The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel)

by Priscilla West

  They were wrong. When someone who you love dies, their life doesn’t pass before their eyes. It passes before yours. I remembered every birthday, every car trip that ended in ice-cream, every school competition and every issue of Lynx written and how he was there, beaming and celebrating with me. He even bought three subscriptions to Lynx so he could give two away to assorted friends each month.

  “It’s not bragging if you’re giving them something,” he would say, stuffing the magazine in someone’s hand or mailbox. I watch the years of my life with Dad march by until I’m simply carried away in memories.

  “Miss Sharp,” a clear voice says right near my ear. I jolt my head up and realize I’ve been asleep for who knows how long. I turn to see my father lying still, his breathing stopped.

  “I fell asleep,” I stammer at the woman. “I was holding his hand and I just put my head down for a moment.”

  “You’ve been asleep a few hours, Miss Sharp, and your father has slept away.”

  “He’s gone?” I look again and allow myself to grasp the truth. This amazing being who only wanted to love me and be loved by me has left this world in my hands.

  The hospice nurse gives me time for a final goodbye and then walks with me into a private area. She opens the DNR and packet we filled out together when Dad was still functioning pretty well. The funeral home and all the plans are inside. She asks me if there is any family I would like her to call. I tell her he was all I had in terms of family except for some distant aunts I would call later.

  “Is there someone who can pick you up or drive you home?” she asks.

  “I can drive,” I say wiping another tear from my eye. “I can’t believe I slept while he died.”

  “That was a mercy to you both,” the nurse replies. “He probably was waiting for you to fall asleep or leave the room or something. He didn’t want to leave in front of you. He loved you.”

  “I love him. And there is no need to call, or worry. I’ve been alone for a long time now and I have some supportive folks who will help me with these arrangements. Dad wanted to be cremated and have his ashes poured in the ocean off Grand Island. He proposed to my mother there.”

  She helps me sign the proper forms and walks me to the door of the hospital as if I were the patient. I can see she’s worried about letting me go off into the world alone. But alone I am and alone I will stay.

  I grab something to eat and make it home in one piece, getting ready to go about the business of death. Since there is no body or family involved, the funeral home offers me a time the day after tomorrow and I take it. I’ll make sure it’s in the paper in the morning and call everyone who needs to spread the word. When mom died, Dad and Aunt Sonja took care of all this stuff, so I’m not really practiced at arranging things. Janice usually makes my appointments and she’ll know who to call in the journalism world to get the notice out.

  “Janice,” I say into the phone with a quivering voice. This will be the first time I’ve said these words out loud. “My father passed away this afternoon.”

  “Oh, Julia, I’m so sorry,” she says with genuine love. “Sweetie, I’m sure it was his time. How are you? Are you okay?”

  “Pretty much. I’m doing arrangements. He’s being cremated but there will be a memorial day after tomorrow at Greenfield’s chapel. Can you help me make some calls?”

  “I can try. I’m in Missouri, but let me talk to Reggie and we can get the first flight back to New York.”

  “No, Janice, don’t come back. I didn’t realize you weren’t here. I can handle it,” I try to reassure her when in truth we both know I can barely make dinner reservations without some disaster occurring.

  “I had the week off from Lynx so we decided to take a trip. I don’t have a problem returning,” she offers.

  “No, no, no,” I insist. “When the cremation part is done I’ll need you to come with me to release his ashes. That’s more important than now. Stay where you are.”

  “What about Mark? Can he help you?”

  “Um, yeah, he can,” I mumble, too tired and confused to deal with telling her the complicated saga of my love.

  “Are you sure?” She doesn’t buy it.

  “Yes, I’m not really used to having to lean on people so it’s hard but I know he will come through. I’ll see you when you return. Give Reggie my love.” I hang up before I break down completely.

  Should I call Mark? Yes. Am I going to? No way in hell.

  The next day is a flurry of necessary activity, phone calls and condolences. I end up putting the phone on silent and listening to it once every few hours to keep the voice mail from filling. One of the messages is from Mark.

  “Hi Julia, it’s Mark. Janice called the office and told me about your father. I’m so sorry for his passing. I know this is a very hard time for you. If you need anything, ask me. I’m here for you.”

  His earnest voice, deep and sure, brings a fresh round of tears to my already swollen eyes. I want to call. I want to run to him, jump in those strong arms and let him carry through this entire ordeal. But, I don’t. Something inside, some deep fear of loss or betrayal, resists all evidence that this kind of relationship can really exist and be true to form.

  Greenfield’s chapel is full of flowers when I enter, including a beautiful spray from Janice and Reggie I know they can’t afford.

  “He was such a nice person,” I hear a lady whisper. “Such a loss.”

  “She’s so young to have lost both parents,” her older friend replies. “Is she married?”

  “No. She’s the career type. She ran some magazine but it got bought out or something. I think she’s looking for work.”

  “Maybe she should look for more in life,” the judgmental old crone caws.

  I purposely turn, pretending to look for someone, just to see who the rude old cows are and make a plan to write them a very pointed thank you note. As the service starts, I realize attendance is small, and the majority of mourners are friends of Dad’s from work and bowling. Very few in the journalism world even bothered to show up. Word must be out that I’m washed up or they would be here. If Valerie James’s father passed away, this chapel would be full.

