Adirondack Audacity

by L. R. Smolarek

  Refreshed from a hot shower, I explore the house, searching…the morning mantra of coffee, coffee, coffee, running through my head. I gasp in delight crossing the threshold into the kitchen. The room is awash with color, brightly hued Mexican mosaic tiles in blues, greens, and yellows explode over an arched cooking area. The center island covered in the contrasting tiles and the walls are painted the color of a warm pumpkin burnished by the autumn sun. Stepping out on to the terrace framed by the ocean view, I momentarily forget my pressing need for coffee; the view is breathtaking. A light breeze carries the early morning chill off the ocean, the sound of pounding surf and salty sea air intoxicates my senses. Sunlight spreads across the rippling water like a blanket of shimmering gold. I stretch, take a deep breath and exhale. With a shiver, I hug his shirt closer enjoying the view until the cold morning air sends me inside.

  A quick search of the kitchen reveals an unopened can of coffee and some powdered creamer. Well, better than nothing. The cupboard and refrigerator hold no fresh foods, only canned or frozen convenience foods. The personification of a bachelor pad: a king size bed, Jacuzzi bathtub, stocked bar and no food.

  Climbing the stairs to the bedroom, two steaming mugs of black coffee in my hands, I can’t believe I’m standing here, in a house overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and best of all, Vic sprawled across the bed. I take a sip of the scalding hot coffee, and gawk, yep, still here and naked, naked, naked. He’s sound asleep, only the bottom half of his body covered by the sheet, his broad chest and arms splayed across the bed, one leg poking out of the quilt. I enjoy the view for a few moments, thinking it would be nice to kiss the back of his neck, his bare shoulder, the small of his back….and then…...

  Under the heat of my gaze, Vic rolls over with a yawn, an appreciative smile lights up his face as he reaches for the coffee. “Beautiful, sexy, and she makes coffee. The ideal woman.” He takes a sip and throws back the sheet, inviting me to slip in beside him.

  “Just don’t ask me to cook.” I place my mug on the nightstand and slide in next to him.

  “That’s what restaurants are for,” He chuckles into my ear. In the recesses of my mind, an ugly thought comes ……Hollywood stars don’t date fifth grade school teachers and take them out to expensive restaurants in lieu of beautiful starlets for long. Be careful.

  “Come here and let me see you in the light of day.” He puts his coffee down and opens his arms.

  Oh…. not a good idea…!” My mind screams. This is not the same body it was thirty years ago. My hand clenches the collar of his shirt tightly against my body, warding off his probing eyes. He’s dated Vanessa Leason, and married Sophia DeLong, just to mention a few. Having him see me naked in the dark and slightly drunk is one thing, but sober and in the light of day…..is totally another.

  “Maybe, we should just leave the shirt on,” I say, trying to distract him with a trail of kisses punctuated with nibbles along his jaw line.

  “Elle,” he whispers huskily into my ear. “I‘ve waited thirty years to see you again. Don’t make me wait any longer.” Crap…

  “Ummm, this is not exactly the same body you knew thirty years ago,” I plead with desperation, thinking of the stretch marks here and the stretch marks there with a few pounds thrown in………..just for extra measure. Botox and liposuction are not on my list of vocabulary of words. “Let’s just crawl down under these nice soft sheets. Egyptian cotton, 400 count. They’re lovely.”

  The words coming out of my mouth are cut off as he kisses me to silence. He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, my lips then my nose, even my fingertips, rolling back onto his side so he can look into my eyes.

  “Trust me, Elle,” he gently pries my fingers off the shirt, slowly undoing each button, his mouth and tongue create a trail of desire as my skin is unveiled under his searching eyes. “Your breasts are beautiful,” he says kissing the nipples into taut peaks.

  “Stop, stop, really you should stop.” I laugh trying to wiggle out of his embrace. “I’ve reached the point where sheets and clothes are my friends.”

  Not to be out done, he reaches and hauls me back into his arms, sliding the shirt off.

  “You’re just being a little tease.” He holds my arms over my head and skillfully kisses my protests away. Sweeping the sheet away; he trails kisses down my back, and stops at my backside and starts laughing. An incredulous expression crosses his face as he stares at my bottom.

