An Illicit Pursuit (14 page)

Suddenly, he tears away from me, and I turn
to see why. His mother is glaring at us from the porch of her
house. “I should go back now. Wait for me tonight.”

I nod and watch him go to his mother, wishing
I could somehow find a way to ease her pain, too. Zach disappears
into the house, but his mother remains standing on the porch. I
hesitate, wondering whether to go inside, back to my parents, or
wait for them in the car. The latter seems less confrontational,
both for me and Zach’s mother, so I whirl around and start walking
toward Gordon’s car.

“Pat.” Zach’s mother’s soft voice stops me.
It’s the very first time she’s calling me by my name and not that
unfriendly nickname she chose for me,
the shiksa.
“Can I
talk to you for a second?”

I turn around and take a startled step back,
finding her right behind me. When had she walked all that distance?
And why? “Of course, Mrs. Schulberg.”

She continues walking on the sidewalk, and I
follow suit. Despite the thick coat wrapped around her body, she
looks thin and vulnerable to the point of breakage. I wonder about
her real hair color beneath the brown wig she’s wearing. Her shoes
must be at least three years old, if not older. Everything about
her screams modesty and humbleness. Even the calm and slow way she
takes her steps forward. “Thank you for visiting us today. I really
appreciate it. So does my son.”

“You’re welcome,” I manage to utter. My
muscles are painfully tense, and I can only glance at her from the
corner of my eye, despite my burning curiosity about the reason for
her unusual friendliness. After catching me in her son’s arms only
a few hours after his father’s death, I thought she’d try to
strangle me, or go for something even more violent and gory.

“You must be thinking I blame you for
alienating my son from me.”

I had no idea I was doing that on top of the
countless other, awful things she must picture me doing to Zach
during all the years we’ve been together.

“He’s been rebellious since long before you
came into his life,” she continues. “He didn’t want to follow our
religious practices, didn’t want anything to do with Judaism. He
claimed to be an atheist and threatened to run away if we insisted
on pressuring him about his lack of observance. We even had to send
him to public school rather than the Jewish school where all his
cousins went. We caved in to all his wishes because we love
him.”

Zach, an atheist? Even I know he believes in
God and follows some rituals, like not eating pork or food mixed
with diary and meat. And every now and then, he goes to Shabbat
services at UCLA. But, I keep my thoughts to myself.

“We couldn’t have another child after him; we
had all our hopes tied to him. Perhaps that was the reason why he
felt under pressure and drew away from our religion. Still, his
father was always hopeful that one day Zach would come back to us,
to his people, and acknowledge his true identity. That’s what
parents do, isn’t it? Wish their children would come back to
them.”

I guess here comes the part where I enter the
picture by pulling Zach down into the decadent bog of fornication.
Once Zach tasted the forbidden fruit from my defiled hands, all his
wavering regarding his religion would solidify. Well, at least
that’s what his mother must be thinking. I cringe, expecting her to
start criticizing me for ruining her pure son.

Only she doesn’t. “There’s good in
everything,” she carries on with her soft tone. “Even Nathan’s
sudden illness had some good in it.”

My eyebrows pop up at her remark. Zach
started wearing his yarmulke for the first time during our
relationship after his father’s heart attack. Oh, no! Where is this
going?

“Zach is keeping kosher and following Shabbat
now,” she adds.

Was that why he was so reluctant about
contacting me when he was here and I was in L.A.? Did he, too,
think I was a bad influence on him?

“And—” she turns to me abruptly. Her eyes,
devoid of their usual resentment, sparkle with kindness and a hint
of affection. But, for some reason, I wish she’d strangled me,
rather than eyeing me as if I’m a close friend or a relative. “A
few hours before his father passed away, he asked Zach to make a
promise. All he wanted was for Zach to recognize his Jewish roots
and make a Jewish family of his own, and Zach promised him he’d do
anything to make him proud. Those were the last words they
exchanged before Nathan died.”

