Four

CHAPTER FOUR

David

I have felt out of place all night. If I'm being honest, I have never wanted to be in that little guest house like this moment. It's my party, but it's not my party. People come to greet me like they're giving condolences, like I'm grieving. They're careful with their words. They are using words like "sorry", "loss", "pain", "moving on". Who knows, the person that put me behind bars could be here too. He could be anyone. Anyone.

Most of the people here, I don't know them. They all know me though and must have come just to see me, not because they care. They know what I did to be in jail. They know I was behind bars for four years. They know my wife is a popular writer who is sitting far away from me. She's in a green dress that bares her shoulders down to the rise of her breasts. I can imagine running my finger on the swell of her breast while she curiously stares back at me. I miss when I could hold her and touch her skin—her body, every inch of it. 

I want to go over and ask for a dance. It would be a shame if I don't get to spin her on this dance floor tonight. I stand, brush off my suit and begin making deliberate strides towards her. Her eyes remain on me as I approach her table. I smile at people and I smile at her. Two things: she would dance with me or she wouldn't dance with me. One would bruise my ego, one would not.

"Julie, you having fun?" I ask when I get to the table.

 "Yeah. Are you?" She answers, bobbing her head with way more excitement.

I nod and turn to Helen. "Thank you for coming to my party, Dove."

She elegantly picks her glass and swirls it while looking at me.

"Can I get a dance?"

She looks at Julie who pats her back and leaves.

"Can I get a dance?" I ask again with a hand out.

She seems to think about it for a while before she puts her palm in my hand. I beam inwardly and outwardly as I lead her to the dance floor.

We find our pose immediately; she puts a hand on my chest and the other around my neck. My hands stay on her waist as we begin to move side to side, back and forth, the swell and catch. Soon we find our routine dance. The one she's bold and fierce and I, her willing accomplice. She jabs my chest and moves me backwards, half grinning, half daring. Then she raises her leg quickly to my shoulder and brings it down. It drove me crazy that she could do that and it was just me, even my third leg.

I twirl her around and she spreads at my feet, then I bring her up again hard against my chest. She crashes in and buries her face in my neck while we still step from side to side. All my tension seems to relax. This is just all I need— her arms, us.

"I'm sorry, Helen."

"David Gage," she calls huskily against my ears. "Don't ruin this dance."

When her eyes meet mine, her lips are so close to mine. They're so moist red and so inviting. This was once my wife. This is still my wife. She was so close, yet so distant. I look away. Something in my chest twists tightly as I hold her close to me. It's been four years since I touched her, since I kissed her, since I held her, since I made love to her. Everything in me acknowledges her presence, as well as her touch. My body remembers Helen.

I lead her back to her seat after the dance. She's wearing a unique green satin dress with folds around the hip. Her shoulders are bare out for us to appreciate her femininity and slender shape. It is a simple dress, maybe that is why I know the zip is at the side. I also know it is not so fitting, so I could easily lift it up to her waist and worship her legs, in between her legs and deep within her legs.

She's looking at me. I can't tell if she has been saying something. I was staring at her feet while lost in my head. I want to say something to her, but I don't know what to say. I lean towards her. "Are we still married, Helen?"

She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looks away. Mentally, I applaud my foolishness. What a nice discussion to have at this moment.

I pull out a seat and settle beside her. "Okay, how have you been?"

She nods and takes a drink from a passing waiter. She gulps it down before returning her attention to me. "You think a dance can fix everything? You think you can just come back to my life with your poor theatrics and I will continue loving you from where I stopped?"

Her words hit in all places within my chest. Whatever I should have said flew from my mouth and I just stared at her. Her glare is fixed on me. She is supposed to look so vexed, but Helen looks extraordinarily beautiful when she is angry. 

I move to touch her hand and she quickly moves it away. "Dove, I would love to fix us, but I don't think it would work. If you give me time I would explain everything to you. I know I owe you a lot. I know I was selfish."

Helen holds up a finger and shakes her head repeatedly. "You don't say you were selfish. You are fucking selfish to come back to my life after everything. You are selfish."

Quickly, she picks her clutch and storms away. I realize that people were watching and are still watching. I raise a glass towards them before taking a sip from Helen's drink.

A welcome party indeed.

I walk to the bar and perch on a stool. I did not need a party forecaster to know this welcome party was a bad idea. I'm still the star, but a different sort of star. Anthony settles beside me without speaking to me.

"Pina colada, please," he says to the bartender. "Two cups."

The ordered drinks arrive and I take a sip of mine. "What do you think?" I ask.

He looks back at the crowd, then at me. "About the party?" 

"No, do you think my presence is harmful to Helen?"

He is silent and I can see he is thinking. He is always careful with words. He pours himself a glass of wine and twirls it around. "I think she's hurting. Give her some time. Don't be in her space."

"How do I do that?" I ask, my voice rising a notch out of desperation. "I live in her guest house for now."

"Stick to your own part of the house. Stop trying to apologize always, stop trying to remind her of what you guys had in the past."

My jacket suddenly feels too stuffy and uncomfortable or it was what Anthony was saying. I remove the jacket anyway.

"Tony, it's hard. To be honest, I don't know what to do," I say, placing both arms on the platform.

"Well, I have given you my fair piece," he says with a shrug. "Let the woman be. For four years you didn't add her to your visitor's list in jail. She wrote to you a few times, you never responded. Don't forget you were also convicted of murder, yet you left her to her thoughts without explanation. Think about all these things before you think of coming back to her life."

"Okay," I voice out. "Okay."

Anthony arcs an eyebrow. "Okay?" 

"Yeah, " I say nodding. "I'll let the bird fly."

Anthony raises his glass and clinks with mine. "You would be fine. I am sure of that."