Tiffany

 

 

 

“You’re okay then?” I asked for the third time tonight.

Holding my cell phone up to my ear, I could hear David groan on the other end.

“Yeah. I told you that an hour ago. Mom! Please stop calling. It’s embarrassing. I’ll be home in the morning.”

There were some muffled voices in the background and I could hear laughter.

“All right. I’ll stop. But please, call or text if you need me. Even during the night. I won’t—”

David hung up.

David was at his very first sleepover. I assumed most parents first experience this when their kids were in elementary school, not when their kid was a teenager.

I’m nervous and happy for him. This was everything I dreamed of for David. He had friends and was getting to do fun things with them. But now that he had what he wanted—to be just an average teenager—where did that leave me?

A year ago, I did so much for him and it felt like with a snap of a finger, I did almost nothing now. It’s uncomfortable, like a sweater that looked soft but when you tried it on you realized it was suffocating and itchy.

I’m here, alone in my apartment for the night for the first time since the car accident ten years ago. And even then, I rarely came home, preferring to sleep at the hospital with my son.

I gazed around my living room and discovered a rare thought, I was bored. Weird. I didn’t like it. Boredom was something I hadn’t felt since before David was born.

I chuckled to myself as I sat on my couch remembering how I envied people with nothing to do. Now here I was. I’m sure there’s someone out there envious of my time now.

Still felt scratchy.

My phone lit up next to me on the couch and I grabbed it, answering in a rush.

“David, what’s wrong?” My heart raced so fast I thought it might explode out of my chest.

“Uh, is this Tiffany?” a man’s voice I didn’t recognize responded.

“Yes, who is this?”

“I have a Jagger here who needs to speak to you. Hold one second.”

My heart, which had settled down the moment I realized David wasn’t on the phone, began to pick up the pace again. Why would Jagger be calling me? He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with us on Saturday.

I made sure to keep that information from David until the next day. I wanted him to enjoy his birthday. He was hurt but loved the Ninja Boy comics Jagger bought him for his birthday gift.

As for me, I cried a bit. Like a dork, I put the candy bracelet he got me under my pillow. It kept making weird crunching noises when I moved so I ended up cradling it next to my chest. Succumbing to the sugary smell, I chewed half of it. I fell asleep with bits of candy stuck to my lips and chin. When I woke in the morning, I realized it was too tempting having the thing in my bed.

It now sits on my dresser like a broken dream.

There were loud scraping noises and a boom before I heard Jagger’s voice.

“I got it, Benson. I got it.” There was a pause before he started to speak again, “It’s not Benson, then what’s your name? Leo? I’ve been calling you Benson the whole time!”

Jagger started to laugh. I wondered if he realized I was still on the phone.

“Jagger?” I said.

“Tiffany! Oh, sweet Tiffany. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Nice to hear from you. Is there something you needed?”

“You. I need to tell you something. But not here. This place is too grimy,” Jagger said and I heard some yelling in the background. “Sorry, Benson. Right, I mean Leo.”

This back and forth had to stop. It was hard to say goodbye to him. I admit the warmth in my body upon hearing his voice made me a little eager but was this just another goodbye? Did he need to have me sign another document only to walk away again?

“I’m coming over,” Jagger said.

“That’s really not necessary. Can’t you—”

He hung up.

I stood and went into the bathroom, inspecting my appearance. Running my fingers through my hair, I wondered if I should put it up. Maybe a little makeup or a skirt?

Leaning my hands on the gray marble countertop, I sighed. What was I doing? Jagger’s job was everything to him. I can’t expect to come along and make him risk that, even if he wanted to. It was selfish to expect him to risk so much for me.

The buzzer went off.

“Wow, that was quick,” I mumbled to myself.

I did one last once-over before leaving the bathroom and headed to the front door. Pressing the call button, I said, “Hello?”

“Sweet Tiffany.” I heard Jagger with clarity and trepidation.

Buzzing him inside the building, I waited. My hands fumbled with my fingers. My hair chose that moment to settle stray strands onto my cheek, then my nose, and every second I was pushing away another tickly wisp.

I needed to do something so I went to my cabinet of delight in the kitchen and grabbed a lollipop. It was cherry and I could barely taste it thanks to my nerves.

Finally, there came a knock on my door.

Taking a deep breath and a hard suck, I made my way to the door and opened it. Jagger stood there, with his hands bracing the doorframe and his head hanging forward. When he lifted his head, I noticed the normally disheveled brown hair was in even more disarray.

