Vanished in the Dunes Read Online Free PDF Page A

house.”
    â€œAch, fantastish,”
she says. He is happy to show off something that is his alone. He ignores the fact that she speaks German.
    She walks toward him and asks if she could have something to drink. “Perhaps some red wine,” she suggests.
    â€œI guess I can do that,” he says, but there is edginess in his answer. He feels as if he is sliding into a deep pit without a handhold.
    â€œVery nice, thank you,” she answers, “but can I first use your bathroom?”
    He points to the end of a short corridor. “The door on your left.” She picks up her bag and moves in the direction he points. He hears the water running and the toilet flush. She is there for several minutes, but he gives it little thought. He spends the interval choosing a wine.
    When she returns, he tells her about the sketch he made years ago as he pulls the cork from a bottle of Merlot. He pours a modest serving into a single glass. He has no intention of joining her. He holds the glass in his left hand and walks to where she has stopped, in front of the deep-green couch.
    â€œPlease sit,” he says as she takes the glass. She takes a large sip, almost emptying the glass. He sits on the opposite couch and looks straight ahead through the large window at the ocean.
    â€œPlease sit over here,” she says. “You seem so far away.”
    Posner moves to the other couch, just as she asks, “Can I rest my feet here?”
    He waves his arm to the side in a universal gesture. She raises her hips and both legs spring forward onto the couch. She crosses one leg over the other and he faces ten polished toes. Then she shifts her legs back in parallel. She reallocates her skirt so that he has a clear view of her browned upper thigh. She spreads her legs more than slightly. The invitation is clear.
    They talk aimlessly. She sits on the couch, ignoring the view, chatting about her hospital duties, her parents in Vienna, and why shedoesn’t want to stay in New York. He becomes edgy. He wants her to leave.
    â€œDo you like my polish?” she asks, sliding her body down and raising one foot, barely inches from his face. The temptation is there, but he abruptly stands before she makes contact.
    â€œI think we should go,” he says.
    She rises and follows him slowly to the top of the stairs. He feels her stare, but his eyes are fixated on her painted toes.
    â€œCan I see you again?” she asks.
    She smiles, doesn’t wait for an answer, and searches her large straw bag, until she withdraws a card printed with her name and a New York number. Then she offers her hand, a puny gesture, he thinks, but he takes it anyway.
    â€œI’d like to see you again,” she repeats. “Whenever you want. Whatever you want to do.”
    Whatever is the only way something could happen, he thinks, but while there is more than a flicker of interest, he isn’t crazy enough to start. He knows that a fuck in the room not twenty feet away from where they stand is where it would end. That’s what whatever means. She was right about guilt, though. He feels it squeezing him like a fog that has crept into the room, filling every available space and daring, even mocking him to try to touch her. He wants to release her hand, but she holds his with even more pressure.
    He sees from the quickening in the rise and fall of her chest that her breath comes in shorter increments. The pink dress fabric strains forward and he feels his cock swell. He looks away, out through the window, across the pine-coated dunes, as he’s done only minutes before. Anything to forget the surge that has gripped him. He knows that she only has to brush against his groin and he would be lost, but then she eases the pressure on his hand and the rush begins to ebb.
    â€œI have a boyfriend,” she says. “His name is Henry, but I do like to meet other men.”
    Posner wants to hear none of this. Not the fact that there