9781618857569GettingitAllStorm

by Troy Storm

  The three of them were seated in a small raised banquet against one of the walls of the timber-framed, high-ceilinged space, giving them an overall view. Subtle lighting and flickering candles defined various seating areas scattered over the polished concrete floor between flanking wine bars.

  “How do you like the noir, Christy?” One of the handsome young men approached, bearing a plate of various crackers and cheeses. “And ladies. Surprisingly good for a New York State vintage, right?” He chatted pleasantly for a few minutes about the pros and cons of the various grape harvests that year, then with a “Looking forward to seeing you again, soon,” very definitely directed at Christy, moved on.

  “Do you know him?” Lucy asked.

  “In the biblical sense? Yes.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as being particularly biblical,” Dorothy noted, slyly, thinking of Moses and other stern-faced prophets in tight pants and open-necked white shirts.

  “Only in the ‘fit the walls and they came a-tumbling down’ sense,” she lightly sang. “My walls,” she tilted her glass toward the young man who was chatting with customers at a nearby table. “They just tumbled right down with his fittin’. You know how that is. Give me a good ‘fit’ anytime.”

  Lucy seemed slightly puzzled for a moment, then giggled, blushing slightly. “Christy, you do get around.” She sighed, pleased at her sophistication. “It’s nice to have a place like this in CoveHaven.”

  “It isn’t, Lucy love. All these little towns run together. They’re not even little towns, really. Just areas in a bigger town, or something. Business districts or something. These town names are what they were called back in Revolutionary days. Before my time.” She arched an elegant eyebrow. “I’ve never gotten it straight, and we’ve lived here all our lives. Right, Dot?”

  Dorothy smiled. “Various heritage committees started putting up those very nice, old-fashioned signs which only surprised most people who thought they were living someplace else. I go with whatever the post office says, that’s the only way I can figure it. And whatever high school district you were assigned to.” She laughed. “It did make it hard to keep straight who was on the right side and wrong side of the tracks. We pretty much grew up all blended together. A little different now,” she added. “Ever since the summer camps got turned into sub-divisions with their four and five bedroom McMansions.”

  “Seems like everybody new here now, came from Queens,” Christy noted with a slight shrug, carefully munching on a cracker and cheese so that her lipstick wouldn’t smear. “Or Albany. Wanting to get some country air. Which we have plenty of. Have something to eat.” She tapped the plate. “I don’t have all that much to serve you guys back at the apartment.”

  “Matt used to live in one of the new places, right?” Lucy asked.

  “Three bedrooms, two stories, vinyl siding, three-quarters of an acre,” Dorothy answered. “Matt was doing really well when they got married and he and Alice expected to have kids right away. Afterwards, I guess he just thought the place was too big for him.”

  “It’s a nice little cottage.” Lucy munched contemplatively. “Where he lives now. It’s just charming.” Dorothy could imagine Lucy imagining being a permanent residence in that charming cottage. But now that Christy had asserted herself, that hope was pretty well shot. She felt a slight pang of loss herself.

  “I don’t think he expects to have any kids soon.” Dorothy looked at Christy. “Speaking of which, what’s your take on how the competition’s going, Christy? I assume that’s why you’ve called us together. To tally up scores. Or is it just to give Matt’s…Matt…a rest?” She smirked.

  “Well, since you finally decided to move your beautiful ass and get involved, I thought it might be time to reconnoiter, as it were. The rules might have changed now that he’s actually playing three on a horse.”

  “In what way?” Dorothy asked, carefully.

  “Three what?” Lucy interrupted.

  “It’s a play,” Dorothy explained. “Three Men on a Horse. About a guy who can pick a winning horse if he doesn’t bet himself. It’s a comedy,” she added. “Like this was supposed to be. Now, about those rules, Christy.”

  “Oh.” Lucy’s smooth brow wrinkled, attempting to process the information. “What’s horse racing got…?”

  “I think with her theatrical reference what Christy is trying to remind us in her literate Bryn Mawr way is that it’s not up to Matt to pick the right horse, it’s us.”

