Chapter Twenty-one

No city thrilled Margo like New York. Whenever she landed at JFK she extended her layover by a day or two, enjoying a mini-vacation a couple times a month. Even after several years of these pilgrimages she never tired of the noise and the often surly New Yorkers, and since the city was ever-changing, there was always something to do. She frequented the off-Broadway plays, visited the traveling exhibits at the Met and usually detoured to Fifth Avenue for shopping.

She always came alone, never inviting her colleagues or friends to join her. She was comforted by her solitude, enjoying the new experiences without the obligation to share with a traveling companion. Most people couldn’t bear to see New York without someone else, but she couldn’t imagine it any other way. The little jaunts to New York were an injection, ones that she always anticipated.

As the train whirred through the stations, taking her closer to Greenwich Village, she smiled slightly, remembering her first visits when she’d study her map of the subway system, before she knew the stops by heart. It was all second nature to her now and she no longer looked like a tourist. She belonged.

The village was one of her favorite places, home to diversity and eclecticism. She could spend hours sitting at a cafe and people watching, amazed by their indifference to normalcy and their willingness to wear their self-esteem like a suit of armor. By the time she’d finished an espresso, she’d undoubtedly see hair colored any shade of the rainbow, transvestites on their way to work and behavior that, in any other U.S. city, would bring the cops. Once she’d seen two men, apparently in the heat of new love, go at it so hard against a streetlamp that she turned away in embarrassment.

The train stopped and more passengers flowed in and out of the cars. Three stops later she arrived at Fourteenth Street. As she climbed the steps, leaving the subterranean world and its interesting smells, the sunlight kissed her face and temporarily blinded her. She shielded her eyes and looked straight ahead at her destination, the Greenwich.

The old twelve-story building loomed over the corner of West Thirteenth Street and Sixth. She’d learned it was originally built in 1904, and converted to condominiums around the new millennium. From the outside it still resembled an office building with rows of parallel square windows cutting into the gray mortar. But she knew that the lofts inside commanded seven figures and the Greenwich was a premier real estate site, primarily because of its outstanding location at the heart of the village.

When Vonnie, the doorman, saw her approaching, he grinned broadly. “Ms. Margo, it’s a pleasure to see you again. You’re back rather quickly, ” he added, remembering that her last visit was only six weeks prior.

“The timing was right. How is she? ”

Vonnie’s smile crumpled, and he shook his head. She could always count on him to be honest and keep her informed. He’d even taken her cell number, promising to call her immediately if something terrible happened.

“She’s had a bad few weeks. Family’s been up twice, and she’s been to a string of doctors. I don’t know what it means, and you know how Rose is.”

She nodded. She did indeed. Rose never shared anything about her illness, unwilling to burden others with her pain and grief. “Damn thing’s already taking too much of my time, ” she’d told Margo. “I’m not handing over an extra second. ”

“Thanks, Vonnie, ” she said, crossing the lobby.

Yet, instead of heading immediately to the elevator, she slowed her footsteps as she realized she needed more time to collect her thoughts. She ducked into the powder room and dropped onto a chaise lounge, relieved that she was alone. She fumbled through her purse until she found the oak box and held the vial in her hand. She caressed the smooth glass, convincing herself that she was doing the right thing, that giving Rose the second vial wouldn’t make her sicker, or worse, kill her.

Rose Smith was as unassuming as her name. Margo had met her three years before on a flight from L.A. to New York. Originally, Margo was assigned to the coach seating, but at the last minute, Norma decided that Margo would oversee first class, and Rose was one of the nine call buzzers that she answered to for five hours.

She was accustomed to first class passengers who could be far more demanding than the common folk forced to sit in coach. It was not unusual for her to answer twenty different calls from one person in first class. She quickly learned why Norma had wanted to switch. A codependent, frequent-flying CEO and a recently discovered starlet drunk with her power over the service industry kept her moving for the first three hours.

