Stones

by Marilyn Baron

  DoubleMac@aol.com: Okay, you’re going to want satin or silk. No flannel, cotton or spandex. A sheer nightgown with spaghetti straps would be nice.

  Jewels@aol.com: I like spaghetti.

  DoubleMac@aol.com: You’re busty. I have the opposite problem. Real women like you might have to shop at an alternative store.

  Jewels@aol.com: Department stores are more convenient. They feature lingerie on the same floor as flip-flops.

  DoubleMac@aol.com: Probably because they’re both easy to slip off.

  Jewels@aol.com: What would I wear under a naughty negligee?

  DoubleMac@aol.com: As little as possible.

  ****

  “My parents have given Joel and me the green light on our plans for the shop,” I told my assistant Mercedes. “In fact, I’m meeting with my realtor this afternoon and we’re going to discuss some possible locations over lunch.”

  “Oh, you got that new dress for your realtor? I can only imagine what you have on under that outfit.” Mercedes knew too much for her own good, but I could trust her not to tell my mother anything about my lunch plans.

  I had scoured the racks for the perfect dress. Businesslike, but sexy. I’d rejected the rows of slacks. I wanted to look foxy, not boxy. Finally I found it. The yellow silk dress was soft and flattering and did a passable job of hiding my stomach. A pair of expensive silk stockings and gunmetal-gray stacked heels promised to torture my feet but nicely complement the outfit. New French lingerie completed the package. My mother always told me never to leave the house without clean underwear. But she never said anything about wearing underwear the size of the Gross National Product. Besides, I wasn’t buying new underwear for my mother. What if the business lunch turned into more? I couldn’t let Manny see me in my ratty old cotton things that spread out like a billowing ship’s sail.

  A sheer ivory bra accented my best assets. I had a black fishnet negligee in my purse. Not even a Girl Scout could have been better prepared.

  “I needed a new dress,” I fibbed. “And my undergarments are nobody’s business but mine.” Mercedes rolled her eyes, but she knew better than to argue with me.

  I went to my desk to collect the paperwork I planned to show Manny during our meeting. I wanted to showcase the jewels Manny’s mother had brought over from Cuba, using them to highlight the opening of the new boutique, which I would name Stones. The pieces weren’t doing anybody any good locked away in the dustproof vault at Goldsmith’s. They deserved to be seen and appreciated. We would build a special display and present the jewels as The Estrella Collection, named after Elena’s sister. After I researched the provenance and history of the gems, I would prepare a color catalog, which would feature Manny’s sister Estrellita on the cover. Each of the pieces alone was priceless, and as a collection they would be spectacular.

  I could already visualize the shop—from interior to exterior, right down to the bougainvillea I would plant outside the storefront, similar to vines I’d seen adorning the facades of shops and homes on the Mediterranean coast.

  I had it all worked out. I would spend the next few months closing on the new location, working with the interior designer to remodel, going on buying trips to find new merchandise to stock the store, and planning the gala grand opening. All the intense work would have to be done before the baby came.

  I didn’t let myself believe that my final decision had anything to do with Manny’s sudden reappearance in my life. I had never felt so alive, and I didn’t know whether that feeling came from the new life that was growing inside of me, from the excitement I felt about launching Stones, or from seeing Manny again.

  I placed the designer’s preliminary sketches of Stones with several other documents in a manila folder. As Manny’s brand-new blue BMW sports car pulled up to the front of the shop, I grabbed my purse and went out to meet him.

  My heart was pounding, just like it always did when I was around him.

  “You look beautiful,” Manny said when he saw me.

  I was secretly delighted that the clothes had the desired effect.

  “I’m really glad you could come,” he said sincerely as he helped me into the passenger seat. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  He drove without talking for a while. It was unlike him to be so quiet. I could tell he was nervous.

  “I made us a reservation at Bellagio’s,” he began. “It’s very private.”

