“How did your parents die?”
“It was actually Wesley's parents and my parents both who were traveling in a single-engine plane. They were going to Aspen to ski when the plane crashed. My mother survived the initial crash but died two days later.” My stomach felt empty. No matter how long it'd been, the pain of my mother gone was always fresh. Thoughts of her caused my spirit to crash. She was my best friend. The one person who knew me better than anyone else. I missed her so much.
Mark sat up and scooted closer to me. His arm brushed against mine. “My mom made Wesley promise, on her death bed, that he would always take care of Ashley and me.”
I waited a second, hearing the echo in my brain of what I said out loud. The realization bowled me over. Made Wesley promise… to take care of me.
I suddenly had to walk, run, or pace my breathing to absorb the effect of what I’d just admitted. I chose to walk. Mark followed me to the edge of the small pond. I buried my head in my hands and quietly cried. “I didn't realize it until I just said it, but I guess Wesley never loved me just like he said in the letter. He married me to fulfill some kind of promise to my mother. That's all it was.”
“Amy,” Mark said, pulling me to him. I rested my head on the shoulder he offered me.
“I can't believe I was so stupid to think he married me because he loved me.” My breathing was jerky, as I wiped my eyes with my hands. Realizations were beating me about the head and shoulders.
“I'm sure he did love you. He still does.”
“You don't know him.” I wiped the tip of my nose and moved away from his consoling embrace. I wasn't used to so much physical contact. It was causing a traffic jam on my emotional highway. I refused to get used to something that wouldn't be offered on a regular basis with Wesley. If there ever was to be a regular basis with him ever again.
“I loved him more than Ashley did. I saw how it hurt him when she left. I knew I could be there for him. I only wanted him to want me.”
I was blabbering like an idiot. A ritual I tended to do when I was in Mark's company. Poor guy, what short straw in life did he draw to have to deal with me? Heck, I figured I'd just give him some money for his trouble and one-day shopping spree and be done with it.
“I never, never break down like this. What in the world is happening to me?”
“You've had a bad week. Now, let's go and practice being irresistible. I have a money-back guarantee, you know? His head will turn the first moment he opens his eyes. It will be you he sees. And he'll forget he was ever leaving.” He took me by the arm and led me back to the blanket.
I sat down, trying to find a silver lining in the black cloud that seemed to have followed me to the park. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. If he married me out of pity, he'd have left before now. I still wanted to give it my best shot, to show him that marrying me was not a mistake.
I pulled my iPad out of my bag and gathered up some enthusiasm before it flushed down the drain with all my speculations. A list of questions was stored in my “Wesley” file. I began checking off some of the starred ones and crinkling my nose to find the next topic to ask about. Mark interrupted my survey of items.
“Guys have a hard time with distance and disinterest. Have you ever gone a few days without touching him to see what he'd do?”
I looked up from my list. The truth was, I had gone a week without physical contact. It was my own test to see if he noticed. When it proved not to bother him, but drove me crazy, I'd given in and kissed him good night. “I've tried that. It didn't turn out well.”
“Did he attack you by the second day? You didn't see it coming, and it scared you to death?” He got closer to my face, excitement from his question sparked in his eyes. I was sorry to take away the image he had.
“Not exactly. He couldn’t have cared less. I gave in and kissed him good night.”
“And then you had really good make-up sex? Not that you were fighting, but he hadn't touched you in a few days I suppose.”
“Make-up sex?” I was perplexed. “I've heard about it, seen it in movies, but never met it up close and personal. No, it was only a kiss and then bedtime as usual.”
“Well, how did you kiss him? Was it a peck on the cheek or was it an exploration-of-the new-world kind of passionate kiss?”
“A what? I only have two kinds.” This guy really had me pegged wrong. Remember me? The one in the baggy gray trousers a few hours ago? I’m not as loose as the bun in my hair.
“Okay, what are they?”
