Blog Archives
Free Story: Platonic Pt.3 (The Session)
Platonic: The Session
Shrewsbury, New Jersey
The Office of Dr. Freda Michaels
Friday Afternoon
“I’m not gay,” Robyn said.
“When’s the last time you saw Elle?” Freda asked.
“This past weekend…I went down to Richmond.”
“And were you intimate with her on your visit?”
“It wasn’t planned. I mean, that’s not why I went there. We’re friends. We have a lot in common, like owning our own businesses. Elle and I were actually talking about putting together some kind of alliance, you know, a consortium of black women business owners. Maybe you’d like to be a part of it Freda. I mean, you’re a psychologist. You have your own practice. Wait – are you a psychologist or a psychiatrist?”
“I’m a psychiatrist.”
“A medical doctor as well as a head doctor, huh?”
“Yes. So let’s get back on point, Robyn.”
“The point is that I’m not gay. I like men. I love men.”
“Is there a man in your life currently? Anyone new since our last session?”
“When was our last session?”
“You were last here in April.”
“Nope, nobody new.”
“What about your friend Jon?”
“He’s seeing someone now…the secretary at his office. They’re getting pretty serious.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I have no right to be upset. I had my chance. Jon wanted us to give it a try, but I kept him in the friend zone. So I have no business being mad about him finding someone.”
“Are you mad about it?”
“No…I don’t know…”
Freda observed that Robyn fidgeted on the sofa. She waited to see if she’d say more.
“Okay, I’m pissed,” Robyn said. “But I’m pissed at myself, not at Jon or Toni.”
“Toni?”
“That’s her name – his secretary. She’s really nice…and beautiful. I can tell they’re happy together.”
“Any regrets?”
“Yes, I have regrets. Do you know how hard it is to find a good man these days? See, Freda, that’s the whole issue. It’s not that I have a thing for women. I just can’t seem to meet a man who has his shit together – a man who’s worth getting involved with.”
“Didn’t Jon have his…shit together?”
“Well yes, but…I don’t know. I wasn’t ready then…I don’t know…”
“What about the man you talked about…the author?”
“Simon?”
“Yes, Simon.”
“I thought about that.”
“And?”
“Well, the first issue is that he and Elle have their thing, you know? They’re friends with benefits. I don’t want to get in the middle of what they have and mess them up.”
“Because Elle is your friend?”
“Right.”
“And yet you can be intimate with Elle. Isn’t that getting in the middle of what they have?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because I’m not gay, Freda. Nothing is going to be serious with that. I want a man in my life. Hell, I’ve got my own pussy. I don’t need another one.”
“So what’s Elle’s purpose in your life, Robyn?”
“Human contact. Sexual release. Trust.”
“Is there a potential for love?”
“Not like that. Nope. Are you married, Freda?”
“I’m divorced.”
“For how long?”
Freda didn’t want to allow Robyn to change the line of questioning to talking about her life. The sessions were about the patient, not the doctor. But she thought that this might be leading somewhere. “For just over a year,” she said.
“I’ve been divorced for eight years,” Robyn said. “But I’ve told you that. I wouldn’t take him back for all the stock in Exxon and Apple combined. But I miss going to sleep at night in the arms of someone who loves me. I miss someone kissing or nudging me awake in the morning because he wants some. I miss having someone in my life who’s in my life, you know?”
“But you’ve spent many years since your divorce running away from that very thing, Robyn. Do you feel differently now?”
“I’m so tired, Freda. I’m tired of running away. I’m tired of being scared to trust. I look around and I see couples everywhere. They look happy, at least on the surface. I know they probably go through shit with each other, but they still have each other. I think about Jon, about what a cool guy he is. I can tell when he talks about Toni how much he cares for her, and I can’t help thinking that he could have been talking like that and feeling like that about me. But I let my fear push him away. Toni is a nice person. I try not to hate her. But when I go to bed alone and think about her going to bed with him…I’m just so…so tired of…”
Robyn slumped back into the sofa and put a hand over her face. Freda handed her a box of tissues and said, “Would you like to take a break?”
Robyn dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “No, no I’m fine. It’s not even about sex, you know? It’s about having that someone you can talk to and be with…share with.”
“I understand.”
“Can I ask you a question, Freda?”
“Certainly.”
“How long were you married?”
“I…I was married for twenty-six years.”
“Twenty-six years? Wait, how old are you?”
“I’m fifty years old.”
“Oh my God, Freda, you look amazing! Now I hate you. How do you stay so skinny? I mean, what are you, like a six?”
Freda smiled. “It’s just a trick of genetics. I was skinny as a rail for most of my life, even after two children. I didn’t start to fill out until I was in my forties.”
“So let me guess – that’s when your ex decided he wanted something young and skinny.”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Freda said. “We’re still friends.”
“So you don’t hate his guts?”
“I don’t hate him.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“No Robyn, you may not.”
———-
Robyn was Freda’s last patient of the day. After she was gone Freda locked up and sat at her desk, thinking about things. She thought about those couples Robyn saw, living their shared lives. Freda saw those same couples. She knew what Robyn was going through. She felt that same envy that Robyn felt when she saw other couples. She felt that emptiness too. She felt the loneliness.
She grabbed one of the tissues for herself, and cursed herself for her self-pity. Robyn had a right to cry. Her husband had abandoned her. Freda knew she had no such right. After all, she’d gotten exactly what she’d asked for.
She just hadn’t realized that freedom would hurt so much.
