by P. G. Forte
“What about memorabilia? You must have boxes of stuff from all your movies.”
Amusement glimmered in Claire’s eyes. “Oh, but you know, Mike, those charity auctions do take their toll.” Then she shrugged. “Boxes? No. I did used to keep a scrapbook with my clippings and whatnot. And I suppose I might still have a box in storage, somewhere. But, you know, things tend to get lost when you move as much as I have. It’s an occupational hazard. Besides, I prefer clothes anyway. And shoes, of course.”
“Okay, but there had to be something about this house that you liked.” I suppose I was still hoping I could get some kind of insight into her mind. “What was it that made you choose it over... well, any of the other places you could have rented? When you first saw the place, what did you think of it?”
“Well, let’s see...” Claire swept the room with a thoughtful glance. “I think it was something along the lines of... this’ll do.”
“This will do?” I repeated, in disbelief. “That was it?”
Claire nodded. “Pretty much. Or maybe, this’ll do. For now.”
I felt myself frowning. There was something about that statement, something about the way she said it, that bothered me. Maybe because I couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way myself. Not about anything, really.
“Well, enough of this standing around,” Claire said, her eyes twinkling as she smiled at me. “I’m going to go change now, so why don’t you... oh, I dunno... make yourself at home? If that’s possible?”
“I will,” I said as I returned her smile. “Take your time.”
As I waited for her to return, I tried hard to dispel the disappointment I was feeling. There was so much about her I’d yet to learn, so much I wanted to know. Luckily, things improved over dinner.
I took her to Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. It’s the kind of place that’s popular rather than trendy with an emphasis on good food and good service. The kind of place where I knew we could sit and talk and get to know each other better.
The first thing I learned was that, contrary to all the preconceptions people tend to have about stars and their egos, this one really didn’t like to talk about herself. Not about herself, not about her career, not about her past. Especially not about her past.
“Oh, but that’s such old news,” she protested after humoring me for several minutes. “And not at all interesting. Honestly, Mike, if you really want to know this stuff, I’m sure it’s all been written up somewhere. You could just... look it up and read it sometime. Right now, I’d much rather talk about you.”
Talk about ‘not at all interesting’! “You’d be bored.”
She smiled at me from across the table. “I bet I wouldn’t either. I suspect you’re actually quite fascinating.”
Fascinating? I shook my head. “Now, Claire, you’re a very talented actress, but not even you can pull off a line like that and expect anyone to believe it.”
Her laughter was lyrical, musical and just loud enough to turn several heads. “I really do want to know more about you, Mike. Truly. Please?”
When she looked at me like that, when she used that voice and asked so sweetly, I could deny her nothing. And so we talked about me. And then we talked about other things. About everything. About food and wine. Places we’d traveled to, or lived in, or wanted to see someday before we died. And, finally, after I’d worn her down and slipped past all her defenses, we talked about her.
We lingered a long time over dessert and coffee and, with every word she spoke, I felt myself falling deeper and deeper in love. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything as lovely as she looked that night, with the lamplight gleaming in her hair and her eyes glowing.
When I could no longer put off the inevitable, I took her home. I walked her to her door and there, standing in the soft glow of her porch light, I wrapped my arms around her and let her kiss me. Bracing her hands on my arms, she went up on her toes and I closed my eyes to better revel in the sweet softness of her lips, the gentle hesitancy of her mouth on mine.
She broke off the kiss, at last, with a little sigh. Resting her head on my chest she asked, “You’re not coming in, are you?”
The wistful tone in her voice could have been an act. I knew it wasn’t. That, all by itself, was almost enough to compensate for the words I had to say. “I can’t. I have to get back to Zoe. If I come in now, I won’t be able to make myself leave until morning.”
She nodded, saying nothing.
After a moment I asked, “Can I call you?”
“You have to, remember? You were going to tell me when you can come back next week and finish up.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “I know I’m free next Thursday afternoon, so why don’t I just make it then? Same time as usual, okay?”
“Sure.” She angled her head to the side and glanced up at me. “So, I guess, when you asked if you could call me, you must have meant... socially?”
I nodded. And then waited for what seemed an eternity while she appeared to ponder the matter.
”Yes,” she said at last, speaking slowly, clearly, making that single word sound so very, very serious. She waited a beat and then added, “Now, that wasn’t too vague, or anything, was it?”
Smiling, I pulled her close for another kiss. “No. Not too vague at all.”
I’d wait until Saturday, I decided, right there on the spot. One day, so as not to seem too eager. One day to wait, this time, not fourteen. And then, if I was lucky, we’d have almost the whole weekend, two full days, to share together. Two days of heaven.
* * * *
Claire
“Talk to me, Claire,” Derek said Saturday morning. He’d come to my office to discuss changes to the upcoming schedule, which was not unusual. But then he’d stayed to chat, something he hadn’t done in quite awhile. “What’s new with you?”
I hid my surprise at the question as best I could. “Nothing much. Same old, same old, really. Why do you ask?”
Derek shrugged. “It’s just... well, it’s been great seeing you get back into things in the last few weeks. Exercising. Working out. You’re looking more like your old self these days.”
