by Leslie Pike
Thank goodness it’s Friday night, and we’ve got the next two days off. Although today’s work was a good distraction. The two new pages I had to write worked out nicely. Then I got to see BB and Alec in action. To use a sixties term, it was “a trip”. BB was born to play Amelia, and the brother sister dynamic of her and Carl’s relationship is the humor in the story. Her delivery is so smooth and on point. Her comedienne background served us well. Even Albie has a hard time keeping a straight face around her. That is when she’s not pissing him off. The woman has no sense of time. So now there’s a special A.D. who wrangles her to the set when she’s due.
But I see possible trouble ahead for Paul. Alec is being himself, which from what I hear means he doesn’t have boundaries. But not in the same way as BB. I’ve heard he can be a real prick. A charming one though. At least that’s what one of the stuntwomen told me. It sounded as if it was firsthand information, so I’m not sure how much of her opinion is accurate and how much is the thoughts of a woman scorned.
Even his only son has had estrangements from him. According to social media anyway. But they must be back talking, because that’s who’s going to be playing Finn in the series. It was brilliant casting. Darius is a young version of Alec, only better looking. His mother’s Greek heritage blessed him with a bone structure worthy of the gods. And he’s got the acting chops too. He’ll be here on Monday, so we’ll find out then how accurate the gossip has been.
Alec has his eye on BB, and if it’s not obvious to anyone else, it is to me. I can see on-set fireworks in the future. He may have been in the priesthood, but Paul’s no shrinking violet turn the other cheek type of man. I think he’d punch Alec’s lights out if he puts a hand on BB.
But I have other things to think about besides the love lives of my friends. Tonight I’m going to ask Carl if he’d do me the honor of walking me down the aisle. He’s the closest thing I’ve had to a father, and he’s the only person I’d want doing it. Ever since Finn brought me to their home, I’ve felt treasured, as if I were their child. The fact that I was eighteen when we met didn’t matter. I didn’t just fall in love with Finn, I fell in love with his parents and I feel confident in saying, they with me.
They never skipped a beat with their unshakeable connection of love. Not when Finn and I had problems in our marriage, not when we divorced and not as I grew older. So, now that I’m about to marry another man, I don’t expect that love to change. What we feel for each other has nothing to do with anybody else. I only wish Mary were still here so that both of them could walk the aisle with me.
Steven’s picking him up, and they’re meeting me at the Fairmont, Carl and Mary’s favorite San Francisco hotel. They spent their wedding night there and as he likes to joke, was “never able to afford to go back.” Mary told me it was a gift from her parents who never warmed up to their daughter’s hippie lifestyle. When they learned the bride and groom were going to hitchhike to Monterey after the wedding and sleep on the beach, new plans were made.
Memories of that night and the experience of staying at the luxury hotel stayed with them. Over time, the Fairmont grew in family lore and became a touchstone. Never did they stay in the hotel again, but they would go there once in a while for dinner, to reminisce or to celebrate a milestone in their lives. I hope Carl was happy to find out we’re eating there tonight. Although I expect he’ll be a little sentimental.
‘There are few cities more elegant than San Francisco and almost none more beautiful at night. I’m glad I hired a car and have a driver navigating the hilly streets. This takes me back to the nights Finn and I would be buzzing through the city on his motorcycle freezing our asses off. We didn’t have a car then. We went an entire ten months without one. Unbelievable. Now it’s turned into a funny memory. How our perception of things change when attraction is taken out of the equation. Thank God everything’s changed.
“Here we are,” says the driver as we pull up to the sophisticated hotel high atop Nob Hill.
The Fairmont is the center jewel in the crown of San Francisco. Standing for over a hundred years and even surviving the earthquake of 1906. The fires afterward were what did the damage. That’s when a female architect took over and brought it to its greatest glory. I tip my proverbial hat to Julia Morgan as I take in her artistry and to whoever was smart enough to hire her. It’s majestic and regal and so much a reflection of the city’s style.
