Simon and Sophia hopped a cab together back to his suite in a swanky hotel on Park Avenue. Along the way they continued to discuss the television business and what it would take to get viewers used to the type of programming they both respectively hoped to create.
They arrived at the front doors of the hotel in what seemed like no time at all; despite the late hour, the lobby was nevertheless bustling. True to its reputation, New York never sleeps, thought Sophia.
Simon led Sophia by the arm to the elevators. Initially the only two riders, when the car hit the 10th floor, a rowdy crowd of college kids boarded. Simon pulled Sophia closer to him as the maniacs poured into the elevator, threatening the capacity limit. The last rider boarded with a shove, and Sophia found herself pushed into Simon’s arms. He grabbed her around her waist, and something happened.
Sophia felt as if the wind had been knocked, no sucked, out of her. Her mind went blank, as did her vision. Everything was gray, and her ears were ringing, though she heard a voice – a whisper. It was a man, and he was calling someone. It wasn’t her name. She couldn’t be sure because of the ringing, but it sounded like he was saying Helene.
Although the total time elapsed during this episode was only 10 seconds, it felt a lot longer. The group of miscreants only went up to the 11th floor, though when they piled out, Sophia fainted. Simon caught her before she hit the floor, and one of the kids who left the elevator shouted “YOU GOTTA TIME YOUR GHB BETTER, DUDE! GIT ‘ER DONE!” The doors closed to howls of laughter.
When the elevator finally reached the 20th floor, Simon had to juggle Sophia to be able to reach his passkey in his jacket pocket. Seeing that it’d be better for him to just throw her over his shoulder, he prayed that no one would come out into the hallway, thinking that he had in fact drugged the poor woman and was now attempting to have his way with her. Fortunately for him, there were only three suites on the floor, and he made his entry without incident.
He laid her gently on his king-sized bed; pulling the sheets back on the opposite side, he then softly transferred her over, took off her shoes, and propped her up on the large pillows. He then stood there, looking at her, as if merely staring at her would diagnose her condition. He soon realized that that wasn’t helping, so he went to the bathroom and wet two thick washcloths to wipe her brow. After a few minutes, she still did not snap out of her blackout, so he decided that perhaps the alcohol and the heat of the crowded elevator got the best of her. He covered her up, and then went to the living room, turned on the television, and then pulled out the sofa sleeper. He kept the door open so that he could monitor Sophia at a glance.
Simon lie on the roomy yet uncomfortable sofa sleeper, pillows propped so that he could easily keep an eye on his guest. He felt as if he could look at her from now until vision was outlawed. He couldn’t understand what it was about her that he was drawn to. A confirmed bachelor in his mid-30’s, he was fully enjoying being single. He was never wont for the company of a beautiful woman, and could have any woman he wanted, damn near. Sophia, while attractive, wasn’t what he typically went for. She was a bit too short, a bit too thick, a bit too – intelligent. While he’s only gotten to know her over the past few hours, he could tell that she was no-nonsense and had a short tolerance for bullshit. He would never think to get involved with someone like her – she was a lifetime warranty type chick; he preferred those who were 90-day limited.
Yet there was no denying that he needed her. He couldn’t believe what he was saying to himself, but that was the naked truth of the matter. He didn’t want her. He needed her. Ever since he first noticed her as she walked past him on her way to the cigar bar, his lips knew they needed to taste her; his hands knew they needed to touch her; his skin knew it had to meld onto hers, to be a part of her, never leaving her again. It made him sick to his stomach.
Simon felt himself drifting off when he heard her moaning his name. It seemed like she was already in conversation with him. He got up to check on her, wondering if she had in fact bumped her head before he broke her fall.
While he could clearly make out his name as she whispered it, that was about all he could understand. He thought she was babbling at first, but she was speaking too clearly. It dawned on him – she was speaking another language.
Her “conversation” became more urgent; she was speaking rapidly now, and sweat beads began to form above her upper lip. She began to shake. Nervous, Simon knew he had to bring her out of her fit. He re-wet her cloths, and then lifted her gently off the mattress; sitting under her, he placed her head in his lap and stroked her brow with the rag, her lips. He massaged her temples, and spoke her name, softly at first, then adding an edge to it. Her eyelids fluttered, and he slapped her face with just enough force to shock her, but not hurt her – not much, anyway.
She jumped up, looking around wildly, scaring Simon a little. The look on her face was – abnormal. Actually, he could’ve sworn that there was a completely different face where hers should be. A few seconds later, as recognition of her situation washed over her, her features returned to normal. She began apologizing – and shivering – profusely. Her face was covered in sweat.
“No, don’t apologize. You fainted – passed out. I think it was a mixture of the alcohol and the heat, when those morons crowded the elevator. You were out for a few hours. Are you cold? You’re shivering,” he said, rubbing her arms as he spoke.
“Y-yeah, I’m f-freezing,” was her reply.
“Perhaps I could run you a bath. A hot bath may help you come back down to Earth completely,” said Simon. Sophia seemed apprehensive. “I’m sorry, I said run you a bath, not give you a bath. Once the tub is filled, you’d be on your own,” he said with a smirk.
Sophia relaxed and apologized again. “Of course, I’m sorry; I’m just not feeling myself. I’d really appreciate a bath, thank you.”
Simon stood up and went quickly to the bath that was immediately to the left of the bed. Sophia heard the knobs squeak as he turned them, and imagined what he must be thinking of her. If she was hoping for a chance for something more than business – heck, even just business – she could forget it now. He was just doing her this kindness so no one could say he let a shivering lunatic loose on the streets of New York.
He interrupted her self-pity. “I said, do you want bubble bath, I hear ladies have a thing for bubble bath.” “Oh, yes, please,” Sophia replied. She stood up and walked to the roomy walk-in closet just past the bathroom. Two thick cotton robes hung from the pole; she picked one and walked into the beautiful, surprisingly spacious bathroom.
