Longing

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Mierda —digo ahogadamente. Mi frente está cubierta en sudor. Todavía estoy duro, sangre pulsando atreves de mi polla, porque todavía puedo sentir lo que sentía hace dos meses. Daría lo que fuera por tenerla en mis brazos en este momento. Levantándome, me pongo los jeans y salgo de la habitación. Paso la habitación de Cole donde sigue dormido y silenciosamente abro la puerta de Jordan. Su habitación ha estado cerrada por ocho semanas, y me siento perdido en cuanto inhalo. Ella está en todas partes, cierro la puerta y enciendo la luz. Sus revistas Home & Garden están debajo de su cama, y miro su escritorio, mis ojos moviéndose a la esquina y recordando lo hermosa que estaba esa noche. El sistema de sonido que Dutch le dio está encima, y camino hacia éste, bajando el volumen y presionando Play. Reconozco a Bruce Springsteen I’m On Fire saliendo de las bocinas, y vuelvo a ajustar el volumen, sin querer despertar a Cole. Camino a la cama, me siento y escucho la canción, mirando alrededor. No puedo alejarme de ella, y nunca quiero hacerlo. En algún momento pensé que estaba enamorado de Lindsay, pero no era así. No era como esto. Y ni siquiera se lo dije. Ella no sabe que la amo. Nunca pensé que diría esto, pero Cramer tiene razón. La hubiera amado con todo lo que tenía. Era la indicada para mí. Hubiera llegado lejos para poder hacerla feliz por el resto de su vida. Pero lo arruiné. Mirando alrededor, noto un frasco en su mesa de noche, la etiqueta dice Sueños. Muevo la mano y lo tomo, estudiando unos pequeños rollos de papel, todos de diferentes colores y amarrados con hilo dorado dentro del frasco. Mi corazón retumba en mis oídos, no quiero invadir su privacidad pero necesito saber, necesito saber que sus sueños no me incluyen o cosas que puedo darle. Su amor nubla su mente. Lo que escribió aquí, será la verdad. Abriendo la tapa, dejo caer los rollos sobre la cama y tomo uno. Deslizando el hilo, mi estómago se retuerce por los nervios mientras desenrollo el primero. Inventar mi propia tradición de Navidad. Sonrío débilmente, algo como eso suena exactamente a ella. Es creativa, y hubiera amado ver con qué salía. Dejándolo a un lado, tomo otro, lo abro y leo. Conducir un convertible con la capota abajo en la lluvia. Sí, puedo verla arrastrándome a hacer algo así, intentando hacer que me divierta. Tomando otro rollo, mi sonrisa cae, y mi boca se seca, preparándome de nuevo para ver algo que quizás no me guste. El pulso de mi cuello se acelera mientras desenrollo. Tener una biblioteca en mi casa algún día. Con estantes a la medida, hojas soplando afuera, y un sillón cómodo con frazadas calientes. Muevo las cejas y suelto el papel, tomando otro rápidamente. Me pregunto si puedo hacer que Pike se quede en cama todo el día, en un día de lluvia, para ver películas.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “Oh, come on, Victoria … just one more time … so you’ll have something to remember me by.” She hadn’t expected him to let go so easily and was angry at herself for feeling disappointed. “Feel how hot he is for you. He’s been such a good boy, waiting patiently all day.” “Sorry, Will. Send him my regards … I mean, my regrets.” She opened the door at the next red light, grabbed her bag, and jumped out of his car. “Really Victoria … you’re hopeless,” Paisley said. “Not that I’m pushing marriage. I’m all for making a life on your own first, but if it falls out of a tree and hits you on the head, you can’t just walk away from it, especially when it comes with that kind of financial security. I mean, do you know how few straight, stable, single guys there are in this city … not to mention husband material? You could count them on one hand. One hand.” “Your southern roots are showing, Pais,” Maia said. “Maybe,” Paisley said. “Or maybe it’s that a person never gets over her first love.” “Not that old song again,” Vix said. Her life was full. It was interesting. A person didn’t necessarily have to be in love. She signed up for a yoga course, took on another student through the School Volunteer Program, vowed not to waste her introductory membership at Crunch. She met Jocelyn for lunch a couple of times and confessed she’d never experienced the creative high of Five Minutes in Heaven in the real workplace. They talked about doing a documentary together, forming their own production company. “You have to keep chasing your dreams,” Jocelyn said. A postcard from Caitlin, dated December 20, 1989, Zacatecas, Mexico. I’ve seen death and it’s ugly. Ugly and frightening . No mention of James or Donny. Vix called the Seattle number, was told it was disconnected at the customer’s request. She called Abby, trying not to show her concern, and told her she’d misplaced Caitlin’s number. Abby said, “She’s in Mexico, Vix. At a monastery. You can’t call. None of us can.” New Year’s Eve. They decided to stay at home—Maia, Paisley, and Vix—to celebrate together. They ordered in, rented Annie Hall , and Vix laughed, then cried, remembering the night Lamb had taken Caitlin and her to see it. And after, how they’d begged to ride the Flying Horses but instead had found Von in the alley with some girl’s hand wrapped around his Package. By ten, friends began to drop in—Jocelyn, Earl, Debra. Each of them brought a few of their friends. They sent out for more food. Abby and Lamb called from Mexico City to wish Vix a happy New Year. They were on their way to the monastery, hoping to see Caitlin. “Send her my love,” Vix said. “Wish her a happy New Year for me.” Daniel and Gus phoned from Chicago, where Gus was visiting his family. They sounded smashed. So what?

