PeakExperience

by Rachel Kenley

  Which matched the unfamiliar bedroom.

  Shit, you have got to be kidding. She moaned as clarity arrived, as harsh as the morning sun. Instead of resting briefly she’d spent the night with a total stranger. A blush warmed her face. Okay, not exactly a stranger, but a man she’d met the evening before.

  And had sex with.

  Great sex.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes. Oh, this could not be happening. How was she going to sneak out? The question was followed by another. Why did the best sex of her life have to happen with a man she planned never to see again?

  “Good morning, Thumbelina.”

  She was fully awake in an instant. Her eyes flew open as she bolted upright, fortunately thinking to take the covers with her, and turned to stare at the half-naked man sitting next to her. She heard him wrong. “What did you call me?”

  “Thumbelina,” Daniel repeated.

  Lena grabbed at the sheets to cover herself more and was almost doused in the hot coffee Daniel was holding out to her. “Why did you call me that? No one calls me that except my parents and a few people at the…”

  “Summer camp they used to run,” he finished for her.

  She looked at him warily, trying to place him beyond the night before. One-night stands were supposed to be fun, over quickly and enjoyed with relative strangers. Not that she had a lot of experience with them, but this was too much familiarity. “Who are you and how do you know my nickname?”

  Chapter Four

  He smiled and Lena saw something familiar in the look. “I am Daniel Royer, which you know from last night, but when I was at Crane Hill Camp you and everyone else called me Danny.”

  Her mind flipped through a catalog of images from past summers until she arrived at a memory of a quiet boy who hung around her the year she spent at Crane Hill after her marriage and career as an artist ended. The boy she remembered was shy, wore glasses and was only an inch to two taller than she, all long limbs waiting for a growth spurt. “Oh no, you can’t be.” Her grip on the sheet tightened.

  “I assure you I can be and I am.”

  “But that would make you…” Her un-caffeinated brain couldn’t do math this early.

  “Twenty-eight. I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Dear Lord.” Her head fell into her hand. She thought she deserved points for not hiding under the covers entirely. All she wanted was a quick fling and she got a hot artist twelve years younger than her who knew her years before. I’ll bet this never happens to Michelle when she meets a new guy. How could she be so foolish? Even the characters in her mother’s children’s books knew rash actions had terrible consequences and there was no escaping them.

  She remembered something. “That’s how you knew my last name at the gallery. I didn’t tell you.” As her humiliation waned, her anger grew.

  “No, you didn’t. I slipped. I hoped you didn’t notice.”

  “I didn’t. I blamed it on the alcohol. I thought I told you and then forgot.” At least her memory wasn’t going, although it was a small consolation, since memories of last night were all too vivid. A blush started as she recalled what they shared together, how she allowed herself to get carried away.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts and trying again to hand her the coffee. She moved farther away, nearly falling out of bed in her haste to create some distance between them.

  “A problem? Oh no, of course not.” She hoped her sarcasm was obvious. “Silly me thought for once I enjoyed a meaningless night of great sex, and instead I’m sitting here naked with a man I not only know but someone I could have babysat for.”

  “I’m glad you thought the sex was great since I didn’t want it to be meaningless. If it’s any consolation I don’t need a babysitter and you look beautiful naked. I could do a whole series of pictures of you in sunbeams and moonbeams.”

  “Look, Danny…”

  “It’s Daniel.”

  “Daniel. Why didn’t you tell me who you were last night?”

  “Probably because I didn’t want you to look at me the way you are now. Once I was certain you didn’t recognize me, or my name, I wanted you to keep seeing the man, not the kid. I wasn’t expecting us to go to bed together. Getting coffee would have been fine, until you asked me to kiss you. Then I didn’t want to stop. You didn’t either.” He leaned forward to touch her. She pulled back.

  “You’re wearing contacts,” she said stupidly, trying to keep the conversation away from sex.

  “Yes, and I’m taller than I was at fifteen. Are you okay?”

  “I need to find my clothes and go.”

  “I can see you’re finding this is awkward, but don’t leave. Stay for breakfast and we can talk more. We didn’t have a chance to talk after leaving the gallery. Have some of your coffee. I guessed cream and sugar since you enjoyed the sweet drinks last night.”

  “Good guess,” she said, feeling a little guilty as she accepted the mug. She didn’t want to accept anything from him. She took a sip, careful not to burn her tongue. As the coffee hit her stomach, a thought occurred to her. “The postcards. You sent them.”

  “Yes, I wanted you to come to the opening. I wanted to see you again, show you how introducing me to photography paid off.”

  “How did you know my addresses?”

  “Alumni office at the Mass College of Art. I remembered you went there too.” She nodded. “When I started getting serious about making art my career I earned my Masters there. It was one of the ways I learned a lot about,” he ran a hand up her leg, which was sticking out from the covers, “the body.”

