Her Younger Man (A Country Music Romance): a Renny and Rachel Romance

by MacLaren, Nancy

  And I had done it again with Renny Taylor. Not that I was in love with him. Not really. But I could be, easily. I hadn’t met anyone I had felt like this about since, well, maybe never. If he had stayed even a few more hours I would have been lost. Another blessing in disguise. Guess I’m just blessed to the gills.

  I turned off the movie. I could finish it tomorrow. I already knew how many stars it was getting and I was sure the rest of it wouldn’t make much difference. Still, I would finish it. I’m nothing if not ethical. Still, I thought I should jot down a few notes before becoming unconscious for another night.

  I opened my computer and heard Ronny’s voice. Damn! I had left my iTunes on. I had purchased several of the Taylor Brothers albums in the last few days just to torment myself. It was like playing with the canker sore inside your mouth; it hurt so good.

  I liked most of their music, a combination of country, folk, rock and a little gospel for flavor. But what made the Taylor Brothers special were the ballads Renny and his brothers wrote. They all wrote with such honesty and rawness. The lyrics were authentic, the music soulful. I would never have imagined that those rowdy Tennessee boys I had met in a Troutdale bar, swilling beers and oogling girls, could know the depths of my soul. But they did. Especially Renny. Especially on one song called “Easy To Leave”. You can guess why it was my go-to torture song.

  “I’m so weary and resigned

  That what I want I’ll never find

  I’m just always out of step

  Making moves I soon regret.

  Why can’t love be like a book,

  A secret glance, a sudden look

  Why don’t love sit and stay awhile

  With me,

  Why am I so easy to leave?

  Why am I so easy to leave?”

  Oh Renny! A dam burst inside my chest and I choked on the rush of emotion. I was sobbing like a small child, like I’d lost my best friend, like it was the end of the world. Completely losing my shit for the second time in less than one week. All because of some charming asshole. I was fine before he showed up, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I? Nothing could have hurt me as much as knowing, that once again, I was easy to leave?

  I was clutching the sofa pillow pouring my sorrow into it (since no hairy, bare chest was available like the last time, when a knock from the front door jolted me. I jumped up, my heart racing! It couldn’t be! Why not? Why wouldn’t it be Renny? Here I was, at my absolute ugliest, crying like a love-lorn 12 year old, puffy eyes, flushed skin. Why wouldn’t this be the time he showed up? Perfect.

  I glanced in the mirror and considered taking a shower, whitening my teeth and having a full course of Botox injections before answering the door. Do you think he’d wait? I patted down my hair, wiped my face and blew my snotty nose as the knocking grew more insistent.

  “Untwist those knickers buddy,” I called out, using his favorite phrase.

  I opened the door, big snotty smile on my face. It wasn’t Renny.

  “I’m not wearing knickers girlfriend, you should know that,” said Marlene, my best friend and constant tormenter.

  “Oh. It’s you.”

  “Don’t drown me in kisses, sweetie.”

  “Sorry, come in. Sorry.”

  “I come bearing gifts,” she said, holding up a box of Voodoo Donuts. Voodoo Donuts are one of Portland’s greatest creations.

  “I brought you some cock-and-balls since I know it’s been awhile,” she said, holding up one of Voodoo’s most popular confections.

  And… just like that I was crying again. At a donut. I was crying at a donut.

  “Okay, “Marlene said, sitting on one of the most uncomfortable kitchen stools ever invented. “ Spill. Who were you expecting?”

  “I wasn’t” Sob. “Expecting…” Sob, sob. “Anyone.”

  “Then who were you hoping for?”

  “Just… someone I met. He … I thought…”

  “I figured it was a ‘he’. You’ve never smiled like that for me. Here, honey, eat the donut, pretend it’s him. Chomp down hard.”

  “How did you know?”

  “The crying and gnashing of teeth, as well as your completely inappropriate response to an innocent pastry. Now, we need some booze and then you’ll tell Mama Marlene all about it.”

