Driving in Neutral

by Sandra Antonelli

  “Can you make it up the front steps?” she said, once he was standing on the curbside.

  “I have been for weeks. I’m rather good with stairs.” He smiled and couldn’t help how his eyes slipped along the contours of her body. “You…want to come in? Have a drink? Orange juice? Coke? Water? Beer? I make great iced tea…”

  Olivia didn’t remember him being so tall. She couldn’t recall his eyes being quite as verdant. His green eyes were ablaze with sunshine that spread over her skin, sinking in, infusing every vein and capillary in a solar glow. Good God, he smelled wonderful. The light breeze carried a hint of nutmeg, cardamom and the masculine essence of his sweat. Immediate heat moistened the crotch of her panties and she swallowed.

  Maxwell said something about making iced tea, but a full-blown production unfolded in her imagination and his voice became a hum. She saw herself going inside his tree-shaded house and following him to the kitchen. A few steps across the linoleum squares, he backed her against the sink, the stainless steel cool through the rear of her skirt. He sandwiched his bad knee between her thighs and shifted ever so slightly, creating a pleasant friction while his mouth set off tiny bonfires along her neck.

  In one motion, he lifted her, sat her on the edge of the sink, and nudged her thighs farther apart. With his body pinning her, he pressed even more snugly into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles, drawing him closer until he made a deep, low sound. The fire of his erection swelled against the surge of wetness between her open legs, teasing, promising. She gazed into the vivid, heated green of his eyes, and he tangled fingers into her hair, dragging her head up to sip from her parted lips.

  Olivia was thirstier than she’d ever been in her life.

  “I leave it out in the sun for at least eight hours,” Emerson said, and realized her eyes had glazed over.

  Jesus, he thought he’d be polite and offer her something, some token of thanks for the ride home, but he’d droned on and on about teabags and filtered water, and it was hot outside. The shade of the trees did nothing to alleviate the Chicago summer stickiness. She was being polite standing there, pretending to be interested in how he made his iced tea, while sweating the same way he was. Well, maybe not exactly the same way.

  He was acutely aware of her. He was hot all over. Every ounce of testosterone in his body had stood up and taken notice. Something else had wanted to stand up too, but he’d taken care of that stiffening problem with his idiotic blather. He, literally, bit his tongue, just to shut up, and blew out his breath through his nose. He said, “It’s really hot out here.”

  She just looked at him blankly, a small sheen of perspiration on her face, the scar beside her mouth pink.

  “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

  She blinked and shook her head.

  Well, this is awkward. Emerson took two steps back, wanting to end the unwieldy silence. “Thanks for the ride, Olivia. I appreciate it.” Yeah, awkward as hell, but at least you didn’t wink. He took another step backward and half waved.

  The sudden movement of his hand interrupted Olivia’s sexual hallucination and she exhaled softly, squeezing the car keys in her hand to clear away the waking erotic dream. “You’re welcome,” her dry throat managed to push out. After an attempt to smile, she turned and climbed back into her car and left him standing beside his mailbox. Stubborn bits of that little live daydream clung to unwanted areas of her body as she drove home to the apartment that felt nothing like a home.

  Her furniture had finally arrived from Germany. Last Friday afternoon, three massive young men with bulging muscles and weightlifter’s belts had hauled everything up four flights of stairs in twenty-five minutes flat. During the transfer from street to apartment, silent grouch Mr. Peck had shuffled out of his place onto the landing. He watched the activity, his arms folded in disapproval. She’d said hello to him and was met by his usual silence, although his white moustache had twitched. She’d shrugged then and realized she’d grown accustomed to his noiseless disapproval the same way she’d grown accustomed to her empty apartment.

  Her place was now full of familiar things—and the apartment still felt unfamiliar. With the exception of her bedroom, everything sat exactly where it had been dumped by the beefed-up moving guys, and therein laid the reason for the lack of hominess. Boxes remained unpacked, rugs were rolled up and the TV sat unhooked to the DVD player. Her clothes had been put away and she had a smattering of linens, dishes and utensils so she could make coffee, breakfast, and the occasional evening meal, which usually consisted of salads, toast, or cereal, but the apartment had so far failed to instill her with a desire to settle.

