Dark Plums (5 page)

“Well, the old paintings are beautiful. But the new ones … yes … to me some of them seem ugly. But they're very powerful,” she stammered, unable to lie to him.

“That's the way I see the world. I try to get under the tinsel crap.”

“What about the older paintings?”

“I paint what I see. I've changed, and so has my vision.”

“I like tinsel,” she said, looking down at a splotch of blue and purple on the table.

“You're still a child,” he said.

“I've been through a lot.”

“Are you really nineteen, Adrianne?” he asked, taking her hand and gazing hard at her.

“Yes, I really am.”

“I thought you were younger,” he said. “Your skin is so smooth.” He let go of her fingers and brushed his hand against her cheek.

The bare light bulb overhead was beginning to hurt her eyes, and she shut them. In the distance she could hear the sound of night traffic. She thought of how one night Gerald had made love to her on a deserted beach outside of Galveston, and now she could almost feel his touch, feel the sand underneath, and feel the warm water in which they had swum under the dark, clouded sky. That night they had been so close. But then it had all shattered.

The click of a lighter brought her back to the present. Alfredo had turned off the light and lit the candle.

“That's better,” she said. “The light was hard on my eyes.”

She drank some of her wine.

In the flickering light, Alfredo's cheekbones stood out in his lean face. She thought he looked Indian. He pulled her onto his lap, and as he held her close, her longing for Gerald mingled with the waves of energy that coursed along her thighs and through her body. Then she drew away a little.

“You look frightened,” Alfredo said. The warmth in his voice caused tears to flood her eyes.

“I've screwed so many men. I don't want to be hurt again. I want someone to love me,” she blurted out.

Why had she said this? She was giving away her power, and she could see herself crumbling into particles in his eyes. His pupils seemed to contract. When he cupped her breast, she jerked away.

“Don't do that.” His voice sounded colder.

She tried to speak, but she was shaking with sobs.

“Hey, baby.” His voice softened again. “I won't hurt you. I won't ever hurt you,” he said. His warm voice so melted her that she felt feverish with wanting him, and she pressed tightly against him, awkward as it was on the chair. “I've been with a lot of women. But this is different, and we both know it.”

“How do we know?” she asked, feeling like a child in his arms.

“We
know
each other in a way that goes beyond any rational explanation. When I first saw you, an electric shock ran through me. Don't be frightened, Adrianne. Relax.”

“I'm scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I don't know.”

“You've been hurt,” he said. “It shows in the way you move and talk and even in the way you breathe. Men can sense that you're an easy lay. But I see something else in you. I see a beautiful woman I could love.”

“Really?” She felt stupid. Her voice sounded so unsure. She took another swallow of wine and floated above herself, watching the girl, watching the man who gripped her as he leaned back against the wooden slats of the chair. He stroked her breasts. Aroused, she pressed closer against him, but tears were streaming down her cheeks as a wave of dread swept through her.

“What's the matter?”

“I feel so anxious all the time.”

“About what, baby?”

“I don't know.”

He was playing her game. He was drawing her out, and she was revealing too much. But she was tired of struggling to keep her secrets.

“I'm so tired of screwing different men. I want to love one man, and I want to be faithful to him the rest of my life.”

Why was she saying this? The words had come out of her like swallows on wings of their own. She was hungry. Ritz crackers and cheese were all she'd eaten for dinner. At the Rose Bar she'd had a rum and coke, and now the wine was giving her a headache. “Is there anything to eat?” she asked.

“Not much. I'm just about out of food.” He pushed her to her feet, then looked inside the refrigerator and took out a half empty can of beans. Quickly he heated the beans up in a frying pan and put them on a plate with a fork, along with a slice of white bread.

She ate the bread and swallowed a few bites of the beans.

“Is that all you want?”

“I'm sorry. I can't eat any more,” she said, putting down the plate. Her stomach felt queasy, and she was far too excited to eat.

