Like a Woman Scorned

by Hart, Randi

  He excused himself and went to the restroom. Alison decided to take the opportunity to leave the party. She knew it wasn’t right, and perhaps even a bit rude. But she had his business card and would contact him in a day or so. Brenda would be furious, but Alison could handle that.

  Within a few minutes, she was getting into a taxi at the cab stand around the corner from Brenda’s house. She escaped, perhaps in the nick of time, and felt relieved and safe from the power of the man she’d just met. His looks, charm, intellect, everything about him had her totally spellbound and she didn’t trust herself.

  As soon as she got home, she sent him a text message:

  R, had to leave, sorry, happy to meet u, can we talk tomorrow and get together soon for lunch? Alison

  The message to Brenda was more explaining:

  B. Thx. Had to leave. Need to talk 2 u asap about Rick. Tomorrow? Luv, A.

  Alison undressed in the dark and put on warm pajamas. The light from the streetlamps coming through the shutters was enough to see by. A cup of chamomile tea was in order, so she reached for her largest mug. When it was ready, she curled up on the window seat in the living room.

  There was a full moon out, a harvest moon, and Alison was a mess. Had any man ever had this kind of effect on her before? No. No one. As she saw it, she had two choices: Refuse to see him again, or abandon herself to what could only be a fast-rushing relationship that would sweep her off to who-knows-where. One choice was safe and comfortable, the other more fun but possibly dangerous. When was the last time she had sex? How long had it been since she’d felt any emotions for a man? She pictured herself as a moth beckoned by a flame.

  Alison normally slept well, but not this night. She tossed and turned, had dreams about a sexual encounter with Rick, and kept thinking about how good it would probably be. She awoke at one point with wet hair and goose bumps.

  The next morning, a shower and clean clothes didn’t do much for her attitude. She scolded herself over a cup of coffee. This was so stupid. Why was she being such a whacko? These feelings of fear were unfounded. What was it all about? At that point, Alison’s rational side emerged to take charge. She decided to take inventory of her emotions.

  The primary issue, it seemed, was a fear of giving herself to someone and losing control of her life, the life she worked so hard to create. She thought about how she built that life, the friends she made along the way, and all the male relationships she rejected over the years. It was a soulful examination, and Alison was exhausted when she finally decided to get off it and move on.

  Her cell phone had been buzzing while she was thinking. Part of the motivation for her self-examination was to avoid having to face the messages she expected to find on it. But now, time was up. She needed to just deal with it, come what may. She picked up the phone. Sure enough, two text messages. The first one was from Rick.

  I went back into the room and you were gone. Let’s touch base tomorrow and plan that lunch as soon as possible. I don’t text well, would rather talk. R

  He was kinder than Brenda:

  Dammit you couldn’t even say goodbye? What kind of an exit was that? Not nice. We need to talk. Call me. Bren

  Yes, she would call them both—eventually. For now, she went back to bed, putting in earplugs first to block the sound of kids skateboarding outside next door. Alison felt better now. She was in a deep sleep within minutes. She never even heard the house phone ring.

  Several hours later, she got up again. This time, there were two messages on her answering machine. The first was from Rick.

  “Alison, I still smell your perfume on my shirt, need to know who makes it so I can buy you more. Or maybe I’ll just take my shirt to the perfume counter at Saks Fifth Avenue. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Will you have dinner with me tonight? Let me know what time works for you and I can come by in a taxi or we can meet. I’m on my cell or you can call the hotel, room 787. Tonight might be my only chance, until the end of the week anyway, because of the trial schedule. Talk to you soon. Bye, beautiful.”

  Well that was nice. The other message was from Brenda, no surprise there.

  “Okay, I got your text message and understand, but geez, you left me trying to explain to him why you left. Isn’t he a dream boat? I don’t think I’ve met a guy that classy in a long time. And he’s really taken with you, kiddo, so play it right. He’s definitely interested. Call me when you can. Oh, and thanks for the wine. It’s delish. Bye.”

  Alison moved through her usual Sunday rituals as if sleepwalking—facial, shower, brushing her teeth, dressing in sweats. She wasn’t planning on running today, just needed to kick back and make a decision—yay or nay to Rick tonight. It was the end of the long Thanksgiving weekend, and Alison realized quickly that she really wanted the day to herself, and didn’t need the stress of having to get ready for a hot date. But, she also acknowledged she did want to have dinner with him, and soon.

  So that she would not waiver from her decision, she sent him a text message rather than phoning. It was just too easy to weaken her resolve during a phone conversation.

  R, thanks for your message. Nice to wake up to. Sorry, I have plans this evening, cannot have dinner, but any evening later this week would work well. Let me know your schedule. A.

  Now she could let go for the entire day and not let him into her space any more than he already was—and he was there like an 800 pound gorilla. His smell, his smile, and the way he moved so comfortably in his own skin. It was rare to come across a man who was that polished and at ease. She could just imagine him in a court room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alison spent most of the day watching football, something she enjoyed, especially when she was in a vegetative state. There was no longer any doubt about going forward in whatever developed with Rick, so she put it out of her mind for the time being. That gave her the freedom to relax and enjoy the day. Personal time was important. Alison remembered how she used to ruin her weekends by bringing work home. Not anymore, and definitely not on a holiday weekend. Being a boss with a support team of ten people came with certain benefits. These days, only on the eve of a trial would she sometimes find herself in a position of needing to work overtime.

