Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me

by Jennifer Crusie

  “You don’t have to shock me with language to make me pay attention,” Brandon said, and Sophie wanted him dead. “When you get back home, we’ll have a long talk and get you straightened out.”

  Sophie gritted her teeth. Maybe she didn’t want straightened out. Maybe she liked being bent. Maybe she’d go find Phin and invite him to bend her some more. “And we did have sex. I came, that’s sex.”

  “You come with a vibrator, too,” Brandon said. “Stop dramatizing yourself.”

  Sophie gripped the receiver until her knuckles went white. “I’m telling you, I had sex!”

  “Good for you,” Amy said from the doorway. “Who are you bragging to?”

  “Brandon,” Sophie said.

  “Yes!” Amy plopped herself down at the foot of the bed, bouncing with satisfaction, and the dog moved closer to Sophie, the epitome of annoyed canine. “Sorry, dog. This was Phineas T., right?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “And now Brandon is explaining to you why you did this, and he isn’t mentioning lust and satisfaction.”

  Sophie nodded again.

  “Who’s talking to you?” Brandon said.

  “Amy,” Sophie said. “She just recapped your entire conversation.”

  “Oh, yes, your sister, the psychological genius.” Brandon sounded annoyed for the first time. “Definitely listen to her.”

  “Let me get this straight. You don’t care that Phin went down on me, but you’re jealous that I’m listening to my sister instead of you?” Sophie gave up. “Brandon, I think this is an indication that this relationship isn’t working for us.”

  “Yes,” Amy said.

  “Of course the relationship is working for us.” Brandon sounded really annoyed now. “You’re just acting out a little—”

  “ ‘A little.’ ” Sophie shook her head. “I’m not acting out a little. I’m getting my brains blown out by the river by a guy I hardly know.”

  “I love this,” Amy said.

  “Sounds like acting-out to me,” Brandon said. “Go get some sleep and sober up. You’ll be back to normal in the morning.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  “Good night, Sophie,” Brandon said, and hung up.

  “I don’t believe this.” Sophie stared at the receiver.

  “Who cares about him?” Amy said. “You had great sex.”

  “Not according to Phin and Brandon.” Sophie put the receiver back on the cradle. “It’s not sex at all, according to these yahoos.”

  “Wait, I get it. You only had oral sex.” Amy rolled her eyes. “How Clintonesque of them.”

  “Well, it’s an out for me,” Sophie said. “Evidently I didn’t cheat, after all. And Brandon says when I get home, he’ll straighten me out.”

  “Does he now?” Amy’s voice was cold, and Sophie said, “Yeah.”

  “I don’t like Brandon,” Amy said. “The mayor, however, I might approve of. On a short-term basis only, of course.”

  “I don’t,” Sophie said, and thought about Phin in the dark, and his hands and his mouth, and she shivered all over. “I just want him again. Only this time, I want the whole thing, the entire phallic variation.”

  “The Phallic Variation.” Amy grinned. “Sounds like a techno-thriller. Tom Clancy’s Phallic Variation. I think you should go for it.”

  “I can’t.” Sophie slid down into her pillows and tried not to think about going for it and thought about it anyway. “I can’t cheat again. But, oh God, Amy, it was good.”

  “You know, I never heard you say, ‘God, it was good’ after Brandon,” Amy said. “And now here’s the mayor, who seems to know his thumb from a clitoris.”

  Sophie felt her lips quirk in spite of herself. “Oh, yes. He went places no man has gone before. He also seems open to direction.”

  “Your future is clear.” Amy grinned at her. “Dump Brandon and move on to the Phallic Variation. Of course I’d emphasize that it’s a variation, and he has to slide down your stomach first before he gets his.”

  Sophie stopped smiling. “I can’t. Phin was sort of a kinky fantasy, sex with a guy I don’t know, swept away in the dark by the river, all that stuff—” She felt a little dizzy just thinking about it. “But I’m not even sure I like him—” Although I like what he does, dear God, I do. Sophie dug herself deeper into the bed and shoved all thoughts of Phin away. “He probably won’t even come back. I don’t think he had that phenomenal a time. Mostly we argued.”