As they stood there in the kitchen, he took her in his arms, pressing his hands against her buttocks so that she could feel his hard cock against her belly. Reaching under her skirt, he ran his fingers along the inside of her thighs and underneath the silken fabric of her panties. He caressed her mound of flesh, stroked the pubic hair, pressed underneath to where she was wet, and slid his fingers inside. Aroused, she pressed even closer against him, contracting involuntarily against his fingers. When he led her by the hand through the narrow hall, she followed him in a daze to his room. He lit another candle. In its flickering light, she saw a mattress with rumpled sheets on the floor, and next to it was a bookcase crammed with books.

He knelt and slipped off her shoes, kissing her bare toes, while she rested her hand on his head for support. Then he unbuttoned her skirt, which fell to the floor. Rising to his feet, he pulled her blouse up over her head and unhooked her bra, holding her full breasts tenderly. She started to take off her panties. “Wait, let me,” he said, as he slid them off, and pressed her all naked against him. She could feel how aroused he was. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered. “You have a great body.”

Then he took off his own clothing. He was well-formed and muscular, and his skin glistened with sweat. His cock looked very large. When he pulled her close, she felt herself melting as she never had before with any stranger. “I love you, baby,” he whispered in her
ear. He pulled her down on top of him on the mattress, rolled her on her back. By now she felt as if she were nothing but a huge wave of desire as he kissed her downwards from her breasts to her belly, then her pubic area and her vulva. He licked and sucked until she moaned with pleasure and gave a little gasp of release. Then he relaxed his hold and pulled himself up so that they were lying full length against each other. “I love you,” he murmured again.

At first she hardly dared to breathe for fear of breaking the spell. Then she said in a low voice. “You hardly know me.”

“I've never met anyone like you. I feel as if I've known you forever.”

As they held each other, images of palm leaves floated through her mind, and she wondered if she were picking up his thoughts. She breathed in the smell of his sweat, mixed with musky cologne, wine, and tobacco. His black hair felt soft, almost silken.

Arching his upper body over her, he penetrated her slippery wetness. Sweat glued them together. As he thrust deeper, she began to feel like a swirling sea, all liquid inside, as she clamped the walls of her vagina tighter against him. He kept on thrusting. Deep inside her, he paused, and for a moment both of them lay still, while their breathing synchronized. It felt as if they were no longer two people. They were one. If only they could always be together like this, she thought. If only there were no lonely aftermath. When he began thrusting again, she felt as if he were filling her with his strength, and she ground her pelvis against him to get him even deeper inside her. “Fuck me until I die,” she whispered. What a crazy thing to say! As they moved against each other, she felt as if she were sliding into a dark chasm, sliding, falling, until she could no longer hold herself back. Then she lay still. Again tears overflowed, and her face was wet when he stroked her cheek.

“What's the matter?”

“I don't know. I don't want you to leave me.”

“I'm not going to leave you, precious.”

She pressed her hands against his buttocks, dug her face into his shoulder. She felt like an octopus dragging him down beneath the sea as he continued ramming into her.

Then with a series of faster thrusts he climaxed.

Calmed by his orgasm, she sighed. The way he touched her, the warmth in his voice, the way he sensed who she was, all this was something she had never experienced before, not even with Gerald. Perhaps at last she had found the man who would be her guide as well as her lover. Perhaps he would marry her, and they would have a child.

His penis was shrinking now, and her thighs were sticky with his semen. She didn't move because she wanted to prolong the pleasure of feeling him inside her. She imagined his sperm traveling upwards to fertilize the egg in her uterus.

As if picking up her thoughts, he probed inside her vagina with his long fingers and felt her diaphragm. “Good,” he said. “You're protected.”

“Yes,” she said sadly.

Dread encircled her like a serpent so that she could hardly breathe. She felt herself losing control of her center, her edges spilling out, as if she were some kind of soft putty he would be able to mold into any shape he wanted, and she sensed that she would be powerless to prevent this because she would need him far too much.

