CHAPTER SEVEN #2
“It’s your catchphrase. Having your fantasies realized is fun, don’t get me wrong.
Don’t stop doing that for us and for other people.
But when you get everything you want, all the time, without any effort.
.. it’s boring. And there’s no impetus to grow or reason to change.
You’re not going to be able to keep me by flashing expensive stuff at me.
You have to meet me halfway. Like with this. ”
“And the hot dog cart,” I added.
“Right. Like the hot dog cart.” She sliced the chicken, washed her hands again, and found a pan and some olive oil. “Give me that zest.”
I passed the prep board over to her and she scooped up the sticky lime sand to sprinkle it over the chicken. “Lime.”
“I feel like a doctor doing surgery,” I quipped.
“I’m the doctor. You’re the surgical tech handing me the instruments. It’s like you don’t watch TV at all.” She reached for the knife I’d used, sliced the lime ruthlessly in half, and squeezed the juice over the cut-up meat. “That’s the other thing we’re going to do tonight.”
“Play doctor?” I wiggled my eyebrows.
She nudged me with her elbow and reached for the salt. “Watch TV. We’ll find a show to watch together while we fall asleep.”
“After we play doctor?” I asked hopefully.
She shook her head. “We both have to get up early. We’re going to eat dinner, then cozy up in bed and drift off while watching television. No kinky sex involved. No sex at all.”
“Am I being punished? Put on restriction?” Had we ever had a night where we didn’t fuck each other exhausted and senseless? I couldn’t remember one.
She shook her head with a fond smile. “It’s not a punishment. It’s real life. I need my sleep. And routine. And while I love having sex with you, don’t get me wrong, it can’t be the only thing we do together. It can’t be the glue that sticks us together.”
“No, the sticky stuff would be the—”
“Pepper!” she barked, cutting me off.
“Okay, I suppose it’s only fair that you get a night off.” But I sighed dramatically, anyway. “And by the way, my past relationships? Weren’t sex fests every night, either. I know it’s normal for couples to eventually not fuck every night.”
“Good. We’ll have to find something to watch that won’t get us all horny and worked up.” She considered. “Something on one of those educational channels. One where exotic pets attack their owners or something.”
“Well, now I know where you stand on exotic pets. I’m learning all sorts of fascinating new things about you from this experiment,” I joked.
“Look, I love you, and I want to be with you. But if you ever brought a tiger into this house—”
I tapped my cane on the floor.
She blushed with embarrassment. “Right. No danger of that happening, then.”
“Maybe no animal attack shows, at all,” I suggested.
“Right.” She dumped the chicken into the pan; some of the juice splashed down the side and fizzled and popped in the flame from the gas burner. She hopped back in alarm.
“You know what else might be fun?” I asked dryly.
She tilted her head.
“Knowing where my fire extinguishers are.”
* * * *
The food Charlotte cooked for us wasn’t amazing. It wasn’t seven-hundred-dollars-per-person tasting menu quality. But it was good, it filled us up, and the important thing was, we’d made it ourselves. And that had made Charlotte happy.
We ate in the den, our plates on our laps, drinks on coasters on the coffee table. She’d recommended it as a “normal people” thing, and I’d had to remind her of all the times she’d seen me do exactly what we were doing.
“What if we did a cooking class together?” I mused, and at her narrowed eyes, I revised. “For fun. So I can learn things. And you seemed to enjoy yourself in there tonight, too.”
“I’ll think it over.” She lifted a tortilla chip to her mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and added, “I need to check my schedule. I have this new job, and therapy...”
“When do you start therapy again?” I felt guilty for forcing her into it, then consistently forgetting anything she told me about it. Maybe I could use some therapy, myself.
“Tuesday. I’ll be taking a long lunch. I hope that’s okay with my work.”
“I have a feeling you’ll get away with it.” I chewed and swallowed another bite of my wrap. “What do you do to get ready for bed? When you’re not getting fucked to sleep.”
“Brush my teeth, put on my pajamas.” Her eyes lit up.
“I have the cutest pjs I bought when I went shopping before, and I’ve never even had a chance to wear them.
They look like Audrey Hepburn would have worn them in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
They even have a matching eye mask with little lashes on it! ”
“I look forward to the eerie effect that will have on me when I wake to it in the morning.” I put my plate on the table and groaned. “I’m stuffed. I’m glad we’re not having sex tonight. It would have been... gassy.”
“Yeah, I’m not quite ready for that level of normal relationship. Let’s leave some things in the honeymoon phase.” She laughed. “And keep the bathroom door closed.”
“No farting, keep the bathroom door closed, it’s like you’re looking for a fairytale prince here,” I chided her. “Do you want to get high before bed? I find that it helps me sleep.”
