Plus-One With A Vengeance : 18 / 29

[ An Altered Fates Story ]
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

 

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"Literature is eavesdropping."
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

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I woke up with a bundle of feelings and no inclination to unpack them.

Unfortunately, the feelings came spooling off, all on their own accord.

The first item on my list of concerns, though, was my teeth. I ran my tongue over them, inside and out. My teeth were in excellent shape when I was Elliot, and happily Lorelei's teeth were equally good, although smaller, in a smaller jaw and mouth. I was pretty lucky and pretty happy there.

Still, I've always brushed at least twice a day. I can't NOT do it. I hate the feeling of dirty teeth. Last night was the first time in forever that I hadn't brushed, and it bugged me. A lot. Because of Amber's insane purge, I had no toothbrush, or even toothpaste.

Still, there was a way. I should have used it last night, but I had a lot to distract me. I call it the "cowboy's toothbrush" even though it has nothing to do with cowboys and no cowboy is likely to have ever used it. I just needed to sneak into the kitchen.

Yes, I was going to sneak. I had to go up there without waking Max. Last night, I made a complete fool of myself — a jackass — and consequently I was filled with uncomfortable mixture of awkwardness, embarrassment, and shame. I felt guilty and stupid. I shouldn't have kissed him while he slept.

At the same time, I couldn't help but remember how he kissed me back, and the electric effect of his fingers on my behind. The memory of it drew me in; I relived the excitement and stimulation of that moment... and caught myself holding my breath, tensing to prolong the physical sensation I'd evoked.

I let out my breath loudly and shook my head in disappointment with myself. What was Max going to think of me? How was he going to react? I'd been so careful about not pushing things... and then I went and did that.

I was mad at myself, but I had another target of anger: Amber, that crazy bitch. Still, I could set that package of outrage aside for the moment and chew over it later, at my leisure. Right now I needed to clean my teeth and then get the hell out of the house before Max woke up. Sure, I'd have to face him sooner or later, but later sounded much better to me at the moment.

I jumped out of bed, clad only in my bra and panties. Until last night, I've been sleeping in a pair of comfortable pajamas: emphasis on comfortable, not on sexy. My legs, as they kicked off the bedclothes, never looked so naked to me as they did now.

Even so, I didn't bother to put on my dress. I was in a hurry. I needed to zip in and out of the kitchen, fleet, light-footed.

As I ascended the stairs to the kitchen, a few of the treads let out a creaky groan. At each squeal from the stairs I gritted my teeth and held my breath as if my teeth could hold in the sound and my breath would make me lighter — the balloon principle. Gingerly, I opened the door at the top of the steps. Thankfully, the door was silent on its hinges. After listening for a moment, I crept barefoot into the kitchen. A quick peek around the doorway to the living room revealed Max, still sleeping, lying on his back. He must have done some kicking and turning, because his blanket seemed tied around his legs. I had to repress the impulse to straighten it out and cover him more neatly. Still, I watched him for a few moments, listening to his deep, smooth, rhythmic breaths. And there was something else: I never noticed what a great profile he has. Next time I had my phone with me I'd have to take a picture.

But first... now... my teeth!

I tore off a paper towel and wrapped it around my finger. After wetting it at the sink, I dipped it lightly into a box of baking soda. After rubbing all my teeth inside and out, I rinsed my mouth several times with water. Baking soda has a disgusting taste, but even so, it leaves a fresh, clean feeling; a vast improvement over a dirty mouth.

I tossed my improvised brush into the trash, put the baking soda back in the cabinet. As I carefully, quietly was setting my water glass in the sink, the doorbell rang three times, accompanied by three knocks. I nearly yelped at the abrupt noise, and almost dropped the glass. I froze there, listening, on my tiptoes for some reason. Whoever it was rang the doorbell and knocked once again. They rang insistently, repeatedly, and on the fourth set of rings and knocks, Max groaned and swore. I could tell he was struggling to free his legs from the blanket. I had to move, but I had a few seconds... Max's tablet, the one I'd used last night to spy on Amber, lay close at hand on the kitchen island.

