by Bobbi Marolt
“Then you’ve had experience.”
“Especially with Boston. Kirk likes my style, and the musicians and I click.”
“I don’t see how Boston can turn you down, then.”
“Well, they can. I just have to wait.”
It disturbed Helen that Cory’s time would be so limited. Would theirs be a weekend relationship? The paper was in New York, the conductor’s baton was in Boston. Helen dismissed the thought. Already she had them married, mowing the lawn, and squabbling over wallpaper.
Well, hell, she thought. This could be more than a wham, bam, roll in the hay. Give it time, Helen. Let love happen. Sometimes love prevails.
“You’re a scary old broad, Martha,” Helen said.
“And you’re a thief. Dudley Moore. Arthur. Right?”
Helen stuck out her tongue and pulled the comforter to their necks. Cory leaned into her shoulder. Within a loving embrace, they were ready for sleep.
“To hell with the Queen’s rules. You’ll be my knight,” she said just before she dozed off.
Cory looked up at her. “And you my lady.”
Softly, they kissed. Soundly, Helen slept.
Chapter Ten
Although she hadn’t the power to resist Cory’s charm, Helen had the decency to wake up in her own bed on Monday morning. Thoughts of Cory, and not visions of Jodie Foster, encouraged a smile that hustled her happily into a new week. There was a column to write, a meeting with Stacey on Wednesday, and a Friday dinner and theater date with her very own concert pianist.
Dressed, ready to make her entrance into a new week, Helen looked at Chelsea’s photo. A twinge of guilt tugged her heart, but tears no longer fell.
“I like Cory,” she said to the photo. “I’ll never forget you, but I want this change in my life.” She removed the photo from the frame and placed it inside an old picture album. She dropped the frame into the garbage and headed out for the day.
*
Her week at the office proved full speed ahead. On Wednesday, the hour neared five p.m., and she’d just completed the editing on her newest submission, when her private line rang.
“Hello,” she said.
“Good morning, Ms. Townsend. I’m taking a survey on your activities from Sunday afternoon,” Cory said, business-like. “If you choose to participate, the questions will take only a few minutes.”
Helen laughed softly. “Okay, shoot.”
“On a scale of one to five, with five as the best answer, how would you rate my ability not to grab the controls of the airplane and drop us out of the sky?”
“That’s a seven, easily. You were the consummate overachiever.”
“Question number two: If you hadn’t made love with me, would you have the longing with you daily?”
In truth, she’d felt naughty when Cory outright said she wanted to sleep with her. Naughty in a nice way. Naughty in an I’m-so-glad-you-told-me-so-I-wouldn’t-embarrass-myself-by-jumping-your-bones kind of way. Yes, she would have given plenty of thought to sleeping with her, but Cory didn’t need to know that.
“I’d give that question a low four.”
“Hmm. My plane paralysis gets a better rating, huh?”
“Courage is much more admirable than lust.”
Cory exaggerated a sigh. “I think that places me somewhere between the Cowardly Lion and the Mayflower Madam.”
“You could do worse. Are you in Lansing?”
“Just arrived at my hotel. There was a message waiting from Liz, my manager. I’ve been asked to guest conduct the Toronto Symphony on Thursday and Friday.”
Helen frowned. “Oh. Toronto sounds like a nice addition to your Boston résumé.” That response was more appropriate than “What about our date?” She was disappointed, but there was no reason to rush their relationship any more than they had.
“I’ll be home Saturday afternoon. Can we plan something for that evening?”
“Sure. Give me a call.” She looked at the clock on her computer. “I’m heading over to Stacey’s for supper. Have fun tonight.”
“Thanks. We’ll talk soon.”
Their conversation had ended and Helen looked forward to planning a party.
*
Stacey stretched onto her sofa. “I can’t guarantee a hundred people, but I know of a few who will come to your shindig.” She bounced a Nerf ball from Warhol’s silkscreen of Ingrid Bergman.
“It’s a start,” Helen said. “Maybe word of mouth will bring in a few more.”
