The Great Bedroom War

by Laurie Kellogg

  “Nobody says you’re not.” He laid the file on the vanity. “And absolutely no decisions have been made for you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have imagined you coming home from work one day and announcing we were moving to California without even consulting me.”

  He dropped his head back and heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’ve apologized a hundred times. But even if we’d talked, I couldn’t have turned down the assignment—not with how much I owe Ken.”

  “Why do you think you owe him more than any other employee? For fourteen years you’ve gone above and beyond for the salary he’s paid you. Lots of companies foot the bill for college tuition and grad school.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” With his feet spread and hands on his hips Nick reminded her of a nude Jolly Green Giant. All except for his not being green, that is.

  His arrogant stance called her attention back to his huge soldier still saluting her, proudly advertising his unflagging virility.

  She jerked her gaze away. “Would you wrap a towel around yourself, please? I don’t care to talk to you while you’re stark naked.”

  Releasing an irritated grunt, he yanked the terry bath sheet off the rack and covered himself. “Sammy, we had no health insurance when Dani was born, and she spent three weeks in the NICU. Do you have any idea what that cost? And haven’t you ever wondered how I managed to pay those bills on a salesclerk’s salary?”

  No, she was embarrassed to admit, she hadn’t. At the tender age of eighteen, she’d assumed Nick had miraculously taken care of it like he’d handled and fixed everything else.

  “The day I went to the hospital’s business office to arrange a payment schedule, I was told the entire bill had been paid by an anonymous benefactor. There was only one person who could’ve done that. I didn’t even work for Ken at that point. The man has treated me like a son from the night he found me having a meltdown in the hospital parking lot.”

  Meltdown? She grabbed the vanity to steady herself. She’d lived with him too many years not to know his definition of meltdown wasn’t merely a minor distress. He must have been truly distraught. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  He turned away and shrugged. “I guess I was ashamed. You were forced to marry to a stupid, proud kid who had a lousy three hundred bucks in the bank and a mountain of medical bills. Do you think I wanted you to know how inadequate I was at taking care of you and our baby? Or that I sat in the parking lot sobbing like a little girl?”

  “That’s been the whole problem with our marriage all along,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve always been too proud to let me in, Nick. You’ve believed you had to control everything and keep all the balls in the air entirely on your own.” She picked the folder up and flapped it at him. “And this is a prime example of your self-importance.”

  “Sammy, I wanted to help you. I hate seeing you struggle. You shouldn’t have to sew all evening after you spend the day chasing kids at the preschool. I just want what’s best for you.”

  “Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me. Who are you to decide what’s best for me? It’s my choice if I want to struggle. You had no right to—”

  “It’s still your choice. No deals have been cut. No contracts signed. The only papers in that folder are proposals for you to consider.”

  After sharing her lunch with Casey that afternoon, her stomach growled loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

  “You’re obviously starving, and so am I.” He waved toward the foggy glass-enclosed stall. “Why don’t we call a truce for the time being? Take a hot shower and get comfortable while I put on some clothes and grill the steaks.” He took the folder from her and tucked it under his arm. “During dinner, we can discuss your options—calmly and rationally. Maybe by the time we get to dessert, we’ll have something to celebrate.”

  What did she have to lose? The worst outcome of a cease-fire would be she’d have a delicious meal while she heard him out, and then she could tell him to take his so-called proposals and use them as toilet paper.

  “Okay.” She raised her hands in surrender. “I’ll be down when I finish,”

  As soon as Nick left with the file, she took a quick shower. Afterward, she opened the bathroom door to clear some of the steam while she dried herself. Goose bumps skittered over her body at the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice drifting from the stereo downstairs.

  Along with being a religious zealot, Sam’s great-aunt Caroline had also been a diehard bobby-soxer. Therefore, Sam had grown up listening to a combination of gospel music and tunes from the ‘40s and ‘50s and inevitably became a devotee of all the famous crooners. One seductive note from Nat King Cole, Tony Bennett, or Old Blue Eyes and she invariably melted into a puddle of lust—something she was certain her Aunt Caroline hadn’t intended.

  In a Pavlovian response to the romantic music, Sam spritzed herself with her favorite perfume before the glaringly obvious occurred to her.

  Nick the Rat had suggested the truce so he could try to seduce her. He knew damn well how that romantic CD mix affected her. Clearly, he hoped to put her in a receptive mood.

  She slipped into a thread-bare, white knit camisole and the pink stretch capris she wore on the infrequent occasions she found time to attend an exercise class. While brushing her hair in front of the full length mirror, she couldn’t help noticing her outfit—chosen purely for comfort—hugged her body as closely as a dancer’s leotard, emphasizing all of her figure’s flaws. Although, Nick was usually too busy ogling her breasts to notice her imperfections.

  For a split second, she considered changing—until she recalled the way he’d shamelessly flaunted his erection.

  No. She could play dirty, too. She smiled, removed her bra, and studied her reflection. The shadow from her nipples showed right through the thin shirt that should’ve been tossed in the ragbag years ago. If he could advertise, so could she.

