The Refrain (The Bridge Series) (23 page)

February 1, 2004

“T
HREE HUNDRED BUCKS.”

“You idiot. You horny dumbfuck.” Matthew cackles into the phone.

Grant was my first choice, but Matthew answered the phone. I told him all about Karen and Bridget and the pimp that was waiting for me. Three hundred dollars seemed like a fair price to call the whole escort-thing a misunderstanding. Shit, if my friends back home ever catch wind of this, I’d never live it down.

“Bro, just don’t tell anyone,” I beg.

“I don’t know Chris – that’s bound to come out at some family function,” he jokes.

“I don’t know Matty – that tranny you were with in Mexico makes an even better story.”

“Oh fuck off! I won’t say anything,” he grumbles.

Laughing, I say, “All right bro, I’m messin’ with ya. Hey, I’m getting on the subway – talk to you later.”

“Stay safe.”

I manage to make my way to TriBeCa in a little under an hour with only a small snafu with the turnstile at Lexington.
Note to self
: swipe the Metrocard,
then
push the turnstile. TriBeCa is really hip and exactly how I pictured Manhattan before moving here. Everything appears industrial and clean, but it still has the charm of an old neighborhood.

Chloe’s building is one of the smaller ones with a wide glass entrance. The lobby is just like mine – a couple of sofas, a mail station, a security desk, and a nicely dressed doorman. He points to the elevator and then races to one of the couches, fiddling with a small radio. I take the rackety old elevator to the fifth floor and then knock on the door of 5G.

A guy with curly blond hair opens the door and takes my six-pack of beer. “Hey Chloe, some dude’s here with beer – should we let him in?”

“Is he wearing a tuxedo?” Chloe yells back.

“Nope.”

“What kind of beer?” she asks.

“Moosehead.”

Chloe appears at the door beaming excitedly. “Chris from Austin, you’re here!” She takes my hand and pulls me past the guys standing by the door. “That was Pete. This is Anthony,” she says, pointing to a big guy. “You know Adam – well, as much as Adam will let you,” she jokes.

She drags me to the kitchen and introduces me to a cute girl named Angie and a nerdy guy wearing a tuxedo jacket. “Angie lives next door.” Chloe puts her arm on the shoulder of the guy in the tux and says, “And Dennis is the most amazing boss ever.”

Chloe leans against the counter, dipping a chip in some salsa. “Chris is from Texas,” she says between bites.

And then.

Out of nowhere, as if falling from the sky, a sexy as shit voice rattles the kitchen. “All right, who the fuck brought the Moosehead?”

I turn my head in the direction of the voice and come face to face with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s fucking hot – big lips, big blue eyes and big tits – but it’s her puzzled reaction that intrigues the shit out of me.

“I brought the beer,” I say, moving closer to her.

She breathes slowly, each tiny puff of air hitting the tip of my chin. Her eyes scan my face, searching for something. “Well, yeah – but who are you?” she asks quietly.

There’s only a moment of silence, but time is completely suspended. It’s like this mutual understanding of what we want –  a guarantee that we’ll be together – when time starts.

My mouth fights a smile as I answer her. “Chris.”

Chloe approaches us and laughs. “Nat, Chris. Chris, this is my cousin Natalie.”

I wait until Chloe leaves – I wait until Natalie’s ready.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she mouths.

And then, time starts.

I
SPENT THE
entire first half of the game politely chatting with Dennis. Poor guy actually wore a tuxedo jacket – he also owns a bar, which is fucking cool, but I wasn’t in the mood for his small talk. I was too busy watching Natalie. Natalie laughing at the commercials. Natalie challenging Chloe to a drinking game. Natalie sitting in the lap of the curly blond. Natalie making jokes about Adam. And then finally, watching her as she gave me the slightest smile.

Soon after Janet Jackson accidentally revealed her nipple and Justin Timberlake acted surprised, Natalie walked to the back of the apartment. I waited. I waited some more. But she didn’t return.

“Chloe, where’s the restroom?” I ask casually.

Chloe smiles and points in the direction of the bathroom, but Adam – holy shit – he’s pissed. When I stand, he stands. When I walk, he follows.

Two feet from the bathroom, Adam grabs my arm and says, “Chris, she's not ready.” There’s no shift of dominance, no machismo reaction – simply an understanding that I will eventually get this girl. “Not now,” he repeats before releasing my arm. I acknowledge him with a nod and then move to the opened door of a bedroom.

Natalie is sitting on her bed thumbing through a magazine. Her hair is pulled to the side and resting on her shoulder. She glances up at me and says, “Hey.”

