Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  Charley gladly acquiesced. When they hung up, she was able to face the shorthand she’d taken at this morning’s meeting with Dr. Gerard, transcribing it and typing it up to email to Tricia. A few minutes later, her phone rang.

  “Can you talk now?”

  “Yes. Are you okay?”

  “I looked over the notes. Can you come over for dinner tonight?”

  Charley hesitated. She knew Tricia needed her now emotionally, but she couldn’t turn the clock back to the time when she would’ve dropped everything for her.

  “Actually, no.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m having dinner with my young writer tonight.”

  “Oh. Okay, well, what about lunch tomorrow?”

  Charley heard Tricia’s other line ringing.

  “I’ll call you right back.”

  Charley checked the time on her computer. Emily would be deep into the meeting with Paul and his board. She sent up a little prayer. Needing to keep both her lines clear if Emily called, she opened another email to Tricia.

  “I’ll come by at 1:00 tomorrow. Salad for lunch, okay? Balsamic vinaigrette. I don’t use French dressing anymore. And get some lemons for the water, for God’s sake. Didn’t I teach you anything?” She hit Send.

  Several minutes later, she had a response from Tricia. I had lemons the other night. You didn’t ask.

  Charley fired off a reply, finding comfort in the normalcy of their old-style banter. I need to ask?

  Mea culpa, came Tricia’s response. From now on, my refrigerator is your refrigerator. Oh, and by the way, my doorman on the weekends is a woman, quite a stunning Black Irish beauty. Try not to add her to your dating roster on the way in tomorrow. Have fun tonight.

  Charley sent back an emoticon sticking its tongue out. Then, wanting to ward off the tension that had her in its grip as she waited to hear from Emily, she pulled her Lysol wipes from the cupboard. Her cubicle looked like Miss Havisham’s study. No use trying to concentrate on anything real. Before she’d gotten to the last bit of cleaning, the tops of the filing cabinets, the Instant Message blinked open on her computer. Book flight to the Middle East. And the most expensive restaurant you’ve always wanted to try.

  Charley walked into Emily’s office, relief washing over her, and plopped into Emily’s chair. She looked out at her city. From the thirty-fifth floor, Central Park shimmered in the aftermath of the storm, and all the day’s stress began leaving her body. Emily had made it rain. Maybe now I can allow myself to think that life will be good for a while.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charley had no idea Emily had put a split of champagne in the little refrigerator in her office earlier in the day. They opened it in her conference room, just the two of them. Charley went over the travel plans she’d made days ago, hoping that locking the flights down ahead of time would serve as a good luck charm and knowing they were easier to cancel than to make this close to the date Emily wanted to depart.

  “And the restaurant?”

  “Made reservations for three at Per Se for two weeks from Saturday.”

  “You can’t get in there before next April,” Emily said dismissively. “I know, I tried, for Terry’s birthday next month. Even my name didn’t open the door.”

  “Oh, you should’ve come to me. I have connections there.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I told you my Rolodex is full of rabbits I pull out of hats.”

  Emily laughed. “Yes, you did. I’m beginning to think you’re a member of the Mafia.”

  Charley smiled. “The executive assistant Mafia. There’s a difference.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t think I want to know.”

  Emily left early, and for once, Charley was right out the door behind her. She stopped at her apartment to feed the cats and change, deciding quickly on the old standby of a pair of jeans and a white button-down. She left the pearls on. That damn lobster clasp was such a pain in the ass. Moments later, she was on the Third Avenue bus heading up to Neely’s apartment. In the corner bodega, she bought a single red rose to bring to her.

  The listing on the buzzer told her Neely lived on the fifth floor of the walk-up. She took a deep breath and began the hike up. As she rounded the last landing, Neely opened the door, a frosted glass of white wine in her hand.

  “Oh, thank God,” Charley said.

  “I was going to send a Saint Bernard down with it, but then I figured you’d just sit down on the step and drink it there.”

  “Very funny.”

