Like the First Time

by Francis Ray

  At least that was her parents’ hope. But there were no children, and it didn’t appear as if there would be any.

  There was no man in her life, and never had been. She’d always been shy and a loner. One of the reasons she had chosen to major in Computer Science was that she dealt with machines better than with people. She had viewed working overtime and on holidays as a way of reaching her goal of being financially independent by the time she was fifty. Marriage and family would come, but she was too busy trying to rise in her profession to date. Now, at thirty-nine, she had done neither.

  Getting up from the bed to go into the kitchen, Claire caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser in her bedroom. Everything about her was ordinary: her face, her eyes, her mouth, and her nose. She’d never stop traffic the way Brooke did and she certainly didn’t have the air of confidence or poise that Lorraine possessed. She didn’t have that sparkle, that zip.

  For some odd reason, she thought of Brooke’s comment about her missed opportunity with Gray. It would be laughable if it weren’t so implausible. By the time he turned thirteen and was almost six feet tall, girls were after him. He could have had his pick. The daughter of the cook and the chauffeur wasn’t even in the running … not that she wanted to be.

  Annoyed with herself for letting her mind wander to something so totally off base, she left her bedroom and headed for the beach. Perhaps a walk would clear her head.

  * * *

  Her hand clenching the cell phone, Brooke paced the floor and waited for Randolph to pick up. It was barely ten minutes after four on Saturday morning. This was her third time trying to reach him since she’d set her alarm clock for four AM. Last night she kept getting his machine. Every time she’d think he might be out with another woman, she’d glance at her gold bracelet on her wrist. He must have been too tired to check his messages last night and simply forgotten this morning.

  Randolph cared about her. He’d told her numerous times. Once she talked to him everything would be all right. Perhaps he’d even ask her to marry him now and she wouldn’t have to worry about finding a new job at all. She’d be too busy planning her wedding.

  “Peterson.”

  Hearing Randolph’s voice, Brooke felt tears sting her eyes. She blinked them away. Randolph didn’t like emotional women. “Randolph, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.”

  “I had a lot of work to do and I had the machine on. I was trying to finish this morning, but the phone kept disturbing me,” he grumbled.

  Brooke tried to remember how Randolph hated being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but something terrible has happened.”

  “You’re dumping me?”

  Brooke blinked. “No, honey, you know I love you … it’s something else. Yesterday I was laid off.”

  “What! What did you do?”

  She was almost as shocked by his second question as she was by his first. “I didn’t do anything! It was my supervisor, Opal Severs; she’s always had it in for me. Because Middleton is going through restructuring, she probably put my name at the top of the list to go. The hag.”

  “Restructuring doesn’t work that way, Brooke. Upper management has some say-so in the leveling process, but consultants usually have the final say on the positions that are expendable.”

  Her hand tunneled though her hair in rising irritation. Randolph could be so … so analytical and logical at times. “Randolph, we’re talking about my job. They only gave me two weeks’ severance pay.”

  “You’ll find another position. You’re smart, savvy, and gorgeous. I can think of several companies that would snap you up.”

  She perked up. “Which ones? Can you call them?”

  “You don’t need me to do that, dear. One of the reasons I’m so crazy about you is your resourcefulness. You’ll find another job and be back in management before I get home. Now, I have to run. These reports are due Monday morning and I want to make sure they’re on time and correct. The bank president and the board will be there. I need to make a good impression.”

  “But Randolph—”

  “You’ll do fine. I really must get back to those reports. I’ll call later. Bye.”

  “But…” Brooke’s voice trailed off as she realized he’d hung up on her. How could he have done that to her? Cell phone in her hand, her mind reeled with confusion. She’d thought he’d be sympathetic, offer encouragement. He’d done none of those things. She tried to hang on to his promise that he’d call later. Laying down on the bed, she snapped out the light, put her arm over her eyes and wished she could call her mother.

  * * *

  Randolph hung up the phone and turned. She was still there. He went from semi-aroused to full arousal in the next breath. She wasn’t as beautiful as Brooke, but she was more exotic, more alluring in an openly sexual way. She’d proven it last night. There wasn’t any sex act she wasn’t willing to do.

  He didn’t feel the least bit ashamed that he was being unfaithful to Brooke. He might care for her, but he wanted a wife who was on an upward career path. Having a beautiful, intelligent woman as his wife would be a great business asset. But in the meantime, there was no reason to deprive himself of sexual pleasures.

  A real man couldn’t be expected to remain celibate the way a woman did. His father certainly had his little affairs. Women on the side were almost an honored Southern tradition. And this one he’d picked up at a party at the American Embassy last night was stunning. A jet-setter, she was in between husbands and beds. Randolph couldn’t believe his luck.

  A half smile on her mouth, she walked over to him. Red nails trailed along his chest, down his stomach, over his groin. The contact was just short of pain. Air hissed through his teeth, then he forgot all about the pain as she dropped to her knees and expertly took him into her mouth.

  “J-Jan-aa,” he moaned raggedly, forgetting everything but the woman in front of him. He’d heard she could sap a man’s soul. He was more than willing to let her try.