———-
Shrewsbury, New Jersey
Evan was preparing dinner when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Seeing who was calling, he felt a twinge in his gut. He took a deep breath and answered.
“Hey, Freda.”
“Hey, what are you up to?” she asked.
“Making dinner. What’s up?”
“Oh, what are you making?”
She sounded cheerful and sweet, that professional voice she used when conducting business or dealing with her patients.
After their breakup she’d started using that voice when speaking to him, too. It was like she was being extra careful and polite when they talked. Like she didn’t want to say anything that might release the explosion of anger that hadn’t yet come forth after what she’d done. Like she knew she deserved the cussing out that he hadn’t yet given her. So she was careful not to push the wrong button. So whenever they talked, her voice was always syrupy sweet.
He hated that fucking voice.
“I’m making Thai stir fry, with chicken,” he said. “Some stuff I found at Pathmark.”
“Oh, that sounds good! I’m just leaving the office and I’m starving. Got enough to share?”
“Well um…”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have asked…you’re not having company, are you?”
Sneaky.
“No, no company.”
“Soooo?”
“I can add some rice to stretch it out.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.”
———-
He looked so good, so handsome standing in front of the stove in his shirt and tie with his sleeves rolled up. Freda tried to remember why it used to irritate her so much that he rarely dressed casually unless it was the weekend. He looked so sexy in his professional attire.
She remembered the times when he’d beat her home from work; she’d come in and he’d be working on dinner, dressed just like this, like he was going to a board meeting instead of chilling at home. He’d smile at her and give her a hug and a kiss and feel her up, and then make some corny crack about having her for dessert.
Why had she grown tired of hearing that?
“That smells amazing,” Freda said.
He shrugged and stirred, keeping his eyes on the wok. “Yeah well, it’s not like I did anything. The seasonings came in the bag.”
“I was only saying that it smells good.”
He nodded, but kept his eyes on the wok instead of looking at her as he spoke. There was a time when he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Why were things so awkward and strained between them now? It wasn’t like they didn’t know each other, like they hadn’t been best friends as well as husband and wife for over half their lives.
She’d never wanted it like this. She’d thought that after a time they’d revive their closeness, that they’d still be a part of each other’s lives…still be friends…just not be married. She hadn’t anticipated that she’d lose all of Evan.
She tried to remember what it was about marriage that she’d needed to get away from.
Evan looked at her suddenly. His face lit up as if he’d just remembered something. “Hey, I had a patient this morning,” he said, “someone who’d be right up your alley.”
Freda walked across the kitchen to him, relieved that he was out of his mood. “Oh really? How so?”
“She thought she was pregnant,” Evan said. “She was convinced of it.”
“Why is that up my alley?”
“One, because this girl is a virgin. I examined her; she’s still intact, and never been close to intercourse, according to what she told me. Two, she said she was experiencing morning sickness. But here’s the crazy part: She says that she’s never been with a man, but that her twin sister, who just got married, is pregnant.”
“So she’s feeling psychological empathy.”
“That’s what I suggested. But she claims that she knows when her twin is having sex…that she feels the…sensations, even to the point of orgasm.”
“Wow.”
“So I asked her if she knew if her twin was actually having sex when she felt the sexual sensations. She said that she’d asked her, and yes, it was at the same times…including on the night of her sister’s honeymoon. She said she felt the pain and even saw some blood on the night her twin sister lost her virginity. What do you think of that?”
“Well, a lot of the non-physical similarities between twins are learned behavior. But there’s no real proof that twins share a physical or psychic empathic bond. There are stories, of course…”
“So how do you explain my patient feeling the sexual sensations at the exact same time her sister and her husband are doing it?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Is this someone you’d want to talk to? Maybe I could refer her.”
“I suppose, if she wants to talk about it.”
“I don’t know how she’ll take me suggesting she see a shrink. She’s convinced that what she’s feeling is real.”
“Well, if she wants to talk, have her call the office.”
Evan turned back to the stove and dumped rice into the stir fry mix. Now that the job talk was over it looked like he’d gone back into his shell.
“I’m sorry, Evan.”
“For what?”
“For what happened with us.”
“Freda, you apologized two years ago.”
“And you didn’t accept my apology.”
“I didn’t say that I didn’t accept it.”
“But I could tell by the way you acted that you didn’t accept it, and that you weren’t going to forgive me.”
“It was kind of tough you know, to be forgiving when someone rips your heart out and steps on it.”
“I’m sorry, Evan.”
“You’re apologizing again, Freda. Let it go. Move on.”
“Have you moved on?”
“I didn’t have a choice. It was move on or die.”
“I’m sor –“
“Don’t say it again, okay?” Evan spooned up some of the stir fry and held it out to her. “Taste,” he said.
She tried it, smiled. “Mmm, it’s good. You always were a better cook than me.”
“You can thank Pathmark for this one,” he said.
He actually cracked a smile. He hardly ever smiled on the few occasions they’d been together since she ended their marriage. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. They used to kiss all the time, every day. For them, kissing used to be like breathing.
Why had she wanted to stop breathing?
“So, have you found what you were looking for?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“That thing you needed to find, that thing that marriage was keeping from you.”
It had made so much sense to her back then. She was two years away from fifty. She had the education, the career, and the two great kids that had grown up to start their own medical practices. She had the marriage, the great husband who just happened to think that a shirt and tie was normal attire.
Normal.
That had been the problem. She’d believed that she was entering middle age and the beginning of the end of her life and had only ever known normal.
