/* ...continued */
Eve crawled into the bed and slipped into Dave's arms. Secretly, she wished she could fall asleep like this every night. She curled up further, into his warmth, impatient for it to heat up the freezing bedsheets. She could feel with her leg that he was...ready to go. Just from holding her. Eve blushed in the darkness, glad that he couldn't see how red her cheeks were. She couldn't remember that ever happening with her other boyfriends--er, with her boyfriends. They were always all over her...uncontrollably.
Dave fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. Eve stayed awake. She was exhausted, but just couldn't sleep. It was partly the unfamiliar setting. It was also partly like she was too tired to sleep. Eve started at the ceiling. She became very familiar with the cracks, and with the trim of the window, and the curtains, and the way the moonlight came in through them. Then she got up. A door slammed somewhere. Somebody was up. The house was cold. She per her jacket on.
Jerry and Brenda were having a quiet fight. Brenda had caught Jerry on Dave's motorcycle. She was not happy about it. They argued back and forth in angry whispers. Jerry forgot that motorcycles were one of her triggers, one wall of the cage that he was in. He had known how to ride before...her. She didn't care. Jerry couldn't maintain his composure. His hormones were raging. He lost the fight. Not the way most people lose fights; he lost by winning. He lost and watched Brenda run to the bathroom with a pair of scissors. He tried to follow her, to stop her. He was two feet behind her when she slammed the door shut with all of her might and body weight. He stumbled back. Everyone in the house probably heard that door slam. Jerry sat on the floor with his back to the door. He was sincerely trapped. Brenda had an incredible hold over him, and she couldn't even control herself. He was like Clarice Starling being toyed with by Hannibal Lector: the young being played by the insane. Brenda's last boyfriend, he had known how to deal with her. He knew when to ignore her self-threats; he saw through the bullshit. He was like Will Graham in the prequel: Graham didn't get completely toyed with by Lector. Graham saw through some of his bullshit. Graham even caught him. Jerry was not Graham; he was Starling, and he had no clue how to silence those lambs.
Eve came down the stairway as quietly as she could. She found Elena sitting in the dining room, looking out over the back yard. There was a bottle next to her and a glass of wine in her hand.
"White wine?" asked Elena, as Eve sat down next to her. Elena started pouring a second glass.
"No thanks," said Eve.
"Yeah no problem." Elena finished pouring the other glass and slid it over to Eve.
Eve gave in and took a sip. "Hows the one with a beard?" she asked.
"He's alright. I gave him a handy and sent him to bed." Eve wasn't sure how to respond to that. Elena laughed. "I'm just kidding. I mean we did kiss...he's had a lot to drink." She paused. "I miss Carl."
"How long were you seeing each other?"
"Two days. I think. I don't remember. It was just...one of those things. Like, I knew it. I knew he was perfect for me."
"Wow."
"Don't get me wrong. He was an idiot. I mean, thats why he died. But if he hadn't...he was the kind of guy you take home to your mum."
"Yeah...." If Eve's mom was still alive, she would indeed have liked Dave.
They continued talking. Girl talk.
Meanwhile, Jerry was sneaking into the garage. He was upset. Brenda was out of the bathroom again, and they'd done their ritual. There was some crying. He was sick of it, but he couldn't stop. Her hold over him was just too powerful; he would jump onto a bed of spikes to save her. It was costing him, though. Her cutting was their little secret, a secret he had promised to keep. The promise sounded like love when he made it. It had become one of the cylinders in the lock that kept him trapped. He couldn't leave. With Brenda it was all or nothing. Either you were the single, one person that she relied on for everything, all the time, forever, or you were one of the people who "gave up on her" who were thrust to the outside, and lied to with the fake bubbly veneer of happiness. There was never a middle ground. Brenda would not allow one person some space while she relied on another for a time. She seemed to possess a hole, a dark insatiable void that no human could fix, but she didn't believe in angels either. Actually, she did, she just believed they hated and judged her.
Jerry was snapping. He had come into the garage to escape her for a while. She was sound asleep, but staying in her arms just felt like the straps of one of those special jackets they put on crazy people. He had lasted longer than other boyfriends, than other friends, but he was sneaking away more and more, hiding for longer and longer. He let his cell phone run out of charge frequently; she had bought him 5 chargers and put them everywhere. Every time she was gone was a blessing; he felt like he was five again and hiding from his mother in order to avoid saturday morning chores. Now, though, he was just hiding for his sanity.