The Driver gets out and comes around to my door. “Thanks again,” I say handing him his tip.
Walking into this lobby is always an experience, a sensation. The scent of the flowers is intoxicating. It looks beautiful, a generous space with Corinthian columns, ornate domes and original marble floors. Colors are muted and the arrangements exclamation points in the setting.
People still dress up here. You don’t see that too often. When you look at old photographs of the streets of San Francisco every woman is wearing heels and gloves, most wear hats. The men are in suits and ties. In a way it was a sign of respect and awareness of this special spot on planet Earth. I wish I could have lived in that era for just a short time. I would have worn it all.
It feels great to be wearing a little black dress tonight. A cashmere ebony coat and soft leather gloves. Hidden beneath my finery there’s a garter belt holding up sheer black hose. That’s a surprise for Steven later.
He and Carl sit on a plush round in the center of the room. Steven wears my favorite summer suit of his. It’s gray and tailored to his body perfectly, the crisp white dress shirt setting off his dark hair. Carl, ever the artist, dresses in his own unique style. He wears white pants, a gauzy white long-sleeved top and has a multicolored scarf wrapped around his neck. His longish white hair curls over the fabric.
They stand as I approach. The looks on their faces tell me my efforts at dressing tonight are appreciated. Steven’s eyes tell me more. I feel his arm encircle my waist.
“Evening, gentlemen.” I kiss him and whisper in his ear. “Hi, you sexy beast.”
He stands a little straighter when we part. I see a twinkle in his eyes.
“Hello, love,” says Carl, holding out his arms for a hug.
I wrap mine around him in a warm embrace. “You two look very sharp. Elegant.”
“It wouldn’t be right otherwise. Look at you,” Carl says.
“Let’s go have a drink. You up for that, Carl?” Steven asks.
“Lead the way.”
When we get to the Laurel Court Dining Room, the hostess leads us to our table. Carl doesn’t sit, but excuses himself.
“Order me a glass of Syrah. I’ve got to use the little boy’s room.”
As soon as he leaves I turn to Steven. “I want something from you.”
“Anything.” The corners of his mouth lift.
“Promise me you’ll always look at me like you did tonight when I walked in the hotel.”
The dimmed lighting on the table highlights the amber flecks in his green eyes. Spectacular. He takes my hand in his.
“That’s an easy promise, Bliss. And not just because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever see. Although God knows that’s the truth. It’s what’s in here.” He places his hand on my heart. “And here.” He touches the side of my head. “Your beauty runs so much deeper than what I can see. But you can be sure I’ll never stop looking.”
I take the kiss he offers and the familiar spark it lights. I lean in and whisper, “I’ve got on a garter belt and silky nylons and just a wisp of a panty. I can almost feel your hands taking them off me.”
He swallows in response, and that’s better than any words he could say. It’s a physiological reaction embedded deep within.
“I’m going to taste every inch of you tonight,” I promise him.
“If it’s possible my cock just cheered.” He unfolds the napkin onto his lap, then takes my hand under it so I can feel just how true his statement is. He’s hard, and with my touch harder still. I hear a contained moan when he feels my two fingers running
up either side of him. His eyes are locked on my mouth and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“And that’s not all I’m going to do. When we get home, I’m going to get on my knees, and…”
“Can I take your drink order?”
The cocktail waitress stands a little too close behind where we lean in to each other. I’m almost certain she heard some of our conversation, because she’s smirking under her smile and giving Steven a sensual look. We quickly resume our respectable behavior. Steven’s looking put out for the interruption. He has to make a surreptitious adjustment in his pants under the napkin. Only I’m aware of his fine motor skills in this area. He’s had lots and lots of practice since we met.
“The lady will have a martini. Grey Goose, straight up two olives. I’ll have a Dewar’s and our guest will have a glass of one of your good Syrah’s.”
