by Calinda B
“Maybe…but doesn’t it seem odd that I don’t remember them at ALL?”
“A bit,” Zuri said. We both looked at the pictures a minute longer. Finally, I thrust them into my purse and we left.
Chapter 10
Cam pulled his Range Rover into the parking lot of Whole Foods. He had agreed to do the grocery shopping for the week, since Chérie had to prepare for that damn god-awful event. He was starting to worry about Chér. She had been acting strange lately. Sure, she always talked to the cats as if they were having an actual conversation, but that’s one of the things he liked about her – her imagination. But there was something else going on. That conversation they had last night was an example.
Was she actually jealous of him? Worried he was interested in someone else? Why did she ask him if he was attracted to someone else? He made it clear, whenever he thought about it, that she was the one for him. No one else.
And all that talk about sex as fun. Michael, he was a nice enough guy, but to take anything he said about sex as gospel, well, that was just nuts. The guy was a sex machine. A dog when it came to the ladies.
It was true that he wished she would let go more in bed. He was lying when he told her that he wasn’t bothered by her tension in bed. It bothered him – a lot. But not for the reasons she probably thought. He just knew they would both enjoy it more if she would relax a little. Well, he could be patient. He cared for her and that was that. You didn’t give up on someone you cared for.
And she’d not been sleeping well, he could tell. Last night she had burst out of bed like a fucking firecracker. What the fuck was that about? And she came back to bed reeking of beer. That was not like her. She was a moderate drinker, if she was anything. He pushed the cart around the aisles, tossing in bread, veggies, cheese, pasta, and wine. Maybe he’d make her a nice dinner after this whole event was over with, like Sunday.
As he rolled the cart around the end-cap of the aisle, he ran into one of the guys from the group – Martin. The group maintained a strict code on anonymity out in the world, but Martin said hello and reached out to shake Cam’s hand.
“Cam, I want to thank you, man.”
“What for?”
“For putting up with my bullshit...I know I haven’t been very cooperative in the sessions, but I’ve been listening. And get this – last week a freaking homeless nut job held me up at gunpoint…at GUN POINT, bro. It scared the shit out of me, I swear to God. I gave him my wallet, and he bolted. But afterwards…afterwards it hit me – that must be how my wife feels, every damn day when I come in the door.”
Cam looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “Sounds like you had a revelation.”
“Yeah, like a visit from the Man Himself, and I don’t even believe. I went home and held my wife and wept like a baby…like a fucking baby. I told her how sorry I was to have hurt her and that I’m willing to work hard to change. I dunno, though. It might be too late.”
“Why is that?”
“I found divorce papers in her drawer the other day when I was looking for something.”
Cam interrupted him. “Looking for something or spying on her?”
“Okay, Okay.” Martin said sheepishly. “I was going through her things to spy on her. I wanted to know if she was having an affair.”
“Trust is the basis of any good relationship, Martin, you know that.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been too much of an asshole to trust anyone. Anyway…I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to try really hard to change in those groups, man. I’ve got to give it one last shot.”
“I’m glad for you…glad for your wife,” Cam replied. “Maybe you two can have a better relationship after all.”
“I hope so, bro, I hope so. She’s all I got.” With that, he hurried away.
Cam strode over to the checkout stand with new warmth in his heart. He had worked with the groups for a couple months now. Never had anybody shared any thought of changing or having done anything wrong for that matter. This was encouraging. Who was he kidding - this was fucking GREAT! Maybe he did make a difference in there. Then, he thought about Chérie. Maybe he could make a difference in his own life, with her. After hearing from Martin, he was inspired to change…for her, for him….even for those goddamned cats. With a smile, he dashed out of the store.
Chapter 11
When I opened my eyes Saturday morning, I groaned. It was the day of the Northwest Auction Gala fundraiser. I pulled the pillow over my head. Cam plucked the pillow off of my face and rolled on top of me.
