Authors: Misty Provencher
"This is such a small place," he says.
"That's what happens when your husband leaves you," I tell him. "You don't need so much space."
"Oh, now," Des drawls, straightening his wrist cuff. "That smart mouth again, Lyddle? Is that how this is going to go?"
"What did you come for?"
"First things first," he says. "I give you more than enough money to afford a nicer place than this, don't I?"
"This is good enough."
"Well, that's always been the problem, hasn't it, Lyddle? Haven't you learned anything from me? You should never be happy with
good enough
. Move closer to me."
I scoot over, until I'm next to him. His fingers play in my hair, massage my skin. He leans in and places a warm kiss at the base of neck. He knows what melts me. His lips on my body have had a track record of erasing all the crappy things he's done to me.
"Damn it, Des," I moan. "This is wrong. It's got to stop."
He just laughs, blowing his warm breath over my skin. "You're still my wife. And a wife is never supposed to refuse her husband."
"Tell that to your other wife." I say. His grip tightens on my arm as he drags me even closer. I fall into the dip between the cushions.
"Don't be jealous, Lyddle. You know I care for Claudia, for different reasons. I don't know why you constantly want to give me such a hard time about this. You're the one that has always had my heart. Why aren't you happy? Do you want to go back to being poor? I can finally give you whatever you want now..."
"I never wanted anything but
you
."
He softens at that. "I'm right here, Lyddle. You've got me. You've always got me." He pushes back my hair and lays his lips tenderly to my neck again, tracing the skin to my collar bone with the moist warmth of his mouth. "I miss you so much. This arrangement isn't forever. I promise."
"It's been three years," I say, but I am already losing ground, melting away beneath the heat of his tongue. Damn him. I already know I'll lie awake tonight, reviewing whatever happens in the next hour or so, hating myself for taking Claudia's money, hating him for giving it.
His hands skim over the front of me, tracing the Bermuda triangle beneath my clothes. That's what he always called it, since he said he loses his mind every time he touches it.
The stroking of his fingertips temporarily blurs the shame. His tongue moves against mine and I drink it in, nixing any further conversation.
"Now," he murmurs when I come up for air. "I want to see how you're dressed. Stand up and let me look."
I'm stupid to do it, stupid to keep on letting this happen. He's cheating on both me and his fake wife in one shot and I'm helping him do it by never telling, never stopping him.
But I have a stubborn thought that I use to justify it all. He's still married to me. I still have feelings for him that I keep shored up, bulging inside my heart, as my desire roars behind them. This was the first man I ever loved, the first man I ever made love to. His presence still makes me feel like things will be okay, even though he's the one who has made everything go wrong.
"I said, I want to see how you're dressed, Lyddle. Are you wearing the right panties? Will you let me see?" he whispers.
He is my tragedy. My sick, sick addiction.
I turn away and bend over in front of him, offering him the length of my thigh, the opening of my skirt.
"Yes," I say as I close my eyes and wait for his touch.
CHAPTER FIVE
I had to be sure he was long gone, so I could put my head back together best I could, without a drink. My hands are quaking, thanks to George's rampage. I reassure myself, as the elevator sinks past the floors, that this will be the last time I do any of that with Des, but it's a helluva lot easier to believe that lie when I chase it with a few Mojitos.
The sunglasses are all I've got, and not nearly enough, as the doors glide open and I'm standing face-to-face with Aidan. His eyes roll over me and he cocks his head.
Great. I'm not really armed for an extra shaming. I try to brush past him with a polite grin, since he's the last person I want to see right now, but, of course, he wants to talk.
"Nice shades," he says. "And a new outfit, isn't it?"
"Is it?" I say absently, as if I have no idea that the other is upstairs in my hamper, too stained to wear out in public.
"Your husband...he's an interesting character." Aidan smiles all good-natured-neighborishly.
"Yes, he is."
"Is he always like that to you?
"Like what?"
"An asshole."
I decide then and there that Aidan needs to remember what we are to each other and that I'm not the helpless princess waiting for his white-knighted ass to save me. He might be right on target--Des is a total asshole--but the deposits he just made are still rolled in my pocket and still slick between my legs. He's still my husband.
"We're neighbors, Aidan," I say with a wry smile. "How about we just keep it that way?"
He nods with a little frown. "Alright."
"Thanks," I say, whisking past him and out the lobby doors. I'm happy to be wearing the dark shades because, for some reason, my eyes are welling up with tears.
<<<<>>>>
I order the mirror and pick it up four excruciating days later. I haven't even bothered to leave my apartment, since I can't really see what I look like in the medicine cabinet. Down to the last of the Jim Beam, I was relieved when the store finally called to say the mirror was ready for pick up. I spend three hours getting myself ready and still step out of my apartment feeling like I'd rolled in mud.
