Candace reclaimed her seat just as the lights began to flicker. “You two okay?” she asked.
“Everything is copacetic,” Will offered lamely.
“It’s all good,” Mel chimed in, “though you and I will be chatting later.”
Darkness once again filled the theater, leaving Melanie alone with her thoughts. Will was right—he was long overdue for an explanation of her past actions. She would keep her promise and call upon her return. As long as he only pressed her about the past, she’d be okay. Because as far as the present or the future was concerned, Melanie Hitts was fresh out of answers.
Chapter 11
The funky hit song “Havin’ It” blasted through the Carlson kitchen, breaking the characteristic calm. The infectious groove percolating underneath the sultry vocals made it impossible for Amanda to stand still. Taking a break from packing up the last of the holiday cookies for the children’s hospital, she started gyrating behind the counter, using the soulful rhythms to dance away the confusion that was clogging her head.
Initially she’d declined Sharon’s invitation to spend this day off from school making cookies, but on second thought, the idea of spending time together appealed to her. It still boggled her mind that in such a short span of time she’d come to look upon Sharon as the mother Catherine never tried to be. And with everything that was going on in her life, Mandy felt the strong need for some motherly advice.
She was grateful to have someone to talk to who was more experienced with boys and sex than her best friend Quincy and her other friends. Amanda had a huge decision to make. When she and Kevin talked last week, he’d made it clear that he still cared for her, but if they were to be a couple again sex would have to become a regular part of their relationship. He professed to be a young man with needs—needs that could no longer be met by unconsummated make-out sessions. And since they’d already done it once, there was no point in turning back.
“The most important thing is to go with your own instinct,” Sharon had told her as they iced the sugar cookies. “Don’t let anyone else’s argument sway you into doing anything you aren’t ready to do. No matter how convincing it sounds, or how much you want to please them.”
Too bad Sharon’s advice came too late. Amanda was savvy enough to know that Kevin was feeding her the classic line, “You would if you loved me,” but she did love him, so why shouldn’t they continue to have sex? She also knew that Kevin’s mouth and hands made her body react in the most delightful manner, leaving her floating for hours in a pool of new and pleasurable sensations. But after surrendering her body as well as her heart to him, she’d felt guilty and confused. Not the emotions she’d expected to feel after making love for the first time. So how could she be sure if now was the right time and Kevin the right boy?
Never force anything. If it’s right and is supposed to happen, it will in a relaxed and natural way. Sharon’s advice ran through Amanda’s head. And while her words made complete sense, Amanda was still confused.
Amanda sang along, about riches coming from love, waving her arms in the air to the loud music as she continued to dance around the kitchen. So caught up in the beat and her thoughts, the teenager didn’t realize that John had entered the room until the music abruptly ceased.
“Who are you? What the hell are you doing? Where’s Sharon?” John fired off his questions, giving Amanda no time to respond in between.
Amanda recognized Sharon’s husband from numerous pictures around the house. Startled to find John home so early on a Friday afternoon, Amanda quickly spun around and inadvertently knocked a glass of soda off the table. It crashed to the tile, spewing broken glass around the floor and spraying Coca-Cola onto the cuff of John’s khaki pants.
His eyes traveled slowly from the floor to his pants leg to Amanda’s face. He peered suspiciously at this stranger whose saggy clothes and tangle of miniature braids, combined with her pale skin and WASPy features, left her looking like a quirky amalgamation of Britney Spears and rapper Missy Elliot.
“Sharon went to the store to get more ribbon. She’ll be right back,” she explained quickly. “I’m Amanda Weiss. I’m helping her package cookies for the hospital.”
“Well, Amanda, can you keep the music down? You’re not at some rave. This is my home,” John demanded gruffly, his irritation obvious.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here,” Amanda said, a sprinkle of animosity creeping into her voice.
“Well, I am, and I’m trying to get some work done,” he said as he turned and headed back to his study. It was times like this that John was glad they’d never had children. What was Sharon thinking, to leave some wayward teenager she’d admitted to meeting when the girl was shoplifting lurking around their home unsupervised? He and his wife were going to have to have a talk. He was not running some halfway house for delinquent youth.
Amanda, embarrassment still clinging to her cheeks, cleaned up the spill, making sure to retrieve every sliver of glass and each drop of soda. Satisfied with her work, she sat down to quietly await Sharon’s return.
Sharon drove toward the house on automatic pilot. Her earlier conversation with Mandy still resounded in her ears. When to become sexually active was a difficult decision to make and one that could only be decided by the individual. Still, Sharon wanted Mandy to wait until there was no question in her mind that making love was the right thing for her to do. Her instincts told her that Amanda wasn’t ready and Sharon hoped her advice to wait and not give in to Kevin’s pressure was heard and followed.
Though you regularly give in to John’s demands, she thought as she pulled into the driveway and witnessed the Christmas decorations tastefully adorning the house.
It’s ironic, Sharon thought, right now at this very moment my house contains everything I’ve ever wanted—a husband I adore and a child waiting for my return. But it’s all an illusion, she reminded herself. John seemed more distant and distracted. The child waiting for her wasn’t her own and the house wouldn’t be much longer. The apartment was well on its way toward completion and with the FOR SALE sign up, Sharon knew it was only a short matter of time before she would have to permanently vacate her home.
