We cross the state line into Alabama and honest to God, I burst out laughing at the welcome sign that reads, “Sweet Home Alabama.” Never were those words so true.
“Mmm, Isaac, we’re halfway there. You’ve done pretty well so far. Guess I need to up my game.”
“Heather, that’s–”
“Do you have any idea how wet I am from watching you grit your teeth and white-knuckle the steering wheel? Just a few more miles and you’ll have those long fingers all over me. In the meantime, I’ll have to do the job myself.” She slowly inches up her skirt until a quick peek reveals lacy black panties—wet ones, just as she said. She loosens her seatbelt enough to pull up the lap belt, giving her room to lift her hips off the seat. Then in one quick motion the black lace is around her knees. A few more light tugs and they’re off.
“Any idea what I should do with these? Your rearview mirror looks awfully bare.”
Now, I’ve known plenty of guys who collect garters at Mardi Gras and weddings so they can hang them from their mirror. Never have I seen a lacy black thong dangling in such a fashion.
“I’m going to whisper in your ear, so don’t flinch, okay?”
“Right. Got it.” We’re approaching Tillman’s Corner, a small area outside of the city. There are more businesses, which means more lights, though we’re not in a residential area yet. I’m wondering at what point she should put her shirt back on.
“Are you listening?”
“What?”
“You tuned me out?”
“Guess so.”
“Normally I’d be pissed,” she says, “but that’s a good thing this time. Let’s see if I can keep your attention from here on out.” She loosens her seatbelt to the point where it does no good, so she can lean over the armrest. Warm breath envelops my ear. “Judging by the other night, you like things dirty and rough. I’m going to make you blush. Mmm, Isaac,” she moans, “I’ve never been so thoroughly fucked. My mouth is watering for your giant cock. I can’t wait to run my tongue up your length and suck you dry. Oh, baby, oh, baby.” She and I both break into laughter. “Hey, I didn’t say it’d be good, I just said I’d make you blush. Mission accomplished.”
“Heather, we’re coming into town. Shouldn’t you cover up before the lights get more frequent?”
“Why, Isaac, are you worried about my honor?”
“That, and I’m not sure a cop would approve of your teaching methods. Last thing you need is a criminal record. Hanging out with me is bad enough.”
“In that case, yes, I’ll cover up, but only because you just made a selfless suggestion. You’ve definitely earned a reward for both concentrating on the road—mostly—and thinking of someone other than yourself. Congratulations.”
“That’s a back-handed compliment if ever I heard one.”
“Fine. Thanks for not getting us killed—you’re a swell guy. Now hurry, because I don’t know how much longer I can go without touching you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Two hours later she’s made good on her promise—several times—till I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.
“When are they delivering the furniture again?” she mumbles.
“Saturday morning.”
Her hand drifts up and down my abdomen, knuckles playing with the trimmed hair that survived manscaping. “Then you have until Saturday morning to get the floors finished. That includes staining and sealing.”
“Slave driver.”
“Whiny bitch. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She slides off my chest and begins dressing.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” The clock says it’s nearly two in the morning.
“Well, I can’t stay out all night. Even Mama would notice that.”
“You’re a grown woman.”
“Says the man whose family won’t speak to him.”
“Point taken. But you’ll be back?” I regret the question as soon as it slips out. Way to sound needy, Ike.
“If you’re asking if I’m going to stop riding your ass,” she grins, “the answer is no. I’m enjoying this—all of this—too much. See ya.”
“Um, yeah. See ya.” I follow that brilliant response with a lame half-wave. My brain wants to analyze what exactly is going on here, and why Heather’s retreating figure makes my stomach hurt, but the rest of me demands sleep. I drift off to the image of her spread out on the hood of my car.
***
On my lunch break, I notice a voicemail from Uncle Robert on my phone. Shit, I was supposed to call him back about listening to the pieces I’ve been working on. Got so caught up in Heather’s bizarre game that I plain old forgot.
“Isaac, when will I hear your compositions? I expected to hear from you yesterday, but didn’t want to call and interrupt if you were working on something new.”
“Sorry, Uncle Robert. How about tonight? No, that won’t work. Look, I’m refinishing the floors in the house this week after work, but how about Saturday? Yeah, if you come Saturday, they’ll be finished, plus I’ve got another surprise.”
“Oh?”
“Everything should be in place by noon. Why don’t you come over for lunch?”
“I’d love to, but let me pick something up on my way over.”
“No, I insist, and I promise, no ramen noodles.” Thanks to Heather, I’ve got a fully stocked fridge.
The old man’s chuckle vibrates through the phone. “Even better. Is there a special occasion? I know it’s not your birthday, that’s in October.”
“November.”
“Oh, yes, November. Goodness, it must be time for my midday siesta. So I’ll see you Saturday then, say, noon?”
“Perfect.”
Tuesday night the sander goes back to the store. Wednesday the first coat of stain goes on, and Thursday the second. Friday I apply the varnish. Aside from being high as a kite from all the fumes, things have gone smoothly. The floor is a dark umber with red undertones and warms up the whole room. Amazing the difference just a few days and some elbow grease can make. I take a picture and text it to Heather, who has been mostly MIA this week. Except for a few lewd texts threatening bodily harm if I didn’t finish the floors, I haven’t heard from her.
