Hook, Line and Single

by Marcia King-Gamble

  We take another taxi back to the Eastside. Guinness greets us at the door. He needs to be walked. Reed gets the dog’s leash and I accompany him back downstairs. Guinness does his business and we climb back on the elevator again.

  “Can you stay the night?” Reed asks when Guinness is curled into a ball back in his laundry room.

  I hesitate before answering. I expected him to ask and now that he has, I’m nervous. Not nervous of Reed but scared of my feelings, because they are that intense, and it is all happening too fast.

  “You’ve spent the night before so you’ve got to know I won’t force myself on you,” he says as his home phone rings. He trots off to answer.

  Reed’s in the kitchen. I hear him pick up the phone and then slam it down again. I didn’t know he has a temper.

  “Was that a crank call?” I ask when he comes back.

  “Something like that.” The brackets around his mouth tighten.

  The phone rings again. He snorts loudly, mutters something and goes into the kitchen. The same thing happens. Reed returns with two glasses of wine and hands one to me.

  “Maybe you should call the police,” I say, when he says nothing by way of explanation.

  “No police. Not necessary.”

  It pops into my head that maybe this is someone he’s avoiding. Not my problem.

  He pulls me to my feet and takes me with him to the floor-to-ceiling windows. We look out on the night and the occasional boat as it journeys up the river. Using one hand to hold his wineglass, he embraces me with the other.

  “So you’ll stay,” he says close to my ear. “I’m liking you more and more, Roxi, and I’m in this for the long haul.” He begins nibbling on my earlobe.

  I can feel the heat coming off his skin and I can smell the clean fresh smell of his skin. We aren’t kids. I know when it’s right, and this feels right to me. And so I ignore the little voice in my head that says there is something strange about these phone calls.

  Reed’s fingers are massaging the side of my arm. His heated breath is on my neck. His lips tug at my skin. He sets both of our wineglasses down on a nearby table and pulls me into his arms.

  “I want to love you all over,” he says, his voice husky and deeper than the Reed I know.

  It is my hand that reaches for his shirt buttons. They are my fingers that trace a pattern across his undershirt and over his hardened nipples. It is me who presses into him.

  He is cupping my buttocks and rubbing against me, showing me just how much I am turning him on. I feel my nipples pebble and I feel my body throb. When Reed plucks at my blouse, pulling it from my skirt, I don’t stop him. I feel the heat of his palms against my bare midriff, and the tips of his fingers scorch as they dive under the lace of my bra and graze my breasts.

  “We should take this into the bedroom,” Reed says, breathlessly.

  I manage a nod and a noise that can be interpreted as “Yes.”

  I gather my gaping blouse and, breathing heavily, follow him up the hallway.

  Guinness lets out a “woof” as we pass the laundry room and then he settles down.

  In Reed’s room the comforters are already folded at the bottom of his bed. It is as if he expected this. The lamps on the nightstands are dimmed and the room is coated in a yellow hue. With Reed’s help, I climb out of my clothes. When he is nude he places an arm around my waist and lifts me onto the bed. We wrap ourselves around each other, forehead to forehead.

  Not a word is said, but the intimacy of our connection cannot be disputed. Reed’s erection presses into my stomach. His breath comes in little pants. His hands are roaming my body exploring the nooks and crannies. I return the favor, exploring his hardening flesh. Reed rolls me onto my back and parts my legs. He is on his knees and his head is between my thighs.

  I am afire, my body ignited by a need as ancient as time. As his tongue dips and dances, he takes me to additional heights. I shift position, pleasuring him just as he is pleasuring me. Reed sighs. His hips buck and do a full rotation as I take him firmly in my mouth. I am excited because he is excited.

  He flips me on my side and places his member between my thighs. We move back and forth until I am whimpering. Reed’s hands cup my breasts and trail my nipples. His slightly chapped lips nip my skin. Reed’s hands are everywhere, his fingers probing my orifices. I buck against him telling him I am ready.

  He slips on a condom and seconds later is inside of me. I hold on to him fast with quivering muscles. Reed shudders then plunges even deeper into me. An arm circles my waist holding me firm. We are butt to belly when Reed ramps up the motion. I am tingling everywhere and each nerve is alive.

  Now he is grunting and I am grunting right along with him. Even my lips are gyrating. I am past the point of no return. I feel the warmth, the heaviness in my center, and know I am about to explode.

  “Come with me,” Reed says as his body begins to spasm. I am more than ready. I let go.

  I can no longer hear him. I am overflowing with sensations and all I can do is feel. And then I hear me scream.

  Reed holds me tight and we fall into a place of sweet delight. A place where only sensations matter.

  We are in sync, connected on yet another level.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Anything I can do to help?” Yvette asks when she finds me hunched over the computer the next day.

  “Find me a whole new set of customers that want to spend money,” I say laughingly.

  “Everything in its time. They will come.”

  She gives me a wide smile and squeezes my shoulder. My face must say it all. I am going to have a hard time making payroll this month, and none of my self-talk is making me feel any better. I am also thinking about Reed. Last night’s lovemaking was just surreal.

