The Muffia (19 page)

“Mmmm, I like the way it feels,” I murmured.

“Very slowly now, bring it up your thigh. Easy—take your time. I can hear you breathing. That's it. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yessss.”  It did feel good. And the anticipation of feeling even better was making me quiver.

“Now bring it up higher—slowly—slowly. You know the spot, that tingling piece of flesh. On you it must be so beautiful.”

I
did
know but I was trying to let myself go. Part of me was still feeling a little odd letting him talk to me this way. Though in retrospect, given the way we’d met, it seemed the best, the only way for him to talk to me, really. “Mmmm, yes . . . right . . . there,” I breathed out.

“Don’t stop. You’re almost there… I can feel the sensations going through your body. Yeah, it feels good.”

“
Oh
—” It was working.

“You’re so hot, Madelyn. So hot. Now turn on the rotation. Keep the vibration level where it is.”

Breathlessly I whispered, “Ahhhllright . . .”

I really needed to take my mind off things—a situation I’d been finding myself in with greater frequency—so I surrendered to him, even if it was over the phone. I gave up the last bit of me that I’d been holding back, not that it had been much. It was just sort of weird to not be doing this in person, particularly with someone who I hadn’t had actual sex with.

But, as previously noted, I’d reached a point in my life that if a reasonably suitable guy looked at me right, something could happen. I really didn’t hold out much hope anymore for
the
right guy, who also believed I was
the
right girl, to show up, meet each others’ critical criteria and give each other the happy ever after. I just wanted a happy hour here or there.

“Listen to you. You’re a real screamer, aren’t you? I can hear you all the way over here in West Hollywood.”

“Yeah? You . . . don’t . . . know . . . that,” I managed to say, moving the bunny further up my purring pussy. “Ahhh!” Sometimes I amazed myself.

“That’s it. I can picture you—all moist and ready. Almost like the real thing, huh?”

“Mmmm, no, but . . . oh, it’s good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you want me to come over? Or do you just want to come?”

“There’s no time, I’m . . .”

“You’re close aren’t you?”

“Keep going, don’t stop.”

“I can be over there pretty fast. It’s not rush hour.”

“Mmmm, not fast.
Really
good.
Oh
!”

“Do you want me to come?”

“I like you talking to me.”

“I like to talk to you. I like talking to you like this. And I loved meeting you, kissing you in the tapas bar, I was so turned on. I wanted to take you right there.”

“Mmm, yeah. Those booths were sexy.”

“And then that guy you knew came in and spoiled the mood.”

“
Shhhh
. Don’t
you
spoil the mood.”

“No, we don’t want to do that. You feel good, baby? Is that bunny rabbit taking care of you?”

Cullen didn’t sound stupid saying baby either.

The Rabbit was moving in and out, then I let it rest inside, the little bunny ears pressed up against my clit and I could feel the orgasm churning deep inside me, threatening to blow. “Oh, yeah.”

“You’re so hot, baby. Don’t stop. You sure you don’t want me to come over?”

There was no stopping now. I’d reached the point of no return.
“Oh, yeah!”

“You want me to come over?”

“I want you to . . . I want to . . . Oh, God.”

“What do you want? You want me to come over there and take you and make you scream?”

“Oh, my—I’m—I want to—”

I can’t think straight during sex. For me, that’s most of the appeal.

His voice urged me on, so sexy, adding to my pleasure. But I couldn’t tell if he was getting any himself.

“You want to what?” he asked, drawing it out of me. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to— I want— Oh, I’m going to . . .
come
—”

I screamed out a couple more times and felt my body twitch involuntarily for those many lovely seconds when all is release and nothing matters. Then all is warmth and glow.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” Cullen said. “You did that all by yourself, you know.”

“I had a little help.”

“That was all you, Madelyn. You’re wild. Are you sure this is your first vibrator? You seem pretty good with it.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Was I really loud?”

After the case I’d tried to mediate that afternoon, I had to wonder if any of my neighbors had heard me.

“Eight on a ten scale. I wish I were there with you,” he said sweetly.

“Mmmm. Maybe next time,” I said, not ready to let go of the glow just yet. “That was great, Cullen. Thank you. I feel much better.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Was it?”

“I’m not twenty anymore. It’s no fun if it's all about me.”

“You and I have an interesting relationship.” We did, I thought. I’d never had another one like it.

“That’s an understatement.” He laughed.

I glanced at my watch. “Shit, I've gotta go.”

“Hey, what about me?” he demanded.

I did feel bad that there’d been no reciprocity, but hadn't I’d told him up front that I had to pick up Lila?
Why was he guilting me?
“I’m just playing with you.” He
was
, too.

“I
would
like to return the favor sometime,” I offered, half hoping he wouldn’t hear me.

“No pressure.” It seemed as though now, the passion spent, there was an awkward silence where neither of us seemed willing or brave enough to venture the suggestion that we physically get together.

“I’ll call you later,” I said finally. “After I talk to Berggren’s assistant and try to get Nissim’s address which, and I repeat, is against my better judgment.”

“Great.”

Still slightly embarrassed, I thought of a whole new subject to take our minds off the unsaid. “How’s your mother doing?” Even though the woman had been hostile to me, it did seem polite to ask.

“Pretty well, thanks,” Cullen said. “A lot better. Her doctor told her the cancer was in remission, which kind of shocked her, I think. So she just left yesterday for a cruise up the Nile with a college friend and fellow cancer survivor from Smith.”

“That’s great.” There was another healthy pause so I continued, “I mean it
is
great, isn’t it?”

