by Bobbi Marolt
She couldn’t help but smile. “Kitten? That’s what you called me the night you kissed me after the show.”
“I think you’ll always be kitten to me, but I’ve been thinking about timelines, and now I agree with you. We need to build trust.”
“I’m glad you said that. Suggestions?” Liz ran her fingers over the back of Marty’s hand. Funny how the touch evoked a feeling that moved slowly up her arm and then tickled her throat.
“I could easily make love to you at any given time. My suggestion is no sex. Not yet.” She winced at her own suggestion.
Marty winced at the same time. “Probably the best way. Well, you have the purple—”
She covered her ears. “No.”
“You have big purple, and I have…” She paused. “A mirror.”
A confused looked came over Liz. “Mirror? What does that mean?”
“Never mind.”
“No, really. What about the mirror?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you one day.” She stood. “Let’s get back to work.”
“Marty,” Liz said and stepped closer.
“Yes?”
“I mean that. I could make love to you now, all day long, and through the night. Even yesterday.”
A quick sexual upheaval surged through Marty. Liz teased with her business-like, no sex announcement, but savagely rewrote and dangled her desires where Marty could see them. She wanted to turn the pages, devour each word, and not skim the narrative to get to the “good” part. She wanted to experience each meaningful word Liz threw down and into their lives.
“I’ll have a hell of a time wanting you, but I can imagine every move we’ll make. Each touch.”
“Every kiss,” Marty said.
“Each whisper and bite.”
Marty laughed gently. In an attempt to gain an upper hand, she teased Liz. “Curls.”
Liz blinked. “Oh,” was nearly inaudible.
*
The remainder of their day was reasonably productive. After intensely listening to the proposed changes, Marty read the entire script again and stressed her vocal chords. That the show had no songs turned out to be a good thing for her. She closed her script for the final time that day.
“That was better,” she said with minimal satisfaction. “I’m having trouble keeping the two voices separate, but I’ll get that worked in if my throat doesn’t give out. How do you all feel about the changes?”
“Not bad. An improvement, anyway,” Clive said. “Let’s sleep on it and see what happens tomorrow. What do you say we call it a day?”
“Same time tomorrow,” Allison said and headed toward the wing. “Good night.”
With agreement from Liz, their workday ended, and she looked forward to dinner.
Chapter Nine
Hand in hand, they walked leisurely toward their Chelsea apartments.
“What’s it like for you to hear me on stage after all these years?” Marty stumbled over her feet when Liz yanked her closer.
“You’re still a turn-on. I wanted to damn our agreement of no sex. I couldn’t look at you while you read. Instead, I buried my nose in the script.”
“I noticed, but I’m not sorry that my voice tickles your happy places.”
“Marty!” She said nothing for another few yards. “I wanted to sit in front of you with your arms and legs wrapped around me. I literally felt your body heat against me.”
“The truth comes out. Were we wearing clothes in your scenario?”
“I thought we agreed not to do this.”
“We aren’t having sex. We’re referencing sex.”
“Somehow I think there’s no difference for us. All things make you desirable, some less than others. Maybe we should change the subject.”
“Okay. Shoot me a topic.”
“What props or set dressing will we need for the show?”
“The only costume is my teddy and a pair of slippers. As for props, we need a gun, some bullets, a script, a bottle of whiskey, a tumbler. The set is a bed, a makeup mirror, and an armoire. Basic bedroom stuff.”
“Not much to work with,” Liz said. “We should glamorize the set. Your character is somebody. We should make her wealthy, of course. At least comfortable.”
“We’ll talk with the set designer about those things. He’ll come up with something fun.”
“Here.” Liz pulled out seats at an outside café. “I’ll call Paul.” She opened her cell phone, pressed a speed dial number, sat back in her chair, and then reached for Marty’s hand. Marty sat quietly and listened to their conversation.
