What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “Okay, dear. That’s quite a show.” He held her at arm’s length. “I think you’ve had enough. Let’s rest.” Jonathan escorted Sam to the sofa.

  “Screw you, I want to party. Let go of me!” Sam yelled as she struggled under his grip. Her right breast flopped out of her dress as Jonathan released her arm. Sam giggled as she looked at the round blob of silicone and flesh hanging out of her dress, still not the perky, upright breasts she had in mind. Definitely needed more surgery.

  All the guests stood, some saying their goodnights and a few standing in place, unsure whether to leave. Jonathan assisted them in their confusion. “Thank you for coming. I’ll see you out.”

  He pushed Sam into a chair and motioned for her to stay put. As he pushed her wayward breast back into her dress, Sam saluted him and laid her head against the back of the chair. Her feet started tapping. She felt good. The music was moving through her body in delicious waves. Throbbing. Pulsating. She felt young again, so young … and happy. Yes, she was finally happy.

  As the lights in the room moved and swirled, she closed her eyes and imagined she was dancing at Krush with her friends. These weren’t her friends. These people would never be her friends. She needed to get some real friends. Younger friends. Fun friends.

  None of this mattered. She smiled, knowing that feeling good was the only thing that mattered. Everything raced around her mind in a blur of faces and colors and conversations and noise.

  Besides, by tomorrow, this will all be forgotten.

  ***

  The loud rings of the phone cut through the morning silence, followed by relentless beeps and squawky voices.

  “Mother, it’s Brea. I’m sorry … I just read Tattle, it’s awful … they are so unfair … I feel bad … Beth feels bad too … Call me if you need to talk.” Beeeep.

  Sam listened again, trying to process the words. Tattle? What was she talking about? And who the hell was Beth?

  As she leaned over to rummage through the newspapers and magazines beside the trash, her head screamed out in a cry of revolt. The stabbing pain in her skull, reminding her of her reckless behavior the previous night. But what had happened last night? Her dinner party was last night. In a foggy mist of faces and voices, she recalled nothing. She tried to grasp them … still nothing … but the pain. As she slowly turned, she saw a paper folded on the counter. She reached for it … jolted again to submission and slow movements.

  “What Was She Thinking?” The bold headline screamed.

  Underneath, pictures of women badly dressed … and her … of Ellen actually, but there she was in the red satin dress at the Help the Children Fundraiser. That was three weeks ago. It wasn’t that the dress was too short; it was all the wrinkles, and veins. Holy crap, I look hideous. Sam had no idea how horrible she looked from the backside. Her back was oozing over the back of the strapless dress like marshmallow cream. It was not flattering. The camera lighting did not help. “Well,” Sam huffed. “That was before my surgery!” Nevertheless, she leaned against the counter and tried to read, holding the paper with an extended arm in order to focus:

  One woman, who wished to remain anonymous said, “When society’s grand dame no longer cares about grace and style, what choice do we have? When she considers behaving as a teenager, in desperate need of attention, socially acceptable behavior … how on earth can anyone preserve respectability while present in her company? Doors will close.”

  And on … and on. “The event’s hosts were unavailable for comment. Just as well, as one can only imagine what gossip will be ablaze on the phone lines this month. Like watching a train wreck, we wait in anticipation of what she will do next, and where in this fine city she will no longer be invited.”

  Sam slowly reached for the chair and sat, tossing the paper onto the floor. What did it matter? Did any of it really matter? She touched her forehead, hoping for a reprieve from the pain. Somehow, squinting in the bright sunlight, Sam suddenly realized it did matter.

  All of it mattered. She just couldn’t understand why.

  CHAPTER 24

  Three weeks had passed since Ellen’s disastrous weekend with Jonathan. It wasn’t what she expected, and, to be fair, she had overreacted and was so angry and hurt that they wound up fighting and not doing anything she planned.

  Why did she get so upset with him, when all she wanted was his love?

