Losing It (22 page)

That’s how he felt now, starving for Julia. She was always more attentive when they’d been apart for a while; it was one great thing they could always count on. When she’d gone to Calgary to visit her brother’s family – he remembered it suddenly. She was seven months’ pregnant, had trouble walking to the baggage-claim area, her hip was so sore. He wanted to find a wheelchair for her but she refused. Then when he got her home she jumped him – her word for it – wouldn’t even let him get upstairs to the bedroom. It was right there on the living-room rug, the fat lady on top – again, her expression – and she climaxed in seconds, the only time it ever happened that way.

Bob picked up his suitcase, walked to the door, opened it, looked behind him one last time to check the room, and nearly ran over Sienna, who was standing with her knuckles raised, ready to knock.

“Jesus!” he said.

“Oh, Bob. Oh, there you are!” she said, and stepped back slightly and then forward again, almost into his arms. He should have embraced her. Clearly she wanted him to, but he stopped himself, and she stiffened. “You’re leaving?” she asked.

“It’s an, um, emergency,” he said.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s something with my mother-in-law. I have to get back, Julia needs me.” Julia. The first time he’d used her name in front of Sienna. It worked like a talisman.
Julia
. Now she was real and the sugar-castle world he’d constructed would be washed away, as it had to be.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry to hear that,” Sienna said. He stood with the door half opened, leaning against his back. “When does your flight leave?” she asked.

“In an hour and a half,” he said. “But I have to go now. Who knows what the traffic will be like?”

“Yes,” she said, and they looked at one another in silence. She seemed nearly in tears. Bob looked away. Just get down the hall, he thought.

“I’m sorry to leave this way,” he said abruptly. “We’ll talk next week, all right?”

“Next week?” she said, her voice brittle. She’d have to move for him to get by. Or he’d have to touch her.

“Yes. Is that all right?” He looked at his watch again.

She said, “Fine, sure,” but didn’t move.

“Could I get my poems back at least?” she asked finally. Her eyes were puffy and the “at least” hurt.

“Oh. Yes, of course!” Bob said. He started fiddling with his suitcase zipper, but was cramped for room. “Here,” he said finally, “come on in,” and he pulled the heavy bag back into the room and onto the bed. Then he unzipped it, found the folder with her poems, and handed it over. “They’re really wonderful, as I said. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk about them properly. Maybe next week. I’ll send you an e-mail.”

She took the folder wordlessly, hesitated, then sat in the small stuffed chair by the telephone, pulled her knees to her chin and hugged them in a childlike motion. Even in her simple jeans and white turtleneck she was lovely. Bob zipped up his suitcase again, turned to go.

“If you have two minutes, maybe –” she said.

“No, actually,” he said quite sternly, and then she was crying.

“Oh, Sienna. Listen.” He stepped towards her. She held her face in her hands now, was bent over, her long black hair curtaining her face. “Listen,” he said again, and touched her shoulder. Then he got on one knee and kissed the top of her head. Just the once, for comfort.

She tried to say something but couldn’t mouth the words. He rose and went to the bathroom, returned with the tissue
box. “Of course I have a couple of minutes,” he said, handing one to her. “Of course I do.”

She took the tissue without looking, blew her nose, wiped her eyes, then picked up another and wiped her eyes again. “I’m okay,” she said, took a third tissue and blew her nose again. “Did my eyes run?” she asked.

“No. Your eyes are perfect.”

“It’s just –” she said, and then she broke down again. Bob looked at his watch.

“I know. I know,” he said, and kneeled once more, took her in his arms, gave her a fatherly hug. She really was terribly young, he thought, and he was too old for this stuff. “We’ll talk about it in a couple of days,” he said.

“Yes. Okay,” she said, and stood up so that she towered over him for just a moment. Then he regained his feet and she embraced him, in a daughterly way. He patted her back soothingly. He tried to let go, but she increased the pressure and so he hugged her some more. Then she did let go, turned for a moment, and rushed to him again, kissed him on the mouth. “I know I’m not going to get to do that in a couple of days,” she said.

