by Fifi Flowers
“You picture me nude in a cafe? You have a tendency to fantasize about things that involve me possibly in handcuffs.”
“No. But, you in handcuffs is a great visual. I see you at a bistro-style table in your loft. By the window. The sun is completely up. No sunrise reading for you.”
“Definitely not.” Amazing how well he knew me without breaching my “no details” rule. Loft. Bistro table. Window. Reading The Weekly. At least he didn’t say the LA Weekly.
“You’re looking for a yoga class. You’re wondering if I’m teaching one of them. You’re picturing me in just a pair of yoga shorts. Tight—nothing left to your imagination—you can see every definition of the bulge in my pants. You breathe in deeply as you lick your ruby-red lips, thinking about mine on your pussy. You reach down with one hand between your long legs. You’re sopping wet…”
“Holy shit! You cannot tell me things like that without me not wanting to jump your hotter-than-hot body. Not fair. Take me to the room—now!”
“Touch yourself.” His lips are turned up in the corners, grinning. “Now.” I did as he commanded. Looking around first. I wasn’t up for entertaining our fellow diners. Sure that I could not be seen, I reached down and slipped my fingers covertly inside of my panties. I was very wet. “Show me,” he demanded. I lifted my fingers. He leaned forward and sucked them into his mouth. “Delicious.” Then he stood, extended his hand to help me up, and walked me out of the restaurant to join our friends in the ballroom.
I couldn’t believe he just left me hanging… wanting more. Teased me unmercifully. One touch from him and I could’ve shuttered out an orgasm in record time. Instead, I was denied. Parting ways for the day, I reluctantly left Dash. I couldn’t believe that was to be my last moment with him. An unsatisfying one, at that. Meeting up later would be brief. We would be checked out of our rooms already. No chance at intimacy. I guess it was just as well. That would be another ending to us. What were the odds that we would run into each other again?
Getting my head back in the game, we made our way over to the main exhibit hall for the book convention. Next up was Tomasina’s time to shine in the spotlight. To show off her beautiful full-color book of gems from exotic locales, along with travel photos. It really was a stunning presentation. She had to be pleased with it; proud.
Waiting for the doors to open to the more conservative masses, I pulled out my tablet again. In a hurry to hide Tomasina’s posting, I hadn’t had a chance to see what my mother had emailed me.
From: Marian Dane
To: Willow Dane
Sorry
Yesterday at 11:30 PM
Hello Dear,
I just finished watching the news. So happy to hear you and TomKat are still friends. People losing their families; so sad. I lost my daughter years ago. I wasn’t the right mother for her. I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry. I should’ve stood up to your father. I’ve been upset with him over the years. I didn’t like some of the things he has said to you. I loved my life. I always wanted a husband and children. I never wanted the career. I wanted to be home. I didn’t want to rock the boat. I didn’t want a divorce. I guess you’d call me old fashioned. I’m sorry he drove you away. I’m sorry I let him.
Love,
Your Mother
Sitting in the convention room, I filled Tomasina in on all of the emails I had been getting from mother. How she was jabbering on about whatever, mixed in with opening up about herself and hints about my father. Her most recent one, stating that she was happy about my continuing friendship with TomKat. If only she knew that that was Tomasina’s name for her female anatomy these days, she’d probably blush and never use it again.
“What?! Stepford’s finest, Marian Dane, lost her microchip? Or did her master re-program her?” She roared with laughter. I smacked her arm lightly. Cringing at her reference to my mother being a Stepford Wife. Though her use of it wasn’t like the teasing my brothers and I endured over the years, it still made me stiffen.
“You’re going to love this.” I looked around as if someone would care about my mother and her antics. “She’s sneaking around behind Hugh’s back.”
“Nooooo!” Tomasina’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.
