by Bobbi Marolt
“Marty,” Liz squealed. “Don’t stop.”
She wrapped her legs around Marty’s neck. Smothered against soft, fleshy folds, Marty became a part of them. Thrusts strengthened and Liz came loudly with a final catch in her throat.
Liz reached. “Come here,” she said through strained breaths.
Marty held her. “I’m here, babe. You were beautiful. You make the sweetest sounds when I touch you.”
Liz moaned. “I’ve never had an orgasm that strong. That was a showstopper.” She covered Marty’s cheeks and lips with warm kisses and delicate bites. “I want to feel you come with me.”
“We’ll work on that.” Embraced within Liz’s arms, Marty kissed her lovingly.
Liz rolled Marty to her back. “I want to make my kitten purr.”
“Please do.”
Liz pampered Marty’s breasts with hands and mouth, each touch warm and strong. Each bitten nipple throbbed within Marty’s thighs and Liz took them relentlessly. She blanketed Marty with kisses. Each kiss, each pass of her tongue were questions that Marty responded to. “Yes.”
“You’re creamy white,” Liz said and bit into Marty’s ass. “My porcelain kitten.”
Liz knew each place that aroused Marty. With all of the written promises found within her novels, page three or chapter five came alive. Marty bent her leg. Teeth sank into her calf. With her leg pushed high, Marty’s limber body moved freely. Fingernails scratched fluidly from the back of her thigh to the tips of her toes, and Marty twitched with desire. Liz’s lips glided fully against Marty’s ass. She writhed against bites that left burns, and she craved more. She rolled to her back and pulled Liz tightly against her.
“Curls,” Marty breathed against Liz’s ear. “I want your mouth against me.”
“I’ll devour you.”
“Yes.” Marty licked at Liz’s mouth.
“Show me what you want.”
Marty bathed Liz’s mouth with strokes of her tongue. She nibbled her lips the way she wanted hers nibbled; she sucked them into her mouth and released them. Her tongue reached deep inside.
“That’s what I want.” Marty reached between her legs and groaned.
Liz moved Marty’s hand. “Mine,” she said. Marty soon felt velvet lips caress her thigh. Fingertips moved slowly, sometimes catching on hair. She looked down when Liz rested against her thigh. “You’re beautiful, kitten,” she said and stroked Marty’s labia with her fingers.
Marty jumped from Liz’s touch. Her legs wide, cool air clashed with warm breath, until Liz parted Marty’s lips. Marty arched toward Liz when her warm tongue glided through her.
Marty whimpered. “Oh.”
Wildfire tore through her, never doused but stoked more by another wet passing of Liz’s tongue and then another. She rocked against Liz, building, taking, greedily accepting lick, after tickle, after bite. Marty clawed at her thighs.
“More. Make me come,” she said. Her knees suddenly pushed to her chest and Liz’s tongue dove inside her. Liz’s nose pressed against Marty’s swollen clit. Wildfire combusted, scorched, and then consumed every cell of Marty. She cried out with a groan and squeal. Her breaths choked her until a final thrust quenched her.
“No, no more,” she said, but Liz continued.
Marty’s mouth was dry. She attempted to swallow, but Liz swallowed Marty and quickly worked her into a second orgasm. Flames licked through until Marty lay limp, exhausted, abused, and satisfied beyond her belief. Liz stretched against Marty’s side and draped her leg over Marty’s hip. Her kisses were strong and then tender against Marty’s mouth.
“What are you thinking?” Liz asked.
Still sensitive, Marty tingled in reaction to the figure eights Liz drew around her breasts. She reached with one hand and unfastened the pins that no longer secured Liz’s hair. A flow of hair fell to Marty’s shoulders and she ran her fingers through it. Delicately, and with a hint of thank you, Marty said all she could with a single, lingering kiss.
“I’m thinking how incredible making love was and how much we’ve shared in such little time.” Marty turned to face her. “I was afraid of this, of being your first time.”
Liz laughed softly. “I’ve been making love to you for twenty years. How could I not get it right?”
Marty looked lovingly into her eyes. “No one has ever touched me with such familiarity. Show me that again.” She pulled Liz into her arms. “Promise me that.”