  At that tit-for-tat thought, she froze and stared at herself. Why didn’t she simply admit the truth? Deep down, she wanted to surrender to Nick’s seduction. She’d been playing hard to get simply because she was ashamed to acknowledge that all she thought about anymore was having El Capitán repeatedly thrusting into her and giving her all of the orgasms she’d missed since she’d issued her no sex with condoms ultimatum to Nick.

  She glanced down at the dazzling diamond on her finger and pulled it off. If there was any chance she might weaken and sleep with Nick that night, she couldn’t do it wearing another man’s ring. Adam deserved better than for her to even give the impression she was cheating on him.

  One thing had become crystal clear that day. She needed to return his ring and end her relationship with him. It wasn’t fair to string Adam along when she was clearly still in love with Nick.

  After applying only a little mascara and tinted lip gloss to avoid being too obvious, she slipped her feet into a pair of wedged mules that flattered her calves and added a little wiggle to her walk. Right before heading downstairs armed for battle, she fluffed her hair and pinched her nipples several times, making them extra plump.

  She’d just see how calmly and rationally the oversexed oaf could discuss her options with her so-called chichis distracting him.

  ~*~

  Nick lit the candles on the dining room table and then checked the potatoes and veggies he’d slid back into the oven earlier. After opening the wine to let it breathe, he stepped out on the deck to finish tending the steaks. A moment later, Sam joined him.

  “Still like it medium rare?” He glanced up from the smoking grill, and his heart nearly seized. ¡Ay, caramba!

  Considering how little Sam’s shirt concealed, she might as well be topless.

  It was still a balmy seventy-five degrees outside so there was no way she could be chilled. That left one reason for her nipples to stick up like that.

  He mentally crossed his fingers. Good-bye sofa bed, hello master bedroom.

  After several seconds of staring, he gra
dually recovered and remembered where they were. He glanced to the house visible behind theirs and then to the two on either side of them. “Are you crazy coming outside like that?”

  “You told me to get comfortable.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should run around out here braless in a see-through shirt.”

  “Can you see through it? Really?” she asked almost too innocently, glancing down at her chest.

  “Yes, really. What if Keith brings the trash outside? Or worse, old man Kowalski.”

  The octogenarian who lived behind them had gotten so excited one summer afternoon while watching Samantha pull weeds in her bathing suit, the man’s wife had to call 911 for an ambulance. The doctors claimed the old geezer had simply suffered from heat exhaustion, but Nick still had his doubts.

  “Relax, there’s nearly an acre between us. And Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski moved to an assisted living facility in April.”

  Yeah, but what about his poor ticker?

  Sam chuckled. “I notice you’re not worried about Steve or Tim seeing me.”

  “They wouldn’t look. Besides, they went to the movies tonight.” His fingers itched to tweak her nipples. They’d popped up like two little launch buttons, as if he could simply press them and send her into orbit.

  And then he’d slowly lick and suck—

  “In any case, no one can see anything in the dark,” she said, interrupting his fantasy.

  He looked pointedly up at the light bulb shining over the door on the deck. “They can with that spotlight on you. Go inside, okay?” And give the blood a chance to return to my brain. “The steaks are almost done, so you can take the potatoes and veggies out of the oven. And if you’d like, you can dress the salad and serve it.”

  She did as he suggested, and by the time he turned off the gas grill and carried the meat inside, she had everything on the table and was seated, sipping a glass of the wine he’d opened. He set the platter down, slid into his chair, and bowed his head. After a short blessing, he crossed himself and refilled her wineglass while she sliced off the filet portion on the smaller steak. When they finished serving themselves, he silently focused on his food, attempting to distract himself from Sam’s breasts, which were so close to her plate he couldn’t help imagining them as another side dish.

  In between moaning about how delicious each bite was, Samantha chattered about her day at school and how cute the kids were. About halfway through their meal, she drained her second glass of wine. “You’ve been awfully quiet. You said we’d discuss the contents of that folder during dinner.” She nodded toward the file on the table. “So start explaining.”

  “All right.” He refilled her wine goblet. “When I delivered your order to the hospital two weeks ago, I bought one of your Worry Pals.”

  “For what?” She took a bite of her potato.

  “As a prototype. I contacted several toy manufacturers this week to discuss outsourcing for—”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.” She swallowed and coughed as if the food had stuck halfway down her throat. “You actually showed my Magic Worry Pal to a bunch of toy companies?” She slammed down her fork. “What’s to stop them from stealing my idea?”

  “What’s keeping any customer from doing the same thing?”

  “That’s a lot less likely.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you.”

  “Relax.” He picked her fork up and handed it to her. “I asked each company rep to sign a confidentiality agreement and fax it back to me. If you look in the file, you’ll find endorsed copies that state they’ve seen a sample and agree not to disclose information about your product to any third party or produce and market any toy that remotely resembles yours in purpose or design.” He took a sip of his wine. “I’m not a lawyer, so I can’t say how well the agreement would hold up in court, but it’s a hell of a lot more protection than you have with your customers. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “I guess,” she admitted grudgingly as she shoved her mostly empty plate aside.

