Before It Stains

by R. E. Bradshaw

  The corners of Stephanie’s mouth turned up in a wicked grin. “Exactly how much did Randy tell you?”

  Molly’s dimple creased her cheek. “Enough for me to know Mo is a damn fool, but I’ve done my share of foolish things, so who am I to judge?”

  Stephanie finished another swallow of champagne, this one larger than her previous sips. “I have a right to judge her and I have. Shall we just leave it at that and enjoy the evening? I didn’t put on this dress for a pity party.”

  Molly clinked her glass against Stephanie’s. “All right then.” Molly looped her arm through Stephanie’s elbow, her charming confidence returned. “How about we look at some art? You do still enjoy going to art museums, don’t you?”

  “This is my first in years,” Stephanie answered with regret.

  “Then it will be my pleasure to escort you. Shall we?”

  Stephanie relaxed against Molly’s arm and said, “Lead the way.”

  #

  Two hours later, the crowd had thinned, the lights were dimmed, and the dancing was in full swing. The DJ was pumping out the tunes, and what had been a gallery opening turned into a hell of a party. Stephanie danced with Randy, Molly, and a few other brave souls who ventured over to ask. The pumps were under the table now, kicked off an hour ago when she and Randy did the Carolina Shag to “I Love Beach Music,” singing along at the top of their lungs. Stephanie hadn’t had this much fun in a long while.

  Mo wasn’t a dancer. She would slow dance, but Stephanie was usually trapped at the table, tapping her toes. Mo didn’t care if Stephanie danced with someone else, but it just wasn’t the same as moving in rhythm with a real partner, someone you cared about and felt comfortable enough to let loose with. Molly, on the other hand, was as graceful on the parquet as she was in a courtroom.

  Stephanie watched Molly on the local news several years ago, as she defended a woman for killing her abusive husband. Her charm and skill in front of a jury box caused one writer to refer to Molly as the female ‘Matlock’ of southern defense attorneys. She did not look her age, especially when she smiled and showed those endearing dimples. At thirty-eight, Molly never lost the athletic tone of her softball playing days at the University. Stephanie could feel the sculpted muscles in Molly’s shoulder, as she was being waltzed around the floor, skillfully lead by Molly’s hand in the small of her back.

  “I don’t remember ever waltzing with you,” Stephanie whispered into Molly’s ear.

  “Anne bought us lessons one year. I was forced to learn.”

  Anne had been Molly’s girlfriend for a few years. Stephanie knew of her because Randy couldn’t resist telling Stephanie about the new love in Molly’s life. For a while there, they thought someone finally caught the elusive Molly Kincaid, but it ended. Randy never found out why. Stephanie didn’t care at the moment. She was being swept off her feet, feeling lighter than air.

  Stephanie let herself be pulled closer against Molly’s body. “You learned well,” she said, relaxing into Molly’s arms.

  The song ended and Molly led Stephanie to the edge of the dance floor, as the beat of the next song pounded through the speakers.

  “Wait here. I’ll get us something to drink,” Molly said, moving away.

  Stephanie looked around the room. Randy was dancing with Lauren’s mother to the Black Eyed Peas. Surprisingly, Martha Anne was letting it all hang out. That woman had enough confidence for ten women. Stephanie admired her spirit. Her gaze left the dancing duo and circled the room. Stephanie’s heart caught and rested a beat when she saw Mo Hunt on the other side of the dance floor, then it pounded so hard she was sure people could see it almost leap out of her chest. After all these years, the sight of Mo still took Stephanie’s breath, although tonight the thrill was tinted with something else.

  Stephanie heard a voice in her head whisper, “Promises.”

  Mo was holding the invitation Stephanie left on the foyer table and searching the room. She was dressed up - for Mo - in the French cuffed, white silk blouse Stephanie bought for her. She wore black slacks and had spent time on her make-up and hair. Mo was one of those women who looked good without trying. When she did make the effort, Mo could be striking. She appeared to have come with one intention, to find her wife. Stephanie should have been impressed, but her mind was walking a tight rope between love and hate. She knew she still loved Mo, but at the moment the champagne and her resentment were in charge. Animosity ruled the day.

