Dancing With the Devil

by Maria Herren

  "It's not the same thing, Charly!"

  "Don't you want me anymore?" she purred, moving beneath his fingers with a grace that she'd refined in the years he wasn't looking.

  "I'll die wanting you, Charly," he said, cupping the softness of her breasts.

  He entered her slowly. She was so hot and wet that he wanted to move quickly, but he knew better when he watched her face tighten. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

  She brought his mouth down to hers and angled her hips higher. "Yeah. I'm okay," she answered. "It just feels different."

  "Good different or bad different?"

  "Well, it doesn't feel too good, yet," she moaned.

  Eric stopped his forward movement. He wasn't even halfway into her. He kissed her long and slow. Her body loosened and responded with a rush of wetness. He braced himself on his forearms and watched her face closely. He kept perfectly still until she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. She'd broken out in a light sweat and he wiped it from her forehead. ''Not as easy as you thought, huh?" he asked.

  "I thought it would be different. I like the first part better," she answered, honestly.

  "Do you want me to stop?"

  "No," she said, without hesitation.

  "We'll do the first part again, as much as you want. Just so you have something to look forward to, beautiful lady," Eric said, softly. When he finally began working back and forth he concentrated on not moving too quickly or with too much force.

  They spent the rest of the night exploring each other. Eric seared into his memory the way she looked when she threw her head back in the throes of an orgasm. She came with an abandon that he admired.

  He held her tightly against him every time she called out his name. He was stunned by the passion between them. He'd had several relationships in the past, but they were never anything like this. The sunlight was beginning to shine through the lace curtains when he found her looking at him with tears in her eyes.

  "You feel so right," she murmured. "Everything feels so right. I'll never forget any part of this night." She hadn't planned on saying her next words but they were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I love you, Eric."

  He would never know what kept him from responding.

  Seven

  There was a message waiting for him when they came downstairs. "Please come home, immediately, son," it read. "Your grandmother is dying."

  Eric ran up the stairs and packed in a furious rush. He felt her presence before he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "I've got to get home," he muttered, angrily. He couldn't look at her. He was suddenly mad at everything and everyone. His mother had died when he was still a baby, and he had no memories of her. His father was a career soldier, so it was his grandmother who had raised him.

  She hadn't looked real good the last time he'd seen her, but she told him she'd had the flu and was getting better. He'd talked to her before his flight to Italy and she was excited for him to have a good time, and to see Charly.

  His grandmother had been the only calming influence in his life. She was his biggest supporter. He remembered the first report card that he'd brought proudly to her. "What wonderful marks!" she exclaimed, gathering him to her. "Your mother is as proud of you as I am!"

  He'd been painfully shy as a child and it was very difficult for him the first time that he and his father were relocated by the military.

  There was a package waiting for him with his name on it at the barracks. She'd sent his very favorite chocolate chip cookies and a note that told him how much she loved him. As the years went by and Eric traveled around the globe with his father, it was a system that she followed religiously. Her cookies always arrived before he did, and there was always a note, signed with her love, tucked inside.

  Eric ate every cookie and saved every note.

  He snapped his suitcase shut. "It's my grandmother,'' he said. "Apparently she's dying. I'm leaving on the next flight."

  They rode silently in the cab, together. He tipped the driver generously at the airport, then added an additional handful of eurodollars.

  "Wait for her," he said.

  They held hands while they waited for his flight to be announced. She brought him a cup of coffee that he couldn't drink and a croissant that he couldn't eat. "Thank you," he said.

  "You're welcome," she said, drinking the coffee and eating the pastry.

  When they called for boarding he brought her close and held her tightly. She melted into him.

  "Will you write me?" she asked.

  "Will you write me back?" he asked teasingly, in return. They shared a brief kiss and then he was gone.

  Charly stood and watched him walk away. His stride was loose and confident. The woman checking the boarding passes favored him with an engaging smile. Charly felt a sharp pang of jealousy, wondering if he was smiling back at her.

