Before We Were Strangers

  “Your place is really nice. I like the rustic feel. Usually people go for modern in a space like this.”

  “Call me old-fashioned.”

  “I don’t think you’re old-fashioned.” She was standing near the wall, staring up at the picture that had won me so many awards.

  “Passé?” I asked as I handed her the glass.

  “Timeless,” she answered with a grin. I wished instantly that she was speaking of us. Weren’t we though? Timeless? Nothing could change what we’d had all those years before, even if the idea of what might’ve been lingered between us.

  “Oh, well, thank you. That’s a nice sentiment.”

  She pointed up to the picture. “But that . . . that’s powerful. Children and guns . . .” She shook her head. “How tragic. Were you scared when you took that?”

  “No, not scared. Sometimes the camera feels like a shield. In the beginning, when I was on location like that, I took a lot of risks.”

  “Do you think you’ll win another Pulitzer?”

  “It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but I do want to go back into the field.”

  “I bet some of the best photos are happy accidents.”

  “Such is life.” I stepped toward her and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I want to kiss you.”

  She took a quick sip of her wine. “Um . . . do you ever go to any shows around here?”

  I chuckled. “You’re an amazing subject changer.”

  “I don’t think I can say no to you much longer, and I really want . . .” She swallowed and looked around.

  “What, Grace?”

  “I really want a do-over.” The conversation was making her nervous; her chest was heaving in and out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were my best friend.” She choked back tears and looked away.

  “Please don’t cry.”

  When her eyes met mine again, they were intense, blazing. “I’m trying to tell you something, Matt.”

  I took her in my arms and held her against my chest. She wanted to take it slow, the way we had done before—all of those amazing moments in our dorm just being together, dancing, singing, playing music, taking pictures. That’s the problem with adults. There’s no taking your time because you think, even at the relatively young age of thirty-six, that your days are numbered. You think you know everyone inside and out, heart and soul, after talking to them for five minutes.

  Pushing back her shoulders, I searched her face. “I have an idea. Stay here, get comfortable, take off your shoes.” I pointed to the shelves of vinyl. “Pick a record. I’ll be right back.”

  I left the loft, took the elevator, ran across the street, and hustled up three flights of stairs in one minute. Rick Smith was the only stoner I knew in a five-mile radius. I pounded on his door.

  He answered wearing sweats, a rainbow-colored sweatband, and no shirt. He had an extremely toned body for being a fortysomething writer who only left his house to walk his cat, Jackie Chan. “Matt, my man, what’s up?” He was out of breath.

  “Sorry, Rick, did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no, I was just doin’ Tae Bo.”

  “Oh, Tae Bo. Is that still around?”

  “Well, it’s not like it could disappear; it’s an exercise, bro. Come on in.” He held the door wide open. I had never been in his apartment, only to the door; I had returned Jackie Chan once after he got out.

  It was like I had traveled back in time, and I kind of liked it. Everything in his apartment was old but in perfect condition. The Toshiba TV in the corner was paused on Billy Blanks in midmotion. Rick was exercising to a seriously old Tae Bo video. “Is that a VHS?”

  “Oh yeah, my VCR works like a dream. Why get rid of it, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I expected his apartment to seem like that of a hoarder, but it was totally the opposite.

  He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle out of the refrigerator. “Welcome to my humble abode. Can I offer you some water, or perhaps a wheatgrass shot? I have an emulsifier, too, if you’d like me to whip you up a nice, fresh juice.”

  “Oh, thank you, Rick. You are too kind.” He was a health nut. I thought idly that I probably should have read one of his books before I came over and asked him for pot.

  “To what do I owe this visit?”

  “Yeah, so um, I don’t exactly know how to say this, but . . . I have an old friend over and we . . .”

  “You guys need some reefer?”

  “Yes!” I pointed at him like he had won The Price Is Right. No one used the term reefer anymore, but whatever.

  “Why’d you think I’d have any? You think I’m a stoner or something? You think I’m some kind of drug dealer?” His face was blank.

  “Oh shit.” I would have sworn on a Bible that every time I saw him his eyes were bulging and bloodshot, and he reeked of pot.

  “Ha! I’m kidding, bro. I’ll totally spot you.” He chuckled and then slapped me on the shoulder as he passed by me. “One sec.”

  He came back holding a prescription canister with no label. I could see the buds inside. Lifting it up to my face, he said, “Listen and listen closely. This is King Kush. It’s medicinal marijuana. I got it from the first medical marijuana dispensary on the East Coast. I rented a car and drove all the way to fucking Maine to get this shit. Do not pass go, do not fuck around, do you understand me?” His beady eyes were shooting lasers at me.

  “Rick, I don’t know. You’re starting to scare me.”

  “It superstrong. You’ll love it and you’ll thank me.” He pulled a pack of papers from a drawer and held them out. “Need these?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I took the papers and the pot and shoved them into my pockets.

  “Roll her thin, man, and smoke like half with your buddy at first before you do any more.”

  “What if my buddy is a five-foot-five, small-boned woman?”

  “She’ll be fine. Women love this shit.”