“Hey.” I step inside the door and close it behind me. “Football not really your thing?”

“I never played,” she deadpans. “Come here, I wanna show you something.”

I walk toward her bed and stop in front of her. Natalie looks sad. Confused.

“Sit,” she suggests, crossing her legs. She didn’t specify where to sit, so I do the right thing and plop down on the floor.

“Well okay then.” She snorts. “So Chris, I need a change. What do you think about a really short haircut?” Natalie holds up the magazine and points to a model with hair shorter than mine.

Our eyes lock – holy shit, I’ve never experienced one of
those
moments – fading in and out of reality – time going forward and then sputtering back to the present. Natalie tilts her head, her eyes narrowing and her lip quivering ever so slightly. She’s sad again.

“Change is always good. But that haircut is one operation short of a sex change. Please don’t.”

“Yeah, my face is too round anyway,” she replies, tossing the magazine on the floor. Glancing at my feet she asks, “Are you wearing cowboy boots?”

“Yep darlin’, you like?” I ask, beaming from ear to ear.

“Not really,” she says flatly.

I spot a ukulele hiding under her bed and slide it out. “This yours?” I ask, strumming the tiny strings.

“Chloe’s. You play?” Natalie’s foot drops off the bed, swinging closely against my knee.

“Not really.” I lie.

I straighten my legs and strum one of my favorite Bob Marley songs. “No woman, no cry,” I sing quietly. Natalie’s mouth faintly curves into a tiny smile, but her eyes are tired and sad. “Everything’s goin’ be all right – everything’s goin’ be all right,” I sing.

And then she cries. Big tears. Pooling in the creases of her eyes and then dropping dramatically onto her chest. Her lips shudder and her body jerks, gasping for air. She doesn’t hide any of it. She makes no excuses.

“Natalie,” I say as drop the ukulele. I stand up and move in next to her, taking her in my arms and caressing her fragile body. She cries into my chest, slowly bringing her hands around my neck. Her fingers roam around the back of my head, tugging at my hair and inflicting a small amount of pain.

She releases her grip and looks at me – angry, confused – I can’t tell. And then our lips meet. It’s that fucking time thing again – our kiss is a salty, timeless explosion. My mouth absorbs her tears, every last drop, until I feel her tongue dart in my mouth. Her hands move to my face, pulling me closer . . . consuming me. I grab her cheeks, squeezing gently to kiss the corners of her mouth.

Natalie falls back onto her bed, pulling me on top of her. I stroke her cheek and then lick the last tear resting by her mouth. And then I kiss her. She moans as her hands rest on my waist. Natalie hesitates momentarily and then lifts my shirt. Her nails dig into my back, creating a pleasurable pain to rocket through my body.

“Chris,” she whimpers beneath me.

“Natalie.” My hand moves slowly under her shirt. Her breathing is shallow, but her body is limp . . . frail.

“Chris, I can’t.” Natalie’s hands fall to her side as she stares aimlessly at the ceiling.

Fuck.

She’s not ready
.

Fuck.

Not now
.

I lift myself off of her and move to the end of the bed. “Natalie, I’m sorry.”

She moves from the bed to stand in front of me, running her hands through my hair. “Don’t be.”

I wrap my arms around her hips and bury my face into her stomach – I don’t want her to see my disappointment. She pries my head from her waist and lifts my chin in her direction. “Promise that you’ll give me another shot someday.”

I look into her eyes, searching for that glimpse of suspended time. “Some outcomes in life are definite. And you Natalie, are my faith in the definitive future.”

“That’s beautiful . . . tu es l’avenir definitif.” Her mouth flinches – a smile hiding beneath her sadness.

“You speak French?” I ask.

“Oui.”

I rise to my feet and caress her chin. “Les étoiles dansent comme des singes dans l’océan et le beurre d’arachide a meilleur gout avec du chocolat,” I utter smoothly.

Her mouth expands to a brilliant, happy smile. She’s smiling! She’s laughing?

“The stars dance like monkeys in the ocean and peanut butter tastes better with chocolate.” Natalie exclaims between snorts of laughter.

“Huh. No shit?”

 
Thanks Frenchy, wherever you are, for making Natalie
smile.

T
HE
C
HORUS

N
ATALIE RUNS HER
hand through his blond curls, twirling the tips around her fingers and massaging his scalp. This is the third consecutive night they’ve been together, and on this night, Pete made her a non-romantic dinner.

Pete leads Natalie to the sofa, stepping over a stack of cookbooks. “You staying for breakfast?”

“Are you trying to make me fat?” Natalie responds.

