apparently.”
Catherine’s face grew hot. “Careful,” she said. “Or you
won’t be seeing me naked, either.” She gathered her clothes. “I’m sure we’ll
make love when we’re married,” she said, a certain edge to her voice, failing
to mention that even then Walter would prefer to do it with the lights out, or
so it seemed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a stealthy flash of
jealousy in Leo’s eyes.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for his jeans. “Get dressed,
and I’ll show you my new car.”
Through his connections, Leo bought a 1945 MC Midget TC, a
dented but speedy two-seater sports car, and took Catherine drag racing through
the streets of Philly, following up with trips to dingy bars and drinks until
the early morning. For a week, Catherine showed up at work hungover from rye whiskey, tired from cigarette smoke, but happy from the feeling of
adventure she only felt around Leo, certain coworkers only too happy to
integrate Catherine with the daily gossip routines.
“It’s awful, isn’t it? She looks like a two-bit prostitute.”
“Since that boy came in with those flowers, she’s been a
lost cause.”
“Poor Walter. Wonder whether he has
any clue she’s running around.”
Walter didn’t have a clue, as it happened, and Catherine wasn’t
about to tell him. Her affair with Leo was revitalizing but also frightening,
as Leo’s recklessness as an adult seemed more dangerous, from drinking in
public to jaywalking to daring her to run topless through Bartram’s Garden at
noon.
One night, they sneaked into Bartram’s Garden, laid a
blanket on the green grass, and watched the stars, Leo teaching her naughty
French words and composing poems on the spot. Even though Leo hadn’t spent much
time in Philadelphia, he seemed to have an instinctive sense of the city’s
clubs and restaurants, from colorful bars to strange and exotic restaurants,
often tiny, hole-in-the-wall places she’d never heard of. This was the
exciting, nonconformist, carefree attitude she thought she’d lost forever.
After a dinner at Sof Omar, their
favorite Ethiopian restaurant known for excellent coffee and deserts, Leo sat
next to her and pressed his lips to hers, infusing them with tingling warmth.
People looked as the lovers sat at the dinner table, kissing all the same.
“This is so different,” Catherine said.
“Different from what?”
“From when I go out with Walter.”
“Why are you even involved with him?” Leo asked. “If you
don’t love him, why bother?”
“Well, he is reliable, honest, and he has a good heart. A
good person to rely on and a good husband,” she said.
“So, he never kissed you after dinner?” Leo asked.
“No, he’s never once kissed me at the dinner table. He’s too
shy to kiss in public.” She pointed at the sphere of spongy injera bread they shared. “Walter’s idea of exotic is putting parmesan on his pasta.”
Leo laughed—the full-bodied, soulful laugh she adored.
“I’ve missed you,” Catherine said. “I’ve missed this. Us. What we have. The way I see the world
when I’m with you.”
He tore off a piece of injera and
placed it on her waiting tongue. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not this
time. So, as soon as you’re ready to leave that stick-in-the-mud... as
soon as you have the courage to tell Walter you’re leaving... I’ll be here.”
Leo gestured at the food on their table—a rich mixture of chutneys, lentils,
and lamb in thick sauce. “And I’ll feed you stuff a whole lot better than
parmesan pasta.”
She laughed, but worry nagged at the edges of Catherine’s
happiness, knowing that Leo was ready to whisk her away for a lifetime of adventure,
but realizing she was no longer the same hotheaded seventeen-year-old she used
to be. What if, at twenty-eight, she no longer wanted a lifetime of adventure?
She looked for it before, and it burned her; of course, Leo was different from
Michael, but the point still stood. And
Catherine’s face grew hot. “Careful,” she said. “Or you
won’t be seeing me naked, either.” She gathered her clothes. “I’m sure we’ll
make love when we’re married,” she said, a certain edge to her voice, failing
to mention that even then Walter would prefer to do it with the lights out, or
so it seemed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a stealthy flash of
jealousy in Leo’s eyes.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for his jeans. “Get dressed,
and I’ll show you my new car.”
Through his connections, Leo bought a 1945 MC Midget TC, a
dented but speedy two-seater sports car, and took Catherine drag racing through
the streets of Philly, following up with trips to dingy bars and drinks until
the early morning. For a week, Catherine showed up at work hungover from rye whiskey, tired from cigarette smoke, but happy from the feeling of
adventure she only felt around Leo, certain coworkers only too happy to
integrate Catherine with the daily gossip routines.
“It’s awful, isn’t it? She looks like a two-bit prostitute.”
“Since that boy came in with those flowers, she’s been a
lost cause.”
“Poor Walter. Wonder whether he has
any clue she’s running around.”
Walter didn’t have a clue, as it happened, and Catherine wasn’t
about to tell him. Her affair with Leo was revitalizing but also frightening,
as Leo’s recklessness as an adult seemed more dangerous, from drinking in
public to jaywalking to daring her to run topless through Bartram’s Garden at
noon.
One night, they sneaked into Bartram’s Garden, laid a
blanket on the green grass, and watched the stars, Leo teaching her naughty
French words and composing poems on the spot. Even though Leo hadn’t spent much
time in Philadelphia, he seemed to have an instinctive sense of the city’s
clubs and restaurants, from colorful bars to strange and exotic restaurants,
often tiny, hole-in-the-wall places she’d never heard of. This was the
exciting, nonconformist, carefree attitude she thought she’d lost forever.
After a dinner at Sof Omar, their
favorite Ethiopian restaurant known for excellent coffee and deserts, Leo sat
next to her and pressed his lips to hers, infusing them with tingling warmth.
People looked as the lovers sat at the dinner table, kissing all the same.
“This is so different,” Catherine said.
“Different from what?”
“From when I go out with Walter.”
“Why are you even involved with him?” Leo asked. “If you
don’t love him, why bother?”
“Well, he is reliable, honest, and he has a good heart. A
good person to rely on and a good husband,” she said.
“So, he never kissed you after dinner?” Leo asked.
“No, he’s never once kissed me at the dinner table. He’s too
shy to kiss in public.” She pointed at the sphere of spongy injera bread they shared. “Walter’s idea of exotic is putting parmesan on his pasta.”
Leo laughed—the full-bodied, soulful laugh she adored.
“I’ve missed you,” Catherine said. “I’ve missed this. Us. What we have. The way I see the world
when I’m with you.”
He tore off a piece of injera and
placed it on her waiting tongue. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not this
time. So, as soon as you’re ready to leave that stick-in-the-mud... as
soon as you have the courage to tell Walter you’re leaving... I’ll be here.”
Leo gestured at the food on their table—a rich mixture of chutneys, lentils,
and lamb in thick sauce. “And I’ll feed you stuff a whole lot better than
parmesan pasta.”
She laughed, but worry nagged at the edges of Catherine’s
happiness, knowing that Leo was ready to whisk her away for a lifetime of adventure,
but realizing she was no longer the same hotheaded seventeen-year-old she used
to be. What if, at twenty-eight, she no longer wanted a lifetime of adventure?
She looked for it before, and it burned her; of course, Leo was different from
Michael, but the point still stood. And
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