Valentine Vote

by Susan Blexrud

  Abruptly, Courtney ended the kiss and looked deeply into Eric’s eyes. “I’ve never wanted to have sex this badly in my life.” Helen would be proud of me.

  Eric drew a deep breath, and then blew it out slowly. “Do you want to have sex with me, Courtney?”

  “Honestly, I’m not really sure.” Courtney chewed on her bottom lip. “I just know my body is a jumble of nerve endings, and they’re all firing.”

  “I want to make love to you, Courtney, but I’m not going to until you’re sure it’s what you want. What you’re sacrificing means more than that.”

  Courtney took a few shallow breaths. She pressed a hand to her heart. He hadn’t said ‘sex,’ he’d said ‘love.’ Whoa. She needed his touch, even if it was just a brush of his fingers across her cheek.

  Eric took her hand, and they stared into each other’s eyes, both steadying their breathing.

  “I’m afraid we’ll get carried away if I kiss you again.” One side of his mouth turned up in a grin.

  “We would.” Courtney shivered, whether from disappointment or Eric’s save, she wasn’t sure. “I’m going to need to lose it sometime.”

  “Yeah, but it needs to be with someone you really care about. The first time can be awkward, but if it’s with someone special, it can also be magical.” He touched her cheek gently. “The truth is, we barely know each other. There’s no rush.”

  Courtney knew Eric was right. She’d been so ready to throw caution to the wind, but her hormones had at least fizzled to the point where her head could take over. Warmth spread through her limbs, and it wasn’t from the Drambuie. It was the abiding warmth of gratitude, tinged with a dose of embarrassment. “I, I think I should go home now.”

  Chapter Six

  “I’m glad to see you’re back to soup for lunch, instead of chocolate.” Helen added another teaspoon of sugar to her chai tea at their usual haunt, Co Co Sala.

  “I could live on soup. It’s the world’s most perfect food.” Courtney blew on her spoonful of beef barley, though she still yearned for chocolate.

  “And sounds to me like you’ve found the world’s most perfect man,” Helen said.

  “Yeah, it’s been two weeks since the big reveal, and he’s still around.” Courtney shook her head. “But we’re sticking to coffee shops, art museums, and the zoo. Places where we can’t get into an intimate conversation.”

  “The zoo is especially good. Coffee shops can be intimate and there’s always something erotic at an art museum, but animal sex isn’t much of a turn on. ‘Oh, Eric, look at the rhinoceroses humping. Let’s go home and get it on.’” Helen sipped her tea. “But you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

  Courtney looked at Helen sideways. “I think the plural is rhinoceri, but what do you mean by inevitable?”

  “I mean, you like this guy.”

  “Oh, criminy, I know. And I want to melt into him. I want to snuggle into his chest and breathe him into me so that we become one person.”

  “Okay, aside from the fact that sex would do that, what’s your problem?”

  “What if I’m way too tame for him? I’ve never done this before. What if I freeze up in bed with him? What if I’m a vanilla-sex girl?”

  “Maybe he’s worried about the same thing. He’s got toys, but has he used them?” Helen patted Courtney’s hand. “Look, the first time for sex is like jumping in a frigid lake, but once you get past the initial plunge, the pleasure takes over. Don’t worry about it so much, Court. You’re not a vanilla girl. I’d peg you for Cherry Garcia. Lots of bursts of flavor, that’s you.”

  “Easy for you to say! What if I’m the frigid lake?

  “Well, you like this guy right? I mean, sex aside?”

  “Yes, I like Eric. I more than like him. I find myself thinking about him all the time, and I’ve never felt that way about a man. He’s everything I never wanted.”

  “Huh?”

  “I didn’t realize falling for someone could be such a major distraction,” she shook her head. “The vote’s fast approaching and I still need two more senate votes.

  “Yeah, and you don’t even have Eric’s yet,” Helen pointed out.

  “I’m working hard on everyone else. Maybe I can turn someone. It’s great that this tax is bipartisan. It provides an opportunity for both parties to finally agree on something. “

  “Have you given up on convincing Eric? It could be a post-coital bargaining chip?” Helen waggled her eyebrows.

  “I hope you’re kidding. I would never do that.”

  “Of course, I’m kidding, although he may think you’re sticking around just to take another stab at swaying his vote.”

  “I’m sticking around until I blow it, which I inevitably will.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

  • • •

  Eric was used to linear relationships. Not that he had a checklist for the steps to take, but he typically didn’t start with a major confession and then work backwards—at least not until he met Courtney. But damn, no woman had ever intrigued him like this. He’d butt heads with her any day on congressional issues, where she was more than capable of holding her own. But in terms of sex, she was a babe in the woods. And except for his first sexual encounter—at age fifteen with his equally inexperienced girlfriend—it had been at least ten years since he’d dated a virgin. Whoa. That revelation travelled to his heart. The prospect of being Courtney’s first lover made him feel … special.

  They’d spent the last two weeks being safe, only going to places where they weren’t alone. Hell, he hadn’t even kissed her. And the longer he waited, the more nervous he became. Tonight, they were meeting for a drink on the mezzanine at the Mayflower Hotel. It would be the most intimate setting he’d dared—since his apartment. Elegant, yet cozy. He planned to scout out a secluded table before she arrived. They’d only have time for a brief drink as they both had work engagements elsewhere, but he hoped there’d be a moment for a kiss … or two.

