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She had kissed him hungrily on the mouth when he presented her with the dark red Gerber daises and happily exclaimed that they were one of her favorites. The light green stems nestled in a few inches of cold tap water were enlarged by the cylindrical crystal and tilted away from the curved lip of the vase, making the daises look like they were bowing before, or even humbled by, her spotless brightly-lit kitchen. They were thrown away on Monday.

Janet found their conversation distracting, “Did you see Bush's acceptance speech?” James was dressed in the clothes he wore to work, “it was on the radio at the store,” as he stood before her fidgeting, “I gotta man-date,” while silently recalling the episodes from his adolescence that he had deemed worthy of plying her with. “I really thought Kerry was going to win,” Janet walked to the refrigerator, “I didn't at first but after the debates,” opened the door and produced a bottle of Veuve Cliquoit from a lower shelf, “anyway, I got this today,” she held the neck of the bottle in her slender right hand while suggesting, “perhaps we can find something to celebrate.” The earnest conviction that shadowed James on the F train had finally entered her kitchen, “How about the end of democracy in America?” “I'm afraid we'll have plenty of time to do that,” Janet placed the bottle on the counter by the vase, “Wouldn't you rather drink to us?” He was almost comfortable enough to launch into a candid conversation about how wonderful it felt to be falling in love, “that sounds like a perfect place to start.” She took two thin flutes out of the cabinet above the sink and placed them on the counter, “I'm glad you agree,” then peeled back the gold foil on the bottle before loosening the wire holder and carefully twisting off the cork, “with me,” a muffled pop, “everything has been dominated by the election…” was followed by the wisp of pale smoke that wavered over the open bottle, “and it is so boring.” The light amber wine infused with tiny spiraling bubbles rapidly climbed the flutes and after the blooming foam gradually subsided she slowly filled them. Janet leaned forward and smiled, “come on you,” before taking the bottle and her glass off the counter, “I think you'll find that the light in the living room is much more generous.” “Yeah but,” he grinned, “it's even better in your bedroom.” Kissing him on the cheek she replied, “the night is young before it's old.” He admired her walk as she crossed to the couch, “So why are Gerber daises one of your favorite flowers?” After placing the bottle on the side table she sat down, “I like how bare the stems are,” leaned back and crossed her legs, “plus my hair was almost that color last spring.” He studied the black and white Warhol silkscreen of Jackie Onassis hanging above the couch, “Like that actress we saw last Friday?” She grinned, “but it didn't look as cheap as her hair.” The lamp beside the armchair threw his passing shadow over the painting.

 

“W
hen was this?” Heat vapors wavered above the yellow sand, “Monday night,” as the smell of marijuana, “the day before he went away,” and a faint reggae rhythm drifted by. “When was your last period?” Topless women were sprawled on colorful towels, “A few weeks ago,” and groups of men wearing thongs lounged in beach chairs. A few children by the shore, “So you're probably ovulating,” were playing before the breaking waves. Two women were swimming beyond the breakers while a surfer drifted past the sandbar while waiting for another ride. “Why didn't you get the morning after pill?” Stephanie and Karen were in their bikini bottoms while sitting cross-legged on a white sheet. “I didn't have the money but I'm pretty sure that I took care of it in time. ” The afternoon sky was cloudless. “What do you mean, ‘took care of it?'” The hazy blue line above the horizon, “I took a bunch of birth control pills the next morning,” was broken by the silhouettes of two motionless oil tankers, “and I told Alan not to worry about it.” Karen was livid, “that isn't like you at all,” after learning that Stephanie had been let go from the temp agency last week for missing too many days, “what were you,” and was spending all of her time with a married man who drank like a fish, “What
are
you thinking?” She merely shrugged, “you shouldn't worry about it either,” and was reluctant to convey the growing host of doubts she had about Alan, “although at times it seems like things are happening way too fast,” wary of Karen's rush to judgment, “but we came out here to relax,” and afraid of her anger, “Okay?”

