Swim Butterfly

Chapter 30

a Dead Leaf Caught

"I have something for you, for this evening," Jimmy grins, dropping his keys on the kitchen table before visiting the bathroom. "Something special for this surprise visit you sprung on me. You know, I was thinking you were gonna dump me."

"I know you have something special for me," I tilt my head, smiling, "And if we were never a proper couple in the first place, then how could I dump you?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Go check out the surprise on the clothes rack." He nearly shuts the bathroom door, then stops, looking at me as if about to say something, but he doesn't.

I drop my overnight bag on the floor by the bed, then I kick off my sneakers and walk to the clothes rack, quietly, as if I might startle the pressed trousers and Oxfords. On the end, a cobalt silk dress hangs on a velvet hanger. I run the back of my hand along the creamy silk. Low cut. Kind of short. I hear the water in the bathroom run, then stop. Jimmy comes out, then walks over and leans against the wall, watching me.

"It's beautiful," I murmur. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Try it on and find out." He sits in the wicker chair, crossing his legs, fingers interlaced. "I'll wait."

I look at him, "Seriously? You want me to wear this when we go out?" I start to unbutton my blouse.

"No, change in the bathroom, make me wait and wonder," he smiles.

"Uh, okay."

The dress flutters in my hand as I carry it to the bathroom and undress. Slipping the barely-there cool silk down my body feels like an evening skinny dip; the waist hangs playfully off my hips, the hem a few inches above my knees, and the slit in front halfway to my belly button. I laugh at my white brassiere playing peek-a-boo with the blue silk.

"Jimmy!" I call from the bathroom, "I don't have the right bra for this dress!"

I hear him laugh. "You don't wear a bra with that. No bra!"

No bra. Silk. This is asking for trouble. I breathe in, let it out slowly, take off my bra. The cool cloth tickles my nipples and I giggle--not so bad! Definitely comfortable, the loose sides of the dress ripple when I move. I peek around the door. "Ready?"

"Come on out, butterfly."

Jimmy sits back, his fingers of one hand thrumming his thigh. I step out. Never have I worn anything like this in my life, not even when I was twenty. Jimmy has only a hint of a smile as I present myself. He cocks his head and twirls his finger in a circle.

"Turn, let's see."

I turn slowly for his perusal.

"Come here," he says softly. I obey.

"Stand here, in front of me."

He leans forward, running his hands slowly up the back of my thighs, up underneath the dress, tickling. He pulls down my panties.

My knees weaken, "Do we have time for this now? When you picked me up, you said we were going right out to dinner. And you're always hungry."

He looks at me, grinning. My panties fall around my ankles.

"Step out of them... and one more thing,"

He draws a small bottle of Chanel No. 5 from his jacket pocket, puts a dab on his finger, and traces the pulse points on my neck, wrists and behind my knees, "Now, put on your shoes."

"My sneakers? I can't wear sneakers with," I roll my eyes.

Duh, the ugly pumps you left here.

Well, worked out, didn't it?

Jimmy gets up and retrieves the forgotten, forgettable pumps from underneath the kitchen table. They've been polished.

"You know, it was kind of nice having your shoes here. Kinda like you were around, hanging out." He kisses the top of my forehead. "Now put them on, goose. I'm hungry." He picks up his keys and wallet and slips them into his inside pocket.

I slip on the pumps, but hesitate as he opens the door, "Hey, I have no underwear."

"Come on! Let's go."

I look at the beautiful, wild, weird man, impatient at the door on the heels of the night, and I, his companion.

I'm too old for him.

No, sometimes I think I'm too old for myself.

I block my protests and follow Jimmy out the door.

***

We stand in opposite corners of the elevator as it descends. I inch closer to Jimmy, but he smiles, raises his hand to my shoulder, and pushes me away with the tip of his finger. We repeat this curious step a few times until the elevator arrives at the ground floor.

At least Jimmy's gentleman enough to hold open the lobby door for me, but once we get outside, he walks rather quickly. I try to keep up, albeit with brief steps, as my shoes fit loosely and my dress even looser. He turns a corner and heads north. I follow several paces behind, puzzled at the rush.

