***
Chapter Four
The Agreement
James had left Sarah’s house early the next morning just after the sun came up. They’d slept with their limbs twisted together like pretzels. Sarah had sent him a text a few hours later: One word: Amazing. She released these three simple words like shiny balloons out into the atmosphere and watched them float into oblivion, hoping they’d return in another form.
The first day, it didn’t bother her that she hadn’t heard back. She was sure he’d gotten busy with work and hadn’t had time to reply. The night after he’d visited, she lay in bed alone, pillows strategically surrounding her so it gave the illusion of less space, less emptiness. How can my bed feel even emptier after someone has shared it than in all the preceding nights? It was a paradox for which she had no explanatory theories. And she was rarely lacking an explanatory theory.
Two days after his visit, it was Monday and the rat race was back on. Sarah was mildly irritated that she hadn’t heard back from James, but she wasn’t overly worried. Even so, she continued to periodically glance at her phone, willing it to chime, but there was nothing. She went to bed that night hopeful that tomorrow would be the day.
After three days, on Tuesday, she felt silly, like she had completely misread everything. She made a living reading people and understanding behavior and motivations, yet she had been dead wrong about his interest in her, about their connection, about everything. That night in her lonely bed she reexamined the ridiculously strong sexual chemistry she felt with him. Or at least what she thought she had felt.
Have I been out of the game so long that I no longer know what good sex is? Why did I let my expectations get so out of control? She wrapped herself snuggly in the sheets, threw her arm around a pillow as if it was a body and sobbed a few times before finally surrendering to sleep. When she awoke, she was angry with herself for being upset. She hated feeling out of control or too heavily influenced by someone else’s actions or lack thereof. Why am I letting someone else control my feelings? she begged for answers.
She threw herself back into her work and vowed to let him come to her. I’m not chasing a 29 year old guy, she resolved. When Rachel asked her how the night went, that was precisely the answer she received. She refused to provide any other details about their encounter. Rachel was disappointed but knew better than to push her friend. Instead, she offered a distraction: “Come out with Mark and me this weekend. We’re going to the new club.” Sarah agreed. A distraction was in order.
Not only did she need a distraction from the disaster that James McAllister turned out to be, but what was shaping up to be an intense semester at work as well. She had just accepted an editorial position for a fairly prestigious journal and article submissions were coming at her left and right. Added to that was an appointment to a search committee for a new faculty member in their department, plus the first wave of exams were starting now that they were a few weeks into the semester. The kids had gotten into the thick of their busy season as well. Owen had soccer practice twice a week with games on Saturday mornings, and Abby had violin lessons plus cross country, which she complained about so much that Sarah was tempted to let her quit.
And there was a situation with Abby. Sarah hadn’t been able to shake her disconcerted feeling about her daughter ever since she found condoms stashed under her bed, two still sealed in their packets, the other opened and stretched out, but thank the gods, seemingly empty. Sarah was taken aback. That was something she had expected to find in her teenage son’s room, not her daughter’s. She wasn’t upset; concerned was a better description, plus shocked because it seemed so out of character. And where did she get them? Was she just experimenting or did she have a reason to need them? Sarah wondered.
On that mundane Tuesday night, Sarah asked Owen to clear the dinner dishes and invited Abby to come talk with her in her bedroom. Abby snarkily declined her invitation, but once Sarah adopted her more insistent maternal tone, her daughter hesitantly complied. She marched down the hallway to her mother’s room with heavy footsteps, a performance capped off by hurling her 115 pound body onto the bed in protest.
Sarah took a deep breath. Was I this obnoxious when I was her age? she questioned and pleaded with the gods to grant her patience. She found her calm voice and broached the subject as gently as possible, “Abby, I found something in your room I want to ask you about.”
“Oh, so you’re going through my stuff now?” came her indignant reply. “That’s just great. Thanks, Mom, for valuing my privacy!” The sarcasm was so thick, Sarah could have cut it with a knife.
