I laid out the two beautiful designer outfits, their accessories, and all the freebies I'd gotten on my bed. Going to LA with my girlfriend, sorting through the business cards given to me, and running my hand over the laminated agenda sheet, now a memento, I heard a different calling.
I knew I didn’t want to commit to anyone this soon.
Maybe I’ll move to LA with Colleen and go to UCLA.
Part of me felt relief at the thought of being free and part of me was sad about what I’d have to do: I needed to let Ryan go.
While hanging my two new outfits in my closet and unpacking the rest of my things, once again Alex's words echoed in my head: Whatever kind of man he is, you have Stanford coming.
Still, there was something soft and gentle about Ryan Tilton, and with every day that went by, I was more ashamed and embarrassed I hadn’t made a real effort to call him.
He stopped texting me several days after I'd returned from LA. I was sure our brief but wonderful encounter was over. More to the point, I was sure no one, let alone a woman whose attention he wanted, had ever left him hanging or waiting for a phone call.
I knew he wouldn’t take it well.
Even I wasn’t taking it well.
I felt like a witch stirring her potion--churning, boiling, and forming something new.
I had no idea of the turmoil that was brewing deep in my heart.
Chapter 13
A Strange Gallery
Jerry had come home from his summer league baseball games a day after I returned from Los Angeles.
We hung out a few times during the week, taking in a movie and me going to his baseball games cheering him on. The night before he was leaving for another week of competitive summer league play he invited me to dinner and a walk through The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.
Known as SOMA, the museum is a part of the sprawling area south of Market Street. The surrounding galleries, restaurants, shops, clubs, and hotels were known for having a bohemian undercurrent. I loved it. Walking among successful people in the neighborhood validated the restless feelings I had, being a college bound woman on the verge of her independence.
Jerry asked me to dress up for our date. I wore the only dress I owned besides my new, but much too fancy, LA clothes. It was as far away from the LA designers as it could be, taken from the rack of a discount department store, black with a tiny flower pattern, fell to my ankles, and was loose fitting with a high U-shaped neck.
My long, brunette hair was pulled back with a decorative headband and my curls and waves hung down below my waist. I put on a pair of flat shoes and grabbed a heavy, white sweater just as I heard the doorbell ring.
Mom answered before I could get downstairs and invited Jerry inside. I hung back, eavesdropping on their conversation as I peeked down from the top of the stairs.
On that night, he looked older than eighteen. His black leather jacket emphasized his broad shoulders. The white collared shirt and dark blue jeans showed off his thick body—a developing, male body that was beautiful, and one I enjoyed viewing.
The expression on Mom's face was relaxed and confident. The question of whether I'd be “safe” didn’t seem to cross her mind like it had with Ryan—at least tonight, she didn't verbalize her concern.
“Hey you.” I walked up behind Jerry, slipped my arm in his, and kissed his cheek.
“Your daughter is such a flirt.”
“I know she is,” Mom agreed.
"No I'm not."
“Yeah, you are," he said and then turned to Mom. "We’ll be in late, Mrs. Young, but don’t worry.”
“I won't. Have a good time.” She waived goodnight.
“What was that?” I asked as we walked to his car.
“What? About you being a flirt?”
“Yeah.”
“You are.”
I’ve never thought about it that way. Am I?
“So, where are we eating, Jerry Stowe?”
“I wanna go to MoMo’s. I’m in the mood for some appetizers, and they always rock ‘em,” he said. “Then we can go to the museum. Sound good?”
“Fine with me. Let’s try and peek in Club 111 Minna." My eyes widened. "I've always wanted to see what it looks like. Alex and Darrell go there sometimes so I know it's racy. I'm curious."
“Me, too. I've seen some mighty hot women that go in there," he joked. "I'm happy to give it a try."
"Oh?" I narrowed my eyes. "You don't think the same can be said for the hot men?"
“Yeah, yeah. You don't always have to even the score. You look really nice, by the way. I like you in a dress. You look, uh, soft.”
I guess soft is a compliment? It’s the second time he’s said that. How do I take it? Does he mean less aggressive, more feminine, less threatening?
“Hey. What do you mean by soft, Jerry?”
“I’ll show you later.” His voice dipped in a slow and sexy tone.
After waiting thirty minutes at MoMo’s, we were finally seated. Music blasted and voices were loud in the always-crowded restaurant. It was fun being with him, garnering extra attention from the servers since they assumed we were a couple.
Next, we toured the museum. It stayed open late on Friday and Saturday nights, catering to the patronage from society types, tourists, and clubbers—in other words, people with money.
Jerry had an affinity for art—modern art in particular. He was unique that way. Normally I liked predictability. I laid out plans and gathered friends I felt I could control. In his case, the differences I'd come to know in Jerry, especially from those of his jock buddies, drew my curiosity.
We did our best to persuade the bouncer at Club 111 Minna to let us peek inside, but after teasing us, he refused, suggesting we look it up online instead. After our failed attempt there, we walked through the bookstores, coffee shops, and nearby galleries. Lovely, shining objects were illuminated in the bay windows.
One gallery in particular caught my eye.
The name of it was Bellissima.
