The Summer Garden

  It was Carmen. She got out of the sedan parked next to his truck. She was wearing a circle skirt, a button-down blouse, a cardigan. Her hair was all teased and prepared. Her lips were painted. Alexander remembered wiping her lipstick off his cheek in the hospital last week. A pang of something hit him.

  But just a small pang.

  “Well, hello there.” He smiled. “What are you doing here?”

  She smiled happily back. “As I’m sure you found out, your slimy friend Johnny did not do right by my nice friend Emily, so now we can’t come here anymore. And I don’t have other unmarried friends that I can drag to bars with me while my husband is on his little trips. So . . .”

  “So . . .” He looked her up and down. “I like your blouse,” he said.

  “Do you? Well, thank you....” She appraised him herself. “Are you done for the night? Do you have to run?”

  Alexander chewed his lip.

  “Because I brought some wine and beer,” Carmen said quickly. “I have glasses. We can have a drink in your truck if you want. Listen to some music.” She smiled.

  “I tell you what,” he said, coming close to her. “Why don’t we have a drink in your car where the wine is?”

  “Oh, sure. You don’t want to go into your truck? Is it messy?” She glanced in. The truck was spotless. He didn’t elaborate or answer her, but took off his bomber jacket and threw it on the bench in his truck. He didn’t want unfamiliar smells on it he would not be able to explain.

  They fit into her front seat, turned on the engine, turned up the radio. Alexander poured her a glass of wine, himself a beer. They clinked. “What do you want to drink to?” she asked.

  “To Friday nights,” he replied.

  “Amen,” she said, adding cheerfully, “it’s tough when the spouses are away, isn’t it?”

  “Hmm.” He lit his cigarette, and hers, too.

  “But you know what,” Carmen said, “I’m so used to Cubert not being here, that when he is here, I almost don’t know what to do. We’re always fighting over something or other. Is it the same with you and your wife?”

  “No.”

  “Oh? What’s it like?”

  “Carmen, you’re sitting in the car with me, drinking, your hair all coiffed, your lipstick bright. You can’t think of anything else to talk to me about other than my wife?”

  “Oh, all right, when you put it like that.” She tittered. “What do you like to talk to girls about?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alexander. “I don’t talk to girls other than my wife.”

  She laughed.

  The music played.

  “Winter Wonderland.”

  “Santa Baby.”

  They sat in her car, they smoked, he drank, she drank, she became tipsier, and with every swallow of the wine, she moved closer to him on the bench seat, touching his shirt sleeves, his jeans leg, his hand.

  “So...do you want to talk about your wife?”

  “I can,” said Alexander, “but then I’ll have to leave.” She really wasn’t very bright. But she smelled pretty good. And her boobs were huge.

  “I told you about Cubert. Tell me at least what I’m up against. What’s her name?”

  What she was up against? What did that mean? He didn’t reply.

  “All right, all right. How many years were you married?”

  “I’m still married. Fifteen.”

  She whistled. “Wow.” She took his hand and sighed. “Me just two, and already I’m not sure if I’m in love with Cubert. Do you know what I mean?”

  “No, I don’t know Cubert at all,” said Alexander.

  Carmen held his hand, placing it against her own. Her hand was long. “What about you and your wife?”

  “I’m still in love with my wife,” Alexander said, taking his hand away.

  “So what are you doing in my car, Alexander?”

  “Drinking,” he said. “Smoking.”

  She picked up his hand again. “You’ve got such large hands,” she said huskily.

  “Well,” he said, “I am a man.”

  She looked at him through lowered lids. “Are you comfortable behind that wheel?”

  Alexander palmed the steering column. “I’m fine. Nice car you’ve got.” It was a Ford sedan like Tania used to drive.

  “What I mean is... would you be more comfortable in the back seat?”

  He didn’t reply, his male blood flowing, his excitement bubbling.

  The music played on. “Only You Can Bring Me Cheer.”

  They got out of the car, switched to the back seat.

