by Joy Fielding
Jamie shook the women aside with a dramatic toss of her blond hair, downed what was left in her glass in one concerted gulp, then handed her wineglass to the bartender. “Tell him I’m drinking the house red,” she said.
TWO
“So can I buy you dinner now?”
Jamie laughed, gathering the blanket around her naked breasts and staring at the handsome stranger she’d allowed into her apartment, then into her bed. He had soft, full lips, a small, almost perfect nose, and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. How’d I get so lucky? she was thinking. She, who was always lurching from one disaster to the next, stumbling from one ill-conceived relationship into another, had somehow stumbled onto the ideal man. In a bar, no less. In a fit of despair and desperation. And not only had he turned out to be even better-looking than he’d first appeared in the bar’s dim light, not only did he possess the deliciously sculpted body of a Greek god—she’d almost gasped out loud when he removed his shirt—but he’d proved to be a surprisingly generous and thoughtful lover, as concerned with her pleasure as his own. They’d spent the last several hours in a blur of tireless carnal activity, and her body was literally aching with pleasure, every nerve ending exposed and raw. She felt the pleasant tingling between her legs and brought the blanket to her face to hide a self-satisfied grin. His scent, masculine and clean, immediately filled her nostrils. He was everywhere—on the sheets, her pillow, the tips of her fingers, the creases of her skin. It was a wondrous smell, she decided, leaning back against the headboard and taking a long, deep breath. Everything about the man was wondrous. Even his name. Brad, she repeated silently. Brad Fisher. Jamie Fisher, she caught herself thinking. Then, Whoa girl, don’t start that nonsense. This is what always gets you in trouble. Slow down. “You really want to buy me dinner?”
“I offered earlier,” he reminded her.
It was true. After the first round of drinks, he’d actually suggested they have something to eat. She’d turned him down. She had to be at work early the next morning, she’d said, torn between the impulse to flee and the desire to throw herself into his arms.
“Well, at least let me buy you another drink,” he’d offered, the second glass of wine appearing, almost magically, at her fingertips.
Jamie glanced at the alarm clock beside the king-size bed that took up most of her small bedroom. The bed was one of her more egregious purchases of late, bought because Tim had told her he required lots of space when he slept. At any rate, that had been his excuse for never spending an entire night at her apartment. But even after she’d surprised him—and hadn’t he told her he hated surprises?—by selling the double bed to a tenant down the hall and replacing it with this expensive monstrosity, Tim had still managed to find excuses to leave before midnight: an early morning meeting, a doctor’s appointment in Fort Lauderdale, a burgeoning cold. How could she not have been suspicious? What was the matter with her? After everything she’d been through these last few years, was it possible she could still be that naive?
Stupid was more like it.
Of course, her sister had warned her that her bedroom was too small to accommodate such a large bed, and of course, once again, her sister was right. The bed overwhelmed its tiny surroundings, leaving scarcely a foot between it and the walls on either side, rendering it impossible for two people to be mobile at the same time.
“What’s the matter?” Brad was asking now.
“Why would you think something is the matter?”
Brad shrugged, brought his finger to the tip of his almost perfect nose. “You just looked so sad all of a sudden.”
“I did?”
A crooked grin, leaking innocence and mischief in equal measures, cut across his casually handsome features. “What were you thinking about?”
Jamie fought the urge to disclose everything that was going on inside her head, indeed, to confide every thought she’d had in the last decade. Instead she said, “I was trying to think of a restaurant that might still be serving dinner at this hour.”
“How about takeout?”
“Takeout’s great.”
“Pizza?”
“Absolutely.” Amazing how easy life could be, she was thinking as she recited the number for the nearest pizza parlor off by heart. “I don’t get out much,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Brad stretched across her for the phone that sat next to the alarm clock on the tiny white plastic table, his muscular forearm brushing against the side of her breasts, sending an avalanche of vibrations throughout her body, threatening to bury her alive. She struggled to stay still as he punched in the numbers and placed an order for a large pizza—“Pepperoni and mushrooms all right with you?” he asked as his fingers reached over to caress her breasts beneath the covers. She felt her breath freeze in her lungs. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes,” he said, returning the phone to the bedside table and leaning back on one elbow. “Or it’s free,” he added with that impish grin.
Someone should bottle that grin, she thought.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asked.
“I feel great. You?”
“Never better. Certainly glad I decided to stop in for a drink before heading home.”
“And where is home exactly?” Jamie asked, hoping it wasn’t too far away, that he wouldn’t have to gobble down his pizza and run.
Sorry, but I have an early meeting in the morning, a doctor’s appointment in Fort Lauderdale, a burgeoning cold.
“I don’t exactly have a home these days,” he told her. “I’ve been living at the Breakers the last couple of weeks.”
“You’re living at the Breakers?” The Breakers was the most prestigious, and probably the most expensive, of all the luxury hotels in Palm Beach.
