There’s silence in the car as Ike concentrates on driving the curving road as it twists and turns through canyons and mountain passes. I sit quietly, chewing on my thumbnail, dying to ask a thousand questions. Finally I break the ice, slowly asking…… “So how is he?”
Ike shrugs, “What do you mean?”
“Aside from all the mooning around business, is he okay?”
“Never been healthier, never looked better, never had so much money.” He looks at me suspiciously. “You aren’t one of them gold diggers, are you?”
“Good God, no!” I retort indignantly.
“Only teasing.” Ike’s head doesn’t turn, but the corner of his mouth twitches up ever so slightly.
Whew “I just need time, to get to know him again, it’s……been awhile. You’ve lived with him for years. Maybe you can help me understand him.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off, not much of a welcome.” Ike’s voice softens. “Vic and I, we go way back…we watch out for each other, so when I see him upset, it bothers me.” He looks over at me and grins ruefully. “And I haven’t seen him this worked up over a woman;; in I can’t remember when, I just don’t want him to get hurt.” He pats my knee, and for a fleeting second, his amber eyes burn into mine. “He needs you, Ellen. That’s all you need to know.”
I nod. No one can answer my questions but Vic. But Ike says he loves me…and for now that’s enough.
We drive for a while without speaking; golden hills punctuated with green trees sprawl out into the distance on either side of us. At length Ike turns on the radio. The Beach Boys are playing “California Girl”…how appropriate, California girls are more fun than east coast girls…great…and as we zip along with sunlight glinting off the windshield, I suddenly feel like we’re in another country and for me another life.
The drive seems endless and my excitement grows with each passing mile, finally the gate to the ranch comes into view. Pulling down the visor mirror, I check my makeup, add a touch of lip gloss and fluff my hair to look deceptively casual. Not exactly cover girl material, but not ready for AARP either, I’ll look spectacular in candlelight.
My “she’s too hot for me, mama” pink nail polish peeks out of open toe sandals with three inch heels. The tight skinny jeans have spandex, clinging in just the right places. A slinky red sweater with a push up
bra…....bottom line….this is as good as it gets.
My heart’s hammering in my chest. I feel faint, either overcome with desire or nerves. I’m not sure which one. With maddening slowness, we pull in front of the massive wooden doors leading into the house. And I see Vic… standing silhouetted in the doorway…looking impossibly handsome in a white linen shirt half tucked into jeans that hug his hips like a second skin, bare feet, hair tousled, just on the edge of disheveled…God, he looks good. A wave of longing hits me like a punch in the gut, and I realize how much, how very much I’ve missed him…
I fling open the door, and sprint up the steps before Ike comes to a complete stop.
“Dang it, woman!” I hear Ike yell, the car skidding to a halt. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
I run through the entrance and jump onto Vic, wrapping my legs around his waist. In one swift movement his hands cup my butt, lifting me, and as my arms cling to his neck, he slowly whirls me around and around, his lips searing my skin with desire. All the pent up frustration of the past ten weeks lies forgotten in the wild spontaneity of our reunion. Between kisses, he breathes, “Elle, Elle,” touching my lips, neck, eyes, ears, anointing me in his love.
The scent of him is turning me inside out. We stumble into the hallway of the empty house, laughing and kissing, gasping for breath in a state of unbridled passion. His hands slides under my sweater and my fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt feeling the hard ridge of muscle beneath my hand. With one deft movement he pulls the sweater over my head and releases my bra. The sweater falls in a jumble to the floor. He slowly spins us around in small circles, my hair forming a shimmering veil down my back in the dim light. The warmth of his skin on my breasts causes my nipples to tighten and tingle, my mouth peppers his face, neck and shoulders, tasting and devouring every inch of him.
“Vic, what about Bridget, shouldn’t we…um…..go somewhere more private?”
“Gave her the afternoon off, she and Hank went to town for a movie.” His kisses trail down the side of my neck.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” I brush back his dark hair, basking in the glow from his eyes. “But what about Ike?”
“Missed you more,” And not missing a beat, he continues, “Ike plans to spend the evening in his apartment out in the barn; there’s some Canadian hockey game he wants to watch.” He stops the slow turning to kiss me. His clever hands run up my body, I’m weightless, floating above the ground. He is so close I feel every part of him, pressed against me.
