by Denise Dietz
Utterly defeated, Jenn said, “Goodbye, Gabe. Good luck, Ms. O’Brien.”
Hallie pinged her racquet’s string. “I think you need luck more than I do, Ms. Greengart. They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend and you look as if you just lost your best friend, so you can keep the ring. I don’t need diamonds. I need answers.”
Jenn’s brow beetled. “Answers to what?”
Knickers and Gabriel, Hallie thought.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Gabe’s expression. He looked as if he wanted to catch a tennis ball with his teeth and spit it back at her.
He had no right to look like that! Hallie felt her own anger churning, simmering, mighty close to a boil.
The man of her dreams had forgotten to mention two relevant pieces of information.
His engagement.
And his “little spat” with Jennifer Bernadette etcetera.
Maybe her perfect man wasn’t so perfect, after all.
TWENTY-THREE
Hallie leaned against the TV. On its screen a young, non-seeded player was beating the logo-embroidered panties off a seeded player during the opening round of a nationally televised tennis tournament. Hallie uncharacteristically ignored the action. Instead, she watched Gabe pace up and down the family room, halting every so often to straighten a film poster that didn’t need straightening. Even though he no longer perspired, his white shirt clung to the broad expanse of his chest every time he lifted his arms.
“Why did you tell Jenn to send the ring to New York?” he finally asked, halting mid-stride.
“Is that why you wouldn’t utter one word during our drive home? Are you mad about the engagement ring?”
“No, not the ring.”
“If you caught the whole conversation, Gabe, I told your fiancé she could keep it.”
“My ex fiancé, Hallie, and I don’t give a damn if she puts the ring through her ear, her nose, or her nip—”
“I need a shower, Gabe. Badly. I’m stickier than a newly-paved street. You might consider sticking your head beneath a cold water faucet. Perhaps you can wash away that hot streak under your collar.”
“Why send the ring to New York, Hallie?”
“Because that’s where I live. Remember?”
“And what was that damnfool wager all about? Were you jealous?”
“No. The wager was impulsive, Gabe darling. Your Jennifer Bernadette etcetera got me hot under the collar.”
“She’s not my Jennifer.” With a flick of his wrist, Gabe turned off the TV. “Why send the ring to Bayside, Hallie?”
“I just told you. That’s where I—”
“Live. Yes, I know. Didn’t we talk about you staying longer, maybe even forever?”
“We never said forever.”
“It was implied.”
“It wasn’t implied.” She tried to remain calm, reasonable, curb her Irish temper, inherited from her Irish father, who didn’t have a volatile bone in his body.
Gabe slapped the fireplace mantel. “Do you honestly believe I would make love to you, then send you home with a ‘let’s get together real soon babe’?”
“Why not? It’s the twenty-first century, Gabe, although the eighteen-nineties were probably worse. Especially in Colorado. Cripple Creek was a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of town, and Lady Scarlet’s a prime example. She entertained gentlemen, including Mary Knickers’ daddy, and they all left her flat. I’ve got a feeling they didn’t even wave goodbye. Nobody believed that women of ill repute had hearts and souls, much less emotions.”
“Knickers’ daddy came back.”
“Bully for Knickers’ daddy.”
“And your slam-bam examples were whores, Hallie, not women of ill repute. They didn’t entertain gentlemen, they—”
“Knickers wasn’t a whore!”
“And you’re not Knickers!”
“At least the eighteen-nineties were honest, Gabe.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Walking away from the TV, Hallie straightened a poster he had tilted, reaching on tiptoe to align its frame. “If a man broke his engagement, he probably said something to the next woman on his list, something like, ‘Oh, yeah, before I forget, my fiancé and I broke up.’”
“That’s a bit modern for the nineteenth century, don’t you think?”
“How about ‘my intended and I terminated our relationship’?”
“The next woman on his list? Damn it, Hallie, you’re not talking about the eighteen-nineties. You’re talking about today.”
