Adam & Eve (Eve's Room)

Eve’s Room

Part one: Adam & Eve

Copyright
 
©
2012 by Lilian Love

All right reserved. Except as permitted under the US copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted by any form or by any means or stored on a database or retrieval system, without prior written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, loca
les or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

♥

1.

He was charming, and all charming men believe they’ll become rich, until they turn thirty, realise they’re wrong, and lose all their charm. Luckily I met him before he turned thirty.
It w
as summer. The sun shone in through my window and I woke to the sound of birds singing on the rooftop. It was like I fell asleep in my room and woke up in a Monet painting. Even my pastel blue walls looked like they’d been gently brushed with meaning in the night. I checked my watch. Almost midday.
Who cares, it
was the holidays. I kicked off my sheets and showered, leaving the bathroom door open so I could see the view from my window (I lived on the top floor of an old stone house on the edge of town, beyond the house were endless fields and woodlands
.
I’d
occasionally stroll out there with a book of poetry or novel
I was studying for class to re
ad under the shade of an
oak tree. Yes I’m pretentious, but who hasn’t been since Freud invented the ego?). While drying myself with a SpongeBob towel (I have no idea how or why it appeared in my cupboard) I poured a glass of water over the herbs on my windowsill before slipping into my favourite summer dress; a £2 fashion miracle from a charity shop in France.
The fridge was empty except for a half
carton of Tropicana
, a lemon and a lime. I’d been starving myself for nearly three days on the citrus detox (a squeeze of lemon or
lime juice in a glass of
water
 
five times a day, nothing else) and found it curious that the hungrier I grew, the more the men I fantasised about became ambassadors of indulgence; pastry chefs, chocolatiers, French bakers, even a McDonald’s worker. My stomach was groaning and I had to fix my subconscious with a decent breakfast.

I slipped on some sandal
s and skipped downstairs.
I bade
good morning to Mrs Henley
and her little scottie dog
Daisy (Mrs Henley, who didn't have a first name as far
as I could tell, lived below me. She was
a lovely old lady who
would
always
leave a jar
of jam
on my doorstep
whenever she made some
).
The air outside was dry and the sun was hot on my shoulders. The town was already busy; girls and gentlemen (there are no men in my town, just gentlemen— they’re like men but with better fashion sense and impeccable manners) cycled by, chatting merrily to one another as baguettes rattled around in the baskets on the front of their bikes. I strolled along the cobbled street lined with bushy oaks and followed a stray cat through the ancient archway, past the abbey, and into the graveyard. It chased a butterfly, then gave up and rubbed itself fondly agains
t the base of an old tomb
stone before curling up in the shade.

2.
 

The café—
Annabel’s
— was on the oldest street in town. My best friend Alice worked there. And she made the best coffee in the world.
 
Annabel’s
was small and cosy with vases of fresh wild flowers on each table. As usual the cafe was filled with the scent of warm bread and coffee and an orchestra was playing quietly on a retro radio on the end of the counter. I was the only person inside; everyone else was sitting at the pavement tables enjoying the sun. When I entered, Alice was scribbling something down in a notepad, but the moment she sensed my presence she looked up, dropped her pen, ran around the counter and hugged me excitedly. I swiftly pulled her over to a corner table.
‘What happened last night, tell me everything’ I asked eagerly
'We met, we fucked, I left' she replied, eyes darting around to make sure nobody could hear. She was always beautifully blunt about matters of the heart.
‘Will you see him again? Did you leave your number?’ I asked
‘You know I only leave my number as a tip for guys who make me cum. He didn't deserve a tip.’
‘Does he know where you work? What if he walks past and sees you and comes in?’
‘I'll use my classic excuse; my auntie’s cousin’s step son’s best friend’s neighbour’s cat died’
‘You must drive these guys mad’ I said, amazed
‘Yeah, give me a sane man and I'll cure him for you. Black coffee?’
‘Latte’
‘Latte?’ she raised her eyebrows in surprise ‘What about the detox? Don't you have some sachets of powdered glamour you stir into a glass of water or something?’
‘Sachets of cyanide, free in this week’s
Vogue
. Can I have my latte with full fat milk please?’
‘Nothing tastes a good as skinny feels’ she said, raising her eyebrows
in pretend warning
‘Except croissants. I'll have two, as w
ell as the latte’ I grabbed
the Times from the nex
t table and scanned
the headlines.
She leant forward, gave me a kiss on the cheek, then strutted off to bash about loudly on the coffee machine.
I was absorbed in an article about the success of Fifty Shades of Grey when Alice returned with the latte— a love heart on its
smooth creamy
surface— and two croissants on a plate with butter and jam. One of the croissants had a bite out the end. I glanced up and saw Alice chewing mischievously.
‘Help yourself’ I
said
, hitting her
playfully
in the side.
'Have you read that?' she asked, prodding the article
'Of course not, if my professors caught me reading it they'd throw me down a
fucking
well
and pour burning oil over me
.'
'Who was your professor who came in here last time?’
'Professor Jonas? The young Swedish one with the thick rimmed glasses? He's fuckable,
yet married'
'Since when did that matter? I’d still fuck him. I haven’t fucked an intellectual in… Christ, have I ever fucked an intellectual?’
'There was that shy one you met at the gallery opening’
‘Oh yeah, Tim the sculptor. The after-sex pillow talk was deep, I miss that. I remember him asking me what I think happens after I die as he peeled the condom off. Intellectuals always talk about death. He was too scared to show me his art though. Never a good sign.’
We paused in thought, the orchestra on the radio reached a crescendo, then the café door swung open and in walked one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen in my life. He was tall and broad shouldered with neat blonde hair and a golden tan. He wore blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons popped o
pen showing a glimpse of chest. A
silver chain
around his neck glinted in the light
. His shirt was
just
tight enough to see the definition of the muscles beneath. He frowned as his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the street to the dimness of the café. Alice and I followed him with our gaze as he slinked between the tables and came to a halt at the counter. I slapped Alice on the shoulder, breaking the spell. She got up, hurried over and served him, her voice a little higher than normal. I took a bite of soft croissant and a sip of hot coffee and tried and focus on the newspaper, but Alice kept giggling, and there's nothing more distracting than hearing your best friend giggle with a man you want to be making you giggle. I glanced over, she was fluttering her eyelashes and handing him a free sample of brownie with a pair of tongs. He took the brownie, popped it in his mouth, nodded his head appreciatively and said something that made Alice giggle again. Then he turned and peered around the café. All the other tables were free, yet his gaze fell on the empty chairs around me. I quickly looked down at the Times as he strolled towards me.
‘Too
many people eat alone
these days
. Mind
if I join you?' he said self assuredly.
'Oh… please, be my guest.'
 
