Dancer's Rain

by Doug Sutherland

  Until now. He found himself thinking about this woman far too much, and he felt slightly ridiculous about it—just not ridiculous enough to stay away.

  That Saturday he arrived about twenty minutes early. When Adrienne opened the door to him the flash of annoyance on her face told him that he’d made a mistake.

  She let him in and he nearly collided with Emily as she came down the hallway and into the tiny foyer. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Hi,” he smiled. She glanced over at her mother, a smirk playing over her lips, and then turned back to him.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” she said. She looked him up and down, then turned back to her mother.

  “Have a good meeting,” she told her, emphasizing the last word. Adrienne started to say something, then just turned around and walked into the kitchen. Emily gave him another wry, knowing smile and then she was gone. He stood in the foyer for a moment, unsure what to do. He could hear dishes clattering from the kitchen.

  She didn’t look at him when he walked in.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked. He realized the answer was important to him. He could sense tightly controlled anger in her movements, and wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or at Emily.

  “No,” she said finally. “You were a little early and Emily used that as an excuse to skip out before I could talk to her. She’s staying over at a friend’s tonight, and I just wanted to make sure I had the whole story. I know this will come as a shock to you, but sometimes where teenagers tell you they’re going and where they actually end up are two different places.”

  He nodded, thinking that even if she was, technically, still a teenager, Emily was a little past the point where her mother could hope to have much control over her movements. Not his business anyway. Nor was Emily’s surprise at seeing him show up at the house. Apparently Adrienne had said nothing to her about him. Adrienne was watching him, amused at his evident puzzlement.

  “I can hear the wheels turning,” she told him, leaning back against the counter, “and no, Emily didn’t know you were...going to be here.”

  He wasn’t sure where she was going with this. He tried to lighten things up.

  “You ashamed of me?”

  “No—just being realistic. We’re both grownups—you’re using me and I’m using you. No reason to involve her.”

  He was surprised that her words hurt him.

  “I’m not using you,” he protested. She smiled at him, no rancor in it.

  “Sure.”

  The phone rang. She held his eyes for another moment, let it ring again, and then picked it up. He thought of going into the next room to give her some privacy, then decided against it. He didn’t want to look like he was nosing around, and if she wanted privacy she could always take the phone elsewhere. She stayed where she was and he tried to make a show of ignoring the conversation. He wondered if the person she was talking to was male or female, and his childishness annoyed him. She stopped talking and listened to the person on the other end of the conversation, rolling her eyes at him to indicate how longwinded the caller was. He smiled back, watching her. She was wearing dress slacks and a blue blouse, elegant and modest, open only by one or two buttonholes at the neck. She turned away from him and picked up a pen, leaning her elbows on the counter to write something on a neatly positioned notepad.

  She was close, her back arched provocatively and her narrow hips and perfect butt only inches away from him. She was still writing, laughing at something the person on the other end of the call said. Her laugh was low, throaty—almost a growl. He found himself reaching one hand tentatively to her waist, keeping his touch light so that he could back away gracefully if she protested. She didn’t move, just kept talking. She’d stopped writing, the note complete, but she kept leaning on the counter while she talked. He kept the pressure light, sliding his fingertips slowly toward her ribcage and then back down along her left hip. He heard her voice falter, only for a moment, and he leaned gently into her, his hands going lightly to her hips. She kept up her end of the phone conversation, but he felt the slight return of pressure and slowly ground himself into her and he felt her begin to move back against him.

  He wasn’t sure what woke him, but it seemed very late. He started to stir and then he froze. He and Adrienne were so thoroughly entwined in the bed that any kind of abrupt movement would wake her.

  He lay still for a moment, in that space between consciousness and sleep, and then very carefully levered himself into a sitting position. He fumbled for his shorts on the floor but couldn’t find them in the darkness. He felt Adrienne stir slightly behind him and gave up on the idea, walking naked into the darkened living room and going to the window.

  He parted the drapes slightly at the window frame, looking for the source of the noise and wondering if he’d remembered to lock his car doors and raise the windows. It seemed a remarkably domestic thought under the circumstances and he smiled to himself. The street was dark and there was no activity at all, no lights in any of the neighboring houses. He had no idea what time it was but it felt like two or three in the morning. He heard Adrienne walk up behind him and felt her bare breasts pressing hard into his back, her lips and her warm breath on his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him from behind and her fingertips traced tentative lines down his belly. He felt himself coming erect. He heard her breath catch for a moment and then felt her fingers wrap gently around the shaft of his cock. He stiffened even more as she gripped him more tightly and slowly began to stroke up and down. He could feel her tongue flickering over his spine, and then the touch of her erect nipples as she pressed lightly against his back with her naked breasts. Her hair brushed his right shoulder blade as the side of her head slid slowly down his back and she released her grip on him, moving her hand back to his hip and turning him around. He felt her lips close softly over his cock and her hands cupped his buttocks and pushed him firmly toward her, taking him into her mouth. He moaned, his hands reaching for the back of her head and pulling her toward him. She didn’t resist, her fingernails digging hard into his butt as she pulled him in, let him rock back, then pulled him in more urgently than before.

