“You mean Rebecca?”
Robyn turned and looked at him, sighing. “Christopher …”
Rebecca was a busty girl from Staten Island who had an almost impenetrably thick “Noo-Yawk” accent, but the legal skill and instincts of F. Lee Bailey. Her accent had grated on Frank, but Robyn had lobbied for her as a lateral hire anyway.
“I’m just sayin’ …”
“If Rebecca was that good, Rebecca would have been appointed acting general counsel. And she’s not. I am.”
“I know you are.” Chris brushed his lips across the shell of her ear. “And that was the right decision.”
“Are you humoring me right now?” Robyn asked, turning to look at him full on. “Because it sounds like you’re humoring me.”
Chris held up his hands in surrender. “How ‘bout I just …” He took her champagne flute. “I’m getting a drink. I’ll bring you back a refill.”
Robyn watched him walk away, and felt her annoyance dissipate as she took in his unhurried, masculine gait. It was like a slow-motion sequence in a men’s cologne commercial.
“Congratulations!”
Robyn startled for the second time in as many minutes.
This time the voice at her ear was Tracy’s. Looking stunning as usual, she was wearing a dress that no mother of a small child should have been able to pull off, but of course, Tracy did. It was a beaded mini-dress with shimmery tassels at the hem. And as usual, Tracy had accessorized perfectly, choosing to wear only diamond studs in her ears, and no other embellishment. Her long auburn hair was loose and tucked behind her ears.
“What’re you congratulating me for?” Robyn asked as they exchanged kisses.
“You smell delicious,” Tracy said. “You have to tell me what that scent is. And, for your promotion. That’s what I’m congratulating you for. I mean, I know nothing official’s been announced but with Frank leaving …”
“Well. Not to hear my husband tell it. I can’t tell whether he thinks that I shouldn’t get it, or I just won’t get it.”
“Yes, well. You know Chris would want you barefoot and pregnant again …”
“No, definitely not pregnant,” Robyn laughed. “But maybe barefoot.”
“Just because he’s unemployed …” Tracy joked.
“But seriously, I don’t think he’d want me to take it even if Jamal made the offer.”
“Well, you are going to get it, so he’ll have to adjust.”
“Yes. He will,” Robyn said with more confidence than she felt.
She had long accepted that there was a little streak of chauvinism in her man. In his mind, his work was a mission, but hers was little more than a hobby. And that worldview was only amplified by the fact that she didn’t need an income. In his opinion, men needed to work no matter how well-off they may be; and women like her, who were married to well-off men, chose to work. It was beyond him that she would need something to conquer, something outside of the home, no matter how much she loved her children.
But it didn’t matter. As far as Robyn was concerned, becoming general counsel was the highest pinnacle anyone in her field could aspire to. And general counsel at one of the most significant players in the recording industry? No. This job was hers, no matter what Chris or anyone else had to say about it.
There had already begin to be whispers about the names that Jamal was considering—Big Shot Attorney from so-and-so law firm, or Big Shot General Counsel from so-and-so entertainment conglomerate. And Robyn was struggling not to pay attention to those whispers. Her best play to get the job was to do the job and do it well.
When Frank was gone, her audition would begin. And she was more than ready for it.
“When did this happen?” Robyn called out to Chris from the bedroom, walking around the brand-new sleigh-bed, its mattress bare, and still covered in plastic.
Chris came in, carrying two glasses of wine. They had pilfered a bottle of Meyer Cabernet Sauvignon from the party and taken it with them to the West Side apartment where they were spending the night. While Chris opened it, Robyn had come back to the bedroom to get comfortable. Shedding her party dress, she almost collided with the edge of the new bed.
“I had it swapped out the day after Deuce and his little friend came over,” Chris said tugging his shirt free of his pants.
He never wore ties anymore, just dress shirts with two buttons open at the neck. He told Robyn the next time he was in a tie, it would be at a funeral. And only at his.
“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed. “Are you going to swap out the bed every time he sneaks in here with a girlfriend?”