“I like the idea of a variety show, and there we have it. Party planned.” Stacey sat up and threw the ball at Helen. “Now tell me about Cory.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Uh, what about her?”
“You’ve had these cute little smiles pop up all during our conversation and I think Chamberlain is the cause of them.”
Helen took a breath. She’d thought Stacey would have missed those moments when Cory snuck into her mind. Was it the moment when she remembered having her breasts massaged while Cory nuzzled between her legs? Or was it the time Cory’s tongue moved slowly down Helen’s back? Her hormones stirred at both thoughts; she smiled again and then looked at Stacey.
“We spent some time together this past weekend. We went flying.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe you did, but I think you got laid, too.” She laughed and childishly stomped her feet on the floor when Helen didn’t respond. “You did! Oh my God, this is wonderful. No more Chelsea.”
Helen shook her head in disbelief of her actions, somewhat embarrassed. “I barely know her and I didn’t try very hard to say no.”
“It didn’t kill you. You’re consenting adults and sex is fun. Are you two an item?”
“I want to see more of her. We’d made plans for Friday, but already she’s had to cancel. It makes me wonder if that’s how our relationship would be.”
“Maybe that’s her bug. Her schedule is crazy, but if you can pin her down, I think you’re in for a treat. She’s always been among my favorite people, and no, I’ve never slept with her.”
“That’s good to know. All right, no more talk of her.” She threw the ball back at Stacey. “We’ve agreed on food and alcohol, so keep me posted if your friends bail and I’ll try to come up with another idea.”
Stacey walked her to the door. “I love you, Blondie,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve shed your mourning clothes.”
“Me, too. Both of those.”
Chapter Eleven
Three weeks into December, and Stacey’s words had rung true. Cory was rarely in New York, and Helen relied on mutual phone calls from there to as far away as Singapore. She received flowers two days a week, and once Cory had sent a signed compact disc of her music. “The beginning of your Chamberlain collection,” her handwritten note had read, along with “I miss you.”
Helen often stayed at the Dakota apartment, mostly for its proximity to the newspaper, and also to see if she might feel comfortable living there, had the topic ever come up. Cory had even opened a small room for Helen to have as a work area.
When Cory was home, Helen was happiest. The CD became obsolete when she sat and listened to Cory play. There was nothing sweeter than having a private pianist at her fingertips, sometimes literally.
“You have a floater,” Helen called to her. She reached into the aquarium and scooped the red, scaly corpse into her hand. “I thought you bought time-released food blocks.”
“I forgot to put one in the tank,” Cory yelled from the bathroom. “If you would stay here when I’m gone, they’d have a better chance of survival.”
“That’s some mommy you have,” Helen said and tapped food into the tank. Three remaining fish ate heartily while she wrapped their dead brother with a tissue and joined Cory. “Here.” She held out the small wet package.
“I don’t want that.” She pushed her hand away with her elbow and continued to floss her teeth. “Toss it in the disposal.”
“You can’t just grind him up. He’s got family in there!
”
“Then flush him.”
Helen looked into the bowl of blue water and shrugged. “Bon voyage.” She pressed the handle and dropped him into the swirling abyss. “I don’t understand why you have the aquarium if—”
“It was a gift, and not one that I think about. Like someone dumping a puppy at your front door.”
“I hope you’d feed a puppy.”
“Of course I would, but I’d also find it another home.”
“Then find a home for the aquarium.”
“Do you want it?” Cory asked and Helen shook her head. “I thought not. Nobody wants the aquarium and it was, as I said, a gift. I shouldn’t give it away.”
Helen slapped Cory’s backside. “Then get your act together and take care of them.”
“I guess you have an act to put together, if those Hollywood heavyweights latch on to your show.” Cory dropped the used floss into the trash and then swished a mint wash through her mouth.
“It’ll be a challenge.”
Cory spat out the wash and rinsed with water. She turned to Helen. “You have the drive. I imagine there is very little you can’t do.”
Helen smiled lovingly and wrapped her arms around Cory. “Do you feel better now that your teeth are clean?”
