These Simple Ecstasies

[ChrisGibson]

PART ONE

BRAD LONG WAS, so Marissa estimated, a little over six feet standing, and she hoped he was as young as he looked; applying for a shelving job at the public library and all. He was narrow==the word thin did no justice—and wore old jeans and a weathered white tee shirt that refused to tucked in. As Marissa sat on the other side of the table reading his application, he sat back, legs wide apart, twiddling the thumbs of his big hands. He was unshaven, had a goatee and short black hiar that contrasted with his almsot ghostly white skin. His green eyes would have been looking straight into her if she’d let them, if she wasn’t bound on concentrating on his application.
“You’re thirty-one?”
“Just turned it in March.”
“And you were top of your graduate school class?”
“Um hum.”
“I mean, Wallington isn’t a joke school... and you have a degree in English and philosophy... a Masters in both?”
Marissa looked across the table, back to Brad Long who now had a long finger jammed into his ear and was digging furiously into it with raised eyebrows.
“You started off teaching at Wallington, then quit?”
“It’s not the teaching I disagreed with, it was the whole philosophy of the faculty. They didn’t prize education. You know?”
“Then you were at Rutherford?”
“Not my style.” He dismissed it with a vehement shake of the head, pushing the style away with his hand.
“And a book out.”
“That no one reads.”
“Then why did you put it on your resume?”
“Because it was true.”
Marissa blinked at this.
Clearing his throat, Brad Long clarified, “And it was only one of those college press things?” his voice lifted to make the sentence a question. “I plan on finishing another one. Starting’s not the problem. It’s completion.”
“And you tutor now?”
“Um hum.”
“Who?”
“Whomever—whoever wants it.”
“And then you were working in a furniture store?”
“Right.”
“And a Wendy’s?”
“Yes.”
“And other fast food places and the like.”
“Dimes stores.” Then Brad added, “And the like.
“But there were no kids there, not enough time to really talk to people either. I love people. Just to be one on one with them you know?”
Marissa Gregg only answered by saying, “And now you want to make five dollars an hour as a shelver?”
“Brad looked back at her with raised eyebrows and wide eyes as if he’d been the one asking the question.
“I mean....” she looked down at the application, “Mr. Long, aren’t you a little old and a little overqualified to be applying for this job?”
He shrugged indifferently, and with equal indifference asked, “Aren’t you a little sexy to be a librarian?”
Marissa Long bristled.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” she told him.
Brad Long looked completely unapologetic, not even mischievous. But he did say. “You’re probably right.”
“Mr. Long, I don’t really see a reason for you doing this when could be teaching—at a college level, writing works of scholarship, giving seminars, putting your talents to a much better use—”
“Have you ever shelved a book?” he asked in a mild voice.
“Well, yes.”
“I bet you shelve them every day, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“And work with kids?”
“It’s part of my job description,” she pushed a bit of hair out of her face.
“And it’s menial to you? I mean, do you really think it means nothing, what you do?”
“It’s—” Marissa began, and then she said, “My. Long, do you have any other questions?”
“What time’s your lunch break?”
She looked straight at him, completely bewildered.
“Librarians don’t go to lunch?” he looked incredulous.
“It’s one.”
“That’s forty-five minutes away...” he stood up now and stretched a little. “Where’d’ya wanna go?”
Just when Marissa didn’t think she could be any more shocked...
“I’m afraid,” she began. “Mr. Long, that’s not acceptable.”
“Well, do I at least get the job?”
Instead of erupting with an answer, Marissa did the specified amount of hemming and hawwing before saying, “Mr. Long, you’ll have to call me tomorrow. But I’ll be honest—” (which was not completely honest at all) “there are four other applicants for this job, so your chances are iffy.”
Brad nodded, said, “Thank you,” offered his hand bravely, and after Marissa had taken it, strode out the tiny office into the third floor lobby.

