What the Dog Ate (13 page)

“That’s sweet.”

“Nah. Like I said, I just like to
keep busy. Can’t sit still and watch TV.” He shrugged and handed her a wine
glass filled with what looked like liquid wheat. “Anyway, if you won’t let me
beat you at
Combat Fighter
, how about I show you my
ocean view, instead?”

“Sure.” He led her out to the
balcony, lit only by the light he’d left on in the kitchen. But when she
stepped outside into the summer evening air another block of condos, a softball
lob away, dominated the view. She raised her eyebrows at him.

He waved her over to the right side
of the balcony. “You’ve gotta lean out.” He stood behind her, one hand on her
arm as she stretched over the metal railing.

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Between two
buildings, she saw a column of black, touched with pockets of silver as the
ripples in the water caught the light of the three-quarter-full moon. “Very
nice.” The heat of his hand warmed her bare upper arm. She looked down at the
ground, four stories below. “Makes me a little dizzy. Better sit down.”

They sat in his Adirondack chairs
and Maggie said, “It must be nice, being this close to the ocean. Even if you
can’t really see it.”

“Sure, if you like parking hassles
and traffic, it’s great.” He took in a deep breath. “Seriously, though, I do
love it. Smell that.”

She breathed deeply too, filling
her lungs with the cool, briny air.

“Sometimes in the summer when I
have my windows open, I can hear the waves late at night,” he added. “And I
like to go down and run on the beach. Speaking of working out, that was fun
riding to Bandito’s last week.”

“Yeah. But, that’s not a workout.”

“No? I broke a sweat. Doesn’t that
count for something?”

“If your replacement drink is a
beer, it’s not a workout. If you really want to go for a serious ride, you
should come with me some time. I go almost every Sunday morning.”

He bobbed his head side to side.
“Hmmm. I guess I could do Sundays, although sometimes I’m out pretty late
Saturdays. Technically, it’s already Sunday when I get in.”

“Are you setting up your excuse for
when I kick your butt on Torrey Pines hill?”

“Them’s fightin’ words. You’re on.
This Sunday I can’t; golfing. But next week’s good. What time?”

Before Maggie could answer a gust
of wind tickled the back of her neck; she shivered.

“Let’s go inside,” Russell said.
“That’s another thing I love about living on the coast. No matter how hot it is
during the day, it cools off at night.” He waited at the sliding door for her
to pass through and patted her shoulder. “And there are so many fun ways to
warm up.”

He’s joking,
right?
She put her hand up to bat him on the arm and laugh it off with a
light-hearted, “That’s what I brought my sweater for,” but he grabbed her
raised hand and pulled her to him, before she could say anything. He kissed
her.

He smelled amazing, a combination
of a worn leather jacket, rain on the ocean in winter, and... something else,
something inexplicable... maybe ginger snaps?
Ohmygod,
that’s it. He smells edible
. His lips were warm and soft and tasted like
fresh grass from the Sauvignon blanc they were drinking. A wave of heat tried
to sweep her legs out from under her.

“Wait, Russell...”

“Mmmmm. Wait for what?” His voice
resonated deep is his throat. Her heart rattled the cage of her ribs. He
nuzzled her ear. She resisted the urge to cling to him. He felt so... solid.
She felt like Jell-O salad.
OK, pros: good grief, what a
kisser. It’s been a while. Cons: It’s been a
while.
A
long while. Oh God, too nervous. Hyperventilating; breathe. What would Kona do?
No, don’t even think about that. Remember, you’re just friends
...

“I don’t think we can do this.” She
put her hands to his chest and looked down to hide the fire she felt on her
cheeks.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure we can do
this.”

Mustering her resolve, she pushed
away from him like a swimmer off the wall of a pool.

“I want us to be friends.” She went
to the kitchen counter and grabbed her sweater. She was no longer cold, but she
needed something to do; somewhere safe to put her hands.

“We are friends, Maggie.” He came
up behind her and caressed her shoulders. “But we could be friends
with benefits
.”

She faced him. “Yeah, we
could
... but I really value our friendship and don’t want
to mess that up.”

“We’re not going to mess that up.”
He played with a lock of her hair.

