Keep Dancing

by Leslie Wells

  Dermot gave me a smoldering look. “I missed you. But I made progress while you were gone.”

  The waiter stopped by. I asked for a glass of merlot, and Dermot ordered another scotch. “That’s really great,” I said to Dermot. “I’m looking forward to digging in. Quickly. With the tight deadline, Ted’s a little anxious about it.” Now that he was turning it in, I could acknowledge the pressure from my boss.

  “Oh, not so fast. It’s coming along…” Dermot looked at me, his irises dark pinpricks surrounded by crystalline blue. “But I’m not quite ready to hand it over yet. Actually I’ve been reworking the young female character. I told you about Penelope, right?”

  I bit back my frustration. “Yes, you mentioned it.”

  “Since we met, I’m revising her to be more like you.” Dermot gazed soulfully into my eyes. “Beautiful. Intelligent. Fascinating.”

  I choked on my wine. As I was spluttering, Dermot offered his glass of water. “I’m not upsetting you, am I?” He flashed a big smile.

  Rattled by his flattery, I tried to compose myself. “No, but I mean—we don’t know each other very well. Maybe there’s someone else you could base her on. Do you have a niece?” I floundered, trying to get the conversation back on a professional track.

  “If it makes you uncomfortable, there are any number of young women who’d be thrilled to be my muse.” He frowned, seeming a little insulted.

  Oh god, I can’t put him off. What if he has to go back and rewrite it? “I’m sure it’ll be fine. When I go through the manuscript, I’ll add in any…” This is so weird. Am I supposed to edit it so she’s like me? “Any, um, characteristics that might be helpful.”

  “Great. And we’ll need to spend more time together, so I can get her exactly right.” He took my hand, his onyx ring cool against my skin.

  “Sure, but could I have the first hundred pages? Just to get a sense of it.” I extracted my hand, grabbed my wine glass and drained it.

  “You’ll have it all soon enough. But I can give you a copy of my acceptance speech for the Book Awards.” He pulled an envelope from his inner coat pocket. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m going to win, so I’ve prepared a little statement. Maybe you could give it a once-over.” He handed me the envelope, which I stuffed into my backpack.

  “I’ll let you know if I have any suggestions.” I paid the bill with my corporate card, and Dermot helped me into my coat. “When do you think you’ll have the first draft for me?” I asked in desperation.

  “All in its own sweet time. Despite what those philistines in your contracts department think, a work of art can’t be rushed.”

  I’d settle for a novel delivered on time, instead of a work of art six months late. “Okay, let me know how it’s going.”

  “I will. And we’ll be seeing each other soon at the Awards, right? They’re coming up in a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ll check with Ted to see who’s going,” I said vaguely. I hadn’t focused on that in the least.

  “Can I drop you anywhere? I’m going back to my solitary abode. For now, my only mistress is the book, and she’s demanding.” A lock of hair flopped over his eye, and he pushed it back.

  “Thanks, but I’m heading downtown,” I said.

  Dermot did the double-cheek-kissing thing again and ducked into a town car that was waiting at the curb. I schlepped over to the subway in the sluicing rain and crammed myself into a crowded car. When I got back to the loft, Muddy greeted me with frenzied exuberance. After cleaning up his mess, I took him for an abbreviated walk in the foul weather. Then I waited until midnight for Jack’s post-concert call, which never came.

  “How’s Dermot’s manuscript coming along?” Ted stuck his head in my office door the next morning. “It is any good?”

  “It, uh, promises to be good,” I said. “By the way, he keeps asking about the Book Awards.”

  “Oh, we’ve bought our usual table.” Ted pushed his glasses up his nose. “You’re on the list, of course. Dermot will be seated between you and me, and you’ll be flanked by Perry. If he doesn’t steal your seat.”

  “Dermot seems pretty sure he’s going to win. He even gave me a copy of his acceptance speech,” I said.

  “Could I take a look?” I handed Ted the pages, on which I’d made a few notes. Ted pointed to the opening paragraph. “Have him rearrange the order of the names here. I should be first, and then Perry.”

