“Same to you,” she says. With a grin she takes the first piece, dips it in the sauce and delicately bites into it, and what do you know, my cock goes rock hard. This is new for me. I’ve never reacted this way to anyone before. Shit. Shifting in my seat I watch her open the burger next and take it in her hands.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks me.
I take a bite of my burger. For plastic it tastes quite good.
She dips a French fry into ketchup and slips it into her mouth. Then she breaks the straw out of its packaging and sticks it into the milkshake. She sucks at the straw. Here we go again. I watch her lush lips release the straw, her tongue come up and lick her lips. Like a woman on a mission she opens the ice cream and dips her plastic spoon into it. She licks the spoon. Fuck, this is the meal from hell. I’m so desperately hard I’m going to need to go and relieve myself in the toilet.
She sighs contentedly. “I’m done,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows. “What? You’ve only had a taste of everything you’ve ordered.”
“Well, after you said what you did about McDonalds I went and did some research and you’re absolutely right.”
I lean back, surprised and amused.
“See this bun here. You’ll never believe the long list of chemicals that are in it. It’s actually painted with mold inhibitors. Not only have I eaten preservatives, dextrose, sodium phosphate, but also a variety of ingredients used for making flame retardant material, yoga mats, safety matches and contact explosives.”
She never stops surprising me. “So why did you want to come in here?”
She shrugs. “I wanted to know what I was missing and now I do.”
“Did you like it?”
“Well, I didn’t hate it, but I prefer your friend’s burger.” She reaches out her hand and touches my arm and I burn. “Thank you for bringing me here. I really appreciate it. Now can we go somewhere else, please?”
I laugh. Standing, I pull her up and grab her by the hips so she is pulled close to me. She gasps and looks up at me. She is too thin. I feel the tiny bones push into my body. Otherwise she’s goddamn perfect. I want to take her back to my place, tangle my body with hers, and fuck until my cum drips from her fucked pussy.
“Fuckin’ get a room,” one of the kids shouts.
Don’t worry kid that’s not how I’m gonna play this. I’m going to take it easy with her. I rub my thumb against her cheek. “Let’s go get some proper food.”
We end up in an Italian joint. It’s really old fashioned with burnt sienna and yellow walls and bottles of Frascati and ham hanging from the rafters. I know the owner. Salvatore is jolly and round. Sometimes he takes his guitar out and sings corny old Italian songs. He’s not very good, but his customers don’t mind. There’s something sweet about his singing. While he is singing you can pretend you have gone back in time. You are sitting in a trattoria in Italy.
We sit sipping Salvatore’s best Gavi de Gavi while we wait for our spaghetti vongole. Today’s special.
“So you grew up in Russia?”
Almost instantly I feel her shrink. “Yes, we grew up in Russia,” she says woodenly.
I change the subject. From then on we stay away from the past. I ask her about her taste in music. Oh dear, she likes classical. She asks me for mine. I tell her I like techno. She loves chocolate ice cream. I don’t. She doesn’t like curry and I could live on it. She likes River Dance and I think they look like puppets jerking around. She likes mountains. I like beaches. I love watching a good boxing match, she cannot bear any kind of sport that involves violence.
Our clam spaghetti arrives. We dig in. I ask her to tell me the person she would most want to have dinner with.
“Dead or alive?” she asks.
“Either.”
She names Princess Diana.
“Why?”
“I’d like to ask her what really happened that night.”
“Don’t you believe the official story then?”
She drops her voice to a whisper. “No.”
I hide a smile. My date is a secret conspiracy theorist.
She asks me the same question. I don’t need to think about this one.
“You,” I say, and I really mean it too. I’d like to have dinner with her and find out the great secret she is hiding. Why she thinks she is so unloveable.
“Me?” she asks.
“Yeah, you.”
We stare at each other. Her eyes look gold. Some great hurt shines in them. Then the waiter comes to refill our glasses and it is gone.
I ask for her favorite color.