  “We are the masters of our fate, as Gloria Steinem would say.” Christy finished her glass and poured them all another, finishing the bottle.

  “The rules, Christy. What’s changed?” Dorothy chomped down on a cracker and cheese.

  Christy smoothed her elegant slacks and ran her fingers through her hair, giving her head a shake to put everything in its preordained place.

  “Well, you know this whole thing started pretty simply. Nothing complicated. Get Matt in the sack. I can’t remember what the prize was. Maybe a free shampoo or something.”

  “Matt.” Dorothy remembered. Very definitely. “We would all be dating Matt. That was the prize. But then you decided after he blew you away—and I suppose I mean that literally—that he was going to be yours and yours alone. So you made that pronouncement that we would have to fight for him. And then…and then…”

  She didn’t want to remind herself that she had sicced Christy on Matt when Lucy had suddenly fallen into lust her first time out. If she had not exactly betrayed her innocent friend, she certainly had not helped Lucy’s cause. But that had pushed Matt over the edge and he had angrily come looking for Dorothy. And then…and then…mind-blowing…three orgasms…in the parking lot, for God’s sake…the wonderful parking lot…

  She shifted in her seat and started on the second glass of wine, feeling like a traitor, or at least a disloyal buddy, but at least they were all pretty much on the same footing now. More or less.

  “Has any of that changed? That you want him and that you want us to fight for him?” She was tired of waiting for Christy’s next pronouncement.

  “That’s past history.” Christy waved an airy hand. “Can’t change that. What is new is that you have entered the game, Ms Dorothy with your click-worthy red slippers and quite frankly I didn’t think you would…could…had the guts to. No offence, sweetie.”

  “You and Matt had a date?” Lucy looked from Christy to Dorothy and back again, trying to keep up. “That’s great.”

  “Not exactly.” Dorothy felt the heat begin to rise. She was already moist at the first mention of his name. Now her breasts and earlobes began to catch up. “But we are…on better terms.”

  “The word from the beauty parlor security cameras is that he came to see you. He looked you up. And you two had a very private conversation out back, from which you came away seeming very satisfied. A picture being worth a thousand words, which you have chosen not to share with us, the evidence is that you two are definitely on better terms. So I figure when you do start dating in earnest you’re going to try for even better terms.”

  She didn’t know, Dorothy’s rattled mind thought. Christy did not know she and Matt had already had…relations. Sex. Glorious mind-blowing three orgasm sex out behind the vans. Up against the metal, Hot Dot. How tacky. How…mind-blowing.

  As if an epiphany, suddenly for the first time in their lives Dorothy felt out in front of Christy. She knew it was more than likely the beautiful white-blonde cougar would leave her in the dust eventually, but since time before Beau, for the first time in years, she felt she might be, if not exactly master of her fate, at least she might have a hand in deciding it.

  “So now I’m beginning to feel my buddies-in-bedding-Matt aren’t being straight with me.” Christy’s voice took on a sharp edge.

  “What do you mean?” Dorothy didn’t like the hard look. She glanced at Lucy who was also suddenly quiet and on alert.

  “Champagne for you ladies.” One of the attractive wine stewards appeared wit
h a bottle, cradling it in its linen napkin as if it were a precious gift. “From the gentlemen at the bar.”

  Christy didn’t like having her dramatic announcement interrupted, Dorothy noted gratefully, but once she had quickly swung her glorious white-blond crowing glory around to check out the guys, instantly became her old self.

  “Isn’t that sweet,” she cooed, inspecting the label. “That’s a great year, but I’m so so sorry we have to decline.” The young man looked slightly flustered. “No. Let me.” She gestured toward the grinning, nicely suited guys at the bar, waggling her finger. “Naughty. Naughty.” Then curled the elegant digit to beckon them. The two men bolted toward their banquette.

  “Christy, what are you doing?” Dorothy gasped.

  “Oh, my. They are really good-looking,” Lucy beamed at the new adventure presenting itself.