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Odds are, food is abundant in your life. And clean drinking water is as close as the nearest faucet and virtually limitless. You have access to reasonably clean air and adequate shelter. Those basic needs have long been met. What you long for now is far more intangible. What you long for is love. Whether you’re single or not, whether you spend your days largely in isolation or steadily surrounded by the buzz of conversation, love is the essential nutrient that your cells crave: true positivity-charged connection with other living beings. Love, as it turns out, nourishes your body the way the right balance of sunlight, nutrient-rich soil, and water nourishes plants and allows them to flourish. The more you experience it, the more you open up and grow, becoming wiser and more attuned, more resilient and effective, happier and healthier. You grow spiritually as well, better able to see, feel, and appreciate the deep interconnections that inexplicably tie you to others, that embed you within the grand fabric of life. Just as your body was designed to extract oxygen from the earth’s atmosphere, and nutrients from the foods you ingest, your body was designed to love. Love—like taking a deep breath or eating an orange when you’re depleted and thirsty—not only feels great but is also life-giving, an indispensable source of energy, sustenance, and health. When I compare love to oxygen and food, I’m not just taking poetic license. I’m drawing on science: new science that illuminates for the first time how love, and its absence, fundamentally alters the biochemicals in which your body is steeped. They, in turn, can alter the very ways your DNA gets expressed within your cells. The love you do or do not experience today may quite literally change key aspects of your cellular architecture next season and next year—cells that affect your physical health, your vitality, and your overall well-being. In these ways and more, just as your supplies of clean air and nutritious food forecast how long you’ll walk this earth—and whether you’ll thrive or just get by—so does your supply of love. It’s Not What You Think

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  She was Charlie in the Chocolate Factory with too many choices, feeling she had to gobble up as much as she could as fast as she could, before someone wised up and kicked her out. At night in their rooms at Weld South ideas were batted around like badminton birdies. Vix listened and absorbed but rarely spoke as the others discussed the equality of the sexes, genes versus environment, and the biggie—The Meaning of Life. Never mind that the Countess had told her there was no meaning. She was in Robert Coles’s Gen Ed 105, The Literature of Social Reflection. He understood life. She wanted to. On the first Tuesday in October, Vix’s father called at dawn to tell her Lanie had given birth. Vix was an aunt to a baby girl named Amber. Maia rolled over in her bed. “What?” she asked, half-asleep, as Vix hung up the phone, dazed. “My sister had a baby. I’m an aunt.” “I didn’t know you had an older sister.” “I don’t. Lanie’s just turning seventeen.” Maia sat up. “You mean she’s like a … teenaged mother? A statistic?” “Exactly. She’s a statistic.” No teenage sister of Maia’s would ever get pregnant and if she did, she’d have an abortion. Vix knew that Maia thought of New Mexico as a third-world country and Vix’s family as something right out of Tobacco Road . But to Vix, Maia represented the worst of privileged suburbia. She found her naive and judgmental. Vix’s father sent a picture, one of those newborn shots taken at the hospital. The baby was a preemie, just four pounds but otherwise okay. Tawny would have no part of Lanie’s life. She made her bed, now let her lie in it . Vix sent Lanie a copy of Dr. Spock , plus a snuggly for Amber. The next time the phone rang at an ungodly hour it was Caitlin. “Where are you?” Vix asked. “Rome. It’s fantastic. I’m studying Italian … and art … and history where it really happened.” “When are you coming back?” “I don’t know.” “For the holidays?” “They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here.” “Christmas?” “Phoebe’s coming for Christmas.” “Then when?” “Maybe never.” “Don’t say that.” Caitlin’s voice turned low, seductive. “Do you miss me?” “You know I do.” “I miss you, too. Is Harvard all it’s supposed to be?” “It’s tough, if that’s what you mean. I’m just trying to keep up.” “What about Bru?” “What about him?” “Do you get to see each other?” “We talk on the phone.” “Is that enough?” “What do you think?” Every time she heard Caitlin’s voice she felt an ache, a longing for something, she didn’t know what. Even though it was almost a relief to be on her own with no one looking over her shoulder, no one questioning her every move, she missed her. To Vix she was still Caitlin Somers, the Most Influential Person in My Life .

