David Wiltse - The Edge of Sleep

She stayed at the table for a few minutes more to emphasize the separation. She opened her compact and checked her makeup, holding the mirror at an angle so that she could see the man’s reflection. He was still studying her, of course. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Now he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers in a greeting. The gesture looked silly in the mirror, weak, feminine. Dee hoped he wasn’t one of those, but if he was, there were lots more fish in the sea and she was just about the best bait they were likely to come across.

Dee started out of the taco shop and paused once to look back at the man. She held his eyes fully and smiled. He smiled back. Dee saw no point in being too subtle about these matters. It just wasted time.

The bar portion of the restaurant was noisy and she could hear the music and the sound of voices spilling out as soon as she stepped from the Mexican place. At this time of night most of the shops were closed except for the food pavilion and the individual restaurants, so a little more noise would get no complaint from neighboring merchants.

Dee had time to order a white wine and study the men on either side of her before the man from the restaurant showed up. The other men looked passable enough, provided they were in proper working order-so many men were not these days-but she still preferred her friend from the restaurant. He was a little younger than the other two, a little cuter, and he did not sport a gold chain. Dee had long since despaired of men who wore gold chains as hopeless to talk to and useless in bed.

“Is your-uh-friend gone?” he asked.

Dee looked at him, then around the room, then back to him. “I like to think I have friends wherever I go,” she said.

“I’ll bet you do, too. I just didn’t want to intrude if your friend was coming back. He’s one big bruiser; I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.”

“He’s gone home,” she said.

“And left a pretty lady like yourself all alone?”

“He’s never much company at the best of times,” she said. “I like a man who can express himself. Can you express yourself, Lyle?”

“Edgar,” he corrected her.

“You’re not one of these strong, silent types, are you? Although you look strong. I like strength, but not silence. I like to know how a man is feeling. I like some noise.”

“I thought you might. When I saw you in the restaurant, I said to myself, there’s a very pretty woman who is not afraid of a little noise. I’ll bet she’s pretty noisy herself. Under the right circumstances.”

“Are you the right circumstances, Lyle?”

He grinned, a lop-sided affair that dragged his face to the left and narrowed his eyes. Dee realized he thought it was his sexy look.

“You better believe it,” he said. He leaned closer to her. Dee grasped a hair from his chest and yanked it free from the skin.

“Hey!”

“Just checking,” said Dee. “You are going to be noisy, aren’t you?”

Ash trudged along the highway, keeping his head down so the approaching headlights would not blind him. The gusts of wind created by passing trucks were strong enough to rock him, and many of the motorists honked at him even though he was not on the road. He could hear their bleeps dropping downscale as they raced away, still angered and startled by his appearance in a night they had assumed was ordered just for them and the traffic.

It was always a bad sign when she sent him home alone. He knew she still had her pills, he had checked only two days ago. Maybe he should count them, he thought. Maybe she had them but wasn’t taking them. She was feeling too good; she had too much energy and too much enthusiasm. Something was bound to disappoint her eventually. If nothing else, then Ash himself. And when she was disappointed she would crash from where she was now. She would fall as fast and as far as the eagles fell when they swooped down for a rabbit. Ash loved to watch them on the nature shows on television, the way the great birds just folded their wings and plummeted straight down from the clouds. Watching the birds was exhilarating, but watching Dee was terrifying. Like the birds that always rose up once more triumphantly clutching a fish or a hare. Dee would rise again with her prey in her talons.

Lights behind him flashed bright and dim, bright and dim, and he heard a horn blaring a tattoo of recognition. Dee’s car flashed by and he caught a glimpse of her waving hand, her smiling face illuminated by the beams of the car behind her. She blew him a kiss, still honking as she sped away toward the motel.

The man from the restaurant was in the car behind Dee. Ash saw his puzzled look as he stared at Ash momentarily before he, too, raced away into the darkness toward the motel.

“See you later, Lyle,” Ash said. His voice was drowned out by the whoosh of air, the squeal of tires on pavement.

Ash put his head down and trudged on.

Edgar decided she could call him Lyle-or Heathcliff or Geronimo-if she wanted to. The original Lyle seemed to be her husband, or her father-Edgar was not certain which-but he certainly wasn’t going to keep correcting her and risk queering his luck. He worked as a sales representative for a sportswear firm and spent half of the year on the road, servicing accounts. Occasionally he got lucky and was able to service some of the ladies who worked in the stores as well-or women he would pick up like this one. When he did get lucky he often gave them free tennis shirts from his samples as a token of his affection. From the look of things so far with this lady, however, a tennis shirt would never suffice. He would bestow her with shirts, shoes, warm-up suit, the whole outfit. He hadn’t just gotten lucky this time: he had won the lottery.

She had his shirt off of him before the door was closed. She seemed game for anything and Edgar hoped he would have enough imagination to take advantage of the opportunity.

She threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest. The strength of her embrace surprised him. She was not small but she was no giant, either, yet when she squeezed him it took his breath away. Suddenly she was lifting him off the floor, her face still in his chest, and she twirled him with a few staggering steps. When she put him down she pulled her face away and looked up at him. She was smiling, grimacing really, with his chest hairs in her clenched teeth.

“Hey!”

“What are you, a baby?” she said. “Is um baby?”

“You’re kind of hyper, aren’t you? Let’s take it slow.”

“Is um baby?” she mocked. She stroked his chest. “Did I hurt ums? Did I hurt baby?”

“I guess I’ll live,” he said. “You just surprised me.” It was his first opportunity to glance around the room. He halfhoped to see a trapeze or some other device of exotic erotica. Whatever it was, whatever she had in mind, he would try it. Edgar felt he had spent half a lifetime thinking about the more advanced and complicated techniques of sex that he was only dimly aware existed. He was never precise in his mind about the details and he had always lacked the confidence to experiment. The things he wanted to do seemed embarrassing, unreasonable-almost rude-and he could not bring himself to ask his normal bedmates to try them. Especially not his wife, whom he would have to face again in the cold light of day. But with this woman, this Dee, he knew he would not have to ask permission for anything. In fact, it might be all he could do just to hang on.

“I know what baby needs,” she said. She pulled her blouse over her head without undoing the buttons. She wore no bra. Her breasts were small and firm and she arched her back as if she were proud of them. He thought she should be. Her ribs showed against her skin, and with her back bowed her belly sucked inward the way it did in statues. She was not small of bone; her shoulders were broad and her hips flared distinctly from her waist, but she was lean and strong. Edgar loved them lean. He liked to feel as if he could lift and move his women when he needed to; he liked to feel in control.