Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  Forging a Desire Line

  Synopsis

  Charley Owens is content with her life. She has her super-organized job, her super-clean apartment, her long-time friends, and her cats. That’s all she needs after the crumbling of her twenty-five-year relationship, even if her friends keep trying to set her up with someone new. But when she meets the handsome and aloof Joanna, she’s forced to reevaluate what it is she wants, and maybe what’s been missing...

  Everything seems to be going well until Charley’s ex-wife, Tricia, calls with devastating news and Charley’s hope for a quiet life is overturned. While trying to take care of Tricia, Charley is determined to get Joanna to take a chance on her. But is she ready to take one herself?

  Forging a Desire Line

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  Forging a Desire Line

  © 2020 By Mary P. Burns. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-664-3

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: May 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Victoria Villaseñor and Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design by Tammy Seidick

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  Acknowledgments

  Novels are never really written alone, so I want to thank all the people who helped this one come to fruition.

  It was borne of a challenge from Shawn N., a longtime personal friend, when he found out I’d broken a twenty-year writer’s block. I was working on a coming-of-age story, and he invited me to the Rainbow Book Fair. I was amazed by what I learned there, and studied the genre by reading novels for three years. Then, I took him up on his challenge. Many of the authors/books I chose to read happened to be Bold Strokes authors, and they were good, so I knew where I wanted to send this manuscript first.

  My beta readers were of paramount importance. Debbie Duncalf, Anne Stoddard, Linda Doll, Jon Fried, Suzanne Schuckel Heath, and Gary Reed patiently slogged through first and second drafts, pulling no punches in their criticisms. I can’t thank them enough.

  My editors (and family) at Bold Strokes Books, Victoria Villasenor and Cindy Cresap, took such good care of my vision and my words (as well as my punctuation and grammar!) while Sandy Lowe and Carsen Taite took care of so many other things marketing and otherwise. And to Radclyffe, thank you for asking me to step up to the task of rethinking and remolding the story. Your notes were a master class.

  I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the Monday Night Brilliant Writers Group for their love and support, as I wrote nothing for years, and for their unerring guidance and constructive criticism when I finally did. I often felt like Sisyphus as they urged me on through the many edits of this novel before I sent it out, but their advice paid off.

  My siblings have been my cheerleading squad since I wrote my first short story when I was eight. I remember my older sister Alice sitting down at the dining room table in our apartment the first summer I moved to New York and was typing my first script, waiting to read the pages as they came off the typewriter. We lost her this year, but I know she’s pulling for me from above.

  To my partner, Andrea, who has stood by me through thick and a lot of thin as I chased this dream, “thank you” doesn’t even come close.

  Finally, to Ronni McCaffrey, thank you for telling me I have a touch of the poet.

  Dedication

  For Andrea.

  It’s been a long road getting me here.

  Thank you for walking it with me.

  Desire lines

  are the dirt trails

  that hikers forge off the beaten path.

  Desire lines can also be found in cities,

  formed as a result of economic development

  and evolving travel patterns.

  And they can be created in the heart

  as we find our way toward falling in love

  with someone.

  Chapter One

  Morning sun streamed in the open windows, but the warmth of the quilt pulled at Charley Owens to stay put on this cool September Saturday morning. Bing and Bob had woken her early for breakfast, curling up beside her on the bed afterward and breathing Purina’s Ocean Whitefish on her, the sounds of a relatively quiet New York City, like a faraway gentle tide, lulling them all back to sleep. Now she gently ran a finger down the white blaze in Bing’s black face and tapped his little nose. He squeaked at her and buried his face in white-mittened paws, wrapping his tail around his head until all she could see were two small ears.

  Finally giving in and leaving the coziness of her bed, Charley went out to the living room to retrieve the notepad and folder she’d left on her desk, then trotted back to nestle under the comforter. Settling back in against the pillows, she went over her to-do list. The fall cleaning was a top priority. She had to finish it by the second weekend of November, when it would be her turn to host the Sunday night NFL dinner for her coterie of football friends. The folder held the manuscript pages she’d agonized over last night. As she began reading, she reached for her small, flat talisman stone on the end table, and idly ran her thumb over the word balance etched into its smooth surface. Then, she picked up the pencil on her nightstand, and began editing.

  She’d finished this novel years ago when it was her final project in graduate school. It was good. Her thesis mentor had given her an A-plus and an introduction to an agent who never saw it. Days after she hung her MFA degree on the wall, writer’s block hit and closed everything down. Or maybe it was the dog that she and Brooke had nearly killed on the road trip they’d taken to Maine to celebrate Charley getting her degree. They’d found a vet in the next town and the dog had lived, but the novel was stillborn in the aftermath.

