Turbulence

by E. J. Noyes

  “You’re a tease,” she complained. Still, she didn’t touch me. It was as if she was seeing how long she could hold out.

  “I know.” I pushed her shirt up and tugged the soft fabric of her bra down to expose gorgeous breasts. My lover finally broke when I took a nipple in my mouth, her hands coming to tangle in my hair as my tongue played over hard peaks. Still fully dressed, and more than fully aroused, I ground against her leg as she bucked underneath mine. I shifted, just a little to reach between, sliding my fingers inside the cotton barrier of her underwear.

  Audrey lifted her hips when my fingers made contact with her slick clitoris and I felt the tug as she took another handful of my hair. She was so wet. I drew a slow breath, trying to reset, to find a more comfortable place where I could concentrate. I was overwhelmed by the feel of her on my fingers, tight nipples under my tongue, the scent and sound of her making me whole.

  “Come up here,” she practically demanded. “Kiss me.”

  I held firm and pulled away. Not kissing her was torturous—I was denying myself as well as denying her. Every time she begged, every time she moaned or sucked in a rough inhalation, another wave of arousal pulsed through me. From experience, I knew I could settle on the other section of the couch and have perfect access to the treasure between her legs.

  Slowly, I dragged off her underwear then made my way down again, tantalizingly close to her glistening folds. “What do you want?” I murmured against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

  “I want you, baby. Lick me,” she begged. “Please, Iz.”

  Hands on her hips, I held her down and finally tasted her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday, I enjoyed a boozy lunch meeting with a potential client at Le Bernardin. It was one of those depressing smoggy NYC days, the claustrophobia of people and cars everywhere. The kind of day that made me long for the oppressive humidity of my unsophisticated rural hometown where the dominant sounds were neighbors four-wheeling, insects and people drinking on porches while swatting those insects.

  I came back to my office, finalized an account and started spinning around in my chair—my favorite way of brainstorming. I placed a stockinged foot against the edge of my desk and pushed off for another revolution. I had an idea, perhaps because of increased intellect from the redistribution of blood to my brain. Maybe it was the booze from lunch. I stood up, wobbled from the head rush and shoved my feet back into heels. My head was still spinning as I rushed out of my office, startling my PA.

  I smiled an apology and launched in with, “Clare, I’d like to visit Mama for the weekend. Can you check Mark isn’t using the jet and organize it, please?”

  My idea was a damned good one, I thought. A high five-figure salary, all expenses and a rarely-invoked contract clause meant our lead pilot could be called on at any time, including for personal trips. I happened to be involved with the lead pilot. Perhaps she might like to see a little of my hometown.

  Clare made notes in her neat handwriting. “Of course. When would you like to depart?”

  “Around five Friday afternoon. Back Sunday night no later than eight.”

  “I’ll arrange it,” Clare assured me.

  “Thank you.”

  Forty minutes later, I was finalizing a buy when Clare knocked on my open door. “Ms. Rhodes?”

  “Yes?” I glanced up, shoving hair off my face.

  “Your three o’clock meeting Thursday has been brought forward to two and you’re all set for Friday afternoon. Penny will be here at four, and Captain Graham will meet you at Teterboro at four forty-five. Then you’re scheduled to leave at six p.m. Sunday.”

  Happy days. “Great, thanks. And you’ve—”

  “Booked accommodation for Captain Graham? Yes, the only available was the bed and breakfast on York.”

  Good. Hotels in my hometown left a lot to be desired. I grinned. “This is why I keep you, Clare.”

  She gave me a casual wave, but I could tell she was pleased. “I know. Your updated schedule through to the end of next week is on your calendar.”

  “Thank you. Oh, can you send through a statement of my personal account for the month, please.”

