Adrianna and Sam

It's never about sex. It's always about what's in the heart.

Adrianna was 26 and knew she was hot. She had dark brown hair that hung below her shoulders and wore sweats with a tight tank top and bare midriff that made it hard to avoid admiring her Survivor abs. Her face was clear and beautiful which made it easy to miss the fear in her eyes.

            “They gave me your number from the hotline,” she said as she selected the chair furthest away from me.

            “How are you feeling?

            “Like s**t. How are you feeling? Must be hard helping people fix their lives.”

            “I don’t fix people.”

            “What do you do?”

            “Listen to their stories, try to understand them.”

            “Why would you want to listen to my story, let alone understand it?”

            “I like listening to stories. And it’s a mistake to think I won’t be able to understand yours.”

            “So what’re you like a biographer who identifies with his subjects then grows to like them?” 

            “I don’t always like them. When I saw Silence of the Lambs, I identified with Hannibal Lecter’s alienation. That doesn’t mean I want to have dinner with him.”

            “You wouldn’t wanna have dinner with me.”  

            “That’s when he beat you, isn’t it, when you were having dinner.”

.

            “What’s the point of going over it again? It never lessens the pain.

”

            “No, but it lessens the loneliness.” 

             She looked at me for a long moment like a terrified child. “I keep hearing Samantha screaming,” she said. “We were at the kitchen table. I’d baked chicken with mushrooms and broccoli. Sam is just three years old. She was scrunching her nose at the broccoli and I told her she’d have to eat it with her chicken. I asked Carl to empty the vacuum cleaner not really expecting him to do it. It must have been my sarcasm or the way I looked at him. He grabbed my hair, slammed my head down on the table. Sam started screaming. He must have grabbed her and locked her in her room. He dragged me to the basement door and pushed me down the stairs. I remember crawling back up, blood dripping on the steps, crying out to him I was sorry. I don’t know how much later it was when I realized he’d unlocked the door. I saw him lying on the sofa. I almost went to him to promise him it wouldn’t happen again. But I thought of Sam’s screams, the way he sometimes smacked her. I felt like I was dying,” she said as tears streamed down her face, “I had to get my baby out of there.”

 

Adrianna was tough. She grew up in Bed-Sty and never took s**t from anybody. Once in her junior year in high school, on the subway returning from a football game, a guy in her algebra class started squeezing her thigh. She dumped her hot latte on him and punched him hard in the face. When he hit her back, she kicked him in the balls and the guys on the train had to keep her from stomping him. With most of the other guys at school it was different. She delighted in the horny way they looked at her and she’d let them slide their hands down her pants and touch her a*s. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t attracted to them. How they loved her a*s. And when her breasts grew larger she felt awesome. She’d let them suck her n*****s as they massaged her a*s and made her come. But the orgasms were nothing compared to the feeling she got when they gave in to her, the way she could manage them. Every day when she returned home, she’d savor her conquests " in the cafeteria, a supply closet, the boys’ locker room. The power she had over them. It was the best part of her homework.

   

Adrianna admired her father. He was tough and buff and riveted bolts on a New York City skyscraper. Before that he drove a garbage truck for the city but got fired for punching his boss for giving him s**t about putting in too much overtime. Once he told her you learn a lot about people from picking up their trash. He’d never finished high school but was clever enough to buy a rundown bar in Green Point, just before the neighborhood was invaded by people hungry for cheaper rents and more closet space. He made a s**t load of money but blew most of it on drugs and gambling. When he was high, he had rough sex with Adrianna’s mother and sometimes beat her. It infuriated Adrianna when she had to listen to her mother’s cries and sobs at night. Her mother was weak and passive and resented Adrianna for being so much like her father. Adrianna could tell by the way her mother looked at her, with a mixture of resentment and disgust. She knew her mother hated her. That’s why it amused her when she lectured her mother on how to handle her father. “If you punched him hard in the face, just once,” she told her. “It’s a management problem.” Adrianna knew how to manage her father, not by punching him in the face but by letting him hug her and dry rub her a*s and sometimes more. The same strategy she used at school. When her mother finally left her father, Adrianna stayed with him because he told her he needed her. He’d also saved enough money to pay for her four years at NYU. 

     

Adrianna met Carl at a theme party in his dorm. The theme that night was Gold Pros and Tennis Hos. She noticed him staring at her, legs splayed, swiveling her hips on the dance floor. He started to dance with her, cupped his hands around her a*s and pulled her tight against him.

           “You’re as subtle as a garbage truck,” she said.

           “I can’t wait to own your gorgeous a*s,” he answered.

        

She let him drag her to his room, excited by playing the sleazy s**t. What turned her on most was the power she knew she had over him. She let him pull off her clothes and throw her down on the bed. When he moved to take her she flipped over suddenly and let him do doggy. She came quickly as he thrusted into her. Her pleasure was intensified when she imagined her mother watching. 