  “You have so much to learn about men,” Amy said. “If he talked you out of your pants, he had a good time. And even if you’re all right in the morning, you’ll be wanting him again in the dark. That’s what the dark is for. Wanting guys like Phin.”

  “Good night,” Sophie said, and Amy laughed and left the room.

  Guys like Phin. Sophie thought of him again, so relaxed next to her, careless and cool, and then she thought of the way his mouth had moved down her body and made her shudder, thought of his hands hot on her, his fingers inside her, thought about what he would feel like moving hard into her—

  Sophie put her pillow over her head.

  He’d been so hot. She’d been so hot. That was so wrong of her. But, oh God, it had felt so good. After an hour, she gave up and relived the whole thing all over again, dwelling lavishly on the moments that were particularly perverse and unlike her, fixing the awkward parts. By the time she’d reviewed it a couple of times, it was so glossy, it could have been a hot scene in a movie.

  Hello.

  That would be wrong, she told herself, but her mind clicked along, rewriting her night, and after a few minutes, she gave up and went downstairs and opened her PowerBook, the dog sighing and following her to lie down again at her feet.

  “Sorry,” Sophie told him.

  And then she began to type.

  “Beautiful morning,” Phin said when he came down to the breakfast table. He kissed Dillie on top of her head. “You gonna beat ’em today, kid?”

  Dillie straightened her softball shirt. “Yep. I’m ready.”

  “The Tuckers are always ready.” He sat down, picked up his glass of orange juice and met his mother’s narrowed eyes. “What?”

  “Good time last night?” she said.

  He put his orange juice glass down. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, did you have a good time last night at the Tavern with the movie people?” Liz said.

  Dillie frowned. “You didn’t say all that.”

  Liz handed Dillie a buttered muffin. “Eat, please.” She turned back to Phin and smiled her cobra smile.

  “Yes,” Phin said, returning her smile with an equal lack of warmth. “An excellent time. What else did Virginia have to say?” He snagged a muffin and buttered it while he reoriented his brain from smug satisfaction to defense alert.

  “She suggested you take Rachel to the movies.”

  “I don’t go to the movies,” Phin said. “Especially with Rachel. I have a major softball game this morning, and it needs all my attention.”

  “It’s just the Blue Birds,” Dillie said. “We can beat them no problem.”

  “Never let your guard down, Dill,” Phin said, keeping one eye on his mother. “The ones that look harmless are the ones that take you by surprise.”

  “You really thought nobody would talk?” Liz said.

  “Not before breakfast,” Phin said. “It’s Saturday, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You’re the mayor,” Liz said. “You have standing. People are interested in what you do. You have a responsibility to this town.”

  “Lucky me. Could I have some eggs?” He handed Liz his plate, and she filled it while she talked.

  “As I said, it’s not a good idea, associating with the movie people. Virginia’s told everybody by now—”

  “Told everybody what? That I had a couple of beers at the Tavern? There’s breaking news for you.” Thank God, Virginia hadn’t been on the Whipple dock. “What does she—” he began and then froze at the belated memory
of where the Whipple dock was.

  Across the river from the Garveys’.

  Not directly across. Upstream a little. But still too close.

  “What else did Virginia say?” he asked his mother.

  “That was it.” She handed him his plate. “I gather she missed something?”

  Phin sat back in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and regrouped. He must have been out of his fucking mind. Three or four beers and Sophie saying, “I’d have to be depraved” with that mouth, and he’d forgotten where he was and who he was and lunged for her.

  Of course, she’d forgotten she had a boyfriend, so he wasn’t alone. Lust could play hell with a person’s memory. And morals. And common sense.

  “What did you do?” Liz said.

  Phin sat up and ate a forkful of eggs. “Excellent breakfast. Thank you.”

  Liz closed her eyes. “Am I going to be hearing something horrible?”

  “Nope,” Phin said. “You’d have heard it by now.”

  “What’s horrible?” Dillie said.

