"Are your parents divorced?" Ryan asked, surprised that she knew so little about her new friend’s family.
"Yeah. My dad moved out when I was seven, but they went back and forth for two years before they finally decided to get divorced."
"Wow, that must’ve been tough," Ryan sympathized.
"Yeah," she sighed. "I thought he’d come back home at some point. You know how kids are. They believe in fairy tales."
"You must have been awfully broken up when they finally decided to call it quits," Ryan said softly, seeing the pain in her friend’s eyes.
"Changed my world," she murmured. "Oct. 1, 1987."
"Damn, you either have a fantastic memory, or that was a very traumatic event."
"Both," she sighed, turning over onto her other side, signaling the end of the conversation.
"As much as I dislike limos, it’s kinda nice to have someone drive us to New York," Jamie mused as they sped along Interstate 95 "I’d hate to have to manage midtown traffic in this big car."
"So would I," Catherine agreed. "New York is best explored in taxis and limos. I give credit to anyone who can drive a car here and keep their sanity."
"So what would you like to do first?" Jamie asked.
"I need some new perfume. Do you mind spending some time helping me choose some?"
"Not at all. I’ve become quite interested in my olfactory perceptions since I’ve been with Ryan. She has the most extraordinary sense of smell. If she wanted to, she could get a job at one of the perfume companies creating new fragrances. She can honestly differentiate between all of the elements of a scent--and name them. It’s really remarkable."
"Then I think we should devise a scent for you and put her to the test," Catherine declared.
"A little more Asian pepper, I think," Catherine decided as she sniffed delicately at the cotton swab that held the latest mixture her scent designer had just created.
They were seated comfortably in a small, well lit room at the Creed Boutique, and Jamie was getting a demonstration of the art of perfume design. The elegant shop specialized in creating personalized scents for their clients, and at $500 an ounce for the customized fragrances, the demonstration was far from inexpensive. Catherine had been having her perfume custom made for years, but Jamie had never had much interest in taking the time to do so. However, at her mother’s urging, she was also participating. The designer had created Jamie's first, and she had dabbed a small amount on one wrist and was now letting it settle and blend with her natural scent. The designer had instructed that the fragrance would change and mellow as it was warmed by her body, and as she took another sniff she had to agree.
She had chosen a light, sporty, citrusy scent composed mostly of Indian lime, clementine, and kumquat, thinking that style of perfume best suited her lifestyle. Catherine, on the other hand, was looking for something sexy and romantic, and Jamie hoped that bespoke the vitality of her parent’s intimate life.
The perfume they were now sampling was heavy with spice and had a decidedly woody flavor. Jamie considered the ingredients and smiled when she realized that her mother had a few key elements of a good pumpkin pie going on. The scent incorporated cardamom, Asian pepper, amber, nutmeg, coriander, cinnamon, honey, geranium, and cedarwood, and even though it should have smelled like something from the baker’s rack, it most certainly did not. On Catherine, it smelled decidedly sexy, and Jamie wished she could buy one like it for Ryan. But the purpose of the customization was to match the combination of scents to the particular body they would adorn, and she didn’t want to make a mistake at these prices.
Once she was satisfied with her choice, Catherine paid for both creations, insisting that Jamie should spend her own money on buying something nice for Ryan. Their car was waiting for them, as expected, and as they entered, Catherine asked, "Where to now, Dear?"
"I wish I could buy some perfume for Ryan, since she loves scent so much, but I’m not sure what she’d like."
"What does she wear now?" Catherine asked.
"Usually Coast soap and baby-powder scented deodorant," Jamie laughed. "I don’t think she owns any perfume."
Leaning forward to address the chauffeur, Catherine instructed, "Rockefeller Center, Richard, and hurry!"
"Coach, I don’t know whose idea this was, but I’d like to kiss whoever came up with it." Ryan was smiling broadly at Coach Placer, pleased beyond measure that the staff had decided to hold afternoon practice in the Olympic-sized pool. The workout they were subjected to was actually more strenuous than the ones in the gym, but the buoyancy of the water made it seem significantly easier.