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Mr Mason says he will walk with us as far as King’s Cross.’ The girl gave not a glance more my way then, but turned quickly into the room. Here she kissed the children, shook the mother’s hand, and politely took her leave; from my place on the balcony I saw her, and her friend, and their rough chaperon Mr Mason, quit the building and make their way up towards the Gray’s Inn Road. I thought she might turn to see if I still watched but she did not; and why should I mind it? With the lamplight at last turned upon her face I had seen that she was not at all handsome. I might have forgotten all about her, indeed, except that a fortnight or so after I had watched her in the darkness, I saw her again - but this time in daylight. It was another warm day, and I had woken rather early. Mrs Milne and Grace were out on a visit, and I had in consequence nothing at all in the world to do, and no one to please but myself. Before my money had all run out I had bought myself a couple of decent frocks; and it was one of those that I had put on, today. I had my old plait of false hair, too: it looked wonderfully natural under the shadow of the stiff brim of a black straw hat. I had a mind to make my way to one of the parks - Hyde Park, I thought, then on perhaps to Kensington Gardens. I knew men would pester me along the way; but parks, I have found, are full of women - full of nursemaids wheeling bassinets, and governesses airing babies, and shop-girls taking their lunches on the grass. Any of these, I knew, might be led into a little conversation by a girl with a smile and a handsome dress; and I had a fancy - a rather curious fancy - for women’s company that day. It was in this mood, and with these plans, and in that costume, that I saw Florence. I recognised her at once, for all that I had seen so little of her before. I had just let myself out of the house, and lingered for a moment on the lowest step, yawning and rubbing my eyes. She was emerging into the sunlight from a passageway on the other side of Green Street, a little way down on my left, and she was dressed in a jacket and skirt the colour of mustard - it was this, struck by the sun and set glowing, that had caught my eye. Like me, she had paused: she had a sheet of paper in her hand, and seemed to be consulting it. The passageway led to the tenement flats, and I guessed she had been visiting the family that had held the party. I wondered idly which way she would go.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The elements of truth, morality, and piety scattered throughout ancient heathenism, may be ascribed to three sources. In the first place, man, even in his fallen state, retains some traces of the divine image, a knowledge of God,66 however weak, a moral sense or conscience,67 and a longing for union with the Godhead, for truth and for righteousness.68 In this view we may, with Tertullian, call the beautiful and true sentences of a Socrates, a Plato, an Aristotle, of Pindar, Sophocles, Cicero, Virgil, Seneca, Plutarch, "the testimonies of a soul constitutionally Christian,"69 of a nature predestined to Christianity. Secondly, some account must be made of traditions and recollections, however faint, coming down from the general primal revelations to Adam and Noah. But the third and most important source of the heathen anticipations of truth is the all-ruling providence of God, who has never left himself without a witness. Particularly must we consider, with the ancient Greek fathers, the influence of the divine Logos before his incarnation,70 who was the tutor of mankind, the original light of reason, shining in the darkness and lighting every man, the sower scattering in the soil of heathendom the seeds of truth, beauty, and virtue.71 The flower of paganism, with which we are concerned here, appears in the two great nations of classic antiquity, Greece and Rome. With the language, morality, literature, and religion of these nations, the apostles came directly into contact, and through the whole first age the church moves on the basis of these nationalities. These, together with the Jews, were the chosen nations of the ancient world, and shared the earth among them. The Jews were chosen for things eternal, to keep the sanctuary of the true religion. The Greeks prepared the elements of natural culture, of science and art, for the use of the church. The Romans developed the idea of law, and organized the civilized world in a universal empire, ready to serve the spiritual universality of the gospel. Both Greeks and Romans were unconscious servants of Jesus Christ, "the unknown God." These three nations, by nature at bitter enmity among themselves, joined hands in the superscription on the cross, where the holy name and the royal title of the Redeemer stood written, by the command of the heathen Pilate, "in Hebrew and Greek and Latin."72 § 12. Grecian Literature, and the Roman Empire.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Don’t you think that a marvellous, marvellous poem?’ ‘Frankly, no,’ I said: the tears had unnerved me. ‘Frankly, I’ve seen better verses on some lavatory walls’ — I really had. ‘If it’s a poem, why doesn’t it rhyme? What it needs is a few good rhymes and a nice, jaunty melody.’ I reached to take the book from her, and studied the passage she had read - it had been underlined, at some earlier date, in pencil — then sang it out, to the approximate tune and rhythm of some music-hall song of the moment. Florence laughed, and, with one hand upon Cyril, tried to snatch the book from me. ‘You’re a beast!’ she cried. ‘You’re a shocking philistine.’ ‘I’m a purist,’ I said primly. ‘I know a nice bit of verse when I see it, and this ain’t it.’ I flipped through the book, abandoning my attempt to try to force the staggering lines into some sort of melody, but reading all the ludicrous passages that I could find - there were many of them - and all in the silly American drawl of a stage Yankee. At last I found another underlined section, and started on that. ‘O my comrade!’ I began. ‘O you and me at last — and us two only; 0 power, liberty, eternity at last! 0 to be relieved of distinctions! to make as much of vices as virtues! O to level occupations and the sexes! O to bring all to common ground! O adhesiveness! 0 the pensive aching to be together - you know not why, and I know not why...’ My voice trailed away; I had lost my Yankee drawl, and spoken the last few words in a self-conscious murmur. Florence had ceased her laughter, and begun to gaze, apparently quite gravely, into the fire: I saw the orange flames of the coals reflected in each of her hazel eyes. I closed the book, and returned it to the shelf. There was a silence, a rather long one. At last she took a breath; and when she spoke she sounded quite unlike herself, and rather strange. ‘Nance,’ she began, ‘do you remember that day in Green Street, when we talked? Do you remember how we said that we would meet, and how you didn’t come... ?’ ‘Of course,’ I said, a little sheepishly. She smiled - a curiously vague and inward-seeming kind of smile. ‘I never said, did I,’ she went on, ‘what I did that night?’ I shook my head.