Dixon Fowler finally talks to the girl of his dreams.
| I was always too nervous to tell her how I felt, wondering if I’d be making some irreversible mistake, but I think tonight will be different. Tonight has to be different. I’ve waited too long to pass up this opportunity. I owe it to her and to myself. She needs to know the truth.
Her purple dress fits her frame like a Barbie doll with fresh shrink wrap. I can see the curves of her breasts through the tear across the front of the flowered top. They are even more beautiful than I remember, speckled with red.
She enters the room with two escorts, burly men dressed in black. She seems to hang on them hand and foot. They are built like gods with the smiles to match. All I see are apes. What could she possibly want with a guy like me? The men lead her to the center of the room, all too fitting for the most beautiful woman in the crowd. She glimmers in the light. I want to touch her, but I know that her gentlemen callers would have something to say about that, so I just watch. She moves with grace.
The gold ring on her finger is bent, crushed along with the second and third finders on her left hand, like a piece of fine art. Picasso would have lusted after her beauty. He would have found no flaw in her, especially her knees wrenched in opposite directions.
The ape men brush her shoulders and the backs of her hands, whispering secrets in her ears. I want to know those secrets. I want to know a lot of things. I want to know that the two men are dead in a pit of my choosing and never able to lay their hands on her again. Maybe they won’t have any hands in that pit.
They lead her to a table, and she sits on it like she has no reservations about anything. The main attraction. The spotlight shines down on her face, eyes held shut in sensual desire. Her legs dangle off the side, seducing me with every sway of her bare feet. Does she even know my name? That I exist? The apes sweep her legs onto the table and turn to leave. Now is my time.
My hands are sweating, a cold unnerving sweat. The apes shut the door behind them, and I continue to approach her. Hi, my name is Dixon. No, she’s classier than that. Excuse me, may I have this dance? What am I thinking? I can’t dance. What am I going to say?
“Excuse me, I noticed that you were sitting alone. Would you like some company?” My fingers twitch in my pocket.
Silence. Maybe she didn’t hear me.
“My name is Dixon.”
Silence. Or maybe she didn’t want to hear me.
I wait, sitting in an awkward position that leaves me looking like I have a spinal disorder. How long am I supposed to wait before the rejection is official? I tap my fingers along my thigh, hoping that she will finally say something to me. She doesn’t, and I look like a fool. I am no ape man.
I want to run. I want to be as far away from that room as my legs will carry me. I want to push my fingers into my skull and scramble my thoughts until all of the bad feelings are gone and I can trust myself again. I want to close my eyes and destroy all of the fantasies that I let fester. I want to be alone. I want to kill the ape men.
She sits there, watching me twitch and fidget in shame. I don’t know why I expected her to be interested in me. She could have anyone she wanted.
She doesn’t want me.
Her hand slips from her lap onto my thigh. Was it just an accident? My adrenalin spikes in my stomach. I feel like I have just been hooked to a car battery, exploding with electricity.
Her hand slips further along my thigh. The chill of her hand seeps through my jeans, and I relish the thrill it sends through me. I touch her hand, pulling it towards my lips. She doesn’t pull away. The flecks or red begin to smear beneath the touch of my skin. I kiss her shoulder. She doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t move. She loves it. I kiss her neck again and again, between the wounds. They’re shallow. I’m not hurting her.
Despite my reservations, I ask her to dance. I want to savor my time with her. I help her to her feet. She is tall, over six feet, and I stare at her lips as she looks down at me through long, blonde matted hair. Her thin frame reveals every bone, like a side of beef in the butcher’s freezer. I run my fingers down her ribcage. The patter of flesh and bone is so sensuous.
We dance to Liberace, sifting in and out of the stark shadows. She is still a little stiff from sitting on the table, but she lays her head on my shoulder and together we move as one. She looks so peaceful. I want to kiss her.
My white coat is spotted with red-- gorgeous red--offsetting the blue in her lips. I hold her in my arms and lean in to kiss her. Her lips are cold. My hands follow her brittle backbone to her head and began to fondle her hair as we kiss. My lips are moist, a taste I’ll never forget.
I’m glad I’m not an ape.