1Before There Was Darkness LongLashes1
Part Twelve
There was something special about the city at Christmas; the enchantment of the store windows adorned in their holiday finest, strings of lights garlanded across the barren tree branches like strands of multi-colored jewels, the unspoiled beauty of the city streets cloaked in the glistening diamonds of a new fallen snow. With the bells jingling in perfect rhythm to the spirited canter of the horse drawing the carriage and the tranquil beauty of the winter world surrounding them, it was exactly the beginning Jim had hoped for.
"Hey, are you okay?" He looked down at her, snuggled tightly against his arm, her cheeks rosy from the cold night air, her eyes bright and full of life.
"I am. This is wonderful, Jim. I haven't had a carriage ride in, I don't really remember when. I was just a little girl. And I've never had one in winter. It's magic." He knew she thought it was; it was written in the expression on her face and the sparkle in her eyes. "So, are you ready to tell me where we're going?"
"I don't remember saying I would." Jim hoped to draw this out for as long as possible. He was intent on not giving up the secret just yet. It had cost him some very old, very big favors but he had gladly paid the price.
Passing Rockefeller Center, he leaned forward and tapped the horseman on the shoulder, indicating that he should stop. The majesty of the tree was, as it had been each and every year before, more spectacular than the last. Its reflection was echoed a thousand times over in the dark glass facades of the buildings sheltering the plaza. A flurry of bright colors and laughter filled the night air as the skaters whirled and glided their way across the frozen surface of the pond.
"It looks like they're having a ball out there. Do you skate, Jim?"
He laughed. "No. But if I ever decide I could risk another broken arm, I might just give it a shot. You?"
"Another one of those things I did a long time ago. I haven't skated in years. I don't even know if I would remember how." Settling back on the seat again, resting comfortably in the crook of his arm, she gazed up at him. "So, if you don't skate, I guess this isn't our final destination this evening?"
"That's right."
"Oh, come on, Jim, please," she pleaded with him. "Just a hint?"
"Alright, alright. Since you seem to be having such a hard time with this." He grinned. "It involves snow and lights. Lots of snow and lots of lights."
"What kind of hint is that? That could be just about anywhere."
"Exactly and that's as specific as I'm going to get."
"You love this don't you?" She mocked frustration, but there was a lighthearted, playfultone to her voice.
"As I said before, Christine, don't you like surprises?" He tapped the horseman again and the carriage moved on.
They wound their way leisurely along the rim of Central Park and onto West 67th Street, coming to a final stop at the opulence of Tavern on the Green. As grandiose as the old red brick and stone structure was on any other occasion, at Christmas it was a true vision. Every nearby tree was a shimmer with white lights wrapped tightly round the trunks and laced through the starkness of the bare branches. Each window of the grand old building was aglow with white paper lanterns and tiny fairy lights. There wasn't a nook or cranny, outside or in, that wasn't touched with some symbol of the season.
He took her hand and helped her down from the carriage. Her eyes were radiant. She wrapped her hand tightly around his arm and smiled. "I should have known, Jim. It's beautiful!" She brushed his cheek lightly with a gentle kiss, affirmation for him of what he thought he had read in her expression earlier in the evening.
"I'm glad you're pleased." Escorting her along the brick walkway, his hand positioned in the small of her back, he marveled at how well things appeared to be going. Even on those few occasions where silence had descended between them, it had seemed natural. There was an easy calm to those quiet moments. He had never known that with anyone else.
Seated at a window table in the Crystal Pavilion, the splendor of Central Park cloaked in its mantle of white before them, the black velvet backdrop of the sky behind it, they toasted their first date and each other. It seemed so appropriate to Jim that meeting her had occurred at the end of a year that had already seen so many changes in his life, and at the beginning of another. One, that at this moment, with his fingers contentedly entwined with hers, held the promise of something so new.
"Jimmy, take me back to your place." She had leaned over and whispered it softly but there was a sultriness to the tone of her voice. He hadn't heard it before.
Although they had been seeing each other regularly, spending as many of their waking moments together as possible, it surprised him that she would be the first to hint that their relationship should progress to that next plateau. He hadn't wanted to push too hard or too soon and had never attempted to broach the subject with her; her suggestion that she was ready to move forward was all he needed to hear.
"Okay, then, let's get out of here." He dropped a twenty on the table, more than sufficient to cover the tab for their shortened evening.
Unlocking the front door, he led her down the hall toward the darkened bedroom and reached for the light switch. She put her hand out to stop him.