Early the next morning, Marcia, adorned in beaten gold bangles, hoop earrings, and swirls of micro braids, walked into Marissa’s office.
“It’s some man here to see you,” she told Marissa. “Here for an interview. He asked me about it, but I said he’d better check with you.”
“Alright, Marcia,” Marissa’s voice was tired. For some time she’d felt sapped of strength. “Send him in.”
Out went Marcia. In came Brad Long, a trifle ridiculous looking with his hair combed and polished, a dark blue dress shirt and black slacks too baggy for him.
“I called and called, but there was no answer. Or they said you were busy.” All these words tumbled from Brad’s mouth in rapid succession.
“Mr...” Marissa made as if she had forgotten his last name.
“Long.” Intentionally or unintentionally, Brad, leaning over Marissa’s desk, made an L, like a child’s gun sign, with his right hand. He helped himself to a seat. “Do I get the job? I even came dressed respectably to show how respectable I can be—”
“Mr. Long—”
“And I’d be good with kids, I mean, shelving in the children’s area and all.”
Once again she was reminding herself to turn from those green eyes, stop looking curiously at that black hair.
Brad sat back and spread his hands out.
“You know what, Mrs. Gregg?”
“It’ Miss. I have never been Mrs.”
“You know what, Miss, Gregg, you can’t think I’m not able to do this job.”
“I think it is beneath you. I think, this, all of this, is not enough for someone like you.”
“If that’s how you feel,” Brad said, sitting up, “Get out. If you feel like writing works of scholarship is what would do it for you, or being a college professor, or performing surgery or dancing topless or standing on your head or whatever, well then go for it. And get out of here. I know al the grand stuff didn’t work for me is all.”
“And you think this will, Mr. Long?”
“Call me Brad. We’ve got to be the same age.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
He shook his head, and leaning a little nearer to his edge of the table placed his chin in his cupped hands and frowned.
She was offended. She offended by him calling her sexy yesterday, by, frankly, walking into her office, asking for a job and acting like he wanted to fuck her.
She stared at him, waiting for this weird man to pull a gun out or scream or spit pea soup. Or anything.
“Thirty-five is too old—” Brad began.
“I beg our pardon—”
“Too old to be stuck in something you don’t like...”
With his pale skin, round, ringed eyes and short black hair he looked utterly like something from a Byzantine mosaic. There was nothing attractive about Brad Long in the common way, but Marissa Gregg was attracted to him. She’d known immediately she couldn’t offer him the job, wanted to tell him of the poor reasoning involved in him wanting to shelve books and read stories to five year olds.

 

[CharmedFan28]

If I am wrong let me know (as in is this the same Brad?) but its great to see what Brad is up to! I kind of hope he gets the job in the library but it sounds like he won't. Great writing as usual and I look forward to part 2.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yup. It's totally Brad Long after his break up with Debbie. He needed some time to start over again. Maybe he has. Maybe Marissa can too. We'll see.

 

[ChrisGibson]

PART TWO


Marcia came in smiling the next morning.
“There’s a friend of yours who wants to see you,” she told Marissa who looked up and murmured, “A...”
Marissa didn’t know who it could be, could admit to really having no social life.
“Send her in.”
“Her?” Marcia raised a comic eyebrow, chuckled to herself, and raising a finger to signal her to wait a moment, left.
“Oh, my Go—” Marissa started. It was Brad Long again, this time again in his jeans and tee shirt. “Mr. Long, I told you about the job, that—”
“I came to ask what time your lunch break is.”
“She looked straight at him, bewildered.
“Librarians don’t go to lunch?” he’d asked that same question the other day. “Oh, that’s right. It’s one. You told me the other day.”
When Brad stretched, Marissa was amazed by how tall he was.
“Let’s you and I grab something. Today I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Today,” Marissa thought about telling him this for a while before deciding on honesty, “I am actually leaving for the day at one.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Then… what should I say?”
“You should say,” Marissa told him, “that you will be waiting downstairs for me in the reference section.”
He grinned quickly at her and said, “I’ll be waiting downstairs in the reference section.”