  • • •

  Eric tapped his foot under the cocktail table. He’d arrived early, which was totally out of character, and had already ordered two glasses of pinot grigio. He downed half of his by the time Courtney arrived.

  “Hi.” She slid into a red leather bucket chair.

  Eric handed her the wine glass and then scooted his chair closer. “Hi. You look flustered.” Her cheekbones held splotches of red.

  “I had three congressional appointments today. Every one of the legislators was late, and I had the fight of my life with one of them. You know how that goes.” She swirled the wine in the glass and then took a sip. “Nice bouquet. You know your grapes, Senator.”

  He much preferred when she called him Eric. “Thanks. We have a winery on the farm. The grapes are in a valley between the tobacco barns.” As soon as he mentioned tobacco, he wished he hadn’t.

  “I like to forget you’re from a tobacco family.” She didn’t smile.

  “Sometimes, like right now, so do I.” He ventured a brief grin.

  She sighed. “Sorry, it’s been a long day, and I’m being too sensitive. But before we get off the subject, did you ever smoke?”

  “No. No one in my family smokes now, though my grandparents did—like chimneys.”

  “What happened to them?” Courtney looked him directly in the eyes.

  Eric ducked his head. “They both died of emphysema.” He remembered his grandmother’s labored breathing, and his heart clenched. He shook the memory, not wanting to dwell on the pain.

  “And you wonder why I’m on this campaign?” Courtney crossed one leg over the other and jiggled her foot.

  “I know precisely why you’re taking a stance for higher taxes. I simply don’t agree.”

  “How can you think like that when your grandparents died as a direct result of smoking?”

  “Courtney, we’ve been over this. I’m supporting my constituents.”

  “And you’re killing
the rest of us.”

  “Could we please not talk about tobacco?

  Courtney glared at him. The tips of her ears turned red.

  “You’re losing perspective, Courtney.”

  She continued to glare. Her foot jiggle reverberated up her leg.

  “I was hoping for a pleasant, relaxing conversation, a few stolen moments before I have to be on stage again” He tried to smile, but his jaw was tense. It probably came off as a sneer.

  “This wasn’t a good idea.” She contemplated the Greek friezes on the mezzanine wall. “Maybe we’re not a good idea.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Why don’t you go home and soak in a tub?” He cringed. He’d meant to suggest she do something nice for herself, but it came out sounding more like, “Why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier?”

  “And why don’t you cut off your nose to spite your face?” Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s what you’re doing with this tobacco bill. You say you’re helping your constituents, but will they thank you in the long run … when they’re dying?” Her voice rose an octave. She swiped at her tears.

  “Courtney, please don’t take this personally. I know this is about your mom, but you can’t get so worked up over it.”

  “Why not? What else should I get worked up over?”

  “Well, since you asked …” Eric grinned, which she probably read as lascivious. All he’d wanted was a few moments of closeness, and he botched it with sexual innuendo. Damn if he didn’t just come across like a snarling wolf. “Courtney, I’m sorry. That was crude, and I didn’t mean to downplay your feelings.”

  “Didn’t you?” She pushed herself out of the chair. “Thanks for the drink.” She stormed out and didn’t look back.

  • • •

  Courtney rushed to the street and hailed a cab. When she gave the cabbie her destination, the Dirty Martini, he informed her that it was just a short walk from the Mayflower. She thanked him and pulled her camel hair coat tighter around her. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She hiked up Connecticut Avenue, chiding herself with each slap of boot on pavement. She’d let the day get to her and then Eric had been a complete jerk. They’d had an opportunity to really talk, and he completely blew it. Thank goodness Helen would be at this event tonight. Her pro bono work as a guardian ad litem often put them in the same places at the same time. She needed to vent.

  She elbowed her way into the restaurant/bar, which was already jammed. An old Bob Seger song, “Still the Same,” played in the background. The Dirty Martini was a popular spot for political and non-profit events, and tonight’s fundraiser had really packed the huge space. She squeezed her way to the bar, but was directed by the bartender to a waiter holding a silver tray laden with champagne flutes above his head. “There’s going to be a toast first,” he’d told her. She held up her hand to the waiter, and he made his way to her. Lowering the tray, Courtney chose the fullest flute.

  A poke in her ribs jerked her head to the left. Helen pointed to a space at the end of the bar, and the two women shimmied through the crowd.

  “Whew,” Helen said. “I think they’re going to corral us into a private space soon, but it wasn’t ready when I came in.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Let’s see, this is my third champagne, so about half an hour.” Helen blinked. “Did the cat drag you in? I thought you’d be all bouncy and glowing from your meeting with Eric.”

  “It was awful. I’d get drunk, but I’ve got too much work to do.” Courtney rolled her eyes, and then caught her reflection in the huge mirror behind the bar. She did look horrendous.

  “Oh, get drunk anyway. Sometimes it’s the only remedy.” Helen took another swig.