At 9:15 the next morning Adrianne stumbled sleepily into the office at Eureka Fabrics. She put the paper bag with her doughnut and coffee on the desk and her straw handbag inside the bottom drawer.

Irene rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Here's the party girl!”

“You're late,” added Rose.

“I know,” Adrianne said brightly, skittering over an abyss of fear. “The subway got stuck.” She became aware of how wrinkled her skirt and blouse were from being thrown into a heap on Alfredo's floor.

Rose, five months pregnant, had pale skin and long curly hair. She took a sip of the Pepsi which always stood on her littered desk. “Why don't you ask your boyfriends to send you to work in a taxi?” she asked, exchanging a glance with Irene.

Adrianne laughed, but she felt panicky. Something was wrong. They treated her as if she were crazy.

The only phone in the office rang.

Irene picked it up. “For you, Adrianne,” she said, handing her the receiver. Then she resumed flicking through some large worksheets. She was a bony woman with sharp features.

“Which boyfriend is it this time?” asked Rose.

“Who's keeping count?”

“Hi, precious,” said Alfredo on the other end.

The sound of his voice swept away Adrianne's fatigue. Although it was awkward to talk, standing as she was against Irene's desk, she floated high above Irene and Rose.

“How are you, Adrianne?”

“Okay, Alfredo. Just a bit tired.” She wobbled on her high heels.

“Last night was special.”

“Mmmm,” she murmured.

“Let's get together tomorrow night?”

“All right.”

“Why don't you stop off at the bar around midnight. That's when I get off.”

“Okay. I'll do that.”

“I know you're working, so I won't keep you.”

“That's okay.”

“Love you, baby,” he murmured, just before he hung up.

She replaced the heavy black receiver on its cradle. Did he mean it?
Love you, baby
.

Trembling, she began to type up orders that sales reps had written out in barely legible script. As she worked, she munched on her doughnut.

Again the phone rang.

“Bet it's another one of her boyfriends.”

“Naww, it's my husband. Wants to check up on me and the baby,” said Rose, smoothing the cotton of her maternity smock over her swollen belly. “He's kicking,” she murmured.

“For you again, Adrianne.”

Adrianne did not recognize the voice on the other end.

“Sure you remember me,” the voice said slyly. “This is Don.”

“Don … Don? … “

“Nedick's … a month ago on 37th Street.”

In a flash she remembered an episode in the cellar of a delicatessen. He was a young man with dark hair, a punk's face, and a cynical grin. It had happened during her lunch hour. She recalled the fast rubbing of his groin against hers as he spilled semen inside her. They had stood against the cement wall, which smelled cool and fresh in spite of the heat. What had come over her? Why had she told him where she worked, let alone her true name?

“I would have called you sooner,” the voice said. “I've been away.”

“I'm busy, Don. I can't talk now.”

“When can I see you?”

“I … I have a boyfriend.”

“That doesn't change anything.”

She hung up. Hoped she wouldn't run into him again. Why was she involved in these encounters? At the time they seemed no more real than a lurid nightmare or an erotic fantasy. The stranger's bodies gave her a moment's comfort. But then all this was smashed by the reality of semen injected inside her, the odor of semen, the clammy feel of fluid, a collapsed penis, and afterwards, a harsh voice.

“Such a busy girl,” said Irene. “So you have a new boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us about him.”

Their eyes gleamed.

“Oh … just a man.”

“Just a man. Just a man,” mimicked Rose and Irene.

“She uses us as personal secretaries,” said Rose.

“Yeah. Saves on her phone bill. We oughta charge her.”

Once more the phone rang. Apprehensively, Adrianne ran over to Irene's desk and picked it up. It was the same male voice. “Why can't you see me tonight, Adrianne?” he wheedled. “I'll show you a good time. Got a friend who wants to meet you. I want to see you so bad. I just
gotta
see you.”

Conscious of the two other women, furious with them, embarrassed, she wanted to hang up, but she felt sorry for Don. Lonely aching punk. She was frightened, too, at the insistence in his voice.