  “Should I run that by Dermot?” I was hesitant to be the one who removed the publisher from his first-place position.

  “Here, I’ll do it.” Ted grabbed my red pencil and marked the page. “Just retype it so Dermot doesn’t notice.”

  “All right.” This seemed underhanded, but I guessed I had to. “When is the ceremony, anyway?”

  “March 28th. It’s black tie, so we’ll all be in our monkey suits.”

  Something about the date rang a bell, but I couldn’t place it. “Good to know. I’ll get a fancy dress.” I could borrow one from Vicky; she had a closet stuffed full of party outfits.

  Ted saluted and left me retyping the speech. Just as I was licking the envelope to mail it to Dermot, Cathy came in looking frazzled. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She plopped down in my chair. “I just got out of the most awful meeting. I have these co-authors who are shrinks; they wrote How to Speak So Your Husband Will Listen.”

  I nodded, having seen the guide displayed in our lobby.

  “They just had this huge brawl in the publicist’s office. Gillian got a booking on the Morning Show, but the producer only wants to have one of them on. They were arguing about who gets to do it. For a minute there, I thought we’d have fisticuffs.”

  “How’d you settle it?” I asked.

  “Gillian made them draw straws. Then one accused the other of cheating, so they had to do it three more times. And supposedly they’re the experts at sorting out people’s problems.” Cathy rolled her eyes. “Speaking of problems, how’s Dermot coming along?”

  I lowered my voice. “He hasn’t even given me the first chapter. And Ted keeps asking me about it.”

  “Haven’t you told him?” Cathy stared at me.

  “I’m afraid if I do, he’ll give it back to Erica, the in-house genius.”

  “That’s true, but you’d better let Ted know soon. They’ll blame you if it’s late. Or later,” she added.

  My phone rang, and Cathy made a throat-cutting gesture on her way out.

  Finally the day came when Jack was flying home. I had wanted to pick him up at the airport, but the best I could do was skip out at four after a never-ending production meeting. Midtown traffic wasn’t clogged yet, so I splurged on a cab and flew downtown. I ran into the building and fidgeted in the elevator. When it opened at the penthouse, I could hear music pouring through the walls. I pushed through the door and saw him standing there: dark hair below his shoulders, a tired smile creating those sexy lines next to his mouth, sooty smudges beneath his eyes.

  “Hey,” he said as I flew into his arms. Then I was drowning in his lips, his ardent tongue exploring mine. Desire surged through me as his hands went to my breasts.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to the bedroom,” he murmured, kissing my neck as he stripped off his shirt.

  “God, you feel good.” I ran my hands across his warm, muscled chest, feeling his nipples harden, then slid my fingers down his ridged abdomen. I squeezed his gorgeous butt as he slipped out of his jeans.

  “Your turn.” He tugged off my clothes and lowered me onto the couch. “Ahh, this is what I’ve been missing,” he said, tonguing my nipples into ripe raspberries.

  “I couldn’t wait for you to get home,” I gasped as he thrust into me.

  Jack gazed at me and stopped his motion. “I’m gonna send you, baby.” Bracing his body with one flexed arm, he reached down and began stroking me lightly with his fingers, ramrod-stiff inside me but holding still.

  “That’s all right, you can come,” I said, mesmerized by
what he was doing.

  “Let’s come together,” Jack whispered in my ear. His abdomen brushing mine, he began moving his hips very slowly as he stroked me. I started to feel the heat spiraling. He increased the pressure slightly, and I drifted into that utterly still moment before breaking free. Just as I threw back my head and began to cry out, he rammed into me with four powerful thrusts, each setting off a fireburst of sensation. Utterly spent, we slept for a while in the afterglow before going back to the bed.

  “How were the last couple of concerts? It’s been hard to reach you.” I turned to face Jack on the pillow.

  “Yeah, we were moving around a lot. They went fine, except the filth arrested some fans in Atlanta for drunk and disorderly. It all went shambolic until Mary Jo paid off a city councilman.”

  The mention of his manager gave me an opening. “Did they ever figure out who blabbed to the press? She made me feel awful, accusing me of that.”