  “What?” I wince. “I told you it wasn’t so pretty anymore.”

  “No, no, your butt is beautiful, especially with the little turtle tattooed on it. Let me get a closer look.” Crawling across the bed, he straddles my legs to get a better view.

  “What? Tattoo? Ohhhh…….damn it! I’d forgotten about that stupid tattoo. Jack talked me into getting it on our trip to Aruba. Propped up on both elbows, I look over my shoulder as he examines the little sea turtle done in aqua green ink.

  “I didn’t take you for the tattoo type. I like this naughty Ellen.” He’s fairly purring as he stretches out……his finger tracing the outline of the tattoo, completely distracting my thoughts. “How long have you had it?” He plants a smacking kiss on the turtle.

  “Ummmm……Jack?” I blurt out, trying to ignore the racing of my heart.

  “Your husband was a tattoo artist?” His other hand joins the first one, caressing, exploring and titillating the lower region of my body.

  “No, no, not really.” I hear the sound of my breath gasping at the back of my throat, then exhaling into a low moan. “We were on vacation…….ahhhhhh……….and drunk….oh my goodness…….and he talked me into getting that ridiculous tattoo on my ass.”

  “I love it.” And he takes a playful nip at my butt. Ouch! “And your shoulders are exquisite too.”

  A trail of kisses moves up my spine to the hollows of my shoulder blades.

  As I try to squirm out of his embrace, embarrassment becomes replaced with desire. Oh, don’t stop. Who am I to argue with the man? Maybe I fulfill some soccer mom/school teacher notch on his list of lovers. Personally, I think poor vision and lousy judgment clouded by lack of sleep explain his questionable perception skills. But, oh, I really don’t care, a groan of pleasure escapes my lips, his tongue licks the hollow of my hip…....and he knows stuff too.

  “This body has given birth to three children, one of them, mine. I want to see every inch of you.” He rips the sheet from the bed, and pauses to gaze with unabashed desire at me. The inner princess in me gives a whoop of relief and joy. “Your body is more beautiful and real than all those plastic women I have been with for the past five years. With them, you can’t tell where fake ends and real begins. It’s superficial, and all for show.” Looking into my eyes, he runs his thumb along the plane of my cheek and jaw. “I’ve missed you, Elle. This is what I want.” With that statement he rolls on top of me, hard and ready to give proof to his desire, my breathing accelerates as his steady rhythm pushes me higher and higher, my hips meet his thrust for thrust, he stares down at me in adoring wonder, and I lose myself in him.

  …

  Wide awake after our own personal sunrise salute, the sound of the ocean surf beckons for an early morning walk on the beach. “Do you have a sweatshirt or shorts;; I could borrow?” A dubious glance at my discarded blue gown lying next to his crumpled tuxedo shirt shows a wardrobe seriously lacking in beach attire.

  I look doubtfully from his long, lean torso to my pitiful pile of clothes scattered across the hallway. He rolls over onto his back, looking rough, restless and disheveled. The way a man should look after a night of unrivaled debauchery.

  “Come on, I’m sure I have something that will work for you.” He gets out of bed and heads down the hallway, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

  I follow him into an adjoining dressing room; the entire wall on one side is a built-in armoire. He opens a cabinet door with a flourish to reveal neatly arranged shelves of clothing. “Keep these on hand for my overnight guests.” He says with a proud gr
in. Inside the cupboard are approximately twenty soft terry cloth jogging suits in a variety of pastel hues, arranged according to size with matching tank tops and flip-flops.

  “What’s this?” I ask, confused by the wide range of size and selection.

  “I keep these on hand for...uhhhhh…….ohhhhhhh….” He suddenly looks contrite and realizes he divulged more information than needed.

  You have got to be kidding me! I’m horrified.

