A Manhattanite's Christmas

  I didn’t forget that I had a son when I sat down with this pitcher of beer. I just didn’t have him at the forefront of my mind, which is a first because Liam is always on my mind.

  “I’m an alcoholic.”

  Her glossy lips, which had been moving in fifth gear taking my head off, press together as if biting her tongue.

  “I’ve been in recovery for two years now. I haven’t had a drink.”

  “Waitress!” Neve motions for the girl to come over and hands her the pitcher. “Please take this away. Bring us a pot of coffee. Two Reuben sandwiches with fries and an extra dill pickle.”

  I laugh.

  “You got a problem with corned beef?”

  I shake my head. “I’m starving. Thank you for ordering. You read my mind.”

  “Okay, Sheldon, so you’re a drunk. What does that have to do with this show, or with me for that matter?”

  “When we made love—”

  Her right eyebrow pops up.

  “I mean had sex. When we had sex… well… I’ve never had sober sex before.” I feel my ears getting hot as I take the napkin in my hands, twisting the paper between my fingers. A compulsion to run for the door overcomes me, but I don’t.

  Now it’s her who’s laughing.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “I gave my virginity to you tonight. At first, I don’t know why I did. I’ve been holding onto it for so long. It didn’t occur to me why until I got in the shower. See, Sheldon, I have always had things taken away from me. My parents. My toys. My pets. My home. My childhood friends. My virginity was the one thing that I always fought to keep because I could. Does that make sense?”

  I nod. “Why did you give it to me, then?”

  “You’re my husband.” She winks and smirks.

  “Seriously, why?”

  “The last year or two have been really rough on me. My birth mother sued me for money. She didn’t win, but she’s still scheming her way into my bank account and my life. It’s pretty emotionally draining. Taddy got me a movie deal and that fell through. The studio filed bankruptcy right before we were to start filming. And you know the rest about my stinky perfume.” She sits back in her chair, her eyes teary. “From the moment I met you, I’ve sorta put all that bad stuff behind me. I know this isn’t real, that we’re just pretending, but to be honest, it feels really good this week to be your wife.”

  Like Neve, my eyes blur with what could be a tear, but I blink it away before she can notice. “Thank you for that.”

  “Can’t say I understand why having sober sex with me would make you run off like that though.”

  “I’m craving a drink.” My heart hammers harder and faster than before.

  “Have you relapsed before?” She pours me a cup of coffee.

  “Never.” Without sugar or milk, I take a sip.

  “Isn’t there someone you can call?”

  “I’ve talked to my sponsor. He suggested I go to a meeting. There’s one in an hour at the church across the street.” My thumb goes up in the air and points right.

  “Are you going to go?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good.” She takes a sip and then gives me a smile.

  The waitress brings us our food.

  “Neve, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. When you told me about your mom and how you didn’t drink or hang out much with people who did, I figured you’d want nothing to do with me.” I rub the stiffness in my neck.

  “You’re correct in thinking that way. I probably wouldn’t. But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

  “That we are.” I take a bite of my sandwich.

  “May I ask you a favor?”

  “I promise I won’t make you look bad. I won’t bring it up this week at all.” Pushing my shoulders back, chest out, I raise my chin.

  “That’s not it, although I appreciate you offering. You can be whoever you want this weekend. My only rule is that you don’t screw someone else’s wife or break the basic laws of marriage.” She leans back in her seat and takes a bite of the sandwich.

  “Capisce.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  “May I go with you to the meeting?”

  For the first time—in I can’t remember how long—I feel at ease with who I am: an alcoholic in recovery. All that shame, it sort of melts away when the person you’re falling in love with accepts you for who you really are.

  The Face Sitting Fetish

  Neve

  In the well-lit room, I look around at all the faces, trying to guess what stories they have to share, what hard times they’ve had, what their futures look like. Hopefully sober.

