Authors: Laurie Plissner
“Sorry, but your mind is like a porn site, and I know that you’re hoping I’ll jump you in the car on the way home.”
I blushed mightily and looked around, hoping no one had heard that last part. There was an elderly couple in front of us, and I could swear the wife was trying to listen in on our odd one-sided conversation.
It’s totally unfair. I have to wait for you to tell me what you’re thinking, if you feel like it
.
“So you want me to tell you?”
Duh
. It was like we were playing poker and he could see all my cards—no contest.
Ben leaned over and whispered, “I think you’re pretty cute. And I didn’t bring you to the theater so you would feel like you owed me. Are we clear?”
Clear
. And a little bummed out. I wanted him to say out loud all the things I was thinking.
“Don’t worry, we’re thinking exactly the same thing.”
I guess I have to trust you on that
.
“You do. Anticipation makes it better. I promise.” The lights dimmed, and the music swelled. Shifting in my seat, I wondered how I was going to sit still for the next two hours. “You’ll make it.” He rested his hand lightly on my thigh.
Not if you leave your hand there
.
“You’re just going to have to suffer, because the hand stays.”
He moved it up an inch or two for good measure. From the waist down I was on fire, and he thought it was funny. There must be something wrong with me, because Ben seemed totally unflustered, in spite of all the flirting.
The music must have seeped into my brain, because about ten minutes into the show, I suddenly knew every note. Mouthing the words, I got lost in the story, almost, but not quite, forgetting about Ben’s hand resting on my leg.
Thank you so much. I did love this show. It’s perfect
.
Closing my eyes for a second I could see my mother, sitting between Liz and me, waiting for the music to start. That second when the theater was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, right before the orchestra started to play … it was thrilling and a little bit scary, holding my breath, waiting for that first note. How amazing to feel that again.
You can’t imagine what this means to me
. Although I tried to blink back the tears, one escaped and fell on Ben’s hand.
How stupid. I’m sorry. Happy tears, I swear
.
“I know, and it’s not stupid,” he whispered, and he looked at me, his own eyes glistening in the darkness, tenderly kissing my cheek.
After the curtain went down and the lights went up, we sat quietly as the theater emptied around us.
How did you know this would make me remember?
“I didn’t, but in my own life, so many memories are tied up with music. Charlotte wasn’t sure it was a good idea to bring you. She was afraid it might upset you. But I thought it was worth a shot. You’re not
that
unstable, and every little thing you remember is another piece of your puzzle back in place.”
Although he wasn’t asking me directly, he clearly wanted to know if the show had triggered anything significant. But other than a few flashes of a trip to the theater five years earlier, there was nothing major. It would take more than sequins, top hats, and catchy lyrics to fix me, but it was a thoughtful gesture.
Every little bit helps. One of these days
. He nodded encouragingly and squeezed my knee.
As we strolled through the lobby, Ben insisted on buying me a souvenir T-shirt and coffee mug. “If that feeling starts slipping away, put on the shirt and drink out of the mug, and you’ll remember the excitement you felt when the lights first went out.”
I don’t need a shirt to jog my memory. I’ll never forget that feeling ever again
.
“What about that feeling you had when my hand was on your thigh?” Ben put his arm around my waist as he steered me along the crowded sidewalk to our next destination.
I still have that, but you know that already, don’t you? You want me to tell you how much I liked it? Is that it?
My face must have been scarlet, and I was perspiring in my wool tights, even though the temperature was barely above freezing.
“Pretty much. I love that you’re so innocent but you’re so …” His hand strayed down my skirt and he patted my rear end.
I think horny’s the word you’re looking for
. Our conversations were so open, which probably would never happen if I actually had to say those kinds of things out loud. What girl would ever have the nerve to tell a guy she was horny? As fearless as Jules was, I doubt even she had ever been so candid with a boy.
“Don’t worry. I don’t take credit for that. You’re ready—I just happened to come along at the right time. Lucky me.”
