Summer Fling

by Jean Copeland

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay. I’ll swing by to get you around seven. You’ll want something in your stomach for an evening like that.”

  “I’m ready for anything.” Jordan paused. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

  Kate’s tangled-up feelings dissolved into sweet repose. “Me, too.” No shade required this time.

  As she pulled into the hotel parking lot, she kicked herself for not inviting Jordan. For the last four years, she’d moped around the ballroom of the St. Regis, a sideline spectator as others cocktailed and dined with carefree ebullience, dancing until midnight with all kinds of partners. And this year she’d do it again, hopefully without patronizing smiles from a catty duo of personal-injury lawyers who knew Lydia from her days as the head of claims adjustment for Connecticut’s largest auto-insurance company.

  * * *

  The ballroom of the St. Regis sparkled in silver and white winter majesty, as this year’s annual AIDS fund-raiser was themed A Winter Wonderland. Kate stood alone by an hors d’oeuvres table and ran a finger across a blanket of puffy white felt as she nibbled a scallop wrapped in bacon. The line between tacky and festive was blurred as someone had clearly spent way too much time adorning the room with paper snowflakes and strings of white lights. Feeling chic in her Halston beige pantsuit over a silky black camisole, Kate opted for festive.

  She glanced around the room full of revelers drinking, dancing, and laughing and concluded she’d committed a faux pas by not inviting Jordan. What had she been so concerned about? Her beauty and grace notwithstanding, she could’ve protected Kate from the creepy life-size robotic Santa Claus staring at her from the side of the table.

  “Hey, you,” said a skinny young woman with short, wiry hair as she approached. She offered Kate a glass of champagne just grabbed off a passing waiter’s tray.

  “Sandra, how are you?” Kate beamed. She kissed the young court clerk she’d befriended last summer at a Lambda Legal cookout in the Hamptons.

  “I’m great. Rumor has it you’re off the market.”

  “You’ve obviously run into Didi recently.”

  “Is she here?”

  “Didi?”

  “No. Your new paramour.”

  “Oh. Uh, no. It’s a casual thing. We’re just dating.”

  “Didi said she’s a musician. That’s awesome. Would I have heard of her?”

  “Maybe. Jordan Squire. She’s performing at the Charlesworth winery next week.”

  “That’s right. I saw that event listed. If I can check it out, I’m sure I’ll see you there.”

  “Uh, maybe,” Kate said, padding her response with indifference. “You know, if I’m free.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so radiant. She obviously agrees with you.”

  Kate smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Speaking of paramours, I’d better go find mine. Great seeing you again.”

  Sandra dashed off into the crowd, leaving Kate vulnerable to the women she’d made a point of avoiding since arriving. The predatory pair picked up her scent and meandered over to her at the bruschetta platter.

  “Kate,” Mitzi Fitzgerald trilled as she and Liz Greenwald flanked her.

  “Hello, girls.” She greeted them with a cautious smile and requisite air kisses.

  “You’re missing all the dish,” Liz said, as if part of a conspiracy.

  “Am I?”

  “Did you see Judge Clark’s new rug?” Liz asked. “It looks like a squirrel had an abortion.” She giggled at the older man with the noticeable toupee resting above his shiny forehead.

  “I guess I missed that one.”

  “So how are you, Kate,” Mitzi asked. “Do you ever see Lydia anymore?”

  Kate glanced at her quizzically. “Mitz, you ask me that every year. No. I don’t.”

  Mitzi regarded her as though Kate was the grieving widow at a wake. “I’m sorry, Kate. I know it’s hard. Someday soon you’ll be over her and ready to get out there and meet someone else again.”

  Kate opened her mouth to rebut Mitzi’s claim but considered the source and saved her energy.

  “Did he really think no one would notice?” Mitzi said. “It’s not even a good one, like William Shatner’s.”

  “Perhaps he mistook his colleagues for adults,” Kate mumbled, but they were already too far gone.

  This was what an attorney had to look forward to after reaching the pinnacle of her career? Whatever happened to stimulating discussions in which great legal minds compared ideas about how they could use their powers for good instead of evil? Liz and Mitzi were fun gals, if you were at a sorority party, but together they worked like repellent against a reasonably intelligent conversation.

