by Star Jones
“Josh, what do you think about Missy’s book?” she said carefully.
Josh had moved his hand down to her left nipple, which he was now softly stroking outside of her blouse. He took a deep breath. Missy’s book was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.
“What do I think?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I know Maxine and the ladies are pretty shaken up about it. So it could be bad for them if Missy has some real juice in there.” He stopped, then added, “But, to be honest, that might not be too bad for the show’s ratings.”
As an executive at NBN, Callie knew that the ratings also should be the most important concern in her world; without decent ratings, they’d have no show. It was their lifeblood, the essence that flowed through the veins of the network. But she just couldn’t get past her selfish worries.
“You think she might have anything in there about us?” Callie asked.
“Us? What do you mean—the two of us together?” Josh said, suddenly sounding alarmed. “Does she know anything about us? Did you tell her about us?” Josh took her by the shoulders and turned her around so that they were face-to-face.
“Callie, did you tell Missy about us?”
Callie could hear his breathing. She looked in his eyes. Was that fear? What was that? She hadn’t expected this reaction at all. She assumed Josh knew that virtually every woman on the entire staff knew about them, from the short, fat ladies who swept the floors and emptied the garbage cans to Maxine Robinson herself. Did he really think they had been discreet? Callie in recent years had had some of her most embarrassing moments because of their affair, slamming office doors, breaking down in tears, screaming at Josh behind very thin walls. Now he was asking about things she had told Missy? This was dangerous territory for her.
Callie shook her head. “No, Josh, of course not,” she lied. “But I’m sure that she found out about us from other people on the staff. We haven’t exactly been discreet, Josh.”
“How do you know other people on the staff know?” he asked.
She studied his face. He was serious. Callie was astounded. My God, what planet is this guy on? Maybe Josh didn’t even realize that every woman within a twenty-mile radius of The Lunch Club knew that he had a reputation as a man-whore. She almost felt sorry for him all of a sudden. Such cluelessness was a bit sad.
Callie shrugged. “Josh, women pick up on things, particularly when the same women are around one another for long periods of time. You hear things, see things. People make little smart-ass, snide comments. Believe me, dear, the ladies of The Lunch Club know that we’re fucking.”
Josh was a bit stung by her words, her use of “fucking.” He wasn’t even sure why it hurt his feelings. He wasn’t in love with Callie or anything, but he liked carrying around the idea that she thought they had something special. To hear her call it “fucking” was a little disconcerting.
Josh blinked a few times. Callie could see that she had shaken him up a little. At the moment, she was glad about that. Josh needed to wake the hell up. But she knew he would be of no use to her in figuring out what to do about Missy. She wished that she had a partner, someone who could help her figure out how to handle this. For instance, she was considering just picking up a phone and calling Missy straight up. Was that a good idea? Maybe it wasn’t. But who could she confide in who would tell her that?
Josh let go of her shoulders and slumped back down on the couch. He was starting to feel sorry that he had chosen to spend the night with Callie. He had gotten a call just before five from Arianna, one of his new fuck buddies, a delightful blonde with an incredible rack whom he had met at the gym a couple of months back. Arianna was so easy, so laid-back and open, that they were in his bed only ninety minutes into their first date. But he had already begun to set up the evening with Callie, so he told Arianna he wanted a rain check. What had done it was the sight he caught of Callie, bent over a file cabinet in a short, tight skirt. The skirt had been riding up her lovely round ass, showing that long, wonderful expanse of flesh that she called legs, stretching into infinity. He imagined her long legs wrapped around him and decided instantly that they would spend the night together, even if it meant an evening of toddler playtime.
Callie rested her head on his chest. There was an uneasy silence between them, both of them lost in their thoughts. Josh wondered if he should perhaps split—maybe it wasn’t too late to give Arianna a call. Callie wondered if this lugheaded man on her couch would ever come to his senses, ever get a clue about what was swirling around him. Ever realize that the precious little girl in the other room was his. She decided that she would have to accept him for what he was, at least at the moment. She’d have to go elsewhere to get some intel about Missy. Maybe a good, intense sex session with Josh was exactly what she needed to take the stress off.
Callie stretched her neck and planted a hard kiss on Josh’s lips. She moved up so that she was lying directly on top of him. She opened her lips and their tongues met. He moved his hands down and slipped them inside of her slacks, cupping her smooth ass cheeks with both hands. She shivered at his touch and pressed her crotch against his, feeling the bulge in his pants pushing into her. They explored each other’s mouth and tongue for several minutes. Callie began moaning loudly as they kissed. Their eyes were both closed so tight that neither of them saw Megan come into the living room.
“Why are your hands inside Mommy’s pants?” Megan said. She was standing right next to the couch, so close that her voice sounded like it had been amplified by speakers. Josh bolted upright so quickly that Callie was suddenly pitched over onto the floor. She hit the carpet with a thud, right at Megan’s feet. Megan giggled as she looked down at her flustered mommy, whose face had turned a deep shade of red.
“Megan!” Callie said, scrambling to her feet. “What are you doing out here?”
“I need a drink of water,” Megan said.
