Authors: Tessa Saks
Rory laughed. “Okay,
Mrs. Horvath. Where’s your ring?”
“He still wants me.
I just have to wait. Be a good girl and wait.” Sam lay back and took another
long drag. “God, I was so close. I hate this waiting. How much longer can he
take?”
“Not too long, I
hope.” Rory smiled. “Although I’m certainly not complaining if he’s too dumb to
see what he’s missing.” His finger traced along Sam’s shoulder toward her
breast.
Sam stubbed out her
cigarette and climbed on top of Rory. “Oh, he’ll see what he’s missing,” she
grinned as she kissed Rory, “I’ll make damn sure he sees.”
Ellen sat on the
edge of the bed and looked out toward the ebony sky. In the night’s stillness,
the echo of the crashing waves intensified, with each repetition creating a
hypnotic rhythm. She could faintly see the silver edge of the ocean,
highlighted by a shaved moon, before it spread out, blending into the lost
horizon. She touched the silk lace of her negligee, the lingerie that was
supposed to entice him, supposed to fill him with desire and make him touch her
again. So far, the only desire he had was for sleep. One part of her was
relieved at not being intimate, but another part of her wanted him to want her.
She was desperate to be held.
Here she sat, on their
fortieth anniversary, next to the man she loved, the man she had devoted her
entire life to, feeling alone. What had she expected? He was here, wasn’t he?
After a day seeing the islands by helicopter and an evening on the dinner
cruise, with wine under the stars, she should be happy. So why did she still
feel empty?
She touched her gown
again, the sensuous satin caressing her skin. She wanted to feel something,
anything. Deep inside, she knew this trip wasn’t working. It was supposed to
rekindle love, not diffuse it. And the undeniable but tragic reality was that
she had no idea how to seduce a man. What she read in Patty’s book were things
a tramp would do with a stranger, not advice for a woman married forty years.
Ellen turned and
faced Jonathan who lay sleeping peacefully on his back, his bronzed belly
rising and falling with every cresting breath. No, seven days in and this trip
hadn’t worked the magic she was counting on. He was still a stranger to her.
She felt no closer, no sense that he was feeling any love or passion toward
her. He had never been more of an enigma than he was now. She had tried
valiantly to win his love, and it hurt to think about what would happen now.
Ellen listened again
to the waves, to their steady, unrelenting rhythm, a force that endured for
decades, for centuries. For eternity.
She would find a
way. She’d been successful before, for all those years he never wanted to
leave. He had never walked away. There had to be something she could do.
He
loved me once; he will love me again.
Ellen smiled to
herself as she crawled back under the covers. It felt good to be in the same
bed with him. She pressed her body close to his and put her hand on his chest.
A warm tingling washed over her as his hand reached up and touched hers, a gentle
caress, holding it for a glorious moment, before releasing his grip. He let go,
brushed her hand away, and rolled over, away from her.
***
The next morning,
Ellen went to their penthouse after her facial instead of having her scheduled
massage at the spa. Jonathan was at the lower tennis courts, engaged in a dual
with a German banker they’d met on the cruise. She was glad he had found a
tennis partner since she had failed miserably in her attempt to play yesterday.
With the intensity of the heat and humidity, she was beyond lethargic. Any
strenuous activity wore her out. And the sweat! It was impossible to run around
and look attractive while sweating profusely. Her makeup smeared, her thin hair
went limp and her veins bulged out like fire hoses all over her arms and legs.
It had been years
since she played tennis. Ever since the osteoarthritis started causing pain in
her right hip, she had stopped exercising. No wonder she had gained weight.
Gourmet food and no exercise combined with menopause had created all the excess
baggage—the fat suit she seemed unable to shed. When they got home, she might
try low-impact aerobics. But she wouldn’t start now. She wanted to look her
best, not run around and wear herself out. And, of course, after seeing Mrs. Z
at check-in, how could Ellen allow herself to look a complete wreck?
Ellen was lucky
enough to chat with Mrs. Z on numerous occasions as they lay in chaise lounges
by the main pool. They discussed everything, from her plans for the new Roman
wing to the upcoming Governor’s Ball. Ellen knew that Mildred Ziegler liked
people who were
interesting
and never dull. She bored easily, dropping
many of her friends over the years, allowing fresh, new women to enter her
inner circle. Ellen did her best to provide lively conversation. Wit had never
been one of her strengths, but somehow, influenced by the lush palm trees and
the clear aqua blue ocean, Ellen relaxed and found her conversation remarkably
clever.