  She felt her face flush hotly and a few places on her body heating more. She couldn’t talk to him and not think of how reckless she’d been last night. She gave herself a mental shake. She was not staying, not having something to eat, and definitely not talking about their evening together. She shouldn’t be here at all.

  This was why being in control was smarter. She never should have let herself give in to instant gratification last night. Yes, he was sexy. And he made her feel good, wonderful even. Better than anyone had in a very long time. The way he kissed her and touched her was incredible.

  Lena, stop. This is not helping the situation. She needed to be reasonable. One of them had to be. Finally, a plan came to her as she looked at the steam rising from the mug. “Okay, why don’t you make breakfast while I get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

  “You get ready fast.”

  “It’s not like I have a lot of choices on what to wear this morning.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Good point. See you in a bit.” He gave her a soft kiss that made her tingle, despite her best efforts. His bright smile made her feel worse.

  As soon as he was gone, Lena placed the mug on the night stand and jumped off the bed to look for her clothes. The process wasn’t as easy as she expected as little-used muscles, sore from the night before, protested her sudden movements. She found her purse next to the bed and as she wiggled into her underwear she quietly used her cell phone to call for a taxi. Shoving the stockings into her bag, she put on her bra and dress, grabbed her coat, and carried her shoes as she tiptoed out of the room.

  Last night she didn’t get a good look at his apartment, but she was right about the light. The place was bright and spacious. She could hear classical music coming from the kitchen as Daniel banged around cooking and whistling. The whistling almost made her go to him to say goodbye, tell him what a special night it was for her, but she changed her mind. Any boldness from the night before was gone. No more risks for a while.

  After one wrong turn she found the front door, grateful she didn’t have to get too close to the kitchen. As she reached for the knob she stopped at the sight of the exhibit poster. That damn phoenix. If it weren’t for the image, she wouldn’t be here. No, that wasn’t true. It was the long-dormant feelings the image stirred that were her problem. From here on, she would listen to her head. It was safe
r. Without a word she let herself out.

  * * * * *

  Daniel couldn’t decide if he was furious, surprised or hurt when he discovered Lena snuck out. A combination passed through him in the first few minutes, so he did what served him best when creativity didn’t seem to be an option—he sat and thought things through logically.

  Discovering his full identity and his connection to her past—along with his age—shocked her. Clearly she wasn’t a woman who was used to one-night stands, and if she was hoping for anonymity in the morning, his declaration eliminated the option. Perhaps it was more intimacy than she was expecting or could handle. That sounded plausible.

  But damn it, it didn’t make him feel any better.

  He walked into his home office and turned on the computer. As it booted he knew it was pointless. There was nothing he could work on that would distract him from what happened and what he was feeling. What was he going to do, sit there and Google her like a love-struck teen? He needed a better plan.

  These were the times he wished for a sister who could guide him and to whom he could bring his questions. Before he discovered photography and art, books were his closest companions. He believed in going to experts for answers, but he had no close women in his life other than Alice, and she wouldn’t want him distracted by a relationship. He smiled. She was more like a mother hen then an agent.

  He didn’t understand why Lena thought their ages—or his age—were a problem. He’d dated one or two older women in the last several years and it wasn’t an issue, although there were more years between him and Lena than the others. Still, connection was connection and he was convinced Lena experienced that with him.

  Thinking of Lena, Daniel was confident if he used knowledge combined with the street smarts he’d gained from past relationships, and a little creativity, he could find a way to connect with her and discover if one night of magic could be the start of something more. The first thing to do was find a way to be near her again.

  * * * * *

  Traffic was so light early Saturday morning and the taxi drove Lena home quickly, but because of the hour the driver gave her a telling look, which said he knew exactly why she was overdressed and under made-up. Not since one drunken night at college had she done the walk of shame. She was too old for this.

  Of course, Daniel wasn’t. This was probably more common for him given his age. It wasn’t part of her history. She’d had two one-night stands in her twenties, although they weren’t intended. The men simply never called her again.

  Stepping into her apartment, she dropped her shoes and her bag by the door, then walked straight to her bedroom and dropped herself on the bed. Work waited for her, but it would wait a little longer. She needed a long shower and a few more hours of sleep.

  Lena went into her office at two and stayed until nearly nine, then was back at her desk Sunday morning at ten. With all the hours she put in, she should have accomplished more, but although her body was in front of the project she was presenting on Wednesday to their client, her thoughts kept traveling back to Friday night.

  Over and over images of Daniel kissing her, caressing her, licking her until she came played like an erotic movie in her mind. It was maddening. She kept telling herself she needed to forget, but clearly the night meant more to her then she expected. In fact, she found herself wanting him again, wanting more, and hoping it would be as good—or better—the next time.

  “This is not going to get us the final payment of the Jaffe account or the new clients we need,” she told herself.

  “What isn’t?” She jumped, almost spilling her water bottle and saw one of the members of her team standing in her doorway. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “My fault, Gary. I’m having trouble staying focused today.”

  “Maybe you’re working too hard, Lena. When was the last time you took off both days of the weekend?”