Eventually he slows down by a store window, looking at the goods, watching me sidelong. Now I get it. I slow down to find my own comfortable pace, the warmth of the late summer evening breeze all over me, literally. Keeping my hands pressed down on the dress to keep it from breezing upwards, I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of Chanel and the city.

When I open my eyes, Jimmy's still ahead, only now he's leaning against a corner, hands in his pockets, not smiling, but watching. I continue strolling north, ignoring Jimmy as two men pass by me; one man murmurs, 'Hey.' I smile, looking down as I walk, feeling the word dissolve in the breeze. As I approach Jimmy, I glance at him from the corner of my eye, running my hand over my hip. I keep walking. Another man surpasses me, nodding briefly when we make eye contact, but not so briefly that he can't check out my tits swaying beneath the silk.

I like the attention, but at the same time, feel creeped out and I miss Jimmy. I turn to look at him--where is he? He trails, not far, not close, still watching, like at the train station months ago. I keep walking although of course I don't know where the hell I'm going, Yorkville, perhaps?

Jim catches up to me and pulls me into an alcove, running his hand over my ass, then up beneath the dress. Pressing against me, he kisses me so hard I can't breathe, and he quits nearly as soon as he started.

"Good job," he murmurs in my ear, then takes my hand and pulls me back onto the sidewalk, "All right, I think this'll work, so let's go! I'm starving."

"What will work?" I ask.

"You smell right, you look right."

"Why didn't you ever tell me you like Chanel?" I ask.

Jimmy looks at me, smiling, "It's not for me."

I dig in my heels, pulling his hand to stop. "Jim, no, you're not..."

He stops and turns, still holding one hand, and puts his other on my cheek, "No, no one's gonna fuck you but me, but you'll understand later. Come on, let's eat."

We walk a few more blocks, my heart picking up, either from the walking or wondering what Jimmy plans to do with me. Or to me. I was hungry, too, but now my stomach's turned sore. We turn into a doorway with a heavy black frame and the scent of sautéed garlic and fresh bread almost knocks me over.

The small, noisy restaurant looks like it seats thirty-five, but there must be about fifty-five people in here. Jimmy holds up two fingers to the hostess and yells his name in her ear. A few of the women look at me, frowning and looking away, but none of the men seem to mind how I look. Jimmy grips my hand while we wiggle and slide through the entire restaurant to the very back, where he orders two white wines from the bar.

"So, what do you think?" Jim yells in my ear.

"Loud and crowded!" I yell back.

"No, the men here!"

I give the guys in the restaurant a cursory glance. They sit huddled close together on benches, tucked into tight nooks, eating gourmet pizzas with knives and forks, yelling and laughing.

I shrug and yell in his ear, "I don't know, they look like pretty regular guys!"

Jimmy grins and toasts my glass. A place for two opens up, and we're seated. Jimmy orders a small dinner for the two of us, and resting his hand on my thigh, we talk and drink before dinner arrives; two small pizzas dribbled and dabbled with dressing and toppings I couldn't name, and likely no garlic. I take extra care not to drop food in my lap and when I dab the corner of my lips with the cloth napkin, I catch a fiftyish, nice-looking man with a trim, dark beard and mustache looking at me. Jimmy squeezes my thigh.

Somewhere between discussing Rudy's grades and ordering second glasses of wine, the bearded man rises, and as he's leaving, nods to Jimmy, but doesn't look at me again. The first glass of wine dissolved my anxieties, and I think nothing in particular about the exchange I just witnessed. The second glasses of wine arrive, and I ask Jimmy, "You sure?"

"Yep, enjoy yourself tonight," he smiles. We finish about twenty minutes later, only half of the second glass sipped away. I get up from my seat slowly, praying my bare skin doesn't stick. I draw my hands down the bottom half of the dress over and over, making sure it covers me. Jimmy pays the bill, and we snake our way back out of the restaurant.