  The only thing Olivia felt any real desire for was her boss. Ring-a-ling-a-ling.

  She put an end to that brainless notion and disco music by rolling up her sleeves and systemically unpacking every box stacked in the living room.

  Chapter 7

  The Georgian-style Hutton Estate was a bridal magazine dream location, and it was all Ella’s—for the weekend. Less than an hour north of Chicago, just outside Lake Forest, Hutton House sat on fifty-five acres of lush, manicured gardens and a private forest. The first weekend event was this evening’s cocktail party out on the topiary-dotted terrace. The wedding ceremony would take place beneath a wisteria-covered gazebo that sat in the center of a full-blooming rose garden. The reception would be held at the boathouse with Lake Michigan as a backdrop. If the weather turned uncooperative, the ceremony would be held in the glassed-in conservatory.

  The entire bridal party was set to stay in the huge house, along with a full-time housekeeper. Olivia had taken pains with room assignments, making sure the bride and groom had the two adjoining master suites. Somewhat selfishly, she’d kept the other suite—the one with the big bathroom and the enormous bathtub—for her own use.

  Entrusted with transporting the wedding dress, she’d placed the gown in the back of her Aston Martin and driven alone to Lake Forest. Arriving a few hours before Ella and Craig, Olivia shoved her cell phone into the DB5’s glove compartment, left her bags in the car, took the dress, and went to meet the housekeeper, Vivian.

  With the wedding gown tucked away in the suite upstairs, Vivian took her on a tour of the household, paying particular attention to the kitchen, dining room, and vast upstairs linen cupboard. Pausing at the top of the back stairs that led down to the kitchen, the housekeeper smiled. It accentuated her pert nose and made her coronet hairstyle seem less old-fashioned. “I know it’s Ms. Thomas’ wedding,” she said, “but you’re the hostess for the weekend, Olivia. Let me know if you need anything you can’t find.”

  “Thank you. You probably worked it out when you spoke to her about the couple in the gatehouse, but Ella’s a little high-strung these days. Here, I have to give these to everyone.” Olivia handed the housekeeper a photocopied list of weekend directives. “The bride’s got a list of demands.”

  Vivian skimmed the page of yellow paper as they went down the stairs. “Okey dokey, I understand the no phone, no computer, and no smoking request, but what’s with the no onions clause?”

  “She wants to avoid bad breath. The caterer has been informed nothing is to have a scallion garnish, chives are not to be sprinkled on anything, and if she finds a bottle of cocktail onions in the fridge she will absolutely lose it. There will be a spectacular volcanic eruption of Mount Ella.”

  Vivian chuckled, head shaking. “Some of them get like that, don’t they? One bride didn’t want anything red in the house. No strawberries, no red wine, no red hand towels, nothing that might stain or transfer color. She was paranoid she’d get something on her dress. We had to use the boathouse kitchen for everything.”

  “Thanks for being so accommodating with the boathouse this time too.”

  “Not a problem. The caterer will organize the kitchen down there for the reception and you and I can sort out things in the house. If you need anything, more towels or something to mop up a spill, I’m in the big room at
the end of the hallway, near the study. You just dial the H on the house phone.” Vivian grinned. “I know it’s all so very Remains of the Day English butler stuff, isn’t it?” She looked around and leaned over, saying quietly beneath her guilty grin, ‘Renting out the house during the summer is how the Hutton family pays the property tax on the place.”

  Over the next few hours, they organized the rooms and readied the kitchen for the caterer’s return, so members of the wedding party could help themselves to late night snacks.

  “The toaster is there on the counter. Dishes are here, the utensils in these drawers. Eggs, juice, and milk are already in the refrigerator.” Vivian pointed to one of two stainless steel Frigidaires. “You all can eat in the dining room or over there in the breakfast nook,” she nodded toward a brightly-lit recess where windows lined the wall. “The caterer is bringing the fresh bread later this afternoon. Now, if anyone needs table linens or more Worcestershire sauce for Bloody Marys, they can find those things in here.”