Bellissima . . . Bellissima . . . This gallery is beautiful.
Several bronze sculptures of naked men and women were on display. The strategically placed lighting made their patina finish glisten as if rainbows were all over them. Beckoning from inside, but partially hidden from passersby, were paintings of nudes. They were carefully positioned to leave the rest to our imaginations.
I felt enchanted as we walked in.
The artist who was on display was a master at transferring intimate facial expressions to canvas. The delicate curves of both men and women’s bodies were breathtaking.
Jerry followed behind me until he noticed nudes of women on the other side of the gallery. I stayed focused on the males.
One painting in particular caught my eye.
A delicious man faced away and to the side, his broad shoulders and muscular back in full view. A shaving towel hugged his thick neck. His big, luscious arms were expertly painted. Even the details of the veins in his athletic forearms were visible. I thought the artist perfectly captured the man’s amused and seductive look; perhaps catching him just as he realized his lover was near. His head, turned slightly, revealed the hint of a smile. One eye looked out from under his eyelashes in what seemed to be a hanging and unspoken anticipation.
“Never too early to start developing your taste in art, young lady,” a woman said behind me.
I’d been so engrossed in the painting that I jumped a little. It was as if she had swept across the room, her feet never touching the ground, coming from some invisible place.
Where did she come from? She came on me like a ghost!
“Cassandra.” She extended her hand.
“Nicky.” In the meantime, Jerry walked over and stood at my side. “And, this is my friend, Jerry.”
“Charmed.” She held her hand out for Jerry to kiss.
She had long, blond hair that was pulled back, braided, and wound around her head in circles, ending in a point. Her skin was fair, and she had a
very thin frame. Although petite, her six-inch heels caused her tower over me. Her professionally styled hair, designer clothes, and ultra-polished appearance spoke of money—and a lot of it.
“This is one of my favorites,” she said, gesturing to the painting. “I’m so curious. What draws you to this piece?”
“His look.”
"Explain." She rested one, thin index finger on her lush, red lips.
"The anticipation in his expression and smile." I paused. “It makes me want to put my hand under his chin and make him turn to me. He's a kiss waiting to happen."
"Brilliant," she laughed seductively.
"Are you the artist?”
“I am.”
“It's incredible. Do you mind me asking, I don't mean by name, but in general, who was your inspiration?”
“Someone I used to know,” she sighed dramatically.
“His expression is really . . .” I paused to gather the right words. "It looks as if he just noticed that you were behind him and he can’t hide his desire. It's obvious he's dying to make love to you.”
“God, Nicky.” Jerry turned to Cassandra. Was he intentionally trying to gain the favor of the attractive woman standing before us? “She’s so dramatic.” He flashed her a flirtatious smile.
How rude! Wait until we get out of here, Mr. Stowe.
“She’s actually right about that, young man.” Even as she chastised him, she seemed to exalt herself. “You’re very perceptive, Nicky. Do you paint?”
“No, but I’ve been told I have a gift for seeing the deeper layers of things,” I said. “I write down all my observations. Well, just about everything. I hope to turn my journals into books one day.”
“Very ambitious.” She touched my arm lightly. “Do you live here? In the city, I mean?”
“Yes, all my life.” I looked up at the painting again.
He's so handsome. God, I'd love to caress that cheek. What a lucky woman she is. Those arms . . . look at those veins in his neck . . . ooh.
“Let me give you my card, Nicky. After all, today’s youth are tomorrow’s wealth. I’ll be right back. What’s your last name?”
“Young. My name is Nicky Young.”
Her head jerked as if she’d been hit with a line drive and her eyes seemed to lose their focus.
“I . . . I'll . . .” She stumbled over her words. “Be back.”
Jerry and I looked at each other. In an awkward silence, we watched her walk away.
A dangerous and icy-cold tension seemed to make the air around us too heavy to breathe.
“What was that?” Jerry whispered.
“I don’t know, but now I’m uncomfortable,” I put my hand to my mouth to shield my words from her. “I think we should go.”
As we stood undecided on what to do, a tall, muscular Latino man came in the gallery. He caught Cassandra’s eye and they quickly kissed once on each cheek, as if they were high society. For all we knew, maybe they were. The way she laughed so dramatically made Jerry and me think it meant something more. This wasn't just a friendly meeting.
“Let’s make our escape.” Jerry tugged on my elbow and then reached for my hand. “Thank you!” Jerry yelled to her.
We were almost through the door when I turned back to wave. Cassandra’s cold stare seemed overtaken by a desolate darkness.
I looked away quickly.
“Weird,” Jerry commented. “There’s something off about her.”
I tried to put the strange experience behind us.
A shiver crept through me.
The chill shook my body and stayed with me for days.
Chapter 14
Jerry Gets an Education
Adrive to the Marin Headlands finished our evening.
Jerry parked at one of the viewpoints overlooking a dramatic vista of our City by the Bay. He grabbed his jacket and a blanket and I put on my sweater. We fanned the blanket on the ground and sat down to enjoy the 180-degree view spread out before us.
It was a clear night.
The Golden Gate Bridge was awash in orange light.