"I thought I’d take pity on you guys for a change," he smiled. "I want you to work on your spiking technique, but I don’t want you to take that much pounding on your legs."
"You’re getting my vote for humanitarian of the year," Ryan called out as she executed a shallow racing dive into the pool.
The team spent the next hour jumping as high as they could to spike the ball over the low net that the staff had strung across the pool. The team had split up for this exercise, with the shorter players–who couldn’t possibly get up high enough to spike over even this low net--moving to the indoor fitness pool, which had a shallower end. That left the outside hitters and the middle blockers, all of whom were at least 5’10". Their competitive urges quickly came to the fore, and they spent a solid hour banging the ball into the water, while the ball girls struggled valiantly to retrieve their efforts from the five-foot depth.
By the time they were finished, every muscle in Ryan’s body ached, and it was all that she could do to drag herself to the nearby spa to collapse for a good long soak. The trainers scheduled everyone for a deep tissue massage, but Ryan chose to go last, in order to stay in the spa as long as possible. She sat in the hot, bubbly water with Jordan, Heather, Grace, and Ashley, none of them having enough energy to even converse. As he was preparing to leave the pool deck, Coach Placer called out, "Who’s up for a farewell dinner downtown tonight?"
Not a single hand went up, and he shared a conspiratorial smile with Ken Nakajima, one of the assistant coaches. "That’s one way to stay within my budget. Get them so tired that they don’t have the energy to go out and spend money!"
"How did you know there was a Sephora store in Rockefeller Center?" Jamie asked as they entered the brightly lit space.
"I’m truly a psychic when it comes to shopping, Jamie," she smiled. "I know by instinct where every potentially appealing store is in the entire city."
"Sounds like Ryan. Only her ability is limited to finding sporting goods stores. I swear she can smell the leather from the baseball gloves or something!"
"I’d really like to spend some quality time with her," Catherine said. "You two will have to come to the house for a long weekend."
"We’d love to, Mom, but I think it’s going to be a while before Daddy shares your opinion on that."
Recalling the last conversation she had with her husband, Catherine had to agree. "That will change, Dear. We just have to give him a little time. Now, what type of fragrance would you like for Ryan?"
They were approached by a tall, thin woman in a black lab coat who asked, "May I help you find a fragrance today?"
"Yes," Jamie said. "I want something for a woman who is very…earthy," she decided, thinking that single word best described her partner.
It took quite a while, and they had sampled over 20 fragrances before Jamie came upon the one she wanted. "This is it," she said decisively, holding up a bottle of Eau de Guerlain.
"This is technically, a man’s fragrance," the salesclerk said, "but it can easily be worn by a woman."
Catherine picked up the card that listed the ingredients and read them aloud. "Citrus, thyme, Bergamot, mint, tarragon, neroli. Reminiscent of the aroma of fresh cut hay." Sniffing delicately, she declared, "It’s nice. Clean and decidedly earthy."
"That’s my girl," Jamie agreed brightly, handing the bottle to the clerk to ring it up.
>
"Ryan! Jordan! Get out of there this minute!" Coach Placer stood on the side of the pool, yelling at his two seniors, both of whom were submerged at the bottom of the pool.
Ryan’s hand broke the surface, holding up one finger in a plea for just another minute. "If one of you bursts a blood vessel I’ll kick your butts all the way back to Berkeley!" he yelled, to the amusement of the rest of the team. All twelve of their teammates stood on the deck, anxiously watching the women, while Grace held the stopwatch. The competition had started out innocently enough, but when the hyper-competitive seniors were involved, things quickly got out of hand.
Jordan knew she was about to surface, so in a last ditch effort she leaned forward and pushed hard on her friend’s stomach, causing most of the air to leave Ryan’s lungs. Not to be outdone, with the last of her reserves Ryan wrapped her arm around Jordan’s neck as she tried to swim away. Once she had her secured, she clamped her arms around her waist and squeezed as hard as she could, making the blonde flail about wildly as her air was forcibly expelled. They surfaced together, arms and legs thrashing about as they tried desperately not to drown. Both women were coughing and spitting water, much to the delight of their teammates. Their coach, however, failed to see the humor in the situation. "Out of the pool, you two! You’re going to kill each other with these ridiculous games!"
