Available to Chat

by Sutton, Jacy

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll be unchaperoned.”

  “OH.”

  “You?” he asked.

  “Unchaperoned here, too. Ice fishing weekend for the men.”

  “We could Skype,” Jake wrote.

  “Really?” She clapped her hands together silently.

  “Probably a terrible idea.”

  She imagined his just-dipped toe quickly removed from the murky water. A prick of frustration crept up her back and she typed, “Good night, Jake.”

  She could see the bubble indicating he was writing her, but she logged off before he finished the thought. She could always read his good-bye or sleep tight in the morning.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  BETH HAD WON two free tickets to a local movie premiere by correctly identifying Bea Arthur was dead and Betty White was not. She had planned to bring her mother-in-law, but the older woman had begged off a few hours earlier, citing the turkey tetrazzini she’d had at bridge club the night before.

  Next, Beth called Olivia. “Since you live closest, I thought of you second.”

  “Thanks, neighbor.” Olivia said. “I was going to take down valances and wash them, though.”

  “Hard to compete with that,” Beth said. “I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”

  It was the kind of movie Olivia would not have chosen, filled with car chases and fight scenes, but there was the thinnest thread of a love story, and Olivia was mesmerized whenever the couple appeared on screen together.

  The lovers were in their thirties, Olivia guessed, and although the banter between them prior to the sex scenes was minimal and vaguely dull, there was no denying that physically they were electric. During the first scene in the shower, with the woman facing the screen, her supple body wet and exposed except for the places where the male lead’s strong, muscled arms wrapped around her, Olivia felt a carnal stir of excitement.

  In the last scene, a lush hotel room, the camera viewed her from her lover’s perspective, kissing her flat stomach, gazing up at the curve of her breast. Olivia did not even realize the intensity of her own desire until she discovered she was biting down on her thumb, and the thought struck her, I want to be taken just like that.

  As they left the theater, Olivia was still overwhelmed by the sexual power she’d seen displayed. She walked ahead of Beth a few steps until she noticed her friend missing and she turned to see her enveloped in a tight hug.

  “Judy!” she heard Beth say, when she was allowed up for air. “I haven’t seen you in…” and Beth sputtered a bit.

  “Three years,” Judy said, her eyes wide. “Three years.”

  For a brief moment, the two women just stared at each other, grinning and shaking their heads at the randomness of it all.

  “How have you been?” Beth asked, slowly and low, as though preparing herself for something unpleasant.

  “Good. It’s been very good, mostly. I’m here with Krystal.” Olivia had come back to the two women, and Judy turned to her, introducing herself, “I’m Krystal’s mom.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You haven’t met,” Beth said. “Judy and I worked together for…what? Fifteen years?”

  “I think it was seventeen.”

  “I remember hearing your name,” Olivia said.

  “Probably in reference to my running off with the department manager, I suppose.” She made a funny, flat line with her bottom lip.

  “You know that’s not true,” Beth said. “Olivia’s heard about you because we were work friends.”

  “I know that.” Judy gave a smile that reminded Olivia of salt water. “But the Reid story does make good coffee talk. I know it’s been repeated in my circle of friends. Well, some former friends now, I guess. But that’s what happens when you leave your husband. And daughter. And son.”

  Olivia remembered hearing bits and pieces. An interoffice affair. The company transferring him. The lover, who stood before her now, pretty in more of a churchy way than a home-wrecker way, following him. And her children siding against her.

  “We’re talking again, all of us,” Judy said.

  “I’m so glad.” Beth touched her on the sleeve.

  “Yes. Krystal’s getting married next fall.”

  “Krystal! Married? I remember her in grade school,” Beth said.

  “She’s a beauty now. She hasn’t completely forgiven me, but we’re working on it. And she wants me at the wedding. Not Reid, but that’s understandable.”

  “How’s Andy?” Beth asked.