  * * *

  Claire fixed a breakfast she didn’t want, because she had a guest. However, seeing Brooke’s unhappy face Saturday morning around ten, Claire wasn’t sure the younger woman was hungry either. “You still can’t reach Randolph?”

  Brooke’s lower lip trembled, then she pulled out a wrought-iron chair and sat down at the table. “We spoke briefly. He was working on a report. He’s going to call later.”

  Claire wasn’t sure how to respond. Wouldn’t a man in love with a woman want to comfort her at a time like this and put her first? “Did you give him this number?”

  Brooke, who had been looking down at her hands in her lap, lifted her head. Misery swam in her teary eyes. “He has my cell.”

  “Of course.” Claire hated that Brooke, who always was so lively and self-assured, was so unhappy. “Have you spoken with your parents yet?”

  Brooke swallowed. “I think I’ll wait.”

  A change in subject was definitely in order. “The biscuits are homemade and so are the peach preserves. I’ll be offended if you don’t eat. Afterwards we can take a walk along the beach and I can show you around Sullivan’s Island.”

  Brooke picked up a biscuit and put it on her plate, but she made no attempt to eat. “I think I’ll stay in my room and wait on the call from Randolph.”

  “He can reach you just as well while you’re out,” Claire said, opening the preserves and putting a heaping tablespoon on Brooke’s plate. “I feel a scream coming on and I might need a reference in case they try to arrest me.”

  Finally, Brooke looked at Claire. “What if I’m screaming just as loud as you?”

  “We’ll be in the cell together until Lorraine springs us,” she said, happy at least that she could find a smile and that she had a loyal friend like Lorraine.

  Brooke picked up her fork and cut into her ham. “Works for me.”

  * * *

  It was close to five that afternoon when Claire pulled back into her garage. They’d be
en gone longer than she had intended, but as the day had worn on and Randolph hadn’t called, Claire had been determined to take Brooke’s mind off him. Claire reasoned that other men might be able to accomplish that goal. She certainly didn’t have any experience getting men’s attention, but thankfully Brooke had achieved that on her own.

  Every place they went, Fort Moultrie, the lighthouse, the beach, men noticed Brooke. She resembled Halle Berry and had the same flawless caramel skin and flirtatious smile. The sadness Brooke couldn’t hide gave her a certain vulnerability that had men gravitating to her like metal shavings to a magnet. The straight white strapless sundress with high-heeled sandals probably helped. Claire would have broken her neck in heels half that height.

  A couple of them even tried to talk to Claire, but since she had never received that kind of attention before, she was sure the reason was because they were trying to get next to Brooke. Claire hadn’t minded. By the time they were on their way home, Brooke’s smile was back and she had five phone numbers in her little Fendi bag.

  “What are you going to do with those numbers?” Claire asked as they entered the house through the garage.

  “What I always do.” Brooke took them out of her purse and threw them in the trash beneath the sink. “I used to try and say no thank you, but found it was simpler to just take the number and discard them later.”

  Shaking her head, Claire washed her hands in the sink and pulled two glasses from the white glass-front cabinet. She’d definitely never had that problem. “Does that happen when you’re out on a date with Randolph?” Claire could have kicked herself when she saw the shadow return to Brooke’s eyes.

  “Yes, but Randolph is the only man I want,” Brooke said firmly. “We love each other.”

  Claire wondered if Brooke was trying to convince herself when the phone rang. Brooke, who was closest to the extension on the end of the yellow tiled counter, reached for the phone, then abruptly stopped. Claire knew she had remembered that Randolph didn’t have Claire’s home phone number.

  “I think I’ll go lay down for awhile.”

  Watching her friend leave, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped, Claire felt a distinct dislike for the absent Randolph. She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “You’re a hit.”

  Claire frowned on hearing the excitement in Lorraine’s voice. “A hit?”

  Laughter flowed through the line. “Your bath products. The ladies went nuts over the soaps.” She laughed again. “I think a few of them were a bit jealous when they saw the candle and potpourri you had created for me.”

  “I’m glad they liked them.” Claire’s mind wandered to Brooke.

  “Like is too mild a word. We agreed, hands down, that yours were the nicest mementos of any book club meeting.” Lorraine’s voice became subdued. “They felt guilty in accepting the gifts when I told them your situation.”

  “I didn’t want their pity or for them to feel sorry for me,” Claire said, a bit defensively.

  “I know. I was shameless I’m afraid, and told them if they couldn’t accept your gracious gift I’d be happy to donate it in their name to the women’s shelter Monday when I go to volunteer.” Amusement returned to her voice. “There were no takers. They were still talking and sniffing when they left fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been trying to call you ever since.”

  “Brooke and I went out for a while.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know you’re definitely a hit and your talents are appreciated.”

  Just not in the right way. Claire shook off the thought. There would be no self-pity. “Thanks. Is Hamilton home?”

  “He called this morning. He’ll be home tomorrow.” Excitement rang in Lorraine’s voice. “Hopefully he’ll be home for a while this time.”

