“Whatever it is, it'll blow over, I promise,” Marcie said, nearly in tears herself.
“No, it won't.” Sasha blew her nose again, as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “It's Liam,” she finally confessed, as Marcie stared at her in confusion.
“Liam?” What did he have to do with it? Marcie couldn't figure it out. “Does she know him?” How did he get into the fight? It was definitely confusing.
“Better than she wanted to the other night. He was staying with me in Southampton.” That still didn't explain it to Marcie, but she looked sympathetic as Sasha tried to fill her in, as best she could.
“And they got in a fight?”
“She called him, and me, every name in the books. Whore, slut, gigolo, bastard. That was just the beginning.”
“My God, what happened?” Marcie looked appropriately shocked.
Sasha looked at her long and hard. She trusted her. She had known her for years, and loved her. She hadn't wanted to share this with anyone yet, if ever, but she needed to now. “She walked in on us in Southampton. I had no idea she was going to use the house. We were in bed. She walked in. We thought she was an intruder. Liam walked out of the bedroom stark naked with a fireplace poker, and damn near hit her on the head. After that, all hell broke loose.”
“Liam? What was Liam doing in your bedroom?” Marcie looked blank, and Sasha laughed through her tears.
“For heaven's sake, Marcie, what do you think he was doing in my bedroom? Believe me, Tatianna figured it out. Particularly as he was standing there naked, and she had a date with her, and was obviously planning to do the same thing we were, and have been doing for six months, give or take. We've stopped seeing each other once or twice. I'm sure this won't help.”
“You and Liam?” Marcie looked like Sasha had hit her on the head with the poker. “You and Liam?”
“Does it sound as bad as that?” Sasha looked mortified again. The past three days had been the most humiliating of her life. And now Marcie looked shocked, and Sasha was sorry she'd told her.
“Bad? Are you kidding? If I could land a guy like him, I'd be a believer forever. He's gorgeous, talented, and nice. What else do you want? What does she want? Maybe she's jealous.”
“She's not jealous. She hates him. She doesn't like artists, she's met so many crazy artists over the years, she thinks they're all flaky, and most of the time she's right. So is he sometimes. But I'm in love with him, and he says he's in love with me. And now Tatianna wants to kill him, and she'll probably never speak to me again.”
“Of course she will. Why have I not been able to figure this out?” Marcie said, feeling stupid. “How blind and dumb am I?”
“We've been trying to keep it quiet, until we figure it out ourselves. It's actually been working very well now since April, but that's only three months.”
“What are you afraid of?” Marcie asked her gently. Sasha had shared private matters with her before, and she always gave her employer wise counsel.
“Are you kidding? He's twelve years old. I look like his mother, and I don't want to be one, except to my own children.”
“First of all, you don't look like his mother, you don't even look old enough to be Xavier's mother, or Tatianna's, and secondly, all men are babies, and every woman in the world ends up mothering them. If you don't, they run off with someone else who will.”
“Or another twelve-year-old. I don't want to fall in love with a man who is going to run off with a twenty-year-old ten years from now. It could happen.”
“Is he like that?” Marcie looked worried.
“Who knows? I don't think so. He was married for twenty years before he screwed it up pretty stupidly. But he's also irresponsible as hell … as he puts it, he's a wacky artist.” Although less so lately. “I never thought I'd fall in love with a man nine years younger than I am, and one of my artists. This is like poetic justice, or God's irony, or some kind of joke or something. I had the most respectable life in the world with Arthur, and now I have fallen in love with an overgrown boy, and my whole life is upside down. And Tatianna may never speak to me again.”
“If she doesn't, I'll spank her for you myself. She'll get over it. The whole scene was probably just a shock. For everyone.” Sasha smiled ruefully as she looked at her friend. It was beyond description.
“We were both standing there naked, Liam holding the poker, while she screamed insults at us, and her date looked like he wanted to crawl under the rug, and who could blame him? I slapped her, she slapped me back. I've never laid a hand on her before, and never will again. It was something right out of a bad movie. Here I am, with my younger lover, in her father's bed, as she put it, and we're both standing there naked. My God, Marcie, how much worse could it get?”
“Not much,” Marcie conceded with a grin. “But think of it this way. He could be old, fat, bald, ugly, and over the hill, and then think of what he would have looked like standing there naked, holding the poker. If you ask me, you're goddamn lucky it's him. Listen, you've been single for about ten minutes. I've been single all my life, and probably always will be, not because I love it so much, but because there's no one out there. There are either bitter divorced guys paying alimony they resent all women for, screwed-up widowers who think their dead wives were perfect and have forgotten how much they hated them when they were alive, and you can never in a million years measure up to them, there are commitment phobics, drunks, druggies, mean guys, abusers, guys who hate women, guys who are secretly gay, and others who are openly gay and want to wear your dresses, there are boring ones who aren't worth the trouble, guys who smell bad, look bad, are bad, and old guys who can't get it up even with Viagra. I haven't found a guy I could fall in love with in ten years, and I haven't gotten laid in three. I long ago gave up the idea of being in love with the guys I sleep with, or having them be in love with me. Because if I hold on to my principles, which used to be so important to me, then for sure I'm never going to get laid again, and I might not anyway. It sure looks that way. So you're worried about a nine-year age difference with a gorgeous, talented, nice guy you're in love with and who's crazy about you? Tell Tatianna to put a sock in it and get over it. If you don't, I will.”
