by Sylvie Fox
Instead of answering her, he pulled her to him. “It’s always been about us,” he whispered into her hair. Then he kissed her. He’d tried restraint and that wasn’t getting them anywhere. He needed to use everything he had. He wanted to drag her down to the living room floor, show her how good they could be together.
“I thought you were hungry,” Jessie said, putting a millimeter of space between them.
“Found the perfect diet,” he said. “I could feast on you all night.”
Cameron watched her eyes go wide, the pupils expand until the brown was just a small ring. Something hit the floor. He glanced down for a moment. Work gloves. He pulled at her hands until he was sitting on a clean section of the carpet, her in his lap. Already hot as blazes, he pulled off his own t-shirt.
“What are we—”
“—Doing, Jessie? We’re doing the one thing that’s always worked for us.” This time he kissed her hard. He pulled off the baseball cap, tossing it aside. Snaking his hands through her hair, he pulled the dark strands around them to block out the world that had always intruded on their relationship. She melted into him, and he took control.
He broke the kiss when the distraction of her nipples against his chest made it impossible to focus on her full lips and her tongue sweet with soda. “I want to see you,” he said, pulling her bra and t-shirt over her head in a single movement. Jessie looked like she wanted to get lost in another kiss, but Cameron didn’t want them to get swept away. He wanted them right here, grounded, knowing what this was between them.
Gently, he eased her from his lap, and laid her back against the soft pink pile. While he worked on the knots of her laces, he pulled together what he wanted to say to her. “You are,” he began, easing off one sock and shoe, moving to the other, “the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”
“You don’t have to—”
“But I do. It’s true, Jessie.” He tugged at the cutoffs, her underwear coming with them.
“The lights. Should we—”
“No, Jessie we shouldn’t,” Cameron said, sitting back on his haunches and admiring the woman before him. He fought with his need to devour her and her need to hear the words. Keeping his pants, socks, and shoes firmly on, he lay next to her. Propped on his elbow, he traced down the column of her throat with a single finger. “I love your skin.”
Color rose on her cheekbones, where his finger had swept, on the tops of her breasts. “Even though…”
“There is no even though, Jessie. I love your body because it’s so beautiful. Not in spite of anything.” This talking was what she needed, but he broke off to give them a little bit of what else they needed. Using his free hand, he plumped her breast, then lowered his mouth. That small bit of flesh that was her nipple grew hard in his mouth. He curled his tongue around it. A moan escaped her. He looked to see his wife throw an arm across her eyes, arch her throat in arousal. “I love that I can make you as hard as you make me,” he whispered, embarrassed by his own admissions. He’d asked her to give, but he was finding that it was harder than he thought.
She turned to him, her arms pulling at the back of his head for a kiss, seeking something like oblivion. To hell with the talking and the need for back and forth, he gave her what she needed.
An hour or two later, she turned to him. “What now?”
He wanted everything to end like a fairy tale. Have them ride off into the sunset. But this wasn’t a movie. Sex was only the answer to a handful of questions. It hadn’t been enough before, and wasn’t enough now. He was too old to make that kind of mistake.
“Give me a month to convince you,” he said.
Chapter Eleven
If Yesenia had to guess, she thought the last couple of weeks could have been called dating. Feeling Cam’s eyes on her, she gave him the biggest smile she could muster, then turned to look back at the landscape passing by through the car window. He’d asked to take her out this afternoon.
Dating sounded juvenile to her ears, but there wasn’t any other way to describe it. She hadn’t told Cam this, but spending time with him, not so much talking, but kissing, and making out was a great distraction from worrying about her mother and sister. Not that they needed her to worry about them.
Mexico City wasn’t the same place they’d left decades earlier. Their new neighborhood had high speed internet, a Wal-Mart, and a burgeoning middle class. Mama and Dori had Skyped with her every other day, finally putting the laptop she’d bought her sister to good use. And with the same big box stores they had in the states, her family had been able to furnish their apartment with stuff they hadn’t been able to fit in the small rental van they’d driven from Los Angeles.
