Love Means Nothing
Jason dropped his forehead against the steering wheel of his blue Lexus RC300F. The leather was cool against his forehead. He slammed his head against the steering wheel harder wanting to feel the sting of pain blooming. As the waves of physical pain ebbed, he felt the bile of rage rising up his throat again. He scrunched his face tight trying to press it back down but it escaped in a gut-wrenching guttural scream that filled the small car’s interior.
The noise of the scream made him look up guiltily. The parking garage of the Western Racquet Club was almost empty. A few older Lincolns and Cadillacs were clustered closest to the portico, a few steps beyond the garage’s blunt cement walls. The cars belonged to the Widow’s Club -a group of elderly women who spent their days playing cards and drinking Mimosas. Jen’s convertible huddled in the darkest corner of the garage.
Relieved that no one had witnessed his tantrum, Jason glanced at the two items in the passenger seat. The first was a gun—a hard, unyielding piece of steel. He had cleaned it so that it almost glowed in the old-fashioned sodium vapor lights. The gun was cold but he knew that it would melt into him as his fingers snaked around and through it. The second item was a tennis racquet—Jen’s forgotten tennis racquet.
The gun’s purpose was evident.
The tennis racquet’s purpose was less clear. What did he intend to do? Was he going to burst into the club and announce, “Hey you forgot your racquet and, oh by the way, I know you are fucking my best friend?” He knew that they would be innocently having a drink or sitting on the verandah talking about books. He winced at the thought. Seeing them together, enjoying each other’s company would be more painful than watching them fuck. He could almost understand the sex. He had occasionally found relief with the odd secretary. But he had been busy, neglectful and she had turned to Eric. No, he didn’t really begrudge her a little roll in the hay. He did not resent her physical betrayal as much as the emotional one. She had taken their love, their spiritual bond, their shared heart, and ripped it away and given the broken bleeding pieces to Eric. She loved Eric. She was in love with Eric. The thought made his stomach clench and his heart pound.
Jen sat at the bar sipping a strawberry Bellini through a tiny cocktail straw. Every time she started to speak, her throat tightened. She needed to tell Eric that this was over. She needed to tell him that she loved Jason. They had been drifting for years, their orbits growing further and further apart. It had been easy to flirt with Eric and the sex had been glorious. But… That was it, wasn’t it? But. But, she was married. But, she loved Jason. But, she would rather die than hurt him.
“Eric?”
“Yeah?”
“You know we...I mean I…”
Eric brushed his shoe against her bare calf below her tennis whites. “What is it?”
Jen could feel the tears pricking behind her eyes but she drew in a rough breath and managed to squeeze out the words, “Guilty, I guess.”
She could feel his posture change. He withdrew his foot and crossed his arms across his chest as if bracing for a blow. “Okay, talk to me.”
“I am—” she cleared her throat and began again. “I am thinking that we need to stop this before… somebody gets hurt.” She couldn’t bring herself to say Jason’s name in front of him.
Eric took a long sip and of his G & T and looked into her eyes. “Jen, you are the sexiest, most fascinating woman that I have ever met. My heart races when I hear your voice. To touch you is like being engulfed in a fire of velvet.”
“Eric, stop.” Tears ran down her face and plopped mutely onto the bar.
“No, let me finish. You are all those things, but you are also a good person. I knew this wouldn’t last. I knew you would eventually see through me.”
“Oh Eric, it's not—”
“For a while I hoped,” he continued, “but I knew I couldn’t replace him.“ Wiping the tears from her cheeks he whispered, “Don’t cry. Go home, it will all be okay.”
“What about you?”
Eric sighed, “I think I will stay here and drink too much. Maybe if I get lucky, one of the widows will be feeling randy later.”
Through her tears, Jen teased, “Make sure its not Mrs. Hamilton. She has false teeth.”
When she saw his eyebrow lift lasciviously, she punched his arm playfully and slid down from the barstool. “Well, I guess I better go.”
As she started to turn away, he reached out to stop her. “Wait. I need to say this just once. “ Releasing his hold on her arm, he smiled grimly, “I am in love with you. Ironic, huh?”
“Eric—,” she began but he placed a finger across her lips and silenced her.
“Don’t.”
Jen stood for a long moment looking into his eyes then turned to leave. Outside the bar, she wiped her eyes. Now she had to go home and make things right. As she pushed through the glass door, the morning sun blinded her. She stopped for a moment tilting her face up to relish its warmth. She smiled as the tension in her shoulders eased.