  She rummaged through my very bare liquor cabinet but came up with some tequila and made me a surprisingly good Tequila Sunrise. “Come along now, bring your cock-and-balls and your booze and let’s get comfy on the couch while I get the deets about the devil. And always remember, I have my contract killer on speed-dial.”

  “You’d do that for me?” I finally laughed.

  “Anything for a Sis, right. Now spill.”

  “I’m… embarrassed. You’re going to think I made it all up.”

  “Listen girlfriend, I’ve been with you, what, 30 some years? I’ve been through the gay boyfriend, the alcoholic boyfriend, the gay, alcoholic husband. What wouldn’t I believe about your choice in men?”

  “Good point. Only he’s not gay or alcoholic, well, that I know. I guess he could be. Not gay, but he does drink, it’s just that I didn’t see him drink more than one …”

  “Shut it Drake, stop blathering. Tell me NOW.”

  “It’s a long story, kinda, well, not so long, a week tops …” She sighed. I gathered I was not as articulate as she was hoping.

  “Name. Start with name.”

  “Renny Taylor.”

  “Renny Taylor what?”

  “I, ah, slept with Renny Taylor.”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “We’re talking THE Renny Taylor?”

  “Yup.” She sat back, took a swig of her sunrise, looking at me with either a new-found respect or she was contemplating calling the men in white coats.

  “Well holy Mother of God, when was this?”

  “Sunday.”

  “And you’re just telling me now? Give me that,” she said, grabbing the cock and leaving me holding one lousy ball.

  “I don’t even know where to start. I was interviewing him at the ..”

  “Forget that shit. Was he good? Those long fingers? Oh my frickin’ god. I used to fantasize about James Taylor and those long, agile, spectacular fingers. Hey, are they related?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t really know much about him, really.”

  “What kind of self-respecting journalist doesn’t interrogate the man she’s shlupping.”

  “I hadn’t planned the shlupping. Is that a word? He just came to fix my pipes.”

  “I’ll bet he did.”

  “No, you idiot, my real pipes, my plumbing. It was broken. He used to be a plumber, so he came over to fix my pipes and then, I cooked him dinner and we, you know… shlupped. A couple of times.”

  “There are so many holes in this story. First, you’re telling me that a famous musician came to your run-down, piece-of-shit house to fix your plumbing for no reason.”

  “No. Yes. I mean his cousin Jed told him they were broken. See, I wasn’t going to be able to get on the tour bus because water was spewing ...”

  “Stop! Stop right there. You were on his tour bus?”

  “Just for the ride to the concert.”

  “With him?”

  “No, just Jed.”

  “Jed?”

  “His cousin. From Arkansas. He sleeps under the bus.” I had finally managed to render Marlene speechless. It was a week for firsts.

  “I am going to pretend… you…. that part … anyway, so he comes to fix the plumbing.”

  “Which he did. You should see my water pressure.”

  “I’ll bet. And then you cooked him dinner and he made love to you? See, that’s a problem. I’ve eaten your cooking. It has never come close to making me want to mount you like a stallion.”

  “Hey. I can cook. And he didn’t mount me like a … oh, wait, maybe he did. There was a lot of confusion. Tension too. See, he’d take
n a shower and was going to fling his underwear at me and then he didn’t have any on so he just stood there waggling and…”

  “Excuse me, I need more tequila.”

  I managed to get the rest of the story out in the same concise, coherent way I’d told he the beginning. By the time I finished she was drinking the tequila straight from the bottle.

  “Then he left and I haven’t heard a thing from him. So now, I feel like an idiot.”

  “First of all, no,” she put her glass down and took my hand. “You are not an idiot. If you had a chance to have the sex with that man and you turned it down? Then, yes, idiot. When was the last time you had great sex? Any sex?”

  “It’s uh..”

  “Exactly my point. You needed this and he was the perfect man to give it to you. No one to complicate your life. He can’t leave you, see, ‘cause he was never really here. Does that make sense?”

  “Less than you’d think.”