“Yes. Her book club…”
“No. No. No. Please no more.” Doubled over. Making a scene, she was gasping with laughter. “Do. Not. Tell. Me. She. Knows. Mr. Grey…”
“Sssssh! You’re turning heads. Remember we’re not in the naughty romance room.” I tried my best not to join in her contagious laughter. It was no use. As I filled her in on my mother’s coming-of-age at sixty-something, we both broke up in fits of laughter.
“Priceless. Marian would make a fabulous supporting character in a dirty novel: housewife extraordinaire loses her shit over her hunky gardener. He pruned her rose bush as she panted for more. She couldn’t wait to see how big his shovel would be, digging into her flowerbed.” She snickered at her own words. She made me laugh.
“You have quite an imagination. You should pen a book like Rex. You fit in better in a spicier venue…”
“Well… Rex and I discussed a collaboration; his point of view for the male character and me, of course, the female. A little back and forth; dueling chapters.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised. Did you work through some scenes already?” I arched an eyebrow, waiting for her smutty details.
“No. Not that he wasn’t tempting. That man is hotness personified. That body is to be worshiped! He has solid muscles everywhere!” She licked her lips.
“I thought you said you didn’t have sex?”
“We didn’t, but I’m not one to sleep in my clothes. Neither is he.” An evil smile broke across her face as she bit her finger to keep the giggles that were threatening to burst forth.
“I noticed he also called you TomKat, like my mother. It appears your nickname is making a public comeback?! Is he in the dark about it, too? Or does he know your use of that name?”
“Of course! Obviously that’s why he uses it!” Another naughty smile.
“Are you sure you don’t want to confess? Change your earlier story?”
“I swear to you, Lolo. All we did was talk and sleep… naked.” More giddy laughter filled our booth. We really needed to behave. People were beginning to glare at us. I was certain we were having the most fun as I looked around.
Though Tomasina’s book’s appearance was not a grand success, her attendance proved to be helpful. Good ideas for future marketing. New book focus: museum gift shops, gem shows, and jewelry stores. The biggest plus was how several people were fascinated with the jewels she wore in the last two days. A different one on each of her fingers. On someone other than my model-like friend, they would look gaudy. She, however, had the whole look that easily pulled it off. Put together perfectly in stylish designer clothing that coordinated with her current hair and nail color. She was stunning. Her admirers walked away from her with stacks of business cards.
The book convention trip had turned out to be quite enjoyable. We had fun with the romance festivities. We learned a lot about selling and distributing picture books, for lack of a better name. Tomasina and Rex had met; God only knew what those two would publish together. My money was on them publishing a scorching hot book that would include some extensive research between the two of them. And for me, my renewed introduction to body bending, invigorating yoga moves, taught by Dash, had been mind-blowing.
My friend didn’t miss anything that was flowing between us. She razzed me until I broke and told her about our night together. Our time together on the island wasn’t just a fluke… just an island thing; there was more to us. The problem was, there really wasn’t an us. My rules and regulations were still intact. I had mentioned them briefly. We just stuck to them. Neither of us shared anything about ourselves. Everything was superficial, but emotions and feelings were expressed non-verbally. Our undeniable connection. It was alive and more than well.
Yet later, when Tomas
ina and I met up with Rex and Dash, things were turned down to a low simmer. Which was fine. It made walking away… saying goodbye, again, easier. However, this time, new players had joined our… our… I couldn’t think of the right word to describe what we had between us. But Rex was Dash’s friend and Tomasina was my friend, and they had plans to see each other again.
How was that going to work out?
How was that going to affect us?
What had those two discussed that would involve us?
Rex had to know where I lived. Maybe even what I did for a profession. If pushed, he could tell Dash. That was, if he even wanted to know more about me. While our bodies and souls were open to each other, the details of our pasts and everyday lives were closed and hidden. What would happen next?
Chapter Sixteen
Dash
The flight to LA, after the convention, was been a shitty one. The travel part wasn’t the problem. It was the fact that I was going to my new location. To my temporary apartment in a city that could also be housing corporate-girl. I was stuck now. I had no plans of commuting to New York for a while. No escape. Maybe she wasn’t in the state at all. I knew I could find out for certain from Rex. But I made him promise me that whatever he knew about Willow, he wouldn’t tell me. She said no details. I knew her rules. I agreed to them, again, like a fool. As easy as it would be to be in contact with her, I refused to cheat.