“Do you know,” he began as they walked out of the large building into the sunlight of downtown, “that when Constantine built Constantinople it was already ancient? I mean he filled it with stuff from all over the world. Picture an Egyptian obelisk here, and Greek statuary there, and a few Persian lamassu?”
“Lamassu?”
“Lions with bird heads,” he shook his head. “No, they’re Assyrian. Well, they didn’t really have lamassu in Byzantium anyway. I was just using that as an example. I mean, the guy really threw the city together.”
“So, what do you want to eat?” Marissa said. If she had to be with this man, the conversation might as well be stirred to something normal—If not meaningful.
Brad took her to the hot dog stand.
“This is the closest this town can come up with to a street cafe,” he said, escorting Marissa to one of the little tables shaded by red and yellow umbrellas. The hot dogs were loaded with grilled onions and smelled of steamed beef and Chicago, Marissa thought, and she bit into hers and felt a glob of mustard touch her chin, and an onion slithered off of Brad’s dog onto the foil wrapper. He reached over to wipe the mustard from Marissa’s chin. She grinned, and for the first time he laughed. Marissa realized that it had been the first time she’d seen him laugh though he seemed to always be happy.
“So, where do you usually eat lunch?” he asked her, sucking on the straw of his Coke.
“Not here,” she grinned, and wiping her mouth, looked around at the other tables.
“I mean, usually I’ll eat in the lounge of the library. Occasionally I’ll get to eat with my girlfriend when we have the same break.”
“The lounge,” Brad made an exaggerated face, “How nasty.” He picked one of the onions off of her hot dog.
“I know. I’m actually glad you dragged me out of there.
“Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you do?.... When you’re not applying to work at libraries?”
“Primarily? Primarily, I’m with my band.”
“You have a band!” It all sounded so high school! And he was past thirty.
He guessed the look on her face and grinned knowingly.
“We all need a hobby, don’t we?”
“I don’t have a hobby,” Marissa said reflectively.
“I bet you do.”
“No,” then, in a tone of wonder, “No.”
“Well,” Brad was wiping his hands off on his jeans.
“It wasn’t much of a band. I didn’t start it. I’m not even responsible for it. A friend of mine is. His sister was lead singer. But then she went to enter the “real world.” So one night, I’m at this college function, a talent show of sorts. Someone I knew was teaching there, and this student starts singing. Just blows the roof off of everything. So I hear him again. He never does original music, but he really knows how to blow the roof off of everyone else’s. I talk to him about it. He says he can’t write. I show him my lyrics—which I can’t sing.”
“So he’s your new lead singer.”
“He is.”
“How old is he?”
“You have an obsession with age,” Brad said.
“Do I?”
When he didn’t answer, Marissa thought, then said, “Maybe it’s because I’m feeling my own.”
Brad confessed, “I feel mine too.”
They were both quiet before Brad added, “He’s twenty-one. Academic, completely given over to college. Possibly my opposite.”
“Not really,” by now Marissa had finished the hot dog and she was balling up the wrapper which she put into Brad’s outstretched palm.
“What do you mean?” he asked her when he’d returned from the trash drum.