I feebly reshuffled the newspaper to make room for him. He retrieved his orange juice from the counte
r and sat down beside me, a wave
of expensive cologne filling the air.
C
onfidence is the sexiest thing a man can have
...
I’d heard that quote somewhere, and suddenly found myself agreeing with it wholeheartedly
.
‘Are you reading that?’ He asked, patting the newspaper
'Fifty Shades of Grey? Or The Times?’
He squinted at the article where there was a picture of the book cover
'
Fifty Shades... h
aven’t heard of it’
‘Seriously? Everyone’s reading it. It’s about the sex life of a student and a billionaire’
‘Like, Rupert Murdoch and a marketing undergrad from Sheffield?’
‘No, the billionaire in the book is
like,
twenty seven’
‘That’s ridiculous
!
’
he said with a smirk
.
‘Exactly why I’m not reading it’
‘Do you ever read the obituaries section in the paper?’ He
asked, leafing
through the Times to the obituaries ‘they're accidentally inspiring, make me glad to be alive. When I read them, I imagine my own obituary, and it makes me want to do outrageous things so it’ll be a better read. If you were in here, what would it say? Were it w
ell written, of course' he fixed
me
with an intense gaze. His eyes we
re
deep blue with a rim of fiery g
old around the pupil. He was so fucking attractive.
But my obituary…
'Let me think… perhaps something like this; Eve St Clair, died today while flying too close to the sun. The wax in her homemade wings melted and she plummeted to her death in the English
Channel
. A once promising English student, she was driven insane with lust after reading Fifty Shades of Grey and mistook the sun for her soul mate.'
'Very good, very good indeed' he grinned ‘Eve St Clair huh, that's a beautiful name. I'm Adam’
'Adam and Eve' I smiled
‘What a coincidence
!
’ his eyes widened with surprise ‘do you study the bible in your English class?'
'No but perhaps next year it'll come up in my historical fiction paper’
‘Ah, so you’re an atheist?’ he chuckled
‘I believe in evolution, so yes’
‘My theory of evolution is that Darwin was adopted’
he said quickly
'for
an
atheist you have the most angelic face Eve. You’re really very beautiful.’
I blushed and glanced over at Alice. She was stuck behind the counter, wiping down the surfaces
and pretending not to listen
.
The radio had gone very quiet.
‘So you
study English’ he said
curiously
‘you know my uncle is a professor of English? Professor Jonas’
Alice knocked something over and it smashed. I jumped with fright, and Adam got halfway out his chair before Alice waved him down, saying everything was fine in a flustered voice as she scrabbled for a dustpan and brush.
‘Actually I had Professor Jona
s for a poetry course last year.
He’s an astute teacher, very clear and confidant’
‘So what’s your favourite poem?’ Adam asked, leaning his chin on his fist
‘It has to be The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, please tell me you’ve heard of it
...
’
‘In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo’ he said, quoting a line from the
poem ‘is it that one?’ he frowned
unsurely
.
‘Yes!’ my heart swelled. Confidence is the sexiest thing a man can have, except an appreciation of good poetry. Adam was the first man I’d met since Prof
essor Jonas who had both. ‘L
et me force the moment to its crises, and ask you what your plans are for this afternoon?’
I asked
.
‘I have some thin
gs to do’ he casually replied ‘but those things can wait
’
‘I have some poetry books at my place, would you like…’
‘I’d love to’ he said
, cutting me off with a wicked grin.
I wish I could’ve got a picture of Alice’s face as I left the café with Adam. I gave her a wink from the door and she shook her head in disbelief. She’d expect me back again first thing in the morning to tell her the exact details of what was about to happen.