Heart of Change

by Roxy Harte

  It’s funny how remembering the moment brings with it an olfactory memory, the permanently infused stale scent of years of sweaty children and closed rooms, chalk, and today’s special. Time and space seem to disappear and I am suddenly introducing myself all over again…

  “Sarah Sinclair.” I motioned toward a chair, a child-size chair.

  I’d learned early on, get the parents uncomfortable and they will agree to anything to get out of my classroom and back into the comfort zone of their normal, everyday life. He didn’t sit in the seat, like he should have. He sat on the desktop and I knew right then that his son came by his obstinacy honestly.

  “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Kramer, your son, Jeremy, is becoming quite a discipline problem, and together, we are going to work out a solution.”

  He startled me by pushing a strand of my shoulder-length blonde hair behind my ear. “Let’s discuss this over lunch. I’m starved.”

  His touch made me dysfunctional. I’d been having a hard enough time focusing on Jeremy’s behavioral problems with his father being as devastatingly handsome as he was, but his touch, such a calculatingly seductive gesture, made my hands tremble and my knees shake. I looked into his dark brown eyes and he smiled, a dimple forming in his left cheek. It was the same look his son gave me when he admitted that he was being naughty and he would try to do better. Dear God, Satan has a face and it really is this man.

  I fought to not say yes and run off with him to lunch because my mind had already traveled past lunch to his request to take me home. My brain envisioned him carrying me up the flight of stairs to my apartment Rhett Butler style, kissing me passionately as I fumbled to find a key before he took charge and unlocked the door for me with his far-steadier hand. My heart would be pounding as he kicked the door closed behind us and we would only get two steps in before he would rip open my shirt and push my bra above my beasts so that he could suck my nipples…

  “Lunch would be highly inappropriate, Mr. Kramer.”

  “Please, call me Simon.”

  I shook my head, my nipples tingling as if he had sucked on them. “That too would be inappropriate.”

  He lifted my hand and I was embarrassed to know that he could feel me trembling. He promised, “It’s just lunch.”

  To my further embarrassment, my stomach growled, proving that I was sorely tempted by the prospect of lunch, but I managed to pull my hand from his and say, “Lunch is out of the question. Now can we please focus on what you feel is the best course of action to get Jeremy back on track?”

  “Over lunch I’m certain that we can figure out a way to make sure that Jeremy becomes a more satisfactory student.”

  I shook my head. Using my stern teacher voice, I said “I’m sorry, Mr. Kramer, but this matter must be resolved now or I’m afraid I will have to take this to the next level.” I’d hoped my threat would make him realize the seriousness of why I had called him to meet with me.

  His eyes sparkled with the challenge. I almost believed that he would force my hand and I would have to schedule a meeting with the principal present, but then he promised, “I’ll speak with him. I’m certain you will see a measure of improvement over the next few days.”

  “Mr. Kramer, I honestly wish it could be that easy.”

  “It is,” he promised. “Life is as easy or as hard as you choose to make it. So, stop making it so hard. Now let’s talk about when you will allow me to feed you.”

  Despite his insanely good looks, I wanted to scream. Walking to the door, I gave him the distinct signal that our meeting was over. “I’m teaching. The students will be back in the classroom in ten minutes, so I’m afraid this was all I had time for.”

  He followed me, challenging, “Your only excuse to my adding a little decadent corruption to your life is the lack of time?” His eyes twinkled merrily and I saw that he was enjoying teasing me.

  “I’m your son’s teacher. It’s against school policy—”

  He stopped my words with a touch of his fingertips to my lips, “Haven’t you ever broken a rule?”

  I gasped, shocked by his total disregard for the situation…and also because I tingled all the way to my toes from just that one touch. I pushed through the desire pooling low in my belly. “I’m beginning to see why I’m having a problem with your son.”

