Aftermath of Dreaming(45)

I had no idea what we were doing. Why was she here and couldn’t she now leave? I would just wait her out and reap my reward in Andrew’s bed. Surely soon he would make her leave.

Andrew was telling her all about me—my art, at least—including the big f*cking art star part, which I found equally embarrassing and a relief, with a bit of a “Ha-ha, he loves me” thrown in. Sitting serenely in her chair as she listened to him, she appeared powerful, yet submissive, like an employee the boss really needs.

“Honey.” Andrew had gotten up and was reaching his hand out to me. Thank God, he’s finally making her leave.

“I’ll walk you down,” he said.

My face dropped as I stood up. Andrew took my hand, and turned us toward the hallway to the front door. It was the opposite of that terrible dream where I need to get away, but can’t move—I wanted to stay, but was forced to leave.

“Okay, well, nice to meet you,” I said to her, instantly hating that I was so automatically polite. Couldn’t manners have sensors on them—bells that would jangle to prevent them from being blurted out when I didn’t want them?

She simply smiled back. A hot-chocolate milk-white-teeth smile. I hated her for it.

Andrew moved me along, and his foyer disappeared past us, but waiting for the elevator made us stand still. He started kissing my cheeks and hands, but I pushed him back, turning away. “Stop it.”

“Are you mad?” The elevator opened while he waited for my response. “Sweet-y-vette, are you mad at me?” He tried to kiss me again, as the doors shut.

“Quit it. What is your problem, haven’t I told you no?”

He gave me a look that was blankly innocent and unassailable, like a gentleman in a bad fix. “What did you think was going to happen when you came over here?”

“What did I think?”

He nodded, glad I was seeing his point.

“What did I think?” This time my voice was higher and my stomach got involved, forming the sounds with its loud emptiness. The elevator opened into the lobby which held a radiant hush and uniformed employees.

“I thought you loved me.” I knew they could hear me clear out to the street; I screamed it.

Andrew blanched before turning red as the employees bristled to life while in their stand-still mode.

“Come on, we’re getting you a cab.” He was walking next to me, forcing me along, and my attempts to get away from him were contained and redirected by one of his hands on each of my arms.

“No,” I shouted. “I can’t afford one, and they won’t take one of your stupid hundred-dollar bills anyway.”

All of the employees stared when they heard that, then quickly looked away. Andrew stopped us at the front desk, pulling me close into him and holding me tight with his left hand, while his right reached into his pocket.

“Could you break this into small bills, please?” His words were lovely, efficient, and calm. The desk clerk hurried to do so without looking up. It felt like a very cordial bank robbery.

“Thank you.” Andrew put all of the money into my palm. “And we need a cab.”

Every employee leapt forward, moving through the revolving door in groups, running to the curb.

“I’ll call you in the morning, Yvette,” Andrew said, as we emerged from the revolving door.

“For what?”

“What?” Andrew either didn’t hear me or was very confused.

“What are you gonna call me for?” We were standing in the carpeted sidewalk area, which was replete with hotel help waving down cabs or looking surreptitiously at us. “I don’t understand what you want me for; you don’t let me give you a goddamn thing.” I turned into him and began hitting his chest. He pulled me closer, trying to disguise it as a hug, when a cab pulled up. A line of employees made a corridor to its door for us.

“Into the cab, there you go,” Andrew said, while three employees held open the door. “Take her straight home,” he said to the driver. “Don’t let her go anywhere else.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, and leaned down to give me a kiss on the forehead. I refused to look at him, and when he shut the door, the cab jerked from the curb. A few buildings away, I sneaked a look over my shoulder, but Andrew and the many employees were already gone.



The next morning, when I picked up the phone, the first thing I heard was, “Thanks to you, I got to sleep early last night.”

Andrew had said it sweetly, but I still wasn’t sure. “What does that mean?”

“It means I sent Suzy home is what it means, sweet-y-vette.”

“Oh.” I was thrilled, but didn’t want to show it.

Then he told me that he had people waiting for him in his living room, so call him back in an hour or two, and did I love him?

“Yes, Andrew, I love you.”

I rolled out of bed, and pulled on some clothes to go for a run. So I had met one of the other ones—the ones Carrie had assured me existed, and that I had been pretending did not. But suddenly I realized that Suzy didn’t matter—none of them did. They were everyone and no one to him. Had nothing to do with me and him. What I meant to him. What I was to him. As I ran through Riverside Park, I realized that even Lily Creed didn’t matter. He was with Lily, but still needed me. If what he had with her had been able to fill that space in him, then it wouldn’t have been empty and waiting to strongly pull me in when our eyes met at the restaurant, ready for me to fill it for him. Fill it without having sex. Even though we did have sex that first time, it was clearly an aberration. The other women were a backdrop to my relationship with him, not unlike the trees and grass I was running past. My jealousy of them evaporated like the late summer heat finally had.