It was still dark when she awoke and realized she’d been so exhausted she spent the night with him. She sprang for her clothes as he stirred. As she was leaving, she couldn’t resist asking him, “When are you going to take me home to daddy?” Before he could answer, she jumped on the bed and massaged and sucked his penis until he came. When she got up to leave, he followed her but she escaped before he could touch her. Perfect, she thought as she glided through Washington Square Park on the way back to her dorm, one bird with two shots.

The next time she saw him she was walking on West Fourth Street by the park. He pulled up beside her on a motorcycle. She didn’t recognize him until he took off his helmet

.

            “It’s an 800 cc Harley, but if you go for a ride with me your tits will get wind burned,” he said.

            “800 cc’s is the smallest size Harleys come in,” she shot back and he laughed. The way he looked, his hair all askew from the helmet, the longing in his eyes, made her laugh with him.

            “I’ve got another helmet,” he said.

Adrianna had never seen the Jamaica Wildlife Preserve, four miles of hiking trails that wound around salt marshes populated by geese, owls and other assorted species. When they arrived, he took her by the hand and without a word led her to one of the hiking trails where they walked about a mile before he spoke.

            “The thing I like about this place is people, complete strangers, always give you a friendly greeting. It’s like they’re not from New York,” he said.

            “It helps that they’re strangers,” she answered.

            Later they stopped and rested on one of the railroad ties that serve as benches overlooking the duck ponds.

             “Sometimes I imagine I’m a goose among geese, living a pacific life of anarchy,” he said, “from T. H. White, The Once and Future King. When Merlin transforms young King Arthur into a goose among geese so he can experience the pacific life of anarchy.”

              Adrianna shook her head, incredulous, then burst out laughing. “An anarchist, learning to write computer code at Cooper Union. In three years you’ll be lobbying for tax breaks for Apple.”

            “Wait a minute! It’s more complicated,” he protested. But before he could finish she got up and speed walked away. His head’s so far up his a*s, it’s crushing his diaphragm, she thought. Yet a part of her was strangely touched by his bewilderment.

The next weekend she let him take her to Storm King. “The Alexander Calder sculptures perched on the hills are awesome,” he said earnestly. She smiled at him sweetly, imagining she was one of the sculptures. “Like great birds of prey, or is that geese?” she said. He  looked at her crestfallen. It surprised her that she was tempted to comfort him. He told her his heart wasn’t in engineering and computer systems. He really wanted to do architecture. “Cities are our best hope for the future,” he told her. He had a child-like dream of creating more green spaces where people could rest from the din. Half of her believed he was feeding her romantic bullshit. The other half felt he was sincere but incredibly naïve. She responded with understated skepticism. “A libertarian presenting architectural concepts to city bureaucrats? A lot easier to get them to approve a liquor license.”

            Carl kept calling and she saw more of him. It must be the sex, she told herself. He started doing things that surprised and pleased her. Instead of yanking off her clothes and throwing her down on the bed, he helped her undress slowly and kissed her tenderly. She tried to pull him down on top of her but he held her by her armpits and gently nuzzled her breasts, then kissed her eyes and cheeks. When he took her, for a few fleeting moments she fantasized that he truly wanted more of her besides her a*s. His hot throbbing urgency helped her hang onto the illusion.

She stopped commuting from her father’s house and spent her nights with Carl. They found a tiny sub-let in the East Village. She welcomed the routine they created: breakfast at daybreak; running to her first class at Stern as he hurried off to Cooper Union; engrossed on their laptops in the Bobst Library or in good weather in Washington Square Park. On weekends they took long walks on the High Line, eat pizza washed down with too much Stella Artois and strolled down to Battery Park. A warm, peaceful feeling grew inside her. Everything around her appeared more vivid, even the brownstones in the East Village took on a luster she’d never noticed before. She felt in harmony with the neighborhood. One day on her way to class she wondered if this is what it felt like to be in love. She quickly dismissed the thought.

           

            “I can’t remember exactly when it changed,” Adrianna told me. “For a long time our love making was sweet and tender. Then he started resenting me and the sex got rougher. It was like he was trying to pry me open. He used his fingers and sometimes a d***o while he was inside me and he’d come almost instantly. Once he used a butt plug which really hurt me. He told me that if I tried harder and we did it more I’d start to enjoy it. I never did. It felt like he was trying to poison me. By then I realized how much he hated me. Then I got pregnant.”

            “How did you feel when you found out?” I asked.

            “My first thought was to get rid of it. He made an appointment at Planned Parenthood. I don’t know why I couldn’t do it. He grew more resentful when I kept missing appointments. He’d given up all thought of architecture and Twitter wanted to hire him after he graduated. He pleaded with me to go with him to San Francisco. He screamed at me that there was no place in our lives for a baby. I ignored him. Then one day, it must have been at three months, she started squirming and kicking inside me. I felt fiercely protective. If he tries to harm her, I thought, I’ll kill him. When the nurse showed me her image for the first time, I started balling. It didn’t matter that Carl wasn’t there with me; that we’d stopped having sex; that he was spending all his time at Cooper Union. I was joyful. This perfect little girl was growing inside me.”

