Smile

Beneath me, she gave a languid sigh.
I hadn't even opened my eyes. When I did, I was so close I saw only her face surrounded by the faded rust of her pillow. Her hair was flat where I'd pressed my palms against it. Her eyes were still closed. As I watched, her jaw unwound and her mouth spread into a smile with a movement that was almost liquid. If I rose up, I'd see her shoulders and biceps, her breasts flattened against her chest, the bottom sheet pulled loose from the corner of the bed. I'd have seen her knees pulled up to her shoulders.
"I needed that," she said
Good, I wanted to say. Instead, I made a low moan in the back of my throat.
She hadn't allowed me to turn off the light so, as long as her eyes were shut, I'd been able to study her. She was older than me, not by much but at our age a few years reveal their difference. Her skin was coarser than mine, and darker. Her hair seemed brittle and was turning to gray at its roots. Afraid I'd crush her, I held myself on my elbows. The bones of her pelvis knocked against mine.
"Do you know how long it's been?" she breathed.
"You said a long time."
"More than a year. Closer to two."
I made another noise, something to show I'd heard her. She pressed her hands against my shoulder blades.
"Have things changed now?" she asked.
"No."
With her eyes still closed, she smiled a little more. For a moment, I saw the ghost of her as a younger woman, maybe a girl. Her breath was cinnamon, masking the smell of cigarettes. When we'd come into her apartment, she'd gone into the bathroom and gargled. I'd forgotten how much I hated the smell of cigarettes.
She smiled a little more. "It's not like there was much to change, anyway," she said.
Soft as it was, her bedroom lamp cast the brightest light I'd ever seen her in. Usually we met in the bar after work on Fridays, the two of us and fifteen or twenty others. The place was a storefront, long and narrow, immersed in shadow. With all of us leaning on the bar it felt crowded. The bartender was Tom, the guy who sat closest to the door was Alan, the older man with white hair and a gray suit was Charles. Eileen was the off-duty cop who came in when her shifts allowed. I liked to stand close to her. I liked women with broad shoulders.
Evie was an assistant in the Department of Labor. I met her gradually. First, she was just another woman in the bar. Then we said hello. Then we made jokes over the drinks of people standing between us. She was short and thin enough to seem frail. Her skin was faded like an old photograph. Still, she had a way of carrying herself that seemed young. Her blouses were a shade too tight and her shoes were bulky, heavy and black. She wore a denim jacket with roses embroidered into the pockets.
One night, the space between us opened and she slid over to me. My back was to her as I listened to Eileen and Paul talk about the city council. I looked pointedly from one to the other, hoping Eileen would notice. When I turned to order a Scotch there was Evie, leaning against the bar and smiling at my reflection in the mirror. "I don't pay attention to city politics," she said.
"No?"
"I just work here." She held up a finger." No civics lessons."
"Okay."
"You were going to tell me it's important to follow things where I work."
I shrugged. I'd been about to say just that.
"See, I can tell what you're thinking. Just by watching you."
"Clairvoyant, huh?"
"What?"
"It's a skill you have?"
"I've always been good at reading people, but you're easy," she said. "To read, I mean." She patted my arm and nodded toward Eileen. "Sorry, sweetie. You're not her type."
"Whose?"
"The lady cop's. She wants a guy who works with his hands." She picked up one of mine and examined it. "You work with your brain, right? You have soft hands."
She came back to that later, in her apartment. "I like soft hands," she whispered, as she took mine again and pressed them between her legs. She was out of her clothes by then and my shirt was somewhere on the floor. She'd gone into the bathroom and gargled and come out with her blouse untucked and its top buttons open. She sat down at one end of the couch and smiled. After half a minute's silence she leaned forward and put her hand on my knee. "It's been a long time since I had someone over," she said. Her face was light.
I tried to act as if it had been a long time for me, too. I was already wondering when I'd be able to go home. I wanted to get into Evie's bed and fuck her and go home to sleep. Before I could say anything, she kissed me and I tasted smoke. When I rode up on her, it would be all around me: smoke in her mouth and hair, her sheets, the curtains of her bedroom, the comforter we'd shoved to the foot of the bed.
Below me, she stirred. I felt her clenching. Her smile had softened and she had the look of someone about to fall asleep. I began pushing myself away but she tightened her arms around me. "Not yet," she said.
"My arm's going numb."
"Not yet."
For that last half minute, I'd lost the smell of smoke and felt nothing but friction. When we steppedd into her bedroom, she'd swung onto me the way I'd seen people swing onto a horse. She thrust so violently, I felt only heat. Finally, I took her shoulders and turned her onto her back and used my weight to press her against the mattress. She fingered herself until she came and then pushed her fingernails into my ass and whispered oh, come on. I had my face in her hair and I lost the smell of smoke, the cramp in my knee, everything but the sensation rushing along every nerve in my body. I pulled out the bottom sheet so suddenly it tore loose from the corner of the bed.
"I love first times," she said. "The first time you're with someone. Like this."
"Yes."
"I want to make it last and last. It's why I won't let you go." I felt her clench again.
"You have to let me go sometime."
"Eventually," she said, and opened her eyes.