Cherry Pie

by Virginia Sexton

  There’s a problem, though.

  The road may be clear, but we’re only twenty minutes from Mrs. Scaravelli’s house.

  Either I pull over now and take her at the side of the road, or I need to be patient and wait. I slide my finger up and down her wetness again and then pull away, putting both hands on the wheel.

  She mewls a sound of complaint, her eyes open again, and she looks at me unhappily.

  “We are almost there,” I say, letting the regret show in my voice. She was almost there, I knew that, but I didn’t want to mess this up. “I’m sorry,” I said, and that was the truth. It was taking everything I had not to pull over and take her right there, right over the hood. But if this was going to be her first time, it needed to be special.

  “Mrs. Scaravelli is waiting,” I remind her, which has the desired effect. She looks grumpy but sits up and straightens.

  —

  We’re seated at a large glass table in the garden, bird song all around. I take a deep breath. This is beautiful. This is the kind of moment I rarely get to enjoy. A beautiful garden, the sun shining on me, a beautiful girl at my side. I reach for her.

  She smacks my hand away, her cheeks bright flushes of color. “Not here,” she says, a note of panic in her voice.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Crystal, I was going to hold your hand.” Her face colors more, and I know I was right about what she was thinking. I lean in closer, drop my voice to a whisper. “But I did like how your legs parted a little bit when I reached towards you.”

  They didn’t, but she clenches her thighs shut, not sure if I’m right or not. I can’t help but laugh out loud as she glares at me.

  Something about Crystal completely blows my mind, and I’ve given up on trying to explain it. All I know is that I will do whatever I need to keep her from disappearing tonight. Stroke of midnight be damned.

  Mrs. Scaravelli comes from a back door and sits down heavily at the head of the table. “So nice to see you young people,” she says as if I’m half my age.

  But I don’t mind. Maybe it’s sitting in the sunshine, but I’m not feeling combative at all. In fact, I don’t even bring up the waterfront deal while she pours us each a cup of tea and offers around some English style tea-cakes. It’s nice to just sit and take in the garden.

  And it’s the right thing to do from a business point of view, because eventually she breaks the ice. Except that she’s talking to Crystal, not me.

  “Has your young man told you about why he’s so interested in talking to me?”

  “Not really,” she admits. “Just that the development of his waterfront project needs your approval in some way.”

  “That’s right. And I’ve been concerned that his development is not the best for the community.”

  This again. “We’re very happy to discuss—”

  She cuts me off. “I’m explaining it to Crystal,” she says, as if Crystal has any interest whatsoever. But to my surprise, the two women end up talking about the project in a general way, with Crystal asking intelligent questions about what Mrs. Scaravelli is hoping for and what she fears.

  Mrs. Scaravelli eventually turns towards me with a question.

  “I’m allowed to join in again?” I’m smiling, but I’m also very interested in where this is going.

  “There are historic buildings on the waterfront. I’m not talking about those important from an architectural point of view. I know you’ve already taken that into account. But also places for the community. The mission, for example, and the recreation center. These are places that have thrived in odd corners of the city, serving those people who have fallen between the cracks.”

  “We’re not looking to change the Waterfront or clean it up into a utopian idea of straight lines. We want to revitalize, not replace.”

  She looks at Crystal. “You know him better than I do,” she says.

  Crystal chokes a bit, and I cut her off. “Mrs. Scaravelli, Crystal is not involved in—”

  Mrs. Scaravelli gives me a death ray glare. “Young man, you really must learn not to interrupt when women are speaking. It’s a most terrible habit.”

  I clench my teeth and stare at my empty cup before reaching forward for the teapot and refilling all three cups just to give me something to do. It is not in my nature to take a back seat, and I know my eyes are flashing in frustration, so I keep them down. This is clearly a test of some kind, and although I wouldn’t allow someone to make me jump through random hoops, I’m also intrigued as to what reassurances she is looking to hear after all this time.

  “It’s true, though,” says Crystal. “I really know nothing about his business life.”

  “Well, answer me this. You have cats, yes?”

  “Yes, two.”

  “Well, if you had to go away for a few weeks, for a family emergency, or something.” She leans forwards, holds Crystal in her look. ”“Would you leave your cats with him? Would you trust him to take care of them?”

  Crystal turns and looks at me, her eyes searching. “I’m not sure I would,” she says.

  I’m surprised at how crushed I feel, although I hold her gaze. “If I told you I would look after them, then I would.”

  She looks down and then back at Mrs. Scaravelli. “But I would trust him to make sure they were looked after, at least to pay someone to do it, if he said he would.” And then bless her, she says what I could never have expected in a million years. “I don’t really know Knox very well, but I have gained the impression that he always gets the job done. So, if he agrees with you that it needs doing, I think you can trust him to do it.”

  There’s a moment of silence around the table. I’m happy to wait it out, see what her next move is.

  “That’s good enough for me,” says Mrs. Scaravelli. She sips her tea and then smiles at me. “I’d like to see a plan for supporting the current businesses and not just pushing them out, especially the not-for-profit businesses on the waterfront. It doesn’t have to be detailed, but it does have to show that there’s a clear goal to protect the community. If you can do that, I’ll sign.”