“I can’t believe it’s been ten weeks.” His warm breath trails down my throat to dwell in the curve above my breasts. “I’ve waited so long for you, I was going crazy.” He buries his face in my hair, “I missed the smell of your hair, the sound of your voice, your cute little butt.”
He laughs, giving my ass a squeeze.
“I know,” I caress his cheek. “Just hold me, promise you won’t let me go. For the next nine days, I’m going to eat, sleep, and do other naughty things in your arms. We’ll be attached at the hip.”
“Maybe we should investigate those possibilities in the bedroom, or I’ll just take you here on the floor.” He threatens. I grind my hips into his torso; his body stiffens as he groans in my ear. “Bring on the naughty;; and I especially like the attached at the hip part.”
“Look how long your hair is,” I lean back in his arms, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. “Very warrior like.” I pull the silky length into a ponytail. “Can I tie it back with a leather thong? Mmm, very sexy. I’ve never been ravaged by a warrior.”
“It was for the movie, it fit the character. I left it for you to see. I thought you could help me cut it.”
“I don’t know.” I’m intrigued with the idea of the sun bronzed warrior returning from a successful campaign, the fair maiden clutched to his chest as the spoils of war, astride his battle hardened stallion. “Let’s leave it long for a while.” I push the hair away from his neck finding the sweet spot on his collarbone with my tongue. Dark, deep, chocolate, with a hint of bourbon, some things get better with age.
Then to our shock and horror, comes...“Mr. Vic, when Ms. Ellen arrives, just to let you know, dinner is in the refriggggg…....” The whirling dervish known as Bridget comes flying around the corner. “Oh, my good Lord! Would you look at the two of you! Can you not wait until ye get into a bedroom, and protect the rest of us from your philandering ways?” Bridget shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air. Shit. That woman has got to slow down. She stops frozen in shock at the sight of Vic and I entwined, half naked in the foyer.
“Hello, Bridget.” I call out to her, my laughter muffled against Vic’s shoulder. “How are you?”
“Oh, just wonderful, Ms. Ellen,” she says, her voice laden with sarcasm, standing with her hands on her hips shaking her head. “Welcome back, it’s good to see you…..I just don’t need to see as much of you as I do at this moment.” She makes a harrumphing noise in her throat. “I’ll leave the two of you…to whatever. Food is in the kitchen, help yourselves. Hank and I are
leaving.……after I scrub out me eyeballs.” She calls, vanishing toward the back of the house, the heels of her shoes making disapproving clicks on the tile floor. The sound of her voice trailing behind her, “Saints preserve us, the way the two of them go at it, tis worse than a band of horny monkeys, titch.”
We dissolve into laughter. “I think we had better move this party upstairs.” Vic chuckles against my hair.
“Horny monkeys.”
And the laughter starts again. I cradle his face in my hands, “Hey, take this monkey upstairs.” And
as he carries me up the stairs, two at a time, being in his arms, in this house, feels right………like I’ve come home. …
It was one of those days, Thanksgiving morning dawned cold and rainy. A day to start with muffins, fresh from the oven, coffee, strong and hot, laced with Irish crème. A lazy day spent curled up by the television watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade, cheering when Santa dressed in royal red comes waving down Fifth Avenue. With the muffins and coffee in hand, Vic and I planned a long morning on the couch, playing peek-a-boo under each other’s clothing during commercial breaks.
But no. Bridget fully recovered from the shock of seeing my nearly naked body……insisted I help her cook the Thanksgiving dinner. Complete with all the trimmings. What? Somehow she decided my cooking skills or lack thereof, to be a disability and rehabilitation started this morning. rats
So instead of a morning lounging on the couch, Hanna and I spent the day slaving away in the kitchen. I mean, a Stoffer’s turkey dinner and a bag salad, constituted Thanksgiving in my house.
The holiday season is off to a shaky start, missing the first official viewing of Santa is unheard of in my world …….and I hate to miss a good game of peek-a-boo.
