Secrets of a (Somewhat) Sunny Girl

by Karen Booth

  “I suppose.”

  “Am I being unreasonable?”

  “No. You're not. I just think that's not the only way to look at it. Some people might go through that and decide that they can do better. Maybe that's the way your sister feels.”

  Was he right? Had Amy taken things one way while I'd run with it in the opposite direction? She'd definitely seemed comfortable at the party, acclimated to the idea that marriage was this normal thing normal people did, and that she was a member of that group. Maybe I needed to accept that just because I saw her one way, and I saw myself the same way, perhaps I'd been completely wrong. After all, she had been younger than me. She'd witnessed less than I had. And of course, she hadn't been the catalyst for the ultimate bad. She hadn't set the demise of her own family in motion. Amy didn't have to live with that.

  “Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to stop looking at it like that.” I knew then that I needed to get my attitude straight. Amy deserved better than a maid of honor who was being a complete pain in the ass.

  “I could be wrong.”

  “Nope. It’s a great suggestion. You make me a better person, you know. You always have.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  I thought back to the way I'd been with him the first time, so full of sunny optimism, not at all the way I was right now, but I could admit it was a place I wanted to get back to. “I do, Eamon. I really do.”

  Chapter Eight

  The quiet of the apartment had become insufferable. I found myself turning on the TV the minute I walked through the door after work every night, just to fill the void. I'd turn on game shows, Jeopardy if I got home in time. Amy and I used to love to watch it together. Now I watched just to see faces and hear people talking. It was inexplicable to me. I'd never liked people all that much. I abhorred idle chitchat. But still, I found myself seeking it out. I'd even struck up a conversation with the cashier at the bodega down the street the other night. As if that guy gave a flip about whether or not I'd had a hard day at work.

  Dinner every night was also an adjustment. I'd forgotten how depressing it was to cook for one person. The portions never worked out. You always ended up with too much food. So then you had to address the leftovers. If you hated what you'd made, you were still going to have to eat the rest later. I didn't like to waste food. Too many people in the world were starving and suffering for me to go around tossing it in the trash.

  Tonight, I didn't have the energy. I'd had a bad run at the office over the last several days. Mr. Ashby was already proving to be a pain in my ass, or as he would say, arse. Unlike quite literally every other person I worked with, Miles put zero stock in my abilities. He'd said that my eyesight was both “curious” and “convenient”. When I showed him the changes I was suggesting to next year's color forecast, he didn't trust what I was telling him, nor could he see what I was showing him. It was like trying to negotiate with someone in a language you didn't understand. I'd ended up slinking out of that meeting with my tail between my legs, feeling wholly unsure of my purpose at NACI. If Miles thought I couldn't do my job, how long would I be able to keep it?

  So I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner, poured myself a glass of wine, and curled up in the chair in the corner, the one with the best view, out the back of my building. The sun had already set, and the sky was a field of inky layers—indigo, violet, and sapphire, all of it glowing from the ever-present lights of the city. Dead tired, I nearly fell asleep while staring out the window, but then my phone dinged and I jumped.

  Can you talk?

  I grinned at the text and washed down my last bite with wine. Eamon didn't have a show tonight, but he did have a rehearsal with his band to work on songs for the new album. He'd said it could end up going until the wee hours. I called and he picked up right away. “I thought you were working late tonight,” I said.

  “I did. I'm done.”

  “Wait. What time is it?”

  “After ten.”

  “That’s not late for a rock star.”

  He laughed. “We’ve talked about those words, darling.”

  I shook my head and sank back in the chair, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my feet on the edge of the seat. “I’m tired. I stayed at work way too late.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “Thankfully, no. In fact it almost never happens, but I have a new boss and he's putting me through my paces.”

  “I don't like that tone in your voice.”

  “I’m fine. It's just work. It's no big deal.”

  “Glad I never had to get a real job. I don't know that I could handle the stress.”

  “But songwriting is stressful. You told me yourself. There's a lot of pressure to write a big hit, right?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Huge.”

  “How's it going with that? The writing.”

  “It's coming. Slowly, but that happens. I'll get it done.”

  “Ten songs by the end of the year, right? How many do you have done?”

  “Why do I feel like I'm being interviewed right now?” His voice had taken a turn, almost defensive.

  “I’m just curious. It's fascinating to me. That's all. And I want to be supportive.”

  “I have three good ones, but that doesn't mean I only have to write seven more songs. I write and write and then we pick the best songs to record. Ten is the minimum. Ideally we'd go into the studio with at least twelve solid options.”

  I thought about asking how many of the three were solid, but I didn't want to push him or make him upset. He was supposed to be my respite. “I’m sure you'll write something amazing and mind blowing and the world just won't even believe how brilliant you are.”

  “Right now, I'm just going for the world thinking I haven't lost my touch.”

  There was that uncertain edge in his voice again. Was this just the bad side of living a creative life? Constant doubt? It was hard to believe that with all his commercial and critical success that he would ever feel that way about himself or his work. “As someone who's seen you perform recently, I can absolutely say that you haven't lost your touch. At all.”