“Sweetheart, I’m not angry, and I do value your privacy. I just want to know why you have condoms in your room.” She witnessed her daughter’s face turning various shades of red, half with embarrassment, half with anger. “They weren’t exactly hidden from view,” she explained. “I was putting away your laundry and saw them under the bed.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Well, you can stop freaking out cause it’s no big deal, Mom. It’s not like I’m...having sex.” She found it challenging to say the S word in front of her mother, despite her accepting, open attitude. “We have to learn how to put on a condom on a banana in health class, and well, I was nervous about it. I thought I’d practice.
Health class? That threw Sarah for a loop. “Your teacher is showing you how to use condoms?” Suddenly she had never been happier to teach college instead of high school. She took another deep breath and continued, “Abby, listen, I’m not mad, I just want to know the truth, okay?”
“That is the truth, Mom. I can show you a note from the teacher,” Abby said matter-of-factly, her defensive tone fading. “Some kids’ parents wouldn’t let them participate, but I knew you wouldn’t care so I didn’t bother showing it to you.”
Sarah considered her next step very carefully. Should she accept Abby’s explanation or probe more deeply? She considered her options for pushing for more information. Choose your battles, she told herself. Maybe it was best to show trust; perhaps if she didn’t force Abby onto the defensive, she might drop the attitude. Sarah chose a course of action: “Well, I guess I have to commend you for being so well-prepared for class, huh?”
Abby’s mouth configured into something that looked vaguely like a smile. It was so unfamiliar to Sarah at this juncture, she almost didn’t recognize it. “Sorry, I probably should have showed you the note,” Abby conceded.
“Sweetheart, you know you can come to me about anything, right?” she reminded her daughter. “I’m not one of those close-minded, judgmental parents. I’m supportive and I really do want you to be your own person. I just want to make sure you’re safe, physically and psychologically, okay?”
Abby nodded and Sarah thought there might have even been a tiny tear stinging at the corner of her eyelid. There might be more she’s not telling me, Sarah guessed, but I think I have to let her come to me at this point. Abby surrendered to her mother’s outstretched arms for a close embrace. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she had willingly hugged her.
Ah, letting people come to me. That seems to be the theme of the week.
***
Sarah was not as excited for her night out with Rachel and Mark as she had hoped to be. She convinced them to postpone the excursion to Saturday night instead of Friday so she could catch up on sleep and, feeling like Cinderella, she had also committed to grading a certain number of exams on Saturday afternoon before she would allow herself out of the house. Work before play, she reminded her friend, whose priorities often differed. She sat in her favorite armchair warmed by the strong rays of the September afternoon sun streaming through the panes of the French doors that led to the deck. Her cat was basking in the sun-drenched warm spot as Sarah completed grading the requisite number of exams plus a few more for good measure. The rest could wait till Sunday.
Abby and Owen were both staying with friends for the weekend, leaving the house eerily quiet. The shadows cast by the trees onto the back law
n seemed to be whispering to each other. It was so quiet, Sarah had caught herself audibly voicing her internal dialogue a few times, just to break the silence. She got up from her armchair and stretched, moving into the sunlight and startling the cat who scampered off down the hallway. She stood on one foot and grabbed the other ankle, pulling it up behind her and leaning forward, feeling her core muscles stabilize. She tried not to chastise herself for slacking off on her yoga as she heard the twinkly chime of her phone announcing a new text message.
Thanks. What’s up?
Three words. Seven days later. From James. The message seemed as if he had just read her own three word text, the one she’d sent a week ago. Damn, my heart is racing, she suddenly noticed and set her phone back down while she continued to stretch. Must. Calm. Down. She tried to focus on the pose again, but her concentration was busy debating her response, throwing off her balance.
I don’t want to sound too eager. Or desperate. Patience is a virtue, she reminded herself.
Two hours later when she was getting ready to venture out for the night with Rachel and Mark she settled on a simple, casual reply: Not much. Going out tonight.
This time his reply came immediately: Oh yeah? Where does a sexy professor go for fun on a Saturday night?