She thought about her patient Robyn, and how she’d spent years wanting normal, but was afraid to trust someone to give it to her. She’d been afraid of being hurt again. She and Robyn were alike. They’d both been afraid of normal, but for different reasons. But in the end they’d come to the same conclusion via different paths.
Normal was a blessing.
“I found some answers,” she said.
“Well good. I’m happy for you.”
“What if I don’t like the answers I found?”
He looked at her, into her eyes. She could tell that he was searching for the meaning of her words in her eyes. She hoped that he could read the truth. She hoped that he could see the regret.
He turned away, started spooning the stir fry onto a plate. “We’ve all had those days, Freda.”
“What do you mean?”
“As married people, we’ve all had those days in which we wonder what it would be like to have our lives belong to us again. We’ve all wondered what it would be like to be able to do what we wanted to do, whenever we wanted to do it. We’ve wondered what it would be like to not be accountable, to not have to figure the feelings of another person into the equation of our lives. Sometimes we’ve yearned for that. God knows I had those days.”
He handed her the plate. Like always, he gave to her before he gave to himself. The gesture was automatic, as natural for him as walking. He’d always been that way, since even before that day over half their lives ago when they’d declared their love for each other. He’d always put her first.
“The thing is, Freda, for me, there was never anything more important to me than you. Yes, there were days when I thought about how nice it might be to be free and single again. There were days when you got on my fucking nerves, just like I know there were days when I got on yours. But for me, I understood there wasn’t anything better than what I had, you know? I didn’t need to ask that question. I didn’t need to be single to know the truth. For me, my love for you overrode all other considerations.”
His words stung her worse that if he’d cursed her out, called her names. She took her plate and went to the table…to his table, in his kitchen. This was the place he’d made for himself when she’d told him that she didn’t want them to be them anymore. The place he bought after he’d packed up and moved out of the home they’d made together.
When normal turned into alone.
———-
He hadn’t meant to say so much. But it felt good to get it off his chest.
Two years ago, when she’d said that she needed something else, he’d gone numb. Beyond those few hours of discussion, they hadn’t talked about it. What was the point? Whatever feelings Freda had for him weren’t strong enough to sustain their marriage. So that was it.
He didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with him. He’d loved Freda with everything he’d had within himself. But he thought too much of himself to go out like that. He’d been too proud to beg, or to even ask why. The fact that she wanted out was enough.
As they ate they talked about the kids, caught up on each other’s families, made other bullshit small talk. He knew Freda had something she wanted to say. He knew her. He’d spent half his life being attuned to her nonverbal signals. When you loved someone you paid attention.
“Can I ask you a question?” Freda asked.
Okay, here we go…
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Do you ever think about having sex, just for the sake of having sex?”
“I’m a man, Freda. That’s a basic principle of my existence.”
She laughed. When she laughed the stress melted from her face. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how stressed she’d looked.
When her giggles subsided he said, “Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering how um…busy you’ve been lately,” she said.
“That’s a very personal question.”
“But have you?”
“We shouldn’t go there. I definitely don’t want to know what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been doing it with.”
“The last man I slept with was you.”
Evan looked at Freda, stunned. “Are you serious? You’re smoking hot. You could snap your fingers and get laid every day. Why –“
“One of the things I’ve learned is that there’s a lot to be said for being with someone you have a bond with. Someone you trust. I’ve dated, sure. I have needs. But damn…you look at someone and you ask yourself if that person is worth it…worth giving yourself to just for the sex of it. The answer for me has been no.”
“So you’re waiting for emotional involvement.”
“I haven’t met anyone that I trust.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“So, what about you?”
“I date too.”
She smiled at him. “You know what I mean.”
“More right after we split than lately. Everybody is looking for a husband. Some look at sex as foreplay for marriage. I’m not the one.”
“You don’t want to get married again?”
“I’m enjoying living my life stress free.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.”
“Isn’t this how you felt two years ago?”
“I told you I didn’t like the answers I found. Hey, thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So Evan…what would I have to say to get you to take me to bed?”
Evan sat still, trying to recover himself, trying to get over the shock of her question. How many times had he gone over a scenario like this? How many times had he asked, “What if?” It was more times than he could recall. And he’d always come to the same conclusion.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” he said.
“I know,” she sighed.
“Then why would you want to?”
“Because I trust you. And I need to feel loved.”
He made himself not say what he was thinking, that he didn’t love her anymore. He didn’t hate Freda…that would be wasted emotion. But in self-defense he’d had to make himself stop loving her. No one could continue loving someone the way he’d loved Freda and survive losing them. That kind of misery should be reserved only for souls in Hell. But she was a good person at heart, and there was no need for him to be cruel to her.
She said, “I was hungry and you shared your dinner with me. Why?”
“Because you were hungry.”
“And you had compassion.”
“Sure.”
“There’s nothing wrong with passion out of compassion.”
“Freda, it just wouldn’t be the same. We don’t have what we used to have.”
“You mean you don’t love me now.”
“I had to move on.”
“And you haven’t forgiven me.”
“I accept things for what they are. I don’t bear you any ill will. I accept that you’re a daughter of Eve.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The status quo is never quite good enough.”
“We all make mistakes, Evan.”
“You’re saying you made a mistake?”
“Are you looking for a confession?”
“It was a question, based on your comment.”
“I thought I wanted something else.”
