Better Than Gold

by Mary Brady

  “Are you freakin’ nuts?” Monique stood in the living room doorway with their after-dinner tea.

  Mia sighed and shook her head slowly, wondering if her friend was right. “I might be. How much did you hear and what have you already made up about it?”

  Monique brought the tray with the teapot and cups over and put it on the quilt between the two of them.

  “I’ll distill it. Tux. Your mother’s little black dress. Daniel MacCarey won’t know what hit him.” Monique stood and snatched the tray up from the floor. “In fact we need to go now if we’re to get your mother’s dress.”

  “She and Dad will be watching their show. If they are in the middle of one of their shows, we’ll have to sit quietly in a corner.”

  “Don’t be their kid. The shows are recorded. They can press Pause for their daughter.”

  “You know she’ll be speechless when I ask to borrow a dress.”

  “She’ll just think you’ve finally decided to grow up and give you that noncommittal how nice.”

  “Speechless, I’ll bet you a buck on it.”

  They smacked palms to seal the bet.

  At her parents’ house, Mia’s mother smiled tentatively when she saw who was on her doorstep. Marianne looked as if she needed an appointment at the hairdressers. Her overly large blond hair didn’t have its usual puffy shine.

  She held the door open and let them into the house. The first thing Mia noticed was the TV wasn’t playing, and then that there were no lights on except in the kitchen. When Marianne Parker led them into the gleaming well-lit room there was, oddly, a crossword puzzle half-worked on the kitchen table.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Mom, are you all right?”

  “Of course, I’m fine.” She pushed at her hair. “You must have come for a reason, dear.”

  “Mom, I need a dress.”

  She nearly dropped the package of cookies she was about to pour onto a plate to serve to them, with milk, of course. “I’m trying to guess whatever for. You meet your bankers dressed in khaki slacks, you come to church dressed in the same manner, you...”

  “Mom, I need your black cocktail dress.”

  Her mother’s expression changed to confused as she pulled three glasses from the cupboard. “It will fit you, yes, very nicely, but whatever for?”

  “I’m going to a cocktail party, a fund-raiser.”

  Her mother’s face softened. “I can’t remember when you last asked me for anything, Mia. You’re so independent.”

  “I learned from the best, Mom.”

  Her mother shook her head and lined up the three glasses on the table. Marianne Parker was going to eat milk and cookies. Mia had never witnessed such an event.

  “I’m afraid you did learn from me, dear, and sometimes I’m sorry about that. Of course you can borrow the dress.”

  “I’ll be careful with it.”

  “Of course you will.”

  “We’ll take really good care of it, too,” Monique added because Marianne Parker trusted the dry cleaners where Monique worked to take care of her exquisite vintage clothing.

  “It’s important to me, you know,” Marianne said as she looked from one girl to the other. There was a frightening sadness in her mother’s voice.

  “Yes, Mrs. Parker.”

  “I’ll go get the dress.” Her mother hurried away and Mia followed.

  “Mom, it’s Thursday. Why are you sitting at the table working a crossword puzzle?” she asked when they were in the spare bedroom. Her mother had opened the closet and seemed to be trying to mentally bury herself in the contents. “Where’s dad?”

  “Your father huffed off somewhere. He does that more and more often.”

  “Why?” Mia knew the single word was an accusation and she could see by the set of her mother’s jaw, she did, too.

  “Your father’s and my business is not yours.”

  “Hey, you’re my parents and I love you.”

  Marianne let a breath out slowly as she rubbed her hands down the front of her knit slacks. “Your father wanted to do something different tonight and I don’t see that there is anything wrong with what we always do.”

  Then her mother reached into the closet and pulled out the dress encased in a plastic bag, but did not hand it to Mia.

  “Mom.” Her mother seemed not to hear her and she took hold of the sleeve on her mother’s sweater to get her attention. “Mom, I learned something and I’m going to pass it along. You can use it or not. Try treating him like a friend.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, dear. He’s my husband.” She lifted the plastic and ran her hands over the lightweight chiffon with black crystal beads sewn along the V-neck bodice.

  “That’s just it, Mom. What if Maxine said she didn’t want to go to Mandrel’s for breakfast on a Sunday morning?”

  “Why would she? Where would we go?”

  “Maybe she decided to learn to cook and she invited you to her house.”

  “I guess, if she had it all planned, I’d go, of course. She’s my friend.”

  “So when Dad does something like that, try pretending it’s Maxine asking and react accordingly. Be his friend, Mom. It might be reciprocated.”

  Her mother handed the dress to her and then reached into the hanging zipper bag and pulled out shoes and a purse. “You’ll need these.”

  Mia put a kiss on her mother’s cheek. She’d have hugged her if her hands weren’t full.

  Her mother shooed her back out to the kitchen and Mia knew that meant shut up, subject closed.

  Monique looked up from where she sat at the table filling out the crossword.

  “It was good to see the two of you.” Her mother picked up the three clean glasses and put them back in the cupboard. The cookies followed.