"Sorry, Coach," Jordan gasped, struggling to the side of the pool. "Ryan just can’t stand to lose!"
"Me?" Ryan cried.
"Enough!" the coach warned. "Tell that to someone who hasn’t seen you play for three years," he muttered to Jordan, rolling his eyes at the purple-faced young women. "I honestly don’t know which one of you is worse."
"She is," they both charged, pointing their fingers at each other.
Part 11
"What are you in the mood to eat, dear?" Catherine asked after they had whiled the day away at the tony boutiques of Manhattan.
"Hmmm…not French," Jamie decided immediately. "I feel like we’ve been stuck in a 1960’s vintage Paris restaurant for the past week. I’ve not seen that many reduction sauces and beurre blancs since the last time we were in Monaco."
"It is a little bit of a time warp, isn’t it?" Catherine agreed as she stopped to consider the style of food served at the cottage. "Hmm…what’s the antithesis of French." Pausing to think for a moment she nodded confidently, sure that her choice would be far removed from the high-fat, intensely-flavored, complex meals they had been dining on. "I’ve got it," she said. "Sushi."
A few well-placed phone calls later, they were dining well and simply at Nobu, one of New York’s finest Japanese restaurants. "My Lord, I love good sushi," Jamie exclaimed, as she took a bite of remarkably fresh tuna sashimi. "I don’t think I’ve had it since I’ve known Ryan."
"Why not, Dear? Doesn’t Ryan like fish?"
"Yes, she does, but I’m not sure she’s ever had sushi. Her tastes are pretty traditional. Plus, I’ve not wanted to get into an argument about how much dinner would cost. I don’t think she’d see the logic of spending a few hundred dollars on dinner…especially when it isn’t even cooked!"
"Do you think your money will continue to be an issue between you two?" Catherine asked. She was busily mixing wasabi with a little soy sauce, but even though her attention was divided, it was clear that she was paying close attention to Jamie’s answer.
Idly dipping a piece of salmon in the sauce her mother had created, Jamie nodded her head slowly. "I don’t see it going away any time soon, to tell you the truth. Ryan’s pretty hardheaded about the issue, and I must admit that I am too. Was it hard for Daddy?" she asked, not really knowing how her father dealt with her mother’s wealth when he was a young man.
Thinking back on their first years together, Catherine admitted that it was hard for her new husband to deal with the family fortune. "I think it was more of a problem for us when we were dating," she mused. "He took a good bit of teasing from his friends, as I recall, and I think that’s hard for a man to take. Once we were married, though, he seemed to acclimate quickly. We’ve always kept separate accounts, and he spends his own money on things that he wants, so he’s never had to ask me for anything. I don’t think that would have gone over very well," she decided. "For either of us."
Pausing thoughtfully, Jamie queried, "For you too? But why…?"
"I hate to admit this, Dear, but I’m quite sure I would not have been attracted to your father if he didn’t want to earn his own way. There is something slightly unseemly about a man that allows his wife to support him."
"Hmm…I guess that’s just conditioning," Jamie decided. "I admit that I felt the same way about Jack. I was downright miserly with him! But it would be absolutely fine with me if Ryan never worked a day in her life."
"I’m guessing that scenario would not be to Ryan’s taste," Catherine observed.
"Not hardly," Jamie chuckled. "She has every intention of finishing school and going into some professional field. Even knowing that this is temporary, though, she’s having a tough time adjusting to accepting my support. Now that she’s quit her job, she’s dependent on me for everything from clothes to spending money. She’s still accounting to me for every little thing she wants to buy–as though she needs my permission. I don’t know how to get through to her that the money in our joint account is ours…not mine." Her frustration showed as she scrunched her face up in a scowl and shook her head.
"I don’t have the answer for you, dear. I suppose this is one of those things that will work out over time. I just hope that it isn’t too difficult for you both to deal with–I’d hate to have it drive you apart."
