Sunday Brunch

I would often close my eyes when she spoke; there was something soothing about the intonation of her voice, and the inflection of her spoken words, as though Merriam was alive, and well, and living in her head, concocting new definitions for everything she said.

She was pretty, too; it was as though an artist had painted her, and except for a single, minor flaw, the woman was perfect.

“Tell me,” she said, “what gave it away?  Do I list to one side when I walk?  Do my glasses teeter, precariously on my nose? Or is it when I tilt my head to one side because it’s better to hear you?”  

Then she ordered me out of her bed; saying,

“Your time is up.”

I got out of her bed. I always did what she said, I trusted her.  But no sooner was I out, then she ordered me back in. Adding, with a disconcerting frankness,

“You look hideous, naked.”

 

We cozied up together; our bodies, softly touching.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “Your body is beautiful, especially for your age.”

I’d learned over the years that her sarcasm, was more a defense mechanism than actual criticism.  Ours was a long story, that had changed dramatically over the last year when she’d suddenly announced that she had decided to tweak her lifestyle.  The tweak had gotten me laid finally, but it had also cost me a small fortune.  Fortunately, I had one socked away for a special occasion, and our relationship had become as special as it gets. I became her first client; her first repeat client; and her only client; on Fridays and Saturdays.  We rested on Sunday; watched sports on TV and drank and smoked ourselves silly.     

It was a Sunday morning, very much unlike our usual Sunday mornings. 

I told her that I didn’t have any more cash.  After all, it was Sunday, and I hadn’t planned on having sex on the Sabbath.

She said: “We can walk up to the ATM, later.”

“Walk to the ATM?  It’s freezing outside.”

“Is daddy afraid he’ll catch a cold?”

“Funny.”

“Well, you are old enough to be my father, almost anyway.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You know, if you’d cut your hair and shave, you’d look a lot younger.”

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No; not at all. I tell everyone, that you’re a mad scientist.”

“Well, if I am, it’s because you’re maddening.”

“There you go again, playing with my words when you should be playing with me.  You know, we’re the perfect pair.  I’m the good woman, turned whore; and you’re the mad scientist, hiding behind a curtain.  It’s straight out of Shelley.  Or, is it, OZ?  Whatever.”

I asked her to move because she was lying on my side of the bed.

“Why don’t you live dangerously, and climb over me?”

“Has anyone ever told you, how unromantic you are at times?”

“I don’t get paid for being romantic, I get paid for being a good lay; careful, don’t knee me. Here, give me your hand.”

Afterward, and against my repeated protests, we walked to the ATM, fighting a fierce, cold headwind.  

“Jesus!” She suddenly exclaimed, “Your mustache is growing icicles.”

“That’s not the only thing growing icicles,” I said, whining.

“Here, put your arm around me. I’ll keep your rudder warm.”

She was wearing a bright, yellow sweater cap and matching pullover, but both paled next to her long, golden hair, that wafted amorphously in the cold, wet wind. The woman was gorgeous.

“Stop looking at me; nothing good can come of it.  I’m not perfect, I will never be perfect.”

“I never said you were, on the contrary...”

“And stop being so contrarian, didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“I slept fine.  I always sleep well when I’m in your arms.”

“BTW, shouldn’t I be sleeping in your arms?  Aren’t you supposed to be the knight in shining armor, and I, the damsel in distress?”

“I hate armor; it’s so, arbitrary and cold to the touch don’t you think?”

“I don’t think when I’m having sex, I find it distracting.  I like pretending that I’m a GPS, guiding my Johns over the nooks and crannies of my erogenous landscape.  I especially love how you shift gears and do your roundabouts; but most of all, I love shouting out-loud when you kick the ball into the net and score.”

“That’s another thing I like about you, you love sports.  Do you know...?”

“Stop it; please!  Here I am trying to tell you that you’re halfway decent in bed, and all you can say is that I have a high sports IQ.  Do you know how hard it is to find a sensitive man, someone who doesn’t wear a jock strap on their teeny-weenie head, all the time?”