It would've taken an extra three days to have it delivered, so I decided to pick it up myself, which turns out to be a monumental mistake.
The mirror is a bitch to drag home.
It's an even bigger bitch to drag through the lobby and into the elevator.
And it's almost a totally broken bitch when I lose my grip and it tips over in front of my door. Mrs. Lowt rushes out of her apartment, nearly stampeding me in the hallway.
"Lydia, what is going on out here? Why are you making so much noise?" She circles the enormous, rectangle box as if she's a bomb-sniffing dog. She drags her finger over the word stamped on the cardboard. "Mirror? What kind of mirror is this big? A ceiling mirror?" Her smile is almost hopeful. "Is that what you got here? Are you making one of those kinky bedrooms--with mirrors and chains and the poles for dancing?"
"No." I smile at her, a little disappointed to be kicking down her expectations of me. "This is just a regular, full-length mirror. It's the kind that stands in the corner."
She's not giving up that easy. "So you can see everything in the bed?"
"No, I just use it to see how I'm dressed," I say. Why I have to add it, I have no idea, but I do-- "My professional outfits."
"A professional," she says with a knowing nod. "Oh, Lydia. Why do you want to do that? And the men...the men you bring back here--at least they're good looking. I wouldn't charge them myself, but that's not good for business to tell them that, is it? Where do you find the handsome ones that pay?"
"Oh my God, Mrs. Lowt! I'm not a prostitute! Those are my...boyfriends."
Her sly grin disappears as she plants her hands on her hips.
"Boyfriends come back, Lydia," she says. "The only one that ever comes back is the one that was here today. The one I don't like. I hoped he was gone, since I haven't seen him in a while."
"Desmond? He's an
old
friend," I say. I've been careful to never tell her that Des is my husband. She already pries too much and I'm worried that if Claudia ever decided to investigate, Mrs. Lowt would be a gold mine. "Why don't you like him?"
"He's got a mean way about him. All wrong for you. I can see it in his eyes."
I squat down to grab the end of the mirror box, so she can't see the shiver that runs through my legs. "You nailed him."
"You need a
good
man, Lydia. Just one." She skitters out of the way as I heave the mirror upright.
The elevator doors open at the end of the hall and Aidan steps out. I haven't seen him since I told him to mind his own business, four days ago. I've heard him coming and going, his door has a particular squeak, and although I thought about meeting him in the hall and apologizing for being such a hard
ass to him, I didn't.
He walks toward us, a computer store bag dangling from his fingers, his gait calm and graceful. I could fall in love with his body; even if I could only fall in love with it three times--damn the rules--but those three times might be enough love to last me all my life.
"A good one like
him
, right?" I ask Mrs. Lowt with an appreciative smile, but she shakes her head.
"No, that one needs a real woman," she says, her eyes drooping seductively. They actually look more like trashcan lids being compacted behind her enormous glasses. "Aidan needs someone who knows exactly what she wants and can treat him like the man he is."
"Someone like you?" I ask with a giggle.
Mrs. Lowt licks her lips. "You got it, toots."
"Hello, neighbors," Aidan says with a two finger salute to us. His eyes dust over the box, but he gets his keys out for his door. I would swear all my muscles are about to pop out of my face from dragging this mirror as far as I have, but I'd rather just heave the fucking mirror into my apartment on my own than have to pay for his help by answering his questions.
"Neighbors help," Mrs. Lowt squawks too loud for Aidan to ignore it.
"You need help, Lydia?" he asks. But he's not just asking. He's being a wise ass.
"I think I've got it," I grunt.
"You don't have it," Mrs. Lowt says, waving our handsome neighbor over. "You come here, Aidan. Do what men do. Be a man and carry this box in for Lydia."
He plays along, sliding his keys back into his pocket. He walks over and takes the end of the box from me with a smug smile. I'm about to pass out, but Aidan hefts the mirror box like it's a chopstick. He nods to my door.
"Open up, Lydia."
I do as he says with a sour glare. He carries the box right in.
"Show off," I mumble.
"Weakling," he says, but he laughs.
Mrs. Lowt takes a step toward my door, as if she's going to follow Aidan in, but I block her way.
"Thank you, Mrs. Lowt! I'll talk to you later!" I say.
"Ohhh, Lydia!" she whines, but I close the door on her anyway. I don't want her nosing around my apartment and I really don't want to stand around while she mauls Aidan. She can do that in the hall on her own time. I just want to get my mirror set up and then have Aidan clear out.
