Never Too Late

by Patricia Watters

  Val let out a little snicker. "The groove around your ring finger. Looks like you just took off your ring." She unzipped her skirt and it slid down her long shapely legs.

  "Actually, you're mostly right," Andrea said, looking at her bare finger where a ring had been for two days short of twenty-five years. Her hand looked oddly... naked.

  "Your first?" Val asked, wiggling into a pair of very short shorts.

  "My first what?"

  "Divorce." Val tugged a tank top over her head. "Was he your first husband?"

  "Umm, yes," Andrea replied, unprepared to answer questions so soon on the cruise. She'd barely removed her ring, and the idea of joining the single scene had not yet settled in.

  "How many years?" Val asked, fluffing her hair in front of the mirror.

  "Just short of twenty-five," Andrea replied.

  "Shit! What did he do?" Val asked. "Screw around with another woman?"

  "No," Andrea replied. "That is, he didn't while we were married. But now he might."

  "Honey, he's a free man," Val said. "Trust me. He already has. But there's no point hanging onto the past. Let's go on deck and check out the crop before it's picked over."

  "I assume you mean men," Andrea said, then felt dense for voicing the obvious. But the single scene was still new to her.

  "Of course I mean men," Val said. "Change into something upscale and revealing and meet me out there. I'll claim a couple of deck chairs for us." Val smoothed her hands down the front of her tank top, molding it to her ample breasts while peering in the mirror, and Andrea wondered what it would be like to have a body like that. In earlier years, Jerry appreciated hers, but after four children, silver stretch marks crossed her belly, her breasts were not as high and firm, and it had been years since she'd paraded naked in front of Jerry. Her display in the shower had been an impulse she couldn't explain, other than to flaunt what Jerry would never again have. It dawned on her later that what Jerry saw he no longer wanted, so the whole episode had been pointless.

  After changing into a pair of white slacks and a tee shirt with a gold and multicolored dragon stretched across the front, Andrea put on a pair of white sandals, grabbed her sunglasses and her Frommer's Guide to the Bahamas the girls had given them, and headed for the deck. She found Val reclining in a lounge chair, her long bronze legs stretched out for all male eyes to appreciate, sunglasses covering her eyes so she could check out the crop unnoticed.

  Andrea settled in the lounge chair beside Val, opened her Frommer's Guide, and started reading about the places the cruise would be taking them. Oddly, she began to have a kind of bizarre sense of excitement to snorkel in turquoise waters, and stroll on pristine beaches, and eat conch chowder. But there was also a downside. Don't walk alone at night, it warned, and never accept a package from a stranger with instructions to deliver it to someone on the island. Purse snatching was common, the book warned, and drug smuggling rampant.

  She had just finished reading about a zoological garden in Nassau, where trained pink flamingos marched on command, when Val nudged her, and said, while pointing, "That older black guy over there in the Hawaiian shirt. He's one hot hunk. And he's available."

  Andrea followed the direction of Val's finger, and to her shock, saw that the man was Jerry. Wearing wrap-around sunglasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a tropical print shirt unbuttoned to display the length of his chest, he was acting like God's gift to women, with one woman gazing up at him from her lounge chair, and another leaning into him while peering over his shoulder at what looked to be a tourist flyer in his hand. Although the sight of him was comical—his looking for all the world like a middle-aged man going through a kind of male menopause—she couldn't help noticing his abs. She knew he'd set up a fitness center at the company, but she hadn't realized he'd been using the machines. She also noticed that the matt of chest hair that used to drive her to distraction was gone. Obviously a last-minute defoliating in preparation for the cruise. It came to her that Jerry had fashioned himself after the male models on the covers of the novels she read, covers he'd poked fun at in their earlier years, but now ridiculed with condescension. "He's not my type," she volunteered, assuming Val pegged Jerry for her.

  "I wasn't thinking of him for you," Val said. "I can see he's not your type. But he'll do for me. He's a spitting image of Denzel Washington, and look at that beefy chest."

  Andrea couldn't dispute that Jerry resembled Denzel Washington, more so as he got older, and her women friends had been quick to point that out. But she could dispute his lack of chest hair. "It's been waxed," she pointed out. "Gigolos do that, sort of a sign of the trade."