  “I told you, no more Jeremy problems after today.” His hand rubbed down my arm inappropriately, stopping at my hand. It was only a fleeting thought that I should jerk my hand from his, but that would have required motion and my brain functioning at full capacity, which it wasn’t. I couldn’t even unlock my eyes from his gaze, and for that moment at least, I was trapped in the sensual desire I saw in the depth of his.

  Leaning forward, he whispered, “Let me corrupt you a little, Sarah,” and I almost came in my panties. Yes, he was that handsome and he had that much magnetism. Intrigued, I asked, “Is having dinner with you tantamount to corruption?”

  “You implied as much.”

  Remembering school policy and how obscenely inappropriate our closeness could be regarded, I stepped back just as the children, flushed and excited from their lunch break, rushed through the door. He laughed. “I’ll pick you up at four.”

  “Be here at two.” He interrupts the memory, being as assumptive as he ever was before. “It’s important.”

  I roll my eyes, but I’ve already decided to meet him because I’m curious. “Not today. I’m not feeling well. Tomorrow.”

  “Should I be worried?” he asks, sounding concerned.

  I grit my teeth, hobbling back to bed, trying to not scream with each painful step. “Nothing a day in bed won’t cure. No worries.”

  Chapter Two

  A day later and I’m barely less sore, but I force myself into a light blue, very clingy, very sexy, he-will-want-me-even-though-he-can’t-have-me latex minidress and matching four-inch heels.

  Sitting across from him in his posh living room, the memories flood back and I remember why it is that I hate him so much. I try to focus on the room, not the man, and definitely not the memories…

  He’s redecorated since the first time I sat here, or maybe it was the last girlfriend who redecorated. Julia? Or was it Cleo? He’s had so many that I’ve lost track, all of them aspiring to be his next famous face—all of them aspiring to be me. I decide I liked the way his living room was the very first time I was here. Then it was chic, very modern, and exceedingly masculine. Black Italian leather juxtaposed against stark white walls and shiny chrome. The decorating was severe and the eye was immediately led to the wall bank of windows overlooking Lake Washington. Unlike the last time I was here, when the view was a white wonderland, this time of year everything is green, except for the wide bank of bright yellow wildflowers that flow down the embankment at the edge of Simon’s property.

  Regardless of the season, the view is never a disappointment.

  Whoever last decorated tried their best to hide the view, by making it seem intrusive. Nature can’t compete with gaudy. Of course the view is still there, but softened, almost to the point of being nonexistent, by the many layers of ornate curtains that hang from a wide, gilded, gold rod with extravagant finials at the ends, in the shape of…angels? My head tilts, trying to make my mind believe what my eyes have already confirmed. Bright gold, naked cherubs. A quick look around the room confirms that it is a theme and the cherubs are peeking at me from everywhere, the mantle, above doors, carved in the frames of mirrors. Someone did this on purpose?

  It’s been years since I’ve been here, but not nearly long enough to forget the pain of the day he broke my heart.

  He was making love to me…my bare breasts pressed against the cool, solid glass of the very window I’m looking through now. His latex-wrapped dick slid in and out of me, making me writhe, and he seemed to know exactly when I was getting close to orgasm, because he would change the rhythm—harder, deeper, faster, and then slow, shallow strokes—I was losing my mind. My hands slapped into the glass high
above my head as I reached for anything to hold on to, but there was only the window and it was icy cold beneath my hands.

  “Oh God, please, please, please.”

  “Please?” He laughed, teasing, “Please what?”

  “Oh!” I screamed, trying to buck into him, trying to get what I wanted. “Harder! Harder.”

  “Tell me, Sarah.” I knew he wanted me to say fuck me harder but I couldn’t say those words.

  I danced around the edge of the vortex, my orgasm touchable, but not attainable. His stroke deepened, bumping hard against my cervix. I screamed, feeling so close, so fucking close. Reaching for it…reaching…

  His pace slowed again as he fucked me with shallow thrusts, pulling almost completely out of me each time.

  “Oh please…please, please, please…I want to come!”

  His pace quickened.

  Thrust, thrust, thrust.