Jerry spent some time in the garage. It was cold but he'd come prepared with his jacket. He started to look at the motorcycles for longer and longer. Then he got up and made a very big mistake. He forgot which bike was Dave's. Dave's bike was the green one (a tough color for the amateur--er--indie movie people to match with hot "Russian" clothing). Jerry took the black one. The keys were left in the ignition, the others having thought they'd be safe in a locked garage wherein none of the neighboors had ever seen motorcycles. The garage door was not soundless, but thats not what stirred the house. It was the sound of Carby's engine starting.
Eve heard it. So did Elena. "What the fuck?" asked Elena.
They ran to the garage, and for the second time Eve saw someone ride of on Carby. She flipped her shit.
Brenda also flipped her shit. Her Jerry had just been stolen by a motorcycle. Dave heard the motor and came downstairs dressed and ready to hit "call" with 911 dialed. Then he determined that the thief was Jerry, who he had given an explicit open invitation for the duration of the weekend to ride his bike; Dave didn't care. Its just that Jerry took Eve's bike.
Dave stood there and watched the drama unfold. Eve and Brenda were, for the moment, not getting along. Eve did not know about Brenda. Elena did, although Brenda and Jerry didn't know it. Elena was, quite simiply, masterful at keeping the peace. She touched, she jumped between them, she interjected, and she misdirected, all in a soothing, calming voice. Dave was still deciding what to do when the kid with the beard, Larry, came in. Larry and Dave exchanged glanced. Larry got the picture pretty quickly. Well, that skinny director kid came to the garage also, but Dave snapped his fingers at him, pointed at him, and then pointed at the door. The skinny kid still had a touch of Guiness in his veins and did not feel up to being a dick towards someone dressed in full, scary riding gear. He left.
Dave looked at Larry. "I'm gonna try to fix this situation. Um...."
"I'll uh, go hang out in the room and keep the guys out of your hair." Larry didn't like the arguing. He also wanted to be helpful and not lose their chance to film with the bikes the next day. More importantly, he was just cool like that. They nodded to each other and he left.
Given the circumstances, and Carby's, at most, 300 mile range, and the fact that Jerry didn't have his wallet, Dave was pretty certain Jerry would return just fine. The average consensus in the room was, though, that something needed to be done.
"Listen, its okay," he said. "I'll go after him and make sure he comes back in one piece."
Eve: "It's my bike."
"It's my--that one's my--you don't know the roads around here."
Eve held her hands out for the keys.
Dave handed them to her, but held onto her hand for a second. "Listen to me. The roads around here are confusing; they are not like city blocks. Say the road names out loud to yourself."
Eve pulled her hand away. "What for?"
"Just do it." Dave handed her the helmet in his hand, and then made her take his jacket
"I'm fine." Eve tried to resist taking it. She could be insistent, but Dave, on the rare occasions that he felt in necessary, could be immovable. "He's getting away!" Eve insisted, but Dave kept a vice grip on the red kill switch and stared directly into her eyes until she took the jacket. She punched her arms through the sleeves angrily and didn't zip it up. She was about to say "get the fuck out of my way" but Dave had moved off the moment she started putting the jacket on.
"Wind chill takes off 20 degrees," Dave explained to her back.
Eve gave the throttle a righteous twist; the front wheel came off the ground during her left turn onto the road.
Dave watched her go.
"You sure know how to pick them," send Brenda. Her voice was even, mean. Elena hugged her.
"Either of you have a computer?" asked Dave.
The moment Eve accidently pulled a small wheelie while in a turn she realized that she was not thinking straight. She tried to cool off a bit as she accelerated, tried to keep her speed under control as she raced around curves. Didn't want to go flying into a minivan. Wait, where did that thought come from?
Eve had seen the direction Jerry took, and he didn't seem like he was as good of a rider, but damn did he have a head start. Even busting (slowly!) through some stop signs, Eve couldn't close the distance. She imagined what she would do to him when she caught up. Get him off the road, first of all. Biff had shown her how to do that. Then...well, there would still be two bikes. Take Carby? Call Dave? Call someone. Slap Jerryface.
