Page 4 of Gaze

Not that I mind, I like to keep things to myself - no one needs to know who is in my bed other than me and the woman who is in it.

I know she wants more, more of me - more of an us. She has hinted a few times about us moving in together, me going to live in her much larger Upper East Side apartment. I wouldn't know what to do with myself in her lofty rooms with all that space. She wants to host dinner parties for our friends; match make the single ones with others over three course meals catered by a hired in chief. She would have me domesticated like a castrated tom cat, living a life of luxury. But I like my home, however small and unobtrusive it is, I like my small rooms and minimal space. It's mine, perfectly anonymous.

Lisa dutifully knocks on my door before entering, even though she has a key and it’s open. Her smile is bright enough to light up the room; it even extends to her eyes once she sees me in my chair. It amuses me that she is still interested in my offering. I sit all day in my pajamas and slowly rot away my brain with the TV or on the computer. But sweet Lisa loves me, nonetheless. Maybe after this we can go on holiday together, I can get out and walk, and she can lounge by a pool in one of her expensive two pieces. The thought makes my mouth water.

Walking in she runs her hand over my cheek, the first human touch I’ve felt in days since she was last here, before she plants a gentle kiss on my lips. I don't return it - I can’t remember the last time I brushed my teeth; I must reek of stale coffee and cigarettes.

“My love” her voice is like a velvet melody against my ears “have you spent all day in this chair?”

“You know I have” I grumble back, she doesn’t expect anything less from me. It’s our charm, she is the sunshine and light, and I am the rain and cloud. It’s a dynamic that works well for us.

I notice her arms are filled with a stack of papers and magazines; she really is too good for me. She sets them down on the table and sets about clearing the mess on the floor.

“It won’t be long now” She smiles at me sweetly as she folds all the papers and takes them to the trash. “Once the heat breaks you will feel much better here.”

She is right of course, the heatwave is making my imprisonment unbearable, but once it cools down, I will have space to think, to focus on my books and other activities. She has set about clearing up the mess and straightened everything out all while idly chit chatting to me about her day, her job, the people she works with. It's a rare glimpse into the world of fashion, it's all alien to me, but I love listening to her.

I watch as she cooks, thinking to myself how I don't deserve her when I offer nothing in return. It’s only a simple chicken salad but the meal is divine - partly because I didn’t have to struggle to cook it myself. We sit together and she tells me of the outside world, the things going on in her work - it just makes me feel more detached from reality. Like my little bubble means nothing as the world carries on without me.

“I could get you a tape player and some films to watch?” She offers as she gathers our plates and starts washing them in the sink “Or we could look at getting cable installed so you had more choice.”

“I can’t afford either of those things on the salary they are providing me with” I mumble back, growing more indignant at the thought of even needing these childish forms of entertainment.

“You know I would get them for you Jen.” She smiles over at me again, her smile lights up the room and my mood. “Or you could come and stay at my place, just until you are better.”

I let her question hang like it’s rhetorical even though we both know it isn’t. She goes back to finish the dishes hoping I don't notice the shadow that falls over her face. I go back to reading the paper, catching up on the several legal battles plaguing the city, an apparent record-breaking baseball season, and the upcoming U.S. Supreme Court ruling on Ellis Island.

“I have prepared you some meals in the fridge, they just need heating in the oven or microwave” Lisa sings, once again trying to strike a conversation with me, but my mood was still dull.

“Thank you” I mumble over the top of my paper as I get distracted from the article I am reading as I look at her ass. I do enjoy the way her jeans hug her curves.

Once she is done in the kitchen, we sit together and watch ER somewhere in the depths of the 4th season. It has become somewhat a staple of our Thursday nights together even before my injury. I think back to when I would head into the office and talk to people around the water cooler about the latest episode - this season will be over before I return to the office, those conversations happening without me. I wonder if people miss my input, my conversation.

Before long we head to bed. The heat makes anything other than tossing and turning in the night unbearable, and where at another time I would have taken full advantage of the naked woman in my bed I feel broken under the stifling heat pressing down on me.

chapter

five

Lisa stayed all the following day, a rare Friday off work and she wanted to spend it together. Normally this would mean a museum or art show before falling back into bed and exploring each other intimately for hours. But given my condition and the crushing heat, we had instead remained stuck inside.

A lazy radio station WCBS plays from my bedside table as hits from the 70s drift from its tiny speakers. We lay in bed together reading and entwined in each other, our sweat merging as the day heats up. Only breaking apart to smoke a cigarette or move to the bathroom.

A continuous pang of guilt runs through me that we are not spending the day making passionate love together; but this heat makes the very idea impossible. Before leaving she dose me the greatest kindness and helped me wash, a pathetic attempt by myself a few days ago had resulted in my leg throbbing for hours after I twisted poorly in the bath.

“I love you” she lent down to kiss me once I am clean and freshly placed back in my chair in front of the TV.

“I love you too” I hum back my lips barely leaving hers.

After Lisa leaves, I turn my attention back to my window, ignoring the blaring adverts on the TV screen. It was getting towards dusk, and people had started to put their lights on, making it even easier for me to see their comings and goings.

Mr. Songwriter was back from his shift, I couldn’t make out the uniform from here, but I suspected he flipped burgers or rolled hotdogs somewhere in the city given the bright blue and red stripes. I wonder if he is as sweaty as I feel, I wonder if the world outside these apartments was as stagnant and stale as my life had become.

I looked down as a window lights up brightly in the middle of the building on the ground floor opposite - ah Miss Prozac was home.

I knew very little about her, other than her permanent depressive state. She lay on her bed in an almost catatonic state for hours just looking up at the ceiling. Sometimes she read the pile of books that lay next to her bed. Whatever she was doing it was always peppered with her taking pills, what they were for I had no idea - they might be vitamins or supplements. Whatever they were trying to do, they didn’t appear to be working as day after day her situation looked to deteriorate.

I had watched only last week as she had split up from her boyfriend, he had shouted, and ranted, and raved while she had sat there silently sobbing. All before he slammed the door and was gone forever, that night I watched her hug an old sweater of his, crying herself to sleep.