Bewitching

(WARNING! This one is a little longer than usual, and there's a sex scene in it. It's not raunchy or pornographic, but it's detailed, and maybe a little gratuitous :) Thought I'd try something different and figured I should mention that up front, just in case.... )
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We were running about a half hour late when the engine shut down just outside of the Holland Tunnel. Stuck in the middle lane, with traffic whipping by on both sides, I sat there watching steam fissures whistle around the hood like a pressure cooker getting ready to blow. An impatient line of asshole horn-bompers quickly accumulated behind me. I knew that it would be a bad night from the start because of the hazy full moon that hovered above the Manhattan skyline off in the distance. No matter what anyone says there's nothing enchanting or magical about a full moon. If anything, it's an oddity, somewhat spooky with its erratic effect on the tides, and its undeniable reminder of just how small and insignificant our earthly existence really is. As expected, Danielle blamed the breakdown on me, as though I had personally and intentionally overheated the engine so that we would be late for Lisa's party.

"This car sucks," she hissed. "I don't know why you picked this one?"

I glanced at her but didn't say anything. She folded her arms and looked out the side window as a fat woman in a purple SUV rolled by giving us the finger.

"I swear," she added. "You always find a way to ruin things."

"Danielle?" I paused for a moment, looking up at the rear view mirror. The guy behind me was pantomiming mutely behind the wheel, frowning and rocking, arms going like a windmill. We were about two hundred yards from the toll booths. I was no auto mechanic, and neither was she. The fact that I didn't "pick" the car at all never entered into her thought process. Then again, logic rarely did. In a calm, even tone, I continued, "...shut up."

"What do you mean, shut up? Don't you tell me to shut up."

Fortunately, there was a gas station nearby where the problem was easily and inexpensively resolved with couple of bottles of antifreeze. We drove the rest of the way in silence. Somewhere between Jersey City and Passaic, I wondered what in holy hell I could have been thinking three years earlier when, in front of several witnesses, I said, "I do." It was a bad relationship from day one, we both knew it, and at this point, every passing minute was just putting off the inevitable. These days, we lived on an emotional mine field where each step had to be carefully mapped, actions weighed against potential reactions, exit strategies detailed in advance. Even something as harmless as breakfast didn't come without consequences because the thoughtless crunching a piece of toast, or the way I held my fork was enough to trigger a major battle. Somewhere around the third month sex went into a coma, and all attempts to revive it came off as false, lustless, emotionally hollow.

Then money became a problem. Without my knowledge, she had secretly obtained a pinochle deck of credit cards in my name, maxing them all out as soon as she got them, as though monthly bills were just pieces of paper that didn't really matter. That's when trust became a problem, too, because the way I saw it, just because you're married to someone, that doesn't entitle you to steal from them. I knew then that it was essentially over. When there is no trust, there is nothing. But for some reason we stayed together, going through the motions, deceiving ourselves and misleading our families who thought everything was just fine. Fortunately, there were no children involved because I'm certain that they would have become a problem too.

"We're gonna be the last ones there thanks to you," she said.

"You know something?" I exhaled heavily and looked at her. "I hope you don't plan on busting my balls all night? Because I'll tell you right now, I don't intend to put up with it."

"Busting your balls?" she said, squinting in disbelief. "How am I busting....Oh, fuck you!"

As we pulled into a spot directly across the street from Lisa and Gary's townhouse, Danielle glared at me, and in a voice that trembled with restrained rage, she said, "If you didn't want to come to this party, you should have just said so in the beginning and stayed home. I could have found another way to get here without you. I may have even had some fun!"

She was right. I should have stayed home. She could have found another way to get there without me. No doubt she would have had fun too. Of course, the real fun wouldn't begin until she returned later that night, when I would hear the terrible tale of how I had ruined her evening by forcing her to find another way to get there, how I had embarrassed her by not being at the party with her, how I had made her go there alone. How I was ruining her life. As always, her argument would be designed to cast her as a saint, and me as the ultimate bad guy.

