Attraction Is Ephemeral

«I'm intrigued by you,» he says. «You're beautiful. Beautiful.»
«Thank-you,» I say, wondering if this is just another line -- just another game.
Wondering how much recent deception informs my reaction.
We connected right from the start. You can’t make this happen. You can’t make
this happen. Can you? Someone wouldn’t be able to make this happen.
It gets chilly. We step inside. I make more tea — plain tea. Cheap tea.
He says, «I love a woman who adorns herself with jewelry. I like a woman who
has variation in her wardrobe. I love good shoes on a woman and beautiful
lingerie.» He suggests I visit a website of Austrian-designed underwear.
«It's expensive, but it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful,» he says.
I stand there by the stove, in my slutty outfit, the total of which probably
cost me $ 15, including my $ 1 panties and my Value Village bra.
«What do you wear during the day, when you’re working here alone?» he asks.
«Old Levis cords, a t-shirt, paint-splattered Hush Puppies with holes in the
soles.» I guess I could have said, «Prada, darling.» Adornment. He’s an
architect of many things -- hospital, hotel, a prison in Texas. He’s going to
bring his grand piano out of storage.
In bed he tries to put the condom on. He curses. I try to see what he’s doing,
but I’m pinned beneath him. I hear him stretching the condom like he’s making
a balloon animal. He gives up and I lie there under him — two hundred and
thirty pounds.
He says, «Am I crushing you?»
«Sort of,» I say. He gets off me. In his deep, sexy voice he says, «I want to please you.»
«You do please me,» I say, as one does.
«I mean really please you,» he says.
«OK,» I say, and then we both laugh, me -- until I cry.
He says, «We have time. Don’t warn me. Don’t warn me. Don’t warn me about
yourself.»
«OK,» I say. Does that include not telling him that I’m too cheap to take the
bus -- I walk twenty minutes to get to the store and that I carry my groceries
home in my packsack -- which is fine with me. I don’t buy crackers and cheese
and pickles and cookies because they are too expensive. I know the prices on
almost everything in the little shops -- if oranges are 59 cents a pound here
and the same ones 49 cents a pound across the street. I will cross the street
to save whatever it is on my two oranges -- and brag about it. He’s going to
bring his grand piano out of storage. He says, «We have time. We have time and
you’re beautiful and you’re intriguing.» He’s going to bring his grand piano
out of storage.
And I say, «Thank you.» Wondering if this is just another really long line,
another really long and complicated line. He’s the architect of another really
long line. Another really long line.