by Joachim Jean
“Mint tea?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I just put Cory on the bus. I want to apologize.”
“What for?” Nina was glad to be an actress. It came in handy sometimes.
“For ignoring you.”
“You didn’t ignore me. We both had…guests.”
He took her hand in his. “Look. I love writing the play with you. But this ‘friends’ thing we’ve got going…I don’t know.”
Her heart plummeted to her feet. “You don’t want to be friends?”
“Of course. But more. I want more than that. I want us to go out.”
“Date?”
“Yeah.” He cast his gaze to the table as a small blush colored his cheeks.
“That’s the sweetest thing.”
“Will you go out with me? I mean…come to dinner tomorrow night. My place. On a date?”
“I’d love to.” Her smile was genuine. The flutter in her belly beat faster, and her nipples tightened.
“Great.” His smile rivaled the sun. He laced his fingers with hers and traced a circle on the back of her hand before he brought it to his lips.
Her body tingled at his touch. “Did you have fun with your son?” She withdrew her hand.
“Cory? He’s at that miserable age. Thirteen. But we managed to have a good time.”
“I’m glad. My son is the light of my life.”
“I’m hoping Cory will be, too, some day. When he outgrows all this rebellious bull crap.”
The telephone rang, calling Nina away. It was a wrong number.
Dating Clint? Am I crazy? How can I say ‘no’? A secret smile graced her lips as she made her way to bed. Guess we’ve already had the kiss goodnight. What can be next?
****
The next evening, while getting ready for her date with Clint, Nina stopped in front of the full-length mirror to apply her lipstick. She turned a critical eye to her image. A tiny flower print, cotton sundress in pink, tangerine, and white, with a scoop-neck bodice that fit snugly and full skirt, made her waist appear narrow. After gliding dark pink, translucent lipstick over her perfect lips, she admired herself.
A glance at a picture taken of her seven years earlier, tucked into the mirror’s frame by her late husband, brought her up short. Her long hair had been pulled back and fastened in a chignon. Her figure showed the extra fifteen pounds she had carried then. Clad in a dowdy dress, she looked matronly. That’s how a woman seventy might look. A woman Henry’s age. But I was only forty-three.
After Henry died, Fran had taken charge of refashioning Nina’s image. Convincing her that she would never get another role looking the way she did, Fran had dragged Nina to the hairdresser, nail salon, and the shops. A few workouts and substituting salads for dinner had taken the weight off the widow and toned up her body.
Fran had made her buy bikini panties, hip-hugging jeans, and low-cut dresses and tank tops. “When you’ve got boobs, show ’em off,” Fran had said.
Nina chuckled. She was right. After the makeover, Nina had more energy.
She was amazed at the transformation her friendship with Clint had accomplished over the past few weeks. She was glowing, appearing years younger, even to her own critical eye. Of course, her slimmer figure and flattering, shorter hairstyle didn’t hurt. But she knew Clint’s attention had much to do with her continuing reinvention. He had put the “rosy” in her cheeks. Feeling attractive had reawakened the sexual part of herself she thought had died with Henry.
“We’re celebrating tonight. We’re halfway through the play. I’m barbecuing lamb kebobs and uncorking the champagne at six” had been the message on her answering machine that morning.
“Champagne, yum,” she muttered to herself. The only wine that needs two people. She grinned.
During their work sessions, Clint wrote, and Nina recited. She encouraged him with every look, every word. The supportive environment they had established was healing for her. She couldn’t stop smiling, even the butcher at the grocery store had noticed.
“Hey, Mrs. Wells, I have your order here.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
“Life must be good. Enough meat here for two.” He winked at her.
Nina felt herself flush. “I’m having company.”
“Must be a guy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Anyone looking at you could tell. You got that…that look, ya know?” Pete blushed a little and turned back to wrapping packages after handing Nina hers.
She smiled at his compliments. She could see it in the mirror, too, what Pete saw—a blush, a glow of friendship becoming desire. They were together night and day, finding excuses to stay for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“I’m trying a new recipe for French beef stew tonight, won’t you come by?” she’d ask.
“I’ve got to use up these sausages. I’m grilling them for lunch, but there are too many for me alone. Won’t you join me?” he’d say.
The creation of the play was progressing rapidly. And Nina was falling in love with Clint. She didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it. Sharing the work, something she could never share with Henry, created a bond, a connection she couldn’t deny. He was filling a place in her heart, a spot that had been empty for a long time.
The fact that he was physically attractive didn’t hurt, either. She’d peek at his shoulders, chest, or arms when he wasn’t looking, and her heartbeat quickened. She wondered what it would feel like to touch him, run her fingertips along his skin. His dazzling smile warmed her, calling attention to his perfect lips. The urge to press her own against them was hard to control.
As she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, her cell rang. It was Fran. Nina gushed on about Clint and the play, sparking another warning from her friend. “You’re going to get hurt, Nina.”
“Why should I?” she asked, chewing her lip.
“He’s a lot younger than you.”