The server’s expression is meant to charm Steven, and really I can’t fault her for trying. He pays no attention whatsoever. And so she gives up, and makes her exit with a disappointed mumble. “I’ll bring your drinks.”
Carl’s right behind her and he takes his seat. “Even the bathroom’s classy.”
“When were you here last, Carl?” Steven asks.
“When Finn got the part in Finding Collier. I took him out to dinner to celebrate. Before that it was on our last anniversary before Mary passed. So that had to be July 11th 2013.”
“I know she loved this place as much as you do,” I say.
“Well, it was meaningful to us for a variety of reasons. Not the least the fact that we spent our wedding night here.” He winks at me. “Of course it wasn’t a as if we were virgins in the wedding chamber. We’d been living together for three years. It was more like wild animals on holiday. Oh that girl, she was remarkable.”
His eyes glisten with the memory. “I’m sorry. No tears tonight.”
“Don’t feel that way, Carl. Now that I’ve fallen in love with Bliss, I can understand how a man would be moved to tears if he lost the woman he loved.”
Steven puts a hand on Carl’s shoulder. I can see his words mean a lot to him. I know they do to me. We find the retelling of Carl’s youth charming and encourage him to tell us about the wedding day itself. And so the dinner goes by as if it took only minutes. Steven orders a bottle of wine for the table that soon becomes two. It loosens memories and tongues. We laugh with the delight only good friends share, and both of us are enchanted by the stories Carl can so easily recall. When he talks about that day and his bride she comes back to him, and his face lights with an energy that’s visible.
“I hope fifty years from now my family’s as entertained by stories of our wedding day,” I say.
“Oh, they will be honey. I can see it. You two, you’ve got it.” He reaches out for both of our hands as he says this.
Steven and I look at each other in a kind of pride for who we are together. It’s an unspoken fact for both of us that we believe in our love. Is this how every couple feels, as if their love is the strongest, truest, deepest?
Carl turns his wineglass around and around by the stem. He takes a few beats before he speaks. “That right there. How you just looked at each other and what passed between you unsaid, that’s the sweet spot. You keep that and you’ll make it all the way.”
“Carl, I’ve got something to ask you. It’s kind of unusual being that you’re my ex-father-in-law. But in this case I refuse to stand on ceremony.”
I look at Steven and he nods his encouragement.
“What is it honey?” Carl asks.
I take his hand in mine. “Would you do me the honor of walking me down the aisle? I want you to be the one who gives me away. You’ve been like a father to me.” I feel a tear course down my cheek.
There’s no response, and for a second I think I’ve made a horrible mistake. Maybe he doesn’t know how to turn me down. But then it happens. Carl’s floodgates burst and he starts crying. He buries his face in his hands.
“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’m so sorry…” I say.
He gets out of his chair and comes to me. I’m enveloped in his embrace. His tears are still coming, and the tables around us have gone quiet. Through the sobs I hear him say, “You’ve made me so happy. It would be my privilege, Bliss.”
Chapter Six
BB
The condo rental doesn’t have the good mirrors my house does. This one in the bathroom’s made of cheap glass which gives an almost imperceptible wave to my image. Studying my face, I see relatively few signs of aging. Of course that has everything to do with the fact that I regularly do lasers and peels and whatever latest fountain of youth treatment’s available. You can bet your ass I’ll be running to the doctor for Botox as soon as I need it. I give myself another six months. I have no problem tapping the skills of my dermatologist, aka “The Wizard”. And when asked how I stay so youthful looking, I’m honest about it. Who’s going to believe near flawless, tight skin happens otherwise? Not at my age it doesn’t.
“I’m so fucking old,” I say in all insincerity.
“That’s ridiculous! You’re thirty-three. Well, in a few days anyway. Besides, you’re younger than me.” Paul calls from the bedroom.
“That’s no consolation. You’re old too. I think I spotted a gray pubic hair on you this afternoon.”