“I mean, that was you, right? Given over to education and all.”
Brad laughed and shook his head. “But I couldn’t sing. I mean, it took me years to become the disrespectable nobody standing before you.”
They left the hot dog stand and walked downtown. It wasn’t a huge downtown nor was it a busy one. There were card shops and book stores and drug stores and doctors’ offices and only the banks and hotels exceeded six stories.
“You were telling me, earlier,” she said, “how I ought to just quit my job if it didn’t fulfill me. Do what made me happy. The way you did.”
For the first time Brad blushed and he ran his hand over is unshaven face.
“That was out of line.”
“No,” said Marissa quietly. “But seriously, would working in the library make you happy? Would it content you?”
“Marissa, I don’t know. What I know is that the whole time I was growing up I thought I knew exactly what I wanted, and then... thing’s changed. Now the one thing I know is that I don’t have what I want.”
She asked Brad to take her somewhere he knew and he brought her to the fudge shop that was only a block from the library.
“Since the first week I started at the library, I’ve been wanting to come here,” Marissa told Brad when they bought the two blocks of fudge. They were little and heavy and brown, wrapped in slick plastic and Marissa could smell the sweetness through the cellophane.
“How long ago was that?”
“Six years ago.”
“You should have come. See, if you had, then I would have met you sooner,” he told her walking out, to hold the door for her, the bell tingling behind Marissa as she followed him onto the street. “But I’ve met you now after all, so maybe fate is real.”
Marissa began unwrapping her fudge, and as she did, Brad took it from her.
She looked up at him, startled.
“We eat the block together. Like finding the forbidden fruit. You’re Eve and I’m Adam. Only there’s no condemnation and… neither one of us is naked.”
Marissa laughed at the analogy, and then smiled widely, and the grin was contagious. Brad peeled a bit of the fudge off and put it to her mouth, then he bit some off himself, lifting his finger.
“Just savor.”
The fudge had a grainy consistency that began to melt into a cocoa sweet mud and the mud in turn melted into her tongue into all of her mouth. Marissa felt, and this sounded foolish, as if she were a part of the sweetness, and of the sun that was red and orange through her eyelids. Only now did she realize she’d been standing on Main Street with her eyes closed, sucking on fudge.
When she opened them it was to Brad who was smiling down at her, His green eyes seemed darker and bluer and deeper like the sea.
“I am convinced,” he said, “that life is composed of a series of these simple ecstasies.”
“What made you ask me to lunch?”
It was a whisper. Marissa believed what Brad said, and did not want to disturb this small life the two of them had just entered.
“I told you... You’re sexy for a librarian,” he said with a hooked grin, and then at her reddening cheeks he said earnestly. “You’re beautiful.”
“Marissa was five-six and blue eyed with curly blond hair and dressed in a floral print. Cute, yes. But no one had called her beautiful in... she couldn’t recall when.
Brad Long’s eyes were not five inches from her. He was all around her.
“Where do you live?” he asked her.
The world was composed of these simple ecstasies.
So she told him.