  “It’s getting very late,” Carmen said, stretching. She smiled. “Isn’t it?” She moved across the back seat to him.

  Without putting down his drink, Alexander leaned over and kissed her. She smelled of smoke, of liquor, the tastes were unfamiliar, the feel mushy, all was so foreign and not entirely pleasing, but not entirely unpleasing either after the drink. He lowered his lips to her neck, where the perfume was better, and with his one free hand unbuttoned her blouse. Carmen readily helped him. Her long-line bra was like armor over her breasts. It had eight or ten hooks and she had to dislodge the bra herself, but when the breasts were out, they were very large indeed. His face must have shown his surprise.

  “Nice, huh?” Carmen said proudly. “Come on,” she said, “put your big hands on them.” He put his drink carefully on the car floor, and fondled her. He felt he could have used an extra pair of hands. Carmen pushed his head down, pressing his face flush into her breasts. Alexander had to push away a little, take a breath before moving over her nipples. They took a while to harden. She didn’t stir at his mouth. “Mmm,” she said, holding his head. “You like them, don’t you?”

  “I like them.” What Alexander liked best though was the women’s response to him. Even in the days of the Leningrad garrison, when the flow of girls was like a three-ring circus, coming and going in all shapes and sizes, and he liked them all. Aside from his purely personal esthetic preferences—that happened to be met by the one woman he had married—his sexual preferences had always been about one thing only: the girls’ reaction to his action. “Do you like my mouth on you?”

  “I like that you like it,” Carmen said, placing her hand on his jeans. “And I feel that you do like it...”

  Still at her breasts, Alexander looked at her. “Where are you going with this, Carmen?”

  “I don’t know.” She smiled, giving him a squeeze. “Where are you going with it? Where do you want to go with it?”

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He dragged his hand underneath her petticoat, up her fleshy legs.

  “Hey,” she said, trying to push his hand away. “I’m not going to be that easy for you. I want you to come back next week for some more. I’m not going to repeat Emily’s mistake.”

  As if not hearing her, Alexander moved his hand up her stocking and found her closed panty girdle that came down to the middle of her thighs. His excitement morphed slightly into dismay. He couldn’t imagine how they would get this thing off in the car—it would require his army knife, which was in the nightstand by his bed. When he thought of the nightstand, he thought of the bed, when he thought of the bed, he thought of Tania buying the quilts and the pillows and the sheets for it over eight years ago, making the bed and then happily calling him in. Alexander took his hands away from under Carmen’s skirt.

  She pressed his head back into her breasts. “Go ahead,” she murmured. “This will have to be enough for now. I love your face in them. Go ahead. Feast.”

  When he touched her nipples, she didn’t move. Alexander was not used to that and decided he wasn’t trying hard enough. He rubbed them, kneaded them, squeezed them, sucked them, pulled on them, twisted them harder than he thought was conscionable. Carmen sat, her eyes closed, her body still, her hands on his head, looking extremely contented. “That feels so good,” she said. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

  “Carmen, is there, um, anything else you want me to do for you??
?? Alexander said.

  She opened her eyes. “Oh, baby, what are you offering me?”

  “I got a little of everything. What do you want?”

  “I really like you touching my breasts.” She put her hands on him. “What do you like? Is there something you want me to do for you? Or are my breasts enough?”

  “They’re certainly plenty,” said Alexander. “But I might need a touch more.” He smiled.

  Carmen touched him, rubbing him to attention, and was soon unbuckling him and he wasn’t stopping her.

  “Get out of that girdle, Carmen,” said Alexander.

  “The breasts are out,” she said joyously. “But who said I’m getting out of the girdle? Boy, you grown men. You don’t waste any time, do you?” She was smiling. “I like that, though. So forward. Always know what you want.”

  Alexander said nothing. His hands and mouth on her breasts were getting more insistent as her hand on him was getting more insistent. They were both panting.

  She stopped touching him. “Wait. I don’t want to get into something we’ll have to cut in a hour.”

