She made her way down the aisle toward the stage and remembered she was still wearing her bright pink flip flops. She’d meant to stop off at the ladies’ room, adjust her makeup and change her shoes. Eh, whatever, she sighed, feeling a little like Mr. Rogers changing her shoes on stage. She dug through her bag searching for her stylish open-toed navy pumps and suddenly realized she had brought one navy shoe and one black which were similar in style but obviously not a match. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she chided herself. I am such a mess! She examined the ramifications of wearing fuchsia flip flops with her tailored navy skirt suit, and then she remembered she’d be sitting down. Oh well. I’m going to dazzle them with my words, not with my shoes, she vowed.
She fired up her laptop and watched the audience begin to file in. Most of the military type people sat near the front of the auditorium. One young man caught her eye and chose a seat within spitting distance. He was nearly six feet tall, sported sandy brown buzzed hair, broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes. Well, if he isn’t the quintessential All American, clean-cut Army guy, Sarah mused. I think I will call him GI Joe. Suddenly his eyes met hers and she was busted for staring at him. Never one to shy away from a social interaction, Sarah shot him a gregarious grin. He smirked a little in return and then quickly glanced down at his program where Sarah’s picture and a brief bio fell on page two.
The panel moderator adjusted the microphone, initiating a bit of feedback which signaled the audience to quiet down, then proceeded with the introductions. Each panelist presented the findings of their research on the topic, taking fifteen minutes or so apiece, a little less for the military officers, and then the moderator opened up the floor for questions from the audience. There was quite a bit of passion and fire in the voices of those who asked questions, but civility was maintained. Sarah was relieved. She was particularly proud of her response to one older, retired veteran who said that he wouldn’t want to serve alongside a gay man in combat.
“With all due respect,” Sarah remarked, “let’s say you’re on the operating table. Your life is on the line. Would you rather have a gay male doctor who was the top surgeon in his field, or would you rather have a straight doctor whose mind was on his golf game or the affair he was having with his surgical assistant? The truth of the matter is some people have the ability to be professional and put their recreational and sexual desires aside when needed. This ability has absolutely nothing to do with sexual orientation. It has everything to do with integrity and work ethic.”
There was applause.
The discussion wrapped up around 9 PM and Sarah began to gather up her belongings. Some of the panelists were sticking around to further debate with audience members, but Sarah knew she should get home to her children, especially since Abby was the one babysitting. She walked down the stairs and into the aisle when suddenly the GI Joe she’d made eye contact with earlier stepped into her path.
“Dr. Lynde,” he said formally, “I found your surgery analogy very interesting, but I wonder if you have any personal experience serving in the military? I have found when hunkered down in close quarters with my fellow soldiers that I don’t want to be distracted by thinking one of them is checking me out. Not to mention the problems that serving alongside an effeminate or flamboyant soldier would cause.”
He wasn’t trying to be argumentative; it was almost as if he was prodding her for a specific response, testing her. As the corners of his lips turned up into a fuller version of the smirk he’d given her earlier, she realized how good looking he was. He was definitely older than her traditional aged students, but still young, perhaps late 20’s? He projected an air of confidence. A presence.
“No, I haven’t had the honor of serving,” she replied. She honestly couldn’t recall his other points, she was so distracted by his full lips and straight white teeth, not to mention the mischievous gleam in his icy blue eyes. She forcefully gained her composure, “Please, call me Sarah,” she said, extending her hand.
He firmly shook it. “I’m James McAllister, nice to meet you. I’m an instructor in the ROTC program, and I required my students to attend tonight. I was interested in the research you did on homophobia among military personnel. I have heard a lot of that bullshit throughout my years in the service.” He suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, please excuse my language,” he added sheepishly.
She wondered if he meant that her research was bullshit or the homophobia itself was. “No need to censor yourself around me,” Sarah offered. “I’d love to talk to you about your experiences sometime, not to mention hear your own thoughts about the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy. It’s a hot topic these days, and the media is having a field day with it.” She gave him another once-over which set her wheels turning, “Maybe over coffee or something?”
James flashed his all-American grin, even more broadly than before. “That would certainly be interesting.”
“Interesting good? Or interesting bad?” Sarah questioned, her eyebrows raised. She noticed she was leaning toward him expectantly, a posture that showed interest and openness. Her fascination with nonverbal communication would often cause her to stop mid-thought to analyze the position, angles and gestures her body was exhibiting. She was always keenly aware of both her movements and others’, and she couldn’t help but notice how closely together they were standing.
“I think things are good by virtue of being interesting. Being interested in something is inherently good, even if the ‘thing’ itself isn’t,” James explained.
“I like the way you think,” Sarah smiled and fished through her bag for a business card. She scrawled her cell phone number on the back and handed it to James, this time studying his hands as he tucked the card into the pocket of his uniform, his eyes never leaving hers.
At that moment a flash of lightning struck her mind: a brilliant image of those broad, tan fingers gliding over her, gripping her... Whoa, speaking of which, I need to get a grip, Sarah thought. This is my cue to exit. The ball is in his court.
