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By Marina Rubin Editor's Note: This piece was first published in Mudfish, Issue 19, in November 2016. She was laid out across a giant loveseat at the top of the hill, naked, voluptuous, almost porcelain, with an orchid in her hair and a dark choker, shocking against her white skin. A black cat with a ferocious raised tail was crouching at her feet. “She is so sensual,” Lily whispered in awe, taking a panoramic photo of the statue. “Olympia is the crown jewel of the entire collection,” Katina nodded, looking up from the Sculpture Garden brochure. “Done after a painting by Edouard Manet, it hangs at The Musée d'Orsay. Supposedly the cat is some kind of a phallic symbol.” “I joined plentyoffish,” Lily blurted out suddenly, like a secret she couldn't keep anymore. “What's that, sweetheart? A cooking meet-up?” “No, it's a dating site,” the young woman giggled. “Oh, one of those,” Katina prolonged the “oh,” taking her protégé by the arm as they continued down the narrow path of the sculpture garden. “You've got to be careful, dearie,” the thrice divorced, blue-blooded member of the Greek aristocracy, Katina, with perfectly manicured hands, three strings of pearls and Todd’s loafers, advised her friend. “When you invite dick into your life, a perfectly content life goes topsy-turvy.” “Oh my God!” Lily cringed, covering her ears. She had given up dating three years ago after a trail of pointless-at-best and heart-wrenching-at-worst, romances. “A content life, ha? Really, how content can you be if you haven’t had sex in three years, if you haven’t been touched in that long?” Lily said wistfully, turning back to look at Olympia one more time. “I hear you,” Katina sighed, somewhere far away in her own thoughts. Lily didn’t lie about her age, height or weight, she stated the facts with the precision of a lab technician – 33, 5'4”, 145 lbs. Her dating profile read - “A down-to-earth, sweet, smart lady who loves to read, watch movies, and cook, looking for a professional gentleman with a sense of humor, good manners, and a big heart.” As if it was a customs declaration form, on the question of pets she checked “cats” even though she only had one cat, Muffin, the 8-year old long-haired Persian, but plural was the only option, she hoped it didn’t make her sound like a crazy cat lady. For the next three weeks she fended off greetings from virtual admirers in Turkey, Italy, India, emails professing passion in injured English, calling her sir, spam messages selling Cialis, letters from men far too young and old enough to be her daddy. There was an email from someone named JakeTheCake79 - “a computer man, native New Yorker, hockey enthusiast...own one condo and zero children, have a passion for 74% dark chocolate.” In response to his all-powerful missive of “hey how are you” she fired back with an almost as meaningful “good, how are you?” They exchanged emails, since they both worked downtown he suggested they meet for coffee sometime during the week. One day in October when Lily stepped out to grab some lunch on Broadway, an attractive, vaguely familiar man approached her in the crowd. “So when are we having coffee?” he asked. She stared at him, perplexed, convinced that he was mistaking her for someone else but when she examined him closely, his ash brown curly hair and hazel eyes she remembered his online photos and murmured, tenderly almost purring, “Oh Jake hi, how are you?” but he was already walking away with a flirtatious, mischievous smile and she stood on the sidewalk, glowing, thinking so that's how it begins. Two days later they met for a late afternoon coffee. She wore a long flowery dress with a grungy jean jacket, a combination of innocence and defiance, sugar and jalapeño. They went to a French Patisserie in the seaport, they sat in a vacant corner by the window, they discovered they both lived in Brooklyn within walking distance of each other. He was cute and funny and had a nervous laugh. He reached across the table to touch the baubles on her jacket, the Beatles pin, the cylindrical Guns N’ Roses button. “Why do you have that? The Pfizer thing?” “Oh, it's my ten-year anniversary pin. I work for Pfizer, in their R&D lab,” Lily explained. “I studied chemistry at Hunter College,” she added. He still had his hand on her pin and she noticed how her chest was heaving up and down. “Nothing wrong with chemistry,” she heard him say. Then with a sudden screech he pulled his chair away from the table. “We must have some desert,” he announced, “sweets are my weakness!” Smoothing his belly, he looked like one of those adorable chubby little boys who were immensely loved in their childhood and knew exactly what to do to extract even more love in their adult life. “What is your favorite dessert?” he asked Lily. “Oh, I don’t know,” she faltered, “I like the cheesecake.” “What kind? With strawberries or cherries?” “Cherries, of course,” she smiled. He headed for the pastry display and she looked out the window. The business district was basking in the last spurts of Indian summer, women were guardedly wearing sandals, men