  “I’ll get right on that.” She slipped out, leaving me to check my schedule. My Wednesday meeting in Maine had been moved to tomorrow. Jesus. I had a fundraiser planning dinner tomorrow night in the Upper East Side, one I’d been dreading for weeks and I wanted to get a massage in the afternoon. I rushed out of my office, tablet clutched in hand. “Clare.”

  She stood up at my approach. “Yes, Ms. Rhodes?”

  “This schedule’s not going to work. I can’t do tomorrow in Maine and be back for my massage.” Usually I’d be borderline steaming but I was surprised to feel my frustration struggling to break the surface, like it’d lost buoyancy somehow. When had I become so mellow?

  She nodded calmly. “You may have noticed Adrian’s agreed to move his meeting forward to ten. You’ll be back in the city by three and on the massage table at four.”

  I ran through mental calculations. “Great. Thanks. Sorry.”

  “I’ve just sent through your statement, including this weekend’s charges. Shall I tell the driver you’re ready for your appointment?” Clare glanced at the gold watch on her delicate wrist. “You’ll need to leave in ten minutes.”

  Therapy. Fuck.

  * * *

  I clarified my position the moment I sat across from Dr. Baker. “I’ve been out to lunch with a client. I may be ever so slightly inebriated.”

  My therapist smiled, leaning forward slightly so the multicolored glass beads of her necklace clinked together. “So you’re relaxed and open to talking, then?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  She laughed. I laughed. Oh we were so funny, making light of my occasional reticence. I settled back in the chair and crossed my legs. My Jimmy had slipped off my heel. I balanced it on my toe and bounced the shoe, curling my toes so the back kept hitting my freshly pedicured foot. If I were Dr. Baker, I would have told me to stop it.

  She didn’t. I guess she wanted to make sure I’d keep coming back. I did a quick calculation. She could have bought a car with all the money I’d paid her for therapy. Maybe a low-end Maserati. Certainly a high-end Lexus. Low-end Lexus and a boat?

  She interrupted my runaway math. “So, what’s been going on?”

  What hasn’t? I word-blurted for fifteen minutes, skating past everything except my rage at Richard treating me like a hired hand last week, the argument with Mark about his audit report and my resulting nastiness with Audrey. When I was done, I sat limply. Talking about it made me feel worse, rehashing everything. I stared at my therapist. “Couldn’t you just give me mood stabilizers or something? A lobotomy?”

  Dr. Baker smiled. “I feel that would only mask the issue. Let’s talk about the deeper feelings here.”

  I only just managed to stifle my groan. “Okay.”

  “In all our time together, you’ve never mentioned any anger issues directly involving girlfriends or lovers. In fact, you’ve said having them near usually triggers your emotions into a more neutral place.”

  “Mhmm.”

  “Why do you think you had trouble earlier this week with Audrey?”

  I rubbed my finger on the arm of the chair. “I was annoyed. My day had already been moved around and time was tight. Then when I got that call and the auditor treated me like an idiot and Mark brushed my feelings aside, it just…compounded everything.”

  “That’s an issue with something else, Isabelle, not with your lover. I’m talking about why you felt you couldn’t calm down. You said…” She glanced down at her notepad and quoted something I’d said during my earlier blurting. “I ignored something she said. I was sarcastic to her. I was rude and I hated it but couldn’t stop.”

  My spine tingled uncomfortably as my nastiness was handed back to me. “That’s correct.”

  “Isabelle, honestly, this feels like a classic getting in first behavior. You’re
showing all your cards at once, putting it out there and hoping you can push her away before she can leave you.”

  Screw her and her stupid fucking logic. “Maybe.”

  Dr. Baker gave me a knowing look. “Think about it. You do the pushing and she’s gone before you can get attached and hurt. It makes perfect sense. How long have you been sleeping together?”

  “Almost nine weeks.”

  Scribbling. “How do you feel about her?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “A fairly straightforward one. How do you feel about her?”

  Every muscle in my back tightened. “I enjoy spending time with her.”

  “What about the sex?”