  “These…..these are replacement clothes for your various one night stands, unfortunate ladies who wake up and find their clothes in tatters the next morning? You have morning-after bimbo clothes! How convenient.” I pronounce scathingly. Instinctively, I can’t help but reach out and caress the soft terry material, thinking how comfortable it would be to slip one on right now. Over my dead body! My subconscious screams. The possibility of being lumped into a one night stand-booty call firms my resolve. I fume, “And you, the congenial host, ready to meet the ladies every need, supply new clothes to replace the sullied ones. Where are the toothbrushes?”

  He looks chagrined, pointing to the bathroom. I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Just how many women have you been with, Vic? You have more clothes in here than the Gap.” In the light of day, my beguiling of the night before suddenly seems irresponsible and potentially dangerous.

  “I’m sorry, Elle,” he sighs, looking away with hands on his hips. “I tried to warn you last night, I haven’t exactly been a saint. The women were, basically meaningless affairs, I’m ashamed to admit, diversions of pleasure. I’ve been reasonably careful, but I’ve been with a lot of women the past few years.” He shrugs his shoulders. “They just come.” great.

  I feel the breath in my chest catch against rising panic. I know I can’t expect our little affair to go far, considering our different lifestyles. I’m just a distraction to please him until the next one comes along. And against my will, a sob escapes.

  “Don’t cry, Elle.” He pleads, running his hands up and down my arms instinctively willing the blood back into my numb limbs. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot, and it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone who is real, not some Hollywood version of morality.” He pulls me into his arms. “I didn’t think. The house came equipped like this and the housekeeper just keeps things in order and well supplied. I’m sorry…….Welcome to Hollywood.” He shrugs his shoulders.

  “Vic, was I just another in a long list of women last night?” I ask, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. I’m a big girl; I think to myself, I knew what I was getting myself into, hey, I supplied the boots. Oh, dear God, I supplied the condoms. My face turns crimson at the memory and a tear slips unchecked down my cheek. I furiously wipe it away and steel myself for the answer. “It’s okay, I realize….” I caress his chest to reassure him that I understand. “Last night was fun; it doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

  “Elle, no, no, no,” he groans, gently wiping away my tears. “I never stopped looking for you. Maybe in part that explains the womanizing. I entered into a disastrous marriage; there were qualities in Sophia that reminded me of you.”

  “What about…Vanessa?” I hug my arms, willing myself not to touch him, just the scent of his skin beckons, drawing me closer until the urge to move into him overpowers me. I desperately want to believe him, but do I even know him anymore? He’s obviously charming; these women didn’t end up in his bed without a little persuasive pressure on his part. I’m sure he knows all the lines, all the right moves. A serial seducer of women.

  “Who?” He asks, confusion clouding his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I have no right to question who you date.” My heart feels ready to burst, shattering into a thousand pieces and scatter like broken glitter across the tile floor.

  “You mean Vanessa Leason from the premier?” A frown etches shallow lines into his brow.

  “Yes, she was your date.” I take a deep breath. “The two of you looked quite cozy when you came in together.” I hold my breath, waiting.

  “Okay,” he nods with a faint smile on his face. “And if you noticed, that was the last time we were together the entire night. I’ll admit for the sake of honesty, we had a brief fling at the beginning of the movie shoot.”

  “It was good for chemistry, but now we can’t stand the sight of each other.” His voice gentle, soothing. “She’s dating the director’s son.”

  “Oh,” Twin spots of color rise in my cheeks. I’ve never been good at playing the jealous shrew, even with all the opportunities my marriage to Jack provided. But because of Jack and his philandering ways, I’m overly sensitive to infidelity in a relationship, trust doesn’t come easy. Turning my back to him, I bite down on my lower lip to prevent it from trembling.

  “Ella, Ella,” he turns me in his arms, enfolding my body into his embrace. I can’t help it. I’m trembling and the shattering has begun. “Shhhh, querida,” He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, his fingers a soft brush of warmth. “You have to trust me on this. I’ve dated a lot of women, but never forgot you,” he smiles. “When I saw you yesterday, surrounded by broken glass and that frustrated waiter in all of your Klutz-Ellen glory, something inside of me leapt to life, a hope that love is still a possibility. I don’t want to lose that feeling.”

  Seriously, with all the women running around in his life….I can’t believe he had any time to think of me. “But Vic, I’m not beautiful like those other women.” I feel naked and vulnerable before him in the light of day.