Hate to admit it, but I’m kind of disappointed she’s not here to see this. Figured we’d at least go out for drinks to celebrate—not that I was expecting (hoping) for a repeat of last weekend, but I guess she can’t be here at the same time as Uncle Robert. No doubt in my mind that he’d keep a secret, but this is too new and too bizarre to hold up under his scrutiny.
“Watcha thinking about?” I jump like a girl at the sudden sound of her voice. “Didn’t you hear my key in the lock? Sorry to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me.” My adrenaline spike quickly shifts from fear to something equally primal. She’s dressed to kill in denim cut-offs and a white lace tank top—the girl next door you wish would crawl in through your bedroom window. Her hair falls in soft waves that can only be the result of Alabama humidity.
“No? You always fall into a ninja pose when someone approaches? Here, I brought champagne to toast your new floors and a job well done.”
“Very kind of you. Let me hunt up some glasses.”
“You own champagne glasses?”
“Well, no, but it tastes the same in a high-ball glass.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’ll add champagne glasses to your next shopping list.”
“Listen, about that… I can’t keep spending money like crazy. I get what you’re trying to do, and agree I can’t keep living like a pauper out of a Dickens novel–”
“I was thinking disgusting bachelor.”
“Whatever. I get it, but landscaping doesn’t pay much and I’m supposed to submit a couple of compositions to a publisher Uncle Robert hooked me up with. With all this going on”—I motion to the smooth floor—“there hasn’t been time.”
“That’s why I came over tonight to tell you that after I supervise your furniture delivery tomorrow, you
’ve earned a little time off—though I was hoping to get you liquored up and have my wicked way with you.”
Briefly, I wonder if it would be rude to tell her I’d rather imbibe from her than the bottle she brought. “That can be arranged. Let me find those glasses.”
Still in a box on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet is the barware Dave and I had when we lived together in grad school. We both gravitated toward beer right out of the bottle, but the Southerner in me didn’t feel right drinking fine whisky out of a plastic cup, hence the lowball and highball glasses.
“So what will you do with all your free time? Can I trust you not to backslide?”
“After the delivery guys leave, Uncle Robert’s coming over for lunch. Playing my new compositions for him and showing him the arrangements. If all goes well, I’ll send them off to the publisher soon.”
She nods as she sips her champagne. “Good, good.”
“What’s on your mind, sweet pea?”
“Hm? Oh, just wondering when I should tell you the next part of my evil plan.”
“Kinda figured you weren’t doing this out of the kindness of your heart. This have anything to do with fighting fire with fire?”
“I said that, didn’t I? Then you already have an idea where we’re headed.” She knocks back the rest of her drink and holds out her glass for more. While I pour, she says, “I do hate to throw another platitude at you, but success really is the best revenge, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to see you stick it to Mama. Figuratively, of course.”
“Oh, God, that’s not even funny.”
“I know. Sorry. Anyway, the only reason she hasn’t come to finish you off is because she’s wounded. This divorce thing has got her scrambling to do damage control, but mark my words, when she recovers you’ll be the first target in her sights. Nothing would piss her off more than to see you all pulled-together and successful.”
“And you think I can be pulled-together and successful?”
“Why not? You’ve got a great motivator.”
“True, though I think of you more as a tiny slave driver.”
“I prefer the term dominatrix, but whatever,” she says.
“I never would have figured you as that type.”
“Oh, I’m not, really. I can just see what needs to be done and adjust. After a few years in the courtroom, you get pretty good at reading people and making them do and say what you want.”
Her admission is more effective than a slap in the face. After a few blinks I find my voice. “Is that what this is? Simple manipulation?”
“The word manipulation has a negative connotation,” she explains. “That’s not what I’m doing. Like I said before, I use my powers for good, not evil. If some part of you didn’t want to be manipulated, you’d never consent.”
Her last sentence echoes in my head. With each repetition, the words sink deeper and deeper until they find the guilt still buried under two months of shame. “Truer words were never spoken.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Your face just fell and your shoulders slumped. Stop it. It’s not the same thing. Well, maybe it is, but there’s nothing you can do to change what happened with her, and regret will get you nowhere.”
“It’s true. I knew Juli was manipulating me. Not on purpose, but she wanted something and she got it. And I consented. Boy, did I ever. The worst part is I don’t regret it. Regret that your Mama outed us the way she did, and to my dying day I’ll regret the way I reacted, but being with Juli? Never.”
A few beats too late it occurs to me that I’ve just admitted to still being in love with someone who is decidedly not the gorgeous blonde standing across from me, the one I hoped to strip bare and fuck into oblivion within the hour. If there’s a Fuck-Up Hall of Fame, enshrine me now.
Heather bursts out laughing. “I hope you never play poker. You couldn’t hide your hand from a blind man.”