  “He was a rolling stone, babycakes, he rolled through, stopping long enough to give you one hell of a good time, remind you you’re still a woman who can do it with the best of them, and then rolled on out. A perfect zipless fuck.”

  “There were zippers. Briefly.”

  “No, Erica Jung? Fear of Flying?”

  “Ah, Yes, the zipless fuck. But you’re not supposed to like the person.”

  “You’re not supposed to know the person, which, come on, you admitted you don’t really know Renny Taylor.”

  “That’s true. It’s just that … this will make you roll your eyes, maybe sigh, again, but we have a connection. Something I haven’t felt since Steve.” She did. She rolled her eyes like some damn teenager appeasing her mother.

  “And look how that turned out.”

  “True.”

  “I believe you have a connection. Most famous people don’t make house calls for sex or to fix plumbing. Clearly, he is intrigued with you, attracted. But honey, really, he’s what? 20 years younger? Where was that ever going to go? You gonna follow him on the road, become his groupie?”

  “No. You’re right. I know you’re right.” I sat back, stumped. Listening to her say it aloud, so plain and simple made it seem as ludicrous as it was. “I hate you for being right.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  It was a one-night stand. I needed to accept that and move on. I could. I’d done it before, so, no problem, right? Buck up. Be grateful for the one night.

  After Marlene left I took myself and my sore vagina to bed.

  Alone.

  Again.

  Naturally.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Monday morning found me in … I want to say better spirits, but I can’t. The short but intense time with Renny had made my life seem small, drab and boring. I dragged myself out of bed, ran a comb through one hell of a bed head and drove off to work in my 10 year-old Echo.

  Maybe getting a new assignment would help. Take my mind off Renny. Doubtful but life goes on. Even after strange encounters of the sexy kind.

  I did my best to look like I’d been sick for a week so Sam wouldn’t fire me. It wasn’t hard. I looked like hell. Warmed over. Twice.

  Everyone glanced up as I made my way through the newsroom to my desk. I looked down and tried to walk as though nothing had changed me. But I knew Caroline and she had a noise for gossip, and sex. I was going to have some ‘splaining to do...

  I stopped short of my desk. In the center was a vase with a large collection of once beautiful but now wilted flowers. WTF?

  “No card,” Caroline popped up from her desk holding a small, wrapped package, “but this came with them so maybe there’s a name in there.”

  I took the package and sat slowly down at my desk, staring at the wrapping. Who?

  Caroline came over and perched on the edge of my desk. “Well, come on, open it. We’ve been dying to know. The flowers were gorgeous, by the way. I enjoyed them.”

  “When did they arrive?”

  “Monday morning. A week ago.”

  “Why didn’t anyone call me or bring them over.”

  “We all expected you to come in and then when you said you were ‘sick’ I figured the sickness may have something to do with these and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “Nice of you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know all the details, but first open the damn box. Do you really not know who sent them?”

  “I’m clueless.”

  I wasn’t for long. I undid the ribbon and picked at the wrapping.

  I took the lid of the box to find a beautifully displayed pair of satin men’s boxer shorts. OMG! Red!

  “Well, oo la la,” Caroline said, taking the boxers from me and picking up the card before I could grab it. “I think I owe you these,” she read aloud. “And there’s a phone number. Drake, you’ve been holding out on me.”

  “Give me that,” I said, grabbing back the card and the boxers. I jammed the underwear into the box and closed the lid as best I could in my befuddled state. “It’s a … it’s just a joke… from an old friend, sorority friend.”

  “First of all, you did not belong to a sorority.”

  “I might have.”

  “You are not the type. Second, this ‘friend’ also sent you $200 worth of now dead flowers. Where do I get a ‘friend’ like that?” Caroline was going to be persistent. Argh. Why am I seated across from the gossip columnist?

