Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG Read online

  “Nick, you like to tease, don't you.”

  He didn't answer at first, and swept his hands, back of my neck. “Maybe,” Nick said rubbing gently. But let's get back to you and me.”

  “I'd like that, Nick.”

  “Who are you?” Nick asked, emphasizing each word separately.

  “What do you mean?” It was all so abrupt. Had I confronted him with? “I told you Anna Karena?”

  “And where are you from?”

  “Pittsburgh. Why the sudden questioning, Nick?” I took a long sip of my drink, and watched him gulp his Long Island Iced Tea. What on earth did I say to bring on this moment of cool intensity? Was it those weirdos who approached us, Tweetie, Ariel, Frederica?

  Nick shook his head. “I don't know. No reason.” But he went on, “ Who are your parents and where are they from?”

  “My parents?” I sighed. “My parents were hard working immigrants. Very much like Andy's folks.” Why are you doing this to me, Nick? I'm here to escape these thoughts. Memories of mom, enveloped on my brain, memories in her frumpy house dress, and in her last year, staring at me vacantly, perplexed, wondering who I am; and pop, in his final months, his all white hair in total disarray, sullen cheeks, his jaundiced, yellowed skin, and the pipe he smoked, dangling from his thin lips. Pop suffered a tremendous amount of pain from the cancer that engulfed his body. Instead of becoming defensive and recoiling in some cocoon, my voice became invigorated. “I loved my parents, very much. Mom recently passed on. Dad died years earlier from working in a coal mine, the same place Andy's dad had worked.

  Nick looked stone faced, his demeanor frozen. “I think I might have hurt you.“ But as he warmed, with a broadening and thoughtful smile on his lips, he reached for my free hand. “I understand and I'm sorry,” he replied.

  “My parents are from eastern Europe, like Andy's. Why do you ask? And where are your parents from?”

  “New Jersey.”

  “And you? Who are you?”

  “Nick Boxer,” he said.

  “Is that your real name,” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Same as my parents. New Jersey. Listen, I had to check you out.” Nick placed his arm around my waist and squeezed. “Come with me. You don’t mind Anna. Do you? Lots of people tell me they're Andy's friend. You know I have to separate … the wheat from the chafe.”

  Don't ask me why, but after watching Nick who didn't even blink once during this awkward exchange, I shook my head and said, “Mind, not at all.” Why should I mind, I lectured myself as Nick held my hand firmly. Did I pass some sort of test? I didn't picture Nick at first, as a man who checked details, before he invited you into his group.

  Maybe he ran into girls too often, who just wanted to crash into some inner circle.

  “Anna, you realize that walking arm and arm, and introducing you to folks as Andy's childhood pal, I am using you … well for business, that is.”

  I shrugged, didn't say anything, pulled away and pushed my hands, through my hair. “If this walk and talk helps Andy, why not? And why wouldn't I help out my pal. I'm sure he would do the same for me,” I said.“Nick you are a hot guy and a smart one. And I know something about art. Andy and I took art history classes together at Schenley High.”

  Nick looked at me, an awkward grin now on his face. “Wow.”

  We stopped often, I hung on Nick as we played a sort of ambassador at large for Andy, talking up Pop Art and the New York art scene along the way.

  For our first stop, we cut into a group of five: three women dressed in short skirts, and with blonde page boy hair cuts; the men in rolled up blue jeans, exposed white sport socks, and wore penny loafers. “May be a cultural revolution. That's what we're headed for,” one of the guys said.

  “Check it out,” Nick said. Andy's Pop Art is a revolution of the esoteric meanings of say Jackson Pollack's art. Something simple, as soup cans, with deft lines, and color … soup cans, icons for our time … simple …. repeatable … artistically thrilling.”

  Nick seemed to have hit a nerve. Actually he had also clarified the issue for me.

  “Yeah,” the same guy responded as the others looked on shaking their heads.

  “By the way, I'm Nick, I work with Andy back in New York. Here's Anna, she's his best pal from their days back in Pittsburgh.”