“Oh my. I need this. I need this bathroom,” she said to Simon. He simply smiled, gestured at the tub and said, “All done. Take all the time you need. I’ll be in the living room, just holler if you need me.” With that, to his surprise as well as hers, he kissed her on her forehead, then left, rather awkwardly, closing the door behind him.
She stepped out of her black one-piece jumpsuit, took off her thong, and plunged into the deep-set bath. She stepped on something hard and round, and felt around to investigate. It was a jet. “Whoa,” she said as she realized it was a Jacuzzi ®. She looked for the controls, found them, and set them to full blast. She was warm and relaxed in no time.
She struggled to remember the dream. She was on a dirt road, but she wasn’t herself. Her skin was lighter than it is in real life, her hair was long and wavy, and she was slimmer and dressed in colorful garb. She was laden in clanging bangles and hoops, on her ears, wrists, and waist. She was on that dirt road, walking alongside a man who was referring to her as Helene. She knew she was referring to him by name, as well, though it would not come to her now, no matter how hard she tried to remember. He was guiding her out of a village, and he was promising to rescue her from her shameful life – was she a prostitute? She couldn’t remember. She just remembered wanting to believe everything he was saying, everything she heard him say. She kept asking, “Do you promise, ****? Will you honor this vow, ****?” Why could she not remember his name?
She was still struggling to remember when a knock on the door brought her out of it. “You ok in there? You been in there a while…” He was right. The water was cold and the bubbles were almost gone. “Yes, I’m ok, I’m about to get out now,” she said, and she turned off the jets and opened the drain.
She toweled off and robed up; tightening the belt extra tight (trying to avoid further embarrassment by seeming like she was trying to be seductive), she picked up her clothes and headed out to the bedroom.
“Here, I thought maybe you’d need this, too,” Simon said as he handed her a cup of tea. “I didn’t put any sugar in it, because I didn’t know how you liked it. It’s right over there. Hey, I think I have an extra pair of pajamas I can lend you,” and, seeing the look of apprehension on her face, he added, “not to be presumptuous, but it is late, or early, rather, and we’ve both had a long night. I’m personally looking forward to getting some rest, and I think you should do the same, if you don’t mind being my guest.”
Sophia shook her head. No, she didn’t mind at all. So, perhaps he
was being sincere, and not just playing nice so that she wouldn’t snap and trash the room like a rock star after a show. She decided to play along, to see where things went.
He brought her a wife beater and some pajama bottoms and gave her some privacy. She changed quickly and walked into the living room to thank him. “No problem,” he said, and she pulled up a chair close to the pullout bed, to watch TV with Simon. There was some awful movie about teenaged zombies playing. They began imitating Mystery Science Theater 3000, and Sophia couldn’t help but notice that Simon was staring at her rather than the TV screen. “What, do I have snot on my face?” she asked him.
“No, not at all. Um, are you bilingual?” he asked.
"No, I just speak good ol’ American,” she replied, doing her best redneck impression. “Why do you ask?”
“Never mind, it’s nothing. Anyway, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop looking at you. I don’t know why. I just can’t stop. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Slightly,” she admitted.
“Well, I guess that’s too bad, because I don’t think I’d want to stop looking at you, even if I could. So, it seems that we’re gonna have to think of something that’ll make you feel less uncomfortable. How about you join me on this terribly lumpy mattress?” he asked, patting the space next to him.
“I’ve got a better idea. How about you make me uncomfortable in there?” she asked, pointing to the bedroom. “We can watch this train wreck in there, and you can ogle me in comfort.” He smiled and agreed, and they both walked into the bedroom, her picking the choicest side of the bed, him turning on the television and joining her.
The moment he lay down next to her, it was as if everything that transpired over the last hour was an unnecessary waste of time. They were both naked in no time flat, pawing at each other. The awful movie played on, neglected, as they tried to eat each other alive. They each tried to taste, touch, rub, smell each other into their memory. The scene was savage; the room became humid, sticky. The sheets seemed to melt off of the mattress; they themselves followed in like fashion. They chased each other across the floor, burning their skin on the carpeting, neither one seeming to care. The pleasure they felt was surreal. It seemed as if the carnage of their lovemaking went on forever; it certainly lasted past daybreak.
Sophia was on top of Simon, on the floor between the living room and the kitchenette, trying to choke him with her forearm as she rough-rode him, when her eyes found that scar. It seemed to pulsate, begging for her attention. She couldn’t resist any longer; she lurched forward and first sucked, then bit, the area around his scar. She drew blood, which she immediately sopped up with her tongue. Immediately her world shifted three degrees to the left. Simon sat up, never releasing her, never disrupting their rhythm, but held her tighter to him around her waist. For her, though, it was as if the world stopped spinning. She was breathing but suffocating, thrusting but her hips were inert. She knew everything. Every hole in her soul was filled. Simon was ejaculating violently inside of her, but it was more than that. She knew. She felt dizzy, light, not connected with her normal plane of reality. But she knew, finally, after all of this time. He saved her life, a million times before. He saved her from a shameful life. He was Simon.
Unaware of exactly what this new knowledge would mean, and still in a state of euphoria, Sophia nonetheless grabbed Simon’s sweat-drenched face with both hands and said, “Where have you been? You said you’d be with me forever!”
Simon, still thrusting in spite of having just orgasmed, skin pale and eyeballs rolling to the back of his head as if in a trance, said, “I’ve never stopped looking for you, Helene. Be glad I’ve found you again and don’t complain.”
Sophia’s orgasm gushed out of her in a flood, soaking the area between the kitchenette and the living room. It was so forceful that she lost her breath and passed out. Simon passed out as well.