  Mo scanned the room, her eyes settled on Randy and Martha Anne’s wild gyrations. She chuckled visibly, and then refocused her search. Stephanie saw Mo’s eyes move over her, continue a few feet before stopping, and then return to the familiar barefoot blonde in the black dress. Mo took a long look, exploring Stephanie from her bare feet to the top of her head. Her expression went from “That can’t be her,” to “Oh my God,” in a fraction of a second. Mo liked what she saw. A look of intense desire was followed by a sly seductive smile. A smile that so often melted Stephanie’s heart. It did not work. Stephanie stared back, locked on Mo’s eyes, unmoved. She hoped the expression on her face projected what she was thinking.

  “Was it worth losing me?”

  Mo, undeterred by the cool reception, took a step toward Stephanie. In an instant, before her next step, Mo’s demeanor changed. She froze in place, the color draining from her face, and her smile falling into gape-mouthed recognition.

  Stephanie felt a hand touch her elbow. “Here you go,” Molly said, handing her another champagne flute, adding to the many Stephanie had already consumed.

  Stephanie accepted the glass from Molly, took a sip, and then looked back to Mo. Time braked to a crawl, like the slow motion of an accident about to happen. The sounds turned to a white noise kind of hissing and tunnel vision took over. Stephanie’s mind was warring over what to do next, when the answer was given to her. Mo closed her mouth, shot Stephanie a look of complete disdain, and turned on her heels to leave, but not before she got in one good glare at Molly. Stephanie stood still, watching Mo walk away.

  Molly saw Mo’s exit, too. She asked, “Do you need to go after her?”

  Stephanie faced Molly. “No, I don’t,” she answered, and then downed half the contents of her glass in one swallow. She put the glass on a nearby table, took Molly’s hand, and pulled her toward the dance floor. “I love this song.”

  Molly put her glass down and followed Stephanie. The first beats of Joss Stone’s “Put Your Hands On Me” thumped in the air. Whether it was the copious amounts of champagne or her desire to forget Dr. Maureen Hunt, Stephanie slid up close to Molly.

  Molly laughed and pulled Stephanie tight against her body, gliding into the grinding rhythm with her. She shouted over the music, “Enjoy yourself, Scarlet. Tomorrow is another day.”

  Stephanie had no idea what tomorrow held for her and tonight she just didn’t care.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  An hour and a half more of hors d'oeuvres, champagne, and dancing was finally catching up with Stephanie. She leaned against Molly’s chest, panting, after one more heart racing round on the dance floor. Randy took the town car and some hunk to hit the gay bars an hour ago. He half-heartedly asked Stephanie to go. Stephanie was sure Randy was hoping she would go home with Molly. She assured him she could get a taxi and sent him on with her blessing. Now, Stephanie was drunk and she knew it. She wasn’t so inebriated that she didn’t know what she was doing, but the alcohol made her next words easier to say.

  “Take me home.”

  Molly pulled Stephanie away from her chest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to take you to your house. That would just be taunting Mo, and I don’t want to get in the middle of this.”

  A part of Stephanie couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but the other part was cheering her on. Her judgment clouded by alcohol and Mo’s betrayal, Stephanie peered into Molly’s eyes and said, “I didn’t ask you to take me to my house.”

  Molly scrutinized Stephanie’s face, searching
for something. Stephanie could tell Molly was weighing the cost of such a move. Stephanie had weighed it too. She measured the pain and rage against the feelings she’d been bathed in all night. Molly wanted her, desired her, and it was what Stephanie needed. Molly knew it and played the role of adoring lover to a tee, but she’d done the job too well. Stephanie was now willing to see how far she could push Mo out of her mind, and she was prepared to use Molly to do it. Sober, she would have listened to that voice calling her intentions selfish, but in Stephanie’s current state, Molly’s emotional wellbeing did not come in to play. Molly would be better than the wild monkey sex with a stranger that Randy recommended. Molly already knew her body, as Stephanie recalled, she knew it very well.

