Isn't It Time

by Graham, Susan J.

  Returning his thoughts to the rest of their conversation on Friday, he had to admit, she had thrown him for a loop by bringing up the sex club. He made a mental note to nag her about it until she told him exactly how she had known the particulars of what went on in that club.

  The truth was, that membership was something he had for customer entertainment. The days of simple entertaining via dinner and drinks were over. Some of those purchasing guys from the larger companies, the companies that handed out the big money jobs, were only interested in entertainment with a sexual theme. Most were content with visiting topless bars and maybe enjoying a lap dance or two, but others needed more. There were three men in particular who were obsessed with the club, but there were also several others who liked to dabble. So he had kept the membership for a while, hoping the payoff would be worth it.

  But Jack hated everything about the place. He hated seeing people doing things in public that he felt should only be done in private. He hated that the guys he took there were married, yet doing everything they could to get their rocks off with other women. He hated sitting alone at the bar for hours, trying not to pay too much attention to what was going on around him, while overly made up women in skanky clothing - and an alarming number of men - tried to talk him into participating in whatever it was they had going on.

  He tried not to judge them; whatever they had to do to get off was their own business. It just wasn’t his thing. He preferred his action to be one on one with women he actually felt something for, however little that might be. Sex with random strangers wasn’t generally for him - but he was no angel. Sometimes, when the loneliness got the better of him, he found comfort in the occasional one night stand.

  But he also hadn’t had a long-term relationship since college - and the women he’d been with since then generally only lasted a month or two before they did something to irritate him. And more often than not, what irritated him was their whining about his friendship with Angie. He would explain the platonic nature of the relationship exactly once. And if they brought it up again, he cut them loose without a single regret.

  His mind returned to the club and some of the things he had seen there. His own sexual preferences just weren’t that kinky. His playful nature extended to the bedroom and he liked to share laughs along with the sex, with someone whose company he enjoyed. And he was always open to trying different things, but he didn’t think the specific things he took the most pleasure in were too out there.

  There was just that one little thing that he’d ever had women complain about. One woman was so offended by it that she put an immediate halt to the action, mid-stroke, no less, and he found himself being escorted, rather huffily, to the door. He smiled, a little chagrined at the memory. She had been in such a hurry to get rid of him that he left with his shirt unbuttoned, condom still in place, and his shoes in his hands.

  He mentally shrugged, knowing that a woman who couldn’t handle a little thing like that, a thing he was almost compelled to do because, for him, it escalated the act from hot to scorching, obviously wasn’t right for him. Not even for one loneliness-busting night.

  Arriving home, he got out of his car, clicked the locks and walked in through the back door of his silent house - the house Angie had helped him to pick out. He sighed and wondered again if the family he was so anxious to have, the fantasy family he had in mind when he bought this large house, was ever going to materialize.

  He headed for his office and the nearly overwhelming amount of work that awaited him there. Checking his watch, he saw he only had a couple of hours before he had to go meet Melinda at the restaurant. If he could think of a way to do it without looking like a complete dick, he would back out of the date. It wasn’t going to lead to anything further and he already regretted agreeing to it.

  He fired up his computer and considered which of his projects he should tackle first, thinking how much easier this was all going to be once Angie took on the role of his assistant. He was pissed that his being distracted by so many smaller issues had allowed someone to steal so much money right out from under his nose. He should have caught that sooner. He had never considered hiring an assistant, but when his parents brought it up the other night, suggesting Angie would be perfect for the job, he had to agree. He definitely needed the help.

  Procrastinating, he picked up a framed photograph from his desk and gazed at the headshot of himself and Angie. Taken last summer on a friend’s boat, they were both wearing sunglasses against the bright sunlight, the dazzling blue of Lake Michigan all around them. Angie was looking up at him and they were both laughing. Jack loved that picture. He saw it as the embodiment of how he felt about Angie and their relationship – love, laughter and sunshine.

  He snorted and shook his head at that pussy-like thought and wondered if he was starting to grow ovaries. It wouldn’t surprise him; it seemed like he hadn’t had much use for his balls lately.

  Sighing again, this time much louder, he examined the image of Angie. On top of the hundreds of personal qualities he loved about her, she was a beautiful woman. Great face, great smile, great ass. And her hair. He could never understand why she hated it so much. Her hair was the epitome of the expression “crowning glory”. It was sexy as fuck and Jack thought it was her best attribute. Well, maybe second best, after her ass.

  Her hair was wild and curly, dark with some lighter highlights running through it - and it was incredibly soft. He pictured himself holding all that hair in his hand while he fucked her hard from behind, treating himself to a view of that spectacular ass - and he immediately felt his dick spring to life.

  He paused in his fantasy and gave that vision some thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d indulged in thoughts of fucking Angie. Or the first time he’d gotten hard from the experience. He was still a man, after all, and she was a gorgeous woman. But this time, unlike the other times he had these thoughts, it bothered him. It bothered him a great deal because he realized if he didn’t do something, and do it fast, his fantasies might never become reality.

