Part Six
"You really are an ass, Max." Liz words are spoken matter-of-factly.
"I am?"
"Yes. You never did have any skills with women. What did you think you were doing with Maria?"
"Nothing. I mean."
"You were thinking about making a move on her and you don't even really care about her, do you? That's what I thought - you're an ass."
"But-but I do care about Maria."
"How can you? How can you when you still care about me?"
I laugh. "But I don't care about you anymore."
Her smile is annoying. "Yes, you do. You always will. You'll never be free of me."
I look past her and see Iz nodding her head. "It's true, Max."
I start to feel a little frantic. "What's true, Isabel?"
"You're an ass. And you're never going to get over Liz."
"Aren't you listening to me? I AM over Liz!"
Michael appears behind me. "Yes, but you're still an ass. What were you thinking?"
I expect the Big Chill, but it never comes. I have a whole arsenal of excuses, explanations and placations, but I never have to use them. I expect uneasiness, but that is missing as well.
It's somewhat baffling that there is no fallout from my rejection of Maria. Maybe she's a little less rambunctious around me, but other than that it's almost as though the incident never happened. I'm happy and unhappy about that all at the same time. I can't say it hasn't bruised my ego.
Maybe she wasn't really attracted to me at that moment. Maybe it was just because I was grinding into her back. I don't know.
So life goes on. I find Kyle's letter stuck between the wall and the cash register and write down the return address. I feel restless, like I need to be on the move again. Maybe Kyle would like a sidekick for a change. Then again, he's probably moved on already and my letter would never find him.
Maria returns from running an errand with a dry cleaner bag in her hand. Through the plastic, I can see a rather pretty, champagne-colored dress and I immediately wonder what she looks like in it.
"What's that?" I ask, dropping the box of shaving gel I was holding and pointing to the bag.
She looks at it like she's never seen it before. "This?"
"Yeah."
"Um, a dress." She looks oddly uncomfortable. Oh God - maybe she has a date! Wait.why am I upset if she has a date?
"I can see that," I laugh. "It's pretty, um, formal."
"Yeah." She pulls the bag closer to her, almost like she's trying to hide it. Then she blows out a sigh and tosses one of her hands in the air. "It's a bridesmaid dress, Max."
A what? I'm about to ask who's getting married when it strikes me all at once and I can practically feel the blood drain out of my face. Yes, I know there is no hope for me and Liz, but it still hurts to hear and see the details.
"Oh," I reply stupidly. I clear my throat, then squat to open the box of gel. Forgetting I'm in a public place, I forego the razor and slide my hand across the seal, the box popping open obediently.
I feel her presence near me and when I look up, she's standing over me, having shed the dry cleaner bag.
"You okay with this?" she asks.
"Does it matter?" I reply. She recoils a bit and I realize my response came out a little harsh. "I mean, who am I to stand between you and Liz's wedding? You two have been friends for almost all of your lives. I couldn't deny you that." Besides, what right do I have to saying a word about anything Maria does?
"I'll try not to talk about it," she offers uneasily.
I want out of this conversation, so I pull one of the cans of shaving gel from the box and change the subject rather obviously. "What's this? Something new?"
Her green eyes shift to the can. "Yeah. I decided to carry some more stuff for men. Maybe broaden my clientele a bit."
I turn the can over so I can see the label - it's blue and decorated with something scenic. I'm a guy - it looks foofy and there's no way I'd buy this. "Mountain Mist?" I read the label aloud.
"It's supposed to be good stuff." She eyes the can, then me, then those unbelievable lips break into a smile. "You should try it."
I can't help it - I laugh.
"Seriously," she says, laughing with me. Reaching out, her long fingers trail down my cheek. I practically quiver at her touch. "You could use a shave."
"Maria, I don't think -"
"I do." She grabs a razor from the display, yanks the can from my hand and walks toward the small bathroom behind the stockroom without so much as a backward glance.
I sigh. I know how she is - there's no way out of this and I might as well just go do it and get it over with.
In the bathroom, she's run a sink of water and has laid a towel on the back of the commode. Without turning around, she hands me the razor. I sigh again and warn myself to stop it or she'll catch on to my lack of enthusiasm.as if she hasn't already.
Then the obvious dawns on me. "Maria, there is no mirror in here."
The bathroom was built for employee use and most employees don't shave on the job.
She looks up to where the mirror should be. "I've never noticed that," she says, her voice somewhat awed.
Yes! I'm off the hook!
Then she whirls on me, slams the toilet lid. "Have a seat."
I blink. "Huh?"
"Sit down. I'll do it."