  She tried to shrug it off. Stop it right now, she told herself. “There's no reason to expect anything more from him. I can't believe I told him I loved him. What a mistake," she whispered, tears in her eyes. A sense of loss washed over her when he disappeared into the boarding tunnel. He had never once looked back.

  As the plane took off, Eric tried in vain to make out her form at the windows. He hadn't been able to turn and look at her, too afraid that he wouldn't be able to leave her.

  "I love you, Charly," he whispered to the cold glass and the wispy clouds.

  ⇼

  Charly stumbled out of the airport. I can't believe I was such a fool last night! she was thinking. He was so embarrassed he could hardly look at me this morning!

  She stood confused in the bright morning sunlight, lost in self-recrimination. People were moving busily around her. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," she muttered to herself, realizing she didn't have enough money for a taxi. "I've got to call Simone." She couldn't hold them back any longer and her tears began to fall.

  She felt a hand at her elbow and saw a familiar face that she couldn't quite place. He was gently leading her forward. "Non devi piangere, bella signorina," he said. The words were foreign but she understood when he extended his handkerchief. He opened the cab door and gestured inside.

  "I don't have any money. Do you understand?" she asked.

  He looked quizzically at her.

  "I can't pay you. No money," she spoke the words slowly.

  "Ahh! Pagare! Niente, niente!" Then in English he repeated, "Already it's paid. He paid before!" His eyes searched her face to make sure she understood. "He has the big love for you, yes!" he declared, placing her inside and shutting the door firmly

  Charly clung as tightly to his words as she did to his handkerchief. "Friends. We're just friends," she muttered when he started the car.

  He caught her eyes in the mirror. His were wide and slightly alarmed. "Amici? No! Soltante amici? No, no!" He made a tsking sound with his tongue as he shook his head briskly in total disagreement. "You are American, vero?" he asked.

  "Well, yes," Charly acknowledged.

  "He is also an American, justo?"

  "Yes. How do you know?" Charly asked.

  "Cosa? What? Please to repeat," he said as he simultaneously swerved to avoid another car that had run the light and waved to a passerby.

  Charly couldn't say a word. She was busy holding her breath.

  "Signorina?"

  She was very bothered to find his eyes focused on her in the mirror and not the road. "Please! Sir! The light is red!" she yelled as he sped through.

  "Not to worry, bella. There was no one coming," he announced brightly to the sound of the screech of a car braking and honking loudly. "I love to drive with Americans!" he laughed. He executed a quick turn and she found herself staring at the front of her hotel.

  He turned to look at her. "Ah, very good! No more tears from the beautiful American signorina!" He leaped from the cab and came around to open her door.

  She felt a little limp when she stepped out
. He stood solidly beside her with his hands on his hips, surveying the hotel.

  "You have amici, your friends are inside, vero?" he asked. She nodded.

  "Spero che sono amici Italiani," he said, under his breath.

  (I hope that they are Italian friends.)

  “How did you know so quickly that I'm American?" Charly asked.

  He was serious and very dramatic as he heaved a big sigh. "Your clothes, your walk, very American," he smiled. "You ignore the big love, also very American."

  ''No! Eric doesn't, I mean we don't ... well, we did, but he doesn't..." Charly's voice dropped off while he made the tsking sound again and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "See?"

  He was delighted to watch Charly's face lose her sadness and she broke into loud laughter. Finally she gasped for breath. "You are so funny!"

  "It feels good to laugh, vero? Now is not a time to think. Go inside. Eat well. Sleep well. Enjoy your friends. Tomorrow is another day," he told her gently.

  His words made sense. Instead of telling him so she said, "Money! I'm sure whatever Eric gave you is not enough, let me go get some money!"

