“There’s a bunch of press and paparazzi in front of your building.” He shrugged. “I got a chance to explain myself.”
“Thank god,” I said, feeling suddenly very calm myself. Phew. He had come to his senses, he’d cleared it all up, he’d told the world he wasn’t really gay and he wasn’t really in love with me. I stopped nibbling my Xanax. I sat on the couch and breathed. “What did you say?”
He was very confident. “I said, ‘Hank Haberman is the best and most supportive agent there is, and clearly my comment was taken out of context.’?” He beamed at me as though he’d just brokered world peace, when all he’d done was make things right with Hank. I popped the whole Xanax.
CHAPTER 12
A Sunday Kind of Love
By Arthur Winters, Attorney-at-Law
I was late to meet Felicia because again I changed five times. I have seen this woman nearly daily for years and I was suddenly unreasonably consumed with worry over my appearance. It made no sense. This wasn’t a date, just a walk over a bridge I had seen countless times. Never before, though, had I crossed it. There was a metaphor if ever I’d heard one.
Even though it wasn’t a date, I hadn’t told Sherri about it. I’d told her I had a business thing. She was so angry that I hadn’t ended the Four Seasons mix-up before it started, how would she understand me actually planning to spend a Sunday with Felicia, or, as she called her, my washed-out secretary? I was beginning to wonder what I was doing myself. After all, I was lying; it was beginning to feel a bit like an affair, not that I had ever had one. Only I would cheat on a young blonde with my middle-aged assistant. Though affairs with assistants are commonplace. What am I talking about? This is not an affair! I promised myself to talk about business a little bit so that when I saw Sherri later I wouldn’t have to lie. Well, not completely.
As my cab pulled over at City Hall, I saw Felicia on the sidewalk. She was wearing tennis shoes and capris. She looked…adorable. She approached the cab, and as I stepped out to pay she leaned over to give me a kiss hello. It was meant for my cheek, but I inadvertently turned my head and her lips ended up on mine. It was as if it unlocked something in both of us, and we began to kiss on the sidewalk like two teenagers with nowhere private to go. It seemed endless and was interrupted only by the cabbie shouting at me, “Mister—your change!” I looked Felicia in the eye.
“Do you really want to walk across the bridge today?”
She couldn’t even speak; she just shook her head. I turned to the cabbie. “Keep the change. Take us to 57 Sutton Place, please,” I said, pulling her into the cab with me.
We made out the entire way. I don’t even know how we composed ourselves enough to walk past my doorman. I pointed to the camera in the elevator and we stood in separate corners. When the doors opened it was like a race to my apartment. I fumbled with the keys and she grabbed them and opened the door for us. We barely made it to the bedroom, and by the time I touched her bare skin, she literally shuddered with desire. I had never thought about whether or not I was good in bed until I started dating someone half my age, and then I became suddenly and awkwardly aware. With Felicia it was as if I had magic hands. Every move I made, every touch was electric. And it was catching. It felt so good to make someone feel so good.
When it was over we lay staring at each other. I wondered what she was thinking. I knew what I was thinking. I was thinking, I wonder if I’ll ever feel that good again in my life. And then we did it again. Twice. No Viagra. I was officially having an affair with my assistant.
Afterward we curled up under the covers and watched TV. She nuzzled into the crook of my arm as I switched channels. We both jumped at The French Connection. It had already started, but we’d both seen it before so we settled right in. We got to cross the Brooklyn Bridge that day after all, but with Popeye Doyle in his 1970 Buick.
“Did you know that this was the first R-rated movie to win an Oscar?” Felicia said, adding, “Depending how you look at it, though. Two years earlier Midnight Cowboy won, but it was rated X at the time. It was changed to R, so retroactively that’s really first.” I had no idea she knew so much about movies. I looked at her wonderingly. What else was there I had to look forward to in getting to know her better? My look must have felt scrutinizing, as she suddenly seemed embarrassed. “I know a lot of meaningless trivia about movies…I’ve taken a lot of movie classes.”