Chasing Harry Winston

With cookies barely swallowed and tea still unfinished, Russell curled himself around a pillow and promptly fell into an intensely deep and restful sleep. Who slept like that? It never ceased to amaze Leigh. He claimed it came from a childhood surrounded by chaos, from learning to sleep through the clamor of two parents, two sisters, a live-in nanny, and three chatty beagles. Perhaps. But Leigh figured it had more to do with his clear conscience and his clean living and, if she was going to be really honest, with the fact that his life just wasn’t really all that stressful. How hard would it be to sleep like a baby if your daily routine included two hours of exercise (an hour of weights and an hour of cardio) and lacked caffeine, sugar, preservatives, white flour, and trans fats? If you taped a weekly thirty-minute show on a subject (sports) you loved innately just by virtue of being male, and had a team of writers and producers who put it all together for you to read? If you had healthy and productive relationships with both family and friends, all of whom loved and admired you for just being yourself? It was enough to make a person sick, or at the very least resentful, which, if she was being perfectly frank, it often made Leigh.

Tonight it succeeded only in making Leigh desperately want a cigarette. No matter that she’d quit nearly a year ago, right when she and Russell started dating; not a day went by that she didn’t desperately yearn for a nice long drag. Smokers always waxed poetic about the ritual of it, how a large part of the satisfaction was packing the box and pulling the foil wrapper and plucking an aromatic stick. They claimed they loved the lighting, the ashing, the feeling of being able to hold something between their fingers. That was all well and good, but there was nothing quite like actually smoking it: Leigh loved inhaling. To pull with your lips on that filter and feel the smoke drift across your tongue, down your throat, and directly into your lungs was to be transported momentarily to nirvana. She remembered – every day – how it felt after the first inhale, just as the nicotine was hitting her bloodstream. A few seconds of both tranquillity and alertness, together, in exactly the right amounts. Then the slow exhale – forceful enough so that the smoke didn’t merely seep from your mouth but not so energetic that it disrupted the moment – would complete the blissful experience.

Leigh wasn’t an idiot, though, and certainly knew all the nasty drawbacks of her beloved habit. Emphysema. Lung cancer. Heart disease. High blood pressure. Having to endure graphic photos of blackened lungs in magazines and terrifying commercials of gravelly voiced people with tracheotomies. The yellowed teeth and the wrinkles and the smoky hair and the stained top knuckle on her right middle finger. Her mother’s constant harping. Her doctor’s dire predictions. The maddening Just-in-Case-You-Haven’t-Heard voice total strangers used when they sidled up to her outside her office building to enumerate smoking’s many dangers. And then Russell! Mr My Body Is a Temple would never, ever date a smoker, and he’d made that perfectly clear from day one. It was enough to make even the most devoted smoker call uncle, and after eight years of pack-a-day enjoyment, Leigh finally caved. It had required superhuman effort and an ability to endure torturous cravings for weeks on end, but she had persevered. So far she hadn’t managed to rid herself of nicotine entirely – some might say she had succeeded only in transferring her tenacious addiction from cigarettes to nicotine gum – but that was neither here nor there. The gum wasn’t going to kill her in the immediate future, she hoped, and if it did, well, so be it.

She popped an extra piece for good measure and set aside the manuscript. It usually wasn’t too difficult to get engaged by a hot book that multiple publishing houses were clamoring for, but this one felt like drudgery. Would the American public really want to read another eight-hundred-page historical fiction tome about an ex-president from the last century? It was enough already. All she wanted to do was curl up with a good beach read and get lost in something that wasn’t so deadly boring. She would’ve given anything for it to be a No Human Contact Monday Night. Sapped of energy and in no mood to read another word about a campaign that had taken place over a hundred years earlier, Leigh tossed aside the manuscript and pulled her MacBook onto her lap.

Often one of her friends was on IM at two in the morning, but tonight all was quiet. Leigh clicked through her favorite Web sites quickly, efficiently, her eyes scanning the pages for information. On cnn.com, an alligator attack in South Florida. On Yahoo!, a video demonstrating how to make a watermelon basket using only a chef’s knife and a nontoxic marker. On gofugyourself.com a funny bit about Tom Cruise’s bangs and the Flowbee. On neimanmarcus.com an announcement regarding upgraded shipping on all leather accessories. Click, click, click, click. She scanned the most recent bestseller list on Publishers Weekly, clicked to support free mammograms at The Breast Cancer Site, and checked that her direct deposit went through at chase.com. She briefly considered checking the symptoms for obsessive-compulsive disorder at WebMD but resisted. Finally feeling weary if not entirely exhausted, Leigh carefully washed her face using the correct upward circular motions and swapped her sweats for a pair of soft cotton shorts. She watched Russell’s face as she climbed in next to him, inching her way slowly under the comforter, determined not to wake him. He remained motionless. She switched off the light and managed to flip onto her side without disturbing him, but just as her mind started to slow and her limbs began to relax into the cool sheets, she felt his body press against hers. His aroused body. He enveloped her in his arms and pushed his pelvis against her lower back.

