LOL #3 Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Anthology

  “Thanks… ” Ben pauses, waiting for a name.

  “Stan.”

  “Thank you, Stan. Excellent drink.”

  Stan. Stanley.

  Not a sexy name. At all.

  My fantasy begins to fade with reality. Fantasies are best kept to the imagination.

  We drink our cocktails and Ben chatters about his conference call and business dinner, the familiarity of his voice lulls me, soothing the heat building under my skin.

  “Shall we?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  Ben settles up our tab, thanking Stan for keeping me company. I give a little wave when we walk past him and the gang of available women. I wonder which one will end up in his bed tonight.

  Part of me says a thank you. I can’t imagine having first time sex with someone new. All the awkwardness of not knowing what to expect, or discovering the weird foibles and fetishes of the other person.

  I lean up and kiss Ben’s cheek as we walk through the restaurant to our table.

  “What was that for?”

  “For being my forever.”

  “You’re not leaving me and the kids for Stan the Man… bun?” He gives me his serious face.

  “It never crossed my mind.” I reassure him, knowing it isn’t necessary.

  As we sit and eat, I hatch a plan for the weekend. I realize my relationship ennui isn’t about wanting something else; it’s about wanting something fresh.

  And I have the perfect plot to give us a little spark.

  Ben puts on his ridiculously brightly colored red parka, gloves and ski pants while I laugh at him from the sofa.

  “It’s in case I go off trail and into the woods. I want them to find my unconscious body as quickly as possible.”

  “Stop!” I can’t breathe from laughing at him so hard. “That’s a terrible thing to think about.”

  “If I told you the guy at the ski shop sold me this outfit this morning because I told him to give me what all the cool snowboarders are wearing these days, you might asphyxiate yourself with laughter.”

  I stop laughing and hold my hand over my mouth. “No.”

  He nods and spins for me. “I’m worried I’ll run into some X Games champion in the same jacket. Who would that be more embarrassing for?”

  I fall off the sofa in a fit of cackling snorts. “What was wrong with your North Face stuff? Isn’t that still cool?”

  “It’s too east coast or last year, or something.” He checks out the wild pattern of his jacket in the mirror. “I look like a moron.”

  “But you’ll be the first one found. I’ll be able to spot you from our window. Or the après ski deck.”

  He laughs at himself and pulls out his coordinating gloves. He’s the most ridiculous vision of a middle age man trying too hard.

  “Hold on!” I run into the bedroom to grab my phone. “Pose,” I tell him as my finger hovers, ready to take his pic.

  “No social media.” He makes a serious face and at the last minute adds duck lips.

  The picture is blurry from my laughter. “Stop. Just be serious.”

  I snap another pic and email it to the kids. “I promise, no social media, but I might have to send it to Maggie and Selah.” My best friends from college will get a laugh over the guy they dubbed Mr. Republican in sophomore year.

  “Fine.” He kisses my cheek, but I turn and catch his lips for a real kiss. His surprise makes him pause, before returning it and swiping his tongue into my mouth. We kiss and he wraps his arm around my back. This is no peck hello or goodbye. This is a real, sexual, could start something that might lead somewhere kiss. He ends it too soon.

  “Wow. Where’d that come from?” His breath is shallow.

  “I’m not sure. It might be the outfit.” My lips twitch as I fight my laughter. “But there is more of that for later. I have big plans for us tonight.”

  “You do? What are these plans?” He taps my nose with his index finger.

  “Not telling. But I’ll be confiscating your phone at seven sharp. No business on a Saturday night.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He kisses me again, a familiar peck, but that’s okay.

  I keep my mouth closed and kiss him back with a little more pressure. “You better leave before I strip you out of this clown suit and have my way with you.”

  “Can I still wear the hat?” He backs away to the door, pulling his ridiculous pom-pom adorned hat over his eyes.

  “Be safe out there this morning. I’ll meet you at one for lunch.” I turn and walk into the bedroom.

  While he skis and talks business, I’ll be having a massage and shopping. I have some things to pick up for tonight and there’s the perfect little lingerie shop a few blocks away.

