The Saving Graces by Patricia Gaffney Read Free Book Online Page A

great, wait till Curtis hears about this," and as soon as she said Curtis, I woke up and started shaking.
I could see the outline of his shoulder under the quilt, his back turned to me. I stared and stared, watching him breathe in and out, so frightened that somehow he knew what I'd dreamed and he was only pretending to be asleep. It didn't mean anything, I wanted to tell him. Don't be sad, it didn't mean anything, I love only you.
But, of course, the longer I stared, the more I woke up, and after a little while I slipped my arm around his waist and pressed up against him. And then I was safe.
But-should I tell Eric about this dream? At least he would know what it means. I could never tell Curtis, oh God, never. The sex wasn't even any good. If that makes a difference. In fact, it was better watching it than doing it. It meant something else besides sex, I'm sure, control or domination, maybe even love. Why is it that sex in dreams never seems to really mean sex? Like the death card in the Tarot never means death. Or so they always tell you. But was my dream a dream about what I want or what I fear? Or both?
I don't know, I don't know. But then, I never know anything. Once Eric said, "Rudy, what is the worst that could happen if you had a strong opinion about something and you were wrong?" But I don't think that's it, quite. I don't fear being wrong, I'm wrong all the time, ask Curtis. It's that- if you pick one thing to believe, you eliminate all the others. So it's not fair. Why choose, then? It's better, it's gentler not to. And also, it's important to leave yourself room to escape, always make sure there's a way out. Always have a hiding place.
No, I've decided. I'm not telling anyone about this dream. Eric is fascinated by the Saving Graces. Whenever he gets glassy-eyed because I'm droning on about something that bores him, I can always wake him up by mentioning them. I think there's something sexual going on. He would probably deny it, but if you ask me, my therapist not only likes hearing about the Saving Graces, he wouldn't mind sleeping with them, too. All of us, all at the same time.
Not that he would, of course, even if he could. Nobody's straighter than Eric. But deep, deep down in that noble unconscious, I'm pretty sure old Eric would like to shag us all.
"What do the Graces look like?" he asked me once. "What does Emma look like?" "Oh, she's beautiful. I think-she doesn't, she thinks she's fat. She has reddish hair and white, white Irish skin that freckles in the summer and turns pink when she blushes-she can't hide anything. She tries to look cool all the time and she's got this careless air that fools people, but she's really-well, I was going to say as neurotic as I am, but let's not get carried away." "Ha. And Isabel?" "She's older, of course, but really pretty. To me. When I first met her she had gray hair, but now it's blonde. She has blue eyes. She's tall, but not as tall as me. She keeps in shape by walking a lot. In fact, she looks better now than before she got cancer." I couldn't really think of anything else to tell him. Isabel is a quiet person, and her looks are quiet, too. You have to be especially observant or else know her for a long time to really see how lovely she is.
"Lee's cute-which she hates, but it's true. She's tiny, she looks like an elf. Kids love her, and I always think it's partly because she's about their size. Dark hair, and for as long as I've known her she's worn it really, really short. She says it's more practical. Which is Lee to a T." "So you're all good-looking," Eric said, rubbing his chin, with that certain light in his eye, innocent but interested, that always makes me laugh. He's so transparent sometimes.
"Why, thank you," I said, acknowledging the compliment to me. "I've never thought about it much, but I guess we are." Yesterday he asked me, out of the blue, "I-low does Curtis feel about your women's group these days?" "Curtis? Oh," I said, "he's ambivalent." A good