“We might. What if the... ya’ know,
sex is awful?”

“You obviously don’t know who
you’re dealing with.” He licked his forefinger and made a show of smoothing one
cocked, devilish eyebrow. Then he put his hands on his hips, stuck out his jaw
and struck a male-model pose, looking into the distance.

She scoffed at him. “OK, then, what
if it’s mind-blowingly good?” she asked.

He dropped his exaggerated pose and
turned to look at her. “You say that like it could actually be a bad thing. I’m
not following.”

“Well, you know, that just... It...
it wouldn’t be any good, because we’re not in a relationship. And we’re never
going to be.”

He chuckled. “Mind-blowingly good
sex can be a darn good basis for a relationship.”

“Maybe at first, but that sort of
thing never lasts,” she said.

He shrugged and turned toward the
sofa. “I don’t know,” he said as he sat and patted the space next to him. “I’ve
been in relationships built on a foundation way flimsier than great sex. Mind
you, there was great sex, lots of it.” He crossed his arms and put his feet up on
the ottoman. “But that wasn’t the foundation.”

She sat next to him, pulled her
feet up and hugged a big red pillow. “Like what?”

“Like... mind-blowingly good
ravioli.”

“Excuse me?”

“I dated this Italian gal a while
back. She was very pretty; not the sharpest knife in the block, but man could
she cook. And you know how I loves me some chow. She made everything from
scratch—the sauce, the fillings, the pasta. It was amazing.”

“So what happened? You got her to
stock your freezer and then dumped her?”

“No, I’m not that insensitive.” He
put his hand over his heart and looked at her as if wounded to his core. “I
gained ten pounds and then I dumped her.”

Maggie laughed, “That’s a switch.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought pigs like yourself,” she
fluttered her eyelashes, “were the type to dump a woman when she gained ten
pounds. I never heard of a guy breaking up with someone because
he
gained weight.”

“You think I’m terribly shallow
don’t you?”

“I know you’re terribly shallow. At
least when it comes to women. For Pete’s sake, you told me yourself that you
dumped a woman because you didn’t like her belly button.”

“Well, there might have been a
little more to it than that.”

“Yeah? Well, either way, I still
like you.” She patted him on the knee and stood up to go. “I’m gonna head out.
It’s late.”

He walked her out. “Look, I
apologize. I hope you don’t think I was totally out of line.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the shallow
pig I know you to be if you didn’t at least try.”

“Right you are. Now give me a hug
and get out of here.”

 “I’ll even give you a kiss.” She
pecked his cheek and left without looking back.

At home, Kona ran to greet her. He
jumped up and pinned her to the sofa, covering her in wet licks. She held her
head up, directing his aggressive kisses away from her face.

“Not you, too. This must be my
lucky day, fighting off two boys on the same night.” She smiled and hugged him.
“But you win, Buddy.
You
I’m going to sleep with.”

The following Tuesday at Tea Time,
Maggie waited patiently to tell Helen about Russell. Helen’s hair shimmered and
fell back into place while she shook her head, complaining about the heat in Paris.

“It was
muy chaud
,
over one hundred both days. There’s a reason they don’t sing about August in Paris
you know.”

“Don’t you mean ‘
tres chaud
’?” Maggie asked.

“Oh,
merde
.
I was doing that the whole time I was there. I get used to flying to Barcelona,
and then I get all screwed up every time I switch over from Spanish. Everyone
on the crew makes fun of me and my ‘Sprench.’ And it doesn’t go over very well
with Parisians when you say things like ‘
bon jour, señor
.’”

“The French just don’t appreciate
you like I do. I’m happy to have you back. Something happened on the weekend,
and I’ve been dying to talk to you.” She took a deep breath. “I went to a movie
with Russell on Friday, and he, uh, sorta hit on me afterwards.”

“Russell made a pass at you?” Helen
asked, leaning in closer.

“I never understood that phrase,”
Maggie pretended to read non-existent leaves at the bottom of her tea. “A man
must have come up with that one. You know how they always love to turn
everything into a sports analogy?” Now that her friend was finally back, and
Maggie could hash through the event with her, she enjoyed making Helen wait.