  She checked her phone, only to receive the dismal news that it was barely eight o’clock. For fun, she texted Jordan.

  Being held hostage by obnoxious women. Send help. Lol. ;-)

  A few moments later, Jordan responded.

  Lol!!! I’ll send a carriage, Cinderella! Hang in there. <3

  Kate smiled despite her limited options. She could ask one of the gals to hold her glass and run like the wind, or she could keep swiping champagne off the trays of passing wait staff. Maybe she should just tell Mitzi and Liz exactly what she thought of them.

  “Oh, waiter,” Kate called out, then snatched another glass from a passing tray.

  “Look over there,” Mitzi said. “It’s Fred Hillcrest flaunting his pseudo-super-model wife.”

  Fred Hillcrest’s distinguished silver hair stood out across the room as he socialized with his young, amply endowed spouse.

  “I’ll be surprised if she’s the legal drinking age,” Liz said in disgust.

  The champagne pushed a burp up from Kate’s diaphragm. Slamming down that second glass probably wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had. “They look happy, though, don’t they?”

  “He looks happy. Look what he’s getting.”

  “Yeah. She’s gorgeous, thin, and sexy,” Liz said. “What does she get out of the deal?”

  “You mean besides his money?” Mitzi laughed.

  “Maybe she just likes older men,” Kate said, hoping they wouldn’t smell her desperation.

  “Come on, Kate,” Liz replied.

  “I swear something happens to a man’s vision when he snags a younger woman. If he could only see how ridiculous he looks with her.”

  Liz and Mitzi broke into sinister laughter.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Concluding that the mad dash was the best option, Kate thrust her empty glass at Mitzi and jetted off.

  “Kate?” Liz called after her, but she’d already reached the cover of the ladies’ room.

  Thank heavens for soft lighting. Kate examined herself in the full-length mirror of the ruby velour lounge. Damn that Mitzi and Liz. She was allowing their mean-spiritedness to settle in her chest.

  The math on Kate’s birth certificate might have equaled forty-seven, but her appearance hadn’t yet caught up with her age. Thanks to regular elliptical workouts, a low-carb diet, and generous heredity, she still won glances from strangers. She was several years younger than Fred Hillcrest, but at that moment she couldn’t seem to distinguish herself from him.

  She tugged at her suit jacket and tried to reassure herself that she didn’t look ridiculous with Jordan on her arm, in spite of the double take their pairing had registered from the waiter at the sushi restaurant. She studied the fine lines around her eyes and tapped the skin under her chin as she envisioned Jordan’s taut olive complexion, the radiance in her youthful eyes, the fullness of her lips.

  Her reflection taunted her. Sure, she finds you appealing now, but wait till you’re sporting your first set of crow’s feet. She sucked in her cheeks and exhaled, disappointed with the direction in which her thoughts had wandered. Superficial insecurity? Wasn’t it a little late in the game for that?

  She sniffed the flowery bowl of potpourri on the granite counter and forged onward to dinner.
>
  * * *

  By ten fifteen, Kate’s restlessness got the best of her, and after making a quick round of good-byes, she left. As the elevator door opened to the lobby, she yawned, relishing the thought of a little late-night texting with Jordan from the comfort of her cozy bed. When the yawn cleared from her eyes, a mirage in the lobby came into view—Jordan glancing down at the phone in her lap. She moved closer to scrutinize the vision.

  “Hi,” Jordan said brightly. She jumped up from the sofa and engulfed Kate in a passionate hug.

  “I should’ve known something was up when you asked what time I was leaving.” She inhaled the tangy citrus body lotion on Jordan’s skin, suddenly grateful for Mitzi’s and Liz’s harassment.

  “You sounded like you could use some assistance, and the whole damsel-in-distress thing is a real turn-on.”

  “Really? Were you hoping to find me tied to the railroad tracks?”

  “Maybe,” Jordan said with a flirty smile. “I just knew I’d never fall asleep tonight if I didn’t get to say good night to you.”

  “You could’ve called me.”

  “Is that what you’d rather I’d done?” Jordan gazed at her out of the corners of her big eyes.

  Kate grinned. “No.” After all, what was more appealing: texting Jordan from separate beds or sharing one with her?