  Standing at the Tomato can canvas, and after an initial shaking of hands, and glad to meet you, were exchanged, Nick added, “You see, we have everyday subjects on our canvases. You got it now, soup cans.”

  One of the young woman brought her hand to her mouth. “Just beautiful.”

  “What was the artist's childhood like?” another asked me.

  “Well it was like any kid's. Andy drew a lot though.”

  We left them to continue their conversations and walked away, bumping into each other, smiling. Nick was back to the Nick I met at first. Let me say for the record, my heartbeat was in rapid flutter mode. When I finally realized he delighted in my clinging to him, I breathed more easily. I say that because he introduced me as Andy Warhol’s childhood chum from Pittsburgh. “Yeah, Anna and Andy were inseparable ,” he said to a smart looking couple looking eyeing the paintings.

  The young woman, wearing blue jeans, an aqua top under a leather jacket told Nick, “We want to become collectors.”

  Her companion, in blue jeans, rolled up at the bottom, a black tee shirt, and black motorcycle jacket, done up with silver buckles and pendants, added, “Yeah, but I’m not sure buying paintings of tin cans is the way to go.”

  Nick looked miffed; his full lips had an odd way of curling up on the left side of his mouth. “These are silk-screen paintings. Look at the outlines on the cans, and the patterns. Light and dark,” he explained. “You know it's a very personal art creation for Andy.”

  Gosh, this Nick knows his stuff. I chimed in,“We drank lots of Tomato soup as kids.”

  The couple kept looking, when an elegant slim man, with swept back hair, came by. Nick pulled him over, and introduced him as Irving Blum, the gallery owner. “Hey, Irv, I want you to meet some future collectors of great art.

  “Amy and Ronnie,” the rough looking guy said to Blum, flexing a bit under his motorcycle jacket.

  Nick went on, “And Irv, meet Anna. She was Andy's good friend from Pittsburgh.“ Irving Blum extended his hand warmly and smiled.

  Nick evinced a business like voice now. “Amy and Ronnie, I’ll leave you in good hands. Mr. Blum is the gallery owner as I said and a close associate of Andy's. Keep an open mind. These tin cans as you called the paintings are iconic images.”

  The guy winked as we moved on, which I caught and tried to figure out what he meant by it. I asked Nick, “Did that guy wink at you or me.

  “You, babe.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. Hey, you're a gorgeous and sexy lady.”

  As we strolled along I began thinking: I met Nick about an hour ago, and he made me feel like I knew him for some time. Or, was it my foolish romantic heart beating signal sounds like tom-toms, stirring overwhelming desires to have Nick swoop me up in his arms and kiss me all over my body. I couldn’t help pausing for a moment trying to figure out what kind of lover Nick would be. Laying beautifully on a bed of satin sheets, waiting to be worshiped; his blond flowing hair mussed up, and falling over his forehead; his hot loins writhing in a come hither pose; he, never saying a word; and his big blue eyes pulling me over, intoxicating me with his desire to devour me with his hot, hot body. Aggghhhh, I almost screamed out loud and quickly rubbed the tall glass of Long Island Iced Tea on my forehead.

  “Are you OK,” Nick said at once, breaking me out of my fantasy.

  “Yes,” I smiled. If he only knew.

  We made the rounds a bit more, holding hands, more bumping into each other and more giggling. I wasn't quite sure what was happening, but the more we talked and walked, the more definite I believed something was happening here. I
was floating in the air all around us, and I felt it was real, something existed between us. It was all wonderful, I thought and totally unexpected. But caution flew over me. Would he dump me when we left, and say, “Hey, have a good night”; or land me for a one-night-stand? Little Anna, you’re getting ahead of yourself; enjoy the evening and back away from your intruding thoughts, I told myself.

  Nick wrapped a strong arm around my waist, and after about another hour of mingling and chatting up Pop Art, and another Iced Tea, we finally left the gallery.