“Again and again and again,” Liz said and stole tiny bites from Marty’s neck. “Finally, I have you. We were fabulous, kitten.”
Stillness. Their sighs turned to whispers, then giggles and more kisses. Marty hoped Liz would never let go of her. “I’m feeling awkward,” Marty said when their giggly tenderness subsided.
“Why?”
“I don’t know what to do. If I thought you were a one-night stand, I’d say thank you, ma’am, and send you on your merry way.” Liz nodded against her shoulder. “If we’d been together for a while, I’d ask you to take a shower with me.”
“Ugh.” She shook her head. “Sexy showers are too ordinary before and after sex. We aren’t run of the mill. Are you embarrassed?”
She ran her lips over Liz’s cheek. “Hell no. I’ve been doing this for years.”
“Then relax, kitten. Hold me like you’ll never let me go.”
That worked. She knitted her legs with Liz’s and held her tenderly against her breast. Comfort. Happy. Loving. Sexy. On a lush mattress or sitting on the ground at Times Square, Marty knew all those feelings with Liz beside her, and she wanted more. She welcomed caring for her and thoughts of loving Liz slapped her brain silly. Marty wanted to whisper, “I love you” into her ear. Maybe she was Marty’s once in a lifetime feeling when everything smacks quickly into place and love happens with the accuracy of splitting atoms. Nothing could manage or beat that power. Or maybe there was one thing that could harness Marty’s feelings.
“I’m not a one-night stand, am I?”
“Yes, you are,” she said and instantly ground Marty’s heart into the floor. “Janis Joplin said it’s all the same day, so you’re my ongoing one-night stand.”
Marty’s heart found its place and spread a smile across her face. She held Liz a little closer. “I’m still feeling awkward. I’ve never slept with another person this early in a relationship. Maybe we should do something,” she said, but couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be. “Got any ideas?” Liz nodded against her breast. “Hit me with one.” Liz shook her head. “Why not?”
She sighed and nestled closer. “I’m enjoying your scent too much.”
“Dolce and Gabbana.” Liz shook her head again, and Marty’s face radiated heat. “Oh no. You don’t mean—” Liz nodded and Marty felt a smile against her breast.
“Yeah,” she murmured, “and I still taste you on my lips.” She looked up at Marty. “How you would taste was the one thing I couldn’t imagine. Now I’ll never forget it.”
More words were needless. This time, their bodies eased together and their lips met lovingly. Exaggerated caresses and kisses spoke for them, and they made love slowly, until the earliest of daylight leaked through the windows.
Chapter Twelve
“Did we make love all night? Or did I dream that?” Marty asked with a lazy voice and kissed Liz’s neck. “We must have. You smell like sex. How is it your neck smells like sex?”
“We were wrapped around each other like pretzels. I wish we could stay here all day.”
“You’re gonna kill me.”
“I think we slept a half hour. It’s getting late.” She nuzzled into Marty’s hair. “We need to make tracks to the Stanwyck.”
“To hell with work. Let’s cuddle and snooze.”
“We can’t. Come on. We have about thirty-two seconds to get showered, dressed, and to the theater.”
“I’m not even sure what day it is.”
“It’s Thursday.”
Marty rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I’ll be worth
less.” Liz pulled her toward the shower stall. They stepped inside and Liz turned the faucet. A sting of cold water hit them from two directions. “Shit,” she yelped and washed her face vigorously. “I’m outta here.” She stepped from the shower and dressed.
*
Disgustingly radiant throughout the ride to the theater, Liz happily rambled through the likelihood of producing and writing her first Broadway show, and studied her notes at the same time—not to mention her obvious joy at having bedded the featured performer. She was a giddy, but strong glacier that moved forward and Marty couldn’t understand why Liz wasn’t sitting there as the same vacant lump she had become. Marty was useless without sleep. She was stiff as New York bedrock, and the last thing she wanted to do was make phone calls and siphon money from friends.
