Sexual Politics

by Tara Mills

  She never considered the possibility there might be a man on the horizon and her cooperation for the sake of her husband’s career would prove to be a bigger issue for her than she imagined.

  How many times, and in how many ways could she possibly berate herself for failing to act sooner? The number kept climbing.

  * * * *

  It was odd how simply knowing you had a weakness for a person made it absolutely impossible to avoid them.

  Justine had tickets to the ballet Sleeping Beauty on Saturday night. She was so excited, especially since she was going with her sister, Jeannie. Eighteen months apart, the girls took ballet themselves when they were young, though neither considered a career in dance. There were certain shows they always tried to see when they were in town. Tchaikovsky’s ranked at the top.

  It was during the first intermission, when Jeannie went outside with her cigarettes that Justine ran into Sean on her way to the ladies room. She was coming down the wide staircase from their balcony when she saw him standing at the bottom. He looked just as surprised as she was.

  His gaze swept over her like a tender caress before returning to her face. She quivered at the flare of attraction between them. Less sure of herself with every step, she reached him and his intimate smile.

  “You look stunning, Justine.” His warm compliment rippled through her in waves.

  “So do you.” The shade of his tie made his striking eyes more blue than gray. “Are you enjoying the show?”

  “Love it. You?”

  “This is on my not-to-be-missed list for a reason.”

  “I have one of those lists. Maybe we should compare them sometime,” he suggested.

  She smiled, enjoying his flirting. “Maybe.”

  “You here with friends?”

  “My sister. What about you? Hot date?”

  He laughed. “No, I have friends in the performance. They get me tickets.”

  “Nice. I need friends like that.”

  “I’ll introduce you.”

  “I don’t want to use your friends.”

  He gave a good-humored shrug. “I use them.” Chuckling, he explained. “Actually, ours is a symbiotic friendship. I get to enjoy their art, they participate in mine. As subjects.”

  “Oh, so they pose for you?”

  “Who else would you want to see nude?” he asked with a perfectly charming smile.

  “Who indeed.” Giggling because she already felt intimately familiar with some of the dancers, she leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you again, Sean.”

  “Maybe I’ll catch you here during the second intermission.”

  She feigned disappointment. “I’m afraid I’ll be meeting a different man in yet another incredibly romantic way at the bottom of the far staircase over there.”

  Playing along, he snapped his fingers and smiled. “Lucky man.”

  They looked up at the blinking lights, the signal to return to their seats. Sean took her hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s been a pleasure, sweet Aurora.”

  Blushing modestly, she curtsied. “Prince Désiré.”

  Turning, she walked back upstairs, never having visited the ladies room, and acutely aware his eyes were on her ass the entire way.

  Jeannie was already in her seat. “There you are.”

  “Sorry. Long line,” she lied.

  “I figured.”

  The lights went down and the orchestra launched them into the next act and Justine was swept away in the sad and romantic tale of a love delayed by the machinations of the powerful.

  She needed a Lilac Fairy of her own.

  Jeannie didn’t even wait for the next intermission. She snuck out of her seat with the intention of stopping at the ladies room before heading outside for another cigarette. Until today, Justine never fully appreciated addiction. Now she did. She was just as eager to leave her seat as her sister was—for an entirely different reason.

  Rounding the top of the marble banister, her heart melted at seeing Sean waiting at the bottom for her. Clutching her little evening purse to her chest, her smile had to be as wide as his as he watched her walk down to him.

  “You came,” she said, absolutely touched.

  He gave her a courtly bow, his eyes twinkling. “Feel like stretching your legs?”

  “That would be nice.”

  He offered his arm and they walked until they found a fairly quiet spot. Privacy wasn’t possible, but at least they could speak without being overheard.

  “I can’t take my eyes off you,” he murmured, crowding her a little.

  She reached up and with her hand on the middle of his chest, moved him back a step. “Sean, don’t tempt me. I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “But you want to.”

  “I do. But I’m not like Gary. Sex wouldn’t be meaningless to me.”

  “I’m not like Gary either.”

  She wanted to touch his cheek, so much. “I know. I knew it before we ever met.”

  “Eight months is going to feel like a hundred years of waiting for you.”

  Justine laughed sadly. “It already does.”

  “How come destiny only feels realistic in fairytales?” he asked.

  “You mean like when the prince kisses Aurora and wakes her from her enchanted sleep and they fall madly in love at first sight?”

  Smiling, he glanced cautiously around before smoothing the hair back from her brow. “Exactly.”

  “Maybe because nowadays we feel we have to get to know a person before we can truly believe we’ve fallen for them.”

  “I know you.” The way he was looking at her right now, she believed him. “I understand you, Justine. What I see on the inside makes you more beautiful than ever.”

  He wasn’t making this easy. Not only that, he’d made a fair point because she felt the same way. His art gave her insight into the man—how he viewed things, what he felt, where his passions lie, and what causes concerned him. Oh yes, she understood him, beyond the articles she’d read. She’d never met a more compelling and appealing man in her life.