And then yesterday,
after the afternoon spent pampered in the spa and talking—really talking—Mrs. Z
went as far as confiding the difficulty she was having finding decent help. For
the first time, Mrs. Z finally appeared to be warming up to Ellen, warm enough
perhaps, to begin to consider her for a new friend and allow her to join the
museum committee.
Ellen was reapplying
her makeup when she heard the door to the villa open. She had left the
maid-service sign on the door when she arrived from her facial, and was pleased
with the prompt response. She finished her face and was about to call down for
more washcloths when Jonathan’s voice appeared. She started to pull on the door
lever but stopped when she heard his pathetic childish tone.
“Come on baby, you
know how much I miss you.”
Ellen’s heart froze.
“No, baby, it’s tedious,
just tedious. She is unbearable. Don’t worry
…
No. I told you
…
I
haven’t touched her. I swear.”
No, you hadn’t.
She wanted to scream.
You never even tried, even though I wanted you to.
Even though I planned this entire trip around having you touch me again.
“Come on sweetie,
it’s not like that,” Jonathan laughed. “Yes, she tried, poor thing. I just
couldn’t.” His voice reverberated up into the second floor where Ellen stood
listening.
“God no, it would be
even worse than I remember. I’m sure of it.”
Ellen unclenched her
teeth as a sharp jab of anguish pierced through her. She wanted to run out
screaming, but she stood motionless, her skin smoldering with rage.
“Hell no,” he
laughed. “I’m saving that for you, so stop pouting. I can’t wait to hold you.”
The room spun. The
sound of his voice echoed, his piercing laughter—she wanted to scream. Or cry.
Or collapse. She had tried to have sex with him. Numerous times. As always, he
was indifferent, made excuses. She had felt relief in his excuses since she hadn’t
actually wanted sex anyway. But now, now more than ever, she realized how much
she wanted him to want to have sex with her. She wanted to be desired. To feel
loved. Why couldn’t he feel anything?
The blood in her
body suddenly plummeted, leaving her light-headed. Ellen steadied herself and
sat on the edge of the tub. Pulling a length of tissue from the roll, she
dabbed her eyes. Damn him. No! Damn her, that stupid girl. Without her
interference, he would be begging for sex and would have welcomed the opportunities
she had offered these past nights.
She sat upright,
trying to breathe deep. Ellen closed her eyes and tried to remember the last
time they had sex. How long had it really been? She couldn’t recall. Was it
that long ago?
Her mind flashed
back to years of late nights waiting for him to come home. She had spent a
lifetime waiting until she finally realized she didn’t need to feel threatened
by those late-night hussies. They were doing her a favor. Sex had never been
that exciting for Ellen.
Or had it? Perhaps
when they were first married, in those early years, when she was desired and
adored. She had tried—sexy negligees and chilled wine. They worked at first,
until making love became a chore. And with the demands of young children, what
woman would want to have sex all the time? That was when it started, or rather,
when it all stopped. Yes, stopped for her and started for him. He still needed
sex and Ellen wasn’t prepared to deliver.
But honestly, she
thought, he was too demanding, and—her face flushed—he was a bit perverted. How
could she sit in church after a night of behaving in such a tawdry way?
Everything had
started innocently—working late, long lunches. Then as months turned into
years, it became weekend trips and conferences. Yet, he always loved her. She
knew it was just a physical ailment in need of release. Never love. It had
never been love. Not now, not ever.
The front door
buzzed, startling Ellen back to attention.
“Housekeeping.” A
voice called out.
“Come in,” Jonathan
yelled from the sitting area. “Listen babe, I gotta go.”
“I love you, too.
I’ll call tomorrow. Bye love.”
Ellen heard a chair
scrape across the marble floor. “I’ll get out of your way here—oh, we need more
of those facecloths for Mrs. Horvath—damn woman never seems to have enough of
the things.”
“That’s their
job
!”
Ellen yelled as she burst out of the bathroom and ran down the open stairway.