It was quite a speech, and Sasha knew it was heartfelt. Marcie was a wonderful woman, not beautiful, but nice looking, decently dressed, a dozen pounds overweight, though nothing one couldn't live with. She was intelligent, well educated, and well paid, and one of the nicest people Sasha had ever known. She also knew that Marcie hadn't had a man in her life in years. There was nothing wrong with her, she just couldn't find one. And no one had bothered or tried to find her. There were a lot of women like that, they both knew, in all walks of life, at every social level, and at every age. People couldn't seem to find each other anymore, which was why computer dating had become so appealing. Sasha had urged Marcie to try it several times, but she was too scared. Sasha wasn't totally convinced she was wrong. Meeting up with strangers on the Internet sounded dangerous to her. What she was saying to Sasha was sensible, and Sasha knew she meant well. She thought Sasha was the luckiest woman in the world to have Liam, and he was the luckiest man to have her. And if Tatianna didn't like it, then too bad for her. Marcie looked incensed when she heard the things Tatianna had said to her mother.
“You really don't think it's shocking that I'm nine years older?” Sasha asked cautiously, still looking sheepish. She was grateful to know that Marcie approved.
“He's not twenty-two, for God's sake. He's legal, he's grown up. He's got kids. You two look the same age. And besides, these days lots of people seem to be doing it. After a certain age, it seems to make sense. You've had a respectable marriage, you've had your kids. You're not looking for the same things now that you were twenty-five years ago. All you need is someone you can have a good time with, who treats you right, and with whom you have something in common, whatever it is. And you two certainly do. You don't have to be together every minute, you don't have to live togeth
er if you don't want to. Or you can, if you do. You can have your own lives, your own friends, and get the best out of what you share in between. It sounds great to me. And listen, if you don't want him, I'll take him. He's only three years younger than I am. I'd be happy to suffer the humiliation of going out with him. In fact, I'd be thrilled.” Sasha was no longer crying as she listened to her. She was smiling. Marcie had made her feel that everything was okay, and would be. It made her realize how lucky she was to have him, and how little it was probably going to shock most people. Everything Marcie said made sense. To hell with the nine years. If he was a wacky artist, she could deal with that. Besides, he was behaving perfectly these days.
“What am I going to do about Tatianna?” Sasha asked her, looking serious again.
“Nothing. Just let her cool down. She obviously felt you betrayed her father. You know how crazy she was about him. She thought he walked on water. He was a wonderful man, but let's face it, Sasha, he's gone, sad as that is, and he isn't coming back. I have a feeling that he'd be relieved to know you're happy, if you are. He was one of the nicest men I've ever met. I don't think he'd want you to be alone. Tatianna just has to grow up, and get over it. Give her some space for a while, she will. She can't fight this battle forever.” Although Sasha knew she could be stubborn, and her loyalty to her father could be blind, fierce, and unlimited. It had been in her teens. And now that he was gone, she loved him even more. It was her way of holding on to him. But giving her space was not a bad idea.
“I've left her a million messages. She won't return or take my calls.”
“Then leave her alone. She may be embarrassed about what she said. She should be. How did Liam survive the ordeal?”
“Very graciously,” Sasha said. “He was very understanding about it. She called Xavier, and he called us on Sunday morning. He was incredibly sweet to both of us. He loves Liam, they're friends, which is how I met him in the first place. He's been trying to calm Tatianna down. Xavier, not Liam. Liam is scared to death of her now, which is going to complicate things even more. It must have been a hell of a shock to him.”
“Make nice on him, he'll be fine.” Half an hour later, after they'd finished talking, he walked into her office, and when Marcie saw him pass her desk, she looked up and smiled. She wanted him to at least feel welcome there. He'd had a tough weekend.
“Hi, Liam,” Marcie said with a friendly wave. He returned the smile, looking grateful.
“Hello, Marcie,” he said, as he walked into Sasha's office and closed the door, with a worried look. “How did it go today?” he asked as he kissed her.
“Fine.” She didn't tell him about her talk with Marcie. That was girl talk, but it had reassured her a great deal.
“Did you hear from Tatianna?” He had worried about it all day, while he hung out with friends in Tribeca.
“No. I think I'll just let her cool off for a while.”
“Good idea.” He was impressed by how sensible Sasha was being. She looked like she had calmed down a lot since that morning. “I got baseball tickets for tonight. How does that sound?” He wanted to make her feel better, it was all he could think of to distract her.
“Wonderful.” She looked up at him and smiled. She would rather have gone to a movie, or had a quiet dinner somewhere with him, or even a noisy one at La Goulue, but she knew how much baseball meant to him, and she was happy to do it for him. After talking to Marcie, she was more grateful than ever to be with him, and to have him in her life.