“Hello, Paul…Yes, the transactions were acceptable…No, I still need to do that. Hopefully tomorrow.” Liz rolled her eyes and covered the phone. “A sweet guy, but I’ll be happy when this is completely over.” She uncovered the phone again. “That’s fine…Great. Listen, Paul, are you busy tonight? I need to talk to you about something…A theatrical script with our names on it…Yes, really. Can we meet you for dinner, say eight?…Good…Marty Jamison…Have I landed her for the role? You could say I’m still in the wooing stage with landing Marty.” She winked at her. “Okay, we’ll see you there. Good-bye, Paul.” She closed her phone. “He’ll make some calls and see us at dinner. We aren’t far from your place. Let’s freshen up there.”
*
Inside the apartment, Liz grabbed the dead daisies, threw them into the wastebasket, and set the vase into the sink. “I told you that would happen.” She walked back to the table and picked up the box of Q-tips that Marty hadn’t bothered to put away. “And look here. Just as fresh and sterile as the day I bought them. Practical. I did well.” She beamed.
Marty took the small container from her hand. “They’re fresh, and so are you.” She dropped the swabs onto the table and held Liz by her waist. She traced her lips with one finger and continued down Liz’s neck slowly, watching as she outlined her collarbone. She looked into her eyes. “Kiss me lightly so that our lips barely touch. A long kiss. Show me how gentle you are.” Marty closed her eyes and waited. “Make my heart sing.”
Liz’s breath blew warmer the closer she came. A delicate touch of lips joined Marty’s, their mouths featherlike. Their lips touched here and then there. Mindful of each new position, of each new bow and dip that shaped Liz’s mouth, Marty could almost feel the minute lines on Liz’s lips.
“Let me wet your lips.” Liz’s tongue passed lightly over Marty’s mouth, first her top lip and then the bottom. “Now wet mine,” she said, and Marty returned the act.
Moisture lessened their friction. Their mouths glided, unrestrained. Marty wanted more pressure, to take their kiss fully, but feared interrupting their tender union. Marty felt carefree, she felt cared for, and she felt their kiss clear to her heart.
“This is wonderful,” Liz whispered.
“Wonderful.” As if on cue, they separated their mouths and held each other tenderly, comfortably.
“I guess we have the patience to practice restraint after all,” Liz said.
Marty stroked Liz’s back and then she held her, content to know her that way. Marty took a small step forward on her timeline.
“We better get a move on if we’re to meet your husband on time,” Marty said, breaking the spell.
Liz glared. “Knock it off. He’s my ex-husband. Say it. Say ‘Paul is your ex-husband.’ ”
“Paul is your ex-husband.” She smacked Liz’s backside and led her into the bedroom. “My bathroom is here. You can use that one and look through my closet for something dressier.” She walked in and pulled a fresh face cloth and towel from the cabinet. She turned to hand them to Liz, but she wasn’t there.
“Is this it?”
Marty walked back into the bedroom. “Is this what?”
Liz studied the full-length mirror in front of her. “Is this the mirror you mentioned?”
Marty’s face flashed hot. She walked behind Liz and watched the two of them in the reflection. “Yes.”
“What do I need to know about this
mirror that makes the two of you so friendly?”
Marty moved her mouth close to Liz’s ear. “You don’t need to know anything, but you might want to know something.” She rubbed her nose against scented hair and shoved the towels into Liz’s hands. “Now wash up. We’re on a schedule.”
Liz didn’t move. “Wait.” She grabbed Marty’s hands and pulled her arms around her waist. “Look at us. Don’t we look attractive together?”
Marty studied their reflections. Liz was a few inches shorter and her shoulders were narrower than Marty’s, but before she could answer, Liz turned abruptly in her arms.
“You need to believe in us. I don’t even want you to respond to that statement. I just want you to think about my words. Now let’s freshen up.”
“Okay,” Marty said to Liz’s directive and watched Liz enter the bathroom.