I didn't say anything because I was tired of it. It was a no-win situation. It was always about her and for her, and in her shallow, dime-sized brain nothing else really mattered. As a manipulation tactic this kind of behavior never failed to infuriate me. It was exactly that kind of self-centered, illogical, me-me-me nonsense that went over so well with her like-minded circle of friends. As a group, they served as a discount store, pop psychology support mechanism for each other, and they could justify anything short of cold blooded murder. And the only reason for that exception was because none of them had actually killed anyone. Yet. But all of them, including Lisa, Olga and Sara, had mastered the philosophy of victimization, making themselves virtually bulletproof during periods of conflict and emotional strife. If things went bad, it was always someone else's fault.

I could hear the party sounds before we got out of the car. Loud laughter, familiar voices, lousy music, like always. Danielle stomped up the walkway without me, carrying a pair of white boxes containing strawberry cheesecakes from our local bakery. I locked the car doors with the remote and glanced at Lee and Olga's BMW parked in the driveway. Directly behind it was Victor and Sara's Audi convertible. Someone else had parked a Mercedes sedan out on the curb, the rear end blocking part of the neighbor's drive, as though it was their right to do so. I hated these parties. I wasn't crazy about the people either. All of "our" friends were really her friends, folks that she had known for decades, long before I drifted into the picture, and no matter what anyone said, I knew that all of this "mi casa es su casa" stuff was just a polite formality. I was, and would always be, the outsider. Most times, it was impossible to not feel like a fool sitting there among them, exposed to their cliquish conversations, their closed off country club mentality, where everything, even the jokes, appeared to be confidential. I would sit there throughout the night, grinning like a Jack-in-the-Box, my jaws aching with that forced smile which always betrayed me, as transparent as some bullshit politician seeking votes from strangers, or a confused foreigner pretending he understands a punchline that was delivered in another language.

"Why are you like that?" Danielle asked me one day, as if "that" was the worst thing in the world. "My friends like you. You need to learn how to accept people as they are."

"No, they like you," I said. "They tolerate me."

"I give up. You'll never change."

By the time I made it up the walkway she was already inside. The door was closed. The iridescent full moon floated behind a thin veil of clouds, its murky glare like that of a faraway spotlight cutting through dense fog. For a brief moment, I thought about going back to the car, pulling out and heading home. Screw her. Let her find a way to get back without me. Even better, don't come back at all. I needed another night of her twisted interpretations like I needed golf ball sized kidney stones. It wasn't necessary to sit through the whole movie at this point; I had already read the script.

But instead of following my gut instinct, I knocked twice and waited. A dance remix of an old Santana tune pumped and throbbed behind the door. At least the music was getting better, I thought. Their next door neighbor came down the walkway to have a look at the Aryan supercar convention bordering his home. He was short and thick, blond and hairy. He reminded me of an aging Barney Rubble with an attitude. He circled the Mercedes that was blocking his driveway then looked over at me with a frown, arms extended like Jesus on the cross. "Hey guy?" he snapped. "You're in my driveway there!"

I pointed to my rent a wreck Dodge and shook my head, "I wish," I said.

Lisa's door drew back slowly, as if opened by a ghost, releasing a roar of voices, wild laughter and thumping music. There was no one behind it, and no one greeted me as I entered. I walked into a carpeted living room that was gushing with sound and movement. A blast of pungent, salty junk food smells combined with human heat surrounded me like a blanket. I stepped through a crowd of dancing women in bright colored clothing that clung to their bodies like skin. Everyone was holding a clear plastic Dixie cup with something dark in it. Most of the men were sitting on the sofas, or on folding metal chairs, smoking cigarettes, trying to speak above the music. The acrid aromas of booze, smoke and sharp perfume made me sneeze. I spotted Danielle on the other side of the room talking to two young women who were either cousins or nieces of Lisa. Everyone there was a relative, distant relative, or close friend. I wanted to turn around and leave. I felt someone touch my back, then a woman's lips, still cool and moist from the iced drink she was holding, briefly tapped my cheek.

