I wasn't kissing him so much as I was allowing him to tongue my mouth. I preferred to skip the kissing in general. It was an intimate act, more so in my mind than the actual penetration, but he seemed to want it.
I was still attempting to figure out what he needed in a sex partner. All men have different expectations. Some want you to be still and let them lead, others want an aggressive partner, some want porno star affectation, others don't. I like to give them what they expect; it heightens their desire which gives me a greater high in return.
Greg was giving me nothing to work with. I felt more like an action figure whose only job was to remain where he put me.
He left my mouth and kissed his way down my neck, unbuttoning my blouse as he went. His kisses were wet and I was aware of the cooling, sliminess of his saliva on my skin as it began to evaporate.
There was no heat building, no passion, no lust involved. This was a mechanical process. One which my brain chronicled like a court reporter documented a proceeding.
HALDANE: Applied three kisses to Ms. Wolfe's neck before squeezing her right breast.
WOLFE: Gasped and arched.
HALDANE: Fumbled with small buttons on vintage blouse.
I imagined some bookish woman wearing cats-eye glasses sitting reading the transcript back to me. I almost giggled. I contained it, but one thing was certain, I felt no actual attraction to Greg. I was dry between my legs and this coupling felt both hollow and pointless.
Greg releasing my blouse to scratch his nose interrupted my emotional cataloging. I may not know what true desire feels like, but I do know one thing about men: when they are horny, they don't think about scratching their noses.
"Stop," I spoke before the thought had formed in my mind.
"Huh?" Greg acted bewildered, but his eyes told a different story. Clear and cold, there was no lust there either.
"I said stop," my tone was benign, but I was serious. This was definitely not happening.
He sat up and moved back, settling on the other side of the small sofa. I turned to face him, buttoning my blouse and considering him. There was a tension radiating through him that didn't seem like anger, but was definitely not sexual.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Why do you think? I want to fuck you." He smirked.
"I think you planned to fuck me, but I don't think you want to. So, why don't you level with me?"
His head snapped in my direction, his eyes going wide. Rather than answer me, he lobbed a question of his own, "Why did you let me do any of that?"
If words had form, these were the proverbial gloved gauntlet. I was more than willing to oblige. I ignored the warning light in my brain that my tact filter had slipped after too much emotional upheaval.
"Because sex is an easy way to have your ego stroked and I've been feeling insecure. You were putting out obvious signals making you an easy mark."
He recoiled which surprised me. I hadn't been looking to wound.
"What?" I asked.
He snorted before sighing. "Me too."
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. I hadn't expected that. I figured I would get something tied to his being irresistible or something.
When I made no reply, he said, "My wife is cheating on me. She left me last month and served me with divorce papers today."
I didn't know what to say considering I'd pegged him as a cheater. I opted for honest but non-committal.
"That sucks."
He laughed one of those belly laughs that builds on itself until the laughter itself is the point. I waited him out and when he finished, he was wiping tears from his eyes.
"How apropos," was all he said. He threw himself back into a slouch and sighed again. "You want to know something?"
It was rhetorical, so I waited.
"I never cheated on her. I was faithful, but she never trusted me because I was her boss when we met. So, she always thought I was still sleeping with my employees. I never did. Never. But, when I got those papers today, I almost lost it. I was looking for some revenge I guess."
"You love her."
He grimaced, but nodded.
"You need to give her the divorce."
Again, his head shot up and his eyes widened in disbelief.
I shrugged, "I'm just calling it like I see it. You may love her, but she's made herself clear. You shouldn't change who you are either for or because of her. It won't make her trust you either way."
He stared at his hands which he clenched into fists before saying, "I apologize, Charlotte. You didn't deserve for me to use you."
"No apology needed. We would have been using each other."
He scoffed, "I've never met a woman who was this direct."
I laughed. "I'm not usually this open. I like to keep my cards close, but I'm feeling off kilter tonight. Count yourself lucky." I stood and faced him. When he looked up at me, I said, "Listen, let's just write this off to the full moon and forget about it. Okay?"