The evening feels even warmer when I step out the door, or maybe it's just the wine. I turn left, to head south and back to Jimmy's apartment, but he takes my arm and heads north again. We walk leisurely for a couple of blocks, and turn west towards Central Park, towards the tonier apartments. He tightens his arm around mine and pats my hand.

"Beautiful night, huh?" Jimmy says.

I look at him and frown.

What's up your sleeve, Arseni 'Andrew' James?

We reach a particular apartment building, enter, and greet the clerk. Jimmy tells him whom we wish to visit. The clerk makes a call, then directs us to the elevators. I take a few deep breaths, grateful Jimmy didn't make me race-walk here, especially after eating. I cling to Jimmy's arm in the green apple-scented elevator, the scent reminding me of June's hair, the shampoo she uses.

No, go away, children! You don't belong here.

Neither does Mommy.

The elevator rises smoothly, but so slowly. Jim squeezes my arm and smiles at me when the elevator stops. We step out, Jimmy finds the right door, and knocks on it gently. After a moment, I hear the tumblers of the locks and the door opens--

the bearded man

. I glance at Jimmy.

The man nods and lets us in. We walk through a short hallway into the kitchen, at which point the man says over his shoulder, "There's red on the counter, white in the fridge."

He continues into the living room. Jimmy stops, giving me a quick kiss on the lips, then takes the two wine glasses on the counter and pours small glasses of white. Then Jimmy winks at me, "You're gonna do great. Just follow my lead."

We join the man in the living room. Jimmy and I sit on the couch, and the man sits in a chair diagonally to us with a coffee table in between.

I sit up straight at the end of the couch, crossing my legs tightly, smoothing the silk down flat on my thigh. Jimmy clears his throat, "Karl, this is my friend, Karen."

"Nice to meet you, Karen," Karl lifts his hand off his lap in a half-wave, his voice deep and mellow.

I thought I saw a hint of a smile in his eyes, but could have been my imagination. He has a pleasant apartment, clean and modern, but cool and dry and still, like no one really lives here. Jimmy and Karl talk for a minute about a Yankees game, Jimmy picking up my wineglass and handing it to me. I take a couple of sips while he slips his hand onto my thigh, then slowly up my dress.

After a couple of minutes, Jimmy looks at me, takes my wine glass, and puts it down. He turns me so I sit lengthwise on the couch. I start to kick off my shoes, but he shakes his head. He slowly runs his hand up the inside of my thigh, up the side of my torso, gently plays with my breast, brushing the top of the dress aside, exposing me. Karl remains silent. Jimmy coaxes me to move down, puts a throw pillow under the small of my back, then climbs up and over me. He kisses me on the forehead, eyelids, lips. I look at him and he puts a finger to his lips, then passes his hand over my eyes to close them.

"Jim?"

"Shh,

Isobel

. And call me Karl," Jimmy whispers in my ear.

I obey, taking a deep breath and squeezing my eyes shut. Jimmy pushes up my dress, spreads my legs, and starts massaging me with a few fingers at a time. My eyes relax and I let my head roll to one side as I moan with the pressure of Jimmy's hand until I'm wet. I hear his belt buckle and zipper, then feel his body press against mine.

"Say my name," he whispers.

"Karl, mmm, Karl..."

I feel the penetration, then thrusts. I cry out; he kisses my neck, then fucks me slowly, whispering, "Just an easy one," until he cums and I fake it, but not dramatically.

When we finish, Jimmy pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and tucks it up between my legs. He zippers up and helps me off of the couch.

I feel calm, like we just finished up cocktails--that's all. Karl doesn't even watch us, but stares towards the sheer curtains barely covering the windows, and perhaps staring into the city night beyond. Jimmy nods towards the kitchen, and as we quietly pass through, he lifts a small jar on the counter and grabs a wad of cash.

We stop in the hallway, and Jimmy says close my ear, "I have one more thing for you." He pulls a pair of my panties out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and while I pull them on, I have a moment to look at the photos on the wall, that I didn't have a chance to look at when we came in.