"Glad you made it," Lisa said. "I heard you had car trouble?"

She was shouting. I nodded. She wore red lipstick, gold hoop earrings, and a pair of black open toe pumps, which put her close to my height. She handed me a clear plastic cup filled with dark beer. No doubt she had already been given the full one-sided version of our ride over.

"The main spread is in the kitchen. Grab a plate and help yourself. And please be at home here, okay? Remember, our house is your house."

"Thanks."

And she was gone.

I looked over, locking eyes briefly with Danielle. She turned away and kept talking to the others. Moments later, Lisa joined them. I was certain that she mouthed my name as she took Danielle by the arm and handed her a drink. Suddenly, all four of them laughed out loud, and as the saying goes, just because you may be paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you. Danielle glanced over her shoulder at me as they all moved off to the kitchen.

"Hey there! I see you've already hit the bar, which means I don't need to get you anything to drink. How goes it, bro? We haven't seen you since...when was it? Last New Years, right? How's it hangin', man?"

Gary grabbed me in one of those awkward backslapping guy-hugs where the body contact is quick and rough, but careful not to meet below the belt. We talked for a moment. As usual it was painful and difficult because it wasn't really a conversation, just trite smalltalk about sports and work. Gary was a lifelong Yankee fan. He had worked as a bus dispatcher for the city for the last twenty-three years. All he ever talked about was the Yankees and his impending retirement, which was still several years away. According to Danielle, Lisa was also in trouble with credit cards, but Gary had agreed to help her by taking out a home equity loan. So much for retirement.

When Gary split, I found three square feet of space next to the closets and became part of the shadows. The lighting was dim but it was out of the way. With luck, I could stand there for the next few hours, blending in with the doors. I sipped my beer and watched the action in the living room. The women were devastating. Even the old ladies and little girls looked nice. I saw Lisa's brother Victor, and his wife Sara, dancing at the edge of the crowd. I gave them a halfhearted wave, which they either didn't see or chose to ignore. Fine with me either way. I didn't feel like talking. I just wanted to stand there and be left alone.

A woman with slick black hair, smoky gray eyes and skin the color of peanut butter, said hello as she brushed by me on the way to the bathroom. I didn't recognize her, but she seemed friendly, as though she knew me. She resembled some of the women in Lisa's family, but I was familiar with most of those people, and I couldn't recall ever seeing this one before. I took a quick glance at the backs of her legs as she disappeared around the corner. Victor popped up on my left and grabbed my hand. He was an amateur bodybuilder with arms the size of legs, swollen and veiny like tree bark. His pecs looked like dinner plates underneath his polo shirt. He gave me a sly grin then said, "Busted!" I shrugged like I could have cared less. What was he going to do, tell Danielle?

As expected, the handshake was a macho bastard bone crackler. We talked for a while. A few minutes later, the woman with the smoke colored eyes came back down the hall, smoothing out the front of her skirt, examining herself as she walked. She smiled at us as she passed. I took another quick glance at her legs. They were very nice legs. Lightly muscled, tanned, taut and shapely. She looked back at me and smiled again. Victor gave me a shot in the arm. "Now that's trouble if I ever saw trouble," he said.

"Who is she?" I said.

"No idea. I think she came in with Lee and Olga."

We both watched as she moved through the writhing mob of dancers until she became engulfed in the crowd. When I looked up, Danielle was staring at me from across the room like I owed her money.

Hell with this, I thought. I took another beer from one of the trays near the kitchen then went outside for some fresh air. I strolled over to the car and sat on the hood with my back against the windshield and stared up at the muddy sky. The wreck was still warm. The Mercedes was still blocking the neighbor's driveway. The grumpy Barney Rubble guy was gone. I could hear the pounding music and the voices and the incessant laughter bleeding out of the house from every pore. A lone car coasted down the street behind me. I heard the muffled sound of girls laughing in the back seat. Everyone was having fun except me. Hell, after three years of Danielle's bullshit, I wasn't even sure I knew how to have fun anymore.

