by Joachim Jean
She put up coffee, poured herself a cup, and curled up in the rocker with the play open to her most recent speech.
The sound of feet moving on the floor above meant Clint was up. Probably the smell of the coffee. Nina detected the faint sound of water running. He’s in the shower. What fun to be in there with him.
The memory of her first shower with Henry flashed through her mind. She had been only twenty-four at the time and he had been thirty-nine, an experienced man. Henry had been exciting as he taught her the art of physical love. Now, she was using what she had learned on a new man, a younger man. One who didn’t need any instruction.
Still, it was strange to be loving Clint using techniques she had learned with Henry. He’s gone. Let it go. But guilt didn’t disappear simply because you wished it.
The creak of the stairs announced his appearance. His hair was wet, but combed, his shirtless chest was a little damp, and he looked damn good.
“I saw your dress on the chair. I wondered what you were wearing. The house has too many windows for you to be down here naked.”
“Didn’t think you’d miss this.” She touched the shirt.
“It looks better on you. Especially with nothing underneath.”
“Can you see?”
He nodded. “You bet.”
“Don’t miss a thing, do you?”
He went to her, picked her up in a bear hug, and nuzzled her neck. “Not when it comes to my girl.”
“Am I your girl?”
“Damn right, you are.”
When he put her down, she returned to the stove, tending to melting butter and a cooking omelet.
“This is like a perfect romantic scene from a perfect play I’m too imperfect to write,” he said, reaching into the cabinet where the plates were stored.
“Here you go,” she said, offering him a mug of coffee just the way he liked it—light with no sugar.
“Morning, beautiful,” he replied, taking the mug and bending to kiss her.
“Cheese omelet?”
“Only if you come with it,” he said, brushing his lips under her ear.
“Like a side of home fries?”
“Like a flawless piece of fruit, a juicy peach, just soft enough to be ripe, smelling heavenly, peachy, and delicious.” He reached for the buttons on the shirt.
“Uh-uh. Food first.” She laughed, side-stepping him.
“Right, right. You’re sweet enough to make this, the least I can do is eat it before I devour you.”
“After your dinner last night? This is nothing.”
“Not to me,” he said, pulling her to him to plant a kiss on her lips.
Nina scooped the omelets out and put them on plates next to the buttered toast. She handed them to Clint to take to the table while she poured juice in glasses and brought those herself.
“I’ve been going over this last scene. You might never hear another actress say her speech is too long, but I think mine is. Can we break it up into two sections? Maybe put Annie’s response between?”
Clint stared at the shirt she wore, swallowed, and then cleared his throat. “You’re sitting there, practically naked, and talking about the play? You’re kidding, right?”
She blushed and shook her head.
“The last thing on my mind with you here, dressed…undressed…like that,” he motioned to her body with his hand, “is the play. But hold that thought, my muse.”
“Clint, I loved last night, but we have to get back to work. Your time here is running out, and…”
“And? And maybe I went to spend time before sundown making love to you rather than writing.”
“But you’re here to work…to accomplish something…”
“You don’t think falling in love with you accomplishes anything? I disagree.”
“Falling in…”
“Love…yep. I don’t know what you’d want with a schoolteacher who thinks he’s a playwright…I sure as hell don’t have money…but I can’t help myself.” His gaze dropped to his hand that was pushing the remaining omelet around with his fork. When he looked up, Nina still sat frozen, her mouth open slightly, her fork poised in mid-air. “I’ve never met anyone like you before. I don’t think I can let you go.”
Clint looked down at his plate then took a forkful of omelet and stuffed it in his mouth. He looked up again, his eyes pleading. “Say something,” he whispered.
The ensuing silence was deafening. Color stole into Nina’s cheeks as she put down her fork. “Who says you have to? I mean…have to let me go?” she asked, sliding her hand across the table toward Clint, who quickly covered it with his.
Chapter Four
“When are you moving in?” Clint asked, before breakfast was even over.
“What? Wait a minute.” Nina put down her fork and took a sip of coffee. “I don’t want to lose you, either, but when did we agree to move in together?”
“Isn’t that what ‘never let you go’ means?”
“Uh, no?”
“That’s what it means to me.”
Nina looked down at her food then up at Clint’s face. The eagerness in her heart fought with the hesitancy in her mind. She moved forward slightly then sat back in her seat again. “You want us to be together?”
He nodded, his mouth busy chewing his last bite of egg. He swallowed. “All the time. I want to wake up with you every morning.”
“Oh, Clint,” she said, bolting up from the table. She flew into his arms.
He held her close as a small sob escaped her control and she trembled slightly.
“You okay?” he asked, holding her out at arms-length, his gaze inspecting her expression.
Unable to speak, Nina nodded and hid her face in his shoulder. Everyone had told her that love had gone to the grave with Henry.
Clint took Nina to the rocking chair and pulled her into his lap, closing an arm around her. She curled up. A smile settled on her lips, and a new light shone in her eyes.
“Soooo, are you going to move in or am I?” he asked.