“What’s the matter sleepyhead?” he said, smiling. His body was warm from sleep and had a faint odor of perspiration and musk. Usually the smell turned me on, but this morning I was super jumpy. He lowered his mouth on mine and sucked my lower lip. His tongue reached out to lick the corner of my mouth, then, probed deeper, urging mine to come out and play.
“Cam, wait,” I protested, twisting my head to the side.
“Wait for?” he said in a soft, low voice, nuzzling his nose up and down my cheek.
“Just a minute…really, wait.” I squirmed. I could feel his hardness stirring down below.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“I don’t know…maybe…I don’t know...”
“I could help you decide.”
Obviously, he was not interested in stopping his advances. I quit protesting and just lay there. He continued for a few more moments, and then rolled to the side of me when I failed to respond.
“Got it,” he said, “not interested.” He pushed the covers back and got out of bed, grabbing his pants off the floor. “Why don’t I go fix you some breakfast?”
I screwed my face into a grimace. Was he kidding? We always argued when I wasn’t interested…argued or got cold and distant, one or the other…sometimes both. “Wait, I’m sorry, come back.”
“You made it quite clear that you are not in the mood. I got it. I’m not about to force myself on you.”
“Yeah, but I was just being silly…come back.”
“No. You are not…in…the...mood. I am going to go make you breakfast. Now just relax, and let me do something for you that you might enjoy.”
I was suspicious of his kindness but agreed. “Okay. What are you going to make?”
“What would you like me to make?” he said, with a heartfelt smile.
This was kinda freaking me out, but I said, “um, pancakes…with blueberries….and Mountain…”
“…Mountain Tea Song tea,” he finished. “I KNOW you.”
Gosh, he was being nice. What was the matter with him? What was the matter with me for being distrustful?
As Cam traipsed down the hall, whistling, I got out of bed and started the shower. The water was brutally hot and sprayed out like little needles on my skin. I let it pummel me until my back was beet red. Then I washed my face, armpits, crotch, belly, and legs with minty shower gel, washed and conditioned my hair, and turned the water off. Toweling off my hair and tugging my robe around me, I bounced down into the kitchen.
“This smells wonderful,” I exclaimed. He strode over with a steaming hot cup of tea and commanded me to sit. He placed a napkin in my lap and a plate on the placemat in front of me. Then, he came back from the stove with a stack of blueberry pancakes and set it down in front of me. The butter dish and syrup were placed just within reach. There was a single strawberry, juicy red and glistening, perched to the side as a garnish.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice infused with genuine appreciation. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Are you implying that I am NOT nice?” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
“No...I am not saying that. But usually when I am not in the mood…well, we usually fight or something.”
“People can change, babe.” He grabbed a plate and piled it with pancakes for himself. Sitting next to me, he let his knee fall to touch mine. This all felt so intimate, I was at a loss for words. My leg started to work up and down like a sewing machine
needle. I forked a bite of pancake and chewed, letting the sweet, sticky syrup ooze down my throat. We ate in silence until our plates were clear. Then, Cam said, “Are you nervous about tonight, sweetheart?”
“Yes!” I said with a snap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out so sharp. I really, really, really don’t want to go. I have thought up all sorts of excuses to get out of it.”
“You’ll be fine. Z will be there, and I will be here when you get home. Don’t worry, babe.”
“I sure don’t trust Mr. Dallas – or Jill – for that matter.”
“You’ll be fine, Chér,” he said again. “What could possibly happen with all those people around? Look for Zuri in the audience if you get scared and remember that I will be home waiting for you.”
“If you say so…”
“Trust me – you’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen with all those people in attendance. You’ll be great.”
Cam was being so darn nice to me, so supportive, that I began to melt inside.
“Cam…” I said; my voice all timid and shy. I pushed my empty plate away from me.
“Yes?” His face lit up with that same tender smile he had been using all morning.
“We could…I mean, I could…I mean, if you wanted to, we could go back into the bedroom.”
“And what would we do there?” Clearly, he was not going to make this easy for me.