  “I’m approaching middle age.”

  “If you remember correctly, so am I.” He says dryly. “We’re the same age.”

  “But it’s different for men.” I respond, my mind turbulent with emotion. “You don’t get wrinkles or stretch marks and whatever.” And boy, whatever…….has not happened to him. Life is not fair.

  “Silly girl,” his lips curve into a compelling smile. “Men go bald; get beer bellies, bad backs and weak knees. And need erectile dysfunction medicine.” Not you! My mind screams, at least not recently.

  He continues, “Remember that stupid cocky kid in the leather jacket who followed you around like a love sick puppy for all his machismo. Well, he never left; you have remained a part of his heart.”

  Silently I make a wish, a plea with God, because at some deep gut level I know he wouldn’t deliberately hurt me…but if he does, and I lose my heart to him again…….

  …

  Heading down the timber stairway to the beach, defiantly wearing his hoodie and a pair of cut-off sweats; I look more like his little brother than his lover. And while I’m trying not to watch the way his butt moves under those tight shorts……..the view causes me to miss a step…..and fall….careening into his back, almost taking him down the stairs with me. “Whoa, you okay back there?” He says catching me in his arms.

  “Sorry, just got momentarily distracted.” I quip trying to cover up my clumsiness.

  “It is a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” He asks, pausing to admire the morning sun over the ocean.

  “Oh, yes, it’s a beautiful sight,” I say, arching my eyebrows at him. But I’m not looking at the ocean.

  The sand feels soft and cool under our bare feet after the rough wooden stairs. Sunlight spreads across the rippling water; it is beautiful, and this time I’m looking at the ocean. The waves whisper softly from the retreating tide; and the breeze lifts the stray ends of hair escaping my ponytail, teasing and tickling my neck, still tender from the stubble of his beard.

  Vic stops just above the wrack line of the beach and arches one dark brow in my direction, “I don’t suppose you meditate?” Meditate?........seriously?

  “For some reason,” he continues, “When I stay at the beach, I like to get up with the sun. It’s as if I’m drawn to the beach at dawn, and I’ve found meditation centers me. Ike taught me.”

  “You meditate? And Ike taught you?” I ask with skepticism. My idea of Ike as some kind of Celtic warrio
r crumbles in the wake of him in the down dog position. “That is so Hollywood of you.” And with those words I slip my hand from his grasp and assume the mountain pose, hands folded at my heart center.

  “Well, look at you, Miss Yogi.” Vic assumes the stance of tree pose, wobbles, and falls to a sitting position on the sand. “Why don’t you come down here and sit in the circle of my lap and we’ll thank the higher powers for bringing us together.” He crosses his legs into the lotus position, holding out his arms in invitation.

  “I would love to meditate with you on this glorious morning, sir.” I slip down onto the sand and settle into the protective cover of his body, placing my hands palms up, on top of his knees. “Meditation is so calming,” I wiggle to get more comfortable. “I wish I had more time to mediate but something always seems to get in the way. Busy here, busy there.”

  “I can see why, shut up.” He says; a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath, inhale for the count of six, hold for two and exhale for eight counts. Let’s try together.”

  “Inhale, one, two, three, four, five, six, ….” As much as the idea of meditation appeals to me, at this particular moment, concentrating on the minds third eye just isn’t a priority. The hard plane of his ribs pushing in rhythm against my back, the firm line of his jaw resting just above my hair, the slight lingering fragrance of sandalwood, spices and man…breathe…….okay just breathe in Vic, glory in the feel of his arms around me, the whisper of his breath as he exhales against my cheek and neck. One, two, three, Vic, four, five, six, seven, eight,

  Vic…….exhale.

  “Hey you, Diago guy.” A gravelly voice breaks into our morning salutation.

  “Hey, Jonathan,” Vic answers, barely breaking stride in his breathing. I look up and see none other than Jonathan Hunter standing in the halo of morning sun, wearing a bathrobe, baseball hat and smoking a cigar. Oh, my God! Biggest actor in Hollywood, winner of numerous Academy Awards.