Fed Up

by Kathleen Duhamel

  A stomach-twisting scene played out in my head. Ian, looking dangerously appealing in shorts and flip flops, strolls along the beach at sunset. He is approached by a bikini-clad actress wanna-be who strokes his ego while fantasizing about stroking something else. In the final moments, John Thomas leads the way back to her place and we fade to black.

  He’s taking you to Paris, I reminded myself. He opened up about his past when he knew it was risky. Why can’t you let yourself trust him?

  Because he was too much of everything—too charming, talented, and impossibly good-looking. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe Danielle had been right all along.

  I had avoided talking to my daughter because I knew she was likely to ask questions I didn’t want to answer. When she called later that day, I had escaped the afternoon heat, settling into the sunroom sofa with a glass of sweet tea, Henri on my lap, and my new Time Traveler: The Complete Edition DVD, which included all seven seasons.

  Watching his show had been a revelation. It was far better than I expected and frequently laugh-out-loud funny. Ian’s character, Dr. Nicholas Adderly, was brilliant, scatterbrained, and utterly loveable on his journeys in a frequently unreliable time machine. I sat through the first few episodes, mesmerized at how the camera loved Ian’s younger face, lingering on his unusual eyes and that panty-dropping smile. The fact that his character was totally unaware of his sexual attractiveness made him even more appealing.

  I was beginning to understand Dani and her girlfriends’ obsession with the show and its GQ-worthy star. She probably fantasized about him like I did, I realized, only to meet him years later as her mother’s short-term lover.

  While I tried to keep my conversation with Dani focused on neutral topics, such as my new opportunity with Ravenswood Inn, our talk invariably turned to Ian.

  “Isn’t he leaving soon?” she asked, sending another stab of anxiety to my already queasy stomach.

  “Next Sunday. The show wraps up location shooting this week. Dani…” I continued, still unsure of what to tell her. “You know how much I enjoy your visits, honey, but please don’t come home next weekend. Ian is spending his last few days here with me.”

  “Uh-huh,” was her tepid response.

  “And I should let you know that I’ll be gone for a few days next month. He’s taking me to Paris on a vacation.”

  A long moment of silence followed.

  “Are you still there?”

  I heard her heave a deep sigh.

  “I thought you said this would all be over once he went home to Los Angeles.”

  “I guess things have changed.”

  “You’re a couple now? How’s that going to work with him in California and you in Virginia?”

  Reality check: I had no idea of how it would work. Or not.

  “You’re not thinking about moving away, are you?” Her voice quaked, triggering a memory of a feisty seven-year-old, pleading with me to stay home from the restaurant. You’re not leaving again, are you, Mommy?

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve started a new business, and this is my home. Listen, Dani, all of this is new. We’ll have to work it out as we go.”

  She sighed again, with obvious disappointment. My girl had figured out how to push her mother’s buttons long ago.

  “Have you talked to your therapist about him?”

  “No, I have not. I’d like to think I’m capable of making some of my own life decisions without having to consult a mental health professional. Don’t I seem happier to you? More engaged in life? Until now, I don’t think I would have had the courage to step out and take the risk of starting a business venture by myself.”

  “Mom, I know you like him, and he’s witty and disgustingly handsome, but are you sure this is a good idea? Couldn’t you focus on being your own best friend for a while?”

  I’d been my own best friend for the past year and a half, long enough to know that I didn’t want to live by myself, with only a couple of cats for companionship. Hadn’t I grieved enough? Was I wrong to want another man in my life?

  I had a few female friends my age, or a little older, who’d completely given up on love and sex. Men were simply too much of an inconvenience, they claimed. “I’ve been spayed,” one of them confided to me after her recent hysterectomy. “I don’t want anyone to touch me, including my husband.”

  I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life without male companionship, without ever being kissed and held in a man’s secure embrace. Did that make me weak…or simply foolish for desiring it all at my age?

