The Assistant Ch 04

I awake early the next day to the sound of Matt singing in the shower. He’s singing Billy Joel’s “Keeping the Faith.” He sings off-key, but I rather enjoy the sound of his voice coming from my bathroom. I feel exhilarated. Overjoyed. It’s amazing what sex can do to you. I wrap myself in the duvet, which smells of him. I am so happy it’s indescribable.

Last night was incredible. As soon as we entered the apartment, we clawed at each other until we landed on the futon. I surrendered to his soft kisses and indulgent touch. He was so gentle. A man has never been that gentle to me before. And when he was inside of me! The second he entered me we sort of gasped with pleasure at the same time. His hips rocked back and forth as his big, beautiful cock buried deep into me. His thrusts were passionate and exquisite—nice and slow. He pulled halfway out, lingered there as he showered me with kisses, then reentered me with an urgency so delectable I had to stop myself from coming. “Karla,” he barely whispered in my ear. “Oh, Karla.”

I, on the other hand, was not quite so gentle. I devoured him like a starving child at a buffet table, whereas he treated me like something that ought to be handled with utmost delicacy. His thrusts became unpredictable as he quickened his pace—they went from shallow to deep. His new speed turned me into a caged animal that had finally escaped to freedom. I pushed him off me and straddled his hips as I positioned myself on top of him. It was with his magical tie that I tied him up—his hands bound together on the headboard. And that was how I rode him. He didn’t protest as he watched me become all the more aggressive. As I moved up and down on him, feeling the tickle of Matt’s kisses on my ample breasts, the frustration I’d had for weeks had finally unraveled. I was so caught up in the moment that I came almost without noticing.

Before I could collect myself, Matt positioned me in all fours. He made love to me for the second time, his moves varying from tender and considerate to brazen and grave. He spoke soothing words to me and kissed the back of my neck and caressed my breasts. He asked if I was okay. I said yes. I almost felt ashamed of the way I’d ridden him a few minutes ago.

I came four times last night.

After sex—or should I say lovemaking—we watched TV for a while. I made us bacon sandwiches and washed them down with cold beer as we watched Nick at Nite reruns. I told him that he could spend the night here if he wanted to. And he did.

We slept together—literally. Actually, he slept. I watched him curled around me as he breathed warm air against my neck. It was nice. I dreaded the thought of him leaving. I felt like tying him up on my bed again. He’s mine, I thought. He’s my property.

I come to when I hear Matt getting dressed in the bathroom. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I don’t want to make things awkward for us. The morning after is always awkward, and I try to reduce the awkwardness by pretending to sleep. I can hear him putting on his pants, his shirt, his shoes and his jacket. He walks up to me and kisses me softly on the lips.

“Karla?” he whispers as he shakes me lightly. “Last night was wonderful, Karla,” he murmurs into my ear. “See you later, okay?”

I do nothing. I just pretend to sleep.

I finally hear him leave.

I must have fallen asleep right after he left because I awake two hours later to the sound of the alarm clock. It’s nine a.m. I can’t believe he’s gone. I shouldn’t have closed my eyes. I shouldn’t have pretended to sleep. Now I wish I had made him coffee or something. Actually, to be honest, I am glad I had made things less uncomfortable for us. It was for the best.

But what if—oh horror of horrors—he regrets having slept with me? What if he wants no part of me? What if I walk into the office and he ignores me or treats me with cold indifference? Oh, God, I can’t believe what I’ve done. He’s going to ignore me—I just know it! In fact, I’m sure he’ll act as though nothing’s happened between us, that I am simply his assistant, which, unfortunately, is true. I wish I hadn’t slept with him. I am a weak woman. I am a weak, meek and pathetically horny woman who can’t control her animal urges.

Shit! I have to go to work in an hour. God only knows what Matt’s going to say once I’m there. He’ll probably gaze blankly at me and say, “Hiya, Karla! Great sex last night! Could you make me a cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese for me? And why don’t you call Sandra Bullock for me and tell her that I’m up for a bit of fun tonight. You know, the sort of fun you and I had last night!” The thought of it makes me cringe. But I have to face the music, I mean, he is my boss, and I can’t miss work today. I’m going to work. I have no other choice.

Matt is talking on his cell phone in the main room. I walk straight to the office and sit on the leather couch. I feel tensed and nauseated. Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead.