  Walking toward the door, I turned back. “Rick, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Ah, no worries. Consider it payment for bringing Jackie Chan back that day.”

  Back in my apartment, Grace was sitting on the couch with her tights-clad feet propped up on the coffee table. She had put Coltrane on the record player and her eyes were closed, head resting back against the couch, looking like she was at home. God, I love her.

  “Guess what?” I held up the pot.

  She looked over at me. “We’re gonna get stoned and dance?”

  “Preferably naked.”

  “Don’t press your luck.”

  I knelt by the table and rolled a very imperfect joint. Grace was giggling the entire time. “Don’t laugh at me.”

  “Here, let me do it.” She took a new paper and rolled a nice, skinny, perfectly tight one.

  “Gracie, why are you so good at that?”

  “Tati and I do this every once in a while. Well, more like every first Sunday of the month.”

  “You’re kidding? Leave it to Tatiana to delegate specific time for weed smoking.”

  “Yep, some things never change.” She lit it and took a puff. Holding the smoke in, she said in a tiny voice, “Who would want them to?”

  We smoked and things got a little hazy. I put on Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” and Grace got up and started dancing around. She flipped her hair all over as I watched in awe, bobbing my head, wondering how the fuck I ever let her get away.

  “Dance with me, Matt.”

  I got up and we danced around until the song was over, and then “You Are the Sunshine of My Life” came on. We froze, staring at each other, until Grace buckled over, cracking up. “This is such a cheesy song.”

  “Graceland Marie Starr, this is a great song. It’s a classic.” I took a hold of her and spun her around, then brought her to my chest and made a few exaggerated dance moves.

  “It’s Porter.”

  “Huh?” I pretended not to hear her. “The music must
be too loud, what did you say?”

  She shook her head and let me spin her around until we were dizzy and exhausted.

  An hour later, we found ourselves sitting on my kitchen floor, eating grapes and cheese. She was leaning her back against the refrigerator with her legs out straight in front of her, and I was sitting the same way against the cabinets across from her.

  She lobbed a grape up into the air and I caught it in my mouth.

  “I have an idea. . .” she said.

  “Tell me.”

  “Let’s play a game. Do you have a blindfold?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her. “It’s not what you think.”

  I pulled a long, red dishtowel out of the drawer and tossed it to her. She leaned forward on her knees and proceeded to tie it around my head.

  “I’m getting scared, Grace.”

  “We’re gonna play, ‘Guess what I just put in your mouth.’ ”

  “Sweet Jesus. That sounds like a game I’ll like.”

  “Don’t get too excited.”

  Too late.

  I heard her tinkering around in the kitchen, and then a few minutes later she was sitting next to me again. “Okay, open up.” I felt a cold spoon hit my tongue. Something slid off it and hit the back of my throat. It was confusing and disgusting and the texture gave me the chills. “Gross, what is this?”

  “You have to guess; that’s the whole point of the game.”

  “Grape jelly and soy sauce?”

  She lifted the blindfold to reveal her ecstatic face. “It’s true! I thought that would be impossible.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

  “Wait, I have more.”

  “No.”

  “Just one more?” she whined.

  “Fine.” I pulled the blindfold back down.

  She scampered away and came back a moment later. “Open up, Matty.”

  Her finger was in my mouth, and if that wasn’t sweet enough on its own, it was coated in Nutella. “Nutella à la Grace?”

  She undid the blindfold, her face beaming.

  “My turn,” I said. I tied the towel-blindfold around her eyes, stood up, and pretended to gather things from various drawers. I sat back down. “Ready?”

  “Yep!” She opened her mouth and I kissed her, starting at her bottom lip and then moving to her neck and back to her mouth until our tongues were twisting and our hands were lost in each other’s hair.

  We made out on my kitchen floor and then, suddenly, Grace cut it short.

  “Walk me home?”

  I pulled back, searching her face. “Of course. You know you’re welcome to stay if you’d like to. No funny business, I promise.”

  “I have to get home.”

  “Okay.” I held my hand out and helped her to her feet. She went to her purse, checked her phone, and then popped a mint into her mouth.

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  “I thought I was dating you?” she said.

  “Right. We are dating. Very slowly.”

  “Are you pressuring me, Matthias? You were more patient as a twenty-one-year-old. What happened?” There was amusement in her tone.

  I laughed. “Well, I didn’t know what I was missing then. Now I do.”

  We left my loft and I walked her home. When we got to the stoop of her brownstone, I turned to her. “Want to get dinner Friday?”

  “I’d love to.” She leaned up and kissed me for a long time. “I had fun tonight.”

  “Me too. It was the best PG experience I’ve had in a long time.”

  “The explicit language, provocative dancing, finger sucking, and drug use are surely worth a PG-13 rating,” she said, before leaning up and pecking me on the cheek one last time.

  “Night, Gracie.”

  “Night, Matty.”

  I walked home, got into bed, and fell asleep with a smile on my face.

  * * *

  ON FRIDAY, I made a reservation at a little Japanese place within walking distance of both of us. When I got to her brownstone to pick her up, she was waiting for me on her stoop, wearing a leather jacket and a dress that reminded me of the one she used to wear in college that drove me crazy.

