by Leslie Pike
There something a little humorous about it though. It used to bother me, but now it’s become almost endearing.
He sees me. He holds the hug with Aunt Amelia, but lifts his chin to me in hello. He closes his eyes for a final squeeze, kisses her on the cheek then breaks away. Cue the applause.
Here he comes, with a sexy saunter only he can do. His ice-blue eyes are teary, but he breaks into a smile, and opens his arms in greeting. His hair is still dark and long, but now there’s a hint of grey at the temples. It looks good on him.
He’s keeping his heavy beard trimmed to just a two-day growth, and I’ve got to admit it doesn’t suck. He wears his usual uniform, a black leather jacket, black jeans and a white T.
“Bliss. I’m so happy to see you, darlin’.“
His musical Irish accent never loses its appeal. We hug and kiss each other on the cheek.
“Finn, I’m so sorry for your loss. For all our loss. You know how I felt about your mother.”
We separate and he keeps ahold of my hands.
“She felt the same for you. Just last week she told me you had sent her beautiful orchids. Her favorites. That was kind of you, and she loved them.”
I let go of his hands, and we begin our walk to the house.
“How’s Carl doing?”
“Not good. He’s quiet as a mouse, and I fear he’s goin’ to just fade into his grief. Do you know what I mean?”
I just nod.
“Come on, let me take you to him. Maybe that will bring a smile. I know it did for me.”
We walk inside the home, and I’m immediately carried back to my days and nights with the Kennedy family. The open living room has hardly changed, but now it seems old-fashioned and a little beaten up. Only his magnificent paintings have held their timelessness. The heart of the home is missing, and that changed the look of everything. It makes me want to cry.
“Come on, he’s over there.”
Finn points to the far end of the room. There sits Carl, on a rattan Peacock chair. He looks so out of place, a shrunken lost man sitting on a throne. That wonderful face has lost its life force. My heart is breaking.
As we approach, Carl spots us. His face lights up for just a beat, then he breaks into tears. We go to his side, and Finn kneels down and takes his father’s hands.
“Da. My Da. I’m here for you. Just let it out.”
I put a hand on his shoulder.
“Carl, I’m so sorry. I know how much you love her.”
Carl nods a silent agreement, and uses his handkerchief to dry his tears.
“Thank you for coming Bliss.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“Mary wanted you to have something of hers. Something that meant a lot to her. “
He reaches in the pocket of his cardigan, and brings out a small satin bag. He hands it to me.
“Open this when you’re alone dear. And say a prayer for her whenever you wear it.”
I take the gift, and I feel my throat close with emotion. I don’t care what the gift is, I’m just grateful she thought of me, and that I’ll have something to remember her by. Not that I need anything to prompt that. She’ll never leave my memory.
“Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
Carl stands, and gives me a strong hug.
“I’m going to go lie down for a few minutes. Just enough to get myself together. I can’t seem to stop crying. I’m sorry.”
“Of course,” I say.
Finn watches his father as he walks toward the bedroom he and Mary shared for all those decades.
“This is killin’ him and me,” he says almost to himself.
This time it doesn’t seem like an act.
I put the satin bag into my purse. I’ve got to get out of here before I break down too.
“I’m going to head out, Finn. I’ve got a meeting in the city.” He looks at me and in his expression I see real sorrow.
“Of course, darlin’. I want to thank you for all the years of affection that you showed my mother. You’ll never know what it meant to her, or to me. Even when I misbehaved, you never took it out on her.
You’re a good woman.”
“Thank you. Call me, and we can all get together for a dinner. Take Carl away from here if just for a meal. I’m in Pacific Grove most of the time now, maybe he’d like to go for a ride.”
“I’ll do that.”
We give one last hug.
All the way back to my car I can feel his eyes on me.
I make it to the car before the tears start falling. Thank God no one saw me. I reach inside my purse for a tissue, but feel the satiny bag instead.
I may as well open it now. Get all my tears out before I have to drive.
Opening the bag, I find a small slip of paper.
It says, ‘To my daughter with love. Wear this when you need a bit of magic.’
Below the note, resting on the bottom, is Mary’s treasured wedding ring.
I give in to my sadness. Tears roll down my cheeks, and stain my blouse. I lean on my steering wheel, and sob.
All the way to my office I’m a mess. I don’t want to listen to music, or look at the city landscape. I’m deep inside my mind, a captive of my memories.
The song of my cell brings me out of my reverie. The strains of my favorite childhood song, “Moon River” snaps me back to reality.
“Hello.”
“Hi. It’s Steven.”
That’ll do it. He’s exactly what I need. Take me away from my thoughts.
“Hi,” There’s a frog in my throat from all the crying.
“You ok?” he says.
“Oh yeah, it’s nothing. So did you make plans for tonight?”
“I did. We’re going to Passionfish. Reservations at eight. Pick you up at seven?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Let’s have a cocktail or two before dinner. Or maybe some wine.
Does that work for you?”