  “He and I have been talking more, too. Well, texting. A couple times a week. It’s a start.” She turned toward Olivia again and said, “I guess that’s how you talk to teenage boys these days.”

  Olivia had moved her foot back as though she were planning to steal away, but Judy had included her now. She was afraid if she left she would seem judgmental when in reality she felt like an interloper, eavesdropping on a confession.

  “But everything’s great with you and Reid?” Beth asked, smiling.

  “Sure,” Judy said, slightly too loud. “Of course. It’s just.…” She put her hands together, interlocking her fingers, which were long and unadorned with polish. “I just imagined the kids would be more resilient because they were older, you know? I thought they understood more about their dad and me.”

  “Understood what?” Olivia asked. She hadn’t meant to pry, but she was absorbed by the story of this troubled marriage.

  Judy turned to her. “We just were a bad fit. Disagreed on nearly everything. Jobs. Schools. Money. In-laws. We were miserable. But we weren’t yellers, and it turns out the kids had no idea there was trouble. And guess what?” she asked rhetorically. “They really couldn’t have cared less.”

  “Mom?” a crisp voice said, walking up behind them.

  “Krystal,” Judy said. “Do you remember Beth? I worked with her. And this is her friend.”

  Krystal gave a small, polite nod. She was beautiful, petite and reed-thin, with thick, long blonde hair cascading down her back, and tiny doll-like features. She looked nothing like her mother, who towered over her, broad and wide.

  “We’d better go now or we’ll be late,” Krystal said.

  “I hear you’re getting married,” Beth said quickly, as the young woman turned to leave.

  “I am. Next summer.”

  “You’ll make a lovely bride.”

  “Thank you,” Krystal said, and then she glanced at her mother. “I hope I’ll make a very happy one, too.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Beth agreed. And Olivia nodded as the mother and daughter walked away, a good foot of space between them.

  On the car ride home, Olivia couldn’t stop thinking about the post-movie story that had played out which easily showcased as much drama as the show itself.

  “Was it worth it, do you think?” Olivia asked.

  Beth must have also been musing about her former coworker, because she didn’t need any more explanation to answer the question.

  “I have no idea. I guess she loves him. But what do her kids care about that?”

  “No,” Olivia agreed. “Why would they care?”

  “From the moment these children are born, everything we do revolves around them. And then one day you say, ‘It’s not all about you anymore?’” Beth phrased it as a question.

  “It wasn’t about the kids, though. It was about her marriage,” Olivia said.

  “Is there a difference?”

  “I’m just saying,” Olivia started. She stopped. “I guess I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “It’s kind of you to defend her, Olivia,” Beth said, fiddling with the heat in the car. “I want her to be happy. I just don’t know if her kids will ever totally forgive her.”

  “Or, if she’ll ever forgive herself.” Olivia said conjuring up a picture of Daniel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  MIKE AND DANIEL, having rummaged through the cupboards and storage room for provisions, left what looked like a small tornado behind
them as they prepared for the fishing weekend. Once they’d packed the car and sped off, Olivia found herself utterly alone. She ignored the chaos of open cupboards and strewn clothes, and instead quietly made a fire, a cup of hot tea with a splash of rum, and his and her Skype accounts. Jake had vacillated the last few evenings. One night he wrote her an on-camera fantasy, but the next he gave a long discourse on faithfulness and reminded her he was married. She tried to remind herself they both were.

  She’d had Facebook up for about fifteen minutes when he came online. He told her he’d spent the afternoon down at the riverfront park. There was a large amphitheater, and the kids had run around the wide-open spaces enjoying the freedom and at this time of year, balmy, twenty-degree weather. He told her about some work he was planning to do to finish the basement, now that the kids were gone.

  Then she wrote, somewhat off topic, “I never got you a Christmas present.”

  “I noticed. Nothing at all under the tree from you.”

  “I have something now,” she typed.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve set up Skype accounts.”

  He didn’t respond for a long moment. And Olivia tried to think of a way to backpedal. Then he typed, “Username? Password?”

