Authors: Roberta Latow
Her Hungry Heart (39 page)
Several times during Mimi’s busy day she felt a tremendous surge of aloneness. It was a strange and somewhat frightening feeling. She had not experienced loneliness since she was a young girl and Karel returned to claim her. She had mixed feelings about Alexander’s having left New York without a word. She blamed him for her present unease. He had appeared to ignite in her a flame that had guttered in his flight from her. There could be no happiness without him. But the changes in her life that would have to be made to be with him? Monumental. She had to ask herself whether life with him would be worth it.
Lights were ablaze all over the house as the taxi pulled up. Home and family. She savoured the comfort, the safety. It felt good. She placed her key in the lock and walked into the hall. It looked festive, with its Christmas decorations and twinkling lights. Laughter was coming from the library. The twins were there reading something that evidently amused them. They were extremely close, even if they had been separated by university and college, Milos at Yale, and Angelica at Vassar. Handsome children, he unmistakably the son of Rick, though many of his mannerisms resembled Jay’s. He had been brought up more by Jay than his own father. Angelica was almost the image of Mimi at her age.
She called out, ‘I’m home.’
‘Your latest admirer sent flowers, Mum,’ Angelica told her.
‘Where have you hidden them?’
‘They’ve been put upstairs in your bedroom. A note in an envelope came with them. No card. It’s on the silver tray in the hall.’ Then they forgot about her. The book seemed to offer more immediate entertainment.
‘Where’s Jay?’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Not home yet.’
She found the envelope on the tray, picked it up and, after dispensing with her coat and hat, went up to the bedroom. Three dozen long-stemmed tea roses confronted her, the loveliest colour, the heavenliest scent. They were partially open, dramatically beautiful. Only then did she think they might be from Alexander. It had not occurred to her that he might send flowers. She had thought the children were teasing her when they had talked of an admirer. Flowers might be anticipated from any number of people who had been at the house over Christmas. But, having seen the roses, she looked excitedly at the envelope in her hand. She liked the way he wrote her name. With a firmness and determination. She walked to the desk and picked up the ivory letter-opener. Slipping it under the flap she slit open the envelope.
Dear Mimi,
The heart is indeed a lonely hunter. I walked the streets of New York last night thinking of you and my silly, stupid performance. Now I have declared myself, no matter how badly, at least I have done that.
There were so many things I wanted to say to you before I blurted out my feelings. It was a vain hope to think that you might return to Prague with me, even in the coming months. Yet, there is no one in this world I’d rather have at my side to share the momentous changes happening in our country, the country you left so long ago.
I wanted to give it back to you, fresh and new, as I
want to give myself to you. You have been a magnificent obsession ever since we met at that sad time in your life. I loved you, Mimi. My dreams are erotic, exciting, and always filled with you. And in my waking hours you drift in and out of my life, an apparition, a lovely creature I yearn for.
To roll back the years and return to the beginning is to see all other loves, other happinesses, evaporate into the past. Mimi, I told you, you are a dangerous woman. How many other men have loved you, wanted you and become obsessed with having you? Many, I am sure, have tried; some like myself from afar, others like your husband, from closer. How many have you given yourself to? That’s what makes you dangerous, Mimi. You draw men to you like a siren. But how many are you drawn to? How many have you loved, how many have you given yourself up to as you gave yourself up to me?
Mimi, you were born to be loved magnificently. Few men can resist a challenge such as that. I know I can’t. I did want you to come back to Prague with me, I did want you to stand by my side for our new beginnings. That was selfish, a selfish dream, part of the fantasy I have that you will love me one day as I love you. But where would we be without our dreams, without our fantasies? What have we to look forward to unless we reach down into our sleepy, lazy hearts, our cold souls, and pump warm rich love into them? To live in our dreams, Mimi, live in our fantasies, make them realities – that’s what makes us rich, you and I. I don’t know your dreams, your fantasies, I know you’ve lived in them all your life and made most of them come true, and I love you for that. Mimi, we are lovers bound together by our lust, but we are more, much more than that, too. I could write you erotic love letters and share my dreams, open my
soul to you, give you my heart. But instead I send you tea roses because they suit you, because their scent is sweet, their blossom voluptuous, rich, special, as you are to me.