Pete lifts Natalie’s tank over her head and buries his face in the contour of her breasts. “I think we burn enough calories between meals.”

Natalie pushes Pete on to the sofa and pulls down her shorts. “Then let’s get busy,” she banters.

Pete’s hands squeeze her hips as his mouth lingers by her waist – and then – Pete rips at her panties with his teeth. Natalie pulls his shirt over his head, covering his eyes long enough to hide her excitement . . . never wanting Pete to assume this is more than just sex.

He spins Natalie to face away from him, grabbing her long hair and biting her ass. Natalie unclasps her bra, throwing it across the room with a discreet smile. Pete pulls her down, positioning her on his lap and grabbing her neck. Natalie lays into him, resting her head on his shoulder. To most, this is an intimate position – skin on skin contact and a balance of sexual power – but to these two, it’s a means to an end.

Pete caresses her breasts and breathes into her ear. “Couch or bed?”

Natalie squirms on top of him, enjoying the hardness pressing against her ass. Pete wraps his arm around her waist and glides his hand inside her panties. Breathless she answers, “Couch.”

Natalie extends her arm to rest her hand on his head, playing with his hair. Pete embraces her while stroking her breasts, the only time she’ll allow any sort of intimate contact – affection disguised as sexual foreplay.

He kisses her neck. She pulls his hair.

Pete holds her tightly. Natalie squirms in agitation.

“Pete, just screw me already.”

Frustrated, Pete pushes her off his lap and onto the sofa next to him. He stands over her and pulls down his shorts, tossing them to the side. His boxers come next, finding a place on the coffee table. Natalie follows his lead and removes her panties. Pete throws her against the sofa and spreads her legs – kissing her once and then thrusting his cock inside her warm body. Like two teenagers recklessly going at it on a couch, they concede to unemotional sex.

“Is this how you want it, Nat?” Pete asks, pumping into her.

Natalie stares into Pete’s eyes, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him closer. Sex fills the void. Sex is a distraction from the pain. Sex is the closest a person can get to salvation.

“Harder,” she finally says.

B
ACK AT THE
LeGrange apartment several hours later, Natalie bursts into the bathroom, interrupting Chloe’s shower rendition of
Cabaret
. “Happy birthday, hooker!” Natalie exclaims.

“Thank you. Where did you go last night?” Chloe inquires behind the shower curtain.

Natalie backs out of the bathroom and shuts the door, ignoring Chloe’s questioning . . . again. There’s no particular reason Natalie keeps the Pete-thing a secret, and there’s no particular reason Pete allows it. But it’s something they agreed upon while discovering creative uses for salted caramel.

Don’t tell anyone about us.

Okay.

And don’t get that shit in my hair.

Okay.

So their relationship is private – respectful. No point in airing their very dirty, sticky, sexual laundry.

“Nat?” Chloe asks the empty bathroom.

Today is Chloe’s 26
^th
birthday – not a monumental achievement, but definitely a day to celebrate the monumental changes over the past year. She’s meeting Adam for an early dinner at South Street Seaport and then joining Natalie, Pete and Anthony for the fireworks in Chelsea.

Chloe steps out of the shower, drying herself off with elaborate Fosse jazz hands. She combs her hair and dabs moisturizer on her face. A new outfit is waiting for her on the bed – short, fringed and very sexy. Natalie barges into their bedroom carrying the phone and shaking her head in annoyance. “It’s Jamie,” Nat whispers, covering the phone with her hand. “And put some clothes on, ya perv.”

Chloe twists her wet hair and piles it on top of her head. She grabs the cordless phone and shoos Natalie away. “Hey James.” She waits for Natalie to leave the bedroom before pressing the speaker button and amplifying Jamie’s voice.

“Happy birthday, doll face.”

Chloe tosses the phone on the bed and lathers lotion on her legs. “Thanks. What are you up to today?”

“I’m flying to Amsterdam with Charlie. There’s an art show and we’re both featured.”

“That’s cool. How are things going with him?” Chloe selects a bra from the dresser drawer and fights a yawn. But she’s happy that Jamie has someone – someone that can inspire him and love him.

“Four months and counting. Any plans tonight – is that sexy suit taking you anywhere?”

Chloe glances at her record player and smiles. “Dinner.” She fastens her red bra and digs through the drawer for the matching panties.

“Did you get my present?” Jamie asks.

“I did. Gorgeous painting, James.” Chloe glances at the blue canvas blob resting on the floor and rolls her eyes.

