Disclaimer: Alicia isn't mine.
Inspired by the brilliant double reflection of Alicia in All Tapped Out.
Alicia stood in front of her closet mirror, captivated by her naked reflection. When was the last time she scrutinized herself like this? On an average morning, she had no time to give pause on her way in and out of the shower. It was only minutes before leaving her apartment when she would examine her full reflection for any thread or wrinkle that threatened her put-together appearance. But now it was late. Her work clothes were put away, but she wasn't quite ready to slip into her pajamas. The only thing out of place in her bedroom was the wine bottle with a few sips left at the bottom, accompanied by the empty wine glass sitting on her desk. "That'll leave a ring" she had thought a few moments ago, but had yet to make a move to clean up her mess.
The contents of her closet were meticulous. Earlier that night, desperate for something to keep her busy, she had set aside several pairs of shoes to donate to Goodwill. As an afterthought, she had left the bag of shoes on Grace's bed for her daughter to look through first. Gone were the days when Grace's only need for heels was a game of make-believe.
Alicia examined her face, now free of makeup and what her daughter called her "lawyer stare". Her eyes betrayed her current emotions – a mix of apprehension, curiosity, and a glint of unplaced desire.
"You have mysterious eyes". The odd comment seemed to reverberate through time, transporting her back to her undergraduate years.
"What do you mean, mysterious?" She had laughed.
"They don't give anything away", he had responded. "I'm used to looking into a girl's eyes and seeing every one of their emotions reflected back at me".
He was insufferable. A pretentious literature and creative writing double major as different from Alicia as it was possible to be. After graduation he set off on a road trip across the country, packet of cigarettes in one hand and Kerouac and Ginsberg in the other. They had never slept together. Alicia couldn't even remember his last name, hadn't thought of him in years, but she suddenly found the memory of him arousing.
She brought her hands to her breasts. She used to be so self-conscious. Her breasts may have been perkier at 22, but she preferred them now in middle age. Unbidden, the image of Law School Will Gardner appeared fully formed in her mind. He had stared at her chest through her sheer blouse, and she remembered blushing deeply, hoping he wouldn't notice her embarrassment. It wasn't discomfort at the idea of Will finding her desirable; even from the start, that idea gave her a thrill. Rather, it was her unease with her own body back then. She used to sneak peeks at her freshman roommate in the morning to compare their bodies. Did Alicia look normal compared to her average-looking, but sexually assured roommate? Alicia didn't even want to look better; she just wanted to ensure that their naked bodies looked more or less the same.
22 year old Alicia would never have guessed that decades later, she would be grabbing Will's hands and forcing them onto her breasts and between her legs. The memory of sex in Will's office bathroom (her bathroom now, she reminded herself) replayed itself in her mind. All of those glass walls, those deceptive, idealistic glass walls, and they still managed to find refuge in the Lockhart/Gardner office suites. Will had been sitting on the toilet, pants down to his ankles, and Alicia was riding him. She was in it for herself on that particular occasion, but she doubted Will could tell the difference. His left hand was over her mouth; if anyone was going to give away their hiding spot, it would have been Alicia. She remembered hearing Diane and Kalinda talking on the other side of the door. Rather than cause her any anxiety, the familiar sound of Kalinda's voice and the imaginary click of her boots on tile had just spurned Alicia on, increasing her rhythm and bringing her to climax.
The memory of Will underneath her now made Alicia's throat feel uncomfortably tight, so she forced herself to refocus on her image in the mirror.
Her hands now reached her cesarean scar, and she traced the outline that had brought her Zach. Her son had once asked her if he was like his father. The answer was more complicated than she had let on at the time. Looking at herself now, it struck her that she was more like Peter than Zach was. Peter, who had hurt her, had loved her, had understood her, had underestimated her. The first person with whom she had had really good sex. As loud as she had been in bed with Will, she was always quiet with Peter. They had had sex so great (and so often in those days) that she had been brought to tears, but she had always been quiet.
Her hands finally crept between her legs. She wondered what it would be like to wander the streets of Chicago as an anonymous woman. What would it be like if her public and private life were one and the same? She didn't want to be someone else; she just wanted to find a way out of the maze. She thought of John. Of Finn. What would it be like to simply pick up the phone and invite one of them over to finish what she had already started tonight? To suffer no unpleasant consequences after a night of mutually enjoyable sex?
Alicia stared at herself. Her mother-in-law's voice echoed in her ears. "We women stay in the shadows. We smile, we comfort, we nurse, but we're always there. You're a good woman, Alicia." Alicia moved from her spot in front of the mirror. She bypassed her cellphone sitting silently on top of her nightstand, reached inside the drawer, and grabbed her vibrator. Her head hit the pillow, and she silenced her memories.
