Foxy's Tale

by Karen Cantwell

  “I am the Spaniard, at least on my mother’s side. My father was the American, as was my wife. We are backwards, you might say. She moved to my city. To accommodate me.”

  “Oh,” Foxy breathed and sank back against the seat. She couldn’t look at the ocean any more. It was making her dizzy. Or was that the wine? “So that’s why you said ‘cara mia,’ but isn’t that Italian? I get it now. Did she move there for your work?” Foxy was really getting bold now, rattling off every thought as it popped into her head. But the timing was bad, as they’d just pulled around to the entrance of the Four Seasons.

  A uniformed attendant jumped to her door. She stepped out, leading with one long, bare leg, the foot encased in the new lime green pump. He reached out and took her arm to help steady her. Carter took over in less than three seconds and, holding her around the waist, led her up to the front door, which a doorman in uniform swung wide for them to enter. The lobby was cool, the marble floor shiny, and the orchids in a giant vase on the marble table stand like arrival sentries with their little faces smiling. Carter led her toward the bar and they sat on stools where he ordered them two glasses of cognac. He specified the brand – Remy Martin – and the snifters arrived warm and inviting.

  “To you, Roxanne cara mia, for bringing me back to life. So unexpected and so wonderful.” He cupped the glass in elegant hands and clinked it lightly against hers. They drank the cognac in silence. Foxy felt as if her head was floating. Her feet rested against the little barstool footrest and one shoe slipped off by accident. Carter heard the soft thud when it hit the floor. He leaned down and picked it up, slipped it on after first holding her foot in his hand the way he held the cognac snifter.

  They finished their drinks; he signed the bill and helped Foxy off her seat. Her neck felt wobbly and her head tilted back a little. She shook her hair and smiled at Carter.

  “Come, we need some air. We’ll walk on the beach a little.” He led her out of the bar and down the hall to the beach path. At the top of the dune they could see the ocean all lit up with spotlights. He took off his shoes and socks, reached down and helped Foxy out of her pumps. The path over the dune went down to the soft sand and the breaking waves. The air smelled of salt and sea. He wound his fingers through hers and they walked away from the hotel lights toward the south where there was nothing but beach and ocean. They walked in silence, Foxy leaned heavily on Carter for support. The sand was cool between her toes. She had an urge to jump into the surf.

  “Is the water cold this time of year?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Shall we see?” Carter turned them to the waves. He rolled up his pant legs and they walked to where the foam broke on the shore.

  “Ooooh,” said Foxy. “It’s lovely.” She was thinking if she were in her twenties she would take off her clothes and jump in naked. But she was not in her twenties anymore, and she had to think straight. But thinking straight and all the liquor didn’t seem to go together, and she wanted to take off her clothes and jump in so badly, she was starting to unzip her skirt when she felt his hand on hers.

  “Better not,” he cautioned and turned her toward him. “Better to go back to the room and get suits on if you want to swim now.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Foxy pouted, but she was in a way relieved he’d stopped her. They walked farther down the beach and she remembered he never answered her second question. “Did you live in Madrid for your work?”

  He reached up and stroked her hair. Then he laughed. “You are so determined a little American, aren’t you? Come, we’ll go back. You’ve had enough questions and answers for one night, I think.” But just to ease her mind, he planted a long kiss on her lips as he held her close enough that he could feel every curve of her still youthful, enticing body.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  It turned out to be normal food. Well semi-normal. Barley tea was a new one for Amanda. The dumplings were good. Nick ate at least a dozen. Knot was ecstatic. Throughout the whole meal he repeated how marvelous everything was and how this was such a relief from Miso soup and those horrible tempura dishes. He used the word relief eight times. After the first two, Amanda counted. He asked for three kimchi recipes, and the waitress, probably a daughter of the owner, looked at him as if he had a major screw loose, but she brought back a food-stained piece of paper with some unintelligible scrawling on it and Knot was happy. For dessert, Knot ordered them a rainbow rice cake that looked so soft and pastel-colored that it could have wafted up, not from a stove, but from a fairy tale.