Max, stretching, let out a great loud yawn and bellowed, "I'M COMING! I'm coming! Hold your horses! I'm coming! Jeez!" Then he muttered something about "Sunday morning."

Unable to restrain my curiosity, I swept my hand up on the tablet's screen. Immediately, Amber's image appeared. Her hair was loose this time, and her makeup was lighter — a daytime look. She wore a different top and less jewelry than last night. Dressed to kill? Last night, yes. This morning she was dressed for brunch, though she was pretty generous in showing off her cleavage.

I left the tablet on the counter. Max very nearly saw me in my ill-timed dash to the stairs. Luckily, he turning away from me, turning his back to the kitchen, his face to the front door. And, he was sleepy, still waking up. Consequently, he didn't see me at all. I left the door half open — There was NO WAY I was going to miss this conversation! — and I sat down silently in the doorway. All set! Although — looking down at my deshabille, I realized that I might need to make a quick getaway, if Max invited her in. Considering the creaks in the stairs, it would be a noisy getaway, and certainly more than a little awkward, but at least I'd have time to put my dress on before having to explain myself.

Max opened the front door and swore. "Oh, hell, Amber. It's you. What's the big idea, ringing my bell, knocking on my door, so early on a Sunday morning? In fact, what are you doing, coming to my house at all?"

Amber ignored his clear hostility. Her reply was sweet, patient, and sugary, "Oh, Max! That's not a very nice greeting!"

"I'm glad you were able to figure that out," he replied. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

"No, you can't."

"Max, just move your foot — you're holding the door closed."

"I know what I'm doing. Don't tell me what I'm doing or not doing. Just tell me what the hell you want. What's so important that you have to wake me up on a Sunday morning?"

"Max, I was worried about you. You've been seen with that Kass woman. I've been told that she brought you home last night."

"And?"

"That woman is violent. You know that. You witnessed her attack on me."

"Did I?"

"Yes, you did — at the Celestial Lamb."

"Amber, who I do and do not associate with is entirely my business and none of yours."

"Kass is a bad influence. I have no doubt that eventually her violent ways will come to the attention of the police. You don't want to be associated with that sort of scandal."

"I'm thinking of hiring Kass as my bodyguard," Max declared. I grinned. I knew he was kidding, but doubted Amber would see the joke. In fact, it left her speechless for a few beats. Max didn't help her out; he didn't say anything. He simply let her stew.

"Be that as it may, but remember that I warned you, and that I have an infallible sense for these things. The reason I came today, Max, is to thank you and congratulate you... because you... that is, you and I have taken a big step closer. A step closer to reconciliation."

"No, we haven't."

"Yes, we have. I've been told that Elliot left you, that he moved out. Took all his things and left."

Max started laughing.

"Why are you laughing? This is important. It's significant. That interloper is finally out of our house."

"Our house?" Max repeated. "Our house? This is my house. I bought this house with my money, and the help of my parents. It has nothing to do with you at all. Nothing whatsoever."

"Oh, Max! I say our because I'm so used to seeing you and me as us."

"You should definitely stop doing that," Max said. "There is no our. There is no we. So get that out of your head."

"Oh, Max!" she exclaimed. "That's just your mind talking. It's not reality. Wake up, and see!"

Max didn't reply to any of that. He was silent for a moment, then asked, "Is that it? Or do you have any other crazy things to say?"

Amber made some sounds — a disbelieving scoff, a bleat of frustration — then told him, "I came here so that we could go have brunch together," she said. "We need to begin our reconciliation. The clock is ticking; time is wasting. We need to sew ourselves back together before Nessa's wedding. Now that Elliot is gone; now that he's done confusing you—"

Max cut in, brutally. "You're out of your mind," he told her. "Go find someone else to pin your crazy dreams on, and sew yourself into a cowhide with them. I'm not interested. I don't want to see you or hear from you. There is no way in God's great hell that I will go with you to Nessa's wedding, and I absolutely, definitely do NOT want to reconcile with you. Goodbye."