“Since I own my place, why don’t you move in with me?” she suggested, tucking her foot underneath her.
“You definitely have the better kitchen.”
“Settled, then. When?”
“Tomorrow?” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“How long until you go back to school?”
“School doesn’t start for four weeks,” he said, stroking her hair.
“We can make the most of that time.” She absently rubbed her cheek against his chest.
As she turned her head, his mouth came down on hers with a hard kiss. He slipped his hand under the big shirt she wore and kneaded her breast while his tongue stroked and teased hers. Her arms wound around his neck as his fingers abandoned her warm flesh to attack the buttons. Once he had them undone, he gathered her close and slid both of them down to the rug.
“I want you,” he breathed in her ear as he pushed the shirt off her shoulders.
She unfastened his shorts. He slipped them off quickly. Being commando, his erection was up against her thigh in a moment. He gripped her leg, sliding his hand up until he met the top. Running his thumb along the crease, he inched it down, going deeper as she opened her legs. He rubbed his digit up and down, nudging it against her center, pushing against her opening. She squirmed slightly and groaned as his fingers hit pay dirt.
“Wow,” he muttered.
She sensed a blush in her cheeks. “You get me…uh…going.”
“You’re so hot already.”
“You make me hot.”
“Never met a woman as responsive as you.”
“Really?”
His hands glided along her silken skin, as if he were consuming her with his fingers. He touched every inch, starting with her feet and working up. She relaxed and let his easy massage and caressing soothe and excite her. As he moved up, the heat grew. While his hands moved north, his lips went south, kissing down her neck, to her breast and over her belly.
; He positioned himself between her legs. She made a tiny gasp of delight at the touch of his tongue, and dug her fingers into his shoulder blades.
Her breathing quickened. Nina freed up her hand to close her fingers around him, making him groan. She stroked him slowly, feeling him grow harder and harder.
“Okay, okay…I know,” he muttered.
She drew her knees up, parting her feet wide. Clint mounted her, burying himself deep inside her. He moaned when her hot flesh surrounded him, muffling his sounds in her shoulder.
Her hips followed his rhythm as they loved each other. Clint attempted to tighten up when he felt Nina’s intensity climbing, her fingers digging into his back, sweat forming tiny beads on her forehead, and moans of sheer pleasure escaping her lips.
Her release came shortly before his control went out the window. He followed her quickly. They lay panting on the floor.
“I’ve never met a woman like you before.”
“I’m weird, I know.”
“Not weird…incredibly sexy and up for anything.”
She looked away and color filled her cheeks. He placed his hand on her breast for a quick caress as he kissed her neck. When Nina rolled over, Clint saw the burn on her lower back. He touched the raw skin, and she jumped.
“Ow!”
“Rug burn. I’m so sorry, honey.” He leaned over to tenderly kiss the sensitive area.
“A souvenir.” She chuckled, twisting around in an attempt to examine the injury.
Clint went to the bathroom. In a minute, he returned with a soapy washcloth, antiseptic cream, and a bandage. He gently cleaned the wound then applied the germ killer and protection to the nasty scrape.
While he was taking care of her, she asked him, “Why did you decide to become a teacher?”
“My dad was in sales. He made good money, but he traveled all the time. I remember when I was eight, fighting with him about my baseball game. I wanted him to come, and he kept saying he couldn’t. I followed him to the railroad station and watched him board the train for what seemed like the millionth time. I was furious… It took me years to forgive him. Then and there, I decided that when I grew up, my job wouldn’t take me away from my family…ever.”
Nina put her palm on his cheek. “You did what you said you would. You’re there for your son.”
“A lot of good it did. I might as well be a traveling salesman now. With the divorce, I’m away from Cory almost as much as my dad was from me,” he said, looking out the window to watch a chickadee fly from the bird feeder.
“Why didn’t you become a writer?” she probed.
“I wanted to, but nobody believed I could. My parents thought it was a waste of time…a pipe dream. ‘Who do you think you are, Eugene O’Neill?’…I heard that plenty.”
“I think you’re better than O’Neill,” she whispered in his ear.
He took her hand in both of his. “You’re the only one.”
“I’m never wrong about talent.”
“Pretty confident about your judgment, aren’t you?” he teased.
“Damn right.”
“That’s why I love you.” He kissed both her palms then dropped her hands and pushed to his feet.
“Because I think you’re good?” Her gaze followed him to the kitchen.
“Because you believe in me,” he explained, over his shoulder.
Nina took the papers from the bandage and mushed them together. She stood up and made her way to the garbage can, her eyes bright.
“Can we re-heat the coffee?” he asked, sniffing the pot.
“Sure,” she said, turning away from him.
“I’d like to go over your last speech. Maybe we can divide it in half and put Annie in the middle, like you said,” he suggested, picking up her copy.
Nina poured coffee and put the mugs in the microwave before she retrieved the big shirt and his shorts. She delivered the beverages to a small table and then curled up next to Clint on the sofa while he marked up the script.