  Nick was quiet, but then Nick was always quiet. He laughed at Knot’s jokes and responded to questions in a general way. Sometimes Amanda caught him glancing toward the restaurant door as if he was expecting to see someone. She was getting a bit irked that he wouldn’t tell her what was going on. Her mind conjured disturbing images of Nick in the arms of some older, beautiful, hot woman. She tried to shake them loose, but every time he glanced at the door, they began afresh and she couldn’t get them under control.

  After he had done this too many times for Amanda to stand, she asked. “What are you looking for out there?”

  Knot picked up on this right away, probably from the note of annoyance in Amanda’s voice. “Do you have a clandestine appointment for later in the evening?” He sounded almost gleeful, as if he’d caught Nick in a situation and he couldn’t wait to see how it would spin out of control.

  Amanda shot him a look that said shut up, but he ignored her.

  “Does Amanda have a rival for your affections?” Now he was simply taunting both of them.

  Nick fidgeted in his chair. The meal was over. The waitress brought the check and a little plastic bag tied with a loop at the top. “Lainbow lice cake,” she said and smiled at Knot. After he signed the credit card form and she left, all three of them burst out laughing and Knot added, “Personally I adore lice cake. Whenever I eat cake made from insects I always ask for lice cake first. It’s the tastiest, you know.”

  Nick seemed to have forgotten the awkward moment. Amanda had definitely let it go. As they headed for the door with Amanda in the lead, a woman appeared on the other side. She stood there in front of the door looking in and Amanda, without thinking about it, assumed, the way anyone might, that she was waiting for them to exit before she entered. The woman wore a bright blue wool coat over dark slacks. A scarf was loosely wrapped around her neck. Long dark curls that fell to her shoulders framed a beautiful face. The thing Amanda noticed unconsciously were the very red lips that looked as if they’d been slightly bruised, puffy in a way. She stood there without moving as Amanda opened the door. And then, when she saw Nick, those lips opened slightly and her tongue brushed over them. She blinked twice and Amanda noticed she had very thick eyelashes and almost black eyes, glassy like marbles.

  Amanda passed her, but the woman’s eyes were fixed on Nick and, as he walked through the door, he saw her for the first time and stopped.

  “Nicky,” she breathed, throaty and intimate. But not in the way of someone who meets a friend by accident. Not with any surprise. It was more a reprimand. As if she thought Nick knew she’d been waiting and she was calling him out on it.

  Now Amanda was upset again, and Knot sensed a situation with possibilities for a scene. He let the door shut behind him and walked up to the woman. Offering his hand, he said, “Hi. Knot Knudsen. Pronounce the K’s, please. So sorry we just finished dinner or you could have joined us. Any friend of Nick here, you know.” And he motioned to Nick as if to pull him into this conversation.

  The woman took Knot’s hand, very slowly, as if she was being extra careful. She gazed intently into his eyes and Knot got the feeling she was trying to see inside him. “My, my,” he said. “You must have been waiting out here forever. Your hand is like ice.” She withdrew her hand slowly, adjusted her scarf so it was closer around her neck, all the while staring into Knot’s eyes. He finally looked away and shrugged a little to Amanda. It was not clear where they should go from here. No one spoke for a
few seconds until Nick said he had to run. He turned to go but the woman was by his side in an instant. She hooked her arm into his and turned him away from Knot and Amanda. By now Amanda was confused and very upset. The woman propelled Nick a few steps, and Amanda could see he was trying to get free from her grip, but it was no use. He turned his head back toward Amanda and the look on his face said: “Help me.”

  Amanda found this weird and inexplicable. When she walked a few steps behind them to catch up and try to free Nick, the woman spun around, still clutching Nick’s arm. Her eyes narrowed and her red lips were set in a hard grimace. She looked like a cat about to spit.

  “Nick?” Amanda said, as if to ask what he was doing with this woman. “Do you want to come back to the house with us?”

