Part 4 (2/2)
”You kidding? I don't believe this this. I'm not sure I could even imagine something like this happening.”
She said, ”Are you alone?”
”Yeah, all by myself.”
”I mean are you meeting anyone?”
”No, I'm alone. Jesus Christ, am I alone. I don't believe it,” Moran said, getting up, having to move around now, excited. ”You know I recognized your voice right away? What're you doing here?”
”I saw you in the lobby. A little while ago.”
”Yeah?...”
”If you're not busy, you think we could have a drink?”
”If I'm not busy? busy? Even if I was...Listen, I've got three cold bottles of El Presidente sitting right in front of me, unopened.” Even if I was...Listen, I've got three cold bottles of El Presidente sitting right in front of me, unopened.”
She said, ”Why don't you come up and see me, George? Bring your beer with you.”
”Right now?”
”I'll have the door open.”
She did, too.
Waited just inside the sitting room for him so that when he appeared in the doorway and entered the short hallway past the bathroom and closet he would have to come to her and she would open her arms....Except that he was carrying the ice bucket in front of him with both hands and when she raised her arms he didn't know what to do and they stood there staring at each other, anxious, aching, until she said, ”Make up your mind, Moran. Are you going to hold the beer or me?”
He hurried past her into the sitting room, placed his bucket on the coffee table next to hers that held a bottle of champagne. Now they could do it. Now as he turned she came into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, wanting to hold and feel each other close after only looking at one another for all those years and keeping a distance between them, sometimes inches, but always a distance. There. It felt good, better than imagined, and from that moment something more than two old friends meeting. Their mouths came together, unplanned, but this too seemed natural, their mouths seeking, brus.h.i.+ng, fitting softly as their bodies relaxed and began to blend....
Abruptly, without a flicker, the lights in the room and in the hall went out.
They pulled slightly apart, still holding each other. Moran said very quietly, ”We must've blown a fuse. Generated too much electricity.”
”I'd believe it,” Mary said, ”if I hadn't been here before. They run low on power and have to black out parts of the city.”
”For how long?”
”I think fifteen or twenty minutes. Didn't you notice a candle in your room?”
”No...Where you going?”
”To find the candle. I saw it somewhere...”
”I can't see you.”
”I think it's in the bedroom.”
He followed the sound of her voice, moving carefully now in total darkness, hands ready in front of him. His s.h.i.+n hit the coffee table and he heard the ice bucket rattle against gla.s.s.
”Where are you?”
”I'm in the bedroom,” Mary said. ”I think.”
He moved in that direction, around the coffee table, and came to a doorway that seemed darker than the dark sitting room. Entering cautiously, a room he'd never seen, with nothing to picture from memory, Moran extended his arms like a man sleepwalking. He caught the scent of her perfume, moved a cautious step and felt her hair brush his face. She was between his arms and he closed them around her now, feeling her hands slide up over his ribs.
He said in almost a whisper, ”You find the candle?”
”No. It must be in the bathroom.”
He said, ”Do we need it?”
He felt her hands, her breath-this slim girl, not as tall as he'd remembered her, the image of her across a room. He felt the silky material covering her bare skin, the skin smoothly taut, her body delicate but firm pressing into him, their mouths brus.h.i.+ng, finding the right place again, and this time drifting into a dreamlike kind of consciousness, Moran aware but not seeing himself, Mary moving against him, moving him, guiding gently, and Moran knew where they were going, feeling the foot of the bed against his leg and it was all the bearings he needed. They bailed out in the dark and fell into the double bed in the excitement of each other. She said, ”You don't know how long...”
He said, ”I know.” Barely moving their mouths apart to speak. She said, ”G.o.d, I want you.” He said, ”How do you get this off?” He said, ”s.h.i.+t, I tore it.” She said, ”I don't care, tear it,” pulling his belt apart. He said, ”Can you wait, just a second?” She said, ”No.” He said, ”I can't either. Jesus.” She said, ”Don't talk.” He said, ”One second . . .” and got on his knees and pulled off her sandals and slacks and somehow got out of his pants, pausing then, catching his breath to pull his s.h.i.+rt over his head and when he sank down again into the bed they were naked, with nothing to make them hold back all that longing they could now release. The lights came on as they were making love, a soft bedroom glow that was just enough and could have been cued as Moran said, ”Oh, man,” and had to smile as he saw Mary smiling. Now they could see each other and it wasn't simply an act of their bodies, they were identified to each other, finally where they wanted to be more than anywhere. Moran's urge raised him stiff-armed, raised his face to the headboard, to the wall above them and he groaned, letting go that was like, ”Gaiii-yaaa!” and brought Mary's eyes open, but she closed them again, murmuring, moving, and remained in iridescent sparkling dark as he came back to her again, winding down, settling.
She felt moisture on his back, his shoulders. She said, ”Oh, G.o.d,” as though it might be her last breath. Then opened her eyes to study his face in re pose, his eyelashes, his eyelids lightly closed.
She said quietly, ”Well . . . how have you been?”
”Not too bad.”
”Do you always do that?” Her words a soft murmur.
”What?”
”I thought you were in pain.”
”I was, sort of.”
”You really throw yourself into it.”
”That was the first time I ever heard myself do that. It just came, so to speak.” He opened his eyes. ”You do an a.n.a.lysis after?”
”No, but I've always wondered about you,” Mary said. ”Do you know how many words we've spoken to each other, counting today?”
”We didn't have to use words. That was the spooky part about it. I always had the feeling we knew each other when we were little. Little kids who played together, then didn't see each other for about thirty years.”
”I'm not that old.”
”You're old enough. You know what I mean,” Moran said. ”I don't have to explain anything to you.”
”No.”
”Boy, you are really something.”
She said, ”There's more to it than that, isn't there?”
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