  His expression was so offended that she was tempted to laugh, again. "I'm sorry," she said, sincerely. "Really. Once an American, always an American." As emotional as she was, teetering on the fragile lines between wild laughter and deep sadness, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, again, dabbing at her eyes with the long forgotten handkerchief she had balled up in her fist.

  "Non devi, non devi," he said, taking the handkerchief from her. (You must not, you must not.)

  He folded it carefully and gave it back to her. "Questi sono ..." he searched for the proper words. Finally, with great concentration and deliberation he said, "These are the tears of today. Don't cry them tomorrow."

  "Thank you," Charly said, taking the carefully folded handkerchief. "In Italian!" he demanded.

  "I don't know how!"

  "Tell me, Grazie!'' he said with such force that she responded immediately.

  "Grazie!'' Charly said, and smiled widely at him.

  "Prego, bella," he said, bending slightly at the waist with a flourish of his wrist, then jumped into his cab.

  He did an immediate U-turn when he hit the street. "Ciao, bella!" he yelled, evading the oncoming traffic.

  Charly watched him until he was out of sight, weaving and dodging the cars with her own body while he drove away.

  ⇼

  She was wide awake when she walked into the sun filled solarium that was the breakfast room. She sat alone, but it wasn't a solitary meal. Images of Eric and the night before flashed continually across her mind and her body tingled. Her lips were swollen and tender. She shivered several times in the warmth of the sunshine.

  Simone spotted Charly immediately. "Good morning! Why didn't you call me? You shouldn't be eating breakfast alone!" She seated herself at the table and signaled for a waiter. "You're up so early! Where's Eric?" she asked, looking around.

  The waiter brought the menu while Simone held up both ends of the conversation. "I can tell you he stirred up a lot of interest last night! I remember him as just that good looking, not quite that tall and I think he's managed to become even more devastatingly charming. Don't you think?"

  Charly merely raised one eyebrow.

  "More juice for both of us, please. Charly, would you like anything else?" When Charly didn't answer Simone ordered for both of them. She leaned forward and whispered, "Don't worry about forcing yourself to eat everything! I'm starving!"

  Finally she took a break from the one-sided conversation and noticed her friend's solemn face. "Uh-oh. Now there's a face I don't see very often. A little too much champagne last night?"

  Charly couldn't answer.

  "Not enough sleep? Too much rich food? Not enough rich food? Too much sleep?" It was clear that she wasn't going to let it drop without a response.

  "Give me a break, Simone! Eric had a family emergency and he had to leave this morning. We stayed up talking last night and I'm really tired and grumpy, so back off, okay?"

  "Oh. Sure. Okay," Simone answered, obviously still suspicious.

  The waiter brought the juice with a basket of fresh strawberries, soft cheese and hard bread.

  "Now this is the kind of breakfast my baby could get used to," Simone said, breaking off a piece of bread and layering it with brie. "So that's all it is with you? Stayed up late, talking?"

  Charly nodded quickly, concentrating on the strawberries.

  "Well, that's really a shame. There's going to be a lot of disappointed ladies, I can tell you, for sure!" Simone announced. "Particularly that Catrina Carruci. She was already planning a party for this weekend."

  "Is she the one we met on the outside patio?"

  "Right. That's a lovely memory. Try not to remember that. She's the sister of the guy who Vincenzo's been talking about forever. His best friend, the one he grew up with, the one he wants you to meet!"

  "Oh, really?" was all the interest that Charly could manage.

  "I've been hearing that they are just very, very, enormously, outrageously wealthy and well connected..."

  Charly yawned. "Sorry," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "That stuff doesn't interest me very much."

  Simone took her outstretched hand and was surprised at how cold it felt. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked in concern.

  "I'm just tired, I think," Charly answered.

  "Okay. You need to get some rest, for sure," she said, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "Go ahead. Don't worry about me. Vincenzo will be down in a minute."

  "Are you sure you don't mind?" Charly asked. "Seriously! Go! Get! Scoot!"