‘Hey there,’ he whispered in her ear, his breath still smelling of cookies.

She lay there limp, simultaneously praying he would fall back to sleep and hating herself for wishing that.

‘Leigh, baby, are you awake? I know I am.’ He gave another little push just in case she wasn’t sure what he meant.

‘I’m exhausted, Russ. It’s so late already, and I have to be up early for the meeting tomorrow.’ When did I start to sound like my mother? she wondered.

‘I promise you won’t have to do a thing.’

He pulled her closer and kissed her neck. She shivered, which he interpreted as delight, and ran his fingers over her goose bumps, which he took as a good sign. When they first started dating, she thought he was the best kisser on earth. She still remembered their first kiss – it had been positively transcendent. He took her home in a cab after the book party and the dive bar, and just before they reached her building, he pulled her toward him for one of the softest, most amazing kisses she’d ever experienced. He used the perfect combination of lips and tongue, the ideal pressure, the exact right amount of passion. And there was no doubt he had plenty of experience on which to draw, having been one of the most well-known and sought-after men she had ever met. Yet in the last few months, it had started to feel like she was kissing a stranger – and not in an exciting way. Instead of soft and warm, his mouth now often felt cold and damp and a little shocking on her skin. His tongue probed too voraciously; his lips always seemed either rigid or fleshy. Tonight, against the back of her neck, they felt like they were made out of papier-mâché before it properly hardened. Pulpy papier-mâché. Refrigerated, pulpy papier-mâché.

‘Russ.’ She sighed and clenched her eyes closed.

He stroked her hair and rubbed her shoulders, trying to relax her. ‘What, baby? Is this so awful?’

She didn’t tell him that each touch felt like a violation. Hadn’t the sex once been fantastic? Back when Russell was a bit elusive and flirty and seductive, and not quite so clingy or so determined to settle down with a more serious girl than all the flighty ones from his twenties? It all seemed like so long ago.

Before she realized what was happening, he worked her shorts down to her knees and pulled her even closer. His upper arms were huge, literally bulging under her chin and inadvertently pressing against her throat. His chest threw off heat like a furnace and the hair on his thighs felt like sandpaper. And for the first time ever while in bed with Russell, she began to feel the familiar heart-attack symptoms begin.

‘Stop it!’ she breathed, her whisper louder than she planned. ‘I can’t do this now.’

His embrace slackened instantly and Leigh was instantly grateful that it was too dark to see his face.

‘Russ, I’m sorry. It’s just that—’

‘No worries, Leigh. Really, I understand.’ His voice sounded calm but distant. He rolled away from her and within minutes his breathing steadied to its deep-sleep rate.

Leigh finally fell asleep just before six, just as the lady above donned her various foot accoutrements and commenced the day’s clomping, but it wasn’t until the next morning’s meeting, at which she felt inarticulate and thick-tongued from exhaustion, that she remembered her final thought before drifting off. It was of dinner with the girls a couple of weeks earlier and their proclamations of change. Emmy was going to expand her experience by having lots of affairs and Adriana had made a resolution to give monogamy the old college try. For the ten days since then Leigh hadn’t been able to think of anything she was willing to contribute. Until now. Wouldn’t it be funny to announce that she was going to work up the nerve to end her flawed relationship even though she was utterly terrified of being alone and convinced she wouldn’t meet anyone who loved her half as much as Russell so obviously did? That she kept waiting and waiting to feel the way about Russell everyone thought she should, but that so far it hadn’t happened? Ha-ha. Hysterical, she thought to herself. They wouldn’t believe it for a second.

She was trying to think of something else – the weather, her upcoming trip, the fact that her parents were discussing the possibility of moving back to the States – but Adriana’s mind refused to focus on anything other than the gorgeous contrast between Yani’s rough, ropelike dreds and the milky texture of his skin. Each time he stretched or straightened that beautiful midsection, her pulse quickened. She watched covertly as a droplet of perspiration traveled from his forehead to his neck and tried to imagine what it tasted like. When he placed his huge hands over her hips, it was all she could do not to groan. A coarse dreadlock brushed against her shoulder; he smelled like moss, overpoweringly green, but it was pleasant, masculine. He placed two fingers in the small of her back and nudged her pelvis forward. ‘Right there,’ he said softly. ‘Just like that.’

His voice got louder, but only slightly. ‘Gently place the left palm on the floor and rotate your body into plank position. Feel the energy flow from your hands to the earth, from the earth to your hands. Don’t forget to breathe. There; hold it right there.’

Adriana tried to block out the sound of his voice and, when that wasn’t possible, to reconfigure his words so that they sounded slightly saner. The class moved like a choreographed dance troupe, a collection of sinewy limbs and tight torsos that made the movements appear almost effortless. She loved yoga and she lusted after Yani, but she had minimal tolerance for the touchy-feely stuff. Correction: the touchy-feely stuff was great, as long as it was Yani touching her. All the lecturing about energy and karma and spirit made him just a little less appealing, and that was a real shame – but nothing she couldn’t overlook. She shifted her body into plank pose, her triceps quivering with effort, and glanced up to locate Yani. He was standing over Leigh with a foot positioned on each side of her extended legs, pressing the spot between her shoulder blades closer to the floor. Leigh met Adriana’s gaze and rolled her eyes.