Marty groaned as the cab pulled up to the Stanwyck. “God help me. Clive scheduled auditions for today. There’s at least a hundred women swarming the door.” She felt the electricity of their air, but secretly wanted each woman Tasered so she could go back home and sleep.
Liz closed her notebook and shoved it into her bag. She leaned across the seat and looked out the window. “Wow. All Jamison wannabes,” she said too cheerfully. “Good business decision from Clive. We’re down two weeks.”
Marty snapped her attention from the window to Liz. “Was that directed at me?”
“No. All of us screwed up. Relax. Today isn’t a good day to be sensitive.”
“I’m not sensitive. I’m exhausted and I have all of those women to consider.”
Liz nudged her. “You could do worse.”
“You’re an unsung comedienne.” She found a mirror in her shoulder bag. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and she snapped the mirror shut. “Oh, hell.” She put on her sunglasses and stepped out of the cab. Clive came out of the theater and waved them over. Without kissing the pillar, but instead giving it a slap, she put on her best friendly smile and greeted the group of women. “Good morning,” she said. “I’m glad you could make the audition. Break a leg.”
“Take their portfolios and send them to the stage,” Clive said to Liz and pulled Marty aside. “Sorry about this. It’s better that we start immediately and only for today.”
“You’re right. I’ll make my money calls and you two can handle the mob. Get Allison’s input, too. I’ll join you in an hour.”
“Right,” he said and joined the energetic group of women.
Standing alone, Marty watched the parade of women who were eager to work with her. Liz seemed in her element, collecting folders and sending the candidates into the theater. She wore the title of producer instinctively. Marty yawned and then headed to her dressing room.
“I need coffee,” she mumbled and dropped belly-first onto the daybed.
“Uh-oh,” Nina said. Marty heard the coffee pour and the carafe replaced. “Sit up, sugar.”
Obediently, she sat up and took the coffee. “Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Nina reached for the sunglasses. “Let’s see what damage you’ve done.” She eased the glasses away from Marty’s face. “Oh my. Sealed the deal, huh?”
“Endlessly.” She managed a smile.
“You’re getting too old to pull all-nighters.”
“Tell me about it.” She took a sip. “I need to make some calls.”
“Do you want me to cover that mess around your eyes?”
“Work a miracle, please.”
Nina laughed. “How’s Liz looking?”
“Fresh as the day she was born. She makes me sick.” She poked some numbers on the phone. From deep inside, she located a buoyant sound to her voice. “Yeah, hey, Greg, it’s Marty Jamison.” She closed her eyes while Nina worked around the conversation.
“Good to hear from you. What’s going on?”
“I’m calling to ask if you’d be interested in making an investment in a show we’re doing.”
“A new show already? Wow. You’re a workhorse. What’s the show?”
“A simple, two-woman play. Not a musical.”
“Not a musical? Two women? On Broadway?”
“Yeah. That was pretty much my reaction, too. We have a stingy budget and need money. Will you take a piece of the show?”
“Sorry. You know I love you, but without music? That’s not a lucrative investment. If you get something else cooking, give me a call.”
“Okay. Thanks, Greg.” She closed the phone and gulped the rest of her coffee. “I have nine other contacts and all of them will turn me down.”
Nina refilled the empty cup and handed her an envelope. “It isn’t much, but it might help.”
Marty opened the envelope and withdrew a check written out to her name. “Ten thousand dollars? That’s a lot of money.”
“I have faith in you, sugar. You’re in a tight spot and maybe that’ll keep you flush for a day or two and maybe I’ll make a buck. If the show bombs, I’ll eat the investment.”
She handed the check back to Nina. “I can’t take your money. There’s too much risk.”
Nina pushed her hand away. “You need the cash. Besides, I don’t want to screw up my tidy checkbook by voiding a check.”
“Okay.” She gave her a hard hug. “Thank you. I’m sure we’ll put it to good use.”
“Go on now. Make your calls and find us a jackpot. I’m going out to watch all the little Marty Jamisons tout their wares.”
Marty made her second call, then the third, and then the fourth. No deal. She wracked her brain for the slightest memory of a favor owed her, and then she set Nina’s phone onto the vanity. Everything in life, even eggrolls, came with a price. She picked up the photograph of Joyce Manning.