A few feet away, Jason watched her smile of pure pleasure. His fingers found the gun and they slid mindlessly into position. Across the sidewalk, Jen tilted her head down and noticed Jason’s car. Jason had only a moment to make a decision. Her response would pull the trigger. When her face flushed in shame and panic, a gunshot echoed through the garage. She wished she knew if he saw the look of sorrow and love on her face before his eyes closed forever.
The noise of the scream made him look up guiltily. The parking garage of the Western Racquet Club was almost empty. A few older Lincolns and Cadillacs were clustered closest to the portico, a few steps beyond the garage’s blunt cement walls. The cars belonged to the Widow’s Club -a group of elderly women who spent their days playing cards and drinking Mimosas. Jen’s convertible huddled in the darkest corner of the garage.
Relieved that no one had witnessed his tantrum, Jason glanced at the two items in the passenger seat. The first was a gun—a hard, unyielding piece of steel. He had cleaned it so that it almost glowed in the old-fashioned sodium vapor lights. The gun was cold but he knew that it would melt into him as his fingers snaked around and through it. The second item was a tennis racquet—Jen’s forgotten tennis racquet.
The gun’s purpose was evident.
The tennis racquet’s purpose was less clear. What did he intend to do? Was he going to burst into the club and announce, “Hey you forgot your racquet and, oh by the way, I know you are fucking my best friend?” He knew that they would be innocently having a drink or sitting on the verandah talking about books. He winced at the thought. Seeing them together, enjoying each other’s company would be more painful than watching them fuck. He could almost understand the sex. He had occasionally found relief with the odd secretary. But he had been busy, neglectful and she had turned to Eric. No, he didn’t really begrudge her a little roll in the hay. He did not resent her physical betrayal as much as the emotional one. She had taken their love, their spiritual bond, their shared heart, and ripped it away and given the broken bleeding pieces to Eric. She loved Eric. She was in love with Eric. The thought made his stomach clench and his heart pound.
Jen sat at the bar sipping a strawberry Bellini through a tiny cocktail straw. Every time she started to speak, her throat tightened. She needed to tell Eric that this was over. She needed to tell him that she loved Jason. They had been drifting for years, their orbits growing further and further apart. It had been easy to flirt with Eric and the sex had been glorious. But… That was it, wasn’t it? But. But, she was married. But, she loved Jason. But, she would rather die than hurt him.
“Eric?”
“Yeah?”
“You know we...I mean I…”
Eric brushed his shoe against her bare calf below her tennis whites. “What is it?”
Jen could feel the tears pricking behind her eyes but she drew in a rough breath and managed to squeeze out the words, “Guilty, I guess.”
She could feel his posture change. He withdrew his foot and crossed his arms across his chest as if bracing for a blow. “Okay, talk to me.”
“I am—” she cleared her throat and began again. “I am thinking that we need to stop this before… somebody gets hurt.” She couldn’t bring herself to say Jason’s name in front of him.
Eric took a long sip and of his G & T and looked into her eyes. “Jen, you are the sexiest, most fascinating woman that I have ever met. My heart races when I hear your voice. To touch you is like being engulfed in a fire of velvet.”
“Eric, stop.” Tears ran down her face and plopped mutely onto the bar.
“No, let me finish. You are all those things, but you are also a good person. I knew this wouldn’t last. I knew you would eventually see through me.”
“Oh Eric, it's not—”
“For a while I hoped,” he continued, “but I knew I couldn’t replace him.“ Wiping the tears from her cheeks he whispered, “Don’t cry. Go home, it will all be okay.”
“What about you?”
Eric sighed, “I think I will stay here and drink too much. Maybe if I get lucky, one of the widows will be feeling randy later.”
Through her tears, Jen teased, “Make sure its not Mrs. Hamilton. She has false teeth.”
When she saw his eyebrow lift lasciviously, she punched his arm playfully and slid down from the barstool. “Well, I guess I better go.”
As she started to turn away, he reached out to stop her. “Wait. I need to say this just once. “ Releasing his hold on her arm, he smiled grimly, “I am in love with you. Ironic, huh?”
“Eric—,” she began but he placed a finger across her lips and silenced her.
“Don’t.”
Jen stood for a long moment looking into his eyes then turned to leave. Outside the bar, she wiped her eyes. Now she had to go home and make things right. As she pushed through the glass door, the morning sun blinded her. She stopped for a moment tilting her face up to relish its warmth. She smiled as the tension in her shoulders eased.
A few feet away, Jason watched her smile of pure pleasure. His fingers found the gun and they slid mindlessly into position. Across the sidewalk, Jen tilted her head down and noticed Jason’s car. Jason had only a moment to make a decision. Her response would pull the trigger. When her face flushed in shame and panic, a gunshot echoed through the garage. She wished she knew if he saw the look of sorrow and love on her face before his eyes closed forever.