When she finally had a moment to stop and catch her breath, she noticed a rather attractive dark-haired woman in her late twenties, reading a travel guide on Greece. Her doe eyes raced across the page, and she moved her lush lips just slightly as she read the words. She’d later learn her name was Rose.

She’d paid no attention to her during the first round of drinks, barely looking up from her notepad, her mind focused on appeasing the CEO who was legendary for his complaints to the airline. Rose sat unobtrusively in the last row nursing the same scotch Margo had originally served her.

“Excuse me, but I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

She nodded politely, blinking her soft brown eyes. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

If everyone could be as polite as you, she thought. Only then did she notice the walker leaning against the adjoining seat and the airline blanket that covered her legs. She hadn’t greeted the passengers in first class and hadn’t seen Rose board the aircraft. How well could she walk? The idea of someone so kind and polite being disabled tore at her heart.

“If you need any assistance, you know, with anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Rose must have heard the discomfort in her voice and smiled. “I’m fine, really. And despite my penchant for scotch, I’ve developed an iron bladder over the years. It’s just too hard to maneuver in and out of those postage stamp-sized lavatories.”

She laughed and instantly felt it was inappropriate. Would Rose think she was mocking her disability?

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Why not? ” Rose asked indignantly. “That was a joke. It was a funny joke with a central metaphor. I would be upset if you didn’t laugh.”

“Then, I’m glad I did.”

Although Rose didn’t press the call button for the remainder of the flight, Margo periodically glanced in her direction, fascinated by her humor and wit. Each time the picture was the same—Rose’s face buried in the travel book, clearly fascinated by what she was learning.

When the plane landed, she assumed her station at the front, greeting each passenger as he or she exited. She noticed Rose waited until everyone on the plane, including the coach passengers, had debarked. Only then did she move the walker into the aisle, pull herself up against the headrest in front of her seat and slip on her backpack.

She automatically went to her side, but Rose was shaking her head.

“Don’t you dare offer to help me. I’m perfectly capable of exiting a plane, except perhaps in the event of an emergency landing. In that case, you may save my sorry ass.”

Again she laughed as Rose stepped into the walker and slowly pattered down the aisle. She’s right. She’s obviously done this before, although she walks like a ninety-year-old woman. She remained at the back of first class, watching her progress, trying to stay out of the way.

When she reached the very front, she turned slightly and said, “So, have you been to a lot of places? ”

“Yes, I’ve been to every city where we fly.”

“Do they ever let you off this toothpaste tube or do you have to sleep in the jump seat? ”

She stifled a chuckle. “No, we have a layover. Actually, I’m here for a few more days to see the sites. I love New York.”

Rose smiled, and although she was still several feet away, she thought she saw tears welling in her eyes.

“I love it, too. I’d never leave if I didn’t have to, but…”

Her voice trailed off in sadness, and Margo sensed her trip to

L.A. hadn’t been pleasurable. She assumed it had something to do with the walker, for what else could a bright, attractive young woman have to be sad about?

“Listen, I’m getting some food from Zabar’s and pigging out at my condo. I’ll bet it beats whatever you can afford on the lousy per diem they’re paying you. Wanna come? ”

She’d readily agreed, curious to learn about Rose Smith. They had spent most of the night eating scrumptious meat and cheeses and drinking a French wine that she could never afford. Rose had insisted on opening with a synopsis of her life story.

“If I don’t explain my injury and my wealth, you won’t hear another thing I say. And I really don’t want to talk about my biography. I want to know what it’s like to travel the world, and I want you to describe the Eiffel Tower and the Taj Mahal. Fair enough? ”

It had been more than fair. Margo learned Rose’s family was incredibly wealthy but all the money couldn’t stop the illness that was ravaging her body. She’d been disabled in a terrible car accident and suffered from several complications that brought on a multitude of complications that she couldn’t pronounce and didn’t care about.

She often traveled to L.A. to visit a specialist, but her life was primarily confined to the walls of her expensive loft, which at least afforded her an extraordinary view of New York.