Cory grinned like a chimpanzee. “Much.”
“I’m glad you’re home.” She gave her a playful bear hug.
“Me, too. Maybe someday you’ll move in with me?”
“I don’t know. I’m here when you are.”
Cory checked the temperature of the Jacuzzi. “You’re punishing me, aren’t you?”
Helen began to strip and Cory assisted. “Why would I do that?”
“For my not being here.” Cory turned on a CD player. Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” played softly.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said ‘I’m here when you are,’ meaning I’m not here.” Cory let her robe fall to the floor.
“I love your shoulders.” Helen ran her hands across them. “They’re perfectly straight.”
“Unlike your answer,” Cory grumbled.
“Well, you aren’t here, baby, and I do spend time here, but I can be alone just as easily in my own apartment. Besides, I sometimes work in the room you opened for me. I’m just not responsible for the fish.” Helen slipped into the bubbling tub.
“But it’s not home to you?” Cory turned the lights low.
“No. Not without you. With you, maybe the Dakota will be home in the future. Not now.”
Cory lit several candles, placed throughout the bathroom, and lowered herself into the Jacuzzi. Helen, her face damp from the misty water, wrapped her legs around Cory’s waist. Vapor surrounded them and she splashed warm water over Cory’s breasts and gazed at her shapely body that glimmered in the orange glow of candlelight. Raised and mingled from their flesh and bubbling water, curly wisps of steam became a dance of spirits.
Helen stretched her arms and steadied herself on the edge of the fiberglass tank. She relaxed her legs and released Cory. Helen’s body floated upward in offering. Cory ran her hands along Helen’s exposed thighs, through thick curls, over the smooth belly, and grasped the swell of breasts.
Cory whispered, “You’re beautiful.” She pinched tightened nipples and Helen’s body tensed with shock. Cory gazed into her eyes. “Tell me what you want.” A bead of water ran down her cheek.
Helen released her grip on the tub. She lowered Cory onto the water’s surface and supported her back. Cory’s thick hair floated, a silky seaweed beneath her head. Helen took Cory’s breast into her mouth, gently sucked, and then with more greed. She rocked Cory’s body in rhythm. Water lapped steamy waves over Cory’s flesh.
“That feels wonderful.”
Helen pulled her mouth away and kissed her lips. “I went home the day we met”—she fiercely licked Cory’s nipple—“a hot bath”—she waved the water over Cory—“filled me with desire for you.” She looked deep into Cory’s eyes. “I closed my eyes and saw you.” She ran a hand over Cory’s slick belly, and then pulled Cory’s hand out of the water. She kissed each finger.
“I wanted you then,” Cory said.
Helen placed Cory’s hand on the swirl of hair. Cory pulled it away. Helen took her hand once more and held it there.
“What?”
“Shh.” Helen’s breaths shortened. “Feel what I felt.” She massaged with Cory’s hand. “Want me and have only yourself.” Helen pressed the fingers into Cory’s ache.
Cory whimpered. “I can’t.”
“You can, baby.” Helen kissed her. “Just look at me. Watch my eyes.” She began a slow circling with Cory’s hand. Cory closed her eyes. Helen commanded her. “Look at me, baby.” Cory’s eyes opened halfway.
Helen watched driftwood take shape, molded from erotic waves. When Cory’s hand found a rhythm all its own, Helen let go.
“Is this what you want?” Her hips joined the rhythm.
“Yes, baby.” Helen watched, content in seeing Cory pleasure herself. “You’re lovely. Feel how wonderful your body is to me.” Her eyes returned to Cory’s and she reached and pressed the hand harder. “Let me see you.”
“Kiss me,” Cory breathed.
Helen pushed her tongue deeply into Cory’s mouth. Her own body now energized from the heated waters and sweet sounds that emanated from Cory. Helen released Cory’s hand and moved hers lower. She pressed her thumb deeply into her.
“Oh,” Cory gasped and trembled through her torment. “Harder, Helen.” She quickened her private massage.