At first Eve could guess where Jerry went, but then she reached the exit of the development. It was a t-junction: left for right. Eve stopped, wondering. She looked down. There was a little dip in the development road, right where it met the main road. There was just a tad bit of gravel, just enough to make out some tire tracks if she studied closely. There was one, well, maybe two, but one good track that didn't have a mate. Left. She surged onto the road. There was sky glow in this direction. The highway. Was he that good of a rider? Did he take her baby on the highway?
Eve came to another intersection. The highway entrance, at least the way they'd come, was to the left. Straight was a parking lot. Eve killed the engine and listened. She could hear a motorcycle engine to her right. She turned right and gunned it, but not so much as to cause another accidental wheelie. Unfortunately for her, Jerry had gone right and then a quick left, putting him on another road. Eve did not take a quick left, and did her best to follow him on unfamiliar roads that had grown up there naturally since all the way back to the days of horses and carriages and the revolution.
It was not easy. She could hear Carby--not all the time. She used every sense she could, trying to track him. Little did she know Biff had once done the same exact thing, regularly, and for fun. To him it had been flirting. To Eve, on this night, it was something else, and the heightened emotions she felt caused stronger bonds to form in her memories, helping her learn most of what Biff knew about tracking in only in a few hours. She was also starting to feel how Dave's bike was differennt. Same make and model, but she knew her own. Gradually, her quarry slipped farther and farther away.
Jerry took the on ramp as fast as he dared and then hit the highway with a fully open throttle. An experience motorcyclist wouldn't think much of 90 to 100 miles per hour, but Jerry--he felt like he was on the back of the NCC Enterprise, hurtling through space at warp speed. The tall highway lights passed him like stars. He relaxed the throttle after a bit.
Jackass, thought Carby.
Jerry was completely unaware of the ruckuss he'd stirred up at the house. He relaxed, and he felt awesome. Chilly, despite wearing a sweater, a hoodie and a coat, but awesome. His head cleared. He was able to think and things, somehow, just started to make sense. His and Brenda's relationship was a complex one, and the full details included many other people and many other events that are not part of this story. Jerry sorted through those details in his head. He began resolving some of the nondecisions he was stuck with--decisions that had been made for him because he did nothing. He loved Brenda. Had had made promises to Brenda. Those he would keep. The rules that she unilaterally layed across their relationship, across their lives, both the intentional and the unintentional ones, he would not be so quick to keep. She could be a stubborn bitch about things, and it was difficult for him to separate that from the deeper baggage that they were both struggling to offload. It was not impossible. He wouldn't capitulate the world just because she looked at a pair of scissors.
Those thoughts didn't all run through his head on the highway. That's just a coherent summary, a lot of which was decided much later. Who cares. What matters is that Jerry began to have a quite pressing need to go home. Jerry still did not know if cold air could cause athsma attacks; he had certainly never heard of that. Cold air did shock the lungs though, so it seemed possible. It didn't matter. He had a situation. His upset state had distracted him from the tightening of his lungs; he didn't even notice until the wheezing was audible. The highway had a divider he couldn't break through. There were no exits for a while. He was forced to ride all the way to wher the highway ended somewhat abruptly, merging all the way down to a two lane road that winded through the hills, towards the city. Jerry reached it, slowed down, and took to the grass in the middle at the first break in the median wall. The ride was unsteady. He came off the pavement too fast and nearly fell. He was forced to keep his legs out and slow way down, planting one down occasionally to keep upright. He made it to the other side. Carby's rear tire slipped a little as he got back on the highway.
Jerry forced himself to breath slowly, to breathe deeply, to keep his heart rate down. It hurt, it made him cough frequently, and the left side of his chest started to hurt from it, but he kept doing it. Slowly, calmly. He drove as fast as his compromised concentration allowed, engaged in a race between his distance home and the remaining airflow in his lungs. This was a bad one, like the ones that were caused by something he drank. He had been pretty good about that lately. Fuck, how did he slip up? This was not good.
Jerry had something like ten minutes before the squeezing in his chest crossed the line between uncomfortable to not getting enough air. And he was cold. He was fucking shivering, man. Why did he do this? Too late to discuss it. Could he get back in ten minutes. He found his blessed exit, and prayed to angels, Duke Nukem and the writers of House that there were no cops. If there were, they would follow him to the house and he'd have to race them inside to his inhaler.
Twisty, turny roads.