            “Tell me about your pregnancy.”  

            “It was rough, the physical changes. I was hungry all the time, had to pee every 20 minutes. Forget about morning sickness. It was all day sickness. A couple of times I almost threw up in class. I grew fat as a whale. Little bumps appeared around my n*****s. Hair grew faster all over my body. My nose got bigger. And I smelled different, like a citrusy, sugared orange. Weird. Women getting more beautiful when they’re pregnant, sentimental bullshit. What frustrated me most was the fatigue. I couldn’t jog or do aerobics. I did some downward dog and that helped. When Sam started kicking at night, I couldn’t sleep. Near the end, I had sciatica and had to move back with my father. I couldn’t lift anything and I could barely get up.”

            “How was your delivery?”

            “It took 12 hours. But I forgot about the pain when the nurse gave me Samantha. She was so tiny and fragile. I remember thinking I’ll always protect you. And the way my father looked at us, with such tenderness. I knew he would be there to help me. Carl was there but when he wouldn’t hold Samantha, my father grabbed him by the neck, I thought he was gonna strangle him, and kicked him out. A few days later, he took off on a motorcycle trip. He was gone for most of the summer but it didn’t matter. After I got used to Sam’s feeding schedule, I moved back to the East Village. My father wanted me to stay but I needed to be alone with Sam, just the two of us. The mornings were the best times; the rapture in Sam’s face as she gurgled and sucked and feasted at my breast, the sun streaming in through the plants in the bedroom window.”

 

Carl returned in the middle of the night, drunk. It was the first time he hit Adrianna. In the past, she’d have bashed him with a hammer or maybe stabbed him. Now she rushed to the bedroom and locked herself in to protect Sam. It was easier when the fall term began and they saw less of each other. When he wasn’t at Cooper Union, he spent most of his time out drinking with his friends. When he did come home it was to eat, watch videos and then fall asleep. He sometimes played with Sam but Adrianna always felt like he was playing with someone else’s child. Samantha never gurgled or smiled at him when he held her. Carl knew better than to approach Adrianna for sex, even after her body recovered from giving birth to Smantha. The look on his face when he saw her stepping out of the shower didn’t excite her the way it used to. Her anger at him slowly began to fade. They lived together but it felt like she’d already left him.

Sam was almost a year old when Adrianna graduated from NYU on a warm summer day in Washington Square Park. She stood on stage waiting for her diploma and smiled at her father in the audience. He was holding Samantha in her new pod carrier. He looked at Sam tenderly and smiled up at Adrianna. I can always depend on him, she thought. He’d been there all through her pregnancy and now he bought groceries and diapers and baby sat Samantha. For a fleeting moment, when the dean gave her her diploma, she felt in harmony, as if she belonged. Carl didn’t come to her graduation. Neither did her mother who never called after she left. It didn’t matter to Adrianna. Her mother had never been there, the same feeling she now had with Carl. Her father would always be there.

 

          “I have fantastic news!” Adrianna told me breathlessly. “Carl left for San Francisco. He’s gone for good. And I landed a job in an internet start up in Tribeca. And my father helped find a one-bedroom a few blocks away.”

            “Great,” I said stunned by her torrent of words. “But why do I have the feeling something else is going on?”

            Adrianna looked at me anxiously. “I don’t know if I can tell you this. I know you’re out of the box, but this may be too far out, even for you.”

            “You’ll never know unless you tell me.”

            “It’s my father. He’s spending more time with me, a lot more time.”

            “Like when you were in high school?”

            “No, back then I only saw him in the afternoons when I came home before he went to the bar. I‘d do my homework while he sat on the couch reading. I remember him sneaking looks at me from the sofa. Once, I looked back at him and saw how sad he was. I got up, plopped down next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. ‘You’re perfect’ he whispered and touched my lip with his finger. He was crying. His tears made my heart ache. I snuggled up to him and we just sat there together, until my mother barged in. I hated her for always interrupting us.”

            “What’s it like between you now?”

            “He’s always with me. I love that he takes such good care of Samantha, how he’s joyful with her, picks her up at pre-school, plays with her in the park and babysits when I’m traveling for my job. We’re a lot closer now. And he…how can I say it, he dazzles me. Whatever I do turns him on, brushing my teeth, peeling an orange, washing the dishes. The way he looks at me in restaurants, at Whole Foods, in the park with Sam. He’s so happy. His face looks younger. He told me he’s proud of me, that helping me get my degree is the best thing he’s done in his whole life. He’s going to add a restaurant to the bar and I’m designing the web site. He wants to help me start my own consulting firm. He will, you know. We’ll do it together. Last week at dinner, after too much wine, I told him my entrepreneurial genes come from him. The look on his face when I said it made me tingle. I wanted to lean over the table and kiss him.”

 

One night after Adrianna put Sam to bed, her father kissed her. He put his tongue in her mouth and she trembled. Then he undressed her, lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. She watched him strip naked and wet the sheet as he let her see his muscled arms and washboard abs for the first time.