“Definitely.”
His voice soothes my savage beast, and changes the direction of my day.
“Alright then, see you at seven. And Bliss …”
“Yes?”
“I can’t wait.”
That one makes me smile.
I pull into my parking space at 22 Broadway. My office is on the twenty third floor, and overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge, the bay and the hills of San Francisco. Pole position in one of the greatest cites in the world.
I’ll never have enough of this city, and I’m still in awe of the fact that I found my success here.
I take the elevator to my floor, and when the door opens I see Nicki standing at the receptionist desk. The offices are decorated in such an understated modern elegance, I could almost live there. “Morning,” I say.
Nicki turns, and puts her hands on her hips. I almost laugh at her attempt to look stern. I call her my delicate flower, not because of her fine Japanese features and her porcelain skin, but in jest because of her warrior spirit. Her size zero frame belies the fact that this woman is tough. The girl’s got a big set of balls.
“Where have you been?”
“Mary’s service was today.”
She immediately softens her stance.
“I’m sorry. Oh my God, I forgot. Come here.”
I go to her, and accept her sympathy.
“It’s alright.”
I motion for her to follow me.
“I saw Finn.”
“How’s the Irish infidel?”
“He’s good. Still sober, still Finn.”
I open the door to my office. The view is spectacular. Ten years of hard work has bought me this prime location for my business. Now I’m on the slow, thoughtful hunt, for my dream home. I think it’ll be in Pacific Grove.
I sit at my desk, and begin to open my private mail.
“I have something else to tell you.” I smile.
“What?”
“I met someone interesting.”
Nicki’s face regist
ers her surprise.
“That’s the most descriptive thing I’ve heard you say about a new man in years.”
I laugh, but can’t deny the truth of the statement.
“Who is he?” Nicki asks.
“His name is Steven.”
“And.”
“And we met at the gym.”
“Very original.”
“He’s very … well, he’s very …” I search for the description.
“Very what? Very hairy? Very stubborn? Very what?”
“He’s very attractive.”
“Attractive. That’s good. What else?”
My face is flushing, just telling her about him. Nicki picks up on my discomfort.
“Did you keep your pants on?” I don’t immediately answer.
“You didn’t keep your pants on? Oh my God! Good for you. I’m proud of you, Bliss.”
“You’re proud of me because I had sex with some
“Yes.”
I toss an empty envelope at her, and smile.
“Idiot.”
STEVEN
I give myself one last look in the mirror before I head out.
My grandfather was a tailor, and I got his genes. So when I look at what I’m wearing, I look for quality and tailoring.
This works. Steel grey Hugo Boss suit, white shirt, open collar. Good shoes, good belt, good watch. That’s my entire philosophy on men’s fashion. Keep it simple.
I wonder what she’s going to wear. It doesn’t really matter. She’d look good in a sheet with a hole cut in it for her head.
I know this, no matter what she wears I’ll always have a favorite. It’s jean shorts, blue tank, flip flops.
One last call before I go. I grab my cell, and punch the familiar number. It goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Jack. I’m about to leave. My keys will be under your mat. Thanks again for the loaner.”
I didn’t want to take the Cobra tonight. It’s too cold for a convertible, besides which they’re predicting rain. I can count on Jack to trade cars any time. He’s into cars too, and appreciates driving the Snake every so often.
I leave the cottage, and make the one-minute walk to Jack’s. The company has procured a beautiful new Jaguar for him, in exchange for a drive by shot in the film. It’s abnormally good to be a film star.
I find the key under his mat, and leave mine. It’s nearly seven. It’s time.
Firing up the silver Jag, I pull out of the driveway. Everything in me is excited about seeing her.
I pull up in front of Bliss’ cottage, and get out. As I walk up to the door, I see the small differences in our properties. She has added some touches to the exterior that reflect her own taste. Nice. There’re more flowers, and more variety. The pots are all different sea colors. They look good against the grey wooden cottage exterior. Her chair cushions are deep purple and are thick and tufted. Looks great.
I ring the doorbell, and hear her heels as she walks across the hardwood floor. Yes.
The door opens. She’s wearing a blue knit dress that perfectly matches her eyes, and skims her figure flawlessly. I want to rip it off her. It cuts in at the waist, then follows the curves of her hips. The neckline is low, and hints at the treasure hidden beneath. High espresso colored heels lift her practically to my height.
A delicate gold necklace, with one small solitaire diamond, hits just above the rise of her breasts, and makes me want to trace my finger along its path. Did I mention I want to rip her clothes off?
Her hair is lightly curled, and hangs loose and free. One side is tucked behind her ear, almost in an afterthought. But I think it’s perfect in its placement.
And her face, that’s the kicker. Her beauty is highlighted, but in no way masked by too much makeup. I didn’t think she could look more beautiful than when I met her, but she can and she does.
“Hi.”
She looks me up and down.
“Hi. You look very good, Mr. French.” God, that smile of hers is hypnotic.