  “Performing songs that people already love is easy. Creating new stuff and enduring that moment when you find out whether or not they like it is the hard part. But it could be worse. At least I don't have to wear a tie and go into an office every day. No offense.”

  “None taken. Women haven't really worn ties to work since the '80s, you know.”

  “I meant the office. I never had to do that.”

  “My office isn't as bad as some. I could never do what my sister does. Go into a law office every day? Forget it. She works with a bunch of assholes. I know. She set me up with a few of them.”

  “Now why would your sister set you up with an asshole? You two clearly love each other very much.”

  “Don't be fooled by her cute exterior. She can be mean and spiteful when she wants to be.” I scratched my leg and looked out the window, the phone cradled between my cheek and shoulder. It was late and I was dying to get out of my work clothes. I climbed out of the chair and padded into my bedroom. “I have to put you on speaker for a minute, okay? I need to change clothes.”

  “Really?”

  I pressed the button and placed the phone on my dresser. “Yes, really. Do you hate speaker phone that much?” I took off my skirt and shook it out, then put it back on its hanger.

  “Not what I'm talking about.”

  “Oh.” I froze with my arm still in the closet.

  “I’m talking about you taking off your clothes while we're on the phone.”

  I had to wonder if this was a regular thing for Eamon. He seemed to be awfully drawn to it. “Is this a tour thing? Like you're bored so you want to have phone sex?”

  “No. This is a Katherine thing. I've actually never done it before.”

  The way the heat rose in my body was entirely unfair. How was I supposed to even stand up under these circumstan
ces? I sank down onto the bed. “I’m supposed to believe you're a phone sex virgin?”

  “I’m not in charge of making you believe anything. And how difficult could it possibly be?”

  “I wouldn't even know where to start.”

  “I was thinking I'll just say every dirty thing that was going through my mind the other morning when we had coffee.”

  I flopped back on the mattress, dying to hear more. “Were there a lot? Of dirty things going through your mind?” I gnawed on my thumbnail.

  “Too many.”

  My breath hitched in my chest. I'd had myriad filthy things racing through my head that morning. Had he had more? He'd seemed so focused on everything but anything sexual, except maybe at the end when he'd said he wanted me in that bed, but didn't think it was a good idea. And of course, we'd had that kiss. “So tell me.” I could hardly believe I was being so daring.

  “Well, I certainly didn't want to go into the bathroom and put on pants.”

  “I didn't want you to do that either.” My face flushed with heat—such an innocent string of words with such naughty implications.

  “What did you want me to do instead?”

  “Take off my clothes and throw me down on the bed.”

  “Hold on. You're going too fast.” It sounded like he dropped the phone. “Okay. Sorry. I'm back.”

  “What was that?”

  “Had to take off my pants.”

  “Oh. What about your shirt?”

  “Wasn't wearing one.”

  Goose bumps raced over the surface of my skin. Had this been what he'd wanted all along?

  “What are you wearing, Katherine?”

  Damn. His voice. I clamped my eyes shut while the sound of my own name echoed in my head. “A blouse I wore to work.”

  “And?”

  “And panties. And a bra, of course.”

  “Tell me more.”

  I had to look down my own shirt. I couldn't remember what I'd put on that morning. “The bra is white. Well, it's more of an ivory color.”

  “You gotta give me more than that, darling. Silk? Satin? Lace?” Everything he said came out in a low, sexy rumble.

  “The bra is a sort of soft fabric. I'm not sure what it is, really. Microfiber or polyester or some sort of blend.”

  He laughed under his breath. “You're terrible at this.”

  “Hey. This is my first time and I'm trying. I liked it better when you were telling me the dirty thoughts that were going through your head. That worked better for me.”

  “Fair enough. Let's make a deal. You take off the rest of your clothes and I'll talk.”

  That sounded like the best deal ever. The anticipation was almost too much to take. It wasn't like seeing him for real, getting to touch him and hold him and have him do the same to me, but right now, in my sad and quiet apartment, this was heaven. “One minute.”

  I tossed the phone onto the mattress, pulled my blouse up over my head, unhooked my bra and got rid of my panties lightning fast. If he asked about those, I would have to lie and tell him that they matched the bra. Plain pink cotton wasn't probably going to excite him too much. “Okay. I'm done.” I got back on the phone and tore back the covers, settling in on the bed with my head on the pillow. “I’m ready.”

  “Good. Because I've already got my cock in my hand.”

  I blinked about five million times in two seconds. Eamon was not messing around. “Oh. I see.” I frantically scanned my brain for a logical thing to say, but was drawing a complete blank. I tried to think of what other sexy women might say, but the only person I could come up with was Ms. Moneypenny from James Bond. I'd stayed up too late watching Octopussy the other night. “Are you hard?” I came a little too close to calling him James.

  “I haven't been this hard in a long time, darling. I wish you were here. I wish I could have you on your knees, with your gorgeous lips wrapped around me.”

