Ooohh, I Gave You My Key...

"Ahhh, this is heaven."

"I know!"

"Look at the moon shining off the waves way out there..."

"I know!!"

Kevin and Sean stood chest high in the water as the gentle tide was rolling in. It was 10:30pm, and their short dip before heading out to 59 Lake needed to wrap up soon if they were going to shower, change and make it before the fun would be over.

Everything closes at one o'clock in Rehoboth, which makes evenings a bit of a sprint. But it was so hot that night, they needed the relief.

They both looked up and saw Sasha still huddling on the beach, not getting close to the water.

"I saw a dolphin!" (Sasha)

"I saw it too!!" (Kevin) "Wasn't it a beauty??"

"No,' he said, with that short, Ukrainian abruptness. "Where there are dolphins, there are sharks..."

Kevin and Sean giggled.

"Aw come on! I grew up on the ocean, baby. Dolphins kick shark ass, okay? When I see dolphins, I feel safe." (Kevin)

"No, no..."

"Seriously, if I saw dolphins taking off, then I'd be scared..."

"No, no, no, no...."

At that, Sean ran (naked) up onto the beach and grabbed for Sasha, who started to laugh and tried to get away.

*****

Ken rolled over in bed and pushed a pillow between his legs.

Roy shifted his weight and leaned against Ken's back.

"You awake?" (Ken)

"Yeah."

"Feeling any better?"

Short silence.

"A little, yeah. It's better with the a/c on like that."

"Okay."

Silence.

Roy pulled the edge of the blanket up to his chin, and he got a whiff of something that sent him reeling for a second. Was it a cologne? Was it his imagination?

Was it that same smell on the blanket in the hotel room in Paris eight months before?

He closed his eyes tightly, and felt Ken's hair brush against his shoulder blade. It reminded Roy of that day he came home from work and Ken was waiting outside his building, wearing a nice pair of new khaki slacks and a pretty blue Ben Sherman shirt. And his hair was sort of feathery that day, something Roy had not noticed on Ken before. His green eyes were looking straight at him as he got nearer to the entrance. And then Roy realized that Ken hadn't looked him in the eye like that for a long time, maybe years. It was like a flicker of a candle in the dark -- like Ken had returned from a long exile.

But he was standing there, inexplicably. But perhaps only so for a moment.

As the next moment came, and Roy remembered it was time for both of them to get their HIV test results that April evening. They'd made no plan to go to the Clinic together. Ken just showed up.

And Roy remembered that same look in Ken's eye the night they walked out of having a long dinner at 2 Quail in early June, and the sky was full of stars, and life seemed to return again after so many weeks of shock and depression and rage. And Roy remembered seeing that look in Ken's eye, and being unable to stop from running his fingers through Ken's hair -- standing there on Massachusetts Avenue -- and just looking at each other silently, knowing what the other was thinking.

Roy took in a deep breath, and the scent in the blanket became clearer. It was Ken's laundry detergent. It was a fresh, unique smell -- like a wood-paneled den in a split level house in Buck's County, circa 1978. It was a new, happier smell.

It was Ken.

*****

"Another Snozberry?" (Kevin)

"Umm.....maybe......"

Kevin leaned over the bar at last call and ordered two more Stoli Strasberi-and-sodas.

"Thanks..." (Sean) "So, you were saying..."

"I know, I'm being a bore..."

"No, no..."

"I'm just wondering about what the hell is going to happen after the summer is over, you know?"

"Yeah..."

"I mean, is it going to be the same grind or am I going to do something about it?"

"You've got plenty of options."

"Yeah...And I feel a lot less encumbered anymore. Honestly, I am starting to not give a shit about anything that doesn't matter anymore, you know?"

"That can be a good approach..."

"I mean, I just feel so ready for something new. I am sick of feeling like I 'need' this or I 'need' that. Right now, it's all about what I want, not what I need," Kevin said. "And you know, I feel like time is running out in a way. I mean, I'm gonna be forty before I know it."

"Tell me about it." (Sean)

"Work is going really well, and I'm tired of sitting around at home waiting for a phone call at eleven o'clock every night. I need more."

At that, Kevin felt a pair of hands going around his middle from behind.

"Hello, baby..." (it was Mark)

"Hey!"

"Let's dance! The night is almost over..."

*****

Elaine stood alone on the pool terrace of the Meridien, and looked out over the Atlantic Ocean.

The moon was rising over Sugarloaf Mountain, and the sea was calm.

Her hair was down around her shoulders, and she took a sip of water and ran it around in her mouth.

She knew that out there, somewhere, the boys were living their lives. All of them. The boys in Washington. The boys in Paris. The boys in Tokyo. And the boys she'd just left behind in São Paulo.