Jerry started gasping. Athsma was clawing at his insides now, and he was coughing in fits that made the helmet shake. He didn't know it, but the amount of oxygen in his blood started dropping, and one minute out from the development the lack of oxygen in his brain began to cause the same impaired judgement that ethanol brings. His head was a bit swimmy, but he didn't think about it because his head was a bit swimmy. He did know he was in trouble.
Jerry got to the development and rode onward in a panic, but less of a panic because he knew that he had made it, like a general who sees the tide of a battle turn permanently to his favor. Jerry's lungs continued to tighten, but he got back to the houses. He got the bike, inside, mostly, turned the key off, got off, got to the door. Brenda was right inside, and Elena, maybe. Brenda was screaming. He shoved past them, around the corner. More light was on. Jerry turned another corner, then fell into the bathroom. He grabbed the stone hiding place and then his inhaler. One half of the Love stone fell and broke on the tile. He jammed the canister into the casing--oh fuck just admit its a mouthpiece--and took a dose. It wasn't going to be enough, he knew that. In fact, he had barely gotten any into his lungs. The girls were there. Brenda clawed at him and he shoved her away, gripping the sink. He stared at the directions. A second dose in another minute. Fuck it. He wouldn't count the first one. He took another hit, coughing violently as he squeezed his lungs empty, and breathing in as much of the mist as he could take. His lungs got half full before they seized up again and triggered another coughing fit. It worked, though. Jerry reread the directions some more. One minute, then the one he'd count as his second dose. If that dose didn't do it...well, that had never happened before, not since he was little. Jerry continued coughing, feeling fluid come out of his lungs. He was never, ever curious what the fluid was or how it got there. He swallowed it to avoid spitting in the sink and making a spectacle. He calmed down and looked at Brenda.
"I'm ok," he said, "I'm fine." Forty five seconds later, he took his official second dose, and started rinsing the inhaler. When he was done, he set it on the sink and looked at the Love stone. Well, at least he'd bought it.
"I'll take care of this." Elena entered and pushed him out of the bathroom. Brenda was too upset to say anything.
Brenda broke down when they got back to her room. It was all balled fists and tears and quiet screaming. At least she was good at the quiet screaming. Jerry took it all, took it without saying anything for the first few minutes. He would no longer allow his heart to feel like it was in a vice every time she was angry. He found a break in the tantrum.
"I love you," he said. He said it calmly, and with love.
"I just...I just...I just I what I don't know what I would do without you," Brenda was sobbing to damn near hiccups. Her face was covered in tears. She ran into his arms and squeezed him as tight as he'd ever remembered.
"Brenda." She was still sobbing. Then again, "Brenda." The second one quiesced her crying. "I am going to die."
Brend spurted out a fit of unintelligible nonsense and apologies and crying. She made a move for the scissors but Jerry caught her, twisted her arm behind her and threw her onto the bed. Then he jumped on top of her.
"Listen. I am going to die someday. Maybe eighty years from now, lets hope, but I 'm not invincible. I can't be your everything."
Brenda tried to squeel something but Jerry cupped her mouth with his hand.
"All I can do is love you. I am in love with you, Brenda. I'm not giving you the option to accept that anymore." He was breaking one of the unilateral rules. "You can cast me out of your house, and never see me again, but you cannot escape my love." Brenda was biting his hand. He didn't fucking care. "You die in a bathtub full of your own blood but you can't keep me from dropping roses on your grave every year."
Brenda let go of his hand with her teeth. This was the moment. This was the apex. This was his chance. He knew for a fact that her mind had been in once place, one terrible place, and it was swinging as fast as it could into another terrible place. As he took his slightly bleeding hand out of her mouth, they looked each others eyes. Jerry knew what was coming, or what would come. Her mind was racing through the calm spot and heading for trouble, like a research jet that was blasting through the eye of a hurricane, heading for the other side. But Brenda was not a plane.
"Umina..." she started with her mouth. He kissed it, gently, letting syllables continued to spillout as she talked, but he didn't let up. He stayed there. He held her head with his left hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb as they kissed. Their kissing intensified. Their lovemaking had a routine, but it was still delicious to them, and they fell into that routine before Brenda's mind could mire itself in guilt. They rounded the bases quicker than normal. Jerry was hungry for it.