"Wait!" she exclaimed, and I heard the sound of her hand stopping the door. "I have a note for you from Nessa."

"I don't want it. I don't want anything from you. Not don't— Just— Goodbye!"

Her voice was cut off by the slam of the door closing.

Max, after a few grunts, groans, sighs, said to himself, "I thought that went *very* well." Then he laughed.

 

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Okay. It was a great piece of eavesdropping; very satisfying to hear. The only thing that would have improved the experience would have been the tablet: I didn't get any of the visual component. Oh well.

And I didn't feel sorry for Amber, not at all. Not one bit.

Now at least I had an explanation for Amber's theft, Amber's purge of my belongings. She wanted to pretend that I'd abandoned Max in exactly the same way as she had — although her idea of Max and Elliot's relationship was way off base. It's funny, though: she must have sensed something between the two of us. It couldn't have been anything sexual or romantic, though. More likely what I represented in Max's life was a connection to reality; a counterweight to her flights of fancy, or delusion, or whatever you'd like to call it.

All that remained now was for me to make my getaway. It needed to be a quiet getaway. I still wasn't ready to face Max, after what I'd done last night.

The opportunity for me to slip out would have to come soon: Max would certainly need to use the bathroom — he had just woken up. While he was in there, it would be simple: I'd run downstairs, slip my dress on, and scoot out along the house's North side, were the windows were few and small, where Amber had hidden last night. A clean getaway. I'd call for an Uber once I was out of sight of the house.

Unfortunately, Max didn't seem to need the restroom. He wandered, almost pacing, between the front door and entry to the kitchen. He fiddled with his phone, muttering to himself. Then he tried to make a phone call. While he waited for an answer, he wandered farther into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, which is just around the corner from the basement stairs. He was less than five feet away from me. I couldn't see him, but I could hear him perfectly. I could even hear the voicemail message he was listening to. I did my best to sit perfectly still and not make a sound. I had to remind myself to keep breathing; for some reason I kept holding my breath. I wanted to brush or comb my hair, even with my fingers, but it would have made some kind of sound and given me away, so I folded my hands together on my lap.

Max hung up the phone and dropped it on the kitchen counter as he continued nosing around in the fridge. Absent-mindedly, he stretched out his arm and reached for the door at the top of the stairs, the door I'd left open, and tried to push it closed. The door wouldn't close, of course; it met resistance in the shape of my ass. I was sitting in the doorway at the top of the stairs. Maybe if I stood up he could close the door and I could remain hiding, but for some reason I couldn't move. I caught myself holding my breath again. Max gave another tug to the door. I covered my mouth with my hands, for no good reason. I still hadn't moved, so neither did the door. Puzzled, Max peeked around the corner and saw me sitting there.

"Hi," I chirped, feeling utterly and completely foolish.

"Hi," he replied, and a sunny smile filled his face. "You're still here! I thought you went home last night. I figured you'd be mad at me. Instead, here you are, doing a lingere ambush! Does this mean you forgive me?"

"For— forgive you?" I repeated, stupidly. "Forgive you for what?"

"For falling asleep while we were making out," he replied, his face reddening slightly. "I figured you'd be furious. I was just trying to order flowers, but the shop's not open yet."

"Flowers?" I repeated. "Max, why flowers? and why aren't you hungover? You were really... last night... so much..."

"I know," he said. "I mean, I know I had a lot. I'd like to blame Tamara, but she didn't put a gun to my head. I'm sorry, I don't have a good excuse. I have bad excuses, like I was nervous with you... about you."

"Don't worry about it, Max."

"You know I don't usually drink — not that THAT is any excuse."

I shrugged and gave a dismissive wave of my hands. His eyes traveled over my body, taking in all the naked skin.