Elaine didn't feel lonely or wistful. She just knew they were out there. For once, there wasn't a party somewhere that she was missing. There wasn't something more fabulous someplace that she wasn't in the middle of. She was where she wanted to be that August night, with the winter breeze rolling gently over the palm trees lining Avenida Atlantica.

She knew she didn't want to be anywhere else that night. Maybe she'd need to be somewhere else tomorrow, or next week. But she wanted to be there that night.

*****

Kevin waved to Andy and Mark as they stepped into their hotel, and he continued down the boardwalk towards Poodle Beach.

He looked out at the Atlantic Ocean, and the air was lighter and cooler than before. A smattering of people were out, hanging around, sitting on benches, talking.

He thought about the rest of the season, and what his goals might be. For once, he didn't want to care about anything weighty and ponderous. He was working out heavily with Andy now -- indeed for the first time in his life he was serious about fitness. And his body was gaining bulk it never had before. Nothing dramatic, but people were noticing. And it felt great inside his skin.

His chemistry was changing. He was going to bed early and waking at dawn, full of energy. He was getting a lot of work done in time to stop for breakfast on his apartment terrace at 9:00am every morning. He felt greater strength, more agility.

And above all -- he felt greater confidence about himself, and his life.

And what he wanted.

As he made it further down the boardwalk, the faces changed. No longer young men and women canoodling on benches. More older men, lurking around under street lights. None of them smiling or looking particularly happy.

It reminded him of the life he no longer wanted -- one of doubt and inaction and a sort of hovering around rather than being on track.

He walked a little more high on his heels, with greater purpose. He was heading back to his beach house, and would get a good night's sleep, and get back to Washington the next day, and start getting things in order. He'd get in a good workout, go grocery shopping and have a decent meal and get some work done, and not think about anything else too much for the day. Nothing beyond, perhaps, something he wanted to do -- and in such case, he would just do it.

Kevin reached the end of the boardwalk soon enough, and turned the corner at Prospect. A group of older men were standing on the corner with their arms around each other. It wasn't clear if they knew each other or not -- apparently they were acquainted. They were talking and smiling, but it seemed a bit odd.

As he walked past, one said "wait a second..."

Kevin kept his game face: "Good night, ladies...."

They all giggled and laughed, but Kevin picked up a little speed. He made it to the front stoop of the dark house and reached for the front door. It was locked -- he'd given the key to Sean.

He went around to the gate and tried to figure out how to open it from the outside, in the dark. No luck. He heard the group of men coming down the street, one of them calling out to him.

"That's it," Kevin said to himself. He grabbed onto the top of the fence and pulled himself up. His arms could handle it. He flipped over the top and just about cleared it when his right cargo-shorts pant leg caught on the top and he heard it tearing.

In an instant he tried to land on his left leg -- and lift his right leg up 2 inches to unhook it from the fence. No luck. It tore open, and he tumbled down onto the grass in the back yard.

 

[Posted: September 1, 2005] FEEDBACK PERMALINK

 

White Padded Cell, w/ view

Kevin woke up to the sound of garbage trucks outside - seven floors below, in the loading dock far beneath his bedroom window.

It was 6:30 a.m.

He moved, eyes closed, and felt his body stretching like it always did until a sharp pain fired up his left leg and sent his eyes flying open. Ah yes, the leg…

The sun was up, but the room was dark. Dust swirled in the two or three little beams of light here or there around the black-out shade over the terrace doors. His scalp was itchy. He could smell his own stink everywhere - the sheets, the pillow case. The air hovering around the bed where he'd already spent a week.

He looked up at the clock on the windowsill behind him. Once again, he'd not slept much. Another week was beginning, another week of his summer vacation now being spent in bed with an injury that was supposed to go away like all the things that got in his way. Kevin was 37 years old and had never so much as broken a toe or a finger in his life. He'd never had more than a bad flu or some elective surgery that was long planned and would be easy to overcome. But he was now on week two of God-knew-how-many weeks in bed with a torn Soleus, a torn calf muscle and a sprained Achille's tendon.

The apartment was also a week into its emptiness. He couldn't do more than hop in and out of the bathroom without a set of crutches, and caring for Clancy was out of the question until he could walk. So Clancy was at Dane's out in Arlington - with the big back yard, the dog park nearby and the friendly big dog next door who loved to play. He wasn't there to stare at Kevin all day and convey a sense of disappointment and boredom. Nor was he there to lick his face in the morning and cuddle with him a couple times a day - or any time Kevin needed it.

