26. Joey
26
Joey
I finish sautéing the cubed chicken and check on the brown basmati rice that’s steaming on low heat. The fragrance of cloves and cinnamon in the rice mixes with the spicy aroma of the curry simmering on the stove.
I have to admit, there’s something to be said for having piles of money at your disposal. I gave Brent a list of everything I needed, and he passed it on to the building concierge, who magically made it all appear, organized neatly in Brent’s cupboards and refrigerator. No walking through crowded stores, slowed to a crawl by indecisive shoppers who are impossible to pass in the narrow aisles. No standing in long checkout lines or dragging bags home on the bus or walking with them for blocks. I could get used to this.
It’s been less than a week since we’ve been “together,” but we’ve already fallen into a routine. Brent drives me to work in the morning, then trains in the weight room. I take the subway back to his place for dinner, and he drives me home. Despite the dubious comfort of my bed, he usually stays the night with me.
One night when he couldn’t come over due to another commitment, he taught me about phone sex. The next night he made me reenact what I did while we were on the phone.
“I will if you will,” I told him boldly, even as my face felt like it was on fire.
He didn’t last more than a couple of minutes before he pounced on me.
“What’s got you blushing?” Brent comes into the kitchen, dropping a kiss on my temple and running a hand down my back before checking out the curry.
“Nothing. Just the heat from the stove,” I fib.
“We could have ordered something. I don’t expect you to sweat over a hot stove for me.”
“It’s my job. And I told you, I like cooking.”
Despite his protests, I make dinner almost every night. Though I’d never admit it, I love cooking for him. He eats everything with gusto, complimenting me on whatever I make—even the avocado banana chocolate pudding I tried to foist on him as regular chocolate pudding. He could tell right away but said it was delicious. I gave him mine after taking one bite and shuddering at the taste.
“It smells delicious. Thanks, baby.” Another kiss, another touch. I could get used to these too.
“I’ll be right back. Going next door to Niko’s for a minute before he leaves for his trip.”
I return my attention to the korma I’m making, an Indian dish Aunty had taught me. While her version is vegetarian, I’m making it with chicken for the extra protein Brent needs and wild rice on the side instead of white. Aunty insisted I learn how to cook Indian food, not for myself, but because a hot, hearty meal was how to win a man’s heart—and a marriage proposal. Not that I’m looking for one from the single Indian men she’s always scoping out for me. Or from Brent.
No, right now I’m enjoying what I have, even if I don’t quite know what to call it. I’ve never had a boyfriend, but from the talk I’ve heard at school and work, I think what I have with Brent is so much better. We never run out of things to talk about, we have similar interests but different perspectives, and we’re compatible, even in bed—which surprises me, considering his experience and my lack thereof.
The sex is incredible, every time. Reading sex scenes in a fictional story is worlds apart from experiencing it firsthand. Frankly, I always thought it was unattainable fantasy, but the reality is as portrayed—no, better than—in my book. As much as I don’t like to think about the women Brent’s been with, I’m benefitting from all his experience.
He reappears, carrying a bottle of wine. “I raided Niko’s wine cooler. You ever have a gewürztraminer?”
“Ger…what?”
“Gewürztraminer. Perfect to go with the spicy dish tonight.”
“Well, I’m no wine connoisseur, so whatever you like is fine with me. All I know about wine is white with fish and chicken and red with meat.”
“Well, that’s just not true.” Brent opens the bottle of white and gives me a lesson in wines while he pours and I put food on the plates and bring them over to the island where we eat when it’s too hot and humid on the terrace. I learn he and Niko recently bought a vineyard on Long Island and plan to expand the label that already exists from their Napa vineyards.
“I still can’t believe Niko Anastasios is your neighbor. I should have invited him to dinner, though I think I might pass out if I actually meet him.”
“Why?” he asks, as if meeting a billionaire is no big deal. He’s not only Brent’s neighbor, but his best friend and partner in business.
“Because he is incredibly hot, not to mention filthy rich! I heard he flies his dates to secluded islands and pilots the plane himself. Is that true?”
“How the hell should I know?” he grumbles. “He’s never asked me out. Besides, he’s not my type.” He takes a bite of food with some aggression
I’m about to ask for more details of Niko’s lifestyle but pause at Brent’s surly tone. Is he jealous? I smile. “Mine, either.”
He scoffs, not believing me after the gushing I did. “And how rich do you have to be to be filthy rich? I’m rich, you know.”
A pouty Brent is pretty cute, but I change the subject, telling him his days of playing chauffeur are almost over.
“The place Aunty found for me is perfect. A safe neighborhood, two blocks from the subway, and a ten-minute train ride to work. Best of all, hardly any rent. I just have to take care of the cat and plants.”
“Glad it worked out for you, but I have to ask, why do you call your landlady ‘Aunty’?”
“Apparently in the Indian culture, everyone your parents’ age is Aunty and Uncle. A sign of respect, I suppose.”
“No actual aunts or uncles?”
I shake my head. “Not that I’ve met. My mother was an only child, raised by her grandparents in Ireland. She came to the States for nursing school. I don’t know of any other family since she never went back.”
“And your father?”
“He also immigrated here—from India to become a doctor. From what my mum told me, he was estranged from his family while the two of them were married. I’ve never met them either.”
“So no one to show you the Indian way?”
“Aunty’s been trying to teach me, but I’m afraid I’m not a very good student. Her version of the culture, with its focus on family duty and religious tradition, is completely foreign to me. Oh! And let’s not forget the arranged marriages.”
“Really? Do they do that here in the States?”
