Bittersweets
Terry and Alex
by
Suzanne Jenkins
Copyright © 2017 by
Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.
Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.
Bittersweets – Terry and Alex is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Where familiar places in Philadelphia are mentioned, it is in a completely fictitious manner.
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Bittersweets – Terry and Alex
A one night stand segues to a weekend of passion, leading to a lifetime of romance in Bittersweets – Terry and Alex.
A Philadelphia lawyer, tired of making the same relationship mistakes, falls in love at last, and with the companionship of her aging father, Harry, traverses the mysteries of romance and heartache.
Bittersweets: Terry and Alex is the first in the Bittersweets saga, introducing you to Arvin and Tina, Brenda and Larry, Rick and Jason, Mrs. Dell, and the rest of the cast.
Author’s Note
Bittersweets grew out of my love for Philadelphia. Terry Kovac lives in the house at the top of Mount Pleasant Avenue where I lived with my young family in the late seventies. The view of Alden Manor in the distance, the concert pianist practicing Rachmaninoff every morning, the young lovers having an after midnight argument on the way to the K bus, all true. The Acme grocery store around the corner, the used furniture stores, tea shop, The Craft Store and Cheese Shop, bookstores on Germantown Avenue; my favorite haunts almost forty years ago.
When I close my eyes, I can hear the train coming up the hill, stopping at the station. If I looked out the corner of the round window that was really our bedroom on the third floor and not Terry’s living room, I could see my husband trudging up that hill with his briefcase.
Back in those days, I was a weaver, and Earle’s apartment on the first floor was the reconfigured space for my weaving studio.
Our days there were short-lived; a year after we’d arrived, my husband was transferred to Manhattan, and we moved to New Jersey. But I never forgot that brief, glorious time. My wonderful next-door neighbor, who remained a soulmate until her death in August was my first African-American friend. After being raised in white Dearborn, Michigan, it was a privilege and an honor to know her. I cried when I wrote the stories about the neighborhood, the camaraderie couldn’t be matched. I longed to tell her, but it was too late.
Praise for Suzanne Jenkins
“Author Suzanne Jenkins never disappoints me. She is the master of whichever genre she chooses. The book had me sobbing, laughing and giggling throughout.”
“I love everything Suzanne writes. I can't wait to get my hands on her next one. Thank you Suzanne Jenkins.”
Re: Pam of Babylon- “I cannot live without Pam.” Amazon Reviewer Cristy
Chapter 1
October 1st
Autumn rain hit the round window. Sheets of water slid down the glass obscuring the view, but Terry Kovac gazed out anyway. The window seat where she sat was the perfect place for reflection and contemplation. Coffee long grown cold, stirring it served a purpose, and she lifted the cup to her lips for a sip. The cold, bitter liquid brought her back to reality.
Although nothing had happened yet, a strong feeling of the future came over her; not of apprehension dread, but something positive, of change looming ahead, the next chapter of her life about to begin.
The wall phone in the kitchen rang, the appliance a throwback to another time, and she let it go to voicemail. If the caller was anyone who knew her well and cared about what she wanted, they’d call her cell phone first. Waiting, she heard the click of the old fashioned answering machine.
“This is Terry, leave a message.”
“Hey babe, it’s Arvin. Give me a call before noon if you want to ride out to Oscar’s with me. I’m leaving at one. Talk to you later.”
Oscar was Arvin’s biker friend, an aging hippie who Terry felt used Arvin. Shaking her head, Arvin knew she disliked Oscar, and the act of calling her on the house phone was his passive aggressive way to justify saying later, “I called you and you never returned my call. I didn’t want to go alone, so when I didn’t hear from you, I asked Gloria.”
Or Laura, or Kathy, or any one of his group of women who had such compelling personalities that he couldn’t give them up.
She got up off the window seat and took the cup into the kitchen, dumping the coffee in the sink. A fresh cup poured, she returned to the living room to sit at the window. Then her cell phone rang. Picking it up, she saw Arvin’s number and answered.
“What? None of your other babes could go?” she asked.
“Ha! No, I actually had a change of plans. I’m leaving now. Do you want me to swing by?”
He’d never gone out of his way to drive up to her apartment in all the years they’d been seeing each other. She wondered what had possessed him now.
“No, I’m staying in today. Besides, it would be out of your way. Have fun, tell Oscar I said hi,” Terry said.
“Right, I’ll let you tell him that yourself,” Arvin replied, laughing. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Goodbye, Arvin,” Terry said, and hung up.
Before she sat down again, she got a pen and her journal. Desperate to make a change, her logical thinking in matters of the heart had disappeared where Arvin was concerned, and it had been that way since the beginning of their relationship.
Brenda, Terry’s best friend and also a lawyer working as her clerk, introduced her to Arvin. Both Arvin and Brenda’s husband, Larry, were ER doctors at one of the big hospitals in the city.
