by Sutton, Jacy
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so touchy.” Olivia spotted the shiny metal apparatus in Mike’s toolbox, perched on the center island.
“If you want to see this book in print you’d better get a helluva lot thicker skin,” Ruth said.
“Yes.” Olivia set the tool next to Mike, still stationed under the sink.
“You know, Olivia.” Ruth’s voice had a gentler tone than Olivia had heard her use before. “I didn’t start out wanting to be an editor.”
“You didn’t?”
“Of course not. Who the hell wants to be an editor? I wanted to write.”
“So how did you deal with criticism?”
“Beautifully. I developed a drinking problem and started smoking a pack a day. Now do the rewrites and let’s move on this thing.”
Olivia finished the phone call at the same time Mike’s head popped up. “Should be all fixed.”
“Thank you,” she said distractedly, replaying Ruth’s criticisms in her head.
“I thought you’d be a bit happier I fixed the sink for you.”
Olivia stopped herself from saying, “For us,” and instead answered, “Sorry, Mike. That was Ruth on the phone. She had a fair amount of edits for the book.”
“Ah,” Mike answered. Now he seemed distracted.
“Would you read it for me?” Olivia asked suddenly.
“Sure,” he agreed, gathering the tools.
“I’ll print it out at work tomorrow. You could read it in the evening.”
“Oh, not tomorrow. Maybe next week. If not, definitely the week after.”
“Ruth wants the edits long before then.”
“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I’ve just got a lot going on. Maybe someone at your work could read it.”
“I don’t want anyone there knowing about the book yet.”
“Why?” He gathered up the wet towel, which he’d stuffed in the sink cabinet.
“They can just go on thinking I’m thrilled to be one of the premier Sunday buffet display ad copywriters in the Twin Cities suburban metro.”
Mike chuckled a bit, before he left, heading toward the garage.
Olivia wrinkled her nose. She’d have to reread the book one more time herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BACK AT WORK a few days later, Olivia’s yellow legal pad was nearly covered with headlines, taglines, and line-drawing mock-ups. She had that jazzed feeling when the ideas were buzzing. The project was a designer clothes boutique in an up-and-coming area of one of the first-ring suburbs. She had seven tabs open on her computer: two boutiques, one in New York and one in Chicago; an advertising blog; Harrods; her email; Pinterest; and Facebook. Olivia moved back and forth between the pages, jotting down ideas. Suddenly, she noticed one of the tabs telling her, Jake messaged you.
“Hi, Jake,” she typed. “What are you doing on in the middle of the day?”
“Looking for you.”
She bit down on her thumb. “I like that. What’s going on at school today?”
“Beats me. I’m at a district meeting on a ten-minute break. Entertain me?”
“What exactly are you thinking, Jacob?” She smiled broadly, thinking it lucky anyone walking past her work cube could see only her back.
“Not that. Not now anyway. But do you ever wonder how we got here?”
“I assume you don’t mean a district office in the middle of Mankato and a second-rate ad agency ten miles west of downtown.”
“Correct. How we got to where I spend hours talking to you. Put off sleep to keep you company. Search for you in the middle of the day.”
“I know why I do those things for you.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you charm me. You make me laugh.”
“I am charming. And funny. But it must be more than that.”
She doodled on the pad as her thoughts crystallized. “You make me feel young and sexy.”
“You do the same for me.”
“I like that. I like the thought of you.” She paused. “I like the thought of you touching me.”
“Yes. That. Why does it feel so good for you?”
“It’s….” She didn’t know how to answer him.
“It’s what?” he prodded.
“It’s because it doesn’t work with him.”
“Not exciting?”
“More than that.”
“Tell me.”
“He doesn’t satisfy me,” she typed.
Nothing came through for a long minute. Then he wrote. “You mean?”
“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder. The hallway remained empty. “I mean.”
“Ever?” Jake asked.
“No. Not ever with him. With you, yes.”
“Never once with him?”
“No. Not even in the beginning. I was so young, though. And so inexperienced I didn’t even know how to talk about it.”
“And now? You know what you need now.”
“You?” she suggested. She imagined his face breaking into a cocky grin.
If they were in court, the judge would have told Jake not to badger the witness, but he persisted. “Do you tell him what you need now?”
“It’s different now. I….” She struggled. “I don’t get that feeling anymore.”
“What feeling?”
“The feeling I get when I see you online. You write ‘I’m looking for you,’ and instantly I’m…ready.”
“How did it work before him?”
“There was no one before him. I was nineteen. A sophomore in college.”
“Livia,” he wrote. And she waited for him to write something that would make sense of this whole crazy situation, but instead he typed, “Damn. My time’s up. I have to run. Later, okay?”
“Okay,” she wrote. She began calculating the hours till they’d talk again that evening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHE FOUND DANIEL sitting in the family room and was struck immediately by the silence. “Is the TV broken?”
“Shhh,” Daniel said. “I’m reading.”
“Must be good.” She walked around the couch and stood in front of him. He had her laptop open.
“What are you reading?”
He ignored her for a moment, scrolled down a bit further, then finally looked up with a grin that reminded her of his elementary-school self. “Your story.”