I lay down my pen and will write no more to you until we have had each other as we did in the tall grass on that late summer’s day, till we can be what we should be to each other, until you come to Prague and find me.
Yours,
Alexander
Mimi was overwhelmed. Here was proof. It hadn’t been a mere foolish hope. This man had declared his love. He had loved her for years and kept his counsel, given her time, lived in his fantasies. She had sensed that masculine, sensitive Czech charm that her father had. His declaration of love stood apart from those of her former devotees. It was true, everything he wrote about her. They had hardly said a word to each other but he knew her so well. He had arrived in her life at just the right moment, the timing was perfect. But he had also been right to run away. There were momentous changes happening to Mimi, in her own little world as well as in the world outside. There was something about this man that was different from any other she had known. The closest she had come to feeling as she did for him was the love she had felt for her father, and for Rick.
Time, she needed time. Mimi would not go to him, unless she was sure of herself, of her feelings for him. She was astute enough to know that, if she gave herself to Alexander as she had given herself to Rick, it would not be the same thing. Alexander was no rolling stone, he was as dangerous as she was. To have a relationship with him that was erotic and nothing more would be impossible. Here she sensed was real passion, committed love. They would be well matched in their lust for each other, and their love of
life. Neither age nor other people nor places would affect their love for each other.
She touched the roses, bathed her face in their scent. If she were to go to him, it would not be because he flattered her, or for her own survival, or that so she could get on with her life. No, she would not go to him, ever, unless she felt ready to give herself up to him solely because they loved each other beyond all else in life. With Alexander it would be a matter of sharing themselves with each other. Nothing less would do.
She folded the letter and placed it in the envelope. She had had love letters before from admirers. Usually unworthy of serious consideration, there had always been something not quite genuine about them. This was her first real love letter. Mimi consigned it to the drawer where she kept her jewellery. She slipped out of her dress into a black satin nightdress, with a bodice of black lace with thin black satin shoestring cords which she passed over the shoulders. She was no sooner in her bed than she slid into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep. One of those real undisturbed sleeps which neither sounds nor people can easily penetrate. For several hours she unconsciously wallowed in the warmth and softness, the luscious comfort of nothingness.
Mimi ran one foot against the other, trying to come alive out of her sleep. The feel of her own skin, the warmth of her body lured her back, down into the depths were she might succumb once more to warm sensuous sleep. In its depths this time she sensed the libidinous Mimi. They were good feelings. She struggled once more to free herself from sleep. Impossible. That lovely velvet world beckoned still. In a half-dreaming state her skin was like satin to her own touch, to his touch, the feel of a man’s hands waking her body. She gave into those hands caressing her skin, her hair, the feel of a kiss at the back of the neck, the warmth of a man up against her back, holding her tight in to him. In his nakedness he stirred her erotic soul and she felt her sexual
yearnings, aroused, hot even, and liked the feeling, squirmed obediently to the sensation, trying half-heartedly to wake herself. She felt her legs being spread to accommodate him, the black satin gown being raised, caressing on her thighs. His hands were everywhere, working magic over her skin. She sighed, felt the stirrings of desire for penis and intercourse and orgasm. She tried to fight her way out of this dream, this sleep.
A twilight of wakening? Mimi felt herself raised off the bed, the gown being pulled higher, and then over her head. She slipped back against the pillows. Her body could resist no longer. She gave in, began moving, tiny rocking pelvic motions. Now she was caressing her own body, squeezing her cunt muscles with strong spasms, and the muscles in her bottom. She luxuriated in her own hunger for intercourse. Her breasts were free of black lace now, and in her half-sleep she caressed them and felt herself wildly sexual, getting closer to orgasm. This was sleep sexualized. She dived back into that deep sleep, taking desire with her. She imagined the warmth of his body, so masculine. Men, sex, delicious. She felt the tip of a penis touching, probing, her now moist labia. Her excitement mounted. And then an admirable cock, with a single, hard thrust, was inside her tight up, against the cervix. The violence of that man, that cock, broke the dream.