Sharon pushed the anger and resentment deep back into its emotional repository and turned her thoughts to Amanda. Thinking about someone else’s problems seemed to relieve some of her own stress and discontent.
She parked and hurried toward the house, pleased with the idea that had popped in her head. She knew that Amanda was not only upset about Kevin, but about having to spend Christmas abroad. And while she could totally understand the girl’s parents wanting their daughter to join them in Bali for the holidays, it seemed unfair that their insistence came with little regard for Amanda’s feelings. Perhaps she had the answer.
“Amanda, I have a great idea,” Sharon said as she burst through the door. “Why don’t we ask your parents if you can join us for Christmas? John and I would love to have you.”
“Absolutely not,” John said hours later as he passed the bowl to his wife. “That girl should spend Christmas with her family.”
“That girl’s name is Amanda and she doesn’t want to go to Bali,” Sharon argued, angrily slapping a spoonful of wild rice on her plate.
“Not my problem. She needs to work that out with her parents.”
“Sometimes you have to make other people’s problems your own. Otherwise one becomes selfish and egotistical.” Like you can be, she elected not to add. “Why are you being so negative about this?”
“I simply do not want her joining us.” John was in no mood to explain his real reasons to Sharon.
“Amanda Weiss is a lost young girl whose parents abandon her every chance they get—” Sharon said, stubbornly refusing to drop the issue.
“She isn’t you and her parents aren’t yours,” John interrupted.
“Maybe not, but I know how she feels. For some reason our paths crossed, and I refuse to let her ruin her life just because she’s lonely a
nd neglected.”
“They have professionals who get paid to do that. You certainly can’t save every sad and confused teenager you come across, Sharon.”
“No, but maybe I can save this one.” Helping Amanda meant more to Sharon than she could even begin to explain to her husband. Increasingly this needy young girl had begun to fill the cracks in her heart and in such a brief time had managed to bring a soulful satisfaction and purpose back into Sharon’s life. John had no right to deny her.
“John Carlson, this will be the last Christmas I will ever spend in this house. And I intend to enjoy it surrounded by the people whom I love and cherish—all of them. So if her parents agree, Amanda Weiss will be spending Christmas with us and you have thirteen days to get used to the idea,” Sharon stated defiantly.
John looked up from his dinner with surprise. Was his wife finally developing a backbone after all these years? And if indeed she was, how was he going to like it?
He certainly liked it on Melanie. She was young, full of energy, promise, and bravado. Melanie represented all the attributes of the popular clichés—grace under fire, poise under pressure. John recalled the first time he’d seen her. She had stood there, basically thrown to the wolves by her bosses, and dealt with his insolent remarks and irritable mood with great aplomb. John greatly admired courage, and found himself intrigued and impressed by Melanie’s boldness. So why did he find Sharon’s sudden audacity so unnerving?
His wife was definitely changing and John saw her relationship with Amanda as the unwelcome force driving this transformation. Ever since she’d taken this confused teenager under her wing, Sharon had become increasingly willing to defy his wishes and stand her ground on any issue that revolved around Amanda. These changes would be easier for him to accept if he could chalk it up to delayed personal growth, but it wasn’t that innocent. Amanda Weiss had awakened Sharon’s long-dormant maternal instinct, and that made her dangerous to his marriage. It had taken him years to gently snuff his wife’s desire for a child and he had no intention of letting that genie out of the bottle.
Chapter 12
John could not recall when he’d enjoyed working on a Saturday morning so much. He lowered his head slightly so he could better see over the reading glasses perched on his nose. Ignoring the paperwork in his lap, he quietly studied Melanie as she sat at his drafting table intently sorting fabric and color swatches. His eyes watched her delicate hands come together and move toward her face. As Mel thoughtfully tapped them against her full mouth, John recalled the pleasurable touch of those sweet lips on his face.
“What are you over there pondering so intently?” he asked, suddenly desiring to hear her melodious voice.
“I think we need to add some high-quality color copies of the artwork on the presentation boards,” Melanie answered. “They are the highlights of the entire hotel, so they really should be included.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“I have an even better one.”
“You always do,” John said, still charmed by her unending enthusiasm.
“Okay, but let me finish before you react. I know the building renderings are complete, but yesterday I got a fabulous idea. Instead of the rooftop sculpture garden, why don’t we move the restaurant upstairs and make the ceiling retractable? We could call it the Starlight Gallery. I can’t think of anything more romantic than dining under the stars.”
“It’s not possible at this point, Jax. As you said, the plans are finished and ready to go.”
Melanie listened as John gave her several more reasons why the Starlight Gallery wasn’t economically feasible at this stage of the project. She was disappointed that he hadn’t viewed the concept through his artistic eyes, but instead stayed focused only on the balance sheet. Still, she refused to let the subject die until he gave his honest creative opinion.
“So you don’t think it’s affordable at this point, but do you think it’s a good idea?”
“It’s a great idea. I wish you’d thought of it sooner.”