  “Nothing,” Phin said. “Everything’s great. But I still think you’d better watch those Blue Birds.”

  “Stephen will make capital of this,” Liz said.

  “Stephen sleeps with Virginia,” Phin said. “He has to find something to do for excitement.”

  “Don’t get cocky,” Liz said. “Don’t give him any advantage. And stay away from those movie people.”

  The phone rang, and Phin escaped to get it. When he came back, Liz said, “Who was it?”

  “The movie people,” Phin said. “They need fuses. I’m taking some out to them this afternoon.”

  “Don’t do this,” Liz said, with an edge in her voice.

  “Don’t push me,” Phin said, just as sharply.

  “Can I have more muffin?” Dillie said, and when he looked at her, her eyes were anxious.

  “If you have more muffin, will you throw it up on third base?” he said.

  “No.” Dillie looked from Phin to Liz and back again. “Are you guys fighting? You never fight, but this sounds like a fight, and I don’t like it.”

  “It’s okay, Dillie,” Liz said. “Your father is being a dummy, but we’re not mad.”

  “Grandma’s not minding her own business,” Phin said. “But we’re not mad. We don’t get mad. We’re Tuckers.”

  “Okay,” Dillie said. “It sounded mad, though.”

  “About the Blue Birds,” Phin said, and distracted his daughter with softball strategy.

  Across the table, his mother regarded him coldly, not distracted at all.

  When Sophie came downstairs again, it was almost noon. She’d shoved the memories of the night before away, tried to call Brandon and got his machine, buried the pink dress in the back of the closet, and resolved to be A Better Person now that the sun was up.

  “Late night last night, huh?” Amy said, as Sophie came into the kitchen. She was eating toast slathered with butter, sitting at the worn wood table where Clea was reading pages of script. Dusty was singing “Mama’s Little Girl” in the background, the sun shone through the kitchen windows, and the dog looked up, panting, and wagged his stubby tail when he saw Sophie.

  It was hot as hell, but Sophie began to feel better. “Hello, baby,” she said to the dog, and bent to pet it. Then she went to the fridge to pour herself a glass of juice. “I was up until about four—” She stopped, realizing what Clea was reading. “Oh, about that. It’s—”

  “It’s phenomenal,” Clea said. “My God, I had no idea you could even think like this.”

  “She’s right.” Amy opened her eyes wide. “You were obviously inspired.”

  “Don’t start,” Sophie said.

  “Of course, we can’t film this—” Amy said, and Clea said, “Well, maybe—”

  “—but Clea and I were just talking,” Amy went on, “and we think you should write another one, a full love scene this time.” Amy took a huge bite of toast and then said, with her mouth full, “Like a Phallic Variation, you know?”

  “We have no time to film a Phallic Variation,” Sophie said crushingly. “We’re going home tomorrow. We have work—”

  “Not really,” Amy said, and Sophie stopped with her juice glass halfway to her mouth. “I sort of canceled everything before we left,” Amy said. “But it’s okay, I got everybody booked with other places, I just—”

  Sophie sat down hard. “Other places.” All that work. All that income. Gone.

  “I wanted time to do this right,” Amy said, talking faster. “And now we can take our time and film a really great Phallic Variation. You can, uh, write it tonight.”

  “No,” Sophie said.

  “Amy’s right,” Clea said. “We need to build to a big finish.” She held up the script. “This is good, but it’s not the whole nine yards, you know?”

  “I know,” Sophie said. “Believe me, I know.” She watched Amy, who concentrated on her toast, defiantly cheerful about having dismantled their business. “But this is a short, nonpornographic movie. It does not need a sex scene.” She tried to take the script pages from Clea, who put them behind her back.

  “Don’t be a prude, Sophie,” she said. “Sex is not necessarily porn.”

  Amy said, “Yeah, don’t be a prude, Sophie. Maybe that’s something else about you Brandon can straighten out when you get back to Cincinnati.”

  Then a car door slammed outside and Clea said, “Rob,” and evaporated through the door.

  “So you shut down the business,” Sophie said.