Then he stopped in the middle of it. Brenda had moved her arms above her and crossed them. That was a bad sign. "No," he said. She opened her eyes. He grabbed one of her hands and pulled it down forcefully. He placed it on his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding. "You are safe with me. When I am inside you, You. Are. Always. Safe." Brenda nodded meekly. "Say it."
"I'm safe." Her entire body relaxed beneath him.
Jerry shifted his weight so he could hold her hand against his heart, and kept going. Quickly, violently. Jerry held eye contact with her until the end.
Jerry and Brenda were blissfully asleep in each others arms by the time the cold had numbed Eve's pride enough to call. Dave was waiting for that call. He was ready with: "Dave's mapping service." It was right on his tongue. As he answered the phone, he realized that was the wrong thing to say. Instead: "Hello, love." First time he'd been able to use that word with--well, at--her.
"I lost him. I know know where he went." Eve sounded distraught. Dave elected not to tell her how long Jerry had been back.
"They're back. Carby's in the garage."
Eve sighed and looked up at the street sign behind the stop sign. She was standing, holding the bike upright with her legs. She just felt the need to stand when she called, to do something. She didn't recognize either of those roads. "I'm not sure where I am." Dave asked her for an intersection, which she knew it would. She was ready with the street names. She was not ready to hear typing immediately in the background. "What were you just waiting there with the map thing?"
Dave froze. He did not anticipate this being a problem. "Uhh...."
"Answer me. Yes or no. Were you sitting there with maps waiting for me to call you?"
Dave's mouth dropped open. Of all the things to get mad about, seriously? He had mastered, literally mastered, the art of giving enough space, of being supportive, of helping when it was wanted or needed, but also letting the girl doing her own thing, of taking the initiative but not giving into the 50's stereotype of the guy that does everything, of doing his best to read the girls fuck-damn mind to suggest the right restaurant but still be open to whatever she said, of knowing when you were supposed to take what she said for face value or do the opposite (he even made himself a chart, and kept it in his wallet next to the condom), of offering to pay the check but letting them pay for half, or all, if they insisted, of not calling to much, not calling too little, of listening without talking to much, of empathizing without offering unwanted solutions, of dancing the dance that was a relationship. In the past three or maybe even five years no girl, no reasonable girl, had been able to fault him for a single classic relationship mistake. Dave had made sure of that. He was the master of being a ying to someones yang. He was a chameleon, really, but that is kind of a separate story.
"Uhhh...." Eve heard Dave sigh loudly "Listen," he said. Boy he liked that word a lot. "I don't know...I'm just trying to be here for you. I had this out in case you needed directions."
"So you were just waiting there expecting me to get lost?" asked Eve. She could hear the exasperation, and, and most importantly the kindness, the niceness in his voice, and it was in fact a rare moment of tension that cut through his suave easy way with words, revealing altruism and compassion inside, but she was mad at herself and definitely mad at--well--she was mad. Perturbed. Angry.
"Eve, cops get lost on these roads. Its like a road ninja playground out here." Dave didn't realize what he had slipped, but Eve heard it.
"So what?"
"Listen. I'm M. You're James Bond."
Eve smiled. She couldn't help it. The thought of Dave, maybe sitting on the bed with someone's laptop, pretending to himself with some map software that he was the head of MI6 while his angry, moody, girlfriend out there getting lost was an exaggerated eurospy wa just too cute. "Ok," she said. "Tell me how to get home." Well, back to the house.
Dave gave her directions that were not the shortest-distance path that a primitive A* algorithm would spit out, but they were simple and involved few turns and were still relatively quick. Dave made her repeat them, even thought it annoyed her. Then he gave her some helpful landmarks to know when she'd gone to far, and rang off. It took a while, and Eve had to make some guesses, but she did return to the house. If Eve had any doubts about which house it was, they would have been squashed by Carby's headlight, which was on.
As she arrived she was greeted by the sight of Dave, standing there, outside in the moonlight, with his arms crossed and without a jacket, one leg up on Carby's left peg. Carby was faced out, to the road, like he was waiting for her, his engine running to have the light on. That sight is something Eve would never forget. In fact, years later, when she would think of Dave, she would see that image.
Dave had, of course, been, less than a minute before, sitting just inside the door where it was warm, listening for the sound of a 250, coming outside as soon as he heard it. Eve didn't need to know that.
Carby's engine raced by a modicum, bumping his TAC needle. Dave switched his engine off.