Kevin had to take his pills, and he had to get up. Mornings were the worst. His leg felt like it was atrophying, and he could feel his body's metabolism crashing from total inactivity. It was a particularly bad crash, almost like after a weekend on G or something, because he'd been working out so hard and tenaciously for the previous weeks. He had biceps and a chest for the first time in his entire life, and already he could feel all this mass that had never been there before was just sort of sliding down to his belly. And entire days would be spent sitting up in bed, his head crunched down, the jowls on his neck bunching together and reflecting back at him in the screen of his laptop.

As he hopped into the bathroom, he wondered again about how he had to find a way to shower that day. He couldn't take his own smell anymore, or the feeling that bugs were crawling in his greasy hair, and the thickening layers of dust settling over the clutter and newspapers all over the apartment filing his mouth and lungs.

He looked down at the swollen, purple appendage dangling under his body as he hauled himself across the floor and felt gravity pushing on every nerve in his ankle. He got to the sink and looked up at his own face and saw everything he was feeling. Messed hair sticking out in all directions. Three days of beard filling the folds in his face and neck. Dark blue circles around his eyes. Dried out lips. Deep lines across his forehead.

And he thought about Sundance. It was only two weeks away. He couldn't imagine ever being out of bed by then, or maybe ever at this point. So much time passing and no improvement at all. It just seemed to hurt more, to look worse, to feel more lame and useless with every day - no matter what the nurse, the doctor and the orthopedist said. In fact, he remembered the nurse saying the words "weeks and weeks" when Sean and Kevin rushed home from Rehoboth with frozen bottles of Stoli pressed against his leg (there was no ice left after the beach party) to make the 3pm appointment they'd begged to get in town. Kevin had to be on a plane south for business the next day and while he couldn't walk he was still, bizarrely, insisting to Sean that he was going to be on that plane. Sean had even said later that Kevin's insane independence was almost an out-of-body condition at times like this and he had to be ordered to stay in bed no matter how much agony he was in.

That was the morning that it finally hit Kevin that he was, for how ever long nature would decide, a total cripple. Sidelined. Not in control of the situation anymore, and not even able to feed or bathe himself without help. Not able to schedule around it. Not able to dress it up with a cute accessory and ignore it as he plowed on with his life. Working out his upper body was out of the question - he couldn't even make it to the mail room in his building on the crutches without having to sit down someplace and take a breath from the pain. And he hated the Vicodin - he hated everything that brought him down.

He'd even gotten so desperate that he started looking into wheelchairs. Anything that gave him back the ability to get out and live his life was better than this, he thought. But none of them seemed to work for him - they were expensive, or bulky, or not a good value. All of it seemed too much - indeed, someone would have to go get the chair for him and bring it over, something he couldn't even imagine asking someone to do. It made him furious to think he couldn't just go pick up his damn wheelchair if he wanted to.

And Kevin stood there on one leg - the uneven weight making his right hip grind in agony, the pressure forcing his pulse to bang like a drum in his left foot and ankle and all the way up his back, and he could smell the dried urine around the toilet seat, and there was dog hair everywhere, and the towels were musty and the toothpaste tube was flat as a sheet of tin foil.

So Kevin just almost vomited out a loud, wailing sob, exhausted from the seven-day siege, and just surrendered once and for all. He felt all his hopes for Sundance, for the beach, for the summer, for his body and his skin and his hair and his plans and his own brand of happiness that one August of 2005 just evaporating in the air-conditioned, padded hell of that apartment where all the shades were pulled down and there wasn't a shred of anything left in the refrigerator or the kitchen cupboards, and the Brita was empty.

*****

Ken stood before the mirror in Roy's bathroom and looked at his hairline again.

It had been a while - it was something he used to do every morning last winter when he started to take Propecia and wonder if it was too late to do anything. About anything. But he really could see something happening up there. Little baby hairs were peeking out all along his part and his cowlick in front. His hair was getting sort of floppy again, like it was when he was 25.

He wondered - how could something happen like that, so fast? One day you're getting old, and the next day you're getting young again.

Roy shut off the shower and reached for a towel on the outside of the sliding door.

"How late do you have to stay tonight?" (Roy)

"Not sure, why?"

"Well, I thought I might go over to Kevin's tonight and see if he needs anything."

Ken didn't say anything.

"Wanna come?" (Roy)

"Um, not really."

Roy toweled his hair, standing naked next to Ken, and looked down at Ken's feet. His toenails needed trimming. He had callouses and needed a pedicure. Despite his great tan, and the soft, sexy blond hair running up his calves.

"Okay," Roy said. "I'll give Sean a call."

*****

Elaine pushed open the shutters and looked out over Mrs. Finney's garden.

The sun was just coming up and the birds were flocking around the bird feeders that the maid was filling up with whatever it seemed they all loved so much. That was the buzz word in her mind about this arguably modest four bedroom house that Jack Finney grew up in - abundance.

