Grease Stains, Kismet, and Maternal Wisdom, Page 3

Room 700 at the Radisson in Cambridge was a smoking room with two beds. We would only use one of the beds and we wouldn’t even smoke that much, even though there were several ashtrays around the room and even one in the bathroom.

  Outside, it was dark and cool. The black waters of the Charles River pushed easily alongside the slow road. Samantha was topless and sitting on my lap.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m me. Who are you?”

  We could have played this game for hours, and at that moment, it felt like we had hours, and maybe we did in a sense, but the heavy pull of the finite lingered around our bodies, around the room, it enveloped the entire hotel, the town. But that day, that night, had already lasted for eons.

  Her body was hot and I kissed her neck, cheek, lips, and I touched and massaged her breasts as she slid down onto her back. I began to tug at her jeans. I was only in my jeans. I had left my underwear crumpled in a corner next to my backpack. More smooching ensued. I pulled off her jeans. She helped. She’s so nice to help. And then her body stilled. I was crouched over her, a steamroller in waiting. I kissed her neck, nibbled on her ear, but she’d become motionless. Something strange was afoot in room 700.

  “What’s the matter?” I whispered.

  “David?”

  “Yes?”

  A low, exasperated sigh escaped from her mouth.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “So talk to me.”

  My gerbil started pounding the wheel between my temples. Uh-oh. What’s coming? What’s coming? Please don’t say that you’re a man. It’s happened to me before. Please don’t say that you’re a man. I wasn’t that fucked up in Seattle, was I?

  “I’m a post-op transsexual, David.”

  No! No! I didn’t just fucking hear that! No…I didn’t hear that.

  There were more sighs. She was nervous, maybe embarrassed. But I could tell that she trusted me, thank god, she trusted me. And so, perched above her, I hovered, and waited, my head low, my ears wide open, expectant. What’s going to come? She was flustered but she was going to tell me. Then she did.

  “I…have…my period.” Her words trailed off, disappointed.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “Listen…I don’t know if I’m going to have sex with you this week. I don’t know. This is all so strange.”

  I hovered. I grinned. This woman was so fucking adorable. I was relieved. I’d thought it was going to be so much worse. I could handle this.

  “It’s alright, Samantha. I know this is very strange. But it’s alright. I’m in no rush. I want you to be comfortable.”

  She was frustrated, still a bit stiff, but slowly moving again.

  “Yes…I’m sorry. I want to…but…”

  My smile was huge. I was close to her head. I kissed her cheek, her neck. She expelled air from her nose in tight bursts. I invoked my baby voice. Some women liked it. Some women thought it was annoying as hell. I thought Samantha could tolerate it. It was good for levity, and at that moment I thought we could use some levity.

  “I have my period,” I cooed in my baby voice. She pushed me, playfully.

  “Shut up.”

  “I have my period,” I said again, breaking my hover. I moved across her breasts, down her stomach.

  “Shut up.”

  I spoke to her navel.

  “I thought it was going to be something scary, dammit. Will you stop scaring me like that?”

  “It is serious. Kind of.”

  “I know…I know.”

  I moved up her slender body and we kissed. And we kissed.

  “I love you.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “I love you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Don’t you realize that I haven’t returned the sentiment?”

  “Yes…I know that. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I still love you.”

  “Good god.”

  “Yes.”

  And as the minutes crept by and the pale moon moved across the sky, we giggled and spoke in low tones and we cuddled and we were tired and the day had been long. Samantha called her mother and lied about where she was—allegedly at my friend Mark’s place and not room 700—but her mother made it very easy for her because her mother was very nice and the cool air pumped in through the vent by the window and we smoked a cigarette and doted on each other and petted and snuggled and cuddled and I was so warm being with her, amazing. Then sleep. Peaceful, peaceful, peaceful, safe, safe, safe. Beneath the spell of each other. How could I not love this woman?