Marissa Gregg had the sensation of being spun within the small, dancing sphere of the earth. All of creation was this afternoon bedroom with warm golden sun pouring in and soaking the white walls, giving life to the bed sheets with their alternating folds filled by shadow. And Brad Long was the pillar of the world. If she lay still he could take up the cotton of the dress that seemed all to flimsy in his hands. He could strip her down to the white panties that had nothing to boast of because they had not planned on love when they’d gone on this morning, and there was nothing left but the bra with the faded, wilting bow at the cleft of her breasts. Then she could wait for him to lay the whole world bare, to lay himself down beside her and pull off the jeans and tee shirt, and lay long and and lovely, his body dusted in dark hair.
The world was so small and they were very much Adam and Eve now. Couldn’t the whole world come from the two of them as his mouth met hers, as his big hands went through her hair, as her hands ran over his head, shortly, quickly, savagely?
Brad’s mouth was on her throat, on her shoulder, burning everything he touched, moving to the brassier where he became gentler, laughing as he tried to unhook her bra, rejoicing as she, taking pity, did it for him, gently sucking each nipple, pulling, his mouth progressing down and down while his hand that pulled away her underwear. He was nude while he guided her own soft hands to his waistband. He was nude at the same time she was, in the moment when she was sheltered in the glory of warm arms and legs and the narrow hot torso. Brad lowered over her and rose and lowered and what entered first was his fingers. These were the first things to awaken Marissa, and she was shamed to think how long she had been asleep. Then her breasts long for his tongue, and he knew without knowing and his tongue danced on them, his lips gently suckled them again. Brad’s mouth again went down and down her belly. He stopped over her naval, looking up at her, his green eyes hooded and predatory.
“You’re satin, you know?” he said and for a moment paused to rest his face on her belly. She could feel the stubble of his cheek and he could feel the smoothness of her flesh. Then, where his fingers had been was his mouth. She felt his tongue shocking her more than the hand did. His hands were now caressing her hips and he was speaking tongues rapidly, his tongue darting inside of her, thirsty for her pussy.
Marissa planted her hands on Brad’s undulating head then, as he snaked up, the hands went down his back to hold him at his hips. He rose over her, but did not enter. He only kissed her mouth over and over. Her lips were like tangerine slices to him, her body was the world. He slipped inside her quietly, almost unnoticed. And then began the movement inside of her. It was like... the candy! The sweetness that first touched one part of her before filling all of her until it became part of her and she moved with it. The gentleness became a steady rhythm, a steady burrowing. Slowly Brad lifted her a little, slowly they began rocking as he found the touchstone in her, and when he did he began to pound it over and over again. He rested his goateed chin on her shoulder, then, as the hammer persisted inside of her. It was like he could rest now that he’d completed his quest. Her hands at his shoulders descended to his smooth back and splayed there, and then she moved him, judging by his own outcries where his own touchstone lay, until they moved with on rhythm.
Brad had always thought that to refer to the orgasm as the moment of crisis was stupid. Now, in that last moment, he knew why this was called crisis. The crisis was in knowing it was time to let go, and not wanting it to end, but knowing that this end would carry him into Marissa. In the end he had to let go, and find joy in the surrender. Marissa was on his lap and he was out of himself. His body was utterly still, and it was the most violent rocketing he’d ever felt. He grunted through clenched teeth once—twice—he did not count how many times before it ended, and he completed his small part in laboring to make the world.

