Sunday afternoon, Shay and I go to the movies. The comedy turns out to be fairly stupid, but I giggle helplessly at every dumb joke. “What’s gotten into you?” she teases as we toss our popcorn box away at the end.
“Nothing.” I shrug. My smile must look incredibly smug, but I can’t help myself. “Just in a good mood today, that’s all.” Having the best sex of your life will do that.
The intensity of the pleasure I had with Jonah buoys me up. Even more important, though—I faced down my demons. I claimed what I really wanted. All these years I thought that fantasy would burn me. Instead I walked through the fire unscathed.
Take that, Anthony. You don’t own me anymore.
But I try not to think too much about Anthony Whedon. He doesn’t get to ruin one more day of my life.
On Monday morning, I’m still sore. I don’t even care. Already I want to know when Jonah and I can play out our roles again.
“Look at you,” Kip says when I walk into the department office. “What’s got you so aglow?”
How is he so perceptive? It’s like a superpower. I try to act nonchalant. “I went to the day spa. Had a facial.”
“Likely story.” Kip’s phone rings, saving me from further questions.
I dart into my office and quickly type an e-mail to Jonah.
Subject line: Take Two.
Body: Should we talk sometime soon? Work out another night?
Only a split second after I hit send, my inbox chimes with a new e-mail. The bolded subject line is Out of Office Notification. Frowning, I click on it. The automatic reply text reads:
Dr. Jonah Marks is currently away from the office and will not be checking e-mail. Any questions should be directed to the earth sciences department.
Luckily there’s a phone number for a secretary’s direct line. I wouldn’t want to call the office and get Shay. The less any of my friends know about my connection to Jonah, the better.
I hesitate one moment before dialing. Jonah did say he’d get in touch with me—which might mean he wants to make the next move. At this point, though, what’s the point of being coy? Finally I decide I’ll just find out when he’s going to be back, whether it’s tomorrow or three days from now, whatever. That way I won’t drive myself crazy wondering if he’s about to contact me. He can take charge when he returns. I smile, thinking about how good he is at taking charge.
Then my smile fades as the earth sciences secretary says, “Dr. Marks won’t be returning to the university for some time. Can another professor assist you?”
“What do you mean, ‘some time’?”
“Several weeks, I should think.”
Weeks? Before I can catch myself, I blurt out, “He didn’t say anything about being gone for weeks.”
“He only alerted the department this morning.”
So, a day or two after we acted out the most intimate sexual fantasy imaginable, Jonah got the hell out of town. He walked away from the university—away from his job—away from me.
I thought I’d found the perfect arrangement. The perfect sex partner. Instead I’ve been blown off and left behind.
Nine
The first couple of days, I can’t fully believe it. I keep opening the e-mail with his out-of-office message, like I think it will say something different this time. It just seems impossible. How do you share something that intimate—demand that level of trust—and then walk off without even a word?
I don’t let people in much. Seems like Jonah doesn’t either. So I would have thought that what we shared—a connection, no matter how fucked up it is—I would’ve thought it would matter more to him.
Apparently not.
By the end of the week, I’m moody. Angry. For long hours I sit in my cramped office, grading papers without mercy, bearing down so hard with the red pen that occasionally I scratch through the paper. Nobody says anything to me about it, but Marvin and Keiko seem to give me more space in there than usual, and one afternoon Kip brings me a macchiato, placing it on my desk without a word.
Carmen calls, tempting me with a night of Tex-Mex and beer, but I tell her I don’t feel like going out. I give the same answer to Shay and Arturo when they ask me over for a movie night, and to Geordie when he tries to get me to accompany him to a wine tasting at Apothecary. For now I want the peace and quiet of my house. I want my walls around me, lined with books I can escape into, and no reminders whatsoever of Jonah Marks.
The following Monday, Doreen has returned from Florida, and it’s time for me to face the music—in therapy terms. I don’t hide things from Doreen; what would be the point of going to a counselor if I did? Although I don’t describe the sex in detail, I go through everything else: Jonah’s audacious offer, our erotic negotiation, and the night itself. Doreen must be in shock, because she keeps saying, “I see,” over and over, which is how psychologists bunt. I have a feeling we’ll be unpacking this for a while.
Two weeks after my night with Jonah, it all changes. The emotion I least wanted to feel creeps in, takes over.
Shame.
I let a near stranger pretend to rape me. I play-acted something so horrifying, so violent, that it ruins people’s lives; I ought to know. Jonah came to me with the most indecent proposal of all, yet within a week I was in a hotel room, at his mercy.
A connection—is that what I thought we had? Now our encounter seems like nothing more than a sick joke. Maybe that’s Jonah’s game. He figures out what women want, whatever fantasy they’re into, and uses it to get some no-strings sex. Then he walks off, looking for his next target.
(It’s hard for me to really believe that. Whatever else Jonah might be, I don’t think he’s a player. But I don’t trust my judgment these days.)
Besides, as outrageous as Jonah’s behavior might be, as angry as I am with him. . . . I’m angrier with myself. For someone who’s spent a lot of her life being guarded, I folded pretty fast when the right temptation came along. And that temptation is repellent. Wrong. I should have kept fighting it instead of instantly surrendering.
Every memory I have of that night with Jonah changes within my mind. At first it seemed so perfect. So liberating. So fucking hot.
Now I can only think I made a fool of myself.
About three weeks afterward, I finally decide to stop moping. Back to reality. I pick up an extra macchiato for Kip one morning, to return the favor. “I see your evil twin has finally left the premises,” he says between sips.
“Yeah, she has a time-share in the Florida Keys. She tries to make the most of it.”
“Good riddance.” He smiles. “Welcome back, darling.”
And maybe it’s just that simple. I walk on, and I hold my head high. Nobody except me, Jonah, and Doreen will ever know what happened that night, so I can pretend it was just a really disturbing wet dream. Things would be easier that way.
Saturday night, I even go out.
“Oh, come on. It’s almost sunset,” Geordie says as he glances out at the bridge. “When are they going to get started?”
“Patience,” Carmen says between sips of her wine. We’re sitting on the grassy bank of the lake, a bottle of wine in the open ice chest at the center of our blanket—the perfect vantage point for the best free show in town. It always begins around the time darkness falls, but there’s no predicting the exact moment.
My wineglass is cool against my palm; the sauvignon blanc gleams the color of candlelight. I’m wearing gray leggings, a long boho top, and more jewelry than I usually bother with. It feels like a special occasion, not that I can explain why to Carmen and Geordie. But I don’t have to explain. I can simply enjoy the moment.