“Perfect. How did you know?”
“Lucky.” That wasn’t true exactly. Casey had a knack for estimating sizes just by eyeballing a person’s head. She could do it for clothing as well. Again, she had talents that were essentially inapplicable to her life.
“Let me thank you.” Unu said, and he kissed her again, and yielding to the slight pressure of his tongue, her lips opened a bit.
Using both hands, Unu untied the belt of her dress, and he let it slide off her body. “I always wanted to do that.”
“And you did.”
Casey didn’t change her facial expression and stood there wearing her underwear and boots. He led her to the sofa.
Casey enjoyed having sex with Unu. He was lean and agile. It could be, at times, not gentle, and it was always wordless, but she could tell what he liked by the way he moved. They understood each other’s responses. She wanted to please him, and he her.
It wasn’t making love. Something happened after Jay and the two girls where Casey learned that she could climax without having affection for a man at that present moment. This was what men could do—make sex a physical sensation, not always emotional—and somewhere along the line, Casey realized that she could do it, too. Could all women? No one would dispute the superiority of sex with romantic feeling, but it was possible for her to enjoy the act without it. Tina would have been shocked. Casey did not think she was in love with Unu, nor he with her. And as for this thing about being in love, she was growing awfully suspicious of it.
They had started the sex with him on top, then he lifted her over him so she was propped over his slim hips. If right then Unu were to tell her that he loved her—from passion or from reason—she would not have said it back. Not to be cruel, but because she wasn’t sure if love was a true and constant feeling. The next time Casey would utter those words, if ever, she wanted to say them with conviction and permanence. She missed Jay Currie, but she didn’t regret their breakup. And gradually, she did think about him less and less than before. Especially after she had met Unu. The heart seemed to her fickle or forgetful, or perhaps, in an uglier way, it was hidden with possible betrayals. Was love a decision, then? Regardless, in the alternative to this feeling called love—maybe respect, kindness, and pleasure between two bodies and minds having sex were the ideals worth shooting for. As she rocked her hips over his, Casey closed her eyes and tried not to think anymore.
Unu was trying to make sure that Casey climaxed before he did. Part of it was because it seemed expedient to make sure your lover was happy, but also he liked watching her. When she came, her forearms bent while her upper arms remained still, making sharp Vs, and for a second or two, her fingers would flutter delicately like the tapered wings of a dragonfly. On the oval of her face, was it first a quiet fear and then a visible relief? Her eyes would shut tightly for two or three more seconds, then open wide as if she were waking up from an absorbing dream. Then she’d shift her body to appease his.
When it ended, that awkward moment of separation arrived, then a kind of absurd shyness would follow. Casey wanted to shower. After, they’d go to the House of Wing for dinner. It was often sex before dinner, then sometimes again in the late evening. Then Casey would leave, always refusing to spend the night. In two months, they had developed comforting routines for their Saturday nights together.
They had a favorite restaurant—a cheap Chinese noodle house two blocks from his apartment where they ordered enough dishes to cover the laminated table.
“And how was Sabine’s today?” Unu asked.
Casey shrugged. She’d sold six hats, two scarves, and seven hair accessories. Two pairs of gloves. Buying Unu’s hat had wiped out all of her earnings for the day, however.
“Just sent off my first tuition check to NYU,” she said.
“Yeah?” Unu smiled, sensing she wasn’t fully happy about it.
“Sabine said that was—nice. Her word.” Sabine had not been impressed with Stern Business School at NYU. And Casey had never bothered to tell her that she’d been wait-listed to Columbia. In fact, she had made it seem as if she’d only gotten into NYU, which was technically true.
“It’s none of her business, Casey.”
“I lied to her.”
“It’s none of her business.”
“I could have told her about Columbia. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Sure you do.” Unu served her the tofu and spinach that she liked. “You didn’t want to be beholden.” He stressed the last word, making it sound even stranger than it was.