"Oh, and flowers — I was going to get purple hyacinths, if there really is such a thing. Google says it's the flower that says forgive me."

"Oh, Max!" I blurted out. "You don't have anything to apologize for!"

"I fell asleep..."

"No, Max," I blushed crimson with shame. "That's not what happened."

Puzzled, he asked, "It's not?"

"No, I— oh, God. It was me."

"You? What? I don't understand." He scratched his head. "But wait— first, before anything else, why don't you get up from there? You don't need to sit on the floor." He reached down and took my hand. "And you don't need to hide — oh, wait!" His face lit with sudden realization, his mouth open in an oh. "You weren't planning a lingere ambush, were you! You were eavesdropping!"

"I didn't mean to," I protested, while he held my hand and guided me to my feet. I cringed a little at my nakedness, but resisted the urge to cover myself with my hands. My underwear was black, sexy, and lacy, but at least it wasn't see-through. I wasn't utterly naked; I was naked-adjacent. The bra did have a very deep V where Max's eye kept wandering in and getting trapped. He sat me on a stool at the kitchen island.

"I can't put this together," he laughed. "You're nearly naked, but it's not so you can surprise me. Did you have to get undressed to spy on Amber?"

"No, look: I was trying to make a quick getaway—"

"In your underwear?" He chuckled. "So... if you were in a REAL hurry, would you be stark naked? You know, the neighbors tend to notice things like this — naked or half-naked girls running down the sidewalk, or getting into cabs."

"No, I only came up here to brush my teeth..."

"Why not use the bathroom downstairs? Isn't your old toothbrush still down there?"

"Wait. Stop," I told him. "Stop asking questions. You're making me tell it all backwards and inside-out. Max, you make coffee and toast some bread. While you do that, I'll tell the story. From the beginning. But first I'm going to scoot downstairs and put some clothes on."

"Oh!" he said. "Do you have to? Please don't. Please. Can you? I mean, my God, you're so beautiful, and that's a killer outfit—" he grinned at his own joke.

"Max—"

"No, seriously, please? Just sit there, like a goddess, in your— what you're wearing— and tell me what you want to tell me."

"Okay," I acquiesced, turning red as a beet.

 

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Max buttered the toast and poured the coffee and listened while I told him how I kissed him while he slept. Happily, he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked delighted, as well as enormously relieved that he hadn't done something to offend me.

Then, I went back a step in my telling to Kass' phone call and the unlocked door downstairs.

"That explains a lot," was his only comment. He look irritated, but not angry.

The bit about Amber's purge of my clothing, though, took us on a long tangent, but in the end we were both inclined to take it philosophically. And we laughed at Amber's crude attempt at painting her theft of my clothes as my abandoning Max.

"She has no idea how weirdly close and far she is from the truth," Max said.

I almost forgot to mention Amber's late-night appearance at the front door.

"Wow, a lot happened last night!" Max exclaimed. "I'm glad I missed it!"

Then, last of all, my dental hygiene dilemma, the baking soda, and Amber's arrival.

"I see," he said, and came up close beside me, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his body lightly against mine. "So you wanted to kiss me," he said. "You wanted it bad enough that you kissed me in my sleep."

He took my chin in his hand, and gently turned my head toward his. He kissed me: gently, warmly, fully. I wrapped my arms around him, and we stayed like that: embraced, kissing, eyes closed, communing. While we kissed, he slowly, tenderly, ran his hands over my back and sides, then down along the top and sides of my bare thighs.

"I love this," he whispered. "You should dress this way more often. As often as you can. Maybe I should hide your clothes, or hire Amber to steal everything but your underwear." He stopped after saying that, as if recalling something. "Wait a sec, don't move." Max opened the pantry, looked up at the letters P, S, V, then back at me. "One of these I'm going to give you now, and one of these I *want* to give you, but it could be a little weird because it was meant for Amber. I'm not sure how it would make you feel."