Jamie laughed wryly, a small smile on her face. "No way, Mom. If it’s causing too much strife, I’ll just move into Ryan’s family’s house and get a job. I’d rather renounce my inheritance than lose her."
Reaching across the table to lightly grasp her daughter’s hand, Catherine said, "I hope she’s as determined to make your relationship work as you are, Jamie. I know it will be a difficult adjustment for her."
"She is, Mom. I’m confident of that. She loves me more than she hates my money."
"Hey, Beastie," Jordan greeted Ryan as she walked into the TV lounge in the dorm.
"Beastie?" Ryan asked, as one eyebrow lifted dangerously. All of the other women gathered in the room burst out laughing, and Jordan let Ryan in on the joke.
"Amy observed that when you get really focused it’s like you let your inner beast roam free. After your little demonstration in butt-kicking the other night, we decided that it really fit–so your new nickname is Beast, or Beastie depending on how fond we are of you at the moment."
"Well if I’m the Beast, you’re gonna have to be Beauty," Ryan countered, "since you were more concerned about your pretty face than in helping me put some hurt on those guys."
Jordan tossed her long blonde hair and licked her lips in a suggestive fashion. "Beauty," she breathed, trying to put as much sex appeal into her voice as she could muster. "It works." She adopted one of her fashion model poses, gazing at the other women haughtily until they gave her the applause she sought.
She flopped down on the floor in front of Ryan and handed her a narrow-toothed comb. "Will you braid my hair?" she asked, sending a glance over her shoulder. "It will enhance my beauty."
"Why can’t you braid your own?" Ryan asked, nevertheless accepting the comb and running it through the shiny, pale blonde tresses.
"One–my arms are tired from spiking the ball down your throat all day. Two–it’s too hard to reach."
Shrugging her shoulders, Ryan separated the hair into three large bundles and started to braid it.
"Not that way, Beastie. I want little braids." She shook her head briskly, causing the strands to fall from Ryan’s hands.
"How little?" Ryan asked, having a sneaking suspicion this task would take a while.
Jordan did the first braid herself, showing Ryan that she wanted about fifty hairs included in each one. Given the thickn
ess of Jordan’s hair, Ryan calculated this little endeavor would take all night.
"I’ll do half," Ryan decided, scooting over as she picked the right side. "The rest of your fan club can help you out on the other side. That’s my final offer."
"I’ll do it, Jordan," Heather offered, shyly sitting next to Ryan on the sofa.
"Let’s race," Ryan proposed. "Loser has to go for ice cream."
"Hey! That’s my head you’re bartering with," Jordan complained as the two women started to furiously grasp tiny little bunches of her hair and braid it.
"Beggars can’t be choosers," Ryan informed her, chuckling as she caught sight of the determined look on Heather’s face. With a little work, I think we can turn young Heather into quite a competitor, she decided happily.
They began the long drive back to Rhode Island a little after ten o’clock, and Jamie could already feel herself starting to fall asleep. Car trips had put her out almost immediately ever since she was a baby, and it appeared to Catherine that she had not outgrown the tendency.
"It’s all right if you want to sleep on the trip back, Dear."
Yawning loudly, Jamie shook her head and said, "Have I always done this? It’s a little embarrassing to conk out as soon as the engine turns over."
Her mother nodded in remembrance. "When we couldn’t get you to quiet down, your father used to put you in your car seat and drive around the neighborhood," she revealed, with a fond smile. "I suppose it’s partly our fault that you developed that response."
Reflecting on her solitary childhood, Jamie cocked her head a little and asked the question that she had entertained since she was young. "Why didn’t you have any more children?"
Catherine looked a little taken aback by the question, but she pursed her lips for a second, then answered. "At first we thought one child was enough for us," she said thoughtfully. "As I told you, I went back to school full-time after you were born, so for two years I was too busy to even entertain the notion. I’d say I was 25 or so when I got the idea that I’d like to have another child, but your father was quite antagonistic to the idea."
Fidelity - SF6 Page 28