  She was leaning into him now, her hands gripping him even more tightly, her breasts brushing his knees. He could see the delicate curve of her back swelling into her buttocks, and then he finally realized what was happening, that something was wrong.

  It was Emily.

  For an insane moment he didn’t care, just wanted to ride the wave he could feel swelling within him. He knew that with one more thrust he might not be able to hold back any more, wouldn’t want to hold back any more. Somehow he pulled away from her, fearful that even then he’d release it all. She looked up, laughing at him.

  “Surprise,” she licked her lips and stood up. Then, absurdly, she leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Just wanted to see what the big deal is,” she told him, then turned around and walked away into her bedroom. He stood there in the darkness, listening. His first thought was that Adrienne must have heard, somehow become aware of what they’d just done. The house was silent but for the faint rustle of movement from Emily’s room. He became stupidly fearful that she might come back, and even more fearful of what might happen if she did.

  He walked as quietly as he could back into Adrienne’s bedroom, completely flummoxed and painfully aware of his erection. He thought of gathering up his clothes and leaving as quietly as possible. He started to do that, was reaching for them when Adrienne stirred and rolled over to face him, looking at him through lowered eyelids.

  “Oh my,” she said and reached for him, “No wonder you’re awake.”

  That ended any thought he had of leaving. He pushed her backward, those elegant long legs opening to accept him. Her eyes widened and she gasped as he slowly and luxuriantly pushed inside her, fighting for control. He held it even as she pumped her hips urgently and pulled him deeper inside her. He thought of Emily, listening in the other room, and
for a moment he was back with her in the living room, remembering her lips and her tongue, the feel of her bare breasts on his back. He looked down at Adrienne. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted.

  “Fuck me,” she murmured, “just fuck me hard.”

  He abandoned all thought of gentleness and slammed into her. She bucked underneath him and he felt the flare of pain as she clawed his back.

  Emily heard it all. She knew that she had been the cause of it, that even now images of what they’d done were flashing through Frank’s mind, whether he wanted them to or not. She arched her back, bringing her fingertips back up to brush her nipples. They came even more erect than before. Teasing herself, she traced a line downward from her breasts along the concave curve of her belly. She was soaking wet even before she reached deep inside and began to rhythmically stroke herself. She could hear her mother from the other room, heard her moaning intensify, and she increased her own pace to match it. They were both fucking the same man at the same time. She heard her mother cry out and an explosive, guttural moan from Frank as they both came. She was on the brink herself—he had surprised her almost as much she had surprised him, aroused her when all she had been trying to do was—what? What had she been trying to do? She stroked herself harder and then it all happened at once, successive waves transporting her somewhere else. She almost screamed but at the last moment rolled over and drove her face into the pillow to smother it, then lay there facedown in a wondering daze, her body trembling until finally the last shuddering wave subsided.

  Frank was awake most of the night, puzzled and ashamed. He feigned sleep when Adrienne woke in the morning and left the bedroom, going into the kitchen to make coffee. She left the curtains drawn, then only a moment later hurried back into the room and gently shook him. He was careful to open his eyes slowly.

  “You have to wake up, Frank,” she whispered, “Emily came home last night—she’s asleep in her room. She was supposed to be staying over at Janie’s.”

  So he was saved, at least in the short term, from having to playact with her daughter. He dressed as quietly as he could and left.

  19

  Damn, I hate it here, she thought. The kids are so dumb. They lived in a little town, out here in the middle of nowhere, and all they had to go on about how to act they got from television. Except by the time television got it it was already old and they were that much farther behind again. She’d walked by a gaggle of them in the corridor after class. The boys had hungrily looked her up and down and the girls—she had a few ‘friends’ now but none of them were with this bunch—had glared daggers at her.

  “Stuck up bitch,” she heard one of the girls hiss, deliberately loud enough to be overheard. Emily fought back the impulse to whirl around and slap the shit out of her, instead just adding a bit more of a sway to her hips as she walked away.

  She knew the boys would still be watching and that would piss the girls off even more.

  Not that she wanted much attention from these jerks. A couple of them were cute enough, it was just that the longer she’d been here the more she hated it. Now she just felt a kind of simmering inside, felt angry almost all the time. She pushed open the scarred metal doors and headed down the steps, ignoring the kids who were scattered around waiting for buses or just standing there talking about nothing. She felt the eyes on her again as she crossed the street, almost breathing a sigh of relief as she rounded the corner and at least knew she was away from there for another day.

  She was losing it. She took out her phone, called Jimmy. It was a brief, deceptively casual conversation. She asked him what he was doing that night. He started to tell her about his plans, then backtracked fast when she told him that she’d decided she wanted to see that place by the river he’d been talking about. She told him to meet her later, around six thirty, then ended the call. She smiled to herself. Maybe she’d keep him waiting.

  It was already getting dark but Jimmy saw her right away, even from this distance.