“Let me introduce you!” Brenda begged. “You’ll love Arvin. He’s so much fun, and he’s easy on the eyes, too.”
Now, after the thrill had worn off, his charms were not enough to cover up his inadequacies. Terry needed to decide about Arvin in her life. Making a pro and con list wasn’t very scientific, but at least it would help her to see things in black and white. Sitting down again with her journal, she wrote Arvin at the top of the page. On the left she wrote Pro, and on the right, Con.
Under Pro, the first thing that came to mind was fun. Closing her eyes, she remembered nights where she’d take the train to Center City and a cab down to his South Philadelphia row house apartment.
With Arvin, the most adventurous, albeit orgasm deficient sex, would be the first order of business when they got together. They did it in bed, on the floor, standing up in the shower, all the while the radio played music that would haunt her when they were apart; jazz, rhythm and blues singers, even stuff from the eighties.
Afterward, they’d walk north along 2nd Street to Headhouse Square, his arm around her shoulders while he talked nonstop, and after drinking a beer at their favorite pub, go out into the night air and people watch.
The truth was that Arvin would people watch and Terry would Arvin watch while he leaned against a lamp post, talking to her in a low voice, giving his commentary.
Every summer Arvin rented a beach house in Surf City at the Jersey Shore. “You’re welcome to visit whenever you want!” he’d insist.
The first time she went down, during the first summer after they’d started to date, she wasn’t sure if she was at the right house or not, because there were women in bikinis all over the place. Once she determined it was
Arvin’s house, she wondered why it was filled with females.
“Arvin, there are ten women here. Are they all here for you?”
“They’re friends of mine,” he said, stone faced.
She left after a short stay, and refused to visit again unless he could promise her they’d be alone, but they never were.
The few infuriating things aside, everything else about him fascinated her; his wit, his charm, his intellect. The attribute that really got her was so superficial, but she had to be true to the process, she had to write it down…she thought he was gorgeous. Brenda was right.
“I told you so,” she’d said.
There was an exotic feeling about him, a combination of power and sensitivity, a foreign, almost forbidden look. Terry stared at him whenever she could.
Under fun in her outline, she added all the superlatives she’d just thought of, important in the attraction between two people, but superficial. So what if he was funny and handsome and smart?
Under Con at the other side of the page, she began a new column which quickly filled. The first word which came to mind was unreliable. Arvin was historically unreliable. Soon after they met, they started to date, and shortly after that they began to sleep together. Once that happened, he’d make plans with her and then not show up. He always had an excuse and never an apology; he forgot their date when someone else, male or female never divulged, had stopped by unannounced. Or he just forgot.
The first time it happened, she was mortified. No man had ever stood her up. They’d made plans to meet at the art museum for Sunday brunch at eleven, and she had dressed the part, in a summery dress and strappy sandals, even wearing a hat. The plan was that after they ate, and she was really looking forward to this, they’d view the latest exhibit, a traveling show of works by Robert Mapplethorpe in Art AIDS America.
While she waited for Arvin, Terry looked at the beautiful photos, lost in some of the imagery, when suddenly she realized she was starving, and looked at her watch. He was an hour late.
Running down the steps through the lobby and out the door, she dug through her white straw purse, another gesture to the outfit, for her phone, and dialed his number. A sleepy sounding Arvin answered.
“Well, I guess you’re not coming,” she said.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Noon,” she said.
“I can be there by one,” he replied.
“Arvin, we were meeting at eleven. I’ve already been here an hour. No. Go back to sleep.”
She hung up on him and shut her phone off. She was hungry and she was downtown. Reentering the museum, she made her way to the cafeteria and took her time eating a delicious meal. Making the most of the day she spent another hour in the exhibit.
Afterward, treating herself to a cab ride to the station, she got the train back home. No longer thinking about Arvin, she’d had a wonderful day in a fabulous city, and would forgive him right away.
It happened again, this time because he got caught up in doing something and his plans with Terry skipped his mind. That was enough. The experience set the tone for the rest of their relationship; Arvin couldn’t be trusted. Discovering it was part of his personality; she stopped expecting reliability from Arvin, and stopped making dates with him.
“If you want to see me,” she’d said. “Take your chances and call at the last minute. I’m not wasting a second waiting for you ever again.”
He didn’t want her to see other men, but he didn’t deny he was seeing other woman. Thinking there might be something cultural about his outlook, monogamy in a relationship wasn’t a quality held highly in his country of origin. When she broached the topic, he accused her of being a racist.
“How am I racist?” she asked. “You’re seeing other women and don’t think there’s anything wrong with it because, and I quote you, ‘My father had other women for his whole marriage, and so did my grandfather, who had more than one wife.’ So either it’s cultural, or it’s familial.”