  She hadn’t meant to retrieve the manuscript from the back of the filing cabinet last January. After a week off from work so she could have some much-needed downtime before moving from the A&R department to Legal to assist a newly-arriving executive vice president, she’d been on a cleaning binge and was going to throw it out. What was the point of keeping it? It takes up room and I’m not that person anymore. She read the first page, and then the second, and the third page. The next morning, she sat down again in front of page one, the fear that her gift and her voice, silent for so long, were gone sitting down with her. But she sharpened a pencil anyway. The person she’d become had a lot of work to do. Six months later, a phoenix had begun to rise from the ashes. At least, that’s what she hoped it was.

  The phone rang, startling her. Her first thought went to her boss, Emily, who had been in London for the last week, but she rarely called when she was on a business trip because Charley was a master at anticipating her needs whether she was in the office or halfway around the world. She waited for the robotic caller ID to tell her who was calling.

  “Call from…Brooke West.”

  Charley grabbed the receiver. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  “Hey, babe. What are you up to?”

 
“My fall cleaning.” She certainly couldn’t admit that she was still in bed. And she would never confide that she was writing again. What if she failed again?

  “You’re the only person I know who still does that.”

  “You don’t? It’s cathartic. And maybe I should take a closer look at your moldings and underneath your couch pillows if you don’t. Maybe I’d find that remote you lost last month.”

  “Hey, my cleaning lady takes care of that…I think she does, anyway.”

  “You never check?” Bob, looking like an errant fluffy gray dust bunny that had wafted up onto the pillow next to her, rose and stretched, pushing all her papers aside. She delicately knocked him over and he glared at her.

  “Who looks underneath their couch pillows, for Christ’s sake? And don’t you do that tonight. You are still coming, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. Why? Who have you invited as the Miss September temptress?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation on Brooke’s part. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Liar. You guys are like Harry & David’s Fruit-of-the-Month Club with the single women at our dinners. Did you think I didn’t know?”

  “Crap. Listen, it was Jamie’s idea from the get-go. And we all agreed you should be back in the dating pool.”

  Charley cringed. It wasn’t a pool she’d wanted to wade into for a while now. “Maybe I don’t want that.”

  “How much longer are you going to hide? You’re cheating some woman out of a really good wife.”

  “I think I’m still bitter, darling. Have you all been in on it, even Lindsay?”

  Charley heard Brooke’s sigh of defeat. “She said you didn’t want anything to do with dating again.”

  “Good. I’m glad I have one friend who understands.”

  “Yeah, not really. Tonight’s bachelorette is courtesy of her tennis club. I actually met the woman last week. She’s very nice. And pretty hot, I might add.”

  “You met her?” Somehow, that seemed a step too far. Or maybe it was good they were vetting the women they were parading in front of her. Although they were batting zero.

  “Lindsay wasn’t sure about introducing you to Karen, so she wanted Jamie and me to pass muster first.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with her?” The last one had a voice reminiscent of Minnie Mouse, and the one before that spent the evening talking about all her exes. Charley had wanted to run before the bread was passed.

  “Absolutely nothing. She’s smart, and funny, and gorgeous, and built. And she’s thirty-seven. Perfect age for a trophy wife.”

  “I can’t go out with anyone that young. We won’t have anything to talk about. Plus, if she’s built, she won’t be interested in me. I’m a long way off from getting rid of this ‘I quit smoking twenty years ago’ weight gain.” She didn’t like admitting that truth, but she trusted Brooke with almost all her vulnerabilities.

  “You’re getting there. Slowly.”

  “Ho! Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “What? I said you’re looking good. And Jamie and I certainly didn’t have any trouble talking with Karen.”

  “Then maybe you should date her.”

  “Not thinkin’ Annie would appreciate that.”

  “Fine. I’ll take Annie off your hands, you take Karen out.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. You had a shot at her but you chose Tricia.”

  Charley laughed, even as she winced at the mention of Tricia. She was always grateful Brooke understood that her fling with Annie had been just that, a short-lived affair right before Annie moved to San Francisco. When she came back to New York a few years later, Charley and Brooke ran into her in a movie theater, she’d introduced them and that was that. She was never sure who swung the first lasso, but within weeks, they were a couple.

  “Why is this woman single if she’s such a catch?”

  “Recently ended a relationship. You know, we’ve gone out of our way to find some of the nicest women for you.”

  “Maybe I don’t want nice.”

  “Oh, now there’s a challenge. Why didn’t you say so?”

  She sighed. “Brooke, I don’t want anything.”

  “Karen’s a redhead. Your kryptonite.”

  A wisp of annoyance rose up. “Fine. I’ll meet her, we’ll see what happens.”

  “What happens is that you always leave without giving the woman your phone number.”

