Holly Would Dream

by Karen Quinn

  “I promise,” Magda said. “And you must come to our wedding.”

  “All right, I guess.”

  Magda threw her arms around my shoulders, squeezing so hard that she practically knocked me to the ground. “Grazie, grazie, grazie,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” I said, laughing. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”

  He Loves and She Loves

  DENIS AND I STOPPED for an espresso at Caffè Greco, where the air smelled of fresh cinnamon pastries too warm and tempting to resist. Later, we returned to the hotel to make a few calls. I needed to reach Nigel and tell him the plan. Denis wanted to check on Annie and then have his “people” arrange transportation to Florence as well as a jet for Nigel’s use.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Nigel can fly commercial. This mess was as much his making as it was mine. Let him suffer like I have.” That wasn’t very Buddhist of me, I thought. Oh, well. Enlightenment takes time.

  I decided to take a bubble bath. Drawing the water, I added the thick liquid soap from Claus Porto, which soon filled the room with a sweet rose scent. I lit two candles floating in gold holders on the tub, turned off the light, and submerged myself in the warm, velvety liquid. It felt divine after the crazy day we’d had. I wanted to forget about John’s dead mother, the mortician’s crooked son, Magda the big-butted bride, and most of all, I wanted to forget about Audrey’s costumes and how sorry I was for taking them in the first place. Although I supposed I wouldn’t be in this luxurious suite with Denis King if not for Audrey and her elusive dresses, so grazie, Miss Hepburn.

  I opened my eyes and took in the bathroom, so utterly resplendent with its gold faucet, oversized pink marble tub, and flickering yellow lights. What a treat it was. Enjoy it while you have it, I thought, closing my eyes for a spell and breathing in the rose-scented foam. That made me sneeze. Twice.

  “God bless you,” Denis said.

  My eyes popped open and I repositioned the bubbles to cover myself. “Is everything okay on the ship?”

  Denis moseyed over to the toilet, closed the lid, and sat down. “Better than okay,” he said. “I’ve arranged to have Manny put off. He won’t be there when we get back.”

  “That was decisive of you.”

  “I’m a decisive guy.”

  “Who’s watching Annie?”

  “Mom’s hiring a twenty-year-old who works in the dress shop to take over as babysitter. She’s supposedly great with kids. Annie sounded happy as a clam.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “Sydney doesn’t want to help?”

  “No,” he said. “She’ll be too busy supervising the butler, who’ll be moving her things to another cabin.”

  “Oh,” I peeped. “Supervising a butler is a lot of work. Not that I ever had a butler before. Well, I had John until he quit on me. And then there was Darwin…”

  Denis stood and unzipped his green running suit jacket.

  “I suppose you grew up with your own butler, like Mr. French on Family Affair. Did yours have an English accent like Mr. Fr—”

  Denis bent down and felt the water. “Do you mind if I heat this up?” he asked, his hand on the gold faucet.

  “Not too hot,” I said. “The cool water feels good on my sunburn.”

  Denis adjusted the water so it ran warm, slipped off his shoes, and then climbed into the tub, fully clothed, opposite me. It was highly unorthodox. My fingers and toes had grown all shriveled from spending so long in the water and I should have gotten out to de-wrinkle, but I didn’t dare.

  “What are you doing?” I said, giggling. “You’re all dressed.”

  He reached into the jacket and looked for a tag. “Don’t worry. It says ‘wearing this suit during washing will help protect its shape.’”

  “Very funny!” I said. “This isn’t fair. I’m naked and you’re not.”

  “Oh, it’s not fair, is it?” Denis said as he masterfully slid the lemon-scented soap up my legs, inch by inch, slow like a Brahms concerto. It felt sublime.

  “Do you want me to stop, bella?” he whispered. “Since it’s not fair, I mean.”

  My eyes rolled back in my head. “No, that’s all right. Life’s not fair, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he said, stroking the inside of my thigh with soap. Every once in a while, his hand grazed my crotch, which sent my stomach into orbit. Then he switched over to my side and lay next to me, gently rubbing my arms and breasts with slippery suds. It was all very erotic, especially when accompanied by the light ear nibbling and deep neck sucking. I reached over to take off his jacket, but he whispered, “No, no, I want to pleasure you.”