***
Chapter Two
Coffee
I stand in the shadow of the mountain with my gear fastened securely. My eyes scan up the rock to the point where the sun blazes like it might catch fire, its strong rays appearing to penetrate the cliff. Every muscle in my body is ready and poised to climb. I lift my foot to find my first hold, reaching my arm high above my head....
Sarah slept restlessly, in and out of dreams. She awoke to the sound of Owen tearing through the house with Abby chasing after him screaming, “Mom! Mom! He took the batteries from my Wii remote and won’t give them back!!!”
Sarah sighed. First world problems. “Give your sister her batteries back, Owen,” she called half-heartedly from her bed.
Suddenly both of their young faces appeared in her doorway. “There aren’t any other batteries, Mom,” Owen explained, his long-lashed brown eyes wide with innocence.
Sarah shifted her gaze to her daughter just in time to catch an in-progress eye roll. “Abby, are you playing the Wii right this minute?” Sarah arbitrated.
Her daughter shook her head slowly, her face scrunched up in a snarl.
“Fine, just let him borrow the batteries until you want to play again, alright? We’ll get some more at the store later today.”
“Whatever,” Abby retorted and slinked away. Owen beamed. Sarah hated the feeling of choosing one kid over the other during a disagreement. She liked it better when they could work out their own differences, but she was too tired to listen to them bicker over something so trivial.
The green light on her phone was flashing to signal a new text message, so she stretched her arms high over her head and swung her legs over the side of the bed, while simultaneously reaching for her phone on the nightstand. It was from Rachel: How did last night go? You going with me tonight or what?
She glanced at the clock. 8:04. She noticed Rachel had sent the text at 4:52. That could mean a couple of different things: insomnia or her friend had la
te night company that she kicked out before the sun came up this morning. She decided to text back rather than call so she wouldn’t wake Rachel up if she’d subsequently gone to bed. Last night was great. Met an interesting guy. What time do you want to leave?
Sarah headed down to the kitchen where she started the coffee pot and cleared cereal bowls from the counter. Her phone buzzed to announce the reply from Rachel: I’m thinking like 3 pm? What are you going to wear? And then: New guy?! Awesome, gives us something to discuss on our 3 hour drive.
Fortunately Sarah had given her mother a heads up about her potential plans earlier in the week. She had also watched Owen while he recovered from that mild virus that sent him home from school. It was such a blessing to have her mother nearby to help with the kids.
Kathy Lynde had raised Sarah and her younger brother Adam back in the 70’s and 80’s, and she knew firsthand how difficult it was to be a single mother. Now her daughter’s life seemed to parallel her own. Having retired from her career as an elementary school teacher just a few years before, she insisted on moving to Maryland with Sarah so she could help whenever she was needed. Sarah’s children were her only grandchildren, and there was no place she’d rather be than with her darling Abby and Owen.
Sarah began preparing a to-do list. Call Mom and tell her the kids are coming. Groceries. Batteries for Owen. Finish the laundry. Try to get at least a few of the annotated bibliographies graded. Find something to wear to the party. Oh....she realized suddenly...I have some...um...shaving to do.
She plodded through the items on her list. First the phone call to her mother, then she took the kids to the store and out for lunch, which much to her relief did not involve a battle. Everyone seemed to agree on Mexican; a consensus was so rare. They were angling to see a movie, but she knew she needed to get back in time to get ready for the party. “We’ll see the movie tomorrow afternoon when I’m back,” she promised. After they returned home from their errands, she struggled through about five of her students’ assignments, growing more and more frustrated by the cardinal sins of improper citation style, incorrect grammar and spelling errors.
She noticed her shoulders had grown extremely tense. She sprawled out on the floor to do a couple of stretches. Mmmmm....downward dog....that feels nice, she thought, savoring the burn in the back of her legs. I should have gone to the gym today. Why is it so hard for me to make time for myself? I’m supposed to be Super Woman.
Super Woman was her ex-husband’s nickname for her. The mere thought of him caused Sarah’s head to start pounding, so she scrambled to her feet and headed to her closet. It was as if changing her activity would banish the thought of him from her mind, not to mention ward off the threat of a migraine.
She sipped a long drink from her water bottle and shuffled through a few dresses at the back of her closet. She hadn’t gone out for a few months now. Ah, I remember the last time...to celebrate the end of the spring semester. Holy shit! I didn’t go out all summer? What the fuck is wrong with me?
She recalled getting entirely too drunk when she bar-hopped with a group of her colleagues from the theatre department as if they were the students finishing up their finals instead of the faculty who were grading them. Damn, those theatre people sure know how to party, she mused. Against her better judgment she’d gone home with a man she met that night who later turned out to not only be a lousy lay but a pretty big jerk as well.
That sort of behavior was against her code, and she had punished herself for her indiscretion all summer by staying in. She’d accomplished a great deal though: she managed to plant a garden and harvest a few edible things, knitted a baby blanket for her friend Emily’s newborn, and put the finishing touches on some articles she needed to submit for publication.
Still, she rationalized, it’s okay to have fun sometimes. And I’ve punished myself enough over that incident. Wonder who will be at this party?
