Short Stories About Us

By Carine Fabius

If world peace is the dish we want to create, romantic relationships serve as cauldron, where the ingredients for meaningful interaction first come together.

While Short Stories About Us does not pretend to advance the cause of world peace, it does present another opportunity for people to learn about themselves and fellow planetary travelers through the prism of issues explored in this multicultural stew of stories and discussion pieces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543977066

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Stories

Future Love

So, what about this cloning business?

It was the third time he’d asked since they’d started secretly meeting for lunch to stare at each other, steal the occasional kiss, and indulge in fleeting caresses. Over the months that now crept toward a year, they had sometimes met for drinks too, often in dimly lit South Beach hotel bars and lounges with fireplaces. They chose banquettes whenever they could, which allowed them to inch closer together instead of sitting a world away across a table.

The woman would never leave her husband, whom she loved and still desired after 12 years. She hoped to grow old with him and, with luck, experience simultaneous death—perhaps in an accident of some sort. That way they might each be spared the anguish of being without the other. But still, she desired this forbidden man in a way that left her breathless.

Upon meeting the woman, the lover experienced palpable understanding of the term struck by lightning. Le coup de foudre, the French called it. A widower and solitary man who’d given up hope of ever falling in love again, he found her alluring, irresistible, and fun. Conversations with her weaved and flowed as if dipped in fresh air. Her voluminous black hair cascaded in waves beneath her dark-chocolate shoulders that seemed charged with a fiery glow. She electrified him. And that body! She was a Cuban Anita Ekberg, the bombshell star of La Dolce Vita, whose beauty and sensuality had stunned audiences of the Fellini film. Born in the United States to Latin-American families—hers from the Afro-Caribbean city of Santiago de Cuba, his from Buenos Aires, Argentina—they both identified as Americans; but you would never know it to hear them mimic the heavily accented English of their grandparents, a game they played for their mutual amusement.

Ju know, ju English eez so perfecto, I no want open my mouth!

Ay, no, mi amor, my English eez no good. I must to learn better!

You’re hilarious.

"No, you’re hilarious!"

Moreover, they shared an unlikely interest in whitewater canoeing and foreign romantic comedies. How could she be married? What terrible fate had drawn him to her? For the thousandth time he pondered the question, as he fantasized about her while lying in his empty bed. Wonder if I’ll ever sleep again. The thought of what might happen should the woman ever leave her husband both filled him with elation and paralyzed him with fear. What guilt he would suffer! He had met her good-looking, chestnut-haired Anglo husband several times when their canoeing group hosted get-togethers that included spouses. A good and dynamic man, the husband clearly adored his wife. No way would the lover ever want to be that kind of homewrecker. But God, he wanted her—so much so that the ache in his tissues and bones cried out for relief.

They had tried numerous times, and in different ways, to stop the train, but their attempts invariably ended in spectacular failure. He left the country for business, staying away several extra weeks just to try to forget the woman; but her presence remained, haunting his every thought—how no other compared to her; the way her body would look in the dress in that shop window; and her crazy-beautiful face. She’d probably get him to laugh right now, even though he felt so damn blue.

And the woman, try as she might, could not expunge from her mind the picture of his giant shoulders, which enveloped her like velvety fog; his penetrating black gaze and tiny scar near the right eye; the way he shook his head when looking at her, as if dazed that a creature such as she could exist. The thought of him intoxicated her. She’d finally called him from her office to say hello, but their conversation only served to speed the train ever closer to mutual obsession.

No matter how I try, I can’t keep myself from you. What can I do? the woman said. I heard that line in one of Samantha Natalie’s songs the other day—you know that pop star from Peru or Colombia?—and it made me think of you.

I’m glad you called. It’s so good to hear your voice, he said.

But I’m not helping, am I? I’m sorry.

Don’t be sorry. Staying away isn’t helping much. All I do is think about you.

Me too. Are you ever coming back?

I’m due back next week for a conference.

Really?

Yes.

Weren’t you going to tell me?

Of course, I was. I can’t not see you if I’m in town.

How long will you be here?

Depends on what happens at the conference. It may be three days or, if I get offered the position, I may stay. But that might be too difficult for me.

I hate to think that this thing between us might affect where you choose to live. Maybe we shouldn’t see each other.

Is that what you want?

No, I’m dying to see you, but my life hasn’t changed. I’m still a happily married woman.

How is that possible, if, as you say, you think about me all the time?

It’s strange, but this intense desire for you doesn’t impact the way I feel about him; still, I miss you, miss you, miss you so much….

Do you think about me at all when you make love with him?

You do flit through my mind sometimes, but mostly not. When I’m with him, I’m with him. I know you don’t want to hear that. But if we’re serious about ending this, there are hard truths that must be said out loud sometimes, she said, pounding her desk for emphasis. Look, just tell me not to call you again and I will respect that. Or better yet, it’s clear that I’m the one who has to take the step. I’m the married woman who won’t leave her husband, and you’ve been really good, so disciplined. You haven’t called at all, and I’m so weak. I’m being selfish, and I’m sorry. I won’t call again.