  “I’m not ready.” There was more to it than that, but she didn’t want to examine things that would only open old wounds.

  “You are still hiding.”

  In the silence that followed, Charley knew Brooke was waiting for her defense, but she didn’t have one. At least, not one Brooke would be willing to accept. “I don’t want another relationship. Not so soon, anyway.”

  “Soon? Three years is not soon! And who said anything about a relationship? Ain’t nobody else gonna be Tricia, honey,” Brooke said. “You need to change your expectations. Or maybe see what else you want. There’s lots of candy in the store, Charley, and you can try more than one kind. You used to be good at that.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Ruth.” I don’t want to try anyone else. Tricia was enough for one lifetime. “I don’t think I like candy anymore.”

  “I’m serious. Take Karen out once. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

  “And I’m serious. I like my independence, I like having my time to myself, and I really like not having to worry about anyone else’s needs but my own.”

  “What about the intimacy of someone caring about you, about where you are and what you’re doing and when you’re coming home to her?” Brooke asked.

  “Sometimes I really hate you,” Charley said without any conviction.

  Brooke laughed. “As always, the pleasure is all mine. See you at six thirty?”

  Charley welcomed the hot water in the shower after hanging up with Brooke. She bent her knee up into the stinging heat. It still gave her trouble three years after the surgery for the ACL tear, despite all the physical therapy exercises she’d continued doing to combat the pain and immobility that had never really gone away. A knee replacement really wasn’t on her list of “things to do later in life.” She didn’t want to contemplate it now, either, not while she was busy being irritated by the call with Brooke. She tried to let the water calm her while she thought about how to ask her friends to stop setting her up. They’d been doing it for nearly two years now because they loved her and wanted to see her happy again. So maybe I’ll tell them I met someone. The white lie would serve a dual purpose. It would get them off her back and force her to talk to the woman in the locker room whose privacy she’d unintentionally invaded last night when she’d sought refuge from the after-work crowds in the back section she rarely used. The woman was changing into a swimsuit, her lean body and muscled shoulders those of a swimmer. She was striking, a tomboy-next-door-handsome type hitting middle age with grace and beauty.

  The woman had turned briefly at the intrusion, mildly annoyed. Charley was struck by the brilliance and color of her green eyes, like a forest after a thunderstorm, all the leaves glittering with raindrops. She wasn’t sure why those eyes simultaneously scared and delighted her, but she wanted to find out. She’d seen something unusual in that flash of emerald, and it jarred a feeling long dormant within her. Charley’s gaydar had also pinged when the woman glanced at her a moment later, a hint of curiosity playing across her features. I need to see her again. Reflexively, she reached between her legs and stroked her fingers back and forth, the hot water acting as a lubricant. She leaned against the tile wall, let the water cascade over her, and eased two fingers inside, beginning a slow rhythmic pump, her thumb riding the spot where her soft clit hardened. Anticipation spread in the pit of her stomach, its heat flooding her body. A moment later, her hips moved faster in answer to the demand for release. But she didn’t want faster. She wanted slow and sensual, imagining the woman beneath her in bed, those rich green eyes locked on hers while Charl
ey moved in and out of her, warm and wet, teasing her with her thumb. She fantasized slowly skimming the woman’s breasts, taking in one nipple and then the other, provoking them with her tongue, gently sucking and rolling them between her lips until they stood at attention, and then softly pulling at the hard peaks as the woman begged her for more. She wanted to know how the woman’s body would tense against hers, where she would touch Charley, if her thighs would squeeze her hips as she climaxed, as she bucked up against her and grabbed her shoulders, letting Charley ride her until they both collapsed against the pillows, completely spent. She wanted to know.

  Charley’s orgasm erupted and she grabbed the showerhead, hanging on until the spasms slowed. When she could stand again, she turned up the hot water. Most mornings, she needed the ten minutes of steam room conditions to get everything in her body moving in sync again. The family arthritis gene had finally manifested itself and she could sympathize with her older brothers and the aggravating pain they’d been complaining about for nearly a decade. Now, however, she simply wanted to come down from her reverie in a blast of hot spray. Obviously, everything was working just fine if she could handle herself standing up against the shower wall for ten minutes. But the phone rang, so she shut off the water and opened the bathroom door farther so she could hear the caller ID.

  “Call from…Vivian Owens.”

  The audible voice mail from her fifteen-year-old phone kicked in. “Good morning, darling. You’re probably on your way to Long Beach. Or are you on the ferry? It’s a beautiful day for a hike; did you decide to go out to the Greenbelt? Either way, I want to invite you.”

  Charley grabbed the receiver. “No, I’m here. I was in the bathroom.” Dripping on the rug, she toweled off with her free hand. Bing jumped down from the bed to help her by licking her ankles dry. “What’s up?”