  “You know I enjoy having someone to cook for and fuss over,” I told my daughter, trying not to sound defensive. “I don’t think I was meant to live alone.”

  “But you’ll be alone anyway, won’t you?” she persisted. “After he’s gone.”

  On that depressing note, we ended our conversation, with Dani promising to call again in a few days.

  “What do you think, boys? Is your mama a lovesick fool?”

  As I rubbed Henri’s chin, his eyes closed and he vibrated in contentment, while Francoise eyed me from J-P’s leather chair.

  “I’d say the reaction is mixed, wouldn’t you?”

  Henri stood up, stretched, and jumped off the sofa to join his brother.

  Great. Now you’re carrying on conversations with the cats. What’s next? Walking around town, mumbling to yourself while wearing baggy sweatpants and mismatched socks? Oh, that’s only Shelby Durand. She used to be a respected business owner. Now she’s just crazy.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ian

  My smart phone registered twenty past ten when I stumbled into the trailer after a grueling fourteen hours on set, my next-to-last day on location. Shooting on Season Two would wrap tomorrow and end with a cast party, which I did not plan to attend. Instead, I’d be on my way to Shelby’s house for our private celebration.

  Dropping onto the sofa, I paused to read an email from my attorney, sent more than two hours ago, informing me that my divorce from Monica was final. I had expected to feel some measure of relief. Instead, I sagged into the cushions, overcome by a toxic mix of fatigue and utter defeat.

  Chalk up another bloody failure, Ian.

  At least it was over. After I returned to California, I planned to find an apartment, take Shelby’s advice about seeing a therapist, and give myself a break from acting to assess my future, as I was convinced there would be no Season Three of Sutherland’s Ghosts.

  Next, I read a text from my chef that momentarily lifted me out of my funk.

  Shelby: A whole weekend together, so prepare yourself to be indulged.

  Friday night’s menu:

  Grilled beef tenderloins with mushrooms and classic Bordelaise sauce

  New potatoes

  Tender-crisp broccoli rabe

  Dessert TBD. Is there anything you had in mind?

  Although I wasn’t sure Shelby would still be awake, I texted back.

  Ian: A full aerosol can of whipped cream and your naked body. Perhaps a few fresh cherries for garnish.

  In only a couple of minutes, she replied.

  Shelby: Don’t be silly. I’d never serve you canned whipped cream.

  Her text was accompanied by three emojis: a smiley face, a heart, and a bowl of something white and creamy. Was it whipped cream or pommes puree? I couldn’t quite make it out. My brain was still spinning from her playful response.

  I turned my attention back to dinner, salivating at the prospect of slicing into perfectly cooked medium rare beef drizzled with her rich, wine-infused sauce. My fantasy continued with our meal served in her dining room, where I guessed she would keep both the lights and the music low, her favorite satellite jazz station playing on a remote speaker. Later, if it didn’t rain, we might have an after-dinner drink outside on the back deck. We could watch for fireflies, although the flashy behavior of mating season likely was over until next year.

  Afterward, we’d go upstairs, slip between her cool sheets, a
nd make love. I’d do my utmost to give her another earth-shattering orgasm, so I could hold her close and witness the satisfied smile on her face. The next morning, we might take a walk to her favorite downtown breakfast joint to fortify ourselves with biscuits and gravy before I spent the afternoon repairing her garden fence and trimming the hedge.

  My daydream of domestic bliss came to an abrupt halt at the muffled sound of a door opening and closing at the end of my tiny hallway. What the fuck? I vaulted off the couch with my heart racing. Is someone in here? How did they get past the guard? My eyes swept the room for some type of weapon, finding nothing except a small kitchen fire extinguisher, which I ripped off the wall. Reaching in my pocket, I grabbed my phone to call security, but before I could punch in the numbers, I caught a whiff of cloyingly sweet perfume. My stomach dropped as a female figure appeared in the hallway, clad in an oversized terry cloth robe. Mine, if I wasn’t mistaken.