  My desire to attend the meeting tonight is to support Sheldon, of course it is. But also I want to see her, that woman, any woman really—one who resembles Vicky Hendricks. When I was little I used to imagine that my mother was an actress and I’d find her on the screen. I had my fair share of TV moms, from Debra Barone on Everybody Loves Raymond to Roseanne Conner on Roseanne, I wondered what it would be like to have them as my real mothers.

  A therapist I saw ages ago once suggested that I attend these meetings, really to hear their stories. Maybe, just maybe, it would give me a little bit more empathy for Vicky. That’s the funny thing about having a drunk as a mother; you go through periods where you just don’t care. They don’t care, so why should you?

  Then every so often, Vicky reappears in my life and I want to like her. Hell, I want to love her. It’s hard. Inside me there’s so much anger toward my mother.

  With Christmas coming up, I keep trying to forgive and forget. It’s not easy, but I think her sudden calls and this desire she has to reach out to me have nothing to do with blackmail or selling a story to the tabloids. Maybe Vicky wants me in her life, but isn’t sure how to go about asking for that. As much as she’s rejected me over the years, I’m pretty sure I’ve equally returned the pain to her in spades.

  As a child you don’t often realize what’s going on, and you just act out from hurt and frustration. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that I have the power to rewrite my history with Vicky.

  In order to do that though, I have to forgive her.

  I never have, largely because she’s never once apologized. So that makes this a bit hard, but I’m going to find a way. I have to.

  “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  We leave the meeting.

  Sheldon holds the door of the Jeep open for me as I crawl inside.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  He smiles at me to continue and buckles his seatbelt.

  “Why did you start drinking in the first place? I mean, did something bad happen to you? I heard so many stories tonight of addicts who were molested when they were young, veterans who can’t get the images of the Iraq war out of their minds, and parents who’ve buried children. But you didn’t share your story.” I press my heals against the floorboard anticipating his response.

  “We all have them. Maybe one day I’ll tell you. Not tonight, okay?”

  “That’s fine.” I reach over and place my hand on his leg.

  Leaning over, he kisses me on the cheek and mutters, “Thank you for understanding.”

  Late in the night we meet with the other couples out back on the terrace. A fire pit appears to have been burning for quiet some time. The couples snuggle in love seats around the fire, telling stories about their careers mostly, but not really about each other. I could tell just by how the newlyweds interact that none of the marriages are going to last. We’re cliché, really. Mine and Tarla’s are fake. The other three couples just don’t seem to care about one another. But maybe I’m wrong.

  Poppy White comes out from the house, holding some papers. “Evening, everyone. Before we turn in for the night, I want to give you a sneak peek as to what’s in store for the next few days.”

  Sheldon takes a piece of paper from her and hands it me. At the top of the page is written ‘Itinerary.’
br />   “Tomorrow, you and your spouses will be put to the physical test with an obstacle course. The goal here is to see how well you do when competing against other couples. Will you come together, or fall apart?”

  Sheldon reaches for my hand and squeezes it tightly.

  I notice on the fourth day the line item says ‘Ghosts from the Past.’ I raise my hand in Poppy’s direction before asking, “What’s this?” and point to the page.

  “Ghosts from your pasts are people who have stood between you and your partner from having true happiness.”

  “How in the hell do you people know who stands where in our lives?” I ask, totally bewildered, my eyes blink rapidly. My mind goes to the worst-case scenario.

  “Neve, we probably know more about your partner than you do. We’ve done our research. We’ve talked to both sets of families. You’ll just have to wait and see what we come up with.” Her face brightens at the suggestion.

  I hear Sheldon groaning obscenities beside me.

  On our way up to our bedroom, I stop off in the study to place a call. It rings four times before getting her voicemail. “Hey, Vicky, it’s Neve. I’ve been thinking about what you said. I can’t give you any money, but I would like us to try and have some type of relationship. I don’t know exactly what that’ll look like or how it’ll work, but I’m willing to try if you are. As long as you’re sober, I do want you in my life. Anyways, I’m shooting a show for the next two weeks, but when I get home maybe we can meet for lunch. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Vicky.” I hang up, feeling a bit light-headed, like a one hundred and twenty-pound weight has come off my body, and make my way up to our bedroom.