“Blue,” she says, a smile coming back to her eyes. “You?”
I smile. “Blue.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe it. We finally found something we agree about.”
Salvatore starts singing. Her eyes become misty. We have dessert. Creamy tiramisu. I watch her eat it and feel my gut tighten. This is my girl. I’m never stopping until I make her mine. For life. We order coffee. Salvatore brings flaming Sambucas with them. We blow out the flames and down them. She laughs. There is color in her cheeks and her eyes are shining.
“More coffee?” I ask, my hands hungry to roam her flesh.
She nods happily.
As we leave she stumbles against me. I grab her slim waist and steady her. She looks up at me.
“Thank you. This has been the best night of my life,” she whispers.
Twenty-two
Sofia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7oPHkqzPqA
I so very nearly ask Jack to come up. Well, it will be an outright lie to say anything else as there is no time during our date that my body does not clamor for his.
When he pulls me into his arms outside the lift and kisses me with desperate hunger, it is like being pulled into quicksand. It takes all of my willpower to break the kiss and press the button for my floor.
As the lift door closes on him, my skin, flesh, bones, blood, and sinew all scream for him. But another part of me … a frozen part … the part that holds together the rickety structure of sanity … the one that never once got merry with alcohol, or drunk with sexual desire, says, don’t spoil the best night of your life.
Let the magic be ruined another day.
Let this night be special.
I ride the lift up to the apartment alone and put my key in the door. It is strange and empty without Lena, Guy and Irina, but I don’t mind. I’m floating on a delicious cloud. I dance into the room, switch on lights, and put on music, Beethoven’s Fifth. Humming and pretending to play an invisible violin to the lively music, I make my way into the bathroom. I finish my toilette, change into my long cotton nightgown, and fall dreamily into bed.
Am I falling in love?
Something that would have been impossible only a short while ago. I stare at the ceiling, confused. That word that I read about in books and only happened to other people. I’ve known only pain. And yet, it must be. What else could be so perfect, so wonderful, so amazing? I fall asleep on that lovely cloud.
The doorbell jerks me out of a deep and dreamless sleep. I freeze with fear, my eyes swiveling to the luminous face of my alarm clock. It is nearly twelve o’clock. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t panic. No one but Jack and my family know I’m here. Obviously it’s just a mistake by someone, or it could be someone drunk ringing the wrong bell. They will go away. There is nothing to fear.
The doorbell goes again. This time more insistent.
I bite my thumbnail nervously. What if it is a woman who has lost her keys and just needs to be let in out of the cold? I hesitate another few seconds and the bell goes again.
This time I get out of bed and quickly walk to the hallway. If it’s a stranded woman I’ll let her in. If it’s a man I’ll pretend there’s no one at this address. Without switching on any lights, I go to the intercom and turn on the video. For a couple of seconds, I think I must be hallucinating. Then my entire body tenses, not with fear, but with unadulterated exc
itement. Jack’s come for me. I press the answer buzzer.
“What are you doing, Jack?” I ask, my voice strangely breathless.
“Let me in,” he demands, swaying slightly.
“Are you drunk?”
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I think, yes,” I say cautiously.
His hair flops over his forehead and he sweeps it out of the way carelessly and claps his hands. “Bravo. Let me in so I can give you your prize,” he slurs.
Even drunk he looks awesome. I want him to come up so bad my body aches, but how can I? There are so many reasons I shouldn’t. Not least my disfigured skin. My intolerably ugly scars. If he sees my back in the condition he is in, he won’t be able to hide his revulsion. Everything will fall apart.
“I think you should go home, Jack,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to go home, Sofia. Let me in. Please. Just this once.”
Something inside me lurches painfully. “I can’t,” I cry.
“We don’t have to do anything. I just want to talk.”
My breath comes out in a gasp. “Talk?”
“Yeah. You can make me a coffee and help me to sober up before I drive home.”
I take a deep breath. I wouldn’t leave a dog out in this weather let alone Jack. “Promise?”
“Scouts honor.”