“It’s only for a little while longer. Till I decide what to do next.”
“About what?”
Brad smiled. But the smile had lost its mischief, was older and more circumspect. “How trite will it sound if I say ‘my life’?”
“It doesn’t sound trite,” Jamie protested, although, in truth, it did. At least a little. Certainly her sister would consider such sentiments trite. But then Cynthia would never have picked up the handsome stranger in the first place. She would never have allowed him to buy her a drink, let alone had him follow her back to her apartment, where she’d made love to him on the king-size bed she’d bought to please her married lover. No, Cynthia was much too levelheaded to do anything remotely like that. After all, she’d met Todd in the ninth grade, married him during her junior year at college, and borne him two children by the time she graduated law school.
“You have to be more practical,” she’d told Jamie. “If you’d stayed in law school, we’d have our own firm by now.”
“The only problem with that is I don’t want to be a lawyer.”
“You’re too much of a romantic—that’s the problem.”
“You’re married, aren’t you?” Jamie asked Brad, already knowing the answer. Of course Brad Fisher was married. Probably going through a bit of a rough patch. Why else would he be staying at the Breakers? He and his wife had been fighting, and he’d moved out temporarily to give them both a chance to cool down and come to their senses, which he’d undoubtedly do as soon as he finished his pizza.
“Married?” Brad laughed, shook his head. “No. Of course not.”
“You’re not?”
“Would I be here if I was?”
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“I’m staying at the Breakers because the lease on my apartment was up, and I just sold my business, and I’m kind of at a crossroads.…”
What kind of crossroads? “What kind of business?” she asked.
“Communications.”
It was ironic, Jamie thought, that a word like communications could be so ambiguous, it was essentially meaningless. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“Computer programming,” he explained. “Plus I designed some software that
brought me to the attention of the big guys in Silicon Valley, and they made an exceedingly generous offer to buy me out.”
“Which you accepted?”
“Hey, I may be a computer geek, but I’m no fool.”
Jamie seriously doubted that either geek or fool had ever been words used to describe Brad Fisher. Could the man be any more appealing? she wondered, thinking that he was actually getting better by the moment. Not only was he gorgeous, sexy, and a fabulous lover, but he was some genius inventor as well. What’s more, he was single, drove a nice car, and was independently wealthy. Or at least wealthy enough to be staying at the Breakers until he decided what he wanted to do with his life. It doesn’t get any better than this, Jamie decided. “You’ll be horrified to know I’m computer illiterate,” she said, in an effort to keep her face from betraying her thoughts. “My computer at work is always freezing up on me. It’s such a pain.”
“What is it you do?”
“I’m a claims adjuster with Allstate.”
He nodded, staring at her through eyes as blue as sapphires.
“Once I lost a whole day’s work,” she said, trying not to babble, “and my supervisor made me stay late and redo the entire thing. I was there till after midnight.”
“It must have been pretty important stuff.”
“Nothing that couldn’t have waited till morning. But Mrs. Starkey insisted I must have done something wrong, that nobody else in the office ever had a problem with their computers freezing, and that it was my responsibility, and it had to be done, so …” She was babbling. She had to stop, stop now, before she ruined everything.
“You stayed and got it done.”
Jamie took a deep breath, released it slowly. “It was the closest I’ve come to quitting.”
“Sounds like you’ve come pretty close a few times.”
“Only every day.”
“You hate it that much?”
“It’s just not what I pictured myself doing with my life.”
“What is?”
“You won’t laugh?”
“Why would I laugh?” he asked.
Jamie released her secret on a sigh. “I always kind of wanted to be a social worker.”
The sapphire eyes twinkled. “Always kind of wanted?”
Jamie frowned. “Always really wanted.”
Sapphire eyes narrowed to a squint. “So, why aren’t you one?”
“My mother said social workers don’t make any money. She wanted me to be a lawyer.”
“And you always do what your mother wants you to?”
“God knows I tried.” Jamie shook her head. “Didn’t matter—it was never enough.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s moot. She died two months ago.”
“Guess you can stop trying now,” Brad said, with a wry chuckle.
“Some habits are harder to break than others.”
“You’re not ready yet?”
Jamie smiled sadly. “Why does everyone always ask me that?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, I think you’ll figure it all out soon enough.”
“Sure—easy for the computer genius to say.”
“Quit your job,” Brad said.
“What? I can’t do that. My sister would have a fit.”
“I could use a good social worker.” He leaned in to kiss her softly on the mouth.
Jamie laughed. “God, you’re a good kisser,” she said, reluctantly coming up for air.
“Speaking of sisters,” Brad said, his smile growing cryptic. “Who do you think taught me to kiss like that?”
“Your sister taught you how to kiss?”
“Sisters,” he qualified. “I had three of them. I was the baby of the family, and they used me shamelessly.” He laughed. “So when they first started dating, they’d try things out on me. ‘How was that, Bradley? And how was that?’ And then they started bringing over their friends, and that’s when things got really interesting.”
