Chapter 16B

Sunday. I had been in New York six weeks and two days.

Sunday morning Martha and I went to an Appalachian Arts exhibit at the Metropolitan, and late Sunday afternoon we went with Ronnie to see an old Greta Garbo movie at the Museum of Modern Art. Then we went to a diner. For the first time, as we ate, Martha asked me about the party.

She said, "It must have been great. He was out until two o'clock."

Ronnie said, "Two o'clock? Hey, hey. And how did Anita hold up?"

I said flatly, "She held up okay."

"Mmmm," Ronnie said, chewing. "Up at two a.m. with the Cisco Kid's daughter."

Martha said, "Who won the contest? You didn't even tell me."

I said, "Some guy named Maury."

Martha said, "This Maury must be very good."

"Not that good," I said, and I swallowed. "It was political."

Martha said, "Politics? In a teenage drama club?"

I shrugged. "That's what I'm told." I was ready for a change of subject. I asked Ronnie, "How was your date?"

She shrugged, too. "The wheels of the chariots of the gods are not round, and they move slowly." She took a sip of her tea. "So tell me more about you and Anita."

I said, "Nothing to tell. She's leaving town Tuesday."

"Oh, no," Ronnie said, disappointed. "Steven, that means you're still stuck with us two old-timers."

I said, smiling, "That's not so bad."

And it wasn't. They were both undergoing their "dangerous" time of the month, and would later be due for periods at about the same time. So we played it safe with a night of oral sex. I sat up on the bed and Ronnie stretched out in front of me, sucking me off as she had done the first time, and thanks to Anita the night before I held out a long time and made it good for myself, really good, thinking as I looked down at Ronnie sucking me that Anita was good, but Ronnie was better, much better. I let the physicality of it flood my brain and guts, watching Martha grin as she held me by the root with a couple of fingers just before my climax started in Ronnie's mouth. I came hard inside Ronnie's soft sucking, hearing Ronnie swallow the thin, jetting squirts, her warm, small mouth absorbing every throb and jerk of my pleasured cock. And I was good to them, both of them, making Ronnie cum twice under my mouth, until she couldn't cum any more. I wanted to please sweet Ronnie until she couldn't stand it. While she still gasped and heaved after her orgasm I held her and gave her a long, loving kiss. I was good to Martha, too. I didn't just please her with my mouth, I made love to her with it, watching Ronnie suck Martha's nipples while Martha enjoyed a stream of small, intense orgasms. I worked to make it good for her, building her up to a final, splendid climax that had her moaning, "My god, Steven!" and then gasping "Steven!" again before it was over.

But my thoughts during that night with Martha and Ronnie went to prove, I suppose, that Anita still lurked in my head. Holding Martha as she felt asleep in my arms, I remembered every minute with Anita. I held Martha closer, stroking her hair, and the longer I held Martha and touched her, the less there was of Anita, until there was only Martha, and I slept peacefully.

Tuesday afternoon as I was getting ready to meet Ronnie for lunch, the telephone rang. I picked up.

"Hello?"

There was a pause. "Steven?"

"Yes."

"Anita."

"I know. I knew right away."

"Yes," she said, and paused again, and she began lightly, "I guess I didn't --" She took a deep breath. I could see her red lips as they breathed against her handset. "Could you meet me at the airport? I leave at two." She said quickly, "If you say no, I'll understand."

"Why would I say no?"

"Well... If you want to."

"I can be there."

She gave me the airline and the gate, and I hung up. Now I had to call Ronnie about our lunch date. I dialed quickly.

Ronnie said boringly, "Hello, this is Veronica."

"Ronnie, I can't make it for lunch. I have to be somewhere at two."

"Awww. Shucks. Hey, I smell the hot blood of Anita."

"I -- how did you know?"

"She leaves today. Right?"

"Yeah. At two."

"Poor Steven. The little bandita princessa has stolen his heart."

"Not exactly."

"Hey, do you know her birthday?"