  Val laughed. "I know for a fact he's not a gigolo. I was talking to him on deck right after the life-boat drill. He and his wife are getting a divorce. She's a real bitch."

  Andrea, ready to leave a trail of claw marks down Jerry's recently waxed chest, said in a tightly-controlled voice, "He told you that?"

  "Well, not in so many words," Val admitted. "But she treats him like shit. And from the way he talked, she's one cold fish in bed." Val propped her sunglasses on top of her head and smiled at Jerry, who was looking their way. He caught Andrea's eye, held it momentarily, then winked at Val and gave her a thumbs up. Val leaned forward, giving him an unobstructed view of her ample cleavage, and said, "He also looks like a man who likes to get it on. No wonder he's dumping the mannequin."

  Andrea stared at Val. "Mannequin?"

  "His wife," she clarified. "Cold fish. Mannequin. Those society women are all alike. Which is why their husbands find sugar babies. But the guy looks really hot. I bet he'd be one satisfying stud in bed."

  Andrea almost laughed out loud. Jerry might have been a stud at one time, but their long-ago romps in bed had lost their appeal. Slipping into bed before Jerry and feigning sleep had been her ploy to get around it. "Looks can be deceiving," she said. "I've heard that some of the hottest-looking men can't function below the waist. If you're looking for action in bed, he might not be the one for you. He looks well past his prime, got to be in his late forties if he's a day."

  "Well, frankly, I don't care whether he can get it up or not," Val said. "He has money, so his performance in bed is irrelevant. Besides, that's what sugar babies are for, to take men's minds off everything that keeps them from functioning as a man. My last sugar daddy couldn't do it at all without Viagra, but after one week, he was back in business. A twice-a-nighter in fact. He was one happy guy, I can tell you that."

  Andrea glared at Jerry, incensed that he'd shared what went on in their bedroom with this woman, someone he'd never met before today. "What makes you think he has money?" she asked, wondering if he'd spilled their finances to her as well.

  "I spotted him when he was coming aboard," Val replied. "His clothes were definitely high end. He also told me he owns his own company, something to do with cleaning up oil spills. And he has several helicopters and a fleet of boats, and over two hundred employees."

  Andrea eyed Jerry in disgust. He'd warbled like a nightingale to this woman while singing his own praises. Couldn't he recognize a fortune hunter when he saw one? Ha! Maybe he deserved the women. "He told you all that?" she asked.

  "Not exactly," Val admitted. "I pretty much had to pump it out of him. But once you start flattering the older guys they tell all, just to keep the compliments coming." She gave Andrea, a discerning smile. "You really are new at this, aren't you?"

  "At what?"

  "The single scene, shipboard flings."

  "Well yes," Andrea admitted. "It's been twenty-five years since I dated, and that was with my husband. Umm... ex-husband. Actually, I wouldn't mind a shipboard romance though. But then I'd want it to be over. Just a short-term romance to make the cruise memorable."

  "I suppose I can understand your feeling that way at your age," Val said. "For me, I'm looking long term and lucrative. They're called sugar daddies. I'd say that hunky guy definitely has the makings of one. And I'd bet my last dollar he has no problem getting
it up either. In fact, from the looks of things, he's got it up right now."

  Andrea lifted her sunglasses and stared at Jerry's crotch and saw that Val was right. "He's still married," she said, somewhat illogically, considering the fact that he was soon to be unmarried. And before long, he'd no doubt be in bed with one of the bimbos hanging onto him. But she refused to let that bother her. Jerry was free to do as he pleased. They'd agreed as much.

  Val shrugged, and said, "The married ones make the best sugar daddies. They have to be discrete and clever about slipping away, so they treasure every moment they spend with their sugar babies. And once the gifts start coming, you feel like a queen."

  At that instant Jerry looked their way and Andrea saw Val give him a finger-tip wave. He smiled and winked again. Yes, Andrea decided, he deserved this scheming sugar baby, but not until after the marital asset pie had been divided. This woman could siphon off a sizable amount of money before that time. "He doesn't look the type to shower a woman with gifts," she said, though there had been a time when Jerry brought flowers at unexpected times, and surprised her with expensive jewelry, and teased her with sexy lingerie from Victoria's Secret. Lingerie she'd packed for the cruise...