           “Come to me,” she pleaded, but he moved to her desktop computer.

 

            “There’s a song, an old song I want to play for you, Tin Angel,” he said. Tears streamed down his face as the strains of Joni Mitchell’s sad, aching voice filled the room.

There’s a sorrow in his eyes

like the angel made of tin.

What will happen if I try

to place another heart in him?

In a Bleecker Street café,

I found someone to love today.

                                    I found someone to love today.

Adrianna leaped from the bed and wrapped her arms around her father. She took him by the hand as he sobbed and led him gently to bed. Then she lay down beside him and molded her body to his.

            “I’ve loved you for so long,” he said as he rested his cheek on her breast.

            “I know,” she whispered.

             “I felt alive again when you named Samantha after me,” he told her as she felt his tears.

They made love every morning. Adrianna awoke aching in her groin for him, needing him to fill her before she could start her day. Voracious, she tried to rush him but he restrained her. He held her gently, nuzzled her arm pits and breathed in the smell of her. Then he sucked her n*****s until she begged him to take her. Once when she tried to scissor grip him, he pinned her thighs to the bed and forced her to take him slowly. She came several times before the last crowning moment she had all of him. 

Sunday afternoons were the best, while Samantha was napping. They listened to Miles Davis as he kissed and tasted every inch of her. He made a slow sweep of his tongue down her belly. “You taste like apple wine laced with spice,” he whispered. Then he spread her legs, put his tongue inside her and gently massaged her n*****s. He always dabbed sperm gel between her legs before he took her. She moved her fingers lightly over his arms and shoulders as he thrusted back and forth part-way, fighting his need of her. When he could no longer stand it, he plunged into her which always made her come. She delighted in the coarse, earthy smell of his body against hers as they dozed and fucked the afternoon away. His need drove their lovemaking. It made her melt for him. 

 

            “It feels like a dream,” Adrianna told me. “I take Samantha to The Little Red School House each morning; watch her play with the other kids on the sidewalk, standing there with their parents. Sometimes I believe their world is no different than mine. I go to work. I come home to Sam and Samantha. Sam always picks her up at pre-school and takes her home for milk and cookies and her afternoon nap. We’re a family. Isn’t this the way families are supposed to be?”

  

            “It’s a dream family,” I said, “that you’ve created to shut out the outside world, a world that’s abandoned both of you.”

            “Sam has always been there for me.”

            “And you’ve been there for him because he could never count on your mother or anyone else.” I stood up, went to my bookshelf, pulled out a DVD and handed it to Adrianna. “The Ballad of Jack and Rose,” I said, “about a girl and her father.”

            “Rose looks like me,” Adrianna said as she examined the jacket.

            “A younger you, when you were in your mid-teens.”

            “What happens between them?”

            “You’ll have to watch the film.”

Adrianna arrived early, tense, anxious to speak. “It’s a sad, beautiful story,” she said, “especially the tale Jack tells Rose about an ox who visits a little girl who lives in a tiny house. She asks him to join her for tea and he’s so flattered because,” as a tear slides down her cheek, “he’s…he’s not use to being spoken to. So he pokes his big nose with a ring in it through the door. But it’s way too big to fit. The little girl pulls and pulls on the ring and he pushes and pushes and the house collapses around them. Then she jumps on his back and they ride off together to get married.”

            “The little girl is the only one who speaks to him,” I said.

            “But Rose never marries Jack because he won’t let her! She loves him so much but he won’t let her save him.”

            “And long before Jack dies his sadness weighs so heavily on Rose.”

            “Jack’s a coward! He doesn’t have the courage to claim Rose. Sam’s not a coward. He hasn’t been afraid to claim me, to be different.”

            “It’s not about sex, Adrianna. Sam is heartbroken. He’s made you believe that you, and only you, can cure him. Jack did the same to Rose. And he really did claim Rose, not sexually but, make no mistake, he claimed her allegiance. He claimed her from the start and made her his,

totally.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Look at what happens in the story; the way Jack home schooled Rose, the hundreds of magical moments they spent together all though her childhood, isolated from the outside world. Rose even has an ox dream later in the story that’s virtually identical to the tale her father told her earlier. His dreamy tale of marrying his daughter became her dream, a big, delicious seduction. A seduction is when somebody makes you believe what they want is what you want. Did Jack give Rose any options besides his dream as she was growing up? Did he leave her any room for her own dreams? Did your father give you any room for your dreams? Is he giving you any now? The truth is Jack and Sam both raised their daughters so they couldn’t love anyone else.”

             Adrianna looked at me gravely."I had a dream last night,” she said, “it was weird, scary. Sam is making love to me. His penis is hard. He’s trying to push it inside me. His face is all contorted as he forces himself to do it but he can’t. He finally gives up and tells me it’s not working for him. I feel so ashamed I’m not good enough. Then suddenly I’m outside half naked, lost in a strange neighborhood, trying to figure out how to get home.”

            “What do you think it means?”

            “Sam will eventually stop being happy with me.”

