Until tonight, he had known only Anna, with her crying and his pushing at her. But this was different. They kissed for a very long time, slowly removing their clothes. First he reached under her dress and unfastened her garters, rolling down her stockings, slipping them off, pausing to explore her long, broad feet and toes. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, and her fingers traced his ribs and his nipples, and she nuzzled her face into his hairy chest. For a very long time, they kissed and touched, both of them wearing just their underclothes. She paused to take a drink of vodka, and when he went to kiss her again, she emptied it from her mouth to his.
When her bra came off, he poured vodka on her nipples and sucked them dry. Her breathing, fast and shallow, made him even more exited. Soon they were both naked, and licking places on each other that Carmine had never known two people could examine so intimately. But he couldn’t stop exploring her. And her tongue on him made him groan so loudly that she laughed and put one of the fluffy pillows over his mouth.
She surprised him again when he moved to finally climb on top of her and she pushed him back down, mounting him instead. She easily slipped his penis inside of her, and began to rock back and forth in a steady rhythm, moaning.
“Here I am,” she said.
Carmine didn’t know what she meant, but then she threw her head back, her rocking increasing and her moans growing louder. “Here I am,” she said again.
He felt her whole body shudder and her nipples beneath his fingers grow hard.
Laughing, she brought her face close to his. “I come,” she said. “Yes?”
Carmine bit his lip. She came? A girl could come?
“Now you have turn,” she said, and she rolled off of him and got on all fours, sticking her ass in the air.
Carmine kneeled behind her, his hands reaching for the Garden of Eden. So wet, so hot, he lingered there, rubbing her. Her breathing was changing again. “Yes,” she said. “Here I am.” His fingers kept rubbing her and soon she shuddered again, pressing his hand to her wetness.
“Italians good men, yes?” she whispered. “I come again with my Italian man.”
Confused, Carmine finally slid back into her. He couldn’t believe how each position felt so different, each one better than the last one. She moved with him, and he thought of Anna’s resistance. But then he forgot Anna altogether. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Here I am,” he whispered.
“TELL ME,” Eva said to him when he could finally conjure her.
“My friend Angelo,” he began. And she whispered, “Tell me everything, my Italian.”
She was the only one who understood. Maybe because her own husband had died in the war. Maybe because of what they had done with each other. But if he did everything exactly right, and she appeared in his small room, and he lay perfectly still, he could tell her everything and she would listen. And then she would release his hand from his penis, and she would begin to kiss him, and slowly, slowly, they would make love together, pleasing each other until, finally, he could sleep.
HE DIDN’T HAVE to work for the next two days. So Carmine stayed there with her. Unlike Anna, she couldn’t get enough. “Are you ready again?” she would ask him. “Have you ever tried this before?”
Carmine knew he would not go back to Anna. He would sell his hot dogs on the boardwalk of Coney Island. He would buy Eva steak dinners and vodka. He would make her frittatas and ravioli. He would find things she had never done before. They would do them together. He would stay in this room on the second floor and he would let that war be fought without him. Carmine had come to Coney Island for opportunity, and her name was Eva Peretsky.
On the third day, as he was dressing to leave, he caught sight of Eva in the mirror. She was sitting naked in bed, smoking a cigarette, watching him.
“Should I just come over at seven?” he said. “Or do you want to meet me on the boardwalk? I can bring you for real Italian food.”
That was when he saw she was crying. Not like Anna cried, but quietly.
“I’m sorry. I am done with you now,” she said.
Carmine turned to face her. “What?”
“This war, it so bad and it kill my husband. And probably it kill you, too. But even that, I don’t care. I just wanted to see if I could feel alive again.”
“What are you talking about?” Carmine said, kneeling beside her on the bed.
“You good Italian lover,” she said. “Thank you.”
He grabbed her by the hair, hard. “What are you telling me? You used me? You’re giving me the bum’s rush?”
“Bum’s rush,” she said, as if filing it away.
He yanked her hair even harder. “I’m coming back here tonight. I’m taking you for a real Italian dinner.”
But Eva just shook her head. “I’m not alive. I’m dead too. Like Ivan.”
Her hair felt smooth in his hands. “Please,” he said.
She shook herself free of him and stood. “I go to toilet,” she said. “You please go.”
He watched her walk away from him. He sat on the bed, trying to think. After a while, he stood and walked out the door, down the stairs. An old woman stirring something on the stove of the first-floor apartment glared at him.