Fear swamps me, sucking the air out of my
lungs. I feel the world coming to a sudden halt right in front of
my eyes, as her words pierce my ears and burn my brain. His father
wanted Zach to become religious, and a shiksa for a girlfriend,
much less a wife, will have no place in the life of a religious
Jew. I may be an airhead when it comes to Judaism, but even I know
a Jewish woman is the foundation of a Jewish family. My shoulders
feel weighed down; my insides congeal painfully. My legs may cease
to carry me if I don’t react soon.

She doesn’t need to say more. Her cards are
laid on the table. Clear and unmistakable. Instead, her eyes take
over the talking, communicating to me what I should be doing.

I love Zach so much, I can live with the
hostility of his mother, of his entire family against me. But the
thought of making him miserable because he’s not able to honor his
promise to his father fills me with sheer panic. I’ve known Zach
for long enough to know that he won’t leave me, even if it means
going against his promise to his dead father. His heart is
intertwined with mine with a genuine and deep love. To top it off,
he feels responsible for me, for my wellbeing. He knows I need him
like I need air to survive, and he will not, for anything in the
world, intentionally put me in danger by leaving me.

So, it has to be me who has to take the
plunge and direct him to the path where he can keep his promise to
his father.

Maybe everything had to happen this way; Zach
and I finding each other in a moment of loss and despair. I, with
my loneliness and binge eating; he, with his confusion about his
religious identity and lack of self-confidence. We’ve helped each
other with our love, mended each other’s weaknesses, and become
better individuals. Yet, the time has come to go our separate
ways.

How could I seriously believe we could have a
happy future, considering my career plans? He’s always wanted a
calm and normal life with a safe job, a house, and a car. Not the
risky and spontaneous life mine will be once my face and voice
begin to be recognized by the public. Goosebumps cover my skin,
when I realize the timing of the events; his father’s death only a
few weeks before the movie I acted in is coming out. Right before I
may make it big. Even without the promise he gave to his father,
Zach would suffer with my career’s ups and downs. I’ll probably be
away half of the year on tours and the other half muscling my way
through a busy and stressful schedule.

His best wish would be that I didn’t make it
big. And knowing that would make us both miserable. As much as it
kills me to even consider it, it’s clear that we aren’t meant for
each other for any longer than we’ve been together already.

I have to do it. I can do it. Even if it
means my heart will stop beating for love again, and I’ll be cursed
with a miserable life sans my Zach. As long as he’s happy, though,
living the life he deserves, that’ll be enough of a consolation for
me.

“I understand, Mrs. Schulberg,” I say. “I
won’t stand in his way.” My voice cracks and sobs follow. Before
she can respond, I cover my face with my hands and hasten toward
the car to hide myself. I cry until my family comes back and while
we drive home.

My mother and sister each slide a hand around
my waist and half-carry me to my bedroom and help me onto my bed.
Mia leaves a soft kiss on my cheek, before the two leave me alone.
I don’t stop shedding tears for hours, until my phone beeps in my
bag, reminding me of my meeting with Zach. I slither on the bed to
reach for my bag and fish for the phone. As I guessed, the message
is from Zach, informing me of his arrival.

Jumping off the bed, I take a brief stop at
the bathroom to wash my face, then run downstairs to get the door.
It’s dark, probably past midnight, and my family seems to be
sleeping.

Zach appears no less broken than the last
time I saw him a few hours ago and drops himself into my arms. I
hug him tightly with the sheer love I have for him, as if this is
our last hug.

And in a way, it is.

Our arms laced together, we walk up the
stairs silently and only separate so I can lock the door of my
bedroom. I want to switch on the light to watch him until my eyes
have their fill of him for the last time, but I’m afraid my mother
will notice the light if she gets up and will come to check on me.
Although she won’t mind me having Zach here with me overnight, I
don’t want anyone to disturb our last moments together.

I draw aside the curtains to let the street
lights in and turn back to Zach, who’s laying his yarmulke at the
nightstand beside the bed. Yes, I’m determined to leave him, but I
have no idea how I’ll do that. I don’t even know how I’ll explain
my motives to him, without running the risk of him convincing me
otherwise. Maybe, I should leave the decision for later and just
enjoy our last intimate moments together and make the best of
tonight.