  Massage over, I feel loose and noodly. The glass of prosecco after probably enhances whatever endorphins or dopamine my brain is releasing. Again, I think the lack of oxygen up here has something to do with it. Bright sunshine, not enough oxygen and I’m feeling good. Really good. My mother texted from Florida with an update and I don’t even have the urge to call and micro-manage their day. Definitely must be high from the altitude. I glide down the street, window-shopping all the incredible designer shops. Knowing Ben, his skiing ensemble probably cost more than skis in this town.

  Arriving at the small alley, I duck down to the white door that encloses the most beautiful lingerie shop. Discreet, European and outrageously expensive, it’s everything I love. The saleswoman helps me pick out a few pieces and measures me to make sure I get the right size. She offers me another glass of prosecco, and I accept. As she wraps my purchase in the silver tissue, a case of toys catches my eye. I tell her to wait and walk over to the display. She explains the line of products without embarrassment or judgment. I buy three things, which she also wraps in tissue before placing them in a plain white bag, the shop’s equivalent of brown paper. It’s completely bland, but if you know this shop, immediately recognizable.

  I get a small smile and nod from the doorman when he greets me back at the hotel. I’m certain I catch his eye on the bag. I mumble a thank you and enter the elevator. The woman in the car with me nods and smiles. “I love their things.”

  So much for discreet. I give her a smile in return. We’ve formed an immediate bond.

  In the room, I unwrap everything and tuck it away for later tonight.

  I join Ben and his business associates outside at the base of the slopes for lunch. There’s a lot of shop talk. All four men wear brightly colored ski ensembles, and I wonder if they all had the same sales associate, and if he works on commission.

  I tune out their talk and face the sun, letting the strong rays heat my cheeks. Through the dark lenses of my sunglasses, I watch snowboarders and skiers fly down the mountain towards us. The patio is crowded with people taking a break from the slopes. Chatter about conditions and expected overnight snow mix with dreams of deep powder in the morning. It’s a foreign language to my ears. I begin to drift off.

  “Jo?” Ben’s voice sounds far away. “Honey?”

  I realize I’m half asleep at the table. I rouse myself and sit up, removing my sunglasses. “I apologize. I think the altitude is affecting me.” And two proseccos before lunch, but I don’t say that part out loud.

  Ben and the men don’t seem offended when they announce they’re heading back up the mountain for a few more runs. One of them, I think his name is Neal, tells us about a pop-up champagne bar.

  My ears perk up. “That sounds like my kind of skiing,” I say. “Maybe tomorrow. This afternoon, I need a nap.”

  The group chuckles as I excuse myself. All of them stand when I leave the table. For some strange reason, I give a slight bow. Ben raises his eyebrows at me and presses his lips together to keep from smiling. Or laughing. I bow to him again before saying goodbye to push his buttons. He barely breaks a smile.

  I roll myself up in one of the hotel robes before crawling into the down-covered bed. I feel l
ike a marshmallow inside a giant jar of Fluff. I’m weightless, ageless and carefree as I drift into sleep.

  It’s dark outside when I open my eyes. I hear the TV from the other room and Ben’s lowered voice. It’s Saturday, but the man never stops working. I vow to put his phone in the room’s safe for tonight. I stretch in my Fluff cave, the sloth in me debating whether we should get room service and stay in after all.

  One Saturday night.

  One.

  I get one Saturday night on this trip in Aspen.

  My inner twenty-something shouts at me. She’s very bossy so I listen to her and crawl out of the warmth of Fluffland. I pad over to the door and listen to Ben drone on about reports and projections. I’ll take a shower, no a bath, and hope he’s done by the time I’m done. I check the clock and see it’s five. Plenty of time to soak for a bit.

  I’m surrounded by bubbles in the jetted tub when Ben walks in with a glass of wine for me.

  “Hi, sleeping beauty.” He hands me the glass and kisses my head. “Good nap?”

  “Hi, handsome.” His outrageous ski clothes have been replaced with lounge pants and a thin sweater. So much better.