“I know. But like I said, everyone has those feelings. I’ve had them. But there was never a time that I wanted to end our marriage. I loved you with everything I had in me. I understood my blessing. I appreciated being in The Garden.”
“God is a forgiving god,” Freda said. “You don’t think that He forgave Adam and Eve?”
“I’m sure He forgave them. But He didn’t let them back into Eden, either.”
“That sounds a bit self-righteous, Evan. You’re not God. You’re Adam.”
“I’m not being self-righteous. But I know that we can’t recoup what we’ve lost. Not sexually or any other way. Do you remember when you apologized the first time? You said that you hoped that I’d be able to move on.”
“I remember.”
“Well, I did,” he said. “I had to. You left me no choice in that matter. I picked up my ruined heart, put it back together as best I could and got on with my life. It’s not that I haven’t considered trying again, because I have, so many times. But I know that even if we did, even just on the sexual level, it won’t be as good as it was. Before, sex with you was always about love, even when we were doing the freakiest, nastiest shit we could think of. Love was always there. Now, it would just be fucking. I can fuck any other woman in the world, Freda. But I can’t just fuck you. It would be disrespecting what we used to have.”
“That’s sweet of you to say. But it wouldn’t be that way – us just fucking. You can’t erase a bond built over almost thirty years.”
“Maybe I don’t want to settle for something less than what I had.”
“Well then, how about something different than what we had?”
———-
Shrewsbury, New Jersey
Saturday Morning
Freda went through his refrigerator, found some bacon, eggs and frozen hash browns. Not a sign of fresh fruit anywhere. Apparently twenty-six years of training hadn’t stuck. Well, at least it was an improvement over what she’d found in the fridge in the apartment he’d lived in when they first met. All he’d had in that one was bologna, mustard and Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill.
She carried the food to the stove, found his pots and pans and got breakfast started. Then she padded through his condo, figuring she’d snoop a little while he was upstairs.
She wore his shirt – the one he’d worn yesterday – over her nakedness. It bore the scent of his cologne. It felt nice against her skin. It made her feel close to him. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that feeling. It made her want to cry…again.
She’d cried last night as they made love. She’d cried because it had been so long since she’d been loved. She’d cried because it felt so good. She’d cried because he didn’t kiss her, not once. She’d cried because he didn’t whisper how much he loved her, or how good she felt to him, the way he used to. She’d cried because in regaining a part of what she’d lost, she’d realized that there were parts that might be lost forever.
But as Freda walked through Evan’s condo she realized something else. She was excited again. There was an unknown quality in their relationship now. There hadn’t been anything unknown in their marriage for many years. They’d worked hard to establish stability in their lives. They’d achieved that. She realized now that that stability was what had unsettled her, and made her so unhappy. But now, she didn’t know what might happen. She didn’t know what he might eventually do about them.
Last night she’d cried over what she’d lost. This morning she was excited about being in something new.
There was a thrill in not knowing. Is this why some women preferred the so-called thug over the so-called good man, because not knowing what an unreliable man might do was exciting?
You’re a daughter of Eve.
She hadn’t felt this way with Evan for a long time. But being in his new place reminded her of when they began dating almost thirty years ago, back when they were in medical school and he had his little bachelor’s apartment.
She stood in the entry to his living room, smiling. This was certainly an improvement over that first place. Evan actually had furniture that matched now; good, quality leather stuff. And he had a real coffee table with a crystal centerpiece. Back in the day his coffee table was a cable spool he’d found at a construction yard. The centerpiece had been his bong.
He had real bookshelves now, instead of milk crates. And instead of Ohio Players album covers hanging on the walls, a real painting over the sofa.
It was a beautiful painting. She went across the room for a closer look.
The painting was a landscape of a dirt road somewhere in the country. The road was bordered on each side by a split-rail fence. The road extended away, and disappeared around a bend beyond a stand of trees. The way the artist used sunlight beyond the bend made her feel as if something good lay just ahead, just out of sight.
The beautiful work was a powerful piece. It made her feel good. She wanted to be on this road, walking toward that light.
Behind her Evan said, “It’s called Hope.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Evan came into the living room and stood close to her. She felt a little sadness that he didn’t touch her, or kiss her.
Looking at the painting he said, “I actually met the artist.”
“Really? Where?”
“At this gallery in Asbury Park. His name is Duncan Gray. His wife owns the gallery.”
She listened, but her attention was on other things. It was the weekend, so this morning Evan wore shorts and a tee shirt. She could tell by the new definition in his arms – by the bulge of his biceps and triceps that he’d been working out.
Her body quivered for him.
“Gray is an interesting guy,” he said. “It seemed to me that there was a lot more to him than meets the eye.”
She stole a glance at his thighs. Yep, he’d definitely been hitting the gym. The lights were out in the bedroom when they’d undressed, so she’d missed getting a good show.
“We exchanged cards,” Evan said. “His wife invited me to dinner, but I haven’t gotten around to calling.” He looked at her. “You’re more into art than me. Would you want to have dinner with them?”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
He frowned and sniffed, and then she remembered. “Oh damn, the bacon!” she said, and dashed to the kitchen.
———-
Evan hadn’t meant it to sound like he was asking her out. He’d asked her because she enjoyed art, and really seemed to like the painting. He’d asked her out of habit. He used to enjoy doing things that made her happy.