  “I forgot to tell you. Turns out, the makeup girl planted it. She was ticked off that I didn’t use her to do my face. Also Mark was bonking her and blabbing to her about stuff.”

  After all I went through, he forgot to tell me? “Oh really? You could have called to let me know.”

  “I told you it didn’t mean fuck-all. That woman was gagging to get back at me. She thought I had Mary Jo fire her, but in actual fact it was Patrick’s doing.”

  “Patrick really likes pulling the strings, doesn’t he?” I said hotly. “That was some scene I stumbled into, in his room.” I hadn’t been able to clear the image of the naked purple-masked woman from my brain; it popped up from time to time like an unwanted mental bookmark.

  “I can’t be responsible for what that wazzock does. Nor should you care—although I know it wasn’t a pleasant sight.” Jack put his hands on my waist, pulling me closer. “But now all the flake’s out of my system. So we can get you pregnant.” He bit his lower lip and ground his hips at me in an exaggerated motion.

  “Jack, I’m not ready to have a baby. I’ve just started a new job, remember? And it’s going great. Or at least it will be, if I can get Dermot Chase to hand over his book.”

  Jack scowled. “You seem obsessed with this guy. Any time I ask you about work, that’s all you talk about.”

  “Dermot’s my big project at the moment. Getting the book out of him, that is. But it’s so good to have you home,” I added, hoping to move the conversation in a different direction.

  “Well, I don’t see why Dermot needs to get in the way of our plans.” Jack began kissing my breasts. “Don’t you want to have my baby?”

  I decided to be honest. “I think it would be great to have a child, eventually. But we need to be sure we’re really solid. I wouldn’t want to wind up raising it alone.”

  Jack turned to look at me, his head propped in his hand. “Who said you’d raise it alone? You have to get past this thing about your Dad leaving Dot. And guess what, the detective called Mary Jo two days ago. I didn’t want to get into it over the phone, but he has a lead on your father. If he finds him, you’ve gotta go see him.”

  The thought sent ice water through my veins. “That’s something else I’m not ready to deal with yet.”

  “But I do know I want a child.” He exhaled forcefully. “It’s the one thing I want more than anything else right now.”

  “What about what I want? Doesn’t it take two?” I blurted out. “I just think having a baby would be getting ahead of ourselves.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack seemed entirely clueless, but I decided to plunge ahead.

  “I mean, I’d want to be married before I got pregnant.”

  Jack stared at me for a moment, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Why would you need that? It’s just a piece of paper,” he finally said.

  “Maybe I’m old-fashioned. I’m not like these women that follow you around, ready to rut at the crook of your finger.” I couldn’t keep the shrill tone out of my voice.

  “A marriage license doesn’t keep anyone together. It didn’t keep either of our parents together.” Jack sat up and crossed his arms.

  “That’s pretty cynical. Anyway, I know it’s too soon to talk about it, but you’re the one who keeps bringing up getting pregnant.”

  Jack looked off into the distance, visibly shaken. “I’ve never seen myself getting married. It’s so uptight; all the formalities, the paperwork.”

  I took a deep breath. “I figured you felt that way. So now we understand each other: you never want to get married, and I don’t want to have a baby with someone I’m not married to.”

  One week later, our icy patch still hadn’t thawed. No matter what time I got home from work, Jack was still out doing whatever he was doing. He’d said they needed to practice a lot before their final big concert at Madison Square Garden, and that he was working hard to finish up his new song. So I assumed he was at the studio—at least some of the time. I started staying later at the office, figuring I may as well get more done.

  Friday night I came home in yet another freezing rain to find several boxes on the living room floor. Mary Jo had dropped off more tee-shirts sent by Jack’s doting fans. I pulled out a few: We Shall Overcome Reagan, and an ironic Hugs Not Drugs. Ray-gun! proclaimed another. As I was putting them into drawers in the bedroom, I heard the thunk of Jack’s boots on the floor, then the gentler bump of his guitar case on a chair. Pasting on a smile, I went out to greet him. He was kneeling, letting Muddy lick his face.