 

[CharmedFan28]

I enjoyed part 2. Brad and Marissa did seem like they would become something and they did. Hopefully they can both find jobs they like. Great writing and I look forward to more!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, we can at least say they had sex. What comes of it? Who can say? More tomorrow.

 

[ChrisGibson]

What do you think is going on between them?

 

[CharmedFan28]

What do you think is going on between them?

I am not sure yet. I think they like each other and there might be something there but I don't know yet. I will have to wait and see.

 

[ChrisGibson]

i have to admit, I never asked myself, and I wrote this story. Actually this was written before the other story, Thirty-One was meant to be a sort of background for Brad.

 

[ChrisGibson]

CONCLUSION

The little house on Indragal Road was filled with the dark smell of tobacco. Most people found cigars repulsive and Marissa had to admit that up until now she had as well.
They had finished. Brad had made her come in his arms several times before he came himself, and Marissa was locked in his struggling body, the arms that clenched her, the torso pressed to her breast, the chin clamping down on her neck, the cock, thick, brown, rounded headed, deep inside of her. That one moment she’d almost been embarrassed to be with Brad when he was totally vulnerable to her. And then they’d lain together truly silent.

At last he leaned out of bed so that she saw the cleft of his ass as he turned his back to her and reached into jeans pocket. How strange that now it should not matter to him if she saw the back of him! It made her feel curiously more intimate with him than the lovemaking had. He pulled out a lighter and a long cigar, and clamping it between his teeth, puffed and sucked on it until the first dark odor of burning tobacco touched her nostrils. The grey smoke tendriled out of the cigar, and Brad lay on his back with a look of intense concentration, then turning to her, offered the cigar with its wet base.
This, too, was intimacy, and when she took her first few puffs, Brad lay on his side, propped up by an elbow, smiling at her.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” she confessed in a small voice.
“It is just your first time,” Brad told her, taking it back, puffing himself. “Like many a first time, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. But in the end you’ll find that cigars are very sexy. Better to smoke a cigar than a cigarette after making love. I think.” He passed it back to her.
She accepted.
“When’s the last time a man was in this bed?” he asked her, and Marissa put the cigar down in the cereal bowl left on the nightstand from this morning.
“Well, that’s personal, Bradley. Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” he conceded, and very tenderly he touched her cheek with one finger and murmured, “And we’re two persons. So tell me.”
“Stan, the almost fiancé. That was almost a year ago.”
It was embarrassing to admit, because she wasn’t sure if that had been too long ago or too soon. Part of her longed to be outrageous and declare, “Oh, but you were the first, and I’m a virgin. I’ve waited thirty-five years for you!” But, instead, she said, “And you?”
Brad ignored her question and asked his.
“When was the last time you were with someone you loved?”
“I asked you—”
“I know, I know...” he murmured as he turned over and lay on his stomach, looking at the headboard so that Marissa saw his profile. “But just answer me,” he said as he buried his face in the pillow.
“I was going to say with Stan,” Marissa paused. “For three years I hung on to him and said it was love, but you know what? I think I hoped it would be love, or turn into love, I would still be hanging onto him had he not let me go. I haven’t been with many men. My life has been pretty solitary and I’m not sure if I can say I’ve ever really known love. So, now you know.”
“I just broke up with my girl not too long ago,” Brad volunteered. With a groan he turned over so that he could see Marissa, and when he saw the look on her face he said, “No. No. It’s over for sure. I have a young face and I thought I had a young heart. Her parents thought I was younger than I was. For my thirty-first birthday her gift was sex. It wasn’t a rare gift, pretty cheap. I’ve been pretty cheap. I feel like I have been leading a cheap life. She was exhausting. I am exhausted. Not just by her. But by my life. By myself, and Marissa Gregg,” Brad said, looking at her, “That is the exact truth.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-two.”
“My God!”
“Like I said, I have a young face. We dated for four years. It was four months before we ever considered sex.”
Now Brad sat up straighter and pulled his knees to his chest. “Since you asked, I’ll tell you—not with an exact figure, because that would be crude—that since I was fifteen I have been with a lot of girls, women—sexually. Some I’ve dated a long time, some I knew a long time before anything happened. So, Marissa, tell me, why do I love you?”
She looked at him starkly.
“You probably have gotten that a lot,” he said.
“Actually...”
“Well good then. I don’t say it a lot. I didn’t even know you existed when I woke up a few days ago. Then I wanted to go out with you and when I saw you on Main Street, with that candy, in that dress, I wanted to be with you, right here in this bed. I wanted to be part of you and smoke with you and ask you questions and make love to you.”
There was a long silence, and then Marissa said, “I’m four years older than you.”
“My last girlfriend was nine years younger.”
“And I have a job. A regular, steady paying job.”
“Who are you trying to talk out of this relationship: me or you?” Brad reached over to take the cigar and was now puffing on it.
Marissa saw the Brad had quite quickly taken for granted the existence of a relationship. She filed it away mentally.
“Shall I weave for you a picture?” Brad asked.
She nodded, comfortable and quiet. “Sure.”
“I’m better at stories than reality. Part of me kind of hopes these stories can become reality.
“We go to sleep, and wake up. I practice with the band, you join me in the pizza place, at the Noble Red. After that we come on back here and spend the night, and the next day and the days after that together. And I’ll love Stan’s memory the hell out of this bed. We’ll love it out every morning and every night.
“Then I’ll work at the library, a lowly shelver who, hopefully, will become someone one day. I’ll be like a poor page, and you’ll be the unattainable queen, the queen of the library and... and.... one day my Chilli Comet Sundae will strike gold—no, platinum—”
“Chili… What the hell is that?”
“My band,” Brad said.
“I’m already regretting this.”
“Just listen,” Brad said. Marissa raised an eyebrow.
“We’ll all—ALL be millionaires.” Brad laughed to himself. “How’s that sound?”
He rocked Marissa a while, and looking down, saw she was asleep. Then, squeezing close to her, he followed suit.

