Widow on the Loose

by Stevie MacFarlane

  She was Mrs. George Wellington, Claire Wellington, benefactress, one of the beautiful people New York chewed up and spit out on a regular basis. Taking another drag, she looked down at her sweatpants and tank top and laughed. God, she needed a pedicure, she thought noticing the chipped paint on her toenails. And a manicure she noted, as she put her smoke out in a potted plant.

  “Sorry, kid,” she said to the thriving ficus. “That’s just how life is. One minute you’re decorative and valued, and the next you’re somebody’s ashtray.”

  “Thanks for going out to smoke,” Travis said, not looking up from the paperwork in his hand. “I appreciate it, although I wish you’d quit.”

  “I guess we’re all entitled to wish for things,” she sighed, sinking onto the couch and putting her bare feet on the coffee table. He never looked at her, just turned over a page. His long legs were extended and the trousers he’d worn all day still had a perfect crease. The cuffs of his crisp white shirt were still rolled up, reminding her why she couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Black framed glasses sat near the end of his nose as he studied whatever was more important than her.

  He was still a very attractive man, she realized as her eyes traveled over him, other than having two different colored socks on. She snorted.

  “What?” he asked looking up.

  “Nothing.”

  “Claire, have you thought about what you’re going to do?” he asked as he set his paperwork aside and leaned slightly forward.

  “There’s not much I can do,” she replied. “You control my money and, therefore, me. But that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” she accused.

  “No, I wanted you to control yourself,” he sighed.

  “Why did you ask me to marry you all those years ago?” she asked seriously. “If I was so horrible, why did you ask? You never approved of me.”

  “That’s not true. At one time I loved you, very deeply.”

  “Sure you did,” she said with a derisive laugh.

  “Believe what you want,” he snapped. “The important thing is where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go, Travis and you know it,” she hissed, sitting up. “You’ve arranged that quite nicely. I have no money, no apartment, and very few friends left. For some strange reason, the friends I had have all changed their numbers or seem to be otherwise occupied when I call. Apparently being a widow puts a crimp in your social calendar,” she drawled rising to her feet.

  “You’re very beautiful, Claire, and very wealthy,” he said softly. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re a temptation they’d rather not have around their husbands?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she shot back as she walked to the enormous glass doors and looked out. “I was a faithful wife. I never strayed, never even thought about it even though most of my friends had their little flings on the side. Why would they assume I would change now?”

  “You were like them. They know what they’d do if they were in your shoes.”

  “That’s appalling, and… shallow.”

  “Yes, it is,” he answered.

  “And you think I’m the same; shallow, spoiled, thoughtless,” she accused.

  “You haven’t given me reason to think differently,” he stated simply. “I loved George. He was like a brother to me, but I’m not blind to what he did.”

  “Don’t you dare say one word against him,” Claire growled, turning to face him, her hands clenched into tight fists.

  “It’s not all his fault,” Travis conceded, rising to his feet. “Believe me, there’s enough guilt to go around.”

  “Maybe there is,” she hissed, “but none of it’s George’s.”

  Travis stuck his hands deep in his pockets and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

  “Do you even remember what you were like, Claire? God, I was crazy about you,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought you were the sweetest, the most kindhearted and generous girl I’d ever met. You wanted to teach young children,” he recalled with a smile.

  “I remember asking you once why you wanted to surround yourself with snotty-nosed, dirty hand kids and you laughed. You said ‘because I can shape their minds,’ ‘that they were washable.’ You came on campus like a breath of fresh air, so far removed from those other girls, I couldn’t see anyone else. You were going to make your mark on the world, one child at a time. I admired you,” he admitted, staring past her at the city.

  “My field seemed so impersonal. Facts and figures don’t change, ah but your figure, now that was inspiring,” he smiled. “I wanted to toss you over my shoulder and run so no one else could even look at you. Everywhere you went, people smiled when you walked into the room. So friendly, so unspoiled, you drew others to you, always making sure to include the ones on the sidelines, pulling them into the conversation, making them welcome.

  “In those days being near you was like being around an effervescent drink. Claire Tracey was intoxication on steroids. Your bubbly personality, wit and quick smile kept me near you long after I knew it was hopeless,” he said sadly. “What a fool I was. You wanted to change the world and I wanted to be the one to help you, the one by your side making sure no one took advantage of you, or hurt you. The one to protect you. Little did I know that within a few years it would be others that would need protection from your sharp tongue,” he said with a harsh laugh. Looking at her he couldn’t fail to see the stricken look on her face as one hand held her tummy.

  “Claire, I’m sorry,” he offered, holding out his hand in supplication.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said as a tear trailed down her cheek. “Sorry I’m such a disappointment to you, sorry I’m such a pathetic wretch of a person,” she sniffed wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “I’ll only stay until I figure out what to do next,” she said, lifting her chin. “Believe me, I want to be here even less than you want me to be.”

  “Claire, please,” he said, taking a step toward her.