I held out my hand to seal the agreement. He stood and shook it, saying, "Deal."
"Good. I can't afford to lose this gig, Greg." I smiled though I was serious.
He was quite earnest as he replied, "The project is safe. You have my word."
I wasn't so sure of that, but we would definitely see.
7. Fed Up
I ENTERED MY APARTMENT UNSURE which I was more of: tired or depressed. My entire life had come unhinged and I had no center anymore. I may not have loved Adam the way he wanted, but I did love the stability, the control I had over my life.
As tired as I was, I shut and locked my door, putting the chain on before dropping into one of the chairs flanking my dinette.
I felt … flat. Empty. Devoid. I have no idea how long I sat there staring into the dimness of my apartment until a faint sound from the bathroom drew my attention. I'd forgotten about Hugo. He was bound to be hungry and need to do his business. I stood, moving with the gait and posture of the elderly as the new reality of my life settled upon me like a lead apron. I didn't even have the energy to lift my feet. Instead, I shuffled across the living room catching my toe on the rug and almost tripping.
The inky blackness inside the bathroom startled me as I opened the door. I'd also forgotten to leave the light on. As this thought registered, so did the stench. Flipping on the light, I shrieked then pinched my nose.
Hugo had gotten his revenge. He had drenched my brand new (well, thrift shop new like everything else) bath mat in urine. A mound of dog shit sat dead center.
The dog himself lay in the tub on a bed of shredded toilet paper. He opened one eye and peered at me before dismissing me with a chuff. My first thought was to grab him and shake him, but Mr. T's words came back to me about how a dog is not malicious. Accidents are the result of the owner's failure to read the signs.
Mr. T must not have gotten to know Hugo.
For the moment, I ignored the dog. Grabbing rubber gloves and a trash bag, I cleaned up the mess before using disinfectant on the bathroom floor. Hugo left the tub, gave himself a bone rattling shake and padded over to my bed, hopping up onto it as if he had every right.
That single act, one he'd performed every single day since I'd gotten him was a spark to gasoline.
"Get off!" I hollered, stamping my foot and pointing a rigid finger at his bed.
He raised his ears and looked at me, but made no move to get off my bed.
"Now!" I screamed loud enough that it hurt. Still nothing.
Everything coalesced for me in that moment. A conflagration burst inside of me that, had it been real, would have turned me to ash. My resentment at the break up and fear for my future churned inside me like the wake from a boat's tiller.
I screamed curses at Hugo unleashing all my rage in an incoherent torrent. It wasn't enough and he still hadn't gotten off my damn bed. I grabbed the first thing I could reach from where I stood in the doorway of my bathroom and hurled it in his direction.
The hairbrush landed next to his head a
nd bounced. That got his attention. He sprang landing in a crouch on all four paws with his tail low and his ears flat on his head. I reached again and threw. The tube of toothpaste bounced off the wall behind him and he yelped, leaping off my bed and running for the kitchen. His tucked his tail between his legs and his butt was so low it almost dragged the floor.
I took huge, gulping breaths trying to calm down. I wasn't trying to hurt the dog. I wasn't even aiming for him. I just wanted him to obey me. But, like everything else in my life, he wasn't cooperating and it was too much.
Tears of frustration burned my eyes but I was still too furious to shed them. Instead, I panted through my anger. Each forceful breath thundered in my ears so that I didn't hear the knocking at first.
Hugo huddled in a corner in the kitchen, his ears swiveling like radar between me and the door. A sharp spear of remorse pierced me at the sight of the dog's fear, but I wasn't calm enough to address it. Taking a deep breath, I ordered myself to relax and answered the door.
"Who is it?" I called after checking the peephole and seeing a bar code filling the view.
"I'm your neighbor from across the hall."