  “It’s my fault,” she said softly, her heart heavy as she memorized every detail of his handsome face knowing they couldn’t keep meeting like this. “I feel like I’ve led you on when I had no business doing it.”

  “I would have fought my way to you anyway.” The sincerity, the commitment in his eyes rocked her.

  “I believe you.”

  “But the timing is wrong,” he finished for her.

  “Yes,” she agreed sadly. “Don’t wear yourself out against that wall of thorns or all you’ll get is resistance.”

  He showed her his hands, surrendering to her request. “As you wish.”

  She felt like crying when she returned to her seat. Even though the ending was lovely and the celebrations of the marriage were wonderful, she felt even more removed from her own happy ending.

  * * * *

  The week before Sean’s opening he spent a fair amount of his time split between his studio and the Russell Gallery, making sure they not only had all the photos he wanted included in the show, but also ensuring the gallery staff understood how he wanted them displayed. It was crucial they were hung in a certain order to elicit the strongest emotional response. He intended to move people.

  The night of the event, as the caterers were setting up he ran home to shower and change for the opening. They expected a good turnout. Word of his showing was all over the internet and print media alike. He’d managed to squeeze two interviews in earlier today with up-and-coming art bloggers. Tonight would demand a more personal touch.

  Climbing out of the shower, he dried off then wrapped the towel around his hips, finger combing his damp hair back as he approached the mirror. He turned his jaw to one side, frowning when he stroked his face. Should he shave? Did he even have time to shave? Probably not. He slapped some cologne on his skin then doused the light on his way out.

  The show was scheduled to run from six to eight
PM but there were already quite a few people milling around when he arrived at a quarter to six. The gallery owner, and one of his oldest friends, Trent Russell, saw him walk out from the back and gestured him over to the clutch of attendees surrounding him.

  It was showtime.

  People came and went, enjoyed the hors d’oeuvres, and mused over his photos. As expected, the photos titled Contrition, Forgiveness, and Reconciliation sold early. Beautiful nudes always garnered a lot of attention, particularly the powerful ones like this series of three. Contrition and Forgiveness both showed a man on his knees in front of a woman. In Contrition the man’s legs were folded under him as he sat on his heels, head bowed between his outstretched arms. His hands were wrapped behind her knees. The woman stood strong and tall, chin up, staring straight ahead with her arms at her sides. She looked inflexible. Then you moved to Forgiveness and he was up on his knees, his arms wrapped around her hips, his ear pressed against her stomach, yet his gaze was still slightly downcast. She remained upright, though her posture wasn’t as rigid and her hands were on his head. The compassion on her face as she looked down on him was touching. Reconciliation showed the man on his feet as they embraced. A mutual sense of peace came through in their postures and the beauty of their smooth expressions and closed eyes. The man practically pulsed with serenity as he kissed her temple.

  When Sean conceived this trio of images, he meant it to inspire hope that even a flawed relationship could mend and endure. There was grace in redemption. This set had been a personal favorite of his…until he met Justine. Now all it represented was a potential outcome for her disastrous marriage. It was not something he wanted to imagine for her…or him.

  Putting her out of his mind all week hadn’t been easy. Nights were always the hardest. That’s when he finished his work, closed out of his digital files, and strayed over to social media. He told himself it was to find out what was going on in the world, read headlines, and join discussions on topics of interest. Total bullshit. He pulled up images of Justine visiting this place, speaking there. He found her on Twitter, though he resisted the urge to follow her. He looked for her on Facebook too, but let her be.

  Clearly there were other women out there. He’d certainly enjoyed his fair share. On a strictly practical level, his interest in Justine was ill advised. Happy or not, she was a married woman. Having once been a husband himself, that meant something to him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t turn this attraction off. It was there, like a weight in his gut. She wasn’t his only option, but she was the only one that interested him, which was why he didn’t want her there.

  Hoping she’d stay away, he mingled and smiled, always with one eye on the time. Marking her absence off in fifteen minute increments became an obsession for him. Unfortunately, as the clock wound down and she failed to make an appearance he grew more tense not less. Eight o’clock couldn’t come soon enough so he could escape unscathed.

  Answering questions about his upcoming ‘Famous Chefs at Home’ series in Bon Appétit magazine, he was just hitting his stride with an interested couple when he heard Justine’s laugh from across the room. His heart crumbled and his smile cracked. He took a covert look at his watch. It was twenty minutes to eight. Damn, he’d almost made it. There was no way to avoid her, but he could try to delay the inevitable.

  Glancing over he saw her in conversation with someone she obviously knew but he didn’t recognize. The man slipped her arm through his and walked her over to the wall and they began to circle the room.

  Sean gave his newest patrons a warm ‘thank you for your support’ then moved on, away from Justine, determined to keep his distance as long as possible. It was a good plan though impossible to execute. Lise Van Zandt sought him out and led him directly over to her.

  “Sean O’Donnell, my husband, Niels. And, of course, you know Justine.”

  “How do you do?” The men shook hands. Then Sean clasped Justine’s next. “Mrs. Hubbard. Nice to see you again.”