*
They arrived at the restaurant at eight fifteen and the maître d' escorted them to their table. Paul stood and greeted Liz with a kiss to match his previous kiss. Marty shook hands with Paul and felt the soft, immaculate hands of a surgeon. He ordered a bottle of wine.
Paul was good-natured. She suspected he had a pleasant bedside manner and his light sense of humor would be a plus to his doctoring. He was courteous to Marty and attentive to Liz.
“Paul,” Liz said, “we’re working on a show that says you and I own the property. How could that happen?”
Paul set his wine glass down. “Okay. I made a few calls and this is what I know.” He turned to Liz and dropped his hand onto hers. “Do you remember years ago when we talked about investing?” She nodded, pulled her hand away from Paul’s, and instantly took hold of Marty’s hand. Paul stopped talking, looked at their hands. “Are you two an item?”
“Yes, Paul,” Liz said.
Marty grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at him. He smiled and kept his hands to himself.
“Anyway, I told Bill, our advisor, to keep an eye open for something in the entertainment field. He didn’t forget, but I did. The play you’re talking about was recently made known to him. The writer wanted peanuts, a one-time payment with her name credited as ‘adapted from a play by such and such,’ and our advisor saw it as an Off-Off-Broadway show. He thought we’d make a few dollars. He contacted some people and offered a small budget, after trying to contact me for several days.” He looked at Marty. “How the play ended up in your hands is beyond me. I’m surprised someone of your caliber is involved.”
Excellent bedside manner. “Thank you, Paul. Remind me to fire my agent,” she joked. “No, this is my fault. I didn’t fully read the play before I signed the contract.”
“Is the show a problem?” Paul asked.
“It’s just not my style.”
“Paul, I’m involved as a writer. We’re working with peanuts and everyone deserves better. We’re also into a major transition with the work and we need money. With Marty in the starring role, investors are bound to get their money back and plenty more. Can you contact Bill and find out who is backing us?”
“I can do one better.” He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and wrote on a business card while he spoke. “I wish I could help, but you know our money is tied up elsewhere.” He handed the card to Liz. “That’s his private number. Call him.” His phone rang and he checked the caller. “It’s the hospital. Excuse me.” He stepped away from the table.
“So we’re back to square one, with nothing but a lousy script.”
“We’ll have fun with it. There’s always fun in producing any show.” Marty drank from her glass. “Clive was right. I need to lighten up.”
Paul returned and placed a hundred dollars on the table. “I’m sorry. I’d love to have dinner with you two, but I have to get over to the ER.” He held his hand out to Marty. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Liz, keep me posted on this, and good luck to you. To all of us, I guess. I’ll look forward to opening night. Good night.”
Liz scooted her chair closer. “I guess it’s just us,” she said and sounded happy for their situation.
“If I didn’t already tell you, you look yummy in my dress.” She poured more wine. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. The coincidence seemed too great for you not to be involved in some sort of scheme.”
“Make it up to me?”
“Name your price.” Marty swayed to the music the band played. She looked out to the dance floor.
Liz took Marty’s hand. “Dance with me.”
“I’d love to.” Liz led her onto the dance floor. “Thank you for telling Paul we’re a couple.”
Liz’s eyes softened. “You’re welcome.”
They moved slowly. Hoofing on Broadway was a bunch of fun, but Marty enjoyed the simplicity of their quiet, personal dance even more. “Do you like dancing with me? Am I okay for you?”
“Eh. You could use some lessons.”
“Smartass.” She yanked Liz against her and warm fingers snuck into Marty’s cleavage. “What are you doing?”
“Copping a feel.”
Marty looked down and watched Liz’s fingers move slowly against the curve of breasts. She was super-heating Marty again, and then Liz pulled her hand away.
“I wish you’d taken your time.” Marty took hold of the hand that had touched her breasts.
“You’re so smooth and soft. I wonder when I’ll finally have you.”
“Have I told you lately that I like you?”
“Not since before you nearly ripped my head off outside the Stanwyck.”
“I like you, Liz Chandler.” They danced a few more steps. “I was thinking about the way you get along with children. I’m surprised you and Paul had none.”