“We could…you know…what we started to do earlier. I guess I wasn’t ready.”
His languorous reply rolled off his lips. “Hmmm… what, exactly, did we start earlier? Refresh my memory.”
“Cam…you know what I am talking about.” I was getting uncomfortable trying to voice the words.
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Let’s see…was it when I got up and pulled my pants on?” he said, tracing the inside of my thigh with his warm hand.
“No…n-n-no, not that.”
“Was it when I asked you what you wanted for breakfast?” he said, brushing his fingers softly along the inside of my knee.
“Not that, either.”
“Hmmm, I need more clues,” he said thoughtfully, leaning in and circling the very tip of his tongue around my parted lips. “Maybe it was when I did this.” He again nuzzled my cheek with his nose. “Or maybe it was this,” he said, probing my mouth with his tongue. “Or maybe it was when I thought of doing this,” he said, pulling my robe open and circling my small breasts with his fingers.
“I think you are getting close,” I whispered, as he pulled me over to the couch.
“Am I? Well, then, I think I would like to get even closer,” he quietly replied.
“Okay…where would you like to go to get closer?”
“Hmmm…table’s too hard…let’s go over to the couch.”
Cam took my hand in his, and we headed over to a morning of pleasurable satisfaction.
Chapter 12
The big night finally arrived. I had kept myself busy throughout the day. I’d washed and dried the dishes after Cam left for work, did laundry, cleaned the cat bowls, scrubbed the toilet – anything to keep from thinking about the auction. When it was time to get ready, I’d taken another long, hot shower, re-washed my hair, shaved my legs, and even exfoliated my face. I took my time coaxing my hair into a smooth, shiny bob, with wispy bangs framing my face. It was only a matter of time before my hair chose to do its own thing, but at least I had a good start. Sliding my Vivienne Westwood Priestess asymmetrical dress up over my legs, I pushed my arms through the openings, and pulled up the zipper. I secured a gold belt around my waist. Scrutinizing myself in the mirror, I reached for an odd assortment of earrings to add that needed “quirk factor,” put just a touch of mascara on my lashes, and a dab of lip gloss, and I was ready. For what I did not know, but at least I looked alright.
Mac and Jack came by and rubbed my legs. “Protection?” I asked them.
Tonight especially, they thought at the same time.
I shook my head and moseyed to the front door. I took one last look at the house, pivoting in a big circle, looked skyward, and then scampered down the steps of the front porch to my car.
When I arrived at the community center, the parking lot was still quite empty. Guests would not arrive for a couple of hours. I parked behind the back and sat thinking – more like procrastinating – for several minutes. My stomach was in a twisted knot. I could feel a tension headache starting to build momentum in my temples. Despite Cam’s assurance that everything would be okay, I did not feel any optimism about tonight…only dread. Finally, I took a deep breath, got out of the car, and resolutely marched up to the community center. I opened the back door and slipped in. Jill was just inside the door, talking to Mr. Dallas in low, hushed tones. When they heard the door slam shut, they both looked over at me. Jill gave a disapproving stare. Mr. Dallas’ lips pressed into a tight line and he said, “Not what I would have chosen.”
Jill added, “We asked you to wear something RACY, Chérie. Something designed to attract. This thing looks like a bag.”
Mr. Dallas made a clucking noise with his tongue. “Yes, dear, a bit lower cut was what we had in mind. This will have to do,” he said with a sigh, pushing his lower lip into a pout. “Turn around.”
My stomach clenched, but I did as I was told.
“My, my, you do have a lovely figure. Jill, darling, I think she can pull this off.”
Jill was now his darling? What about her husband? I stood there, uncertain what to do next. Jill lumbered over and reached towards the front of my dress. I backed up.
“Hold still. I want to make this lower in the front.”
I backed up even further. Mr. Dallas shuffled over to assist. I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to defend myself. I was like a deer in the headlights, fixed in place as the car rushed towards me. I wanted these two to stop pawing me. What was the big deal, anyway? It was the auction items for sale, not me. People would buy that junk because they wanted to, not because I stood there looking like a dolled up dolt.