The box fan in her kitchen window drowned out the Stereolab CD playing in the living room. Alan signed the company check for three thousand dollars, “I know someone who may be looking for a personal assistant,” and handed it to Stephanie, “but you can't sleep with him,” while sitting at the table in his underwear. She took the check, “ha-ha,” and glanced at the amount before folding it in half. They had just finished a bottle of Macon Villages. “I'm just joking,” he rolled the pen between his palms, “besides, he's gay,” and grinned. Elaine and Olivia were in Martha's Vineyard for the month, “come on, don't pout,” and he was flying out the following afternoon to join them, “you aren't very sexy when you sulk,” for two weeks of family vacation. Stephanie was wearing the semi-transparent pink camisole he'd just given her. She opened the utensil drawer and slipped the check into it before asking, “Are you hungry?” Melting ice filled the tall water glass on the Formica counter. He leaned back in the chair, “I'm starving,” and crossed his arms over his stomach. She turned to him, “I'd cook you something but it's too hot.” Two wine glasses were on the kitchen table beside the empty wine bottle with a sketch of a chateau on its beige label. “You know that I'm going to miss you.” She stepped toward him, “thanks for the money,” placed her hands on his shoulders, “can you call your friend before you go so I can get an interview,” and kissed him on the forehead, “as soon as possible.” He eyed her mouth, “Why won't you let me buy you an air conditioner?” She considered his question, “Maybe a small one for the bedroom?” Alan reached for her, “What's the matter?” She straddled him in the chair, “How could you think that I would have sex with just anyone?” “I was just joking,” he pressed his face between her breasts. She bit his earlobe before whispering, “I'm not a whore.”

Karen's thick cork-soled sandals were holding down two corners of the sheet, “When were you on the pill?” Stephanie's blue beach bag, “last fall,” and a nearly empty plastic water bottle held down the other ends. “And he came inside you?” A pack of yellow American Spirits and a small green disposable lighter were on the sheet between them. She nodded, “twice.” Karen shook her head in disbelief, “twice.” Stephanie brushed a lock of hair away from her mouth, “the condom broke.” A plane pulling a broad banner for a car insurance company flew past them. “I don't want to talk about it.” Karen took a cigarette from the pack, “What,” and placed it between her lips, “were you both drunk?” Stephanie shook her head while saying, “he'll pay for the abortion,” then added, “but I really don't think I'm pregnant,” with conviction. Karen lit the cigarette, “you don't know that yet.” A large white seagull landed nearby and began picking at a brown paper bag. The smoke from her cigarette drifted along with the breeze. Stephanie uncrossed her legs, “if I am pregnant he'll pay for it,” sank her heels into the hot sand and placed her hands on her knees. “Two condoms broke?” A black girl in a bright pink one-piece was digging a hole in the sand with a small orange shovel. “No,” Stephanie shook her head, “he came twice.” Karen cleared her throat before asking, “How did that happen?” The girl's father stood beside her in cut-off jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. “Weren't you going to quit smoking?” “Yeah well,” Karen clenched her jaw, “please don't try and change the subject.” Stephanie said, “he'll pay for it,” before looking away. The blond lifeguard continued twirling his silver whistle. “It's really too bad that he can't have the abortion for you as well.” Stephanie turned to Karen, “he's getting me an interview at his friend's law firm.” “Oh yeah,” Karen made no effort to hide her skepticism, “And when is this going to happen?” A long wave rolled against the shore. “Pretty soon I guess.” Karen tapped the ash off her cigarette, “Is this firm under Alan's desk?” “No,” Stephanie shook her head, “it's at the World Trade Center,” and smiled before asking, “Have you found a new gallery yet?” “No…” Karen's eyes narrowed, “Why do you need a job if he is paying your rent?” Stephanie leaned back and took her bikini top out of the beach bag, “because I don't want him to support me,” that covered her breasts as she tied it on, “I'm going for a swim,” then stood up, “see you later,” and walked across the warm stretch of sand before the shore.