Callie grabbed her daughter’s hand and yanked her toward the kitchen, pulling a bit harder than she intended. Josh wanted to be upset, but in fact was amused by the scene—it was like something that would have happened on one of those hilarious seventies sitcoms like Laverne & Shirley. He rolled his eyes and slammed his head back down onto the couch pillows. Boy, Megan knows how to kill a mood. He thought back to his teenage years, to his grandmother in Nebraska, constantly interrupting him and Barbara as they tried to sneak kisses and gropes while they watched a movie in the family room. Josh smiled at the memory.
“What are you smiling at?” Callie said, as she stood in the kitchen next to Megan, who was downing a cup of water, half of it running down her pajama top.
“Just thinking back to something from my childhood,” he said. He pointed at Megan. “Looks like she’s taking a little bath.”
Callie looked down. “Megan! You’re getting it all over you!”
She grabbed a paper towel and patted the girl’s chest, then pulled her back toward her bedroom.
“Josh, maybe you should meet me in the other room,” she said over her shoulder.
Josh knew that the “other room” was Callie’s bedroom. He jumped up from the couch. He collected their glasses and the wine bottle and rushed toward Callie’s bedroom, which thankfully was on the opposite side of the apartment from Megan’s. Five minutes later, Callie joined him in the bedroom. She turned the latch on the doorknob, locking Megan out just in case. Callie turned around and smiled at Josh, who was already naked under the sheets. She slipped off her blouse and slacks, leaving on her panties. She stood at the side of the bed for a moment, as if she was posing. In fact, that’s exactly what she was doing. Callie loved the look on Josh’s face when he saw her naked. Whenever her confidence was lagging, a night spent with Josh was precisely what the doctor ordered to get her strut back. She had always been pretty, so her attractiveness was something she had long taken for granted—until she got pregnant and gained forty-eight pounds. When she looked in the mirror during those months, she was devastated by what she saw. She had worke
d hard to drop the pounds after Megan was born, but she knew never again would she take her looks for granted.
“My God, you’re so perfect,” Josh said. And he meant it.
Callie beamed. She bent over and slowly slid her panties off. She pulled back the covers and joined Josh in the bed. She was glad that she had just changed the sheets that morning. They met in the middle of the bed in a long, impassioned embrace, both enjoying the feel of the other’s naked flesh. Josh buried his face in Callie’s neck. He loved her smell, fresh and sweet, like a meadow of new flowers in springtime. Josh left her neck and began nibbling her shoulders. He moved the nibbles and kisses down to her breasts, those glorious breasts. He could spend the rest of the night savoring and worshipping her breasts. But Callie had other ideas. She pushed Josh back on the bed and then made her own way south. She grabbed his shaft tenderly, lovingly, like it was an old friend. When she moved her head and took him inside of her mouth, she couldn’t help but smile to herself as he unleashed a deep, guttural groan.
Lizette arrived at the Starbucks before Tim, so she sat over her cup of Mocha Light Frappuccino and waited for his arrival. She was a little apprehensive about seeing him after all these years. For about two years, she had worshipped the ground that Tim Stratton walked on. She remembered the first time she saw him strutting across the Yale campus, walking toward her while he chatted with a few buddies. All she could see was blond hair, dimples, and incredibly broad shoulders. She thought he was one of the most gorgeous boys she had ever laid eyes on. She wanted to just reach out and touch him to make sure that he was real. Lizette was by no means the boy-hungry type, so she was surprised by her visceral reaction to him. She was afraid that she might never see him again, that he might continue walking past her and be gone from her life forever, like a mirage. She desperately wanted to say something, do something to get his attention. But she was tongue-tied and paralyzed. Tim, who was about six-five, glanced down at her as he walked by. Lizette gave him the broadest, most embarrassing smile she had ever mustered. And it worked. Tim slowed down. After he had passed her, he turned and told his buddies he would catch up to them. He strolled over to Lizette and began a conversation that didn’t end for two years.
The door to the midtown Starbucks swung open and Tim walked in. He spotted Lizette right away and gave her a bright smile. He was still as gorgeous as ever. In fact, more so. The last ten years had treated him well. He sauntered over wearing his usual khakis and a blue blazer with a crisp baby blue shirt, his gait still as relaxed and unhurried as ever. He approached her with his arms wide, as if he expected a big hug. Lizette popped up from her chair and gave him the hug. He held her close and tight, for a little too long. Lizette had wondered what his mind-set would be. She was already getting a clue.
“My God, you look fantastic!” he said, as he gripped her shoulders and held her away so that he could get a good look at her. Lizette didn’t want to blush at the compliment, but she couldn’t help it.
“Thank you, Tim. You look pretty great yourself.”
They sat down together, Tim studying her like there would be an exam later. Lizette looked in his direction, but she couldn’t match the intensity of his gaze. She didn’t want to.
“So, let’s get the important stuff out of the way,” he said. “I know you’re not married because Clare told me you weren’t when I ran into her a while back.” He smiled. “That is, unless you’ve gone and gotten married since I saw her.” He looked at her quizzically, waiting for an answer.
Lizette shook her head. “No, I’m not married.”
“Engaged?” he said.