  Stephanie wanted Molly to take the pain away, if only for one night. She wanted fingertips on her skin. She wanted steamy, hot sex with the sexy lawyer standing in front of her. She needed to shake Mo loose and this was the best way she’d come up with so far. It made perfect sense to her at the moment, quid pro quo. Mo was going to get a taste of her own medicine. Stephanie made up her mind to take what she needed and crossed the line of fair play. Sliding her hands to Molly’s waist, Stephanie pressed in close. She moved her hips just enough to cause Molly to inhale sharply.

  Their lips were just inches apart, when Stephanie whispered, “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about unzipping this dress all night.”

  #

  Stephanie rode quietly in the backseat of the chauffeur driven car. Molly, Stephanie knew from the pipeline that was Randy, never drove anywhere after more than one drink. She couldn’t afford to let the DA’s office get a shot at her, not to mention the cops whose cases she had dismantled. Randy said one assistant DA had a dartboard with Molly’s picture on it. She had a lot to lose and Stephanie was now seeing how much. Molly was as docile as Stephanie, spending most of the ride to her home staring out the window. She would smile over at Stephanie occasionally and she was holding her hand, but Molly was wrestling with doubts. Stephanie sat nervously next to her, praying the alcohol would hold out long enough to get through this.

  The car pulled up to a guardhouse in the exclusive Rosemont Hill neighborhood. The driver’s window went down.

  An armed guard leaned in and smiled. “Good evening, Ms. Kincaid. Welcome home.”

  Molly waved. “Good evening, Jack.”

  The driver pulled ahead, winding the long vehicle through the streets, passing gated driveways leading to mansions that Stephanie could only dream of living in. The car slowed, turning into Molly’s drive. They waited for the gate to swing open and drove through. A country French style, rock-walled manor rose into view. She knew Molly Kincaid was living large, but Stephanie now realized she had no idea just how huge her former lover’s fortune must be. Despite the expensive dress she was wearing, Stephanie felt like an interloper in the world of the rich and the famous.

  The driver opened the door, but Molly didn’t move. She turned to Stephanie. “Larry can take you home, if you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I assure you, home is the last place I want to go.”

  They exited the vehicle and Molly dismissed the driver. Using a keypad to disable an electronic lock on the front door, Molly explained, “I was always losing my key.”

  Stephanie knew, once again from foghorn Randy, that Molly had extra security installed at her home and office, after a particularly difficult murder trial involving the son of a drug lord from South America. She was able to get the son off, but implicated the drug lord’s other son in the process, and seized his jet when he refused to pay her. He was not a happy camper, but Molly now traveled in a private jet, and most of time carried a gun. Stephanie was sure the driver was armed tonight. Randy was a fountain of knowledge, but he knew next to nothing about the women in Molly’s life. She played that part of her life very close to the vest.

  Stephanie followed Molly into the expansive foyer. On both sides were pocket doors, open to reveal a dining room on the right and a formal living room on the left. The arch at the end of the foyer opened onto a great room. Stephanie carried her shoes in from the car and left them under a small table, probably a French antique, where she placed her purse. She gazed around in awe at the crystal chandeliers and Italian marble tile. Stephanie thought, “This floor cost more than my car,” but she remained silent. Molly closed the front door and armed the alarm. She took Stephanie by the hand and led her through the house. Stephanie caught a glimpse of the large fireplace and grandeur of it all. The place looked like a spread in Architectural Digest. Molly opened a set of French doors that led to an enclosed patio. Beyond the floor to ceiling windows, Stephanie could see a freeform pool, complete with waterfall, sparkling off the trees in the lusciously landscaped background.

  “Molly, this is gorgeous. You’ve done very well for yourself.”

  “I took it off someone’s hands when the market crashed,” Molly said, going behind a bar at the end of the room. “I’d rather have a smaller place. It’s way too much house for one person, but I can’t afford to sell it, now.”

  Stephanie sat up on a barstool, while Molly poured them glasses of wine, no doubt from some expensive label.

  “Why are you alone, Molly? I can’t believe someone hasn’t snatched you up by now.”

  Molly grinned. “I prefer to do the snatching.”

  “Ah, the lone wolf,” Stephanie said, taking a glass from Molly’s outstretched hand.