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Se ríe entre dientes. Debe ser tan divertido. —Definitivamente eres triste —dice—. Las mujeres no son tan difíciles de hacer feliz si te interesa un poco. —No soy incapaz —espeto—. Pero ese no es el punto. Las chicas adolescentes deben estar con chicos adolescentes, y no lo olvides de una jodida vez la próxima vez que te cruces con una. Ella merece a alguien de su propia edad. Él asiente, pensando. Y luego me lanza una mirada. —Entonces, tu hijo es de su edad, ¿verdad? ¿La trató mejor que tú? Respiro pesadamente, pero permanezco en silencio. Me da una sonrisa medio complacida y se aparta, regresando a su casa. Eso no es el punto, imbécil. Sí, puedo decir con seguridad que sus relaciones con chicos de su misma edad tampoco son ganadoras, pero… ¿Pero qué? ¿No voy a ser capaz de darle todo lo que quiere? ¿No voy a crecer con ella? ¿No voy a comenzar de nuevo, y construir una familia a mi edad? Dos meses atrás, todos esos parecían argumentos válidos, pero con el tiempo se sintieron menos convincentes. Como que quizás, quién soy y dónde estoy en mi vida, no está grabado en piedra. Todavía puede cambiar. Sacudo la cabeza. No lo sé. No, hice lo correcto. Han pasado meses, y no he sabido de ella. Claramente siguió adelante. Pero Dios, la extraño. Es como si estuviera constantemente enfermo de hambre, pero la comida no me satisfará. Existe un vacío en mi interior que no puedo llenar por mi cuenta. Levanto la caja de herramientas y giró hacia la casa, pero cuando miro hacia arriba, veo a Cole de pie en la puerta trasera de la casa. Me detengo. Jesús. ¿Desde hace cuánto tiempo ha estado parado ahí? La caja cuelga de mis dedos mientras nos miramos, y estoy completamente sorprendido de verlo ahí. —Te vi en la graduación —dice, una mano en su bolsillo. Su graduación del campo de entrenamiento fue ayer, y había estado escribiéndole y acosando a su reclutador todo el verano para poder contactarlo. Aunque tenía que verlo. No podía perdérmelo. Es un logro impresionante. Lentamente, camino hacia él, incapaz de apartar la mirada. Se ve increíble. Más alto y grande, un largo verano en el campo de entrenamiento había bronceado su piel y aclarado su ahora cabello corto. Está usando su uniforme verde de camuflaje con su gorra en una mano mientras se recarga en el marco. —Solo quería verte —le digo—. No estaba seguro si me habías puesto en la lista o tu reclutador, pero no respondiste ninguna de mis cartas, así que no estaba seguro si me querías ahí. Después que la ceremonia terminó quise hablar con él, pero su mamá estaba ahí con su último novio, y con él estaban unos amigos que habían conducido para verlo. No quería arruinarlo, así que me fui. Él tendría de regreso su teléfono, así que podría ver las llamadas, mensajes, y correos de voz. Me haría saber cuando estuviera listo.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Mother smiled, but her smile was tight; Alice was so chill that, in the end, I turned my back on her. Only Father hugged me to him as if really loath to get me go; and when he said that he would miss me, I knew he meant it. No one could be spared, this time, to walk me to the station, so I made my own way there. I didn’t look at Whitstable, or the sea, as my train pulled away from it; I certainly did not think, I shan’t see you again, for years and years - and if I had, I am ashamed to say it would not much have troubled me. I thought only of Kitty. It was still only half-past seven; she wouldn’t rise, I knew, till ten, and I planned to surprise her - to let myself into our rooms at Stamford Hill, and creep into her bed. The train rolled on, through Faversham and Rochester. I was not impatient now. I did not need to be impatient. I merely sat and thought of her warm, slumbering body that I would soon embrace; I imagined her pleasure, her surprise, her rising love, at seeing me returned so soon. Our house, when I gazed up at it from the street, was, as I had hoped, quite dark and shuttered. I walked on tip-toe up the steps, and eased my key into the lock. The passageway was quiet: even our landlady and her husband seemed still abed. I laid down my bags, and took off my coat. There was a cloak already hanging from the hat-stand, and I squinted at it: it was Walter’s. How queer, I thought, he must have come here yesterday, and forgotten it! - and soon, creeping up the darkened staircase, I forgot it myself. I reached Kitty’s door, and put my ear to it. I had expected silence, but there was a sound from beyond it - a kind of lapping sound, as of a kitten at a saucer of milk. I thought, Damn! She must be awake already and taking her tea; then I caught the creak of the bedstead, and was sure of it. Disappointed, but gay with the expectation of seeing her, I caught hold of the door-handle and entered the room. She was indeed awake. She sat in bed, propped up against a pillow, with the blankets raised as far as her armpits and her naked arms upon the counterpane. There was a lamp lit, and turned high; the room was not at all dark. At a little wash-hand stand at the foot of the bed there was another figure. Walter. He was jacketless, and collarless; his shirt was tucked roughly into his trousers, but his braces dangled, almost to his knees. He was bending over the bowl of water, bathing his face - that had been the lapping sound that I had heard.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  But Calvin prevailed on a young gentleman of tolerable learning to undertake the journey for him. He gave him a literal Latin translation of his tracts against the Nicodemites, together with letters to Luther and Melanchthon (Jan. 20, 1545). He asked the latter to act as mediator according to his best judgment. The letter to Luther is very respectful and modest. After explaining the case, and requesting him to give it a cursory examination and to return his opinion in a few words, Calvin thus concludes this, his only, letter to the great German Reformer: — "I am unwilling to give you this trouble in the midst of so many weighty and various employments; but such is your sense of justice that you cannot suppose me to have done this unless compelled by the necessity of the case; I therefore trust that you will pardon me. Would that I could fly to you, that I might even for a few hours enjoy the happiness of your society; for I would prefer, and it would be far better, not only upon this question, but also about others, to converse personally with yourself; but seeing that it is not granted to us on earth, I hope that shortly it will come to pass in the kingdom of God. Adieu, most renowned sir, most distinguished minister of Christ, and my ever-honored father. The Lord himself rule and direct you by His own Spirit, that you may persevere even unto the end, for the common benefit and good of His own Church." Luther was still so excited by his last eucharistic controversy with the Swiss, and so suspicious, that Melanchthon deemed it inexpedient to lay the documents before him.892 "I have not shown your letter to Dr. Martin," he replied to Calvin, April 17, 1545, "for he takes many things suspiciously, and does not like his answers to questions of the kind you have proposed to him, to be carried round and handed from one to another .... At present I am looking forward to exile and other sorrows. Farewell! On the day on which, thirty-eight hundred and forty-six years ago, Noah entered into the ark, by which God gave testimony of his purpose never to forsake his Church, even when she quivers under the shock of the billows of the great sea."