  “You look great.”

  “You do, too.” She linked her arm in mine as we walked, and we talked about our week. We ate sushi, drank a lot of sake, and I fed her from my plate. After dinner, we ended up at a bar that had a band playing gospel and blues rock. There were periods that night when we said nothing to each other and just moved to the music and then there were times when we were laughing hysterically and yelling over the music.

  By eleven, we were totally tipsy. When I kissed her outside the bar, she broke away first and pulled me down the street. “Where are we going now?”

  She turned, grabbed my face hard, and kissed me again. “My bed, Matt. That’s where we’re going.”

  My heart thumped wildly at the thought. “Good idea.”

  I followed her up the steps to her front door, trying desperately to keep my cool and not look overly eager. When we entered her apartment, I had to squint through the darkness. I turned around and watched her silhouette, lit only from the streetlight coming through the window next to the front door. She threw her keys on the entry table, then her jacket. She kicked off her shoes, pulled her tights off, then lifted her dress from the hem, over her head, and threw that aside, too.

  My jaw was on the floor.

  I caught her as she jumped into my arms and straddled me, her hands diving into my hair, her sweet lips on my mouth. I walked backward down the dark hallway to a stairway and looked up. “No, my room is here. End of the hall to the left.”

  Pressing her against the wall, I kissed her from her mouth to her neck to her ear and back to her shoulder where I tried to catch my breath. When I set her down, she reached for my shirt and pulled it over my head, then took my hand and led me to her bedroom.

  Standing near the bed, she tugged at my belt, fumbling with it.

  “Slow down, Gracie.”

  “No one has ever said those words to me.” She undid my belt and pulled my pants and boxers down as I kicked off my shoes. She was different from college Grace. I could see that now. She was more confident, more self-assured.

  I took her face between my hands. Even in her dark room, with little more than the glow from the streetlights streaming through the window, I could see that her eyes were bright, brilliant, and full of wonder. “I want to slow down, otherwise this won’t be fun for you,” I said.

  She nodded and we kissed again, but sweeter and slower this time. I ran my hand down her neck to the top of her breast and traced the line of her bra with my fingertip. I kissed a trail down her neck while my hands unclasped her bra in the back, letting it fall to the ground. She was more beautiful somehow now, though I didn’t think that was possible. Her body was still so soft and smooth, but it was also womanly, strong, exquisite, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had an urge to find a camera but an even stronger urge to touch her. “God,” was all I could say as she leaned into me, finding my mouth again.

  I pulled away. “Let me look at you.” Dropping to my knees, I took her panties with me to the ground and kissed her stomach, her thighs, the space between her legs. There was no sound but my lips on her body and her soft breaths, getting faster and faster, more urgent, until she moaned from her chest.

  “I want you, Matt.” Her voice was strained.

  My hands were moving of their own accord now. I sat on the edge of the bed and she climbed into my lap, wrapping her legs around my waist. She started to move against me, and I thought I was gonna lose it.

  “Grace?”

  “Shh, Matt.” She ran her hand down my jawline. “I like this. It’s sexy. You’re sexier now, more defined . . . bigger.” She giggled.

  I wanted to be inside of her so bad. “I need to tell you something,” I said.

  “Okay.” She kissed my neck more slowly but continued the subtle movements of her body.
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  “I’ve thought about doing this with you a lot over the last fifteen years. Is that weird?”

  She leaned back and smiled. “If you’re weird, then I’m weird, too.”

  “Yeah . . . but I like that about you.” I grinned.

  She thrust her hips against me and I moaned. “Make love to me,” she said.

  I plunged my face into her neck, kissing her feverishly, as I stood, her legs still wrapped around me. I lay her across the bed and stepped back to look at her. She sat up and pulled me down, her legs spread wide and her body warm, welcoming me. She guided me inside of her, and like any typical man, all thoughts were swept from my mind.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whispered as I slowed my movements, trying to prevent any premature embarrassment. Two cautious thrusts and I was back in control, but Grace was falling apart around me.

  “Just gooooo, Matt.”

  “You feel so good,” I whispered against her ear. My lips met her neck just as her back arched and her head pressed hard against the bed. I felt her pulsing around me, and I was a goner, sliding into temporary death.

  I collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. She reached down and took my hand in hers and held it between us like she needed to hang on to something. I rolled to my side. “I’m not going anywhere, Gracie.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “No matter what happens?”

  I pulled her to my chest and wrapped my arms around her. “What’s going on with you?”

  She buried her face in my chest. “I was never convinced that you moved on just like that. I had to accept it, but you weren’t there to tell me if it was true or not. The letter was so unlike you, so indifferent. I couldn’t believe you said those things, and for so long I didn’t believe it. But then there came a point when I realized I wasn’t living anymore. I had to give up on the idea of us being together in order to love Dan the way he deserved to be loved. But I never stopped thinking about you.”

  “I know, Grace. Me too. I’m so sorry. Elizabeth totally messed up my life. I just wish I had known sooner.”

  “But your life isn’t the only one she messed with.”

  “I know, and I hate her for it.”

  “There’s a ripple effect, Matt.”