This is the moment that compulsive shopping is all about, Margot thought as she dashed into her closet and pulled out a stunning silk nightgown with matching robe. It was a silky, peachy, shiny thing with well-placed inlays of ivory lace. She cut off the store tags and threw it on her body.
“Hey Trev, come on into the kitchen,” Margot called as the elevator door opened. “I bought some special coffee from the farmers’ market. It’ll definitely perk you up.”
“Do I look like I need perking?” Trevor asked as he entered Margot’s spotless kitchen.
“Mmm, you’re a little hangdog around the edges.”
“Yes, well, I don’t feel hangdog. I’m actually feeling very happy to find myself on dry land again.”
It was then that Trevor looked at Margot. Her cheeks were flushed pink as if she had been exercising.
“You look beautiful. And that nightgown! Goodness, Margot, do you really sleep in that?”
Margot nodded calmly as she pulled a pot off the shelf and slid it onto the stove. She filled it with water, coffee, and sugar and set it to heat.
“You were saying something about dry land?” she asked and moved on to making toast.
“Yes, I’m just glad it’s over with,” Trevor said.
Margot did not respond as she stirred her pot of Turkish coffee and looked at Trevor. She liked his strong profile and the gray around his temples. In her stories, Lux had described him as an excellent lover, both gentle and exciting.
They drank in silence for a bit, each turning over their own thoughts.
“So,” he said at last, “what are they saying about me?” “Who?”
“At the office,” Trevor said, wishing she would stop making him pull it out of her.
“Well, it falls into two categories. Intra-office and extra-office. Within the office we think you’re an asshole. An expensive asshole that cost the firm $15,000 and a decent secretary. Warwick was beside himself on Monday when the temp faxed a confidential memo to opposing counsel. He complained about Lux all the time but now that she’s gone he realizes what a great secretary she was.”
“And outside the office?” Trevor groaned, expecting the worst.
“Unfortunately, outside the office they think you’re a hot stud muffin who must have some big ride to have scored the hot chick that no one else could nail.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“How close am I to getting fired?”
Margot raised her hands and held the palms a good two feet apart from each other. The information raised Trevor’s spirits a bit.
“Have you seen her again?” Margot asked.
“No, no, of course not,” Trevor lied and she let him. Margot had already gotten the whole story from Brooke.
“Margot, do you think I made a mistake?”
Margot held the steaming warmth of her coffee cup to her face. She believed that Trevor had made so many mistakes that she didn’t know where to start. He’d picked a volatile younger woman over a smart, beautiful peer and then he’d let himself be pulled penis-first into work where he disrupted their office and destroyed his own hard-won reputation as a cool-headed, reliable attorney. He would never make partner at Warwick and it was far too late to start again at a new firm.
“Yes. I think you made some serious mistakes,” Margot said. She had more to say, but Trevor was already explaining.
“I was so small after my wife left me. Lux was so beautiful and so young. She got so…”
Trevor’s voice trailed off into an embarrassed silence. Still, he was clearly pleased with whatever it was that he was embarrassed to say.
“She got so…what?” Margot had to know.
“So very wet,” Trevor said, smiling. “Well, you know what I mean.”
“Wet?”
“You know how exciting that is. You know, when you can get a woman all wet like that.”
Margot sipped her Turkish coffee. The sweet steam curled up around her eye and then dispersed. She leaned onto the counter in her kitchen and tried to digest what Trevor just said. Trevor carried on with his confession.
“Lux made me feel really good and I’m sorry I had to hurt her.”
“I see,” Margot said.
“You think I should send her some money?”
“No.”
“But she doesn’t have a job. What will she do?”
“She’s fine.”
“Is there anything she needs?”
“I think she told Brooke she’s saving up for a new sink, but that’s secondhand information. Listen, Trev, can we go back to the wet part?”
“What wet part?”
“The part where you said that I know what it’s like to make a woman wet.”
“Yes.”
“And why would I know the thrill of rousing another woman?”
“Because you and that Brooke woman…”
“No.”
“No?’
“No,” Margot said definitively.
“Oh.”
They both sat for a moment in Margot’s kitchen, sipping their tiny pots of boiled coffee.
“It’s just that when I made the move on you, you were clearly not interested in having sex,” Trevor said.
“You made the move on me?”
“Chinese food? Mu shu chicken? Remember?”
“That was the move?”
“Well, yes Margot, that was the move,” Trevor said, his voice growing a little hard. “And you were not interested in me.”
“And so that made me a lesbian?”
“Well, that and I noticed that you and Brooke have lunch together at least once a week and sometimes after lunch you come back to your office all kind of, well, steamy. I guess I filled in the blanks to make myself feel better. So, the truth is you’re not a lesbian and the Chinese food rejection was about me. You just didn’t want me, then.”
“You are so wrong!” Margot sputtered.
“Ah. Then you are gay.”