  Alexander paused, considering her briefly, trying to figure out the polite thing to say under the circumstances. What did she think this was? And was this really the best time to be pointing out to her what it was? “Um—so—what would you like?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She smiled, unbuttoning him. “What would you like? When does your wife get home?”

  Carmen broke the cardinal rule—the taboo against talking about a man’s wife while she was taking his joint out of his jeans. Alexander pushed her hands away and said, “You know what? I think you’re right. It’s getting late.”

  But Carmen had gotten a feel of a bare Alexander, and she said, “Oh, wait just a second. Wait.” Her breath quickening, she rubbed him and said in a low voice, “Do you think you might have that cancellation for me next week? Perhaps we can get together, have dinner, talk about that house?” She squeezed him tightly. “Go somewhere a little more comfortable?”

  “Perhaps,” said Alexander, closing his eyes.

  She continued to stroke him. “How does that feel?”

  “Good.”

  “Will you come next week?”

  “I’d like to come now.”

  “Oh! You are funny! You are—something.”

  “Am I?” He let her rub him another moment or two, and then his hand went in her hair. “Carmen...?” said Alexander, pushing her head down slightly.

  “Oh, you are something else,” she said. Chuckling, she adjusted herself on the seat, bent her head, and took him into her mouth. He sat with a drink in one hand, eyes closed, while she struggled up and down on him.

  Alexander knew himself very well: she would have had to be magic mouth—and she clearly wasn’t—to get him off this way when he’d had so much to drink. Knowing this, he still let her persevere to see if maybe he would surprise himself. He steadied her head, tried to get her to move more rhythmically, told her to hold him a little tighter. She tried to do what she was told, but couldn’t seem to do it all at once. Finally Carmen pulled her mouth away, looked up and said, “You’re getting close, I can tell.”

  He smiled politely. He wasn’t anywhere near close.

  “Because I just want to warn you, I don’t do any of that . . .” she waved her hand, “you know... milt in the mouth stuff. I know some men really go for that.”

  “Some men?” Sighing into his last sip of beer, Alexander put down the glass. “Look,” he said, “I’m going to have to get going.”

  “Get going? What do you mean? You’re so... unbelievably hard.” She was still yanking at him.

  He put his hand on her hand. “Carmen, shh,” he said. “Steady on.”

  “But don’t you need to finish?”

  “I’ve been drinking,” said Alexander. “I need something else.”

  “I have something else.” Carmen straightened out, showing him her breasts. “I’ll lie down on the seat, you climb over me and put yourself between them, and do what you have to. As hard as you want. Honestly, as hard as you want. It’s the best way. All the boys love it.”

  His hand moved inside her formidable cleavage. “Won’t work for me after the drink. But thank you.”

  Carmen smiled, taking hold of him again. “So what will work then?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Fine,” she said, squeezing him. “To feel that inside me, I’ll break my own cardinal rule, I’ll take off my girdle here and now. I only put it on for a little extra protection, if you know what I mean. Come on, help me take it off. Then you finish how you want.”

  He played with her breasts. But Alexander had brought nothing with him.

  She saw his hesitation. “What? Don’t worry. I have a pessary.”

  “Oh yeah? Filled with acacia?” In the olden days that’s what the women used. Plastic rings filled with tropical flowers. Still got pregnant.

  “What?”

  Alexander moved her hands off him. “No. I need a condom.”

  “Why? I told you. I’m safe.” She put her hands back.

  “Yes, but I’m not.”

  “What do you mean? Come on, look at you. Let me...”

  “Can’t do it, Carmen.” He moved away from her on the seat, buttoning himself up, fixing his belt.

  She scooted close to him, looking up at him with dreamy eyes. “What about next week? You can bring what you need then.”

  “Yes, next week I’ll bring what I need.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said. “I won’t be able to think of anything else. Mmm. Me, on top of you, with these babies over your face.” She actually made a sound of pleasure at the anticipation. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

  “Very good.” Alexander helped her hook her bra in the back.

