have caused a complaint like this, it would be best if you reported it.
Best,
Anita
My pulse quickened and I flushed shame. Gavin, my ex-boyfriend, came to mind, an unwelcome intrusion. I pushed him away, and refocused on Anita’s message. I took a deep breath, hit Reply and quickly composed:
Dear Anita,
Thank you very much for the heads-up about the anonymous complaint. I can’t imagine who would write such a thing about me. There have been a few tourists who have asked me on dates, and I’ve declined (always politely). I wonder if this could be a reaction to a rejection, or perhaps a prank of some kind? Please do let me know if the issue escalates, and be assured that I make every attempt to be courteous and professional with our guests.
It must be freezing in Ottawa these days! I hope you’re weathering it well.
Best,
Ameera
I took another deep breath, reread my reply twice for typos, and considered adding a happy face to the end of the last sentence. I decided against it and pressed Send.
My mind ticked through the meagre parade of tourists with whom I’d recently had sex. They were all nice enough folks. Who’d make a complaint like this? It didn’t make any sense.
I closed my eyes and once again Gavin swaggered forward. This time I didn’t resist him. His toothy smile flashed across my eyelids and then there was the heat and press of his lips on mine. His hands were warm and insistent. I drew my thighs together.
It was always unexpected, this wanton arousal. I could be walking along the street, and see a guy wearing a shirt that reminded me of Gavin. Or I could hear a song we’ d listened to together. And then I’d be aching for him, the instinct Pavlovian. A stupid animal-like response.
We’ d dated in six-month increments. When we were together we’ d swear we were right for one another. We’ d leave whomever we were dating and have an intense affair. Then we’ d break up, parting with almost as much certainty as when we’ d reunited. During our breaks we’ d date other people, avoid texting, and remove one another from our Facebook news feeds. But soon enough we’ d end up bumping into each other at Jackson Square Mall or out at a concert or gallery opening. And then, as though in some kind of evil carnival hypnotist’s trance, we’ d fall into one another’s arms, dopey and happy and forgetting that we’ d end up miserable.
A few months in we’ d remember (or finally admit, again) that we weren’t compatible. He was fairly sure he wanted marriage and kids and I was fairly sure I didn’t. A deal-breaker for us both. My friends joked at the reversal of gender roles, called me a commitment-phobe. But that wasn’t it. I was a romantic. I liked relationships, loyalty, commitment. I just didn’t want to do it his way. I’d never pined for weddings or baby showers like most of my friends. I guess I hoped he’ d change and he imagined that I would, too. Number one on the list of things not to do in a relationship.
Two months before I left Canada for Huatulco, we were broken up, the fourth time in four years. A mutual friend was having a birthday party at the Slainte bar. I knew he’ d be there, too, but I thought I was over him. I wanted to be over him. I’d heard he was seeing someone else and was happy. They were engaged. I thought it would be safe.
I was the composed ex-girlfriend. I greeted Tamara, his fiancée, with an enthusiastic hello and graciously exclaimed over her sparkly cliché of an engagement ring. Gavin and I hugged hello, my right hip tingling where his hand had brushed over my jeans. We retreated to our separate corners. Later, we gazed at one another across the pool table and before I knew it, we were in the back alley, my tongue in his mouth, his hands up my blouse, me unzipping his pants. He came fast, with a howl and a laugh and a look of wonder. Pleasure was like that for Gavin, an unexpected, gleeful novelty. Without missing a beat, he slid his hand down my jeans, past the elastic of my underwear, and inside me. Every inch of me vibrated with his touch.
The back door slammed and Tamara and two of our friends wandered out for a cigarette. He pulled away from me, and one of my breasts flopped out of my bra. I stuffed it back in and his stickiness, still on my fingers, smeared across my blouse. He ran inside, following his girl, while my friends sighed and shook their heads. “Oh come on, Ameera. They’re engaged,” Robyn said with a sigh. She said engaged like it was something sacred.
“They’re happy together. And it never works out between the two of you,” Jennifer counselled.
I got the feeling that my friends blamed me for what happened, even though Gavin was equally responsible; they didn’t invite me to two subsequent parties, but did include him. I heard that he and Tamara repaired things, and two months later, I left for Mexico, hoping for a fresh start. I’d meet someone new, or focus on my career for a change. Or something. I hadn’t been home since. I wasn’t ready to face everyone, especially Gavin.
∆
I reread Anita’s words, looking for meaning between their straight lines. She was a fan of emoticons and her writing style was typically informal, but this message was concise and cold. Perhaps Nancy’s recent firing had got everyone at head office riled up. But Anita liked me, I knew that. I sat up tall, rolled the kinks out of my neck, and reassured myself that everything would be fine.
Azeez
∞
Nora’s place was a small room just around the corner from the coffee shop. Like my own, a few blocks away, it had space for a desk, a dresser, and a single bed. She fiddled with her boom box, popped in a Duran Duran cassette, and then flopped onto the bed. She beckoned me over from where I stood awkwardly by the door. I sat gingerly beside her and she took my hand. I wasn’t surprised by the gesture; she’ d slipped her arm through mine on the walk over.
She leaned in close and I could tell she wanted me to kiss her. How unshrinking and unafraid Canadian girls were! I pushed my face into hers, and didn’t breathe for a long time. I wrapped her in my arms and she let me hold her tightly.
We talked and kissed for hours. My fingers groped her soft waist, the downy peach-fuzz on her arms. When I gazed into her eyes I sensed a rare and special connection.
And then suddenly we were tearing away our clothes.
In my fantasies, it would have happened in cinematic slow motion. Unhurried, we’ d have progressed to that point over several romantic dates. And when the disrobing finally happened it would be an alluring striptease. Perhaps in reality things always move more quickly.
∞
I left soon after the sex, lying to her about needing to get work done. I never did tell her that I would be on an airplane the following afternoon, but rather, I remained vague about my departure, speaking about the future as though it were more expansive than it was. Perhaps I didn’t want to disappoint her.
I promised to call the next morning. Maybe we’ d go for an early lunch. She gave me her number and, foolishly, I forgot to offer mine.
Ameera
∆
After replying to Anita’s e-mail, I headed to the bar. Enrique’s long arms were all fluid motion as he served three customers at once. He glanced up, mid-pour, and puckered his lips into an air kiss. I held my breath until he released me from his gaze.