"No, leave it off for now," she managed, pulling him closer to her, catching his mouth with hers. One hand played lazily in the back his hair, the other fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. With the satisfaction of finally baring the taut muscles of his chest and shoulders, she slid the shirt down his arms and let it drop carelessly to the floor. She trailed her lips across his. Her tongue traced a path down his chin, his neck, his chest, across the muscles of his stomach and stopped just short of his waistline. She reached for his pants, unbuckled his belt and moved her hand slowly down, until she found him. Her fingers touched, caressed and teased.
"Christie." His breath was ragged in his chest, his heart pounding. He drew her back up to him and lifted the sweater over her head, tossing it into the corner . The thin satin of her camisole was no match for his will to explore, to feel, to touch. He raised the camisole and buried his head in the valley between her breasts; his hands moved tenderly over the gentle curves of body to the waistband of her skirt. Sliding under the soft fabric of her panties, his fingers trailed lower until he felt her tremble beneath his touch.
With his arm encircling her waist, her mouth help captive by his, he walked her backward slowly and lowered her gently to the bed, engulfing her small body under his. There was a passionate heat behind her kiss, a need behind her touch and a desire in her eyes. He knew his desire was there, too, laid bare for her to see.
They stripped off the final barriers and explored, as only new lovers could. When, at last, she took him deep inside, they moved together in perfect rhythm, poetry between them, a rhyming of their newfound desire for each other. Their motions were slow and deliberate, gentle at times, forceful at others. And when it appeared that they were both close to the pinnacle, he slowed and pulled back, not wanting to end it too soon. Every change in her expression, every emotion in her eyes was firmly etched in his mind. This time, their first time, was meant to be remembered.
Finally allowing themselves to reach the height of their passion, climaxing as one, they laid together, spent, exhausted and satisfied. He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head and pulled her closer to him, every curve of her body a fit with his. Then they slept.
Morning was just breaking, the sun not quite a splinter of pale light in the cold gray of the mid-winter sky. It was much too early to be awake but sleep seemed to elude him, again, just as it had for the past several nights. Thoughts of her ran circles around his need for rest.
Four days ago, he had driven her to LaGuardia, watched her board that plane to Los Angeles, and on the long drive back into the City, faced the fact that she was gone and he felt nothing more than alone. Their conversations each night only served to intensify his heightened sense of solitude and he found himself counting the hours between her calls. It was easy to deal with the loneliness during the day with his mind firmly focused on his job.
Occupied by the tasks at hand, he didn't have time to let those feelings overwhelm him. But the minute he hung up the gun at the end of the day and closed the locker door, his mind would inevitably wander to her, to his need to see her, be with her, to hold her, to make love to her. There was absolutely no denying it; he missed her, everything about her, above all, all the little things that he had grown so accustomed to.
He missed being able to gaze into her eyes, to see the raw emotion reflected there, her warmth, her humor, her pleasure. He missed the feel of her hair, the softness of it against his skin. He missed her scent, the subtle, feminine bouquet of it, the lingering effect it seemed to have on him. He missed the touch of her hand, small and delicate, but seeming, somehow, to belong in his. He missed her smile; he had heard it in her voice but the effect wasn't the same when he couldn't see how that smile lit up her beautiful face.
He wondered if it was even possible that his life could have changed so drastically in such a short period of time. This woman, the one who, just a few short months ago he had determined to be way out of his league, who couldn't possibly occupy a place in his world, seemed to equal him, satisfy him and complete him as no one else had been able to do. When he was with her, it was as though the blank spaces in the canvas of his life were finally satiated with color; the picture was perfect and whole.
God, Dunbar, you are so screwed! She's under your skin and she's in deep. But, is this really as good as I think it is? Isn't it just a little too soon to know for sure? Does anyone ever really know for sure or is it just a leap of faith?
What do I have to base any of this on, anyway? It's not like I have anything to compare it to…Or maybe I do. And that's why I know what good feels like; because I've lived through the bad and I know that's not what I want my life to be. I want it to be like this.
He glanced over at the clock; another seven hours and she would be back on the ground and back in his life. It was going to be a very long day.
Picking up the phone, he dialed a long distance number. The phone rang, once, twice, three times. Come on, please answer.
"Hello?" Her voice was sleepy; he'd completely forgotten about the time change.
"Mom, it's Jimmy."
"Jimmy," there was a sudden urgency to her voice. "Is everything okay? It's so early."
"Yeah, sorry about that. But Mom, I have something to tell you."