Up & Out - Ariella Papa [91]
“He’s always sort of pushed the limit. He said work was fine.” Tommy’s eyes narrow and he stares off at his shoes. I didn’t mean to ruin the vibe.
“Hey, let’s get one more beer. We’re celebrating.”
One more was actually two because our bartender bought us a round. We are drunk when we get back home. I am having trouble getting up the five flights of stairs. Tommy keeps shushing me. It is 3:00 a.m. and I am certainly never going to be able to run tomorrow.
“I love not having a job.” I start to sing. Tommy is trying to quiet me, but laughing really hard, too. “You can play with your kids, but I will be asleep.”
“Don’t give up your day job,” he says, trying to put the key in the door. “Oh, right, you don’t have one.”
“I can dance, too.” I moonwalk on the landing and almost trip down the stairs. He pulls me into the apartment.
“Calm down.”
“I can’t calm down. Why don’t you take out your guitar? I’ll play you a song.”
“Stay away, will you?” Tommy has a real strange attachment to his guitar. He never really learned to play, but he likes to sit around strumming it. I sit on the armrest on the couch.
“Okay.” I remember Tommy playing his guitar for me, the first time we had sex. Then I start laughing thinking about it. Tommy laughs, also, for no apparent reason.
“What’s so funny?” he finally asks.
“I know,” I say, working myself up into hysterics. “I know.”
“What do you know?”
“I know why you played the guitar that time.” I am having trouble getting through the sentence without laughing. “The first time we did it. I know why you played the guitar.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, looking sober. I know he is guilty. The first time we had sex was in his dorm room. His roommate was at his girlfriend’s and I got up and went to the bathroom down the hall. When I came back into the room, he picked up his guitar and started playing.
“You farted!” I scream. I flop over onto the couch, letting my legs stay over the armrest. I am holding my nose and laughing at the same time. “You may have covered up the sound, but there was still the smell.”
“Shut up!” Tommy says with mock annoyance. Then he starts laughing again. “You know you’re no delicate flower, either. I’ve been amazed at what the bathroom’s like when you come out of it.”
“You shut up! You shut up!” For the first year of our relationship, I was constipated whenever we were together, but that had to end when we moved to New York and I began eating my way through the borough. I throw a pillow at Tommy and he picks another cushion off the easy chair and wails me with it.
We have an all-out pillow fight for about five minutes and then collapse onto the floor huffing and puffing.
“Aaarrggh!” moans Tommy. “How do I keep up with an eight-and a ten-year-old?”
“God,” I say. “I think you’re gonna be great as a manny.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” Tommy says, shaking his head. Then he looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry about Esme. You know everyone else is a bit player, but you are the real deal.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“I mean it. You can’t forget what she was when you created her.” He looks up at the stereo for a minute. I think he is getting emotional. “I’ll always be proud of you for that.”
Wow! I know I’ve lost a lot of confidence, but hearing Tommy say that reminds me of all the things I’ve been missing. A piece of me was tied into what I was doing. I liked telling people that I worked in kids’ TV, but more importantly, I actually enjoyed working in it, creating something that I thought kids would see and enjoy.
I reach out and touch Tommy’s hand. And then I want more. I want to kiss him and I do. I know that sex in movies is awesome and passionate, and Tommy and I have definitely tried to keep straight faces as we did it porn-star style in the past, but what I want now is comfort. I want to know what I am getting into and what to expect when.
We slept together thousands of times. There aren’t any surprises this time and that’s what I need. I don’t think about whether or not I’m making a mistake.
All of it happens