  That is the first time we’ve had a clear indication of what Mrs. Scaravelli wants, and honestly, although it wasn’t a part of our development plan, I’m happy to do it. “I also love our city,” I tell her, “not just the high rises and the country manors. I’m happy to give you reassurance on this, including project planning to ensure that the local community is not displaced.”

  “Well then, young man, we have a deal.”

  I feel like hugging Crystal — somehow, she’s broken down the barriers of this old dragon when a board room of high powered executives have failed.

  “Great,” I say, draining my tea. Now back to project Crystal, which is much more important. “We’ve still some unfinished business tonight, so we’ll be on our way.

  Crystal blushes a deep, dark red. I’m still not sure what she’s thinking, but I’m hopeful. I am also hoping she doesn’t think losing her virginity is just another task on my to-do list. Even if it totally is my most important to-do.

  I don’t really know what Knox expected from that meeting, and I really have no idea why it was important that I was there, but everyone seems happy, and clearly the waterfront deal is going ahead, so I’m happy for them.

  I’m also wondering what happens now. I mean, I’ve fulfilled my usefulness to Knox, and part of me is steeling myself up for: okay, that’s it? Are we done? I don’t say it, though, because I’m hoping it’s not. I’m hoping he meant it when he said we had unfinished business.

  I mean, I know what he meant. I was on the verge on climaxing against his hand while he drove down the highway, which is the kinkiest thing I’ve ever done. Not that I have much of a repertoire on that score. Not that I have actually done anything kinky, other than fantasize about being roughly taken by a stranger. Or by Knox.

  I watch him from the corner of my eye as we drive back into the city. The car handles like a dream, and I allow myself a brief fantasy wher
e one day he lets me drive it.

  “Would you?” I ask, thinking aloud.

  “Would I what?”

  I’m embarrassed, and asking if he would let me drive his car is just going to make him laugh at me, so I try to think of something else quick.

  “Would you look after my cats?”

  He tilts his head and looks at me. “Well, I would probably hire someone to do it, actually, like you said.”

  I nod.

  “But the first night, I’d do it myself. It’d give me a chance to check out your apartment.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “I might rifle through your underwear drawer.”

  I pretend to be shocked, but the idea of him touching my panties has already heated me up again, and I can feel myself getting aroused. At the man talking about my underwear drawer, for God’s sake. This has gone too far.

  “Knox…”

  He glances at me. I half hope he’ll put his hand on my thigh again, but both his hands stay firmly on the steering wheel. So fine, this is it, I’ve served my purpose, and he’s done.

  I think about purple haired girl and how she was so clearly in love with him. You never even invited me to your penthouse, she said. But he thinks he’d get into my apartment? Not likely.

  He glances at me. “What?”

  “I would never ask you to catsit,” I tell him.

  He seems surprised by this. “Why not?”

  Because it would kill me to be just friends with you, I’m thinking. Because it would make me sad that you were paying someone else to do it for you. Because…

  I don’t have a good answer, and it boils down to because I think seeing you again will break my heart.

  I shrug and look out the window, saying nothing until I see him drive past the turn off for Docklands. “Hey, you missed my exit,” I say.

  He glances at me, really frowning now. “You want to go home?”

  “I…” What kind of question is that? “Where else would I go?”

  “To dinner with me?”

  It’s weird hearing this man speaking in a question, as if he could ever be insecure. As he has ever not had his way. And for a moment, I’m tempted to point out that once again, he never actually asked me. A tiny mean part of me wants him to know what insecurity feels like. But the truth is, I want to go to dinner with him more.

  “Maybe,” I say. “What’s on offer?” I know he knows I’m playing hard to get when that wolfish grin returns to his face.

  He puts his hand back on my thigh.

  I press my knees together. If he touches me, I’m done for, and we both know it. “That’s not dinner!”

  “No,” he says. “That’s dessert.” He smiles at me lazily. “I noticed you wore silky panties for tonight.”

  Now I’m blushing, still with my knees together, and feeling like a stupid schoolgirl.

  “I just happened to put them on!” I’m convincing absolutely no one, and I know it.

  “With lace,” he says. He’s not moving his hand, but my thighs are burning up at his touch without him having to actually do anything at all. He grins. “Not like the cotton ones you wore to work.”

  “You know what? I don’t think I want to talk about my under things with you.” It’s the lamest come back ever, but it’s all I got.

  “I’m okay with not much talking,” he says, leaving his hand resting on my thigh like it belongs there, like this is normal. My heart rate is faster than it should be, which annoys and intrigues me. I relax a little bit, and he smiles at me.

  “Have you ever been to L’Atelier?”

  “Um, no?” It’s one of the most expensive restaurants in NYC, which is saying a lot. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t afford a cocktail there, let alone anything to eat.

  “Well, I gave them a call and…”

  “I don’t think I’m dressed right for L’Atelier.” There’s no way. I’m not doing this.

  He smiles that lazy wolf smile again. “It’s fine. They are coming to us.”

  “What?” I’m so lost.

  “The chef is coming to the penthouse and making dinner for us there. I hope you like steak.”