“What happened? Tell me everything.
I want every juicy detail of this pass.” Helen raised an eyebrow. “Was it in
your end-zone?”

Maggie laughed. “There are no juicy
details. The pass was deflected.”

“What?” Helen looked at her as if
she were a book with the pages of a steamy sex scene torn out. “Start at the
beginning and tell me everything.”

“We were drinking wine on his
balcony and chatting, and when we got up to go inside, he kissed me.”

“And?”

“And nothing. That was it.”

“So, wait a minute. It was like a
peck?”

“No, it was a
kiss
.”

“
En français
?”
Helen’s eyes widened over the top of her tea mug.

“He
len
,
I’m not telling you that.”

“Oh,
oui
.
I have my answer.” She set her mug down.

“Anyway, it was pretty clear he was
hoping for more than just a kiss.”

“And please explain to me why you
didn’t want to give that gorgeous man some of what he was hoping for? Is he a
bad kisser?”

“Uh, no.” Maggie waited while a
passing waiter asked if they’d like refills, then continued. “Let’s just say,
if kissing were an Olympic sport, he’d make the podium. His lips were so soft.”

“How soft? Please. You’re talking
to a woman who hasn’t had any lipular contact in way too long. I’ll take my
vicarious thrills where I can get them.” Helen rested her chin in her hand.

“They were like... You know when
you buy a half gallon of ice cream—”

“I don’t buy half gallons. I can’t
be alone in the house with a half gallon of ice cream.”

“OK then, ya’ know when you buy a
pint
of ice cream,” she paused and Helen nodded for her to
continue, “and by the time you get home and take the lid off, the top part’s
all melty? Kissing him was like that.”

“Oh, man.” Helen pretended to wipe
a bit of drool from her bottom lip, then sat back and folded her arms. “So...
why would you stop kissing a man with melty-ice-cream lips?”

“Well, we’re just friends for one
thing.”

“You could be friends with
privileges.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “That’s the beauty of having an
attractive male friend.”

“That was Russell’s basic argument.
But, I’m not so sure. Besides, it’s just... too soon.”

“Too soon? What do you mean? You
know Russell. You know he’s a good guy.”

“It’s not about him.” Her voice was
quiet. “It’s Dave. It’s too soon after Dave.”

“Oh honey, I know it’s been hard.
But it’s been like, what, three months since Dave moved out? And, I don’t mean
to overstep, but from what you’ve told me, I’m guessing you two weren’t exactly
going at it before D-Day.”

“I know. It’s... crazy.
I’m
crazy. It’s been ages since I—” she glanced around to
make sure no one in the quiet shop was listening and, to be on the safe side,
mouthed “had sex.” She turned her stir stick over and over. “And Russell is
very attractive and when he kissed me I went all... wobbly. You know when you
see a newborn colt on TV, trying to get up on those spindly little legs? That
was me. It took all my will power to walk away from him, but...”

“Yes?”

“This is going to sound pathetic,
but I just knew that if I” again she mouthed the next two words, “
had sex
with him I’d be comparing him to Dave. And that’s
no fun for anybody.”

“That is not pathetic. It’s only
natural.” Helen patted Maggie’s hand. “Dave’s the only man you’ve” she looked
slowly left, then right and mouthed with exaggerated lip movements, “had sex
with” eliciting a smirk from Maggie, “for like twenty-plus years. So, of course
it’s going to be a big deal for you to uh, get back up on the horse, so to
speak.”

She earned a full smile from Maggie
with that comment and Maggie repeated her last words. “So to speak.”

But the smile slid away and Maggie
snapped the stir stick she’d been tormenting in half.

“What is it? Is there more?” Helen
asked.

“It’s...” She rested her forehead
on a tripod of her fingers, then glanced up from beneath her bangs. “It’s not
just that it was a long time that I was with Dave. It’s that...” She picked at
a spot on the table where the varnish had worn thin. “Dave’s the only one I’ve
ever been with.”

She wondered what Helen was
thinking. She knew Helen had had many lovers, both before and after her
marriage. She’d told Maggie once that she had no problem with sex as
recreation, liberation, or celebration. She accepted that it was also handy for
procreation, but she’d never personally been interested in employing it that
way.