Under the Stars and Stripes (Under Him)

I did indeed, and not just for the wonderful things the sleek, black number with the plunging neckline did for her already spectacular tits. I loved the way it hugged her in general, accentuating her perfect form as much as it concealed her, making no secret of how little she had changed since we last saw each other. Though, it only stood to reason as I hadn’t changed much either and was only a year older than her.

Things were a bit awkward at first. How best to break so long a silence? We had done pretty well after the presentation, but those had been pretty special circumstances. At the restaurant we were trying to get back into the swing of things.

“Are you still painting?” I asked.

“Shockingly, yes. Not as much as I would like to, but I have a studio at my place and magazines, mostly indies, still willing to run my stuff. Granted, most of them are associated with Amy in some way.”

“Amy Apab? The Rebel Queen?”

“That’s the one.”

“She’s not dead or in jail?”

“Revived and acquitted. Luck of the Irish, that one. She’s still running the publication she started in college, only now it has a circulation of 15,000 and is printed on fancy paper. The online version is doing even better. She commissions me for covers mostly.”

“I can see it,” I said, “the Art Spiegelman of our generation.”

“Oh, hell no. My stuff wouldn’t get near the New Yorker, there would be riots!”

“Put you in pretty good company though, including Dali.”

“That’s true,” she conceded, “still, I prefer the indie scene. Not because of any bullshit idea of ‘authenticity’ I can just do whatever I want with no push back, which is nice.”

“I can see that,” I said, flashing back to my last conversation with Greene.

“So, what are you up to these days?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old, designing this, improvising that, lots and lots of schematics, particularly when I foolishly think I might be close to done.”

“Rings a distant bell,” she teased, “what was that thing you built in 10th grade? The dog catcher?”

“The dog-net. I god sick of Lucky running off - ”

“You named your pug Lucky?”

“Yeah. Anyway, I knew I could never catch him. He had the leg advantage, see? So, I devised a human way to give myself the advantage.”

“By launching an expanding net to catch him and reel him back?”

“Kept him from getting hurt,” I said with a shrug.

“Difficult to argue with results,” she conceded.

Soon enough we fell back into it and while the spectre of separation still loomed over the table, waiting to strike, everything went swimmingly right up to dessert.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” Ada asked hesitantly.

“Other than you?” I asked.

“Obviously.”

“No, I wouldn’t have asked you out if I was.”

“You could have been being nice,” Ada pointed out.

“True, but there is no one. To be honest, there never has been anyone except you.”

“What?” Ada asked.

“You were the first and the last. I haven’t even dated since we ended. You are the only one I could ever love.”

Ada buried her face in her hands. The soft vibration of her shoulders let me know that she was crying. Gently, I moved her hands away and dried her tears.

“Come now, no need for that.”

“You don’t understand,” she sniffed, “I feel the same. I have been on a couple of dates, but none of them worked out. It just wasn’t possible. I love you, and that is that. I still think about you when I touch myself. It’s the only thing that gets me off.”

“Ditto,” I said.

“Really?”

“Why would I want to think about anyone else?”

She took my hand and kissed it gratefully, like I was some kind of king. Kissing soon turned to sucking as Ada took my thumb into her mouth.

“My condo isn’t far from here,” I pointed out.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Nine - Ada

I was going to call Amy, but I didn’t get time. She always said I could come and get Matt at breakfast, including when I had called her after work and asked if she could watch Matt again. Of course, she agreed. I told myself not to worry as I squeezed myself into the dress I had worn to go hear Neil Gaiman do a reading and almost believed it as Kingsley drove us to his place in his sports car.

I could hardly believe how he looked. Different but the same. Older but not much as well as sexier. Maturity evened out his features and gave him a nearly square jaw. Put him in an over coat and a fedora and he could have been a 1940s detective.

I wondered if my mind went there because our first date after officially becoming a couple in grade 11 was an art house double feature of Bande à Part and Breathless. We hadn’t had sex at that point, but even so, the connection between us was apparent, sending out its charge every time our hands touched while reaching for the popcorn.