I pace the floor toward him and throw my arms
around his neck, intently watching his face.

He leans down but doesn’t kiss. “I’ve missed
you so much, as if I didn’t have you last night. Your presence held
me together today. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was alone.”

I will him to stop declaring his dependency
on me, so I draw his head down to mine and force my lips against
his. His hands cup my chin, wander around my face, and glide
through my hair, crushing our lips tightly together whenever I try
to pull away to breathe.

Is he sensing this is our last time? Did his
mother relay to him anything about the conversation she’d had with
me?

“Don’t ever leave me. I’m surviving my
father’s death only because of your love. If you take it away, I’ll
be gone, too.” His words impale my heart, and I want to choke out
the pain tightening my chest.

I find myself whispering, “I won’t,” into his
lips and feel my chest pain lighten drastically with my little lie.
In the perfect world, I’d be kissing away all his pain until the
end of our lives and not causing him more pain.

But life is far from perfect, and so am
I.

“I love you.” His hands slide down to my neck
and grab my sweater to pull it out over my head. I take off my
t-shirt and let him enjoy my large chest for the last time. He
leans in and buries his face on top of my breasts, while his hands
fondle them through my bra, pushing them up against his face. My
nipples harden under his teasing touches. I slip my fingers through
his hair, enjoying the tingles from the close contact of his skin
on mine. He draws my bra down until my breasts spill out and mouths
one nipple, while gently pushing me backward toward my bed. I unzip
my skirt and tug it down, before pulling us both down to the
mattress.

A whimper slips out of my mouth, when his
body crushes against mine. The last time I’ll be enjoying the
pleasure and the pain his complete weight is giving me. Unsnapping
my bra, he frees me from it and takes off his own jacket, shirt,
and pants until he’s only in his boxers.

I hold up my hand toward him invitingly,
impatient to have him back on me, and stretch my legs to catch him.
“Hurry.”

He willingly imprisons himself inside the
grip of my legs and leans back down on me. “Patience,” he whispers
teasingly, and I feel my inside muscles clench with the need to be
stroked.

“My patience ends when I have this within
reach.” I sneak my hand between us to get hold of his cock and
press my palm flat against the length of it, watch him snap his
eyes closed and hear him moan. His cock grows to its full length
with the pressure, and I curl my fingers around it, brushing its
head ever so lightly with my thumb. “Show me now how patient you
can be,” I tease him, keeping the head of his cock sandwiched in my
palm.

He sighs, grinding his hips against me,
baring the top of his cock. “I love you to death, but it’s these
little games you play with my penis that enslave me to you.”

My mouth pops open, and I can’t help but grin
at his confession. More so because I love how I can make him lose
himself, and hearing it from his mouth gives me shivers, too. “I
don’t have the slightest idea what games you’re talking about.” I
feign a serious expression and move my other hand down to massage
his testicles.

He shakes his head, his lips curled with the
sexiest smile he keeps only for the bedroom, and rests his head on
top of mine, capturing my lips. His hands never leave my breasts,
continuously pinching my nipples, and kneading the soft area around
them, pushing me close to a non-clitoris orgasm, while my sex is
painfully soaked, ready to have him inside me.

I lift my head to kiss him hard, to engrave
his taste on my lips, trying to push away the pang of jealousy for
the woman who’ll have him, my Zach, as her husband. God, I don’t
ever want to stop this, much less hand him to another woman.

He pulls away, perhaps noticing my inner
turmoil. “You okay, baby?”

I force a smile and wiggle under him,
squeezing my hands harder around him. “You’re keeping me waiting
too long.”

“Is that so?” He slides a hand between us and
reaches down my panties, his eyebrows lifting at the discovery of
the sogginess of the cotton fabric.

I shake my head slightly to kick away the
images of him doing the same thing to another woman. Oh, hell, I
can’t do this. I can’t give away the only man I’ve ever loved,
knowing how perfectly we fit together. Both physically and
emotionally. Why does it have to be so damn difficult?