Maybe it’s best.

•••

Though he could have beamed the thought to her via youThink technology, they enjoyed old-school communication. Two days later, he sent her a message asking how she was doing, which started a round of emails that lasted two days.

Maybe we shouldn’t be emailing either, she suggested.

Okay, he said, you’re probably right.

And then he texted her the next day: "Hey caliente, are you around?"

Yes, where are you?

Back in town, in my house.

Do you want to see me?

More than ever.

That was the day it happened. After months of avoiding being alone together, they’d finally made love—supercharged and explosive love. You couldn’t call it sex because, by then, they were in each other’s hearts. She was surprised at herself for having given in. He apologized for not holding back. They swore never to do it again.

And then she texted him: Are we allowed to talk? Or would you prefer no contact?

I want full contact, he texted back. Can you meet me for lunch?

And so the mad but satisfying, longing-filled lunches had started right back where they’d left off.

I worry that, because of me, you’re not staying open to meeting other women, she said to him one day.

No, I’m open, he said. It’s just that you’re a tough act to follow.

There are lots of terrific women out there. Are you really looking?

I am. I even went on a date last night.

And? she said, feeling a surge of joy for him, even as she experienced a lurch in the pit of her belly.

I liked her, and I’m pretty sure she liked me. Beautiful woman, very pleasant evening.

Are you going to see her again?

Not sure…maybe…I think so.

Good man! she said, and meant it. I would be so happy for you to fall in love. That’s the only way this thing with us is going to stop.

Won’t you get jealous?

Probably. It would be hard to see you with someone else, but hey, I don’t have to see you. And if you’re in love, you won’t think about me so much; and I’ll go back to living my life, and maybe someday—although we’ll probably always be attracted to each other—we can be friends. Friends who don’t grope each other!

Life seemed full of hope that day.

A couple of weeks later, they met again for lunch. The woman and the lover sat across from each other, staring into each other’s eyes for a long time, smiling and enjoying the view; and then he said:

So, what about this cloning business?

She laughed. Not this again!

Why not? You’re everything I want, and I can never have you.

But how would it work? she said. If I tell my husband that I want to give you permission to clone me, he wouldn’t go for it. I think he likes the idea of having me to himself, she added, looking down at the table. Not only that, it would arouse his suspicion. He’ll want to know why I would even consider it.

What if he didn’t know?

How could he not?

I could move away and agree never to come back to the States, at least never with her. I have enough going on overseas; it wouldn’t be impossible. China’s been calling with an attractive offer.

I don’t know about this. And wouldn’t the clone have my husband in her memory bank and come to miss him?

I’ll have to find out if there are certain memories that can be erased. But if not, you’ve always said your dream fantasy is to have us both!

Yes! If we can clone each other, and gays can now procreate like heterosexuals, when are the Religious Soldiers going to give in on the issue of polygamy?

Forget the Soldiers, how about your husband? He would never agree to it.

Would you if you were in his place?

Probably not. I’m not that evolved.

I don’t know if I’m all that evolved. I think it’s called wanting to have your cake and eat it too. In any case, it would be best if my clone didn’t know about him, maybe not even about me.

A blank-slate clone?

Would you really be happy with that? I thought it wasn’t just my body you loved, but the whole package.

Well, if I can’t have the whole package, I’ll take the physical one to start with, and take my chances.

You dog, she said, punching him in the arm.

Five years earlier, after decades of controversy, protests, sit-ins, and violence against scientists in the field, human cloning had become legal in the U.S. People had not started cloning themselves in droves, but here and there, one could follow accounts in the news of a mother with multiple offspring, who had cloned herself just to make life easier. Several men had done it too, in order to increase their earning power. The CEO of the nation’s biggest bank now had his exact replica working with him, side by side, in the same office, inevitably spawning a rash of jokes about the horror of armies of bankers populating the earth, swelling the runaway greed factor to the outer limits. But aside from the occasional news stream splayed into people’s minds via MYimplants about clonings-gone-bad, the results so far had been surprisingly problem-free. And there seemed to be no end to how far things could go. Just last year, scientists had figured out how to accelerate the cellular and molecular aging process so that a mere month was all the time it took to go from nucleus to fully formed adult.

Six months after their conversation, nothing had changed to alter the paramours’ conundrum. The woman still loved her husband and their life together. He still turned her on in that unexpected way he had of being sexynastyobscene in the sack! The mere thought of it brought a sinful smile to her face. Yet, inexplicably, she continued to cherish and desire the lover; and he had grown even crazier about her. They didn’t know whether they were simply lucky, or rewarded by some forgiving god for being restrained enough to avoid more sexual encounters, but the woman’s husband never learned of his wife’s emotional connection and powerful attraction to the lover. Given her conflicting feelings for the two men in her life, she questioned for the hundredth time the plausibility of lifelong monogamy, that holy grail of matrimony, which so often perished on the altar of good faith. But she knew that infidelity, once revealed, would inevitably alter the dynamic in any relationship. And so, it nagged at her that her lover had not moved on, and would never be happy with the frustrating situation, as it now existed.