  She was carrying a backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He drew his breath in sharply, thinking of what he’d be doing to her in a few minutes—or what she’d be doing to him. He leaned over and cracked the passenger side door and she got in, throwing the backpack into the rear of the car.

  “Get me the fuck out of here,” she said. He grinned and peeled away from the curb.

  It was too good to be true. At first he’d managed to drive right by her, only at the last moment realizing who it was. He cursed and started to pull over, then saw the old Camaro sitting at the curb and somehow knew that it was waiting for her. As it was he swerved away from the shoulder to the left and barely avoided hitting it. He could see someone sitting behind the wheel as he went by—for an insane moment he was worried for the girl, in spite of what he himself had planned for her—and thought of stopping anyway. Maybe there was no connection and she’d just walk by the car.

  Don’t be an idiot, he thought. There’s a connection. He started to think again and found a driveway to pull into. He stayed behind the wheel and craned his neck around to look back over his shoulder. He heard the stuttering roar of the car’s V-8 starting up and turned his face away as it rumbled by. He put his own car into reverse and backed into the street, then followed the tail lights. Whoever’s driving, he thought, probably isn’t paying much attention to what’s behind him.

  Jimmy wasn’t. He was taking a calculated risk here, but he knew it would be worth it. Hours alone with her, time to do everything he wanted. No groping and sweating in the tiny confines of the Camaro.

  “You don’t look like somebody who has his own cottage,” she told him.

  “Belongs to a friend of mine.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Kenny. You met him that night at the pool hall.”

  “Oh yeah—your hero,” she smiled mockingly.

  “He’s not my fucking hero. He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Sure. You were hanging around him like a little puppy. All of you were.”

  He nearly told her to fuck off, but stopped just in time. Last thing he needed was a fight, have her change her mind.

  She arched an eyebrow, looked sideways at him, a teasing smile playing around the upturned corners of her mouth.

  “Is he going to be there?”

  He felt a pang of jealousy. He’d seen Langdon looking her over, even gotten off on it a little bit. For once he had something Langdon didn’t, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  “No, he’s not gonna be there. I told you, he’s a friend of mine. He just lets me use it sometimes.”

  That mocking smile again.

  “For what?”

  He just grinned and she started to laugh.

  He kept well back as the car rumbled out toward the outskirts of town. Finally it turned in on an old dirt road that led down to the river. He knew there were cottages down there, although only a few of them, spaced widely apart on either side of a narrow dirt road. He pulled over, deciding to wait for a few minutes before driving down.

  The driveway was steep and the ratty aftermarket spoiler on the nose of the Camaro scraped gravel as Jimmy turned in and started up the incline. The tires spun briefly, throwing rocks, and then he parked where he usually did, side-on to the front of the house on what long ago had been a lawn.

  Emily turned away from him to look at the house, then turned back.

  “This is it?” she asked, a hint of scorn in her voice.

  Jimmy unclipped his seatbelt.

  “This is it,” he told her, “What did you think it was going to look like?”

  Secretly he was pleased at her disdainful attitude—she’d seemed entirely too intrigued with Kenny, maybe enough to have built the place up in her mind as some kind of luxurious beach house. He realized belatedly that he’d been a part of that, exaggerating a little to get her out there. Well hell—it had worked.

  He looked appraisingly at the cottage. He didn’t see anything wrong with it. Two stories, winterized, with a
row of big, dirty windows looking out over the water. It needed new siding—a lot of the original shingles had given way and many more would follow before winter had come and gone, but underneath it was solid, not that he cared much. He looked over at her. For a moment she looked like she was going to change her mind. He was horny as hell and she was looking for excuses. Jimmy just needed to get her inside. He knew the rest of it would take care of itself.

  “What if he comes back?”

  “I told you. He’s away.”

  “What about the neighbors? Won’t they see your car?”

  “It’s fall—most of them are gone. Besides, we’ve both got Camaros—they’ll just think it’s him.”

  Jimmy winced inwardly at the embarrassing memory. After he’d seen Kenny’s car he’d gone out and gotten a virtual clone, right down to the dark blue color. Maybe there was something to that hero worship thing after all—and why Kenny had laughed at him when he’d seen it for the first time. Shit—but that was a long time ago, last year. He didn’t point out to her that Kenny’s was still a lot nicer, better cared for, with a big 454 in it that dwarfed the 350 in his own.

  She still looked dubious. He couldn’t tell whether the doubt was genuine or if she was just teasing him, wanting to see how desperate he was to get her inside alone. He was getting pissed off.

  “Look,” he was careful not to let his annoyance show, blow the whole thing, “I told you. It’s all right.”

  He didn’t mention that the neighbors tended to give Kenny Langdon a wide berth—that would just make her more interested in the guy, and that night at the pool hall she’d already seemed interested enough.

  He just hoped Langdon wasn’t going to show up. The whole thing could backfire. Deep down Jimmy knew he wasn’t in Langdon’s league, and the last thing he wanted was to give her a chance to confirm it. This was too good a chance to miss, though.