  “Hey, come over to my place for a while; we can relax and smoke,” Nick said.

  I nodded and smiled, trying so hard to contain any composure I still had under my control.

  Outside that night, I eyed a supermarket window across the street. The market piled up Campbell soup cans, advertising them as the real thing for only 29 cents a can. I walked in with Nick, and bought thirty-two soup cans, the real thing for only 29 cents each. “I think, in a way, I got my revenge on Andy for disappointing me by not showing,” I told Nick. “I came here to see him. We had many, many good times together. So many shared events.”

  Nick smiled an adoring, angelic, lovely parting of moist lips and looked smack dab at my breasts, searching for my nipples, I thought and I felt I was in a heavenly zone. “Anna, babe, you got me, instead.”

  “Yes,” I laughed and pushed into his side. “How very happy I am that I have you.”

  We piled the brown paper bags of soup cans in the back seat of Nick's rented car and Nick slowly drove his two-tone green and cream Ford convertible, black top down, to the Sunset Manor Motor Hotel. We arrived soon enough to a red neon light blinking Welcome above the entrance door.

  Chapter Two

  For the next three days, yes, three full days and nights, I stayed at the motel with Nick. The first night began with a fat rolled joint, which Nick offered. We were already drunk. I know I was, from two glasses of Long Island Iced Tea. I’m not sure how many glasses Nick had.

  We stretched out fully clothed, sans shoes, on Nick’s cozy bed with fresh white hotel sheets. After a few tokes, I went to the bathroom to pee and freshen up a bit, and throw cool water on my face. I was happy to see crisp towels. “The glories of hotel living, how terrific,” I called out.

  “What was that?” Nick asked, and coughed, taking quick puffs of weed in rapid succession. I stood over him, looking down. He slowly removed his shirt, lifted his arms to take a quick sniff of his arm pits, and signaled me to lie down with him.

  I snuggled on his chest, my heart pounding. I wanted him, yes, and yes I knew I had him. Nick caressed my hair, and offered me the joint, as we lay side by side. I took one long toke and gave it back to him. He took a few more slow pulls and placed the rolled marijuana cigarette carefully in a gold colored tin ashtray on a table beside the bed. “You smell nice,” he said and rolled towards me, slowly kissing my lips, forehead, and down my nose and mouth. Nick shifted his head, and I pressed my lips against his neck. kissing, then over his forehead and down his nose and onto his mouth, where our lips locked.

  Nick gently rolled the straps of my leotard off my shoulders, and wiggled the fabric down over my arms, just above my wrists, and nuzzled his head between my uncovered breasts. My heart ruptured in ecstasy. He smiled, with a look that made me melt, and I screamed, “I want to be naked for you.” He pulled his pants off quickly and his blue boxer shorts, exposing a throbbing erection.

  “Patience, baby. Let’s enjoy the ride,” he said in his slow, sexy kind of way.

  He kissed my navel and stomach and moved up again to my breasts. Nick circled his tongue on my nipples and lightly bit each of them. Staring into my eyes with a smile that would melt a burning candle, he rolled my leotard off, never seeing the black lace panties I wore underneath. I wore these hoping I might get lucky, but also for comfort so my skin wouldn’t chafe. God, I got what I wished for. Now I was looking into the eyes of one beautiful human being, named Nick.

  He pulled my clothes completely off, loosening them from my ankles; and I was naked. I tensed up my legs as he lay on top of me, kissing me passionately all over my eager body. Then with two fingers of his right hand, he circled my pubic area, brushed through the hairs to the lips of my femininity, and slowly inserted those same two fingers, swooshing round and round feeling my wetness. I thought I was going out of my mind, when he pressed his hard thick penis in me and pushed.

  I closed my eyes and sucked in the fullness of his mounting thrusts; Nick was so hard, so delightful, so full of passion. His hands now held my buttocks, tilting me upwards as my fingers dug into his glorious back and I screamed, “Yes, yes, Nick, harder yes, my love. Yes.”

