by Dee Ernst
“That’s what I do,” he said softly. “It’s my job. I love it, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But it’s only what I do. It’s not who I am.”
I know,” she said. She stopped and looked at him, eyes wide and dark. “If that was all this was about, I could just sleep with you and walk away. And believe me, I am so tempted right now. But I know that you are so much more than just that. And this right now, you and I, this is more. At least,” she faltered, “at least I think it is. Unless you just want to get laid. Oh, shit.” She covered her face with her hands. “That’s it, right?” She dropped her hands and looked at him miserably. “You must think I’m a real idiot.”
“No, that’s not it. And I don’t think you’re an idiot.” He spoke quietly, his eyes boring into hers. “I think you’re one of the brightest people I’ve ever met. I love how passionate you are about things, your work, your kids, your whole life. You’re funny and kind and I think you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. When you smile, you break my heart. I think you’re amazing.”
She looked at him, his blue eyes, the dark, straight brow, the angle of his cheekbones. She knew the taste of him now, and desire came over her, filling her chest and throat. “This is happening very fast. I have to decide what I want to do.”
He stood up. “Yeah, I know it’s happening fast. And for the record, yes, I do want you. If there was a cave nearby, I’d knock you over the head and drag you there by your hair. That’s all I’ve been thinking about.” He had been walking toward her, and she had been backing away, until her back hit the wall and she could go no further. He put his hands up, one on either side of her face, and leaned in. “I’ve been watching you all night, and every time you said something, or laughed, or smiled, or ate something, or drank something, I just wanted to touch you.”
She had flattened herself against the wall, palms open, bracing herself. Her eyes were looking into his and she felt warm and dizzy, breathless, and there was a deep, heavy ache between her legs.
He whispered, his breath warm and soft on her hair. “I just want to touch you.” His lips were on her cheek, soft and dry as he spoke. Her lips parted as she turned her head and found his mouth, and she closed her eyes and moved toward him.
A car door slammed outside in the driveway, and they heard the faint beep of a car alarm being set.
Michael straightened and backed away from Diane. Her hands flew to her cheeks and she drew a deep breath.
The front door banged open. Diane whirled, and her daughter Rachel came into the house.
“Hey, Mom.” Rachel was tall, very slender, wearing a mini-skirt and a tight shirt with long flowing sleeves. She looked past her mother to Michael.
“Gee, Mom, I would have been happy with just an autograph, but this is good too.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel. My sisters have been singing your praises all night.”
Michael seemed very calm as he shook her hand. “Michael. Hello. I heard all about you as well. My sister is Angela Bellini.”
“You’re kidding? Dr. Bellini? She is such a nice woman. How is she?”
“Good.” Michael answered easily.
“You had dinner with your dad?” Diane asked. Her voice sounded hoarse, and she cleared her throat.
“Yeah. I’ve been calling you all afternoon, but no answer.” Rachel looked at her mother, then back at Michael.
“My fault,” Michael said. “I roped her into helping my sister paint.”
“Oh, Mom is so good at that,” Rachel exclaimed. “She did a mural on my wall,when I was really little, in our old house, remember Mom? Winnie-the-Pooh. I just loved that room. She could make lots of extra money doing that kind of stuff.”
“Well,” Diane said, giving her daughter a hug, “now that you have a job that pays a living wage, I don’t need to make extra money.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rachel headed for the kitchen, dropping a handful of belongings in a heap on the coffee table. “Can I get a drink of something?”
“Sure, honey, go ahead.” Diane watched her daughter leave the room, and then looked at Michael.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’ve got to fly to Toronto tomorrow.”
Diane nodded. “Rach,” she called, “I’m walking Michael out, okay?”
They walked out to his truck, and he got in silently, slamming the door. He started the truck and sat, staring ahead. Diane leaned in through the open window.
“Your daughter is a knockout,” Michael said.
“Yes, she is. Want me to fix you up?”