  Pleasure building…

  I entered the swirling vortex, his demands making my body spiral higher and higher. I closed my eyes, riding the orgasm that swept over my body…wave after wave…it seemed like I could orgasm forever.

  I thought I was falling in love with him. But he was also the man who taught me that great sex, great orgasms, did not equate to love. I was barely coming down from the high of that orgasm when he burst my fairytale-of-true-love bubble and hit me square between the eyes with a poisonous dose of reality, killing my illusion of love.

  “Beautiful, but you really need to get over saying the word fuck. Talk dirty to me, sweetheart,” he whispered. I turned in his arms, marveling at how well we fit together as I laid my head on his bare chest. He whispered into my hair, “Let me make you famous.”

  “What?” I asked, perplexed, backing away to look into his face. He’d alluded all evening to an important proposal…I assumed he was going to ask me to marry him, because we’d dated for months and our relationship, at least in my eyes, had pointed in that direction.

  “Come on, Sarah, you know who I am, you know what I do.” He kissed my collarbone before looking into my eyes. “Don’t act so naïve. Let me make you famous.”

  I pushed away from him. “Are you joking?”

  He caught my hand to pull me back into his arms. “I wouldn’t joke about this. I need a new face, a new body, and nothing…no one…compares to you. Let me make you wealthy.”

  I gasped. “I can’t destroy my career just to give you a jolly. And besides, what would Jeremy think?”

  He looked at me with a perplexed expression. “This isn’t about giving me a jolly and this has nothing to do with my son. I think that you are the one. You will bring new meaning, new life to porn…and in doing so, you stand to make a handsome sum of money.”

  “Oh my God, this has always been about a job offer!” I accused, understanding slowly dawning. I jerked my chin up with a sharp laugh that held no humor. “I thought you were enjoying my company because I was different than the women you surround yourself with at work. I thought you were falling in love with me.”

  He reached for me, but I turned and ran to his bedroom. He followed me. “I do enjoy your company. I just want you to benefit from a better life.”

  “I was dreaming of being your son’s mother!” I sobbed, grabbing my dress from the floor and pulling it over my head. “I thought you were planning to make me your wife.”

  “My son has me, he doesn’t need a mother, and a wife is the last thing I want.”

  Shoving my feet into my boots, I grabbed my coat and my bag. “All you need is a fresh face to turn into your newest porn star?” I spit the words.

  He grabbed at my arm as I flew past him, making my escape to the front door. I was halfway to my car as he called out, “Don’t leave like this, Sarah.”

  He didn’t understand the depth of my anger at the time.

  I meet his gaze, thinking that maybe he still doesn’t. He looks at me inquisitively, “What are you thinking?”

  “You need an interior decorator.” I clear my throat, swallowing back long-dead emotion as I gesture around the lavishly done room. “This really doesn’t suit your personality.”

  He laughs. “Because you know my personality so well?”

  I shake my head, “No, I guess I don’t. Not really.” But once, I thought I knew you. I fell in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Maybe I shouldn’t be so cocksure that he did love me, but I’m fairly certain he did, because why else would we still be doing this insane dance after all these years…if he really did never love me?

  “Why am I here?” I ask, not amused at all now that I am here, now that I’m remembering. I thought I was over him, but sitting this close, the hurt starts all over again.

  “Tell me how you would redecorate this room.”

  I sigh heavily, looking at him closer than I’ve looked at him in months, and decide he is looking every one of his fifty-seven years, the gray at his temples doing him no justice, and the pinched lines between his brows deeper than before. “Why am I here, Simon?”

  “Are you still doing yoga? Still vegan?” he asks, his lips smirking. “Still celibate?”

  “I’m hardly celibate, as you well know,” I answer saucily. “Now, tell me what this is about, because it’s my day off and I could be sleeping.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Last I heard, I’m paying you for this consultation. So relax, enjoy my company.”

  I bite my tongue as the memory of me being pressed against his window wall and being fucked senseless replays through my mind.