  “Anyway, to make a long story short, four of the seven companies I talked to had no interest in subcontracting the manufacturing, but two are eager to buy the right to produce your Worry Pals instead.”

  “They want me to simply sell them my business?”

  “For a hefty sum.” He opened the folder, removed the written offers, and handed them to her.

  She stared at the figures on the two proposals, and her mouth dropped open. “I admit these are generous offers, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re once again trying to take over—”

  “I’m not, Sammy. Don’t you see? You don’t have to surrender any control unless you choose to. These are simply offers to consider.” He broke off a hunk of the warm bread, buttered it, and bit into it. “Right now,” he mumbled, “you’re working too hard for the amount you’re making.”

  “Okay, I’ll grant you that.” She swallowed the remainder of her third glass of wine in a few gulps. “So what happened with the last company?”

  “That’s where we hit the jackpot. This afternoon I talked to Happy Tot Incorporated.” He paused a moment for the last bite of his steak. As he finished chewing, he washed it down and continued, “They offered to manufacture and package the toy for three dollars a unit less than it’s costing you in materials and labor now—and that’s paying yourself only minimum wage.”

  “So all I’d have to do is deliver them to my customers?”

  “That might seem incredible on the surface, but you won’t sell much without a successful marketing campaign, which would cost. Advertising isn’t cheap, and since you’re targeting kids, you’ll need to do it on TV.”

  “I certainly can’t afford that, so how do you figure outsourcing is better than accepting one of the other offers?”

  “It’s not. I got quotes for outsourcing because I knew you might be resistant to outright selling your idea. The good news is Happy Tot also offered to buy the licensing rights—for one and a half times what the other two companies bid. And they’re also willing to pay you an additional ten percent of the profits on all sales exceeding two hundred thousand units.”

  “That’s an awful lot of Worry Pals.”

  “Not really, Sammy. There are about forty million kids under the age of ten in this country. Even if only ten out of a hundred wants a Worry Pal, that’s still four million of your critters. Believe me, Happy Tot wouldn’t pay you this much up front if they weren’t confident the toy will earn out at least twice what they’re investing. And if the symbiotic marketing plan I proposed takes off and the toy goes international, it’ll earn ten times as much.”

  He handed her their written proposal, and her eyes widened as she studied the string of zeros on Happy Tot’s offer. He took back the contract, replacing it with the comic book their neighbor had created. She slowly flipped through the pages and squealed, “Oh, my gosh! I had no idea Steve was this talented. This is incredible.”

  “Happy Tot thought so, too. They also know Steve’s animation would be worthless without your creation. They’re interested in meeting with him to discuss the possibility of him developing a cartoon based on your critters, from which you’d also see a share. And they’re also talking about possible merchandizing deals that would give you additional income.”

  “So Happy Tot thinks my Worry Pals can become another kiddy craze?”

  “I’m hoping they’ll be so popular a certain kid wizard will seem passé.” Nick grinned. “But I’ll settle for a mini-fad like Beanie Babies.”

  “Right.” Sam released a doubtful snort.

  “Go ahead and laugh. I’ve already recommended Keith for the position of vice president of subsidiary merchandizing. With his experience in contract negotiation, he could do the job in his sleep. And if he’s paid a draw against a percentage of generated business with quarterly bonuses, he’ll be motivated to cut multiple deals as fast as possible.”

  “And if Magic Worry Pals are plastered on children’s clothes and their lunch boxes and ba
ck packs, they’re more likely to want a stuffed animal of their own.”

  “And vice versa. The company loves the idea of hiring Keith because they can’t lose much if they’re only shelling out for a portion any business he generates.”

  She nodded, straightening the papers in the folder. “He would be great at it.”

  “I’m also hoping he’ll have the opportunity to create positions for Bill Sutton and Rick Deluca. And if Happy Tot can convince one of the major networks to air the Magic Worry Pal cartoon, Steve, Keith, and you will all make a fortune.”

  “The only problem is most of your plans are just pipe dreams.”

  “You’re right. But even if none of those plans pan out, you’ll still get nearly half a million dollars and ten percent of the profit on any sales over two hundred thousand units. All for sitting back and doing absolutely nothing but cashing checks.”

  “I have to admit getting paid for doing nothing sounds really good.”

  “I thought you might like that. So you can either go on killing yourself to earn peanuts, or you can sell your idea for enough to buy me out of this house, like you keep saying you want to. Although, I guess you may not care about the house now that you’re marrying Chase,” he said, gesturing toward her left hand and suddenly noticing her ring finger was naked. “Wait a minute. What happened to the diamond he gave you? Can I hope you called off the engagement?”

  “No. At least not yet.” Sam gnawed on her lip a moment. “But I’m thinking about it. A lot of the reason I said yes to his proposal was simply to upset you.”

  “I kind of suspected that.” He was glad she’d taken off the doctor’s ring. If things went his way, he wouldn’t feel right sleeping with her while she was wearing it. “I sincerely hope you won’t turn down this amazing offer just to spite me. If your critters sell as well as I believe they will, you’ll have all the independence you’ve always wanted.”