  “Jennifer, how in the bloody hell did you get in here?” My voice shook with barely concealed anger.

  “You always leave the door unlocked.” She took a few steps forward. “You’re far too trusting.”

  As she walked toward me, her scent filled my nostrils with nauseating sweetness. Honey-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her oversized lips were frozen in a pout. She sauntered closer and the robe slipped down, exposing one bare shoulder and most of her breast.

  “Time’s almost up,” she growled, as her lips curved into a predatory smile. “I came to give you what you’ve been wanting.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Oh, you’re too uptight.” She was right in my face, and the scent of her perfume was overpowering. “Don’t play games, Ian. I want to know what I’m working with.”

  Before I knew what was happening, she slipped one hand between my legs and gave my balls a hard squeeze, sending me reeling backward, out of her grip. The fire extinguisher clattered to the ground. When she came at me again, I shoved her hand away and maneuvered aside, keeping her at arm’s length. She responded by dropping the robe.

  “Put your clothes on and get out.”

  She shrugged, as if it was an everyday occurrence to approach a man naked. Making the most of her limited assets, I supposed. When she bent over to retrieve my robe from the floor, her big, heavy breasts drooped like ripe fruit. I looked away as bile filled my throat.

  “Well, it’s your loss,” she asserted. “I would’ve fucked you better than that young girl you brought to the set.”

  Young girl? She thinks Danielle and I are seeing each other? Her outward hostility toward Shelby and Dani now made perfect sense.

  “Don’t be absurd. She’s half my age.”

  I realized as soon as the words left my mouth that Jennifer was fishing for information, which I conveniently provided. Still oblivious to her nudity, she offered a nasty smirk before shrugging into the robe, tying the sash at her waist.

  “Oh, I get it now.” Her voice dripped with hostility. “You’re fucking grandma.”

  A coarse laugh erupted from her throat while I struggled to control my seething anger. My jaw clenched.

  “I didn’t know you were one of those men who needs a mommy.”

  Keep it together, man. Losing your temper is not an option. No good can come of it.

  “Get dressed,” I barked, “and bugger off before I call security.”

  Jennifer threw a hostile glare in my direction before sauntering back down the hallway. My heart pounded too fast, and I collapsed onto the sofa, pounding the cushions with my fists. The air was thick with the stench of her heavy perfume.

  She returned moments later, opened the trailer door, and exited without bothering to be discreet. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” I heard her hiss, before she became a pale apparition in the dank night air.

  When I was certain she had gone, I opened the door again, leaving it ajar to release the smell of her before I stepped outside into an oppressively humid night. Revulsion built in my stomach. For a long, uncomfortable moment I was on the verge of throwing up.

  After weeks of sexual innuendos and inappropriate touching, she had the audacity to fondle the goods when I’d made it clear I wasn’t available or interested. My options were few. If I reported her actions to the production company, I doubted I’d be taken seriously. With only one more day of shooting ahead of me, letting it go seemed the best option. That way, I might avoid public humiliation, not to mention more unflattering tabloid headlines.

  Sutherland’s Ghosts Star Claims Co-worker Grabbed his Balls

  ‘She Assaulted Me and Demanded Sex!’

  One ugly scenario after another played in my head before a young security guard strolled into view.

  “Everything okay, Mr. James?” he called out.

  “Oh, yes…certainly,” I stammered. “Everything is fine. Just had to step out and get a bit of this thick air. Reminds me of home, you know.”

  “Sure,” he replied, no doubt thinking the old git had lost what was left of his mind.

  Once he had moved on, I pressed my forehead against the trailer’s aluminum siding and stood alone in the dark, clenched fists shoved into my pockets. How in the fuck did I wind up in this situation, working on a failing television series that had become the butt of media critics’ harshest jokes? I’d never have taken this job if not for Monica. She had a taste for luxury, and I was willing to provide it, including buying an obscenely expensive beachfront property that I never wanted.