At least I was busy for the next couple weeks, settling in. I had meetings with clients in the film industry. I wanted to scout some locations for both sunrise and sunset yoga. I knew I should leave sunset yoga alone. There was always a remote chance of attending the same class as Willow. Of course, if she was living on the East Coast, I was safe at sunset. With her love of fashion, I had wondered often if she was a New York corporate-girl. I had possibly been living near her all along and I was about to be living three thousand miles away from her. That would be my luck!
Maybe I would get lucky again. After all, we had been thrown together three different times in three different locations. Who could say that it wouldn’t happen again? If I had it my way, fate would step in and that dark-haired beauty would be in my arms forever. Under me. Over me. Twisted around me. God, I loved her flexibility. Mostly, though, I loved her attitude about life: live in the moment, live life to the fullest. But, what I hated—maybe not hated; hate is an ugly word—what I disliked was that while she was so open about so many things, she was personally challenged. Not emotionally; I felt what she was feeling. That couldn’t be denied between us.
Shit! I needed to stop that train of thought. I had things that needed to be done. Even though it was the weekend, I had to go meet with some Harrison dude decorating my office. Meetings were scheduled with some new people in hopes of setting up future product collaborations. Not to mention my father was coming into town, and I had to clear a path to the guest room. Most of my stuff I refused to unpack to pack again. I was going to take my time looking around for the right place to settle into permanently. In the meanwhile, boxes were everywhere, leaving me with an unsettled uncomfortableness.
Once my father arrived, a week after my feet had been firmly replanted in my hometown, I started feeling a bit more relaxed. I was getting into a groove: Walking to do sunrise yoga at a few different spots. Going to get coffee rather than making it at home. Sitting outside by my rooftop pool and reading the newspaper, the New York and LA Times.
I was still in the New York frame of mind, walking and hiring car services to cart me around. My buddies told me I should buy a convertible Porsche and get into the California swing of things. Even my dad, a fellow carless man, agreed.
Scheduled to attend an event together, we enjoyed a nice chat on our way. A new museum in town was having a reception and ribbon cutting ceremony for the installation of one my mother’s sculptures. Hers would be joining other artists’ pieces in the museum’s open areas. Listening to the speeches, I started zoning out. After you’ve heard one dedication, you’ve heard them all. It wasn’t until I heard a crying child that my head snapped up from solemnly focusing on the cracks in the pavement. Probably looking forlorn to some onlookers as they introduced my mother and her creation. Alert, I began to scan my surroundings and then, I saw her.
The attractive British woman and her white cat, with orange markings and eyes the color of Willow’s. They appeared to be putting on an impromptu show for a distraught little girl wearing pigtails, possibly the one I heard crying in the crowd. The cat looked happy performing: Sitting on command, lying down, rolling over, raising up on his hind legs, and shaking hands. He appeared equally delighted with a pat on the head and a treat, of some sort, the woman pulled from her leather coat pocket. I was shocked by his doglike behavior and even more so when the woman winked in my direction. Did she remember me? No. She couldn’t. Right?
Shaking my head, I looked back and they were walking off. I wanted to chase after them, but I was being called to the installation area for the actual induction ceremony for my mother, Bernadette Oliver’s, masterpiece appropriately titled Passion.
My mother always pushed her motto follow your passion. My business was all about focusing on passion. Passion was the driving force behind everything she had taught me. If you don’t have it, success will never be yours. “Let it guide you, Dash.” I heard her words vibrate through me as they did the last time she spoke to me from her hospital bed. Her voice was crystal clear as was my father’s, standing next to me in the courtyard of the museum, directing me to the reception.