“My novel?”
“Yep. It’s good, Mom.”
Olivia slipped in next to him and looked at the screen. He was about a quarter of the way into it.
“Really? You like it?”
“Well, I get it’s for younger kids. But I do like it.”
“That is so good to hear.” Olivia clasped her hands together. “What made you start reading?”
“I heard you ask Dad to read it.”
“Oh, you know my password?” she said, a bit surprised.
“You use the same password for everything, Mom. Do you care?”
“Of course not,” she answered automatically. “I’m just glad you’re enjoying it.”
“So, I’m the main character?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, leaning over to kiss Daniel’s forehead. “You’re my inspiration.”
“I remember you telling me a story like this.”
Olivia hadn’t so much told Daniel different bedtime stories as one long bedtime story that lasted most of his childhood.
When Daniel was little, the three had lived by routine. Olivia cleaned the kitchen after dinner while Mike and Daniel romped and roughhoused. In the summer, they played outside, two-person tag or basketball on the Little Tykes hoop in the driveway. In the fall and winter, they’d throw six-foot touchdowns through the long indoor hallway or play knee-hockey in the rec room on the unforgiving Berber carpet. Then the two would tromp upstairs, red-faced from the exertion, laughing and talking over each other, telling Olivia who had messed up, who had scored, who had won.
And then, after bath time, Olivia would tuck Daniel into bed.
He liked ritual. The purple Vikings blanket. Two pillows, the fluffier one on top. And a story. Olivia would begin, “Tonight Daring Daniel has taken his magic carpet to…” and Daniel would shout a city. “Istanbul!” “Morocco!” “Fargo!”
She guessed that if you’d never been to Fargo, it might seem as exciting as Africa.
“Daring Daniel is walking along the sand dunes,” she’d begin.
And Daniel would add, “With my camel,” or “I find a sword in the sand,” and the story would go on from there. It would take them weeks to finish an adventure in one city before they’d move to the next. Olivia would learn something about a city—a historic ruler or a famous building—so she could add something realistic to their tales. That’s how she’d discovered Deborah Sampson, a hero from the Revolutionary War. A young woman who had dressed as a man in order to fight.
“Did you write all those stories down?” Daniel asked now.
“I started writing a few I could remember last year. You had said something to me about remembering one of the stories, and I thought I should make notes. So I can tell your kids one day.”
Daniel laughed. “Good you’ll have notes. That may be a long time away.”
“Yes,” Olivia readily agreed.
“It was fun reading it. Thanks, Mom. I’ll try to read the rest tonight, but I should probably do some homework now.”
He closed the story and opened a browser window, then glanced over at her. “You don’t need your laptop now, do you?”
“No, that’s fine,” she said. She stood and rubbed his hair lovingly, watching as he clicked open a new tab and typed in Facebook.
Inadvertently her hand reached out, as though to stop him, but then Olivia realized she’d logged out the last time she’d had the website open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ON THE DRIVE HOME from Wicked, Olivia took Mike’s hand in hers as they listened to the soundtrack of the play.
“Thank you for buying this.” She leaned over and pecked his cheek.
“I like surprising you. Did you suspect when I took so long buying drinks?”
“No,” Olivia admitted, and pushed away the memory of what she had been thinking about as she’d stood in the theater lobby, waiting patiently. “Sometimes I forget there are other things we can do besides watching Daniel’s swim meets.” Sensing Mike’s authentic pleasure in the evening’s success, she added, “Let’s have Beth and Max over next Saturday. We haven’t seen any of the neighbors in a while. I want to try making those mushroom caps we had at the restaurant tonight.”
Mike squeezed her hand. “We should definitely do that. But I can’t next Saturday.”
“Why?”
“Jo and I are getting together. There’s an article on habitat we’re researching and taking photos for.”
“Joe, the intern,” Olivia said proudly, working to take an interest in Mike’s new friend.
“Yes. If a major publication picks up this article, it could open some great employment opportunities. You know how tough it is for a recent college grad.”
“Absolutely,” Olivia said. “Where did he graduate from?”
“Wisconsin,” Mike said. “But it’s a her. You know Jo. You saw her at the party.”
“What party?”
“The Halloween party. Jo was the woman I talked to about pheasant hunting. Remember? You asked me about it.”
“The person you’ve been spending all this time with is that hot girl in the spandex?”
“Are you jealous?” Mike’s voice swaggered.
“Of the girl who looks like a Victoria’s Secret model? Wouldn’t you be?”
Mike put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders and pulled her tightly to him. “Olivia, I never even noticed.” He gave her an oversized wink.
“Both hands on the wheel,” she said, shrugging his arm off her shoulder.
“What are you annoyed with? My driving or my new friend?”
“I’m not quite sure. Possibly both.”
Once home, Mike hurried to Olivia’s side of the car, taking her hand as she stepped out. “I forgot Daniel’s staying at Matt’s,” he said. He moved closer. “So, were you telling me you’re a little jealous?”
Olivia studied him. In his eyes, she saw the young man she’d known all those years ago. Remembering Barbie’s advice, she reached up and stroked his chin. “Okay,” she said. “Follow me.”