  I needed a fresh start, all but impossible when I was still stumbling over my past mistakes.

  Standing alone in the dark, I forced myself to take several deep, calming breaths. After a few moments, when I’d regained my equilibrium, I stepped back into the trailer, stripped, and took a hot shower, hoping to wash away the evening’s ugly emotional stain.

  ***

  My anticipated weekend with Shelby passed all too soon, although we did enjoy decent weather for a day and a half, decent being a relative term in hot, soggy Virginia. At least it didn’t rain. On Saturday afternoon, after finishing the last of my self-imposed garden chores, we enjoyed an early dinner at one of her favorite local restaurants, a subterranean grill in the nearby George Washington Hotel. The atmosphere was informal and the food was tasty, although it didn’t compare to Shelby’s cuisine.

  After returning home, I eased my body into an Adirondack chair on her covered front porch. She joined me a few minutes later, carrying two tall glasses of sweet tea that she placed on a small folding table between us, in time to watch the skies darken and rain descend. It fell softly at first, splattering the street with big, warm drops, before the storm reached its peak, pummeling her front yard and sidewalk with sheets of water that lent our tranquil neighborhood scene a dreary grayness.

  We sat, not speaking, for several minutes, both of us lost in our own thoughts. A mere seven weeks ago, I didn’t know much about Appleton, Virginia, and I had no particular affection for its miserable weather, bland suburbs, and choking highway traffic. However, that was before I met the town’s most remarkable inhabitant.

  I remained conflicted about leaving Shelby at such a fragile stage of our relationship, but it couldn’t be helped. I had to return to the West Coast, see my daughter, and take care of some unfinished business. Although, truth be told, there was little else waiting for me, other than Madeline, my manager, and a few friends. From a career perspective, Los Angeles had been a desirable location, but I was weighing other options, hesitant to take another acting role after my ghastly experience with Sutherland’s Ghosts.

  Could I get out of my contract if the show was, by some act of cosmic retribution, renewed for another season? I’d have to call Sam as soon as I returned and find out if he had anything else lined up for me. Worst case scenario: I could make a good living with my voiceover work, commercials, and Time Traveler reruns. Not an A-lister’s income, by any stretch, but enough to live comfortably.

  “I have a bit of good news t
o share,” I began. “My divorce is final.”

  “I’m happy for you,” she said. “I know it’s been rough.”

  Shelby turned toward me, a weak smile failing to mask the uncertainty in her expression. She’d made a good show of it this weekend, keeping the mood light and not talking much about the future. I expected she would leave many things unsaid and, in that regard, she did not let me down.

  I reached for her hand, tracing the fine blue veins under her skin with my finger. That same small hand, bearing the battle scars of a lifetime in the kitchen, could wield a chef’s knife with grace and precision, while still conveying such tenderness. The thought of her in bed last night, fondling John Thomas as if he were a rare and beautiful object instead of a rather ordinary penis, sent my pulse racing.

  “Our marriage was a mistake of my own making. I had doubts from the beginning.” I paused, wondering if Shelby would think me the most shallow, self-serving man on earth if I told her the unvarnished truth.

  “When I look back on it all, I believe the reason I married her is because she reminded me of someone else.”

  She studied my face for a few seconds before responding.

  “I can see how that might happen.” Her voice was soft, with no trace of judgment or shame, only understanding. “Loneliness is a powerful motivator.”

  Is mutual loneliness what drew the two of us together? The need for human contact and understanding? Or might there be more to it? We’d only begun to discover each other, and now I was running out of time.

  “I don’t particularly like the rain,” she said absently, squeezing my fingers. “But I do love the way the air smells before a storm, don’t you?”

  I nodded in agreement, enjoying the normality of sitting near her, watching as heavy rain overfilled the storm sewers and began to puddle in the street. Not another living soul was visible, leaving the two of us alone in a watery landscape, its colors muted by overcast skies.