Getting Even (13 page)
Claudia
W
hen Adam’s dick is in my mouth and it’s not getting hard, that’s a sure sign that something’s wrong.
But I forge ahead, working my tongue in circles around the tip of his shaft while I gently massage his testicles.
“Mmm,” I moan. “I
love
your cock.” I take it completely in my mouth and try to coax it into erection. And I continue to moan. Adam loves it when I moan.
But he’s not getting hard. Disappointment washing over me, I look up at him from the floor of his SUV’s back seat. I’m cramped here, and one of my knees is at an awkward angle. Considering he’s the one who wanted to pull off the road for a blow job, you’d think he could make an effort to enjoy this.
“Adam, sweetheart—what is it?” I ease my body onto the seat beside him.
Adam sighs long and hard and I can’t help but look at him with concern. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s tense, on edge. And he won’t meet my eyes.
“I’m hungry,” he tells me as he does up his pants. “Let’s head to the restaurant.”
“That’s it? You’re hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I don’t think I can eat anything else. I’m still stuffed from lunch.”
“Then you can watch me eat.”
As I start to reach for Adam’s face, he opens the car door. He heads out without so much as a backward glance at me.
I straighten my clothes and also get out of the back seat. A blast of hot air hits me. It’s after six in the evening, and still the weather is like an oven. I hope the heat wave that’s gripping Atlanta ends before the wedding.
Though Adam and I are parked near the very back of the parking lot outside of JCPenney, I do a sweep of the Cobb County Mall’s parking lot nonetheless. I don’t see any curious eyes looking our way, wondering why Adam and I are climbing out of the back seat.
I settle beside Adam. He’s quiet all the way to the Cheesecake Factory. He does take my hand, though, which makes me feel marginally better.
Once we’re seated at a booth in the restaurant, I scoot my butt closer to him and reach for his leg under the table. That’s sure to warm his mood.
He studies the menu. “What are you gonna have?”
“I haven’t even looked at the menu yet.” I squeeze Adam’s leg. “Sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Like I said, I’m hungry.”
Maybe I should talk about the wedding. After all, there are only three more weeks until the big day. “The florist sent a video of the roses he’ll be shipping from France. Adam, I’ve never seen such beautiful flowers.” I admit, I’ve gone all out with the flower arrangements. The price tag is over thirty thousand dollars. “Hey, what are you doing on Thursday? I told my cousin that we’d do a conference call with him regarding the songs we’d like Babyface to sing. He can pretty much do what he wants, as far as I’m concerned, but if we have any favorites and a time we’d like to hear them—like the first dance, or whatever—”
Adam groans and puts the menu down. “Can’t we spend some time hanging out and not talk about the wedding? It feels like that’s all we ever do.”
“It’s in
three weeks,
Adam. Of course we have to talk about it.”
He looks around anxiously, like he’s hoping to see the waiter. “Why don’t you talk to your cousin. Whatever songs you want will be fine with me.”
“I’d like your input.”
“Why? I’ll have to go with what you want anyway.”
That floors me—until I realize it’s the stress talking. “Hey.” I place my fingers on his chin and turn his face toward me. “I think I know what you’re saying. Everything’s about the wedding, it’s like we’ve forgotten about us. But we’re almost there, sweetie. We’re so close. Our life will be normal again as soon as the wedding’s over.”
The waiter arrives. As he fills our water glasses he asks if we want to order drinks.
“I’d like—”
“Actually,” Adam interjects. “Give us a few more minutes.”
My stomach flutters. There’s something wrong with Adam’s tone. He sounds…I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Is something going on, Adam? Something you’re keeping from me?”
“Yeah,” he answers softly, “I guess you could say that.”
I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.
“I just feel,” he goes on, “like things aren’t right.”
“What’s not right?”
But he doesn’t say anything, and he won’t look at me, either. I glance around the restaurant—and see nothing but happy people at the tables. Yet there’s no joy at my table and I don’t know why.
“If I did something, tell me.”
“It’s everything,” he answers, still not looking at me. “The wedding. Us.”
A weird chill brushes my nape. “Adam, look at me.”
It takes a good few seconds, but he finally lifts his head and meets my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Honest to God, I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. I reach for his hand. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I can’t marry you, Claudia.”