At forty-nine, she knew from other women that there just weren't a lot of men out there for her. The options Marcie had described, or the lack of them, sounded comical, but they were real. Liam was wonderful and the proverbial needle in the haystack, and she was going to hang on to him whether her daughter liked it or not.
Chapter 15
Liam and Sasha spent the Fourth of July weekend in Southampton. It was blazing hot and sunny every day. They cooked, went out to dinner, lay on the beach, swam, and on the Fourth they were invited to a big party that night. It was a barbecue given by people she knew, but not well, and they both agreed it sounded like fun. She had accepted, and at six o'clock that night they went, in jeans and T-shirts and sandals, just as the invitation said. She had bought them both red, white, and blue bandanas, and they tied them around their necks. He smiled when he looked at her as they went out. He said he was the happiest he'd ever been.
“Now we look like twins,” he commented, which was funny. He was as fair as she was dark, he was tall, she was tiny, and she was beginning to forget about their age. Marcie and Xavier had both helped a lot, giving her their approval and support. She hadn't heard from Tatianna since their horrifying encounter in Southampton the week before. Sasha was still letting her cool off.
There were two hundred people at the party, long tables of food, a giant barbecue, line dancers to entertain everyone, and a tent filled with carnival games. Everyone was having a ball, and so were they.
They were sitting next to each other on a log, eating hamburgers and hot dogs, when Sasha realized for the first time that Liam was slightly drunk. Not disgustingly so, but just enough to be slightly out of control. Halfway through dinner, he said he was hot, took off his shirt, and threw it in the fire, with a grin at Sasha. The uncontrollable boy in him began to emerge, and as the night wore on, it got worse. Much worse. She tried to get him to go home with her, but he insisted he was having fun and wanted to stay. By then he was too drunk to notice she wasn't enjoying herself at all. He had started out with rum punch, switched to beer, and then wine with dinner. Afterward someone suggested he try a mojito, and she was horrified to watch him down three of them, without pausing for breath. By then, he was truly smashed. Worse yet, she wasn't. She was cold stone sober, and getting more upset by the minute, which he didn't notice either. He was having too much fun.
The line dancers came back on then, he leaped up to the dance floor and grabbed one of them, the youngest and the prettiest of course, and proceeded to do a sexy dancing act on the dance floor, while the girl he was dancing with got into it and unzipped his jeans. They did nothing more exotic after that, but that was enough for Sasha. She could see the looks of amusement and disapproval all around her, and when he walked back to her afterward, he zipped up his jeans, kissed her hard on the mouth in front of everyone, and grabbed her bottom in both hands, which left nothing to anyone's imagination as to what their relationship was. She had introduced him prior to that as one of her artists visiting from London.
“What's the matter, baby?” he asked her, looking bleary and slurring his words. She was ready to kill him, and all she wanted to do was leave. It hadn't been lost on her that the girl he'd been dancing with looked like she was in her teens, and was probably no more than twenty, younger than her daughter.
“I want to go home, Liam,” she said quietly. She didn't want to lose her temper with him, but she didn't want to stay either. He was out of control, and getting worse by the minute. He ordered a screwdriver then, and she took it away from the waiter when it came.
“What are you doing?” he asked her, trying to grab for it. But sensing what was happening, the waiter just put it back on the tray and disappeared.
“You've had a lot to drink already. I think it's time to go home.”
“You can't tell me what to do,” he said, lurching as he stood before her. He nearly fell into her arms, and then tried to get amorous again. She gave him a quelling look, but there was obviously no getting him to leave. He was having a ball. “I'm not your child,” he said, as he put an arm around her shoulders.
“Then don't act like one,” she said in an undertone.
He was behaving like a juvenile delinquent, or at the very least, a drunk.
“You can't control me,” he repeated, and she nodded, as people continued to glance at them and then look away. She heard one man comment that Liam was going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, while another laughed. She knew them both. They were friends of Art
hur's, which didn't help.
“Liam, I'm tired, I want to go home,” she said, pleading with him.
“Then take a nap. You can wait in the car. I want to party. I'm having a hell of a good time.” He lurched forward again and, much to her horror, disappeared into the crowd. She found him again, sitting astride the horse they were using to pull the hayride. The horse was getting skittish, and the handler was asking him to get off, to no avail. He had completely stopped the ride, as people around them watched. It finally took three men from the catering staff and the host to get him off. He had been shouting “Yippee-kie-yay!!!” while kicking the horse. She wanted to kill him.
Their host helped her get him back to the car. He passed out in the front seat, and she drove him home. She couldn't wake him up when they got there, and she left him to sleep it off in her car. She felt him slip into bed with her at seven o'clock the next morning. When she got up at nine, he was dead to the world. He didn't come downstairs till noon, wearing dark glasses and complaining about how bright the sun was. She said nothing as she sat in the kitchen and read the paper, while he poured himself a much-needed cup of coffee. He came to sit down next to her a few minutes later, and she finally looked up and said good morning. Her tone was like ice.
“That was quite a party last night,” he said, trying to sound casual as she stared at him. “I guess I had a lot to drink, judging by the size of my hangover today.” He laughed. She didn't.
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