My Virtual Lover

by Madelaine Grant

  “Oh, no. I can tell you about the rainbow. It’s done with a prism capturing light and spreading it throughout the spray’s arc. You can’t imagine how long Hans worked on that particular effect.” I’d been at the gallery during installation and knew the hours of work to create that rainbow.

  “Marvelous piece of work, I must say. The whole scene is so reminiscent of those old-fashioned bathrooms—even the sink. He must have scouted high and low for the right items.” Winston looked truly impressed. “I must have my wife see this.” He waved a hand to draw Mrs. Winston’s attention. She smiled and walked towards us.

  Loretta Winston didn’t walk—she sidled over—her six-foot curvaceous frame in stark contrast to Leroy Winston’s short, stout figure. Straight, shoulder-length blond hair swirled around bare shoulders, contrasting with the chic fire engine red cocktail dress.

  “Loretta, my dear, I’m going to buy this piece for the entranceway to our new home. What d’ya think?” Winston’s pudgy face beamed with satisfaction.

  Loretta studied the porcelain sculpture for several long minutes. I waited anxiously for her response. If Leroy wanted the piece and she didn’t…

  “It’s missing something,” she finally said.

  “What’s it missing?” he asked.

  “The toilet looks empty. You’ve got this woman in the shower so why not a man on the throne? You know, with his pants around his ankles. That would make the piece much more realistic.”

  Winston considered her suggestion, then turned to me. “I think Loretta’s got something. Can Schmidt add a male figure to the piece?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see a problem with that. While it’s in the gallery, we’ll leave it as is. For your installation, he can add another figure. Of course, there’ll be an additional charge.”

  “Not a problem.” Winston looked delighted. “Please introduce us to the artist. I’d like Loretta to take a photo of us together.”

  “By the way, there is a charge for installation,” I added. “The artist and a master plumber will be needed to transport and install the piece.”

  Winston waved his hand. “Money is no object when I want something. Make all the necessary arrangements. You’ll have a check for one half the price before I leave tonight.”

  I had to find Trish to report the good news. A sale of this magnitude on opening night was a real coup. Scanning the crowd I spotted Trish’s curly blond head. Engrossed in a conversation with two men, she couldn’t see me waving. I moved closer wondering who the men were. One of them was of Japanese origin and the other, a tall, broad shouldered man, had his back to me.

  “Trish,” I called out as I approached the group. “I’ve some good news.”

  She turned to give me a broad smile. “So do I.”

  I came closer, intent on announcing the sale. “Intimate Waterworks” is sold. Leroy Winston just purchased it.”

  “Wow!” Trish reached out to grab my hand. “Good job, partner. Now I want you to meet some friends of mine. Mr. Steve Ushimo, this is Val Anders. And Val, this gentleman is Peter Flynn, one of Scott’s associates. Steve and Peter recently flew in from Japan. I invited them to our opening.”

  I shook hands with Steve Ushimo and then turned to Peter Flynn. For a half second I froze. There was something eerily familiar about the good-looking man in front of me. Before I had a chance to search my mind, he’d reached out and clasped my hand.

  “So good to finally meet you, Val,” he said in a deep, resonant tone. “I’ve heard many wonderful things from Trish and Scott.”

  He held my hand a little longer than necessary, but I didn’t mind. His clear green eyes and the chiseled perfection of his features mesmerized me.

  “Flattery will get you everything,” I murmured, wondering what my friends had told Peter.

  Peter smiled and a dimple appeared. “I certainly hope so,” he gave me a pointed look.

  Where had Trish found this gorgeous hunk? She’d been holding out on me. I’d have to question her later.

  “Your gallery is extraordinary,” Steve said. “We’ve been enjoying the piece with the trains. Very innovative.”

  “That’s Arno Gulin’s work. He’s a genius at creating electrical displays,” I said, still conscious of Peter standing close to me.

  “He knows how to create the illusion of speed with those flashing lights,” Peter remarked.