  “I brought along some papers for you to look at,” I said, trying to turn the subject to business. I was anxious to tell him my news about Stones and my idea for his mother’s collection.

  “We have plenty of time for that,” said Manny. “Let’s just relax and talk.”

  The restaurant was lovely, the service discreet. The view of the bay was breathtaking.

  “Why don’t you start with a drink,” he suggested. “You used to like Singapore Slings, as I remember.”

  “Things change. Now it’s Amaretto Sours. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drink.” All it took was one drink to get me a little lightheaded, and he knew that. I needed to keep my wits about me, but the prospect of an entire afternoon stretching out in front of me without some support seemed a little daunting. I was going to need some kind of fortification for this encounter. Maybe just a sip, or one small drink.

  We enjoyed a lunch of Caesar salad and my favorite—spaghetti alla carbonara.

  “She’ll have another drink.” Manny signaled to the waiter.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I laughed.

  “Too late for that, I see,” he joked, but I declined the offer.

  We had a great time, talking about my plans for the new store and reminiscing.

  “You know I haven’t laughed like this in so long,” Manny said. Was that honesty I detected creeping into his voice? Unfamiliar territory for him. It was quite intoxicating. Or was it just that I was already intoxicated from my drink?

  “I wonder what DoubleMac would think if she knew we were together now?” he posed.

  “Mackie would think I was a fool to even see you after what you did to me,” I said, noting some of the old resentment swelling up. Then I remembered Manny didn’t know he had anything to do with my pregnancy.

  “What I did to you?” he asked. “What do you mean? You were the one who went off to Italy without a word. I thought we had something special. Why did you have to leave with no explanation? I opened myself up to you in my letters and got nothing in return. What happened to us?”

  “Nita happened to us,” I replied simply. I knew that Nita Weinstein had worked her dark magic on Manny while I was away. Apparently, our Opal Weekend encounter hadn’t meant a thing to him.

  “She has nothing to do with us,” Manny said.

  “How can you say that?”

  “I don’t want you to think about her now.”

  “How can I not? She’s part of your life. You can’t separate her from her father, and her father controls you.”

  “No one controls me,” Manny answered stiffly.

  “So how come you’re so busy playing with Nita and kissing up to her father?” Bolstered by the liquor I was brutally honest. “What was I to you, really? I wish I could finally figure it out.” All the old anger was back, but Manny had no idea of the source or depth of those feelings. “Admit it. You never really cared about me. You were just using me. It’s an old story. I was a fool and I played right along with your games.”

  “I always cared about you,” said Manny. “I still do. You were my best girl, Jewels. You know that, don’t you?”

  “That’s not the way I remember it. You must be living in a parallel universe. And if I was your best girl, then why are you still with Nita now that I’m back from Italy?” What I didn’t say was how much it tore me apart to think about the two of them together.

  “You left me, remember,” he said stubbornly. “You dated Matt before you left for Italy. Then when you returned you were pregnant and you went straight back to Matt. What was I
supposed to think? I thought you were gone from me forever. Nita cares about me. No one has cared about me the way she has, not since you. I guess I needed that.”

  I knew this had been a bad idea. I was furious all over again, like it was yesterday. If I didn’t get out of the restaurant I was going to explode.

  “You’re upset,” he said. “I’m sorry. That’s not how I wanted this to be.” He took my hand and stroked it softly. “Please just relax.”

  “If you want to talk about Stones, I’ll stay,” I said, pulling away.

  “I don’t care about the damn shop,” he barked. “We have plenty of time for that. Let’s get out of here.” He slapped down a stack of bills on the table, took my hand, and led me to the car.

  “I…can’t stay here.” My voice faltered. This whole idea had been ridiculous. I thought I could correct the past, somehow make up for it, and make it right. But it would never be right.

  When we were safely in the car he put his arms around me, drew me close, and kissed me urgently on the lips.

  “Jewels, I’ve been wanting to do that all during lunch,” he said. “I got a place for us.”