  “You gentlemen are the greatest,” Christy began her apology as the two sleek, young businessmen approached. “Move over ladies and give the guys room. But we were just getting ready to leave and we couldn’t possibly turn down such a lovely gesture without at least saying, ‘hi.’ I’m Christy.” She offered an elegant hand.

  Whatever frost might have dropped over their table at Christy’s prior accusation was instantly replaced by the heat she generated when faced with the possibility of new conquests.

  The men were Darren and Brad, financial buddies all the way up from Wall Street out for the evening, who insisted on the steward opening the bottle for a quick farewell taste for the ladies. They wanted to try the label themselves and would sadly finish it alone but wanted to be sure they were able to toast one of the most beautiful table of women they had the pleasure to come across in a long side career of wine bar hopping.

  Christy was in her element, glowing and radiant. Lucy was adorable, streaked locks bouncing and eyes sparkling with excitement. Dorothy felt as if her sentence had been reprieved.

  “C’mon guys,” Christy eyed the men slyly as the three women prepared to leave. “There are two of you and three of us. How did you plan to do the math?”

  Brad was the big, square-jawed secure one. “There’s no math to do. It’s done.” He indicated his grinning partner, “the D-man and I would be more than happy to see to it that all three of you beautiful ladies had an excellent time.”

  Dorothy drew a sharp intake of breath. Lucy’s eyes grew bigger and her pretty little mouth dropped open. Christy sighed contentedly.

  “My, all five of us, together, enjoying ourselves. And that wouldn’t be a problem? That does sound like an exciting evening. I’m so sorry we have another engagement. If you ever plan to be in the area, do give a call.” She produced a card. “Perhaps we would be available. We would love to help you check out new labels…and vintages.” She did the elegant fingers through the glorious mane as a farewell enticement.

  It worked. The guys were all over them beaming and complimenting as they bade farewell to the charming candle-lit atmosphere, Christy taking a moment to drop an extra bill on their steward.

  “Who would have thought,” she wondered quietly as they paused together outside before dispersing to their various cars, “such a nice little place is also a high-class pick-up joint. I must not have been paying attention last time I was here.”

  “Probably paying too much attention to the wine guys,” Lucy offered seriously. “If they see you’re interested in somebody else, sometimes guys won’t even make an effort.”

  Christy bent to kiss the young woman on the cheek. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll be much more aware of what’s going on next time.” She threw Dorothy a very direct look. “Thanks for the advice, Lucy. Okay, I’ll see you guys at the apartment. Everybody knows where they’re going, right?”

  Dorothy knew the way to Christy’s apartment. She wasn’t at all sure she knew where she was being led though.

  Not too many minutes later, she and Lucy were obediently following the running instructions of their hostess, setting the dining room table, tearing up various lettuces for the salad, pulling out “the good stuff” and bringing their plates filled with chicken a la something to do with mushrooms and white wine to their respective places.

  With her guests settled, Christy lit the candles and poured them all a glass of champagne.

  “We could have taken the champagne those guys from New York offered us and just scooted,” Lucy giggled. “Oh, this is good.”

  “Then they would have known not to mess with us big-boned country girls. Is that what you’re saying, Lucy? This is delicious, Christy, and this chicken looks and smells wonderful. Somehow I don’t think of you as the domestic type.”

  “Well, Dot, whatever do you think of me as?” She stuck out her glass for a toast. “Cheers to the terrible threes.”

  Dorothy had walked right into it. It took her a moment before she could sip.

  “Never mind.” Christy took up her knife and fork. “Eat first, confess later, or is it the other way ‘round? I think of all those poor wives of Henry VIII and the protocol of chopping their heads off. Which came first, the chicken or the ax?”

  Dorothy chuckled. Maybe if she could get drunk fast enough the evening wouldn’t turn out so badly. “This chicken is delicious, Christy. At least for us we know which is coming first.”