He chuckled. “She looks exactly like the last three women I went out with.” He glanced at Diane, then looked away. “I think my tastes have changed.”
Diane reached in and very carefully pushed a strand of hair from his forehead.
“How long will you be in Toronto?” She asked.
“I think until Wednesday. I may be writing a score for a movie up there.”
“Oh, wow. What’s the movie?”
“I don’t really know. Do you know somebody named Prescott? He’s a theater guy, I think.”
“Gordon Prescott? I know who he is. He’s supposed to be a genius. How exciting for you.”
“This is a very exciting time. I’ve never done anything quite like this.” His skin looked very white in the darkness, his eyes lost in the shadows of his face.
“I bet. Imagine, a movie.”
“I’m not just talking about the movie,” he said quietly.
Diane chewed her lip. “When will I see you?” She asked softly.
“We could have dinner. Thursday night.”
Diane shook her head. “No. Megan has an awards thing Thursday. Girls’ softball. How about Friday? The girls go with their father on Friday nights.”
“Good. That would be good. What time?”
“They usually get picked up around six, so, what? Six-thirty?”
“Okay. I’ll call you from Toronto.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I could use a little time, I think.”
He nodded. “If you want to talk or anything, my sisters have my cell phone number. Ask one of them, okay?”
“Okay. I will. Have a good trip.” She backed away from the truck as he pulled away. Diane took several deep breaths, then went back into the house.
Rachel was sitting on the couch, drinking orange juice, legs crossed. “Well, he seems very nice,” she said conversationally. “He’s adorable in person. His eyes are incredible. I wonder if he wears, you know, blue contact lenses.”
“He doesn’t,” Diane replied, sinking into the couch. “All his sisters look just like him. The same blue eyes.”
“Met the family, have we?” Rachel tilted her head as she looked at her mother.
Diane met her daughter’s look. “Yes. I had dinner with them.”
“And you met him, when? Two weeks ago? Not even. Emily told me the story. How cute. Something to tell the grandkids.”
Diane leaned forward. “Why are you angry?” she asked gently.
“You just met him, Mom. I saw how the two of you were looking at each other when I came in. What’s going on?”
Diane sat back. “Are you and Gary having sex?”
“You know what, Mom? That’s none of your damn business,” Rachel said hotly.
“Exactly.”
Rachel’s nostrils flared. “You’re old enough to be his mother.”
“Yes. He and I were just having that discussion. I don’t think he cares all that much.” She leaned forward again. “How is the workshop coming?”
Rachel shrugged. “We start performances in three weeks. Can you come out and see me?”
“In ‘Slaughtered Shakespeare’? I’m not sure my heart can take it, but I’ll try.”
“How many tickets? Will you be bringing a date?”
“I’ll bring your sisters.” Diane chewed her lip. “Rachel, please don’t say anything about Michael being here. Emily and Megan don’t know.”
Rachel shrugged again. “S
ure, Mom. Your little secret is safe with me.” She stood up and gathered her things, purse, sweater, a woven carry-all. “I just wanted to stop and say hello. I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”
Diane stood with her. “No, honey, you didn’t interrupt anything. And even if you did, it still would have been fine.” She put her arms around her daughter. Rachel’s body was tense, rigid.
“Drive safe, and call me, okay?”
Rachel kissed her mother on the cheek. “Okay, Mom. Good night.”
Michael left her house with his mind racing. He didn’t want to go home. It was too late to go back to Angela’s. He reached for his cell phone, scanned through the memory, and hit the button for Mark. Mark Bender, his closest friend from high school.
Mark answered, and Michael could tell he was out somewhere from the noise and music in the background.
“Mark, man it’s Michael. Where the hell are you?”
“Fuck, man, we’re at Rollie’s. Come, drink with us.”
“Who’s us?” Michael asked. He knew Rollie’s, a bar in Hoboken, blocks from Marks apartment. Mark drank there when he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive home.