He couldn’t find his voice right away, but finally he said softly, “No, no you won’t,” so they kissed again.

“Oh God. Oh,” he said weakly, when they broke apart.

“I know. I know,” she whispered.

“Sienna, I can’t do this,” he said.

“I know. Shhhh,” she said, and put her finger on his lips. Then they kissed again. She slid her lips down to his neck, kissed him lightly. “I had this feeling,” she whispered, “that we would be different. That we would connect on a whole other level.”

“Yes,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I’m not … I’m not like a lot of women,” she said, and kissed his mouth again. His hands roamed up and down her body, he
couldn’t help it. She was moving against him, was rubbing the inside of his thigh with her own. “I don’t like … straightforward men,” she whispered.

“No,” he said.

“I like … twists,” she murmured, dipping slightly so that the pressure of his leg increased for a moment between hers.

“Mmmmm.”

“I just had a feeling … that you were the same.”

“Oh,” he said. She backed him against the telephone table and began rocking gently against his leg.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Oh. Yes,” he said. Then: “What?”

She moved away slightly, looked at him with a flushed face, tiny smile. “Do you like things … a little different?”

He probably weighed twice what she did but he had the feeling that she was far stronger, had him surrounded, could crush him if she wanted. He needed to look at his watch, get himself moving forward, out the door, into the taxi, back to his own world. One glance at his watch would set it all in motion, but he didn’t feel he could raise his hand.

“A little offbeat,” she said, and rubbed him with her small, warm hand right down his front. “Unconventional. Just for private.”

“Mmmm,” he said, his eyes closed. It felt too good to stop.

“I like things that way,” she said. “There are a few … 
unconventional
things I like a man to do with me. But you have to trust someone so much, don’t you? To let down your guard. Let them in.”

She unzipped him gently and he let himself lean back. There are other flights, he thought.

“If you had something,” she said, “something so private, would you tell me?”

“Uh-huh,” he whispered.

“Would you?” she asked again.

“Yes!”

She pressed her body fully against him and nibbled on his ear.

“Tell me,” she sighed.

“Oh.”

“Tell me. You can. Just say it.”

“Oh. Oh.”

She pulled her hand away slowly and Bob felt himself caving.

“I don’t like macho men,” she said, and bit gently the edge of his lip, kissed his closed eyes. “I like to be in charge, whatever it is.”

“Yes.”

She rubbed him once, swiftly, then stayed very still immediately after. “I bet you like to lose yourself,” she murmured.

“I like –” he said, and the words caught in his throat. I need to leave, he thought. I need to get out of here.

“Yes, what do you like?”

He couldn’t say it. No, of course he couldn’t. But she wouldn’t let up. “It’s something, isn’t it?” she asked. He felt flushed, over-balanced, as if the glue were dripping from his seams. “Please, oh please!” she pleaded. But he wouldn’t say. No, of course he wouldn’t. It would’ve been beyond this life. So it wasn’t his voice, not his at all that he heard.

“I like to be … slightly … feminine, sometimes,” the voice said, and she smiled, oh, what a smile, the relief and joy that seemed to sweep over her, it reverberated inside him as well. It was all right, it really was just fine.

“I knew that,” she said. “Oh, I knew that about you!” and she kissed him so deeply then. “It’s clothes!” she said, almost too loud, he felt like putting his hand over her mouth, but really, it
was safe, they were in private. “Lingerie,” she said, lingering over the word. “I bet you like lingerie!”

“Oh,” he said, all resistance crumbling.

“I can’t believe this. This is so wonderful,” she said. “I am so … turned on by this,” and she stepped back, looked at him from arm’s length with her eyes bright with tears. “Will you do this … will you do this with me?” she asked.

I will lay down my life for you, he thought.