  Oh, my dear God, a man wanted to pleasure me before himself. I wasn’t sure what to do with that piece of news.

  Denis took my hand and kissed each of my wrinkled fingertips. “You’re turning into a prune,” he teased. “But I love prunes; I always have.” He helped me out of the tub and covered me with a thick terry-cloth towel. I made myself comfortable on the feather duvet as he removed his dripping-wet running suit in the bathroom.

  I would describe his body, but in the interest of his privacy, I won’t go into detail. Okay, I will. Let’s just say Michelangelo’s David with about thirty extra pounds comes to mind. Though he wasn’t sporting a six-pack, there was no gut to speak of. His upper body was muscular and defined. His penis was perfect. He had the ideal level of hairiness, enough to run your hands through and feel a tingle but not enough to smother you in if he rolled on top.

  Denis joined me and we immediately entwined ourselves in each other’s bodies, sharing a thousand exquisite kisses. In time, he turned away from the lips and began to lick and kiss and suck me—my neck, my breasts, my belly—leaving wet trails on my skin and sending shivers through my body. He soon ventured to the insides of my thighs, where he teased me with his quick tongue alternating between light and deep flickering until I was half out of my mind with pleasure. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming, but finally I couldn’t contain myself. “Ohh…ohhh…ohhhhh…YES!”

  Denis looked up, satiated. “No applause, please. Wait until you see what I do for an encore.”

  Ooh la la. Denis’ tongue would be illegal in fourteen states. Eventually, he came back up for air. “I could do this for hours.”

  Oh. My. God. That was music to my clitoris, I thought, but no, I learned in kindergarten that it was important to take turns.

  “And you can, but first…” I said, pulling him toward me so I could kiss those lips, nibble on that ear, bite his neck, but mostly so I could love every part of him and most especially his warm heart. I felt his hardness pressed against me and kissed my way down his chest and stomach to his penis, devouring it like a dripping ice cream cone on a steamy hot day. We fumbled a bit with a condom and I guided him inside of me until I could feel that delicious ache of two becoming one. Surrendering to my pleasure, I reveled in the smells and tastes and sensations of our passion. As we made love, Denis looked in my eyes and I saw such honest yearning, which made our connection all the more exciting. He was masterful, touching me exactly where I longed to be touched, igniting fires I didn’t know I had. He came in a shudder, and we crawled under the thick duvet, cuddling and caressing each other until we could not resist each other’s touch and fell back into making love.

  “Do you know what you are?” I said after.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “You are the da Vinci of cunnilingus.”

  “Thank you, it’s true,” he said, his face flushed with pride.

  “Now can I call you Penis King?”

  “You are something else.” He laughed. “I’ve never met a woman quite like you.”

  “To be irreplaceable, you have to be different,” I said, quoting Coco Chanel.

  “That would make you irreplaceable then.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

  “I don’t. Annie’s in good hands now,” he said, gently pushing a patch of hair off my forehead. “She won’t
even notice I’m gone.”

  Thank you, thank you, I thought. Smiling, I snuggled my head into the crook of his arm, looking up at his face, touching the cleft in his chin. “Hey, how do you shave in there?”

  “Very carefully,” he whispered. “Your sunburn’s looking better. Shall I put some gel on it?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. He opened the bottle and carefully applied the aloe vera to my face, neck, arms, and legs.

  Then I took the cooling gel and rubbed it on his sunburn, which was already starting to heal. “Denis,” I started, “there’s something I have to get off my chest…” I glanced at him and his eyelids were closing. Soon his rhythmic breathing said he was out, so I watched him sleep. My confession would have to wait. He looked like a little boy, so perfectly at peace. A faint whistling sound came out of his nose each time he exhaled. Oh, how I loved that sound. Tonight you’re mine completely, I sang to myself. But will you love me tomorrow? Look at me, I sighed. I’m just like the woman in the Carole King song. I tried to recall what happened at the end, but couldn’t. Did he love her when the night met the morning sun? Damned if I could remember. The last thing I recall before drifting to sleep was wishing that I could stay in this bed with Denis forever.

  Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love)

  I WOKE UP CURLED AGAINST this warm, sleeping bear of a man and for a moment thought he was Alessandro. Then I remembered the feel of his rough cheek against my skin, the smell of his breath as we kissed, and the slow, sweet shudder of orgasms we’d shared. My heart filled with joy and gratitude. Something wonderful had happened to me and it hadn’t been a dream. I glanced at the clock. It was ten. The room was so dark, I wasn’t sure if that meant ten in the morning or evening. Surely we hadn’t slept through the night? It would be so unlike me to skip a meal. I slipped out of bed and crept over to the window and peeked out. The sun blinded me for a moment and I realized that we had indeed slept all night.

  In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and played with my hair. I have one of those messy haircuts that’s supposed to make me look like I just rolled out of bed, but it never looks like I just got out of bed when I really did. It takes a lot of work and careful arranging to create that careless tousled look. So I spent about five minutes working to achieve perfect bed head.

  Sneaking under the covers, I cuddled up to Denis, who slowly opened his eyes and smiled when he saw me. “You just wake up?” he said dreamily.

  That’s what I mean about the haircut.

  Denis reached over and drew me to him, holding my face in his hands, then kissing my lips urgently, hungry for my tongue. Alessandro would never have pressed his lips to mine if either of us had overnight bacteria buildup, but Denis didn’t care and neither did I. His beard scratched my cheek as we kissed. He regarded my body with satisfaction, then slowly nibbled my breasts, caressed my belly, licked my thighs. I loved how he didn’t rush the way Alessandro always did. Moments later, I sensed Denis’ desire to enter me, to merge our hearts and bodies. “Yes, yes,” I said, and we were making love again. All thoughts of Alessandro flitted into oblivion. Afterward, we spooned in bed, and with Denis’s warm body cuddled close, he ran his fingertips up and down my belly, softly like a feather. It felt divine, but my stomach started to rumble, which reminded me that I was hungry, which reminded me that we couldn’t go out to eat in our dirty green running suits. We’d just have to order in breakfast along with two new sets of clothes, preferably not matching.

  “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE to see?” Denis asked, pouring coffee. We were enjoying room service in bed. “The Colosseum? The Vatican? The Forum? There’s so much history in Rome. I could hire a guide.”

  “Why don’t we just walk around and let the city surprise us?” I said. “I’ve never been here before, except yesterday, and that doesn’t really count.”

  Denis slathered strawberry jam on a steamy croissant and held it to my lips. I opened my mouth and took a bite, trying to eat it in the slowest, most sensuous way, but jam dribbled down my chin and crumbs spilled all over the sheets. He laughed at me.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” I said. I stuck my finger in the crystal jar of orange marmalade and removed a dollop, which I promptly smeared on his chest.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you trying to start a food fight?”

  “Not exactly,” I said, moving onto my knees and licking the sticky sweetness off his nipple.

  “Ooh, I like that,” he said, leaning back and surrendering to his bliss.

  “Well, if you like that, here’s something you’ll like even more,” I said. This time, I took a generous helping of strawberry jam (which I personally prefer over orange marmalade) and rubbed it on his belly, chest, and rapidly rising erection. After licking the jam off each finger with my tongue (oh so slowly), I tore the bill for our breakfast into little scraps and stuck them on all his sticky places.

  “Why, you kinky thing,” he said. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “Well,” I purred, “I dripped jam on you, so I marked the spots where I’m going to have to lick it up. You just lie back while I eat you.” My tongue flickered across his belly and chest while he moaned with ecstasy. Once that was squeaky clean, I moved down to his penis and hungrily took it into my mouth. You’d have thought I hadn’t eaten in a week.

  Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I’d never been inspired to engage in such gustatory pleasures with Alessandro. Come to think of it, Alessandro and I really had only two techniques in our bag of sex tricks—him on top, me on top, repeat if necessary (usually not). Then I put Alessandro out of my mind because I wanted to live in the moment and devour Denis’ strawberry-jam-slathered penis, which was really quite yummy. Be in the now, I thought. It’s the Buddhist way. Not that I know so much about Buddhism, because I don’t. But I do know that sucking Denis’ sweet cock was as close to a religious experience as I’d had in years.

  Denis thrust the breakfast tray aside. It plunged to the floor, breaking plates, splattering hot coffee and water everywhere. Mama mia, I thought, gasping at his audacity. He took me in his arms as though he could not wait another second to have his way with me and we made love with a reckless fury I hadn’t experienced with any man, not even Alessandro (especially not Alessandro).

  I never did get to tour Rome that day.

  BY THE END OF our dolce amore (that’s Italian for sweet love), we were famished. Since we’d been too distracted to order new clothes, we were back in our matching green running suits, which weren’t terribly sexy, although I wouldn’t have traded the day for all the shopping on the via Condotti.

  “You ready?” I said, turning off the light by the bed.

  Denis nodded, then hesitated, as though he had forgotten something. I started to ask him if he wanted it back on. “Do you want—”

  “To eat your pussy again?” he said. “Why, yes, I’d love to.”

  You could have scraped me off the floor. We had been making love all day long—in the shower, on the bed, the sofa, the balcony—and now he wanted more? (Naturally) I said, “Yes, please. How can I resist that gifted tongue of yours? This time, would you try something new while you’re down there?”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “Would you hum ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’? I know it sounds silly, but a girlfriend once told me that felt good.”

  Dennis laughed. “Well, let’s find out.”

  I just adored the way Denis was open to researching his sexual pleasure (or mine, as the case may be). And yes, YES, YES, his humming felt divine. Denis King not only gave me stars, he gave me “The Star-Spangled Banner” (tee-hee!).

  WE LEFT THE HOTEL around ten that evening, bound for Il Palazzetto, a nearby outdoor restaurant overlooking the Spanish Steps. The concierge recommended it when I asked for something romantic and utterly Italian.

  “Before we go,” Denis said, “I want to show you something.” We took a horse and carriage to the elaborate Trevi Fountain, where we dutifully threw in three coins each to ens
ure a return visit. Then Denis took me over to a rectangular basin on the far left side. “They call this ‘the small fountain of lovers,’” he said. “Legend has it that couples who drink from its waters will forever be faithful to each other.” He cupped his palms together, collected some water, and drank it.

  I must be dreaming, I thought. This man is too good to be true. Silently, I took water in my hands and sipped it. Hopefully it wasn’t teeming with amoebas and microbes. Even if it was, it would be worth the gastrointestinal illness.

  Denis grinned as I drank the water. How I loved the crow’s feet that formed when he smiled. They were beyond adorable. “Do you know what’s wrong with you?” I said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Denis, I—I want to thank you for what was the loveliest day I’ve ever known.” I don’t think I’d ever felt so happy.

  We grabbed a cab to go to Il Palazzetto, which was too far to walk. By the time we arrived, my appetite was roaring. The waiter immediately brought us a plate of deep-fried zucchini flowers, which Denis fed me and I ate with such languorous relish that it felt like we were still making love. I ordered spaghetti alla carbonara, and Denis had roasted capretto (that’s “kid” in Italian) with rosemary. We toasted each other with the yummiest champagne I’d ever tasted, Veuve Clicquot’s La Grande Dame. The sky was bright with stars and colored lights that had been strung around the patio where we dined.

  At midnight, a jazz quartet started to play, and Denis and I took to the small dance floor. Soon the music slowed, and Denis held me in his arms for a waltz. I closed my eyes and smiled. Denis was so practiced a dancer, all I had to do was surrender to his lead as we floated across the floor. Oh, how I wished I could do that in real life. But that would be a fairy tale, and one thing life has taught me is that there are no happy endings, at least not for me.