Read Online Vanished in the Dunes by Allan Retzky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Allan Retzky
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strict Austrian world, and the much more laissez-faire American world, especially in New York.
“And which do you prefer?” he asks.
His earlier disorientation, for that’s what it was, has gone. He is now the consummate successful New York male his ego has constructed. And she knows nothing about him, with or without his private medicinal blanket, a condition he isn’t about to tell her. He wants to gain this woman’s serious interest. He hesitates to speak to avoid making dumb comments, yet when she reaches out and touches his hand, his voice all but disappears.
“I think I prefer it here,” she says, her accent deeper than before.
He stares at the generous hint of brown cleavage that rises above her scooped sweater neck, and calls for another round to mask the sound of blood rushing through his body. He wonders if she can hear the pumping. All his training tells him she can’t, yet she must see his fingers shake slightly as they grasp the new beer glass. She must see the white foam spill over the rim as he raises his glass.
“Prosit,” she says. “That’s how we toast each other in Vienna.”
Later he trembles when she takes his hand and leads him into her studio apartment only a block from the hospital. A bed, a small sofa, a table wedged against the wall. She says it’s enough space.
“What do you like to do?” she asks, as the sweater rises above her head and flies away.
When he doesn’t answer, and just stares at her, she says, “Then let me show you what I like.”
Later they speak long into the night about the Middle East. She abhors the mullahs that govern modern Iran, and he detects that part of her enmity was based on how her family had been treated. She dislikes the Israelis, not, she protests, because they were Jews, but because of the way they abuse the Palestinians. She had read Tolstoy and Shakespeare, and they laughed together when he rememberedthe bard’s quote about first killing all the lawyers, as a reason for their both becoming doctors.
“After all,” she said more than once when she rolled on top of him, “Doctors have to stick together.”
Henry waits for her at a table against the far back wall of Luca’s on First Avenue. That’s where they always meet for dinner. He watches as diners come in, most of them locals like him, there for the fish stew, or the tagliatelle with duck ragout, which is his own favorite.
Heidi has agreed to meet him at eight, but it is already past nine. He’s already finished two glasses of the house Chianti. He wonders if she’s standing him up on purpose. When they last met, two nights before, the evening had become a disaster. When she was ready for sex he just couldn’t perform. At first she was angry and threw curses at him in German. Then she softened somewhat.
“It happens sometimes,” she said, but still steered him to the door.
Yet he knew why the problem arose. A week before he had seen her emerge from a private office looking disheveled, her lipstick slightly smeared and her hair in disarray. A tall young intern followed her. He could have killed her at that moment, but all he wanted to do was lose himself within her body. He realized that he needed to calm down, but when the next opportunity came, he couldn’t do it.
There is a state of hopelessness when obsessive love becomes uncontrollable. People in love generally share some aspects of life; culture, music, books, art, even political discussion, or debate, but she would have none of that. She wanted to fuck away their time together, and he became a slave to that excess. Yes. That’s what he had become, a toy, a plaything. She was a psychiatrist, and had pushed his buttons for her own gratification, as well as her sense of control. There was even more to it. One night, about a month before, Heidi had more than her usual quota of wine.
On reflection, he wasn’t all that surprised when she said, “I like Jewish men. They’re both very intelligent and oral. All my
“And which do you prefer?” he asks.
His earlier disorientation, for that’s what it was, has gone. He is now the consummate successful New York male his ego has constructed. And she knows nothing about him, with or without his private medicinal blanket, a condition he isn’t about to tell her. He wants to gain this woman’s serious interest. He hesitates to speak to avoid making dumb comments, yet when she reaches out and touches his hand, his voice all but disappears.
“I think I prefer it here,” she says, her accent deeper than before.
He stares at the generous hint of brown cleavage that rises above her scooped sweater neck, and calls for another round to mask the sound of blood rushing through his body. He wonders if she can hear the pumping. All his training tells him she can’t, yet she must see his fingers shake slightly as they grasp the new beer glass. She must see the white foam spill over the rim as he raises his glass.
“Prosit,” she says. “That’s how we toast each other in Vienna.”
Later he trembles when she takes his hand and leads him into her studio apartment only a block from the hospital. A bed, a small sofa, a table wedged against the wall. She says it’s enough space.
“What do you like to do?” she asks, as the sweater rises above her head and flies away.
When he doesn’t answer, and just stares at her, she says, “Then let me show you what I like.”
Later they speak long into the night about the Middle East. She abhors the mullahs that govern modern Iran, and he detects that part of her enmity was based on how her family had been treated. She dislikes the Israelis, not, she protests, because they were Jews, but because of the way they abuse the Palestinians. She had read Tolstoy and Shakespeare, and they laughed together when he rememberedthe bard’s quote about first killing all the lawyers, as a reason for their both becoming doctors.
“After all,” she said more than once when she rolled on top of him, “Doctors have to stick together.”
Henry waits for her at a table against the far back wall of Luca’s on First Avenue. That’s where they always meet for dinner. He watches as diners come in, most of them locals like him, there for the fish stew, or the tagliatelle with duck ragout, which is his own favorite.
Heidi has agreed to meet him at eight, but it is already past nine. He’s already finished two glasses of the house Chianti. He wonders if she’s standing him up on purpose. When they last met, two nights before, the evening had become a disaster. When she was ready for sex he just couldn’t perform. At first she was angry and threw curses at him in German. Then she softened somewhat.
“It happens sometimes,” she said, but still steered him to the door.
Yet he knew why the problem arose. A week before he had seen her emerge from a private office looking disheveled, her lipstick slightly smeared and her hair in disarray. A tall young intern followed her. He could have killed her at that moment, but all he wanted to do was lose himself within her body. He realized that he needed to calm down, but when the next opportunity came, he couldn’t do it.
There is a state of hopelessness when obsessive love becomes uncontrollable. People in love generally share some aspects of life; culture, music, books, art, even political discussion, or debate, but she would have none of that. She wanted to fuck away their time together, and he became a slave to that excess. Yes. That’s what he had become, a toy, a plaything. She was a psychiatrist, and had pushed his buttons for her own gratification, as well as her sense of control. There was even more to it. One night, about a month before, Heidi had more than her usual quota of wine.
On reflection, he wasn’t all that surprised when she said, “I like Jewish men. They’re both very intelligent and oral. All my
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