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Despite the intensity of their lovemaking, when he left, she did not ask him his name, she did not ask him to return. She gave him a light kiss on his almost painful lips and sent him away. For months the memory of this night haunted him and he could not repeat the experience with any woman. One day he encountered a friend who had just been paid lavishly for some articles and invited him to have a drink. He told George the spectacular story of a scene he had witnessed. He was spending money freely in a bar when a very distinguished man approached him and suggested a pleasant pastime, observing a magnificent love scene, and as George’s friend happened to be a confirmed voyeur, the suggestion met with instant acceptance. He had been taken to a mysterious house, into a sumptuous apartment, and concealed in a dark room, where he had seen a nymphomaniac making love with an especially gifted and potent man. George’s heart stood still. “Describe her,” he said. His friend described the woman George had made love to, even to the satin dress. He also described the canopied bed, the mirrors, everything. George’s friend had paid one hundred dollars for the spectacle, but it had been worthwhile and had lasted for hours. Poor George. For months he was wary of women. He could not believe such perfidy, and such play-acting. He became obsessed with the idea that the women who invited him to their apartments were all hiding some spectator behind a curtain. [image file=image_rsrc1RD.jpg] ElenaWhile waiting for the train to Monteux, Elena looked at the people around her on the quays. Every trip aroused in her the same curiosity and hope one feels before the curtain is raised at the theatre, the same stirring anxiety and expectation. She singled out various men she might have liked to talk with, wondering if they were leaving on her train or merely saying good-bye to other passengers. Her cravings were vague, poetic. If she had been brutally asked what she was expecting she might have answered, “Le merveilleux.” It was a hunger that did not come from any precise region of her body. It was true, what someone had said about her after she had criticized a writer she had met: “You cannot see him as he really is, you cannot see anyone as he really is. He will always be disappointing because you are expecting someone.” She was expecting someone—every time a door opened, every time she went to a party, to any gathering of people, every time she entered a café, a theatre. None of the men she had singled out as desirable companions for the trip boarded the train. So she opened the book she was carrying. It was Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I lifted a hand to my head, and put my fingers through my hair, and tried to understand what he had told me. He was married to Flora, and Flora was still with Kitty; and Kitty had a spot at the Middlesex Music Hall. And that was about three streets away from where I stood now. And Kitty, of course, was married to Walter. Are they happy? I wanted to call to Bill then. Does she talk of me, ever? Does she think of me? Does she miss me? But when he returned - looking even more flustered and damp about the brow - I said only, ‘How’s - how’s the act, Bill?’ ‘The act?’ He sniffed. ‘Not so good, I don’t think. Not so good as the old days ...’ We gazed at one another. I looked harder at his face, and saw that he had gained a bit of weight beneath his chin, and that the flesh about his eyes was rather darker than I knew it. Then the Italian called, ‘Bill, will you come?’ And Bill said that he must go. I nodded, and held my hand out to him. As he shook it, he seemed to hesitate again. Then he said, very quickly, ‘You know, we was all really sorry, when you took off like that, from the Brit.’ I shrugged. ‘And Kitty,’ he went on, ‘well, Kitty was sorriest of all of us. She put notices, with Walter, in the Era and the Ref, week after week. Did you never see ’em, Nan, those notices?’ ‘No, Bill, I never did.’ He shook his head. ‘And now, here you are, dressed up like a lord!’ But he gave my suit a dubious glance, and added: ‘You’re sure though, are you, that you’re doing all right?’ I didn’t answer him. I only looked over to Diana again. She was tilting her head to gaze after me; beside her stood Maria, and Satin, and Dickie. Dickie held our tray of drinks, and had placed her monocle at her eye. She said, ‘The wine will warm, Diana,’ in a pettish sort of voice: the lobby was thinned of people, I could hear her very clearly. Diana tilted her head again: ‘What is the boy doing?’ ‘He is talking to the nigger,’ answered Maria, ‘at the cloaks!’ I felt my cheeks flame red, and looked quickly back at Bill. His gaze had followed mine, but now had been caught by a gentleman offering a coat, and he was lifting the garment over the counter, and already turning with it to the row of hooks. ‘Good-bye, Bill,’ I said, and he nodded over his shoulder, and gave me a sad little smile of farewell.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Caitlin had convinced Vix no menstrual blood would come out in the tub, but if it did she wouldn’t mind. “You’re really growing,” Caitlin said, focusing on Vix’s chest. Vix felt her face grow hot. “I know.” They hadn’t seen each other naked since last summer. Caitlin was still flat. “What’s it feel like?” Caitlin asked. “What’s what feel like?” “To have tits?” “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like anything.” “Can I touch them?” “I guess.” Caitlin leaned over and cupped her hands around them. Vix had touched them herself but this was the first time anyone else had. It made her feel funny, as if she couldn’t breathe. “Do you still have The Power?” Caitlin asked. Vix nodded. “Do you use it?” “Sometimes. Do you?” “Sometimes.” Caitlin gave Vix a sly smile then slid underwater. Her hair fanned out and for a minute she looked dead. Vix had worried that Caitlin would find another summer sister, someone to replace her. It wasn’t until they’d boarded the plane at the end of last summer that Caitlin had broken the news. She