  “Very true,” I agreed. Peter must be an art connoisseur, I decided. That was an astute observation.

  “Val, why don’t you show Peter the rest of the show?” Trish suggested. “Steve and I have some business matters to discuss.”

  “Fine with me,” Peter said quickly, taking my arm.

  “Uh, sure,” I murmured, wondering what Trish and Steve were involved in. I soon forgot all about them as Peter adroitly moved me around the gallery. His interest in each of the artworks seemed genuine and his comments were always interesting.

  “What line of work are you in?” I asked him as we sipped at the glasses of wine he’d procured for us.

  “A multitude of venture enterprises,” he answered, with an enigmatic smile. “Steve and I are partners in several businesses.”

  “I see,” I said, not sure if the answer told me anything. “Where are you staying while you’re in town? I gather you’re not a native New Yorker.”

  “You’re right there. I was born in Japan but spent most of my life in the States. Trish and Steve have put me up in their guest apartment. Very comfortable, I might add.”

  “So you’re staying with them,” I turned over the situation in my mind. Something was amiss, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. If Tony were here, he’d spot it in a minute. But my love of a man was ‘down under’ for a month or so and I missed him.

  Before I had time to question Peter further, Trish and Steve joined us.

  “Val,” Trish said, “Peter would be happy to drive you home tonight.” She turned to give him a brilliant smile.

  “Not necessary; I can grab a cab.” I didn’t want to be obligated to Peter … or anyone else.

  “It would be my pleasure, Val,” Peter said quietly, putting an arm around my shoulders.

  There was something warm and intimate in his tone that was hard to resist. Then again, why should I? “Okay, you win.”

  “That’s my girl,” Peter said, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze.

  His words sounded strange. I’d only just met the man and already I was ‘his girl’. Oh, well, he probably used the same line with every woman he met. And looking at Peter, he must have a hefty number of women under his belt.

  “Val, if you want to leave a little early, I’ll close up. You’ve done your share of work these past few days,” Trish offered.

  The crowds had thinned out—only a few people remained. “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.” I turned to Peter. “If you’re ready to leave … “

  “At your service, Val,” Peter said, giving me a quick salute. “Your wish is my command.”

  Well, that was a pleasant change. I couldn’t help comparing him to Tony. I had to drag Tony away from gatherings. How refreshing to have an attentive man around, I thought, as Peter escorted me to his sports car and held the door open. I could use a little pampering.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Would you like some music?” Peter asked, sliding into the driver’s seat of a sleek, low-slung, black sports car. The dashboard displayed an astounding array of dials, switches and lights.

  “Sure,” I said, eyeing the myriad features and wondering about his taste.

  The familiar strains of Haydn’s Piano Concertos #11 filled the air with stunning clarity. “That’s one of my favorite pieces,” I exclaimed, settling back to enjoy it. So Peter liked classical music, too; what a charming man.

  Peter drove swiftly through the darkened streets of Manhattan handling the expensive vehicle with skill. The drive home was much too short.

  “This is so pleasant,” I murmured, as he parked the car behind my apartment. “W
ish it could have lasted longer.”

  He stretched an arm out to encircle my shoulders. “We’ll have longer trips together,” he said with a knowing smile.

  His long fingers stroked my upper arm. A tingle of awareness spread from his gentle touch. I turned to give him a long, serious look. “Peter, I should tell you that I’m involved with someone at the moment. He’s out of the country, but I still feel bound to him.”

  “That’s okay, Val,” he replied. “I won’t try to take his place. But I could offer you some companionship and, if you’re in the mood, some loving.”

  He ran a finger down the side of my face and over my lips. “You have the loveliest mouth.” He bent his head to give me a tender kiss.

  I half closed my eyes as a sense of deep relaxation flowed through me. Peter would make a wonderful lover. Still, I had reservations. Tony was sure to find out—and there could be repercussions. Then again, he did take me for granted. Maybe he needed some competition.