My father, the perpetual businessman, pushed sales. His standard speech was forever imbedded in my head. “You have to not only sell your product, more importantly, you have to sell yourself to clients. They must feel you, get you, trust you, and believe you love what you’re selling.” Then, he always ended his sermon referencing my mother, “Like your mother always said, be passionate about what you do in all aspects of your life.”
They agreed on something—lots of things—except fidelity. My mother ignored it for years. Her avoidance of it ended with the death of my little brother. She needed my father and he wasn’t there. He looked for comforting away from home more often. Maybe it was that my brother was the spitting image of my mother. I’m still not sure, but neither handled the loss well. Three years they lived in misery until they just couldn’t it anymore. Fortunately, the transition was subtle as my father had already purchased an apartment in New York a year before they made their separation legal and permanent.
What did I learn from them? Believe in yourself. Be passionate in your career and in your relationships. Nothing is everlasting, no matter how much you love each other. My mother and father both claimed their love was just not enough to conquer the pain they felt when they were together. Tragedy, in their case, pulled them apart, rather than strengthened them.
I listened to them. I loved what I did; I brought positivity to people, eliminating the negative. My clientele base was vast. I owed my success to both of them. I wished my mother was with us. I wanted her to know I followed my passion, that my father still loved her and supported her artwork. Most importantly, I wanted her to see that his dedication and salesmanship attributed to her Passion being celebrated. Along with that sculpture being part of a museum collection, several of her other pieces were on display around the country, and a couple abroad. She was an acclaimed artiste.
Making our way around the room, greeting many museum benefactors and art lovers, Russ Oliver, my father, captivated his audience with words of praise for my mother’s works of art. Listening to the love reflected in his speech, my mind wandered to my dark-haired beauty with deep red lips.
Where was she? I was asking myself the same questions, going over the same thoughts in my head, again. Had my move brought us closer or farther apart? Not that it mattered. She wasn’t interested in permanent. She said it was unusual for her to revisit the same man more than once. No, she didn’t tell me any of that personally; I overheard a conversation with her frie
nd. She did tell me that she had not slept with anyone since we met. I hadn’t accepted an offer of sex since her unknowing, drunken bar room solicitation. For the first time in my life, I only wanted one woman—Willow.
I really needed to get those thoughts out of my head. I had no idea if I would ever see her again. I had no idea where to find her without violating her rules. Her and her fucking rules. I wanted to break every one of them! Damn it! She was supposed to be just a number. But, it appeared that I was just a number to her. How did that happen?
A week later, my dad was gone. He was probably happy to leave. Tired of my mopiness… my abuse of meditation. I admit it, I meditated so often, even I thought it was on the verge of being incessant. The worst part for him could’ve been that I dragged him to my sunrise sessions and even to one sunset yoga class not taught by me. My father wasn’t a faithful follower of the yoga practice, but he did use it from time to time to relieve minor aches and pains. Knowing that I was feeling a different kind of agony, he appeased me.
After his escape, I had a new routine. Several appearances were set, and I found that getting around the LA area was not as easy as I thought. For a few appointments I was able to take the subway. I wished it was more expanded like New York, I really liked being carless. While using a car service was somewhat convenient, I had to resort to renting a car on more than one occasion. The traffic was horrible in all directions, at all hours. That, alone, had me hating the idea of driving. With all of my on-the-road commitments taking priority, I stopped trying to make it into my work office during the day, and spent the evening hours behind my new desk, taking care of paperwork and whatnot.
A few nights I skipped the office altogether and met my buddies at a bar. I had the need to mix a little pleasure with all the business I was involved in daily. One night we were back to the same bar I encountered the once mysterious corporate-girl; she was a no-show. Not that I truly thought I would see her, but a guy could dream. A couple times that we bar hopped, I was so fucking tanked, I was lucky that I found my way home. I mean, so bad that I contemplated renting a room at the first hotel I saw. I wasn’t that young anymore, it was harder to recover. The next time they suggested a night out, I suggested going out to dinner or I was out. Of course, I was razzed and gave in to meeting them in a bar.
