Free Bliss by Danyel Smith

to act drunk. Ron had seen Eva run shows and close deals after having had more.
    “You have some other shit,” Eva said slowly, “you could be doing.”
    “Put them shoes on for me.” Ron returned to his chair. “Showing all that ass, all that leg tonight. Put the shoes on, Evey Put ’em on. Show Daddy your talent, baby. Come on.”
    Eva took tiny sips of the drink he’d prepared for her.
He can make himself sound tender, saying the ridiculous things he says
. She reveled in the familiarity of her and Ron’s situation.
    The shoes were right by the bed. She could already see her toes spread in them—nails lacquered a near-white pink, a shiny amplification of their natural state. Strap around the ankle, dainty-looking but resilient. It was how Eva liked to think of herself, or, more exactly, the merge of those qualities was something Eva admired in other women. In her woozy mind Eva saw her legs lengthened by the mile-high heels, ass set up high and hung, it would seem when she had the shoes on, like a halved plum from her lower back. Quads tight, hams loose, knees locked. Soles of her breasts brushing her ribs, but still firm enough to
bounce—
    Yeah … Rock … Skate … Name of song??? Can’t remember. Can’t remember group or album or date of release. I am … gone. I am happy I am sad. I want to dance I want to lay down
.
    Eva was drunk.
    There’s a difference between high and drunk and I’m high
.
    She touched the strap of one shoe, and then paused.
Ask me some more
.
    “Don’t stop, Eva. Stand up when you put ’em on. With your back to me. Don’t bend your knees. Don’t mess up my picture.”
    Eva almost fell over.
Roll … Bounce
…
    Heated through and wobbly, she gloried in doing what she was told. Eva walked over with the short terry robe open, and their bash began. From her knees they kissed, each pickled mouth opening wide, then wider. Ron stopped mauling Eva’s body long enough tohold out a bracelet. A black leather cord drawn through a wooden plaque the size of a paper clip. The inches between Ron and Eva were already humid and fragrant with the successful sex they always had.
    The bracelet stopped Eva. She dropped back, sat on her butt, and looked at it. On one side, half an orange sun against a minuscule rosy blue sky. On the other side, another half-sun, the tiny skies darkly maroon.
    “Where’d you find it? I mean. Thank you.”
    “I found it is all you need to worry about.”
    Eva slid the bracelet on her wrist.
It’s personal
, she thought with relief,
to me
. Her damp bath towel already on the floor, she quickly spread it. Down near the spilled flowers Ron tried to push Eva through the floor. She clawed at the towel, relished the pressure of Ron’s weight, smashing her flatter and flatter.
    “You know I hate you.” Eva said it like she was telling him she wanted him to stay inside her for hours.
    Ron’s raised himself up and locked his elbows. He kept moving inside her to the slow march tempo that could often make her come. “Don’t hate me.” His words were slurred.
    “But I do.”
    “Just love me,” he said all lushy then bent his arms and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Love me, Princess Eva, for a change.”
    Her elbows burned against the magic carpet. She raked her nails through it. It was flying, she was flying through a balmy never-never land where there was no need, no desire to embrace or be embraced, coo or be cooed at, no need to utter anything except satisfying, sentence-long tantrums that masqueraded magnificently as praise. Eva loved drunken sex. The act was intensified, the weak spots glossed over, and the words strong and without meaning.
    I wanna sex you up
. Color Me Badd, soundtrack to the motion picture
New Jack City
, 1991. Eva’s brain was cranking back up. It happened when her buzz faded even a little bit.
    Back-to-back, Eva sexed up Dart and Ron. No-
tor
-ee-us.
    Eva pulsed. She and Ron were getting to the place they both wanted to go.
    Yes.