“The composition and saturation of the blues reminded me of you. Moody but beautiful . . . listen doll face, I have to pick up my dry cleaning before they close – have a great birthday and olives you.”

Chloe grabs the phone from the bed and turns off the speaker. “Have fun in Amsterdam!” She disconnects the call and tosses the phone on the floor. This
new
friendship between Chloe and Jamie is basic – well-defined and categorically platonic.

Chloe puts on her black shorts and bohemian top as Natalie enters the bedroom with a bottle of water and an apple. “What’s that bastard got to say?” Natalie barks between bites.

“Nat, I can handle Jamie.”

Natalie pauses, looking Chloe over and accessing her validity. “Uh huh. Why did you stop taking your medication?”

Embarrassed and surprised that Natalie noticed, Chloe makes a desperate attempt to change the subject. “Oh, that’s under control. Do you like my top?” Chloe spins around, making the fringed shirt shake in motion. “Natalie, what’s wrong?”

Natalie bites into the apple and replies with her mouth full. “Lovely. Why’d you stop taking your meds?”

“Holy shit.” Chloe stomps her foot and frowns. “God, do you have to know everything?”

“Yes.” Natalie moves to the bed, sits on her leg and waits patiently.

Chloe crosses her arms and sighs. “Fine. Remember when I went to Toronto in May?”

“Yep,” Natalie says, tossing the apple core in the trashcan.

“Adam went with me. Adam went with me to the doctor . . .” Chloe trails off.

“Wow. Like he was in your session?”

“No – he stayed in the waiting room. But Dr. McKinstry and I talked about how things were better and maybe it was time to wean myself off the meds. It took a few weeks to regulate things, but, well, Adam just gets me.”

Of course Adam gets her – he’s the balance. The only man that demands her patience, and the only man that can interpret her psyche.

“That’s fantastic! I wish you would’ve told me before I spent an hour researching methods to conceal Zoloft in a smoothie.”

“Come here, ya tart.” Chloe opens her arms and Natalie happily accepts the embrace. “Everything is going to be okay – for both of us. Now stop being such a downer on my birthday!”

Natalie kisses Chloe’s cheek and then twirls her around. “Those shorts are very short – but you look hot. Adam will wanna—”

Chloe smoothes out the wispy fringe of her shirt and says, “Yeah yeah, he’ll wanna fuck me in this outfit.”

A
DAM LAUGHS AS
Chloe skips toward him. “Babe, you look stunning. Happy birthday.” Adam places his hand on the small of Chloe’s back, guiding her proudly through the outdoor fish market. It’s one of their favorite restaurants – the selection of fresh fish, the kitschy drinks that come in pickle jars, and the quaint waterfront seating dwarfed between the Manhattan skyline and the Brooklyn Bridge.

Chloe looks over her shoulder and winks. “Thank you, lo-ver.”

They pick a table closest to the water, mesmerized by the shimmering reflection of the silver waves. The air is thick and humid, but the salty breeze is cool and refreshing, making for a dynamic spot to watch the sun set. Some moments are just special – and for these two, they’ll have a lifetime of moments.

Adam reaches in the pocket of his linen shorts to retrieve a small box. He places it on the table, chuckling at Chloe’s reaction. “What?”

Chloe’s mouth quivers with amusement, trying to hide her smile. “
That’s
what was in your pocket? And here I thought you were sporting a massive woody.”

“Do you want your present or not?” Adam retorts.

Chloe shimmies the gold bracelet around her wrist and says, “You already gave me a present!”

“True, but maybe this box has the matching necklace.”

Chloe arches her eyebrow and purses her lips. “A matching set? Right.”

Adam slides the box across the table, keeping his hand on top. Chloe places her hand over his, gently stroking his pinky. “Are you going to move your hand?” she quips.

Turned on by her impatience, Adam smiles. “You’re beautiful.”

Adam removes his hand, allowing Chloe to wedge her thumb in the opening. It’s just a plain, unwrapped cardboard box, but what’s inside is meaningful. Chloe pulls out a coiled belt and begins to slowly unfurl the leather – a leather strap with branded letters.

It’s not a belt – it’s a personalized guitar strap.

Amazed, Chloe moves her hand over her mouth. “Adam, it’s wonderful. You remembered?”

Of course he remembered. That’s the night she was wearing a muumuu – the night he let his guard down . . . The Rainbow Connection.

“So, I know Pete digs you. Natalie loves you. Dennis has a crush on you. Anthony thinks you’re hot and me, well I like you
a lot.”
Adam smiles widely, taking her hand. “You have at least five fans – and I would consider that mildly famous.”

“Mildly famous . . . perfect.”