The San Francisco skyline twinkled against the bay.
Homes dotted the hill and one by one they blinked, their glow dimming and then becoming dark.
“It’s so beautiful and quiet out here.” I folded my arms. “I love the ocean.”
“I do, too.” He put his arm around my shoulders.
We sat completely still, trying our best not to disturb the nature around us. Bushes rustled, some little animal scurried along a gravel path in the distance, and the buoy’s bell rang as another ocean swell pushed through.
The cold breeze made the dry blades of grass sound like motors as they rapped against the bottom of our shoes. It was as if we were lying in a wheat field. The green hills had turned golden months ago and the straw radiated a magical glow as it cradled us.
I enjoyed being held within Jerry’s masculine body. His arms had found their way around me and when he kissed my cheek my mind wandered into daydreams.
Who is Cassandra?
Where have I seen her?
Why did her eyes seem so dark?
Was it weird or did I imagine something changed in her when I told her my name?
Does she know me?
I wonder what Ryan is doing.
When Jerry stroked my arm, my focus immediately went to the electric feel of his body. I became restless. I couldn't sit still. Finally I got up to move behind him.
“What are you doing?” His shoulders shook when my hands massaged him as if chills had rushed over his skin.
“Giving you a nice massage.” I stretched out my hands to knead the muscles under his skin. "I've wanted to do this as soon as I saw you talking to my mother. God you look good tonight."
He turned to face me.
"Damn, woman! What's gotten into you?"
"Turn around," I commanded. My hands dug into his shoulder muscles and back.
“Oh, that feels so good. I get sore from playing so much baseball; especially in my upper body.”
Yeah, feels good for me, too!
"Mm-hmm." I said in my most seductive voice—such as it was.
He breathed deeper and his upper back rose in obvious and dramatic ascents. I continued pressing my thumbs and palms into his muscles, my elbows working in circles.
“Can we lie down together?” He grabbed hold of my hands to stop my massage and then led me to the front of his body. "Can we . . ." We embraced and while held in his arm, he lowered me onto the blanket. His body squirmed, edging slowly to the position of making love, lengthening, his feet parting my legs, urgent kisses and shallow, raspy breaths that sang in the night. Before I could put a hand up or express hesitation, he was fully on top of me. A hand slipped underneath my head, the other nestled against my cheek.
“I want you tonight.” The look he gave was made of pure lust. His hips pressed into mine and I felt his erection.
“I don’t want to get serious, Jerry.” I invisibly marked my boundaries and stood my ground.
“Please don’t . . ." he swallowed. "Don't put up stops signs; not with me. You're with a boy you've known all your life.”
“I’m sorry.” Why do I do that? “I’ll try. I was doing . . . I'll try.”
Okay, here we go, you can do this. Get comfortable, take a breath and loosen up.
He kissed my neck and nudged my lips open with his tongue. I opened my mouth and arms. My body began to arch. Easy kisses turned hard as he pressed into my jaw. When his tongue touched mine, he seemed to cover me in every way.
I enjoyed the feeling of his stomach and hips as they tensed and the way his body moved side to side. He'd positioned me for intimacy. Starting to lose the sense of where I ended and he began, even the ground underneath me seemed to soften.
Had the cold breezes stopped?
I was not only warm, I bordered on being too hot.
Shielding Jerry's hands from touching my skin, my dress was a fragile barrier as he squeezed and seeme
d to measure my breasts, perhaps gauging them for the fit into his mouth. His fingertips shook. His exploration was in full motion.
The hem of my dress, now in the grasp of his hands, slipped above my panties. When I heard his zipper open, every one of his intentions was plain and clear. He braced his body on one elbow. His hands moved toward my panties.
I only wanted his deep kisses and needed to stop him.
I went into reverse immediately.
“Jerry, don’t. I’m not ready for you inside of me—don’t.”
He raised his head. His eyes were hooded. By the distant look in them, I wasn't sure if he'd heard me.
"Please don't," I begged softly.
"You're ready," he continued to lift my dress. "I can feel the way your body moves under me. Let go."
"Jerry . . . I'm not . . ."
"Baby . . ." One finger stroked my panties where they covered my vulva, and then moved to the elastic waistband. With one pull on them, my feminine body would reveal the soft opening unique to a woman. "You're wet."
"Stop, Jerry." I grabbed frantically for his hands, trying to pull them away from my legs.
“Come on."
“No,” I insisted.
His hands fell away. I felt his body soften.
“I thought . . . isn't the perfect place?" He took deep breaths as if trying to calm himself. "It’s just us and . . . are you sure?”
“I really thought I was and . . . I'm so sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to lead you on, I thought . . .” I sighed, completely disgusted with myself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me."
"What are you worried about?" He hovered over me, as if hoping I might change my mind.
"We need to get tested and neither of us knows what we’re doing. A million things are spinning in my mind.”
My hips were in his hands. His quivering fingertips danced slowly on my legs. It was as if he was pretending I'd given my okay; he wouldn't let go.
"But you . . . you know me," he insisted. "I'm clean. You're clean. Come on." He leaned in to kiss me again and his hands tried to pull my legs open.
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