“No, because I’m getting the locks changed.”
“Chris. You can’t change the locks. Don’t you feel better knowing that if he’s in the city, you’d know where he was sleeping and where to find him?” As she spoke, Robyn tossed her dress across the room and onto the armchair.
Chris shook his head and looked at her, a mixture of amusement and love in his eyes.
“So, you’d rather I make it convenient for my son to ‘ho around, just so I can ‘know where he’s sleeping’? Deuce has a charge card with a ten-thousand-dollar limit, Robyn. Let him get a hotel room just like I used to have to do … back when I didn’t even have a charge card.”
“We’re not changing the locks,” she said. “And if you do, I’m sending him a key.”
“You’re such a sucker,” Chris said. “If you’re like this with the eldest one, then all of them are going to walk all over you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get some sheets on this bed,” she said. “So we can figure out if it, you know, works right.”
They found sheets in the linen closet that looked to be brand-new as well. Mrs. Lawson’s work no doubt. Once the bed was, Chris and Robyn sat on the edge and finished their glasses of wine. Her head felt light, and her mind pleasantly fuzzy.
Robyn shoved the straps of her bra to the side and Chris reached behind her, unclasping it in the rear, and then taking a moment to look at her breasts. Robyn leaned back, propped on her extended arms, enjoying her husband’s admiration.
If there would come a time when he didn’t look at her this way, she sure couldn’t imagine it. He hadn’t changed, not one iota in all the time they’d been together. After two babies, weight gain and weight loss, the appearance of stretch marks and stubbornly resistant ripples on her inner thighs, Chris still looked at her like she embodied womanhood. Like he saw something beyond her physical self, and loved her, no matter what container she came in.
Eyes still on her, he unfastened the remaining buttons on his shirt, and shrugged free of it, and then of the t-shirt underneath. Wanting to feel his skin against hers, Robyn reached up and pulled him toward her. He leaned in, but dipped his head, taking a nipple in his mouth, licking, sucking and teasing it until it hardened, and then moving to the other.
Robyn liked watching his head, bowed that way, and loved the feeling of his rough chin and jaw against her. And she loved that just the anticipation of his touch still had the power to make goosebumps rise on the surface of her skin. As he kissed her, Chris found and tugged at the waistband of her underwear, so Robyn lifted her hips to allow him to pull them free. He moved lower, kissing her over her sternum, down onto her slightly soft, somewhat dimpled stomach where she was ticklish. He lingered there a while, until she tipped his chin upward giving him an arch look.
“I get it,” she said. “You’re teasing me. Can we move it along?”
“What you mean? Where d’you think I’m headed?” Chris, by now kneeling on the floor in front of her bit his lower lip to squelch a smile.
“I know where you’d better be headed,” she said, putting one hand atop his head.
“Oh. I see what’s up. You get a little promotion at work and think you can give orders at home, too, huh?” Raising a hand, he pressed against the center of her chest, pushed her back onto the bed and lowered his face between her legs.
Robyn yelped at the sudden hot pleasure of his tongue inside he
r. She arched toward him, reaching down, holding his head in place with both hands. Trying to keep herself from thrashing around too much, she released his head and instead grasped the sheets on either side of her. Chris lifted his head momentarily and held her wrists, and eyes holding hers, placed her hands on his head again.
Robyn smiled and pushed him back down, this time letting her body do what it wanted, confident that Chris was loving every second of it. When she came, it was soft, slow and fuzzy. She was lying still, limp and boneless when she felt Chris on top of and against her. Just as she prepared to close her thighs about him, he turned her onto her stomach, dragged her up onto her knees and plunged into her from behind. The surprise of it, the unexpected depth of it caused her to fall forward, and with a forearm hooked around her waist, Chris yanked her against him once again.
“Where you goin’?” he asked, kissing the back of her neck as he moved. “You tryin’ to get away from me?”