I shot Hugo a glare that had his ears going so flat they disappeared as if absorbed into his skull. This was his fault.
Leaving the chain in place, I opened the doors. A chain was the sturdiest of all the locks; the Mythbuster guys had proven it.
"Yes?"
Standing before me was a beanpole of a man. Boy. Young man. Whatever term goes with a guy in his early twenties at best. He was tall and so slim his joints seemed wider than his muscles. He wore a T-shirt sporting the aforementioned bar code decal and jeans that only highlighted his slimness.
His wannabe hipster outfit stopped at his head where he went from an I'm-a-hipster-looking-to-conform vibe to a look-at-me-I-thumb-my-nose-at-convention spiky hairdo a la skunk with black roots and platinum tips. He sported piercings in his lip and eyebrow. Metal hoops ringed the entire rim of his left ear, making it appear like a set of janitor keys.
"Hiya," he said shoving long absurdly elegant fingers into his pockets and rocking back on the heels of his combat boots. "I heard the commotion and wanted to make sure you were okay in here."
For no reason that I could explain, the tears I'd been holding back chose that moment to fall. My neighbor turned three shades of tomato red and took a step back holding up his hands as if to ward me off.
"Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to make you cry. I thought you might be in trouble and just wanted to check."
"It's not you," I sniffed and released the chain. I didn't sense any threat from this boy even if I was pretty sure it was him whom Lumpy kept trying to nail down. My guess was he owed Lumpy money for drugs. Weed most likely from the earthy aroma clinging to him.
"My dog had an accident," I held up the trash bag I was still holding. "And, I've had a really bad few weeks. I just lost it. I apologize for disturbing you. It won't happen again."
The relief on his face was comical. He was more suited for court jester than knight, but still, it took some heart to put yourself into the unknown.
"What's your name?" I asked as I stepped into the hall. I'd have to take the trash bag to the dumpster in the alley and I was in no mood to fight with Hugo about loose-leash walking.
"I'm G," he smiled showing off perfect teeth.
"G," I held out my hand which he shook with a firm grasp. "I'm Charlotte. Again, my apologies. I'll try not to have any more uncontrolled melt downs."
He shrugged, "No big."
With a nod of dismissal, I descended the steps to get rid of the remains of Hugo's tantrum.
"Hey! Where you going? It's dangerous out there." He called from the top of the steps.
Again, I held up the bag. "This has to go."
He ambled down the steps in a way that made me think of a slinky before coming to rest beside me. "I'll walk with you. My brother would kill me if I let you go out into that alley alone at such a late hour."
I shrugged. I was too tired to care.
By the time we'd gone to the dumpster and back, I'd found at that G was short for Gerald and that he went by DJ G-Money when he performed. He'd been working the local club circuit and was building a name for himself. I mentioned having noticed one of his flyers and he puffed up so much he resembled a pierced and image-confused marshmallow.
I also found out his brother, a cop, didn't approve of his chosen career and was putting pressure on him to go back to college.
We said goodbye outside our respective doors and I thanked him for the escort.
"Anytime, Lady C," he said closing his door and bestowing upon me my first street name. It made me feel ancient.
Inside the Closet, Hugo hadn't moved. I crouched before him, ashamed of having made him fear me. I placed a hand on his trembling flank and stayed there until he calmed.
Standing, I filled his bowl with kibble and gave him water. As he ate, I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed. Hugo walked with tentative steps into the living area and didn't even attempt to get into my bed, going straight to his own. What should have made me happy only compounded my shame.
"Hugo," I said and the dog faced me, he ears at attention, his head cocked as he listened. "I'm sorry. That won't happen again." We both lay down. After several long moments, I spoke into the stillness. "This isn't working, Hugo. I'm going to take you back tomorrow."
The only response was an elongated canine sigh.
* * *
The next morning, Hugo was still subdued. He watched me warily, never moving from his bed until I called him to eat. I felt like a complete shit, but I could not handle his stubborn refusal to obey me. Not to mention how destructive he was. I'd lost too much already and I wasn't willing to lose anymore. Not one more thing. I'd just have to get a Taser or something.
