oppressive silence ・
shrug my shoulders ・
his glistening hair combed back ・
"Look, it's very nice of you ---- and I appreciate it.
No, he’s the noble sort, I thought. Not like me, insidious, sinister, and base.
I respected and feared him and hated him for making me hate myself.
A steely, neutral glance sat on his face.
She offered him her hand and he shook it.
“Vimini is also a genius. Isn’t it true you’re a genius, Vimini?”
“So they say. But it seems to me that I may not be.”
“Why is that?” Oliver inquired.
“It would be in rather bad taste for nature to have made me a genius.”
“Yes, I know what I’m saying and you’re not mistaking any of it. I’m just not very good at speaking. But you’re welcome never to speak to me again.”
My heart was beating too fast for me to speak coherently.
He cupped his hand to light my cigarette.
I lunged out to grad the fruit from his hand, but with his other hand he caught hold of my wrist and squeezed it hard, as they do in movies, when one man forces another to let go of a knife.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then let go.”
He walked up to me, put an arm around my shoulder and leaned over to kiss her.
I wanted to play Brahms. But an instinct told me to play something very quiet and contemplative. So I played one of the Goldberg Variations, which made me quite and contemplative. There was a sigh among the fifteen or so, which pleased me, since this was my only way of repaying for this magical evening.
“Water,” I gasped. “I’m not made for martinis. I’m so drunk.”
“You shouldn’t have had any. You had scotch, then wine, grappa, now gin.”
“So much for the evening’s sexual buildup.”
He snickered. “You look pale.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Best remedy is to make it happen.”
“Bend down and stick your finger all the way inside your mouth.”
I shook my head. No way.
We found a garbage bin on the sidewalk. “Do it inside here.”
I normally resisted throwing up. But I was too ashamed to be childish now. I was also uncomfortable puking in front of him. I wasn’t even sure that Amanda had not followed us.
“Here, bend down, I’ll hold your head.”
I was resisting. “It will pass. I’m sure it will.”
“Open your mouth.”
I opened my mouth. Before I knew it I was sick as soon as he touched my uvula.
But what a solace to have my head held, what selfless courage to hold someone’s head while he’s vomiting. Would I have had it in me to do the same for him?
“I think I’m done,” I said.
“let’s see if more doesn’t come out.”
Sure enough, another heave brought out more of tonight’s food and drink.
“Don’t you chew your peas?” he asked, smiling at me.
How I loved being made fun of that way.
I stopped and he stopped. “The most beautiful day of my life and I end up throwing up.” He wasn’t listening. He pressed me against the wall and started to kiss me, his hips pushing into mine, his arms about to lift me off the ground. My eyes were shut, but I knew he had stopped kissing me to look around him; people could be walking by. I didn’t want to look. Let him be the one to worry. Then we kissed again.
Long silence. “Will you be getting in bed now?” I asked. He looked at me gingerly. “For a short while. But I don’t want to do anything.” It sounded like an updated and far more polished version of Later, maybe.
My father instinctively darted a glance in my direction, then immediately withdrew it.