            “On the surface. The thing that drives your love making is how excited you get by Sam’s need. Sometimes it overpowers you. What about your need? Suppose he was afraid that he couldn’t satisfy you. What if we changed the script in your dream to his fear of not being good enough for you?”

             “That would never occur to me.”

             “It wouldn’t occur to you because you’re completely devoted to Sam. You’re always focused on his need. If anybody’s dissatisfied, it would always have to be on you because you could never bear to hurt him.”

            “The sex makes it easy to hide everything else.”

            “If doesn’t feel like that in your dream. Sometimes in dreams we do what Freud called reversals. In this one, you may have switched your dissatisfaction with Sam with his for you.”

            “Maybe,” she answered tentatively.

Adrianna came in heavy with sadness and slumped on the couch. “Yesterday I learned that the guy who wrote the lyrics for one of Edith Piaf’s songs, Milord, just died. It’s kind of retro but I’ve always been a fan of Piaf. I have this image of her as a street urchin, a little wicked but cold and hungry, unwanted by anyone. And I love that song. It’s about a girl from the docks who’s probably a w***e. She sees this rich guy in a restaurant with a woman who doesn’t really care about him and she tries to comfort him, tells him he’s been unlucky in love, and invites him into her kingdom, even though he’s never seen her before. She’s amazed when he starts crying. ‘But you’re crying, Milord,’ she tells him, ‘I’d never have believed it!’ Those lines, they always tear me up inside.”

            “Why does her astonishment move you so deeply?”

            “I’m not sure.”  

            “A girl from the docks, a shadow in the streets whose heart aches to be soothed, gets through to a guy who doesn’t know her. Sam knows a lot about you but does he really know you? And did your mother ever try to know you?” Adrianna looked at me intently as tears streamed down her face. “You’ve never talked to me about your mother,” I said.

            “Whenever I hold Samantha in my lap, she looks at me with trusting blue eyes and says, ‘I love you mommy.’ Sometimes this nightmare image pops up in my head. Samantha is suddenly out in the middle of the West Side Highway, standing there terrified as the cars come rushing at her. I hug her tightly and she looks up at me and asks, ‘Mommy, why are you so scared?’ And other images frighten me. I can’t bear to look at the abused pets in SPCA commercials. I couldn’t finish watching a video on wild Mustangs being slaughtered out west. And I turned off NPR whenever they referred to the quarter million pets left to die after hurricane Katrina, because those idiot f*****g bureaucrats from FEMA wouldn’t let their owners take them along when they were rescued.”

            “Do you remember anything from when you were two or three years old?” 

            “Most of my friends have memories from back then. For me, it’s a big blank. I can only remember stuff from when I was older.”

            “When you were a baby Sam was drinking heavily and into drugs,” I said. “The battles between him and your mother must have been a nightmare for you. When this kind of trauma happens to very young children, they block out the events but they can’t erase the feelings. The thing about PTSD is that terrifying feelings sometimes pop up out of nowhere, often triggered by events in the present. Your nightmare image of Samantha thrown out in the middle of the West Side Highway feels like what you’re mother wished to do to you. She didn’t do it, of course, but she wished it. Children from a very early age read their parents’ feelings better than they ever can themselves.” 

            “All I remember is her hatred. Once I bragged about getting the highest grade on an algebra test and she told Sam, ‘The girl’s all talk.’ She looked at me as she said it. I’ll always remember her eyes slitted with hatred. And whenever I tried to tell her how I felt, the words, they’d evaporate in my mouth. It got worse when I was in high school. She never knew what I did outside but when guys started calling, she’d look at me with disgust. I knew I was hot back then but I always walked around feeling ugly inside, like a gargoyle.”

            “Her words and her silences were like crimes committed against you,” I said.

            “It doesn’t matter now. I don’t hate her. I just don’t think about her. She’ll probably die and I won’t know it. She may even be dead now. I feel the same way about Carl.”

            “How do you feel when you’re with Samantha?”

            “She’s a warrior girl. She loves to sit at the kitchen counter and watch me as I’m making breakfast and I know she’s itching for me to let her make it herself. Last Sunday when Sam and I were having lunch, she did a somersault on a rubber mat we bought her, then let out a screech of pure rapture. When she saw how worried I looked, she came up to me, took my hands in hers and said, ‘Ferget about it big momma, piece a cake!’ Now she’s nagging me about trapeze lessons in Hudson River Park. And when she gets into playing with Sam, they’re like two bears, a big papa bear and a baby bear.”

            “A tender moment,” I said, “not the two bears playing although they’re very sweet; I mean Samantha holding your hands in hers, to reassure you. Nobody ever held your hands at that age when they were too small to catch the pain.”

            “I think it’s always been there,” Adrianna said as tears streamed down her face. It follows me everywhere. It was raining when I woke up this morning and I thought, ‘when will it ever be washed away?’”

Adrianna arrived anxious to speak.“I told Sam I’ve been seeing you,” she said. “He wasn’t overjoyed. But after he calmed down, I told him what we’ve been talking about. I didn’t expect him to listen but he did.”