Alan and Stephanie sat across from each other at her favorite Thai restaurant. “My father was always very cautious with money and I'm not saying that there is anything wrong with that, but at times it was a real hindrance, especially when it came to some of the more ambitious projects we would bid on.” The remnants of their dinner, barbequed pork and a cold duck salad, lay on the green plates. “So you don't worry about the costs at all?” “Not in the initial stages,” Alan refilled his beer glass, “ultimately it comes into play but that's why engineers exist.” “Do you use the same engineer for every project?” He shook his head, “it depends on the project,” then drank from his glass, “our senior engineer was very close to my father and to his way of doing things,” and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, “but we rarely see eye to eye anymore.” Stephanie was trying not to be distracted by the large color television behind his head, “Why wasn't your father able to turn the company around the way that you have?” There was silent footage from a congressman's news conference and a black and white still of his missing intern. “My father was too loyal to a few individuals who always insisted on doing things the same way and my main objective has always been to have a solid working relationship with the client and to really explore what their needs are. The greater an understanding I have for what they want increases the project's potential and its chances for success.” A dog commercial followed. “It's the client that always comes first,” Alan rested his elbows on the table, “and I'd really like to work with a younger team of engineers… who have fresh, open ideas as opposed to a few of my father's old cronies who are set in the past.” She looked away from the television, “my friend Karen has a reproduction of the “Tower of Babel” in her kitchen.” He blinked twice, “Have you seen the original?” “No,” Stephanie shook her head, “have you?” He nodded, “it's in Vienna.” “Karen lives in Greenpoint,” she poked her fork into a piece of duck, “she's a really good painter.” He nodded, “Where did she go to school?” She placed the duck in her mouth, “Pratt,” and began to chew, “like a decade or so ago.” Alan caught the waitresses' eye, “they really aren't known for their painting program,” and held up the empty beer bottle. Stephanie nodded, “she's pretty frustrated right now.” “Why is that?” There were scenes from a car accident behind his head and an eyewitness who used both of her hands to describe the crash. “Karen just lost her gallery.” The pretty waitress appeared with another bottle of beer and took the empty away. “Because she wasn't selling?” She nodded, “I really like her work,” and watched him refill his glass, “That blue painting in my living room?” He nodded, “That one of the ocean?” She smiled, “Karen painted that.”

Sunlight glistened on the water as Stephanie waded in between the waist-high breakers. She dove beneath a towering wave and swam a few yards beneath the surface. She felt invigorated by the cool water while floating on her back with her arms outstretched, legs together and eyes wide open. She was nearly weightless beneath the blue sky as the ocean swayed beneath her. A plane flying out of JFK crossed the sky as her long auburn hair fanned out around her head in the dark blue water.

 

T
he cushion sagged beneath James as he sat down beside her, “Did you just get your hair cut?” The copy of his short story that he gave her two weeks ago, before they parted with an awkward kiss at the top of the Chambers Street station, was lying atop the October issue of French
Vogue
. “Yesterday,” Janet ran her left hand through her bobbed hair, “do you like it?” Steam coursed through the radiator beneath the window. “Yeah a lot,” he took a sip of champagne, “it's very sexy.” The green bottle with the yellow label was beaded with condensation. She held the stem of her glass with her left index finger and thumb, “it was such a pretty day,” then took a sip before adding, “I so love autumn.” He stopped himself from mentioning how the afternoon and evening had dragged at the bookstore, “I prefer winter,” knowing that it would bore her, “it's more austere,” although he could always attribute his impatience to wanting to be with her. She listened to the sound of the wind in the trees outside the window, “winter is too dark for me,” as pages of newspaper sailed down the street, “the cold doesn't bother me that much,” then gestured with her right hand, “but the lack of sunlight drives me absolutely mad.” Regarding the multitude of bubbles gradually climbing his glass, “What about summer?” “The absolute worst,” Janet was wearing a snug low-cut gray cashmere sweater, “unless I'm away… but this city is simply insufferable then,” that accentuated her narrow cleavage, “I'd have to say that spring is my favorite season,” a pleated thigh-high black skirt, “but this is a close second,” silver fishnets and high heels, “Are you hungry?” He shook his head, “no,” and tried to think of something meaningful to say, “not really.” She raised her eyebrows, “And what does that mean?” He had inhaled a medium rare cheeseburger, “I had a late lunch,” while hunched over a box of books in the cluttered office, “around four.” “Well, if you change your mind,” rocking her right leg back and forth over her left knee, “I could order us something or we could—” He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “That's much better.” Last Friday night, after sitting through the first act of the play, they took a cab back to her place and went straight to bed. She caressed his cheek with the palm of her right hand and kissed him. “We could just sit here and drink champagne.” She had been as generous as he was eager to please, and they had lingered within the intricacies of their pleasure. “That's not what you,” Janet placed her hand on his thigh, “really want to do.” Her glossy lipstick left a powdery taste of violets on his mouth. “Maybe not.” The conversations between couplings were a multiple exchange of carefully selected memories. “Well,” she whispered in his ear, “you should always say what you mean.” They finally fell asleep a few hours before dawn. James looked closely at her eyes, “And you?” She woke up alone in the mid-morning to the faint sound of the shower. Fluttering her lashes, “And me what?” Then joined him in the tiled stall where they soaped, scrubbed and rinsed each other off. James left for work an hour later.