"Where do you want me to put it?" he asks.
"In the bedroom would be great," I say. Great, indeed. I watch his lean back, tight and angular beneath his shirt, as he carries the mirror into my room. He's got a rear end that makes his Levi's look like art. He puts the box on end, in the same corner where I had the last one.
"I can take it out for you, if you like," he says. I snicker at his innuendo. I'd sure like it to be more than just words, but...no. It doesn't change the fact that he lives next door.
"It can stay where it is. I'll pull it out and put it together later."
"I could do it for you."
"You've done enough, but thanks."
He shrugs. "Just trying to be neighborly."
I cross my arms over my chest.
"Are you going to be like this forever?" I ask.
"Neighborly?"
"No, angry."
"I'm not angry at all. But how about you? Are you always going to be secretive and suspicious?"
"Damn, you're nosey."
"Seems kind of suspicious that you refuse to answer the question."
He's wearing me out, or maybe he's just wearing me down, with that lazy smile of his. I'm almost glad. I'd rather us be friends instead of enemies.
"What do you want from me, Aidan?" I almost hope he says something that will involve our tongues and/or our hips.
He shrugs as he turns away and opens the end of the box. "Friendship."
I don't insist that he stop as he slides out the mirror. Instead, I watch his muscles move as he sets up the solid wood frame. I imagine his hands on me, instead of the bags of parts.
"Can you grab me a screwdriver?"
"I don't have one."
"Under your sink," he says. Like magic, I retrieve it, slapping it into his waiting palm with a smile as he winces.
When he's finished, the mirror stands on its pedestal in the corner and it's better than the first one. The frame is carved and gorgeous. Aidan wipes the glass clean with his elbow. He stands back, suddenly grabbing my wrist and pulling me to him. We stare at our reflection and he bumps my shoulder with his.
"I think we can be friends, can't we, Lydia?" he says.
"Sure," I say, but as he moves away, I want to drag him back. I want to push him onto my bed, pull the mirror to the edge, and have him watch the hundred or so things I'd like to do to him.
Instead, he leaves, and I go to my cupboard for a drink, but my cupboard is bare. Four days of moping will do that.
Thanks again, George.
Since the liquor won't come to me, the only thing I can do is go to it. I open my closet and begin the selection. It's at least a little easier to be dressed properly now.
<<<<>>>>
"Lydia!" His voice is deep and unmistakable as he calls to me. An older man exits the apartment, brushing past me with a smile and a wave over his shoulder as people from inside shout goodbyes. Two brunettes are bookends for a guy parked on the middle cushion of Aidan's couch and another guy is standing beside the kitchen bar, dipping into a bowl of chips. Aidan is perched on the arm of his recliner beside a blond, but he still motions for me to come inside.
"I'm just on my way out," I say, pointing down the hall. Comfy little gatherings like this, without any blaring music, swirling lights, or bartenders, just aren't my thing.
"Come on in and say hello first," the man on Aidan's couch shouts. He also smiles at me, while the dark-haired girl beside him eyes me with a lot less enthusiasm. The second brunette on the furthest cushion, cranes to see me.
"Is that your
neighbor
, Aidan?" She raises her fingers and visually air-quotes
neighbor.
"Make her come in!"
Make her? The small grin on my lips thickens like old Jell-O, but the younger, perkier brunette jumps off the couch and scurries toward me.
"This is
perfect!
I'm Ila, Aidan's sister. Come on in! We've heard all sorts of things about you!" She's as toothy as a sorority sister and all I can do is gape at her. What has Aidan told these people? That I hid in his apartment while George busted up my place? That I'm married to an asshole? That I'm the slut who lives next door?
"You must be thinking of someone else," I hardly get the words out before Ila is dragging me into Aidan's apartment.
Dragging
. "We're just neighb..."
"You're Lydia, aren't you?" a man says behind me.
I swing toward my name and spot the owner of the voice, the man in the chips at the counter. He's a cross between up-tight (ironed khakis) and punk rock (short, shaggy hair) and when the lemon-faced brunette jumps off the couch and goes to his side, he slides an arm around her waist. Retired Punk Rock has a tight smile, as if his girlfriend has a Jedi vice-grip on his balls.
"Do I know you?" I ask, hoping it's safe to own up to my name, since he hasn't slipped his hand off of his girlfriend's waist. All I'm thinking is,
please say you're a waiter or a bank teller or a stripper at a bachelorette party...anything really, besides 'I've seen your vagina.' Please.
My track record has shown that it is rarely a good thing for a man to admit to knowing me, especially while he's holding another woman, and it's crazy how many men just don't get that.