  He hadn’t called once since they got back and she was beginning to worry. She had been busy at work, yet she needed to take some time to figure out what to do to win him back. Why was it so easy for the other women to seduce him? Why did she always freeze during sex? She wanted to be like the other women, but she had no idea how. Perhaps she was incapable of enjoying sex. Perhaps this beautiful young body didn’t make any difference.

  Ellen took another sip of her wine and looked out at the fashionable crowd gyrating on the upper dance floor. The Palace was the newest club in town, the hot spot created inside an old dance hall, the kind of place where men used to pay women for a dance and believe in the magic a quarter could create. The décor was thirties glam, a vintage Hollywood feel, complete with deep velvet curtains and metallic silver walls. Lights strobed across the room, highlighting the ornate art deco carvings on the columns and ceiling. Everyone dressed for the night in tight metallic dresses, with big hair, big earrings and big attitude. She agreed to come to the club with Sienna simply because she needed to feel young again. She had to admit it—she was old, no longer old on the outside, but still old on the inside. Nothing, it seemed, was going to change that.

  As she stared out toward the crowd, a hand touched her side, causing her to jump.

  “Hey, you,” Rory said as he kissed her cheek. “Good to see you.”

  “You too.” Ellen smiled. “Sorry about—”

  “Come on,” Rory grabbed her hand. “Let’s have some fun.”

  She followed him, hanging on to his hand as he pushed through the crowd toward the dance floor, her eyes locked on his loose linen shirt and tight pants. He cleared a space and started dancing, moving rhythmically to the music, but her body was stiff and unable to blend with the beat. She watched the couples beside them, grinding together in unison, making her self-conscious and fully aware of her own awkwardness. She trying to capture the beat when Rory’s hands grabbed her hips and moved them slowly to the rhythm. She turned to face him, following his motion. As the songs blended together, Ellen relaxed into the music and imagined her body bound to the beat. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to release all her inhibitions. If only she could be like this during sex, she thought, as pleasure emanated from her body.

  After an hour on the dance floor, Ellen put her hand on Rory’s shoulder and motioned for them to quit. They were walking back through the crowd when Rory stopped Ellen and pulled her toward the bar. He ordered drinks for both of them, then turned and stared at Ellen with his dark eyes. “So, how are you?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with a cocktail napkin.

  “Great, this is fun.” Ellen studied his face as she spoke. She forgot how beautiful his smile was. It made her happy every time he laughed. “I needed this more than I realized.”

  “I saw your booth at the market. How’s it going?”

  “Don’t ask,” Ellen said, with a roll of her eyes. “I thought it would be easy, but so far I’ve spent as much as I’ve made.”

  “So sell your photos.”

  “Why does everyone say that? They’re horrible.”

  “I like them. So does everyone else. And Hubby. How is he?” Rory asked, handing a glass of wine to Ellen and taking a sip from his beer.

  “Jonathan, he’s …” Ellen’s voice trailed. “He’s …” Ellen looked away, sipping her wine. “We’re …” She picked up a napkin and crumpled it, tossing it aside. “It’s complicated.”

  Rory picked up Ellen’s hand and closed his around it. “You okay?”

  She turned to him, the sincerity on his face breaking her resolve. “It’s … we’re having proble
ms—I’m having problems.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her to a quiet alcove, far from the dance floor. Once they settled into the booth, he said, “Talk to me. I want to help.”

  “You can’t,” Ellen said as tears formed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Ellen held her breath to stop the tears. “I’ve wanted this for so long—dreamt of it—never imagined it could happen. A second chance and …” She paused and looked down.

  “And …” Rory said, touching her chin and gently lifting her head.

  “And I’m ruining it again—I’m … I’m losing him. I had him, but everything I do pushes him away. It closes doors. I don’t mean to, but I … I do—I shut down.”

  “You shut down? What do you mean?”

  Her face blushed and she was thankful for the dim lighting. “During sex,” she whispered.

  “What?” Rory yelled, cupping his hand to his ear.

  “During sex!” Ellen spoke louder.