My stomach lurches painfully and the next moment, my hands start to tremble. Not just my hands, but my whole body.
God help me, this can’t be true.
I stare at Adam for what seems like an eternity, waiting for a grin to explode on his face so I can smack him and tell him he’s a horrible jokester. But there’s no grin. Nothing but a firm set of lips and undeniable regret in his eyes.
And now I understand why Adam wanted to come here even though I told him I wasn’t hungry. He wants to end our engagement in a public place so that I won’t lose my cool.
“Tell me you didn’t say what it sounded like you said.”
“I’m not ready,” he continues.
“Not ready?” I repeat, flabbergasted. “We’ve been dating for four years.”
“I know…and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I sound like a pathetic broken record.
“I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Something registers in my brain. The reality that this isn’t a bad dream. “Are you saying you don’t want to marry me in three weeks, or that you don’t want to marry me at all?”
“I’m not ready to get married,” is Adam’s evasive answer.
Okay, now I start to panic. Thirty thousand dollars’ worth of flowers are being shipped in from Europe for our wedding. Babyface is going to perform especially for us. Adam can’t fall apart on me, not now.
“Adam, what you’re going through is perfectly normal. It’s called cold feet. This is going to be the biggest day of our lives. Of course you’re nervous.” I reach for his hand. “I am, too. But before we know it, all the craziness will be over.”
“You don’t understand.”
There’s a quiet strength to Adam’s words, the kind that make me fear the absolute worst.
“Is this about last night? Because I didn’t want to go back to that swingers’ club?”
“It’s about us. About the fact that we’re not working.”
“Since fucking when?” My voice rises with each word.
“Please calm down.”
“You expect me to calm down!”
Adam’s gaze flits around the restaurant. “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. But I had to say something…You don’t feel the same way—like we’re rushing things?”
“How on earth can you ask me that? One minute, I’m talking to you about the roses coming from France, and now you ask if I don’t think we’re rushing things?”
“Fine, maybe it’s me. But I just feel…We’re not always on the same page. Like last night.”
“So this
is
about that swingers’ club.”
The waiter appears again. Adam impatiently waves him away.
“I’m trying to be fair to you. If we’re incompatible now, getting married won’t make things better.”
Honestly, if you told me that Adam had suddenly morphed into Michael Jackson, I wouldn’t be more surprised than I am right now. I feel like I’m on another planet, that Adam is talking to me in Chinese.
“You don’t want to marry me?” I ask. I need a straight answer. I need to understand.
“No.”
“Because we’re not on the same page sexually?”
Adam shrugs, looks away.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. When it comes to sex, what
haven’t
we done? And you think we’re not
compatible?
”
A waitress’s eyes bulge as she strolls by our table with food.
My anger starts to dissipate, and now sadness grips me. It’s just cold feet. It’s got to be cold feet. That’s what Lishelle said. That’s what makes sense. Because what Adam’s saying right now makes no sense at all.
Adam and I barely argue. And for God’s sake, I’ve done practically everything he’s ever wanted me to do when it comes to sex. We are soul mates. He’s told me so on more than one occasion.
I force myself to calm down. “I’m not sure why you’re saying this—”
“Because I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“But how can you say that?” I retort, my cool veneer cracking. “We’ve been together for so long. We’re in love.”
Again, Adam looks away. My God, he can’t even tell me he still loves me? My heart drops. I suddenly feel so unsure of myself, and it’s an awful feeling.
“Adam?” I begin with hesitation. “We
are
in love, aren’t we? You do love me, don’t you?”
Adam swallows. “You know I love you.”
I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath until all my breath leaves me in a rush. “Thank God. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
When Adam meets my eyes, it’s clear his expression is tortured. I want to wrap my arms around him and squeeze away all his insecurities.
“As long as you love me, we’ll get through whatever you’re going through.”
“I love you, Claudia. But I’m not
in
love with you.” A beat passes. “I’m sorry.”
My breath nearly chokes me. A chill slithers down my spine. My hands start to shake.
“What did you say?” I ask, fully expecting him to verify for me that my hearing is suspect.
The waiter cautiously approaches the table. He’s smiling way too brightly for me to handle, and I glare at him. He whirls right around on his heel and disappears.
“I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“You’re not in love with me?” I was confused before, but now anger is bubbling inside me.
