Free Addie Combo by Tareka Watson

throat and look around at the picturesque boulevard, flickering lights coiled
around the palm trees’ trunks and fronds. “It’s so beautiful,” I say, testing his reaction.
He says, “You’re the most beautiful thing here,” and we share a little kiss.
But nothing more.
So I say, “I always thought I’d live by the water someday; a little place on the Colorado
River maybe, or a beach house in New England.” I let a little pause slip by, but neither of us has
any words to fill it.
Don’t do it, Addie, I’m begging you!
I say, “But now I realize; it’s only water, right? I mean, what matters is who you’re with, not
where you are.”
One more word, Addie, and I’ll never forgive you, I promise I won’t!
Still no answer from Randolph. And I can’t just cling to his arm and say nothing.
Of course you can , I urge myself.
    But I don’t. It amazes even me, as if I’m not in control of my body or my brain as I sit and
watch myself say, “And I think I know who I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.”
No, oh no...
“A man who’s looking for the same things,” I say, “a man who’s been hurt and is afraid to
try again ... ”
Shut up shut up shut up, you idiot!
“A man who seems to have everything, except for this one thing, the only thing that means
anything to him.”
I stop walking and turn. He stops too, looking deep into my eyes.
Now you’ve done it, I imagine that voice saying.
Then he kisses me, with the passion he reserves for our moments in private, our most heated
and sensual exchanges. He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me; our faces pressing
against one another, desperate to interconnect, to become one.
You see? I chide myself. No need for all that worry, that wonder, that trepidation. The mind
wonders, but the heart knows! And when it knows, you better stand back, because it’s going to
be fireworks!
Okay, my inner skeptic allows. I just hope you don’t get burned too badly. ♡
The next few weeks go by with a strange tenor. It’s true, Randolph and I are both very busy.
He helps me through the escrow on the Florida house, and even sets up one of his so-called spies
to oversee the rehab and the rental, for what he insists is a very reasonable fee. “It’s a lot
cheaper than flying out to that sauna every two months,” Randolph says, and I know he’s right.
We spend Christmas in Las Vegas. I’ve never been, and it’s a better choice than flying to
Colorado to visit my family, which Randolph suggests.
So we get a huge suite at the Venetian and spend a few days in the rattling clamor of the
casinos, braving the gusty winds to see Elton John do a special holiday concert at the Hard Rock
Hotel.
Once the new year begins, things settle quickly; like dust. Randolph is involved with a
variety of things in the meantime, including hiring another personal assistant. “It just doesn’t
feel right,” he explains, “you’re above that kind of position now.”
“Also,” I point out, “you don’t want to be sleeping with your assistant.”
“No, right, yes, exactly. It would be demeaning to you, that’s my concern.”
It’s hard to argue with that, even though I am pretty happy with the job; learning a lot and
spending time with the man I love. But I am glad that, once again, Randolph is showing concern
for me; for my feelings and for my future. That’s a rare thing in my experience, so I’m more
grateful than I am skeptical.
But it means we’re spending less time together, and the time we do share seems clouded by
some vague tension, something that’s indescribably different.
I told you not to force the issue back in Florida, I tell myself. That was too much, too soon!
What, too much too soon? I silently counter. We’re lovers. Somebody had to make a move.
And these are modern times. It’s up to women as much as men these days; to earn a living, to
start a family.
The best of both worlds.
But there is something wrong; in our bed, in our lives, in