Fire Down Below Page 3

  “I can’t, they’re too expensive.” I show her the price tag and she raises an eyebrow.

  “Hmmm, they’re not that nice.”

  I wiggle out of the pants and try on a green sundress. It’s a size four, which is pushing it for me, since I usually wear a six, but I didn’t see any sixes out there. It fits, but it’s snug.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  “It’s nice, but it looks too small.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I must be the only woman in the world who’s so neurotic about clothes shopping. It’s not that I don’t like it. I like having nice things, but the process stresses me.

  I’m still standing there with the sundress on when I notice that Suzy’s brows are drawn together and there’s a tense expression on her face.

  “What is it? You look upset about something.”

  “Luke asked me to marry him.”

  I’m too stunned to speak for a second. “Wow…that’s great, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, is it? I’ve been a complete wreck for the past two days.”

  “He asked you two days ago and you didn’t even tell me!”

  “I needed time to think about it. I had a feeling he might ask, but then I thought we’ve only known each other four months, so I must be imagining things.”

  “Are you in-love with him?”

  She nods. “It’s crazy, but I am. I just don’t know if that’s enough for me to want to marry him.”

  I understand now why she didn’t want to invite Lauren to this conversation. Lauren would never understand Suzy’s dilemma, but I do. Lauren is one of those women who really wants to get married and every man she dates is a potential husband. She wants lots of kids, a big house in the suburbs, neighborhood barbeques and soccer games every weekend. She wants to quit her job and stay home and raise a family, relying on her husband as the sole bread winner. And this is despite having already been married to The Toad. You’d think her divorce would have dimmed her marriage lust, but it hasn’t.

  Suzy and I are different though. We’ve never been married and even though we both say we want to someday, when you’re a reasonably attractive thirty-something-year-old woman you start to wonder if the reason you haven’t married is a little more complex than you simply haven’t met the right guy. You wonder if maybe you enjoy being single despite all the pressure from society telling you that you’re not supposed to feel that way.

  “What did you say to him when he asked?”

  “I told him that I needed to think about it, that I love him, but I needed to think.”

  “How did he take it?”

  She gave me a look. “How do you think he took it?” She shakes her head. “He’s so different than anyone I’ve ever dated, you know? He’s so...normal!”

  I laugh at this. It’s true that Luke is by far the least exotic boyfriend Suzy’s ever had. All the guys she dates are unusual in some way, and I’m not saying in a bad way necessarily, though there have been some weird ones. I remember she once dated a sitar player who traveled to Turkey a lot where she assumed he had concert dates, though eventually she discovered he was smuggling hashish in his sitar case. She also dated this guy from Spain for a short while who turned out to be in a Basque terrorist group. Those are the extreme examples though. Mostly she dates musicians or photographers—artsy types. I’ve never known her to date your typical run-of-the mill engineer before, which is exactly what Luke is—an engineer. He’s a mechanical engineer who works for Boeing and you don’t get much more normal than that. But I could tell the instant I met him that Luke is a good guy and he is absolutely head over heels in love with Suzy.

  “He really loves you,” I say. “I know he’s not running a drug cartel out of his basement or anything, but he’s crazy in love with you and he’s a great guy.”

  She smiles. “I know. He is wonderful, isn’t he?” Her face grows tender.

  “Have you told anyone else about the proposal? Does your family know?”

  Suzy shakes her head. “No, I’ll never hear the end of it if I decide not to marry him. Nina came over the other night and I told her about it.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “Oh, you know Nina...as long I have all the legal documents drawn up by a lawyer, and as long as I’m prepared for the possibility that it might end in divorce, I should go for it.”

  Nina is Suzy’s older sister and she is—and I mean this in the kindest possible way—completely terrifying. She graduated Summa from Yale, got an MBA from Harvard, and currently works as some kind of business consultant, though I never understand her job. She always has a cell phone glued to her ear and a painful expression on her face. Suzy once told me she makes like two hundred grand a year, and to top it all off, she looks like a super model.

  “She wouldn’t tell your parents would she?”

  “No. Nina knows how much they love Luke, and she knows my mother would have heart failure if she heard that I turned down a marriage proposal from him. Two unmarried daughters in their thirties has been a bit much for her to take.”

  “Well,” I say pointedly, “that might be changing soon.”

  She stares at me. And then she starts to laugh. “I can’t believe this is happening to me! Do you think I should I do it? Should I say, yes, and marry him?”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, but I will say that I think you guys are good together.”

  Suzy nods. “I know. We think exactly alike. It’s almost scary sometimes the way we can read each other’s minds.”

  I’m still wearing the too tight sundress and the shoulder straps are pinching me, so I peel out of it.

  “That’s way too small Kate. Let me go and tell the saleswoman to find you a larger size, okay?”

  After she leaves, I look at myself in the mirror and unexpectedly feel a sharp sense of loss. Suzy will marry Luke and it’ll be the end of an era. Tears fill my eyes and I’m ashamed of myself. I know I should be happy for her, but I can’t help it. I am happy for Suzy. I want good things to happen to her, but I’m sad because our friendship won’t be the same anymore. We’ll still be friends, and we’ll still do girl stuff together, but things will change as they invariably do when somebody gets married.