had left their jackets in the office and Lily thought why not, why not, I am single and happy and living. Jake returned with two spoons and a tiramisu. “So what do you do for fun?” he asked. She told him about the Sculpture Garden, how all the statues were like live people, frozen in time doing everyday things, hailing a cab, drinking at the table, you could sit next to them and be a part of the exhibit. She showed him the photo of Olympia. “Oh, wow, she looks real...great boobs,” he observed, enthusiastically cutting into another layer of cream and ladyfingers. When Lily came back to work, she heard Katina call out from her senior research scientist office, “How was your date, Lil? Did he want to eat the panties off you?” “It was nice.” Lily replied, nonchalantly. “We shared a tiramisu.” She found herself in that weightless moment of waiting, a prisoner waiting for a verdict, an actress waiting for a call back. This is the part she hated the most – expecting a call that is just not coming, no matter what you do, it's just not coming and the whole weekend of this is still ahead. She cleaned her apartment, shopped and cooked for the week, took Muffin to the veterinarian and the groomer, all the while thinking about Jake, looking for hints of his interest, calculating the percentages of a second date. Somewhere along the shopping avenue she passed a window display with evening gowns and a neon sign blazing - “love is in the mail.” On Monday morning she had a text from Jake, “how was your weekend? are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” It was still warm and Lily didn't need a jacket. After work, in the ladies’ room, she slipped into a form-fitting print dress in shades of blue. Jake was waiting for her in the lobby, they took a train to Union Square. In the after-work rush on the green line, they were squeezed together like pomegranate seeds, he was wedged in behind her, morphed into her buttocks and spine, pulsating with life like a fish, he put his hands around her waist, she held her breath, he stroked her in the rhythm of a moving train like techno music, a backbeat, pumping, inevitable, insistent. When they exited the station, they were kissing on the street like teenagers. At the Sushi Den, where he made reservations for two, they kissed during dinner, their mouths a hot pit of ginger, wasabi, salmon and lust. They strolled down the dark streets around Gramercy Park, he clutched her in his arms, she begged him to stop and talk to her. “Tell me more about yourself,” she pleaded like a virgin. “It's a bit hard to formulate a thought when your blood supply has left your brain and moved considerably lower,” he joked. Then he put her on the train to Brooklyn, said he was meeting someone uptown, a friend. She rode home alone, worried that when she told him she had not kissed anyone in three years he didn't ask why, that he didn't ask any questions in general, that he was only interested in sex, and who was he really meeting uptown, and why didn't he text her at night to see how she got home. A week has passed, together with thunderstorms, high winds and the Halloween parade. In the lab they celebrated with a Jersey Day - everyone dressed up in the jersey of their favorite team; Katina sported a 2004 UEFA championship t-shirt, Lily put on a Rangers sweatshirt, remembering that it was Jake's favorite team. She knew she could turn this wait into an art form and wallow in longing and analysis for days, but she also knew that the text from Jake would come, eventually, with a subtlety of finding a penny on the street. And it did. “Lunch tomorrow?” She said, “Sure.” All morning Lily was in a frenzy, the anxious roaming of the streets, the dreaming, it came naturally to her like it was a part of her skin, her limbs, the tissue between bones and vital organs, she had been yearning for a dose of love for years. She wore a tight black dress with silk inseams when they met on Duane Street and he kissed her with the urgency of a spent sailor coming home. He picked an Italian bistro across the street where they sat in a leather booth in the back. “They shot Moonstruck here,” he said, twirling a spaghetti strand around his fork. “I own it on DVD, my favorite.” Lily remembered she already said that in her profile. “Wonderful, we should do a movie night then,” he exclaimed, “I am free all week.” “Uh...yes...ok...great,” Lily stammered. “Wonderful. You'll get to meet Muffin.” “Who is Muffin?” he asked and she pulled out her phone and showed him her screensaver. “Oh, he is so cute, I love cats…Sadly, I am allergic to all animals. Good thing you told me, I'll be sure to take my medication,” Jake said, dumping parmesan cheese on his plate. “In that case, maybe we should watch it at your place,” Lily offered. “I'll bring the movie.” “Great,” he said, gobbling pasta at insane speed. “That means I'll have to clean, damn.” They walked back in the sunlight, she felt beautiful, sultry, she embraced him from behind, they strolled through Trinity cemetery, she sat on his lap in the garden, he caressed her breasts, hips, they said goodbye at the gate, returned to work. Later