Losing Charity

Losing Charity - 10

Peter leads me outside.

The terrace overlooks Central Park.

The air is cold and my dress is thin, but I don't mind.

Peter stands behind me. Wraps his arms around.

I snuggle back against him. He's so warm.

"The stars are still there," I say.

"Yes," he replies. "Even the ones you can't see."

Odd thing to say. But I don't care.

This is a better view than at Barbat.

Not as high up. But much more intimate.

Like Central Park is our lawn.

The full moon is high in the sky. We see its reflection shimmer on the dark surface of the Reservoir.

I feel Peter tilt his head back.

With one hand he clutches my throat.

The other cups my left breast. I feel my heart pound.

He whispers something. A hoarse whisper.

The words are strange. Foreign. Very foreign.

A sudden gust of wind whips across the terrace.

I feel cold air up my legs. I shiver.

"Was that more Latin?" I ask.

I look back over my shoulder at Peter.

His smile is amused, and not entirely kind.

"Chaldean," he says. His hands slide down to encircle my waist.

I laugh uncertainly. Is he joking? It sounds made up.

"What did you say?" I ask. "Something nice about me?"

I wiggle against him. Turn so we're facing.

"I spoke to the moon," he says. His eyes seem dark.

I frown. This is weird. What is he talking about?

He smiles. "I compared you to the beautiful moon."

"In Chaldean?" I shake my head. "Showoff. I can barely remember the French I took."

I'm a teensy bit irritated, I admit.

What good is a compliment I can't even understand?

Chaldean? Really?

Where do they even speak that? I think in the Middle East somewhere, but who knows.

Okay, sure, I'm impressed he speaks Chaldean.

But I'm already impressed. I've been impressed for hours.

Why is he still impressing me?

Why isn't he, you know, finishing the tour?

I haven't seen the bedroom yet.

"I'm cold," I say, hoping he'll take the hint.

I really am cold. My teeth are chattering.

"Let's warm you up then," says Peter.

We start toward the door.

I stumble. Stupid heels.

But it's more than me being clumsy.

I feel lightheaded. Dizzy. Woozy.

Three glasses of wine. Part of a fourth.

Everything is spinning. Park. Penthouse. Moon. Peter.

I topple.

Peter catches me in his arms.

Lifts me up, effortlessly.

He carries me inside.

I feel like I'm flying.

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Losing Charity © Dan McGirt 2019. All rights reserved.

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