“And the men were honest in other ways. When a girl was a well-bred lady, they courted her. If they needed, um, relief, they slept with a parlor girl. And they paid her for her time.”
“Are you saying that you were my relief?”
“Yes. No. Let’s try another R-word. Rebound. You and Jenn split last Saturday. Last Saturday, Gabe. One short week ago!”
“We split months ago, Hallie, only I wouldn’t admit it.” Cradling her chin with his hand, he stared into her eyes. “Do you want me to court you? I will. Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness for not mentioning my broken engagement? I will, gladly. I love you, Hallie. I’ve loved you from the first moment you fell into my arms. It wasn’t your beauty, although you take my breath away. It was something deeper, something that hit me like a ton of bricks, something everlasting.”
“Knickers and Gabriel felt that way.”
“If you want to believe we were Knickers and Gabriel, I’ll deal with it. But please don’t think you’re my relief. Or merely a rebound romance.”
“I don’t, Gabe, not really.” On tiptoe again, she wound her arms around his neck and searched for the lips that took her breath away.
After a kiss that left her dizzy and disoriented and craving more, she heard him say, “Do you want me to court you?”
“No. I want you to love me.”
“That’s a fact, ma’am, not a request.”
“Then you must entertain me, sir,” she teased, her dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
“It would be my pleasure. But you have to pay.”
“What’s your price?”
“How much of my valuable time do you require?”
“A lifetime. Is that too long or too short?”
“Too short. However, we can negotiate. How about three bone-crushing hugs?”
“Wait, Gabe! Don’t hug me!”
“You’re supposed to hug me.”
“It’s the same thing, and I’m all sweaty. A sweat-drenched man smells manly, but a woman smells sweaty.”
“Hallie, you’re adorable.”
“Am I really?”
“Yup.”
“Cross my heart,” they both said together. Then, together, they reached for each other’s hearts.
“Shower,” she gasped, her palms pressed against his chest.
“I’ve got a much better idea.” Twining her fingers through his, he led her toward the staircase. “Sponge bath.”
“You have a sponge?”
“Several. They’re beneath the bathroom sink, along with my bottles of Cloud Bubble Bath.” He pushed her in front of him, his hands molding her backside. “Hurry, Hallie. A certain portion of my anatomy can’t wait to watch me sponge you off.”
“A ‘certain portion of your anatomy’ doesn’t have eyes,” she stated, her pragmatism rising to the surface.
“Then why,” Gabe said, “is it responding with a salute?”
“Responding to what?”
“The sight of your butt wending its way up the stairs.”
“Legs wend. A butt doesn’t wend.”
“Yours does. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you’re a tad pragmatic?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “Okay, I give up. Wend, salute, explode, I don’t care. Let’s just reach the bathroom so that you can sponge and I can see your so-called salute for myself.”
“You don’t have to see it. You can feel it.” He nudged her
backside.
“Holy Moses! Now it’s sideways.”
“Hallie, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Slants. Organs.”
“A slanting organ?”
“Yes. No. Yes.”
“Honey, do you mean a body part? Or a pipe organ?”
She felt her cheeks bake. “Why would I be talking about pipe organs?”
“Maybe you hear music.”
“That comes later, after we explode. And the music is played by an orchestra, an imaginary orchestra, not one organ, although I suppose the organ could lead the orchestra like a baton.”
“I’m getting all kinds of jumbled images, little love. In any case, your orchestra’s not imaginary. I’ve heard it, too.”
“Really?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Have you heard voices, Gabe?”
“Sure. Your voice. My voice.”
“I meant … never mind.” Entering the bathroom, she reached for the tub faucets.
“Hold it, Hallie. I said sponges.”
“You weren’t kidding?”
“Why would I kid about an important thing like sponges?”
“But we’ll get the floor wet. Again.”
“When we build our dream house, we’ll include a bathroom drain. Forget the tub. We’ll slope the floor, drill a hold through the wall, and let the water wend its way outside.”