  And then inexplicably I find myself thinking about Ben and how he’s fallen into my life again. Wouldn’t it be strange if things did change and if he were a part of it?

  Chapter Four

  The Past….

  After Ben and I slept together in his apartment that night we became inseparable, or as inseparable as two people can be who have completely different interests besides sex. Most weekdays he either came by my work to drink coffee before his shift at the bar, or he’d call me on my days off when things were slow to ask me what I was doing.

  “Painting my toenails,” I said, positioning the phone with my knee up so I could talk and still paint.

  “What color?”

  “Dark red.”

  “Sexy.”

  I laughed coyly. “You think so?” I’d been known to paint my nails weird shades, but have toned it down since I started dating Ben.

  “You have such pretty feet. I can think of all sorts of things I’d like to do with them.”

  “You’re a pervert.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” He laughed. “Are you coming over tonight?”

  “Yes, but let’s go out to dinner or a movie instead of staying in all night.”

  Ben sighed. “We should just watch a DVD.”

  “Come on, I really want to go out to a movie.”

  “You should go with someone else then. We’ll never make it through the whole thing anyway.”

  I knew he was right. Obviously Ben didn’t like sitting in a theater, but we also groped each other so much that it was pointless to be there in the first place. We usually left early so we could fall into bed together. It wasn’t a big deal. I thought it was sort of fun, but Ben thought we were wasting too much money. I was tempted to point out that h
e didn’t have to grope me, that he could keep his hands to himself, but I didn’t think that sounded nice and I also didn’t know if I could keep my hands to myself.

  “All right, fine.” I gave in.

  Later that night I met him at his apartment where we ordered pizza and watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Even sitting on his couch, eating pizza we couldn’t stop touching each other. I’d sit with my leg thrown over his while he rested his hand on my thigh, moving it slowly upward, until I’d tell him to stop—though I didn’t really mean it. Then he’d slide his hand between my legs, so there was only a piece of fabric between his fingers and me. He’d cup me, pressing with his whole hand while I squirmed against him.

  Ben liked to watch my reaction to the things he did to me. When he saw me getting aroused he’d tell me how much I turned him on and how he couldn’t stop thinking about me, how he could barely get enough of me even when we were together. And I knew exactly how he felt because I couldn’t stop thinking about him either. I’d find myself in the oddest places—at work, buying groceries, or shopping downtown—when I’d get a flash of him, anything at all—the way he looks when he takes his shirt off, the taste of his mouth on mine, the sounds he makes when I give him a blow job, and I’d feel an intense longing, not to mention instantly horny. I’d never had such intense sexual chemistry with someone before and I swear it was like heroin, not that I’ve ever tried heroin. In truth, I imagine it was far better than heroin.

  Usually when we got together we’d have sex three or four times a night, varying the things we did with each other, the positions we tried, the way we used our mouths or hands, doing it in the bathtub, doing it in the shower, doing it with our clothes on or off. Ben joked that he needed to start buying condoms in bulk at Costco because we were burning through them so fast, though after a few weeks I decided to go on the pill and we didn’t need them anymore. He told me I was the only woman he’d ever been with who could keep him hard all night. (A scandalous compliment if I’ve ever heard one!) Being with Ben was like having endless thirst while he offered me one tall glass of water after another.

  One night, about two months after we had started dating, and after we’d satiated ourselves in bed, Ben told me he loved me.

  “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “I love you too,” I said, though in truth, I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d never been in love. For all I knew this constant state of dizzying arousal was how it felt. We had fun hanging out together, although it was mostly in bed. Ben had never met my friends, nor had I met his. Occasionally he’d say something about going hiking with him on the weekend, but nothing ever came of it. The truth was I didn’t want to go hiking with him. I either painted or hung out with my friends doing the things I liked and he spent the weekends doing the things he liked.

  After I told him I loved him too, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in close while I buried my face in his neck, smelling that guy scent of soap and sweat. And then as if having the same thoughts that I was having a moment ago, he asked me if I’d like to come to a dinner party his friends Megan and Bernard were throwing on Saturday.

  I sat up, resting on my elbows. “It’ll be nice to meet some of your friends.”

  “Yeah, they want to meet you too. I’ve told them all about you.”

  “You told them that we fuck like bunny rabbits?”

  He grinned. “Nah, I told them bunny rabbits only wished they fucked as much as we do.”

  I laughed. “What did you really tell them about me?”

  “I told them we knew each other in college, that you work as a barista, that you’re an artist, and of course I mentioned that you give a fantastic blow job.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They thought you sounded great!”

  “You didn’t really say that part about my giving a fantastic blow job did you?”

  Ben gave me a look that said—are you crazy? I couldn’t imagine him being so crude anyway. He was sensual in bed, but I got the impression he was far more reserved with the other people in his life. In truth, his friendships sounded superficial to me.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Have you told your friends anything about me?”

