I am fifteen.
He laughed, saying, Well, you’re tall enough. He wet his lips and appeared as if he had decided on something.
I am. I was born in 1965. That makes me fifteen.
Well, if you say so sweetie. That still makes you a lot younger than me, almost five years younger. Now what do you think of that?
I think that’s just fine.
Madeleine smiled broadly, unable to refrain from doing so and she lifted her colorful, wool knit mittens to her face.
You think that’s just fine!
He laughed, throwing his head back, his mouth open wide, revealing more fillings than she’d ever seen.
Well my little fifteen-year-old girl, it looks like it’s time to get off the rink. It looks like it’s time for the Zamboni to clean off the ice, he said and then paused a beat, and looking away from her, added: Why don’t you come with me. He skated around in a small circle and she couldn’t catch his eye.
Come with you? Where to? Maddy asked. She put her toes together and then slid her heals together, toes then heals, without looking at her skates.
To the rink guard’s station, where else? Where did you think I meant?
Oz brushed his hair away with black, dirty leather gloves and revealed a small forehead and tired, gray eyes and for a moment she was alarmed.
I don’t know. How was I supposed to know.
Her cheeks felt puffy, like baby’s cheeks, and her face was hot with blood that had rushed to it.
Let’s go.
He skated over to the rink guard’s station, with its PRIVATE sign on the door.
Fifteen-year-old girls aren’t as shy as you, he said. Then he snickered, quiet and light, and she looked at his teeth. They were tobacco-stained and too small for his head. Her ankles wobbled as she followed him.
I’m coming.
He held on to the sleeve of her ski jacket, coaxing her firmly yet softly into the room, and it occurred to Madeleine that no one had ever been that gentle with her before. A fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, giving everything a hard, green appearance. There was a bench and a desk with a chair, a girlie calendar on the wall, and overflowing ashtrays everywhere. Oz lit a joint, sat on the bench, and pulled her next to him. He grinned, the light making his face veiny and green. She smoked, aware of his hockey skates, and she noticed that his feet were actually larger than hers.
You have big feet, she said.
You’ve got big eyes, he said, laughing quietly, nicely and added, They’re pretty. I like them.
He grinned and his grin seemed permanent, endless, and she tried not to stare at his teeth.
Come here, he said, I want to touch you. That’s a girl.
She scooted closer to him, their bodies were touching and his arm was heavy around her shoulder. His arm felt protective and affectionate, and she liked it, but the inside of her mouth was swollen and dry, making her uncomfortable. He leaned into her face, kissing her ear and she sensed a tension in his body.
Relax, he whispered hoarsely, but his body was far from relaxed, it was tight and rigid and he kissed her ear again and Madeleine’s heart slammed against her breasts as she looked down shamefully on the whiteness of her swelling cleavage. Oz ran his hands over her neck and his fingers were slightly damp and cold. Oh baby, he murmured, biting his lip, just relax, that’s it, I won’t hurt you.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, her muscles twitched under her skin; she felt each one jerk, her shoulder, her stomach, her thigh. Oz reached toward the zipper of her jeans and she opened her eyes and put her hand out halfheartedly to stop him and he gently put her hand away. He undid her jeans and quickly slipped a clammy hand into her underwear, saying, that’s it. You like this don’t you?
Madeleine tilted her hips upward, letting her thighs spread to accommodate his hand. A warmth ran through her body and suddenly the light hurt her eyes so she shut them again.
You’re wet, baby. God you’re wet, he said, grinning, and she opened her eyes and looked straight into his mouth, straight at his teeth. Then his hand was in front of her face, glistening and mossy smelling. Look at how wet you are, he said and touched her lips with his damp hand. He put his fingers back inside of her and she felt them hard this time, scraping against her soft, swollen flesh.
Ouch, that hurts, she said and Oz grinned, removing his fingers.
I want to fuck you. Okay?
He stood, pulling down his tight pants. He put out his hand and she reached up and held on to it, careful to look at his face, at his tired eyes, and he pulled her up off the bench. Then he pulled down her jeans and underwear and she twisted and squirmed to help him along. He pulled them down around her ankles, like his were, and he sat down, pulling her on his lap, with her back facing him, his long fingers gripping her already broad hip bones, sliding himself into her.
That feels good doesn’t it, he said, you are a big girl aren’t you, a big, big girl.
He moved her then with his strong, gripping hands, back and forth, then up and down, then back and forth again.
You’re as big as a woman, big there where I’m in you, big as a woman who’s had three kids, he said laughing and though she couldn’t see him, she knew his head was thrown back and she saw his fillings and his awful brown teeth. Madeleine smelled herself in the room, the whole room smelled of her, and she wondered why it didn’t hurt like it was supposed to, like it had when his fingers were inside of her, like Jennifer said it had, and she thought about how she’d tell Jennifer all about it at night, laying next to her on the thin mattress.
After a few moments, Oz gripped her hard and groaned a little. Then, with one hand on her head, he moved her off of his lap. They pulled up their pants in silence and she looked at him; he seemed anxious. Shit, he muttered, I gotta get out there.
As they walked out onto the ice rink, he calmly skated away, toward the other rink guard. Madeleine saw Jennifer come out of the bathroom and she glided quickly over to her friend, her mittens up to her face, covering a nervous, painful grin. Her breath came out moist and floated like damp smoke in the cold air and she put her arms around Jennifer’s neck, saying, Oh God Jennifer — Fucking shit. You’re not going to believe this, and Jennifer ducked her head and twisted herself away from Madeleine’s grip.
Get off me, man, Jennifer said, and her arms flew out sharply from her compact frame. Madeleine winced.
Where the fuck were you, Jennifer snapped, her mouth tight.
I was in the rink guard’s station.
Madeleine’s words echoed in her head. She breathed out wetly again, her breath visible against the black air. The darkness of the sky had come down in front of her like a wall of water.
You were where?
I was in the rink guard’s station. With Oz.
Jesus fucking Christ. You whore.
Jennifer spat on the ice. She turned around and skated back toward the bathroom. Madeleine watched her skate away — watched her enter the bathroom. Then she faced her large head to the sky, the sky that had darkened to a crisp black, the sky that surrounded her. Her groin ached, throbbing like a heartbeat, and holding her crotch with her mittened hands, she counted the throbbing beats, one, two, three.
3
From that day on she felt inside herself with fascination. The lights off, the house asleep, she lay on her back, her legs spread eagle, groping underneath her pink, flannel nightie, past her round belly into herself. She put a finger and then two inside. She turned herself over, squatting on her knees, quietly, hunched up underneath her covers, her head and shoulders pressing against her pillow. She put two then three then four fingers inside. Afterward, in those moments before sleep takes over, her breath slowing down and steadying, she put her fingers to her face and smelled her earthy smell and licked her hand. I’m big, she thought. I’m big like a woman who’s had three children.