A dream house meant a commitment. Maybe she’d better veer away from that subject. “Wow,” she said. “I can see your salute now. It’s pooching your shorts. Better take them off.”
“Not so fast, honey. That’s part of the fun.”
Hallie felt her heart threaten to burst through her shirt. Gabe, rather than the antique tub, was her laughin’ place.
Fun, he’d said. The overeager fingers and lips she’d endured, even Ivan’s, especially Ivan’s, had always been so painstakingly serious, as if the man had something to prove. Gabe had nothing to prove. He was more concerned with her pleasure than his, so he relaxed and let nature take its course. And if that course included a tickle or three, so much the better. Gabe was her laughin’ place and love was laughter. Love was other things as well, including an occasional tear and quarrel, but first and foremost it was laughter.
Laughter was contagious. Just walk down the street and smile at someone; they’d almost always smile back. And the ones who didn’t smile were dried up inside, as if they had raisins for hearts. They deserved happiness, everybody deserved happiness, but they hadn’t learned to accept it, treasure it, soak it up like a sponge.
Hunkering down, Gabe opened the cabinet beneath the sink and retrieved two huge sponges, the kind you might use to scrub a car.
“You really do have sponges!” she exclaimed.
“Yup. Also car polish, furniture polish, a screwdriver, a hammer and nails, gift wrap from Christmas presents, an extension cord, extra toothpaste, a new roll of dental floss, an emergency can of underarm deodorant so I won’t offend anybody with my manly sweat, and an outdated calendar.”
“Is the calendar provocative?”
“Not unless you consider the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo provocative. I’m addicted to wild animals. Lions and tigers and—”
“Bars, oh my.”
“Bars?”
“Bears. Long story.” She hesitated, her face solemn. “Kicker’s father was supposedly ‘et by a bar.’”
“No, honey. He wasn’t et by a bear. Don’t you remember? He simply traveled around a lot.”
“Poor Lady Scarlet. I’d hate to be in love with a man who left me at the drop of a hat. Especially if he ‘borrowed’ all my money.”
“I promise I’ll never borrow your money, Hallie, and I haven’t encountered any bears lately, except for the teddy bear inside my studio. But I have bars. Of soap. This cabinet’s a catch-all.”
“Most people use their kitchen drawer for a catch-all.”
“My kitchen’s a kitchenette. When we build our dream house I’ll give you drawers large enough to hold our first born.”
“William Shakespeare Quinn,” she murmured, wondering if Knickers had borne babies.
Rising to his feet, Gabe towered above her. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
“I said teach me how to play sponge, Mr. Quinn.”
“The rules aren’t very difficult, Ms. O’Brien.” Dropping both of the porous products into the sink, he rotated the hot and cold water faucets. Then he reached for Hallie’s shirttails.
She stared into his gray-green eyes while he unbuttoned her shirt and unsnapped her bra. His desire for her was plainly visible, but she wondered if his eyes had expressed the same desire for Jennifer Bernadette etcetera.
“I love you, Hallie,” he said, answering her thought. “Only you. This is the first time for both of us.”
“The fifth time,” she corrected.
“Don’t be so pragmatic.”
“But I am pragmatic, Gabe. That’s why my visions and obsolete-speak are so unusual, so jolting.”
“Hush. Forget visions. Forget Gabriel and Knickers. My bathroom can only accommodate two sponge-game players. Are you ticklish?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t your brother ever tickle you?”
“Neil was a play-the-stereo-so-loud-she-won’t-bother-me kind of brother. Then I started to grow breasts and he was too embarrassed.”
“What about other guys? Ivan, for instance?”
“How’d you know about Ivan?”
“Josh. You told Josh you were ‘practically engaged.’”
“Honestly, Gabe, I’m not practically anything. Ivan talked about marriage, a stock market merger of sorts. The dividends would be kids, one boy and one girl, no more, no less. Eventually, if I played a dutiful wife, entertaining clients…” She felt her cheeks flush. “If I played hostess at his dinner parties and attended various social events, our stock would rise accordingly. Ivan’s much more pragmatic that I. He didn’t think I was adorable. He treated me like an accessory, an expensive watch fob. I could still dabble in art, that’s what he called it, dabbling, but he didn’t want me to mingle with all those raunchy ‘bohemians,’ especially the ones who painted…” She lowered her voice. “Nudes.”