Trips to the Greenwich became a habit for Margo whenever she visited New York. She brought pictures of where she’d visited and recounted the unique beauty of the wonderful cities around the world. Rose would listen with her eyes closed, and, once she’d created the entire picture in her head, her eyes would fly open and she’d rifle another ten questions. It was an exhausting exercise, but one Margo was glad to endure for her new friend.

They were so much alike, a stark difference from Grace and herself. And while Grace would always hold the position of best friend in her life, there was a connection with Rose that she could never duplicate. And for the longest time she ignored that connection, refusing to acknowledge that she’d fallen in love with a sickly woman nearly twenty years her junior.

When she finally told her how she felt, Rose simply nodded. “Of course, I knew that. You mean you’re just figuring it out? ”

She was stunned. “You knew I loved you? Do you love me? ”

Rose stirred her tea and stared at the table. “Margo, I’m only going to say this once, so I need you to listen very carefully. God is indeed cruel. If he wasn’t, he never would have placed us on that plane together that day, given my medical history and our natural chemistry.” She looked up and took a deep breath before she continued. “Unlike you, I’ve thought about this for months—years. I’ve spent hours planning this speech, for the time when you finally saw the truth. I know you’re just realizing all of this now, so it’s not even fair, but I’ve already decided for both of us.”

“What does that mean? ” she interjected.

“It means that while I love you, and I believe you love me, our love has… limitations. You know I can never be sexual with you, and I know you are extremely physical. It’s a need for you. I want you to promise me that you will continue to take lovers and that you will tell no one of our feelings for each other, not even Grace.”

She’d been stunned. “Why not? ”

“Our love is doomed, ” Rose whispered. “You know that. And I will not be subjected to well-intentioned dinners with your friends or the pitying looks of your family when you take your girlfriend home to meet them. I just can’t do it.” She paused and stared into her eyes. “You must continue as though there is nothing between us. Lead your wanton life and regale me with your escapades. It’s how I’ll finish my life and know that you’ll continue with yours when I’m gone.”

Rose’s speech had moved her. It was so eloquent and honest. She’d simply nodded and abided by her wishes. They’d never spoken of it again.

Over the last six months, though, when she called, Rose was either in L.A., or she wasn’t feeling well enough for a visit. She could no longer walk, restricted to a wheelchair, and Margo imagined her time with Rose was finite, and any visit could be the last. She wanted to give her something amazing, but she didn’t want to violate the agreements they’d made. The Root of Passion was so unexpected and outside the realm of possibility that she hoped Rose might see the value.

A knock on the door erased her thoughts. Vonnie stuck his head around the corner. “Margo, are you okay? You’ve been in here a long time and I just wanted to check on you. Is there anything I can get you? Should I call Miss Rose? ”

“No, no, ” she said quickly. “I was just putting on my face. I’m ready now.”

She jumped up and allowed him to hold the door for her as she went to the elevators. How will you explain this to Rose?

She planned her speech on the ride up to the twelfth floor, a passionate plea full of wit and emotion. If she’d learned anything over the last few years, it was the gentle persuasion tactics that appealed to Rose and gave Margo what she wanted—namely, a physical connection with Rose. After they’d declared their love, it took three months before Rose agreed to kiss her, and another two months before she believed that Margo desired her, wanted to give her as much sexual gratification as possible, at least from the waist up. And, as she suspected, Rose’s greatest joy came from pleasuring her and listening to her moans of ecstasy.

The Rose who greeted her at the door was almost a stranger. She’d lost more weight and her cheeks were hollow. Although she’d always looked older than her twenty-eight years, the skin hung so loosely on her body that Margo wouldn’t have been able to guess her age if they’d been strangers.

She hid her shock immediately and leaned over the wheelchair for a kiss. “Darling, I’ve missed you.”

Their lips touched and she felt her knees go weak. Rose’s lips were always luscious, and when she closed her eyes she imagined a different Rose, a strong, beautiful Rose that matched those lips.