“I bet.”
“Yeah, because then I could be more, what’s the term a social worker would use? Proactive? Yeah, that’s it. I definitely became more proactive. And that’s when they started telling me what they liked. They said there was nothing worse than some guy jamming his tongue halfway down your throat, that it was much better to take it slow and gentle. Like this,” he said, once again drawing Jamie into his arms and touching her lips with his own.
She felt his tongue playing with the sides of her mouth, felt it brush gently against her own tongue before slowly moving deeper. His arms snaked around her body, pulling her down on the bed as he climbed on top of her. But instead of thrusting into her, she felt him moving down the bed, his tongue tracing a sensuous path from her neck to her breasts, and then moving lower still, until his head was buried between her legs, his tongue working its magic there. She cried out as her body was wracked by a series of spasms unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. “Please don’t tell me your sisters taught you that,” she said later, when she could find her voice.
He laughed. “No, I figured that one out all by myself. Don’t tell me nobody’s ever done that to you before.”
“Not like that, they haven’t.” Jamie thought of her former husband. She’d practically had to beg him to perform oral sex, and the few times he had—grudgingly, reluctantly—he’d jumped out of bed immediately afterward to brush his teeth and gargle. It hadn’t taken very long for her to stop asking. “So, have you ever been married?” she asked.
“Yep,” Brad said easily, although he offered nothing further.
“And?”
“And it didn’t work out.”
“You don’t want to talk about it,” Jamie stated.
“No, I don’t mind talking about it,” Brad said. “There just isn’t a whole lot to say. The marriage was good, and then it wasn’t. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, and luckily, we’ve managed to stay friends. We talk on the phone pretty much every week.”
“You do?”
“Well, we have a son together.”
“You have a son?”
“Corey. He’s five years old. I have a picture somewhere.” Brad beamed with obvious pride as he reached for his jeans at the far end of the bed. He retrieved his wallet, pulled a crumpled photograph out from behind a neat stack of twenty-dollar bills.
A beautiful, towheaded little boy smiled shyly up at Jamie.
“This was taken almost a year ago, on his fourth birthday. He’s grown a lot since then.”
“He looks like you.”
“You think so?”
“Well, his hair is lighter, but he’s got your smile.”
“Yeah?” Brad returned the picture to his wallet, the wallet to the pocket of his jeans. “Unfortunately, his mother remarried recently, and they moved up north.”
“She took Corey with her?”
“ ’Fraid so.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen your son?”
“Almost three months.”
“That’s got to be so hard.”
“Well, Beth asked me to give him a little time to adjust to his new life, which I thought was only fair.”
Jamie shook her head. “I think you’re amazing.”
“Not really,” he demurred.
“I don’t know many ex-husbands who would be so understanding.”
“Yours wasn’t?”
“How do you know I’ve been married?”
“The way you said ‘ex-husband.’ ”
Jamie smiled.
“How long were you married?” he asked.
“Not long. Less than two years.”
“No kids.” It was a statement, not a question.
Jamie wasn’t sure whether to shake her head or nod. “No kids,” she agreed.
“Your mother didn’t approve?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Why didn’t she like him?”
“She th
ought he was the reason I left law school.”
“He wasn’t?”
Jamie shook her head. “He was just the excuse I’d been looking for.”
“You didn’t love him?”
“I didn’t know him.”
Brad laughed again, a wonderful explosion of sound that assured her everything was going to be all right as long as he was beside her.
“Do you know that when we got divorced, my mother-in-law made me give back all the jewelry her son had given me, including my wedding ring? She said they were family heirlooms, and that she’d sue me if I didn’t give them back.”
“Charming.”
“I thought so.”
“And did you give them back?”
“Absolutely. I didn’t want the damn things anyway. Except for a pair of gold-and-pearl earrings I used to wear all the time. I really hated giving those back.” Jamie made a face of displeasure. Why was she talking about her former husband and his mother? The bed might be king-size, but it wasn’t big enough for all of them. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re out of my life. I’ll never have to see either of them again.”
“You’re free to do whatever you want,” Brad said.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy.”
Jamie closed her eyes, lay her head against his chest, and allowed herself to be lulled by the steadiness of his breathing.
“You ever think about just getting in your car and seeing where the road takes you?” he asked.
“All the time,” Jamie said.
THREE
She dreamed of her mother’s funeral.
Except that in her dream the pallbearers consisted not of her mother’s assorted friends and colleagues, but rather of her father’s subsequent wives, each wearing a bridesmaid’s dress of the palest mauve chiffon and clutching a bouquet of odoriferous white lilies. Her sister stood next to the coffin, tall and regal in a deep purple, matron-of-honor gown, occasionally glancing at her watch. She’s waiting for me, Jamie understood, trying to locate herself among the mourners.