  He considered Friday’s unimpressive kiss. She had been so nervous, he wondered if he should have tried again. While she was in his lap, wrapped in his arms, and they were both feeling the love – now that would have been the time to go for it. He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t.

  Fear? Maybe. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. Jack always tried to be honest with himself and when he took the rare opportunity to examine his feelings, he knew, all the way down to his bones, that Angie was always going to be the only one for him.

  When they first became friends, she had just started dating Steve, so making a move then had been out of the question. He cursed himself for not going for it when they first met. By the time she broke up with Steve, they were firmly entrenched in their friendship and he didn’t know if he could, or should, try to change it.

  And for a long time after that break-up, she seemed to have lost all interest in men. He wasn’t sure if her heart had been badly broken or if something had happened she wasn’t admitting to. Whatever the reason, it allowed him to have her all to himself for those two years, and he reveled in it. And he realized now that it was during that time he had started falling in love with her – and he fell a little harder every single day. But because of whatever it was she was dealing with at the time, he hadn’t felt like it would be right to push for anything more.

  He hadn’t lied to her when he said he had been examining his life lately. But he hadn’t told the full truth, either. After all the introspection when he turned thirty, he had come to the firm conclusion that Angie, and only Angie, was exactly what he wanted.

  He had gone around and around in his mind, wondering when, or if, he should try to convince her that she felt the same. He knew she loved him, that wasn’t even in question. But she apparently didn’t feel the same sexual spark. Or if she did, she was suppressing it. He had decided, in the end, that it would probably be for the best if he just waited for things to progress
naturally and held on to his faith that she would eventually come around.

  But upon hearing that Angie had finally broken up with Jimmy (and Jack saw red every time he thought of that moronic asshole fucking her), he decided that it couldn’t hurt anything to give it a try. So he took his shot - and he screwed it up. Now he would have to think about how to approach the subject again before someone else got their hands on her.

  He had a momentary flash of fear, worrying that the next guy she hooked up with might not be a loser. He might be the guy who would be able to talk her into a permanent relationship. Maybe even marriage. And he’d be goddamned if he was going to sit back and let that happen.

  The time was right to make his move, but he didn’t want to scare her off by coming on too strong. So he’d play it slow and subtle - but not so subtly that she might miss the message he needed her to get. He’d do whatever he had to do make her see him as more than a friend – and he’d start right away before she got herself involved with the next loser.

  With some difficulty, he cleared Angie from his mind and settled in to do the work that wasn’t going to get done by itself.

  ***

  Three hours later, Jack was standing in the small foyer of the Mexican restaurant where he had arranged to meet Melinda. She was currently five minutes late and he mentally called the first strike. He was looking out over the dining room, trying to determine how long of a wait there might be for a table, when his startled gaze settled on two very familiar blonde heads. His mother. And Angie’s.

  “What the hell?” he muttered under his breath. Peggy and Kate knew each other, of course, and they enjoyed each other’s company. But they didn’t have the kind of relationship that would normally involve them having dinner alone together.

  They had obviously finished their meals and each had some kind of frou-frou looking pink cocktail in front of them. Peggy was wearing her “serious” glasses – the pair she only wore when she didn’t want to screw up what she was working on, and she was writing something in her day planner. As he watched, Kate’s arm came up and, looking happy as hell, they high-fived each other.

  Jack frowned at that odd display. With his eyes on the two women, and thinking to surprise them with his presence, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his mother. He watched as she picked her own phone up from the table, glanced at the display, and sent it to voice mail.

  “What the hell?” he muttered again.

  Disconnecting from his mother’s voice mail, he called Angie.

  “Hey, Jack,” she answered.

  “Why are our mothers having dinner together?” he demanded by way of greeting.

  “Our mothers are having dinner together? Are you sure?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m looking right at them. Did your mom say anything to you about them getting together?” He strolled across the small foyer and stepped outside.

  “No – and I saw her today, too. That’s weird. I wonder what’s going on.”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. They’re having a drink and, get this, high-fiving each other! And when I called my mom, she sent me to voicemail!” he said, disgruntled. He glanced around the parking lot for any sign of Melinda. Nope. Still not there.

  “Well, I can’t imagine what they’re doing. Unless…” she hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Do you think this has anything to do with your mom’s cancer?”

  Jack considered that possibility. His mother had had a cancer scare several years back. It turned out to be a minor issue and was taken care of through outpatient surgery. It had frightened Jack’s dad badly, though; it was the reason he had retired early. He had realized he didn’t want to waste another minute of what he now saw as their limited time together.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I haven’t heard anything about there being another problem. And why would she be discussing it with your mom even if there was?”

  “She is a nurse, Jack,” Angie reminded him.

  “A pediatric nurse, not an oncology nurse.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know anything about cancer. Maybe your mom’s looking for a new doctor or something and is trying to get some referrals.”

  “Maybe,” Jack said, glancing up and seeing what he thought was Melinda pulling into the parking lot. “I think I’ll ask her, in a roundabout way, what she did tonight and see if she lies to me.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jack! Why don’t you just walk up to them and say hello?”

