Tide's Ebb (5 page)

They went down to the street and hailed a cab—it seemed barbaric to arrive at Dorsia in a cab, but Marianna gritted her teeth and persevered.  Dorsia was in Chelsea, on a quiet street that seemed far too small for the three Michelin stars this formidable restaurant commanded.  Marianna was afraid that perhaps the maître’d would see that they had arrived in a cab and refuse to seat them, or maybe the restaurant would find out that Screech was an IT guy and not let them through the door. But when they arrived, Marianna found her misgivings were misplaced: they were immediately escorted to a banquette off on the far side of the elegant dining room. It was almost secluded.

And then the meal began. Screech had wisely selected the thirteen course
degustation
menu. Sea urchin ceviche? Pancetta foam wafers? Foie gras fondue? Locally-sourced Wagyu trotters? It was a one delicacy after another. Marianna felt her gut sticking out and pressing against the taut fabric of her dress.

“So I have a surprise for you…”

Marianna exhaled loudly. All of a sudden, the restaurant seemed completely empty.  Screech got down on his knees next to the table.

Oh no. No, no, no… Not this
!
Marianna thought.

Screech leaned down further and put his head under the table.
What the fuck?
Marianna felt something pull at the bottom of her dress.

“Screech! What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to
surprise
you!” he said, from underneath the table.

She felt the fabric of her dress slide up her calves.

“Screech! We’re at Dorsia!”

“I know! I love these tasting menus!” She felt something like a wet mop on the back of her knee.

“Screech! I mean it!”

“But you love it! And I love it, too!”

Now he was pushing his nose between her knees, which were now gripped tightly together.

“We are at dinner at the best restaurant in New York—this is no time for oral sex!”

“I’m certain you’ll go great with the sea urchin ceviche!”

“Would Madame like the dessert?” A tall man in a white jacket stood next to the table. Marianna had not seen the waiter approach.

“Wha-what?” This distraction was all Screech needed—while Marianna’s attention was temporarily diverted, Screech nuzzled his way up her thighs.

“NO!”

The waiter looked taken aback. “I’m so sorry if our dessert offends Madame. Perhaps some coffee or tea?”

“Uh, no. Thanks. I mean, please, just let me think for a second.”

The waiter looked down—Screech’s foot was sticking out from under the table cloth. With an amused look, the waiter turned and walked back towards the kitchen.

“Woah! That was close!” a voice wafted up from under the table.

Marianna was agitated and not in a playful disposition. She didn’t even want the haggis puree-filled petits fours as a dessert. All she had wanted that evening was to look beautiful—she had not wanted her knees licked at Dorsia. She didn’t speak a word to Screech for the remainder of the evening and into the next day. Their sacred trust had been broken.

She had to make a change. She felt broken, violated, alone. Could she ever find a man—a real man—that made her feel like a woman again?

The next day at work, Marianna’s temples were pounding, and it was hard to concentrate on the computer screen. Her mortification from the night before had left her exhausted and tense.  The office phone rang. It was Sam.

“Ms. Holt, I have a special assignment for you. But I’m afraid it will involve extreme hardship.”

Marianna swallowed her breath, as if trying to stifle a hiccup. “Of course, sir. You know my commitment to our craft.”

“It will involve document review in a warehouse outside Newport, Rhode Island. Probably for four to six months. It’s an important supervisory role—you’ll be in charge of two paralegals to make sure they do their jobs.”

Marianna’s neck muscles tightened up. Months of reviewing legal documents in a dimly-lit industrial building was fine. That formed the very core of what prestigious lawyers like her did. But… in Rhode Island? How could she leave the City?

“Unfortunately, I need an answer today.”

“Ok sir. I’ll let you know.” She hung up but then immediately dialed another number. “Suzanne? I need to talk. Downstairs. Now.”

In the downstairs lobby, Suzanne instantly noted that Marianna was standing ramrod straight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Let’s just go to the coffee shop.” Marianna walked briskly in her cream-colored Chlo Spazzolato pumps and didn’t say a word—Suzanne, in her typical 4-inch heels, struggled to keep up.

“Marianna! Just tell me what’s wrong!”

Marianna felt heat rising to her neck as hot tears dripped down her face. “Sam’s asked me to do document review…”

“Oh, that’s horrible!”

“…in Rhode Island!”

Suzanne let out a gasp. Law firms could be so cruel.

“What are you going to do?”

“I just… I don’t know. Things in New York, with Screech, have been so comfortable after… my incident. But now…”

“I know. But honestly, honey, do you think Screech is the man for you? His goatee alone is ridiculous. Trust me, I know he’s a professional muff diver, and that’s nice and all, but you’re not supposed to date him! The ladies in the office only ride the goat when we can’t mount a stallion! Seriously, is cunnilingus your only criteria for a soul mate?” As Suzanne said these words, she had to stifle a giggle, for she thought that expert oral sex was indeed a very good criteria for a soul mate. But now wasn’t the time to mention that.

Marianna continued to sob. She couldn’t admit to Suzanne how much she had come to enjoy the feel of that goatee, tickling her core night after night.

“Everything is so confusing…”

“Maybe this is just what you need. I read a book where a woman traveled to third-world shitholes, like India and Italy, in order to find herself. Maybe going to Rhode Island could be kind of the same thing?”

Marianna sighed. Maybe that was what she needed—to go to the ends of the Earth in order to find herself.

The Rhode Island project was even more difficult than expected.

The two paralegals were worthless. Although document coding required highly complex legal skills, such as reading and data entry, the paralegals seemed to treat it like it was just any job and refused to work even a minute past nine p.m.

I’m part of management,
Marianna thought to herself.
I can motivate them.

But no matter how many Starbucks gift cards she bought the paralegals, they never quite grasped the importance of document review.
Maybe if they had Illy in Newport?

But the fact was, they didn’t have anything in Newport. There were mansions, sure, but all of these were quite old and not accessible to public transit—not even buses. Although Marianna wasn’t sure what horrified her more: living in a place without a subway or the prospect of having to take a bus. She preferred not to think about it.

But Marianna did find one activity in Newport to which she could unreservedly devote herself: yoga. Marianna had seen films about break-ups and she knew that she had to dedicate herself to something physical, preferably something that could be done against a picturesque backdrop in relatively skimpy clothing.

That was how Marianna came to do solitary yoga practice on the docks at dawn. There was no yoga studio nearby, but next to the sea, Marianna could do sun salutations where she actually greeted the morning light. It was still freezing in March, so Marianna’s thin yoga clothes did little to protect her from ocean gales. But as each gust put a chill on her muscles, her nipples prodded rigidly against her Lululemon top. And the tightness of her tight body felt amplified by each breeze.

During these morning yoga sessions, she could breathe and forget Screech’s frail comforts. With the cold water lapping the rocks, she could forget the warmth of Screech’s lapping in her lap.  With the sun rising on the distant sea horizon, she could almost forget the braying of the donkeys.