I can't think of many people I'd let take a razor to my throat but I find myself obeying, sitting down on the flimsy lid. She dips her hands in the sink, wetting them, then squirts some of the gel into her palm. Immediately the air is filled with the scent of something I can't really put my finger on. I guess that is what the manufacturers think mountain mist smells like. To me, it smells like car deodorizer.
But the way it feels is another story. Or maybe it's the person applying it, I'm not sure. It tingles in an invigorating kind of way. Maria's soft fingers move over my cheeks, across my chin, halfway down my throat. My eyes never leave her - I can't stop staring at her.
She washes the residual gel from her hands, dries them on the towel, then picks up the razor. My eyes go to it and I swallow hard, thinking about how many of my enemies would love to have been in her shoes at this moment. She must see the fear in my eyes because she meets my gaze and her voice projects only confidence. "Trust me."
So I do. Placing her fingers on my chin, she tilts my head back slightly then makes a long stroke with the blade. The air is silent save for the scraping of my beard being whisked away. I just stare at her the whole time, moving my head when she wants me to. She looks very serious as she goes about her work, shaving, cleaning the razor in the sink, repeating.
When she is done, she drops the razor into the sink of water and wipes remnants of gel from my face with the towel. Then we just stare at one another and I feel the same energy I felt that day in the store room. It wasn't my imagination or my ego speaking - there's really something going on here.
Tentative, she reaches out and touches my cheek, her eyes locked on mine. At her touch, I feel the familiar excitement growing in my body, my heart starting to race, my knees feeling weak. I want to hold her so much I ache.
So I do. I reach out and put my arms around her waist, spread my legs so that she can step between them. Then I pull her close and lay my head against her flat stomach. Her arms come around my shoulders and I feel like we are melting into one. Closing my eyes, I just savor all of the sensations - how she smells, how she feels, how she sounds as her breath starts to come a little quicker.
I feel strangely at home, like I thought I never would again. For the first time since Michael and I took up the good fight, I feel peace spreading through me. I want to stay here forever. But I also want to kiss her and that means I'll need to let go.
I look up into her eyes and I see that she's thinking the same thing. As I reach for her neck, to pull her lips to mine, the bell on the shop door rings as a customer enters. The fire in her eyes is extinguished in a disappointing split second of time. She untangles herself and without a word heads out to the shop.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Peterson," I hear her say, her voice not betraying what was about to happened in this tiny bathroom. I admire her that she can bounce back and cover so easily.
Me, I'm going to have to sit in this small space until I can be seen without embarrassing myself.
"You really are an ass, Max." Liz words are spoken matter-of-factly.
"I am?"
"Yes. You never did have any skills with women. What did you think you were doing with Maria?"
"Nothing. I mean."
"You were thinking about making a move on her and you don't even really care about her, do you? That's what I thought - you're an ass."
"But-but I do care about Maria."
"How can you? How can you when you still care about me?"
I laugh. "But I don't care about you anymore."
Her smile is annoying. "Yes, you do. You always will. You'll never be free of me."
I look past her and see Iz nodding her head. "It's true, Max."
I start to feel a little frantic. "What's true, Isabel?"
"You're an ass. And you're never going to get over Liz."
"Aren't you listening to me? I AM over Liz!"
Michael appears behind me. "Yes, but you're still an ass. What were you thinking?"
I expect the Big Chill, but it never comes. I have a whole arsenal of excuses, explanations and placations, but I never have to use them. I expect uneasiness, but that is missing as well.
It's somewhat baffling that there is no fallout from my rejection of Maria. Maybe she's a little less rambunctious around me, but other than that it's almost as though the incident never happened. I'm happy and unhappy about that all at the same time. I can't say it hasn't bruised my ego.
Maybe she wasn't really attracted to me at that moment. Maybe it was just because I was grinding into her back. I don't know.
So life goes on. I find Kyle's letter stuck between the wall and the cash register and write down the return address. I feel restless, like I need to be on the move again. Maybe Kyle would like a sidekick for a change. Then again, he's probably moved on already and my letter would never find him.
Maria returns from running an errand with a dry cleaner bag in her hand. Through the plastic, I can see a rather pretty, champagne-colored dress and I immediately wonder what she looks like in it.
"What's that?" I ask, dropping the box of shaving gel I was holding and pointing to the bag.
She looks at it like she's never seen it before. "This?"
"Yeah."
"Um, a dress." She looks oddly uncomfortable. Oh God - maybe she has a date! Wait.why am I upset if she has a date?
"I can see that," I laugh. "It's pretty, um, formal."
"Yeah." She pulls the bag closer to her, almost like she's trying to hide it. Then she blows out a sigh and tosses one of her hands in the air. "It's a bridesmaid dress, Max."
A what? I'm about to ask who's getting married when it strikes me all at once and I can practically feel the blood drain out of my face. Yes, I know there is no hope for me and Liz, but it still hurts to hear and see the details.