  My mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. “We are going to your penthouse and the chef of L’Atelier is going meet us there?”

  “He’s already there, actually.” Knox shrugs. “I said we wanted an early dinner.”

  “But…” And I know I keep coming back to this, but it’s an important point. “But how did you know I’d say yes?” As soon as the words escape me, I want to bite them back. If I hadn’t said yes, he’d just have called someone else. It’s not like he’d have trouble finding someone to come over for a personalized dinner from L’Atelier, right?

  “I hoped,” he said.

  I just stare back at him. This is not a man who leaves things to chance.

  He’s grinning to himself, and when he sees the serious look on my face, he laughs. “Okay, full confession. I hoped you would say yes. If you didn’t, I was going to tell you about the chef and try to guilt you into it. And if that failed, I’ve got Maddy’s number on speed dial, and she promised me she’d strong-arm you into it.”

  “She promised what?!”

  “Maddy told me she’d convince you to come with me.” He chews his lip and then says the impossible. “She told me that you were a virgin.”

  Oh my God, just kill me now.

  Maybe I should have brought up the whole virginity thing a bit more tactfully. It just seemed like a good chance to get it out of the way, but now she’s sitting next to me with a flushed face and her knees clamped together. I’m keeping my hands to myself, of course. But she hasn’t told me to turn around and take her home, so I figure I’m still in there with a chance, at least.

  Not to mention the spine-tingling memory of bringing her right to the edge on the way to Mrs. Scaravelli’s. She must be suffering from the female equivalent of blue balls almost as badly as I have for the past week. That’s got to work in my favor.

  I’ve got it all set up at home. There’s champagne on ice waiting for us, and Chef Marcel is already in the kitchen, preparing hors d’oeuvres. My plan is that we have some drinks and take our time over dinner before retreating to the bedroom where I plan to slowly and gently make love to her before watching her fall asleep, sated, in my arms.

  As we pull into the parking bay at my building, she sits up straighter. “Is this where you live?” She’s chewing her lip, still clearly nervous.

  “It is.” I wait, not wanting to rush her.

  After a moment or two of silence, she finally asks the question that’s been bothering her. “Is it because I’m a waitress that you don’t want to be seen with me? As everyone knows now.” She stares at her lap, chewing her lip.

  “Oh no, no Crystal, that’s not it at all.” I brush her hair out of her face and then tilt her head up to look towards me. “Jazzmene is the one that put that story in the paper after she found out I went to the ball without her. I’m sorry about that, it didn’t occur to me. She’s apologized, if that helps at all. She won’t do it again.”

  Crystal nods, but I know I haven’t answered my question. “I want to treat you to a special evening, and I don’t want the risk of anyone spoiling it. I chose my place because it was the only place where I could control all the variables.”

  “Jazzmene said you never invited her to your penthouse.”

  I’m taken by surprise before I remember that argument at the restaurant. “That’s true, I never did. I’ve never invited anyone, Crystal.” I can’t help swallowing hard before admitting the truth. “That’s because until you, there was no one I wanted there.”

  She blinks, looks away. I’m not having that; I turn her face back towards mine. “Crystal, this is just dinner. You can leave whenever you want. But if you wanted to stay until morning, it would make me the happiest man in the universe.”

  I don’t give her a chance to respond, because I’ve said everything there is to say, now. What’s left is actions. I walk around to her sid
e of the car and open the door for her. She laughs at that and manages to get out of the car without falling this time. With her hand in mine, I swipe the key at the elevator to take us straight up to the penthouse. As I open the front door, the scent of roses wafts out. I watch Crystal for her reaction as we walk in.

  She stares. There must be a hundred long-stemmed red roses spread around the sitting room. Every shelf and table has a vase on it. The black marble coffee table is covered with rose petals. Framing the doorway to the next room are two tall crystal vases, each with a dozen roses. Even I’m impressed, and I’m the one who ordered them.

  “Wow, you must really love roses,” she said, looking around with wide eyes.

  “Maddy told me that you did.”

  “Sure, they’re beautiful.”

  I expected more of a reaction if I’m honest. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “How do you keep them alive? Or do you just change them every few days?”

  “Crystal.” She thinks my living room always looks like this. “I did this for you.” Now it’s my turn to feel embarrassed.

  “You did?”

  “Well, I mean, I didn’t do it myself. I hired someone. But this isn’t what the penthouse normally looks like.” I pause. “But it could do. If you like it.”

  “Like it! It’s magnificent!” Her eyes widen even further, and a smile finally appears. “You did all this for me?”

  “Maddy told me you loved long-stemmed roses.”

  “Maddy talks too much,” she grumbles.

  But she’s still smiling as I take her hand and lead her through to the dining room. There’s only one bouquet of roses here in the center of the large oak table, but it has the right effect. My dining room is pretty ostentatious with ten carved wooden chairs around the table and a floor-to-ceiling oak liquor cabinet. I can count the number of meals I’ve eaten here on one hand, but tonight I’m glad for it. At the doorway leading to the hallway are another two long-stemmed roses in crystal vases. Beyond them, the white carpet of the corridor has a trail of rose petals leading to a doorway at the end of the hall.