“Ivan and Jenn were made for each other,” Gabe muttered.
Hallie buried her gaze in her sneakers. “I didn’t want Josh to get the wrong impression, my sudden visit and all, but I’m sorry I lied.”
“Well, honey, ‘practically engaged’ has a ring of truth to it, especially the practical part.”
“What were we talking about? Oh, yes, tickles. Maybe I was waiting for your tickles.”
“A wise decision.” Removing her shirt and bra, he folded them over a towel rack. Then he retrieved a sponge and cleansed her upper body.
She didn’t feel ticklish. She felt throbbish.
“Your turn,” Gabe said, handing her the other sponge.
He was ticklish. Laughing with unrestrained joy, he helped her tug his shirt up over his head. Since laughter was contagious, she joined in while she carefully washed away the rivulets of perspiration that stained his back and chest. She noted that the muscles that rippled beneath her touch were more defined than her Archangel’s. His drawn breath loosened the waistband of his shorts. Glancing down, she sneak-previewed his salute.
“Feet,” he said, his voice somewhat hoarse. “Sit.”
“Where?”
“The commode, the tub’s rim, the floor, you choose.”
Her legs felt languorous so she chose the floor, and immediately saturated the seat of her shorts. On his knees, Gabe took off her right sneaker and sock. The second sneaker developed a knotted lace. Undaunted, he yanked it free from her heel and stripped away her second sock. Meanwhile, his sponge had been soaking nicely in the sink.
He cleansed her soles, then her toes, one by one, and Hallie couldn’t believe the galvanic excitement she experienced, as if her feet were wired to the core of her sensations.
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br /> “Let me do your feet,” she pleaded, “so that we can get on with our game.”
For the first time, Gabe lost his composure. “I think we should skip my feet,” he said. “A woman’s dirty toes smell little girlish, tomboyish, while a man’s dirty toes smell—”
“Are you planning to make love wearing sneakers?”
“No.” Rising, he shed his sneakers and socks, then held each foot beneath the sink faucets.
He looks totally graceful, thought Hallie, knowing that if she tried the same trick she’d be hopping around like an off-balance, one-legged kangaroo. It had something to do with height. It had everything to do with height. Six foot plus people didn’t worry about bending their knees over a sink. In her next life she wanted to be six foot plus. Imagine how easy it would be to shave her legs.
She wanted to share her bon mot with Gabe, but the “next life” bit stopped her cold. He might believe she had invited Knickers and Gabriel into the bathroom again.
And yet, it didn’t really matter which room she occupied. Until she solved the Gabriel-Knickers mystery, she’d be haunted by the voice of Knickers, haunted by her Cripple Creek paintings.
“I’ll meet you later, Mary Knickers,” she blurted. “Inside the costume alcove.”
“Hallie!” Gabe nearly fell over backwards.
“I’m not trancing, Gabe, honest. I just…” Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him draw his shorts down his long legs. The shorts had a built-in jock strap so she could now study his salute in all its naked glory.
Mesmerized, she felt him wrap her fingers around a sponge. She was sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her. Gabe settled his knees alongside her thighs. His eyes were slits of pleasure as she commenced to wash between his legs.
“My turn,” he said, “or there won’t be any turns left. Our game will be over. In any case, I want to prolong the agony.”
“Agony?”
“Exquisite agony.”
She understood what he meant by exquisite agony when he took off her shorts and undies, then sponged between her legs, a unique sensation.
The floor was very wet now, and so was she. Tossing the sponge away, Gabe managed to retrieve a towel from the towel rack, lower her upper body to the floor, fold the towel and place it underneath her head. On his knees, hovering above her, holding her wrists motionless with his hands, his lips began to explore.