  She led Olivia to the walk-in butler’s pantry across from a large wooden butcher’s block countertop. As she pulled open the door, a small skeleton key fell from the old lock. There was a red tassel tied to one end. Vivian bent to pick up the key, checking that its twin hung on a brass rack inside the pantry before returning it to the lock. She continued, “We keep spare room keys, extra glasses, fancy trays and condiments in here. As you can see, the liquor store has already made their delivery.” She pointed to several boxes beneath a shelf full of tablecloths and napkins.

  Olivia crossed into the pantry. Crouching, she inspected the boxes, rummaging through them, checking the order for pretzels, macadamia nuts, and whiskey. She smiled, pulling out a bottle of Bailey’s, and sighed dreamily. “You know Vivian, if there was time, you and I would crack this open now.”

  “You’ve got the room with the slipper bath, don’t you? That’s where I’d go to drink this and be alone with my thoughts of Robert Downy Jr.”

  Chuckling, Olivia nodded. “How about after the wedding I leave some bath salts and what’s left of the Bailey’s in there for you.”

  “Oh, you are kind to the hired help!”

  “Let’s see if you still feel that way. I need your help bringing some of these goody boxes upstairs.”

  Once they’d ferried boxes to the second floor, Olivia set to work personalizing each bedroom with small gifts, snack foods and bottles of liquor. The last thing she did was tack Ella’s activity schedules and reminder memos, printed on shocking pink paper, to the mirrors in all the bathrooms.

  In twenty minutes Ella’s suite was transformed into bridal central. Fragrant flowers were set beside the bed and in the little sitting parlor. Boxes of Ella’s favorite dark chocolates were in crystal jars and placed around the room. Off the suite, inside an alcove dressing room, Vivian had slipped the wedding dress on a padded tailor’s form. A tri-fold mirrored dressing table reflected every gorgeous angle of the white gown.

  Shortly before noon, Craig and Ella arrived. Vivian escorted the bride upstairs to settle into the suite. The groom waited with Olivia at the front of the house, watching a convoy of vehicles emerge from the wooded area of the Hutton Estate. The second florist delivery van of the day followed a messenger in a yellow hatchback. Bringing up the rear in an old red Pontiac convertible were the bridesmaids, Ella’s old law school friends, Suzanne and Justine. Barely visible in the back seat amid the luggage was Al, Suzanne’s husband. He had his nose stuffed in a book.

  “Aw, geez,” Craig muttered. “The pit vipers…I mean the divorce lawyers are here.”

  Olivia snickered and nudged the bridegroom. The clipboard he held against his chest made him look like someone from the old Love Boat TV show instead of a bridegroom-to-be. The sky-blue polo shirt he wore matched his eyes and was tucked into the same style of shorts the ship staff wore. “You know you look like the cruise director, don’t you?” she said.

  Craig nodded, watching lanky Al climb out of the car. “Yeah, love, it’s exciting and new…and sometimes horribly out of fashion. This is what Ella wanted me to wear. You know she cried three times on the drive up here and I was worried if I said anything about the shirt, I’d make it four. I’d swallow venom for this woman if it made her happy, but please tell me this will be over soon because she’s biting me so hard and it kind of, you know, hurts.”

  “You are such a good man.”

  “You know I don’t mean my fiancée is a hormonal rattlesnake like those two, uh…ladies.” His eyes flicked toward the two women approaching. “I’m glad you know what I’m up against, Liv. Ella’s nerves are rubbing off. Thank God you’re here as the tranquility touchstone.” Craig brought his teeth together in an artificial grin, speaking in a monotone voice, rattling off a few memorized lines, “Ella is the most radiant creature on the face of the earth, and I can’t wait for our lives to be forever intertwined, forever as one. How was that? Was that better? Was that convincing?”

  “I liked that last bit about forever entwined.”

  With a laugh, he stepped aside to let Olivia meet two of the three bridesmaids. He shook hands with Al, who nodded perfunctorily and yanked a huge black suitcase from the back seat.

  “Careful with that bag, Al!” Justine removed her sunglasses, and poked Suzanne. “Hey, Sooze, it’s little Olivia!” She tossed her mass of nearly-black sausage curls over her shoulder, wiggled her Playboy voluptuous butt, and cooed in a breathy, Marilyn Monroe voice, “You’re still going for that tomboy look at your age Olivia? Well, you know, sometimes I wish I could too!”

