A Body to die for

ten times. The night was young.
    Max had me stand next to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress and gingerly felt up my rib cage. “Right here?” he asked, gently prodding the epicenter of my agony. I looked down between my jugs. A huge black splotch was painted across my middle. I nodded my head, tears gushing down my cheeks. He kissed the splotch. His lips were warm and soft. I felt protected. He said, “You’ve definitely got a bad bruise, but your rib isn’t broken. You’ll be sore for a few days.”
    Like he knew. “A bruise wouldn’t make me feel like I’d been stomped on by the hooves of a million horses,” I insisted.
    “No offense, Wanda, but you’ve got the pain threshold of a gnat.”
    “You’re saying I’m a wimp?” I asked, insulted. So much for feeling protected and secure. I turned around and tried to storm off into the sunset.
    He grabbed me around the legs and eased me down on top of him. We rolled onto the bed. “I’m in no mood,” I barked.
    “That’s unlike you,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “The next thing I know, you’ll be telling me to quit detecting because it’s too dangerous.”
    “Making you quit smoking was enough,” he said. “But if you think it’s too dangerous, then I’d support your decision.”
    “So you’re saying I should quit?” I demanded. Max rolled away and sighed. I hated his sighs. “Come on,” he said, lifting me like Tarzan. He grunted. “Good thing I’ve been working out.” I opened my mouth to bitch and he muzzled me with his tongue. “I’m just kidding,” he said as he carried me into the bathroom. “You’re light as a hundred-thirty-pound feather.”
    Max deposited my bruised and broken body in the bathtub. He knelt on the side and turned on the water. “Just relax,” he said while lathering me. I leaned back against the cool porcelain. He rubbed a warm wet sponge over my legs and belly. The water level rose to my breasts. They bobbed like apples (C-cup apples, that is). I’d never been bathed before, by him or any other guy. I didn’t mind.
    “Dunk,” he said. I eased down into the water, soaking my hair. Max rubbed shampoo into my scalp. My neck loosened with every stroke. He rinsed me off and wrapped me in a towel. I walked by myself to the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. Max followed me, his arm and chest dripping with soapsuds.
    He lay down next to me. My agony had subsided to intense discomfort. I said, “Strip.”
    “I thought you were in no mood,” he said, smiling. He pulled off his shirt. His chest was freckled and nearly hairless.
    “I’m all wet.”
    “You just got out of the bath,” he said.
    “Lie down.” He did. I climbed on top of him. We had careful sex, nothing too outrageous. I was thinking that I just might be in too much pain to enjoy this, then I came.
    Max said, “There you go,” and kissed my shoulder. By the time we finished, the night was black. We were already late to meet Alex and his new crush. “I’m hungry,” Max announced.
    “Conveniently, we’ve got dinner plans,” I said. I rolled off him and started to get dressed. Max seemed baffled. “At Teresa’s, with Alex.” When he heard the name of the joint, he smiled and stepped into his jeans. Teresa’s was the local Polish restaurant, specializing in pierogi—dumplings stuffed with potatoes, cheese, sauerkraut or meat. I have no idea what kind of meat. It’s grayish and beefy looking, but tastes so good I don’t ask.
    We hit the pavement minutes later. I took a few aspirin before we left. We made it to the restaurant by 9:30 p.m. Alex wasn’t there yet.
    We ordered anyway. Max got stuffed peppers and kasha. I got a bowl of borscht and an order of pierogi, extra fried onions, extra sour cream. Our food was just arriving when Alex walked in with his date. He made a beeline for our table.
    I dropped my fork. Alex said, “Wanda, Max, I’d like you to meet Leeza Robbins.”

Love Hurts

    I’ve never really gone for any one type of guy. Uptight Wasps, short Jewish intellectuals, brooding tortured romantics—I’ve screwed them all. I think the reason why I fell so in love with Alex was because he threw me offbalance by not fitting into any type. He drew on multiple facets (and possibly personalities). Max also had a quality I’d rarely seen in a man before: limitless patience—along with uncommon good looks. The only thing Max and Alex seemed to have in common was my attraction to them, and theirs to