  She looked at him, ready to give a flip answer when she realized he was right. “Almost two months.”

  “Working that many hours is bound to make anyone a little antsy. Look, I’ve nearly finished putting the packets together for the presentation and I’m heading home. We’re not flying out until late Tuesday, so we still have almost two full days to review and double-check everything. Go home, relax, see a movie.”

  She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. They were gritty. It was good she didn’t have her contacts in. “You’re right. I don’t have a clue what’s playing.”

  “Well, make certain not to forget the relaxing part. You don’t want to be burned out when you meet with Jaffe and his board.”

  “Thanks, I’ll walk out with you.”

  When she got home, her first thought was to clean and do laundry. What a sad statement about her life. Here she was with a night to herself and she considered doing chores. Appalled, she opened her drawer of menus, picked the one from her favorite Thai place, called, and gave them her order. She considered going out, but wasn’t in the mood to dine alone in public. As she waited for the food to arrive, she opened a bottle of wine, poured a glass and looked around her apartment.

  She bought the two-bedroom condo in Cambridge for its location. After living here for nearly five years she still loved being near Harvard and Porter Square and a short “T” ride away from everything in Boston. However, tonight it looked plain and unadorned. A few of her own black-and-white photographs were on the wall and the bookcase held framed candid pictures and trinkets from her travels. Furniture was chosen for practicality and comfort, but not much more. The only pieces of color were an overstuffed Victorian floral couch she inherited from her grandmother and an illustrated family portrait her mother created depicting the five of them as magical creatures in a wooded glen.

  The place was a bore and, sadly, it reflected in many ways how she was managing her life. Everything here was controlled, orderly and functional. When she thought of what she noticed in Daniel’s space, it was clear they were living very different lives. Living close to the excitement was not the same as participating.

  Walking over to the portrait and looking at it closely, which she hadn’t done in a long time, she was moved by the fairy girl her mother made her into. The original photograph her mother worked from was shot when she was around sixteen and already her younger brothers were taller than she was. Although she always loved the picture, she never saw herself as the pixie her mother depicted. By that age, she had turned her back on the magical world her parents inhabited. She wanted to be taken seriously no matter what she did.

  Most especially, she wanted to be taken seriously as an artist. She studied for and planned a career in which her work would be in demand by a large but choosy audience. Back then she didn’t want to have any part of what she thought of as poster-art, those who created images for the college dorm room crowd.

  When it was time for her first show, over thirteen years ago, she sweated for months over her exhibition choices. She wanted them to show her versatility and range. She selected her favorites but also ones she believed important because of their complexity and drama. She didn’t ask for assistance from her family and turned down the input her husband offered. She wanted to be a success on her own terms, without help.

  “I thought your collection for the show was great,” her mother said after the critics panned her work claiming she had no voice or focus and patrons showed their agreement but not buying her works.

  “Clearly not, did you read the reviews?”

  “Of course, but that doesn’t mean I agree with them.”

  “That’s because you’re my mother.”

  “I’m also a fellow artist, and I would never lie to you by saying something was good when I didn’t think it was.” There was a pause. “If anything was wrong with the collection it was that the magic was missing.”

  “What are you talking about?” she angrily asked her mother. “I don’t do fantasy images. These were abstracts. What has that got to do with magic?”

 
“Darling, if you have to ask, then you’re not going to accept the answer.”

  Lena had slammed down the phone and didn’t speak with her mother for nearly six weeks, a record for them, and when they did start talking again Lena refused to discuss art, no matter how many attempts Janice made. She had to give her mother points for tenacity. Besides, by that time her marriage was showing serious cracks and there were other things to discuss. By the summer both her marriage and career were over.

  Today, with the afternoon light coming into her living room, she stepped closer to the image of her in the picture and really looked at it, possibly for the first time. In this girl she saw the joy of youth and the beginnings of adult awareness, but more—she saw magic. Her mother captured a light and liveliness Lena could recall experiencing when she was younger. And rejecting later because although living that way could bring great joy, it also made her vulnerable, which she didn’t like.

  To avoid future vulnerability and to prove she could still make good choices for herself and be a success, she enrolled in graduate school. That was where she met Michelle and the idea of starting their own business was born. A little more than five years after they graduated the doors of Crane and Fulton opened, pairing Michelle’s business savvy with Lena’s creative genius. It was one of the greatest days of her life. Finally she wasn’t the family screw-up.

  But all that would change if they lost the company. The idea was unbearable and sent cold shivers through her. She’d poured so much of herself into the business. There was no way they would lose it. She would—could—not fail at this.

  * * * * *

  On Monday morning Lena spotted Michelle in the break room almost as soon as she arrived. “Do you have a minute?” She didn’t wait for her friend to answer. “Good, I need to talk to you. Could you come to my office as soon as you’re done?” Within minutes, Michelle was sitting across from her. She brought Lena a cup of coffee along with her own.