Overall, updates should be coming significantly more frequently, now. I'd wager once a week, probably. On a good day. Maybe. :-)
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Rachel squinted her eyes open at the soft sound of knocking on her front door. She whimpered in frustration and glanced over at her bright red alarm clock, which insisted that it was only 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, meaning that the visitor could only be one of two people: Erica coming back from a routine one-night stand, or Satan, himself.
"Erica!?" she shouted, her voice cracking slightly as her vocal chords had not been adequately warmed up yet.
"What?!" she heard her sassy roommate snap back, obviously having been disturbed from slumber. Well, that ruled out that possibility.
'There's better be a bull-like man with horns and a trident standing on the other side of that door when I open it, then' she cynically contemplated as she rolled from her cozy haven and padded huffily to the front door. Light was seeping into the living room from cracks in the closed drapes, and Rachel groaned in protest as the rays hit her eyes.
"Who is it?" she demanded, her voice still filled with fatigue and annoyance.
"The Love Doctor," she heard muttered from the other side of the door, causing her to smile in spite of herself. Ah, yes. Of course.
"We don't want any," she jibed, crossing her arms over her chest, turning and actually considering doing it, leaving him stranded alone out in the hallway.
"Alright, then how about Jude Law?" She actually giggled aloud this time and stopped in her tracks. Begrudgingly, she turned around on her heels and rolled her eyes at herself. 'So weak, Rachel,' she berated. 'You're so weak.'
"If I open this door, I'm expecting a flawless Englishman and an equally flawless British accent," she warned, precipitately unlocking the door, anyway, without requiring him to prove himself. An already awkward, Jewish Long Islander trying to pull off a classy English brogue was the last thing she needed to endure this morning.
She opened the door to a surprisingly refined Ross. He was wearing a brown pair of cotton dress pants and a tucked-in, light pink, button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was jelled and he smelled faintly of after-shave. She cocked an eyebrow and found it difficult to glance away. He undoubtedly looked very sexy, in that classy, metrosexual kind of way. He grinned wickedly, telling her that he knew it.
"Wow, did you get hit by a Banana Republic truck on your way over here?" she quipped, but they both knew it was just a feeble attempt at veiling her increasing, undeniable attraction to him. She was practically drooling.
"I'll choose to ignore that while you pick your jaw up off the floor," he retaliated, brushing past her into the apartment, grinning like an idiot.
"Jack-ass," she murmured, locking the door behind him and beginning to amble back into her bedroom.
"Where you going?" he asked, hot on her heels in pursuit.
"Back to sleep," she deadpanned, not stopping or even turning to look back at him.
"Come on, the day's half shot! We've got things to do! People to meet..."
"Or assassinate..." she retorted, making it up the stairs and back into her bed.
She pulled the comforter up over her head and pretended to actually be attempting more sleep. They both knew she wouldn't be able to do it now that he was here, though. Secretly, wrapped inside her retreat, she was smiling at how effortless and comfortably their jabber was this morning-- how domestic-- and at how their relationship had apparently just reached a stage where it was acceptable to drop in, unannounced, first thing in the morning. She felt him lay down beside her on the bed, and even through the several layers of sheets, his proximity to her could make her tremble.
He carefully pulled back the sheets from over her head and nuzzled his nose into the back of her neck, draping an arm over her and spooning in behind her. She desperately tried suffocating the imminent giggles she felt welling up inside her upon his each and every touch, but, just like every other time, she was unsuccessful. She was literally giddy around him. She couldn't deny it. She couldn't deny him.
"If you just came over for a morning quicky--" she began, but he cut her off by sliding his tongue over her ear.
"I know you're not a sex-in-the-morning kind of girl," he revealed. The intimacy of him knowing that made her even more smitten. She merely nodded and closed her eyes, letting the sweet smell of his cologne and aftershave waft over her. One of his hands was massaging her lower back, while the other played with her hair. The concentricity of the combination relaxed her, and she could literally feel her muscles and tension loosening and washing away.
She turned to face him and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his middle and kissing his throat where the top button was undone on his shirt. There was just no way she was going to hold out on her 'hard-to-get ice queen' act while he was looking and smelling like he did.