  She took the glass from Neely and peeked inside the door. “This is cute.” Stepping into the apartment, she was immediately in the kitchen, a compact affair, with the sparsely furnished living room on the other side of a pine breakfast bar. Charley assessed the space, turning in a 360-degree circle. She went over to the French windows that overlooked a series of backyards below. “Nice.”

  “Would you like the official tour?” Neely asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Kitchen, living room,” Neely said with a sweep of her hand. “Bathroom down the hall.” Neely led her to the hallway. “And beyond, the bedroom.”

  Charley flicked on the bathroom light, took stock of the walls stenciled in lilacs and green leaves, and wondered if Neely had done the work herself. It was a beautiful but tedious art that she’d decorated a long-ago apartment with, and then had vowed to hire an artisan the next time she wanted it. She followed Neely into the bedroom. There was a comfortable feel to it, the room done in a light lilac, unpainted pine furniture softly lit by one floor lamp. On the wall above the king-sized bed hung an enormous photograph of violet-colored hydrangeas spilling over a picket fence.

  “Neely, this is lovely. Where do you write?”

  “Mostly on the couch.” Neely turned off the lamp and headed to the kitchen where she put a deep sauté pan on the tiny stove, turning up the flame under it. She retrieved a block of lard from her refrigerator and a thermometer from a small jar of utensils on the counter and set them next to the stove. She went back to the refrigerator for the bottle of wine and a small dish of crudités and dip, setting them both on the breakfast bar.

  “You’re going to have to stay over there when I begin to work,” she warned Charley as she cut the lard into the pan. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I still do this recipe like my grandma did.” She held up the lard. “It wouldn’t taste the same otherwise.”

  She brought a large bowl containing chicken pieces in an egg wash out of the refrigerator and threw a large pinch of salt, pepper, and Cajun seasoning into the pan, dipping the thermometer into the sizzling lard and holding it there. Satisfied with the reading, she coated each piece of chicken with flour in a large baggie that had been sitting next to the utensil jar. There were red specks of some kind of seasoning in it. “Okay, I’m putting this in the pan. Stay where you are. I don’t want your clothes to get splattered.”

  The crackle of the chicken hitting the pan caused Charley to jump as a shower of spattering fat burst over the stove. The sweet smell of the lard was eclipsed by the stronger spices and the gamey pungency of the chicken itself, making her hungry. While Neely worked, they talked about how her grandmother had taught her all her cooking secrets as a way of healing her after her mother had disappeared into drug addiction when Neely was ten. Charley wanted to hug that child but knew she was long gone, grown into the interesting, contemplative, kind woman full of light and laughter who stood at the stove cooking for her. A woman who was now about to be published by one of the most prestigious magazines in the country. If she wasn’t so happy at the turn of events for her, Charley would’ve been jealous.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Charley said, dipping a carrot into the hummus. “I know I’ve been giving you advice in pieces and parts over the last couple of weeks, but I read the entire first half from start to finish two nights ago.”

  Neely carefully turned the chicken. “What did you think? Does it work?”

  “It’s a complicated
and beautiful story, which I don’t think I really told you before. I’ve been sucked right in.”

  “Okay.” Neely nodded.

  “I know Pearl is your grandmother, and I’ve really grown to love her. But I hate that she’s wrecking her life.”

  “Rose is wrecking Pearl’s life.”

  “No, Pearl is letting it happen. She could stop it, but she doesn’t.”

  “No, she’s defenseless against her sister.”

  “No one’s defenseless, Neely. No one can use you unless you give them permission to, and that’s what Pearl is doing.”

  Neely turned to look at Charley and then sat down on the stool next to her. “My God, that’s it. Pearl is making a choice…I didn’t see that.”

  “But she’s your character. Everything she does is in your hands.”

  “No, I don’t always have control. Things come out my pencil, I don’t even know where they come from sometimes. It’s like I know this story, but I don’t.” Neely kissed Charley on the forehead. “And you just gave me an invaluable note.”

  “Well, finally. Something I can do for you.”