  “No, don’t you touch me,” she cried, backing away. “It’s obvious you have little to no genuine feelings toward me. George would have been smarter to choose a total stranger to look after me. At least then he wouldn’t…” She sobbed as she ran from the room.

  Travis started after her but stopped when she slammed the bedroom door. Running his hand through his hair, he walked out onto the balcony. Maybe she was right. At least a stranger would only know the Claire Wellington of today and not be constantly comparing her to a woman who no longer existed.

  Tomorrow he would call a realtor and have them start looking for an apartment for her. She couldn’t stay with him, not for long anyway. As much as it galled him to admit it, he still wanted her. Not in the way he had. Claire had tumbled off the pedestal a long time ago, but he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to hers. If she hadn’t been on the phone to 911, he might have taken that spanking farther, much farther. Having her sweet little butt over his knees, slapping it until she begged him to stop had been strangely satisfying. He wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t do it again if she gave him any trouble, and Claire giving him trouble was a certainty.

  No, it was best to get her out from under his nose. He’d make sure there was a clause stating she couldn’t sell the apartment without his approval and she’d have to learn to live within her means. They would have little to no contact, he’d keep his hands off her and life would go on as long as she didn’t find herself involved with another scumbag. If that happened, he wasn’t making any promises.

  ***

  Claire and Travis fell into an uneasy pattern. He put money in her account for necessities and she was able to take care of her personal needs. When her monthly allowance was deposited, she bought herself some jeans, tees and a hoody looking for anonymity as she moved about the city. She became quite a wanderer, watching young mothers in the park, window shopping and stopping at small mom and pop places to grab a coffee or a sandwich. For some strange reason, she wanted to blend in with the bustling city a
nd more than once she avoided people she’d once considered friends.

  Travis was at home most nights, but she steered clear of him if she could. If she couldn’t, she avoided any meaningful conversation and when he realized she wasn’t going to answer his questions about what she had done with her day, he followed suit.

  The deep hurt she felt when she acknowledged he practically despised her grew into anger and she became even more distant, if that were possible. She could see now he wanted no part of her life. He had been playing a role and every kindness he’d shown her had been because of his devotion to George and not out of any genuine concern for her. There was no reason for them to speak, no reason he should know how she spent her time or with whom and his questions annoyed the hell out of her.

  As good as his word, he arranged for her to see several luxurious apartments that were on the market. She refused all of them finding numerous excuses. They were too big, too small, too pretentious, not in the area she preferred, and on and on. Never in a million years would she admit she wasn’t ready to go out on her own, or that despite her blooming hatred for him she felt safe in Travis’s apartment.

  When he complained she was never satisfied, she painted the creamy white walls of his living room burnished orange while he was at work informing him she was satisfied with that. Smiling she waited for him to explode and he surprised her by flopping onto the chocolate sectional and looking around the room.

  “I like it,” he admitted. “It adds depth and warmth.”

  Claire stomped away, furious, his laughter trailing behind her.

  “Why are you mad?” he asked, following her to her room.

  “I’m not,” she yelled over her shoulder, slamming her door.

  “I think you are,” Travis insisted, opening the door and walking in behind her. “I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me. The question is what kind. Were you hoping I’d lose my temper and spank you again?” he asked curiously as he studied her.

  “Try it and die, you bastard,” Claire shouted back.

  “Do I look frightened?” Travis made no effort to hide his grin.

  “No, but that’s just a sign of your lack of intelligence. If you had a brain in your head, you’d be very afraid.”

  Travis advanced on her and grasped her upper arms pulling her to the toes of her sneakers.

  “Don’t push me, Claire,” he warned. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed lighting your ass on fire. In fact, there are quite a few areas of your body I’d like to attend to. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings that night, but not a bit sorry I scorched your ass. From now on when I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Why are you wandering all over the city dressed like you don’t have two nickels to rub together?” he snapped, giving her a shake.

  “I’m trying to save my money,” she hissed, kicking him in the shin and scooting away when he released her to rub away the pain.

  “Just buy a damn apartment,” he bellowed, obviously hanging onto his temper by a thread. “Lord knows you’ve been shown enough of them, or aren’t you even bothering to keep the appointments I set up?”

  “I’ve looked at some of them,” she said, tipping her chin up in challenge. “They weren’t suitable.”

  “Well, find something. You’re paying a small fortune for storage.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that and think about this while you’re at it. The next time you kick me, I’m going into the kitchen and finding the strongest wooden spoon I have, after which I will bare your little ass and raise tons of sweet red welts all over it,” he warned with flashing eyes.

  Claire crossed her arms and turned away from him, looking out the window until she heard him slam her bedroom door.

  Chapter Six

  Travis didn’t know what to make of Claire’s attitude. He knew she was angry with him and that he’d hurt her, but it was more than that. She was unsettled, nervous, and fidgety, yet seemed in no hurry to make any changes in her life or to find a place of her own. Frequently she seemed to be miles away and he wasn’t sure if she was ignoring his questions or didn’t even hear him.