Mrs. Finney didn't just do the whole Garden District gorgeous house all the way down to the knickknacks and grandfather clocks. The rotund maid named Calpurnia wasn't just an eyerolling choice out of central casting. Jack Finney's mother even grew spices in a sun room, and played her baby grand piano in the afternoons.

And she had a ghost, of course. When Jack told Elaine the story of the ghost, he had the eyes of a little boy again. And his accent started to come out again. Apparently all the houses in New Orleans were full of ghosts in some way.

The more he told the story, with all its various qualifiers and obvious elements of childish naivety, Elaine began to wonder herself if the ghost was indeed Jack Finney's forever-absent mother. Even with her son just out of rehab, HIV-positive and borderline-suicidal, she still seemed to just come and go from the rooms of her house, where she lived alone, and not pay much attention to him or anyone else for that matter.

But little did it seem to bother Jack. He had a comfortable room -- actually a suite of rooms -- and was well fed, no charge. He had somewhere to escape. As did she.

As they always were, Jack and Elaine, since childhood when they'd first met one afternoon at a softball game between Sidwell Friends and St. Albans -- neither would complain when a release valve of any kind found its way to their fortunate paths.

Elaine had a place to stay and would be meeting friends coming up from Rio to Southern Decadence, set to begin in about ten days. Jack had no pressure to return to any semblence of adult life.

And no one knew either of them was hiding in New Orleans.

[Posted: September 10, 2005] FEEDBACK PERMALINK

Urban Indoor Fauna and Flora

A second or two after the interphone rang, Kevin's eyebrows moved up.

He reached over to the bed table to pick it up and buzz Lulu in. Everything had been moved into his room to be within reach, as he was now largely immobile, except for when he could hop a short distance.

It was 6:22 p.m.

And his movements were clearly lazier than usual, slower. His reflexes were duller. The room was dark, danker. He'd managed to wash his face and comb his hair, but he hadn't showered in two days -- not since Roy had been by to help him.

He remembered looking back into Roy's eyes when he shut off the shower. Roy was standing there in his bathing suit - an unspoken remedy to the awkwardness of them standing pressed together in the shower naked. Although, Kevin couldn't have felt less sexual, so he wasn't concerned. It was the look in Roy's eyes that worried him.

"Have you told your boss yet," Kevin asked as he sat on the side of the tub, towel-drying his hair that early Tuesday morning.

"No," Roy said, looking down. "I will, though. I'm gonna have to. I gotta get started on the meds."

And this sadness seemed to be welling up right under the surface that Kevin hadn't seen yet, not since that day in April when Roy came over, sat on Kevin's couch, looked out at the setting sun over Washington through the wall of windows in the living room, and said he was HIV positive.

Roy somehow never managed to convey a sense of sadness. Shock, yes. Stunned. Unsure what to feel. Angry. Self-accusatory, around the edges a bit. But the strange, almost organic way he then plowed into this improbable relationship with Ken seemed to wash over all that. It gave him a strength that Kevin still didn't quite understand. Indeed, he was a bit suspicious of anything related to Ken behind closed doors. Some secret self-indulgence they both engaged in to keep themselves sane? Kevin didn't want to think about it.

But he couldn't help it. The things that were growing in his mind -- along with the dust and musty odors collecting around him in his sick bed -- were blooming all over. He loved Roy, and was heartsick about what happened. Even more, he was sad to see how Elaine handled it, as Roy had cared so much about what she always thought about everything. She just took off as usual, no note. So much for a woman raised in wealth, who never had to do anything.

Kevin had his own sense of shock and anger to deal with. He'd never been sidelined by an injury before in his life. And just as his brief summer vacation was starting -- and the possible road to some kind of resolution about what to do with his relationship with Dane was in sight. Here he was. More trapped than he'd been before. He couldn't even be a good friend to anyone.

He heard the front door open, and Lulu's faint voice carrying to his end of the apartment.

"Hi!" (Lulu)

"Hi." (Kevin, wanly)

"How are you feeling?" (Followed by a startled grunt when her eye caught sight of his swollen, purple ankle on the bed)

"I'm okay."

"I brought your bread and cheese that you asked for."

"Ohhh thank you so much, I'm so sorry the place is such a wreck."

Lulu handed him the Whole Foods bag with goodies inside. He clawed at the bottle of Snapple and guzzled it down.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Yeah, it throbs. I can't stay vertical very long either."

"My gosh, it looks awful. What did the doctor say?"

"Stay off it, basically. Just don't push it."

"Have you been able to work or anything?"

"Yeah, I've done my best. Thank God most of what I do is over email and phone. But I'm on vacation anyway. So I don't really have much to do except lay here and think about my life, which is never a good thing in August."