  “I’ve been thinking about changing my lifestyle. I need to start living healthier and one of the cameramen told me I should ask you because you’ve gone on quite the health kick, organic food, no cigarettes, no drugs, and you don’t have sex after hours. Is that true?”

  I blink.

  I’m not sure whether I’m shocked, offended, or amused.

  “I had no idea that my life…my lifestyle was such an interesting topic on set.” I look past him, through the window, trying not to let it show that his knowledge of my private life embarrasses me.

  I stand, ready to leave. “You should have called a nutritionist. I’m just the porn star who makes you lots of money. So, if this is all you’ve got, Simon, I really have better things to do with my time. And by the way, the next time you bring a woman here, make sure she’s an interior decorator before you fuck her.”

  I walk to his front door and my hand is on the handle when he says, “I need you to do something.”

  I turn to look at him, arms crossed, brow lifted, waiting. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Announce your retirement.”

  “What?”

  “Baby, you’re not getting any younger,” he tells me softly, walking toward me.

  “Am I still making you a bloody fortune?” I demand.

  “That isn’t the point.” His eyes look sad. “It’s over, Simone. You’ve had a good run.”

  Turning back toward the door, I fight to work the handle. I am shaking so hard, I can’t make it turn. How dare he.

  “Please, Simone, hear me out.” He touches my shoulder gently to make me look at him and my fists ball in reaction. I have to get away from him before I slug him.

  I turn around slowly.

  He lifts his hand, not touching me, though it seems he might put his hand on my shoulder, or stroke my face. “I love you, baby.”

  He thinks he can take the sting out of telling me I’m old by saying he loves me? I already knew he loved me. And it suddenly doesn’t matter that he’s said the words I’ve waited two decades to hear. I shake my head, backing away from him. “Screw you if you think I’m retiring!”

  “I wish you had a choice, sweetheart. This is a corporate decision. I’m afraid you can leave the easy way. Or the hard way.”

  I gasp, spin on my heel, and manage the door handle. I swing open the door and throw myself through it, slamming it hard behind me. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow. We’ve had enough arguments in our past for him to know that coming after me i
s a very bad idea. I fall back into the door, staggered, gasping, trying to right my world that has suddenly tilted. I knew I was worried about aging, but I had no idea that anyone else was really paying attention.

  I manage to get myself peeled off the door and walk to my car, although how I do it wobbling and shaking on four-inch heels is beyond me, except that I am a professional.

  I can pull it out when I have to. Nerves of steel.

  Tough, hard-core. I know who I am and I can live with that.

  I climb behind the wheel of my bright yellow Lotus Elise, but I don’t start my engine. Instead, I sob like it is the end of the world…because I honestly believe it is.

  Chapter Three

  The last few hours seem like a nightmare and I keep waiting to wake up, but I know I’m not going to. When I first watched the parodies of the Old Porn Star, I was mad, but after I compulsively watched them over and over again on YouTube, I laughed. The jokes were funny…and they are only funny because I do not look old. Maybe it’s good genetics, because I never have looked my age.

  Sure, I obsess. I stare in the mirror for hours, waiting for those first lines to appear, I compare naked photos of myself from ten years ago, five, looking for the slightest sag, the most minimal cellulite, but I honestly thought it was only my obsession…

  Twenty years ago, if anyone had told me that I would leave teaching to become a porn star, I would have laughed my ass off, but then I went two weeks without seeing Simon. I missed him. No, I needed him. Like a narcotic, I was addicted to him. I saw no rhyme or reason, I only saw a way of making him see me.

  I was so convinced that he loved me. I was so convinced that he would go into a jealous rage seeing me having sex with other men that he would propose on the spot.

  I was so naïve.

  By the time I realized that he was never going to propose, no matter how devastatingly provocative I was, it was too late. I was in. I started identifying more closely with who I was as Simone Sinclair than I had ever identified with sweet little Sarah. When I looked in the mirror, Sarah was long gone…and I didn’t want her to come back.