“Good morning, Karla,” says Matt, entering the office. My heart leaps at the sound of his voice.

“Good morning,” I say in a monotone as I get up to make coffee, feigning casualness.

He walks up to me and kisses me on the cheek. He seems animated and has a blissful expression on his face. “You’re looking particularly fetching today,” he says, eyeing my sensible floral dress and strappy sandals.

“Want some coffee?” I ask, ignoring his flirtatious tone.

“Sure.”

As I pour coffee on two mugs, he puts his arms around my waist and presses his lips to the crown of my head. His breathing is steady and warm. I feel as though a sharp needle is slowly piercing through my skin. I close my eyes for a moment. As we embrace, I think of what Matt told me on the day Penelope—the woman he had a brief liaison with just days before he slept with me—left for Paris. He told me about the arrangements he makes with women. Is that what this is? And if that’s what it is, why hasn’t he told me? The whole dynamic between us is wrong—I sense that something strange is going on here, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“I had a lovely time last night,” he murmurs. “You were insatiable. Can’t wait to do it again.”

Abruptly, I pull away. “Leave me alone.”

He looks at me with surprise. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He scratches his head and looks at me expectantly. “Karla,” he nags, “what the hell’s going on?”

“Oh, come on, Matt. Do you think I don’t know what you’re up to?”

He gives me a funny look.

I look at him impatiently and huff, “Well?”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re on about,” he says, sounding sincere. “Enlighten me, why don’t you. Go on,” he urges, deadpan. “Tell me what I’m up to.”

“You know what I’m talking about. You’re not that stupid.”

“Well, I guess I am stupid because I’ve no clue what you’re talking about.”

I stare at the ceiling for a moment, take a deep breath and say: “Am I one of your little fuck buddies now, one of your little ‘arrangements’?” I make the quotation marks with my fingers.

His eyes open wide. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“What do you mean?”

I suck on the inside of my cheeks, which makes a loud kissing sound. “A few days ago,” I begin, “you told me you make sexual arrangements with women. You said that you fuck them for a few days and then leave them. And you also said that the arrangements are always amicable. Well, well, well, Matt. I guess you forgot to let me in on our little arrangement.”

A startled look flickers across his face. “That’s not what this is,” he says ruefully.

My heart skips a beat. Is it possible that he wants to be with me? That he wants me to be his girlfriend? That he’s fallen in love with me? “Well . . .,” I stammer, adrenaline swifts through my body in the form of nausea. “Are you saying that this is for real?” My voice cracks a little when I ask this. I can’t help but smile. This is for real; he wants me to be his girlfriend! To think I almost ruined things!

He clears his throat in nervousness.

I wait for an answer.

But he says nothing.

My heart plummets faster than running water in a faucet. This isn’t real. He doesn’t want me to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t fallen in love with me.

I laugh sarcastically and look straight ahead at the door. “Well,” I say, with feigned indifference, “I guess it’s not real. But that’s okay. I sort of expected this reaction from you. I’m not surprised.” I fight back tears. I don’t want to cry in front of him. “One thing is certain though, I will never sleep with a sleazebag like you again.”

I grab my handbag and stride toward the door, but he grabs me tightly by my arm and looks at me with forlorn eyes. I cover my face with one hand—I have begun to cry and I don’t want him to look at me.

“Karla, I—”

“Let go of me!” I shout.

“Karla,” he whispers to me, a mixture of earnestness and sadness in his tone.

“I said let go!” I try to free myself, but his grip is too strong.

“Karla, Karla,” he says.

He sure loves to utter my name. I hadn’t noticed that until now.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Let go!”

“—and I don’t want you to cry over me. I’m a horrible person, Karla. I really am.”

I glance at him. His blue eyes have lost their light. “You’re not a horrible person, Matt,” I tell him.

“Yes, I am. I’m horrible. And selfish. I’m a selfish bastard.”

He’s still holding me tightly by the arm. I can feel the bruises forming on my elbow.

“But,” he continues, “I want you, Karla. And I know that you want me too. I don’t see the point in hiding the fact that we want each other.” I feel his minty-fresh breath against my cheek. “Don’t you think so, Karla? Isn’t it pointless to resist?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because last night was amazing. I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say that last night wasn’t just about sex—it was far more meaningful than that. We needed each other. Why can’t you admit that you’re in need of someone to hold? You see, Karla, I, too, am in need of someone to hold. I want our loneliness to disappear from our being, for there are few things in life I hate more than loneliness. We could keep each other company for a little while—”

“Ah-ha!” I exclaim. “The arrangement!”