Of course, these lofty convictions weren't making it any easier to look the dog in the eye. When he'd eaten his food and sloshed water all over my floor—another checkmark in my "give him back" column—I clipped he leash to his collar and locked the door behind us.
Outside, the sky was overcast and a misting rain fell complementing my mood. I was a complete failure as a dog owner, why should the sun be shining.
Hugo and I made the long walk to the vehicle I'd reserved through the local car sharing service. I may not own a car, but I'd kept my license current and often made use of the service when I had to avoid public transit.
Today, I'd gotten a cherry red Ford Escape. It was new-ish, but whoever used it last had left behind the putrefying remains of Mexican fast food and the car now smelled like ass soup. I texted the customer service department. I was not adding a cleaning charge to this already bad day.
Hugo leapt into the cargo area. The bunch and flex of his hind legs giving him an unexpected grace so that he cut the air as gracefully as a cat. I was impressed, but no less committed.
We crawled along the parking lot that the District's streets had become in the last decade. I fidgeted and shifted, unable to sit still. I couldn't decide if I was hoping to run into Adam to see if I could get my life back, or if it was best not to see him because he might take my decision to return Hugo as more evidence of my so-called heartlessness.
I'm not heartless.
Really.
I'm not.
I'm just pro-me … most of the time anyway.
That pattern hadn't held last night with Greg, though. I still hadn't figured that one out. It was like as he'd been touching me, I'd understood in my whole being how pointless the entire exercise was. I'd often traded my body for various emotional rewards, so it wasn't something for which I have a particular aversion. Last night, I just couldn't do it.
I hoped Greg was as good as his word and the project was safe. We'd signed contracts, but it was my experience that expensive lawyers undid words on paper with ease. See, this was exactly why you're not supposed to shit where you eat. Hell, what would my readers say—
For a split second, my m
ind went blank as horror washed over me. In the upheaval, I'd forgotten about my blog. I'd published those ridiculously personal posts about my past and had never taken them down. Nausea churned in my stomach and, for several seconds, I saw spots.
I had to take them down.
With any luck no one cared enough to read it. I mean it's not like I had millions of followers or anything. I took several deep breaths, my anxiety climbing with every red light. Mentally, I imagined parting the cars the way Moses parted the Red Sea. As it was, I finally limped into the lot for the shelter a full thirty minutes after I'd planned. I didn't have long to drop off Hugo and get the car back on time.
Opening the hatch, I almost assaulted by Hugo leaping onto the pavement. He sniffed and wagged, pulling me this way and that so that we zig-zagged more than walked to the entrance. We were within reach of the door when Hugo scented something interesting and lunged, almost taking me off my feet.
"Dammit, Hugo!" I screeched. "Stop!"
This was exactly why I was giving him back. I couldn't do it. I wrangled him back to my side, holding the leash so tight he couldn't move his head let alone pull me and yanked on the door knob. I almost fell on my butt when the door didn't move.
I jiggled the handle, pulling several more times. Nothing. It was locked tight.
Only then did I see the sheet of paper taped to the inside of the glass. There was a single, typewritten sentence on it: Closed to the public due to a power outage.
No! The thought echoed in my brain like a horror actress's scream. This wasn't happening. I needed to give this dog back.
Standing there, I tried to calculate my next move when it occurred to me that they couldn't leave the animals unattended. And, peering through the glass showed a single light on inside. With hope surging, I whipped out my phone, called information, and got salvation texted to me in ten little digits.
All was not lost. I would explain to whomever answered. It would be okay. It had to be.
I got a recording.
With a curse, I shoved my phone back into my purse. What was I going to do now? I considered Hugo, who met my eyes with his own too intelligent ones. I felt exposed and embarrassed as if he knew I was trying to get rid of him and was being magnanimous.