  “A place?” I was puzzled.

  “A small, private hotel not too far from here. I’ve registered us as husband and wife. It’ll be okay.”

  “I really don’t think this is such a good…” I began.

  “Come on, don’t say you don’t want to do this,” he shot back angrily.

  “Look, have you forgotten about Nita?” I asked.

  “I’m trying to,” he replied. “I’ll be honest with you. My life is a mess right now. I’m under a lot of pressure. There’s so much expected of me… I have so much to prove. Things aren’t the same without you. Do you understand that I need you?”

  There it was again. The need mantra. Same tune, different verse. I was on the verge of tears, and I couldn’t stop them.

  “Don’t do this to me again, would you?” I fumed.

  “Do what?” he whispered. “What are you talking about?” He reached over and kissed away my tears, in a nurturing gesture. “Just come with me, just this once. We don’t have to do anything but talk, all right?”

  I was silent, sulking. I didn’t believe that for a minute. He pulled the car away from the restaurant parking lot and drove over to the Biscayne Terrace, a small, very elegant and private hotel. Stubbornly, I remained in the car. If I went in with him, I knew I would cross the line. I didn’t have the slightest bit of will power where he was concerned. But wasn’t that what I had expected? Why had I gone to the fancy French lingerie shop, then? I hadn’t misread him after all.

  “Come on, Julie, please,” he coaxed. He reached for my hand and kissed the inside of my palm.

  I bit my lip and nodded. I could no longer ignore the pull of the past. This particular walk down memory lane was going to cost me. I was as sure of that as I was powerless to stop it from happening. But was I ready to pay the price?

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Doing It en Español

  Manny flashed his smile and helped me out of the car. He held my hand as we walked toward the lobby.

  “Uh, reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Charles Shumaker?” Manny said to the desk clerk. I looked away as the clerk handed Manny the key.

  “Yes, here’s your room key, Mr. and Mrs. Shumaker. No luggage? Enjoy your stay with us.” We weren’t fooling anyone. I wondered how many other illicit couples had come to this hotel, or more to the point, if he’d brought the White Witch here.

  The second-floor room was lovely. Very understated. Very European. It had a nice terrace overlooking the bay. The goose down comforter had a tasteful Delft-blue checked pattern, and the furniture was a spare antique pine.

  “I wanted this time to be special for us,” Manny said. “I came here to check out the room first.”

  So he had planned this. I didn’t move from my spot by the door.

  “Why don’t you come over here and sit down next to me,” said Manny, patting the bed. I followed him reluctantly.

  “Do you feel better now?” he asked, as I settled into the plush mattress as far away from him as I could.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m really not comfortable with this. I don’t know what we’re doing here.” I walked over to the table and pulled the sheaf of papers out of my briefcase. I would talk to him and I wouldn’t let it go any further than that.

  “Can you just forget the papers for a minute?” he said, grabbing them from my hand. “I need you. Can’t you see that? My life is falling apart. Things between Nita and me, well… I can never seem to please her. Nothing is ever good enough for her father. She’s in too much of a hurry. And I can’t talk to her like I used to be able to talk to you.”

  I looked past him and felt as if I were teetering at the edge of a precipice. I could feel myself falling but could do nothing to stop it. It was almost as if I were in the scene of a movie but watching someone else playing my part. I was drowning, and I desperately needed to hang on to this little bit of happiness, a refugee clinging to a dream of freedom.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said decisively. “I’m going to order us some room service.’’ Always a man of action, Manny picked up the telephone receiver.

  “This is Mr. Shumaker in Room 204,” he said. “I’d like a bottle of Di Soronno Amaretto, and two glasses.”

  “Manny, I’ve already had way too much to drink,” I protested, throwing up my hands.

  “Don’t worry, it will help you relax,” Manny said. “And you won’t be drinking it, I will,” he promised, brandishing his trademark smile.

  He was the same confident Manny, who always got what he wanted. At least from me.