  "Trust me. He's the type," Val said. "He's got that look on his face right now, imagining me sitting nude and brushing my hair after we'd had sex, and him coming up behind me at my dressing table and kissing me on the side of the neck before draping a diamond pendant over my head and positioning the thing between my breasts, and bingo. I have a diamond pendant."

  Andrea looked at Val, stunned. That was precisely the way it had been when Jerry gave her the emerald and diamond pendant on their twentieth wedding anniversary. She looked over at Jerry, and there was no question. He had that look on his face. But he was looking at Val.

  Peeved that Val seemed intent on cutting into her half of the marital assets, Andrea said, "With two-hundred employees to take care of, I doubt he'd be willing to spend money on expensive gifts for a woman."

  "Honey, any man with disposable income and a working cock is willing to spend it on the right woman, and two-thousand a month isn't a big chunk for a man with his own company, considering what he gets in return. I just have to convince that horny hunk he needs a sugar baby."

  "I presume you mean keeping him happy in bed."

  "Of course keeping him happy in bed," Val said. "But that's only part of it. You also become his companion and his confidante, and you provide excitement and renewed enthusiasm for life, and for sex. It's a win-win working relationship for both parties for as long as it lasts."

  "But I don't see how the sugar daddy wins," Andrea said, trying to grasp this new single-scene concept. "He's putting up money for something his friends get for free."

  "Well, think of it this way," Val explained. "While the rest of his buddies are buying drinks for hit-and-miss women during Happy Hour, your sugar daddy knows he can come to you any time, day or night, and be treated like a king. But the sugar bowl isn't just for men. Powerful, self-made women and wealthy divorcees can have fun too. Sugar mommies write the checks and set the rules for the arrangement, and in return they have their sugar pups—younger, good-looking, male companions in top shape who treat them like queens and keep them happy in bed."

  Andrea glanced at Jerry, who was slurping up the attention like a big stupid lapdog. The woman who'd been peering over his shoulder now had one hand curved around his arm, and the woman who'd been sitting on the lounge stood on the other side of him, her highball glass raised while poking the straw between his lips...

  "Don't even think about it," Val said, when she saw that Andrea's attention was focused on Jerry. "I saw him first. No disrespect intended, but he clearly likes the younger women. Not those two with him, though. I know, because he keeps looking this way. And they know it too. Just watch. As soon as I start toward them they'll take their cue and leave." She stood in her tight shorts and snug tank top, and giving a little hip wiggle, sashayed over to where Jerry stood. Just as Val predicted, the two women who'd been fawning over Jerry eyed Val with uncertainty, gave Jerry an affectionate hug, and strolled off...

  "Excuse me, signora. Is this seat available now?" a deep male voice said in a soft, incredibly appealing Italian accent. Andrea looked up to see a tall, dark-haired man, handsome as the devil and looking ten years younger than she, peering down at her. If there was anything to the term, bedroom eyes, this man had them. A man in his prime, his broad chest was clad in a navy turtle neck, and his tight white pants defined his maleness. The term sugar pup came to mind. But she'd be damned if she'd pay for his company...

  "Signora?"

  "Oh... yes, umm... please sit down," Andrea said, feeling a little giddy in the man's presence, wondering why Val hadn't gone after him instead of Jerry. "My friend seems to have lost interest in my company," she added.

  "Which is her loss, and my gain." The man's voice was as smooth as thick cream. He settled his large frame into the lounge chair, turned those sleepy hooded eyes on her, and said, "Please allow me to introduce myself, signora. I am Alessandro Cavallaro."

  Andrea offered her hand. "Andrea Porter," she said, knowing her last name was common enough that she wouldn't be pegged with Jerry.

  To her surprise, Alessandro Cavallaro bent over her hand and kissed it, then held it sandwiched between his palms. "My pleasure, Signora Porter. I noticed you when you first boarded the ship," he said in that smooth, deep voice while peering into her eyes. "And you appear to be travelling alone. Am I right?"