  I open the door to see votive candles lit in all four corners.

  Oh. My. God. Muscles bulging from head to toe, Sheldon is sprawled out on the bed nearly naked.

  “What are you doing?” Quickly I close the door.

  “Wonder Woman, I like this thing we did earlier called sober sex.” His arms go behind his neck, revealing his biceps.

  Fuuuck. He’s hot.

  “Should I be concerned? I mean, what if you become a sex addict?”

  “Won’t happen.” He laughs and throws the sheet off himself, revealing his massive erection. “Lock the door.”

  “Yes, sir!” I step forward, stopping halfway between the bed and the door to slide out of my shoes. I prance over to the edge of the bed, turn my back on him, and ask, “Unzip me please.”

  “Happy to.” He tugs slowly at my zipper. The dress falls to the ground. “Stay facing the wall. Let me look at your pretty ass.”

  “Hmmm.” Hands on my hips, I spread my legs slightly apart, allowing a little air to cool my heating flesh.

  Sheldon shimmies over to the edge of the bed. He palms my ass with his strong hand. Once. Twice. Smack.

  “Ouch!” A flush of adrenaline tingles through my body.

  “When’s the last time you were spanked, Wonder Woman?” His fingers dig into my flesh, spreading my cheeks apart.

  “Never.” Nervous, I scrape a hand through my hair.

  His tongue, warm and wet, licks at my crack and then finds my—“Shel!”

  “Ever been rimmed?”

  Dirty boy! “Nooo.” I turn my head over my shoulder.

  He flips over onto his back, his head resting at the edge of the bed as his big strong hands play with my privates. First he spreads my folds, then leans up and licks. “God, you taste good, Wonder Woman. Sit on my face.”

  “What?” Did I hear him correctly? That seems awkward, like we’ll need to draw up blueprints first to figure this one out. I’m standing. He’s lying down. “How is this gonna work?”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself, Wonder Woman. Just do as you’re told.” He pulls me down onto his face so I’m literarily sitting on top of him. His tongue butterfly kisses my pussy lips. “I love your cunt.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to respond, but stammer. I’m speechless. Getting more comfortable, I start to shift my body, going from clockwise to counterclockwise, grinding my hips over his face. I’m carefully not to put all of my weight on him.

  “Sit all the way down.” He pulls me down over his face. His tongue presses up against my clit.

  This feels so good. “I don’t want you to choke.” I giggle and then glance up to see if the camera on the ceiling has its red light blinking.

  Sure as my love for a green Skittle, it’s flashing.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  Oh. God. This must look ridiculous on TV. Regardless, I’m gonna give this all I got.

  “You”—He licks—“won’t.” He licks again. “Let your body rest on my face. Put your hands back on my chest.”

  “I need to do more lunges at the gym to prep for this.”

  “Stop. You’re perfect.”

  A sudden chill of euphoria hits my core. My feet firmly planted on the ground, I sit all the way down on his face, my hands holding up my torso as I lean back on him. Rolling my eyes into the back of my head in a fit of ecstasy, my body starts to shake as his tongue finds it’s way deeper inside me.

  “Shel, I can only hover for so long.”

  “Do it.” His facial scruff grazes my horny flesh

  I start to rise up. “My knees are gonna buckle.”

  “Go for it, Wonder Woman.” He pulls me back down, closing in the feeling that his face is a gazillion miles away from my crotch.

  “This feels crazy sexy.” For a split second I forget the fact that I could smother him, and I get into it, losing all inhibitions.

  “You drive me wild.” His fingers rotate in and out of me while his tongue licks at my flesh.

  My mind races with insane thoughts, like what if I chock him and he dies? Last thing I want to be known as is the woman with a killer vagina.

  “Relax. Come on!” His voice is stern and loud.