There came a silence during which I considered whether or not he would have preferred her to actually die. Finally  he said, “Yes, I mean, of course it’s great. But it
was
a pretty sudden turnaround—for me, I mean. And then she announced she wanted to see the Pyramids before she died. She was going to buy me a ticket to go along, but I really need to stay here and get my life in order.”

To my relief, he was talking about his mother in a different tone of voice than the one he’d been using bringing me to orgasm, which is, of course, as it should be when a man talks about his mother.

“It
is
one of those places we’re all supposed to see before we die,” I said in support. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen much on that list—The Grand Canyon. New Orleans.”

“Not on the list,” he said.

“Should be, shouldn’t it? Even after Katrina.”

“The weird thing is,” he went on, “I can’t remember my mother ever telling me she wanted to see the Pyramids. She tells me everything. You’d think that would be something she’d mention.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond because I felt an instinctual awareness that there was something slightly off about Cullen’s relationship with his mother. His tone of voice sounded more like that of a jilted lover than a son.

“Well,” I said, “thanks again. You made my day.”

After we hung up I lay there for a few more seconds, thinking about the extremes of cancer and self-stimulation. Maybe they weren’t opposites. As I’ve said, the older I get and the more experiences I have, the less I’m sure about anything. Or maybe it’s that I know more, but it's about less of what really matters.

If anyone had told me back in my thirties that I would one day be so easy to arouse, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible—by
any
guy, with or without mother issues. And if anyone had told me I’d become the kind of woman who could be satisfied with the little gifts life handed to me, I wouldn’t have believed that either. Generally, I find these days that I’m filled with gratitude for what I
do
have and I’ve stopped moaning about what I don’t. But there was no more time for philosophy. Lila had a volleyball tournament.

Chapter 29

“Thor?” I said into the phone upon hearing a man pick up at Berggren’s house.

“This is Nestor.”
No wonder he didn’t sound like Thor.

“Hi, Nestor,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve met. This is Madelyn Scott-Crane calling. I’m a friend of Berggren’s.”

“Oh hello, Madelyn,” said Nestor, dripping with the superior attitude of the insecure.

“I need to get some contact information from Berggren, if that’s possible.” I was secretly hoping Berggren hadn’t yet returned from New York and that he’d not been instructed to keep people’s contact info private. All he needed to do was type Nissim or ZsaZsi into the big database and I’d have what I needed.

“That won’t be possible,” Nestor said. “Berggren is very protective of her list, as you must know.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a celebrity actor’s information I’m after, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said. “This is just the guy who’s engaged to Berggren’s producing partner. I think he’s in real estate. You must know ZsaZsi—”

“Of course. But I’m afraid I’ve been instructed not to give out any information of any kind, except the dates of upcoming Spoken Word events.”

“I see,” I said. “Nestor, are you new?” His silence told me I’d assessed the situation correctly.  “Is Thor in?” I continued, thinking that by asking for a more senior member of the staff I could guilt Nestor into giving me what I wanted.

“No. He had to—”

“Who’s that on the telephone, Nestor?” a voice demanded. I identified the timbre and vocal characteristics as those of the mighty Norseman, the blonde and beautiful Thor.

Nestor hesitated. “It’s a friend of Berggren’s.”

“Well . . . who?”

Someone covered the mouthpiece and all I heard for several seconds were garbled sounds. Then, “’Allo, Madelyn,” Thor said.  “How’s it going,
yah
?”

“Thor,” I said, trying to sound as cheery as I could without sounding sappy. “I’m fine. How are you? Nice to hear your voice.”

“I’m good, thanks, yah. What can I help you with? Berggren won’t be back until late tonight.”

“Well, I’m trying to find out the address of ZsaZsi’s fiancé. I can’t remember his name,” I lied.

“Of course. You mean Nissim, yah?”

“Yes, that’s it. Nissim.”

“So sorry, Madelyn. I can’t do that. Besides we don’t have it.”

“Shoot,” I said, already armed and ready for the next line of attack. “You see, I wanted to send them an engagement gift.”

“Oh gee,” said Thor, sounding stumped. “An engagement gift. Yah, that’s different, I think. Hold on.”

He put me on hold. I don’t know what he thought I was going to do with the address anyway.  It wasn’t exactly saleable to the guys who hand out maps of Hollywood so tourists can drive around to celebrities’ homes.

Thor came back on the line. “Here is ZsaZsi’s post office box: four-zero-five-six, Beverly Hills nine-o-two-one-o.”

A post office box is useless
. “Don’t you think it’s kind of impersonal sending an engagement gift to a PO box?” I asked as mournfully as I could.

“Yah, but so sorry, Madelyn, that’s all we have here,” Thor said. “Maybe Berggren can get you the street address, but at the moment she is somewhere over Nebraska, maybe.”

His sing-songy accent was lulling me to torpor when I heard him blurt out, “I know what you can do!”

I waited for him to tell me what had sparked his
ah-ha
moment.

“Why don’t you bring the gift on Saturday?” he asked. “They will be here for the dinner party, yah.”

“Really? What a good idea,” I said. It wasn’t a good idea, really, but it was at least a workable idea: I’d arrive at Berggren’s early, find out the actual address and then call Cullen and Jelicka. Based on the zip code of Nissim and ZsaZsi’s PO box they could live anywhere. But I seemed to remember they lived in the Hollywood hills. And knowing what traffic was like between the hills and Mar Vista, after they left their place for Berggren’s, there’d be plenty of time for Cullen and Jelicka to snoop around while we were all partying. I thanked Thor for his brilliant suggestion and hung up.