"This is nice," he admitted. The discrepancy between the 'suave, cool' way he'd been acting up until now and these completely honest, sweet words was noticeable, but Rachel chose not to call him out on it. She knew the real Ross wasn't this Don Juan-esque guy who'd shown up at her door. He looked the part, alright, but he was still just a big teddy bear at heart. He only furthered this perception by adding a very honest "I like being with you in the morning".
"So what exactly DID you come here for?" she asked. Ah, the inevitable. Part of her hoped it was just for this-- to hold her and sleep with her-- but she knew he wouldn't be dressed like he was, if that were the case.
"I want to show you something," he bared, stroking her back beneath her top and tracing lazy circles over her skin.
"Mmm, do I have to get dressed?" she whined.
"I'm really not the guy to give an objective answer to that question," he joked, and she swatted him playfully on the arm. Sitting up and scooting off the bed, she left him laying there amongst the mess of sheets and pillows.
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"Ross, this is ridiculous!" she griped. "First, we walked, like, a MILE to the subway station. Then, we drove around for at least an hour in that God-awful, disgusting cab with the smelly driver, and now you have me hiking up what seems to be Manhattan's Everest-of-a-hill! Unless this place you're taking me is actually Heaven, itself, I don't see how this could POSSIBLY be worth it!"
Ross chuckled to himself and looked down at where his feet were beating relentlessly against the sidewalk's pavement. This girl had no idea. She'd be eating her words in about 10 minutes. Instead of informing her of this, however, he merely reached over and intertwined her fingers with his, bringing her hand up to his mouth and kissing the back of it.
"We're almost there," he assured her.
After another complaint-filled minutes, thanks to Rachel, the pair reached their destination. Rachel stood gaping at the scene before her, literally breathless, holding her hand over her mouth. It was one of the most beautiful panoramas she'd ever beheld.
They'd reached the peak of a large hill on the outskirts of the city, which served as an accommodation for several penthouses and chateaus they were built into the side of it. It was several hundred feet high and contained what was probably the only significant amount of grassy land on the island, besides the Park, or course. There were trees and flowers scattered all around the top of the small mountain, and the entire city could be seen from where they were standing. It being almost dusk, as it was, the lights were beginning to ignite and the empirical skyline was just now drawing its famed distinction. They were witnessing, front and center, the prime of the number-one tourist spot in the country.
This was not even the most staggering thing about this spot that Ross had led her to. Directly in front of them was a small, rustic-looking, rod-iron gate set beneath an arch of vines and lilies. It was the entrance to a small, secluded garden.
"Ross, this is..." she trailed off, shaking her head and literally at a loss for words. She continued to stare out over the city, letting the night's inaugural wind ruffle her hair and wisp around her skin, giving her goosebumps.
"I know," he nodded, agreeing with whatever adjective she might have chosen. Whatever it was, it would have been inadequate to describe the scene they were surveying, but he knew too well the emotion that was being evoked inside her at that moment. It was undoubtedly the exact same emotion he'd felt stir within himself when he'd visited this place for the first time.
From behind her, he placed his hands lightly on her sides and urged her forward through the gate, each of them having to bend a little to fit. Once inside, Rachel realized the 'garden' was actually a miniature version of what a garden might be, if it weren't dwarfed by its surroundings and landscaping. It was open and airy, and the fence around the outside only rose to Rachel's waist. There were small cobblestones leading around the bends and curvatures of it, provoking its visitors into its secret little caverns and clandestine hideaways. Thought it was small (probably only about 50 yards in diameter), it was thickly furnished with a plethora of vines and flowers and small trees. One could most certainly get lost for hours in there, if they were so inclined.
Rachel almost forgot about Ross' presence as she took in the impossibly beautiful, quaint little plot, but she was reminded when she felt his hand slide around her waist from behind and his chin come to rest on her shoulder. He turned her so they were, once again, facing the ravine before the city. Even in the moments they'd been looking away, it seemed that at least a thousand more lights might have lit up.
"What is this place?" she asked, not sure what she was actually asking or how he'd answer. It was a garden, quite obviously, and she knew that was probably the extent of its classification. It seemed too majestic to be just ANY garden, though. Part of her didn't think she'd be surprised if he answered with 'Eden'.