“Yes, baby.” Helen’s breathing stole Cory’s rhythm. She pushed her thumb deeply, pulled slowly out, and then entered Cory again. Helen stayed to the depth of her, and rocked Cory against the hand.
Cory came with the power of thunder. Her vibrant body stiffened and released. Wisps of steam danced a ballet while crystalline music from Cory’s throat echoed within the walls; powerful sounds that traveled the length of Helen’s body like heated mercury and choked her with her own desire.
*
Helen turned the bed lamp off and swung beneath the blankets. She could just make out Cory’s moonlit features. She was the Carnegie poster come to life, but Helen couldn’t see the color of her eyes. She pushed Cory’s bangs away from her forehead.
“Tell me about your family.” She moved onto one elbow and Cory rolled onto her back.
“Mom and Dad live in Dallas. They stayed in Texas after he retired from the service.”
“How many years?”
“Thirty.”
“What are they doing now?”
“Mom hangs with the girls and brags about her kids.” They laughed. “Dad owns a small farm equipment repair business. I haven’t seen them in a year. When I play Dallas we get together.”
“And your brother lives in London?”
“He’s a broker for the London Stock Exchange. He likes rain and stress.”
“Any skeletons in the closet?”
“Just me, but we don’t talk about it.”
Helen nodded. “My mother knew, but I could never tell my father, and I was closer to him.”
“He probably would have loved you all the same.”
“I’ll never know.”
They listened to the quiet. Helen ran her fingers through Cory’s hair. She treasured their quiet moments. There weren’t enough of them.
Cory suddenly broke the silence. “Have you ever smelled the rich farm soil in Texas?”
Where did that come from? “I’ve never been, and I don’t particularly care for the smell of dirt.”
Cory pushed up on one hand. “This isn’t just dirt. It’s so rich and fertile it invades your senses. You know that land will produce. I could be a farmer.”
Helen laughed. “You? Your job is to slay dragons for me and the Queen, note the order, please.”
“I could change my profession.”
“Change is good. It’s a learning experience.”
Cory smiled t
riumphantly. “I’m glad you agree. Now think about moving in with me.”
“You little sneak!” Helen collapsed onto the bed.
Cory laughed. “You’re so easy.”
“As you are,” Helen pointed out. “Like your episode in the Jacuzzi.” She mocked Cory. “Oh! Mmm! Ah!”
“I faked it.” She snuggled into Helen’s arms and gave a soft sigh. “I’ve never done that on request,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “You have an interesting power over me.”
“Not power. You trusted me and you were fantastic.” Helen kissed her mouth. “Thank you.”
As they nestled, Helen closed her eyes. She muttered, “A farmer. Right.”
Chapter Twelve
Many of Stacey’s friends agreed to a private get-together. Helen was nervous about how they would receive her idea, but the good news was Cory was in town. If the night turned into a shamble, she’d be there to lick Helen’s wounds.
“Your guests will arrive soon.” Among mosaic mounds of living room pillows that surrounded her, Stacey raised her wineglass toward Helen. “I admire your courage, Blondie.”
“Courage?” Helen sipped and leaned against the bar.
“Spunk. Guts. Balls.” Stacey shrugged. “Whatever you call it, you have to convince the cream of the entertainment world to show their true colors. Not an easy task.”
“That doesn’t bother me.” She waved her off and studied her drink. “Reporter and celebrities. That’s a potentially volatile mixture.” Helen laughed. “They’ll probably take one look at me and head out the door.” She motioned a U-turn with her hand.
“I doubt it, Blondie. Otherwise they wouldn’t come.” Stacey pushed herself to her feet and returned to the bar for refills. “They trust me. The only bitchy one will be Blair and, if I funnel her enough Scotch, she won’t care if Rush Limbaugh’s here.” She handed Helen the full glass and made a toast. “Success.”
Helen nearly choked on the wine when the doorbell rang. She checked the position of her belt and tried to smooth her skirt, but static wreaked havoc and the skirt became more like Saran Wrap. She struggled, powerless against the clinging mess.