He refused to discuss it and Terry saw fear in his eyes; giving up his other women was not going to happen in her reign with Arvin.
She added untrustworthy, unable to commit, disloyal, and a player to her list. If she was honest, even the sex was fake, just window dressing, like a stage set for a play.
“Do you really need more evidence?” she asked the air.
Standing up again, she stretched from side to side. The rain had subsided, and she could see fog rolling in from the river a mile to her west. Mount Airy had exceeded her expectations since the day she moved there from her father’s house in the Northeast section of the city. The rolling hills, Victorian architecture, excellent public transportation, and diverse population added up to a wonderful community. Her apartment was on the top floor of a hundred year old house, and from the large, round window in the front room, she could see all the way to Alden Park Manor. At night, it was spectacular, the lights from the tall buildings visible from her northern location.
“How’d I get so lucky?” she thought.
A job she loved with coworkers who had become her closest friends, a wonderful home in a neighborhood with the added benefit of great neighbors added up to a great life. The only thing missing was love.
One night not long ago, she and Arvin had a rare, heartfelt conversation. “What do you want to do with your life?” she asked. “Surely this isn’t your last stop.”
“Terry, I love it just the way it is,” he said. “I’ve worked hard to become a doctor.”
“The job isn’t going to be there when you retire,” she replied, trying to get him to see the light. “What will happen to you when you’re older? With no children or family around you, you’ll be like those lonely men who post pictures on Facebook of spending Sunday with their rock collecting group.”
“Not everyone gets married and has kids,” he said, trying but failing not to put his nose in the air.
“No, but most happy people have a significant other,” she replied, “including a network of loved ones who care.”
“Oscar cares,” he said, giggling.
“Right,” she said. “Forget it. I feel like I’m talking to a wall.”
“You just shouldn’t worry about me,” he replied. “And I have you, don’t I? You’ll be there for me in my old age.”
“Arvin, I don’t think I will be. Whatever this is between us is getting old. I’m afraid you’re using me,” she finally got the courage to say.
“I’m truly shocked,” he said.
But she only laughed. “Of course, you are,” Terry replied.
On this rainy, autumn Saturday morning, her pro and con list in front of her, Terry had a choice to make. A song came on the radio, a familiar tune that had played on one of the nights Arvin had sex with her on the floor of his apartment, and she reached over to shut it off. She couldn’t live in the past any longer. What they’d had together wasn’t strong enough to last.
***
Chapter 2
November 1st
Walking to the train Monday morning, freezing water splashing up and hitting the back of her legs, she was angry with herself for caving to the misogynistic dress code of her firm that suggested women wear skirts.
“Why don’t you fight it?” her male associates asked.
One of four women attorneys in the legal office, she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not a big deal,” she said. “I knew it when I hired on. If I make partner, ha ha, I’ll take a crack at changing it, but for now, I’ll just wash the mud off my legs in the lady’s bathroom sink.”
Working in that environment provided one aspect she appreciated. Except for the clients and trials, because there were so few women drama was minimized.
“I should report you for making sexist statements,” her law clerk and best friend Brenda had said, with a smile.
“I just keep telling it like it is,” Terry said. “This place might be a woman hating nightmare, but it’s a drama free one. If there were a bunch of women here, im
agine the problems.”
“It wouldn’t be any worse than putting up with the sexual innuendo and the harassment,” Brenda said.
“Are you still having a problem?” Terry asked.
Brenda got up to shut the door. Terry couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a garter belt; it cut around her rear end, giving her a little extra pop back there.
“Can I ask you a personal, underwear question first?”
“Of course,” Brenda said, sitting on the edge of the desk.
“Why don’t you wear panty hose?” Terry asked.
“Larry likes a garter belt,” she said. “Tonight he’ll watch me undress, and instead of turning the football game on, he’ll invite me to bed for sex.”
“Gotcha,” Terry said, laughing. “The only problem is some of the men in the office like the garter belt, too.”
“Did someone say something?” she asked, annoyed. “Well someone must have or you’d never have mentioned it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Terry said. “It’s the same old crap. We should be able to wear whatever we want, including clothing that makes us feel sexy. It doesn’t give men the right to harass us. And if they’re not harassing you, they’re harassing me.
“Anyway, it must be really nice to go home and have someone waiting there who is interested enough to leave the football game and watch you take your clothes off.”
“What about you?” Brenda asked. “What are we going to do about you?”
“Nothing,” Terry said. “This thing with Arvin has no future. I made up my mind again this weekend. I’m breaking up.”
“You said that last month,” Brenda said gently. “I feel responsible since we introduced you to him.”
“It’s not your fault. This time I’m going to go through with it,” she said. “It’s been years of waiting for him to do something and it ain’t happening.”
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