“No, all I know is that it’s freaking cold, and I’m freezing my butt off.”

“If you had a butt?”

“I guess you’ve been saving that for the right moment.  What are you doing?”

“It’s your rudder, I’m stirring us to the right.”

“You know you’re crazy, but I love you just the same.”

“OMG, do you realize that that’s the first time you told me you loved me?  How many years, now?  And not one single I love you. I was getting worried.”

“It’s cold, I must be delirious.”

I withdrew a hundred dollars, from the ATM, and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, adding: “Are you hungry?  There’s a cozy, little diner just around the corner that serves an awesome Sunday Brunch.”

“I’m famished,” I said.

“Good, follow me.”

We ordered the Sunday Brunch and topped it off with a couple mimosas.

“My treat,” she said, “I’m flush with cash today.”

“No kidding. The ATM business reminds me of Las Vegas.”

“Why?  Do you want another hit?”

“Sure, but I can’t use the ATM until tomorrow.”

“Well, this is scary, but tonight’s my treat, too.”

“Really, brunch, and sex; I should buy a lottery ticket.”

“You have to leave early, though; I have another engagement tomorrow morning.”

“I’m okay with that, I think.”

We walked back to her bungalow, warm with mimosas.  Mine burned inside me, like a cozy wood fire, but unbeknownst to me, it was about to get a lot warmer.

“What are you doing?”  I asked.

“I’m getting undressed, I thought I’d take a nap.  Do you want to join me?” 

“No, I think I’ll watch some TV.”

“Over my naked body, you will.”

After we were tucked tightly in bed, she incredulously asked:

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to take a nap.”

“Give me your hand, you can nap later.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”  I said.  “I’ve been burning to ask it”.

“Do you want to ask if my engagement tomorrow is a John?  Well, to satisfy your burning curiosity, Yes, it is.”

“Sorry, I asked.” 

“But you didn’t, and don’t worry your little head about it; you’re by far my favorite.  I never thought I’d say that, what with you being, so much older, and all, but I find our conversations stimulating, sort to speak.  Go ahead, ask me another question?”. 

“No, thanks.”

“Oh, yes; please.  Because there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. Are you sure, you don’t want to know?”

I closed my eyes, what did I have to lose?

“I know you’re in love with me...”

My eyes immediately popped back open; “Please, let’s don’t go there.”

 

“Why not?  I mean, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re in love with me.  And yes, I think I’m falling in love with you, too.  Silly, isn’t it?”

“Frankly, it’s a frightful, absurd.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to marry me; so, don’t get your hopes up — not that you even care.  And I won’t have your babies either; although to be honest, I have thought about it.  I’m still young, and I know you’d always take care of us financially.  What do you think?”

“Jesus, you are proposing.”

“Yes!  Will you?!”

I must tell you, that I was more than somewhat taken aback; but her announcement was also, music to my ears.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, but. . .”

“But nothing. You’re either in or out, which is it?”

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Wonderful!  This is so, goddamn exciting.” 

Then, she paused; and I could hear Merriam, spinning her words, again.

“There’s one small caveat; I want to keep my Johns.  You know, mad money; and of course, my degree.  Besides, I’ll be losing my best customer.”

I said, “That’s no small caveat.”

“I know,” she said.  “It’s not a deal breaker, but you’re retired and on a fixed income.  I just thought...”

“Well, it certainly puts a unique twist on adultery, that’s for sure.  And frankly, I think it’d make a great movie.”

“Ah, marriage on the silver screen, don’t you love it?  You know, they’ll call me your trophy wife.”

“Good, I’ve always wanted a trophy.”

“Here’s the best thing, though, I mean the very best thing, by far.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Full time, unprotected sex.  No, more icky condoms.”.

“Uh—oh, I think my rudder wants to go sailing, again?”

“OMG, yes it does.  Be a careful old man, I’m climbing on board.”

Like I said, I always did what she said.  I trusted her.

Then, she suddenly cried aloud, “Captain, Oh, Captain,  Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!”

Merriam again, I thought; but what the Hell, I always wanted to be a Captain.

The End.