Having sex with Freda last night had been weird, but not as bad as he’d imagined in two years of asking himself “What if?” There hadn’t been any rush of emotions, no painful reminder of what he’d lost. It was just sex with someone he knew, and knew very well. It was intimacy with someone for whom he felt affection, in spite of everything. But the hurt wasn’t there. That meant the love wasn’t there anymore. He’d done a good job of turning his feelings off and moving on. He was relieved about that.
So now what?
His phone rang. It was their daughter Faith.
“Hello?”
“Daddy, I’ve been calling Mom all night and she’s not answering her phone or her cell. I just left the house and she’s not there!”
“Whoa, slow down baby. She’s over here.”
“Huh? She’s at your…heyyyyy…”
“Hey what?”
“She spent the night?”
He could hear the smile in his daughter’s voice. “She stopped by for dinner.”
“And she spent the night?”
“That’s none of your business.” He headed for the kitchen.
Faith laughed. “What did you do to my mommy, player?”
Freda was searching through the cabinets when he entered the kitchen. “Where do you hide your dishes?” she asked.
Evan held the phone out to her. “I’ll get the plates,” he said. “Here, talk to your daughter.”
———-
Freda took the phone and said, “Hi honey.”
“Is it still good?” Faith asked.
Freda fought to hold back her smile. “Faith, I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“Come on Mom, you can tell me. Did Daddy knock the bottom out of it?”
“I’m getting off the phone with you now.”
“Do me a favor, okay?”
“What, Faith?”
“The next time you plan on staying out all night to get laid, let a sister know, okay? I was worried about you.”
———-
They ate breakfast mostly in silence.
Freda was thinking that this could be the beginning of something nice…a new phase in their relationship. This might actually work. She could do with a session like this a few times a month.
She smiled at Evan.
———-
Evan smiled back at Freda.
He was thinking that he was right yesterday. He could fuck anybody, and that would be just fine. But with Freda, just fine wasn’t good enough, because it wasn’t as good as what they used to have. This wasn’t going to work. They couldn’t keep having sessions like this.
No way.
(To be continued…)
NOTE: The relationship Freda’s patient Robyn referred to occurred in the book Elle (Insatiable: Book One), available for the Kindle and Nook.
Free Story: Platonic (Part 1)
Chapters: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (Conclusion)
Platonic
Rumson, New Jersey
Friday Afternoon
Terri made herself swallow her bitterness as she slowed the BMW to a stop in the brick driveway of the residence. She always wanted to get mad when she came to a nice place like this, because it wasn’t fair.
Her mother should have lived in a nice house like this one. She shouldn’t have died alone in that rat trap apartment in Jersey City with nothing but roaches for company. A woman who gave so much love should have had the best things life had to offer. She should have lived in a nice house like this one.
If only you’d listened to me, Mama.
She could have gotten her mother out of that disgusting apartment, because in the end she’d been sick enough for the Army to qualify her as a military dependant. Base housing on Fort Bragg wasn’t fancy like this place, but it would have been a step up from that hole her mother had lived in – that they both used to live in. But Mama had been so stubborn. She didn’t want to leave New Jersey. And she’d said that the day she got so low that her daughter had to take care of her was the day she didn’t need to live anymore.
Damn it, Mama.
Terri choked down her bitterness and her hurt and checked herself in the Beemer’s visor mirror. She freshened up her lip gloss, snapped on a sultry, sexy smile that she didn’t feel and slid out of the car.
All right, time to go get paid.
As she stepped to the front door of the fancy house Terri smoothed down her backless little black dress and added a little sway to her stride. The owner might not be watching her out here, but you never knew. That’s why she’d rolled up in an agency BMW instead of her Ford Focus. It was all about illusion.
———-
Brandon checked himself in the hall mirror on his way to answer the door. For the third time that afternoon he wondered if he should have shaved off his new goatee, because it hadn’t grown long enough yet to be much more than stubble.
Okay man, it’s not that serious.
When he opened the door and saw the young lady standing there he wondered if not only should he have shaved, but if he should’ve worn a suit instead of a pullover and jeans.
She was gorgeous, absolutely stunning; a milk chocolate vision in a black dress and heels. She looked like she ought to be walking the red carpet at some Hollywood premiere as cameras flashed because everyone wanted to capture and preserve her exotic Nubian beauty.
Her hair was pulled up to highlight her slender neck and beautiful features; her dark, doe eyes, high cheekbones and full, sensuous mouth. Right now that sexy mouth was smiling at him.
“You’re Jewel?” he asked. Damn man, who else would she be?
“And you must be Brandon,” she smiled.
Brandon stepped aside and said, “Please, come on in.”
———-
Okay, she hadn’t expected the client to be a brother. And she definitely didn’t expect a man so fine. As Terri followed the hot hunk of chocolate into his house she wondered why a man who looked like him and who lived in a place like this needed to call a service. He had to have women beating down his door and climbing up the walls of his crib like cat burglars trying to find a way into his life. She wondered if he might be one of those guys too busy making money to have time for a social life. They did get clients like that sometimes.
He led her into a spacious but cozy sunken den with a fireplace and ceiling high windows overlooking a flagstone patio.
The space had a definite masculine vibe to it. Terri figured that if a woman had ever lived here, she was long gone.
“Have a seat, please,” he said, indicating the leather sectional.
Terri sat. She crossed her legs to give him a better view of part of what he was paying fifteen hundred dollars for.
He sat down too, but at a respectful distance from her on the sofa. Some guys were hands on right away. Those were the type who had the attitude that if they paid for it, they didn’t need to waste time on niceties. They were the type who only saw her as a pussy and a mouth and a body they’d paid to use.