  “Because my mother made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to me right now.” He watched through narrowed eyes as Melinda got out of her car.

  She was absurdly overdressed in some short white, lacy-looking dress with a wide red leather belt cinched tightly around her narrow waist. He added strike two to his tally. He had specifically told her it was a casual restaurant and he would be wearing jeans. The dress, and the red high heels she was wearing with it, looked expensive. Strike three. Spending beyond her means. He knew she was a receptionist at a car dealership and he didn’t think receptionists made enough money to justify a head-to-toe designer outfit.

  “Look,” he said to Angie. “My date is here. I’ve got to go. See what you can find out from your mother.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. Have fun.”

  “Not likely. See ya, Ange.”

  “See ya, Jack,” she laughed.

  He disconnected the call, put the phone back in his pocket and waited for Melinda to teeter the last few steps towards him. Oh, for God’s sake, he thought. If you’re going to wear heels that high, you should at least learn how to walk on them.

  Seeing her up close, he added strike four. Excessive makeup. He hoped she would keep her lips to herself; he didn’t want any of that goopy-looking stuff that was all over her mouth to end up anywhere on his body.

  “Jack,” she purred, giving him an obvious top to bottom appraisal. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person!”

  She moved toward him like she was going in for a hug. Putting on a smile he didn’t feel, Jack quickly extended his right hand. He was an affectionate kind of guy but he did not like hugging strangers. “Hi Melinda. Nice to meet you, too,” he lied.

  She looked put out by his refusal to hug her, but took his hand and gave it a limp shake. Hiding his distaste, and wondering again why he was even moving forward with this farce, Jack quickly ushered her in to the restaurant. He spoke briefly to the hostess, requesting a table that would put him on the opposite side of the restaurant - as far away from his mother as he could get.

  “Sure,” the hostess replied with a friendly smile. “Not a problem.”

  Jack turned to Melinda and caught her giving a squinty-eyed glare to the attractive young woman. Oh, for Christ’s sake, he thought. Strike five. Unwarranted possessiveness.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 9

  I woke on Sunday morning to crushing cramps and the feeling that something was not quite right. Opening my eyes, I shot up to a sitting position and stared in wonder at my blinds.

  Sunlight! Glorious, blessed sunlight was shining through the cracks. And was that birds I heard? I hopped out of bed, opened the blinds and took a moment to bask in the warmth. I was suddenly feeling so good I was positive if I opened my window a bluebird would fly in and start braiding ribbons through my hair.

  Needing a breath of fresh air that didn’t come with rain, I slid open my window and took a moment to inhale deeply. Lovely. I knew, all the way down to my sunshine-deprived little heart, this was going to turn out to be a magnificent day.

  When I grabbed the window to close it, my hand brushed against the screen and it popped right out of its frame, landing in my backyard. I leaned out of the window and looked down. Shit. I was going to have to remember to go outside and get that and put it back in. But not today. I had other plans for today.

  With thoughts of planting flowers and retrieving deck furniture from the basement filling my head, I closed the window and
practically skipped to the bathroom to take care of my pressing personal needs. Even cramps couldn’t destroy my euphoria today.

  Face washed, teeth brushed and flossed, and my tampon supply judged to be adequate, I rushed back to my room to make the bed and change my clothes. I was looking forward to the sheer joy of a nice, long run – the first time it had been possible since the calendar had declared it to be spring.

  I clipped my hair to the top of my head and changed into my black, calf-length running pants and a white tank top, then pulled on a light hooded jacket. I looked around the room for my favorite running shoes. They weren’t where I usually left them, which could only mean one thing. Buried somewhere on the closet floor.

  Turning on the closet light and stepping inside, I did a scan and spotted one of the shoes near the middle and the other at the back end of the closet. Reminding myself, again, to quit tossing things so haphazardly into the closet, I gingerly made my way through the landmine.

  Snagging shoe number one, I took one step, and was leaning over to grab the second, when my right foot got tangled up in a pile of summer clothes that had been sitting in that exact same spot since last September. I stumbled forward, dropping the shoe, and stretched both arms out in front of me - a vain attempt to break my fall – and took a nosedive right through the paneled wall.

  Only it wasn’t a wall. It was a door of some type. Lying on my stomach, arched atop a small mountain of unwashed shorts and capris, my head and shoulders were inside what seemed to be a second half of my closet.

  I disentangled my lower body from that cursed pile of clothes and crawled the rest of the way in. I pulled myself to standing and looked around. The door I had stumbled through was less than a third of the height of the wall itself and, if I hadn’t fallen the way I did, I would have had to be on my knees to enter it.

  The carpeting extended into the room and the walls were plain white with some random cobwebs decorating the corners. An unused sheet of paneling leaned against the wall, but otherwise the room was dark and empty. Grasping the top of the door, I pulled it towards me and peered behind it. There was a black, enameled handle, not a doorknob, affixed to the back side, obviously the way to get out, but there wasn’t a lock.