In their last exchange, he had implied that the lack of physical contact with her was wearing him down. "I need to feel your naked body in my bed," he’d said without a hint of humor. For two reasons, his declaration unnerved her: his urgent desire aroused her more than ever; and for the first time, she was witnessing a little-seen side of him that bespoke a raw, demanding, and vaguely dangerous edge.

Let me ask you this, he’d added. If you weren’t married, would you consider being with me? The heretofore unspoken subject now quivered between them like a shot arrow that had hit its mark, and she fell speechless. The truth was that she didn’t know. She’d never thought it through, because the idea of being with someone other than her husband scared her to death.

She wanted the lover to find joy. He needed to fall in love with someone else, but that didn’t seem to be in the stars. And as long as he remained untethered, she found it impossible to resist him. Moreover, there was the dishonesty in her marriage. So many omissions must, by now, amount to the biggest lie ever told! Things were shifting. If this were a movie, she thought, now would come the part where he kills my husband. It had to stop. And yet, she had reached this conclusion too many times to trust herself once more.

She began to consider his cloning request in earnest.

Two weeks later she called him to set up a lunch date. After arriving uncharacteristically early at the unassuming Cuban café tucked inside a mini mall, she chose a table by the window in order to observe his arrival. The aroma of strong espresso coffee permeated the very walls of this place, and she ordered Miami’s signature drink while waiting. When she saw his navy blue Audi pull in, she smiled, and then smiled some more as he exited the car and strode toward her like a jaguar on home turf. His strong, fit thighs in a pair of casual blue jeans hung on him just right, reminding her of an insouciant rock star. He spied her and waved, smiling. She stood up to greet him, and he hugged her tight.

This crazy heat serves you well, he said. You look great.

You too, she said.

I like your T-shirt, he said, narrowing his eyes to take her in, his head shaking slowly. Gorgeous woman….

I have something for you, she said, reaching into her purse. Pulling out a small glass vial marked SALIVA, she handed it to him with a signed postcard on which she’d scrawled, Permission to clone.

•••

She had not thought about her old lover for quite some time, but today the feeling was strong. Four years had passed since their final rendezvous but today she’d woken with his voice in her head, the way he laughed, his dancing Argentinian eyes. It had taken a good long while to get over him, not talking with him, not sharing her adventures with him. Her husband did not take to her passion for whitewater rafting, nor did any of her friends, and she had missed the easy friendship as much as the sexual magnetism that had drawn them together. But time had done its work, and gradually, his punishing absence had metamorphosed into blurry, watercolor memories.

As promised, the lover had left for shores unknown, no forwarding address provided. They’d agreed never to contact each other again, and they’d kept their word. She never regretted the special time they’d had together, and she’d gone back to her happy life, relieved to be able to devote herself once more to her warm and affectionate husband, who cherished her and treated her like a prized possession. The woman considered herself blessed and fortunate to have such a beautiful life. Gratitude vaster than the sky.

Their old mattress inched toward the ten-year mark, and she and her husband had chosen this Thursday evening to investigate the specialty store that almost dictated an overnight stay for the journey required to get there. Tucked away on the 4th floor of a massive mall, the store was finally within their sight; but the woman stopped abruptly in her tracks at the sight of the two people who now approached them. Though she wanted to run, she couldn’t because her husband had frozen in place too. His breath came out in harsh, dry spurts. Right there, among a dozen or so shoppers, clueless as to the massive earthquake now rumbling through the foundation of the couple’s marriage, the woman’s clone and her former lover advanced. And then they spotted them. They stopped mid-track for few awful moments, and then drew closer. The clone looked aghast, the lover stricken.

I guess we have some explaining to do, her former lover said after a long silence.

The woman and her clone examined each other.

I’m here because of you, said the clone.

Stunned into silence, the woman continued staring at her double.

The two were identical in every way down to the unusual, coppery-black skin tone. The clone’s outfit could have come right out of the woman’s closet.

I guess it’s been a while since you lived here, the husband said to the lover. It never occurred to me to ask where you disappeared to. I guess I wasn’t supposed to find out about this arrangement. I have to admit I’m startled.

I never meant to come back. I never meant for you to know. This was supposed to be an overnight trip on our way to Argentina. I thought I chose an area that was far enough away from where you live….

Turning to his wife, the husband said, Why didn’t you ever tell me, or maybe discuss it with me?

I think we need to have a private conversation, she said.

She turned back to look at her old lover, whose eyes beseeched her forgiveness.

Are you two happy? she asked them.

They both nodded slowly, he with resolve, the clone with a bit of fear. Consternation played large on her features as she turned to look at the lover.

"Excuse