“What’s the prognosis?”
“Not so good.” Tears glistened at the corners of her dark eyes. At the same moment, she smiled and said, “Shit. I wish I didn’t do this.” She wiped the tears away with the heel and knuckles of her hand. “This was his third attack. The first one was five years ago. That was bad. The second one was a couple months after the first, and wasn’t so bad. Then he was coming back. He’d almost forgotten about them, he was working . . . . Then this third one, this was the worst of all. He’s got extensive damage to the heart muscle. And he won’t stop working.The doctors tell him to spend a year doing graded exercise, to stay away from work, from the stress. He won’t do it. And he’s still smoking, I think. He’s sneaking them. I can smell them on his clothes . . . in his hair.”
“So he’s going to die,” Lucas said.
“Probably.”
“That’s not so bad,” Lucas said, leaning back, looking at her, his voice flat. “You just say fuck it. You do what you want, and if you go, you go.”
“That’s what you’d do, isn’t it?”
“I hope so,” he said.
“Men are such goddamn assholes,” Lily said.
After another long silence, Lucas asked, “So what are you doing for sex?”
She started to laugh, but it caught in her throat, and she stood up and picked up her purse. “I better get going. Tell me you’ll come to New York.”
“Answer the question,” Lucas said. Without thinking about it, he moved closer. She noticed it, felt the pressure.
“We’re . . . very careful,” she said. “He can’t get too carried away.”
Lucas’ chest felt curiously thick, a combination of anger and expectation. The electricity between them crackled, and his voice was suddenly husky. “You never really liked being careful.”
“Ah, Jesus, Lucas,” she said.
He stepped up to her until he was only inches away. “Push me away,” he whispered.
“Lucas . . .”
“Push me away,” he said, “I’ll go.”
She stepped back, dropped her purse. Outside, the first heavy drops of rain careened off the sidewalk, and a woman with a dog on a leash dashed past the house.
She rocked back on her heels, looked down at herpurse, then grabbed his shirt sleeve to balance herself, lifted one foot, then the other, pulled off her shoes, and stepped into the hallway that led to the bedroom. Lucas, standing in the living room, watched her go, until halfway down the hallway she turned her head, her dark eyes looking at him, and began to unbutton her blouse.
Their lovemaking, she said later, sometimes resembled a fight, had an edge of violence, a tone of aggression. They might begin with an effort at tenderness, but that would slip and they would be bucking, wrenching, twisting . . . .
That night, as the last of the storm cells rumbled off into Wisconsin, with the room smelling of sweat and sex, she sat on the edge of the bed. She seemed weary, but there was a smile at the corner of her lips.
“I’m such a goddamned slut,” she said.
“Oh, God . . .” He laughed.
“Well, it’s true,” she said, “I can’t believe it. I was such a nice girl for so long. But I just need. It’s not intimacy. You’re about as intimate as a fuckin’ bear. I need the sex. I need to get jammed. I really can’t believe it.”
“Did you know you were going to sleep with me?” Lucas asked. “When you got here?”
She sat unmoving for a moment, then said, “I thought it might happen. So I went to the hotel first, and checked in. In case anyone called.”
He ran a fingernail down the bumps of her spine, and she shivered. She was going back to the hotel in case “anyone” called . . . .
“This guy you’re sleeping with? ‘Anyone’?” Lucas said.
“Yes?”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“Nothing. He doesn’t need to know.” She turned toward him. “And don’t you tell him anything, either, Davenport.”
“Why?” Lucas said. “Why would I
“Not so good.” Tears glistened at the corners of her dark eyes. At the same moment, she smiled and said, “Shit. I wish I didn’t do this.” She wiped the tears away with the heel and knuckles of her hand. “This was his third attack. The first one was five years ago. That was bad. The second one was a couple months after the first, and wasn’t so bad. Then he was coming back. He’d almost forgotten about them, he was working . . . . Then this third one, this was the worst of all. He’s got extensive damage to the heart muscle. And he won’t stop working.The doctors tell him to spend a year doing graded exercise, to stay away from work, from the stress. He won’t do it. And he’s still smoking, I think. He’s sneaking them. I can smell them on his clothes . . . in his hair.”
“So he’s going to die,” Lucas said.
“Probably.”
“That’s not so bad,” Lucas said, leaning back, looking at her, his voice flat. “You just say fuck it. You do what you want, and if you go, you go.”
“That’s what you’d do, isn’t it?”
“I hope so,” he said.
“Men are such goddamn assholes,” Lily said.
After another long silence, Lucas asked, “So what are you doing for sex?”
She started to laugh, but it caught in her throat, and she stood up and picked up her purse. “I better get going. Tell me you’ll come to New York.”
“Answer the question,” Lucas said. Without thinking about it, he moved closer. She noticed it, felt the pressure.
“We’re . . . very careful,” she said. “He can’t get too carried away.”
Lucas’ chest felt curiously thick, a combination of anger and expectation. The electricity between them crackled, and his voice was suddenly husky. “You never really liked being careful.”
“Ah, Jesus, Lucas,” she said.
He stepped up to her until he was only inches away. “Push me away,” he whispered.
“Lucas . . .”
“Push me away,” he said, “I’ll go.”
She stepped back, dropped her purse. Outside, the first heavy drops of rain careened off the sidewalk, and a woman with a dog on a leash dashed past the house.
She rocked back on her heels, looked down at herpurse, then grabbed his shirt sleeve to balance herself, lifted one foot, then the other, pulled off her shoes, and stepped into the hallway that led to the bedroom. Lucas, standing in the living room, watched her go, until halfway down the hallway she turned her head, her dark eyes looking at him, and began to unbutton her blouse.
Their lovemaking, she said later, sometimes resembled a fight, had an edge of violence, a tone of aggression. They might begin with an effort at tenderness, but that would slip and they would be bucking, wrenching, twisting . . . .
That night, as the last of the storm cells rumbled off into Wisconsin, with the room smelling of sweat and sex, she sat on the edge of the bed. She seemed weary, but there was a smile at the corner of her lips.
“I’m such a goddamned slut,” she said.
“Oh, God . . .” He laughed.
“Well, it’s true,” she said, “I can’t believe it. I was such a nice girl for so long. But I just need. It’s not intimacy. You’re about as intimate as a fuckin’ bear. I need the sex. I need to get jammed. I really can’t believe it.”
“Did you know you were going to sleep with me?” Lucas asked. “When you got here?”
She sat unmoving for a moment, then said, “I thought it might happen. So I went to the hotel first, and checked in. In case anyone called.”
He ran a fingernail down the bumps of her spine, and she shivered. She was going back to the hotel in case “anyone” called . . . .
“This guy you’re sleeping with? ‘Anyone’?” Lucas said.
“Yes?”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“Nothing. He doesn’t need to know.” She turned toward him. “And don’t you tell him anything, either, Davenport.”
“Why?” Lucas said. “Why would I
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