"I don't know," he confessed, kissing her shoulder. "I stumbled across it during a morning jog in college. It was like it rose up from nowhere. I didn't even see it until I was right on top of it."
"Does someone own it?" she asked, closing her eyes and rolling her head to one side to allow him to kiss her more easily there.
"I've never seen anyone else up here," he revealed, shrugging his shoulders.
Upon hearing those words, something suddenly occurred to Rachel, and she felt instantly guilty. The thought inundated her, though, so she had to ask.
"Have you ever brought anyone else up here?" she asked, her voice small and curious.
He suddenly stopped his ministrations on her neck, and she felt his body stiffen behind her. She could tell she'd struck a nerve. Whatever it was that had just come between them, she knew instantly, without doubt, that it was what he'd brought her here to talk about.
"Ross?" she beckoned, provoking him to say whatever it was that had suddenly upset him.
"Come here, I want to talk to you," he all but whispered, and he took her hand and led her over to the back corner of the garden, to a nook where the fence had fallen over and a small, dilapidated, antique-looking bench barely held its frame. He sat her down there, before the city, in all its glory, and the wood creaked beneath their combined weight.
"What is it?" she asked, the energy between them slowly icing over, as if all the millions of invisible molecules that had been racing back and forth kinetically between them before had all congealed and frozen in place. They had never had a moment as somber as this, even for all their fights. The air was thick with secrecy and apprehension.
"There's something you don't know about me..." he began, not sure of how he was going to start.
"There are a lot of things I don't know about you," she pointed out, trying to lighten the moment. It worked, at least momentarily, and she succeeded in provoking a small smile from him.
"Yeah, well, this particular thing is sort of...um..." He hesitated, taking her hands in his and furrowing his brow, searching for some insight. "Well, uh, I think it's important that you know it."
"Okay..." she braced herself, searching his eyes for some sort of reassurance. Something told her this revelation wouldn't exactly be bad, per se, but would definitely blindside her. It was just not occurring to her how little she and Ross DID know about each other, even after so long. Aside from their past dysfunctional sex lives, they really knew close to nothing. She rolled the enumerate possibilities over inside her mind. 'Oh, God, please don't let him be gay...or married...or a felon...or...'
"I used to be married," he blurted, as if he could read her thoughts and was trying to stop her from getting any further into her list of bizarre conjectures.
She was stunned. This revelation was far from derailing, but it had definitely taken her by surprise. Somehow, she was afraid to look at him, now, because she was terrified of seeing a different man entirely. Part of her liked the ambiguity of their relationship-- the freshness of it, and the way it'd allowed them to forget select parts of their past. From the way he'd said it, Rachel thought maybe this former marriage was a part of Ross' life he'd have chosen to forget, if he could. Maybe she would have chosen that, too. Exposures such as these left too much room for change. Change, obviously, scared the shit out of them both.
"Say something," he pleaded, though it actually more closely resembled a statement than a request.
"Yeah, sorry, I...um...How-how long ago?"
"About 3 years," he disclosed. "We were both in Grad school. She was my first love, and we'd been dating for a few years, and everyone was telling me to just do it, so...I proposed..." he rambled. "Here."
Upon his last word, Rachel looked down at where she was sitting with a look of confusion mixed with disdain-- like the quaint little bench that had just been there had suddenly transformed into something else-- something tainted.
"Like,here here?" she asked, pointing down at the bench. He nodded, almost regretfully.
"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have brought you here to tell you, it's just that--"
"Yeah, maybe not," she confirmed, realizing now just now uncomfortable and, oddly enough, jealous all of this was making her. She stood up and walked over to the bent fence and stood with her back to him, inhaling deeply and struggling to process all of this. Ross had been married. So? It wasn't like he was STILL married. Why did this bother her so much?
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, obviously embarrassed and feeling like a jerk. "I just wanted you to know. I realize, now, that I'm not even sure why," he admitted, chuckling at his own obtuseness. Of course something like this would make her distressed. Maybe she'd see this as a form of dishonesty. Maybe she'd never be able to look at him the same way, now.