            “Maybe you’re underestimating him.”

            “It’s possible. I never talk to anyone about what I’m really feeling, except you and you don’t count. Although I admit you’re hands are bigger than mine.”

            “Thank you,” I said, “but be careful. Some shrinks have been known to cry.” Adrianna looked at me tenderly.

            “So what did you tell Sam?”

            “Well, for starters I told him you know everything about our sex life and it scared the s**t out of him. But when I explained it wasn’t really about sex but deeper feelings he calmed down. Then I got him to watch The Ballad of Jack and Rose with me. Some date film, don’t ya think?”

            “Yep,” I said, “perfect for you and Sam.”

            “When the film was over, he broke into tears and told me he’d been selfish, that like Jack he’d never thought of other options for me. The scene that really got to him was when Rose tries to get this really sweet boy Rodney who’s living with them to take her virginity.”

            “What moved Sam about the scene?”

            “The way Rodney responded to Rose. He wouldn’t have sex with her. Instead he gave her this adorable pixie haircut. Sam feels guilty because he thinks he betrayed me. It didn’t help when I told him I’d lost my virginity years earlier in high school, way before we started fooling around.”

            “Adrianna, it doesn’t sound like Sam was feeling guilty over your lost virginity or having sex with you. Of all the people in the story, which one would you say knows Rose best?”

            “I guess it would have to be Rodney.”

            “Why?”

            “He respects her.”

            “Yes, but it’s more than that. He understands her. He tells her she’s innocent and innocent people are dangerous. In the story, Rose is dangerous both to her father and herself. Nobody ever told Rose, certainly not Jack, that she’s innocent. Rodney, a boy the same age as Rose, is a better parent to her than her own father! I’ll bet you Sam realized this deep down as he watched that scene. He’s let you down as a parent. That’s why he’s feeling guilty. And you know guilt isn’t a bad thing. It’s healthy. It’s how we all feel when we’ve fucked up, done something wrong to someone we care about and are challenged to repair it.”

 

Adrianna was in no mood for reflection as she sat in the conference room in her borderline sexy Max Mara dress. She was pissed. Pissed at her boss who’d just given her an impossible deadline, pissed at her crybaby father and, above all, pissed at her know it all shrink. Now this nerd from IT was late for his PowerPoint presentation. She expected a pudgy, look how cool I am geek from an Intel commercial. What she got was a tall, graceful guy in a jet black Armani shirt painted on his well defined bi’s and tri’s. Adrianna split during his presentation. Half of her took in the slides of recent changes in her company’s MIS. The other half methodically appraised possibilities.The Standard overlooking the High Line was too romantic. The Greenwich with its Shibui Spa was too public. The Bowery somewhat secluded with 24/7 room service was perfect, for intense highly focused f*****g.

It amused her to suck the thin ribbons of pappardelle off her fork in the Bowery restaurant as he watched. She slipped off her shoe and pressed her toe firmly against his crotch. He’d have fucked her in the elevator if she’d let him. “Fifty Shades of Gray in your dreams,” she said laughing as she pushed him backward and bit his lip. Then she fell to her knees, unzipped his fly and sucked him till he almost came. They pulled off each others clothes in the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her to the bed. He plunged into her and she let out a deep feral moan as she came. “Now eat me. Eat me till I scream,” she ordered. He buried his face between her legs and sucked and swallowed as much of her as he could. “You like chili peppers,” she said laughing as she scissor gripped his head. Then she pushed him off her and 69™d him back on top. “Eat me, eat me again,” she pleaded as she cupped his balls and sucked his delicious c**k. She sucked and sucked and gobbled him up as he exploded lost inside her.

Later as they rested, she told him cheerfully, “You know, there are 22 nerves in the vagina.”

            “Actually, he answered, according to the Padmashri in the Kamasutra there are 24. They all end in the clitoris.” Then he kissed her.

She awoke and looked at her cell phone. It was six in the morning. Her first thought was of Samantha but she knew she was safe with Sam. Before she could get away he wrapped his arms around her snugly.

            “Good morning,” he said. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” She could tell immediately that he liked her but felt the urge, more like a challenge, to prove him wrong.

            “I know your name,” she answered and tried to pull away from him but he kept hold of her.

            “I don’t believe you,” he said.

            “Charles, no Roger…okay I don’t know your name.”

            “It’s Archie” he said.

            “Sure, and I’m Edith,” she wisecracked.

            “I would stifle your mouth,” he said and smooched her on the lips.

            “That’s Benedict, not Archie,.” she said laughing in spite of herself.

            “Correct,” he said and kissed her again, this time softly. “My name is Nicholas. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand and she took it, trying but unable to hide her excitement. “Tell me about the other hook ups you’ve had here,” he said.

            “We’d be here all day.”

            “I had one here, last Christmas. I was at a party. I’d been working all weekend. I had a very bad cold and drank too much. When we got here I was totally down and she undressed me and put me to bed. Then she read me a poem from her i phone till I fell asleep.”

