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Chapter 15
- Red Hen Press
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79 15 A s I expected, I slept very little during the night. I was too warm, too cold, and then too warm again. My downstairs neighbor was playing classical music as loudly as he usually played heavy metal. Was he, like me, being transformed into someone he didn’t fully recognize? Finally, a pale sun rose in the sky. I shut my eyes tight, trying to will myself into a sleep that would last all day so that I’d miss my appointment to model for Mr. Rock. But it was no use. I had to go. It didn’t matter how many times Colin and I went to Indian restaurants and shared our career goals and aspirations. Or bonded over being Jewish. It didn’t even matter that we had kissed. Or that I had deluded myself into thinking that being The Last Jewish Virgin had rendered me as invincible as Wonder Woman. None of those things mattered a bit, because on Saturdays, Mr. Rock was in charge. The bottom line was that he possessed power over me, although I still didn’t know why. In the kitchen, my mother sat at the round oak table in her worn, grey robe, looking as though she also hadn’t slept. I hated having to lie to her again, especially since she was still in such a vulnerable state over Mike. I sat down across from her and said softly, “I’m going to Cooper Union Library today. I’m doing research for my History of Fashion class.” My lies would be more 80 The Last Jewish Virgin credible, I figured, if each Saturday I said I was going to a different library and working on something new. How much could anyone read about the sad, oppressed woman in The Yellow Wallpaper? “That’s fine,” she said softly, apparently still too caught up in her own unhappiness to care about how I spent my Saturday afternoons . “You know, Lily,” she sighed, stroking her Star of David, “I’m not only hurt. I’m disappointed in myself. Disappointed that I can still feel this way over a man. I need to discover my faith anew . . . in the things that truly matter.” I shrugged self-consciously, astonished that she was confiding in me this way. Once again, I had no idea how to comfort her. And I still wasn’t sure that I wanted to. Why wasn’t she comforting me, as she had when I was a child with skinned knees and scary dreams? Why didn’t I trust her enough to tell her about Mr. Rock? The kitchen was suddenly too small for the two of us. “I’m leaving now,” I said, keeping my voice soft and muted, hoping I didn’t sound as uncomfortable as I felt. In my bedroom, I threw off my robe and gown and laid my black vampire outfit on my bed. The pale blue ruffled curtains in my window rustled slightly from the breeze outside, and I ran my fingers along the plush velvet fabric of the cape. A sexual charge coursed through my whole body. Was this charge akin to the thrill that vampire fetishists got from drinking real blood? Imagine , then, the thrill a real vampire experienced. But there were no real vampires, I reminded myself. In front of my mirror, I stood naked and stared intently at my breasts. They were flushed a tender pink, and a tiny pool of perspiration had gathered between them. I cupped them with my hands; they felt smooth, almost silky. How would Mr. Rock compare them to others he had touched? Would he find their shape attractive? Their heft and weight? Their color? Would he urgently desire them? And what about Colin? How badly did they both long to touch this particular virgin? I slipped the dress over my head without putting on a bra or panties. I wanted to feel the lustrous fabric directly against my bare skin. Party girls like Stacey and Kirsten went around with- [18.218.184.214] Project MUSE (2024-04-17 15:31 GMT) Janice Eidus 81 out underwear. But not me, at least not until today. Enough: I had to calm down. With a trembling hand, I painted my lips blood red, powdered my skin like a corpse, and sprayed on my bittersweet , musky perfume. And then I carefully removed Mr. Rock’s necklace from beneath my pillow, placing it inside my purse. By late morning, the...