  Courtney downed her flute in two gulps and then let Helen pull her toward another room where a maître d’ was corralling patrons. She picked up another glass on the way in.

  About fifty people milled around a long buffet table. A woman in a red suit stepped up on a riser at one end of the room.

  She tapped the podium microphone, which made a popping sound and got everyone’s attention. “Welcome, everyone. I’m Rebecca Arch, executive director of the Special Olympics, and I’m so pleased to see you here this evening. I’m particularly pleased to welcome a senator who’s no stranger to our cause. He spearheaded Project UNIFY in his home state of North Carolina. Would you raise your glasses in a toast to Senator Eric Morrison?”

  Courtney stiffened. She’d forgotten Eric was involved in Special Olympics. Heck, she’d forgotten what the event benefitted. Where was her head? And why didn’t he tell me he was coming here tonight? ’Course, I didn’t tell him where I was going either.

  “As many of you know,” Ms. Arch continued, “Special Olympics Project UNIFY is a series of innovative activities through which public and private schools can become more involved in Special Olympics through a variety of youth leadership activities, sports, and awareness activities. But I’ll let Senator Morrison tell you about the difference Project UNIFY has made in his state. Senator?”

  Courtney wanted to crawl under the nearest table. A punch to her elbow signified that Helen was on board. She whispered in Courtney’s ear. “I’ll prop you up if you get woozy.”

  “You’re woozier than me,” Courtney said.

  “Yeah, but I’m not in lurve.”

  “Neither am I,” Courtney said, though her heart wasn’t cooperating. She could hear it beating in her ears. And her knees wobbled. She took a swig of champagne and watched Eric bound up to the podium. She hadn’t had time to properly admire his wardrobe at the Mayflower, but he looked gorgeous in his navy wool suit, light blue shirt, and maroon and blue striped tie. She took a deep breath and blew it out through puffed cheeks.

  “Good evening, and thank you, Rebecca, for the wonderful work you do every day for Special Olympics.” Courtney froze when he made eye contact with her. He cleared his throat and continued to look directly at her. “In spite of people in this room who are on opposite sides of issues, I think we can all agree that the Special Olympics knows no dissension.”

  Duly noted, Courtney rubbed the back of her hand, like she’d been swatted with a ruler by a nun in parochial school. She knew Eric was right. She’d never have had such an outburst with anyone else. He was entitled to his opinion, but what galled her was that if he was so philanthropic and cognizant of the underdog, why couldn’t he see that the only good tobacco was a shriveled crop? She couldn’t stay here and listen to this. She turned to Helen. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you can’t. That would be over-the-top rude to leave in the middle of his speech.”

  “I know. It’s rude and cowardly, and I’m doing it.” She hurried out of the room and back through the main bar, where the sound system piped out a Linda Ronstadt tune, “Somewhere Out There.” Her mom had loved that song. Courtney’s eyes welled with tears as she tore out of the bar.

  • • •

  Following his remarks from the podium, Eric searched the room for Courtney. He approached the woman he’d seen her standing with. “Hi,” he said, “did Courtney leave?”

  “Hi, yourself. I’m Court’s roommate, Helen.” She held out her hand, and Eric shook it. “She, uh, wasn’t feeling well. She just left.”

  “Sure it didn’t have something to do with me?”

  “Now why would you think that?” Helen looked at Eric, but she didn’t maintain eye contact. She scanned the room and then returned to his face. “Don’t give up on her.”

  Eric ran a hand through his hair and kept it at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t planning to, but she’s not making it easy.” He dropped his hand.

  “I don’t want to talk out of school here, but from what she’s told me, you seem to be a good guy. She deserves a good guy.” Helen put her hand on Eric’s sleeve. “It probably seems like she’s sabotaging things, but she doesn’t really want to.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

  “Yeah, that’s our Court. She’s an o
riginal.” Helen sipped her champagne.

  “Anytime we broach the subject of tobacco, she gets so emotional that we can’t talk rationally about it.” Eric shook his head.

  Helen gave him a considering look, as if deciding something, then leaned close. “Look, don’t tell her I told you any of this, but when her mom died, she was heavy into school, and she didn’t let herself grieve. Now, her job focus is a constant reminder that her mother died from cigarettes. So, she’s finally working through all that repressed sorrow.” Helen’s eyes narrowed like she was sizing him up. “Want some advice?”

  “I’d love some.”

  “You really want to get through to Court? Show her who you really are. You’re into the environment, right? Take her to a landfill.”

  Eric’s eyebrows climbed in confusion.

  “Okay, no, I’m just kidding,” Helen chuckled. “But take her somewhere away from this D.C. frenzy, where she won’t be tempted to talk politics. If you can open up to her, maybe she can finally open up to you.” She winked. “In more ways than one, if you get my drift.”

  From his mood of discouragement, Eric emerged with new resolve. Helen was right, and he’d been an idiot not to be more considerate of Courtney’s grief. He couldn’t wait to make it up to her.

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning, Courtney watched for Eric through the skinny window that bordered her front door. When his car pulled up to her curb—double parking of course, since you could never find a spot on the street in Foggy Bottom—the flutters in her stomach floated all the way to her heart.