But it is you
. It would be unimaginable to feel that way all the time, unconnected to any particular person. How awful—like an itchy rash that wouldn’t go away.
It’s not just hormones. I think I can tell the difference, in spite of my lack of experience
.
“You need to start thinking about something else, because we’re both thinking the same thing, and every time I look at you, I want to kiss you.” We were standing at a corner, waiting to cross, surrounded by a swarm of humanity, but Ben seemed oblivious, saying these incredibly intimate things.
A middle-aged woman in jeans up to her neck and a Big Apple sweatshirt turned to me and said, “Young lady, you need to hang on to that boy. In forty years, Vern has never talked to me like that.”
She grimaced and gestured at the man next to her. In a Budweiser cap and NASCAR jacket, he didn’t look like a master of seduction. As if to prove her point, he opened his mouth, simultaneously burping and revealing half a dozen gray teeth tilted every which way, like headstones in a neglected graveyard.
As usual, I just nodded. Ben laughed. “Thank you, ma’am. I hope she listens to you.”
The light changed and we crossed in unison, moving like a vast school of fish.
Your smooth talk even works on the bingo crowd. Impressive
.
Ben sighed. “That did it. Thinking about Vern and his wife in their double-wide doing the nasty—I’m cured, at least for a little while.” His hand started to cup my butt again, but I swatted it away.
I’m glad you find my skirt so appealing, but if you keep touching me like that, I’m going to melt inside these clothes. I’m officially changing the topic. Where are we going?
“Our reservation isn’t for another couple of hours, and we’re too young to hang out in a bar, so we’re going to wander around.”
Ten minutes later we walked through the Art Deco doors of the Empire State Building.
I’ve never been here before. You’re an excellent tour guide
.
“You’ll always remember your first trip to the top. Even if you can’t figure out everything that happened in your life before, you can still make all kinds of new memories. And I have lots of good ideas.”
Oh really
. Back seats, motels, secluded beaches …
“And not all of them involve being alone with you—I swear.”
Standing behind me at the back of the crowded elevator, Ben slipped his hands under my coat and ran them across the front of my skirt, pulling me against his hips. “Sorry about that. You’re pushing against me, and it just happened.” His lips were next to my ear, and between whispers he nipped at my earlobe.
I should slap you for that. The people in front of me are pushing me back against you. I can’t help it. And you’re pulling me
. What I really wanted to do was turn around and climb him like a koala bear in a eucalyptus tree.
“So you don’t like it when I do this?” His hand slid under my sweater, stroking my bare skin.
Stop it
. I was so lightheaded I thought I would faint.
“It’s a long elevator ride, and you’re standing in front of me, so close you’re practically behind me. What else am I supposed to do?” His breath was quick in my ear.
Talk about the weather? School?
You don’t have to put your tongue in my ear at every opportunity
.
The elevator came to a stop suddenly, my stomach catching up with it a second later. Ben quickly pulled his hands from under my clothes.
“I kind of do. Come on. We definitely need some fresh air.”
The winter wind whipped at our faces as we looked at the City spread out below us, sparkling jewels sprinkled on black velvet. How many millions of people were behind all those lights? For the first time in I don’t know how long, I thought about the rest of the world—that with or without my disability, I could be a part of it. In fact, I
wanted
to be a part of it. Like a flower blossoming after a very long winter, I felt renewed. Perhaps it was just the surge of adrenaline I experienced every time Ben touched me, or the effect of his powerful pheromones, but whatever the cause, it felt like I was on the precipice of something wonderful, and I was excited.
Ben stood behind me, pointing out various landmark buildings, burying his face in my hair, nuzzling my neck. While people around us commented on the biting cold, I felt blissfully warm. The heat between us was more than just figurative.
“Have you seen enough? It’s time for dinner. You must be starving. I forgot to get you any lunch.”
I was going to comment on that. Very neglectful. You’ll have to be punished
. I leaned back against him, not wanting to let the cold air rush between our bodies.
“You definitely shouldn’t let me off the hook. I need to be punished. When can we start?” he whispered in my ear.