  This could be a temporary lull in business, which is fairly typical in the weeks following the holiday, but I am not so sure. A few loyal customers have disappeared, and I have a fairly good idea where they might have danced off to. Service Not Incidental.

  I need to do something and quickly. I need results from that January Madness mailing. It is going to take a full week before I know what the impact is, and meanwhile I am going to have to juggle bills and that’s something I hate.

  My doorbell rings, an unwelcome distraction right now. I sigh loudly and go off to answer.

  “Who is it?”

  “Florist.”

  Must be the wrong house. I can’t think of a reason for anyone to send me flowers. I ask the man for his ID, check it out and carefully open the door. A huge bouquet is thrust at me. It is one of those exotic arrangements with orchids, birds of paradise, ginger lilies and trailing ferns. It has to have cost a small fortune.

  The deliveryman lingers waiting for his tip. I find my purse and fumble through it. I give him several dollars before removing the card. A huge smile breaks out on my face as I realize the sender is Reed.

  Yvette comes up behind me as I am hugging the bouquet to my chest.

  “How beautiful. You have an admirer,” she says.

  “I would like to think so.”

  I have not discussed my business with her but the expression on my face must be dreamy. I am still bowled over by the intensity of last night’s lovemaking. And now Reed has gone out of his way to let me know I am more than just a fling. I will think about what this all means later. Right now I have more pressing issues. I have a business that may be in serious trouble.

  I put the flowers in their accompanying urn on the mantel where I can see them. Then I search my database. I need to try to drum up repeat business. Maybe I can reach out to customers that have been inactive for a year or more. I will e-mail them and offer discounted services if they sign on again.

  While Yvette returns to her scheduling, I do a quick check of unread mail. Why is Vance e-mailing me? I click onto his mail and I bite my lip to calm down. He is resigning and doesn’t say why. I feel a sense of betrayal. What about his talk of loyalty and the fact his mother will have his behi
nd. Really, this couldn’t come at a worse time. Vance performs a lot of the tedious duties no one else wants to do. He has an infinite amount of patience and doesn’t mind waiting in long lines.

  I grab the phone and call him but he doesn’t pick up. Coward! I take a deep breath and decide to look at the positive. Having him quit means one person off the payroll, and that should help ease the financial burden a bit. Margot can be counted on in a pinch providing she’s available. And she doesn’t expect to be paid.

  I see an e-mail address I do not recognize. There is nothing particularly strange about this, but something about the screen name sets off alarm bells in my head. I don’t know a BetteBeautiful@yahoo.com. But I do have good virus protection so I click on the message and quickly scan it. It is most likely just spam.

  It is a very convoluted story about a woman whose ex-husband takes up with someone else. The woman is forced out of her house but before she leaves she has a last supper and tucks her shrimp shells in the curtain rods. What the hell is this all about? My gut tells me to save this message.

  I read my other mail but I am still distracted by the odd message which keeps replaying itself in my head. There is also an e-mail from Max. I read it quickly. He is trying for a comeback and is both contrite and apologetic. He still offers no explanation for his disappearance.

  Max tells me how much he cares about me and how much our friendship means to him. It is too little and too late. He has served a purpose. He has gotten me through a difficult period in my life and I will forever be grateful to him. I need someone more reliable and dependable. I need someone like Reed.

  Yvette enters from the outer room. She holds the office phone in one hand. I didn’t even hear it ring.

  “There’s a gentleman asking for you,” she says. “Wants to speak only to you.”

  I frown. “He wouldn’t give you his name?”

  “Carlo, I think. I didn’t catch his last name.”

  My heart jumps. There is a slight tremor to my hand as I take the receiver from her.

  “Hi. This is Roxi Ingram,” I say.

  Carlo’s deep, accented voice fills my ear. “Ah, bella. It has been much too long since we spoke.”

  I pause. Take a deep breath and collect myself.

  “Hello, Mr. DeAngelo.”

  “Carlo,” he corrects.

  “Carlo,” I say, and wait for my stomach to settle.

  “I apologize I have not called you before. I have been very busy and I am on my way out of town again. I am wondering if I may bring Bacci to you for say two weeks.”

  “When?”

  This may be the answer to a silent prayer. My calculator of a brain is already figuring out what two weeks of having Bacci means to me in terms of cold hard cash. I am also excited about seeing Mr. X again.

  “Tomorrow, if you will permit me to come by.”

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow. My mind is already racing. How will I react when I see Carlo again? We talk some more and he agrees to come by early in the morning.

  I walk into the room where Yvette is busy with her schedules. I place the phone back into its cradle.

  Yvette looks up and raises an eyebrow.

  “Another man you like. You are beaming,” she says.

  “A client. A very nice client,” I respond. “That’s all.”

  Meanwhile I am mentally comparing Carlo and Reed. Both are charming in very different ways. But I feel a special closeness with Reed. This comes about as a result of having slept with him.

  I must get these men out of my head. I have a business in trouble and I need a plan. I think about another direction my business could possibly go in. Maybe it is time to reinvent my company or maybe find a niche market. Maybe I should target corporations or businesses rather than individuals. If I got contracts with an agreement to use Wife for Hire exclusively I could have it made. It is not the first time I have toyed with this idea but in the past something has held me back. However desperate times call for desperate measures, and I am determined to succeed.