  Nick started to speak, but before he could say anything the woman stepped in front of Nick, facing Amanda, and said in a voice so low Amanda could barely hear the words, “Nick has a date with his destiny. Those who interfere can find themselves cast out into the cold with nowhere to turn.” Amanda was stunned. She had no idea what this woman was talking about and, where Amanda would be flippant with Foxy, this woman’s demeanor said quite clearly that she would brook no back talk.

  With this the woman turned and walked briskly down the street, her bright blue coat flapping a bit in the breeze, leaving Nick standing in the middle of the sidewalk, silent and completely lost. For a moment all three of them watched as the woman hailed a cab and stepped off the curb to meet one that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. As her foot disappeared inside and the door shut, Knot shook his head a bit like a little excited froufrou dog and said, “Well, that was all very odd. And people tell me my love life is out of control. Nick, my friend, you are about to ascend the throne as ‘Prince of Predicaments.’”

  Chapter Forty

  They walked back along the beach path to the hotel, Carter’s arm firmly around her now, the arm of a lover. They were so close they might as well be one person, steady, hugging, possessive and possessed at the same time. Foxy giggled every time she stumbled and he had to hold her tighter. Sometimes his hand brushed her breast. She liked this. Liked the whole thing. The salt air, the half moon, the tumbling waves, the feel of the cool sand on her feet, the scent of his after shave and something else, perhaps just the scent of him. She flung her hair away from her face when the breeze blew it in her eyes, and he nuzzled against its softness. Foxy had not felt this way in years. Her marriage had lost its luster long ago. At that moment she couldn’t think why. She was half drunk on Mojitos, wine, and cognac, but she was also half drunk on the feeling of wanting a man’s body.

  Halfway up the wooden steps that scaled the dune, Carter kissed her again. They lingered. It was almost too excruciatingly pleasurable right there to go any further, but when they did break apart, there was a new intensity to their stride. They walked fast as they approached the hotel. They picked up their shoes and decided not to put them back on. The halls were empty as they made their way back toward their wing. His room was one floor below hers, but he pressed the button for hers. Foxy liked that he was coming back to her room. She hoped he’d stay the whole night, hoped he’d be sad to see her go the next day, hoped he’d follow her.

  “There’s a Four Seasons in Washington,” she said suddenly and the elevator bumped to a stop. They left it behind, and with his arm still firmly around her waist, they found her room. She fished in her small evening bag for the electronic key and handed it to him. He slid it into the slot. The green light flickered and Foxy pushed the door open. Carter put his arms around her so that she was standing against the door, keeping it open. They kissed again. She wanted to lead him into the room, but they stood there against the door kissing, fondling, breathing each other.

  And then, unexpectedly, he pulled away. His fingers touched her face tenderly as if she were a crying child that he was trying to soothe. He stepped back and released his hold on her. Foxy blinked. She was confused. Had something gone wrong? Should she not have mentioned the hotel in Washington? He stroked her cheek once more and whispered, “Good night, cara mia.”

  And he was gone. Walking down the hall to the elevator. He did not turn back. Foxy wanted to cry. Wanted to run after him. Wanted to know what she did. Her body was on fire but her mind was on stun. She watched him disappear around the corner, and she felt a sense of déjà vue. Maybe it was not her. Maybe there was something wrong with him. But she knew he was attracted to her, how he responded to her body. She hadn’t forgotten what that felt like. And she knew he wanted her. That he liked her and enjoyed her. It was Carter who had pursued her. Carter who had suggested drinks and dinner. Both times. No, she was sure it was nothing she’d done. But a nagging doubt hung on, relentlessly digging into her.