“Exactly which ‘old self’ would that be?”
For just an instant, Derek looked uncomfortable. “You know. More like before. Like you were when we first--Well, like you were when I first met you.”
“You mean before you tortured me into shape with your endless asanas?” I teased. I wondered if he was feeling slighted because I’d been avoiding his classes.
“No, I mean happy.”
I stared at him. “Derek... I’m happy.”
He nodded. “That’s what I said. And I’m happy for you. But...”
I waited. “But?”
Derek sighed. “It’s just--You and the accountant, Claire? That’s a little random, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know why,” I answered, feeling suddenly defensive.
“Well, for starters, he doesn’t seem like your usual type.”
“Maybe that’s because I don’t have a usual type. Come on, Derek, you know how much I like variety. Mike and I are friends. I had dinner with him. End of discussion.”
“Dinner?” Derek’s smile turned sardonic. His eyes bored into mine with that annoying all-seeing, Secrets-of-the-Mystic-East kind of way he likes to affect at times. “Well, good. ‘Cause I’m sure you needed it. I’m sure you and your friend worked up quite an appetite while he was here.”
It was a struggle to keep my mouth from dropping open. Derek knew about that? No. He couldn’t. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what you think it means,” Derek replied dryly. “I’ve been your friend too, right?”
Oops. “Does everyone know?” It shouldn’t bother me if they did. No, it didn’t bother me. Not really. But still, that was not the image I was trying to project right now.
Derek shrugged. “Probably not. No one’s saying anything about it. If they were, I would have heard it. But I
know you better than most of the others do. Besides,” A look of distaste curled his lips. “The guy was looking too smug for me to think anything else.”
I nodded. “I noticed that too. Like the cat that ate the canary, right?” And I still don’t know why.
Derek’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, I’m not sure which of you was the canary in that scenario but yeah, kinda like that.”
Which of us was the canary? What the... oh. As Derek’s entendre hit home, Mike’s reply the other day suddenly seemed a lot less cryptic. Close. Right. He hadn’t eaten a canary, but--Wow, color me stupid for having missed that one!
To cover my confusion, I went into character. I’d been playing a vamp for over half a lifetime--both on and off screen. Leaning back seductively in my chair, I let my gaze turn smoky. “Now, Derek,” I purred in lecherous tones, “You know that’s always been my favorite part.”
Derek’s reaction was just what I hoped it would be. A carnal grin lit up his face just as the phone on my desk began to ring. “That so? And here I always thought your favorite part was when I...”
“Hold that thought,” I said, waving him to silence as I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Good morning, beautiful lady.” Mike’s voice poured through the phone like a river of dark, melted chocolate, coating each and every nerve I had with sweet, sweet longing. “What are you doing?”
I smiled. Oh, if only I’d been alone. I knew just what my response to his question would have been then. My hand would already be reaching between my legs. I’d be closing my eyes and murmuring dark words back to him. Between us we’d spin out a lush, forbidden fantasy...
But I wasn’t alone. Was I?
I cleared my throat. “Actually, I’m kind of in a meeting right now.” Angling my chair so that I was no longer face to face with Derek, I asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, I was just wondering--I mean, if you’re not doing anything, I thought--Would you like to go out tonight?”
He couldn’t be serious? I felt like someone had just thrown a glass of ice water in my face. Tonight? As in last minute, no advance notice, aren’t you glad I called because you couldn’t possibly have had anything else planned for this evening? That tonight? I don’t think so.
“Mmm, no, sorry, I’m afraid that timing doesn’t work for me. I have a prior engagement.”
“Okay, how about tomorrow then?”
I gritted my teeth. “Still not so good.” Even with my back to him, I’d swear I could feel Derek’s I-told-you-so grin mocking me. Damn him for putting ideas in my head. I mean, what was the big deal? So Mike called at the last minute, isn’t that exactly the kind of thing friends did? But, smug, Derek had called him and that’s just how it felt to me now too. Mike was acting way too sure of having me. My own fault, of course, but still not acceptable. “My weekend is all booked up.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in Mike’s voice was palpable. “That’s too bad.”
I found myself nodding agreement. It really was too bad, because I did want to see him. “I could maybe make time on Tuesday,” I said, relenting a little. There was no point in spiting myself altogether.
“After work?”
“Mm-hm. That sounds about right.”
“Great. So, did you want me to come by and pick you up there, or...?”
“Why don’t you call me Tuesday morning? We’ll discuss details then. I can’t really talk right now.”
“You really are in a meeting, aren’t you?” The surprise in Mike’s voice made me laugh.
“Of course I am. Didn’t I say so?”
“Yes, but I thought...” Mike’s sigh was audible even over the phone. I could just imagine him shaking his head. “Okay. I’m sorry. Never mind what I thought. Is everything okay?”
“Certainly. Everything’s fine.”
“Okay then, I guess... I guess I’ll talk to you Tuesday.”
“Sounds good,” I murmured, spinning my chair back to face the desk. “Bye now.”
