Taint

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked her, sliding onto the barstool beside her.

  “Amy,” she answered, smiling too brightly.

  “Amy, huh? What’s your real name?”

  Her face fell, and she stared at the gin and tonic she had been nursing for the past hour. “Erin.”

  Without a word, I slid her a business card. No name. No information. Just a phone number. Then I slapped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and turned and walked away.

  Five minutes later, Erin was ringing my cell phone.

  “There’s a diner on Michigan Avenue,” I answered without preamble.

  “Which one?” she asked into the receiver.

  “Whichever one you find me at.” End.

  Half an hour later, Erin slid into the booth I was stationed at, flustered and irritated. I picked up my cup of coffee and casually took a sip before sliding her a menu.

  “I’m not here to eat,” she said, pushing it back towards me.

  “Order. You’re hungry. And don’t lie and say that you’re not. What we won’t do is lie to each other. Understand?”

  Her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t argue. She was perfect for me. I knew she would be. I didn’t have the time or patience to break in someone who didn’t know how to submit.

  I sipped my coffee while Erin devoured a large platter of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns and toast. When she had eaten every morsel, I decided it was time to get down to business.

  “Tell me your story.”

  Without much coaxing, Erin revealed that she was a first year med student with no family and no means to support herself. She had lost her tiny, ramshackle apartment, and her small scholarship didn’t cover much beyond the first year, let alone housing. She was stuck– either drop out and go back home to Idaho, or find other, less-appealing ways to support herself. That day, she had decided that maybe her dreams of becoming a doctor just weren’t going to come true.

  “I have a proposition for you,” I told her.

  “I’m not a prostitute,” she quickly interjected.

  I smiled at her amusingly. “I would certainly hope not.”

  I showed her my hand, explaining to her what I wanted and how I would compensate her for it. There, in a small diner in downtown Chicago, I asked about her sexual history (Two guys: an old boyfriend from Idaho and a one-hit wonder in undergrad), her level of inhibition (she considered herself a try-sexual: she’d try anything once), and her health background (squeaky clean: no glove, no love), all of which I had hardcopy proof of already. Then I paid the tab and took her back to my hotel room to sign all the necessary documents and begin the first phase of her training.

  “Now, sweetheart, I need to know how far you’ll go. You’re not obligated to do anything you don’t want to, but there are places that I will touch you that will arouse you. That will arouse me. And I will want to fuck you. Hell, I want to fuck you right now.”

  She sat on the bed, long, smooth legs crossed and eyes hooded. “I want that too.”

  I touched her in places she never even knew were erogenous zones. I kissed her tight body until my lips burned. Then I fucked her long, deep and hard until she soaked the sheets with her wetness.

  As she looked at me lazily, her vision shrouded in afterglow, she smiled with delirious delight. “Oh my God. I don’t even know your name.”

  I looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her tender gaze. “I’m Justice Drake.”

  “Mmmm, Justice Drake. I like that.”

  I could already hear her trying out the name preluded by a Mrs. I shut it down quick.

  “Yes. And that was for pleasure. However, anytime I touch you from here on out will be strictly business. Understand?”

  Without so much as a kiss on the cheek, I left Erin alone in that hotel suite, sore and satisfied, with a few bills and instructions for the following week.

  I KNEW I should’ve sent Erin on her merry way the moment she started in with the waterworks. But truth be told, I’m not a complete bastard. I just sometimes like to let my inner asshole shine. He’s much better at evading social nuances than I am.

  So I let her dry her tears and even made her a cup of tea. Then I insisted that she pack up those perky tits and get on the first thing smokin’ back to Chicago. But as luck would have it, I was quite possibly a day late and a dollar short.

  “Call me when you land at O’Hare,” I say, opening the front door for her to exit. I had been throwing hints all evening, and was about to resort to air traffic control signals.