  Alison’s high salary afforded her the ability to use a maid service and have her laundry and dry cleaning sent out. She considered it money well spent. That way she could focus on doing nothing if she felt like it—and she often did—or reading, listening to music, perhaps even working on the book she’d started many years ago. It was about her ancestors and required much in the way of research, discovering where they lived, what they did with their lives, and how they acknowledged or ignored their association to other family members. Maybe someday she would finish it.

  Then there was cooking. Was there anything better in life than trying out new recipes? Alison had a reputation among her friends and coworkers as a gourmet cook—beyond gourmet, actually, at a higher level, right up there with the best chefs in the world. Everyone always jumped at invitations to her place. There was a time when she considered going into the business, but she knew she couldn’t handle the hours. Not that the legal field was far from that at times, especially in the beginning when Alison “paid her dues to the profession.”

  Her kitchen was outfitted with high-priced cooking gear, stuff you’d find in Gordon Ramsay’s or Wolfgang Puck’s home. It was all neatly arranged, of course, much of it hanging from trendy magnetic utensil holders. Every item had been carefully hand-selected from catalogs or local cooking supply boutiques. Her assortment of knives alone was something to marvel over; the best money could buy. Over the years she had invested a considerable amount of money in what she needed to complete each new creation, things like butter paddles, a strawberry huller, vegetable cutters, and assorted miscellaneous tools of the trade. She also had fine china, informal plates and accessories, dainty table linens, crystal of various types and shades, bar glasses, and marble cutting boards. Sometimes she stood in her kitchen and took it a
ll in while lamenting over her wardrobe that could have been.

  The kitchen had a marble work station in the center of the large room with bar stools for six, and a dining room table that seated eight off to the side. Even friends who normally didn’t cook much enjoyed preparing a meal with Alison in that kitchen, during her rare charitable moments when she would concede to having some assistance. Alison knew she could go up against anyone in the world of cooking and hold her own, but she chose to keep it at the hobby level, opening her home to friends and an occasional reception for a nonprofit organization she was affiliated with when the mood struck her.

  It was probably time for another of those events. Alison was the co-sponsor of an organization for AIDS victims that began in the mid-seventies. That was the time when Alison and some of her friends lost someone to the terrible disease. She had personally given a lot from her own finances over the years, besides countless hours working in both the office and the hospice. Alison was still amazed at how ignorant people were about the illness itself, and what it meant for someone to be HIV+ and not know if they would live or die. Things were so bad at one time that a large group of volunteers was actually called “The Death Squad.” Those were the people who would go to someone’s home after they died, and clean up everything left by a person who had no one else to do it.

  The phone ringing jarred Alison from her thoughts. She knew it was Rick somehow, and answered on the second ring. The ensuing conversation was light and comfortable, perhaps partly attributable to the fact that Alison was laying around in her jammies. She stretched as they talked. Rick found it humorous that Alison was a football fan. After only a few minutes of pleasantries, Rick got right down to business. It would have to be late in the week when they got together due to the trial.

  Dinner? Alison readily agreed. He would get back to her by Wednesday or Thursday and firm up a date and time. The call ended. No pressure and nothing more to do now but wait it out.

  Monday morning was foggy as Allison took the muni streetcar to work. There she spent time with her staff chit-chatting about everyone’s holiday before it was time to submit to the usual Monday routine of assessing their caseload. Traditionally, the period of time from Thanksgiving through the New Year would be rather light on the calendar, since most people were busy with the holiday festivities and didn’t really want to spend a lot of time on legal matters. This gave them all a chance to catch up on minor paperwork filing and organizational chores.

  Alison’s secretary commented that she looked refreshed, which made Alison laugh. She had no intention of telling anyone that she met a man who had already become very imposing in her life, and they hadn’t even been out yet. Her staff members were all pretty much gossip mongers, so there would be nothing forthcoming unless they pried it out of her.

  Alison’s secretary then suddenly announced her engagement—right in the middle of the meeting. It was a surprise to everyone. They gathered around to see the dazzling one carat rock. As Alison gazed into it, she involuntarily began fantasizing of becoming engaged to Rick, an atypical train of thought for her. The phone ringing somewhere snapped her back into the present. Boy, that was silly. She had better watch herself. Alison shortly put an end the personal talk and directed the meeting back to business topics before scattering them all to their individual offices and cubicles.

  Alison stayed in the conference room and stared out the window for a few minutes. She couldn’t help thinking about Rick now. She played yesterday’s phone conversation in her head again, desiring to hear his voice, a voice she had already come to find comfort in. Comfort. That’s what she needed this holiday season, some real comfort. It had been so long. On a whim, she decided to call Rick and leave him a message:

  “Rick, hi. It’s Alison. Happy Monday. I hope things are going smoothly for you this morning, no surprises. I wanted to let you know that I am keeping the end of the week’s evenings open until you get a handle on your schedule, which is not a problem for me. I look forward to seeing you when you are able. Good luck. Bye.”