I put down my iPad and sat up straight like a good, astute student would. “I guess I have The Grandma Kiss, and then The Grandma Kiss in slow motion. The difference between the two, being speed and the use of a little tongue.” Awkward.
“For my comfort level, don't mention grandma and tongue in the same description. It will take days to get over that image. It sounds like a good kiss might help you.”
“Like, learn another one?”
“Exactly. A good kiss can light fire where there is no wood or matches in sight. A good kiss can make you forget where, or even if, you're standing.”
“Wow, sounds delicious. What movie?”
“What movie, what?” He tilted his head, unsure of what I meant.
“What movie can I watch and play in slow motion to see how it's done? Granted, I’m an avid movie watcher, but if you have one you’d suggest.” I sat up, my ears would have been perked if I were a Pekingese puppy.
“I don't know what movie. You just feel it. Practice. Practice makes perfect.”
“So, if I practice on a coma patient…does that count? I don't have time to practice, Mark. This is my last chance and there's a man on every base and two strikes. If I hit a foul, it's over. You hear me? Over? Have you seen the images of old, aged spinsters with twenty cats at the dinner table? I don't want to be dishing out Fancy Feast for the rest of my life.”
“Okay. I could show you.”
Those four words shut me up and sent beating cymbals through the chambers of my heart. Did he say he'd show me? All right, I had to remember it was a lesson, not foreplay. Take him up on it. This is something to be used over and over. And from a pro, no doubt. “How?”
“There's really only one way.”
“You mean on an apple or an orange?” I didn't want to presume. “I'm married. I can't exactly kiss someone else.”
“It's a lesson. We have a deal. A give and take. You are going to be giving Saturday. It's not like we would be doing it for pleasure. It's a lesson, Amy.” He could say it in four different languages. It didn't change what it was. A kiss was a kiss. Whatever label you gave it.
“Okay, but I think we should go somewhere else.” I hesitated. Was I really going to go through with this? “Are you sure it could bring him to his knees? I'm looking for melt-worthy. If my lace and bows don't blow his mind, I could draw my lips and knock him over?”
“I'm certain. You could even wear that thing you had on earlier this morning and it wouldn't matter if you kissed him right. A good kiss can bring a man to his knees. Now, where shall we go?”
“Do you live alone?” What was I saying? No fear. It was a lesson for the good of my marriage. Keep repeating: good for the marriage, good for the marriage...
“Yes, but—”
“Let's go there.”
“I don't usually take women there.”
“Are you serious? Where do you go?”
“I go to their place. The fewer stalkers, the better.”
“Well, I'm not a woman for your pleasure. I'm your pupil, and I promise not to stalk you. Blindfold me if you want.”
He began to stand, folding the blanket. “Now, there you go. Definitely not uptight, again. Blindfolds?”
I pulled my hair from the bun I had had it trapped in all day, and laughed at the naughtiness in his notion. He had no idea who he was dealing with.
“You should leave your hair down.”
“What?” I was taken off guard at his stare.
; “You look different with it down. Possibly even swoon-worthy.” He turned before I flashed him a Code Red with my cheeks.
WTH? My hormone levels were off the charts. What was going on? Was he flirting with me? Whatever it was, he needed to stop. These feelings inside me were as involuntary as blinking my eyes. “You're crazy.”
“It's your interview. You want to know what does it for guys, and I'm willing to let you know.”
I left my hair down and walked to his car.
Chapter Five
We drove the seven minutes to his house barely saying a word on the way. My entire dialogue was contained quietly inside my head. He parked the car on the side street and opened my door. “Does he open your car door?”
“No. I guess we've been married too long for that to seem new.”
“My dad said to always open the car door, no matter how many years you've been together. Not that he's beaten his record lately, of two or three months.”
I stepped onto the sidewalk, and found myself standing inches from his face. “I see why the girls are all crazy about you.”