The table groans under the weight of our efforts, yet after all the work to prepare the meal, I’m left with no appetite. In fact, the sight of the table laden with food makes me nauseous. Ordinarily, I have an excellent appetite and I’m seldom fussy about what I eat. Maybe that’s why I don’t cook; all that energy goes into making food and not enough left to eat it.
After the last piece of pumpkin pie disappears, Bridget refuses to let us help her with the dishes. She didn’t want anyone mucking up her kitchen. She and Hank have plans to go over to a friend’s house for the evening and she has no time for amateurs getting in her way. Thank God. Surviving a day with Bridget has formed a common bond between Hanna and me, a shaky truce at best, but a start.
Vic and Ike are sprawled out on the sofa, beer in hand, enjoying a friendly argument over a football game on television. Ike stands up and points his beer bottle at Vic saying, “I don’t care how long your hair is or how dark your skin is, you ain’t no Indian. And you don’t know shit, sorry Hanna, about the Washington Red Skins. I’ve got the stats on my computer, I’ll be back to prove you wrong.” He turns to leave the room. Vic signs the letter L over his forehead at Ike’s retreating back.
“I saw that, and just for that you can get your own beer. Who’s the loser now?” He sets his beer bottle down, and holding up his hand, he rubs his fingers together, “Want to put a little money where your mouth is, Kemosabee?”
“You’re on.” Vic calls out to him. “I know I’m right…looooser! Detroit’s going to win anyway.”
Outside a cold autumn rain slashes against the windowpanes, a fire in the hearth crackles in the background. As I rest my head in the curve of Vic’s shoulder, I can’t keep my eyes open. I’m exhausted for some reason, a morning with Bridget? And then I feel a slow tightening across my abdomen, and realize I’m getting my period. You have got to be kidding me! Of all the luck, my weekend with Vic and I have my period. Racking my brain, I can’t remember the last time I’ve had one, my cycle’s been very erratic to nonexistent the past few years, and irregular is the new norm at my age. I stopped worrying about it, ouch, didn’t miss the cramps. I squirm in an attempt to get comfortable. Maybe I should take something for the pain.
“What’s the matter, love?” Vic asks in a drowsy postthanksgiving dinner voice. “You’re squirming like a two year old. Can’t get comfortable?” He pulls me closer, even a game of peek-aboo doesn’t sound fun.
“No,” I reply, grimacing as a cramp grips my belly.
“Maybe I’ll go change into something more comfortable.”
“Sure, Vic says, giving my butt a little swat as I gingerly stand up.
“Ohhh,” I groan.
“Elle, What is it?” Vic sits up, his face creased with concern. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“I…I don’t know.” I gasp; this is not ordinary cramps. I sink back onto the couch feeling a rush of blood seeping between my legs. I’m bleeding…really bleeding. Oh Lord, what’s happening?
Vic’s face goes pale beneath his swarthy skin, his eyes blink rapidly as he watches the growing circle of blood seeping into the couch. “Elle,” his breath coming in gasps as panic seizes him “Oh my God, Elle.” He stands bewitched by the sight of the blood. “Hanna! Ike, call 911!”
Call 911! Let’s not get crazy here, hospitals are for sick people, it’s just a period. Really. And there’s no way I’m going to the hospital because……even in the grips of pain, I recall in horror, I put on pair of Betty Boop underpants as a joke this morning. No ER team is going to see me in Betty Boop underpants…I vaguely remember my mother warning me to wear clean underwear, what if you get in an car accident. Great, I’m in an accident and I’m wearing Betty Boop…….. and I think there’s a hole in the crotch. I can just see the tabloids now; Esteban Diago’s current lover comes to the ER wearing Betty Boop underwear. Kinky…then another cramp hits and I don’t care if I’m wearing Bozo the Clown panties and a matching red nose……
I hear Hanna cry out as she comes running in from the kitchen. “Dad, Oh, my God, what’s happening to her?” Hanna grabs Vic by the arm and shakes him. But Vic is frozen in terror. His eyes fixated on me.
“Dad, Dad!” Hanna screams in panic. I see Vic start, like he’s been slapped in the face.
“Hanna, where’s Ike?” Vic looks to the back of the house in desperation. “We have to get her to the hospital.”
“I don’t know where he went, I don’t know,” she says in a quavering voice. “What should we do?” She starts crying.