I shrugged. "How can I know?"

"Let's wait on that one, so it doesn't muddy the water. But this one—" He got the step-stool and lifted down the present with S on the bottom.

"I'll give you this present, but— it's— let's say it's a prize you have to win. To get this present, this prize, you have to guess the right answer to a question I'm going to ask you."

"Okay," I said. Honestly, I was more than a little nervous. I srunched my shoulders together and squeezed my hands between my thighs. Also, I ought to mention that my awareness of, and my feeling toward, my near-nakedness was coming and going. Sometimes I'd forget, and I'd relax as if I were fully clothed; at other moments I'd be vividly aware — especially when Max would look me over. Sitting on the stool made me feel like I was in a shop window, on display. Not that I minded; — well, I did mind a little, but it also felt dangerous and exciting. And after all, it was Max who was eyeing me with intent, and he clearly enjoyed what he was seeing.

"Okay," he said, smiling, grinning, holding the golden gift. "The question is this: will you come with me to Nessa's wedding? Will you be my plus-one? Before you answer, keep in mind that we'll be there for three days and two nights in beautiful Newport, Rhode Island. You'll have to sleep with me; that's part of the deal."

"I guess we'll have time to practice before then." I quipped.

The two of us burst out laughing, and I was red with embarrassment from my soles to my head.

Max shook the box, as if it were bait, and prompted me, "And the answer is—?"

"You idiot!" I fussed, and gave him a soft, playful punch in the arm. "Of course I'll go with you! I'd love to! I want to! Please and thank you, yes!"

"Oh, good," he breathed, pretending to be enormously relieved. "I was afraid someone else had already asked you."

"Oh, Max!"

He set the box the counter and stood behind me, embracing me lightly as I cut the ribbons and ripped away the wrapping paper. The box was eight inches on each side, but it contained mostly paper, festive crumpled paper, and an envelope there in the midst. I took out the envelope and fished around in the paper to see if there was any other loose gift-like elements.

"It's just the envelope," he said. "Look inside the envelope."

"What a novel idea," I joked. The envelope contained a beautifully printed card.

The S, as it turned out, stood for SPA: the card was good for was a deluxe, all-day spa package for two, including soaks, a facial, massage, mani-pedi, and other delights. "Is this for you and me?"

"Oh, no, no, babe!" he said. "This is a girly thing. It's for you and a woman friend — any one you please — so you can pamper yourselves before we leave for the wedding."

"Wow. Thanks, Max!" We hugged and kissed and looked each other in the face, smiling. "You don't mind if I call you 'babe', do you?"

"No... I like it. Do you want me to call you 'babe' too?"

"No, please. Just call me Max."

"Okay, babe." He laughed, shaking his head. "Call me whatever you want."

We kissed some more, and then Max said, "Now I have another question for you. You told me, on this very spot, a few days ago, that you have a problem. Do you remember?"

"A problem? I don't recall—"

He brought his lips close to my ear and whispered, "Are you still virgo intacta?" I nodded. His head was next to mine, pressed softly into mine, so he didn't need to see me nod; he could feel it.

"Yes," I whispered back. "Do you think you can help me? I have heard there might be a cure."

"I'm sure I can help," he said, picking me up in his arms. He carried me as far as the stairs, then red in the face he confessed, "Um, look — it's not as though you weigh anything at all, but um, my back—"

"Say no more!" I said, and wiggling out of his arms, I crouched on the stairs in a runner's pose. "Last one there is a rotten egg!" I shouted, and dashed upstairs, giggling. "You little cheater!" he exclaimed, bounding up, taking the stairs two at a time. I felt his fingers on my hips and sides, trying to get a grip.

I let him catch me before I reached the top step. He fell on top of me and the two of us rolled around, pressed up against each other, until we were too excited to wait any longer, and made our way to the bedroom in the same moment, all tangled up together, all arms and legs and lips and hands.