Sarah felt like playing coy, but she found her lips almost painfully spread into a huge grin to be interacting with him, the biggest smile she’d mustered all week. Wouldn’t you like to know? she teased him.
Actually yes. Yes I would.
She seriously considered inviting him to go with her for about half a second. Then she remembered the venue. And that he hadn’t texted her back for a week. Um, in DC. Sorry, adults only!
Haha WTF does that mean? I thought I proved my adulthood the other night.
Sarah giggled like an adolescent girl, her thumbs flying fast and furiously on her phone’s keyboard. True, but you didn’t prove your ability to return texts in a timely manner LOL. She wasn’t going to let his lack of communication slide.
Ah. Sorry. Hope you have fun.
Sarah decided to just leave things there. It was all a little game, right? Advancing, retreating, a dance, a game that men and women played. Probably not just straight people either, she considered. Hmmm...new research idea, she thought to herself. She pulled the same dresses out of the closet that she had been considering prior to the house party two weeks before and after a minimum of internal debate slipped the purple one over her head, smoothing it down around her hips. Purple for passion, she thought, swiped her lips with a burgundy lipstick, grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
***
The club was loud. Sarah could feel the music pulsating in her bones, making it almost impossible to avoid swaying her hips in rhythm while Mark and Rachel checked their liquor in at the bar. That was the way these clubs worked. Guests brought their own alcohol and a bartender was provided to serve it. Defraying the cost of drinks balanced the entrance fees for couples and single men, but single women were in demand at these sorts of venues so they were admitted for a nominal fee. Single women were nicknamed “unicorns,” that’s how rare and special they were. Sarah remembered her reflection in her full length mirror before leaving the house and how poochy and bloated she was feeling that night. Ugh, PMS, she thought to herself. I’m feeling neither rare nor special tonight. She felt like playing the role of observer rather than participant.
The bar area looked like a typical night club. There was low lighting, barstools and tables with chairs. A few black leather couches lined the walls and the parquet dance floor which was swirling with colored lights and twinkling disco ball reflections. There was a large dance cage at the far end featuring a few scantily clad ladies grinding against each other while the metal casing rocked back and forth in time to the music. But that’s where the resemblance to a “normal” club stopped.
Huge television monitors mounted high in all four corners of the room projected scenes from a biracial porno. There was a stripper pole set up to the right of the dance floor, currently unoccupied. Down the hallway from the nightclub area was a large, steamy room featuring a 16 person hot tub and beyond that were 24 themed rooms, their doors lining each side of two parallel hallways. The themes ranged from a dungeon-style BDSM room to a 70’s theme, a cowboy theme, to a doctor’s office. There was a theme for every role play scenario one could imagine. There were strict rules about appropriate behavior, open and closed doors, as well as protocols for watching or joining the activities in the rooms. Hosts explained all the rules to first time visitors during an extensive tour of the facility. The club had security guards who strived to keep things clean and safe for all of the participants.
This was Sarah’s first time visiting this particular club, but she had been to others. Clubs weren’t really her scene. She found them to be too loud to carry on an actual conversation, which was usually the best way for her to gauge a connection with a potential partner. Clubs also tended to be clique-y with regulars staking out certain tables or rooms and being rather standoffish with newcomers. Despite those negatives, Sarah found it refreshing to be in a fun, open atmosphere where she could dance, flirt and imbibe amongst like-minded folks.
She surveyed the crowd, searching to see if anyone piqued her interest. For a Saturday night, it wasn’t terribly crowded. She considered that it was only nine o’clock; the night was still young. There was a table near the dance floor occupied by a group of fit, gorgeous people in their early to mid-twenties who collectively emitted an unapproachable vibe. Ah, yes, the requisite clique, Sarah identified them.
Near the bar there were a few prototypical single men, trying to appear as though they weren’t gawking at every woman in the place, but failing miserably. And of course there were several couples of all shapes and sizes, young, old, and everything in between. Even standing in foursomes or larger groups, Sarah could easily discern who went with whom. Body language always gave it away.