  She looked fantastic. Shit.

  “I noticed quite a few of your photos have already sold. Congratulations.” She gave him an uneasy smile, her discomfort as obvious to him as his must be to her.

  “Did you see anything you liked?” he asked the trio.

  Lise patted her chest and melted. Her smile flattered his ego. “Generations. I’m trying to talk Niels into letting me have it.”

  The group walked over to the photo in question and quietly studied it for a moment. The great-great-grandmother was one hundred and two years old. The little girl was not quite two. Enthralled, they stared at each other, inches apart, touching the other’s face. The tips of the little girl’s tiny fingers seemed to disappear into the old woman’s deep wrinkles. Her gnarled hands caressed the flawless smooth cheek of the little girl. Their mutual adoration and fascination was unmistakable.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Justine, blinking rapidly.

  The impulse to put his arm around her was perfectly natural, given her emotional reaction—and completely out of line. Catching himself, he stopped short before making contact and let his hand fall to his side.

  They shared a private glance and he mumbled a soft, “Sorry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured back while the Van Zandts engaged in a whispered negotiation over the purchase.

  He nodded to Justine and with a slight tilt of his head, signaled she should follow him and give the couple some privacy.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, she hastened to explain. “I know I promised I’d come to your opening, but after…I decided I probably shouldn’t. Then Lise heard I’m alone this weekend because Gary is out of town so she forced me to come with them. She said I’m becoming a social hermit.” There was regret in her little laugh. “Maybe I am. I’m sorry if I’ve made this awkward for you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “It’s awkward for both of us.” Still, he couldn’t stop himself from drinking her in—the creamy skin, warm glowing hair, and the melancholy smile that never failed to tug at his heart. That’s when his regret at seeing her again collapsed in on itself like a house of cards and he understood he was wide open and vulnerable to all kinds of hurt with this woman. It is what it is, he thought philosophically. “You look beautiful.” He meant it.

  “Thank you.” Her gaze cast downward, she self-consciously touched the back of her upswept hair. It was a demure yet provocative gesture, the kind that always tipped the balance of power right out of a man’s hands and into a woman’s. She was irresistible.

  “I want to photograph you, tonight.” There, he’d said it.

  Her chin shot up. Blinking in surprise, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Probably not, but I want to. I have to.”

  “Sean…” She fell silent and he saw Lise coming back to them.

  “Niels said yes! I’m so excited.” Lise certainly looked it. “He’s talking with the gallery owner right now.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Justine said quietly.

  Lise gave a rapid, happy nod then turned to Sean. “You should have heard Justine singing your praises the other day. She was right. You’ve got a new fan in me. This won’t be the last O’Donnell to grace my walls. I love your work.”

  He smiled, feeling modest all of a sudden. “Thank you.” Justine talked him up? He appreciated hearing that more than all the sales tonight.

  Lise turned to Justine. “Are you ready? We don’t want to miss our reservation.”

  Justine shook her head with regret. “I’m sorry, Lise. I’d rather just go home. You two have a nice dinner. Make it a date night or something. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “All work and no play makes Justine a dull girl. You sure I can’t tempt you?”

  Laughing softly, she embraced her friend. “I’m sure.”

  “Well, let us take you home. It isn’t right to leave you here.”

  “I’ll get a cab. You go on.” The women kissed cheeks then Lise bid Sean good
bye as well before catching up with her husband.

  Afraid to ask, but hopeful just the same, Sean faced Justine. “Have you changed your mind about posing for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Her answer was hushed and she seemed to be having difficulty looking him in the eye. Clearly now was not the time to mention he wanted her nude.

  “Wait here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  He snuck into the back where the caterers were already putting things away. Nabbing two unopened bottles of champagne, he returned to Justine. Collecting their coats, they each carried a bottle as they left the gallery together.

  It was a short walk down the block to his car. Popping his locks, he opened the door for her and Justine slid gracefully onto the seat. He gave her the second bottle and she looked up with an uneasy laugh.

  “Are you planning to get me drunk?”

  Tucking the bottom of her coat inside so it wouldn’t get caught in the door when he closed it, he chuckled. “No. Just relaxed.”

  * * * *

  The soft jazz playing on Sean’s car stereo helped calm the tension between them as they drove. Justine sank into the comfortable leather seat and allowed her mind to drift back to the show tonight. She was glad she went. Seeing his latest work, and being moved by it, was the reason she decided to sit for him herself. If anyone could capture the soul of their subject, it was Sean. It wasn’t until she shared the thought out loud that he glanced over at her and cautiously added his minor qualification.

  Naked? He wanted her naked? He called it nude, but it was the same thing. She didn’t know if she could do this after all. He promised the photos would be tasteful and assured her no one else would see them. Still, the reason she had a treadmill and stationary bike in the townhouse was because she had a hard time undressing in front of others.

  She tipped the bottle in her right hand and looked at the elegant label. Something told her this was going to come in handy tonight, as long as she didn’t lose her head. Otherwise, this could end badly.