*****

Sean was on day three of his week in Rehoboth, as his birthday was drawing nearer. He was baking on the sand as the late afternoon sun was just beginning to relent slightly.

It was an annual tradition that he'd spend a week there, but for the second year in a row he had a share in a beach house and was a bit more "part" of the scene there. In particular, he was lucky to have so many friends able to come out to spend all or part of the time with him.

It seemed as each day went by, the weather got better and better. The water was clear and warm. The waves were inviting. The people around the beach were great-looking, friendly. And he felt more at ease with himself than ever.

Whatever the reason, he was able to even let his mind wander past the quick pleasures of the here and now, and dream about ways to integrate this part of life -- which he loved so much -- more tightly into his daily life. Elaine always had that luxury, of course. But she did a lot with it. Kevin managed to achieve an enviable balance, even if sometimes it seemed like he wasn't sure if it was all that he wanted in the end.

And then Sean thought about his own potential dissatisfaction. Beyond the sense of fear that any person feels when they think about doing something unconventional -- and the financial risks of leaving a comfortable, yet not-so-loved salaried life -- there was also a core element missing that couldn't be replaced by anything else. He didn't have a boyfriend.

There wasn't someone there up close, inside the circle, sharing his life with him. Matt was already married. Kevin, however unhappy now and then, was almost never single. Even Roy and Ken managed to somehow hook up and stay together for months on end, with all the challenges posed there.

Suddenly, David was standing over him in the sand. He leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"The boys from last night are in our hot tub...right now...."

Sean's eyes flew open, and he reached for his bag.

"Oh, I'm so there...."

*****

Jack Finney was thumbing through the brochure for Southern Decadence that came with his set of event tickets.

He couldn't help but want to go to every one of the parties. It was a week away.

But Elaine never seemed too interested when he'd bring it up. It seemed almost illogical for them to miss out on the party of the year. They were there. They were free. They had a place to crash. It would be full of people they knew.

It wasn't Ibiza, sure. But it was more fun than laying around.

Of course -- there was the small matter of Jack having just left a rehab center, and testing HIV positive and having probably infected one or more others in the process. And that New Orleans was about to be inundated with horny, drugged out men with hot asses, big cocks and nothing better to do than fuck.

He liked to tell himself that maybe this would be the chance to enjoy it all without the excess. Without the G and the coke and the Tina. Without the fucking. Maybe just some dance-floor-smoochie, some good times, then home with Elaine. Maybe....

"Give me that," Elaine said, as she took it out of his hand. "We're not doing that."

He didn't look up at her.

And Elaine, quite unexpectedly more to herself than to Jack, didn't make a counterproposal of fun that would somehow allay the obvious problems with the idea of going to Southern Decadence.

"We should talk about this, don't you think?" (Elaine)

"Talk about what?"

"What we're doing here, and what we're doing next."

He didn't know what to say.

"You know, I don't really know this town very well. Granted, it's hot as hell and I'd rather be somewhere else."

"There's not much to see really," Jack said. "Beyond what you know of."

"So why are we here?"

"Um...cuz it's a place to sleep for free right now, and I have no home at the moment."

"We can go anywhere, you know. We know people everywhere."

"I don't wanna be someone's guest right now."

"Aren't you already?"

Jack smirked. He didn't have to say it - being in that house with his mother was like being alone, except for the daily piano recitals she performed for no one in particular.

"This is a sort of refuge of last resort."

Elaine looked down. They both did. They didn't say another word to each other. The conversation ended there. But they both had the same exact thoughts. Indeed, as both had been sober for weeks now, their minds were pretty clear. They both imagined a little bit into the future -- what that refuge here in his mother's house might bring upon them.

What about the forces gathering right out of sight? They both knew that Jack had infected Roy with HIV in Paris. Everyone in Washington knew it. Jack didn't feel much guilt -- he didn't know he was positive at the time. Jack was also on leave from work because of the rehab, but that had to end soon. The airline wasn't so generous as it used to be. And then there was the days ahead. What now, they both thought. Will I be stuck in some room --- here in New Orleans, back in Washington, or up in someone's New York guest room, or in some Rio hotel room, or some lodge in Aspen or in a fifth-floor walk-up flat in London or Paris with a pull-out couch --- sitting there, smelling my own odors, hearing the voices in my head of the mounting things I have waiting for me back in my life? Even if I had enough money in my trust to buy my own apartment in every city in the world, wouldn't I just be spreading myself around and never staying ahead of the game? Wouldn't everything eventually catch up with me and capsize my boat?

What then? Why wait in this alleged refuge for life to come pouring in through the windows and doors?

It was on that Tuesday night in New Orleans, a week before Southern Decadence, that Elaine and Jack Finney, perhaps for the first time in their lives, trusted their instincts above all else. They never talked about it further. They packed up their things, gave each other a tight hug at the airport, and went their separate ways.