She briefly studied a few of the more attractive couples but her eyes couldn’t help but gravitate to the fiery redhead dancing in the cage with a tall, slim African American woman. Her pale skin glowed under the lights and her full breasts bounced playfully in her black leather bustier as she grinded her ass into the other lady’s pelvis. Sarah found redheaded women with luminescent skin rather alluring. If she had a “type” for women, the redhead closely resembled it. She imagined raking her fingernail over a pink nipple, then pinching it lightly before she traced the outline of blue veins crisscrossing underneath the creamy flesh of her breasts.
Suddenly Sarah tried to imagine what James would think if he was there taking in the scene beside her. I’m sure he’s way too conservative for me, she thought, dismissing the idea of ever seeing him darken the door of a venue like this one. Sarah’s mind shot back to the present scene as the African American woman whipped the redhead around and gripped her rear end, pushing her pelvis against her upper thigh. Even in her heels, the redhead only came up to the other woman’s chin. The taller woman bent to kiss her. The contrast of their skin colors was lovely, but what titillated Sarah was the flash of tongue she witnessed darting between the redhead’s full berry-pink lips. The dark hands pulled a creamy breast from the black bustier and her tongue flicked the nipple Sarah had just imagined doing.
Rachel noticed the scene too. “Damn. That’s fucking hot,” she observed, always one to verbalize what others were thinking. Mark had been rendered speechless by the display and therefore had nothing to contribute to the conversation, although his eyes spoke volumes about the impact it was having on him. Rachel moved closer to her boyfriend and ran her fingers over his six pack abs through the thin material of his black button-down shirt. “Either of you want to go dance?” she offered, peering at both of them through smoky eyes.
Sarah slowly nodded, still entranced by the scene in the cage. She managed to stumble only slightly ungracefully out onto the parquet dance floor beside her friend while Mark opted to observe from a nearby table. Sarah en
joyed watching her best friend in her element. Rachel was the most social creature Sarah had ever met, maybe even to the point of being co-dependent, she hated being alone so much. She was petite with blonde, heavily highlighted hair, deep-set hazel eyes always rimmed in thick black liner, and toned, shapely legs she loved to flaunt. She was a bit top heavy, carrying most of her weight in her ample bosom and having a little thickness around her waist. Tonight she was wearing a three tiered black lace skirt, shiny patent leather platform sandals and a silky low-cut crimson red spaghetti-strapped camisole. She moved with confidence and unapologetically radiated what she called her “no bullshit” attitude. While she fully admitted that not everyone “got her,” Sarah had discovered the sensitive, caring, generous spirit carefully buried underneath all of her bluntness and flamboyance.
Rachel was indeed responsible in many ways for opening Sarah’s mind to new possibilities in the way she approached relationships. After they bonded through the birth of their sons, Sarah began to spend a lot of time with Rachel and her now ex-husband since her own husband was mostly absent and didn’t seem to care what Sarah did. The couple frequented clubs such as this one and other gatherings of like-minded folks, and Sarah began to tag along, learning what fun it was to be a “unicorn,” even if she didn’t explore full participation for quite some time. It was hard not to be drawn in by the energy and the freedom embraced by this group. It was with Rachel that Sarah first began to explore her attraction to women. Throughout the years, Sarah had experienced quite a few firsts with Rachel by her side.
Snapping out of her thought coma, Sarah turned to see that Rachel had made a new friend, which was not surprising in the least. The redheaded woman from the cage had stepped out onto the floor and Rachel was dancing close to her, mere inches separating their torsos. Their breasts barely brushed together, their hips shaking in time to the beat. Sarah observed Mark conversing with a tall dark-haired man - presumably the redhead’s date? - and pointing at the two ladies. She could almost feel the wheels turning in their four brains, plotting the possibilities. Rachel looked at Mark and winked, right before she ran a finger between the redhead’s cleavage, which was again popping out from the bustier.
The Mountains Trilogy (Boxed Set) Page 5