Eve got off Dave's bike and walked over to him and kissed him. They embraced, still kissing. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thank you." Dave's response was a tight squeeze. Then, a couple minutes later, "what the fuck was that kid doing with my bike?" She puled away and looked at him.
"I told Jerry he could take my bike out any time, all weekend. I think he got confused about which bike was mine."
"He had to just go for a ride in the middle of the night?"
"Hey hey now." Dave grabbed her hips and pulled her to him. "You know all about that."
Oh either have sex already, or get a room for that shit, said Carby.
They stored the bikes. Dave's was finally a little more talkative after the adventure. Carby was sure to tell Dave's bike that he had gotten on the highway that night.
Upstairs, they shed their outer layers and talked about the events. Boring stuff. Then Eve grabbed her shirt and pulled him with her, backing up to a low dresser. She hopped up onto it. She pulled him close by his shirt and started kissing him. That lasted for like ten minutes. Then she pushed him away, slightly, and reached up to the to button of her shirt. She unbuttoned it. Watching Dave's face. They had been staring into each others eyes, but when The pressure from Eve's breasts started pushing her shirt open, his attention became fixed on the ever widening V in the fabric that traveled down her chest, at the bare skin underneath. She had never taken off her shirt, or let his hands slide under it. In fact, she even, occasionally, stopped him from trying to play with her nipples through two layers of fabric. It just made it too heated. So hopefully you can appreciate why this sight was so special.
Eve knew how to be a seductress. She drew it out, taking her time moving her hands to each button, grabbing the button with her fingers ever so slowly, teasing it through the hole, letting the fabric slip in her fingers, letting her cleavage pull the shirt open. It happened slow, but in Dave's mind it was so fast as to be a blur. If his mouth was open he probably would have drooled. Eve reached the bottom of her shirt. Dave was hot. He was tense, coiled, ready, and very much out of extra space in a certain region. Eve watched his face and listened to his breathing. It was still through his nose but heavy and deep. The moonlight was to his back but she still saw some in his eyes.
Eve grabbed his hands and placed them on the collar of her shirt. He slid the shirt back, down, along her arms like she wanted, encircling her, coming close and kissing her as he did so. Eve freed her hands quickly. She wasn't done yet. She took the front clasp of the lacy black bra and opened it slowly.
A front clasp? That would have totally trippd him up. Who does a front claps anyway? Why can't--oh.
Dave watched, mesmerized, as she slowly opened her bra, like a pair of hanger doors uncharacteristically swinging outward to reveal stealth supersonic jets with tailhooks. His mouth hung open. Eve watched his eyes as she slid the bra off and tossed it on the bed. She smiled. He stared, just like she wanted. Her breasts were better than jets. They were smooth, symetrical, no tan lines. I mean, damn. Very, very spherical, like some kind of fruit sunk just the right amount into her chest. Dave would have known which fruit, probably, if there had been enough blood left for his brain to access that information. The areola-circly-thingys and the nipples themselves where thrust out like, two incredible targets, or markers or something. Her breasts were, basically, perfection. They were calculus itself. Whatever equations could describe them were un-integrateable. No goddess, supermodel, unrealistic video game character or even porn star possessed anything that could compare. His life was complete just to be able to look at them. They were the most perfect breasts he had ever seen. Admittedly, this was the sixth time in his life that he stared at the most perfect breasts he had ever seen, but who's counting?
Eve touched him, breaking his trance. Dave stepped close, kissing her, placing both hands on her breasts like she wanted. Eve caressed the back of his head. His hair was so soft there. She pulled him, she squeezed him, she kissed him. Then he pulled away. Eve watched, suddenly frightened that this would end the way it had been with Biff, with the boy walking out on her. But Dave pushed her back against the wall and held up a finger, telling her to stay there. He went to his bag--he always rode with a backpack; she never did. Then he pulled something out. It flashed in the moonlight, like she was getting lasered in her eye. It was a necklace. The band was not particularly shiny (not gold, not silver) but there was a fancy encasing and an enormous jewel. It was blue.
"Is that a sapphire?" she asked.
"Diamond, actually. They come in lots of colors, even pink." He smiled. He walked forward and reached around her neck to fasten the clasp. "This thing will break glass." Dave took his hands away. The necklace hung there, glowing between the tops of her breasts with the beauty of pre-sunrise sunlight reflecting off a low-wing flying through mountains.