  “I love that series,” Lucy dug into her food. “The clothes are so unbelievable and the people are so beautiful. I bought the set. I watch it whenever I’m feeling kind of, you know, drab.” She gave her head of streaked auburn waves a slight shake. “But I haven’t been feeling that way much, lately. I wanted to thank you both.”

  “Oh?” Christy cut a small piece of sauce-covered fowl and lifted it to her mouth. She ate in the European fashion keeping her fork in her left hand. No excess motions, Dorothy thought, switching her utensils. Conserve your energy for the important stuff.

  “I know you and Matt are like dating all the time, and I’ve only had a couple with him, but if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have had those dates at all. They’re something I’ll always treasure.” Lucy sniffled. “Oh, dear. I guess I shouldn’t have brought that up while we were eating.”

  Christy reached over to touch the arm of the young woman dabbing her face with her napkin and gave Dorothy a look to indicate she should do the same.

  “We both have a lot to be grateful for as far as Christy is concerned,” Dorothy said, wondering at this point whose side she was supposed to be on. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to toast that gratefulness, instead of waiting until we’re all soused at the end of the meal.” When they might all be at each other’s throats. “At least, this way I’ll know I meant it, rather than wondering later if I was just too drunk to know better.” She grinned broad, fake.

  Lucy wasn’t listening. She was, what, five, ten miles away in Matt’s bed, getting her one and only shot at pure joy, Dorothy surmised. Or had she been taken behind some barn someplace too? Maybe in the backseat at the overlook.

  Christy, on the other hand, knew exactly what Dorothy was talking about.

  “Well, before any of us do any major confessing to something the others might not even care about,” She continued to eat and drink heartily. “I’d like to do a little confessing, myself. And since I’m the hostess with the mostest, I’ll go first.”

  Lucy got up to find a tissue to blow her nose and returned to the table. “Confess? About what?”

  “Well, maybe confession isn’t the word,” Christy paused in demolishing her meal and sat back to inspect the bubbles in her champagne flute. “More a new attitude about our little fun and games with the loveable Matt Bartholomew.

  “I was beginning to have doubts about how I was feeling about the whole thing which is why I called us all together tonight in the first place. To sort of clear the air.”

  Dorothy and Lucy continued quietly eating. Waiting.

  “The nice, hunky, financial gentlemen from New York in the wine place, sort of helped settle everything into its proper perspective.” She to
ok up her fork and knife again.

  “I would miss that opportunity. Making out with fresh meat on a regular basis.” She waved a forkful of chicken. “As you see, sur cette table is not where I get my meat. And, tonight’s French cuisine notwithstanding, I am a meat and potatoes girl…dans ma boudoir.”

  Lucy giggled. Suddenly she sat up straight, concerned. “What are you saying, Christy? I got the French part. What’s the English part?”

  “She’s saying she wants to have Matt and eat her Frenchmen too,” Dorothy said, warily. Something was not quite translating.

  “No, no, no, no, mes cheries.” Their hostess swirled her champagne and finished off the flute. “Well, at least half ‘no, no.’ You got the ‘eating her Frenchmen’ part.” She took a moment, and then announced, “I’m thinking of conceding and turning our local hunky lad over to you two to battle over.”

  Dorothy and Lucy both stared at Christy and then at each other.

  “But that’s…?”

  “How can you…?”

  “Why?” they asked together.

  “Because he is easily replaceable.” She waved an elegant hand. “Okay, not ‘easily.’ No one like Matt is easily replaceable, but it dawned on me, because of a little chat Dorothy and I had recently, what you two want from Matt is not what I want. I’m getting what I want.” She shrugged. “And I don’t necessarily want more.”

  “What little chat?”

  “Dorothy and I have been friends for a long time, Lucy. She felt you were beginning to get the upper hand with Matt, and rather than letting me discover this for myself and lose our little wager, she wanted to apprise me of how things stood.”

  Lucy was stricken. She had been ganged up on by friends she trusted. Dorothy felt a sinking in her gut that did not help the chicken a la whatever. “Lucy, I…”