  Molly stepped around the bar, carrying the bottle of wine and her glass. “Come on, let’s sit by the pool.”

  Stephanie’s lips curled in a grin. “The wolf is afraid to stay in the coop with the chicken.”

  Molly held the door open for Stephanie. “You could say that, or you could say the wolf is giving the chicken a chance to escape.”

  “It’s good to know chivalry is not dead, but it isn’t necessary,” Stephanie said, pressing her body into Molly’s as she passed her in the doorway, feeling the heat between them.

  Stephanie skipped out in front of Molly, barefooted, and lightheaded from the sexual tension in the air. It was more intoxicating than the wine. Stephanie’s mind was rationalizing what she was about to do. Hadn’t she been released from her promises to Mo? Wasn’t Mo’s behavior enough to make the vows they took invalid? Having a sexual encounter with Molly may not mend her broken heart, but for the rest of the night, maybe, just maybe, she would not be able to feel its ever-present aching. She was desperate to have it gone, if only for a few minutes.

  A sober space in Stephanie’s mind tried to get her attention. The voice sounded like her mother’s, whispering to her, “Sleeping with Molly is hardly the same as what Mo did. You know this will kill her.”

  Stephanie shook the voice away. She went to the edge of the pool, where steps led down into the clear blue water. Holding the handrail, Stephanie trailed one toe across the cool surface. She turned to see Molly put the wine bottle and her glass down on a nearby table. She silently watched, as Molly took off her jacket and carefully folded it over the back of a chair. She took out her cuff links and pulled the tails of her shirt out of her pants. If Molly was aware she was being observed, she made no indication. Desire started to grow in Stephanie, a sensation she’d felt only for Mo for so long it startled her. The shock didn’t stop her from imagining sliding that shirt off Molly’s shoulders, to see what lay underneath. A nude Molly would not be new to her, but some things got better with age, and Stephanie suspected that might be true in this case.

  Stephanie was caught looking and she was sure Molly could tell what she was thinking. Her dimpled cheek said Molly at least had a good guess. She kept her eyes on Stephanie while she rolled up her sleeves and kicked off her low-heeled pumps. Stephanie’s breathing changed, coming shallow and fast. The tide was turning and the chicken was looking increasingly like dinner for the wolf. The smoldering look Molly was giving her sent Stephanie’s heart into panic rhythm. Her moral dilemma might be moot, if the desire in her depths got any stronger.
Molly finally looked away. She picked up her wine glass and moved over to Stephanie.

  Molly held up her glass. “And here we are, again.” She tipped her glass at Stephanie and then took a sip.

  Stephanie was suddenly shy. She sipped her wine without comment. Molly extended a hand for Stephanie to take.

  “Come with me.”

  She led Stephanie to a cabana structure with overstuffed chairs and a love seat, under an awning. Molly grabbed the wine bottle on the way by the table.

  Once they were seated on the loveseat, Molly began, “I see you’ve recently removed rings from your left hand. Is that just a jab at Mo, or are you seriously considering leaving her?”

  Stephanie looked down at her hand and then up at Molly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “As much as I’d like to believe you’re here because you want to be, I’m not that naïve.”

  “I never thought you were,” Stephanie countered.

  “You’re here to pay Mo back for what she did to you. I’ve had it done to me. You won’t get the results you’re hoping for, trust me.”

  Stephanie sipped the wine, peering over the rim of the glass at Molly. “And what results do you think I’m hoping for?”

  “In my experience, it’s either been the last ‘fuck you’ on the way out the door, or an attempt to make me feel something I don’t. You see, I’m not without understanding for Mo. I’ve cheated and been caught. The difference being, I was never married or even really committed to any of these women. I wasn’t trying that hard to hide it.”

  “Women? You’ve done it more than once?” Stephanie asked, a bit taken aback by this admission. “I never would have pegged you for a player.”

  “Stephanie, I’ve been unfaithful to every woman I’ve ever been with in one way or another, physically or emotionally… except you.”

  “Well, thank you for that, I think.”

  Molly raised her glass in mock toast. “But then, you cheated on me, didn’t you?”