Page 21 of Dirty Diana
In the white marbled bathroom, I find the switches and play around with them until the fluorescent light isn’t so harsh. I kick off my heels, and the floor is cold beneath my bare feet. In the mirror’s reflection, I see Oliver has already run the bath. The bubbles are quickly evaporating so I hurry to unzip my dress.
I stand in front of the hotel mirror and smile—Oliver isn’t the only one trying. I’d put on my best underwear, red and lacy, an impulse buy one Valentine’s Day. They’re six years old, but so uncomfortable that they’ve hardly been worn. I like how pretty and ridiculous they are. There was once a matching bra but it disappeared long ago.
I hear something like “Lite Jazz” drift through the wall. I inhale, suck in my stomach just slightly, and watch my small breasts rise and fall in the mirror. I trace my fingers down my naked stomach and across my C-section scar. I slip my hand beneath my underwear and think of gliding my fingers inside myself. I imagine inviting Oliver in to watch me masturbate. I feel myself pulse with a familiar, warm sensation, then pull my hand back. It falls to my side.
I turn away from my reflection. I dip a toe into the bath, then take off my underwear and climb all the way in. As I reach for the hot water tap, I spot a lone hair, so short and curly it could only mean one thing.
“Eww. Oliver, did you wash out the bath before you drew it?”
It is not, in fact, a lone hair. Its companion drifts toward me and I hurry out of the tub. I grab a towel. Louder this time, I call, “Did you wash out the bath? There’s something floating—are these your hairs?”
“I don’t know,” he answers over a saxophone solo. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s a hotel, Oliver. You have to wash the tub out first.”
I pull on my dress and drain the tub.
“Want a bite?” Oliver comes in holding a plate of strawberries. “They’re organic.”
“Oliver…”
“I’m trying, Diana.” The plate clangs against the marble sink. The effect is louder than he intended and his cheeks go red. “Please. Just take a bite of the goddamn strawberry.”
I take a bite, but zip my dress first. “Now what?”
“Try not to look so bored, for one.” He looks down at our feet and mouths the wordfuck,which makes me smile.
“I’m sorry.” I take his hand. “It’s just—I feel like this is how a sixteen-year-old girl in a Netflix movie would want to lose her virginity. It feels almost silly. Rose petals?” I had to say it out loud. It was impossible to keep in any longer.
“Ouch,” he says. But he takes my other hand.
“Maybe let’s not make such a big effort…”
Oliver grins. “Lose the candles?”
“Please.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Let’s just be us.”
“You’re right. God, you’re so right.” He claps his hands together, exhales. “This is embarrassing.”
“It’s not. It’s sweet.”
He looks at the empty tub like he wishes he could slip right down the drain. “I’m seeing it with horrifying clarity now. I have had sex before, I promise.”
I lead him back to the bed thinking about how I used to masturbate in front of my ex, my legs spread wide. I imagine doing that now. I slip my dress off and dive beneath the itchy quilt. Maybe we both need to be shocked.
Oliver circles the room, blowing out the candles, one by one. “Better?”
“Yes. Although—” I cough. “The smoke is almost worse than the scent?”
“Just ignore the smoke. Come here…” Oliver climbs under the blanket beside me and slips my underwear down my legs, stopping atmy knees. He smiles. “You shaved.” He pulls me closer, pressing his erection into my warm skin.
But I’m still focused on the smoke. I know I should stay in the moment but it’s impossible. “It’s just a lot of smoke, Oliver.”
“It’s fine.” He pulls the quilt up over our heads making a fortress around us. He finds my mouth and kisses me hungrily.
