Falling in Love (3 page)

There were brief moments of relief from the throbbing beat, during which my dance partner told me his name and chatted warmly about himself. I immediately forgot his name and didn’t think it was only because of the drinking. I didn’t want to remember his name. I didn’t want to remember my name. I knocked back another shot.

He grabbed my shoulders and glanced down my low-cut dress, observing, “You are one beautiful babe.”

I smiled.

He suggested, “What say we go for a walk and cool off?”

I nodded.

We stumbled outside into the dimly-lit parking lot and he led me toward his pickup, saying, “What say we take a little ride to someplace a bit quieter?” He smiled wickedly. “Like my place.”

We got into his truck and he pulled me close to him, giving me a wet, boozy kiss. He started the engine but I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. I didn’t want anything but to get rid of the horrible urge inside of me as quickly as possible. I began unzipping his pants.

“Hey, Honey? I don’t live that far. Jesus, you’re in a hurry.”

I was, and within a minute I had him out of his pants and was working on him. As soon as he was hard, I flung off my panties and got on top of him. But I never gave him one thought. I was imagining myself making love to Paul, on our honeymoon somewhere on some Caribbean Island. Even though it seemed crazy, this was what I thinking, that I was making love to Paul.

I rushed toward a climax, leaving him far behind and he let me know it, complaining, “Slow down a little, will you, Honey? I think I had a few too many beers.”

I went faster until finally that horrible urge was released.

“I’m almost there, Honey,” he was saying.

But I was overcome with revulsion, now stone-cold sober and humiliated, hating myself.

“I’ve got to go,” I said, jumping off him.

“What?”

I opened the door and rushed out, trying to smooth out my dress. He jumped out after me, grabbing at his pants with one hand and holding up my panties with the other.

“Hey, what about me?” he protested, adding, “You forgot these!” He threw the panties at me as I jumped into my car, locking the doors. But he didn’t pursue me. Instead he wheeled around toward the truck, saying, “Wham, bam. Thank you, Ma’am.”

As I shot away, I saw him slap his side, letting go of his pants, which dropped to his ankles and he tripped, falling back into his pickup.

I sped all the way back to Oak Grove, as if somehow that might put what I’d done behind me faster. But instead, I carried it with me, knowing that my transgression was so stupid, that Arlene was sure to tell Paul and I would have to come up with some lie. I hated having to lie to Paul, and I hated myself and my life.

When I got to Arlene’s house, I rushed up the stairs. As I passed by her bedroom, I saw her light go on. I rushed into my room and closed the door. She didn’t come in after me.

I laid down on the bed and tried to sleep but instead just tossed and turned, wondering how I was going to face Arlene and what I was going to say to Paul.

I finally drifted off and it seemed like I’d only been asleep for a few minutes when Arlene knocked on my door without saying a word. “I’m awake,” I said, groggily.

I showered, trying futilely to wash off the shame. Then I put on a prim black dress and went down to face Arlene. I wanted to talk to her before Paul arrived, hoping to somehow put last night behind us. I planned to tell her that I went out for a pack of cigarettes and got lost and that was why it took me long.

But when I got down to the kitchen, she had coffee, toast and eggs on the table for me and never said a word. Not one word. This was the same woman who never seemed to stop talking the night before. Now she was coldly silent as she watched a Sunday morning news show on a small TV on the counter.

When a commercial came on, I said feebly, “Sorry about waking you last night. I went out to get a pack of cigarettes and got lost. That was why I took so long.” My voice was shaky.

Arlene gave out a low groan but didn’t reply. After awhile, Paul knocked on the front door, let himself in and was all smiles.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said brightly.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Morning,” uttered Arlene, her first word of the day.

Paul joined us for a cup of coffee. He did most of the talking, while Arlene and I were mostly silent. Then we left for church.

Since Paul sang in the choir, he sat at the side of the altar while Arlene and I sat together in the third pew. During the service, her elbow accidentally brushed against me and, as if I were a leper, she actually moved a foot away from me crowding the others in the pew. If Paul noticed it, he didn’t say anything and kept giving me smiles during and between hymns.

After the service, Paul was still all smiles as we walked out of church. He greeted the Reverend and several parishioners. As we walked down the steps, he glanced at Aunt Arlene and said, “I think we have a new convert.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” she retorted. It was the first complete sentence she had uttered since the night before. Paul ignored her comment and asked me, “How would you like to see the most beautiful spot in the county?”

He dropped off Aunt Arlene and me with instructions for me to change into casual clothes. Afraid to ask Arlene for anything, including the use of her iron, I put on my least wrinkled top and shorts.

An hour later, Paul returned bearing a lunch basket and drove me to a narrow tree-lined lane. He parked and then led me down a dirt path through a dense thicket of trees of various shades of green until they opened onto a lovely clearing with a sandy beach lining the crystal blue water of Serene Lake that glinted with specks of bright sunlight. I admired the breathtaking surroundings as Paul set down the basket and spread out a blanket.

“Nice, huh?”

“Very. It’s beautiful.”

“I just bought the ten acres all around us. I’m building a dream house here, for me,” he glanced at me, “and someone I love.”

“That sounds very nice,” I said, smiling.

Paul set down the basket. “I should have brought my plans. I did them myself. But this will be more fun. Come with me.”

Paul took my hand and led me back toward the trees, until he stopped and turned around. “What the heck,” he said, “just for fun.” He picked me up and carried me for a big step before setting me down. “We just crossed the front door’s threshold. Actually, it’s probably the back door since I think the front door should be facing the water.”