  She let the door shut and went to the bed, where they should have been together engaged in clothing removal and wonderful caressing. If Foxy had been a drinking girl, she would have gone straight to the minibar. Instead, she remembered Worth Avenue. He was going to take her shopping. They were supposed to have a wonderful night of fabulous sex and then a quick breakfast and early afternoon shopping. Maybe more sex before they left. Oh, she was going to get him to buy her so many lovely, expensive things. The names of stores they passed came back to her. Ferragamo. Saks. Gucci. Bottega Veneta. Chanel. Armani. Hermes. Jimmy Choo. She ran through them one by one, until she realized there was still sand on her feet and she should call home and make sure Amanda was okay. She felt confident she would have heard if anything was not okay. Still . . . mothers were supposed to call when they were out of town. She wandered into the bathroom to wash off the sand, and it hit her again like a slap that Carter had walked out on her twice. She just couldn’t figure out why. But then there she was, beautiful – she stared at herself in the full length mirror – obviously a woman any man would be proud to have on his arm, and yet the men kept on leaving. First Amanda’s father. Then that pigskin tosser. She wondered how many times he’d cheated on her and for how long. Had it started right from the beginning? Did he just want to be able to say he’d married a beauty queen? She sighed and sat on the edge of the big tub, letting water run over her feet. She didn’t hear the phone ring. Nor see the note as it was slipped under her door.

  Only after she was drying her feet and crying softly to herself did she think about the picture of Carter’s wife. So that was it. He liked older women. Really older. Foxy felt better. There was a phone in the bathroom so she dialed her home number but no one answered. She left a message for Amanda and thought maybe she should call her daughter’s cell. But she just wanted to lie down. She’d call Amanda in the morning. She’d order room service for breakfast and call her daughter and pack up her clothes and go back home. Life would go on. With one more man in her past. One more disappointing man who’d had so much promise.

  In the late morning, when the waiter knocked with her room service tray, she saw the note on the floor just inside the door. She picked it up, opened the door for the waiter, and read:

  “Cara mia, forgive me for abandoning you tonight.” (So he wrote this last night, Foxy thought.)

  “This was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. But it would not have been fair to you if I stayed. Forgive me for encouraging something that it is not in my power to have. You are a wonderful, beautiful woman, and nothing could make me sadder than to have to say goodbye. But I must. Always, Carter.”

  Foxy tucked the note into her suitcase and ate her breakfast. She puzzled over it as she finished packing, while she dressed, as she made her way to the lobby to sort out the bill before heading to the airport. There would be no shopping. Just this sad, sorry departure after what promised to be a memorable weekend. She dragged her suitcase behind her with the carry-on stacked atop the bigger one. With her purse slung over her shoulder, she trudged ahead down the long marble hall toward the front desk and there, standing by the big table with the giant vase of orchids, she saw Carter, his arm held by an older woman who looked, from her designer clot
hes and the diamonds in her ears and the bracelet around her wrist, very rich. She was much shorter than Carter. And the way she was hanging onto him appeared possessive. At least to Foxy.

  As she approached, Carter spotted her. He stepped forward one step and the woman at his arm looked up at him. Foxy walked ever closer, and she could see the pain on Carter’s face now. Or was it embarrassment? And then she was within five feet of him. There was no way to avoid it. She had to pass him to get to the desk.

  “Ah, Roxanne,” he said and turned to face her directly, the woman turning with him as if they were one body, attached at the arm. “Darling,” he said to the woman, “I want to introduce you to Roxanne Anders.” He tried to extricate his arm from the woman’s. “And, may I introduce you to my fiancée, Caroline Dexter-Ross.”

  Without disentangling her right arm from Carter’s, she stuck out her left hand. It had an enormous diamond on the ring finger. “How lovely to meet you.” Her words were clipped, slightly nasal, and decidedly condescending in tone. “Carter has told me so much about you. It was good of you to keep him occupied in my absence. He does get so irritable during our momentary separations.” She briefly made contact with Foxy’s hand and then dropped it. It wasn’t a hand shake. Just an extension of her left hand, more of a formality. She wound her arm into Carter’s more firmly. “Carter, darling, we must go to brunch. The Simons are waiting for us. Lovely to meet you, my dear. You must come to the wedding. Carter make sure to send an invitation, will you?” With that, she propelled Carter down the hall toward the restaurant.

  Chapter Forty-One

  It took until Amanda got up the stairs and into her own room before she realized how angry she was. She popped open her laptop and signed on to her blog. No more holding back, she figured. Now was the time to really admit how she felt. About everything.