  I hear the mailman crunch up the steps and letters go shooting through the slot and onto my wooden floors. I need a distraction, something mindless to do so that I can process my feelings. I retrieve the mail and begin sorting through it. I am particularly interested in the envelope with the par avion sticker. It has to be from Lindsay. I set the stack of mostly junk mail down and rip the envelope open.

  My eyes get all misty. I can smell my child on that stationery. Until now I don’t realize just how much I miss her. Lindsay has sent me photos of her and a strange man standing or sitting in front of several prominent landmarks. There she is with the man at the Eiffel Tower. And there she is again with the same strange man strolling the Champs Elysée and entering the Louvre.

  Her letter is straight and to the point. She has fallen in love with France and in love with Jacques, a photographer she has met, who by the way, is not black. Her modeling career is taking off and she may never come home.

  This does not surprise me. Lindsay is a vibrant, alive young woman, passionate about life and passionate about love. Deep down I knew she would feel this way about Paris. Sad as I am, I am happy for her. She dares to do things others only dream of. I fold the letter back into its envelope and make a halfhearted attempt to glance at my other mail, which luckily holds nothing of importance.

  I return to find Yvette. She is done with her schedules so I send her home for the day. I make one last attempt to contact Vance. What he’s done is not right. He has followed in the steps of Kazoo, resigning without giving me notice.

  When I am alone I pop a CD into the player. I look at Lindsay’s pictures again but they only remind me of how alone I am. I suddenly long for my own mother and I make a long-overdue phone call. She is not home so I leave a message. My love life might be looking up but professionally everything is crumbling around me.

  I consider going to the gym and dismiss that idea. I consider going over to Margot’s and decide I can’t deal with more drama. What I really need is a vacation, some time away from the rat race. I can’t really afford it but it will help keep my head on straight.

  Yes, I know it is crazy. My business is in the toilet and my funds are rapidly depleting. But sometimes you just have to say screw it, and do what you need to do for yourself. A change of environment will help me recharge.

  I get on the Internet and start looking at packages to the Caribbean. Then I change my mind and start exploring the fares to Paris. Maybe I will go see Lindsay after all. I am back and forth betwixt and between when my cell phone rings.

  “Hi, beautiful. How’s your day?” Reed says.

  “Sucky.”

  Reed is silent, taken aback by my response. I explain to him what’s going on.

  “What you need,” he says, “is a change of scenery.”

  “Exactly.” I tell him that I am thinking of taking a vacation.

  “I’ll go with you,” he says. “Right about now someplace warm would be ideal. How about the Islands? My friend has a house on Barbados he’ll let us use.”

  A house means no hotel cost and the Caribbean is close enough. I’ve been to Antigua and St. Lucia a long time ago. I loved it.

  “Sounds tempting,” I say. “I’ve never really been to Barbados, just transited once. It’s a place on my to-go list.”

  “We’ll iron out the particulars in person. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  Reed hangs up before I can say another word.

  Although it is fairly cold I decide rather than stay inside and drive myself crazy I’ll go for a run. Running always helps clear my head and put things in perspective.

  I pound the pavement for a good forty-five minutes and come back winded but feeling a heck of a lot looser. Since I was out longer than expected I have to rush to get ready.

  I am putting the final touches on my makeup when the doorbell rings. I give a quick glance in the mirror and race off to answer. Margot stands on my front step, car keys in hand.

  “You�
�re turned out,” she says, eyeing me up and down. “Going somewhere?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

  “Well, you’re pretty dressed up for staying in.”

  I explain about Reed coming out to Long Island.

  “Well, let me not keep you. There’s been a new development and I was hoping we could talk.”

  Conscious of how chilly it is outside, I hold the door open. “Come on in,” I say, standing aside. “Reed’s not here yet.”

  Margot follows me as I wander off to get us wine. She keeps fiddling with her earlobe and nibbling on her lower lip: all signs of agitation. With Margot this is nothing new. I wait until we are seated on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, before asking.

  “So talk to me about this latest development.”

  “Earl left his woman,” she says. “He says he wants us to get back together.”

  I try to keep my expression neutral. Margot needs a sounding board not my personal thoughts on this matter. “How do you feel about that?” I ask carefully. Meanwhile I am thinking Earl is one confused man. I am also thinking given the changes Earl has put Margot through how can she trust him again.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” Margot answers. “Here I am just starting to get interested in Theo and now here is Earl turning up the heat. I’ve always thought he is what I want but I’m afraid he’ll hurt me again. I just can’t go through the constant ups and downs with him. At the same time I want my kids back.”

  Margot had been a major mess when Earl took up with his assistant. I’d been up nights with her. It had taken hours of therapy and medication to get her somewhat stable. She was obsessed with Earl and heartbroken to lose her children. I am relieved that she is thinking about what Earl is offering and not allowing him to manipulate her like a puppet.

  “It would be nice to have your kids back,” I say, “but I imagine it will be tough for them.” I am thinking those poor children are the ones who are going to suffer. There’s got to be some fallout when their father can’t decide which woman he wants or loves.