Authors: R.D. Power
“Because natural selection doesn’t operate on us anymore. Anyone—smart or stupid, strong or weak, attractive or ugly, healthy or not—can have as many children as he wants. I’ve read that the best educated tend to have the fewest children. If stupid people have more kids than smart people do, we may be Cro-Magnons again in a million years.”
“We can get there a lot sooner if you have lots of children,” Kristen joked.
After she left, he returned the cherished relics of his dead family to the trunk, but took his mother’s photo out of the frame and replaced it with Kristen’s, which he set on top of his trunk facing the bed.
3
Parts of this scene first appeared on the website of the literary journal, Johnny America:
http://www.johnnyamerica.net/archives/2010/04/19/07.00.00/
K
risten had been patient with Robert’s lack of wherewithal to take her out on the town, but he felt guilty about it since she’d given up a man who could do so much for her. After saving up for four months, he asked her out for a special dinner-and-dancing date.
To kick off their special day, he surprised her with a serenade under her window. He wasn’t romantic, but he knew she was and knew she would like it. At one AM, he walked down to Kristen’s house, climbed the flowering dogwood tree near her room and tapped on her window with a stick he’d brought for the purpose. She came over to the window and opened it.
“Are you crazy? It’s one o’clock in the morning. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to peep. I climb up here every night to watch you change.” She smirked. “Actually, I’ve come to serenade my woman.” He began to sing Cole Porter’s “Night and Day.” It had been his father’s favorite song. He played Sinatra’s slow tempo version so often, little Bobby learned the words by heart:
“Night and Day you are …”
“Wait, wait! Just a minute,” she said. She stepped away from the window and within thirty seconds was back. “Okay, start over please, and louder this time.”
So, he crooned the song while the beguiled girl sat beaming.
“Oh, that was amazing!” she proclaimed when he finished. “I didn’t know you could sing. Your voice is sensational.” His voice did not approach sensational, but love colors every sense.
Nothing could dampen her spirit, not even the gruff neighbor who yelled, “Shut up, asshole, it’s the middle of the night,” right after Robert finished, or her parents, who woke up and told her to keep him quiet.
“You’d better go now. My parents and half the rest of the neighborhood are awake now. Thank you, Bobby. I love you.”
She would long treasure the recording she made of him with her computer, listening hundreds of times over the years. It was the most romantic moment of her life, and would remain so. Her father shook his head before returning to bed, but her mother smiled at her. She could see how thrilled her daughter was. Kristen played it back eight times that night. So elated was she, it took her two hours to fall back to sleep.
The big date commenced at 5:30 the next evening. Fine dining comprised the early part of the evening. Kristen had chosen a restaurant in London, overlooking the Thames. Robert perused the menu, glossing over the unfamiliar dishes, focusing on the prices and blanching. Kristen, who observed his discomfort, smiled and reassured him, “If you insist, I’ll forgo my usual thousand-dollar bottle of champagne.”
He put down the menu and tried not to think of what he could do with the money this one meal would cost. All his attention he focused on Kristen. He would have been content simply to gaze into her gleaming eyes, with some prolonged glimpses at her long legs. She’d worn a new red mini-dress for the occasion.
She cherished the ardor in his eyes, the same longing look he used to give Jennifer, the look any woman wants to see when her man regards her, but Kristen, like any woman, demanded more: he had to engage in intercourse. Not the kind men want and women put up with; the kind women want and men put up with.
“Up here, Mr. Owens. Look at my face. My legs don’t talk,” Kristen reproved with a smile.
“But they’re communicating nevertheless,” Robert said. “They’re saying, ‘Look at us. Aren’t we perfect? Don’t you want to do things to us?’”
The waiter came, and they ordered dinner. He asked if they wanted an appetizer or anything to drink. “Should we get the goat cheese pâté for an appetizer?” Kristen asked her date.
“Yuck.”
“Robert Owens, you have no culture.”
“And you figure the cheese will provide it, do you?”
The waiter gave Kristen a commiserating smile. Kristen told the waiter they wanted nothing else besides water. Turning to Robert, she said, “Let’s get serious.”