  “Lots,” I said.

  “Such as?”

  “I told them that you want to be a writer, that you’re really into the outdoors, that you’ve got a gorgeous ass, and that we basically can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  Ben peered over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his butt.

  “Do I really have a gorgeous ass?”

  “It’s yummy.” I gave him a little slap.

  “I’m nothing but a sex object to you. Admit it!” Ben said in mock injury.

  “Afraid so.”

  He got up to go to the bathroom, wiggling his butt a little and looking coyly over his shoulder at me as he walked away. When he was gone, I pulled the sheets over myself and rolled onto my side, letting my eyes wander around his tidy bedroom. Ben was far neater than I was. It was just as well we never hung out at my place, because I’m sure he’d be unable to cope with the mess.

  I tried to imagine Ben meeting some of my friends, wondering what they’d think of him. Ben would be mortified if he knew some of the intimate details I’ve shared with my girlfriends. You always hear about men’s locker room talk where they tell each other about the women they’re having sex with, but I suspect women give far more away. With men it’s all crude, but women will tell each other everything with no detail too small. I’ve had friends describe they’re boyfriends’ penises to me down to the skin color, shape, and taste—though admittedly if they’re describing it that much, it’s usually because there’s something wrong with it.

  “Listen Kate,” Ben said, when he came out of the bathroom. “I should probably let you know that my old girlfriend is going to be there on Saturday. It’s no big deal. We have a lot of the same friends is all, but I thought you should know.”

  “Oh, what’s her name?”

  “Wendy. She’s very nice. We don’t hang out anymore, but we’re still friendly when we see each other.”

  I digested this information, not quite sure how I felt about it. I didn’t feel jealous, which surprised me, but maybe it was because Ben definitely seemed over her. I have to admit I was curious to see what she looked like.

  “How long did you go out with her?”

  “A year. We broke up about five months ago.”

  In truth the only question I really had was if the sex with her was as good as it is with me. I knew I couldn’t ask him though. Ben was too discreet for that. He’d probably get angry at me for even asking.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Sure, like I said it’s no big deal.”

  ***

  Ben picked me up on Saturday. I wound up having to work that day, but I left a little early. He came in and sat on a stool waiting for me, taking in our messy kitchen with an expression on his face as if he’d just swallowed a slug.

  “You guys should clean up in here more often. It’s gross.”

  I was standing in front of the mirror in our dining room, pulling the sides of my freshly colored jet black hair up with two daisy styled hair clips. “I know. We take turns cleaning, but none of us are any good at it.” I picked up my requisite tube of red lipstick and put some on. When I was done I turned to face Ben. “How do I look?”

  “Great....” I saw his eyes flicker over my nose ring. He seemed to have an issue with the small silver ring I wore, but was too polite to come right out and ask me to stop wearing it.

  “Did you get the cake?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” I say, heading over to the fridge. The coffee shop I worked at also sold cakes and so I picked one up to bring to the party tonight. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a large white box marked “K-K-Kate – C- C-Caramel!!” A little joke from one of the bakers. I heard Ben gasp in horror behind me when he saw the mess in our fridge and quickly shut the
door.

  “Would you mind carrying it?” I asked, handing him the box. “I need to grab my purse.” I ran upstairs to find my bag, taking one last look at myself in the full length mirror on my closet door. I thought I looked pretty good. Ben had told me how much he liked it when I wore skirts, so I wore a tight stretchy black skirt that came right above my knees with a fitted burgundy corset style top. On my feet I had on a pair of pointy toed stilettos that had small square silver buckles on the toes. It was September, but still warm outside, so I didn’t bother with pantyhose or tights.

  I squirted myself with a bottle of Opium perfume that a friend had given me recently. I headed back downstairs to find Ben studying his watch with a frown.

  “I hope you’re ready. I don’t want to be late.” He leaned towards me in surprise. “Wow, you smell good.”

  “Thanks.”

  On the way over, driving in Ben’s jeep, he started running his hand down my leg. “I see you wore a skirt. I like it.”

  I smiled teasingly. “I wore it just for you.”

  “It looks very nice, and more importantly, it feels nice.” His hand began to wander up my thigh.

  “Where do your friends live again?” I shifted in my seat, balancing the cake box on my lap as I tried to push back any feelings of arousal from Ben’s hand on my leg.

  “That perfume’s really turning me on.”

  I reached over and put my hand in his lap. He wasn’t joking. I could feel the definite beginnings of an erection. When our eyes met I started to laugh. “This is crazy! Don’t you want to go to this dinner?”

  “Sure I do. Maybe we could just stop someplace first.”

  I was tempted in a tantalizing sort of way, but when I thought about having to reapply my make-up, fix my hair, not to mention certain other things, I didn’t want to deal with it.

  “Let’s be totally radical,” I said, moving my hand away from him. “Let’s go directly to their house and have a nice time. You just said you didn’t want to be late.”