She kept her eyes and her professional smile on Brandon. That was part of the illusion too, to make the client think that he or she was so appealing that she couldn’t keep her eyes off them. That wasn’t a problem with this brother. It would have been harder for her to not look at him.
He leaned forward and placed his forearms on his knees. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing his hairy forearms. She liked hairy arms. Sexy. He wore a simple leather banded watch on his wrist. It wasn’t fancy and flashy by appearance, but Terri bet the timepiece cost some serious money.
He clasped his hands together and looked at her.
Was he nervous? How cute. Maybe he was one of those guys who needed a little push to get things started.
Terri was about to go into her standard fake flirt when he cleared his throat and said, “So Jewel, how does this normally work?”
The money was already paid, direct to the agency, so they didn’t need to talk about that. But since he’d asked the question, Terri knew she needed to get one thing out of the way first.
Still smiling she said, “Brandon, are you a member of a law enforcement agency in any capacity?”
For a moment he looked surprised. Then he smiled. White teeth. Sexy lips, framed by a mustache and a shadow of chin hair that made him look kind of rugged. Damn boy, why do you need to pay? Please don’t be a cop.
He said, “No, I sell money for a living.”
“Wall Street?”
“Yes. But my father was a police detective. I hope that won’t count against me.”
“Not unless he’s hiding in the closet.”
“We’re all alone, Jewel.”
The way he was looking at her with his sexy eyes when he said that made Terri wonder again why the hell this man had to pay for it. She said, “Well then, to answer your question Brandon, your fee covers our night together. I’m yours until morning, for whatever you desire. The exclusions are anal penetration and any rough stuff.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” he smiled.
Okay, he was trying to be clever. “It depends on the perspective of those involved. But we won’t be finding out tonight.”
“Duly noted. Oh, forgive my manners, Jewel. Can I get you anything – maybe a glass of wine?”
“If you’re having one.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Terri checked him out and assessed his vitals from the rear as he walked out of the den. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties, maybe forty. About five-ten. Nice body, on the slender side but fit. He was dressed casually but tastefully in a V-neck cashmere pullover over pressed Levis and Rockport loafers. He dressed like he had money but didn’t need to show it off; like he didn’t need to use bling as a personal billboard; like he rode and died on who he was, not on what he could buy. A truly self-confident brother was sexy, too.
Terri thought that tonight might be kind of fun. When they got into it she could pretend that she wasn’t working, but that she was with somebody she wanted to be with, doing it because they cared about each other and wanted each other.
She was good at illusions.
———-
She was frowning at him. Even when she frowned she was fine.
“Okay, so let me get this straight, Brandon – you don’t want to do anything?” she asked.
Brandon was a little surprised that Jewel was surprised. He’d figured that there were probably some people who just paid for time, not touch. He said, “Going out to dinner is doing something.”
“Right, but I mean after. You paid for the entire night.”
She really looked cute all frowned up. He couldn’t help smiling at her cuteness. “Well, I thought we might come back here after, maybe hang out, talk…”
She was looking at him like he’d just stepped out of a spaceship and had green skin. Brandon thought he’d better explain himself.
“Okay Jewel, it’s like this: I don’t have a problem dating. I meet ladies. We do things, if you know what I mean. But I don’t really know any ladies.”
“How are you dating if you don’t know them?”
“What I mean is that I know plenty of women, but I don’t know any who are just friends. I know the women I date, but that’s about dating and all that entails. I have female business associates, but I only know them because we’re trying to get paid. We have no association outside the office, so they’re not really friends. But I don’t have a single woman in my life who I just know, who is just a friend to me. I never have. Even when I’ve met someone who seems like she’ll be nice to know, one of us eventually wants to take it to another place, either emotionally, physically, or both. It makes me wonder if it’s even possible for a man and woman to be platonic friends.”
“So you’re paying for me to be your friend tonight.”
“When you say it like that it sounds desperate. I’m not desperate for friendship, Jewel, or female companionship. I just wonder what it’s like to have a lady for a friend and that be all it is.”
He watched as she studied him for a long moment. Then she took a sip of wine. And then she said, “You know, if you weren’t paying, I’d tell you that you were full of it. I’d have no doubt that you were trying to get over by playing nice.”
“I am nice,” he said. “I think I’m a nice guy to know, even if I have to pay to prove it.”
———-
He took her to dinner at a nice restaurant down in Avon-by-the-Sea. As they dined Terri asked him the standard questions about himself. They were the questions she’d normally ask a client to pretend she cared, or if things were going slowly, or if a customer wanted to talk first. But this time she was actually curious about who Brandon was.
When he told her where he was from she chided, “I didn’t know people actually lived in Delaware. So when you left the state did you close the door and lock up?”
“Oh, is that supposed to be funny? Now I’m really hurt.”
He dabbed his napkin at his eye as if he was crying. He looked totally silly with his face all scrunched up, and a laugh burst from her mouth before she could stop herself. People at nearby tables cut glances their way.
Okay, she didn’t usually break character when she was working, but he’d caught her off guard with that fake crying act – a grown man with his face all scrunched up like a little boy. “Is this how you get when one of your stocks starts to lose value?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s much worse then. When a stock drops my office is like a day care center with all the tears and runny noses. But hey, so far you’ve asked me a bunch of questions about myself, but what about you? Where are you from?”