Elaine went back to Washington, and landed after midnight. She took a cab home, crawled into her own bed, and went right to sleep.

Jack Finney went back to San Francisco, the only place he'd ever been happy in his life, without any idea what he was going to do there.

 

[Posted: September 21, 2005] FEEDBACK PERMALINK

 

Cruising Altitude

Madison boarded early, as she usually did.

Her boarding pass placed her in 8B -- a middle seat. Not what she was used to, but she was getting a flight back to Washington earlier than she'd planned, and would have taken whatever seat she could get. Her visit to Los Angeles was fine -- but would have been a day too long had she kept with her original plans.

It had been six months since she'd packed up and left L.A. for D.C., leaving behind a life, a career, a Rolodex, everything outside herself that she knew. She used to crave being back there, and would have to stop herself from going for visits like this.

But six months had been enough time. She was an adult - she knew life was meant to be lived in forward motion. Sitting around someone else's patio, looking out at reverse sunrises, reverse sunsets - a world backwards from where she was now heading - was just slowing everything down unnecessarily.

She was a Washingtonian now. Her life was back east, and it was calling her to get back to it.

Madison slipped her boarding pass into her Vuitton city bag, and laid it against the small box from Cartier. The little present sitting on the desk at Mitch's house that morning, left behind with a small note.

Mitch -- another part of L.A. She looked out the window at the men working right outside, on the tarmac. She couldn't help but wonder who they were, where they lived, what their wives looked like. She imagined they were passionate men. Jealous men. Full of life and vitality, who would come home sweaty and tired, asking for their dinner, and who would break the neck of any man who looked at their wives with desire. They could never afford nice things. But they had something that Mitch just didn't have, despite all the wonderful trappings of his home, his car, his quiet loyalty. It was passion -- and a kind of basic male sexiness.

Madison didn't want Mitch, at the end of the day. Every day he would make it quite clear that he would love her no matter what, and stand by her through anything that would come in life, and be at her side, accepting her. There was a time in her life, many years ago, when that was all she would want in anyone. It was a tall, cold mojito in an endless, searing desert. But life had left that time far behind her -- indeed, now it was almost a continent away.

She didn't love Mitch. She knew she never would love him. At best, she'd settle for him. But that wasn't part of her itinerary anymore.

Madison nudged the Cartier box over a tad and reached for the issue of Cosmo she picked up in the terminal. She started flipping through it, looking for the latest quiz.

This month it was: "Are You A Bitch?"

It was a very short quiz for her -- and she already knew the answer was 'yes' anyway.

She reached into her bag, looking for a pencil. She just couldn't find it, even though she knew it was in there. So, she sighed, and reached for her compact. She popped it open and began to reapply her lipstick.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone looking at her. She looked slightly past the compact mirror and saw him coming down the aisle -- looking straight at her.

He must have been six-feet tall and 220 pounds. Rock solid. Thick black hair on his head, and piercing blue eyes. He had a navy blue shirt and cargo shorts on. Orioles baseball cap on, with sunglasses on top of the visor. He hadn't shaved in two days, probably. Flip flops. A medium sized carry-on over his nice shoulder.

It was 9:52 a.m.

The man hesitated for a moment, leaning into a different row and saying something to another guy. Suddenly, as she looked at his big arms, and adjusted herself in her seat, someone tapped her shoulder.

"Excuse me," said the gawky college student - earphone in his ears, scratchy treble spilling out into the air from his iPod. He pointed to the window seat. Madison stood up to let him slide in, which he did quickly. Just her luck, she thought. She'd probably have an old woman with tuberculosis on the other side, jonesing for a cigarette and coughing up a lung.

Then the tall man turned toward her again. He caught Madison's eye, but she was cool, and looked right past him to the flight attendant behind him. He picked up on it, looking over his shoulder. She could see him do it.

In what seemed like a moment later, she could almost feel him standing right next to her. And indeed, he was. Until he sat down -- in 8C -- and lightly touched her elbow with his forearm as he came down.

The aisle seat beside her.

Madison froze for just a moment. She wasn't nervous - she was just surprised. This never happened to her on planes. Never did the man straight out of central casting that would be the perfect man ever - EVER - sit next to her on a four hour flight across the country.

"I'm sorry," the man said, with a deep, deep voice.

"Excuse me?" Madison said, reaching to touch her right elbow with her left hand -- and gently lifting her breasts under her left arm, so very subtly.

"I bumped you, I'm really sorry."

"Oh, don't be." (Her mouth, and her eyes, smiled widely.) "It's okay."

"May I turn on the air?"