Through the computer screen, Mexico seemed so normal. What was abnormal, though, was being alone. Yesenia couldn’t remember spending more than a night or two without a visit or a call in her entire life. Even with her own apartment, she was at Mama’s house or Dori was at hers nearly one night out of three. When she wanted to pick up the phone, or drive over to Alsace, someone was always there. She regretted all the days she thought she’d be better off without her meddlesome, needy family.
Right now, she’d take a summons from her mama or a chance to bitch at Dori about Raul over navigating life without them. Cameron had slipped so easily into the chasm of loneliness, but it was still hard to believe that their fragile reunion would stick.
Her not-so-ex husband pulled over on a leafy residential street in Beverly Hills. She looked at the huge ficus trees shading the sidewalk, and the mansions on either side of the wide road.
“I thought we were going to lunch,” she said. Cam had mentioned something about trying out food trucks that were popular around the city. There wasn’t a boxy painted truck or cadre of folding chairs and tables in sight.
He came around to her side of the car and helped her out. “It’s down there,” he said, pointing toward Santa Monica Boulevard. Cam held her hand as they walked down Crescent Drive. She hoped her faded denim shorts and cotton espadrilles were appropriate. Not that a food truck was fancy, but she’d seen a lot of women in Beverly Hills drink coffee in five hundred dollar designer outfits, their equally expensive bags at their feet.
A small sigh of relief escaped her when she got closer. She wasn’t going to have to be on. Only food and a little conversation.
Food trucks had gotten inventive. When she was a kid, there were taco trucks. Now every continent was represented. And the word “fusion” was everywhere. There were food trucks galore and a sign announcing the city’s semi-annual art show along Beverly Gardens Park.
“Cam?” she questioned her voice unsteady. Yesenia had nothing against art shows. It wasn’t the kind of thing they’d done when they were dating that first time around. Back then it had been dinner, movie, make out session. Until he’d convinced her to move on to sex. They didn’t need to replicate that non-adventurous pattern, though. That had ended in disaster. This time around, he was more interested in her and what made them work separate from the escape from overbearing mothers and the sex.
“I thought we’d look at some stuff after we eat,” he said.
She lifted and dropped her shoulder in a shrug, and took in the hundreds of white tents. Yesenia hadn’t been to the Beverly Hills Art Show since she’d covered a story about two Mexican artists featured here a few years ago.
He linked his fingers with hers. They looked at a few stalls with oil and watercolor paintings of California landscapes.
“You going to buy something?” she asked. Her mind flashed to the bare green walls of his studio apartment. He’d never been one for artwork. When they’d been together, she’d taken on the task of making their house a home. He was so different now than he’d been their first time around. Maybe he would put something up on the wall other than a TV. She’d like that, she realized. The idea that he could simply enjoy life more. Her heart thudded as she pictured a future, enjoying life with him.
Yesenia was yanked from her fantasy when Cam stopped
short. “Take your pick,” he said, pointing to the long line of brightly colored trucks. Everything from salad to a three course meal was for sale. The Maine lobster truck intrigued her. She hadn’t traveled much in the U.S. When no one in the family had papers, her mama had been cautious about traveling. Avoiding spontaneous INS roadblocks had left them with few driving options. And they’d been too poor to fly.
Looking up, Yesenia took in the relentless sun. She’d always wanted to go to New England for the fall foliage, taste the kind of food they had on the other coast.
“Maine lobster,” she said.
“That’s my Jessie.” Cam put his arm across her shoulders and led her over to the truck. After he purchased her food, he started laughing. Weaving their way toward a free table, Cam couldn’t stop. If she hadn’t thought he was possibly laughing at her, it would have been contagious.
“I don’t get what’s so funny,” she said, her tone a little sharper than she’d have liked. The combination of laughter and food sometimes made her flash back to those times her mom hadn’t packed the right kind of lunches for her and Dolores. Embarrassment had stained her cheeks each time she’d had to pull out homemade tortillas to scoop up the meat and beans her mother had prepared.