Lizette hesitated for just a second, thinking about her upcoming dinner with Channing later that night. She might be engaged in about twelve hours, she wanted to tell him. But she wasn’t yet. So she had to shake her head, though it pained her to do so.
“But I have a serious boyfriend,” she said, just to make sure Tim didn’t get any ideas.
He nodded. “I’m sure you do. You look incredible. I would have been surprised if some guy hadn’t snatched you up by now. In fact, I’m a little surprised you aren’t married yet. As I recall, you wanted to have three kids by the time you were thirty-two. So you’re a bit behind schedule, aren’t you?”
Lizette had forgotten about her silly college schedules for her life. Things don’t always work out according to the college schedule. She was a bit touched that Tim had remembered. She shrugged.
“Well, life has a funny way of coming along and messing up our college plans, doesn’t it?” she said. “Why aren’t you married?”
“Well, as you might recall, I told you that I had no intention of getting married. Remember, that was one of the things that led to our breakup? You weren’t pleased at all to hear that. So since I was graduating and going to law school, we thought it best if it just ended. This doesn’t ring a bell?”
It was all starting to come rushing back now, a flood of memories, those last painful days with Tim, the arguments, the crying, the accusations. She was supposed to stay on campus with him until graduation—in fact, they had plans to spend that entire week leading up to graduation in bed, with no worries, no classes to interrupt their lovemaking—but she had fled back home to New Jersey several days before graduation. His exiting back as he left her room after the fight was the last thing she saw of Tim Stratton, up until the moment when he walked into the Starbucks ten years later. Tim had gone on to law school at Columbia and she’d lost track of what happened to him after that. She had graduated from Yale a year later and gotten a job at NBN in the publicity department, starting a steady rise.
“Yes, it does ring a bell, Tim. I guess things didn’t exactly end on a smooth note with us, huh?”
He shook his head. “No, they didn’t.” He leaned forward, his big, piercing blue eyes searing a hole in her face. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t, uh, be nice to each other now.”
Lizette could tell that he wanted to say something else, but he hesitated and changed his mind at the last minute. He had been flirtatious over the phone, but she didn’t expect him to be this—what was the word?—aggressive. But she had come here for a purpose, to persuade Tim to help her get her hands on Missy’s manuscript. She wasn’t above using her feminine wiles to get what she wanted, even if it meant exploiting a previous relationship. These were not the kinds of lessons she learned in the classrooms of the Ivy League; no, these lessons had come later, after she left Yale behind and got her instruction from life in the big city.
“How’s your family, Tim?” Lizette said, trying to change the subject. “Your sisters, your parents?”
Tim sat back in his chair. His relationship with his parents had always been complicated. It was the typical blue-blood WASP story—the hard-driving, incredibly successful father pushes his son too hard and earns his undying hatred and resentment while the mother sits back and watches in anguish as her son flees the homestead.
“Ah, my parents are fine. My mom is trying to convince my dad to retire. But after the hits Wall Street took in the last few years, my dad doesn’t want to leave the firm he started when it’s in the most vulnerable state that it’s been in in decades. So he’s probably working almost as hard now as he did when he first started the firm like forty years ago. I try to get up to Connecticut to see them as much as I can. Mom’s health hasn’t been that great. My sisters are both married and living in the suburbs, one in Greenwich and one in Scarsdale. One of their husbands works for Dad’s firm, the other is at Goldman. It’s all terribly predictable, isn’t it?”
Lizette smiled. It was terribly predictable, but she would never have volunteered that herself. “How about your family?” he asked. “How’s your mom and your brother?”
“Mom’s doing great,” Lizette said. “She’s still principal of the same high school since our days at Yale. She loves it so much, I think they’re going to have to wheel her out with her toes pointed up. My brother is okay. He went into the military and did two tours in Iraq. H
e got a construction job when he got out. I think he’s been promoted to a foreman. He’s still living back in Bergen County. He just got engaged to a girl he used to date in high school.”
Lizette wondered if Tim would pick up on that last statement. He didn’t disappoint.
“Ah, he’s marrying the old high school sweetheart, huh? Isn’t that nice. So you mean it is possible to restart an old flame? That’s good to hear!”
Lizette didn’t even want to engage Tim. He was pushing much too hard. She was willing to play along, but only up to a certain point. She already had a serious boyfriend and Tim needed to respect that.
“Sooo,” Lizette said. “About this manuscript. Do you think you might be able to help me?”
Tim gave her a quick smirk, as if to say, Okay, I’ll back off. He leaned forward and gave her a detailed plan for how she might go about digging up Missy’s book. It just so happened that one of his current drinking buddies, Martin, was an attorney for Patterson & White and likely had actually done some of the legal work on Missy’s book. But Tim warned her that the young lawyer was a “horn dog” who would be taken by Lizette’s beauty and would probably try to get something in return for helping her out, if she caught his drift. So he said if she could stomach this Martin guy, it might be in her best interest to talk to him. As he spoke, he leaned forward and rested his hand lightly on Lizette’s knee under the table. The irony wasn’t lost on Lizette that as he warned her about the “horn dog,” he was trying to see what he might get for helping her.