  Decisions, decisions. I didn’t have to make up my mind tonight. I could wait awhile and play it cool.

  “Let me think about your offer, Peter. I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

  “So have I, Val,” he said, smiling at me. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

  After he left, I wandered restlessly around my loft apartment. The thrill of the art opening was ebbing but I couldn’t seem to wind down. A night with Peter would have helped me relax. I wasn’t married to Tony—I shouldn’t have any scruples about an occasional fling.

  I’d never been involved with two men at the same time. What would it be like? I pondered the situation all night, giving myself arguments pro and con having an affair. I hadn’t come to any conclusion by the time I fell into an exhausted sleep around four a.m.

  When I woke up the next morning, fragments of a dream came floating into my consciousness. I kept my eyes closed trying to remember.

  Peter and I were lying nude in my bed, his fully erect cock pressing into my side. I shifted to face him, giving him better access.

  “Oh, Peter,” I cried. “I do want you.”

  He kissed me, long and hard; his tongue probed my open mouth as he entered my throbbing core. We were completely absorbed in our passionate coupling so I didn’t hear the front door opening. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and I took no notice. When a rough hand grabbed my bare shoulder, I screamed, twisting to see the intruder.

  “So this is how you spend your time when I’m away,” Tony snarled, lifting me off the bed. His dark, angry face terrified me.

  “Tony, please,” I begged. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Isn’t it now?” he cried, reaching into his pocket to draw out a pistol and aiming it at Peter.

  “No! Don’t shoot him!” I shouted, as I ran to shield Peter’s body.

  The dream ended abruptly at that crucial point. I couldn’t remember if Tony actually pulled the trigger. What a horrible nightmare! I shivered at the memory. Then and there I decided to have another lock put on my front door.

  Glancing at the clock, I was startled to see the time—ten a.m. I had thirty minutes to shower, dress, gulp down breakfast and head to the gallery. Saturdays after an opening were usually busy—especially if there were any newspaper reviews.

  Trish arrived at the gallery around noon with a newspaper tucked under one arm. “Guess what? We made the Times and the review isn’t too bad.”

  “What do you mean, not too bad?” I reached for the paper.

  “Check it out. It’s controversial, which brings people in to see what all the fuss is about. By the way, how did you get along with Peter?”

  Scanning the review, I didn’t bother to answer. Trish was right—although not exactly favorable, it was a provocative story and would draw crowds.

  Trish sat down at her computer and repeated her question. “Did you find Peter easy to be with?”

  “Uh, sure,” I replied, still absorbed in the review. “He’s quite a charmer. Where did you find him?”

  Trish shrugged. “He’s one of Steve Ushimo’s protégées. Scott and Steve are involved in several business ventures. By the way, what are your plans this weekend?”

  I didn’t really have any. The art show had occupied my mind for so many weeks; I hadn’t had time to plan any social activities. “Nothing special. Why?”

  “You’re invited for the weekend. We’re having an impromptu gathering tonight and Peter asked if you could come.”

  Was Trish scheming to throw Peter and I together? How about her loyalty to Tony? The whole scenario was disturbing. “I’m not sure I want to see all that much of Peter.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if Tony finds out I’m dating another man?” Last night’s terrifying dream still haunted my mind.

  Trish laughed. “If that’s all you’re worried about …”

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded. I should have suspected something fishy going on. But I didn’t.

  “Tony could be gone for several months. Are you supposed to sit around pining every weekend? I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to do that.”

  “But he certainly doesn’t expect me to fall into bed with another man,” I replied, miffed at her lack of concern.

  She lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Have things progressed that far—in such a short time?”

  Embarrassed, I turned away. I have a difficult time confiding personal things to anyone—even someone as close to me as Trish. “Who knows? He’s a very attractive man. Anything is possible.”

  And that was the end of our conversation. Except I did agree to spend the weekend at the Lewis’. Peter would pick me up later and drive me back Sunday evening. What the heck—after months of hard work, I deserved a bit of fun.