Ordinarily she’d make up something about her background for a client. One reason was to protect her privacy. But also, most men liked hearing that she was from a small town somewhere, and that she had no real life experience until she got into the business. They liked to feel that they were worldlier than she was, and therefore smarter…and therefore superior. Since she’d spent time in Fayetteville, North Carolina when she was in the Army, she usually used that as her fictional home town. “I’m from Jersey City,” she said.
Okay, she was just playing friends with Brandon. It didn’t really matter if she told him where she was from.
———-
“You don’t look like someone I’d picture being in the Army,” Brandon said.
“Why not?”
He was driving her back up the shore after dinner. He thought he’d take her to a cocktail lounge in Long Branch called Off Broadway before going back to the house. That would extend their evening a little, since he didn’t imagine that Jewel would be staying all night. A new female friend wouldn’t be spending the night.
“I don’t know; I always pictured military women as being kind of um…ruff around the edges.”
“You mean butch?”
“Okay, yeah.”
“Well, I always pictured Wall Street types as white men with no social life and high blood pressure who got rich and died of heart attacks at fifty.”
Brandon looked over at her as he pulled into the parking lot at Off Broadway. “No you didn’t. You’re just saying that because I said I didn’t know that a woman in the Army could be as beautiful as you are.”
———-
Okay, how was she supposed to come back from that – argue that she wasn’t beautiful? Terri clicked her tongue and tried not to smile and said, “Whatever.”
She watched Brandon as he slid out of the driver’s seat of his CL63 AMG and walked around to her door. He’d already thrown her off her game by being so chill, acting like they were just hanging out. She had to remind herself that no matter how he acted, this was still work. And just because he’d said that he wanted to play some kind of friend game, it didn’t mean that as the night wore on he wouldn’t become just another man wanting to get some.
She liked the idea of getting paid while keeping her clothes on. Still, as Brandon opened her door, took her hand and helped her out of the car she wondered would it might be like to experience the total package.
———-
The club was nice, an intimate little place playing jazz at a volume low enough for them to enjoy it while still being able to talk without raising their voices. They sipped wine and talked more. Terri was shocked at herself that she told Brandon so much about her real life. But he had a laid back personality and a sense of humor that put her at ease. She didn’t feel like he was some horny customer, or that he was looking down his nose at her. He acted like what he said he was paying for, like they were just a couple of friends enjoying a nice evening out.
She learned that he went to Monmouth University here in Long Branch and liked the area, so he stayed after graduating. He did as much work from home as in the city. He liked playing racquetball.
“I like playing too,” Terri said. “But I haven’t since I was in the Army.”
“Well hey, if you want to play sometime, I usually go to my club on Saturdays. We can go tomorrow if – if you’re not busy.”
“You mean if I’m not working?”
“Right.”
“Your time is up at nine o’clock, Brandon.”
“Oh, okay…right. I understand.”
Terri actually thought it would be fun to play racquetball again. She missed that. But she wanted to keep this about business, even if she was having a nice time.
Brandon said, “So what if I want to play racquetball next Saturday, instead of going out at night?”
“You’ll have to call to schedule that.”
“You can’t pick your own dates?”
“I work through the agency. They screen new clients and set things up.”
“But now I’m not a new client.”
“Still, everything is through the agency. You have to pay them and they schedule.”
“Oh, right.”
Okay, this was weird. Clients often wanted to see her again, but it definitely was never about wanting to play racquetball. She really did want to play. But this was business, and she wanted to get paid, too. She said, “But if you let me know when you want to see me again I can let the office know to leave that time open.”
“All right, I’ll do that then,” he said. “So let’s plan for next Saturday morning, say ten?”
“Okay.” I’m going to get paid to play racquetball. Damn.
“So why did you join the Army?” he asked.
Okay, here was another personal question. She’d never been asked about her Army experience by a customer because they never knew about it. But she’d opened that door with Brandon, so she didn’t see any point in lying now. “I wanted to get out of Jersey City; find something better to do with my life.”
Okay, that was enough. Terri had no intention of telling Brandon that she joined the military out of high school because she wanted to escape the inner city environment she’d grown up in. It wasn’t his business to know that she’d wanted to find a place in this world where she and her mother could live a decent life and just be happy. And she had no intention of telling him that after her mother passed away, for a while she’d lost the ambition to want to do anything.
In her last year in the Army after her mother died she’d just gone through the motions of being a soldier, biding her time until her four-year enlistment was up. She got out two years ago and came back home to New Jersey, and to nothing. Even with her military experience, finding a job was tough. The country was in the beginning of the recession and more people were losing jobs than were being hired. She’d ended up working as a clerk in a ladies clothing boutique in Newark, barely making enough to pay her bills and eat.
She been at the boutique for six months when one winter morning a gorgeous brunette who looked like a movie star who’d wandered across the bridge from Manhattan came in to look around. Terri had trailed the woman around the boutique, helping her with her selections. The woman was about her age, and Terri had had to swallow her envy as the cost of the goods the chick selected neared two thousand dollars. She kept her bitterness in check by mentally adding up the commission she’d get off the sale.
As the customer handed over her Gold Card at the register she’d said, “I’m sorry – you look so familiar. Do I know you?”
The chick did look familiar, but Terri couldn’t imagine that she could have been in the Army. She looked and carried herself like she was born filthy, stinking rich.
“I don’t know,” Terri said. “But you look familiar, too.”
“Wait, did you go to Ferris?”
“For a couple of years, yes.”