“No! That’s not what I—”

I finally manage to pull away. I walk toward the door, but then I look back at him and say, “You have a serious problem, Matt. I think you should get your head examined. Or maybe you don’t need a shrink. It’s painfully obvious that you have problems with commitment.”

“That’s not what it is,” he whispers sadly.

“Well, then what is it?”

“I can’t tell you.” He looks down at the floor humbly, as if wishing he could disappear.

I feel sorry for him. I have no idea what his problem is, but that doesn’t mean I should humor him and agree to his appalling arrangement. “I’ll work from home today. Call me if you need anything.” I grab my jacket and exit the penthouse.

The next day I do nothing but watch TV and read glossy magazines. I have thought about quitting my job, but I don’t know if I should do it. The job pays well and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like having Matt around. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do.

As I skim through the pages of Cosmopolitan magazine—Jeans: Find the Perfect Fit for Your Body Type! Top One Hundred Sex Positions! Is He Cheating on You? Take Our Quiz and Find Out!—I hear a knock on my door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me”—Matt Steiner—“open the door, Karla.”

Before I could stop myself, I open the door without hesitation.

“Hey!” he says jovially as he enters my apartment.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs and smiles. “I wanted to see you. And I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I’ve warned you about my persuasiveness.”

He looks so beautiful. I can’t help but be flustered by his beauty every time I see him. “Um . . . Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I go to the kitchen to get a drink. When I come back out with a bottle of larger, Matt is perusing my books on the shelf. He has a book in his hand.

“

Writing and Reporting News: A Coaching Method,

” he reads. “Was it helpful?”

“That’s a college textbook,” I say brazenly, “they’re never helpful. Here’s your drink.”

He takes a gulp of beer as he continues to peruse my books. He grabs another one and reads the title out loud. “

One Hundred Ways to Seduce A Man.

” He laughs. “Interesting.”

Ah, the book Bianca gave me. Or rather, the book Bianca

forced

me to keep. I’ve only read a few pages. It is your typical self-help book about finding men. The book says that women should have the power in a relationship and that seduction is the key that opens a man’s heart. There are various seduction techniques, one of which is flattery. Actually, flattery is the number one seduction technique in the book. According to a relationship expert, a man cannot resist flattery. Men, like women, want to feel desired. (Ha! I knew Bianca had been reciting passages from the book on the day we got together at that café for Broadway aficionados.) The book promises that if I follow the flattery technique, the other techniques fall right into place. I find it grotesque. I don’t think women should follow such stupid rules. Why play such petty games? Why can’t we just be ourselves? Why do women feel inadequate without men? Why do women need men to validate their existence? And why are men encouraged to be single? Why the double standard? Mental note: never listen to Bianca again.

“Put the book back on the shelf,” I demand.

“Okay, mommy,” he mocks.

“Why are you here?” I ask, agitated.

“Oh, please, Karla, don’t make me repeat myself. I came here because I wanted to see you. I also wanted to apologize for my behavior. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Apology accepted. Now please leave.”

He walks up to me and kisses me hard on the lips. The touch of his delicious mouth on mine momentarily paralyzes me with desire. His tongue caresses mine, and I soon feel my conviction dwindle.

What am I doing? I can’t fall for his charms again. I push him away.

He gives me an indignant look. “Why are you playing games?”

I shoot him a look of disdain. “I’m not the one playing games here, Matt. Why don’t you spend the night with one of your ex-girlfriends, or former sexual partners, or whatever the hell you call them.”

“No. I want you.”

“You already had me.”

“I want you again.”

“You can’t,” I tell him. “Sorry.”

He frowns. “Okay. But I want you at my apartment first thing tomorrow morning. There are plenty of things for you to do. You’re my assistant, after all.”

“Fine.” I open a window as far as it could go. A cold breeze enters the studio. The city is breathtakingly beautiful at night. I sit in a chair next to the window and gaze at the city lights. Matt is silent, probably waiting for me to give in. I am not going to sleep with him again. I AM NOT!

As if sensing my thoughts, he says, “Oh, how disappointing. I had something special planned for us tonight.”

I continue to gaze at the city lights, ignoring him.