  He sits at the end of the tub. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  I swallow a cool sip of pinot noir. “Nice try. Dinner at the Jerome and then I’m not telling. Wear jeans. No clown suits.”

  “Should I wear a shirt?”

  I splash some bubbles on his leg.

  He jumps away. “Fine, shirt and jeans. I’ll be ready.”

  When I finish in the bathroom, Ben is sitting on the sofa in dark jeans and a charcoal gray shirt with the cuffs rolled up. I’m in leggings with leather tuxedo stripes and a flowy, coral pink blouse that stops at my hips. Underneath is a lace bodysuit with boning and built-in bra. From the outside it’s invisible, but I hope Ben discovers it while we’re out. Short boots and my black faux fur vest finish off the outfit. Ben pauses when he sees me.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman in any room.”

  I smile. “I’m the only woman in the room, but thank you.”

  “I said any room. And I meant it.”

  He stands and I walk to him, wrapping my arms around him. In my boots, we’re closer in height.

  “I love you,” I whisper into his neck.

  “I love you, too.” His arms meet at the base of my back and he squeezes me. “Let’s go.”

  I grab my huge black hat and a scarf as big as a blanket to wrap around my neck for the short walk to Hotel Jerome through the charming streets of Aspen.

  As we walk, a light snow begins to fall, dusting us both in large flakes. Ben stops in the glowing lights from a shop to kiss me.

  “What was that for?”

  “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “It must be the snow, but something about tonight makes me feel twenty-years younger. I want to kiss you in the street, push you up against the side of a building and make anyone who sees us jealous.”

  His words cause my breath to hitch. He hasn’t spoken like that in years. It didn’t matter in college if we were alone or in a room full of people, we’d kiss and try to crawl under each other’s skin if we could, never able to get close enough.

  As tempting as making out in the snow against a building sounds, I’m beginning to freeze, so I tug him behind me down the sidewalk.

  “Where are we going?” he asks as I steer us down yet another street lined with brick buildings after dinner. It’s a little before ten and we’re tipsy from cocktails and wine. Laughing, I stumble on my heels, but he catches me before I can tilt toward the ground. I intertwine our fingers as we traverse the cobblestones along Hyman Avenue toward our destination. When Stan told me the name last night, I knew it was too good to pass up. Escobar, named for the infamous Colombian coke kingpin, was not only the hottest dance club in town, but also a tongue-in-cheek nod to Aspen’s own long history with South American snow.

  Ben seems delighted by the name, but a little wary of the ultra-hip club. He pauses outside as yet another gaggle (school? pride?) of snow bunnies giggle their way past us.

  I pull his hand. “Come dance with me. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

  He relents and pays the cover.

  We’re the oldest people by a decade, at least, but I don’t care. We find a tiny table and order expensive cocktails that aren’t half as good as Stan’s. Electronic dance music pulses in the small space. The small dance area is half-filled. Bodies grind with the pulsating beat.

  He extends his hand and we join the fray. It’s tight and we’re old, but I don’t care. I dance like I’m twenty and kidless. I dance like I’m seducing my date for the first time. We move like a couple who has known each other, learned each other, but our energy is different. I can feel an undercurrent of anticipation. I’m going to get laid tonight. Hotel sex laid.

  His energy has changed too. He’s dominant and territorial, touching me, moving against me in a way he never does anymore.

  Wearing the bodysuit all night is not my best decision. It’s the kind of seduction that should be worn for the briefest period of time before being torn from the body. The lace is beginning to chafe a little, the boning is poking a rib, and part of my dancing is finding a way to alleviate the awkward feeling of having a row of snaps across my vagina.

  Finally, his hands sweep over my hips and under my shirt. They pause for a beat. This is the moment. Will my self-torture be worth it? I sway my hips and place my hands over his, encouraging him. He moves higher, feeling the lace between our skin. His fingers sweep over the curves of my breasts and his thumbs circle my nipples. We’re pressed together so tightly, no one can see what he is doing despite being surrounded by people. The idea turns me on and I moan, tipping my head back and letting my hair sway behind me.