Sarah maintained very liberal views regarding love, sex, and relationships. She didn’t like to label or pigeon-hole her beliefs, which was ironic considering she made a living labeling social and interpersonal behavior. She had done an extensive amount of reading on the topic, not to mention studying various sexual subcultures for her dissertation research. She found herself fascinated with all of the alternatives to traditional one woman/one man relationships.
She’d always blindly accepted society’s traditional ideal of one woman for one man, but the older she got and the more she understood about herself and other people, the more implausible this scenario seemed for a large percentage of the population, including herself. She subsequently rejected the notion of finding her one true “soul mate” and embraced the concept of “kindred spirits” instead, and it was exactly those sorts of open-minded, like-minded individuals with whom she chose to build relationships, whether or not those relationships included sex.
All of that research and deep, deliberate thought about what she wanted from her relationships had guided her choices in the past few years and had yielded mostly positive results. That was probably why her regret following the one night stand bothered her so much. While she didn’t philosophically see anything wrong with a one night stand if that was the goal of all parties involved, choosing to have one while inebriated with someone she never met while sober and because she didn’t want to go home alone was against her code of sexual ethics. But if there was one thing she had learned through embracing a more fluid and dynamic sexuality, it was that risks sometimes have to be taken to confirm what is and is not acceptable. Casual sex with strangers was not something she wanted and she’d certainly had that reaffirmed. Best of all, after examining why she made the choice, she forgave herself and moved on. Kind of like when you cheat on your diet but get back on plan right away, she thought.
So where did a house party fit into this? It was likely she would attend the party, drink a little, and socialize a lot. She didn’t foresee hooking up with anyone there, particularly not someone she didn’t already know. However, she and Rachel had a wide circle of like-minded friends, any number of whom may be in attendance. There would definitely be people Sarah already knew and felt comfortable with. And if there was mutual interest, well, anything could happen. Sarah was going in with a little bit of hope, but no firm expectations, which was really the requisite attitude for this type of event.
So which of these dresses maximizes my potential of getting laid? she joked to herself, after reviewing her own tried and true rules of engagement. She pulled out a red dress, a black dress, and a purple dress and laid them on the bed. She started to slide her yoga pants down when she heard her phone ringing in the bathroom where she’d accidentally left it earlier.
She ran for it in case it was Rachel with an issue about the evening plans and accepted the call without even looking at the number. She was positive it would be her friend, possibly confirming her wardrobe choice for the evening. “Hello?” she managed with more air than voice.
“Well, hello to you too, Dr. Lynde,” came the smooth, deep voice, clearly amused by her breathy greeting. He cleared his throat, “This is James McAllister. We met last night?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Sarah replied, attempting a deep breath, but this turn of events seemed to decrease the air in her lungs rather than restore it. Talk about getting caught with your pants down!
“I know it’s sort of short notice but my afternoon freed up and I wondered if you might want to grab that cup of coffee?”
“Oh,” Sarah replied before really thinking, buying some time while her brain processed the four million things competing for her attention. Fortunately, her intuition, which she often nicknamed “Auto Pilot,” kicked in. “I’d love that,” she finally said.
“Excellent,” James responded evenly, betraying the beaming grin that had spread across his face. “Is 4 o’clock too soon? There’s this place near campus...”
“Four will work fine,” she answered, at last finding her professional voice. “Oh, do you mean Java the Hut?�
��
James laughed, “I take it you’re familiar?”
“I’m an addict,” Sarah admitted. I’ll see you there at 4!”
Holy shit. What did I just do? I better call Rachel and rethink my wardrobe options. She dialed Rachel’s number while she put the dresses back in the closet and started to review her jeans and nice top possibilities. “Uh, hey, Rachel, I’m not going to be able to go tonight after all,” she confessed.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Well...remember that guy I was going to tell you about? He just called and asked me to have coffee with him!” Sarah said a little too excitedly, then reminded herself to rein it back in.
“You’re going to give up a house party at the beach for coffee with some guy?” Rachel asked, incredulously.
“Right. I know it sounds crazy,” Sarah conceded, “but I also have one of my crazy feelings about this guy!”
“Holy shit, I’m scared now,” Rachel laughed. “You and your feelings are well documented! Okay, I’m not happy about going alone, but I had this feeling you might renege so I’ve already been in touch with Mark to see if he minds going.” Mark was Rachel’s longtime friend with benefits, a young, good looking single man in “refuse to grow up” mode, for which Rachel played “enabler” at every opportunity.
“You know me too well, darling,” Sarah replied. “Okay, girly, have a good time and we’ll have to compare notes tomorrow.”
“Yep, sure thing, Lovechop!”
Rachel hung up and Sarah glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 2:42. Yikes, only one hour and eighteen minutes to get dressed, get the kids to Mom’s, and get to Java the Hut. She slid a pair of faded flare bottom jeans up her thighs and hips while simultaneously reaching for a sleeveless purple paisley blouse that would expose just the right amount of cleavage. A few dots of makeup, a brush through her thick brown waves, and the product of a last-minute change-of-mind: she opted to ditch her librarian-ish glasses and pop in contacts.
The Mountains Trilogy (Boxed Set) Page 2