was going to Mountain Day, a private school in Santa Fe. Vix had been completely crushed. “Cheer up!” Caitlin had told her. “For all we know we’ll die today. The plane might crash, anything could happen.” But the idea of losing Caitlin was even worse than having the plane crash. She wondered if Caitlin and her new school friends shared The Power. She never shared hers. Sometimes at home, after Lanie was asleep, she’d use The Power by herself. Mostly, it went to waste. There was too little time and too little privacy. She hadn’t expected Caitlin to invite her back to the Vineyard, and when she did, Vix worried that her mother wouldn’t let her go. It had been a difficult year for her family. Nathan was sick on and off all through the winter and hospitalized with pneumonia in March. A few weeks later Lewis broke his arm. The roof started leaking with the heavy wet spring snow and Tawny let them know she was worried about the stack of bills piling up on the desk in the living room. There was talk about selling the RV but Ed decided against it for the moment. Instead, he took a second job, driving for UPS, but was laid off after a few weeks. Tawny surprised her. She seemed relieved there’d be one less person around for the summer, one less person to worry about. In mid-May Tawny reported that Phoebe had been a guest at the Countess’s party the night before. “She was there with someone at least ten years younger,” Tawny sniffed. “So?” Vix said, trying to prove how sophisticated she’d become. “Phoebe has a lot of friends. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re lovers.” For a second she thought Tawny was going to slap her face and she jumped back.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  She’d never guessed there were so many ways of making love. Just after Valentine’s Day Maia returned to their suite looking smug. “Well,” she said, “we got through that!” Debra and Paisley crowded into their room. “We laughed a lot,” Maia said. “That’s a good sign, don’t you think?” She searched their faces for agreement. “Well, maybe not during,” she admitted. “During it’s all moaning and groaning and sweat and glunk but after … when you start talking about it, it’s like, wildly funny.” They looked at Maia, then at each other, and finally Paisley said, “How about it, Victoria? You’re our resident expert.” She was the only one of them to have a serious rela tionship. Sometimes she wished she and Bru hadn’t promised not to see anyone else. Sometimes she wished she could walk into a coffee shop or a bookstore and flirt. She wondered if Abby was right, if she was denying herself the pleasures of being young. Did Bru ever have similar thoughts? And how would she feel if he did? “Well, Victoria?” Paisley said. “Yeah … some of it is funny, I guess,” she answered. She tried to remember if she and Bru ever sat around laughing after sex. She didn’t think so. Usually they fell asleep in one another’s arms. Just thinking about it made her miss him. Caitlin called at four A.M. from Paris. “I had an affair with a woman. She reminded me of you.” “What do you mean?” Vix spit hair out of her mouth. “Dark hair, full breasts, beautiful skin …” “I don’t think I want to hear this.” “Why … does it shock you?” Caitlin asked. “Are you trying to shock me?” Caitlin laughed. “I’m always trying to shock you.” A long pause, then, “I’ve met a lot of LUGs here.” “Slugs … did you say slugs?” She held the phone to her other ear. “LUGS. L-U-G-S. That’s what they call themselves. Lesbians Until Graduation.” “Oh … LUGs.” “But she was possessive,” Caitlin continued. “She accused me of being a political lesbian, not a biological one, and when I refused to give up men she got so pissed she cut my panties into little pieces and tossed them out the window … right onto the Boul St. Germain. I was lucky to get out of there alive!” Laughter. “Are you still there … did I lose you?” “I’m still here.” “Did you know this is the warmest February on record in Paris?” “No.” “Flowers are blooming in the parks.” Bru had sent her an amaryllis for Valentine’s Day. It sat on her windowsill, its petals falling to the floor. PaisleyWHAT SHE LIKES BEST about Victoria is that she listens and evaluates. She doesn’t just run on endlessly for the sake of hearing her own voice, the way Maia does when she’s feeling insecure. When Victoria invites her to dinner at Lamb and Abby Somers’ house she’s impressed. It’s a gorgeous old place on Appleton, very smartly done, very Cambridge.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Me da un vuelco el estómago, recordando que no tengo ningún sitio al que ir para tomar esa ducha. No voy a volver a aceptar una maldita cosa de Pike Lawson nunca más. Por no mencionar que todavía estoy molesta con Cole. Me envió un mensaje para asegurarse que estuviera bien y para disculparse de nuevo, pero no le respondí. Me despido de Shel y las otras chicas y salgo del bar, entrando en el agradecido aire de la noche. El sol se ha puesto, pero todavía hay algo de luz mientras me coloco el bolso y me dirijo a la izquierda por la calle. Necesito mi propio lugar. Mío y de nadie más. Necesito mi propia casa, que sea toda mía y donde pueda sentirme como yo y nunca sea echada, arrinconada o indeseada. Donde me sienta segura. Y eso significa que necesito dinero. Sin pensar, mis piernas me llevan por la Calle Cornell y hacia Lambert, el cielo está oscureciendo más y las luciérnagas brillan sobre los árboles. El tráfico ha disminuido, pero se intensifica en la siguiente hora mientras me acerco más y más a las afueras de la ciudad. Las casas llenan las calles, al igual que unas cuantas tiendas y gasolineras del barrio, pero hay menos luz aquí, así que me pego a un lado de la acera y agradezco las luces de los porches a la izquierda y la derecha. Después de menos de una hora, veo las luces de The Hook al frente y el estacionamiento, cada vez más grande, lleno de autos. He estado aquí antes, pero odio entrar en un lugar muy concurrido con la ropa del día anterior y el cabello oliendo a cigarros. Busco en el estacionamiento y veo el Mustang de mi hermana a un lado del edificio. Cada noche, uno de los porteros acompaña a las chicas a sus autos, solo en caso que un fan loco decida agarrar a una de ellas cuando esté sola. Entrando en el club, de repente soy rodeada por la oscuridad, y el fuerte ruido de la música hace vibrar el suelo bajo mis pies. Hace calor y huele a neblina y perfume. A diferencia de Grounders, aquí no está permitido fumar, y en lugar de un viejo suelo de madera, con suciedad alojada en todas las grietas, un brillante suelo negro cruje bajo mis zapatillas deportivas. —¡Hola, Melocotón! —dice una mujer—. ¿Qué estás haciendo? Me giro y veo a Malena a través de la ventana de la pequeña taquilla. Nunca me cobra, por supuesto. No vengo aquí por eso. —¿Cam está aquí? —pregunto. —Acaba de terminar en el escenario —contesta—. Probablemente ahora está en alguna parte. Entra.