"Of course, please, go ahead." (She smiled again, and looked down at her magazine, all the while trying to steal another glance at him.)

But when she did get him in her eye-corner sights, all she could see was his face buried immediately in the latest John Grisham novel.

Hmm, Madison thought, oh well. He'll probably read the whole way back east.

After a few minutes -- with each of them looking down at the reading material in their laps -- the plane pulled away from the gate and began a long, winding, slow taxi. It seemed like it was taking forever, and the plane was getting nowhere.

Then the captain announced a slight delay, and they sat a bit longer on the tarmac. Madison could see that the man was nodding off next to her.

His face began to lean a little towards her, and there was a soft, purring snore coming from his lips for a few minutes. She smiled to herself. Even that was adorable.

Then the plane started to roll down the runway, and he woke up all at once, again apologizing.

"I'm sorry, really..."

"What is it?"

"I was snoring, I really apologize." (He smiled and his eyes almost twinkled.)

"Really, it's okay," she said very softly, making it clear to him she was not one of those women who took offense at everything a man did.

"Honestly, it's just that I've gotten maybe five hours of sleep all weekend. I was out here for my brother's bachelor party, he's getting married next Saturday, and he's sitting back there with his best man, and my Dad and my cousins are up there in the third row..."

"Seriously, you're just fine next to me here," she said, quietly.

"My name is Anthony, what's yours?"

"Madison."

"Pleased to meet you."

His handshake was very gentle, and he smirked as he did it. She knew that smirk very well.

"So, do you live out here in California," he asked her, "because you look like you do."

"I used to live here," she said. "But I live in D.C. now. I was just out here tying up some loose ends."

"Is that so?"

"How about you?"

"I live in Baltimore, but I was born in Mechanicsburg."

"Oh really? What do you do in Baltimore?" (She leaned a little bit inward, and spoke a bit more softly. He smiled as he replied.)

"I'm in the police department."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'm in vice."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, it's very interesting work. My dad was also on the force in PA."

"That's great."

"How about you? Are you a model or something?" (Smirked again.)

"No, no..." (she laughed, arching her back a little) "...I used to be in show business out here, but I was a costume designer. I'm in real estate now back in D.C. Kind of turned over a new leaf and all."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"Well..."

"Or is that too forward a question maybe..."

"No, it's fine. I just had a back injury that kind of ruined things for me. Made it impossible to do my work at all. Long boring story. I also got divorced. Anyway, it was time for a new chapter, so I took my act east and now I'm doing well out there. I love it there."

"Interesting..." (He nodded slowly.)

Madison decided to smirk a little, and leaned a little closer. She wanted to know if this was going to be worth continuing.

"So what does your wife do?"

Anthony turned red. "Oh, uh..." (giggled a little) "...she's a paralegal."

"Really, that's wonderful..." (This is going to be a long flight, Madison thought to herself, so I might as well have a little fun with this guy.) "So, she doesn't mind that you fly off with your friends to L.A. and go to the bars and strip joints and everything...?"

"Well, you know..." (he looked serious) "...my wife is a few years younger than me and she goes out after work with her friends and I don't ask about it. And we go on separate trips now and then, and we've been married for several years now. We both have demanding jobs, you know..."

"Really..."

"So, it's not something either of us throws in the other's face, you understand..."

Madison licked her lips slowly and smiled: "I understand."

"So tell me then, do you have a husband back in D.C.? I see plenty of jewelry on you but I don't see a ring on that finger."

"Oh, no. I'm not married anymore. In fact, I got a cute little place in Logan Circle last March, and it's the first time I've ever lived alone in my life."

"Oh yeah? How is it?"

"Oh, you know, it's great in a lot of ways." (Madison looked away. Always a sign that someone isn't telling the truth. He was an interrogator -- he knew that well.)

"I see..."

"I have my fun." (She looked back at him, smiling with a certain wary confidence. Anthony found that very attractive about her. She wasn't lying so much as she was looking past the negatives that didn't set her apart from any other intelligent woman who was living alone for the first time in her life.)

Madison and Anthony continued to talk about life and work, and having fun. She told him some of her Hollywood stories. He told her about a few funny moments on the vice beat. They laughed. Sometimes, they looked away.

Then, there was a short silence when they both were taking a breath. And Anthony sighed heavily, almost like he was blowing out the candles on his birthday cake and making a wish.

"What is it?"

"Oh...." (he smirked again) "...nah..."

"No, what...?"

"Nah, nothing..."

"Is it your wife?"

"No, no..."

"You mean, she wouldn't mind if she knew I was flirting terribly with you the whole way home?"

He turned bright red and smiled. They were now so close together, their noses were almost touching. He motioned to her to lean in so he could whisper something.

"You are.....the most beautiful woman I have ever met...."