            “Do you remember the poem?”

            “It was about a guy who thought he was superman. His girlfriend sneaks a drop of kryptonite under his armpit and he collapses. ‘Just like a regular guy,’ she tells him totally relieved. Then she sticks her hand down his pants and has her way with him.” Adrianna laughed, then reached for Nick’s penis and squeezed it gently. “Still recovering,” he said and kissed her. “Actually, it wasn’t just a hook up. She was here on a project for Google and we lived together for three months.”

            “What happened?”

            “She hated New York and couldn’t wait to get back to Mountain View. I love it here and I’ll never leave. She wanted us to try a long distance relationship but I told her it wouldn’t work.”

            “Of course, not enough sex.”

            “Well yes but that wasn’t the deal breaker. It was the everyday stuff. Waking up together; hanging out in the evenings and on weekends; walking the labs, I have two Labradors. Every morning we’d take them to the dog walk by the Holland Tunnel vents and sit on the benches and breathe the fresh morning air. Sometimes the transsexuals coming off the third shift would greet us.” Adrianna burst out laughing. “They’re really a warm, friendly bunch,” Nick said.

             “Do you miss her?”

             “Sometimes, and it’s painful. But somehow I feel bigger than I was, before I met her.”

             “What do you mean?”

              “I look at things differently. I mean, now don’t laugh at me, the world doesn’t feel as unfriendly to me as it felt before.”

             Adrianna looked at him intently. “I’m not laughing,” she said. “You know, I haven’t had many hook ups. I had one a long time ago. I was in school and got involved with him. Then I got pregnant and one day he beat the s**t out of me. I have a three year old daughter.”

            “What does she look like?” Adrianna reached for her cell phone. “She’s exquisite, like her mother,” Nick said as he scrolled through the pictures.

            Adrianna abruptly took back her cell phone. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “She’s home with her grandfather and they’re probably wondering where I am.”

            “I’ll walk you home.”

            “It’s probably out of your way.”

            “Where do you live?”

            “In Tribeca.”

            “I know a great restaurant in Tribeca, on Watts Street. It’s run by these three crazy French-Jewish-Egyptian brothers who were made crazy by their French-Jewish-Egyptian mother.”

            Adrianna laughed. “I know that restaurant. It’s got a great wine bar.”

They stopped at the entrance to her building and Nick asked her for her cell phone. He tapped in his email address and cell number, then kissed her lightly on the lips.

           “Will you call me?” he asked

.

            “What do you think?”

            “Probably not.”

             

“Well, I guess it won’t surprise you to learn that Sam and I have stopped having sex,” Adrianna told me. “I’m not sure if he stopped having it with me or visa versa.”

            “Which do you think?” I asked.

            “It was more him than me, especially after the way that scene between Rodney and Rose got to him.”

            “How do you really feel about Sam’s reaction to that scene?”

            “I told him what you said and he agreed. Then I got angry at him, and you. Are you always right about everything?”

             “Not always, but I’ve always been right about how much you love your father. And I can understand why you’d be pissed at me. Consider what we’ve been talking about during the past three weeks: A film about a father who’s in love with his daughter; a tin man who needs you to put another heart in him; a dream in which your father’s sexual dissatisfaction with you is probably a cover for your emotional dissatisfaction with him; and if that wasn’t enough, in your favorite Edith Piaf song you make the mother you really needed to cry for you " the unwanted street girl " into a guy in a restaurant who actually does. Pretty creative stuff, young lady!”

            “That smile on your face and the way you’re raising your eyebrows, one might suspect that you’re proud of me. ”

            “Possibly,” I answered, trying in vain to lower my eyebrows. Adrianna smiled, her face brightened.

            “I hooked up with this guy. His name is Nick. I’ve been seeing him, a lot of him.”

            “What do you like about him?”

            “He’s kind, and gentle. He has two Labradors, Caitie a chocolate lab and Eric, a big cappuccino cream puff. He’s devoted to them. Whenever I stay over, we get up in the morning, have breakfast and take the labs to the dog walk by the Holland Tunnel vents before we go rushing off to work. The dog walk’s a refuge surrounded by four foot alpine bushes and a wire fence that protects them from the cars speeding down the West Side Highway. We just sit on a park bench not saying a word while Caitie and Eric romp with the other dogs. I’ve never felt so peaceful.”

            “Sounds like you feel safe with him.”

            “Yes. And sometimes he makes me cry. One morning we were having breakfast and Caitie put her face in my lap. So I gave her a piece of toast. Nick looked at me and said, ‘Caitie loves you.’ I asked him if he was sure it’s me and not the toast. He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at me. The way he did, the softness in his eyes, made me break into tears.”

            “It appears that both Nick and Caitie have exceptionally good taste,” I said.

            “It’s possible.” After a long pause, “What really touches me is when we’re having sex. I’ve never felt like this with any guy I’ve fucked, with the exception of Sam. I’ve always had to imagine them wanting me, not just my body. The feeling was always short-lived. I could always hang onto it longer with a vibrator.”