  My cheeks puffed with air for a moment before I released it. “The sex is amazing.” Understatement of the decade.

  “Do you do anything other than have sex?” She spared me a quick glance, her expression clearly telling me she already knew the answer.

  I paused. “Yes.”

  “Like what?”

  “We eat in or I help her cook. Watch movies, uh, talk. That sort of thing.”

  “To an outsider, it looks a little like you’re dating. Do you go out at all?”

  There was a longer pause. “Yes, I can see how someone would think that.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “And no, we don’t go out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t really want to advertise what I’m doing. Not right now.”

  She scrawled something on her pad. “Have you told Mark or any of your friends that you’re seeing someone?”

  “No.” I held up a hand. “Wait, actually, I did tell my friend from college but she’s in California.”

  Dr. Baker peered at me over the top of her glasses. “How do you think Audrey feels about the secrecy?”

  Frowning, I answered honestly, “I really don’t know. She hasn’t said anything so I assume she’s fine with it.”

  Lacing her fingers together, Dr. Baker let them rest on the notepad. “I’d really like to know why you haven’t told your best friend you’re seeing someone.”

  “Because I’m not seeing someone,” I shot back childishly.

  “Isabelle.”

  “Fine, okay. Because I don’t want him to treat her differently because we’re seeing each other outside of work. I’m afraid he’s going to be an asshole because Audrey is just…wonderfully Audrey and not one of these elites he thinks we should surround ourselves with to boost our image.” My eye roll was so huge, I felt like I’d torn an eyeball muscle.

  “But he’s not seeing her. You are. Is his opinion really that important?”

  “He’s my friend,” I said simply. “In the long run, I guess I want him to approve. Or maybe not approve but I want him to see what I see in her. She’s such a good person and I…care about her.”

  The quirk of her mouth was unmistakable and followed by a long scribble. “He can’t do any of that unless you tell him,” she said pointedly.

  “True. But then I’d have to change the Audrey rules. Again.”

  “Why do you think it’s so important that you keep firmly within these borders you’ve made for yourself, even as those lines are clearly shifting?”

  We made eye contact. I broke first. “Because I’m scared,” I finally said. “Scared to go further. Scared of how I feel about her. Scared she doesn’t feel the same way.”

  Dr. Baker’s smile was slight, but revolutionary as if she’d finally discovered the cure for cancer. “I agree, this is a frightening thing. But remember, Isabelle. Nobody can take anything you don’t want them to.” My therapist peered at me over the top of her glasses. “I’m not talking about material possessions. I think you need to be honest with her and yourself and I think part of that is sharing this thing with the people in your life.”

  Thanks, Doc.

  I decided to put off my obligatory self-Googling to run for a while. Dr. Baker once suggested that I should use meditation as a means of thought processing. She was very polite when I laughed at her suggestion. I could barely stand massage because I hated to be still, but at least with massage I always fell asleep and woke up loose jointed and relaxed. Meditation was just sitting. What a waste of time. We compromised with exercise to work my feelings loose.

  Twenty minutes into my workout I had a disturbing revelation. The reason I was so scared wasn’t because I was afraid of what might happen. It was because I was already there. I loved Audrey. Maybe not quite in love. Yet. But there was love. It wasn’t just about sex, it was about how she made me feel. The way she looked at me when we saw each other for the first time that day—like I was the only thing she’d been waiting to see.

  It was all the little things I adored about her. She hated e-readers, but was addicted to a popular crime medical examiner series and always carried a cumbersome paperback around. She gave me her pickles, even though she liked them too. She cried during movies but not just in sad bits, she loved it when people got happy endings.

  When I’d catch her watching me, our eyes would meet and I would always feel a spark of electricity, like we were sharing something secret. She knew how to make me laugh and constantly tried to tease all my wit from the place I’d buried it. She was fun. She made me feel good about myself. She was an attentive and responsive lover. Warm, funny, caring. I groaned and nearly fell off the treadmill.