  Mia and Monique filed out like schoolchildren during a fire drill. When they got into Mia’s car Monique snapped her seat belt on and turned toward Mia, who was securing the dress, shoes and handbag safely in the backseat. “What the heck was that?”

  After they were rolling down the road, Mia replied, “They’re in trouble.”

  “’Cause they’re not watching their shows?”

  “Did you see that? She was going to have milk and cookies with us.”

  “Ah-yuh, that’s bad. So what’s going on?”

  Mia drove on silently, thinking about the rituals her parents lived by, like watching recorded game shows. If those fell apart, they may have nothing else. What if they had one of those shell marriages because neither of them believed in divorce?

  “She said dad wanted to do something different tonight and she refused. And I think I learned something really important from my friendship with Daniel. Be a friend.”

  Be a friend. A real friend like Monique was there for life, glitz and warts notwithstanding. Cocktail dresses and tuxes. TV shows and breakfasts.

  “And you told her... Come on, I’m pulling teeth here.”

  “And I asked her, what would she do if Maxine wanted to change their routine?”

  “What did she say?”

  Mia did a quick shrug. “She threw us out.”

  “Hey, no matter who else does what, you’ve got me.”

  “You’re the M to my M. I love you, Monique. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I wish I could fix your world, Mia.”

  “The Parkers. Experts in creating messy lives.”

  “Listen, you can’t take on your parents’ troubles.”

  Mia knew her friend was right. She had so much on her plate and now she had taken on a cocktail party.

  “I know, but I’m still concerned.”

  “Of course you are.”

  Mia laughed. “You want me to drop you at home, or do
you want to help me try on the dress?”

  “The dress, of course, and we can also try to do something with all of this.” Monique picked up a lock of Mia’s hair.

  “Do you suppose weddings and baptisms, and movies with cocktail parties, have been enough to prepare me for facing university-patron types?”

  “You will break hearts and open even the most secure wallet.”

  * * *

  MIA SAT IN her car in a parking spot outside Daniel’s condo, fifteen minutes early. The little black dress on its hanger in the bag draped over the backseat. On the floor behind her seat sat a bag with everything else, including a few condoms. Heaven help her, just in case.

  She had spent the entire two-hour drive wondering how she was going to look Daniel in the eyes, those gloriously rich, dark diamond eyes, and kiss him on the cheek and then...

  But that was her problem. Daniel wanted to be friends.

  She could do that. Soon. She could do it soon. She got out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk and then up the stairs to the second floor.

  Calm and relaxed, yeah, right, she rang Daniel’s doorbell.

  Breathe, just breathe. Everything is under control. If he looked too tempting, she’d remember she was his friend. She’d come to get her construction project underway and chat with a friend.

  He opened the door. What he was dressed in hardly mattered. All jeans and sweaters looked the same on him. Devastating.

  Oh, wow, if she had to be a good friend to this she was dead.

  She shoved the dress bag at him and then her small suitcase.

  He took everything and smiled. Dead. She was so dead. No one would ever want to be her friend again.

  “Daniel.”

  He dropped everything and reached for her. His mouth descended over hers, stopping any breath, any thought except to have him.

  She broke away and kicked the door closed. “I’m a bad friend.”

  “I love having a bad friend.” With his hands at her waist, he rained kisses on her face, her neck, her mouth, and when he lifted her sweater and tossed it aside, rained more kisses on her chest, over her new bra. “Lace.”

  She pushed him backward out of the foyer.

  He wrapped his arms around her, turned her back to front, kissing her neck, her ear and her hair. Nearly overcome with pleasure, she dropped her head back against his shoulder and panted for air. Then he swept her off her feet and carried her, through the living room and down a hallway, kissing the hollow at the base of her neck, then her lips again.

  In his bedroom, long desperate seconds passed as they stripped off their clothing. “Wait,” she said as he was about to toss her jeans aside. “Pocket.”

  He opened the package and she snatched the condom and looked up into his face as she rolled the soft latex down onto him. Then she pulled him on top of her and into her where she needed him to be.

  She luxuriated in his kisses, unwilling to give them up until she let herself go, let the waves of pleasure crash over her and over her...

  Wrung, sated and gloriously happy she stroked his brow and laughed. “Hello.”

  “Welcome to my home,” he said as he ran his fingers through her hair.

  “I am so happy to be here.” And I love you, Daniel MacCarey, my dear friend. Someday I hope you want to know it.

  After their breathing returned to normal, he shifted onto his side and flipped the bedspread over both of them.

  “Well, I practiced for hours and hours, so that I could be in your presence and not jump you,” she said, smiling.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Not well, but I’d be willing to go back out and try it again.” But she didn’t move, other than to sigh and touch his face to assure herself she wasn’t still sitting in her car having a daydream. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll go back out...”

  “You make me crazy. I can’t look at you and not want you.” He hugged her as though he cherished her.

  Yet, she knew there was desperation in those words. She felt the same when she thought of how much she wanted him and how much he needed to maintain his distance.