  Rory laughed. “You? Come on, you’re joking.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I have. I’m different now. I can’t … can’t get comfortable.”

  “I don’t believe that.” He smiled and looked at her. “You’re serious?”

  Ellen nodded and shrugged. “I read in my diary how I was … how I used to be, before the fever … but I can’t anymore.”

  Rory put his hand on her shoulder. “Let me guess: this isn’t making Johnny very happy.”

  “No, he’s …” Ellen’s voice cracked as she turned away. “He’s getting closer to her.”

  “His wife?”

  “Yes, to her.”

  “Wow, you better step it up, and pronto.” Rory nodded.

  “That’s the problem, I don’t know how. I’m not comfortable and I freeze and get angry. All these old feelings, old hurts rise to the surface and I want to punish him.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Punish him. Give him a bit of punishment. If memory serves, he likes it nasty, right?”

  “I just … I can’t. It goes against my values.”

  Rory laughed. “Values? What values?”

  Ellen looked away. “I do have values, you know.” She stood to leave.

  Rory stood and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” he said. “I’ve never thought about you feeling this way.” He rested his hand on hers. “I want to help.”

  “I don’t think you can.” Ellen leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I need to enjoy sex again, I want to, but I don’t know how. I want to be loose and relaxed, but I just get upset. I can’t go with it, you know—get into it.”

  “I can help,” he said taking a sip of his beer.

  “How?”

  “Let me come over,” he smiled, his beautiful face filled with mischief.

  “Right.” Ellen shook her head. “I know exactly what you want.”

  “No. I just want to talk to you.” He raised his hands in defense. “I won’t try anything. I want to help you relax and discover yourself. I know you better than anyone. I know what you like, what you need.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his heart, covering it with his hand. Ellen felt his firm chest under his shirt, his heart beating strong against her skin. “I promise, I won’t try or do anything that you don’t want.”

  Ellen looked into his eyes. They were sincere and in a pleading way, they encouraged her. After all, she needed to do something. “Okay,” she said. “But no monkey business. I still plan to marry Jonathan.”

  “Scout’s honor.” Rory smiled, raising his fingers to the Scout salute.

  Ellen surprised herself, hoping he wasn’t such a loyal scout, and with such mixed emotions, she found herself eager to get home.

  ***

  During the ride to her apartment, Ellen wrapped her arms around Rory and held tight. She hadn’t ridden a motorcycle before and somehow, she found the danger invigorating; perhaps the alcohol subdued her anxiety. Every time Rory leaned into the curves, she pressed her body closer to his. At the first red light, she dropped her hand and touched his thigh. The strength of his muscles beneath her fingers was powerful, erotic even. Certainly nothing like Jonathan’s soft body. She found herself dropping her hand onto his thigh on purpose, several times, until she finally left it there.

  When they arrived at the apartment, Ellen talked about work in an effort to distract her mind from her nervousness. As the door closed behind them, he put his hand on the wall above her head and leaned over her, pulling her hair away from her shoulders.

  “You need to be kissed, don’t you?” Rory said as he took her in his arms.

  “Yes,” Ellen whispered. “Yes.”

  Rory kissed her. Slow kisses, gentle at first, then deeper. She reached up to touch his face, the strong jaw and prominent cheekbones of a rogue. As they kissed, she ran her fingers through his hair, his thick curls that reminded her of Jonathan’s—when he was young. She pulled his head closer to hers, his neck and chest, she wanted to kiss them … desperately. His lips trailed away from hers, kissing her cheeks and neck. Suddenly he stopped and pulled himself away.

  “Okay!” Rory smiled. “I definitely don’t think kissing needs any work.”

  Ellen rested against the wall and tried to withhold her smile.

  “You want more, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Maybe …” She grinned. “Just a little bit.”

  “Only a little?” Rory moved away from her and flopped onto the sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table. “Too bad,” he said and picked up the remote.

  Ellen came over and sat beside him. “Okay, yes, I want more.”