  Nick was breathing heavily, all at once moved to the edge of the bed, stood up and lifted my body off the bed with his throbbing penis still inside me. I wrapped my legs around his buttocks, and my arms tightly around his shoulders as he kissed me and pounded all along with his hard manhood. Standing erect, he pushed harder, relentlessly faster, and I moaned in ecstasy. Nick leaned me against the wall still holding me up, his penis planted inside me, my legs still wrapped around his ass, as he thrust his pelvis faster and faster, like a rapid firing machine gun. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “Oh, my.” Finally, he moved back to the bed laying me gently down, and his while milky man juice shot over my breasts.

  We finally fell asleep that night, in one another's arms, woke the next morning, showered, and went back to sleep. We eventually awoke again, dressed, left for the diner on the premises to gulp down some food and then rush back to the room, stripping our clothes off immediately. Long lasting kisses, caresses, pounding -- his enormous penis in my vagina, much sweat, sighs, moans, groans, yells of oh yes, oh baby, oh my god; heavy breathing.

  “Those tits are beautiful. I want them,” he said the next night.

  “Kiss me all over Nick. Suck on my nipples.” I looked up at him as he bent over me, and with rolling kisses, soon placing his face on my boobies. His full mouth now sucked on each of my breasts as he alternated with slow kisses to my mouth, and then roamed down my body to my pubes, kissing and finally nuzzling his nose there. I instinctively held his head lightly as he pushed his tongue in. His every move was slow, as he patiently ingested the scent of my body and my femaleness. He moved up now to kiss me hard on my lips and down each side of my neck.

  “Does this make you feel good, babe?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said.

  Even as he was still breathing heavily Nick mumbled, “Can’t stay in Hollywood much longer.”

  “What?” Where did this come from I began thinking.

  “Got to be going back to New York.”

  One would consider that I would feel disappointed or rejected at this moment. I realized we were in a one night stand; well a three night stand. I sifted my fingers through my hair. I hadn't planned on what I was going to say. Hadn't planned it at all. As usual, it just came out.

  “Can I go with you? To New York.” I surprised myself once more and for a flashing instant wanted to take my remark back, but said no to myself and watched his face, as he pondered. I snuggled in his arms, and let my long brown hair cover his smooth chest and kissed his body. I fit so easily on his large frame. “I have nothing here … but you.”

  Nick chuckled. “You want to go with me, to New York?” He sat up, placed his left hand on his cheek, while looking down on the bed sheets. “I don’t know.” He twisted his neck round and listened for the crack. “You have your life here.”

  “I have nothing here and you’re nice to be with, Nick. You won’t be responsible for me,” I said. “I’ll get a job and get my own place soon enough. You’ll see that I am my own woman. What’s here for me? A dead end job? No love life?”

  “Hold on babe,” Nick said. “We fucked. Yeah, rapturously for days. You’re nice. I like you. I know we had fun. That's what it's all about, babe.”

  “Yes, I know. That's what we did.” Let's face it. I felt hurt by his cool remark, though, I knew full wel
l I too was going for the sexual affair. I've gone to bed with other guys, and did not look for special meaning. I sighed, began twisting my hair, chiding myself. Why am I always the romantic?

  Surprisingly, Nick's face showed a ponderous mien, which I would never have anticipated. After a moment he reached over, caressed my hair and face, and looked squarely at me .“But I don’t want to get involved with this kind of responsibility. You understand, Anna? Yes, I made you happy. I made me happy. It was great. Hey, it was one of those things.”

  In an eager voice I said, “I’m my own person. This is a big moment for me. I know. A cross-country move. I get it. I’ll get myself set up quickly. I know that.”

  Nick looked away. “Don't think, getting to me, to get back with Andy, well … I’m not sure that will work. Nick was now shaking his head. “Hey, Anna, we grooved, we smoked, we played. And that was great. And I'm not going to be able to get you with Andy. I know that's what you're thinking.”