were a physics genius. You know about absolutes.”

“True. Most are happy at the start. If they would end right at the I dos, most would probably be perfect.”

“But?”

“Maybe it's the living together that causes the problems. Married people should be required to have separate residences. Would be a much better world if husbands and wives didn't cohabitate.”

“That's called dating.”

“And anything less than separate-but-equal habitations is called insanity.”

“Wow. I guess that means that you and I never would have . . . nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing. That would have been off base, out of line.”

“What?”

“You've never been one to complain. But that was a few years ago. And I guess when you view a person from inside of a relationship, with the eyes and heart of love, they are colored by your emotions.”

“Maybe I have changed. I'm older. Have dealt with life issues. And marriage changes us all.”

“The years change us. Awaken us. So far as marriage and its side effects, good or bad, I wouldn't know. Not sure if that is in my cards.”

“Marriage will make a deaf man grouse in sign language.”

I asked, “Where are you living?”

“Miami. Fisher Island.”

“So, you're one of Oprah's neighbors.”

“She sold her property. Where are you located these days?”

I said, “Outside of Atlanta in the suburbs.”

“There are ten or eleven cities in the US named Atlanta.”

“But there is only one that counts.”

“So you're a three-hour drive from the club.”

“Closer to four, traffic permitting.”

“People fly into Charlotte, then drive the hour or so to get there.”

“You and Siobhán?”

“That's what we do. Fly in, then take a limo.”

“Impressive.”

Chris said, “I imagined that you were back in Los Angeles hanging with the movie stars, maybe working for your mother.”

“Will be going back that way soon. Just wrapped up a big project and my mother was the coproducer. She's trying to force my hand and make me a version of her. But I am resisting. Every day I resist.”

“Your mother? How is Miss Hazel Tamana Bijou-Wilson doing?”

“She dropped the Wilson.”

“Right, right. After the divorce. She's doing okay?”

“She's great.”

“You're home in Atlanta now?”

“Pardon the mess. Just moved. No time to unpack.”

“Did you just step inside of an elevator?”

I nodded. “Heading down to the kitchen.”

“Looks like you're in a brownstone in New York.”

“Your home looks stunning as well. Very, very posh.”

“My wife put a lot of money into the place.”

“The years have been kind to her. She hasn't gained any weight.”

“Not as kind as the years have been to you. You actually look younger. And you're smaller than you were when . . . at Hampton.”

“You and your wife. So much applause. She looked good nude, on her back, your lingam inside of her mouth, and draped in jewels.”

There was no reply from him.

I opened my refrigerator, poured a short glass of juice, then rode the elevator back to the top level. The top level wrapped around, U-shaped. On the far side of the U was where I had an EFX machine, P90X CDs in front of a thirty-two-inch television, free weights, and a treadmill. The treadmill was folded up. I let it down, then placed the iPad on the lip in front of the controls and started a slow jog. Too much anxiety was inside of me. I had to run, had to get this energy out of me.

“You're working out. I mean you're still working out.”

“I am. Sometimes two or three times a day. Short runs. Sit-ups. Push-ups. If I'm restless in the middle of the night, I will run awhile.”

“You're definitely smaller. You're thinner.”

“You're saying that I was fat in college?”

“You had a little more junk in the trunk.”

“Well if my ass was spreading, it was because of you.”

“Because of me?”

“Dick does a body good. Dick makes a woman fill out.”

He laughed.

I laughed too.

We shared a laugh.

My cellular buzzed. I knew the ringtone. Prada was calling. He had earned his own ringtone. That told me something. It was like he had a drawer inside of my home. I didn't answer.

I ran.

Chris stared at me.

We talked as if nothing bad had ever happened. I didn't mention Siobhán again and he didn't mention Rigoberto anymore. His former best friend. As Siobhán had been my former best friend.

He said, “You were at Decadence with someone?”

“No. I was alone. I go alone.”

“You're not married?”

With a small towel I wiped sweat away from my face. “Not married. Only one person in this conversation is wearing a ring. There is no tan line on my ring finger from removing the truth.”

“Divorced?”

“Never married.”

“Betrothed?”

“Nope and never have been and don't see being betrothed in my immediate future. I said that a couple of minutes ago. Pay attention.”

“Kids?”

I gave him a face that told him he had lost his mind.

I said, “When you heard me say that I had never married, you knew the answer to that.”

“Life leads us often not down the road of our choosing.”

“True. We do have to adapt to new circumstances all of the time.”

“I thought you'd have a family and some man would be taking care of you by now.”

“I take care of myself. Other than my mortgage company, I am indebted to no man.”

“You've been on my mind. Actually, hardly a day passes when I don't think of you.”

“Wish I could say the same. Never expected to see you again before Judgment Day. Thought that I would be in that short line going north and look over and see you in that long line going south.”

He nodded. “Strange the way we ran into each other.”

I whispered, “You watched me. Jesus. You watched me have sex.”

“I did.”

“Pervert.”

“You were damn good.”

I pushed stop on the controls and the treadmill slowed.

I said, “Not as good as you and Siobhán. She was very creative.”

“You were someone else, not the girl from college.”

“I'm still that same girl. Inside, somewhere inside I still am.”

“You watched me too.”

“I sure did. As perverted as that was, I did. Your wife . . . she's awesome. The crowd loved her cute circus tricks. Good to see those gymnastic and cheerleading skills came in handy later on in life.”

Then we shared another earnest laugh. A deep, deep belly laugh. A laugh of the ridiculous. I grabbed another towel and wiped sweat away from my face, my neck. Chris and I stared at each other a moment.

He said, “That was sexy.”

“What?”

“Watching you just now. The way you were breathing. The way you ran.”

“Chris.”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Nia. Not ‘babe.'”

“Yeah, Nia.”

“This isn't Decadence. But there should be rules.”

He nodded.

Chris said, “I have to leave soon.”

“Same here. I need to shower and get dressed.”

“Feel free to keep FaceTime going while you take your shower.”

“Not gonna happen. Nice chatting. Take it easy, Chris.”

“Nia.”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“I've seen it all before.”

“Smart and intelligent one moment, then so childish the next.”

“I want to watch you. I want to masturbate and watch you.”