  The days passed. Alison kept busy with her office schedule and running personal errands. Her plan was to finish her holiday shopping before the onslaught of out-of-towners hit the city shops. That’s one thing about living in a place like San Francisco; the visitors make the city thrive. Alison loved the tourists, but they made it impossible for residents to shop, ride the cable cars, or just do what the tourists did day after day. Residents learned how to schedule around them.

  Rick phoned on Wednesday evening, which he explained was the first chance he found to talk with her. He had finally gotten a sense of his schedule—not just for the week, but through the month. Alison chatted with him about work schedules and holidays. It was so easy to talk to him it was almost like they were old friends. He complained about having to spend such beautiful California days in a courtroom whereas if he were back in Boston, it would be gray and dull and he would be happy to be inside.

  “So how about dinner Friday evening,” he said, “and if you’re available, perhaps we could plan to spend some of the weekend together. I know football is high on your priority list, so it might be fun to watch the games together.” Rick finally stopped talking, waiting for Alison’s response.

  Alison didn’t hesitate. “Friday night for dinner would be wonderful, as would football and whatever else you might enjoy doing over the weekend. I’ve left my schedule open and we can play it by ear.” She wanted him to know she was planning time with him, and that she was willing to be available without being locked into specific dates and times.

  They agreed to meet at seven for dinner on Friday. Rick left it to Alison to pick the place and to leave him a message on where to meet her. The rest would fall into place.

  Alison put some thought into choosing a restaurant and decided on Farallon on Post Street in Union Square. It was a popular tourist place, but seating was never a problem—nor was good service. The cuisine was primarily seafood, never disappointing in its preparation or plating. It was not too far from the courthouse, so easy to get to for both of them. She made a reservation and left him a message with the address.

  Friday evening came. He was on time. They joked a little and laughed as they shared a quick hug to say hello before being seated. Rick looked stunning in his Italian suit. Alison dressed to expose just a hint of cleavage, but quite a bit of her long, shapely legs.

  The two of them enjoyed an “ocean experience” dinner, as their waiter described it, a beautiful whitefish in a sauce of garlic and wine. Rick chose a Napa Valley viognier from the wine list that went superbly with the food. After dinner they had crème brulee with port wine and multiple refills on decaf coffee. They were shocked to learn it was almost eleven when they decided they couldn’t sit any longer and wanted to get out in the fresh air.

  A walk around Union Square holding hands and laughing, then stopping for a moment under a streetlight so Rick could kiss her. Shivers ran up her spine. They were not caused by the cold weather. The air had not cleared their heads from the alcohol yet, and Alison whispered to Rick that they should take the cable car to her place.

  Half an hour later, they walked through her front door. Rick was obviously impressed with her house. They finished the tour in the kitchen and as they turned to go back into the living room, Alison stopped abruptly, knowing Rick would collide with her from behind. Instead, he gracefully took her in his arms, and when she responded willingly, kissed her deeply.

  “You are so sexy,” Rick purred as he slid his hand up the outside of her thigh. Alison offered no resistance.

  He kissed her lips tentatively once, twice, and then looked into her eyes again. This time Alison saw wonder in his gaze, and then she felt her bones turn to jelly in his arms. She softly entwined her fingers in his tie and pulled him close, not particularly gently. Their open mouths met passionately, tongues wrestled purposefully, chests pressed up tightly. Heartbeats could be felt, which was whose Alison could no longer tell.

  His
lips moved to her neck, kissing, biting, and sucking. Alison writhed with pleasure, and turned around so he could kiss the sensitive spot at the back of her neck. She pressed against him, and could feel all of him now firm against her backside. Every part of him was aroused and desperately seeking to be ever closer. His muscular arm stretched his soft hand around her and slid inside her blouse. He reached out to touch her cheek with his other hand.

  Alison took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. It was dark in there, nearly pitch black. Somehow, as their bodies pressed together, hands and lips exploring, sweat beads forming, their clothes slowly loosened and fell. They eventually collapsed on the bed with delightful abandon. Bodies came together naturally, without force, without guidance, without manipulation. They sank into a warm, urgent, wonderful fulfilling place that Alison never wanted to emerge from.

  She almost never did. The two of them spent the weekend in bed, making love, eating delivery pizza and Chinese food, occasionally glancing to the football games on the television, and reading the Sunday paper. It was the perfect weekend, the way they were supposed to be, two people shut in together who wanted only each other and nothing to do with the outside world.

  But then the time came for them to part, so Rick could go back to his hotel for Sunday night sleep, clean clothes, and court preparation. Alison had a lighter schedule, but nonetheless also needed to refocus on life without Rick for the next few days.

  His smell was everywhere after he left, in spite of Alison showering and washing the sheets. She filled her nostrils—and her heart—with the sense of him. This was certainly more than just a fling, for both of them. Had two people ever come together like this before? Everything was …right. Perfect. Unbelievable. When he had kissed her goodbye, he said he loved her. That didn’t bother Alison one bit. It seemed …appropriate, somehow. She didn’t say it back, but she felt it. She knew she was already in love with him.