Beautiful World, Where Are You(34)

That evening Alice had dinner with a group of booksellers and journalists in the city, while Felix ate on his own in the apartment. Afterwards they met for a drink and walked over to the Colosseum together. In the darkness it looked skeletal and desiccated, like the dried remains of an ancient insect. You really do see some pretty good stuff here, Felix said. Alice smiled, and he glanced over at her. What? he said. You’re laughing at me. She shook her head and answered: I’m just happy you came with me, that’s all.

Back in the apartment, they wished one another goodnight and Alice went to bed. Felix sat in the kitchen looking at his phone while she lay in the next room with her eyes open, staring at nothing. After midnight, he knocked on her bedroom door.

Yes? she said.

He looked inside, holding his phone in his hand. Are you sleeping? he said. She told him no. Can I show you a video? he asked. She sat up and said yes. He came inside, closed the door and sat down on the bed beside her, where she shifted over to make room. He was still dressed, in a T-shirt and sweatpants. The video showed a raccoon sitting up in a humanoid posture, legs splayed, a bib tied around its neck and a bowl of black cherries in its lap. The raccoon reached into the bowl with its tiny clawed hand, grabbed a cherry and began eating it, all in a very anthropomorphic fashion, nodding its head in gourmet appreciation of the cherry. The caption on the video was ‘raccoon enjoy to eating fruits’. It was a minute and a half long and all the raccoon did was eat and nod. Alice laughed and said: Incredible. Felix said he thought she’d like it. Then he

locked his phone screen and leaned back against her headboard contemplatively. She lay on her side, facing him, the quilt pulled up to her waist.

Were you sleeping? he asked again.

No.

I didn’t interrupt anything, I hope.

What do you mean? she asked. Interrupt what?

I don’t know. Whatever girls get up to when they’re lying in bed at night.

She looked up at him, intrigued. Ah, she said. Well, I wasn’t touching myself, if that’s what you’re implying.

I suppose you don’t do that, do you not?

Of course I do, but I wasn’t just now.

He settled himself down with his head on the pillow, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. She had her arm tucked under her head, watching him.

And what do you be thinking about when you do it? he said.

Different things.

Your own little fantasies and things like that.

Indeed, she said.

And who would be starring in these fantasies?

Well, me, of course.

He gave what seemed a very genuine laugh at that. Of course, he said. I would hope so.

But who else? Famous actors or celebrities or what.

Not really.

People you know, then.

More often, she said.

He turned to face her where she lay next to him.

And what about me? he said.

She bit on her lower lip for a moment, and then said: I think about you sometimes.

He put his hand out and touched her nightdress, letting his fingers graze her waist. And what do you think about me doing to you? he asked.

She laughed, and it was impossible in the darkness to tell whether she was embarrassed.

I think about you being very, very nice to me, she said.

He seemed to find this amusing. Oh yeah? he said. In what way?

She turned and hid her face in the pillow, which had the effect of suggesting she was in fact embarrassed, but when she spoke she was smiling. You’re going to make fun of me if I tell you, she said.

I genuinely won’t.

Well, I think about different things. I mean, I don’t just have the same fantasy every time. But one thing all the fantasies have in common is— You are going to laugh, because it’s so vain. I would never usually say this to someone, but you asked. I like to imagine that you really want me – a lot, not just a normal amount.

Lightly he moved his hand over her ribs, down the side of her body. And how do you know I do? he said. In the fantasy. Do I say it to you or is it just obvious?

It’s obvious. But we get to a part later on where you say it as well.

And do you give me what I want, or you just like teasing me?

She turned her face even further into the pillow. He moved his hand back up to her waist, up her ribcage, up to the soft line of her breast. In a low murmuring tone she said: You get what you want.

So why does it make a difference how much I want it? he said. Am I begging you?

No, no, you’re not pushy. You’re just really into it.

And can I ask, am I any good? Or do you imagine me more kind of nervous because I want it so badly?

She turned to face him, lying on her side again. His fingers moved over the surface of her breast, as far as the strap of her nightdress and back down.

I do sometimes imagine you kind of nervous, she said.

He nodded, his face and manner expressing a keen interest in the discussion. Can I ask something else? he said. You don’t have to tell me. But what do you think about when you come?

I think about you coming, she said.

Where, inside you?

Usually.

Slowly, as if in deep thought, he ran the back of his hand over her belly, down over her navel. She was looking at him still.

I know what you’re going to say now, she said.

Yeah? What?

I’m going to ask if you ever think about me in that way, and you’re going to go: No, not really.