  His lips brush my ear and he says, “What’s this mischief?” as he pinches my nipples through the thin lace.

  I turn to speak into his ear. “Part of the evening’s surprises.” I nip the corner of his jaw before I lean back to see his eyes. They are half-closed and intense with desire. He roughly clasps my hand and draws it between our bodies to let me feel his hardness through his jeans.

  “Oh.” I exhale. I squeeze him and his eyes fully close.

  He narrows the small distance between us, trapping my hand. I stroke him as his palms wander beneath my blouse, down over my ass, which he cups, grinding himself and the snaps further into me. The sensation goes from unpleasant to oddly stimulating.

  The blessing of being forty-something is that no one pays attention to us. Ben and I are practically humping in the middle of this crowd, and we’re invisible. More bodies crowd in around us, creating a wall between us and anyone seated at the bar and tables. I wonder if I were wearing a skirt, if we could fuck right here and no one would notice.

  As if reading my mind, Ben whispers into my ear. “We need to leave before I try to fuck you on a dance floor.”

  I don’t need further encouragement before I’m pushing through the crowd of hipsters and snow bunnies faster than a bargain hunter on Black Friday. We get our things from coat check and tumble out onto the street.

  This time he does press me into the cold brick of a building around the corner. It’s not private or dark, but we don’t care. Our kiss is messy and passionate, sloppy, and I couldn’t care who sees us. However, I have more planned for tonight than making out like horny teenagers in the snow.

  “Take me home,” I say between kisses.

  “That’s too far. How about the hotel?” He breathes warm air over my neck.

  “Deal.”

  We behave ourselves through the lobby and into the elevator, or so it would appear. Ben has his hand under my vest and traces lace patterns on my back.

  When our door closes behind us, he says one word that ignites me.

  “Strip.”

  I blink as he prowls toward me, backing me into the bedroom.

  “Now.”

  I shrug off my vest and pull my blouse over my hea
d, exposing the black lace of the body suit and the boning of the bra. I kick off my boots before bending to slowly peel off the leggings. When all clothing is gone, I climb across the bed to where I’ve hidden the last surprises.

  Behind me I can hear him removing his own boots and clothes. He’s standing in his black boxer briefs when I turn around. His eyes widen when I lay out my purchases.

  “Where did you get those?”

  “A shop.”

  He blinks and reaches out a hesitant finger to stroke the suede of the small flogger. It’s petite, pink and looks harmless, but I know from the quick lashes the saleswoman did on my arm, it packs a sting. Next to it sits a mask and a pair of small clamps that promise to blow my mind. I have to admit, they kind of terrify me.

  “And the roach clips?” His eyes meet mine and I see excitement, but also confusion.

  “Not roach clips. They’re, um, for, um, my nipples,” I mumble the last two words together into one.

  “Really? Because I have pot.”

  “You do? What?”

  “Yeah, the guy at the ski shop told me where to buy it. It’s legal here.”

  “Wait, you have pot?”

  “You have deviant sex toys, the pot is seeming like the lesser of the two.”

  “How much pot? And since when do you smoke pot again?”

  “Just a joint. And I haven’t smoked in ages. But it’s legal here.”

  I flop on the bed. “You said that. So you want to get stoned?”

  “You want me to pinch your nipples and hit you with that thing?”

  I nod. “We can do both.”

  “Which one first?”

  I eye the nipple clamps. “The pot.”

  He hops off the bed and walks into the closet.

  “Can we smoke it in our room? I don’t want to get kicked out of The Nell for drugs.”

  “We’ll open the door to the balcony.” He nods toward the living room.

  I stare at him. We’re doing this. Like college kids.

  “Okay. But I’ll freeze.” I grab my fluffy robe and put it on. Ben dons one too and we turn into a snowpeople couple.

  “Matches?” I ask.

  “Right.” He goes back to the closet and gets a lighter. We sit cross-legged in the open door to the small balcony, wrapped in robes. Not weird or obvious at all.