            “The feeling didn’t last that long, even with Sam,” I said. “Didn’t you once tell me that his need always made you melt for him?”

            “Yes,” she said. “I guess it was always about him.

            “Tell me more about you and Nick.”

             Adrianna’s face softened. “He makes me laugh, especially when I try to get a rise out of him. It usually happens when we’re out walking the labs. The other day I told him, really laying it on thick, ‘You’re so gender sensitive, a bona fide metrosexual, every woman’s wet dream.’ So he gives me this dead pan look and says, ‘Just for the record, Adrianna, my taste is far superior to any gay guy’s you can think of in the West Village.’ He broke me up. And sometimes he lays it on me. Once we were out walking the labs and he says wistfully " I can tell he’s setting me up " ‘You know, sweet girl, if you’d had some lesbian relationships when you were at NYU, I mean there must have been at least a few gay girls at the Stern School of Business, you might be more well rounded.’ He got me with that one.”

            “I’m starting to like Nick,” I said.

            He’s also a Prairie Home Companion fan. He has this big blanket with a map of Lake Woebegone that Catie and Eric sleep on with the inscription: Lake Woebegone, where the women are strong, the men are good looking and the children are above average.”

            “A great name, Lake Woebegone,” I said.

            “Sometimes in the morning, we get distracted and wind up making love. In those moments, Nick looking into my eyes, Catie and Eric resting on their Lake Woebegone blanket, I feel like I really belong.” 

 

         

            “I told Sam about Nick,” Adrianna said impatiently. “His first reaction was, ‘If he’s anything like that other a*****e, I’ll cut off his balls.’ He calmed down a little when I told him what Nick is like. Then I suggested we have him over for dinner.”

            “Great move!” I said.

            “Wait, it gets better. We invited him on a week night and I was at work so Sam prepared everything; Niçoise salad, smoked salmon, brown rice and steamed asparagus, all washed down with two great bottles of Sauvignon Blanc. My old man’s a natural restaurateur.”

            “How did they get along?”

            “They both do serious resistance work at the gym and started talking muscle groups. It turns out they know the same personal trainers and work out at Equinox. They actually made a date to work out together. Can you believe it?”

            “They bonded,” I said.

            “Yes, and the best part was Samantha’s reaction to Nick. We’re sitting at the table, she’s taking in the whole scene, looking at me, at Nick and her grand pop. Then she comes out with, ‘Mommy are you and Nick gonna get married?’ Nick looks at her with a big Cheshire grin, then at me and says, ‘Maybe, but only if your mommy’s a good girl.’ Then Sam chimes in with, ‘Lots a luck Nick.’ Then Samantha starts giggling.” 

            “A family dinner,” I said.

            “I guess. Later we were sitting on the couch sipping wine and do you know what my Samantha did?  She plops down between Nick and me, takes both our hands and joins them together.”

            “It was more than a dinner,” I said. “It was a feast.”

            Adrianna suddenly became tearful, grabbed some Kleenex and dabbed her eyes. “This, whatever it is, won’t last,” she said. “I feel like icing on a perfect cake that Nick has baked all by himself. He’s so lonely, he’s making me up as he goes.”

             “Well, it seems like you got his loneliness right. And of course you hardly know each other. The fights and  and misunderstandings are yet to come. You’ll hurt each other. But if you’re serious, you’ll have a chance to heal from the hurts”

              “What does that mean?”

                  “A good working principle is that it takes five kindnesses, the smaller the better, to make up for a single hurt.”  

               “I’m skeptical.”

               “Me too. But that shouldn’t stop you from daring.”

           

These days Adrianna comes to see me alone about once a month. Last month she took a week’s vacation in Paris with Nick, after they’d just bought a two bedroom apartment in the West Village. I’m happy that I haven’t met Nick. I hope I’ll never have to meet him. A few days ago I got a call from Sam.

               “Adrianna tells me you’re okay to talk to,” he said, “and you ride a motorcycle.”

               “How does she know that?” I never told her I ride a bike.”

              “She told me that once when you went to the bathroom, your cat jumped out of the closet and pushed open the door. She saw two motorcycle helmets on the closet shelf.”

             “Sam,” I said, “please tell your know it all daughter two things for me. First, my wife disapproves of me riding a motorcycle and we fight about it all the time. Second, I ride a 600 cc Honda Shadow which isn’t as powerful as a Harley but a hell of a lot more dependable!”

             “I will,” Sam said laughing. “Can you do next Monday at two?”

             “Sure,” I said.

Early yesterday morning, riding my bicycle back from Battery Park on the West Side Bike Path, I spotted Adrianna with Nick in the dog walk. They were both stretched out on a park bench. Caitie and Eric, exactly as Adrianna had described them, were rough housing with the other dogs. I hid behind one of the Alpine bushes and watched them for a few moments, holding hands with their eyes closed, breathing the fresh morning air.

Andre Moore, Director of

Marriage Couples Counseling and Life Coaching in New York City