  “It’s really great you’re here for Ella,” Olivia said as Justine’s feathery hands patted her shoulders. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

  Strawberry-blonde Suzanne wrinkled her freckle-sprayed nose. “Hello, fellow bridesmaid!” She snapped a wad of mint-scented gum and added an air kiss to her greeting. Then she smiled, broadly, very broadly, and ran her tongue over her teeth as if she was checking to see if there was spinach stuck somewhere. “What do you think, Livvy? Justy said my teeth would glow in the dark. Do you think they’re too white?”

  Justine rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say they’d glow in the dark!”

  “Yes you did!”

  “No. What I said was they’d show up in the dark.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “Look counselor, we both know it’s a semantic thing. Don’t…”

  While the two women continued contradicting each other, Olivia moved around to the back of her Aston Martin. She lifted out the blue suitcase and red bag she’d left in the car earlier.

  “Liv!” Craig called out. “Leave your stuff and your keys. I’m not only the cruise director today, I’m the cabin boy and parking valet as well. I’ll take your bags upstairs to your room. Says here on my checklist you’re to bring these two for an audience with the princess royal the moment they settle.”

  With a shrug, she tossed Craig the car keys, barely missing Pete as he came around one side of the floral delivery van.

  “Good thing you throw like a gir—” Pete clutched at his chest. “Oh, sweet Mother of Jesus, it’s those two!” he hissed, tipping his head in Suzanne and Justine’s direction. He grimaced. “Ever notice, Liv, how Ella loses ten IQ points when they’re around?”

  “She thinks they’re fun.”

  “You don’t.”

  “What gives you that idea?”

  “You’re standing way over here.”

  Olivia smiled. Diplomatically.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked, rolling his shoulders.

  “It’ll be a piece of wedding cake. Even with those two giggling like a couple of plastered sorority girls at a keg party. I’ve got a list as long as my arm to keep things moving like clockwork and that should reassure Ella.”

  “If you think she’s a bundle of nerves, you should take a good look at Craig and his list. I’ve never seen him sweat like this before, even when we shoot hoops.”

&nb
sp; “You think he’s getting cold feet?”

  Pete shook his head. “No. He’s terrified something’s going to go wrong and Ella will be devastated. I don’t know how he swung the bowling bachelor party.”

  “Well the groom is entitled to some kind of fun, isn’t he?”

  “What’d you say to get her to agree to pizza, beer and bowling shoes?”

  “I asked if she’d rather let you play a few frames or have Martin and Maxwell throw Craig a bachelor party with a large-breasted stripper named Nurse Renob.”

  “Nurse Renob…Nurse Renob…why do I think I should know that?”

  “Spell the name backward, Pete.”

  “Gotcha.”

  They both laughed and turned at the sound of Craig locking his cousin in a backslapping manly embrace. A moment later, the best man set a blue suitcase and green leather bag beside Pete.

  “Pete, Olivia,” Maxwell said.

  Olivia managed a noncommittal smile, except her insides did a loop-de-loop when a silly grin lit up his eyes. Oh, get back on the track, Olivia.

  “You want to pick up Jason? Em?”

  Sure he was leering at Olivia like a pervert, Emerson scratched his chin and swung his attention to Pete. “Yeah if you give me the keys to the Jeep I’ll pick up our fellow groomsman.”

  “Cool. Don’t let him talk you into stopping off for a pre-lunch palate-cleansing ale.” Pete dredged the Jeep’s keys out of his pocket.

  “I know, I know.” Emerson glanced at his watch and took the keys. “We’re to stick to the schedule or Ella will excise our nads with a fondue fork. See you later.” He moved around the van to Pete’s Jeep, climbed in, started the engine…and winked at Olivia as he drove by.

  Pete’s chicken cackle cut through the noise of the car’s tires on gravel. Emerson glanced in the Jeep’s rear vision mirror and got an eyeful of Olivia standing with Pete, laughing, her head thrown back. They were laughing at him. And rightly so.