  We reminisced casually until the order arrived. I hadn’t felt this much anticipation in a long time.

  Manny was tipping the waiter. I was staring at his large brown hands. I loved his hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Shumaker,” the waiter said discreetly, as if he really believed we were who we pretended to be. Manny closed the door behind him.

  We easily resumed our edgy banter. It was vintage Manny. He’d thought of everything, right down to the fresh flowers—yellow roses—he had ordered for the room. I half-expected him to produce his stereo. Instead, he excused himself and got up to make a brief business call on the phone in the bathroom. There was a card with the flowers, with my name on the envelope. I tore it open.

  Jewels and Manny

  Meant to be Together

  Happy Birthday

  I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as I placed the card in my purse. Then he came out and turned on the radio.

  “And now we have a special dedication. This Johnny Mathis classic goes out from Charles Shumaker to his wife on the occasion of her birthday,” read the disc jockey over the air waves, and they began playing “Chances Are.” That’s when I stopped fighting him and myself.

  “Let’s get out of our clothes and into these robes first, Mrs. Shumaker,” Manny suggested. He walked over to the closet, slipped the hotel’s thick, white, signature terrycloth robes off their satin-covered hangers, and brought them over to the bed.

  “Let me undress you,” he said.

  I nodded, breathless. I was already beginning to get moist, reacting like some pre-programmed Pavlovian dog. Although the memory was far away, the nearness of him was still familiar, and my feelings for him hadn’t changed. He removed his clothes and put on the robe, but left it half open. And there he was in all his nakedness. He was never modest about his body, and he had no reason to be. He was already hard. But he was also very patient. If I remembered correctly, he had a lot of staying power and I had a very high threshold for pleasure. He held my face in his hands, stroked my cheek, and then pulled me toward him for a long kiss.

  “You smell great. Are you wearing a new perfume?”

  “It’s only been four months. How can you forget I don’t have a sense of smell? I don’t wear perfume. It’s just plain me.”

  “There’s not
hing plain about you, Jewels,” he said softly. “My Jewels. You’re so beautiful. Your eyes… They’re even bluer than I remembered them.” Then he was kissing my eyes and my long lashes and my lips, and slipping off my high heels, rubbing my stocking feet, trying to arouse me. He removed my new lemon-colored jacket and threw it on a nearby chair. Then he looked at my emerald pendant in surprise.

  “You’re still wearing it?” he asked, smiling broadly.

  “I always do.”

  Manny lifted the large, round, beautifully worked medallion that hung around my neck on a heavy braided chain. Fashioned of Spanish silver, it flashed in the light, and his thumb rubbed the magnificent emerald in the center like a talisman. Manny called it my breastplate. Mackie called it The Swinging Medallion. My mother called me crazy for wearing such an expensive piece of jewelry around my neck with the Colombian gangs robbing jewelry stores every day in Miami.

  It was a priceless piece. I thought again of the history of the medallion. It had belonged to Elena’s family for generations, and it was one of the pieces sewn into her dress when she escaped from Cuba. It had great sentimental value to Manny’s mother, and it must have been difficult for her to part with it. I knew she thought or hoped that one day I would be part of the family. But life doesn’t always go as planned.

  Putting the medallion aside, Manny began to rub my breasts through the yellow silk dress. Then he lifted up the dress and began to rub my panties through my stockings.

  “Let’s just get these stockings off,” he said, gently slipping them off while he continued to kiss and caress me. Then he peeled off my dress and threw it carelessly on the chair. He looked at me with naked desire.

  I pulled the crisp sheets up to my neck. He tried to slide them away.

  “Don’t hide from me.”

  “But I’m pregnant. I look… I don’t want you to see me like this. At least turn off the lights, please.”

  “No. I want to see you. All of you. I’ve missed you so much. You don’t know how much I’ve fantasized about this.” He sounded sincere. He massaged the mound of my belly tenderly, erotically. “I think this is sexy.”