  “You’re home early. Were you rehearsing?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and then Mark and Sammy found a bar that has Pac-Man. It’s this new game they got addicted to at the last hotel. Kind of like Donkey Kong, but this little yellow guy gobbles everything up.”

  “Sounds like fun. You got another shipment of tee-shirts. I was just putting them away.” Jack stood up, and Muddy circled our legs frantically.

  “Has he been out?”

  “I took him when I got in.” I glanced up at Jack, wanting him to kiss me. He looked so handsome with his long rain-damp hair, his nose slightly red at the tip. I cupped his cheeks. “Nippy out there, isn’t it?”

  Jack slipped his hands under my shirt. “Ooh, that’s cold!” I cried out.

  “I know how to warm ’em up.” Grinning, he slid his icy fingers further. I gasped at the contact points, my nipples becoming bullets. I stood on my toes and kissed his neck as I felt for his zipper. “C’mon back here. You can show me those tee-shirts,” he said.

  We went into the bedroom. Before I could count to three, Jack had stripped me and laid me out on the bed. As he slipped off his jeans, I was struck by his expertise in removing clothes. Specifically, women’s clothes. The image of that purple-masked woman intruded yet again.

  “What was really going on in Patrick’s room?” I asked.

  “I told you. I wasn’t participating,” Jack mumbled, his mouth on my breast.

  “Why was she wearing a mask?” I asked.

  Jack propped himself over me. “Are you curious about it?”

  I flushed. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “Want to try?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Oh, no. I’d just feel ridiculous.”

  But Jack was already up and rifling through his drawers. “You might like it. Just lay back and relax.” Before I knew it, he had slipped one of his silk scarves around my left ankle and another around my right, tying them tightly to the legs of the bed. He grabbed a couple more and kneeled over me, doing the same with my hands as I giggled helplessly.

  “This is silly,” I said.

  “We’ll see how you feel afterwards.” Jack gave me a deep tongue-thrusting kiss, holding his body above me so he barely brushed my belly. Then he wrapped the last scarf around my eyes and tied it in back.

  “Now you can’t get loose,” he growled.

  I had to admit, I was starting to feel aroused. Not being able to see anything, my arms and legs spread-eagled on the bed, felt so open, so vulnera
ble. I tested the bindings around my wrists; the cool silk tightened, but held fast. So far, Jack hadn’t touched me. I wondered if he had left the room.

  “Jack? Are you there?”

  Suddenly I felt warm breath on my body. A slithering sensation moved up the tender skin of my inner thigh, licking, giving gentle nips. The lips left me, and then they were at my nipples, flicking lightly, then sucking hard. Unable to see a thing but the dark blue pattern of the scarf, my sensations were unbearably heightened. I could only focus on the mouth that seemed to be everywhere at once; at my breasts, between my legs, at my lips. Whenever his mouth moved away, his fingers took up the slack.

  My hips began keeping pace with his rhythm. His tongue played me with long, steady strokes, became light and flickering, then moved in tantalizing circles. His fingers slipped in and out of me, gently pinching my nipples, stroking me as his mesmerizing mouth cast its spell. His fingers became so slippery, it felt like three sets of lips were on me. Suddenly Jack moved upwards, and I opened my mouth to take him in. Just as I thought he was going to come, he pulled away and lapped me into an agonizing need. Right as I was about to take the plunge, he thrust inside and rode me to a shuddering finish.

  Jack lay there for a few minutes, breathing deeply. Then he unwound the scarf from my eyes, untied my wrists and ankles, and dropped back next to me.

  “That was amazing,” I said, curling up against his chest. “Almost too intense.”

  Jack smiled. “No such thing as too intense. That felt good, huh? And the French think they invented this stuff.”

  “When do I get to tie you up?” I asked.

  “Whenever you want, baby. I’ll give you the ride of your life.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I said.

  He pulled me closer. “No comment. Let’s not ever go another week without fucking. That was a ridiculous waste of time. And spunk.”

  I rested my chin on his chest. “You don’t have to be gross.”

  “Nothing gross about it. It’s all-natural, baby. Nature’s finest.” He twitched his hips as I laughed.