When he could control himself, he answered. “You got lobster tacos.”
“I really wanted to try the Maine lobster,” she said defensively. The muscles of her face tightened as her eyebrows came together like they did when she was a kid and couldn’t translate some local idiom fast enough. “It’s supposed to be way different than the Pacific spiny lobster,” she tried to explain.
“You think tacos are traditional.”
Heat spread through first her chest, then crept up her neck. Yesenia’s face would be next. “They’re not?”
“Wouldn’t think so. Lobster boils. Lobster rolls. Lobster salad, yes.”
She turned away, hiding her shame from Cam. She’d gone to college. Gotten a job. She was trying her damnedest to live the American dream. But before she’d met Cam, she probably hadn’t been more than fifty miles from Los Angeles as a kid. Except for that hellish Texas border crossing, she hadn’t been out of California since she’d arrived. That hadn’t changed after citizenship or their separation. Not with a job hyper-focused on local stories happening within driving distance from the studio.
When she turned back from her people-watching pretense, Cam had devoured his traditional lobster roll.
He touched her hand. “You got quiet there.”
Five years ago, she would have shook this off, pretended it didn’t matter. But she wanted him to know who she really was, not the expertly wrapped package she wanted the world to see.
“It’s stupid,” she equivocated. “I don’t feel like I belong here a lot of times. It’s not your fault, you were kidding, but it hit me right here,” she tapped between her breasts, “when you made fun of the tacos.”
“Baby.” Cam’s voice was a low, hoarse rumble. “I didn’t mean it that way at all. I love that about you, the many ways you’re different from me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d never do that on purpose.”
“No big deal,” she said. Though his words, his apology were a big deal. Changing the subject, she asked, “Are you eyeing my tacos?”
“You gonna eat all three?”
Shame forgotten for a moment, she had to smile. No matter what happened, this man never lost his appetite. She rolled her eyes, gave him one, and ate the other two before he got any ideas. For non-traditional tacos, they weren’t so bad.
“You ready?” Cam asked after he’d bussed the table.
“Sure.”
“I want to stop by booth…” He pulled a small notepad from his front pocket. “Two forty-six.”
“Who’s there?” she asked. Cam had few friends when they’d been married. None had been artists. She tried to envision him with nosering-wearing, tattoo-bearing people. Nope, couldn’t do it. Maybe he’d met some up on the NoHo arts district where his apartment was. With the new, improved Cam, anything was possible.
“Sophie Reid,” he said, tugging her along. Well, the improbable artist had a name, was a woman. Her heart beat a little faster.
Skipping all the booths in between the food and their destination, they came upon a woman in purple overalls. Cam cleared his throat to get the artist’s attention, and she turned.
Yesenia’s skin prickled with jealousy. Artist Sophie was cute. Even the purple tipped strawberry blonde hair suited her. Light eyes sparkled under her bangs.
“Ryan must have told you, right?” The woman shook her head, waves bouncing around her face. “He couldn’t keep one little secret. I wanted to try out a show without a big audience.” She sported a petulant pout. Yesenia’s heart slowed with dread. This was exactly the kind of woman Ryan would probably try to set up with Cam. Someone who would complement him better, laid back, down to earth to his tight shouldered, wound up nature. Ryan had always said she and Cam were too alike.
“Hey, bro,” Cam said. His brother appeared as if out of nowhere, two sweating water bottles in hand. He kissed Sophie full on the mouth. Yesenia’s heart gave a squeeze, then released. Jealousy that had fizzed in her veins moments ago spilled like soda from an overturned can.
“I’m Yesenia Morales,” she said, holding out her hand toward Ryan’s woman when it didn’t look like she was going to get an introduction from either of the guys. They pretended to act flustered for a second, but looked relieved that they didn’t have to tackle who she was or why she was with Cam.
“Yesenia?” She could see Sophie rooting around her memory like she was supposed to know who Yesenia was.