  Claire knew Lorraine’s husband was a certified turnaround expert. It suddenly hit Claire that he might have had something to do with Middleton. Even if he hadn’t worked on Middleton, there were others just like her that he had caused to lose their jobs. They were names, not people with hopes and dreams, to him.

  “Claire, is everything all right?” Lorraine asked as the silence lengthened.

  “I was just remembering what Hamilton did for a living.”

  A sharp intake of breath came clearly through the phone.

  “But I remembered something else that’s even more important. You and your friendship. I’m glad we’re friends and nothing will ever happen to change that.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” Thankfully she heard the relief in Lorraine’s voice.

  “Let’s stop before we get soppy. Thanks for the call. I’m going to run out and get an early Sunday paper to check the want ads.” She wasn’t giving up. Monday morning she planned to be ready to hit the ground running.

  “Good luck.”

  There were those two words again. “Thanks.” Claire hung up and added. “I’ll need it.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Brooke’s Jaguar wouldn’t start Sunday morning.

  Helpless, Claire watched as Brooke finally gave up and stopped flicking the key. The engine had initially tried to turn over, then there’d been only silence. That had been two minutes ago. It seemed longer. Brooke had cursed, pleaded and kept trying, as if her will alone would make the engine spark to life and stay that way. Muttering something Claire couldn’t understand, Brooke dropped her head onto her hands, clenched around the steering wheel. Defeat radiated from her.

  Claire bit her lower lip. She didn’t know if Brooke had talked to Randolph and the conversation hadn’t gone any better than yesterday’s, or if he hadn’t called at all. After seeing the miserable expression on Brooke’s face when she came into the kitchen this morning, Claire hadn’t had the heart to ask. Now her prized car was giving her grief.

  “Maybe it’s the battery,” Claire offered. “Once mine did the same thing and John had to put a new battery in it.”

  Brooke slowly turned her face toward Claire. “Who’s John?”

  “My mechanic.” Claire made a face. “He’s kept my car running these past nine years, when I thought the best I could do was shoot it and put us both out of our misery.”

  Brooke didn’t smile as Claire had hoped, but she did lift her head. “No one is touching my car but a certified Jaguar mechanic.”

  “Service departments are closed on Sundays. Even if one were open, it would be very expensive to have your car towed back to Charleston,” Claire pointed out.

  “Not for me,” Brooke said, lifting her head a fraction further. “I never pay full price for anything when a man’s involved. I got this car at the dealer’s price. He showed me the papers.”

  Considering what had happened with men yesterday, Claire felt Brooke was probably telling the truth. “You’re welcome to spend the night and call them in the morning.”

  Brooke was already shaking her head. “I better get home.” She opened the glove compartment and pulled out her Operator’s Manual and began flipping through it. “I have Roadside Service.” Finding the number, she called, then tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel as she listened to the recorded message. After a minute or so she hung up. “They’re backlogged. May take three to four hours to get someone over here.”

  She tossed the cell phone back into her purse. “I guess you can call your mechanic, but he’d better know what he’s doing or he’s not touching my car.”

  “He does,” Claire assured her. “I’ll just go inside and call him. It’s not nine so he might not have left for church yet.” She stopped at the door. “I’ll ask John to bring a battery just in case.”

  “It had better be a certified battery,” Brooke called out.

  Claire went inside the house without answering. Brooke probably wouldn’t know a certified battery from any other, just like Claire didn’t. John would. He was the best in the business.

  * * *

  John Randle was heading out the door with his two children for Sunday school when his cell phone rang.
Pulling it from his belt loop he checked the number. “Wait a minute, kids. I need to see what Claire wants.”

  “Maybe she wants me to come over so she can bake me some more cookies,” Amy offered hopefully, her sweet face wreathed in a wide grin which showed her missing two front teeth.

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Like she’s gonna want to bake you cookies after you wasted your milk all over the floor the last time she baby-sat us.”

  “It was an accident,” Amy said, sticking out her lower lip.

  “That’s enough, you two. It’s Sunday.” John gently separated his children. Amy might be four and Mark eight, but she held her own and wasn’t above driving home her point with a right cross. She had spunk just like her mother. Linda had been gone almost five years and he still missed her smile.

  “Hello, Claire, what’s up?”

  “Good morning, John. My friend spent the night and now her new Jaguar won’t start. She really needs to get back to Charleston. Her car service can’t come for at least three hours,” she quickly explained. “Can you please come over and take a look at it?”

  He glanced down at his children in their Sunday best ready for Sunday school. He was getting pretty good at plaiting Amy’s thick black hair that reached past her shoulders. His mother had pressed out her dress so there were no wrinkles this time. Mark looked like a little gentleman in his dark pants and white shirt and tie. Amy’s wouldn’t stay that way, but their leather shoes were polished to a high shine. He tried to take care of his kids, but occasionally life got in the way.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to leave them. They’d grown up in the church. Both sets of grandparents would be there, and Pastor Collins and his wife were Mark’s godparents. But it still bothered John when he was called away on business even though that same business made sure his children were well taken care of. Being a single parent wasn’t easy.

  “Just a minute.” He held the phone to his chest. “Claire has a friend who needs my help to get her car started. Will you two be all right and behave if I drop you off at Sunday school?”