“Come here. Let me fix your dress.”
“My dress is f-f-f-f-fine, Jill, leave it alone,” I stammered. She moved in closer, extending her arm. As she did this, my skin seemed to ice over in alarm.
Just then someone called to Jill. “Mrs. Primcott, the phone is for you.”
She and Mr. Dallas both turned to see who was intruding on their merry play.
“You might want to come, too, Mr. Dallas, it’s the Mayor,” came the voice from around the corner. Hearing that the Mayor was on the line, they scurried away like two fat rats.
I continued to stand there, still frozen, unable to move. My rabbit-like fright had taken over. My mouth was dry. My palms were sweating. God, I felt exposed and humiliated. I looked down at the place where Jill had grabbed my dress and tugged the neckline up as far as I could. On the floor lay my bag. With furtive haste, I rooted around until I found my favorite sweater, a wooly black number that looked and felt like pure comfort. I pulled it around my shoulders and tracked into the back room.
In the room behind the stage, where speakers and performers typically prepared to go onstage, folding tables had been set up all around. The tables were lined with all of the items that would be held up and auctioned off. Each one had a huge number next to it. A woman with a clipboard marched in and looked at me. “Are you Chérie?” When I numbly nodded, she said, “Here, take this clipboard. It has all the names and numbers of the pieces you will need to hand to the MC – Mr. Dallas, is it?” Again, I nodded meekly. “Okay, then. Familiarize yourself with these items and the order they are in. Once the show starts, you will not have time to think. This is your time.”
I took the clipboard from her hands, eager to have a task to do. I sauntered around each of the tables, looking at all the odds and ends that people had donated for this event. There was an interesting painting of horses, faces in fury, as they made their way up a dry riverbed in a gallop. Their eyes were wild, li
ps curled back as they jostled about, and bodies gleaming with sweat. Some of them had their necks arched, thrust over the backs of the other horses. Others had their heads down low, as if in defeat. I knew what they felt like. Further down the table was a set of lamps – the kind my mother would die for. Not my taste. There was an envelope from a nearby travel agency. I pulled the contents half way out to find a certificate for a trip for two to Mexico. That could be cool. There was another for the Northgate Mall: a certificate for a shopping spree. That would be cool to purchase, too, if you got a great deal on it. I wandered about, looking at everything, picking up knife sets and Italian dinnerware sets, towels, paintings, and assorted bric-a-brac, wondering who would buy each piece. In the corner, was a brand new black Fisher Road bike with a fully carbon frame, built for the back roads. I could picture Cam and I flying through the trees on two of these. Good donation! I thought.
A half an hour before the show was to begin, I strode out to see the people milling about. Coming down the stairs at the side of the stage I saw Z, drink in hand. She saw me and waved. “Chér!” she yelled over the talkative guests.
I headed towards her until Mr. Dallas spotted me and came rushing over. His handkerchief was out, and he was dabbing at his dripping brow. Did that man ever have a sopping-free day? “This way, we need to go over the schedule. This is going to be a big event, and I have to make the right impression. The MAYOR is going to be here,” he said, puffing up his chest.
He turned, expecting me to follow. I looked over at Zuri, pointed to Mr. Dallas, and she nodded, pinching her nose between her fingers. Then she thrust out her tongue and aimed her index finger towards her throat. Next, her hands wrapped around her stomach, and she mock heaved. Those gestures made me laugh. I was glad she was here.
In the back room, Mr. Dallas fussed and fumbled over his script, telling me when to come on stage, how to hand him the auction items, how to pick them up again. He said I was to remain next to him at all times. I furrowed my brow and asked him how I could get the next auction piece if I had to stand there next to him. “Good point, good point.” He nodded his head up and down like a bobble head doll. “Okay, then, you’ll stand next to me, pause, and then go away to get the next piece. Now, go get the first one. We’re about to begin.”