“I know, Fran, I know. Eight years. But I’m not in love with him…a little crush, maybe. He’s attractive…like…you know, a little flirtation. I’m sure he doesn’t see me that way. We’re just friends. I’m not going to get hurt…how can I? I’ve got no expectations. Can’t I have a little fun?” she confided, pouting while she paced.
“Be careful. Guard your heart, babe. Okay?”
“I’ll be careful,” she agreed, to mollify her friend.
It’s already too late to be careful.
She had paid great attention to getting dressed and applying her makeup to look like she wasn’t wearing any. At six o’clock, she tucked her lipstick into a small purse and walked out the back door of her house.
****
When he was with Nina, Clint wasn’t shy or uncertain. He forged ahead with his story, writing quickly, waiting to hear her read what he wrote. He was stimulated, not discouraged. The intensity between them was palpable, and it was the driving force behind the creation of his work.
Amid fights, arguments, and the sheer joy of agreeing, the play came together. Clint watched the clock before her visits, pacing until he heard the doorbell or the squeak of the screen door. Nina was food. The air he breathed. Her sharp eye, experience, and belief in him became his engine. When he was with her, he was Superman. He could do anything.
This feeling of strength and confidence regarding his writing was new to him. Although he’d been selected as an outstanding teacher several times and rewarded for his leadership at the high school, becoming a playwright was challenging. Being a good teacher was easy for Clint, being an outstanding writer was not.
His euphoria lasted only as long as Nina was around. When she left, self-doubt crept in. He craved her companionship and believed her words of praise. She was the fuel that drove him toward his dream. When she had refused to give up on him, even after he had given up on himself, he’d know that he was in love with her and needed her in his life.
This was the partnership he’d always dreamt of when he was a boy, only the
n it was a female co-pilot in a space ship.
There was only one more step to making their union perfect, one he’d been anticipating with a sly smile. It was time to take their relationship to the next level. Time to get physical. And this was the night.
At four o’clock, Clint shaved for the first time in three days and put on aftershave. His lips broke into a lusty grin after he slapped the scented liquid onto his face. I’m making out with her tonight. Maybe more, but definitely making out.
He felt nervous, his palms sweating, like he was picking up his date for a dance. But Nina was far from a first date. She was experienced. He smiled. Sex with a much younger woman could be a drag. Older women knew more, he figured. They knew their own bodies and knew his body, too. Or they should! They weren’t insecure about their looks, always asking for reassurance. Nina had never asked him if her shorts made her butt look big.
The idea of making love to a confident, responsive female made his pulse quicken. It would be his first time with a woman so much older than himself, and the thought excited him.
While fastening his belt, the phone rang. It was his best friend.
‘Hey, Dan, what’s up?”
“You decide to leave that old chick behind?”
“I’m seeing her tonight, and don’t call her that.” Clint shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“Don’t tell me you’re already hooked?”
“Okay, Dan. I get it. I know how old she is. So what? She acts like she’s thirty…and she’s built. Look, I only told you because you bugged me, so shut up, okay? Have you ever had an older woman?” Clint started to pace.
“They’re not real high on my list.”
“Then, how do you know?”
“Okay, if you’re intent on making her dreams come true. Fairy godfather…”
“What does that mean?”
“Means she’s gettin’ lucky tonight with you. Real lucky.”
“You think she’s hard up? Hah! You should see her. She’s hot. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dan. Gotta go,” Clint hung up.
His best friend had been snide…implying that Clint was doing Nina a favor. But someone who looked like her…acted like her…well, his buddy was clueless. Clint wasn’t sure she’d sleep with him, but he was hoping. He’d had a crush on her from the first night they’d met. Working with her every day made keeping his hands to himself almost impossible. They itched to touch her, close around her breasts, skim along the smooth skin of her thighs.
Clint put a short sleeve button, down shirt over his tanned shoulders. When they were together, he drank in Nina’s support, gulping it down as fast as she could pour it out. She had captured a small piece of his heart…the only piece left undamaged by his divorce, though he wouldn’t admit it to Dan.
He’d thought he’d seen a twinkle in her eye once or twice when he’d spied her stealing a glance at his chest or his butt, but he wasn’t sure. Was it there because he wanted it to be, or was it real? Their chemistry zinged through him like an electrical charge every time they were sitting on the sofa together, thighs brushing, or in the kitchen, fingers touching…and tonight, he was going to find out if this fantasy could become real.
****
Nina’s heart thudded faster as she walked up the steps to Clint’s rented house. I’m not an insecure teenager. What’s my problem? She shook her head and laughed, which turned into a giggle when Clint opened the door.
“Laughing already, and I haven’t even given you a punch line,” he said. His eyes widened. She knew the outfit showed her shape to perfection. “Nice dress,” he said, as he ran his hand through his hair.
“Thanks,” she replied, twirling once to watch the skirt float out, noticing him stare at her bare legs then zero in on the swell of her breasts. “Did I spill something?” She glanced down at her neckline.
Clint’s face turned bright red.
Then, Nina figured out what he was looking at and warmth suffused her cheeks, too. It had been a long time since a man had checked out her chest. She didn’t expect it. She was out of practice. How long has it been since someone made a pass at me? She smiled to herself. Can’t remember. “So, where’s that champagne you promised?” She tapped her foot.