I stop. The woman in all the photos looks like me. Brow raised, I look at Jimmy, but he jerks his head towards the door, then unlocks it. We leave.

***

In the cool hallway by the elevator, I ask, "Was that Karl's wife?"

"Yes."

"Where was she tonight?"

"She isn't anywhere anymore. Ovarian cancer."

"Oh." I stare at the elevator light, my mouth hanging open, "Really? She looked young." Talk about putting a damper on the night. No wonder Karl seemed distant.

"Cancer isn't picky," Jimmy states. We say nothing more during the ride down to the lobby, and out on the sidewalk, Jimmy offers me his arm and walks at my pace.

"It feels good to be out of that apartment. It felt so still, like a crypt," I say.

Jimmy continues walking in silence.

I continue, "So, uh, was that Karl's way of mourning? Kinda weird."

"Perhaps," Jimmy shrugs, "but who are we to judge how others mourn? No one knows how they're going to act when a loved one passes."

"True. Did you know them when Isobel was alive?"

"Yes." He tightens his grip.

I almost ask the next question, but it's none of my business. I shut my mouth, and listen to the rustling leaves of the trees in the tiny park we pass. A dead leaf caught in the breeze curlicues down the sidewalk and into the gutter, like rolling home from a funeral.

Ode to Isobel, gone too soon.

Painfully, sweetly, uniquely mourned by her husband, lonely and alone.

***

At Jimmy's, I slip off my shoes and kick them back underneath the kitchen table, where they seem to live anymore. Wandering to the window, I look down below for signs of life on the sidewalks at this late hour. None. The lonely street makes me wonder if Karl still sits in the chair, staring out the window, and I roll my head back and forth, yawning, to push the image out of my head. Jimmy starts a bath, then comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders, "Go sit on the floor in the bathroom."

I place my hand on his. "Okay."

The rising steam carries the rich scent of rose. A stack of soft towels lie on the floor, the bathroom dimly lit with a few candles. I sit facing the tub, listening to the trill of the faucet and swirling the perfumed water with my fingers. Soon Jimmy joins me. He wears an old T-shirt and loose, silky black boxers.

"Casual night," he smiles, offering me a glass of wine.

"You trying to get me drunk?" I ask.

"Yes."

"I'm an easy lay, you know."

"I know." Jimmy nuzzles my ear.

"Why all the wine tonight?"

"You get to enjoy yourself once in a while. Preferably with me. Take off your dress."

I wiggle the dress up and take it off over my head. Jimmy helps lift it off, and I can't help but ask, "Was this dress..."

"No, it wasn't Isobel's. It's new--for you and only you. It just had to be something Karl would like, and honestly, I can't see any man having a problem with it. And Isobel, well, she had a wild streak," Jimmy kisses my neck, "and you've got a pretty good wild streak, too, if you'd let yourself go."

I smile, "Panties?"

"Leave 'em on," he whispers, then reaches under the sink for a small bottle. He opens it and I watch him put a few drops in his palm. He rubs my back, under my shoulder blades, down my spine.

"Mm, that feels good. What kind of oil?"

"Neatsfoot. Good for leather."

I laugh, "Oh, fuck you! You're not

that

far behind."

He leans in close to me, embracing me. "No, I'm right behind you, in fact. Do you think you could ever do the same for me?"

I lean my head back into his. I just want to enjoy the warm, steamy air, and the wine, and Jimmy's touch, when he murmurs, "October first, remember?"

Yes, I remember.

Decisions.

I sigh and take a sip of wine, one hand draped over the tub, languishing in the water, trying to wash away Karl and that cold, lonely apartment. How long will he stay there? How long will the pictures hang on the wall in the hallway until he meets someone else, or simply moves on and away from the dead before he becomes a living ghost?

Jimmy leans into me, then drapes his hand in the water along with mine. I inhale the peaceful romantic scent mingled with sadness, and as I exhale, Jimmy leans close to my ear and murmurs, "By the way, your cut's on the table."