“No,” Robyn panted. “No … no…”
“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.” He breathed into her ear and gave her one, almost painfully-deep thrust. “Not even fuckin’ close.”
Those words, and the prospect of a long, bruising lovemaking session made her clench around him.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “You like that, don’t you?”
“No …”
“No?” he demanded.
“No, I love it,” she said. “I love it … I love it …”
“I feel how much you love it,” he said, sucking on her earlobe. “The way you’re pulling me in … yeah like that, yeah …”
It was the wine, Robyn knew. It didn’t just make her horny, it made her chatty.
“Fuck me,” she said, “harder … Fuck me harder …”
“Listen to you, Miss Big Talk,” Chris said, kissing her shoulder.
He had switched things up, and was slow-grinding against her, pulling her up into a reverse bear-hug and cupping her breasts with both hands.
Prying his arms loose, she felt onto all fours again and threw her hips back to meet him, wanting to make him pant and breath hard the way she was breathing hard. She wanted him sweating, his heart beating so hard he thought it would beat right out of his chest. No way was she going to let him spin her out while he stayed in control like this. No. Fucking. Way.
Chris let her move, his hands resting lightly on her hips, so she was doing most of the work. He thought she would wear herself out, but he was wrong. He thought she would grow exhausted, and then stop. That she would collapse in a submissive heap, but he was wrong. Robyn paced herself, moving fast and then slowing to an almost circular undulation. Inside her, Chris was piston-hard, and only seemed to be getting harder.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the moment his almost dispassionate control shifted. His eyes grew cloudy and unfocused, finally fluttering shut like someone succumbing to sleep after fighting it for a good, long while. And when he bit down hard on his lip, grimacing as though fighting for control, Robyn knew she’d won.
“Is it good, baby?” she cooed, teasing him with an exaggerated sex-kittenish voice.
Chris opened one eye and his hands on her hips tightened. Just as she thought he was about to get back into the action, he pulled out of her, turned her onto her stomach and sunk between her legs, his mouth on her jaw and neck.
“Look who’s shit-talkin’ tonight,” he said before his lips covered hers. Their kiss was dueling tongues, lips, and wills. Chris moved in and pulled back, nipping her lower lip, pulling it between his teeth and then sucking it. When Robyn reached up, he pulled back, forcing her to crane forward to reach him.
Between her legs, he played the same game of catch-and-release, pushing into her a quarter of an inch, pulling out altogether to slide between her lips, angling his hips so she prepared for him to plunge deep, only to have him lose contact with her altogether.
Her clit throbbed and thrummed, and she reached down to relieve it, when Chris grabbed and held her wrist, pinning it at her side, and at shoulder level. Trying the same with her free hand, she was thwarted when he gave it the same treatment as the other.
“Nah,” he said into her ear. “No one touches that pussy but me.”
“Then touch it,” she begged. Her heart was the one beating hard. With excitement, with longing and frustration.
“What?” he tongued her neck.
“Touch it,” Robyn begged. “Touch me.”
“Say it again.”
“Touch me.”
“What you want me to touch you with?”
“What?” Her mind was swirling, addled, confused and dizzy with wanting. Her clit ached.
“What should I touch you with? This?” The tip of his tongue touched her lips and they instinctively parted for him, but Chris pulled back.
“Or this …” He arched forward, so his dick barely touched her clit. But even that brief contact was like lighting a match. She felt impossibly heavy down there, engorged and crying out for release.
“Or these …” Chris released her wrist, long enough to slide two fingers inside her. She pushed herself against them and he pulled them back, lifting them to his lips and sucking them clean.
Robyn groaned in defeat. “Any … all …”
Chris grinned. “What d’you say?”
“Please,” Robyn said. “Please.”
“All,” Chris said.
Bending and bowing his head low, her took a nipple between his lips and sucked hard. Not expecting that, Robyn felt her orgasm approaching, but when Chris slid his fingers inside her again, in two seconds it was on her, and she was screaming his name. He stroked her, his thumb rubbing her clit as she came, longer harder, louder than she had in a long, long time. Or ever.