“Well,” Mark said slowly, “there’s Brianne, and Laura, and a blonde who won’t tell me her name. But if the great Mickey Flynn were here, I bet she would.”
“Okay, man. But can I crash at your place? I need to be at the airport tomorrow at eight.”
“In the morning? Jesus, Mike, I thought the tour was over.”
“It is. Toronto is a different thing. I’ll tell you later. I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t leave on me, okay?”
“Hey, we’ll be here.” Michael hung up headed toward Hoboken. He thought about Diane as he drove. God, she was fantastic. Any woman who could hold her own among the Carlucci girls was a rare bird. His sisters were three of the smartest, toughest women he knew, and Diane had stayed right with them. She had even made them laugh. He didn’t often compare the other women in his life to his sisters, simply because so few even came close. But Diane had bowled him over.
She was so sexy, dark, flashing eyes, that shy smile that blazed out unexpectedly. And he could not wait to get his hands on that body. She would be great in bed, he could tell. Smart women, he had found, usually were. She hadn’t had sex in six years. What is wrong with the men around here? He thought. He couldn’t believe she told him that. She must trust him. She must also want him. He felt a flicker of heat. He had been aroused all evening, just watching her, imagining.
She was forty-five. That didn’t bother him. She certainly didn’t look it. Or act it. She had three or four earrings in her left ear, a series of tiny hoops peeking through her hair. She wore a large, onyx ring on her hand, and gold chains around her wrist. She seemed as comfortable in her jeans and sneakers today as she had been in the sleek pant suit she had worn the previous week to dinner. A class act. Maybe that’s why her age didn’t faze him. He knew her strength, poise and grace were as much a part of her as her skin, earned through years of living. Too many women he had met in the past few years were slick and flashy, but without any substance. Diane was the real thing.
He drove past Rollie’s, looking for a place to park his truck. It was a ’99 pick-up, bought with the first check from the first CD NinetySeven recorded. He liked driving it because he didn’t have to worry about it being stolen, scratched, or broken into. He parked on a side street and walked back to the bar. He felt grubby, his jeans blotched with dirt from working outside at Diane’s, and later at his sister’s. He had changed into another shirt, pulled from the duffel bag that was always stashed behind the front seat. He tried to scrape the mud off the side of his sneakers, then gave up. Rollie’s was a neighborhood bar, low-key and casual, so he wasn’t worried about not fitting in.
Mark was at the bar, leaning over a pretty young blonde woman. He saw Michael immediately, and waved him over. Michael took a deep breath. Mark was very drunk, Michael could tell by the silly grin on his friend’s face.
“Mike, come ‘ere, meet my beautiful friend. She didn’t believe me, but I told her you’d be here. She’s a big fan, aren’t you, my beautiful friend?” Mark was good-looking, tall and muscular, with medium brown hair and brown eyes that were currently red-rimmed and un-focused. He had buried his face into the blonde’s hair, but she was not paying attention. She was looking straight at Michael, and he felt a wave of anger as she licked her lips and leaned toward him, completely ignoring his friend behind her.
“Hey,” he said, nodding his head briefly.
“Hey yourself,” she answered, arching her brows. “I missed the show last night, but I listen to you all the time.”
“Thanks. Hey, Mark. Man, how’ve you been?” Michael walked past the blonde and put his arm around Mark’s shoulders.
Mark grinned sloppily. “Mike, glad you could make it.” He put his mouth close to Michael’s ear. “This one is for you, Mike. I saved her just for you.”
“Thanks, Mark,” Michael whispered back, “But not tonight, man, okay?”
Mark looked at the bar and picked up a half-empty glass, sipping it sloppily. The blonde had come around behind Michael and slid her arms around his waist. Michael sighed. He should have gone home. He was in no mood for this.
“Mark,” he said, trying to ignore the girl as she pressed against him, “let’s get out of here. I need to get an early plane tomorrow.”
“That’s right. You’re going to Toronto. What the fuck is in Toronto?” Mark had finished his drink and was signaling the bartender, who was carefully ignoring him.