“I’m not up for much, ” Rose said wearily. “I sent my newest aide to the store so we could be alone for awhile.”

Margo wheeled her into the living room and busied herself preparing their tea. It was a ritual that dated back to their first meeting, one that never changed.

“What happened to the woman who was here when I visited before? ”

Rose shook her head. “I couldn’t stand her. She spent every moment on her iPod and chomping on gum. She was totally worthless.”

She said nothing, but she was surprised at Rose’s judgment. It was unusual for her to be so caustic. “Is this one any better? ”

“Quite. She’s an older lady who’s had much experience with the nearly dead.” Margo shot her a glance and she shrugged. “I’m sorry, darling, but it’s a fact.”

She brought the tea and faced her. If she didn’t recite her speech soon, she’d lose her nerve. “I’ve accepted the fact that I can’t control the future and what’s inevitable, but I think I’ve found a way to control the moment and give you—us—a gift.”

“What are you talking about? ”

She dug through her purse and held out the box. “I have a present for you.”

Rose opened it and her expression grew quizzical as she examined the vial and the lavender liquid. “What’s this? ”

“It’s called the Root of Passion. A few swallows and you’re sexual energy is free. I never would have believed it could work, but I’ve been conducting my own clinical study on a few other people and I’m a believer.”

Rose laughed heartily. “Oh, Margo, dear, have you totally lost it? You’re telling me that you believe in magic potions? ”

“Watch, ” she said, as she shook the vial. On cue, the lavender separated into its red and blue bases.

“My God, honey, where in hell did you get this? Is this some kind of sick joke? ”

She took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s not. I can’t explain it. I bought it in Rio and I’ve seen its effects. It can help us, honey.”

Skepticism was all over her face. “Help us do what? ”

She stared into her eyes. “I want you to have an orgasm. I want us to make love, and I want you to be completely and totally satisfied.”

Her shoulders sank and she seemed to shrink into the wheelchair. “Why, Margo? Why are you doing this? Isn’t it enough? I thought what we had was enough for you.”

“It is enough for me, honey, but this is about you. It’s what I want to give you.”

Rose set her tea down and wheeled out of the room. She knew she’d upset her, but she didn’t understand why. She found her in her bedroom, facing the door, crying.

“Honey, what’s wrong? ”

“I know you say this is for me, but it’s really for you. It’ll mean that you can finally get the sick girl off. The one that got away, the one who never cried out, ‘Margo! ’ during the throes of passion. It will mean that you have done the impossible—”

“Stop! How dare you treat me this way? I’d do anything for you. I have done everything you’ve asked. I’ve denied our love to everyone who matters to me. I’ve allowed all of my co-workers to think I’m nothing but a shallow slut, incapable of finding lasting love. I’ve listened to my friends talk about the amazing people in their lives, unable to tell them that I’ve actually met someone who’s better than anyone they could ever know.”

She knelt in front of Rose, holding up the vial. It hadn’t been the speech she’d planned, but from the surprised look on Rose’s face, she’d made her point. Rose took the vial and stared into her eyes.

“I’d never hurt you, ” Margo whispered.

Rose flipped off the cork and threw back her head. Margo watched the Root of Passion trail out the vial and slide between her incredible lips. When the contents were gone, she leaned forward and her body shook spastically.

“Rose! What’s wrong? ” Margo held her arms while her head flailed from side to side. “Oh, my God! ”

Suddenly, Rose’s body froze, and she grinned. “Just kidding.”

“I’m going to kill you myself, ” she said slowly. “That was an awful trick, ” she added, pulling away from Rose. She was incredibly angry—at Rose and herself. What if the potion harmed her? It was too late to undo what she’d done.

She sat on Rose’s bed and buried her face in her hands. Rose was right. She was selfish, rationalizing that if they had sex, Rose would be so grateful and enlightened.

“Margo? ”

Unable to look at her, she headed for the door. “I’m going to go. I’m sorry. I’ll call you next week.”