  Neely checked on the chicken. “You do more for me than you know.” Wiping her hands on a towel, Neely went to plug her iPod into a speaker on the coffee table. Charley kicked off her shoes and joined her, curious about what artists she had in her library.

  “It’s my version of the American Songbook,” Neely said. “All the artists are black. And you can look at the list later. Right now, let’s eat, you listen.” She went back to the refrigerator for a bowl of potato salad and then put two green salads on the table.

  Oh, thank God, Charley thought, seeing the greens. She’d been a little worried about how the chicken fried in lard might affect her, but the minute she bit into a thigh, cracking right through thin, perfectly seasoned skin, and the hot juices spurted out, all thoughts of healthy eating sailed right out the window. This chicken was heaven.

  For the next three hours, they ate and talked, and Charley listened to a host of artists she knew: Ella, Lena, Sarah, Nat King Cole, and many lush voices she didn’t recognize. Neely pushed their second bottle of wine toward Charley’s glass.

  “Oh, no you don’t. I can’t drink like that.”

  “Why don’t we move to the couch,” Neely suggested. “My bones hurt from sitting on this stool so long.”

  Charley began to clear the dishes, transferring them to the sink and running water on them. Neely came up behind her and swept her hands through Charley’s hair, surprising her. “I love these curls.” She buried her nose in them and inhaled. Then she kissed her neck. “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.”

  Charley turned around to face her. She had a nanosecond to decide what to do before Neely was kissing her, softly at first, her hands gliding up the front of Charley’s shirt. Neely pressed her against the counter and Charley pushed back, desire kicking in as Neely kneaded her breasts. She moved her hands to Neely’s butt, pulling her apart beneath the soft fabric of her jeans. Charley could feel her heat, and within seconds, she went up in smoke when Neely reached between her legs. Breaking the kiss, breathing unsteadily, Charley wondered if Neely could feel how wet she’d made her at a time in her life when that didn’t physically happen anymore.

  Neely tilted Charley’s chin up. “I don’t want to sit on the couch.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  She took Charley’s hand and led her toward the bedroom, turned the lamp to the lowest setting, and unbuttoned Charley’s shirt. Trying to control the trembling as Neely draped the shirt over the chair, Charley thought of all the times she’d imagined a moment like this since leaving Tricia. None of them measured up. She was afraid to let Neely know how like her very first time this felt, or how surprised she was at how much she wanted this. She was also afraid that once Neely saw her completely naked, she might not find her attractive, might draw back. Despite all the classes she’d taken in that pool over the last couple of years, there were some things that time couldn’t hide. She let the thought go and unbuttoned Neely’s shirt, trying to take her time but unable to keep her fingers from flying through the task. She quickly unclasped Neely’s bra and tossed it onto the chair. Neely reciprocated. But before she could get to Charley’s pants button, Charley had her hands on the buttons of Neely’s pants. She slid them down Neely’s legs, pulling her boy shorts down with them, then dropping them on the chair with the other clothes.

  She caressed Neely’s stomach, admiring the muscles. Neely’s sigh deepened into a groan as Charley dipped her hand between her legs, relishing the tight curls now drenched with her arousal. She inhaled her essence and laid her head on Neely’s shoulder, her hand on her breast, as she stopped long enough to realize that this was happening. Neely unbuttoned Charley’s pants, slipped them over her hips, and traced her fingers down the sheer fabric of Charley’s panties. She shivered when Neely outlined the small fan of hair that rose from the top of her sex, then cupped her hand between her legs, moving in and out slowly. Charley put a hand on Neely to steady herself. Neely stood, lowered her to the bed, and gazed at her. Charley stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, as much out of need as to tease Neely as she took her in, the powerful shoulders and toned arms she’d felt under her hands when they were dancing, what Charley could only define as a six-pack, tautly muscled hips and legs. Oh my God, she’s Adonis and Aphrodite rolled into one. Charley reached to unfasten the pearl necklace.

  “No.” Neely stopped her. “Leave it. That’s a beautiful sight. You nearly naked, and the pearls against your skin.”