Clint bounced out of his reverie. “Right in here.” He took her elbow and led her into the living room.
The warmth and pressure of his hand on her skin sent a tingle to places that had been sleeping for a long time. Heat rose to her face again. Clint looked at her with a curious expression, as if he could read her mind. Nina turned away and walked through the French doors out onto the deck. The sun was still bright and the garden beautiful.
“I love champagne.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Henry didn’t. We never had it because he said he couldn’t stand it.” Nina sat down on the canvas-covered loveseat and crossed her legs.
“But what about you?” Clint pulled the foil off the top of the bottle.
“I stopped buying it because we always poured the leftover out. Champagne is the one wine you can’t save. Even if you re-cork it, it’s not the same. The entire bottle has to be consumed when it’s opened. I haven’t had any in years because I can’t bear to waste it.”
“What’s your favorite brand?” he asked her, as he untwisted the wire.
Nina spied the label—Korbel. “I used to think only Dom Perignon or Piper Heidsieck were worth drinking. But then, I tried Moët & Chandon and Korbel and liked them, too.”
He eased the cork off gently, producing a nice, loud pop.
Nina’s gaze fell to the floor. “This is a huge treat for me.”
“I’m glad,” Clint said, pouring the bubbling, light wine into two flutes. He handed her one, and they wandered toward the deck.
She sipped then grinned at him. “Hmmm, delicious!”
“I aim to please, lady.”
Clint raised his glass, and Nina clinked hers against his. “To you, me, and the play.”
“To the playwright,” she countered.
Standing on the deck, Nina’s stare went to the brightly colored flowers growing by the side of Clint’s house. “Your garden is beautiful. I have a black thumb. Everything I plant dies.”
“Not true. You’ve made the play grow.”
“The play is all yours,” she said.
“It isn’t. Who gave it the name ‘Happy Family’?”
“You’re going to use that?”
“It’s perfect, and it’s yours.”
Nina couldn’t hide her pleasure. She wanted to be part of this play…not just reading the part of Eve, the leading lady, but part of its production, part of whatever would keep her near Clint.
“Now, it’s yours.”
“It’s…ours.” They walked to the table, and, after refreshing their drinks, Clint put the bottle down.
“To you…” he said.
“To you…” she said, at the same time.
“To us!”
They clinked glasses again and drank. The bubbles tickled Nina’s nose, making her smile.
“To ‘Happy Family.’ May it run for five years.” Clint refilled her glass, closing his fingers around hers to steady it as he did so.
“Five? How about ten?”
Again they sipped, maintaining eye contact. Nina recognized his hungry look and was amused it should be directed at her. His stare wasn’t something passing across the face of a man with two glasses of champagne under his belt, but something that lingered in his eyes, his smile, and the way he looked at her, like she was Little Red Riding Hood, and he was the wolf. It gave her goose bumps. A chill ran up her spine.
Heat rose in her chest. Flirting came back so easily, like riding a bicycle. She looked right into his eyes. He stepped closer to her, staring at her lips as she raised her chin, bringing her gaze to his. His mouth came down on hers, softly, gently, testing the way, waiting for her response.
Nina couldn’t believe the electricity traveling through her body at
the touch of his lips. She grasped the table to steady herself, but it was unnecessary, as his arm snaked around her waist and held her fast, pulling her up slowly.
Then, he stepped back. “Nina…I…”
She put her finger over his mouth, and he stopped talking. She fisted the lapels of his shirt and pulled him down. As his lips found hers again, she closed her eyes.
A soft kiss progressed to a passionate one as she melted in his arms. He angled his head and deepened it. Nina relaxed as he pulled her flush up against him, crushing her breasts into his chest. Her senses took over, driving all thought from her mind. He tasted like champagne and smelled woodsy. Her hands touched his neck and crept into his hair, the strands tickling her palms. He slid his down over her behind and squeezed gently.
She uttered a soft moan as her excitement grew. She wanted him, wanted him as she had not wanted a man in a long time.
Clint broke from her and stepped back. They stared at each other, their chests heaving. Nina could see the fire in his gaze and knew hers matched.
“Dinner,” he said.
“Must we?” she blurted.
Nina clapped her hand over her mouth, surprised at her bold suggestion.
A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re my guest. It’s up to you. If you would like to start with dessert, who am I to refuse?”
She moved a lock of hair out of his eyes.
He took her hand and kissed the palm. “The decision is yours, my lady.”
“Am I?”
“Are you what?” He cocked his head to one side.
“Your lady?”
“I hope so.”
Keeping hold of her hand, he pulled her closer until she was in his arms again. She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. He tilted her chin up for another kiss. No holding back.
While their tongues danced, his hand circled her breast, feeling its weight, his fingers closing around the soft flesh. Nina gave a tiny gasp, but didn’t change position. His fingertips came up to caress the exposed skin, and she moaned at the contact. Her small hand unbuttoned one button of his shirt and slipped underneath to feel the hardness of his chest and the soft hair there.