  She answered, and he wrote back, “10 minutes.”

  Olivia shut the computer and walked to the bathroom, every muscle tingling. Catching her reflection, she realized she wasn’t so much smiling as beaming. Her teeth suddenly seemed too large. She tried to take on a more somber expression, but her lips kept curling up. Next she tried, and failed, at sultry. Her expression, it seemed, was set to glee.

  After flipping her hair upside down and shaking the curly tendrils for body, she walked into the bedroom to the chest of drawers. She searched for a top that said sexy but unaffected, casual but flirtatious. The first three choices were hurriedly examined, appraised, left wanting, and discarded on the bedroom floor. She glanced at the clock; eight minutes had elapsed and, at that moment, she wore just her bra and jeans. “Now, that would be casual,” she said aloud.

  Spying the clock move forward a minute, Olivia grabbed a raspberry-red, long-sleeved T-shirt with a deep V that fit her snugly, and she switched to her favorite Levis, the ones Mike couldn’t see her in without slapping her rear.

  Back in the family room, she pulled the overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace and logged onto Skype. He was already on. Nearly instantly, the words popped up, “Jake is calling,” and she could barely command her hand to work the mouse. She clicked ANSWER and there he was, in her living room. His handsome, unshaven face, his lopsided grin, his exquisite eyes. She temporarily forgot she could speak to him and so she simply stared, feeling that too-tight pressure in her rib cage.

  She touched the screen with her hand as if she could truly trace his jawline with her finger. Later, she couldn’t remember if they sat like that for just a minute, or for ten, but at some point, Jake reached behind his back and pulled out his guitar.

  “What do you want to hear?” he asked. His voice made her think of a crystal cut glass of expensive sherry.

  “Anything,” she answered. Her voice sounded sultry to her ears. But in reality, it was because she could barely form the words.

  He began strumming the guitar. She watched his hands, large and strong, confidently teasing the strings, and she imagined them touching her. Stroking her arm, strumming her stomach, caressing her breasts. He had nearly finished the song, and she had yet to breathe or to consciously even realize he was singing.

  Olivia picked up the last few notes of “Slip Slidin’ Away.” He looked up, his eyes locked with hers. “Go Your Own Way,” he told her, as he began playing again.

  Her cheeks warmed with pleasure as she watched him. She cocked her head to the side slightly, studying him. She settled enough that she could notice his voice: deep, throaty, sexy. Olivia balanced the computer on her lap. She tried to think of the word that described what she felt at this moment. It was not as peaceful as bliss. Delighted? Electrified? Whatever it was, it came accompanied by a deep yearning, magnified tonight by the thrill of seeing his face and hearing his voice. Again, she reached her hand to the computer screen to virtually stroke his chin, and she wondered how prickly his short beard would feel against her thumb and forefinger, her cheek, her thigh.

  His playlist was late 70s and early 80s rock, conjuring up days of breezy adolescence filled with pent-up desire for teenage boys and romance. The music perfectly blended nostalgia and longing, heat and desire. She was so focused on watching him, enjoying her intimate, private rock concert, that it startled her when he set his guitar down and looked directly at her. His gaze was so decided she could nearly feel the warmth of his body, and she could not believe nearly a hundred miles lay between them.

  “You look nice tonight,” he said.

  “Thank you. And thanks for my concert. It was.…” She considered her words. “Amazing.”

  “You’re welcome. Hey.”

  “Hey?”

  “That T-shirt fits you nice.”

  She glanced down to remind herself what she was wearing. From her vantage point, the shirt’s deep V-neck was emphasized, and the swell of her breasts seemed exaggerated.

  Then she heard him say, “I’m wondering how we get it off?”

  She shook her head at his audaciousness. Teasing him, she crossed her arms over her stomach and grabbed the bottom edges of the shirt. “Dare me?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  And then, looking into his eyes—this beautiful man she had met only once on a summer evening over two decades ago—she lifted her shirt over her head, revealing a silky, fawn-colored lacy bra and the soft curve of her breasts.