“What the hell am I doing? I mean—what the hell? What is this? You waltz in here like you own the goddamn place, shave my dick, slap me on the ass, boss me around, force me to get my act together, and what do I do? Throw it in your face by talking about the one thing—the one person—I can’t have. God, what kind of man does that? Dave was right. There’s something wrong with me. Maybe I need to see a shrink. I’d rather let him shave my dick than talk about all this, but Jesus, something’s got to give.”
“Come with me.” She takes my sweaty hand in hers.
“Heather, I’m really not in the mood.”
“Shut up and follow me.”
And because I have no reply, no answers, nothing at all, I do as I’m told.
Chapter Seven
She leads me into the bathroom and turns on the tub faucet. The ancient pipes rattle to life, spewing questionable water into the porcelain tub. She lets go of my hand, grabs a bar of soap and swirls it in her hands under the tap, creating a scented layer of bubbles.
“Have you ever heard of immersion therapy?” She laughs when my eyes get big. “No, not that kind of immersion. I’m not going to hold your head underwater. It means you expose yourself to the thing you fear most in order to conquer it.”
“Okay…?”
“Don’t be so skeptical. Take off your clothes.”
“I told you I’m not in the mood.”
“I understand that. Just trust me, please?” Before I know it, my hand’s in my hair. I’ve caved before I even made up my mind. “Close your eyes,” she says.
Mortifying, that’s what this is. As she lifts my shirt over my head, I realize that every time she literally strips me bare, she strips away a little of the wall I’ve constructed. It’s like she sees right through the brick, laughs, and knocks it down one piece at a time. Not sure what she’ll find behind the wall. Not sure there’s anything left.
“Keep your eyes closed and relax,” she whispers. Without my eyesight, all my other senses jump to attention. The familiar smell of my soap mingles with Heather’s faint perfume. It’s not the same scent she wore in high school, but it suits the woman she is now. Small, soft hands slowly trace the muscles of my shoulders then glide down my back. She places a kiss between my shoulder blades that sends my pulse racing. This isn’t the naughty girl who writhed in my car last weekend.
Before I can analyze that further, two hands cup my ass and lightly squeeze. “Heather–”
“Shhh. Just relax. Clear your head.”
Slow hands unbutton my pants and slide them down. I step out, feeling like a small child. The air changes and I feel her move away. The faucet squeaks and a few final drops of water plink into the waiting water below. Next comes the rustling of clothes. I’d hoped to have the pleasure of taking them off for her, but asking now, after my admission in the kitchen, is ridiculous. Her soft breaths come closer until they land warm and sweet on my neck. She nuzzles it and leaves gentle kisses along my throat, down my collarbone, to the center of my chest. Something more powerful than mere lust lodges under her cheek when she lays it against my heart and wraps her arms around my waist.
“Heather–”
“No,” she whispers. “For the rest of the night, you’re going to pretend I’m Julianne. Shhh, it doesn’t have to be weird. I want to help you. Face the thing—or person—you fear most. It’s the only thing holding you back. Tell me what you’d tell her. Touch me like you’d touch her.”
A seed of anxiety begins to sprout, but it’s swept aside when her hands find the physical evidence of her ministrations. Need, sharp and consuming, overrides any reservations I have as the thought of touching Julianne again rips me to pieces.
Her hand rubs up and down through my underwear, tentative at first, like Juli would be. Without opening my eyes, I place a hand on her head and thread my fingers in what I imagine are inches of coarse red spirals. The need to be inside her is overwhelming, but the need to hold her again eclipses it.
“Juli–”
“Tell me, Isaac.”
“I need to count each of the freckles on your nose, to run my thumb over your cheek. I miss your fire. God, how I miss our arguments, the way you stick out your jaw when you think you’re right and can’t wait to put me in my place. Miss your relentlessness. It’s the only thing that kept me from completely shutting down last year.”
A hand tugs me toward the tub.
“You can open your eyes until we’re in. Then I want you to keep talking. Got it?”
Pain steals my words so I nod. Part of me is hollering that this is completely fucked up. The bigger part admits that I didn’t say nearly what I needed to when I had the chance at Uncle Robert’s. This may be the closest I’ll ever get.
The warm water is a welcome respite after long days and even longer evenings of hard work. She slips in, pulling my arms around her waist, and leans back, tucking her head into the crook of my neck and shoulder. I marvel at my legs bracketing hers, a study in male and female forms. So soft, so different.
“Close your eyes again. Relax.”
Instead of leaning back in the tub, I only want to hold her closer, gather her to me so I can inhale the heady fragrance of youth and innocence, the last of which I took from her.
“I want to know why—why you picked me out of everyone in the world. Tried so hard to keep my distance, shut you down and make you hate me, but you got through anyway. You’re so stubborn. Sometimes I wonder if you were the aggressor and I’m the victim, but then I feel so damn guilty because I’m a grown man who should’ve known better. Should have walked out the day of your recording.”
“Tell me about that. What changed?”
“You were so good, so damn good. You’d taken everything I taught you and made those pieces yours, like you were possessed. You reminded me so much of me that I feared you and worshipped you at the same time, but having those feelings was even scarier. Nothing good could come of them. Didn’t know about all your problems, but I knew you were broken, and if I didn’t know how to fix myself, there was no way I could put you back together.”
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