I checked my watch and groaned, noting that it was only ten-thirty. I had at least another three hours to go. I laid back against the windshield, closed my eyes and listened to the thumping bass and jangling guitars smothering the sound of crickets churning somewhere off in the darkness.

When I opened my eyes the woman with the peanut butter complexion and the smoky gray eyes was standing about five feet away just looking at me. She was holding a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and she was smiling, her face framed in a mop of slick black hair, her crimson lips so flush with color it looked like she had just drank blood.

"When I was a child," she said, pausing, turning her gaze up at the sky. "I remember on nights like this, I'd come out and sit with my dad while he listened to his radio. He had one of those shortwave radios with all the knobs and buttons. He would sit on the hood of his car, like you are now, and I'd sit there beside him." She looked up again. She had a slight accent, but I couldn't place it. "When I saw you sitting here it reminded me of back home."

I didn't ask where back home was, didn't say anything. I just looked her over with caution. Last year, one of Lisa's friends came on to Lee, just to test him, just to see if he'd go for it. He did. And Olga found out about it almost immediately. Apparently, the girls had made a bet, and Olga, believing she knew her man inside out, lost. It almost cost Lee half of everything he owned.

"Not the partying type, I presume?" she said.

"Not really."

"I've always loved nights like these." She looked up at the sky again. "Overcast with a full moon. Bewitching is the word that comes to mind."

I took a long gulp of my beer, put the cup down and looked up at the full moon shrouded in clouds. Bewitching. She was right. Until that moment, I had lived behind a wall of defenses so high and so thick, I failed to see the simple beauty of a full moon. She leaned back against the car, the meat of her butt flattening out just above the left wheel well. I swung my legs down and stood next to her. A light breeze blew in from the trees across the street, rippling the hem of her red skirt across the top of her knees. She took one last draw on her cigarette and ditched it. She finished off her drink in one swallow and looked at me. At that moment something happened. I wasn't sure what it was because the feeling came on so suddenly and with such urgency that it scared me. I thought for sure that I was about to lose control, as though I was on some mind-altering drug which gave unrestrained power over my body to someone else. At that moment, I ached for her. She was beautiful, and she had followed me outside, and I wanted her badly. I didn't even know her name, didn't care either. I just wanted to touch her and hold her and gently move my hands across her back, her neck and the bare flesh on her naked arms. I wanted to press my face against her body so that I could smell her skin, inhaling the warm flavor of her like a hungry man preparing to eat a meal. I wanted to hold her head firm in both hands and stare into those captivating eyes and savor the slick taste of her moist tongue between my lips as I consumed her.

And I wanted her to touch me too and to hold me. I wanted to feel loved and desired and needed in a way that had been lacking for so long now that I sometimes questioned my ability to ever love anyone again. I wanted to devour her right there on the hood of the car, and I really didn't care who may have been watching. At that point, they could have filmed it and uploaded it to the Internet and sent copies to my mother. It would have been just fine with me.

She reached over and felt my hand, holding it in her palm, which seemed as small as a child's. I started to speak, but she put one finger to my lips and said, "No words." Then she kissed me flush on the mouth, a low hum hanging in the back of her throat. We moved over a few feet so that the tallest point of the car was between us and Lisa's house, obscuring us from view. I put both hands on her slim waist and pulled her in against me. I grabbed her earlobe between my teeth and worked it with my tongue, sucking on it like candy. Then I kissed her neck just below her hair line. Her skin was so soft it seemed to melt against my lips. I held her tight while nipping at the base of her throat. I could smell the cigarette smoke in her hair, but her skin had a light, fragrant scent like lavender bath soap. We shared a quick, hot, open mouth kiss, then suddenly she pushed me away and started walking back to the house. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

"Hey?" I said weakly. I sounded like a kid whose favorite toy had just been taken away.