“‘Love marriages’ are still a little scandalous. And the arranged ones are more as result of a family network of matchmakers to help make the initial introduction. She’s put the word out on my behalf.”
“What word? Behalf of what?” He drops his fork and straightens in his seat.
“I told you, she’s trying to find me a husband who looks great on paper.”
“What the fuck?” His expression is somewhere between shocked and glowering.
That was my initial reaction when she mentioned it to me. I’ve since learned to brush her off. I laugh at Brent’s disbelief and add, “You should see some of the bio-data sheets she’s given me.”
“The bio what?”
“Basically a résumé of the man’s qualifications that would make him a good husband and provider.”
“You’re shitting me.” Brent shakes his head then narrows his eyes. “Any good prospects?”
“I don’t even look at them.”
Some of the tension leaves him and he picks up his fork again. I try not to read too much into it.
“As crazy as it all sounds,” he says, “it’s also fascinating, the different cultures. You were never interested in learning more about it?”
I shrug. “Who was going to teach me after my father left? Besides, I was too busy trying to fit in. I already looked different. I wasn’t going to make it worse by behaving differently too. And I’ve realized I’d stand out even more with Indians based on how Aunty’s family and friends look at me when they meet me.”
“Poor baby.” He runs a hand over the length of my hair. “You really have had it rough.”
I shrug again. “Others have it a lot worse. Besides, I had your family.”
Brent stands up and pulls me off the barstool. “You still have them. And me. Come on, let’s go for a ride.”
“So to speak?” I smirk.
He laughs and kisses me. “No, smart-ass. For real.”
“Okay, you can give me a ride home. I have to finish packing for my move tomorrow. But let’s take a slight detour on the way. There’s a place I want to show you.”
After we finish cleaning up the kitchen, I give him directions to a scenic spot that I discovered on a run one day. We drive in his Ferrari, leaving the top down to let the summer breeze cool us off. I flip through radio stations until I find one playing classic rock.
“Aren’t you a little young to know this music?”
“Charlie introduced me to it. She said your dad listened to it all the time, and it made her feel closer to him.”
“Hm. I always avoided listening to it. It made me miss him more.”
I’m touched at the vulnerability in his voice. I reach over to change the station.
“No, leave it. Charlie’s right. It feels good to hear this again and remember the happy times.”
We listen in silence A Springsteen song eventually comes on. It’s not “Glory Days,” but the music still evokes bittersweet memories.
Once we cross the river to New Jersey, I give him directions to one of my favorite spots. We arrive just as the sun is setting, creating a warm orange glow that reflects off the skyline across the river. We park in a small lot and walk to a bench and sit, his arm around my shoulders. I remember the last time we sat on a bench together.
My first kiss. I wonder if he remembers.
“This is an amazing view. You can see the entire Manhattan skyline from here. You come here often?”
“I like to run along the river. It’s a fantastic view no matter what time I come here, but I love it best when the sun’s setting and all the lights start to come on in the buildings across the river when it gets dark.”
We sit in silence and watch as the glow on the glass and steel towers fades to black and the shape of the skyline begins to fill in with the sparkle of lights.
“Last time we sat on a bench like this, there wasn’t a flicker of light anywhere except from the moon.”
I look at him in surprise. “You remember that?”
“Hard to forget the first time a girl runs away from me when I kiss her. Was I that bad?” he teases.
I duck my head so he can’t see my embarrassment, but I answer honestly. “It wasn’t the kiss. It’s when you touched me…my…breasts. You were horrified, and I was so humiliated.”
He uses an index finger on my chin to tilt my head up so I can tell he’s being sincere when he tells me, “I was horrified because I realized you might have been jailbait, and I almost didn’t care.”
It never occurred to me that our almost five-year age difference when I was sixteen was highly inappropriate.
“I hope I’ve shown you by now how much I love your breasts,” he continues. “Otherwise I can give you another demonstration right now.”
When I glance around to check if anyone is within hearing distance, I’m relieved to find out we’re alone in this section of the park. He turns me back to face him again and kisses me gently.
I push back and jump up when his hand, which is hanging over my shoulder, starts toward my breast. “Brent! We’re in public.”
He looks around, then grins. “It doesn’t seem to be stopping them.”
I turn to where he gestures and am mortified to see a car rocking in the parking lot. The Ferrari is only a couple of spots away from it.
“They’re either desperate or they’re sneaking around. Or both,” Brent says.
I’m too embarrassed to respond with more than a “Hm.” I’ve turned away to lock my gaze on the lighted point of the Empire State Building in the distance.
“I guess we’ll stay right here until they’re done.” Brent sits back on the bench and pulls me down next to him. He behaves so nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing to sit only yards away from a couple having sex, even though they’re inside a car parked in a dark corner of the lot. “I don’t think we’d be able to do that in my Ferrari. Not with the two of us being as tall as we are. We’d be twisted up like pretzels. We can try the Phantom, if you want. Or how about a limo?”
He’s having fun teasing me. I decide I have to stop acting like a virginal idiot since we’re long past that now. Despite my blush, I turn to face him directly .
“Sure, I’ve always fantasized about that. Have you ever done it in a limo?”
“Baby, I want to hear about all your fantasies,” he says, leaning close so our mouths are barely a breath away. He neatly ignores my question, I notice, but my insides melt with his next words. “And then make them all come true for you.”
“I’ll have to come up with some new ones, because you’ve already made most of them come true, and more.” I smile shyly at him. “If they’re done, we should go. I still need to finish packing. Someone didn’t let me finish last night.”
“Actually, as I remember it, I let you finish a couple of times.”
I laugh. “So to speak.”
He rewards my proficiency in the game with a kiss.