Paul walked me through his imaginary house pointing out the various first-floor rooms while noting that the house would be very wide so that almost every room would have a wall of windows facing the water. He then stepped high, leading me up imaginary stairs and with a wink, he showed me the future master bedroom, as well as three other bedrooms “for the children” before taking me back down stairs and out to the future front porch nearly at the water’s edge.

“So what do you think?” he asked like a boy who had just shown off a new toy.

“It seems lovely.”

“Think you’d like to live here?”

“Who wouldn’t?” I admitted.

Paul smiled and then spread out a blanket on the future front porch, opened a bottle of expensive-looking wine and poured me a glass. It quickly made me light-headed, partly due to my lack of sleep but also due to the situation. Paul lay down on the blanket and motioned for me to lie next to him. My arm brushed against his and his warmth felt intoxicating.

Paul offered a toast. “To beautiful places,” he looked at me again, “and to beautiful people.”

He spread out hors d’oeuvres. He had prepared quite a feast.

He sipped his wine. “So tell me about yourself.”

“There isn’t much to tell. What do you want to know?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

“Everything. Your favorite movie, when you lost your virginity, what your—”

“—What?” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Do you always ask that question to women you’ve known for one day?”

“Never,” he admitted.

“You should keep it that way.”

“I’ll tell you,” Paul said.

“Like I want to know?”

“Don’t you?”

I wanted to say that I thought it wasn’t any of my business and vice versa but I hesitated too long and Paul said, “Judy Hastings, after the senior prom when we were both blasted. We’d waited three years for it and when it ended up being a backseat bang, we were both so embarrassed, we never spoke again.” He looked silently down toward the ground and then sipped his wine.

“That’s sad,” I said.

“The worst part is that I found out later she wasn’t even a virgin. She’d lost it the summer before to some camp counselor.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then I was engaged in law school,” he went on. “We were going to start a practice together and live happily ever after, until I dropped by her apartment and found her in bed with our Intellectual Properties professor.”

He spread pâté on a cracker and handed it to me, brushing against my arm. “I always thought I was unlucky with women.” His eyes met mine. “Now I think I just hadn’t met the right one.”

I smiled weakly. I wanted desperately to be the right woman for him.

Paul laughed. “Okay, I bore my soul. Tell me about your loves.” He held up his hands. “You don’t have to discuss consummation. Who was first?”

“My uncle.”

“What?”

“I was eight.”

Paul laughed. “Not some childish crush. Who was your first
real
love?”

“Soccer,” I replied. “I loved soccer more than anything.”

Paul shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that the greatest love of your life was a sport?”

I nodded. “I really loved it.”

Paul laughed. “You’re kidding me, right?”

I laughed, too. “Okay, I loved being the fastest player on the field, being the top scorer, being the best. I loved being the star. Does that make sense?”

Paul didn’t look convinced but did mention, “I guess I wasn’t a star but I was our high school’s top defensive player.”

“I only played in junior high,” I admitted. “They wouldn’t let me play in high school.”

Paul glanced at me. “Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sherry Johnson,” he said softly, “woman of mystery.” Paul didn’t press it. “One day, I guess we will just have to see how good you are, Star, but,” he good-naturedly flicked his finger across my nose, as if scolding me, “now, don’t change the subject.”

I glanced down at the shades of grass in the speckled sunlight. I admitted, “I’m not sure I even know what love is.”

Paul smiled at me, flashing his perfect teeth. “If that were true, then you could be in love with me right now and not know it.”

I shrugged. “I suppose.”

Paul refilled our wine glasses and glanced around. “I think we need some scientific procedure.” He plucked a daisy and began pulling off the petals. “She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.” He kept going until he was down to “She loves me not” but he only had two petals left. Paul ripped them both off, crying triumphantly, “She loves me!”

He leaned over and kissed me. His embrace lowered me backward onto the blanket as he kept our lips locked. Paul slid his hand to the side of my breast. I wanted so badly for him to take me right there. Amidst the beauty of that lakeside, I wanted him to make beautiful love to me. But I was worried about what he would think of me. Instead, my arm locked his hand at my side. “Let’s wait,” I said.

Paul whispered, “For as long as you want.”

Instead we spent the afternoon, enjoying the wonderful lunch of cheeses, fruits, French bread, local delicacies and a wonderful crème brulee that Paul claimed he had prepared himself. We fed each other grapes and strawberries, held hands and kissed chastely like school children. Then we walked along the lake and Paul told me of the history of Serene Lake.

After admiring a breathtaking sunset that seemed to shoot flames across the sky, Paul took me to his favorite restaurant, Pete’s Takeout Pizza, a small dive near the beach. The place only had one eat-in table in the corner that we crowded into it and feasted on Pete’s Poppin’ Toppin’s, which was about three inches of everything that seemed possible to put on a pizza as well as some things that seemed impossible. It was delicious.

By the time that Paul finally brought me back to Arlene’s, promising to pick me up at eight sharp for my first day of work, I was thoroughly and completely in love with him.

My bliss soon ended when I went inside and had to face Arlene. She was in the parlor, ironing a blouse and didn’t acknowledge my presence. “Good evening,” I said, trying very hard to sound pleasant.

Arlene didn’t answer.

“I wanted to apologize about last night,” I said. “I got lost. That’s why I got home so late.”

Arlene gave me a loathing look. “Sure you did.”

“Thanks for not mentioning it to Paul.”

She returned to her ironing. “He wouldn’t listen anyway.”