Vic grabs her by the shoulders, “Hanna, don’t freak out on me now. Run down to the barn and find Ike. Tell him to bring the Land Rover to the front door.”
He pushes her toward the stable. “You can do this, hurry. Toss me that blanket on your way out.” Vic points to a fleece throw hanging over the back of an arm chair. With her lower lip clenched between her teeth, Hanna nods and tosses the blanket in Vic’s direction as she races out of the room.
He squats down next to me on the couch. “Elle, what can I do for you?”
Through the haze of pain, I look him straight in the eye. “A shot of bourbon and a beer.” A weak attempt at a joke.
“Not funny!”
“I don’t know.” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m so sorry for being such a bother, but I think I need a doctor.” I hasten to add, “I’m sure it’s just some female thing, I’ve heard of something like this happening to women.” But why am I bleeding so much? Just because I haven’t had a period in such a long time....Oh no….a sudden horrible suspicion enters my mind……..tell me I’m not this stupid………why does that seem to be my mantra. I try counting back to my last period…….it’s not possible, I can’t be pregnant…. I’m like old…… in menopause……..or so I thought.
Vic brushes the hair back from my face. “I’ll call the hospital and alert them that we are on our way and see if they have any instructions for us.” He gently lifts me, slipping the blanket underneath. “It’s okay, mia.” Vic gives my arm a reassuring squeeze, though his face is clenched in fear. “We can do this, we’ll do it together.” …
I don’t remember much of the drive to the small community hospital. I feel Vic’s arms holding me tight as he rocks back and forth, saying over and over, “It will be okay, it will be okay.” Echoed by Ike from the driver’s seat saying, “She’s going to be fine, man. We’ll get her to the hospital in record time.”
At one point I glance up to see Hanna, turned in the front seat watching us, her eyes huge in her pale face. I give her a reassuring smile, touched by her concern for me……or more likely she’s terrified at the speed Ike’s negotiating the curving mountain roads. Through pouring rain, slick roads, and tortuous turns, Ike drives swiftly and competently down the canyon road. Vic mentioned he drove stock c
ars many years ago, if this drive is any indication of his ability….. Jeff Gordon, move over.
As we pull up to the hospital, I’m suddenly surrounded by bright lights, and people yelling directions. Vic lays me on a gurney, and then everything goes black. …
Oww….I wake up, groggy, disoriented, not knowing where I am. Is it morning yet? I feel so rough. What happened? For a moment I just lie still, I ache all over. As I try to sit up, I feel a dull pain in my abdomen, ugh….the cramps are still there.
With a huge effort I open my eyes and see I’m lying in a dim room on a hospital bed. There’s a panel of buttons to my right, and a bunch of flowers, black-eyed Susans to be exact, on the nightstand.
With an inward gulp, I see an IV needle taped to my right hand. Boy, I’ve had bad cramps before, but these were doozies. This is unreal. I’m in a hospital.
Trying to sit up, I give a little moan and see Vic asleep, half sitting in a chair, half slumped over the bed, one hand clutching my leg.
“Hello?” I call out feebly. My voice sounds dry and raspy. His eyes fly open at the sound.
“Hey,” he says, running a hand over a two day stubble of beard growth. “How are you?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.” I say, wiggling to get more comfortable, he leans over to help me to sit up.
Taking a small step back from the bed, he looks at me, shaking his head, his face a mask of sorrow, two small tears roll down his cheek. I can’t help thinking, what?! Am I dying…is it cancer…some rare incurable disease. Tell me….!
“Elle,” He starts to speak, then looks away, struggling to maintain his composure, his lips clenched to hold back the grief. His voice wavers as he speaks, “You had a miscarriage, Elle.”
“What!”
He says in a barely audible whisper. “You had a miscarriage and I was too fucking stupid to realize what was happening to you. I lost the last baby……and I lost this one too.” He rocks back on his feet, rubbing the heel of his palms into his eyes as his fingers clutch his hair. “Why can’t I protect you? Why is it every time I am with you, everything gets so fucked up. Here we are again, the same story. What is wrong with us?” His voice a tormented rasp, tears flow down his face, he hastily wipes them away, but the pain is etched on his face.
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