Uh oh, here it comes
, he said to himself.
“As you know, I got accepted at all the universities I applied to, but I need to give them my decision. I know you don’t take well to demands, so I won’t make one, but I’m pleading with you to make a decision to go to university instead of the baseball draft.”
I knew it!
he declared to himself.
“It’s not only for me I’m asking this. With your brain—”
It would be a crime not to go to university
, he said silently, having heard this entreaty before.
“—it would be a crime if you don’t go to university. And don’t you think the places that gave you scholarships will give you training and experience at least as good as you’d get in the minor leagues?”
“Maybe, but it would mean no matter how well I pitched, I put off any possibility of a major league career for at least three years and probably more.”
“Please do this for me, for us. If it takes you a year or two longer, is that such a big deal? If you go into the minors, it’ll delay my education for God knows how long. I want to be a doctor, which is a really long process as it is.” He said nothing. “Bobby?” she said.
To put the uncomfortable issue behind him, he answered, “Okay, I’ll go to university.”
“Woo!” Kristen yelped as her arms shot up and out. “Which one?”
“Berkeley or Stanford, I guess,” he replied, trying not to show his consternation and irritation.
“I’d rather go to Stanford,” she pronounced, “because they have a program in medicine. Going there should give me an edge to get into medicine there, and it’s one of the best in the world.” He would have preferred Berkeley, because his father had gone there, but he was on automatic pilot now and acquiesced.
“I’ll write to Stanford tomorrow to accept their offer. You’ll do the same?” she said, not entirely convinced from looking in his eyes.
“Yes,” said the disgruntled man. The dim ambiance in the restaurant helped to mask his true feelings. The big issue cleared off the table, they retreated to small talk through dinner. His wit was wanting, so apprehensive was he about what had just come to pass.
Kristen didn’t notice in her reverie, though she might have had his mood lasted long. She didn’t need to say anything to him to snap him out of his disquietude. Nature took care of everything. The flame from the candle on the table danced in her eyes, but the reflection, stoked by the passion in her heart, outshone the source and hypnotized the object of her affection. Never had her eyes sparkled so luminously. Never was her smile so dazzling. Never were her cheeks and lips rosier. Never was she more alluring. Never had he been so captivated by a woman.
The couple enjoyed talking and dancing together at the dance club. All the male eyes in the place were on Kristen while she was on the dance floor. Kerns and Fields must have written, “The Way You Look Tonight” with her in mind. It’s unclear how they knew about her so many years before she was born (it’s rather spooky, isn’t it?). Women, always more incisive than men when it comes to judging their own sex, pointed out all her faults. Some comments were disguised as compliments: “I’d spill out of that dress. She’s lucky to have such a small chest.” Some as concern: “Poor thing. Her legs are so skinny. What do you think, anorexia or bulimia?” Others were honest reactions: “Bitch!” Men, those shallow simpletons, were blind to all these faults and merely admired her beauty and panache.
They left the club just before midnight to drive home; to his home, he hoped, for an assignation he’d dreamt about a hundred times. Kristen, still exhilarated with his pledge, elected to attempt to complete the conquest. Explaining to her parents that she would be moving to California with Robert would be much easier if they were engaged. She accepted his invitation to join him in his room.
After she stepped into his room, he closed the door quietly. He took her in his arms and began kissing her tenderly, but she pulled him closer, opened her mouth and proceeded to lick his teeth and his tongue. It seemed as if she would submit to his wildest desires.
While kissing her, he undid the top button on her dress. She said nothing. One by one, he unfastened the other buttons. She said nothing. Her dress dropped to the floor, and she stepped out of it. Then she undid his buttons and removed his shirt. Their passionate kissing continued. She undid the button on his pants, pulled down the zipper and pushed them down to the floor. She ran her hands over his chest and pushed him toward the bed. She pulled down the blankets, got in, and extended her arms, inviting him to bed. He accepted her kind offer before she could blink.
