Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
To the surprise of us both, Oliver coaxes me onto the Ferris wheel at the Denton Spring Carnival. Our dates are happening with more frequency. Oliver has confessed to his parents that we are “spending time together again,” and Emmy is thrilled to be spoiled by her grandparents on Saturday nights.
A teenager in bottle-thick glasses tears our tickets and waves us on. Oliver smiles and takes my hand, leading us to an empty bucket seat. The metal is cool through my jeans.
“Are you cold?” Oliver asks.
“Just nervous. This isn’t how we go, right? On a rusty Ferris wheel in Denton?”
Oliver looks at me searchingly. “If anything, it will be on that Tilt-A-Whirl.” The ride starts with a hard jerk. Soon we’re high enough that I can see all the way from the funnel cake stand to the teacups and beyond, to the sea of cars in the parking lot.
“Remember when we used to make out on the roof of your old apartment building?” Oliver asks. “We were way higher up.”
“That was me trying to impress you.”
Inches from the top, we come to a stop so sudden that we’re both thrown against the safety bar. “Someone must be getting on,” Oliver murmurs.
He peers over the bar and our bucket sways. I grab him by the arm just as the ride moves, then stutters again. From below, someone shouts. “Rex! Where’s that button?”
I lean into Oliver, and he puts his arm around me. “How can I take your mind off this?” he asks.
“Should we call the fire department?”
“Rex down there has got this. I promise.”
I take a deep breath—the night air smells like funnel cake and gasoline—but it’s cool and soothing. “Tell me a secret. Something you’ve never told me before.”
The Ferris wheel sputters but only moves forward an inch or so. Some of our fellow passengers scream profanities at the kid in the glasses who seems to have given up. “Hey, asshole! Let us off!”
Then another passenger screams at the first screamer. “Watch your fucking mouth. I have kids here!”
Oliver laughs.
“No laughing!” I say. “Too much moving!”
Oliver takes my hand in his and gently kisses my fingers. I smile and will myself to relax. Maybe we are meant to be right here. Right now.
“Okay,” he says. “The handcuffs aren’t my only fantasy.”
“Oh?”
“I might have lied to you about not being attracted to Jackie Gersh.”
“Who?”
“Our neighbor. On Duvall Street. I dreamt a lot about having sex with you and other people when we were first married.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Someone watching us. Someone you liked. Someone I liked.”
“Another couple?”
“No…. Maybe. Like watching you get pleasure from someone else. I’m not sure how far I thought it through, but the dreams turned me on.”
“But you don’t think about it anymore?”
“Well,” he says, smiling, “I haven’t completely let go of the idea. But lately, I’ve just been dreaming about you. Thinking about you. Thinking about the things I want to do to you and with you.”
His leg brushes mine. I want him so desperately in that moment. I think about his hands on my body, his breath on my neck. I feel addicted to thinking about these things—and I’m having trouble remembering ever having felt this dopey over Oliver. It’s such a rush.
I grin up at him. Maybe this is my fantasy. Sitting on a broken Ferris wheel having an unexpected conversation with the person I was once so sure I knew inside and out, but who now seems new. “I’d kiss you right now but I think that’ll make us sway.” I rest my cheek against his shoulder instead.
At the beginning of our marriage, if I had known Oliver fantasized about having sex with me and other people, would I have helped make that fantasy a reality for him?
Or would it have made me scared? Ashamed?
Jealous? Maybe Oliver wasn’t the only one keeping part of himself hidden in our marriage.
For so long, I’ve been afraid of the secrets we’ve kept.
But now I’m wondering if those secrets are what will hold us together.
Maybe it’s everything I’ve been working on at Dirty Diana.
Maybe the newfound honesty between us will create a better foundation.
Not the first house, not the baby, not even the first kiss.
We’re only now starting to build something strong enough to carry the weight of our marriage.
“Diana?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me something real.”
An invitation. This is the moment to tell him about Dirty Diana. But as I lift my head and turn to him, the Ferris wheel creaks to life with a quick, terrifying thrust. There is the sound of metal against metal and a brief silence followed by cheers.
Oliver and I both exhale; the solid ground is near. But this impending sense of safety is no competition for my cowardice. I hold Oliver’s hand a little tighter and tell him a truth but not a secret. “I’m really happy to be dating my husband again.”