“A movie, Mark. I may be doing a movie.” Michael tried to pull away from the blonde. His body was responding to her. Diane was still fresh in his mind, and this woman’s touch was beginning to affect him. He gripped her left wrist and turned to her. “Please, not right now,” he said to her softly.
Mark grabbed Michael and swung him back around. “A movie? A fuckin’ movie? Jesus, Mike, can I be in your movie?”
Michael tried to maneuver his friend away from the bar. “It’s not my movie, Mark. You ready to get home?”
The blonde slid between Michael and Mark. “Don’t go yet,” she said, smiling. She rubbed herself against him, and he felt an immediate erection. She felt it too.
“See, I knew you’d be happy to meet me,” she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Michael pulled her arms away. “Not now,” he said again, louder, rudely. He grabbed Mark and pushed him ahead, through the crowd. He could hear her voice, shrill, following him outside. He and Mark started down the sidewalk, and she was right behind them.
“Hey, hey wait.” She put herself in front of Michael again. “Your friend here said you were a nice guy. Come on, be nice to me. I’ll be nice to you.” She was stroking him through the rough denim of his jeans, and he suddenly thought how easy it would be, that she would probably fuck him in the front seat of his truck. He was rock-hard, and she kissed him, her tongue deep in his mouth.
Mark staggered against them, and the blonde shoved him angrily. Mark started yelling, and Michael grabbed him again, pushing him further away.
“Hey, I’m sorry, really,” he called to her. “Listen, I’ll be back here tomorrow, okay?” He hurried Mark along, praying she would not follow. When he glanced back, she was walking back into Rollie’s. Michael sighed thankfully.
He walked them to Mark’s apartment. Mark searched his pockets, dragged out a key, and they went up three flights to a sprawling loft studio. Mark worked on Wall Street, and made easily six figures a year. The rent on his apartment, overlooking the river and Manhattan beyond, was four thousand a month. Michael rolled his friend into a crumpled king-sized bed, then stripped, found a towel and took a long, steaming shower. He dried himself off and stretched out on Mark’s sofa, looking out at the lights of New York. He was exhausted. He squinted at his watch, pushed a few buttons, and set the alarm. 5 o’clock. Even that would be pushing it. Was Toronto considered international? Would he need to be th
ere even earlier? It didn’t matter. As drained as his body was, he was wide awake. After an hour of tossing, he got up, threw his rumpled clothes back on, and drove to the airport. He went through security, checked in, and sat, reading Gordon Prescott’s script, and thinking about Diane.
Diane spent the whole of Sunday working outside. It exhausted her, which is what she had hoped for. The large patch of ground where the azalea had been was going to be a rose garden, she had decided. Since the cutting down of the old maple last fall, she finally had an open, sunny spot in her yard. She cleared the smaller brush, transplanted the pachysandra, and worked bags of peat moss and compost into the soil. When Emily and Megan returned from their father’s at seven that evening, her muscles hurt and she felt she could fall asleep standing upright.
She had had trouble sleeping the night before. She kept thinking about Michael. There was not a thing about him she did not find desirable. He was bright. He made her laugh. He was thoughtful and sensitive. He was obviously crazy about his family. And when he kissed her, she wanted to tear all his clothes off. She hadn’t felt that strong a physical attraction in a long time. She kept feeling his mouth against her skin, and she finally closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers between her legs until she brought herself to a quick, hard climax. Only then could she sleep.
The girls obviously quarreled at their father’s, and it came home with them. Diane was not in the mood. She kept hearing them snipe at each other, and it set her teeth on edge. When Sue Griffen called and suggested a walk, she readily agreed, despite her aching legs. She shouted up to the girls where she was going, and walked outside. Sue was coming down the street, Sharon Ingoe beside her. Sharon was short and sturdy, with legs like tree trunks beneath her shorts, her gray hair cut short. She lived down the street from Diane and Sue, and had known them for years.