She turned around from staring out over the city and faced him, hands on her hips in her classic defense pose. Her face was serious but hopeful. She hadn't closed down completely. She was still seeking answers within him. She was still interested-- wanted to understand this better.
"Are you still friends with this woman?" she asked, her voice steady and immaculately careful. Her emotions were right on the surface, threatening to bleed through, but she held her composure. So Rachel.
"No," he shook his head. "I haven't even seen her since she moved out. She sent me an e-mail a few months ago, but..." He debated whether or not he should finish the sentence the way he'd meant to. It would either hearten or disilluation her-- either drawn her nearer or scare her away. He decided to say it, anyway. "...but I deleted it the night I met you."
He saw her face relax and the warm, familiarity reenter it, and he sighed with relief. Always go with your first instinct. He knew he could be honest with her, even if it was indirectly, about how deeply she touched and moved him.
"Well, then, um...Why didn't things work out between you?" she wagered. She hoped this wasn't too sensitive or prying a question.
"She was a lesbian," he bombshelled, stating it straight-faced and flawlessly, without mercy or hesitation. It sounded almost rehearsed. He'd most likely had to explain his failed marriage many times before, she considered.
"Oh..." She felt so stupid, now. This poor, tortured man had been degraded and embarrassed-- dumped by the woman he'd loved-- and all Rachel had wanted to do was to assign blame. He'd felt comfortable enough with her to share such a lonely, personal time in his life, and she'd overreacted and gotten defensive. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage, and it was a painfully weak sentiment, devoid of comfort or even assurance.
"Hey..." he sighed, tipping her chin up with his index finger so he could look into her eyes, "don't be sorry." He shook his head and smiled warmly. "I'm not."
"So is this what you brought me here for?" she chuckled, and immediately regretted doing so, in case that had been his sole intent and her laughter at degraded the gesture.
"No," he shook his head calmly, still staring unfalteringly into her eyes. "I brought you here because..." He vacillated, hesitant about the seemingly momentous gesture he was about to make. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, he saw her piercing blue eyes gazing back intently at him, hanging on his every word, and he suddenly felt safe enough to say it.
"Because I wanted to continue the tradition of only showing this place to the woman I love."
There. He'd said it. If he were being honest with himself, he'd been thinking it since that second night he'd met her-- the night they'd made love for the first time-- but it wasn't until recently that the inclination had branded itself into his brain, refusing to leave or even diminish. He loved her. He'd known her a matter of months, and he loved her more than he'd loved his wife, if that were possible. She smiled widely, her eyes piercing his with their intense warmth and her notorious giggle traveling melodious from her throat to his ears. He basked in it. This moment was the first (and maybe last) true fairytale, time-standing-still one of his life, and he knew that he'd remember it forever-- everything about it. He'd remember the way her laugh sounded, high-pitched but soft at the same time, the way her eyes had lit up, the way she'd placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled so widely and giddily (he'd made a girl giddy!), the way the wind had so strategically tousled her hair.
"So, um, do these many, MANY woman always love you back?" She teased, smiling widely and obviously just toying with him. He smiled initially and shook his head at the way she'd forever tease him, but suddenly the smile vanished from his face and he looked at stared with the utmost longing and passion.
"God, I hope so," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief that this beautiful woman was even sitting here-- that this moment was real and she could even CONSIDER loving him. She rubbed his knee delicately and gazed back with equal fervor.
"Just don't break the girl's heart after you bring her here, okay?" she beseeched, her tone the most heart-melting combination of fear and hope. Could it possibly be that this girl loved and needed him as much as he did her?
In response, he took her face in his hand and pressed his lips firmly to hers, crushing their mouths together. Her hands went instinctively around his wrists, and they instantaneously deepened it, pushing their tongues against each other's as he moved his hands into her hair and she moved hers to his waist.
Just then, seemingly from nowhere, the sky opened up the Heavens began to weep, pouring down their torrential showers onto the pair of intertwined lovers. They didn't budge, though-- didn't even react. They continued their kissing, never attempting to make or more. They sat there on that bench for hours, overlooking the city, kissing and laughing and touching-- each undertaking serving as its own assertion of what they'd found there that day.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 8. Continued in Chapter 9.