The Green Lace Corset, стр. 17
“I don’t know. Come on.” He grabbed her hand.
She let it go. “Wait a minute.” She kept looking in the window.
Sergio would have wanted to choose a favorite. He loved lingerie. She made a note to go back and visit when they were open. Maybe next time he came to town. No. Drop that thought. She was getting over him now.
“Okay.” She took Barn’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m ready.”
They walked ten blocks. Getting to his place seemed to take forever. Heated, she removed her coat and put it over her arm. Her feet had begun to ache. “How much farther?”
“Not far,” Barn said.
They walked another two blocks, down three more, and around a block. They climbed down a few dark steps into Barn’s apartment, which reeked of skunk weed. The stench reminded her of her old best friend, Dottie’s, New York loft. Dottie claimed getting high helped her do her art. In college, Anne had smoked marijuana a few times to fit in, but it had always put her right to sleep. She already had a difficult enough time staying focused when she was sober.
Barn threw her coat on the floor as she stepped inside. He didn’t turn on the lights. He pulled her toward a couch, pushed her onto it, and kissed her.
She sat up. “May I have some water, please?”
“Sure.” He got up and went into the kitchen.
Her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Still dizzy and tanked from all those drinks, she managed to make out mirrored beer logos: Budweiser, Coors, Schlitz Malt Liquor. A big-screen TV filled an entire wall. A plant resembling corn stalks sat in a corner.
When he returned with her water, she took a sip and put it on the coffee table. “Thanks.”
“You’re so gorgeous.” He kissed her again.
Leather couch beneath her, he cupped his hands over the corset’s satin and lace on top of her boobs, the sensations driving her crazy. He ran his fingers down her fishnet-stockinged thighs and moved his hand upward. She grasped his biceps. She needed him to slow down. He got the message and put his arms around her.
Finally, they drew apart. “Let’s go in the bedroom,” he said.
“May I use the bathroom?” she asked.
He pointed down the hall.
She studied herself in the mirror. Her makeup smeared, she took down her updo and shook her head upside down. Sexy. What a lush. How could she even consider jumping into bed with someone she’d just met? But it had been months and months since she’d been with Sergio. This guy was hot, and it would help her get over Sergio. Wouldn’t it?
She should probably take a shower, but she didn’t want Barn to fall asleep, so she rinsed her underarms in the sink. She squished toothpaste on her finger and ran it over her teeth. Shimmying, she braced herself for a fulfilling time.
She found him in a bedroom. By the light of a lamp with a kerchief over it, Anne saw him pull back the blankets on his single bed. She climbed in beside him. He tried unsuccessfully to unlatch the hooks on the front of the corset, and, without much foreplay, it was over as fast as it had begun.
In the morning, she woke with a splitting headache. Her new lover was bald and smelled of stale beer. His roommate snored in a bed across the room.
Naked, she gathered up her clothes, ran into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. About to step in, she noticed a hospital gown–green fungus growing between broken tiles. Gross. She’d wait until she got home. Why hadn’t she noticed it the night before? She wasn’t the neatest person in the world, but at least her place was sanitary.
She dressed and wanted to get out of there before the unhottie awoke. She passed by the kitchen and noted the counters, covered in filthy pots and pans, and dirty dishes piled in the sink. No way would this guy ever offer to cook her a breakfast frittata like Sergio always did.
Carrying her coat, she escaped up to the sidewalk. A truck drove by and honked. In broad daylight, she felt ridiculous in her saloon outfit. She put on her coat and booked a Lyft.
Howard had left a text on her phone: What happened to you last night?
Anne: Nothing. She’d be too embarrassed to tell him what happened. In fact, she’d never tell anyone.
Howard: I wanted to get you home safely, but you’d already gone.
Anne: Your friend dropped me off.
Howard: Not Barnaby. He’s no friend of mine. He’s the kind to use a counterfeit one-hundred-dollar bill to buy Girl Scout cookies.
At home, she looked in the full-length mirror, outfit askew, hair a frizzy mess. She said to herself, “Getting drunk and having a one-night stand is no way to find your soul mate.”
How could she have done something so disgusting? She’d been so wasted, she couldn’t even recall if they’d used protection. She could only hope Barn hadn’t given her some kind of disease.
She stepped out of the skirt, unhooked the corset, and left them on the floor. Her head pounded so much that all she wanted to do was go to sleep, but she couldn’t stand her stench. Climbing into the shower, she washed her hair and scrubbed her body with a loofah. She still felt dirty, so she filled the tub, tossed in a honey bath bomb, and settled in for a soak.
God, this was the worst hangover she’d ever had. Perhaps she should text Fay and see if she’d meet her for a Bloody Mary. Fay would take one look at her, though, and start asking bawdy questions. Anne couldn’t tell her the details of the disastrous night.
Wrapped in a towel, Anne checked the cupboard to see if she had any Snap E Tom, tomato juice, and vodka. She didn’t. She swallowed two Advil, crawled onto her daybed,