“No! If I’d known that Chinese food night was my last chance to get into your pants, Trevor, I would have thrown down the mu shu, hiked up my skirt, and jumped on you.”
“Really?” Trevor asked, smiling for the first time since he’d entered her apartment.
“Really,” Margot said, feeling a great weight lift suddenly off her shoulders.
“So, you think I’m ok,” Trevor said as he slid his hand across the counter and found hers. He ran his thick, rough index finger underneath her long, thin hand. He lifted up the individual fingers and then let them fall. She felt she should pull her hand away, but it was too pleasant, for a moment, to be the winner. She was noticing how big his hands were and how soft his eyes. For months she had fantasized about what she would do when this moment finally came, how she would unwrap and give herself to him. If she dropped the stunning nightgown on her kitchen floor and crossed to him now, Trevor would find that Margot was already quite wet herself. If she made love to him this morning, he would believe that she was passionate, easily roused, wild and full of fire.
“Can’t do it, Trevor,” Margot said suddenly.
“Of course you can,” Trevor said as he moved further up her arm. He reached for her elbow and pulled her to him. Atlanta Jane stood on the sidelines in buckskins, cheering her creator on.
“I would have made love to you—in ways you could not possibly imagine—but you went and not only had sex with one of the secretaries, but you also got caught and made a big stink about it. You’re branded at work. People are watching you. And you are completely and totally off limits to me as long as you are at Warwick. I’m not ruining my chances of making partner for sex.”
He looked out her window, studying her view of the East River while Margot studied his face. Her body still wanted him. And her body feared that the years between fifty and sixty were her last chance to spend ten years getting really good sex. That after sixty she would lose the fevered interest that had defined her sex drive since thirty-five. If she
could figure out how to throw away that ancient nagging worry that sleeping with Trevor would ruin her reputation, she could jump in and grab one long lovely swim with him before the sun went down.
“Well, I guess I should go then,” Trevor said. He set his coffee on the counter with a clink and headed for the door.
“Ah, the sink,” Margot instructed.
“Excuse me?”
“Put your cup in the sink and run some water in it so it doesn’t stick. And then, if you want to go, you can. Although if you go now, I’ll think you’re an asshole.”
Trevor paused at the sink. He looked at his hands. He looked at the view. He studied the water as it hit his cup, splashing Turkish coffee grounds all over Margot’s white sink. Finally, he looked at Margot and saw she was smiling at him.
“And if I stay?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t have any plans today that can’t be changed.”
“Do you cook?”
“Are you kidding me? You have just consumed the full extent of my cooking repertoire. In any case, I’m not cooking for you.”
“No, no. What I meant was, I cook,” Trevor said. “Really well. I could run down and get some eggs.”
“You’re gonna cook me breakfast?”
“If you want me to. Where’s the best grocery from here?”
“You sit,” Margot said. “I’ll throw on some sweats and go down to the corner. Eggs and what else?”
“Juice, milk, whatever you want. I can cook anything, even a soufflé if you want one.”
“Can you make the eggs over easy without breaking the yolks?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Ok, don’t move,” she said. “I’m running to the corner and back.”
Margot went to her closet and withdrew a lavender cotton skirt and the pretty little blouse that went with it. She brushed her hair, threw on lavender mules, a string of pearls that leaned towards pink and was ready to go. Trevor sat down on her couch to wait.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you,” Margot answered as she pressed the button for the elevator and wondered why his wife had dumped him. He looked contented for a moment, but then some bad thought walked across his forehead and he suddenly slumped into the soft pillows of the couch.
“You ok?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
As she waited for the elevator to open, Trevor shouted to her from across the apartment.
“Margot, is it because I’m too old?”
Margot laughed at his deliciously absurd thought. Still giggling, she skipped into the elevator.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” Trevor called to her as the doors to her elevator swung shut. Margot slipped the funny-shaped key into her personal slot and as the elevator descended she thought to herself, have I totally lost my mind?
When the elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened, Margot’s downstairs neighbor was ready to get on.
“Sorry, Fritz, I forgot my purse,” Margot sang as she twisted her key in the other direction and shot back up to her apartment. All the way up she scolded herself for being so pigheaded. Stupid, she thought. There is a man sitting in my apartment with whom I really want to have sex. This same man is willing to be my friend without sex and I’m going out to buy eggs! How stupid is that!
Passing the 4th floor Margot stepped out of her panties and slipped off her pretty little blouse. She tried to unhook the back of her bra at the same time she wiggled out of her skirt. It was impossible as the bra demanded greater attention and would not release. As the doors opened on her apartment, she hopped out, dragging her skirt off the tip of her toe.
Trevor, sitting despondent in the same spot on the couch, was wondering how many eggs he would have to cook before Margot agreed to make love to him. He was off by at least six months.
“Fuck work,” Margot said as she raced nearly naked into her apartment and tackled him on the couch. Her arms hit him square in the chest and pushed him back against the pillows. Atlanta Jane would have been proud.
