I can’t breathe for a second. A few seconds actually. Finally, I get my act together and turn, finding myself way too close to Lamé’s knowing gaze, her smiling mouth. I should tell her it was fun and grab a coffee and just go, but I want something, I guess. I haven’t figured out what it is yet, but it’s there, glimmering just out of reach.
“It was…” I swallow, trying to pinpoint one feeling, one word that I can share with this near-stranger. “Transformative.”
“Whoa. That’s a big-ass word right there.” She moves away—finally—and sets to work making a coffee. I imagine it’s mine, since there’s no one else here, but it seems unlikely she’d remember my order from yesterday, considering the number of drinks she probably makes in a day.
I pull out my phone and type a quick message to Mom.
Me:How is everything?
Of course she replies within seconds. She’s probably up and doing her first online Sudoku of the day right now. Though she can barely hold a pen anymore, she’s an ace with her phone. Thank God for talk to text.
Mom:Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation right now?
The vacation part she knows about. Just not what kind of vacation this is, which is definitely a source of guilt.
Me:Just checking in.
Mom:All is well, Gracie. I’m on second tea, Vanessa’s hovering. Put your phone away and enjoy yourself, FFS.After a second:And send me pictures!
Yeah, right.
Me:Okay. Love you.
Mom:Don’t forget to flirt! Get out there, Rosebud!
If only she knew.
Mom, who never for a second wanted me to give up my dreams in order to take care of her, was ecstatic when she found out Max had convinced me to take time off.
“I’m not surprised, though,” Lamé says over her shoulder, shimmying when the music changes and an old Massive Attack song comes on.
“Surprised?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“About the transformative thing.”
Am I surprised? I don’t know. I can’t tell. What I feel right now is like I’ve been blown wide open.
I want to know who he was, this man who threw my body so deeply into pleasure. I wish I could ask Lamé, though that’s clearly against the rules.
Tell me more, I want to say. Who is he? What’s his name? Or just a vague description will do. Something to wank over. What color’s his hair? Is it short? How the hell do I not even know that? I wish he hadn’t worn the ski mask, so I could have reached back and felt his hair, run my fingers through it to know at least the texture. Did he have facial hair? I want to know it all. It seems unfair that he’s pulled my hair and felt the details of my body and I’ve got nothing but his overall mass to work with.
His eyes are what I wish I’d seen the most. I mean, his body would have been good masturbation fodder at least, but his eyes… Are they dark, like mine? Or bright? Are they as intense as…well, him? What if he’s not intense at all in real life? He could be like a bank teller or something, right? Just plugging numbers in and depositing checks by day, all smiley and easy going, and at night…
“Ooooooh!” She points at the tattoo that snakes down from the sleeve of my T-shirt to disappear at my wrist. “Savage,” she breathes. “And here’s your latte. Anything else?”
“Could I have one for Max, please? With lots of that vanilla syrup stuff. I’m impressed you remember mine.”
“You got it, hon.” Lamé’s expression loses its evil twinkle. She leans toward me again, looking almost sad. “I’m glad it was good. But don’t look for him again, okay? He’s…” She blinks, as if she’s got something in her eyes. “Complicated. Here. Coffees are on the house.”
“Yeah. No. Once is good. Once is all I want.” I thank her, shove a tip in her jar, and start to leave, then stop, already regretting what I’m about to say. “I hope he had a good time, too, you know?”
She makes aWhat?face. “Oh, honey. I’m sure he did.”
“Okay, good. Because for me, it was amazing. It was…” Like finally figuring out what makes me tick. Well, at least part of me. The deep down dirty bits. “Liberating. And it was definitely a one-off. I just came here to get it out of my system, then go home. Now, I’m done. I can move on.”
“Mm hm.” Looking highly skeptical, she goes on. “You know that’s not how it works, right?”
I suspect she’s right, given how I feel inside right now. Like a tap inside me’s opened when I’d hoped to shut it tight. “Yeah,” I concede, though it’s hard admitting it to myself.