Adam shakes his head.
“And you pick
now
to tell me. Three weeks before our wedding?”
“I’m sorry,” Adam repeats.
Then I do something I have never done in my life. I take my glass of water and dump it into Adam’s lap.
The next second, I burst into tears. I grab the Christian Dior purse he gave me as a present and I run for the door. My heart thunders so loudly, I can’t hear any outside sound.
But I feel people’s stares. I know they’re all wondering what’s going on.
They have no clue that what took four years to build, Adam has just destroyed.
Annelise
H
anging out with Claudia and the fourteen women in the bridal party this afternoon definitely helped boost my spirits. I’ve been in a funk all week because Charles has been acting even more distant than ever—if that’s possible. He’s totally not interested in going to a couples’ retreat at any spa with me, no matter how many Web site brochures I print for him showing that there are no raunchy pictures of girls on their knees looking sex-starved.
He spent half the week out of town—another trip he told me about last minute. And the days he was here, he came home late from the office, ate his dinner quietly, then went to bed.
I can take only so much of living with him as if I’m his sister.
So today I resolved to put him and our problems out of my mind, hang out with the girls and have a good time. Trying to please him and get him in the mood is pointless.
And I did have a good time. In fact, I can’t remember having this much fun in so long. Everyone had a great time—thanks in part to the pitchers of Island Love, the special drink Claudia and Adam personally created.
I still can’t get over how great I looked in my dress! Forget all the magazines’ advice about losing weight. There’s nothing like the stress diet. I’ve lost probably seven pounds in the last few weeks.
By the time the afternoon fitting-slash-cocktail hour was over, I wasn’t ready to head home. I approached Lishelle, hoping she’d be in the mood to hang out at the mall with me, something we haven’t done together in a while. “Hey, Lishelle,” I said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Want to do something—maybe find a salon and get our toes painted?”
“Sorry, sweetie, but Glenn’s still at my place and I’ve got to get back to him. He’s not in town for much longer.”
I then tried Claudia, who at the time was seeing the various women out. “Oh, I wish. But Adam has been so patient waiting for me to finish with this fitting, and he wants us to go for dinner or something. Not that I can eat any more—especially if I hope to fit in my dress!”
Screw it, I decided. I can go out by myself, can’t I? So instead of heading home, I headed to the mall to shop. What’s the point in spending another loveless evening with Charles?
“Find everything you were looking for today?” a young salesclerk asks me as I place an assortment of bras and panties on the countertop.
“Oh, I’d say so.” I’ve picked up lacy bras and push-up bras as if I’m a lingerie model. Not to mention all the thongs I never thought I’d like wearing. But I do feel sexier in sexy clothes, even if I’m not getting laid.
“Do you have our Victoria’s Secret credit card?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Would you like to apply for one?”
I consider it. “No, not today.” My gaze wanders to the display of nail polish on the counter. “Oh, look at all these fabulous colors.”
I reach for a muted tan color—the typical color I like to wear, but I stop myself before picking it up. I don’t want Plain Jane tan today. I want something vibrant. Something sexy to match all the stuff I’m buying. The kind of polish that makes a man notice your feet.
Red.
I pick up a bottle that looks like the shade of a fire engine, and I add it to my pile.
And then something makes me turn.
I glance over my shoulder. There’s a line of women behind me, some looking impatient. Nothing out of the ordinary. So why do I feel…what, exactly?
Like someone is watching me.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the clerk. Beside her, another woman opens up a cash register, and I hear audible relief as women behind me change lines.
“That comes to four hundred and sixty-three dollars and twenty-eight cents,” the clerk announces.
I pass her my Platinum American Express card, the one Charles opened for me under his account, and settle the bill.
As I head out of the store, I feel that weird sensation again, like eyes are on me. But once again, I see nothing out of the ordinary.
Maybe I’m suffering from a bad case of wishful thinking.
Wishing I’d bump into Dominic.
“Wow,” Charles says when I walk into the house with my four Victoria’s Secret bags. “You’ve been busy.”
“I decided to do a little shopping,” I say proudly.
“I can see that.”
“And sorry—I didn’t get to make any dinner. I wasn’t sure you’d be around anyway, and I knew I was going to eat at Claudia’s.”