“I regret it. Call me selfish, but the thought of giving birth petrifies me. Paul and I talked about adopting but never followed up, just like our theater talk. Well, I didn’t follow up.”
“It sounds like you and Paul talked about many things and then let them go.”
“I guess if we’d been interested in each other, things would have been different. Now I’m all talked out. Now I’ll do. That’s another thing, Marty. I won’t put things on a back burner with you.”
“In the future, if we made some sort of commitment to each other, what if I decided I wanted to have a baby?” She saw no terror in Liz’s eyes.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know,” Marty said. “Maybe. I’ve thought about it, but never voiced those thoughts. The topic could come up.”
“I’m not opposed to motherhood, I’m opposed to pain.”
“There’s always adoption, too.” They danced quietly until Marty broke their silence. “Owning a box of Q-tips would come in handy if we had a baby.”
“Yes, it would.”
Her feeling of nesting felt short-lived when a commotion caused her to look toward the door. There, with her never subtle entrance, Felice Tate sashayed behind the maître d'.
Liz turned to see what had happened. “If Felice keeps swinging her hips that way, she’ll throw her back out of alignment.”
Marty took a quick glance around the dining area. “The only open table is next to ours.”
“We can leave if you want.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s see what amusing quips she comes up with tonight.”
Liz groaned. “Can you believe that classic Diane Keaton getup she’s wearing? Even Keaton had the decency to stop.”
Felice looked to the dance floor and immediately saw Marty. She waved, said something to her entourage, and then to the waiter. He nodded and went about his business.
“Let’s have some fun. Ask Felice to dance with you,” said Liz.
“I should ask her. She looks kind of cute in that outfit.” Liz smacked her arm.
“I beg your pardon.” Marty looked back at Felice. “You like that look?”
“Not the shabby look Felice is wearing, but I like when a femme sometimes dresses masculine. It makes me go oomph.”
“Really?” She pouted. “M
aybe I should make a visit to Men’s Formal Wear.”
Marty’s eyes widened. “There’s an interesting idea.”
The thought of Liz wearing a perfectly tailored suit floored her. If Liz showed up at her door in silk pinstripes, her hair loose, and a fedora tipped perfectly to eye level, Marty would reduce to a warm puddle. Liz would see kitten all right. Kitten may even perform puppy tricks. Roll over. Beg. Down on all fours. Oh yeah, kitten would easily beg.
“Go on. I want to see the look on her face when you escort her to the floor.”
She looked toward Felice. “I don’t want to leave you sitting alone, and I don’t want to play Felice’s game.”
“On the contrary. I think you’ll have her peeing in her boxers. Go ahead. I’ll bring the younger guy out to dance with me.”
Marty warmed to the idea. “Okay. If Felice wants press, I’ll get her some.”
They reached their table just as a waiter placed a bottle of iced champagne near the center. “Compliments of Ms. Tate,” he said.
“Good evening, lovebirds,” Felice said.
“Hello, Felice,” Marty said and Liz had already introduced herself to her dance partner. “Excuse us, gentlemen.” She took Felice by the hand.
“What? I’m not dancing with you, Marty.”
“Aw, come on Felice. You’re dressed for the part. The press you’ll have in the morning will be priceless.” She grabbed the hat from Felice’s head and placed it on her own head. “I’ll lead.”
Felice perked up with the mention of PR. “Just one dance?”
Marty didn’t take the time to respond. She guided Felice to the center of the floor and proceeded to lead her into the sexy rumba, a perfect dance for Felice’s hip wiggling. Light applause came from other patrons when the celebrities joined hands.
“It had to be a rumba,” Felice said as she moved her hand a full circle around Marty’s waist. They repeated the dance’s footwork and Marty dipped Felice.
“Kind of sultry, isn’t it? I’m afraid you’ll squeal if I attempt to look sensuously at you, and this would be a perfect time for us to kiss.”