  “Ok. Thanks again, Justice. You’re always so good to me. I’d be lost without you.” She stretches on her tiptoes and kisses me on the corner of my mouth. I’m just about to chastise her for crossing the boundaries, when all coherent thought and sense of speech are stolen from me.

  Standing at my door, fire licking her shoulders in the cool, early autumn breeze, is Allison, her hand still raised as if she were preparing to knock.

  “Ally…uh…hey.” See, this is the part where the cheating husband shrieks out “It’s not what it looks like! I can explain!” while his pants are around his ankles and his dick is still rock hard.

  But I’m not anyone’s husband. And I can’t cheat on someone that isn’t mine. So…why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?

  “Oh, my apologies,” she smiles tightly, stifling her discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you had company. I’ll come back later, Mr. Drake.”

  “No, no. Erin was just leaving,” I refute, holding the door open wider and nearly shoving Erin out of the way. “Please, come in.”

  “That’s not necessary. I should’ve made other arrangements. I’m terribly sorry.”

  Allison turns to walk away, and I catch her elbow before she can take another step. She turns to me, animated eyes reduced to questioning slits, but she doesn’t pull away. Fuck it. I’m screwed anyway. “Stay. Please. Stay, Ally.”

  She nods slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. I hear the muted rustle of silk and an irritated huff beside me. Dammit. Erin.

  “So…I guess I’ll leave now.” She brushes past us brusquely, and makes a beeline for the main house to collect her things.

  “Let me know you got in safely,” I call out after her.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she waves without looking back. I know I should go after her and at least attempt to smooth things over, before her wild imagination begins to cook up all kinds of rumor-inducing theories, but what would I say? And how could I even force myself to walk away, now that I hold this precious angel in the palm of my hand?

  Erin will have to wait. Logic, morals, obligations will all have to wait.

  “Come in,” I murmur, holding my breath, as Ally crosses the threshold. She follows me to the kitchen, where I retrieve our half-eaten carton of ice cream and two spoons.

  “I can’t stay. It’s just…I, uh…ran into a problem with your homework assignment.”

  I bite my bottom lip hard to keep from chuckling. “Oh? Need a hand?” I turn just in time to see Ally’s icy-cold glare. She shakes her head.

  “See…this was a mistake.”

  “No, no, I’m sorry. Tell me about it. I sincerely want to help.” I open the carton of Mint Chocolate Chip and scoop up a serving, handing it to her. Ally pauses, contemplating her next move, before eventually exhaling her frustration and accepting the cold, creamy peace offering.

  “It’s nothing…I don’t think.” She eases the spoon into her mouth and hums her approval, letting her eyelids close in ecstasy. She slides onto a barstool before sinking her spoon back in for another bite. “It’s just… Ok, don’t laugh. Promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” I respond around a mouthful of sweet, frozen deliciousness.

  “Ok, here goes… How do you know if you had an orgasm?” she almost whispers.

  I frown. “What do you mean, how do you know?”

  “I mean, how can you tell? Like, I’m not sure if or how I’ve…you know. And I’ve never…by myself… Oh God, this
is too embarrassing!” She shoves the spoon into the carton and covers her face with both hands.

  “Ally…” I stow my own spoon and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Just an innocent shoulder. Nothing to see here, folks.

  “I’m mortified! This was such a mistake!”

  “It’s not. That’s what I’m here for. You can ask me anything, you hear me? Anything.”

  Slowly, she removes her hands from her face yet keeps her eyes trained on the countertop. “I swear, I’m not this clueless. It’s just…there’s only been Evan and we’ve never talked about whether or not I’ve…you know. So I’m not sure if it’s happened or what kind.”

  I nod, understanding what she’s saying and surrendering the instinct to wrap her up in my arms and kiss her senseless. Her naiveté is incredibly inspiring. Oh, the things I could do…

  “Well, Ally. If you have to wonder if you’ve ever had an orgasm, then chances are, you haven’t.”