  Andrea glanced at Jerry, who was staring at her. But a moment later, Val cut off his view by moving in front of him and shoving a straw hat on his head. "Yes, I'm travelling alone," she said, watching Val trail her finger down the length of Jerry's waxed chest and up again.

  Alessandro Cavallaro leaned toward her and said in a soft, low tone that suggested pillow talk, "Then I assume you are also unattached, correct?"

  Andrea glanced at Jerry, who was smiling at Val. But, then, Val was a swinger with a body that would catch the eye of any hot-blooded male. Jerry was no exception. Although she didn't want to share a bed with Jerry ever again, for some unexplainable reason, she didn't want Val in his bed either. But that was only because of the newness of their situation. During their twenty-five years of marriage it had never occurred to her that they would ever share a bed with anyone but each other. But it was where they were now.

  "Yes," she said, at last. "I'm unattached."

  Alessandro Cavallaro smiled, displaying perfect white teeth, and said, "Well, Signora Porter, we have at least two hours before the first call for dinner, so perhaps you'll do me the honor of telling me everything there is to know about you..."

  ***

  Jerry stood at the wide viewing window of the fitness room while watching Andrea making a complete fool of herself. The same man he'd seen her with earlier was hovering over her like the cougar-hunter he was. And she was soaking it up, smiling and batting her eyelashes, and flirting like a woman half her age. He let out a little grunt of amusement. The man was in for a rude awakening if he managed to get her in bed. Sex was definitely not her thing anymore. But since he and Andrea were going their separate ways, what she did or did not do in bed was no longer his concern...

  Long slender fingers gliding into the crook of his elbow drew his attention away from the scene beyond the window. "A penny for your thoughts, sugar pie?" Val asked.

  Jerry peered down at Valerie Williamson, the sleek little number who seemed determined to warm his bed. "Just checking out things on deck," he said.

  The woman slipped in front of him, resting her back against his chest and said, musingly, "She's my roommate... in the middle of a divorce and looking for adventure on the high seas. Alessandro Cavallaro will take care of her. He's an expert at giving women what they want. That body of his is nothing less than a state-of-the-art sex machine, and he knows it. Spends hours in the gym keeping fit. And he's got brains too. Lots of older women want him for their sug
ar pup."

  "What's a sugar pup?" Jerry asked.

  "On, man. Your generation really is behind the times. I tell you what," Val said, turning around to face him, "I'll come to your stateroom after dinner tonight and tell you all about the sugar bowl." She trailed a finger down his bare chest and made an idle circle around his navel.

  Jerry glanced over the top of her head and looked on in disgust as Alessandro the sugar pup planted a kiss on the flat of Andrea's wrist while peering down the front of her shirt. Hell! She was even more naïve than he'd figured. How obvious could a man be, drooling over a woman old enough to be his... much older sister. But Andrea wasn't responding like a sister. She was practically slavering over the man. Even from a distance he could see her nostrils flaring and her chest heaving...

  Val glanced around in the direction of his gaze, and said, "Pathetic isn't it. But she's been completely turned off to sex by the guy she spent the last twenty-five years with, so she's primed for action in bed with a real man. When Alessandro's through with her she'll think she'd died and gone to heaven. And that prick she'd been married to... History."

  Jerry glared at Andrea, and said, "What else did she tell you about her husband?"

  "Not a whole lot," Val replied. "But I could tell from the start she's not into the sugar bowl scene." She cuddled against him so her ample breast pressed against his side then glided a palm around behind his waist and down to squeeze one spandex-covered bun. "But you, on the other hand, sugar pie, you're a man after my own heart. In shape, active, virile." She gave his butt a pat. "We'll check out your plumbing later." She puckered her lips into a moist, come-to-me-baby, air kiss, winked, and sashayed off. But the woman with the body of a goddess and the libido of a nymphomaniac, who was intent on servicing him tonight, wasn't the woman he wanted. But he sure as hell didn't want Andrea either. Those days were over...

  He looked out the window again and saw Andrea walking off with her Italian stud, the man's hand sliding down to drape over her hip, the tips of his fingers resting lightly on her butt. Hell and damnation! He went back to pumping iron. Vigorously. Energetically. Single-mindedly...