I looked to the row of townhouses and was instantly in love. They were nestled in something of a small village on the other side of town. I'd never been there and could see why. The cars parked in front of the cute row of houses were all foreign made. Audis, Mercedes, BMWs, Mark's Porsche. All were accounted for. My Honda would be the black eye of the bunch, should I ever visit. Who was I kidding? This would be the first and last time.
The little neighborhood was quaint. The home on the corner had bright red Adirondack chairs sitting out front. Blossoming trees were announcing spring, and friendly-looking people walked the wide sidewalks pushing strollers, carrying yoga mats, and wearing backpacks.
We walked to his front door. He let me go in first. His townhouse was obviously the decorated model. Custom colors throughout. The main entryway was olive green, complementing the dark hardwood on the floors and stairway. The banister was dark, heavy iron. I stepped out of my shoes and left them behind on the saw-grass rug by the front door.
The living room had a wall of windows. Tall pine trees bordered the distant landscape. Draperies hung at the ends of the windows and matched the throw pillows. Artwork matched the contemporary design. Nothing was out of place except a few dirty dishes by the sink, which I could see from the living room. The layout was open and expansive. A quick glance, and you could see all the rooms except for the bedrooms upstairs. A large flat-screen hung on the wall opposite the couch. The dining room, between the kitchen and living room, looked as though no one had ever sat at the table to eat. The large centerpiece took up the majority of the table space, and there were no signs of leftover crumbs.
“Gracious, this place is beautiful, Mark.” I went to the windows and stood looking out.
“Thanks. I bought it a few years ago.”
“No doubt it was the furnished one?” I didn't want to presume he had no ability to pick from swatches, but somehow I doubted decoration rated highly among his priorities in life.”
“Yeah. I had to wait until the other units sold before I could move in. But I was happy to do so. I hate picking out furniture.”
“And yet you don't ever bring anyone over to enjoy it. What a shame.”
He sat down on the sofa. “So getting on with our lesson. What does Wesley do to you that makes you feel special?”
A question with no answer. I sat on the chair next to the sofa. “Um, let's see.”
Mark threw his keys on the coffee table and stretched back. “That much?”
“No, smarty. I'm thinking of the best one.” Lies began taking their turns in my head, but the pathetic truth won out.
“Well, he never minds what I want to watch on television. I know women at work who can never watch their shows because their husbands dominate the remote. Football, the History Channel. That is, of course, my married friends. The single ones who date don't usually end up watching any television, if you know what I mean?” I winked and nodded my head. Sadly, he probably knew more than I did about the whole one-night-stand subject.
He didn't seem impressed. Not the best example. I should have stuck to the lies that I could never pull off. Who do I work with, cavewomen? Whores? Were there any more Amys left in the world? “Interesting. Would you like something to drink?”
“Do you mean alcohol?”
He laughed. “Not exactly, but I have some if you'd like.”
“Yeah. I'm a little nervous. I think it would help.” And a joint if you have it. Not that I’d ever even tried smoking a cigarette, but I needed something to help me through the next twenty minutes. And also an alibi for my absence of cognitive skills as to why I was in a strange man's house getting ready for a lip lesson.
He stopped mid-stride. “Amy, why are you nervous? Nothing is going to happen.”
“Oh.” Nothing? The ray of all hope drained out of me. What was I thinking? I'd get a free sensation that I'd never felt before? All under the guise of being tutored. Nothing? Are you serious?
“Nothing that you aren't comfortable with.”
Say what? “Still, get me a drink. Whatever you have will be fine.” Who needed a drink? By now my head was swimming. I felt like a teenager on my first date, awaiting the first kiss. Great Scott! I couldn’t control my rapid heart beating and sweaty palms, not to mention the jumping beans in my stomach were all on adrenaline overload.
Instead of putting my head between my legs or grabbing for a paper bag to breathe into, I stood to look at the pictures on his mantle. Pictures of him and his sisters, I supposed. He was too young in them to have already had a harem. Pictures of his mom and dad. It made me miss my family, even if it had only consisted of my sister and parents.
