Innocence
Page 19
Chapter 19
Amanda felt more sophisticated the moment she stepped foot inside Victor Connelly’s rambling, old home, just off campus. The whole place had an unkempt appearance that was studied in its interesting mess. Wooden floors were stacked with newspapers and magazines. No iPads for this ink-stained journalist. And the walls were resplendent with blown-up and framed prints of all of his images. They were his true resume. A testament to his eye for truth and his once fearless and intrepid nature to go anywhere on the globe to get The Shot.
Amanda had knocked, but instead of Vic greeting her at the door, his voice called from the kitchen. “Come in.”
She turned the knob, and it was open. Jazz music was playing softly on an actual turntable, no electronically reproduced music on some digital cloud. This was vinyl, and it sounded sumptuous.
Speaking of sumptuous, the smell of garlic and shellfish wafted from the kitchen, from where Amanda could hear the clang of pots. Her heels clicked on the wooden floors as her eyes feasted upon the space. This was the lair of a real man. A man in full. Visiting a college guy’s apartment would never be the same. It wouldn’t come close. It was yet another reason Amanda gravitated to older men.
Her eyes wandered from image to image on the walls. What a photographer Vic had been. What an eye. What an experience. All those places. All those events, now entries in history books. But he was there. He was right fucking there!
It’s where Amanda longed to be. Ached to be. But for now, being with Vic would be as close as she could get. She could soak up his experiences and see through his eyes. This excited her. It excited her more than the prospect of a physical relationship with this handsome older man. But she remained open to this, too. In the end, Amanda was open to all experience. It was the one true thing in life. Being there. Bearing witness. Engaging with the world and everyone in it. For her, this was the only way to learn, to grow, to reach her potential as a journalist and true student of the world.
But she couldn’t let Vic know how wowed she was of him and his work. She had played it cool, even to the point of criticizing his current comfort and relative resignation as an over-sexed college professor. Amanda had to continue playing this hand. She had to stoke his competitive spirit and get those juices flowing once again.
She proceeded toward the kitchen. The aroma of the dinner Vic was cooking intensified. And as she stepped into the space, she found him over the stove. A pot of garlic butter simmered in a skillet, while a double-boiler of mussels steamed nearby.
Vic turned, hefting a tall wine glass of red in his hand and lifting it to his mouth. His eyes smiled at her as he peered over the glass.
“A 98 Cabernet,” he said after an exhale of pure pleasure.
“Where’s mine?” Amanda asked, stepping forward into the kitchen, joining him near the stove.
“You’re not old enough,” he said, grabbing the long loaf of bread and breaking off a chunk, then dipping it into the garlic butter. He turned and brought the bread to her lips. He toyed with it there, coating her lush lips in the fragrant oil. Then Amanda lunged out and took a bite.
The bread was fresh and flavorful. And the sauce was exquisite.
“It’s brilliant,” Amanda said.
“There are two kinds of people in this world,” Vic began as he watched her mouth. “Those who don’t like garlic, and those who can’t get enough. I can’t be with the former.”
Amanda chewed, then spoke. “It’s delicious, but who said you are with me?”
Her tone was both curt and playful. Vic considered her as he lifted the wine glass to his lips. He studied her over the brim. As he lowered it again, Amanda snatched it from his hands, bringing it to her own lips.
The professor shook his head.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he said. But if this was a warning, his tone communicated that he wasn’t heeding it. Not at all. Instead, it was a foregone conclusion. Amanda Livingston had him hook, line and sinker.
“Since when is Vic Connelly afraid of trouble?” Amanda teased. Her lips were not only shiny from the oil, they were now stained a deep red from the wine.
Vic didn’t answer. He simply stared at her with the wise eyes that had seen so much. Eyes that were ringed with sadness, because one cannot go back. Not even if one longs to with all his heart.
He turned back to the mussels, using a hot pad to uncover them to a whoosh of steam, then stirring them with a large wooden spoon.
“They’re almost done,” he said.
“Aren’t they supposed to be an aphrodisiac?” Amanda teased, snugging up against him, her ample breasts pressing into his back. If Vic minded, he didn’t show it. Then again, why would he mind?
“I think you mean oysters,” he said, still stirring the pot.
Amanda reached for the wine bottle and filled the glass. She took another sip, then handed the glass to Vic as he replaced the lid on the pot. He took it and drank. He watched as Amanda shrugged.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I never paid much attention to aphrodisiacs. Never needed them. For me, the mind is the greatest aphrodisiac. Don’t you find that to be true?
“Depends,” Vic allowed, taking another sip of wine as the boiling pot bubbled over.
“On what?” Amanda asked.
“On the mind,” he said. “I have a feeling yours is like extra-strength Viagra for a man my age.”
Amanda smiled, took the wine glass, drank, and then gave it back.
“Now who’s being self-deprecating?” she said. “You don’t need Viagra. Not in a million years, and you know it.”
“Oh,” he stated. “What do I need then?”
“Your work,” she answered.
“As a professor?”
She shook her head.
“As a photographer,” she stated. “One of the three best of his era. I want you to tell me everything.”
“And what will you tell me?” he asked, already under her spell, feeding off her challenge to him as an equal.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Amanda answered.
“About my work?”
She leaned her face to his. She could feel his deep, heavy breath on her skin.
“About everything,” she answered. “Absolutely everything.”