When Marissa was starting to wake up, she rolled over to get deeper into Brad, and came to what she found was more mattress, sheets and softness warm with the memory of Brad.
“Brad?” since she was just waking up, Marissa’s voice was not loud. Initially she was not terribly concerned. Perhaps he had gone to look for food in the refrigerator or to use the bathroom.
“Or maybe...” Marissa sat up in bed. Ironically, now that she was alone, for the first time that afternoon she was aware of her breasts, of her buttocks, of the rising of her nipples. Maybe, having gotten his “piece,” he’d left.
Immediately, Marissa rose out of bed and draped on her housecoat. She needed to be clothed. This had never happened to her, ever. She’d heard about it, surely. She’d known victims of the one night, one afternoon, one morning stand.
How empty the house was right now.
Hadn’t she brought this sweet talking man—with no job, no future, really with nothing physically attractive about himself—to her home? She could still feel him over her, around her. Yes, inside of her. And the feeling was that of stupidity, of frustration. Not since Stan and his coldness and his lies and a lust unlike Brad’s, an Ivy League, white collar, five minute lust that Marissa thought was so dignified it had to be love, had she let a man inside. But then, with the end of Stan, she’d stopped letting anyone inside... And then Brad, and then… What was that?
Entering the kitchen, in the midst of her raving, after a circular pace about the tiny living room, she found the ripped out sheet of notebook paper magnetted to the refrigerator door.

Dear Marissa,
had to go to Nehru’s to practice with the Band.
Chilli Comet Sundae is performing at Noble Red’s Pizza
Parlor at 8:30 tonight. I didn’t want to wake you, You’re
so cute asleep! Meet me there. I want you to meet every- one.

Love,
Brad



Marissa was at once relieved and irked by the letter. There was something touchingly childish in it. Um... and not so much as a “please come” or an “I’ll pick you up” But then he couldn’t very well pick anyone up. He didn’t own a car. But how arrogant of him to just expect her to meet him. Marissa felt a streak of her own arrogance that she’d been building up since Stan, that she and Stan had built together in their days of pseudo love.
No, no Brad was not being arrogant. He was being innocent. She was being arrogant. The difference was fear. And Marissa was afraid. Before, when Brad had wanted to make love to her, he was present with that special magic that made everything possible. Now she had to make a new jump, and she had to make it on her own. She could ignore the missive. Or, as if she were still young, and not the dignified creature approaching middle age that she’d made herself out to be, take this chance.


Marissa had passed, but never been inside of Noble Red’s. It was out near the highway, and bigger than she expected, on the first floor of an old brick building on a strip of brick buildings with shops on their lower levels and apartments above. Standing outside, looking through the glazed pane.
She could hear singing on the other side of the door and watch the band playing, and there was Brad on his guitar, and as she looked in, the singer, the guy whom Brad had told her about must have seen her with her face to the glass because, she was shocked and terrified when he tugged Brad and Brad, like a very tall boy looked up at her from the stage and waved to her, held out his hand and beckoned to her.
There was Brad, and there was his strange world. Is she went in she was sure she would never be able to shake him. If she left he would pursue her. Thing would threated to become a game, and Brad, who seemed game proof would leave her to her foolishness. On the other side of this door Marissa saw several tables, all filled, and then how the floor lowered to a larger area where Marissa was touched to see so many people toasting each other, stretching slices of pizza apart, lighting cigarettes, all having a marvelous time that Marissa knew she could be a part of if only she walked through that door.
And so Marissa walked in.

 

[CharmedFan28]

A excellent conclusion! I think Brad and Marissa have the makings of a great couple and I hope they go the distance.

 

[ChrisGibson]

I'm just glad she walked through the door.