He walks in and pulls down his Calvin Klein’s. “Where? Show me. I do not have gray pubic hair. I hardly have any hair period. Not since you became my manscaper.” His eyes dart from one side of his dick to the other.
That worked nicely. I take it in my hands and move it from side to side, inspecting for phantom signs of age. I lift it to look underneath and then bend down till my eyes are two inches from the beast. He knows exactly what I’m up to, but he’s happy to play along. I see it in his expression.
So I pick up my reading glasses from the counter and ceremoniously put them on. Time to assume one of my alter egos, Sigmund Freud’s little-known assistant, Doctor Ivanna Lickyurdck.
“Doctor?” Paul starts laughing before I say a word. He’s met her a few times before.
“That’s correct. Vat is it you are showing me here?” My Austrian accent is flawless.
“Well, Doctor, I have a big problem.” He frowns.
“I can see that. In fact, that’s the biggest problem I’ve ever seen. And it appears to be getting bigger as ve speak.”
“Do you think you can help me? I’m in pain you know.”
“Let me see vat I can do.”
My hand travels slowly up and down the length of his dick. But I’m looking away and my eyes are closed as if I’ve a specialized sense for the organ. I’m an expert in Penisense. I cup his balls and he jumps.
“Calm down! I have discovered the root of your problem,” I say firmly, trilling the word root.
He removes my glasses and tosses them to the counter. “Well then, take care of it woman. Before it kills me.”
* * *
“I’ll pay you a million dollars if you’re ever on time,” says Paul as we walk into the crowded Ghirardelli Square restaurant.
We’re doing double time because it’s 8:15 and our reservations were for 7:30. My tight pencil skirt and four-inch heels are working against me. I have to take teeny tiny steps.
“Don’t blame me. Your “emergency” visit to the doctor is what made us late.” My air quotes punctuate my point.
He puts his hand on my back and guides me through the crowded entry to where the hostess stands. I’m vaguely aware of people’s eyes on us. I guess they’re watching me, but I’m not blind to the looks Paul gets. He’s looking especially sexy tonight in his black suit and baby-blue dress shirt. Rrrffff. If they knew what was behind his zipper they’d be gawking more, only their line of sight would be south of where it is now.
“Reservations for Cruz,” he says.
The girl checks her screen for our name. “Oh yes, the rest of your party’s here already.”
I look to Paul, who has a cont
ained look of disgust on his face.
“So much for surprises,” he says, mostly to the young girl. But his comment went right over her head. Zip.
“Follow me please. We have the window seat you requested. You’re celebrating a birthday tonight, right?”
She looks at us brightly, as if she didn’t spill any of the beans that have fallen everywhere. I have to laugh, because Paul looks absolutely irritated and frustrated at the same time. Whatever the big surprise is, he really tried to make it happen.
“Who are we having dinner with?” I ask. “What wonderful thing have you planned for the night?”
“You’re going to love it. See for yourself.” He holds his arms out to present his idea of an inspired birthday gift. “Ta da!”
We’re still a few tables away, but I can see my surprise ahead. My mother’s smiling her shy sweet smile, but it’s the asshole next to her with his arm around her chair I’m focused on. Oh holy hell, just kill me now.
“What did you do?” I say angrily under my breath.
Paul’s thrown by my reaction. But we’re too close to the table to go into it here.
“Surprise,” he says without a trace of excitement.
“Mom, Dad, hi. Wow this is a surprise.”
My father looks me up and down. He purses his lips in disapproval of my outfit and screws up his face. Fuck you. You’ve worn the same shit brown corduroy suit since 1993, and it was out of fashion then.
I go behind my mother’s back and kiss the top of her head and then her cheek. She grasps my hands in hers and looks at me hopefully. She knows me so well, and isn’t sure how I’m going to take this out of the blue visit. And she’s uneasy in here. I can feel it. Thanks to my father’s decades of criticism, she second-guesses almost everything she does.
“Paul called us and said he wanted to give you a special gift for your birthday. I guess we’re it,” she says.