She stopped suddenly, about five yards up, then walked back in a slow half circle, stalking me with her eyes. She unbuttoned my shirt, drawing a line of kisses down my chest. Her fingernails ran tracks up my sides, raising goosebumps on my skin. She took my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and began pinching me until they were rubbery stiff. Then she tasted me. The sensations waved through my nerves in sharp jolts like low voltage electricity. I dropped my head backward and moaned. She slid down and unzipped me, and with her small, cool hand, reached inside and squeezed it before putting me into her mouth, where she held it tight, eyes closed, as though she was drawing nourishment from me.

I couldn't take it. It felt like I was going to burst. The idea of what she was doing was more of a turn on than the actual feeling. My brain was on fire with lust. I pulled her up by the arms roughly and positioned her face down over the hood of the car. I lifted her skirt, dropped her T-backs to the ground, and went in from behind. She hummed softly. The sound of her moans crackled in my head like a short circuit. She said, "Oh go!" And that was it for me. I cried out God's name as I lost it.

As she pulled herself together, I stood there with my back against the driver side door, breathing fast, sweating like a prize fighter standing in his corner after the final round, waiting for the judges decision. Although it seemed much longer, the whole scene lasted maybe three minutes tops. I looked down at my shoes. There was no elation or romantic high, only shame and disappointment. She kissed me once on the mouth, then quickly, and without a word, walked away. I listened but didn't look as her high heels tattooed the asphalt path back up to Lisa's house. I noticed an old man on the other side of the street walking a full grown Doberman. I wondered how long he had been there. Not that I really cared.

The party was still going strong when I returned. I looked around for a while but didn't see the woman with the smoky gray eyes. It bothered me that I didn't know her name. Victor had said she came in with Lee and Olga, so I asked Lee who she was.

"I don't know her," he said. "She definitely didn't come with us."

I spent the next half hour or so casually roaming around, trying to appear inconspicuous while searching for her. It was useless. She was gone.

Danielle was unusually talkative on the way home. No doubt, a few glasses of booze and consultation with her friends had loosensed her up. I kept my eyes on the road, responding to her when necessary, trying, as she was, to pretend that everything was all right. As we hit the turnpike she stared at me thoughtfully and said, "That woman with the red dress? Did she say anything to you when you were standing in the hall?"

"No," I said. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "No one knows who she is. Lisa thinks she crashed the place. Sara says she saw her there at the Halloween party, too. She was dressed as a witch, but she was blond and wore glasses."

I shrugged, but didn't say anything. There was a blond with glasses at the Halloween party last year, but her image was vague in my memory. I spent most of my time at that one avoiding people too.

"I thought maybe she was trying to hit on you or something," Danielle said. "The way she smiled at you."

I shrugged again. What the fuck do you care? You don't want me.

"Probably just some slut looking to pick up guys, huh?" she said.

I nodded then hit the signals before switching lanes. The faded moon was directly in front of us now, its glow fuzzy and dim. I smelled lavender in the air. The aroma made me weak. When I looked up in the rear view mirror there she was, sitting in the back seat, her firm legs crossed at the knees, her smoky gray eyes staring at me like some predatory night bird on the prowl. She didn't say anything. No words. I blinked a few times, erasing the image from my mind. I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one in the back seat.

"What an awful night," Danielle said. Her voice was slurred, her breath smelled like rum, and she was grinning stupidly. "It looks like...I don't know...like it's gonna rain."

I looked up at the hazy full moon off on the horizon. Light fog had settled across the tree tops along the roadside. I looked in the rear view mirror again.

"Oh, I don't think was a bad night at all," I said.

Danielle's eyes were closed now and she was snoring.

A light mist had begun to fall. I looked up at the moon again as I flipped on the windshield wipers. Even though the glow was slowly dying, bewitching was the word that came to mind.