he told her he left his wallet on the bench and had to run back, luckily it was still there. She took this as evidence of love. “We are doing a movie night!” Lily barged into Katina's office with the latest news. “Ah, the movie night,” Katina twisted her face in an exaggerated wink. “Well, it's about time you get some vitamin 'F'.” Lily spent the whole day waiting for the bomb to drop, for Jake to cancel, or make other plans, but he texted and only asked to move the date from 8pm to 9pm. She went to Godiva and bought a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries, wondering if they were made with the 74% dark chocolate, Jake’s favorite. After work she rushed to the sauna and did a full body sugar scrub, shaved her vagina until it was a smooth beautiful flower, a camellia ready to open. She gave one dollar to Brother Jay, a homeless black man in a wheelchair, and asked him to pray for her, for this one night to be just perfect. He promised her he would…pray for a beautiful lady like that. At home she slipped into a dress with pink ribbons across her body, a present with a bow. She grabbed Muffin and whirled in front of the mirror singing, “when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie - that's amore,” until the cat hissed, scratched her and skittered away. When she locked the door she realized she forgot the DVD and had to go back. A bad omen, she thought. Lily walked to Jake’s building in high heels. He opened the door and before she could even hand him the Godiva box and say “this is for you,” he groped her in the hallway, tackled her in the kitchen, sucked on her breasts like an infant and then herded her into the bedroom. He jumped out of his clothes and threw them in the corner while she, hesitating, slowly took off her dress flattered by his all-consuming passion but also wondering…hoping…that there would be a foreplay of some kind. But he pushed her down on the bed and penetrated her. His penis was large and long and he fucked like he ate, fast and without tasting the food, a glutton at a hot dog contest. Afterwards they lay in bed holding hands, eating strawberries and watching Moonstruck. “This is my favorite movie,” Lily whispered. All the sadness and disappointment of this evening’s encounter resonating in her voice. “My nose is stuffy,” he said, trying to inhale, covering one nostril with his finger. “Are you coming down with the flu?” she asked with gentle concern. “Not sure.” He sneezed three times in a row. “Maybe I should take my medication.” He walked over to his desk and knocked back two pills. They had sex again, then continued watching the film. It was at the end of Moonstruck when Jake started coughing and wheezing. “Can I please ask you to leave?” he said in an agitated tone. “Uh…sure,” Lily stammered, “of course.” She jumped out of bed and gathered her clothes. “I’m sorry. I’m becoming asthmatic. I think it's your cat.” She dressed like a soldier on a drill, all the while the movie credits rolled on, “when the world seems to shine - that's amore...when you walk in a dream but you know you're not dreaming signore...” “Let me call you a cab,” he offered, but she was already running out the door. “Don't worry. I'll walk. Hope you feel better,” Lily yelled from the corridor, as she started on the longest walk of her life - the green mile. She came home exhausted and inconsolable. She saw Jake in the morning as her train pulled into the Avenue M station. He was standing on the platform, well-rested, healthy, wearing a bright peach shirt. She watched him get into the next car. She thought she’d catch him on Atlantic when they both transfer for the 4 or the 5. When she got off on Atlantic, he wasn't there. It would be easy to spot an orange shirt in a bleak commuter crowd. She walked from one end of the platform to the other, but he wasn't there. Later in the day she texted him, “How are you feeling today? Are you alright?” “When you left I had to change the sheets, every time I got into bed I started sneezing.” “I’m so sorry,” she wrote. “What can I do?” she continued. “So this is it?” No answer. She was tempted to cross-reference the latest clinical trials on feline allergy drugs in the Pfizer database…but she stopped herself. The two-week anniversary without a phone call came and went. It occurred to Lily that Jake wasn't counting the days he wasn’t calling her. With that realization, she was done counting. She saw Brother Jay on a Tribeca street in his wheelchair. “You didn't pray for me,” she yelled, chasing after him as he rolled away. “I did, I did!” he protested. “No sane man just dances away from a beautiful woman like that,” he shouted over his shoulder. “There is plenty of fish in the sea!” Months later, out of the blue, Katina asked, “Did you ever hear from the allergist again?” “No...” Lily shrugged. “No...no,” she repeated, softly. “Oh well, I guess he died,” Katina said, pounding a nail into the wall with a large hammer so she could hang, among the ads for Pfizer’s record breaking drugs - Lyrica, Viagra and Celebrex, the framed photo of Olympia.
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