  I grabbed her and pulled her into the ladies restroom before she could make a scene. We waited until Angela from accounting left and then I made her pinky swear that if I spilled the details she would NOT run it in her column or flap her mouth anywhere else. She agreed. I wasn’t sure if I believed her but it’s all I had. If I didn’t shut her up somehow she would dig until she found out anyway. I don’t know how she found out stuff but I wouldn’t put it past her to hire the gopher in my yard on retainer.

  “Okay. You’re right. They are from a man. It is still an inside joke. It isn’t a serious relationship, so I just want to keep it quiet, okay?”

  “You slut.”

  “Yah, I’m a slut. I have sex every 15 years. Pin a scarlet A on my chest.”

  “15 years? Girl, how have you not shriveled up and blown away?”

  “Amazing, huh? It’s a little known fact that women –men either for that matter –don’t really need sex to survive.”

  “Doesn’t it grow back every 7 years or something? You are a double virgin!”

  I held up the Renny’s card still in my hand. “Was a double virgin. Luckily we had sex twice. He burst both my cherries. In one night.” I couldn’t help but brag a little.

  “Where did you find a man your age who could go twice in one night?” I blushed but didn’t answer.

  “You didn’t! He’s a younger man! Oh my frickin’ god, Drake you are one still water running deep. So, name?”

  “Rachel Drake?”

  “Not your name idiot, HIS name. Wonder lover, cherry popper, boxer boy. His name.”

  “Um… no, I can’t.”

  “So, I know him.”

  “No, you don’t, it’s not that, I’m just…”

  “Then he’s famous.”

  “No, no he’s not famous, far from famous,” I blurted much too quickly.

  “Then he’s infamous. Now, let’s see who you’ve talked to recently. I doubt it was someone from the cat show,” she leaned against the wall, thinking as she re-applied another layer of lipstick. Her eyes went wide, her lipstick dropped, she whipped around to stare at me. Oh shit, she’d figured it out.

  “One of the Taylor Brothers! Garrett? No, Renny! You fucked Renny Taylor? Oh my God.”

  “No, no you’re wrong, it’s… someone else…”

  “You are a bad, bad liar. You made sweet, sweet nookie with one of the hottest guys on the planet. And you didn’t tell me. I could choke you.”

  “You promised Caroline, no column, no tattling.”

  “Oh, I won’t use names, I did promise that but �
�”

  I slammed her against one of the stalls totally shocking us both. “I swear Caro, if you breathe a word, one word, I will tell everyone what you really did last August.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me. I have your plastic surgeon on speed dial.” I didn’t but it sounded good, I thought, thanking Marlene for the threat.

  “You’re a mean, mean woman Rachel Drake. You tell me the juiciest gossip I’ve heard in months and blackmail me not to use it. I thought we were friends.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Always. We’re bonded. Comrade-in-arms.”

  “Really? How old am I? When is my birthday? What’s my favorite color? What’s my dog’s name?”

  “I know that one. Your dog is Ollie. There.”

  “That’s Sam’s dog. I don’t have a dog, so cut the bestie bullshit. I like you, that’s as far as it goes. But I swear if you break this promise I will cut you –or tell who did. And where.”

  “Fine. I need to get back to work. Is that all right with you?” She pranced to the door but turned back at the last minute. “Just one thing. I have to know. How was it?”

  I smiled. I could give her this small crumb. “Spectacular.”

  She moaned as she left the room. I looked in the mirror and saw a clear-eyed, happy Rachel. Welcome back, I thought. And as for Renny Taylor?

  Welcome back.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I walked briskly to my desk, grabbed my phone and the box with the boxers and went outside. I couldn’t wait one more second to call him. What a total nut job! Still, I was beside myself with glee. I wasn’t a one-night stand! I hadn’t been easy to leave! If I’d just been a grown-up and come to work last week I would have saved myself a whole lot of grief and I would have enjoyed the flowers. I couldn’t remember the last time I had received flowers. Longer than the sex drought, that much was true. I think Steve had sent me flowers when I’d gotten pregnant. I think they were still fresh when he walked out. Hopefully, these flowers weren’t a similar harbinger of doom.