As usual, the class consisted exclusively of women. Adriana had expertly scanned the room upon entering and, after determining herself the most fit and attractive woman in attendance, laid out her mat and saved a space for Leigh. She felt proud that in this room of beautiful women – all in their twenties or early thirties, all but one at or under their ideal body weight, all groomed to within an inch of their lives despite the early Sunday morning and the physical nature of the activity – she was the most beautiful. This realization no longer surprised or delighted her the way it had when she was younger; rather, it gave her a little added confidence bump that helped smooth along the day. The fact that Yani wouldn’t sleep with her most likely indicated that the problem was his and not hers, a theory she wanted her friends to confirm at a post-yoga breakfast.

‘It just doesn’t make any sense,’ Adriana said, placing her mouth delicately around a spoonful of granola. ‘What do you think is wrong with him?’

Leigh sipped her coffee and smiled at the waitress for more. The diner at the corner of Tenth and University wasn’t the best brunch place around – the servers were always surly, the eggs were sometimes cold, and the coffee ran the gamut from watery to bitter – but it was close to the studio and both girls could be certain that they would never see anyone they knew. There weren’t many places in downtown Manhattan where you could dine sporting yoga pants and sweaty ponytails without raising eyebrows, so they persevered.

‘I don’t know. I don’t suppose you think he’s gay?’

‘Of course not,’ Adriana snapped.

‘And there’s no chance that he’s just not that into you …’

Adriana gave one of her cute mini-snorts. ‘Please.’

‘Well, then it’s got to be one of the usuals. Erectile dysfunction, mid-herpes outbreak, freakishly small member. What else could it be?’

Adriana considered these options, but none of them felt quite right. Yani seemed peaceful, accepting, completely self-assured in that strong, silent way. No man had ever not responded to her. And it’s not that she wasn’t trying – it had been years since she’d needed to make an effort like this, and that time the boy’s reluctance had been tied to his upcoming wedding – but it sometimes seemed like Yani didn’t even see her. The more she swung her hair or thrust out her perfect breasts, the less he noticed.

‘What else? Why, isn’t it obvious? He’s a total bed-wetter and he’s terrified of being found out.’ Emmy seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and for the briefest moment Adriana was irritated to have the attention shifted away from her.

‘Hey! We didn’t know if you’d make it. Here, give me your stuff,’ Leigh said, holding out her arms.

‘What, don’t you want me to sit next to you? I promise I’ll sit really close, maybe rub my shoulder against yours. It’ll be fun.’

Leigh sighed.

Adriana patted the seat next to her; she knew Leigh had ‘space issues’ and she tried to be understanding, but it was annoying always having to be the one who got crammed inside booths and crowded in banquettes. ‘How does Russell deal with the fact that you can’t stand being near anyone?’

‘It’s not that I “can’t stand being near anyone.” I just like a little buffer zone. What’s wrong with a little personal space?’ Leigh asked.

‘Yeah, but seriously: does he get it? Accept it? Or does he hate it?’

Leigh sighed again. ‘He hates it. I feel bad. He comes from a huge, happy family of mouth-kissers! I’m an only child with parents as affectionate as ceramic statues. I’m working on it, but I can’t help that all that closeness and touching seriously freaks me out.’

Adriana raised her hand in defeat. ‘Fair enough. As long as you recognize the issue.’

Leigh nodded. ‘Definitely aware. Constantly, neurotically, miserably aware. And working on it, I promise.’

Emmy collapsed onto the bench beside Adriana; the padded vinyl heaved a bit with the extra ninety-five pounds and then settled. ‘How was yoga? Still no love from the Y-man?’

‘Not yet. But he will succumb,’ Adriana said.

Leigh nodded. ‘They always do. For you, at least.’

Emmy clapped her hand on the table. ‘Girls, girls! Have we forgotten so soon? Adriana is no longer seeking casual encounters. Of course, she’s welcome to become Yani’s girlfriend, but according to the rules, she cannot be his one-night stand.’

‘Ah, yes. The rules. Agreed to after one too many cocktails and, at least as of today, not settled yet. I think that still makes Yani fair game.’ Adriana made a point to smile cutely, not sexily, focusing on deepening the dimples that appeared when she was acting her most girlish.

Emmy blew her a kiss. ‘Honey, save those dimples for your future boyfriend. They’re worthless at this table. And besides, I have news.’

‘Duncan news?’ Leigh asked automatically, forgetting for a second that they’d now been broken up for nearly three weeks.

‘No, not Duncan news – although I did run into his sister, who told me that he and the virgin cheerleader are going in on a Hamptons share with three other couples for July and August.’