Page 24 of Dirty Diana
“No…Something I recorded. A woman talking. Remember how I talked about the recordings I made? And used in my drawings?”
Oliver is looking right at me, really focused on me, and it feelsnice. “In Santa Fe? You never really talk about that time in your life. I have to admit I’ve been curious.”
I never expected a weird little book of my paintings to sell like crazy, but when I met Oliver, I was so deflated by not making much progress on the second book, and the first book had had such a small print run and short life, I didn’t tell him much about what I was working on. Then we started working together at his father’s firm and I liked fitting into his life. He was safe and steady and I wanted to be that for him too. Besides, when I did show him an old portfolio, I saw the way he skimmed over the nudes and stopped to admire a half-assed sketch of mountains I’d done.
“Would you like to hear some? Of a recording?”
“Sure.”
I press play on Jess’s tape. I study Oliver’s face while he listens.
I stood back and admired his body. I tried not to look too impressed, but he was gorgeous. Those muscled valleys where his stomach dipped down into his hips. I could tell by the way his jeans hung that he was naked underneath. He reached for me, but I pinned his arms to his sides. “Don’t,” I told him again. Then I pulled off my shirt and unclasped my bra and let him watch as I took it off. His eyes went wide and he reached for me again, but I shook my head. I told him, “I’m going to take your clothes off. We’re going to suck each other and fuck each other for the first time and then I’m going to leave.”
As the recording continues, Oliver shifts beside me. His forehead creases and his eyes widen. I stop the recording halfway through. “What do you think?”
“What is it exactly?”
“Just a woman. Talking about sex.”
“Do you want me…for us to be more like…”
“No.” That good feeling slips away. “This isn’t about us. It’s just about…Things I was trying to figure out. Am trying to figure out. Maybe a new project.”
“Sorry, Diana. But I think about art like something you could lookat. Like a sculpture. Or your paintings. I love what you paint, I always have.”
“Right.” He means the mountains and the flowers. “And you know I made paintings from recordings like these?”
“You know me, Diana, a lot of art goes right over my head. This is…I didn’t expect it to be so porny, I guess?”
My cheeks flush. “It’s just a woman speaking. About her very normal longing.”
“Depends on what you consider normal, I guess.”
My stomach drops, and with it, my voice. It falls somewhere deep and I can’t pull it up. I switch off the light so he can’t read my face.
“Diana. You just said this isn’t about us. This person you recorded has nothing to do with us. How did you get her to tell you all that, anyway?”
“Never mind,” I say. “It was a long time ago.”
“I’m glad you shared that with me.” I can tell he’s just trying to do the assignment now.Receive that secret with love.“I’ll listen to more if you want me to.” I can’t imagine playing more for him. It would only make me feel worse.
“That’s okay. Why don’t you just tell me your secret?”
“Right. Mine. Sure.” Oliver sighs. He’s going to tell me about the time he snuck into the movies when he was eleven and pretended not to know better. Or about cheating his way through tenth-grade French. His secrets are PG-13 at best, and I already know most of them. But I can’t deny he seems nervous to tell me this one.
“Okay.” He looks away from me, up at the ceiling. “Diana?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m worried I’m falling out of love with you.”
“Oh.”
It’s all I can think to say. My mouth is dry, my voice in my throat, my heartbeat in my ears.
We lie together in the dark for what feels like hours until finally I say, “I think I hear Emmy,” and get out of bed to check on her. Really,I sit outside our bedroom door until I hear Oliver’s breathing turn to snoring.
With my heart still racing, I get up and take my phone to the kitchen to plug in to charge, then I wander down the hall to the guest room, now clean and emptied. I shut the door tight and find myself in the guest bathroom, running the shower. Inside, I let the water run hot and muffle the sound of my sobs. Our ground somehow got even shakier. I used to know exactly what to say and how to make Oliver love me. How to recover from a hurt and make up from a fight. How to make us both feel better and loved and happy. How did we get here?