  I was so close to calling bullshit on his claim that he was a phone sex virgin, but this was not the time. “It's been a long time since I've done that to you.”

  “Too long. But I thought about it when you were at my hotel the other morning. I thought about how much I liked reciprocating.”

  My eyes were half-closed, my mind conjuring images of him and the way it felt to have my knees up by his ears, his hair in my hands, his lips on my body. There wasn't much better in the sexual arena than having Eamon go down on me. He was so damn patient.

  I reached down and touched myself, flinching for an instant. My skin was so hyper-sensitive right now. I tried to replicate what he could do, the delicate circles he would wind with his tongue. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was the closest I'd been in forever.

  “Are you wet?” he asked.

  “I am.” I sucked in a breath and rocked my head back and forth on the pillow. “Talk to me.”

  “After you left the other morning, I was hard as a rock. I had to wank off, and I thought about you the whole time. I thought about burying myself in you and making you say my name.”

  I smiled softly, floating in and out of consciousness. I was close. The tension was coiling, but it felt so damn good, I was trying to skirt the climax. “Was it good?”

  “I came all over my chest. I had to take another shower.”

  I could see him in his hotel room, sprawled out on that beautiful bed, his glorious body right there. Dammit I'd missed a lot being in the fucking elevator. “And how about now? Are you close?”

  “Very.”

  I decided that I had to help him along. My body was getting fitful and I couldn't wait much longer. I wanted that peak as bad as anything I'd ever wanted. I needed it. “Are you thinking about fucking me?”

  “I’m thinking about bending you over the couch and holding your hair in my hand. I'm thinking about making you mine.”

  That was it. The proverbial dam broke. Judging by the noises Eamon was making on the other end of the line, he'd gotten his happily ending as well. I began my eventual descent back down to earth, but Eamon's voice was buoying me, keeping me in that place where everything is blurry, but you absolutely don't care.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Very. Can you give me a minute to run to the bathroom?”

  “You could just put me on speaker.”

  “I don't want you listening to me pee.”

  “There was a time when there were no secrets between us, remember? I knew absolutely everything about you.”

  Almost everything. “Fine. Suit yourself.” I hoisted myself out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt from my dresser and stumbled into the bathroom, nearly like I was drunk. I placed my phone on the edge of the sink and pressed the speaker button. “You there?”

  “Just barely. But yeah.”

  I pulled the t-shirt on over my head, laughing to myself. As insatiable as he could be, he was also the guy who crashed after sex. “I hear you. I think I'll sleep well, which will be a nice change of pace. I haven't been sleeping well at all lately.” I muted my phone and flushed the toilet. I didn't need to let him hear everything.

  “Too much on your mind?”

  “I’m just not used to being alone. That's all. I haven't lived by myself in years.”

  “But I'll be there soon. I don't want to invite myself, but I'm hoping I can stay with you.”

  This was all too surreal, the casual admission that Eamon was really, truly going to come back into my life. “Of course you can. I'd actually sort of assumed that you would.”

  “Good. Because it'll be far less fun if I'm staying in a hotel.”

  “Something tells me you'd just end up staying over anyway.” That was exactly what happened in Ireland. Once we'd had one night together, neither of us ever wanted to be apart.

  “Won't be long now. Only a few more more days.”

  I ran some hot water in the sink and washed my hands, then grabbed a washcloth to clean my face, only glancing at the mirror to make sure I got the mascara. “How long do you think
you'll be able to stay?”

  “Of course, it depends on how long you want me, but it'd be great if I could just stay. Until we decide what we want to do.”

  I turned off the water and left the mirror foggy from the steam. I didn't need to see my rosy afterglow. I could feel it. “So, indefinitely?”

  “Uh, yeah. But only if that works. I'm back November fifth. My daughter and my ex are coming to New York for a few days about a week later. I'd love for you to meet them. And for you to be able to spend some time with Fiona. She'll love you.”

  It wasn't Fiona I was worried about. I wasn't sure how I felt about meeting Rachel, his ex-wife, the woman who ultimately replaced me. But I'd have been lying if I'd said I wasn't curious to see what was there, to at least paint in that part of his past. I'd constructed a lot of backstory in my head about them years ago, all in an attempt to convince myself of the reasons Eamon and I were not meant to be together. But I had no idea if any of it was even remotely true.

  “I’d love to meet Fiona and Rachel. It's Rachel, right?” I knew damn well his wife's name. Why I was pretending to possibly not know was beyond me.

  “Yeah. They've moved to the states full time. They're living in Philadelphia now. Rachel got remarried six months ago.”

  The puzzle was starting to come together. “Were you thinking of moving here, too?”

  “Why? Does that make you nervous?”

  Hell yes, it made me nervous. The long-distance thing had been one of my outs. “I’m just trying to understand what your plan is, Eamon.”

  “My plan is to see where things between us can go. Then I'll see where Rachel and Fiona end up. With my touring schedule, I don't get nearly enough time with Fiona and she's growing up so damn fast. I don't want to miss out on any more than I have to.”

  “Sure. Of course.”