  Before Charley could slide up onto the bed, Neely stripped her panties, went to her knees, and opened Charley’s legs, her tongue stroking the length of her sex and toying with the hood that protected her clitoris. She braced herself with one foot on the floor and held on as Neely drove her tongue as far inside her as she could. Charley had forgotten how moments like this could rob her of all her senses as she struggled for a breath of air. Neely teased her, sank her tongue in again, and Charley cried out. Grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread, she arched into Neely’s mouth, her stomach muscles tightening, Neely’s tongue again tracing her sex, thrusting inside her, drawing out, seeking Charley’s clit, flicking it over and over. Charley moaned and rose against Neely, who slid her hands under her, lifting her higher, her tongue plunging in and out until the anticipatory flame of an orgasm gathered from her toes to her neck. She went rigid, and the single touch of Neely’s lips at her clitoris sent her cascading over the edge. Neely held her hips, her mouth riding Charley until she peaked for the third time and slowed, finally lying still, her legs draped over Neely’s shoulders.

  “I can feel your heart beating all the way down here,” Neely whispered, her cheek against Charley’s thigh.

  “Can you send it back up to my chest, please? I’m about to fall off the bed.”

  Neely helped her onto the bed and lay down next to her. She wedged her hand against Charley’s pussy as she entwined their legs. “Hmm. Terrible…you’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

  Charley punched her playfully. “All this bed and you made love to me on the razor’s edge.”

  “I couldn’t wait another second,” she said, playing with Charley’s curls. “I’ve wanted this…you…for so long. Besides, we have all night to use every inch of this playing field.”

  Charley lifted her head to regard Neely.

  “You are staying the night, aren’t you?” Neely asked.

  “I like playing fields,” Charley said, rolling up to a sitting position. She tucked one leg around Neely’s hip and scissored her other leg under her, repositioning her smooth pussy against Neely’s wiry curls, beginning a slow grind against her. She watched Neely slowly lose control as her need to climax grew, driving her to move against Charley. It was a powerful feeling, riding a woman this way, bringing her to the brink, and Charley loved that sense of command.

  “Oh, dear God.” Neely moaned.

  Charley reveled
in the look of ecstasy on Neely’s face as she shifted against her like a belly dancer.

  “Not in my wildest dreams…” Neely whispered.

  Charley felt Neely getting slick again, swung her leg out from under her, and lowered herself on top, pushing her thigh between Neely’s legs, running her tongue from her earlobe down the side of her throat to the hollow of her neck, pausing for a series of unhurried kisses as she provoked Neely’s nipples to stiff buttons with her fingers. Neely undulated beneath her and Charley felt the rhythm and matched it, pushing her thigh hard against Neely’s slippery wetness as Neely ground into her. Then, one hand on the bed to steady herself, she began stroking between Neely’s legs, keeping up the tempo she had set. Neely put her own hand on Charley’s, moving with her and guiding Charley to where she wanted her. Capturing her breast in her mouth, she elicited low moans as she tongued her nipple. Neely’s clit receded into its protective hood and she eased down to chase it, drawing the tip of her finger through Neely’s sex, teasing it open to reveal the silky pink inside, feeling a tremor of pleasure rip through her at the touch. Kissing and nipping her way up first one, then the other inner thigh as she pressed a finger lightly against Neely’s anus, she continued playing in her wet heat, found her clitoris, and tenderly pressed its fullness from beneath.

  Neely’s reaction would’ve been audible to the neighbors. Charley moved in with the tip of her tongue and swirled circles to the rhythm of Neely’s rocking hips, reaching up to caress her breasts. Neely’s clit grew rigid; Charley closed her mouth over it and ran her tongue up and down the little shaft. Neely gasped, her body stiffened and arched. Charley slipped her fingers inside as the orgasm burst and overtook Neely, and she rode it out until they both settled onto the bed. Neely, her breath coming in ragged gasps, rolled over onto her side and brought her legs up tightly together.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Charley was alarmed.

  Neely spoke haltingly, but she didn’t roll back toward Charley. “No. I’m trying to hold onto this orgasm the best way I know how.”