  Caught up in the moment, I just let go, to the point where my feet are gliding across the plush carpeting. It’s as if his tongue is holding me up. “Crazy. That’s it, Shel. Fuck me with that big thick tongue of yours.”

  “Come for me.”

  Barely hanging on, I can’t take it. I can’t. Bright white sparkly stars bursting under my lids as I start to climax, and curl my toes. I do something I’ve never done before—I squirt, just a little. “What the—”

  “Yes, love this juice.” He licks my raw sensitive flesh nearly dry.

  As I climb off his face and get to my feet, I turn to see him smiling up at me. His cock is thick and up in the air.

  “You ready for me, Wonder Woman?” Sitting up, he holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me onto the bed and into his arms.

  “But I already came.”

  “You’re going to come more than once tonight. I’m sure of it.” His mouth covers mine hungrily. My mind relives the velvet warmth of him eating me out.

  “Is that so?”

  “Have you ever done anal?” he asks, knowing full well I haven’t.

  “Shel, I was a virgin. I haven’t been rimmed. I’d never sat on a man’s face. And I sure as hell have never had anal sex.”

  “Right. Right. You’ve been waiting for your husband to do all of this to you.”

  “Maybe.” I dip my head, glaring at his beautiful face.

  “Nervous?” he asks.

  “Me? Never!” I laugh at my white lie. I’m totally scared, but I’m willing to try. Lord knows everything I’ve done with Sheldon up to this point feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  Just as I start to straddle him, taking his cock inside me fully, there’s a knock at the door.

  “Neve! Sheldon!!” Poppy’s voice shouts from the hall.

  Darn it.

  Sliding off his muscular body, his hard cock withdraws from my warm center.

  “Yes, Poppy?”

  “Can you open the door? It’s about your mother, Vicky.”

  My eyes narrow looking at Sheldon with dismay. “Be right there.” I get to my feet, run into the bathroom, throw a robe
on, check my makeup in the mirror, and then make my way to the door.

  I open it slowly, seeing Poppy’s face and a camera behind her. “What’s up?”

  “Are you watching CNN?”

  “No. We’re making love.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but you need to turn on your TV.”

  Sheldon wraps a sheet around his torso, reaches for the remote from the nightstand, and turns on the TV.

  There on the screen is Icky Vicky. The headline reads ‘HerSay Magazine Exclusive. Neve Adele’s mother breaks her silence.’

  “We don’t have to watch this,” Sheldon says.

  “Turn it up.” I take a seat on the edge of the bed, watching with fear as my mother once again ruins me.

  Icky Vicky Strikes Again

  Sheldon

  I sit next to Neve as the reporters rip into my personal life.

  Poppy remains standing in the doorway, watching on in horror as her camera crew surrounds us.

  The reporter on TV, the one wearing a red tie, says, “There’s little known about Neve’s new husband. He isn’t anyone famous. Tell us, what’s he like?”

  “He’s no good for my daughter. I can tell you that much.” Vicky recites words to the screen as if she’s being prompted. “He had a son with that Madoff-like Ponzi schemer, Ruby Crundwell.”

  Although ugliness is coming from her lips, I can see how men would find Vicky attractive. Neve and her could pass for sisters. However with the deep set wrinkles around her almond-shaped eyes, particularly one deep furrow between her stenciled brows, which gives off an angry appearance, it’s pretty clear, the years of drinking haven’t been kind to her.

  “We understand Mr. Truman wasn’t involved in Ruby’s business dealings,” the reporter corrects her. “We contacted Ruby yesterday. She had this statement to say from prison. ‘Although we have a son together, Sheldon wasn’t aware of or involved in my business dealings. My wrongdoings and arrest took place long after our relationship had ended.’”

  “Sheldon knew what Rudy was doing. How could he not?” Vicky defends, squirming in her seat.

  Neve turns to me for clarity.

  “As Ruby said, I had no idea. We weren’t an item when this went down.”