Oscar lay in bed, fully clothed, looking at the ceiling but not seeing the ceiling. He saw, instead, her simple, thin, gold chain-link necklace lazily bobbing with a rhythmic, steady gentleness on the waves of her heartbeat as blood pulsed through the major artery just below the lightly tanned smooth skin of her neck… Right there where the neck curves to join the shoulder, but…. Right there where that soft slightly sunken triangle bordered on the south by the collarbone and on the north by the trapezius…. Right there where babies lay their heads to nap in their mother’s arms…. Right there where, when it’s exposed, women seem simultaneously vulnerable as if laying themselves open to invasion but powerfully graceful in an honestly naked, commandingly feminine sort of…. Right there Oscar thought would be the perfect place for another nipple. That’s what Oscar saw as he lay there staring at the blank ceiling.
Additionally, it didn’t help that her scent – describing to Oscar’s imagination a lazy Caribbean afternoon, lying on a beach with your love lightly glazed with sweat, the surf breaking suggestively in the background, audible most times just below her deeply relaxed, confident, promising breath – stubbornly and arrogantly fixed to his white linen shirt, drifted sneakily up to his nostrils as if on a secret mission from God to slowly change the forces of his nature, perhaps of all nature, so that the sun rises in the west and the horizon curves up at the edges.
It was deep into the night before Oscar went to sleep, and when he did he dreamt that he was sitting at a formal linen-draped table in an uptown restaurant, candle-lit, with his love. A man in a blue, crisp, epauleted, military-looking uniform – clearly not their waiter – came to their table and, with an attitude usually assumed by bad-news-bearing, government sanctioned employees, gave Oscar a ticket – a sitation! – for being with a woman who was much smarter, highly evolved, better than he.