"No."

"See if you can get it. And don't worry about lunch."

"I can make up for it and take you to dinner tonight."

"Don't worry about it."

"But I don't like standing you up."

"You're not standing me up. You stand somebody up when you don't call and don't apologize. We can have lunch tomorrow or something."

"Well, I don't like doing this to y--"

"Hey. Do it. Get it out of your system. And leave early. You might hit traffic."

The taxi ride to LaGuardia did involve traffic, a lot of it, with the driver swearing and swerving all over the place, and I told him to take it easy lest his twists and turns fling me out of a window. The drive took just long enough for me to visualize three or four different, poignantly romantic ways that Anita would say goodbye.

I arrived in time, just after one o'clock, and found my way to Anita's departure area.

To my dismay, we were unable to hold a private conversation. There were plenty of people around Anita, including her godmother and a handful of Hispanics, some of them relatives, and another young couple; and Chris, looking bored as usual. It was an uncomfortable situation with so many well-wishers present, though Anita seemed at ease as we all waited in a group of lounge chairs. And I had hurriedly dressed in a shirt and jeans and sport coat, which would not be an acceptable style of dress for another ten years. But no one seemed to mind. Anita spent most of her time with a woman who looked like a doting aunt, talking in Spanish, while I chatted with Chris.

But Chris' eyes told me he knew something was going on. Anita would glance at me and smile now and then, and I'd smile back, or we would exchange a few words, and each time this happened I'd see Chris watching us. And because Chris was around so often but seldom spoke with Anita, I wondered what their story was.

Anita waited for her flight's very last boarding announcement before rising to leave. She kissed her relatives and gave Chris a hug, and while Anita's godmother waited for a goodbye, Anita gave me a hug. I thought it would be an affectionate quickie, but she held onto me, and she said in my ear, "You very nearly had me thinking I might not be on that plane."

"Then don't get on it."

She tightened her hug and said against my ear, "Will you kiss me goodbye?"

"Sure."

"A real kiss."

"But your people don't even know who I am."

She didn't answer. She raised her mouth to mine and we kissed, a rather chaste kiss, but affectionate. It lasted long enough for me to open my eyes warily to see her relatives standing there, gaping at us, and Chris grinning down at the floor, shaking his head.

Anita clasped me to her again, quickly, and whispered, "Thank you, Steven." Then she pulled back and she took a deep breath and said to the group, "Well. Here I go." She turned to her godmother, who looked at her with an open mouthed frown, and Anita said sweetly, "Juanita, don't be so surprised. I told you he was special." She gave her godmother a long, tight hug. She said cheerily to everyone, "See you Thanksgiving!"

She grabbed her shoulder bag, and she gave Chris a kiss on the cheek and told him, "You watch out for Susan." He gave her a kiss back and said, "You watch out for UCLA." She kissed him on the cheek once more, and she glanced at me, smiling, and said, "Goodbye," and she and her godmother walked to the checkout area with her tickets. After a moment Anita disappeared through the gate, her godmother watching her.

I turned around to look for the viewing area, observing the stares of Anita's relatives and smiling at them apologetically. I went upstairs to the hall of giant panorama windows, and took a seat while I waited to watch Anita's plane take off. The airplane soon taxied out, getting lost from my view behind a building, and I knew her plane would be somewhere in the parade of similar planes taxiing farther out on the runways. I no longer knew which of the five airplanes was hers. I sat and watched them take off, one by one.

Chris passed in front of the viewing window and stood looking out, his hands in his pockets, and after one plane took off, he said, "There she goes. Gone again. Never stays in one place very long. Probably never will." He turned toward me. "Gonna miss that gal. She's up there with the best."

I slumped in the chair, my legs stretched straight out, my elbows draped over the armrests. I said quietly, gazing at the runways, "Yeah. She is."

He looked outdoors again and mused aloud, "Anita always wins."

I heard what he said. What he meant crept into me more slowly.