Turning me around so I was looking up at him, he kissed me hard, ignoring the fifty or so people milling around us. I loved that he was so uninhibited. Always a jealous witness to other people’s public displays of affection, I much preferred being a participant.
Ben was no better behaved on the ride down, but I had given up trying to stop him, and decided to enjoy all the attention. Curbside, he hailed a taxi, and minutes later we were standing in front of the maitre d’ at Mario’s, a stereotypically Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village.
“Good evening. Reservation for two under the name Fisher.”
“Right this way, sir, miss.”
It was like being out with a grownup. Ben was so self-assured, so handsome and serious looking in his blue blazer. Any minute I would wake up on the couch at the Shoreland Public Library, having dreamed every enchanting moment I’d spent with this Prince Charming with the magic tongue. The restaurant was dark, with lots of red leather, and tiny votive candles scattered on the tabletops. It screamed romantic interludes, handholding under the table, and lots of Chianti. How did I end up here?
“I brought you here for a reason. Not just the risotto, which is amazing, but for something else.” Ben gestured to a shiny black baby grand piano in the corner.
Don’t tell me you’re a lounge singer as well as a mind-reading sprinter
.
“Nope. Continuing the theme of the day, which is music, in case you missed it—the Empire State Building was just a last-minute addition—there’s a guy who sings here on Saturday nights. Standards mostly, lots of show tunes. I hope you like it, even though it’s kind of old-fashioned. I love this stuff.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
He was probably also a connoisseur of black-and-white movies, drank scotch instead of beer, and did a mean fox-trot.
“I prefer the waltz, and I don’t really drink, except a little wine. I did live in Italy, after all. My favorite movie is
Notorious
, which
is
kind of ancient—1946.” Ben shook his head and took my hand. “You’re making fun of me. Do you think I’m too old for you?”
I definitely like the vintage manners, so I guess I can put up with you, as long as you don’t fall asleep before dessert. What time do you have to be back at the old-age home?
We settled on mushroom risotto and veal something. Food was irrelevant. The way I felt, I didn’t care if I ever ate again. Ben ordered for us, in Italian, of course. The waiter turned out to be from Florence, and after a few minutes of conversation, he disappeared, returning with special treats from the kitchen, bowing and saying, “
Buon appetito
.”
It was like having dinner with a famous actor or politician. Anyone else would come off as a snob, but Ben was totally sincere and completely unaware of his own specialness. He was naturally suave, and I was under his spell.
Do you always get treated like a celebrity?
“I’m a voice from home, that’s all.”
Sitting back, looking around the room as I munched on calamari, I noticed that we were the youngest people in the restaurant by at least twenty years. It wasn’t that I minded being the only one here who still slept with a retainer, but it made me think. Was I mature enough for Ben? He was perfectly at ease here, with the fine food, the clinking wineglasses, and the seductive light of flickering candles. More accustomed to takeout pizza, diet Coke in a can, and the operating-room glow of Stuart’s eco-friendly kitchen light bulbs, I was feeling way out of my league in the midst of all this urbane sophistication.
Just then, a man in a tuxedo sat down at the piano and started to play and sing. I had experienced more new things in this one day than I had in all of the last four years. What else did Ben have planned? I couldn’t begin to imagine. Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me. Life was good.
“Are you okay? My mother thought I was overdoing it with theater
and
dinner.” Ben reached across the snowy white tablecloth and took my hand. “Maybe she was right.”
I love everything about today. After such a long time, I worry I may never talk again, but since I met you, it doesn’t matter so much. I can still be happy, thanks to you
.
Even in the restaurant’s dim light, I could see Ben blanch until he was nearly as white as the tablecloth. “But …”
Don’t freak out. It’s not like I’ve picked out a china pattern
.
I hadn’t meant to overwhelm him with my appreciation or some implied statement of lifelong dependence, but it wasn’t like I could keep what I was thinking secret from him anyway. The color failed to return to his cheeks. How could I fix my latest blunder?