I returned the phone to its holder and looked up to find Derek observing me quietly.
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m still waiting for you to tell me what’s up with you and the accountant.”
“His name’s Mike,” I snapped, irritated with both of them, and myself as well. “You know that as well as I do. Quit calling him ‘the accountant’. You make him sound like some kind of second-rate mob enforcer.”
Derek smirked, but said nothing.
“Why the sudden interest in my sex life, Derek? No, don’t tell me. Trouble in paradise? Already? Or are you just annoyed that I’ve found someone to replace you?”
A dull red stained Derek’s cheekbones as he stood, signaling our little chat was at an end. At least I’d shut him up, though not for long.
“Cheap shots, Claire,” he muttered, obviously trying to rein in his anger. He shook his head sadly. “I was just looking out for you, all right? I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Again. He didn’t say that, but he might as well have. I nodded, accepting the sentiment, even if it was a little late in coming. Our affair had ended amicably. That didn’t mean the breakup had been painless, it just meant I’d never admit to the fact. As a face saving strategy, I thought it worked well for both of us. And I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to spoil things by arguing with him about it now.
I smiled, willing to forgive and forget. “I appreciate that, Derek. I do. I just don’t understand the reason for your concern.”
“Why wouldn’t I be concerned, Claire? I’m your friend. And I know you. You’re not as tough as you like to pretend.”
Oh, please. “How tough do I have to be, Derek? He’s an accountant. You know what they’re like.”
Derek sighed. “Okay. Whatever. You’ll do what you want, I guess. Just remember, I’m here if you need me.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, really meaning it. “For everything.”
After Derek left, I thought about what he’d said. Yes, he knew me, but not nearly as well as he thought he did. Our affair had been fun. I’d loved being seen with him, loved the boost it gave my battered ego to know I could still attract someone that young, that desirable. Someone who didn’t view me as simply a convenient vehicle to advance his career. We’d been ‘friends with benefits’. Maybe that was all he wanted from our relationship or maybe it was all he’d been able to offer. Either way, I told myself it didn’t matter because that was all I wanted too--not just from him, but from anyone.
After six failed marriages, I was through with getting serious. It was a good idea, marred by just one fatal flaw: I hadn’t really meant it. I hadn’t yet learned my lesson. I hadn’t yet learned to stay detached. Now, I had.
Chapter Eight
Mike
I had just finished dinner Saturday evening and was clearing up in the kitchen when my phone rang. Afraid it might slip through my wet hands, I tucked it against my shoulder while I finished drying them. I nearly dropped it anyway when the sound of Claire’s breathy murmur reached my ears. “Michael. What are you doing?”
“I--uh, hi,” I replied, stammering as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m, I’m well, I’m washing dishes, actually.”
“Oh.” Silence. And then, “So, um...are your hands all slippery wet now?”
I felt myself frown. “What?”
“Are your hands wet,” she repeated slowly, emphasizing the last word. “You know, slick and dripping with... soap?”
“Uh, no, not--I just dried them, why?”
More silence, this one followed by a heavy sigh. “Okay, let’s try this again. What are you wearing?”
Did she just--What am I wearing? “What are you wearing?” I asked cautiously.
“I... am wearing... a gown,” she answered slowly, her voice ripe with suggestion. “A loooong, white gown made of very soft, sheer silk.”
“Are you?” I asked, blinking in astonishment. Had she really called just to seduce me over
the phone?
“I am. And, mmmm, I wish you could feel how soft it is, how... sheer.”
Smiling now, I took the bait, “How sheer is it?”
“Oh, so very sheer, Mike, you can’t imagine. It’s like the softest, sheerest, tissue-thin fabric in the world, and, I think, if it got even the slightest bit wet...”
“What would happen? Would it turn invisible?”
“Oh, yessss. I’m so afraid it would.”
“Ahh.” Clutching the phone in my hand now, I braced my other fist on the counter and closed my eyes, the better to imagine it. Phantom Claire shimmered into view, a seductive smile on her face. “Claire?”
“Yes, Michael?”
“I’ve just put my hands back into the sink.”
“Have you?”
“Yes,” I said, elaborating on the lie. “I accidentally dropped the towel into the water while we were talking and when I reached in to get it my hands got wet, all over again.”
A soft sigh escaped her. “Uh-oh.”
“Come closer,” I whispered. “Let me feel your gown. I want to see how soft it is.”
“It’s so soft, Mike, but your hands--if you touch me now...”
“Where, Claire? Where should I touch you?”
“My breasts,” she answered promptly. “If you put your hands on my breasts...”
“Are you imagining it? How does it feel when I do that? Tell me.”
“Sooo good. But, ohhh, I can feel the water soaking right into the front of my gown.” She gave a startled gasp. “Oh, no, it’s all wet! You can see...”
“Everything, can’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see your nipples through the wet fabric?”
“They look like they’re about to poke right through the material. They’re so hard.”
“They’re dark against the white fabric, aren’t they? I bet they look like little pebbles. I can’t help but run my fingers across the front of your gown to feel them, standing so stiffly at attention.”