Yeah, the damn necklace again.
Eve touched the diamond. It was fucking enormous. If he'd given her an engagement ring this big--scary thought--she would have been afraid to have it on her finger. The blue color probably had made it cheaper, but still...she knew what tax bracket he was in. This was not a three month purchase. And it was jewelry. "Woah...." Damn, sugar, you got balls.
Dave saw her fingering it and knew what she was thinking. "Listen, I've dabbled in some art stuff. I took some drawing classes and did the thing where you try to draw girls, hopefully naked, at parties. As an artist, I'm telling you no lesser gem can hang there."
"How much...."
Dave cut her off. "This...." He traced his finger along the necklace from her collar bone to the diamond. "...is not a recent purchase." Yeah, total mysterious moment. Then he moved close and kissed her. He held her in a tight embrace with his right hand. She felt the necklace pressing into his chest along with her breasts. Then his left hand got a fever, and the only cure was the entire right side of her chest. It felt glorious.
The jewelry thing, that was risky. A stunt like that, with that class of jewelry done in that matter with that kind of girl, would not be in any optimal play book of any guy. Dave was not any guy. He had his reasons. He had his way. He never sent flowers, he sent a rose. He didn't whisper sweet nothings, he said one thing that sent her mind reeling. He didn't shower gifts, he would give a gift, something that stuck out, like the reminder strap. He didn't sing songs at random, he had one song, one for each girl (Eve's was Send Me an Angel, though she would never know it). He struck once at a time, with the fury of a ninja poet, leaving a lasting memory. There had been many that did not love him, but none that forgot.
Downstairs, Elena, who was sitting in a chair next to where Larry with the beautiful beard was sleeping, nudged his shoulder with her toes. He stirrred, but did not wake. "Yeah, I guess not," she sighed.
There are rare times in life when a boy can describe second base using the word "satisfying" without lying. This was one of those times. Shirtless second base, mind you. Not whatever the kids say second base is these days--you know they have the base system all screwed up. Whatever. Dave and Eve were all over each other that the night. Eve kept her pants on, but every fiber, bone, muscle and cell in her body wished that they would just melt away. By the time the sun was coming up, Eve's self control had melted so much that if he had tugged at her zipper, or tried to slip a hand inside, she would have encouraged it. Just one move. He didn't, though. Eve had made it clear hours earlier that second base was a layover and not a signpost, and he didn't press her all night, because he had the self control of a starving man that refuses bacon. This, my friends, is the manner in which he missed his one chance to sleep with her. Had he been able to read her mind, had he just known, he would have pulled her jeans off with his teeth, and the two of them wouldn't have been seen (definitely heard though) until the next night when they stumbled down the stairs suffering from hunger and dehydration (and one pulled stomach muscle), but if that had happened, this would be quite a different story indeed. So that is not what happened.
Instead, sunlight hit Dave square in the eye and he lifted his head up. They had done it again. Eve smiled at him. Being naked under him--well, topless--was the most pleasurable thing she could remember doing in the last--well, quite a long time. She absolutely loved the way he looked at her.
It made her feel reborn. Just kidding. Vesper was a bitch.
It did make Eve feel good though. Great, even. Glorious.
They ate breakfast, delicious ham cookied with brown sugar, and like, eggs or whatever, though no one cares about the eggs when there is delicious brown sugared ham on your plate. Then Dave and Eve both ended up...napping for most of the day. It was pretty obvious. The others were wrong, though, in thinking they had slept together. Its not like skinny director kid had a chance, though. Lets just be honest here.
Dave did find time to talk to Jerry, about, you know, fucking colors and which one his bike was. Jerry seemed to have no great need for a motorcycle anymore, though. Dave had to hand it to him, Jerry was a damn good baggage handler. Carby enjoyed his time in front of the camera. He didn't know many, or even any, motorcycles in starring roles, but since he didn't know what the indie in indie film meant he was under the cute, mistaken impression that he'd be meeting some very soon.
The ride back to the city was, due to lack of sleep, a bit tought. Eve still managed to enjoy the ocean of yellows, browns and reds around her and the feeling of riding with a companion, and Dave still managed to contemplate whether last night had given him an all-access pass to boobtown, or if he still had to knock at the gate. It seemed pretty 50-50, you know?
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