“All right,” he says angrily. “I’m going home. Happy now? You’ve blown it, Karla. You’ve no idea what I had in store for you tonight. I mean, if you thought last night was great . . . ”

He waits a few seconds, hoping he’s piqued my interest. When I fail to respond, he shouts “Fine! Goodbye, Karla!” and storms out of the apartment.

I look out the window and watch as he raises his arm at the oncoming traffic and a yellow taxicab dashes to the curb. Matt climbs in and is driven away. I laugh in contentment at my tour de force: I have resisted Matt Steiner. I have managed to contain myself.

I have won.

Later that night I receive a phone call from Ben. As if I don’t have enough stress already.

“Hi, sweets,” he says enthusiastically. “How are you?”

“Never better, Benny,” I say dully. He doesn’t seem to notice the miserable tone in my voice.

“Good. I just wanted to make sure that you were still alive—you haven’t called me since we last got together, hon. Bianca, Ricky and I are gonna catch a flick at the Angelika tonight. Wanna join us?”

“No, Ben. Not in the mood.”

“Uh-oh. What’s the matter? Having trouble with Mr. Famous again?”

“No,” I answer sullenly.

Ben sighs. “Girl, why don’t you just fuck his brains out and get it over with? He won’t turn you down. No red-blooded American—albeit straight—man turns down a free lay from a beautiful girl. Besides, you’re in need of a good lay, aren’t ya?”

Oh dear.

“When was the last time you got some anyway?” I can hear a smile in his voice.

I lie and tell him that I haven’t had sex in six months.

He replies by saying: “You poor thing! Or rather, your poor thing.”

I feel great! Want to know why I feel so great? Well, I have turned Matt down for a third time. Yes, you’ve heard me. I’ve turned him down again. I went to work this morning feeling strong and determined. He tried to seduce me several times, to no avail. I was as cool as a cucumber. In fact, I even scared him a little by threatening to sue him. “What you’re doing to me has a name,” I said dramatically. “It’s called Sexual Harassment.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he looked at me apprehensively and said, “Your petty attempt at scaring me is beneath you, Karla,” and left the office. He didn’t bother me for the rest of the day. I feel quite proud of myself. I have managed to resist him again. I am invincible! I have won! I am happy, happy, happy! This is the most gratifying experience I’ve ever had in my life!

Who am I kidding? I feel as though my loins are about to explode. I even yelled at a guy on the street for no good reason. I am not invincible. I am a meek, sexually frustrated freak! I’m a disgrace to womankind! I can’t forgive myself for being such a pathetic loser.

I’m on my way home via the subway train. I’ve had a rough day. I don’t know what to make of Matt’s stubborn behavior. Could it be that I’m a challenge for him? I think that’s what it is. But then again, I could be wrong. There’s something very unsettling about his tenaciousness. He has a secret, I know that much. I remember the strange way he held Penelope. And I remember his reluctance to open up to me yesterday. What’s wrong with him? Why did he look so sad and lost when I left his house the other day? Why is he so secretive—so elusive and enigmatic? Suddenly, I have an epiphany: I am in love with a stranger. I know nothing about Matt Steiner. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that before! I’m ashamed to say that the only thing I know about him is that he’s a great fuck. This illustrates the absurdity of our relationship—if you can call it a relationship.

The train is packed today. It’s 6 p.m. and everyone is going home from work. There are pictures of the cast of

The Single Life

all over the subway car. There are various poses of the cast members—including Matt Steiner, flashing his sexy smile. I stare at the pictures.

“Good evening my lady!” I hear someone say.

To my horror, the old Hispanic man, the one I always run into on the train, is sitting across from me. He’s looking at me and smiling, just like the other times. Furious, I glare at him and say, “Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you,” he says, perplexed.

“Yes, you are. I keep running into you on trains. It can’t be a coincidence. Who the hell are you and why are you following me?”

He smiles and switches seats. He sits next to me. He’s wearing a gray raincoat and black trousers. His face is very wrinkled. The lines around his eyes are very prominent. Flustered, I glance at the other passengers. They’re either reading newspapers or staring into space—avoiding eye contact with the other passengers.

“You shouldn’t talk to your elders that way, honey,” he says, frowning. “A nice young lady like you shouldn’t behave that way.” He coughs lightly and runs his hand over his gray hair. He’s looking straight ahead at the subway car. “I’m sitting here waiting for this day to be over. Old age is a burden.”