  “My mouth just went dry,” he said.

  And, she thought, how ironic that suddenly she felt so wet.

  “Put your fingers just below your ear,” he said, in that gravelly voice that had become so familiar, so dear, from his recent exclusive concert. “I want to kiss you right there.”

  She touched herself as he told her to. She could nearly feel his lips on her skin.

  “Now move your hand down, Olivia.”

  She obeyed him, thinking how nice her name sounded when he said it.

  “I’d kiss you there.”

  Olivia’s hand traced down her collarbone.

  “Yes, there” he said.

  She ran her hand across the top of her breast.

  “Yes, Liv. Right there.”

  She traced along her soft, warm, creamy skin. Then her hand grasped her silky bra and she squeezed tightly, a bit roughly, pretending it was him.

  “That hard?” he asked surprised.

  “Oh yes,” Olivia muttered. “Yes.”

  “Take your bra off.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she said.

  “Yes?” His eyes blazed.

  “My bra for your shirt.”

  “Deal.” He pulled his shirt over his head without a pause.

  “Oh.” The word came out as a sensuous gasp. She drank him in. His chest was broad. It was not the hard contours of muscle she may have seen had he pulled off his shirt that long-ago night, but she found him stunning. She longed to feel the breadth of his muscles, the strength of his arms wrapped around her.

  “Lose the bra,” he said, and his voice sounded tamped down.

  She moved her fingers up to the strap and slid it down over her shoulder, rubbing the bare skin. She could see his eyes devouring her, and she felt that tug in her throat, in her stomach, between her legs.

  His eyes begged her for more. Olivia slid the other strap down, then reached back to unclasp her bra, allowing it to slip off, displaying her naked, firm, upturned breasts. Watching him, she saw lust, desire, and wanting, and she knew the pull for him was as intense as for her.

  “My God, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice raw.

  She moved her hands as though they belonged to him, rubbing her breasts, kneading at the soft skin. She shocked herself by
the intensity of her own touch. But she was so ready for him. She moved off the chair to sit on the floor, closer to the fireplace to keep her naked skin warm.

  “You’re wet, aren’t you? Do you need to be touched?”

  She nodded and pulled the computer down to the floor. Setting it so he could see her as she lay down, she rested her back on the floor. When she turned to him, his body looked as though he were tensed on the starting block of a race: focused, leaning in, alert, ready. In the small window within the larger view, she saw what he saw: her jeans showed as a midnight color, juxtaposed against the peachy white skin of her naked torso. Her nipples, taut and hard, pointed to the ceiling.

  “Take off the jeans, Liv.”

  She complied. Quickly. Delightedly. Peeking at the screen, she saw all skin, broken only by a small pair of satin, fawn-colored panties.

  “Tell me how wet you are,” he said, his words clipped, as if he were having trouble speaking.

  Her hand slid below the panties, touching her soft, smooth skin. Her muscles tightened, anticipating the pleasure, and she lifted her back slightly off the floor. Eyes shut, she slid one finger inside herself, biting down on her lip. She heard him murmur. “I am so ready,” she told him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’d need to check myself. I’d kiss down your whole exquisite body. Right at your collarbone.”

  “Mmmmm.” It was more a breath than a word.

  “Down to that lovely, naked breast. Take that sweet rose-petal nipple in my mouth.”

  Olivia’s free hand moved to her breast, her thumb making whisper-soft circles.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “My beard scratching your soft, soft skin. Tickling your stomach.”

  Her hand followed the proposed route of his lips.

  “Next, your hip. Down to your thigh.”

  His imagined touch made her back arch higher. His honeyed encouragement revealed how riveted he was. Until that moment, she had not known what a performer she was.

  “My tongue discovers you. Drinking you in. Releasing all your most private secrets.”