  I finished my workout, showered and planted myself on the couch with my old friend Lean Cuisine and my tablet. Market updates, nothing exciting. Time to check where I sat on the ol’ popularity meters. I found an opinion piece that mentioned my name and praised me in regards to fundraising benefits. It didn’t make me feel any better.

  I swapped my tablet for my phone and dialed. Audrey’s surprised voice answered. Leaning on the railing, staring at the mess of Manhattan lights, I opened myself up to her a little more. “Hey, no nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Audrey and I hadn’t spoken about the trip to Mama’s. Not that there was anything to discuss. As my employee, she was simply flying me home and back. As the woman I was maybe sort of unofficially dating, I could suggest that perhaps I could visit her hotel one night. Maybe she’d like to have dinner or a tour of my hometown.

  I called Nat the morning of my trip, blurting my plans until she interrupted me with an incredulous question. “Wait, you’re taking her home to meet your mother? Isn’t that back to front?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I always thought you should acknowledge you’re dating and then meet the parents, not the other way around.” I could hear Nat’s laughter bubbling under the surface.

  “It’s not like that—she’s working.”

  “Yeah right. I know you and I know your mother. If she catches a whiff of what’s between you two, she’s going to pounce. You know that.”

  “Nat,” I whispered. “I think I’m falling in love with her.”

  “Rhodes, I swear I’m going to kick your fucking ass if you don’t tell this woman how you feel.”

  I walked over to my full-length office window, staring aimlessly out at the skyline. “I can’t. What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

  “Then she doesn’t. No harm, no foul. You’re making it complicated when it doesn’t have to be.”

  Someone knocked on my closed office door. I glanced over my shoulder. “I need to go, I’ve got a meeting.”

  “Call me and let me know how it goes back home. Tell your mother I said hi.”

  “Will do.” I hung up and held the phone to my chest. Christ, what was I doing?

  Penny was waiting for me when I raced through the front doors just before four p.m. She held the car door open, a hand out to take my bags. “Afternoon, Ms. Rhodes.”

  I grasped her suited forearm. “Pen. How are you? How was your week?”

  “I’m good and my week’s been wonderful, thank you for asking.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Pen wor
e an odd smile, one I hadn’t seen before. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she knew something was up. Something different. Something important.

  En route to the airport, I sent some preemptive emails so I could turn my phone off in the air, decompress and try to transition from Stockbroker Isabelle to Daughter Isabelle. Good luck with that. I checked my appearance in my compact. Who really cares, Isabelle? She’s seen you in all stages of dress and undress. I grabbed my purse and climbed out.

  Penny was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, having already stowed my bags on board. “Have a lovely weekend, Ms. Rhodes and I’ll see you here at eight on Sunday night.”

  “Thank you, and you too.” I practically sprinted up the steps.

  Audrey stood beside the cockpit, hands clasped loosely in front of her. “Ms. Rhodes, how are you?”

  “I’m very well.” I didn’t clarify very well, except I couldn’t stop my heart from fluttering every time I looked at Audrey because now I knew I loved her. “Yourself?”

  “Better now.”

  Better now. Better now that I was here? The fluttering intensified. “I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had this weekend.” Like a date with a person who isn’t me. Please don’t say that.

  “Does Netflix, pizza and a few bottles of wine with you count?” she asked innocently.

  “Sounds like a great way to spend a weekend. I apologize for taking you away from those plans. Perhaps I can make it up to you?”

  “Apology accepted, Ms. Rhodes. And I’m sure we can talk about rescheduling or how you can make it up to me.” She looked me up and down, her left eyebrow dipped.

  “Is something wrong?” I glanced down at myself. Jeans, Cuban heels and a scoop neck chosen especially because of how it made my tits look. I admit, it was perhaps a little unfair to show so much cleavage while she was supposed to be working but I was still hopeful of fulfilling my mile-high fantasy.