“I would love to get high with you,” she said with a grin. “The answer is always going to be yes. Snuggling up in bed with a joint sounds great right now.”
“Well, allow me to disappoint you. Because if we’re smoking, we’re smoking outside.” I gestured to the balcony visible beyond the windows.
All the blood drained from her face. “Out there?”
“It’s not as scary as it seems. The railings are very high. Way too high for you to fall over,” I assured her. “It’s just like this room, but if you took the ceiling off. And you don’t have to go near the edge.”
“Maybe I could pop out real quick and get a vape,” she suggested, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.
“Come on. I live in one of the highest addresses in the world. You’re going to have to get used to it. What happens when you want to use the pool in the summer?”
“You buy me a house that has an indoor pool?” she suggested.
I’d never considered that I might have to change my address to keep her happy. I would, but at the moment, I wanted to see if her fear could be managed. “Come on. One joint. I can put my arm around you, and we can stand right up against the doors, if you’re so scared.”
She frowned as she considered it. “You’re not going to do something weird like pretend to push me over the edge?”
“Why would I do that? You’re afraid of heights,” I reminded her. “I’m not a bully. I love you.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Right now?” I asked. “You don’t want to be like a normal couple and clean the dishes?”
She rolled her eyes. “There are limits, dude.”
“Okay.” I reached over to the end table and opened the drawer. Inside, a wealth of pre-rolled joints awaited.
“Tell me I’m going to find little hidden stashes like that everywhere,” Charlotte said, her eyes widening.”
“Of course. What’s the point of having lots of storage space, if not exactly for this reason?” I grabbed one for her and one for me, and the lighter tucked neatly beside them.
“You promise, you’ll hold my hand the entire time,” she asked.
“I mean, not when I’m trying to light up, but yes, I promise.” I motioned toward the doors. “Come on. Face your fears.”
She got to her feet, grumbling, “I don’t think you’re a licensed fear therapist.”
The night air was cooler as high up as we were, though it never made a lot of sense to me, since I’d always heard that heat rose.
Of course, I was in the hotel business, not the science business.
I supposed it had to do with the wind, which was formidable, hence the extra-tall glass barriers and the panels that leaned in at the top of them.
Charlotte squeezed the bones out of my hand as she exited, then nearly went right back in again.
“You’re fine,” I assured her. “You’re fine. It sounds worse than it is. I’m not going to let you blow away.”
“That’s not funny!” She stood with her back to the windows, and the palm that wasn’t white-knuckled around my own was slapped flush against the glass.
“You look like a person in a sitcom pretending to jump off a ledge.” I couldn’t help a little chuckle at her. She looked so pathetic, in the most endearing way.
“Here.” I lit up, then passed it off to her. “For the nerves, kid.”
“Gross, don’t call me that.” She took the joint, her heels still firmly pressed against the glass behind her.
“Do you want to go look at the view?” I suggested, gesturing to the barrier on the other side of the balcony.
She nearly choked on her inhale, her eyes bulging. “No!”
“I’m teasing.” But I did hope that she’d get desensitized to the space. The pool was small, but lots of fun to fuck in. I gestured to the patio furniture grouped around the gas fire pit. “We could sit down—”
“I’m fine here!” She took another big inhale, barely let it settle, exhaled, and pulled in another lungful.
“It’s not a cigarette,” I reminded her.
“The faster I smoke it, the faster I get to go back in there. Away from the terror.”
“So, that’s a no to the skydiving, is it?” I joked. With a sigh of resignation, I pushed the door open again. “Come on.”
“I’m not done,” she said, gesturing with the joint.
“I know. But we can smoke inside.”
She glared at me. “Then it wasn’t a rule? It was a ploy to get me out here and make me pee my pants?”
“Did you pee your pants?” I asked, momentarily alarmed.
“No. Just an expression.” She took another drag and crossed her arms. “Fine. I’ll go sit down. But if you make any sudden moves—”
“Do you think I’d throw you off a building?” I demanded.
“You can never be too careful, where death is involved,” she said, her voice tight as she held in her hit. “But I suppose I can trust you.”
“Thank you. That warms my heart.” I almost told her to go inside, anyway; that it wouldn’t be fun for me knowing she was tormented by her phobia.
But before I could, she somehow managed to walk to the seating area without lifting her feet off the ground, in a kind of sideways crab shuffle of pure fear.
She’d already done so many terrifying things this week. Moving to a new city without any notice. Getting a job. Commitment. Now, she faced down her fear with grim determination and the support of modern-style wicker furniture.
She was afraid of heights, but my princess was fearless.