She slowly looked into his eyes again, a bit startled. Here he was, so close to her face that they were both almost cross-eyed, and said something so startling yet.

"That's very sweet of you."

"I'm serious." (she could smell the inside of his mouth -- it was minty, inviting)

"Thank you, Anthony."

"And can I tell you my greatest fear right now, Madison?"

"What's that?"

"That the kid next to you will have to get up to use the rest room, and I'll have to stand up, and the whole plane will see just how serious I am about that..."

They both laughed. Madison tossed her head back a bit, and then leaned back in until her fingernails were touching his arm.

"Can I turn the air up a bit?" he asked.

"Of course."

Anthony reached up and brushed her breasts. She took a short breath and smiled as he did it, quite deliberately.

"Cooling you down a bit?" she asked, smirking.

"Nothing's gonna cool me down."

And his face paused as they sat there, almost nose to nose. His lips kept moving forward, and his eyes were looking straight down at her shirt.

"I would love to kiss you right now, but I mean, my Dad is sitting right up there."

Madison didn't move her eyes from his face: "Anthony, they can't see you right now."

And before she could finish the last word, Anthony moved in the final three inches and pressed his lips against hers. They were full, and warm, and almost quivering. She closed her eyes, and parted her lips to take him in a little. It was an almost perfect kiss, and it was punctuated slightly as his fingertip very gently moved in and lightly brushed along her breast as his tongue followed the same motion around her own. All pulled down into that tiniest of areas, maybe 2 square feet where their bodies touched, it was so explosive a moment of contact that Madison wondered what was behind all of that passion in Anthony. What was the energy pulsating inside him beyond the hormones and the thrill of the hunt that every man had in him? People meet on planes, on trains, on the side of the road perhaps. And it's one of those chance meetings where both people have hit pause on their lives for a couple of hours while in transit, and their worlds cease to exist temporarily, and all this pent-up emotion comes out. Some people cry on planes, others think of death or making major life changes.

Madison and Anthony could think only of each other, and that space in between Seats 8B and 8C that momentarily overlapped.

"I can't believe this is happening to me," he said to her. "I can't believe I met you."

"Honey," she said, "I can't believe this flight isn't longer and the bathroom isn't bigger..."

They laughed again, and each grasped the other's hands tightly as they laughed.

Anthony looked around at his fellow travelers. They were all apparently asleep at this point. And then he looked back at her with the look of a little boy who'd gotten what he wanted for Christmas, and it made her so happy. He just looked at her again very closely. And kissed her again.

All the way home to Dulles Airport, they were rarely more than an inch apart. They whispered into each other's ears about past loves, about the various things they each loved to do in bed. Madison ran her fingers up his leg, under his cargo shorts. He'd brush her breast again.

Anthony would get more detailed in what he wanted to do. He had a way with words. And he kissed with his eyes closed.

And he told her about how he had to attend a funeral for one of his fellow cops the following day, and how he wasn't looking forward to it. How it made him afraid for his own future, and for the other men he cared about on the force. She talked about her divorce, and her move, and how much of a struggle it sometimes would be living alone, no matter how good it was supposed to be.

And as they were getting ready for landing, Madison got up to freshen up in the rest room. Anthony had to adjust himself before getting up, of course.

When she got to the rest room, she took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. She'd had first dates that didn't go this well before. She felt like she was losing herself in a fantasy -- she had to remind herself that she was on a plane. This was a movie, it wasn't real.

She re-applied the lipstick, and checked the eye shadow. All good. Her hair was great. Her nails were perfect.

And just as she was about to walk out, she looked down into her handbag again and saw the elusive pencil sticking up. And she pulled it out, yanked out a page from her Cosmo and scribbled down her phone number.

After they landed, Anthony insisted on getting her carry-on out of the overhead bin. "I don't want you to hurt your back, Madison," he said, his arms flexing as he pulled it down.

"Thank you, Anthony," she said.

And she leaned forward and put the little corner of the Cosmo page in his pocket.

"This is my number, Anthony. I thought I might as well let you know how much I enjoyed our trip home..."

He smiled immediately, his hand in his back pocket.

"That's funny," he said, "while you were in the bathroom I wrote down my email address for you."

He handed it to her, behind the seat in front of him, out of sight.

"Please write me."

"I will," she said.

And as they filed off the plane, they both felt that magnetic field between them being pulled apart slowly, as it had to be.

When she walked off the plane, Madison passed right by Anthony's wife, who was waiting for him. Madison immediately knew who she was, but she didn't look at her longer than a second as she went by.

All Madison caught was her fragrance -- Pure Turquoise by Ralph Lauren.

 

[Posted: September 27, 2005] FEEDBACK PERMALINK