The Original Sinners: The Red Years

“In the effort to retain my status as the dominant partner in this relationship, consider the following a preemptive strike—I give you permission to criticize my book,” William said to Caroline as she knelt on the ground at his feet.

“Camus again? He’s so bleak and melancholy,” Caroline chided him. “You can’t really think there’s something noble about pushing a rock up a hill for all eternity, do you, sir?”

“It’s noble because Sisyphus is doing something more than nothing. He knows his task is meaningless and that the world is absurd, but he continues, refusing to surrender to the futility. It is both profound and noble.”

“It’s depressing. And Camus was an atheist, right?” she countered, resting her chin on his knee.

“He was, yes.”

“Then Sisyphus’s something is still nothing. Without God life has no ultimate meaning. Pushing the rock up the hill is no nobler than leaving it at the bottom and just killing yourself.”

William smiled down at her as he twisted his fingers into her hair. “My little Kierkegaard…if it were proved to me right now that heaven’s throne sat empty and at the center of all that exists nothing but a bleak and empty void…I would still make love to you tonight with the same ferocity as I made love to you last night. Is that not a better response than celibacy?”

She blushed like a new bride. “I think that’s a trick question, sir.”

“No trick at all.” He closed his book and set it aside. “And what are you reading now?”

“I found an old copy of some O. Henry short stories. We read The Gift of the Magi my freshman year in high school, but I don’t think I’ve read anything by him since.”

“Ah, yes. The young couple, desperately poor but deeply in love…she sells her only possession, her lustrous long hair to buy a chain for her husband’s pocket watch…and her husband sells his only possession, his pocket watch to buy his wife combs for her lustrous long hair. On the altar of love they sacrifice the only things they have of value.”

“They have each other,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Oh, yes, of course. They have each other.” William pulled his hand from her hair and picked up his book again. “And you say Camus is melancholy.”

“Hey, Sinner Still in Her PJ’s,” Wesley said, peeking into her office. “Can you afford a five-minute break?”

“I need a five-minute break.” Nora pushed away from her desk and looked at Wesley up and down. “A suit and a tie. Very GQ.”

He bowed at her.

“It’s Easter, Nora. Could you not even tear yourself away from your book long enough to go to church on Easter?”

“If I’d gone to church it would have been Sacred Heart.”

Wesley grimaced.

“Good point. How’s the book coming?” He sat in her armchair across from her desk.

“Okay. It’s harder not having the daily feedback. I’ve gotten used to that. But it’s progressing. I’m dreading the big scene, though.”

“What’s the problem?” Wesley loosened his tie.

Nora put her elbows on her desk and rubbed her temples.

“It’s a mess. It’s the most important scene in the book.”

“So it’s a sex scene.”

“Right. But it’s really difficult for me to write. My guy in the book is pure kink. My girl is vanilla but trying to be what he wants her to be. But this is the scene where he gives in and tries to be what she wants. It’s hard to write vanilla sex when you’ve never actually had vanilla sex.”

“Can I help?”

“You want to help me write a sex scene?”

Wesley shrugged. “I’ve helped you before.”

“Yeah, and you swore you’d never help me with a scene again after the last time. Which I thought was an overreaction on your part.”

“You left me hog-tied on the floor while you made yourself a sandwich.”

“I offered to share.”

“Suit yourself. I’m getting out of these clothes before I suffocate. Holler when you want lunch.” He got up and headed for the door.

Nora looked down at the morass of notes about the big scene.

“Wes?”

“Yes, ma’am?” He spun around in her doorway.

“You can help me. I need all the help I can get.”

“No comment. Tell me what to do.”

“Go change first. Meet me in my room when you’re done.”

Wesley bowed again and yanked his tie off on the way out of her office.

Nora printed off her most recent draft of the big scene. She’d have to be careful and not let Wesley see the pages or he might be upset by one or two things he read.

She entered her room and found Wesley already lounging against a mound of pillows piled against the headboard of her massive bed with one leg bent at the knee, his arm resting on it. He now was barefoot and wore only jeans and a white T-shirt. With the sunlight in his sandy-blond hair, Wesley looked even more enticing than usual, and for a moment Nora couldn’t quite think of what she was doing. He looked at her and didn’t smile but only raised his chin slightly as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Had she seen that expression on the face of any other man she would have assumed it was a come-on.

“So what’s going on here?” Wesley asked as Nora hopped up on the bed next to him.

“It’s hard to explain completely unless you’ve read the whole book, which you haven’t.”

“You won’t let me.”

“You can read it when it’s done. Maybe.”

“You’ve let me read rough drafts before.”

“Are we going to argue or have pretend sex?”

Wesley exhaled. “Pretend sex, I guess. What am I doing?”

“Sleeping in bed. She’s sleeping on the floor.”