  Claire began to cook. That was another strange occurrence. Most of her married life she had a cook and housekeeper so she wasn’t very experienced, but she seemed determined. Much of what she prepared was edible, some of it actually quite good, but she always disappeared after dinner leaving him with an incredible mess in the kitchen. If she worked during the day, he wouldn’t have minded so much. Cleaning up would have been doing his part, but she didn’t, although he had no clue what she did do except think up ways to annoy him. It was after one of those nights when it seemed she’d purposely dirtied every pot and pan in the kitchen that he noticed he no longer had even one wooden spoon.

  He found himself smiling as he put away the utensils. There were a number of rubber spatulas that would do just as nicely when and if the time came. The thought of flipping her over his granite counter and painting her butt red gave him a raging hard on. Unfortunately, his fantasy didn’t end with a spanking. It ended with him buried balls deep in her hot pussy as he squeezed her punished cheeks while telling her she’d better start being a good girl, or else. He cleaned out the refrigerator before he could respectably leave the room.

  Now, sitting at his desk, he wondered what surprises awaited him at home. It had been a long week and he considered calling to see if she wanted to go out to dinner. Travis wasn’t sure he could face another mess like the one he cleaned up last night when she decided to make a full turkey dinner. Lord, Thanksgiving was weeks away and God willing she’d be settled in her own place before then, although he couldn’t swear to it. She showed no signs of leaving. In fact, she seemed to have settled in.

  Claire had taken to walking around in her nightgown and bare feet at night. He also caught her coming out of her room in her black lace bra and panties when she thought he already left for the day. This made Travis consistently late for work as each day he hoped to catch a glimpse of her full breasts or shapely bottom. It was self-defeating and he knew it, but somehow he couldn’t seem to stop.

  She had to go. That was all there was to it. He didn’t think he could survive one more night of watching her suck Ben and Jerry’s off a spoon without carrying her to his bed and falling on her like a madman. This morning he got up and made coffee, carrying a cup to her room.

  “Claire,” he called, knocking on her door. When she answered he opened it and leaned against the frame. “I really think it’s time you found an apartment. Do you realize you’re paying fifteen hundred dollars a month for storage alone?”

  “No, I hadn’t realized that,” she replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  Claire kicked the covers off during the night and Travis dragged his eyes away from her silky legs.

  “Well, think about it,” he rasped clearing his throat and backing out of the room. “It’s a waste of money.”

  “All right,” Claire sighed, snuggling back into her pillows, her butt in the air. “Have a nice day,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

  He went to work feeling satisfied. Surely she’d do something now. In the last few months she’d become quite a penny pincher, either that or she was doing something else with her money. It galled him that he had no idea what she was up to, but it was the weekend. If he had to, he’d take her apartment hunting.

  ***

  Claire opened her new laptop and resumed researching preschools in the New York area. What she’d found over the last few weeks was disheartening. Most of them were outrageously expensive with pretentious names and high end addresses. No wonder some of the young mothers she’d met in the park were unable to return to work. It would almost have been pointless and she sensed some of them were really struggling financially although they didn’t complain.

  It would take a good deal of money to get started she realized. There would be equipment, licenses, permits and hiring qualified staff. Of course there was the building too, but she already
had several prospects. She wanted someplace in a lower rent district that had a separate floor she could use for her personal residence. Most of all she wanted a big van. If she were going to do this thing, she was going to expose kids to all the fun and culture New York City had to offer.

  The doorbell had Claire closing her laptop and taking it to her room. No way would she risk breaking it amid today’s chaos.

  “Ms. Wellington?” a man holding a clipboard asked.

  “Yes, this is the place,” she replied, holding the door open wide.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, looking inside.

  “I’m sure.”

  ***

  Travis whistled as he got off the elevator. He was looking at a long weekend and he needed it. In one hand he carried his briefcase, in the other several bags of Chinese food which he tried to balance under his arm as he stuck the key in the lock. Thankfully Claire had been open to the idea of take-out so his kitchen duties should be slim to none tonight.

  There was cold beer in the fridge and a Knicks game on in a little over an hour. For once, all was right with his world. Turning the key, he pushed open the door and sailed through into the foyer.

  “Oomph,” forced its way out of his diaphragm as he walked into the curve of a baby grand piano. Stunned Travis stared around his apartment in shock. Furniture was stacked on furniture. Packing cartons covered every available surface and there was barely a path to get around the apartment, of course that was if he could get past or over the piano in his entryway.

  “Claire!” he bellowed, slamming his things down and ripping off his coat. “Claire!”

  “I’m right here, Travis,” she replied from deep in the recesses of his worst nightmare.

  “Where?”

  “Here,” she called sticking up her hand near the doorway to the kitchen.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he demanded, trying to squeeze by the black monstrosity and failing.

  “Did you bring dinner? I’m starving,” she called, standing on a stool so she could see him.