“So let’s run it past the owners and let them decide,” Mel said, still stubbornly pushing.
“Absolutely not. Today is our last opportunity to finish the Casa de Arte presentation before Monday’s meeting. There’s no time for such a huge change.”
Before Melanie could suggest postponing the meeting for a week, the intercom buzzed and a voice informed them that it was one-thirty and that their lunch was on its way up.
John excused himself to go to the men’s room and soon after, a waiter from the executive dining room rolled in a table set with porcelain place settings for two, crystal highball glasses, a variety of soft drinks, and several containers of Chinese takeout.
“Shall I serve?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Melanie said, surprised that the waitstaff was working on the weekend. She stood viewing the setup, which was formal enough for a date at Le Bernardin, but totally unnecessary for a friendly working meal at the office. She quickly set about moving plates, a pair of chopsticks for both of them, two diet Cokes, and the takeout containers to the coffee table in front of the couch. Mel removed the pillows from the sofa and threw them to the floor on either side of the table. She stepped back and admired her work and smiled. Now, that’s how you’re supposed to eat Chinese takeout, Mel congratulated herself as she sat down on the pillow and waited for John to reappear.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she announced as he stepped back into the room and smiled at the sight of her. The look on his face immediately informed Melanie that her attempt to diffuse any illusion of a date had failed miserably. Instead, she had unwittingly created an even more intimate setting.
John eased his tall body down onto one of the cushions and tried to get situated. First he tried tucking his long legs underneath him, yoga-style. He stayed in that uncomfortable position only briefly before stretching them out under the table, nearly kicking Mel in the process.
“Sorry, I forget that everyone isn’t built as close to the ground as I am. Would you prefer to sit at the table?”
“No, I like this. It’s relaxed and…`cozy.”
Melanie smiled shyly and picked up her chopsticks. “Let’s see what we have here…sesame noodles, moo goo gai pan, shrimp with lobster sauce, and Hunan beef. Mmmm, a virtual smorgasbord of Asian delights,” she said as she served both their plates.
“We’re only missing one thing. Forks,” John added.
“Don’t tell me that a world traveler like yourself doesn’t know how to eat with chopsticks.”
“We all have our shortcomings. One of mine is that I am totally utensil-dependent.”
“Well, then, it’s time to learn. First, pick up one chopstick, holding it in your right hand as you would a pencil,” Melanie explained. “Then place the second on top, using your middle finger to keep the sticks slightly separated. Like this,” she said, illustrating her directions with action.
“Now use your index finger to move the top stick up and down and grasp your food,” Mel said, expertly lifting a shrimp from her plate and gently placing it between her lips. “It’s that easy.”
God, I want to kiss that mouth, John thought, mesmerized by the innocent seduction of her action. Does she know how damn sexy she is? Or is that why she’s so appealing, because she’s totally unaware of the absolute power she has to render me helpless?
“Go on, now. You try,” she prompted.
John picked up his chopsticks, holding them the way he’d been shown. After a few clumsy and failed attempts, he managed to extract a broccoli floret from his plate and carry it slowly to his mouth. Just as he was about to claim success, it slipped through his chopsticks and plopped onto his chest, leaving a large brown spot on his white cotton shirt.
Melanie grimaced playfully as she laid her forehead onto her open hands and shook with laughter. “And you were so close,” she said as she got up and grabbed a bottle of club soda from the table. “Another half an inch and you were in there.” She doused her
napkin with water and proceeded to gently blot the stain on his chest.
Even through the layers of cotton separating her hand from his skin, John could feel the heat of her caress. It seemed so appropriate that she would pat him there, a physical reenactment of the way she had already touched his heart with her mind and spirit. Acting on sheer reflex, John covered her hand with his and squeezed it gently before bringing it to his lips for a light kiss.
“Maybe you should use a fork,” Melanie suggested, gently pulling her hand away to diffuse the escalating tension.
“Never let it be said that I’m a quitter. No matter how many shirts I have to ruin, I will finish my meal with these blasted sticks,” John vowed. He let the moment pass, knowing that he would replay it countless times until it was replaced by the next magic flash between them.
“Okay, but how about we do this?” Mel said as she tucked her napkin under her chin and watched as John repeated the action on himself.
They resumed eating and soon the two found themselves once again chatting amicably. Conversation was often interrupted with laughter as John’s foibles with his chopsticks left his makeshift bib covered in splotches of soy sauce. The longer they sat, the less their discourse held any semblance to a business meeting, but instead more of a man and a woman determined to mine the rich recesses of the person they were greatly interested in. Slowly they began to reveal the safe inner parts of their lives, building on the intimacy they’d established while scouring the flea market. John revealed how this job had begun to rekindle the passion for his work. Melanie divulged how the success of this project meant everything to her because if the Casa de Arte was a triumph, she would then know that the personal sacrifices she’d made had been worthwhile. They enjoyed a meaningful pause, and with silence serenading them like a perfectly orchestrated song, they communicated their confusing and inexplicable feelings with the depth and clarity that only the language of soulful eye contact can properly convey.
Hitts & Mrs. Page 12