  CHAPTER 8

  The doorbell rang as I was toweling myself off after a shower. Quickly I slipped into a terry robe and ran down the stairs.

  “I’m early.” Peter stood at the door with a single red rose in his hand. He assessed me slowly from my wet hair to my bare feet. “Hope I didn’t catch you in the middle.” He grinned, a knowing look on his handsome face.

  Could he guess I had nothing on under my robe? “Uh, no. I was already out.” I reached for the rose. “How lovely,” I murmured, pleased at his thoughtfulness. “C’mon in.”

  I padded into the kitchen to find a vase and fill it with water with Peter trailing after me.

  “Nice setup,” he said, glancing around. “I like the spiral staircase and the skylights. Good artwork, too.”

  “Thanks. I enjoy living here.” I sniffed the rose. “Marvelous fragrance. How did you know I love roses?”

  “I figured you would.” He touched a velvety petal. “So soft,” he said. “Almost as soft as your skin.” He lifted a finger to my face and traced a line down one side.

  Our eyes met for a long moment. My heart started beating fast; he had the sexiest green eyes.

  “We could linger awhile.” He drew me close. “The Lewis’ won’t mind if we’re late.”

  Tempting. Very tempting. I blinked and forced my gaze away. His presence was almost mesmerizing. Maybe it was his low voice or the intensity of his look. Peter had a magnetic personality. A twinge of guilt entered my consciousness. I felt disloyal to Tony and I couldn’t quite dismiss that thought.

  “I’d better get dressed.” I eased out of his embrace. Better to proceed slowly; he was still a stranger.

  “All right, Val,” he replied, with a good-natured smile. There was no trace of annoyance—which I appreciated.

  Peter took the scenic drive to Westchester. This time he played melodic jazz pieces, some of my favorites. We seemed to have similar tastes in music, always a favorable sign. We talked about music, the art scene and recent books we’d read. He had an amazing memory and could quote whole sections of some treasured classics.

  “Wish I could remember as much. I’m glad if I can quote one or two lines.”

  He laughed. “Don’t feel bad, Val. I’ve an unusual talent in that
direction.”

  A large party was in full swing when we arrived at the Lewis’ ultra modern home. Several robotic waiters and waitresses carried platters of hor d’oevres while others handled the drinks.

  “I’m not overly fond of using robots,” I whispered to Peter as we made our way to the open bar. “How do you feel about them?”

  He was silent a moment, considering my question. “I have no problem utilizing robotic help. Sometimes they do a better job than humans.” He gave me a long, serious look.

  I would remember that conversation later with much embarrassment.

  I knew most of the people at the party—mostly business associates or friends from the art world. Peter was constantly at my side making certain I had enough to eat and drink. At one point he was called away by Scott and I found myself fielding questions from an acquaintance with a strong reputation for gossip.

  “Val, my dear, you’re looking chipper. Who’s the handsome man with you? Or shouldn’t I ask?” She gave me a conspiratorial wink.

  “Peter’s an associate of Scott’s,” I replied coolly.

  “I see,” she nodded. “And how’s Tony doing these days? I hear he’s out of the country.” Her sharp black eyes narrowed to a feline slit.

  “Right,” I said, edging away to talk to someone else. She was digging for dirt and I wasn’t about to supply her with any.

  Peter returned soon and guided me to a quiet spot. “Val, is anything wrong? You seem upset.”

  What a discerning man. It took Tony awhile to catch on to my moods. “Nothing important, really … just a nosy woman wanting to know whom you were and where Tony was.”

  ‘What did you tell her?”

  “Not much. But she’ll concoct her own story to circulate.”

  He put an arm around me, bent his head and whispered, “Then let’s give her something to talk about.” He drew me close and gave me a long kiss.

  I laughed. “Peter, you’re impossible.” My spirits lifted and the rest of the evening passed pleasantly.