“That’s fine,” Charles tells me. He’s lounging on the sofa this evening, like he’s actually got free time. “I’ll find something to eat. Or order a pizza.”
“Great.”
I take my bags and head up the stairs. I’m going for the I-could-care-less-if-you’re-not-fucking-me tone. No matter how much it hurts, begging him to touch me and being rejected hurts more.
There’s still a sway to my hips as I make my way up the stairs, though—just in case Charles is looking.
In the bedroom, I’m putting the contents of my bags on the bed when the phone rings. I snatch up the receiver.
“Hello?”
There’s a brief pause before I hear, “Annelise, hello. It’s Marsha. Marsha Hindenberg. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I hear a click on the line, then, “Hello?”
“Oh, Charles. It’s Marsha.”
“I got it, Annelise.”
“Sure. Take care, Marsha.”
I replace the receiver and go back to sorting my lingerie.
A minute later, Charles appears in our bedroom doorway. “I’ve got to head out,” he tells me.
Now?
is the first thing that comes to my mind, but somehow I curtail that response and simply say, “Oh?”
“Yeah. Marsha and I have to be in court in the morning. There’re a few things she has to go over with me.”
“Will you be long?” I ask simply. And it’s strange, but I almost want Charles to be gone for a while. I can watch a movie, paint my toenails and generally have an evening of peace as opposed to anxiety. I’m not sure what’s come over me.
“I don’t know. But probably. Yeah.”
I don’t look up from sorting lingerie. “Okay, then.”
I don’t even break my rhythm as Charles disappears from the room. Instead, I concentrate on sorting my lingerie into colors. I bought a lot of pink and white but not enough red.
Red…I fish the nail polish out from the bottom of one of the bags. I’m almost ready to do my toes when I decide instead to try on all the stuff I bought. I only tried a few of the bras, but none of the panties.
I strip out of my floral skirt and cotton underwear and slip into a lacy white thong. I didn’t try these on at the store, just scooped them up hoping they’d fit.
This one does. I examine my body in the mirror on my dresser. I like what I see. The high cut of the thong outlines the shape of my hips, and damn if I don’t look sexy.
I turn so I can see the view of my butt. From this angle, all I can see are my pale cheeks and the wisp of material at the top of my ass. There’s a tiny bow there, a cute touch.
I really love this. And I love the fact that while I’m wearing underwear, in a way it seems like I’m wearing nothing at all.
I get it now. I totally get why women wear these.
I try on a few more bra-and-panty sets, liking each more and more. But when I try on the red set, I can’t help inhaling sharply at the image I see in the mirror.
I’m beautiful. I am. My body’s still slim and firm, and I have an hourglass figure. I’ve got the kind of body I see men admiring in pinups. How did I ever feel I wasn’t attractive?
Glancing down, I catch sight of my toes. The dainty French manicure is chipping away.
Forget dainty. It’s time for bold. Red toes to match this stunning red push-up bra and matching hipsters.
I waltz into the bathroom, where I take my nail polish remover from the cupboard and wads of cotton balls. Then I sit on the toilet and place one foot on the edge of the tub to start removing the old polish.
I’m just about finished cleaning the polish off my second foot when I hear, “Wow.”
Gasping softly, I spin around. Charles is standing in our bedroom, watching me.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask him.
“Long enough.”
“I thought you were meeting Marsha.”
“I was. But on the drive to the office I called her and told her that whatever had to be done could be handled in the morning.”
“Oh. Okay.” I reach for the bottle of red polish.
“You know, you really look amazing.”
When I turn, Charles is strolling toward the bathroom door. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes my heart stumble.
Do not get your hopes up. Do not…
“Victoria’s Secret lingerie can make anyone look amazing.”
“That’s not true. It’s you. Your body.” His eyes move over me. “Red’s a great color on you.”
Is this all I needed to do for the past year and three months—wear the color red?
Charles steps into the bathroom. He leans his butt against the edge of the sink. “I know you tried to talk to me once about us not having sex. I’m sorry I wasn’t responsive. It’s just…”
I swivel my butt on the toilet seat and look up at Charles, waiting.
“I’ve been having a…problem. Erectile dysfunction.”
“I see.”
“And that’s made it incredibly hard to look at you, knowing I can’t touch you and get it up, much less talk to you about what I’m going through. So I’ve thrown myself into work. I’ve tried to ignore the issue.”