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Hago una pausa cada vez que lo digo, sabiendo muy bien que no es realmente mi casa, pero también se siente extraño decir, “La casa de Pike” o” La casa del papá de Cole”. Después de terminar la llamada, voy al baño primero y luego le informo a Carter que conseguí quién me lleve a casa. Momentáneamente hay desilusión en su rostro, estoy bastante segura que es porque perdió su ligue para esta noche. Aunque, no estoy muy segura de cómo pensó que lo sería de todos modos, especialmente después de ignorarme para hablar sobre autos y después estar demasiado feliz al dejarme para "ponerme al día" con un grupo de chicas. Nunca antes hice nada como ponerme al día, incluso en la escuela secundaria. No es que realmente haya nada malo con Carter, Selena o con cualquier otra persona aquí. Pero cuando hablan, te das cuenta que tienen cosas bonitas, como dinero en sus bolsillos. Y sus madres. Tienen esta ligereza en sus voces en la que se puede escuchar que no han sido desalojadas de un apartamento antes, o que están tratando de decidir si deben cambiar sus teléfonos inteligentes por un teléfono plegable, porque es más barato. Soy diferente a ellos, y siempre lo he sido. Estar aquí esta noche me devuelve esos sentimientos, los sentimientos que odiaba tener en la escuela secundaria, y cuando estoy con Pike, yo... Frunzo el ceño, pensando. Cuando estoy cerca de él, estoy en mi elemento, supongo. Y más que nada en este momento, solo quiero irme a casa. O donde sea que esté él. Cam llega en menos de quince minutos, y me subo en su auto sin protestar mientras corre por la ciudad hacia el vecindario de Pike. Su jefe es indulgente, pero cuanto más tiempo está lejos, más dinero pierde, así que la dejo apresurarse. —Gracias —le digo—. Perdón por hacerte venir hasta tan lejos. Está vestida con un abrigo negro hasta los muslos, atado a la cintura, y estoy bastante segura que no está vestida por debajo, simplemente se puso algo para caminar por el estacionamiento sin ser molestada. —¿Estás segura que estás bien? —pregunta nuevamente. Agarro el salpicadero con una mano mientras ella gira a la derecha. —Sí. —¿Todo está yendo bien con el papá? —Me da un vistazo—. Sabes que puedes venir a mi casa en cualquier momento. Eres bienvenida a quedarte. —Lo sé. Nada está mal. De hecho, ahora me estoy dando cuenta que todo está bien, y no lo está en el A&W. Sé lo que quiero, y sé que no puedo estar con Pike, solo necesito encontrar alguien exactamente igual a él. Me aferro a la cerveza de raíz que compré para él como si fuera una mordaza mientras mi hermana serpentea a través de las calles y finalmente se detiene frente a la casa de Pike. Gruño con mi estómago todavía dando volteretas. —Gracias. Me bajo del auto, engancho mi bolso en la muñeca y cierro la puerta.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  And one night she’d gone to a downtown party with Jocelyn and had wound up in the bathroom with a scruffy, sexy filmmaker who’d kissed her breasts while she gave him a hand job. They hadn’t exchanged names or numbers and when she thought about it the next day she was glad. Too dangerous. A heartbreaker. Instead, she satisfied herself with fantasy lovers—sometimes reliving the moment in the truck with Bru and the peonies. And once, but only once, playing out the night of Caitlin’s flamenco dance and how it might have ended. Paisley was conducting a flirtation with an older man at ABC and Maia … Maia worried every time she met a new guy about how it would end, how bad she’d feel when it did, how long it would take her to get over him, whether it was even worth the trouble in the first place. She had no time or energy for bad relationships. Celibacy was the key to making Law Review. Paisley said, “What’s the point of thinking about how it’s going to end when it’s just beginning?” “Ask Victoria,” Maia told her. But Paisley didn’t ask. Instead she said, “Some people never get over their first loves. They spend their whole lives trying to recapture the thrill. Sometimes, after fifty years they get back together. They meet at some reunion or other and realize they were meant to be together.” “Do you have anyone in mind?” Vix asked. “Or are you talking in the abstract?” “Abstract,” Paisley said. “Strictly abstract. Though it’s not a bad concept for a show. I may just write a treatment and pitch it to my boss.” As they were planning their holidays, wrapping Christmas gifts while Paisley’s holiday cookies baked in the oven, Vix heard a familiar voice on the tube and looked up to see one of the Captains of Industry, an international expert in the field of aviation, commenting on a disaster. She shushed the others and moved closer. PanAm … Lockerbie, Scotland … carrying home Americans … many of them students … Vix motioned for Paisley and Maia. Together they listened to the grim news, as the Captain of Industry spoke with representatives of the airline. He came across as sincere, honest, and caring. Vix remembered him. She remembered the ones who had the most trouble. EdHE’S WATCHING THE NEWS when she calls. As soon as he hears her voice his stomach sours. She doesn’t call more than once a month and he’s expecting her to wait until Christmas. Does she have bad news? Does she know something about Lewis? He’s not sure where Lewis is. Germany, he thinks. But no reason to believe he’d be on Pan Am when he can fly military. And Tawny? Hell, she could be anywhere, anywhere the Countess is, but the Countess isn’t traveling anymore, is she? No. He doesn’t think so. Vix reassures him. Everything’s fine , she says.