After what he judged a reasonable period of kissing and cuddling, he attempted to relieve her of her bra. She resisted, feeling fourteen seconds was insufficient to assure his respect. After five more minutes of petting, she did allow him to take it off. His mouth went for one, his hand for the other. She began to approach his level of excitement. Sensing this, he ventured to remove her panties. She resisted, pushing his hands away from there.
He turned up the heat, going down to her feet and sucking her big toes. She giggled. He licked up her legs, turned her over and bit her butt; she shrieked into the pillow. He turned her onto her back and licked her pelvic bones, licked up her stomach to her rib cage, nibbled her nipples, lay down on her and ran his teeth along her collar bones and sucked on her ear lobes. Goose bumps jumped up on her legs and she squealed. Then he went back down to her breasts and sucked and bit playfully. She was in ecstasy. His next try for her panties was successful. He removed his boxers. Naked together! He felt as if he were going to explode. After more caressing, he hoped she was ready for love.
It was her turn to turn up the heat, but in a different manner than he had. She looked deep into his soul and endeavored to communicate telepathically,
Tell me you love me, and I’m all yours tonight. Ask me to marry you, and I’m all yours forever
. He read this, but something was lost in the female to male translation:
If you don’t pledge your heart and soul to me for the whole rest of time, buster, you’re out of luck
.
He tried anyway, which elicited the first word to come from either’s mouth since they got to his room: “No,” she murmured. He tried again, educing a more forceful “No!” He went down to make his case more directly. She panted and writhed in bliss, but pulled his face back up to hers to demonstrate her resolve. With her eyes, she decreed,
No, not without at least saying you love me. No, sir, you may not have me without saying you love … Where is that tongue going now? Oh, what this man can do with his mouth and his hands! On second thought, there’s no question my soul mate has to take my virginity. I’ll give him that much, but if he wants to continue he has to tell me he loves me.
She pulled him back up so he was lying on top of her staring into her eyes. Her eyes granted him permission. Virtue’s sentries deserted their posts, leaving the maidenhead defenseless, and the invader thrust in unopposed. She gasped and winced and pulled her hips back from his. Then she put her left hand on his back and her right hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close against her. Stroking his hair, she kissed him lovingly and whispered, “Gently.” She experienced the tender sensations for a moment or two—okay, twenty moments—then evicted him.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” he asked. There was a spot of her blood on him.
“It hurts a little, yes, but that’s not why I stopped you.” He looked at her for the explanation. She continued, “For one thing, you’re not even wearing a rubber.”
“I have one in the drawer. I’ll get it, okay?”
But she said, “No.”
He persisted, “Krissy, please! I’ll be gentle.”
“You were gentle. That’s not the problem.”
He knew the problem, but he wanted a way around it. “Krissy, this is torture,” he avowed, trying the sympathy gambit.
“Torture?” she said. “Lying in bed naked with me and taking my virginity is torture for you?”
Strike one: sympathy failed. “No, of course not,” said the flustered man.
“Because if it is, I can just leave.”
“No, please stay. It’s just that coming so close to coming with the most wonderful woman in creation is agony.” He hoped the compliment would soften her stance.
“Well, I’m sorry to torment you, but as you know, as I’ve told you before, this is a lot more consequential to a woman than to a man.” Strike two: flattery flopped. “You know, I might be pregnant right now from what we did already. What would we do then?” This was a crucial question in her view, an acid test of devotion. On his response depended his fortune tonight.
“Just take a morning after pill.”
Oh, Robert, strike three: you’re out. Don’t ever become a politician. You’re much too blunt, too insensitive, too sensible, and far too fond of the truth.
Kristen was incensed and hurt. Throwing her cards on the table, she asserted frostily, “For my part, I don’t believe in premarital sex.” How will he beat that flush?
Throwing down his four aces, he said, “For my part, I don’t believe in marriage.” Producing another ace from his sleeve, he added, “Your part didn’t stop Dominic’s part.”
She got up and began to put her clothes on. “As you know for certain now, I did not let Dominic go all the way with me, and I resent you bringing that up again. At least he was patient with me. You want everything right away and when you can’t have it, you get spiteful.”