  “You do?” Rory turned and put his arms around her, pulling her close. “How much?”

  “A lot—a lot more.”

  “Good.” Rory kissed her again, her body liquefying with each kiss … deep … passionate kisses. His lips were trailing her neck, her shoulders, each touch of his lips fiery against her skin. His hands pressed firmly against her back, pulling her closer. She slid her hands down his neck, to his chest, wanting to touch every inch of his skin. She needed flesh. She unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his firm ridges of muscle. Her body longed to press against his, for him to touch her. She waited. She kissed him harder. Waiting. Wanting.

  As she explored his chest, he kissed her neck with wet bites. She thought she might burst from pleasure and desire if he didn’t touch her body soon. She ripped his shirt down over his shoulders and pulled it off his arms, his big, strong, muscular arms, iron and steel. She unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her lacy bra, and he whispered, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she cried. “Touch me. I want you to.”

  He touched her breasts, lightly, and kissed the firm mounds of flesh spilling out of her bra. Her mind was lost in desire, unable to think, only aware of wanting more, needing more. He kissed her stomach, then her breasts again. Slow gentle kisses. She found herself begging—more—more. He obliged and unclasped her bra. He touched her, rubbing tenderly in all directions and bringing another wave of desire. Her hands roamed, all over his back, all over his arms, all over his chest. She couldn’t stop. A huge need had taken over—years of longing, years of neglect rising, to be erased in this moment. She kissed him harder. He responded by returning the pleasure. She wanted more. She desired more. She needed more. Her hunger crowded out any thoughts of caution, any thoughts of remorse. Her only thought was pleasure. It consumed her. She begged to have more of him, to feel connected to him.

  “Are you sure?” Rory whispered.

  “Yes, yes,” was all that she could say. She wanted to be a part of him. She wanted to lose herself in him—to let go and release her pleasure. She thought if he didn’t take her she would explode into a thousand pieces. He carefully pulled her skirt off and tossed it aside, then bent over and methodically kissed her legs, down one leg and back up aga
in, then down the other. She moaned with a pleasure that had been buried far too long. And now, finally unearthed, this pleasure raged. He pressed his body against hers. A powerful pulse shot through her hips, then another. He pulled at her panties, toying with them, creating more electric shock waves. She wanted him. She kissed him again, pleading for more.

  “I want you … I need you,” she whispered.

  He took his hand and put it where her pleasure raged out of control. He pressed and rubbed as the pleasure continued building, his fingers, his hand, granting her a joy beyond her wildest imagining. A pulsating joy enveloped her body as it overtook her. She rose and fell in its power. Then when she could take no more, when she could no longer control herself—it released, washing her with pulsating ebbs of satisfaction and pleasure.

  Her heart was racing as her hands fell to her chest, unable to speak, unable to think or to move. Rory leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Ellen covered her face. “I can’t believe …” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “What just happened?”

  Rory put his hand gently on her thigh. “I hope you feel good.”

  “Good? I feel amazing. I can’t describe it—I never …” Ellen couldn’t speak. She lay back taking quick breaths, basking in the afterglow. Rory sat silent, his hand still on her thigh.

  After a few minutes, Ellen looked up at him and said, “Thank you.”

  Rory smiled at her and kissed her hand. “Now, I want you to do something for me.”

  Ellen jolted upright, unable to hide her discomfort.

  “Relax,” he said, guiding her back down. “I want to take you somewhere tomorrow, somewhere special. A surprise.”

  Ellen smiled and touched his cheek. “Can I trust you?”

  Rory grinned and put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, holding her. He nuzzled his head up to hers. Ellen wrapped her arm over his, feeling the warmth of his embrace. They lay, wrapped together in silence, with Ellen relaxed, completely unaware of her nakedness, completely unashamed. Completely satisfied.

  ***

  Sam watched as Jonathan prepared a drink for himself—methodically pouring the single malt scotch, then one cube, then another, stirred gently with a swirl of the wrist and then he placed the top back on the decanter with his other hand. This was his fourth drink.