When she felt herself descending, her body settling again, Chris released her nipple and pulled his fingers out of her. But if she thought he was going to let up, she was wrong. He slid down and Robyn felt him swiping at her with his tongue, and her body jerking in involuntary response.
“Chris,” she panted. “Wait … stop … wait … I can’t …”
“You can’t what?”
“Take any… take any … take anymore.”
Coming to rest atop her, he allowed her to catch her breath until she turned her head. She strained forward a little, so he could kiss her, tasting herself on his lips and sucking his tongue to get every trace of herself from it. With that, she tasted the sweet fruity wine.
“You ready for me?” Chris said against her mouth.
Nodding, though she wasn’t sure she was, Robyn let her thighs relax further so Chris could slide inside her. She submitted as he stroked slow and deep, doubting her body’s capacity to respond, telling herself that this time was for him, because she had nothing else. But soon, the strange, otherworldly tingles deep inside her started again, and she heard her breaths, this time soft and feathery, ending in a deep, soul-wrenching, body-drenching release.
Chris must have come too, though she wasn’t aware of when it happened, only of her own body having reached its absolute sexual limit.
“Next time,” Chris said against her ear. “Don’t test me.”
Robyn turned her head, mustering up just enough energy to kiss him, and let herself be kissed.
4
There weren’t many activities that Chris disliked that he felt obligated to participate in. He prided himself on the fact that he had built the kind of life for himself that allowed him to not do whatever he didn’t like to do. He didn’t enjoy driving in New York City’s traffic, so he had someone do it for him. He didn’t like flying commercial, so he flew privately. He didn’t like cooking, or cleaning, so there were people to do that, too.
And he didn’t like going to Arcadia Adult Care, but it was something he had to do. His sister, Audrey lived there. And he loved her, so he had to go, though he didn’t like seeing her there, and liked it even less that he was the one responsible for it. Audrey wasn’t just his sister, she was his twin. Born only si
x minutes apart, they had been close. Chris knew this though with each passing year, it felt more like something he’d been told once, than something he remembered with any clarity or certainty.
The accident that had killed their parents and irreparably damaged Audrey’s brain had also put them both in the care and custody of the state. For him it had meant a series of foster homes, and for Audrey it meant group homes with indifferent staff, and shoddy medical care. By the time he was old enough, and financially established enough to find and take care of her, many years of rehabilitative opportunities had been lost.
Now, Audrey was the equivalent of an articulate eight-year old. And like chronological and biological eight-year-olds, she was unable to take care of her own needs. For years, she had lived with him, but there was little social interaction other than with her home-care nurse. She was stagnating, didn’t understand his frequent absences and he knew, was lonely much of the time. Still, the decision to move her to a facility felt like a failure.
When he and Robyn got married, they talked about bringing her back to live at home with them, and even tried to have her come visit for a week to see how it would go. But Audrey, like a child who had been inexplicably plucked out of their home, enjoyed her time away, only so long as she knew it was a visit.
How many more days, Christopher? How many more days before I go home? she asked him every morning at breakfast.
Robyn told him she would probably ask for a while then acclimate to her new reality living with them, and that he should be patient. But the idea of that acclimation period, and his sister’s disorientation while she learned a new routine, and new people didn’t sit well. So, he took her back to Arcadia.
Now that he didn’t go to the office every day, alternate-week visits became weekly visits, but they never got an easier.
Set in a bucolic part of North Jersey, Arcadia strained cultivate the appearance of a quiet college campus, with low-lying buildings spread far apart, and ample “activity areas” for the residents. Each adult living at Arcadia had their own apartment-style living area, customized to suit their individual circumstances. Audrey’s apartment was a two-bedroom with limited kitchen, large living room and a terrace. Completing the pretentiousness of the place, the building was named for an author. Audrey’s building was called Dickinson, after Emily Dickinson, someone Audrey and most of the residents would never have the capacity to read or understand.
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 40