“This is
supposed
to be a five-star hotel!” She stood in front of the
bewildered pair. “I just want what I’m entitled to. Is that really too much to
ask for?”
She stormed over to
the cart in the foyer and rifled the towels around in a desperate search for
washcloths. “Why is that so difficult? Why is that such a problem?”
Jonathan stood
motionless for a moment, then turned, tipped the maid and motioned for her to
leave. She nodded silently and left, closing the door behind her.
“Calm down. It’s
taken care of—”
“Calm down?” Ellen
squeezed the cloths in her hands. “You want me to
calm
down?” she
yelled. “I heard
everything
you said
…
every pathetic word to her
…”
She
fought back a new harvest of tears. “Should I be calm, as I listen to you
plotting your rendezvous, and on our trip?”
“You’re
overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” She
waved her hands and the washcloths fell to the floor. “No!” She shook her head,
pointing her finger directly at him. She wanted to slap him. “You lied to me.
You’re always lying.” Ellen sat on the edge of the sofa, picking up the cloths.
“I trusted you. I want to make things right and you—this is how you try?—a half
effort? Or should I say, no effort?” She blotted her eyes with the washcloths.
“I don’t ask for a lot. I only asked for a chance to be alone with you—”
“But we are —”
“Not with you
phoning her!” Her voice pitching higher. “Not with you thinking about her, saying
those
…
those loving words to
her. How can we work on this if—?”
“Maybe, Ellen, if we
stopped lying to ourselves—”
“I’m not lying! I
love you and want to make this work. I’m here. I’m trying. Why can’t you? Why
can’t you give me a chance? Is that really too much to ask?”
Jonathan was silent.
He looked away and shifted his stance.
“Is it too much? Am
I being unreasonable?” she demanded.
“Yes. Yes, you are
always unreasonable. You know I love her.” He picked up his tennis racquet.
“I’m sorry. I’ve tried,” he mumbled and turned away.
“No, you haven’t!
You haven’t tried at all!” Tears filled her eyes. She buried her head in the
white terry towel, her sobs growing louder, her body vibrating. “This whole
weekend, these past seven days,” she mumbled through her tears, “you haven’t
even
touched me.”
“Ellen, I
…”
“Can’t you look past
these wrinkles and see me? I’m still me.”
“I’m sorry Ellen,
it’s not that easy. There’s more—”
“But it is. You
loved me once, when I was young. Why is it so different now? Why can’t you see
I’m still the same person inside? Nothing has changed—except how I look.”
“But you’re not,
Ellen. You’re not the same. Once when we were young, you were carefree and fun.
I felt alive being with you. Now I feel choked when I am with you, like I can’t
breathe until I’m away from you.”
“Choked? What are
you talking about? I’m still that girl.”
“No, not anymore.
You’ll never be that girl. It’s a shame really
…
I miss her. Over the years, I’ve watched her slowly disappear. Now she’s
gone
…
you can’t help that.” He
folded his arms across his chest. “Look at this trip. You spent more time
worrying about sitting next to that damn Mrs. Z than you did trying to be with
me.”
“But she finally—”
He raised his hands
in protest. “I’m just telling you what happens. You sit on the sidelines and
let opportunities for us to have fun slip away and can’t even see—”
“But you can’t blame
me for—”
Jonathan shook his
head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’ve changed and turned into someone I don’t
love.”
“How can you say
that?” Ellen cried out. “You don’t know how I feel. You have no idea the pain
I’ve endured. You’ve never felt pain—”
“I’m not trying to
hurt you—”
“I’m the one who
should be upset at the changes. I’m the one who should stare at that big belly
of yours and your lack of virility, your coldness, and say that I don’t see you
anymore. I don’t see the man I fell in love with.” Ellen pointed toward him.
“Where did he go
…
all those
years when I wondered who you were with? When I cried myself to sleep, longing
for you to touch me? When I missed your kisses? Where did you go?”
“I
…
Ellen—” Jonathan shifted his
weight.
“You vanished and
left me alone. You abandoned me. That’s why I turned into this.”
“I don’t think you
understand—”
“But I still love
you. I always believed that deep down inside, you still love me. I still know
that in my heart, only you are too delusional to see it. You’re just—”
“This is just like
you—turn the tables and make everything my fault.”