“Margo, wait. Please don’t leave. We don’t have time for dramatic exits. There may not be another visit, and truthfully, what if I’m not around to get your call next week? ” She chuckled and said, “Then you’d feel really shitty.”

Margo smiled slightly and gazed into the soft brown eyes she loved. “I would. I’d hate myself for wasting our precious time.”

“And it is precious.” Rose glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. “Now we only have another forty-five minutes or so before my babysitter returns. I sent her to eight different stores, but she’s terribly efficient and can’t take a hint. We need to be naked and under these covers now. ”

In less than a minute, Margo had shed her clothes and helped Rose into bed. Their lips immediately erased the six weeks of absence, and Rose cupped her breasts.

“I’m sorry your little potion didn’t work, darling, but you’ll be happy to know I still find you terribly attractive.”

“Thank God, ” Margo gasped, as Rose’s teeth pulled gently on her nipple.

She let Rose take the lead, repositioning herself occasionally to give her full access to her body.

“Is it a little warm in here? ” Rose asked as Margo hovered over her, her center glistening in desire.

“I know where it’s a little warm, ” Margo said.

Rose nestled her tongue against the folds of her labia, exploring, caressing and sucking just enough to keep her at the brink of climax.

“Now, honey, please, ” she whimpered.

“I’m not ready to let you go yet, ” Rose stated plainly.

“I don’t think I can wait.”

Rose licked her clitoris and slid her finger deep inside. They found a rhythm, and Margo fought against the orgasm suffocating her body, wanting to savor the incredible feeling for as long as possible.

“Keep going, ” she groaned. “Don’t stop.”

“You’ll come when I tell you to come, ” Rose hissed. “And I want you to come now.”

She pressed her hand against Margo’s pelvis, and it threw her over the edge into a chasm of pleasure. When she stopped trembling, she fell into Rose’s arms and kissed her gently.

“I love your power over me. You make me feel so good.”

To return the favor, she climbed on top of Rose, trailing kisses down her neck and over her breasts. Out of sheer habit, she spread her legs and massaged her thighs. Although Rose had no sensation below her waist, it was a standard move in Margo’s repertoire of lovemaking, and Rose certainly didn’t mind. In fact, what Margo didn’t share was that Rose was frequently wet between her legs, her body responding to the sex despite the lack of nerve endings that would have allowed her to enjoy it.

“More, ” Rose said. “I want more.”

She was surprised. Rose rarely said anything while she pleasured her. Most of the time she assumed Rose was humoring her and feigning enjoyment.

“What else do you want me to do, baby? ”

Her face contorted into a painful expression, and she grabbed her head. “I don’t know. Something. Anything. Figure it out! ”

She froze. Never had Rose been this way. She immediately brought her lips to Rose’s and massaged her arms.

“Against me. Press yourself against me, ” Rose said, in a commanding voice. “I want your clit against mine.”

She obliged, allowing her full weight to rest against Rose’s frail little body. The act aroused her again, and she blanched at the idea of having a second orgasm when Rose couldn’t have one.

Quick little gasps escaped Rose’s lips, and her eyes seemed to focus on something far away. She wasn’t looking at Margo. “Harder, ” she said. “Harder, darling! ”

Margo slowly ground her hips in a circle, and just as she was about to roll off Rose, convinced she was hurting her, a tiny cry broke through her lips, and then she was sobbing.

“What have I done? Darling, are you all right? ”

Rose didn’t answer, but her sobs turned into wails.

Margo jumped off the bed, not knowing what to do. She reached for the phone and was about to press nine-one-one when Rose waved her back to the bed.

“No, darling. Don’t. I’m not hurt.”

She took Margo’s hands and kissed them, rubbing them against her wet cheeks. When she looked up, she was laughing. Margo’s expression must have been total shock, for she leaned over and kissed her.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. I really need to thank you and your little potion. Sweetheart, I just had an orgasm! ”