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  dinero en sus bolsillos. Y sus madres. Tienen esta ligereza en sus voces en la que se puede escuchar que no han sido desalojadas de un apartamento antes, o que están tratando de decidir si deben cambiar sus teléfonos inteligentes por un teléfono plegable, porque es más barato. Soy diferente a ellos, y siempre lo he sido. Estar aquí esta noche me devuelve esos sentimientos, los sentimientos que odiaba tener en la escuela secundaria, y cuando estoy con Pike, yo... Frunzo el ceño, pensando. Cuando estoy cerca de él, estoy en mi elemento, supongo. Y más que nada en este momento, solo quiero irme a casa. O donde sea que esté él. Cam llega en menos de quince minutos, y me subo en su auto sin protestar mientras corre por la ciudad hacia el vecindario de Pike. Su jefe es indulgente, pero cuanto más tiempo está lejos, más dinero pierde, así que la dejo apresurarse. —Gracias —le digo—. Perdón por hacerte venir hasta tan lejos. Está vestida con un abrigo negro hasta los muslos, atado a la cintura, y estoy bastante segura que no está vestida por debajo, simplemente se puso algo para caminar por el estacionamiento sin ser molestada. —¿Estás segura que estás bien? —pregunta nuevamente. Agarro el salpicadero con una mano mientras ella gira a la derecha. —Sí. —¿Todo está yendo bien con el papá? —Me da un vistazo—. Sabes que puedes venir a mi casa en cualquier momento. Eres bienvenida a quedarte. —Lo sé. Nada está mal. De hecho, ahora me estoy dando cuenta que todo está bien, y no lo está en el A&W. Sé lo que quiero, y sé que no puedo estar con Pike, solo necesito encontrar alguien exactamente igual a él. Me aferro a la cerveza de raíz que compré para él como si fuera una mordaza mientras mi hermana serpentea a través de las calles y finalmente se detiene frente a la casa de Pike. Gruño con mi estómago todavía dando volteretas. —Gracias. Me bajo del auto, engancho mi bolso en la muñeca y cierro la puerta.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Pierre drew her body towards him and stretched her on the bed. She kept her eyes closed. This seemed merely like the continuation of a dream. Lying alone for many summer nights, she had been expecting this hand, and it was doing all that she had expected. It was stealing softly through her clothes, stripping her of them as if they were a light skin to be peeled, setting free the real, warm skin. The hand moved all over her, to places she had not even known it would go, to secret places, which were throbbing. Then suddenly she opened her eyes. She saw the face of Pierre right over her face preparing to kiss her. She sat up brusquely. While her eyes were closed she had imagined it was John who was stealing thus into her flesh. But when she saw Pierre’s face, she was disappointed. She escaped from him. They returned home silent, but not angry. Martha was like a drugged person. She could not rid herself of the sensation of Pierre’s hand on her body. Pierre was tender, and seemed to understand her resistance. They found John rigid and sullen. Martha was unable to sleep. Every time she dozed off she began to feel the hand again, to await its movements, as it came up her leg and worked its way to the secret place where she had felt a throbbing, an expectancy. She got up and stood by the window. Her whole body was crying out for this hand to touch her again, it was worse than hunger or thirst, this yearning of the flesh. The next day she rose pale and determined. As soon as lunch was over, she turned to Pierre and said, “We have to see about that farm today?” He assented. They drove off. It was a relief. The wind struck her face and she was free now. She watched his right hand on the wheel of the car—a beautiful hand, youthful, supple, and tender. Suddenly she leaned over and pressed her lips on it. Pierre smiled at her with such a gratitude and joy that it made her heart leap to see it. Together they walked through the tangled garden, up the moss-covered path, into the green dark room with its curtains of ivy. Straight to the large bed they walked, and it was Martha who stretched herself on it. “Your hands,” she murmured, “oh, your hands, Pierre. I felt them all night.”

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Muchos tipos borrachos tirando dinero. La veo volver a deslizar el dinero dentro de su bolsillo trasero y frunzo el ceño ante el brillo de sus ojos. Tiene sentido que haga muchísimo más que yo. Yo trabajo en un bar. Ella trabaja en un club. Ella entretiene. Yo sirvo bebidas. Sin embargo, debe ser agradable irse a casa esta noche, sabiendo que puedes pagar tus cuentas mañana. Que puedes ir a la tienda de comestibles y poner lo que quieras en tu carrito. Alzo la vista a sus ojos, y puedo decir que está pensando exactamente lo mismo. También podría ser más fácil para mí si acepto la oferta de trabajo de su jefe. No haré tanto como mi hermana siendo camarera allí, pero ganaría más que aquí. Pero, aunque The Hook puede ofrecer dinero rápido, nada sobre ese lugar es fácil. Los hombres miran a Cam como una comida gratis, y soporta mucha mierda. Aun así, sin embargo... estoy cansada de preocuparme por el dinero cada maldito día. Vuelvo a trabajar, pero puedo sentir sus ojos en mí. Piensa que soy un hámster en una rueda. —Cállate —murmuro. Resopla. —No dije nada. Ni una sola cosa. —Gracias —digo, saliendo del Mustang de Cam poco más de una hora después. Doblo el asiento delantero y agarro mi bolso de la parte de atrás, miro rápidamente por encima del hombro para ver si el auto de Cole está en el camino de entrada. No está. Solo la camioneta de Pike. Sacudo la cabeza. —No trabajas mañana, ¿verdad? —pregunta Cam. Me vuelvo. —No, pero lo hago el sábado a la noche. Te enviaré un mensaje de texto con mi agenda más tarde.