  “So did you like them?” Carmen asked. “Cubert is crazy for them.”

  Not so crazy that he stays home, Alexander thought. When she was dressed, he helped her out of the backseat and behind the wheel.

  “He’s in town next weekend, unfortunately,” said Carmen. “He’s going away Monday to Thursday, though. You want to meet Wednesday night?”

  They agreed to meet in a restaurant in Chandler where she lived. The restaurant was next to a Westin Hotel. He told her he wouldn’t be able to stay out too late and Carmen said with a smile that that was okay; they would have to get right down to business. She turned up her face to him from the car window. “Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me good night?”

  Alexander gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you Wednesday,” she said.

  “See you Wednesday,” he said, got into his truck and drove away.

  It was five thirty in the morning, and for some reason, as Alexander was coming up Pima, he became afraid that Tatiana was already home, that she got off work early and came home and found him not there. His heart started beating so violently that he had to pull over to get a grip on himself. It was another twenty minutes before he could get back on the road.

  Tatiana wasn’t home. Yet the relief wasn’t there. Alexander smelled like all kinds of bad news. He unlocked the door stealthily. Anthony’s door was closed. When he opened it, he saw his sleeping son in the bed. Why was Ant home? He was supposed to be at Sergio’s!

  Alexander took off his clothes, ran them through the wash, and had a long shower, as hot as he could stand it, where he scrubbed himself raw. When he smelled like himself again, he put his clothes in the dryer and went to bed. It was light out, nearly seven.

  No sooner had he closed his eyes that he felt Tatiana’s small hand on his face and her soft lips on his forehead. “Hey,” she said. “Woohoo. Wake up, sleepy head. You’ve got to go to work. Did you have fun last night with your friends?”

  Rolling over, he muttered he wasn’t going to his morning appointments. A truck had run him over, he said; he could not open his eyes.

  “What time did you get back?”

  “I don’t know,” he mu
ttered. “Around two, three, maybe.”

  “A little hung over, are we?” Tatiana said, kissing him on the back of the head. He heard her switch on the shower, and that’s all he heard. But in bed she lay close to him, still slightly damp. He turned away from her. She pressed her bare breasts into his back, nuzzled his shoulder blades, rubbed against him, murmured that it was nice to have him so big and warm next to her on a Saturday morning, put her arms around him and fell asleep.

  At eleven Alexander dragged his sorry self out of bed, showered again, dressed and went out into the kitchen. While he was making coffee and fixing some rolls, Anthony came out, fresh from sleep, and Tatiana, who heard their voices, came out, too. Anthony and Sergio apparently had had a fight, which was why Anthony had stormed home.

  “I hope no broken noses, Ant,” said Tatiana.

  “No, Mom, Serge is my best friend. I’d never hit him. Dad, how come you’re not at work?”

  Tatiana smiled sleepily. “Daddy had a late night last night.”

  “You can say that again,” said Anthony.

  “Tania,” said Alexander, “you want a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  “Because,” Anthony continued, “I got up around six to use the bathroom and your truck wasn’t outside.”

  Alexander’s back was to Tatiana as he poured cream into her coffee and studiously stirred the sugar. “No, I’m sure it was,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know then. Because you weren’t in your bed.”

  And then silence dripped through their just the right size double wide trailer, through their little home.

  Turning around, Alexander extended his hand to her with the coffee but couldn’t look up. Tatiana stood for a few moments holding on to the back of the kitchen chair, and then turned and slowly walked back into the bedroom without taking the cup from his proffered hands.

  Alexander sat down with Anthony but the roll kept getting stuck in his throat. He needed to go to work, but how could he walk into that bedroom to say good-bye? How could he not walk into that bedroom?

  His mouth tight, his coffee drunk, Alexander stood at the open bedroom door. Tatiana was in the bathroom with the door shut.

  “Tania,” he called out, “I have to go.”