“Well that’s it then. I was on the cheerleading squad my junior and senior years. I’m Lindsay. Lindsay Buchannan.”
Terri remembered the face but didn’t know her. She hadn’t run with that crowd in school. She figured this Lindsay chick couldn’t have come from money if she went to Ferris High, but it sure looked like she was doing well now. Terri checked her finger but didn’t see a wedding ring.
“When did you graduate?” Lindsay asked.
“In ’04.”
“I escaped in ’05,” Lindsay smiled.
That’s right, she’d thought, rub it in. A year younger than me and doing ten times better.
“I was a blonde then,” Lindsay said. “But in my business there are too many blondes.” She touched her hair. “Thus, this color.”
“What business are you in?” Terri asked.
Instead of answering, Lindsay handed her a business card, looked at her nametag and said, “You’re beautiful, Terri. If you ever want to do something different and make a lot more money, give me a buzz. We’ll talk.”
Terri called Lindsay that night.
Two weeks later she had her first interview at the mansion in North Jersey with a woman named Marita. They did a background check on her more thorough than the one she’d gone through joining the Army. Then she was called back for a second interview with a lady named Michelle, who ran the house.
That was a year and a half ago. Now she made more money in a month than she’d made in the boutique and the Army combined; a lot more money, and for a lot less work. Rare were the times when she had more than three customers in a week, unless she wanted to. She never wanted to.
———-
Terri woke up just after sunrise in one of Brandon’s guest bedrooms. It was a weird feeling. She was working, but she woke up feeling clean, pure. It almost didn’t feel real.
She sat up and looked toward the closed bedroom door. It was still locked. If Brandon had tried to get in last night she’d slept through it. But she didn’t think he had.
They’d come back to the house just after one in the morning. He acted ill at ease, like he didn’t know what was supposed to happen next. He’d been so cute as he stumbled over his offer to her to sleep over if she was too tired to drive.
She hadn’t been that tired because she’d slept most of the day getting ready for this appointment. But she hadn’t been anxious to leave, either. He was a nice guy. It had been kind of nice just hanging with a man with no expectations between them.
The nightstand clock said that it was almost seven. She was thirsty, so she decided to run down and get some water and then take a shower and go home.
Terri slipped out of bed and into the robe he’d given her last night. It was one of his, and it swallowed her up. The thick cotton and velour felt nice rubbing against her skin as she padded to the door.
She eased the door open and peeked out. She didn’t see or hear any signs of life. Walking quietly so as not to disturb him, she crept downstairs and found the kitchen.
Brandon was already in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the paper. He looked up, smiled at her and said, “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thanks. Good morning to you, too.”
For just an instant it struck Terri to wonder what it might be like to do this every day – to come downstairs to find her man in the kitchen sipping coffee and reading his paper. Before the question could turn into desire she pushed it out of her head.
She was good at illusions, but some were too dangerous to play with.
———-
Rumson, New Jersey
Saturday Morning
Three Months Later
Terri got out of her Focus in Brandon’s driveway and headed for the front door. It was chilly out so she wore faded jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and Lady Tims. She carried a gift wrapped box in her arms – Brandon’s Christmas present. She hoped the shape of the box wouldn’t give away what it was – a new Head Black Jack racquetball racket.
She’d worked last night so she was tired. But she figured if she really started dragging she’d just crash on Brandon’s sofa or go up to one of the guest rooms and pass out for a while. She’d done it before.
Terri smiled to herself as she rang the doorbell. When Brandon opened his gift on Christmas she had a few jokes she could use about the racket manufacturer’s name: I got you some Head for Christmas, or Here’s some Head for you to play with. Maybe, Would you like your Head under the Christmas tree?
If he answered yes, she had no problem hooking the brother up, no charge. But she knew he wouldn’t say yes. In three months he hadn’t made a move on her, not even a little flirt. Terri admired Brandon for being a man true to his word. But it wouldn’t bother her a bit if he broke his damned word.
She was thinking about not having Brandon pay any more for their time together. She didn’t feel right letting him pay when she really enjoyed spending time with him. She liked having him as a friend, and his paying for them to hang out made their friendship feel fake. It wasn’t fake.
He was a cool guy. She liked him a lot.
That was no illusion.
———-
“There’s nothing sexier than a man who can cook,” Lisa cooed. She was smiling across the breakfast nook table at him. Under the table she had her foot in his lap.
“It doesn’t take much to pour batter into a waffle iron,” Brandon said.
“Well, much of it is that you would even bother to try. That’s sexy.”
Brandon thought that Lisa had sex on the brain, because everything was sexy to her. She’d just started at his agency last month. They’d hit it off right away, but it had nothing to do with a relationship or liking each other as people. It was about fucking. He liked what he saw. Lisa liked what she saw. They weren’t trying to pretend it was about anything else.
They’d started out getting a hotel room for a lunchtime quickie and a longer after work session when he worked in the city. Last night was the first time she’d come to his house. From almost the minute she stepped into his foyer she’d had her clothes off.
This morning she was wrapped in a bath towel as they ate. That was convenient because when breakfast was over the fucking would begin again.
Brandon was trying to decide if he was going to fuck Lisa on the den sofa or on the kitchen floor when his doorbell chimed.
“Expecting someone?” she asked.
“No.” Brandon pried Lisa’s foot out of his crotch and pushed away from the table.
As he left the kitchen Lisa said, “You have five minutes to get rid of them. After that I’m coming out there…and this towel is staying in here.”
TO BE CONTINUED
