(Three weeks later, and we find Jim has moved out to a hotel. He and Mel have been seeing each other for three Friday nights, and she stays over, but goes back to Alice on Saturday. We catch them as she's leaving on a Saturday morning.)
"Jim, I'll see you in a few days. Okay? Honey?"
"Yeah," I responded to Mel. "Of course, babe. I was just... just missing you already!" I forced a smile and a small laugh.
I watched Mel as she walked away from me towards the elevator of my hotel. She valet parked, so there wasn't any reason for me to follow her downstairs. She gave me a smile and a little wave as she stepped into the elevator car.
Reluctantly, I stepped back into my hotel room.
God, I hate this place.
But, no, it wasn't really the place I hated. The room was fine, room service was decent, and the neighbors only complained once about all the sexual noises emanating from within.
No, what I hated was the Melanie leaving part. This was our third time together after that initial Thursday night and Friday experience. And each time only got better. I mean, the sex was fantastic, of course. But, we were growing closer, much closer together. There's no logical reason for us to be so connected, but I felt it. And I'm pretty sure she felt it, too.
For instance, last night. We were chilling in the bed after some particularly strenuous activities and were both fairly wiped out. I got up to get us a fruit juice from the mini-bar and she turned on the TV.
The scene on the tube was a guy coming out of a tent, oh, it's the actor Slim Pickens. And, oh hell, it's Blazing Saddles! The fart scene is coming up! I reached for the remote to change the channel.
Melanie playfully grabbed the remote from my hand and said, "What are you doing?"
"It's, uh, Blazing Saddles. It's pretty crude."
"I
know
it's Blazing Saddles, you don't like this movie?"
"I love this movie! I didn't think you would!"
We went on to discuss which Mel Brooks movie was the best, I was pushing for Young Frankenstein but she was going for this one or The Producers. The discussion turned a little heated when I mentioned Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane; she said Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder were the Real Producers. A wrestling match ensued as we each tried to assert our positions. She would say that she won, but I let her win. Sort of. I mean, she had my face in a pussy-lock and her finger up my ass. What was I supposed to do, keep fighting? No, I had her right where I wanted her.
But the good times came to an end the next morning like they always did, and she left to go back to her place, and the love of her life, my daughter Alice.
I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking how much I loved her, how much I needed her, and how I could still catch the faintest of scents from her perfume. The anguish weighed heavy on me and I tried to get up to take a shower, but I couldn't move. How can someone so wonderful, so perfect for me, and so into me, be in love with someone else! How the fuck can that happen!
And maybe I'm schizophrenic, or psychotic, or something. But there's a little voice in my head that messes with me, usually at the worst of times. Today it decided to fuck with me real hard.
You're not going to be with her
, it said.
I know, but I love her so much.
You aren't right for her, you're too old.
Yeah, but that's her choice
, I reasoned.
But she's not choosing you, let her go.
No! I can't let her go! She's, she's everything!
She doesn't love you.
Yes she does! I know she does!
No, she doesn't... not like you need her to... let her go
It was just about this point that I broke down and cried like a fucking child, like a little boy that dropped his ice cream in the dirt. Seriously, the only other time in my life that I cried like this was about six years ago when our dog died. She was such a sweet thing and I held her and soothed her as she crossed the bridge. That was horrible.
And this was far worse. The most amazing woman I could ever hope to meet, that I'm so in love with, in tune with, in sync with, and she doesn't love me. Oh, she does on some level, I'm sure of it. But not like I love her. And maybe she could, in time, but I'm too late. I'm just too late, she's already in love with another. There's nothing I can do. My fucking head hurt. In fact, my whole body hurt.
Finally, after several minutes of wallowing in my self-pity, I took my shower. I was going to see my friend Mike Wazowski, he had an old loft in a building that he was beginning to renovate and I was going to try to talk him into selling it to me. I can't go looking all blotchy. Come on asshole, let's get some self-respect back.
You're not going to dump her, are you.
Nope.
You're a pussy. What about Latrice, the black chick?
She can wait. Now shut the fuck up. I'll talk to Mel next week, let her know my issues and see where she's really at with all of this.
I went to get my new place sorted out.
- - -
My cell phone rang the next Friday evening. It was Melanie, of course.
"Hey Jim! The Uber guy says we're just a few blocks away."
"I'll be right down then!"
My new place was in a shabby part of town, the old meatpacking district, and I couldn't have Mel all by herself wandering around. I got downstairs just as an Escalade pulled up. I stepped to the passenger front window to talk to the driver.
"Will you be around in about an hour or so? We could use you." I put his number in my phone, flipped him a twenty, and then opened the rear door to let Mel out.
A foot appeared, encased in some gorgeous shoe, then a lovely hand eased out. I took her hand and helped her out of the car.
Shutting the door, I then took her in. A song played in my head all of a sudden:
Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress
I guess you'd call it a cocktail dress, or maybe a mini-dress. Whatever, she looked abso-fucking-lutely stunning in this little black number. It had about a two inch collar around her neck, with two fabric panels descending to cover her breasts with a nice opening in the front. A less confident woman would have worn a bra, or at least those invisible, adhesive push-up cups they sell for backless dresses. But not Mel, her 'girls' flowed freely to and fro, with just a faint outline of nipple rising from the peaks. Hints of bare breast flesh peaked out, depending on how she was standing, or leaning, at a particular moment. Jesus. The pleated dress covered her ass with at least an inch to spare, maybe two. The dark eyeliner made her emerald eyes pop. My groin felt funny.
After seeing this vision that was Mel, I just stepped in close and took her face in my hands. My lips melted into hers in a soft kiss, it felt like home. Time slowed, and the world began to fall away. We opened our mouths a bit and the soft kiss turned into a wet kiss. We worked our lips together a bit, tasting each other. She dropped her satchel to the ground and wrapped her arms around me. It had been so long...
Time stood still until Arnie yelled out, "Attaboy Jim! Git some!"