"Oh," I reply stupidly. I clear my throat, then squat to open the box of gel. Forgetting I'm in a public place, I forego the razor and slide my hand across the seal, the box popping open obediently.
I feel her presence near me and when I look up, she's standing over me, having shed the dry cleaner bag.
"You okay with this?" she asks.
"Does it matter?" I reply. She recoils a bit and I realize my response came out a little harsh. "I mean, who am I to stand between you and Liz's wedding? You two have been friends for almost all of your lives. I couldn't deny you that." Besides, what right do I have to saying a word about anything Maria does?
"I'll try not to talk about it," she offers uneasily.
I want out of this conversation, so I pull one of the cans of shaving gel from the box and change the subject rather obviously. "What's this? Something new?"
Her green eyes shift to the can. "Yeah. I decided to carry some more stuff for men. Maybe broaden my clientele a bit."
I turn the can over so I can see the label - it's blue and decorated with something scenic. I'm a guy - it looks foofy and there's no way I'd buy this. "Mountain Mist?" I read the label aloud.
"It's supposed to be good stuff." She eyes the can, then me, then those unbelievable lips break into a smile. "You should try it."
I can't help it - I laugh.
"Seriously," she says, laughing with me. Reaching out, her long fingers trail down my cheek. I practically quiver at her touch. "You could use a shave."
"Maria, I don't think -"
"I do." She grabs a razor from the display, yanks the can from my hand and walks toward the small bathroom behind the stockroom without so much as a backward glance.
I sigh. I know how she is - there's no way out of this and I might as well just go do it and get it over with.
In the bathroom, she's run a sink of water and has laid a towel on the back of the commode. Without turning around, she hands me the razor. I sigh again and warn myself to stop it or she'll catch on to my lack of enthusiasm.as if she hasn't already.
Then the obvious dawns on me. "Maria, there is no mirror in here."
The bathroom was built for employee use and most employees don't shave on the job.
She looks up to where the mirror should be. "I've never noticed that," she says, her voice somewhat awed.
Yes! I'm off the hook!
Then she whirls on me, slams the toilet lid. "Have a seat."
I blink. "Huh?"
"Sit down. I'll do it."
I can't think of many people I'd let take a razor to my throat but I find myself obeying, sitting down on the flimsy lid. She dips her hands in the sink, wetting them, then squirts some of the gel into her palm. Immediately the air is filled with the scent of something I can't really put my finger on. I guess that is what the manufacturers think mountain mist smells like. To me, it smells like car deodorizer.
But the way it feels is another story. Or maybe it's the person applying it, I'm not sure. It tingles in an invigorating kind of way. Maria's soft fingers move over my cheeks, across my chin, halfway down my throat. My eyes never leave her - I can't stop staring at her.
She washes the residual gel from her hands, dries them on the towel, then picks up the razor. My eyes go to it and I swallow hard, thinking about how many of my enemies would love to have been in her shoes at this moment. She must see the fear in my eyes because she meets my gaze and her voice projects only confidence. "Trust me."
So I do. Placing her fingers on my chin, she tilts my head back slightly then makes a long stroke with the blade. The air is silent save for the scraping of my beard being whisked away. I just stare at her the whole time, moving my head when she wants me to. She looks very serious as she goes about her work, shaving, cleaning the razor in the sink, repeating.
When she is done, she drops the razor into the sink of water and wipes remnants of gel from my face with the towel. Then we just stare at one another and I feel the same energy I felt that day in the store room. It wasn't my imagination or my ego speaking - there's really something going on here.
Tentative, she reaches out and touches my cheek, her eyes locked on mine. At her touch, I feel the familiar excitement growing in my body, my heart starting to race, my knees feeling weak. I want to hold her so much I ache.
So I do. I reach out and put my arms around her waist, spread my legs so that she can step between them. Then I pull her close and lay my head against her flat stomach. Her arms come around my shoulders and I feel like we are melting into one. Closing my eyes, I just savor all of the sensations - how she smells, how she feels, how she sounds as her breath starts to come a little quicker.
I feel strangely at home, like I thought I never would again. For the first time since Michael and I took up the good fight, I feel peace spreading through me. I want to stay here forever. But I also want to kiss her and that means I'll need to let go.
I look up into her eyes and I see that she's thinking the same thing. As I reach for her neck, to pull her lips to mine, the bell on the shop door rings as a customer enters. The fire in her eyes is extinguished in a disappointing split second of time. She untangles herself and without a word heads out to the shop.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Peterson," I hear her say, her voice not betraying what was about to happened in this tiny bathroom. I admire her that she can bounce back and cover so easily.
Me, I'm going to have to sit in this small space until I can be seen without embarrassing myself.