You’ve more than tried…
“But today—I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I guess I’m ready to talk to you about everything. That’s why I told Marsha she’ll have to deal with this case without me for tonight.”
I’m really not sure what I should say. Charles hasn’t had a heart-to-heart with me in so long, this moment seems surreal.
I finally say, “Erectile dysfunction.”
“In my case, it’s a fancy term for impotence.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? All you had to do was tell—”
“I kept hoping it would pass. And then it didn’t, and I couldn’t face you about it.”
I’m still sitting on my spot on the toilet. Charles is still resting his butt on the sink. Neither of us makes a move to get closer.
“You’ve pushed me away so often.”
“I know, and I feel shitty about that.”
“I don’t think you understand how that’s made me feel. Like I’m not desirable. Do you know what it does when your husband won’t look at you, won’t touch you?” I hesitate before adding this part. “I gave some thought to having an affair.”
“Oh, God.”
“I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. But a part of me wanted to.” Charles needs to know this. To know how serious this is for our marriage. “When I saw how other guys looked at me—the way I needed you to look at me…”
“Oh, Ann.” Charles shakes his head ruefully. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel undesirable. You’ve got to know that’s not true. You’re a beautiful woman. Any man would be proud to call you his.”
“Just not you.”
Now Charles kneels before me. “That’s not true.” He places both hands on my legs and strums my inner thighs with his fingers. Like he hasn’t missed a day doing this during our marriage.
And it feels odd, even if desire begins to take its grip. I’ve had to repress my desire for so long, its awakening is like a slow ache.
“You are beautiful.” He plants a lingering kiss on my thigh, and I gasp softly. God, it’s been so long. To feel a real man’s touch, his kiss…I’m at the edge of heaven.
“I’ve been selfish,” Charles continues. “Thinking only of my pain. But I don’t need a penis to please you. There are other ways.”
One hand crawls up my thigh. The other urges my legs apart. When Charles’s fingers reach my vagina, he moans in delight.
I close my eyes because tears fill them. “Oh, Charles…”
He pushes my panties aside and oh my God, his touch is so sweet. I’m like a woman dying of hunger offered a morsel of bread.
“You’re as wet as a river.” Charles licks at his fingers, tasting me. “I love it when you’re so wet. And I love how you taste, how you smell…”
The phone rings as Charles puts a finger deep inside me. I groan in disappointment, expecting him to get up, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes his finger deep, then slowly pulls it out. He thrusts it in again, and I throw my head back and moan.
“Charles, if you’re there, pick up.” It’s Marsha’s voice.
“Fucking Marsha,” Charles utters.
“Charles, I need you to call me. As soon as you get this message.”
“Do you have to get that?” I ask.
“Hell, no.”
And the next thing I know, Charles is scooping me into his arms. He carries me out of the bathroom and lies me on the bed. Our eyes connect as he takes each of my feet into his hands and spreads me as wide as my legs will allow. I could die of the pleasure when his tongue heats a path all the way down one of my legs and stops at my center.
The phone rings again, and we both go still. I silently curse. Charles’s lips hover over my vagina, and every one of his heated breaths makes my body tremble.
The answering machine picks up, but no one leaves a message this time.
“Should I unplug it?” Charles asks.
“Please don’t move. Don’t…” My voice trails off, ending on a sigh, when Charles’s tongue strokes my nub. A million delicious sensations shoot through me. He licks again, pulls back, and I’m certain I’ll go crazy.
“Please…it’s been so long…don’t tease me…”
“You want me to do this?” Charles covers my clit with his mouth and suckles me hard.
I scream. Grip the bedspread. “Charles…oh, baby…” It’s too intense. I’ll shatter any moment. And I want to savor this.
I pull my hips back a little, try to close my legs, but Charles doesn’t let me. But he does pull his head back and massages me with his fingers.
“You’re so beautiful, Ann. Look at you.”
He slips a finger inside me, thrusting it hard and deep. I arch my back and moan.
His tongue replaces his finger. He licks at me, pushes it inside me. Runs his tongue along my opening back up to my nub.
Then he suckles me again, gently this time. The heat within me rises. My breathing shallows. I start to move my hips, and he splays one hand across my stomach and grips my butt with the other to keep me in place.