  She lay beside him measuring each breath, wondering which one of them would flinch first. It was as if they stood nose to nose on a tightrope, each needing to get to the other side but neither willing nor able to pass the other. She breathed in the warm musky scent of him, felt his steady heartbeat under her hand.

  Eventually, pride and responsibility won out. She patted his chest. “I need to go hang up the dress.”

  He kissed her and she slid out from under the spread, taking his robe from the chair and wrapping it around herself.

  When she came back into the bedroom with the dress and her bag, he was coming out of the bathroom with boxers on.

  They hid nothing. He couldn’t make the wanting go away any more than she could make wanting him go away.

  He took the dress and hung it in his closet beside another garment bag, his tux she’d wager. Daniel in a tux.

  “You can put the rest of your things in there,” he said, indicating the bathroom.

  When she came back out empty-handed she said, “You may think I eat all the time...”

  He flicked his eyebrows.

  “Well, I’m hungry. Did you have a place picked out for lunch or should I go forage?”

  “We can eat here if you don’t mind.”

  “If you at least have peanut butter and bread, I’m good with here.”

  He invaded her space, leaned down and dropped a kiss on her lips, and when she was ready for more, he stepped back and said, “I think we can do better than peanut butter.”

  Her stomach growled loudly.

  He unfastened the belt of his robe from around her waist, bent over and put his lips to her stomach. “Right away. Right away,” he said to her belly and planted a sloppy kiss.

  She laughed and pulled his face into her. He nipped softly and sidestepped her hold.

  “We need to feed you.”

  She retied the robe as he led her out of the bedroom.

  “Sex and food. Can I come and visit you often? This feels like a vacation.”

  His smile held a touch of longing.

  “My balcony gets full sun and it’s very warm on a day like this.” He led the way to his dark blue tile and white kitchen with wood trim and accessories.

  “Wait.” She put out her hands to stop him. He did stop and she continued. “You did not pick out this kitchen scheme.”

  “I did not. It was available when I needed something.”

  In a hurry she bet. More of his secret, more of where his pain came from.

  She smiled at him when she wanted to hug him. “Lunch outside would be wonderful. Do you mind if I wear your robe on the balcony, or will it stir up your neighbors?”

  “The neighbors will be pleased for the lovely distraction.”

  “Hey, I’ve got some scoop to tell you about while we dine.”

  “As luck would have it, I have some for you.”

  “Can we eat now?”

  “Grab those.” He pointed to a stack of table linens and dishes.

  “I love dinner plates. Yum, they have so much fiber.”

  He laughed and pulled out a tray of delectables from the refrigerator.

  When she returned from putting the place settings on the balcony table, he had slipped on a T-shirt and plaid flannel lounging pants. Barefoot and tousle-haired he looked sexy and relaxed. She liked to think she had something to do with that.

  She grabbed the glasses from the counter and the carafe of chilled water and headed back through the living room with dark gray and blue furniture with wooden trim. She was starting to see the theme in this place.

  * * *

  ON DANIEL’S WARM and sunny
balcony, they set up a feast of gourmet food he had ordered from the deli down the street and large glasses of orange juice. Mia was right, it did feel like a vacation.

  “Tell me your scoop and I’ll tell you mine,” she said, bliss written all over her face as she made it halfway through a turkey sandwich on a petit bun, with the domed part of the bun hollowed out and filled with lettuce and some kind of herbed mustard-mayonnaise.

  “My great-aunt Margaret’s secret involves the ring. Apparently, it was destined to belong to Princess Charlotte of Wales, who died in 1817.” He told her about tea at Eleanor Wahl’s home. “Charlotte was the daughter and only child of the man who became George the IV.”

  “How did your great-aunt Margaret get the ring?”

  “Mrs. Wahl and several of her friends, experts in the era, are trying to find out, but there’s more.”

  Mia rubbed her hands together in anticipation and he put his fingers on her cheek and let them wander lower.

  She gasped when his fingertip brushed the side of her breast. Clearing her throat, she said, “I love a good mystery.”

  He gently caressed the warm, giving flesh of her breast and wondered if the neighbors would call the cops or just keep watching.

  She pressed his hand and then sat back and closed her eyes. “Hey, you’d better keep talking or we’ll get arrested and it’ll be worth it. Sex in the sunshine. Glorious.”

  When he pulled his hand away, she grabbed hold and brought his knuckles to her lips before she gave the hand back to him.

  He shook his head and grinned at her. “And the coat of arms stamped on the inside does not belong to Charlotte’s family nor her husband’s. Mrs. Wahl and her friends are working on finding out whose it is, feverishly, I’d wager.”

  “There’s something, I’d wager.” She gave him a suspicious look. “You didn’t go to the post office and pick up that package from your aunt’s attorney, did you?”

  “You’re wrong. It’s sitting on the desk in my office here.”

  “Unopened. And yet you seem so manly and brave. Open the package already.”

  “I thought you might like to help me, since you were nice enough to come and be arm bling for a fund-raiser.”