Even his red T-shirt had stains on it. There was a laziness to his eyes and when he let go of the doorframe, he stumbled forward, into me.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Jagger said as he clumsily worked himself out of our embrace.

That’s when I smelled him.

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

He stood straight, but swayed. He brought his finger and thumb together in front of us to pinch the air. “A lot. I’m a whole lotta drunk.”

Wonderful. Now I have to deal with a drunk man in my home.

“Is there someone I could call for you, Jagger? A friend or relative.”

He shook his head like a toddler, making his hair fly in all different directions. “No, my family is gone. The ones I care about and who care about me. The others can go fuck themselves because they know what they did.”

His voice grew and I wondered if he might punch a wall. It broke my heart to hear him talk of his family like that. What sort of life did Jagger have? I wished I knew and that he could tell me.

“How about friends? Can I call anyone?” I asked and helped him farther into my place, guiding him to the couch in my living room.

He flopped back on the mint green sofa and melted back like it was made for his huge body.

I sat on the end, closest to his feet. I realized his eyes almost matched my couch but they were a little darker. Where the sofa was comfortable, how he stared was not. There was an intensity in him and he directed that intensity straight at me.

“Your friends?” I asked again.

“Don’t have any,” he said

I frowned but he laughed.

“Isn’t that funny, Tiffany? I gave up everything for that place. I had no life other than work, and this is what happens.” He waved his hands between us.

“I’m sure there’s someone who you could call?”

He needed someone who was close to him and since I knew absolutely nothing about him, that person wasn’t me.

“There are only two people I could remotely consider friends. One was Tenn, my partner at work. But based on the pile of papers I signed today, I’m pretty sure I can’t have any contact with him for a long time.”

“But why wouldn’t you be able to have contact with your work partner? What happens when you go to work?”

I was confused. Did that have anything to do with us? Did being with me get him assigned to something else? I wish I knew what exactly he did so I could help him. I hated sitting here like an idiot and not being able to help someone in need.

“Because I got fired. I’m no longer working for the Federal Government. I’m unemployed, Tiffany. All because of my penis.”

My eyes widened. “Oh no, Jagger, I’m so sorry.”

I reached out and put my hand on his knee. He was lying in such a way that it was as close as I could get to him. He pushed himself up and scooted closer to me. Taking my hand in his, he gazed into my eyes.

“Which do you like better? Penis or cock?”

My head went back. “What? Uh, what, uh, why would you ask that?”

He ignored my question. “I like that you cook,” he grabbed the sticky lollipop from my free hand and placed it back into my mouth, “and I really like watching you suck on this.”

Jagger leaned forward so his lips were next to my ear. I could feel his hot, alcohol-soured breath drift down my neck. It felt good but he was drunk. As much as I still wanted him, nothing could come of it tonight.

His fingers drifted to my neck, cupping it as he said, “I have an idea. While you whip up a batch of cookies and continue sucking on that lollipop, I’ll be hard at work making sure my cock keeps you hungry for more.”

I was angry. Yes, mad that the idea of baking was turning him on. Like I was some 1950s housewife. But was I really annoyed at him or how I was reacting to his words? Because what was happening between my thighs was heated and tight and made me squirm.

His hand began to drift, lower from my neck to my collarbone, over my shoulder and curved around. It hovered just above my nipple. And I ached for him to continue, knowing that wasn’t right. He was drunk and upset at his job loss. I would be taking advantage of that.

But it had been so long since I had been touched like that by a man. Maybe once wouldn’t do any harm. Then I could put him to bed in David’s room after making sure he drank a glass of Pedialyte I had in the refrigerator from when David was sick with the flu this past spring.

His forehead leaned on my shoulder but his hand remained still. He smelled of alcohol and something spicy that was most likely his shampoo or aftershave, but I wanted to believe was uniquely Jagger.

And he sounded . . . wait, he sounded like he was snoring. I pushed back on Jagger and realized he had passed out. So much for a little boob action.

I pushed him back until he was lying down and pulled his legs up on the couch. After taking off his shoes, I grabbed an extra blanket from the hall closet. I made sure he was lying on his side—in case he got sick during the night—and set a small wastebasket below him and a glass of water on the coffee table.

He looked so peaceful. The hard lines on his face that always seemed to be there vanished. His life couldn’t be easy with what he did, and I wondered how much of a toll it took on him mentally.

I brushed my hand over his hair, pushing some strands that had fallen over his eyes, when he surprised me by grabbing my wrist.

I gasped as his eyes opened.

“I’m not Jagger anymore. You can call me Geoffrey,” he said before his eyes closed and the snoring started again.