  “I set you free,” Amy said. “If I hadn’t, you’d have tried to go back and do it all alone. Now you’re free to figure out what you want—”

  “Thank you,” Sophie said. “I want to be employed. Don’t do me any more favors.”

  “Hi!” Rachel bustled into the room, making Sophie drop her toast. “Guess what I found!” She dumped a paper bag on the table and a tub of wallpaper paste rolled out, endangering Sophie’s juice. “The rest of the wallpaper!” Then, to Sophie’s horror she pulled out eight rolls of ancient wallpaper. “When you said Clea’s mom had taken it back, I figured it had to be to our store, so I went and looked in the old stock and it was there. Isn’t this great?”

  Rachel looked so pleased that Sophie said, “Absolutely,” and tried to smile. Just what she needed. A whole kitchen of snotty mutant cherries.

  “Wait a minute,” Amy said, picking up a roll. “These aren’t cherries.”

  “I know,” Rachel said. “The label on the roll says, Apple Blossom Time. But it had Whipple written on it, and how many rolls of kitchen wallpaper could Clea’s mom have bought?”

  “Apples?” Sophie studied the wall. “Those are apples? No, those are cherries.”

  “No, they’re not,” Amy said, squinting from the roll to the wall. “They’re apples. This is the same paper. The ones on the wall just faded. The yellow went, for some reason, so they’re sort of a blue-pink. That’s why you thought they were cherries.”

  “They’re not cherries?” Sophie opened a roll and spread it out. Definitely apples on the roll. Ugly, orangey red apples, but still apples.

  “Whatever,” Rachel said. “You can do the whole kitchen now, and then you can write.”

  She looked so pleased with herself that Sophie didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. “Thank you, this was very sweet of you, Rachel.”

  “My pleasure,” Rachel said. “Oh, and somebody else is here, too.”

  “The Coreys,” Amy said. “Clea hired them yesterday to paint the house. You gotta see ’em. They look like Laurel and Hardy in high school.”

  “No,” Rachel said. “The Coreys are already out there. This is some new guy who pulled up in a black Porsche just as I came in. I didn’t see him—”

  Sophie’s heart sank. “Zane.”

  “Oh, no,” Amy said.

  “Zane Black, the anchor guy?” Rachel said. “Cool.”

  “You have a lot to learn, Rachel,” Sophie said and headed for th
e front porch.

  Sophie thought she’d seen all she’d needed to of Zane Black when she’d filmed his wedding to Clea, but now, as he came toward the porch across the sunbaked yard, a newscaster’s smile pasted on his lips in spite of the fact that Clea was glowering behind him, she was struck by how much he looked like Frank. He was better-looking and not as smarmy, but the resemblance was still strong. “I’m starting to see a pattern here,” she murmured to Amy, who said, “Yeah, add in Davy and Rob and you’ve got a four-pack of dark-haired guys you can’t trust.”

  “Stephanie!” Zane said.

  “Sophie,” Sophie said.

  “Right, right, Sophie.” He came up the steps and took a deep breath. “Nothing like country air.”

  “That’s dead fish,” Amy said. “We haven’t had much rain lately and the river’s low,” but Zane had already lost interest, staring past her, his smile widening.

  “And who have we here?”

  Sophie turned. Rachel stood inside the screen door, looking like a blonde cupcake. “Oh. This is Rachel, our production assistant.”

  Rachel’s tentative smile for Zane spread all over her face when she heard her title. “Hello, Mr. Black,” she said, but her smile was for Sophie.

  “Call me Zane, everybody does,” Zane said.

  “Not everybody,” Amy said under her breath. “Some of us call you ‘dickhead.’ ”

  They followed Zane and Clea in, as Clea said, “I told you not to come.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Zane said. “You’re my wife.”

  “You should have thought of that before you took my money and slept with the weather girl,” Clea said, and went into the kitchen.

  “Weather girl?” Amy said.

  Zane followed Clea, a stiff smile pasted on his face.

  “Okay, we should go out onto the front porch now and let them have this argument in private,” Sophie said to Amy and Rachel.