The stubble on his chin scratches her fingertips. "Sure?"
He says, "Yes."
She moves over him. Her hands lay on his throat.
The rain falls in earnest. She dashes toward the storage unit holding her coat tight against her body naked atop his. Her hands wrap around his neck and squeeze the crumpled business card as she pulls it out of her coat pocket. It reads "Metrazzle." She pushes open the door and bells jangle on the microwave. Her mother takes the chocolate out and blows on it before handing it to her daughter with a tissue.
"It's time to tell the guests," she says.
"What will I say, Mom?" She dries her face with the tissue.
"You don't have to say anything." Her mother looks down at her with his wide eyes frantically shaking back and forth against her grip. She breathes in his panting and smells tobacco and onion. Her body's melting. She rocks back and forth squeezing Clyde's hand. "Put on a glove!"
"I'll be fine." He looks down at her. His watery eyes try a smile.
"Do you know how much she loved you? Chased off all the other boys. Not you, though."
"Hon, it's time to go."
"I don't know what to say."
"Share the good memories of your mother."
"What if I can't?"
"I know what to say," says her mom. "You just keep that stiff upper lip."
She pushes herself into her mother's warm arms, wrapping herself tight against the winter air. A man stands a few feet away. She squints through the flurries to recognize him. “Excuse me,” she says. The man doesn't reply. He sips his wine and leans back. His eyes flick up and down her face.
She puts down her wine and pushes open the door, jangling some bells. He's bent over behind the counter. His tattoos peek from under his collar. He stands up and offers his hand. It's rough and warm when she shakes it. Solid. She squeezes it a little harder. His neck strains. His manic eyes ask for more chocolate. Her mother hands her a cup. She sips it, letting the alcohol bite her tongue. He gets up from the booth and beckons her to take off her clothes. He pushes her down on the bed, pinning his scrawny arms and wrapping them to the bedposts with packing tape. Her mother's face is splotchy and wet with tears. She wipes her face and adjusts his bow-tie. She moves her hand down and slowly rubs him before unzipping the garment bag, practically ripping out her gown.
"Mom!" She runs through the house, dancing in circles and trying not to drag it on the ground feels cold through her boots. She pushes open the door. Little bells jangle. His tattoos peek out from under his sleeves. She spies a little cameo on his wrists jerk at the chains. "Please! For the love of God." He sobs. She puts a finger to his mouth. "Shhhh." With her mouth to his ear, "whatever you wish, sweety." Her hands wrap around an old hat stand.
He looks up from behind the counter. "Can I help you?" His lips move in blurry slow motion. She licks hers.
"Mmm, I'm looking for some furniture. Can you help?" Her body is flush.
"Give me a sec." He opens the lock and lifts the door with a screeching of metal and the rattle of chains. He points to something in the back. She turns away. "I'm sorry." She looks up at his sweet blue eyes. "It just went too far." She knows what he wants. With practiced hands, she pushes him to the ground and wraps his wrists together with packing tape. She cradles his head and pushes her tongue in his mouth. "Oh!" She feels blood on the concrete. "You've had a boo-boo, Clyde. Let's get you home." She brings a dolly up from the back. She secures him to it. "Let me cover you with a blanket, or you'll catch your death of cold." She grasps his hands. "Put some gloves on!"
"I'll be fine, hon." He looks down at her little face and brushes her lips with his. He trails his fingers over her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Kisses follow fingers. Sighs follow kisses. She reaches down and pulls his pants on. His legs flop everywhere. It's another hour before she gets to the tie. His body's a little more rigid. She grabs the garment bag and pulls it back and forth over his gasping pudgy belly stretches the cummerbund as he pants. She lifts her veil out of the way and gazes into his bulging eyes. His tongue is their blue echo. It juts out to the right. "Clyde, you are the light of my life," she says. "Again." She takes his tongue into her mouth, and spits it out. "Mom!"
"What?"
"This wine's terrible. We can't have it at the wedding."
"Hang on, sweety." her mother takes a sip. "No, dear. Maybe something's wrong with your taster."
"I know my wines, and my taster's doing perfectly well." She looks at the label on the bottle. "Wait. I always loved this one."
Her mother shrugs. "How can your tastes cha-"
"What, Mom?"
"I think your pregnant."
She plops back down in her chair then looks at her pocket book. "Do you think you can have it delivered to this address?"
"I'll have a crew right on it."
She looks into his toffee eyes. "I trust you, not a crew." Her fingers trail over the roll-top, the legs, and trace the intricate designs etched in its surface. Her eyes stay fixed on his. "You're a smart girl," he says. "Thank you." She smiles. He just sips his wine and leans back.
"Mom's gone," she says and lays her head on his shoulder.
"I'm there for you, okay?" he says.
She traces the tattoos on his arms. His nose flares. The packing tape flattens his lips.
"Sure?"
He says, "Yes."
She moves over him. Her hands lay on his throat.