  Her eyes double in size. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Are they that good? Like, will I be able to distinguish it from just regular sex?”

  I grin, hoping that it comes off as more reassuring than mocking. “Think of the act of sex as a slow burn. There are highs and lows, of course. Some areas burn hotter than others. But for the most part, it just kindles until it’s eventually extinguished.

  “Now, achieving orgasm…imagine that burn building into a flame. And that flame growing into a wildfire. And that wildfire combusting into a fireworks display on the 4th of July. Dozens of magnificent colors bursting, popping, sizzling. Lighting up the night sky with blinding brilliance. You can tell the difference between that slow, steady burn and fireworks, right?”

  Ally picks up her spoon and digs around in the ice cream carton, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, of course.”

  “Then you know whether or not you’ve achieved orgasm.” I pick up my spoon from the pint and lick the ice cream remnants before pointing it towards her. “So tell me, Ally…Did Evan ever make you feel fireworks?”

  She’s quiet for a few beats, so I know I’ve crossed the line. But instead of slapping me across the face soap-opera style or high tailing it out of my house, she laughs. She laughs that carefree belly laugh that illuminates the darkness of my lonely heart. The kind that is usually accompanied by a snort and/or tears at the tiny crinkles around her eyes. The kind of laugh that makes me laugh too, for no damn reason at all.

  “No,” she shakes her head, still laughing. “No, Evan never made me feel fireworks. Oh my God, how pathetic am I? Twenty-seven years old and I’ve never had an orgasm!” Hilarity overcomes her once more, and she slaps the kitchen top.

  “Ally…” I say, catching my breath. “Ally, that doesn’t make you pathetic at all. That makes him pathetic. He has perfection at his fingertips, yet he can’t get you off? You were pure and untouched when you met him. Untainted. You gave him a beautiful gift. The least he could’ve done was make you come properly.”

  That gets her attention, and all signs of humor are erased from her expression. “I guess you’re right. But it was just never a priority to Evan.” Her face falls, sadness creeping onto her delicate, porcelain features. “I was never a priority.”

  I want to touch her so badly. I want to pull her chin up so she can see me…so she can feel the conviction in my next words. “Then why on Earth would you want to be with someone who only makes you an option? When you clearly have made him a priority?”

  Her eyes meet mine, unmasked pain and confusion so evident in those cyan orbs. “Justice…don’t-”

  “I mean, why would you put up with that when you know you deserve so much better?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I mean, do I really deserve better? Is there better than this? We grow up seeing the leaders of our nation being cheaters and liars. We hear about deception destroying marriages every day. What’s the alternative? Loneliness?”

  No. Me. I’m the alternative.

  But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? That would make me just as bad as Evan and every other piece of shit that’s ever hurt a woman.

  “Happiness,” I say instead. “Friendship. Freedom.”

  “Ha, freedom,” she half-snorts. “Is there such a thing for us? When our lives are exploited for must-see-TV?”

  “Mine isn’t,” I state matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, that’s because you didn’t grow up as an Upper East Side sock puppet. You got to have a real childhood, with parents who didn’t leave you to be raised by nannies and friends that actually liked you for you, and not for who you could introduce them to.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I murmur, rolling my eyes.

  “Oh yeah? Then how did you escape the madness? How did you avoid the paparazzi and fakeness and disillusions of grandeur?”

  “Circumstance.”

  We both shrug and go back to raking our spoons over ribbons of mint and chocolate. I don’t want to explain, and she doesn’t want to hear an explanation. We’re both comfortable in this illusion of safety and normalcy where spying cameras and incriminating tabloids don’t exist.

  “Ok, if you were on a first date with a woman, would you be more impressed if she ordered a salad or a big, juicy burger?”

  I raise an amused brow at her unpredictability. “Huh?”