“I couldn’t bear it if you won’t,” she said, her face suddenly uncertain, as if he could refuse.

“No. No, of course!” he said, and stepped towards her again. But she kept him at arm’s length.

“I want to do it right.” She beamed at him. “Oh, I want to do this so right. But not now. You’ve got your plane –”

“I could take another one.”

“No, no, there’s Julia, you have to get home to her,” she said. “This will be outside all that. Completely separate. It’ll be just for us. And we’ll have to prepare.”

“Oh, Sienna,” he said, and had a hard time finding the words. “You can’t believe how long -”

“No, no,” she said. “Don’t tell me now. You haven’t time. We need to do it right. I’ll do the shopping, all right? But you need to –”

“The shopping?”

“Well, you don’t have your own things, do you?”

“No. No,” he said quickly. “No, of course not.”

“I’ll get some things together. But you have to do something too. Can you?”

“Yes! What?” He was nearly bursting.

“You have to shave, of course!” she said excitedly. His hand went instinctively to his face but she smiled, so sweetly. “Not just there!” she said, and kissed him again, playfully.
“Everywhere. We’re going to make a stunning lady out of you. It’s what you want, yes?”

He could hardly speak. His heart was hammering. “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve wanted …,” he breathed.

“And I want you naked in your skin. For me. Will you? For after class on Monday? Will you? I’ll do
everything
else!”

“Yes!” he said suddenly, excitedly. “Oh God. Yes!” It was too much, too much to ever hope for.

“Go. Go!” she said, turning, grabbing his suitcase for him. He was muddled, could hardly think where to put his feet to step in the right direction.

“Bob. Wait!”

“Huh?” He turned back, took hold of the handle of his suitcase.

“You’re sticking out!” And she laughed, oh it was glorious, she laughed and tucked him back in, gingerly, it was hard to make him fit. Carefully pulled up his zipper. They kissed again and it was like nothing else.

“Go!” she said, and pushed him towards the door.

17

F
or the last twenty minutes Julia had let her mother worry the stairs. She would start up muttering to herself, get about halfway, then look around in bewilderment. Sometimes she would come down again and sometimes she’d continue up a few more steps before pausing once more. It was well past Matthew’s bedtime but he wasn’t going down, not with his Gamma like this. He stayed at the bottom of the stairs calling to her until she turned around, then he’d laugh and hide his eyes. But she didn’t seem to recognize him. Before reaching the top she’d start back down saying, “Bloody rot!” or, sometimes, “Why on earth would they ever, ever, ever?”

It was exhausting, nerve-straining to watch, to not say anything. When is she going to fall? Julia wondered. She imagined it over and over, the terrible
thud, thud
, then her mother smashing onto tiny Matthew.

Yet, on the other hand, Julia thought, her mother was pretty good with stairs and may simply have entered into a harmless loop that kept both her and Matthew if not happy then at least occupied. Once she interfered her mother would just get onto something else. So Julia held off as long as she could. Finally,
when she couldn’t stand it any more, she said, “A drink, Mom? A martini?”

“Oh! A drink!” Sudden delight.

The door opened then and Bob walked in, dragging his suitcase. Julia stood stunned in the kitchen.

“Hello! I’m home!” he announced, and for a moment she was paralysed by two simultaneous thoughts: he takes up so much room, and, I’ve lost an entire day. He looked at her expectantly, then in disappointment, puzzlement. “Is everything all right?” he asked, struggling out of his coat, banging the narrow shelf in the hall but not knocking it down like he sometimes did. “I came home early. It just didn’t seem right to stay away when …”

“What day is it?” Julia blurted.

“Saturday,” he said. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said and she started crying. It was silly, but the wave broke and there she was, sobbing into a dishtowel.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Bob enveloped her in a hug.

“Who are you?” her mother asked halfway up the stairs. “Where’s my drink?” Matthew ran to Julia and grasped her leg and told her not to cry.