said. “Only when I drink.”
The night was chilly, but I didn't mind. I'd forgotten how good it felt to get out of the house, to escape into something new.
“I guess I should warn you,” she said. “Jason's got this really big crush on you.”
“On me?” I laughed too loud, as if this were the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard.
She nodded gravely. “He talks about you all the time.”
Dana flicked her cigarette into the yard. I did the same, relieved to get rid of it. They landed just a couple of inches apart in the grass, burning through the darkness like two orange stars.
MR. M.
ANOTHER WOMAN I fantasized about was Sherry Dexter, but with her I was slow and careful, a healer of sorrows. It was especially exciting for me because we spent so much time together in real life.
Diane and I drove to her house almost every night and stayed until ten or eleven, doing double duty as friends and babysitters, giving Sherry a chance to take a shower, eat a meal in peace, maybe run a quick errand without having to worry about Darren. She said it was heaven to go to the supermarket by herself; she felt so streamlined and free gliding up and down the aisles without a baby in tow, so much like a real person.
It was marvelous to watch the transformation sheunderwent in our presence. She answered the door in a food-stained sweatsuit, hair pulled back any which way, her face pasty and frazzled. After a few minutes of small talk she escaped upstairs for a shower that sometimes lasted as long as a half hour. I could imagine the luxury of it, the steam and privacy, the chance to be alone in her own body for the first time all day without worries or distractions.
She was a different person when she came back down. Her wet hair was loose, freshly combed, her skin rosy. The smell of shampoo clung to her like a warm aura. Sometimes she got dressed, but I preferred the nights when she rejoined us in her crimson terry cloth robe, a garment that had figured prominently in a couple of my fantasies.
A strange intimacy seemed to have sprouted up between us that spring, as if she'd somehow gotten wind of the things we did together in my head and wanted me to know that she approved. She smiled at me on the flimsiest of pretexts, spoke my name as if it belonged to another Jim, a witty, fascinating man whose company brought her immense pleasure.
If Diane noticed, it didn't seem to bother her; she only had eyes for Darren. As soon as we arrived, her eyes lit up with fresh wonder at the sight of his scrunched and quizzical face, so eerily reminiscent of Jack's. For the next hour or two, until Darren grew cranky withexhaustion, they played together on the floor—sorting shapes, reading nursery rhymes, building the same four-block tower over and over again—leaving Sherry and me free to continue our flirtation at a slightly higher altitude, safe in the knowledge that it couldn't really go anywhere.
One night, though, about a week before the election, Sherry came down from her shower dressed to go out. On what seemed like the spur of the moment, she invited Diane to drive with her to the mall.
“I need to pick up a housewarming gift for my sister,” she said. “I hate to drive all that way by myself.”
Diane didn't answer right away. She was kneeling on the floor, adding the last alphabet block to a precarious tower as Darren looked on, gleefully awaiting her permission to demolish it.
“Take Jim,” she said offhandedly. “I'm happy right here.”
Sherry and I exhanged a swift glance of collusion and alarm. The color deepened in her cheeks and throat.
“Oh no,” she said. “I'm sure he'd be bored to death.”
“Not at all,” I told her. “I'm happy to be your escort.”
TAMMY WARREN
DANA HAD A VCR in her bedroom and her own copy of
Truth or Dare.
We sat on her bed in the flickering darkness beneath a huge poster of Jason Priestley, watching in almost religious silence. Whenever a song came on we jumped off the
The night was chilly, but I didn't mind. I'd forgotten how good it felt to get out of the house, to escape into something new.
“I guess I should warn you,” she said. “Jason's got this really big crush on you.”
“On me?” I laughed too loud, as if this were the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard.
She nodded gravely. “He talks about you all the time.”
Dana flicked her cigarette into the yard. I did the same, relieved to get rid of it. They landed just a couple of inches apart in the grass, burning through the darkness like two orange stars.
MR. M.
ANOTHER WOMAN I fantasized about was Sherry Dexter, but with her I was slow and careful, a healer of sorrows. It was especially exciting for me because we spent so much time together in real life.
Diane and I drove to her house almost every night and stayed until ten or eleven, doing double duty as friends and babysitters, giving Sherry a chance to take a shower, eat a meal in peace, maybe run a quick errand without having to worry about Darren. She said it was heaven to go to the supermarket by herself; she felt so streamlined and free gliding up and down the aisles without a baby in tow, so much like a real person.
It was marvelous to watch the transformation sheunderwent in our presence. She answered the door in a food-stained sweatsuit, hair pulled back any which way, her face pasty and frazzled. After a few minutes of small talk she escaped upstairs for a shower that sometimes lasted as long as a half hour. I could imagine the luxury of it, the steam and privacy, the chance to be alone in her own body for the first time all day without worries or distractions.
She was a different person when she came back down. Her wet hair was loose, freshly combed, her skin rosy. The smell of shampoo clung to her like a warm aura. Sometimes she got dressed, but I preferred the nights when she rejoined us in her crimson terry cloth robe, a garment that had figured prominently in a couple of my fantasies.
A strange intimacy seemed to have sprouted up between us that spring, as if she'd somehow gotten wind of the things we did together in my head and wanted me to know that she approved. She smiled at me on the flimsiest of pretexts, spoke my name as if it belonged to another Jim, a witty, fascinating man whose company brought her immense pleasure.
If Diane noticed, it didn't seem to bother her; she only had eyes for Darren. As soon as we arrived, her eyes lit up with fresh wonder at the sight of his scrunched and quizzical face, so eerily reminiscent of Jack's. For the next hour or two, until Darren grew cranky withexhaustion, they played together on the floor—sorting shapes, reading nursery rhymes, building the same four-block tower over and over again—leaving Sherry and me free to continue our flirtation at a slightly higher altitude, safe in the knowledge that it couldn't really go anywhere.
One night, though, about a week before the election, Sherry came down from her shower dressed to go out. On what seemed like the spur of the moment, she invited Diane to drive with her to the mall.
“I need to pick up a housewarming gift for my sister,” she said. “I hate to drive all that way by myself.”
Diane didn't answer right away. She was kneeling on the floor, adding the last alphabet block to a precarious tower as Darren looked on, gleefully awaiting her permission to demolish it.
“Take Jim,” she said offhandedly. “I'm happy right here.”
Sherry and I exhanged a swift glance of collusion and alarm. The color deepened in her cheeks and throat.
“Oh no,” she said. “I'm sure he'd be bored to death.”
“Not at all,” I told her. “I'm happy to be your escort.”
TAMMY WARREN
DANA HAD A VCR in her bedroom and her own copy of
Truth or Dare.
We sat on her bed in the flickering darkness beneath a huge poster of Jason Priestley, watching in almost religious silence. Whenever a song came on we jumped off the
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