“Here, try this. I’ll read Annie’s part.” He handed her the manuscript and picked up his cup.
****
Not every work session went smoothly. They disagreed as often as they agreed.
“No, he’d never tell her to go ahead.” Clint put his hands on his hips.
“Of course he would.”
“Nah. I’ve been married. I know what a husband would do.”
“Yeah? I’ve been married, too. And my husband would’ve done that.”
“He must have been a wimp.”
“He was not! He was a wildly successful investment banker.” Nina opened her stance and glared at him.
Clint grumbled. “Wimp.”
Nina slapped the script down on the coffee table and stormed out.
Clint rushed after her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He dragged her back by the elbow. “I didn’t mean to insult Henry.”
“Don’t do it again.” A bit mollified, she stopped frowning.
“Let’s start over. From the top of page fifty-three”
Nina nodded, turning to the proper spot. “‘Damon, you don’t know how to dry dishes’,” she recited.
“Say it with a little more feeling.”
“She’s talking about dishes. How emotional can I get?”
“Okay, okay. Try the next line.”
“‘You don’t give a damn about me, our house, or our daughter’,” Nina continued, her voice quaking.
“‘Damn you! Liar!’” Clint stormed.
“‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Damon’?”
“That was perfect, Nina. Perfect.” Clint smiled.
Nina sank down into a chair. “I’m shaking.”
He folded her into his embrace. “I hope you didn’t have any scenes like that with Henry.”
“Everybody has scenes like that sometimes.”
He kissed her hair.
“Now, I’ll read Annie while you do Gordon,” Nina said.
Clint delivered the words he had wrote for Gordon, the father, to say to his daughter. Nina performed the daughter’s part. They recited the speeches several times, but neither one was pleased.
“Something’s missing,” Clint realized, rubbing his chin.
“We need to show a special connection between father and daughter, something…a symbol. We need a thing here, I think.”
“I only have a son and two brothers. No sisters. Guide me on this one, Nina. What would there be between a father and daughter? Season tickets to their favorite team?”
Nina laughed. “Maybe tickets to the ballet?”
Clint made a face. “Ballet? Nah. Maybe her favorite hockey team?”
“Most young girls aren’t into hockey, Clint.”
Clint got up and put on another pot of coffee. It was almost time to break for lunch, but the work on “Happy Family” was rolling along.
Nina’s brow furrowed as she sat on the sofa, wearing nothing but one of Clint’s big shirts. She chewed on the end of a red pen. “We could use a family necklace…”
“Family necklace? Like an heirloom?”
“Exactly.”
“Tell me more,” he coaxed.
Nina’s face clouded, and her eyes shone bright with tears. Clint watched her as the coffee maker gurgled and hissed its way to a fresh, full pot. She sat in silence, trying to compose herself.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Nina shook her head as if to shake the tears from her eyes and the pain from her heart. “A bad memory.”
“Tell me about it. Maybe we can use it,” he urged.
She looked sharply at him then smiled. Do I trust him? Should I let him use this painful story?
“Some of the best stuff comes from real life, real emotions. You told me that yourself.” He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He massaged her muscles gently, then bent over and kissed her neck.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to have my painful past trotted out on the stage.”
“We�
��ll doctor it. Come on. Tell me,” he insisted again, moving to the sofa, slipping his arm around her.
The warmth of his shoulder melted her. “I lost my virginity on the young side—”
“Ooohh, tell me more.”
“Clint!” She punched him in the arm.
“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”
“I was in love. He was my high school boyfriend. A darling guy, very sweet. Not unlike you,” she began, with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Clint beamed at her.
“When my parents were away, Robbie climbed in through my bedroom window at three a.m., and we did it. My grandmother was staying with me. We were quiet as mice, and she’d never have suspected anything, except we fell asleep. In the morning, she discovered us, naked, in my bed.”
“Wow! Must have been some fight.”
“There was, and my grandmother never forgave me. She looked down on me after that, refusing to speak to me for a long time. She told my parents, too. My mother wasn’t as shocked as Grandma, because Clay and I had been dating for over six months. She liked him. But Grandma didn’t agree. It caused a rift in the family, as my grandmother no longer felt comfortable in our house.”
Clint’s gaze softened. He took her hand.
“The big blow-up happened…the last time she ever came to see us. It was at Thanksgiving, and I was home visiting from college. My mother had a beautiful garnet necklace she had been given by her grandmother. I had always coveted that necklace and counted the years until it would be mine. My mother decided, since I was twenty-one, to pass it to me.”
“A necklace across three generations. I like that,” Clint put in.
“You might think so. But my grandmother was there when my mom got it and came into the living room. As she fastened it around my neck, my grandmother yelled an unpleasant word at me and ripped it off. She ranted about my not deserving it. The chain broke, and the lovely garnet stones scattered across the floor.”
“Oh, my God.”
“She called me a whore, stomped out of the room, got in her car, and drove away. She refused to visit if I was there, and my mother refused to invite her if I wasn’t. She died about three years later.”