  Fifteen minutes later, Kate swiped the keycard through the door of room 814, lips firmly locked on Jordan’s, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers. She flipped on a light switch so they could maneuver toward the bed without stumbling over the luggage rack.

  Jordan stripped off Kate’s silky beige blazer and threw it in the air where it floated to the carpet. “You’re so sexy in this,” she said, caressing the satiny material. “And you smell so good.”

  “It’s balsamic dressing, walnut-crusted salmon, and cauliflower florets,” Kate said as she pulled Jordan’s shirt over her head.

  “So the food was tasty?” Jordan said as Kate tore at the belt buckle on her jeans.

  “It was almost worth dodging gossipy shrews all night,” Kate replied while kissing Jordan’s neck.

  “No dessert?” Jordan asked. “Never mind,” she said with a moan of pleasure.

  Still entwined and devouring each other’s lips, they shuffled over to the king-size bed. Kate tore down the sheets, and Jordan freed her from the last of her conservative ensemble. Clad in a peach lace bra and underwear, Jordan pushed her down on the bed, her body slowly creeping up Kate’s until they faced each other, green and blue eyes blended in an ocean of desire. In a luxurious bed, skin on skin, bodies in one fluid motion, Kate shut out the complicated world of age difference and relationships and commitment.

  Two hours later, they’d passed out in each other’s arms. As Kate slept the sleep of the gratified, she dreamed of the ecstasy Jordan brought her, the softness of her fingertips tracing her face, the heat of their bodies together. Little by little, Jordan was quietly wearing down her defenses, working away her rigid reserve, and maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

  Chapter Nine

  The Margarita Test

  In the calm before the party’s official start with the pouring of the first pitcher, Kate watched Jordan gaze at the night sky, admiring the shine from the moon on her supple lips.

  Right up till the afternoon of the meet-the-friends margarita summit at the downtown apartment of Amy and Sheila, Kate was still voicing her objections to Didi about introducing Jordan to their friends so soon. They’d only been seeing each other for about a month, even though it felt much longer on a spiritual level. Although Kate forgot about the minefield of potential problems before them when they were alone together, she still actively scouted for any red flags Jordan might have been waving.

  Cynicism aside, she was happy Jordan had come along willingly.

  “Look at that moon,” Jordan whispered. “It’s a big, ripe tangerine. A perfect accent for cocktails on the rooftop.”

  “It is,” Kate said, smiling at Jordan’s enthusiasm. “Except that it sometimes appears that color when the atmosphere is full of pollution.”

  “How festive.”

  “Amy and Sheila better stick with strings of Chinese lanterns,” Kate mumbled, and they shared a clandestine giggle.

  Gathered around the patio table draped in a tablecloth dotted with tiny sombreros and cacti, the ladies grazed on an enticing spread of chips, pita bread, two kinds of salsa, homemade guacamole, and a tray of Sheila’s famous five-alarm jalapeño nachos. Three citronella candles placed around the perimeter warded off any bloodsuckers arriving to feast on a banquet of salty arms and legs.

  “Your attention, please,” Amy said with mock formality. “The 900 Chapel Rooftop Cocktail Club is now in session. Who’s ready for some jailbait?”

  Kate and Didi exchanged glances.

  “What?” Amy said. “That’s my name for my signature margarita.” She brandished two pitchers as five hands thrust glasses at her.

  “We’re so pleased to welcome two more to our little klatch,” Sheila exclaimed. “As you can see, tonight’s theme is Tijuana ’til Dawn, and we’d like to thank Didi for her ever-popular black bean and corn salsa and Kate for making her customary raid on the liquor store on her way over.”

  The table broke into applause.

  “You seem a little tense,” Jordan whispered. “Everything okay?” She stole Kate’s hand from her lap and held on to it.

  Kate nodded and smiled, rendered speechless by Jordan’s adoring eyes. But at the moment, everything wasn’t okay. A tremor of anxiety was growing in her as she wondered what her friends were thinking about Jordan. She could’ve sworn Amy and Sheila were communicating telepathically, and it could only be about their age difference. Didi’s date, Rhea, seemed particularly curious about her as well.