Mark appeared with an over-sized glass of wine. He handed it to me, and I downed it like a shot of whiskey. Barely stopping for air. “Professional drinker, I see.”
“Not really. Just thirsty.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and set the glass on the table. It took a few seconds before I felt the warmth like a wool blanket swaddling my insides and knocking me a little off balance. I had neglected to eat lunch. I sat down before I spiraled down like a whirly bird. His sofa cushions swallowed me. I'm such a lightweight drinker.
“So, you tell me when you're ready.”
“Well, let's continue with a few other questions, shall we?” I think I might pee my pants if he kisses me now. Or, maybe just pee my pants for no reason.
“All right.” He set his glass down on the coffee table and plopped down on the sofa beside me, stretching out his legs. His looks were working overtime at taking me way off track from my goal. The way his slouch signaled me to sit closer. His cologne hypnotizing me away from knowing right from wrong. The wine was now becoming a co-conspirator to his allure. This must be what deprivation does to a pure girl. It makes you want to jump the first guy who sits down next to you proposing a little tongue dance. My drunken loins were signaling for my eyes to shut as they had their way with this fine looking specimen. I shook my head to clear the polluted images and tried my best to keep it business.
“Do you like it when a girl calls you at work just to say she misses you? Or is that pushy and a turnoff?”
“Remember, I don't tell girls where I work.” He combed through his curly hair with his fingers. I envied what his fingers felt when he did it. Then I felt guilty for the envy. Father Frederick would have a field day with me at my next confession.
“Right. Well, what if you were married? Would you like it then?”
“Amy, what was it like dating Wesley? Didn't you get a chance to find all of this out? When exactly was it that something went wrong with you two? Maybe that's what you should concentrate on.”
“We never really dated long.” I stared at the floor, wondering where this had veered from my interview with him to my couch session with Dr. Phil. It certainly was a buzz kill.
“Why did you get married then? Surely, your mother didn't order him to marr
y you? And why would you marry someone you never got a chance to know better as a boyfriend?”
“Do you have any more wine?” I picked up my glass and dangled it in front of him.
I saw it. The knowing eyes, the hesitation of wondering whether or not to press me further. He knew I was avoiding the question. Mark took the glass to the kitchen for a refill. I followed him, trying in those few minutes to come up with a response.
“Do you remember when you were little and you watched those commercials for action figures during Saturday morning cartoons?”
He handed the filled glass to me. “Yeah, why?”
I took a big swig and continued, leaning against his white porcelain farm sink for support. “I remember the Barbie pool.” I put the glass down and gestured, my eyes widening like a ten-year-old demonstrating the concept.
“The Barbies sitting around that pool were completely enchanting. There was a water slide so a Barbie could be dipped right into the pool. All the other Barbies held umbrella drinks and sat under grass huts, laughing together. There was even a Ken doll, flirting with the one in the bikini.” I'm sure Mark was wondering where this was going. He folded his arms and listened intently.
“Well, I remember putting that Barbie pool on my Christmas list and waiting anxiously to get it. Then Christmas came, and there it was under the tree. I tore into the box like there was a new puppy inside it. And, do you know what I found?”
He shook his head, no. “I found a round plastic bowl.”
“I don't get it. Did your parents get you a knock off?” He jumped up on the counter to sit down.
“No. It was the pool in the commercial. There just weren't any swimming Barbies in it. No island music was playing in the background and there was no tiki huts with waterfalls in the distance. It was just a plastic bowl.”
“I'm lost. Do you want one now?”
I hit him on the knee and took a drink. “No, you dope. Don't you see? Wesley was my Barbie pool commercial. He dated my sister, Ashley. I actually saw him first, but Ashley never took second place. I would sit and imagine how it would be to kiss him, to date him, to have him touch my hair like he did hers. Yet, after she dumped him and Mom pretty much told him to take care of me for the rest of his life, he turned out to be a plastic bowl.”
Waking Amy (Amy #1) Page 6