Trevor had not seen such a delicate, lacy brassiere for a long time. His wife had worn dull cotton sports bras and Lux favored red and black sateen. He crushed the white lace of Margot’s bra between his fingers and snapped the whole thing off in less than a second. His own baggy sweatpants were held to his hips by a simple drawstring that Margot was able to overcome in an instant. She pushed them down until they caught between the couch and his knees.
Margot sat astride his lap, a knee at each of his hips and one hand on each of his shoulders. He already had an erection, from when he first caught sight of Margot’s breast pushing against her very glamorous, grown-up nightgown. All systems were locked and loaded, ready to go.
Then Trevor stopped. He took his hand off Margot’s breasts and rested it on her face. She leaned her cheek into his hand. Trevor pulled her face close to him, until she could feel the heat of his mouth just above hers. He stopped there for a moment to let her tremble. She licked her lips.
Trevor looked in Margot’s eyes and marveled that they were so soft this close up. Quite unexpected, he saw a little fear nestled in her longing. He wanted to tell her that he would never hurt her, but he saw there that he already had.
“This could get big,” Trevor whispered instead of “I’m sorry.”
For a moment, Margot worried that he was making a stupid joke about his penis, but instead of proceeding with sexual bravado, Trevor pulled her close and kissed her long. Then, with Margot in his arms, he stood up and, stepping out of the sweat pants that were now tangled at his ankles, Trevor carried her into her bedroom.
He started small, rubbing her breasts and stomach. He pushed her hand away when she tried to stimulate him in return. When her breath became short and slightly gasping, Trevor, fully confident of his sovereignty in the area of cunnilingus, began his campaign to secure Margot’s undying love. When her gasps became a moan and her body trembled in his mouth, Trevor pulled Margot onto him.
For the first time in many years, Margot lost control. She wasn’t orchestrating. She wasn’t thinking. She wasn’t planning her next move. As the waves rocked her again and again, Margot held onto Trevor like a shipwrecked swimmer clinging to a life vest. In the middle of making love to Trevor, she might have recalled how well they had danced together. She might have philosophized that this feeling of connection was why sex could make a women fall in love. Had she been capable of thought, Margot might have been brewing up any number of reflections. The closest she got to experiencing an intelligible thought that afternoon and for most of the next week, however, was a feeling like fireworks in her brain as she came again and again.
Margot called in sick for the week. And, in fact, she remained in bed for four days straight. On the fifth day, Margot and Trevor went to a movie. On the evening of the sixth day, Trevor asked if he could leave a toothbrush at her house. Margot, without a second thought, said yes.
25. 5 x 7
“ATLANTA JANE GREW SOFTER,” Margot read, “as the orgasm spread up her belly and into her spine. Like fingers separating the vertebrae, pulling them straight, it crept up her back to her neck and released across my lips in a moan. She was done. She thought he was done too, but the wetness sliding down their legs was all hers.”
Brooke wrote the word “my?” on her note pad to remind herself to mention the typo when Margot was done reading.
“When he first started making love to her in the bright sunshine of her cabin, she had wanted to hide, to dim the lights or find a blanket to cover the flaws of her breasts, her thighs, her whole skin. He pulled off her buckskins and reveled in all of it. If he saw the damage of time, it didn’t slow him down or cool his passion.
“For seventeen days, they lay under the thick wool blankets in her cabin doing little more than eating, talking, and having sex. They were so similar and so surprisingly wellmatched that sometimes the talk was as good as the sex. Most of the time we were either laughing or maki
ng love. And the rumors were true. He was a big, thick wild ride. On Monday, Atlanta Jane had to go back to the business of keeping the town safe, but she would see him again and again and again.”
Margot put down her index cards with a sigh. Brooke had written several notes on how to improve the literary quality of the story. Margot looked so pleased with herself, however, that Brooke decided to hold her criticisms.
“That was great, Margot,” Brooke said warmly.
“I liked it, too. But I think there were a couple of errors in pronouns,” Aimee said.
“Really? I didn’t notice any,” Margot said.
“Yeah, you drop into the first person. But other than that it was really fun,” Aimee responded.
“So Atlanta Jane finally got into the sack with Trevor the Texas Ranger,” Brooke observed.
“Yes,” Margot said, “he stopped by last Saturday looking very hang-dog and pathetic, needing coffee and offering to cook me eggs over easy.”
“OH!” Aimee shouted from her bed as she made the connection between fact and fiction. “That’s why you wanted to read your piece before Lux got here!”
“Are you planning to keep it from her?” Brooke asked.
“No, not the reality. But she was late and there seemed no reason to gloat in fiction while she listened,” Margot said. “I’ll just tell her the truth as simply as I can.”
“Where is Lux?” Brooke asked.
“She promised to stop off at the printers and pick up those 5 x 7 prints of the baby shower lovers. The ones you ordered for me,” Aimee said. “And you won’t believe what she’s letting me borrow!”
Tuesday Erotica Club Page 22