“I’m Cameron’s ex. If you’ve met Bridget, I’m sure she’s mentioned me,” she said, then immediately wanted to stuff the stupid words back into her mouth. If she was so important in Cam’s life, why hadn’t he mentioned they were dating? The entire situation was starting to make her uncomfortable. After years of trying to fit in at school, at work, in this country, she hated feeling out of step with everyone else.
“Jessie?”
Yesenia nodded. No one in the Becker family called her by her given name. “Right,” Sophie said brightly, her voice and manners impeccable. The raising of her pierced eyebrow was the only indication that she’d been given less than favorable information. Not letting on as to the unflattering picture Bridget had probably painted of “Jessie” as a needy woman unable to let go. Ryan had traded up with this one. No poor immigrant girl for that up and comer. Bridget must be over the moon. “Nice to meet you.” Sophie’s handshake was firm.
“You paint?” Yesenia asked the obvious, ready to change the subject. She studied the bright colored acrylics and oils hanging in the booth. Another two paintings graced easels. Of course Sophie had time for art. People with money always did.
“Sort of a hobby, I guess,” Sophie answered. “I’m really a make-up artist by trade.”
Yesenia studied Sophie’s face. She did a great job with the nude look. She wished this girlfriend of Ryan’s would come to KESP and give pointers. She was over the porcelain doll look the station bosses insisted viewers wanted. Mentally, she changed the subject. Years ago, she’d realized there was nothing to be gained from comparing herself to gringos. It was like looking at fashion magazines. She’d never be a white, native-born American woman. There was no use making comparisons.
Her hard won resolve was gone in an instant when a stunning blonde joined the group, a small girl who looked about four or five by her side. She kissed Sophie on the cheek. “You asked. I produced. Daddy’s golfing.”
Sophie bent to kiss the little girl and listen to the child’s enthusiastic chatter.
Turning to Yesenia, the woman held out her perfectly manicured hand. “Selena,” she said. It was obvious that Selena and Sophie were sisters. Selena’s smooth voice and manners were nearly identical, but she looked more like the money they’d probably come from. Yesenia squashed the inner reporter’s urge to ask questions. She’d
do the right thing and probe Cam later. But still she was dying to know how someone like Sophie had ended up with Ryan. Where the Reid sisters were from. How Sophie had ended up with a union job and didn’t become a lady who lunched.
Instead of launching into a litany of questions, hearing her own thick accent compared to their even California tones, she introduced herself again, leaving the separation out, this time. She didn’t want to brave any more raised eyebrows today. The little girl tugged at her mother’s white chiffon dress, shooting meaningful looks up at her mother and pointing purposefully.
Sophie squatted again. “What’s up, Maddie?”
“Momma promised me I could look at the cactus.”
“I’m talking to Auntie Sophie, right now,” Selena said. “In ten minutes, we can go.”
Sophie stood and the sisters whispered something then laughed.
“I’ll do it,” Yesenia said, surprising herself. She wasn’t normally the first to volunteer to entertain children. But her discomfort with one small child would be easier than being with a bunch of well-off folks with their art and “inside” jokes.
Selena turned to her. “There’s no need, I’m trying to—”
“Jessie, you don’t—” Cam interjected.
“Oh, it’s okay,” Yesenia said, pushing away from the white canvas tent. They all looked at each other, but no one said anything as Maddie introduced herself.
“Jessie,” she said to the girl, and then held out her hand.
As trusting as only a child could be, Maddie grasped Yesenia’s fingers and led her away. Following the little girl in her pink sequin shoes, Yesenia sighed in relief. Uncomfortable with Cam’s family, she’d do anything to avoid one lovey-dovey couple and possibly embarrassing questions she had no desire to answer.
The little girl’s chatter washed over her, but its soothing hum wasn’t enough to take away her unease. It had taken years for her to go from being a nervous wreck to relative calm around Cam’s family. Bridget had grudgingly accepted their marriage. Ryan had been too busy, first with his old fianceé Jocelyn, then with climbing the corporate ladder to give her and Cam too much grief.