“Thank you.”
I take her hands.
“And you look beautiful.”
I bring her to me for a kiss. She doesn’t resist.
I could completely forget dinner, forget drinks, forget myself. But that would be presuming too much. She may actually need to eat, while I could just have sex with her to survive. I’m sure of it. Just lock ourselves in this cottage and fuck for nourishment.
“Shall we go?” she says.
If we must, I think.
“Yes,” I say.
We leave the cottage behind and make our way to the car.
“What’s this? Where’s the Cobra?”
“Jack and I traded for the evening, in case of rain.”
“It rains here a lot, but it’s wonderful. That’s part of what attracted me to Pacific Grove. I’m a bit of a fog and rain lover.”
I picture her naked in the rain.
It’s only a ten-minute trip, but I wish it was further away. All the way there Jack’s synced iPod plays music to fall to. And unbelievably that’s what this feels like.
Without logic or reason, it feels just like that.
Tony Bennett and Paul McCartney sing a great jazz version of “The Very Thought Of You.”
Suddenly every lyric seems to be speaking to me. And it’s starting to rain.
We park in front of the restaurant, and make a dash for the cover of the entryway. Once inside, the entry’s narrow, and the lighting is subdued. On the left is the glass-enclosed wine cellar. There’s a small bench on the right, where a handsome couple in their seventies sit waiting for their table.
I give my name to the hostess, then rejoin Bliss waiting next to the silver-haired lovers. He has his hand on her knee, and she’s laughing at something he said.
I lean into Bliss’ ear.
“It’s good to know there’s an exception to the rule.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to believe anyone maintains that kind of fascination with each other after years together.”
She looks at me and laughs.
“How do you know they’ve been together for years? Maybe they got married a year ago.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look at her ring. It doesn’t match the expensive clothes and her other jewelry. “
“So?”
“I think he gave her that ring decades ago, when all he could afford was a tiny chip of a diamond set in yellow gold. But she treasures that ring, and she wouldn’t trade it for any other.”
“You have a very vivid imagination,” she says laughing.
The hostess comes over, and speaks to the couple.
“Your table’s ready. And happy anniversary.”
As they rise Bliss touches the woman’s hand. “Happy anniversary. How many years?” The couple smiles with pride.
“Fifty. We’ve been married fifty years today,” the man says.
“Well that definitely requires a congratulations. How wonderful.”
“Thank you.” The woman leans her head against her husband’s shoulder.
“And the funny thing is, it seems like it just began.” The couple walks away with the hostess.
Bliss looks at me.
“Very good observational skills, Steven. You could write a Sherlock Holmes episode.”
“It’s just that it was such a rare sighting. Two people who’ve stayed in love despite time.”
She pauses for a moment.
“That’s exactly what I want. Otherwise why bother?”
“We’ll have been together fifty hours soon. Happy anniversary.”
I kiss her.
“Happy anniversary. It seems like it just began.”
I don’t have time to reply before the hostess returns.
“Your table is ready.”
We’re shown to our table, against a wall of windows overlooking Lighthouse Avenue. The trees along the street are covered in tiny white lights that ma
ke for a magical setting.
Passionfish is popular. There are more people here than I anticipated. But that’s a good sign that the meal will live up to their reputation.
And I can’t have her to myself every second of the day. Can I?
We are approached by our waitress almost immediately. Good service.
“Good evening. Can I start you off with a glass of wine, or a cocktail?”
She looks first at Bliss.
“I’ll have a Grey Goose martini. No olives.”
“And you sir?”
“Make it two.”
She looks back to Bliss.
“That’s a beautiful color on you.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
I know compliments must be a regular occurrence for her. She doesn’t downplay it or make some self-effacing response. She just thanks the girl.
I like the way she thinks, acts, looks.
There are absolutely no red flags in sight.
Two hours later, we’re about to start our third martini, deep into our conversations and nowhere close to ordering. She puts her glass down. She stares at me and smiles.
“What are we still doing here? Are you really that hungry?” she says. Her look tells me exactly what I want to know.
I pull out my money clip and toss two hundred on the table.
“Let’s go.”
She’ll never have to ask me twice.
We get up and snake our way through the growing crowd of patrons. My cock is already hard, just in anticipation of what’s to come. I walk closely behind her to hide the evidence.
All the way back to the cottages we ride in silence. We’re both so fucking turned on words would interrupt the flow. I make it back in half the time it took to get there.
“Yours or mine?” I ask.
“Mine.”
I pull into her driveway, but I can’t wait to kiss her. I lean in and put my hand around the nape of her neck, and bring her to me. We kiss.
“Let’s get inside.”
We make our way to the door. While she searches for her key, I detect the slight movement of the shutters in the cottage next door. Is Caprice watching us?
We’re in.
And now everything falls away. Clothes, pretenses, vulnerabilities. We are like two animals who having been denied food and water, stumble on a natural spring next to a pile of fresh meat. I almost want to growl.