  “Salad or burger? Which girl is gonna get the goods?” she says before plopping a dollop of ice cream on her tongue. I watch with rapt fascination as she licks the spoon clean, too absorbed to even attempt to answer her question. Ally catches my gaze and puts the spoon down, a mischievous smile twitching her lips. “Focus, Drake. Answer the question or I’ll be forced to steal your ice cream stash and eat it all, locked up in my room alone.”

  I snap out of my trance and give her a half shrug. “What do you expect? I’m only human.”

  “Your sudden lapse of ADD has nothing to do with being human and everything to do with you being a man. So put the testosterone on ice and answer the damn question.”

  “Fine, fine.” I tilt my head from side to side, contemplating my answer. “I’d have to go with burger girl.”

  “Burger girl? Even though she smells like deep-fried animal carcass and has a case of the meat sweats?”

  “No, no,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Because she isn’t afraid to be what she is.”

  Both brows rise in confusion. “What she is? You mean bloated?”

  “No, Ally,” I smile. “Real. She’s not afraid to show me who she truly is.”

  “Interesting,” she remarks, tapping her spoon against her lips. “Especially considering that getting you to show me who you are is like pulling teeth.”

  I look around as if she couldn’t possibly be talking to me. “Um, I’m pretty sure you’re in my house right now. And we’ve even quasi-swapped spit by sharing ice cream. You even wore my clothes!”

  “But you’re so vague! You’re like a steel vault that I’m trying to tap into with a meat mallet.”

  “You have a weird obsession with meat today,” I jibe, trying to resist my grin.

  “Oh, you wish, buddy,” she retorts, not even realizing just how true that statement is. Or maybe she does?

  Ally props her elbow on the countertop, resting her chin in her palm with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Because you’re full of shit.”

  “Ouch,” I cringe.

  “You’d totally pick salad girl. You’d pick her, bring her back to your place then play her ribs like an xylophone.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh hysterically. “Oh hell no! Definitely not.”

  “All guys pick salad girl. It’s a proven fact,” she nods confidently. “Burger chicks get no love.”

  What is it about this girl? She’s so cool and cute and funny, and just…real. She’s my burger girl. Everyone else is just salad—cold and unfulfilling.

  We finish off the last of the ice cream before moving to the living room to channel surf. Ally snatches the remote and instantly turn
s it to an old episode of Friends on Nick-At-Night. It’s the episode where Monica and Chandler get married.

  “I love these guys,” she remarks, settling in at my side. I stretch my arm across the back of the loveseat (don’t even get me started on that name) and she curls into me even more. Holy fuck. Please don’t get hard, please don’t get hard, please don’t get hard…

  “Yeah? Why?” I ask, trying to distract my mind.

  “Well…they’re the ultimate BFFs. Six friends, living in the city, experiencing life together. From mishaps and misadventures to love, romance, friendship. I just love everything about them.”

  Ross threatens to kick Chandler’s ass, and Ally giggles. I smile down at her as she watches intently, her face glowing with tenderness. It’s like observing an extraterrestrial being, something so foreign and exotic and exciting that you just can’t stop staring. You don’t want to move, you don’t even want to blink, in fear that they’ll fade away into oblivion.

  “I miss those days,” she sighs, as we watch Monica walk down the aisle. I know what she means, and something in my chest sinks. I want to pull away and let her live her memory alone when she continues. “Not the wedding. Just that feeling of togetherness. Having friends to experience the highs and lows of life with you. I miss it.”

  I shrug. Ally feels the rise and fall of my chest and looks up with a frown. “You don’t miss it?”

  “I never had it.”

  “Oh, come on. No old friends from Denton Academy that you raised hell with? If memory serves me well, I remember Denton guys having quite the reputation.”

  I shake my head with a smile. Oh, I raised hell. Shit, I was legendary. But she’d never know that.

  “I never had friends like that. I don’t even have friends like that now,” I tell her.

  Ally lets her hand drift until it finds mine. She squeezes, her eyes smiling like they’ve just found a shiny, new penny. “Well…you have me. I’m your friend, right?”