  Vincenzo watched the two of them with a smile as he came across the room. The sunlight was spilling in through the long glass windows and surrounded the two women in a suffused golden glow. Simone saw him first and her smile went straight to his heart.

  "Buon giorno! Charly! I trust you slept well!" he said. He caught the warning look from his wife an instant too late.

  "Fine, Vincenzo. I slept just fine," Charly said, pushing back her chair. "If you'll excuse me?"

  "I don't mean to interrupt..." Vincenzo started, concerned.

  "No, truly. I was just leaving," Charly said. "Please, enjoy your breakfast."

  He stayed standing and watched her straight back and retreating form. "I didn't mean to make her leave. What did I say?"

  Simone grabbed his hand and brought him down to his chair, then leaned in and kissed his neck. "You didn't interrupt and you didn't say anything wrong," she assured him.

  Vincenzo looked into her smiling eyes and knew that everything was right in his world.

  ⇼

  Charly slept through lunch, which is exactly when Simone knew that something was really wrong. She knocked softly on the door, again, in the late afternoon and got no response. She came back when it was getting close to the dinner hour. This time Charly answered the door.

  "Oh, no!" Simone said, taking in the eyes that were swollen from crying and the dejected droop in her shoulders. "What's going on?" she asked with concern.

  Charly stepped back and opened the door wider. "Come on in, Simone," she said, wearily. Simone took in the mussed up bed where Charly had been kicking the bedclothes fitfully in her sleep all afternoon. Spread out neatly on the pillow was a white handkerchief.

  "Don't ask," Charly said, carefully folding it and putting it in a drawer.

  "I know you're right. It's totally none of my business," Simone said, seating herself solidly on the bed. "Tell me what's going on."

  "Isn't it about time for dinner?" Charly asked, hopefully.

  "Uh-huh," was the only response from an unmoving Simone.

  "There's nothing to tell, not really," Charly said, unable to look her friend in the eye. "I mean nothing too important happened. I guess I'm just a little blue. Maybe I'm missing Eric more than I thought I would," Charly finished.

  "I'm so sorry that he could
n't stay," Simone said. "I know you wanted to spend some time with him, but don't let it spoil the trip, for god's sake! I've been telling all of the guys that the line forms to the left for you, as far as I'm concerned. Actually it's Vincenzo who's been telling them. There is a line of men who want to meet you, and Carlo Carruci is at the front of the line!"

  Charly slumped down and put her head in her arms. "We made love," she whispered.

  "I know," Simone said, softly. "Did he hurt you?"

  "Lord, no. It was kind of amazing," Charly whispered.

  "Then all of this drama with you today is really, honestly, only about you missing him?" Simone questioned, doubtfully.

  "Well, there's a little more, I guess," Charly admitted. "I told him I loved him."

  "Oh, no. Why would you go and say something like that?"

  "I couldn't help it," Charly said, shrugging her shoulders. "It's the truth. It's always been the truth."

  "Obviously he didn't return the love," Simone said, shaking her head.

  "Obviously," Charly agreed.

  "Well, maybe he didn't hear you," Simone said, wisely.

  "Shut up! That's the best you can come up with?" Charly said, incredulously.

  "It's a possibility!" Simone defended herself. "I mean, how do you know?"

  "I know," Charly said.

  "I'm sorry," Simone said, honestly.

  Charly lowered her head and cried. The minutes ran into each other and finally Simone reached down and lifted her face. "I don't really want to let you know how selfish I truly am, but I need for you to be happy for me right now," she said, gazing into Charly's tear streaked face.

  "I wasn't planning on being this miserable. Ever!" Charly declared, forcefully. "I hear what you're saying. I don't ever want to bring you down. Let's start this whole day over right now. Could you get me a cold cloth?"

  "Ice cold, coming right up!" Simone yelled, bouncing energetically into the bathroom. She came back and laid the cold cloth gently across Charly's face. "I'll get you something to wear," she said over her shoulder, heading for the closet.