She placed a hand over her eyes. She was awake. Jay was on top of her, fucking her. Her cunt was alive and reacting to every penetration, drawing him in. It was that intercourse that had awakened her from her deep dreamless sleep. It had not been a dream, he had fucked her in her sleep. Taken her when she had been dead to the world. Mimi was shocked. She had required of him only one thing: never to do that again. This was his gross way of imposing yet another of his morning fucks on her.
The room was dark, as it always was in the early hours of the morning, their usual rising time. Just a soft light from
the lamp set on the table next to his side of the bed. The light he normally reached out to when fucking her and switched on when he judged she was ready to come. He liked seeing her face when she came.
Mimi moved her hand from her eyes and looked at her husband. A look of utter delight was on his face when he said, ‘Give this up? You could no more abandon this morning fuck than I can. You like it too much, Mimi. We’re too good together. It was an idea you had, and a bad one, my never fucking you like this again. Listen to your cunt, Mimi, not your head. It makes more sense.’
She was appalled. This was so unlike Jay. ‘Cunt’ was not a word in his vocabulary, nor was the anger she sensed familiar. In their entire married life Jay had never been more rude, never ridden so roughshod over her feelings. She recognized an extra forcefulness in every thrust of his cock, an angry edge to his way of fucking her. She bit her hand and stared into his eyes. Wild with anger herself, she concentrated on restraining her own orgasm. She knew he would not want to come inside her until she had been satisfied. It was part of his pride, part of his possession of her, what turned him on.
Finally she told him even as he moved in and out of her, ‘Get off me, Jay. Now.’ As if he would! He saw the anger in her eyes, heard it in her voice. But it made no difference. He pulled her tight against him, fucked her harder and with a faster pace.
‘Don’t fight me on this, Mimi. You’re on the edge and you want to come. Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.’
‘I warned you, Jay, but you never took it seriously.’
‘Not for one moment.’
She tried to push him off her. She was angry now and began to fight. She felt as if she were being raped, violated. There was no consent. They were two people, husband and wife, behaving utterly out of character. This was not the Jay she had known and loved, had a family with. The moment
seemed to transform her too.
They were both shocked. She raised her hand and it descended to crack him hard across the face. He withdrew immediately from her body, then left the bedroom.
Mimi lay among the pillows on the bed, her eyes closed, moist with tears, one hand covering them. She was distressed, not just for herself but for both of them. When Jay came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, having shaved and showered, he walked around the room, putting on the lamps, dressing. Mimi watched him. The anger was gone. Something like sadness seemed to be taking them over. She seemed mesmerized by his movements, unable to take her eyes off him. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t, nor could she speak. Neither could he.
He finished knotting the black silk tie with the tiny white dots on it. A grey pin-striped waistcoat went on over a white button-down shirt. He turned towards her. He was looking down at his fingers deftly buttoning the form-fitting waistcoat. He walked to the bed and stood over Mimi. She watched him as she had watched him a hundred times snappily adjusting the waistcoat so that it fitted smoothly.
‘Mimi, I make no apologies for what just happened, nor do I want you to. I have never behaved so badly to you or any woman as I have this morning. You’re dangerous, Mimi. I honestly think it is you who have driven me to behave as I have, and I don’t appreciate it, not at all. I’m moving, going back to our house. If you come home, it had better be …’
She interrupted, ‘Don’t say any more, Jay. You don’t have to spell it out for me, nor do you have to issue ultimatums.’
‘So long as you understand.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Well, then, we’ll have to come to some amicable arrangement, won’t we?’
Mimi had rarely seen him so cold and angry, but rarely had she so trampled on his pride. She watched him turn, put on his jacket and button it up.