She let her coat drop in the hallway onto the oak bench. Then she led Mike to the bedroom and gently pushed him so he sat at the edge of the bed. She raised her finger, indicating she needed a moment, and walked toward the closet, thinking of Jake’s costume advice. She sashayed her hips, hoping for a look more Jessica than Roger Rabbit.
In the small walk-in closet, hidden from Mike’s view, she pulled off her sweater, leaving on just the silky white button-down blouse she’d worn beneath. She switched the houndstooth dress pants for a black cotton skirt that accentuated her shape and hit flatteringly, slightly above her knee. Before she stepped back out to Mike, she slipped on her highest, cherry-red pumps, which remained perfectly scuffless, thanks to rarely being seen beyond the closet’s shoe rack.
“I have something to show you, Mike,” she said, in a husky, low whisper.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Olivia stifled an eye roll. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, but surely Mike got the gist of what she was doing. Looking directly into his eyes, she made a show of biting down on her lower lip as she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.
Mike gave a raw lemon smile.
She undid the next button, revealing her cream-colored silk bra. Then gently, she caressed the naked skin curving seductively above the cup. Olivia looked down purposefully, watching her hand as it traced a lazy circle at the top of her breast. Dramatically keeping her head down, she raised just her eyes to look at Mike, then stopped mid-unbutton.
Mike’s hand partially covered his mouth, but she could see his lips turn down and his eyes open wide, as though something repelled him. He reminded her of a fourteen-year-old-girl at a horror movie.
Olivia re-buttoned the button and stomped out to the kitchen.
“No,” Mike said following her, “Don’t stop.”
“Don’t stop? You looked repulsed.”
“No, of course not. You’re gorgeous. I was just surprised. You’ve never done anything like that before.”
“I’m trying to spice things up. I thought you’d like it.”
“I do. It’s just not like you, Olivia. You seemed like someone I didn’t know.” He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “Olivia,” he said softly. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away. Mike settled for her neck, nuzzling it amorously.
She thumped at his chest with her fist. “Stop.”
“Olivia, honey. C’mon. I just wasn’t expecting that.” He gently took her angry hand and pulled it so it wrapped around his own waist.
Olivia kept her hand in a tight little ball for another moment. Then, slowly she unwound it and let it rest on Mike’s waist. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of the kisses, the sensuality. She conjured up Jake, and tried to forget how ridiculous Mike had just looked.
She allowed Mike to take the lead, walking her back to their bed. He undressed her between sloppy, wet kisses, then undressed himself in fast, hectic movements, as though afraid she’d change her mind. When he finished he reached for her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her just the way he always did—one hand on the small of her back, one rubbing her nipple in a slow, circular motion. And Olivia’s body responded, just the way it always did. Unfortunately.
“Want to go get your camera?” she whispered, in his ear.
Mike pulled back. “Why?”
“I want you to take my picture.”
“Naked?”
“I’ll put on a little something,” she said.
She sensed Mike’s discomfort and confusion, but certainly he could see the end result would be sex. Surely
that would be enough incentive for him to retrieve the camera. The lightbulb must have clicked because Mike stood up, still a bit unsure, and came back a few minutes later with the Canon in his hands.
Olivia had turned on the bedside lamps and slipped into a fluffy pink nightie she found at the bottom of her pajama drawer. She stood in front of the mirror, eyeing herself appraisingly. The thin spaghetti straps highlighted her toned forearms. She jutted her chest out, prodding at her breasts to rouse them to fullness.
“You look lovely,” he said, surprising her, his hand possessively on her shoulder.
“Thank you.” She walked to the bed and climbed on. Sitting upright, facing away from Mike, she curled her legs beneath her. She turned her head back toward him and asked, “How’s this?”
“Great.”
“Mike.” She purposefully kept her tone soft. “Take my picture. Please.”
He lifted the camera to look through the viewfinder, and then brought it down again. “Lens cap,” he said apologetically. He untwisted it and set it on the dresser. Mike made some adjustments to the lens ring and then snapped a shot. The flash exploded in the dimly lit room.
“I’ll take a few.” He walked around the bed for a different angle. “Pull your leg in tighter,” he directed.
She followed his instruction. She licked her lips to give them some shine, but also because it felt good, like a persona she was dressing herself in.
Mike snapped another shot.
Olivia shook out her hair and gave him a sidelong glance.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Click. Another shot.
“Yes.” The word bubbled out. “Try to avoid my wrinkles, though.”
“Olivia, you’re gorgeous.”
His compliment raced through her. She stretched both arms behind her on the bed, dropped her head and arched her back, pointing her breasts toward the ceiling. Click. She continued posing. Turning. Smiling. Acting. Teasing. And Mike snapped away. Quietly. Inconspicuously. Unobtrusively. He let Olivia run the show. She wondered how far to take this with him.
Jake’s name entered her consciousness. She thought if he had been taking the pictures, he would have egged her on, perhaps suggesting she slide her hand inside the soft, silky pink shorts. Olivia closed her eyes and lifted one hand to her chest. She waited for that heat, the wetness to flow from her.