  When Kate’s mind returned to the conversation, Didi was delivering the punch line to a dirty joke.

  “Ay, easy. There’s a child in the room,” Rhea teased, winking at Jordan.

  The free-spirited flow of the evening ground to a halt as Jordan’s and Kate’s embarrassment reflected on everyone else’s faces.

  “I’m just kidding,” Rhea said. “She knows she’s not a kid. You’re what, thirty-four, thirty-five?”

  Didi winced, apparently feeling Kate’s pain.

  “Thirty,” Jordan mumbled, then shoved a guacamole-heaped pita triangle into her mouth.

  “Thirty?” Sheila said. “You were born the year we were all still drooling over Cagney from Cagney and Lacey.”

  “Um, speak for yourself,” Didi said. “I was drooling over Rob Lowe in St. Elmo’s Fire.”

  “That’s right, the late bloomer,” Amy said. “Who wasn’t drooling over him? He was so pretty.”

  “Still is,” Rhea added.

  Everyone laughed, including Kate, who cringed from the lost look on Jordan’s face regarding their pop-culture references.

  “So Jordan’s a singer,” Kate said.

  “Yes,” Didi said, “a fantastic singer and guitarist. She’s performing at Charlesworth Winery next weekend. We should all go.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Amy said.

  “What kind of music do you play?” Sheila said.

  “Are they covers or originals,” Amy asked.

  “My sets have a mix of both. I call my originals lez-rock. I think I have a unique sound, but I include some notes of Brandi Carlile meets Melissa Etheridge seasoned with a little Janis Joplin.”

  “That sounds hot,” Rhea said, directing her comment solely at Jordan.

  “Yes, that’s it.” Didi slapped her thigh. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe you in meaningful phrases, not just ‘fantastic’ and ‘awesome.’”

  “I’ll take fantastic and awesome,” Jordan said with a humble grin.

  “It certainly wouldn’t be a lie,” Rhea said.

  Amy glanced over at Kate with a hint of confusion in her eyes. Kate grinned, relieved someone else noticed Rhea flirting with her date.
So why hadn’t Didi?

  “Okay, Miss Fantastic and Awesome,” Didi said. “Looks like you’ll have yourself a special contingent in your winery audience.”

  Jordan smiled at Didi and threw her arm around Kate.

  “Yeah, the cougar contingent,” Rhea said, and everyone laughed. Everyone except Kate.

  “I hate that term,” she said, stern-faced. “Isn’t it just another word for ‘old whore’?”

  “If the stiletto fits…” Didi said.

  The group laughed again as Kate shifted in her chair.

  “It’s just a joke, honey,” Jordan said. “You’re not a cougar. You’re much too elegant for that.”

  “Yeah, lighten up, will you?” Didi said out of the corner of her mouth.

  Feeling like the butt of the joke, Kate drained her margarita and shoved the empty glass toward Sheila, who was seated by the pitcher.

  “Let’s have a toast,” Amy said, raising her glass. “To a gorgeous summer night with refreshing margaritas and fine friends, old and new.”

  “Is that another age joke?” Didi said to Amy with mock seriousness.

  “I’m looking around, and I don’t see any old broads here,” Rhea said.

  “Especially Didi, who’s living out her second adolescence,” Kate said.

  Didi mugged at the attention. “They weren’t kidding when they said life begins at forty. Talk about a renaissance. I’m like a whole new person.”

  “A complete sexual reawakening will do that for you,” Kate said. “Some of us experience rebirths of another, less auspicious kind.”

  “For some, it’s divorce,” Rhea said, turning pensive. “The inevitable implosion of the happily-ever-after myth.”

  Amy pulled a face. “Speaking as the senior member of the longest surviving couple out here, happily-ever-after isn’t a myth. Twenty-four years and still going strong,” she said, waving her thumb between herself and Sheila.

  “Can you corroborate that?” Kate teased them.

  “Don’t look at me,” Sheila said. “I just do what she tells me.”

  Amy swatted Sheila’s arm. “We used Didi’s renewed vigor for life as a paradigm for revitalizing our marriage. Thanks to her, Sheila and I have an appreciation for the value of each new day. Age doesn’t define us, and it doesn’t decide who gets to stay or fall in love.”