During her final performance, Joyce had complained of fatigue and chest pain. When the closing curtain came down, she had said her last thank you and good-bye to her audience, and then to her cast members and crew. She smiled defiantly through each word. No one, not even Joyce, was aware of the gravity behind her words.
“I’ve had a great run and I couldn’t have done it without any of you. I love you,” Joyce had told them.
After the longest standing ovation in Broadway’s history, Joyce collapsed on stage. Marty had been sitting in the second row. She jumped from her seat and hoisted herself onto the stage. She knelt next to her. Joyce never regained consciousness and died from a torn aorta shortly after the close of her show.
“It’s not about us.” Joyce had once told her. “It’s about the whole show.”
Her tears splashed onto the glassed picture frame. She ran her hand over the photograph and wished she could reach inside and hug her.
“I miss you every day. I couldn’t save you, and I can’t turn time back, but I can honor you and all that you taught me.” She kissed the photo. “This one’s for you, Joyce.”
Marty set the picture down and grabbed Nina’s phone. After a few swipes of her finger, she logged into her Chase Manhattan account. With a deep breath for bravery, or maybe to sooth her idiocy, she transferred several thousand dollars from her savings to her checking account. Account balance: six hundred thirty-two dollars and fifty-seven cents. She pushed the logout link and let her breath out. She looked back at Joyce’s photo.
“Keep an eye on us, sweetheart,” she said and left to join the others.
*
Marty burrowed into a seat next to Clive. A hefty woman performed a monologue onstage and Clive wrote “no call” next to her name. She looked down the list and they’d already heard eighteen women. He’d marked only one other with “maybe.”
“How’d you make out?” Clive asked.
“I managed a few bucks. That’ll help keep us above water until we fold on opening night.”
Clive looked at her in horror. “What? Don’t even think like that. With the right costar, we’re gonna knock ’em dead. Your investors will be fat and happy.”
“We’ll see,” she simply answered. Too worn out to care, she only wanted to breathe more freely once they’d secured a costar. “Where’s Liz?�
�
“She and Nina are at the entrance. They’ll eliminate some women right off and send the others in to us.” Clive stood. “Thank you,” he said to the latest actor. “Next, please.”
Their day progressed. At least Clive and Liz’s day progressed. Marty dozed off and on in her seat, confident of Clive’s ability to weed out the contenders. Clive chose players on instinct, not necessarily on their portfolio of credits. Occasionally, he asked Allison’s advice. When a sneeze startled her fully awake, she rubbed her sleepy eyes and looked toward the stage. The group of women had dwindled.
“Thank you,” Clive said. “We’ll be in touch tomorrow if we need you.”
Marty watched him draw a line through her name. Liz, with all the energy of a double espresso, shuffled between the rows of seats and then sat next to her. Nina sat behind them.
“We have a wrinkle in the plan,” she said. “Well, not a wrinkle, but an interesting turn of events.”
Marty sat upright. “Let me guess, Felice is here to read for the part.”
Clive smiled. “It wouldn’t surprise me. The woman has some enormous balls.”
“What’s the news?” Marty asked.
Liz grinned. “Bingo.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding me? Tater tot? Tell me you’re joking.”
Liz shook her head. “Clive, I’ve closed the auditions. I want Felice to play opposite Marty.” She looked over at her. “What do you think about that?”
Marty looked at Clive. “You’re letting her get away with closing your auditions?”
Clive nodded. “Why not? Maybe she’s on to something. The show needs a boost and frankly—”
“Marty Jamison isn’t enough.” Marty laughed and wished Bert would show up with his handy dandy bottle of rotgut whiskey. “Why am I surprised? Felice has been breathing down my neck for months, and this is the perfect time for her to prove herself.”
She gave herself a moment. She’d told Felice to get her act together, and fate flung a definitive moment into both of their laps. Felice was smart, wanting to read for the part. Marty was adult enough to stay professional. She shifted in her seat and then focused her attention to the stage. After a deep breath and then an exhale slow enough to set a world’s record, she scratched a destiny notch onto her timeline.