  Frantically I try to focus on someone, something, anything, to get my mind off her and then I see the last person I need to see: Greg. He looks happy. The woman with him is dressed in a modest blue skirt and blazer. However, unless she’s developed midlife spread about twenty years too early, her attire is hiding a definite baby bump. My focus narrows to their fingers. Rings, matching ones, are all I see. Good for you, Greg.

  I imagine strangling both him and his pregnant bride with a Calla Lily from Janice’s bouquet.

  The music plays and the chaplain speaks, inviting many of Dad’s friends to stand up and share memories of times they spent with Dad. Many of them gesture toward me talking about how I was the apple of his eye. I wonder what he would see now. A song begins and we all stand, listening to the soloist sing of how Dad is “with the Lord.” Bitterness floods me. Even in death he has someone and I am here alone. Utterly, totally alone. No parents, no children, no friends, no lover–hell, I don’t even have a goldfish. I’m just alone.

  I dry a tear with a tissue only to have it replaced with three more. Then, I feel it. A warm presence, a comfort, a hand holding mine. At first I think my great aunt must have seen me standing here by myself and decided to join me. But the hand is stronger and surer than the prune-like fingers of an eighty year old with paper-thin skin. I turn to acknowledge this comfort and gasp aloud when I see that it’s Mark.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he whispers loud enough for the women behind me who were so concerned about my prospects to hear. When he sees my gratitude flowing from my smile, he wraps his arm around me and I bury my head against his chest. He leans down and kisses my head and once we are seated for the end of the memorial I have a permanent resting spot in his embrace.

  The wall, the final wall, breaks. I get it. Mark loves me. He isn’t just
using me. He isn’t just interested in Lynx, or beating his brother, or replacing Valerie, or making a point. This isn’t about business, ambition or sex. He simply loves me in a tangible, enduring, beautiful way. Dad is with Mom now, but finally I have someone by my side too.

  “I love you, Mark Stone,” I say as we rise to walk to the front of the chapel where he will stand beside me and receive the condolences.

  “I know,” he says softly squeezing my hand and offering me the most reassuring smile on the planet. “I love you too.”

  Chapter 20

  Funerals are a bit barbaric for the family. Not only have I just lost my dad, but now I have to be hugged, shake hands, and graciously listen to friends and strangers all talk about him, then tell me they’re sorry as they head to their cars for a nice dinner out. Even with Mark standing beside me, the process brings me face to face with folks I’d rather forget.

  “Julia, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Greg says, sizing up Mark even as he pretends to be speaking to me.

  “Thanks, Greg. It was nice of you to come.” I manage to behave courteously.

  “You remember Sylvia.” He gestures to his wife as she reaches out to shake my hand, her baby bump beaming a bright light in contrast to my black dress.

  “No, not really,” I deadpan. Mark’s hand around my waist gives me a little squeeze. I manage to choke a well wish upon them. “Good luck to you both.”

  When the last goodbye is said, Mark tells me he took a cab and he intends to drive me home. Gratefully, I hand him the keys, kicking off my shoes in the car, ready for the day to end. He offers to carry me to my apartment, but I manage to walk just far enough to get in the door and collapse on the couch. He sits on the end, rubbing my feet and listening to me ramble about thank you cards, and a trip to the ocean.

  “Julia, we really need to talk about Lynx. After today you only have two days left. If we are going to make one last play to keep your magazine from oblivion, it’s now or never.”

  “I can’t, I can’t think about that now,” I say melodramatically. His nurturing feels so good and the idea of losing Lynx hurts so bad. “Haven’t I had enough loss today?”

  “Yes, you have had enough loss in your life for many days, and I’m trying to keep you from losing any more,” he answers gently, but insistently.

  “So, Greg’s married,” I say, changing the subject and sitting up beside Mark. “Nice to know his affair at least turned into something more valuable than a six month fling. I sacrificed my chance at that ring on the altar of Lynx along with any real hope of having a life or friends or—”

  His lips lock on mine, stopping my rambling self-pity and enticing me as they continue to press against me and I begin to kiss him back, feeling the tension of the day ebb away in the warmth of his kiss and embrace. His lips move to my neck, kissing and nuzzling me as they make their way to that tender spot right below my ear that drives me wild. I melt into him, holding on for dear life. He rises and takes my hand walking me to the bedroom. He doesn’t ask if it’s okay, too soon, or any other question. He doesn’t speak at all.

  Slowly he undresses me, his kisses following his hands, covering my body in his passion for me. I feel as if I am floating on a magic carpet. He turns me on my stomach for a moment, hastily undresses, then straddles me, massaging my back. It is a luscious feeling as he gently works my stiff muscles until they are loose. He then turns me over, positioning himself between my legs and begins sucking on my breasts.

  My back arches for him. I want to say something, give some silly remark or even tell him how much I need his love at this moment, but I can’t seem to get my mouth to function. Mark licks and laps at my nipples, taking time to enjoy himself while his hand reaches between my legs, rubbing and entering me. I curl around it as if I am drawing myself into a cocoon.

  He enters me slowly, pushing his shaft into my body with one long stroke. I feel my flesh open for him and embrace him. He leans up to my ear his kisses making their way up my neck until he arrives again at the spot, this time accompanied by the luxurious feeling of him surging inside me.

  “You’re so beautiful, Julia. So beautiful.”

  I reach down and drape my arms around his hips, pulling him further into me, thrusting to meet him and feel the full power of his movement inside my core. He takes me gently, in long steady strokes, delaying the moment for both of us until it can be denied no more. I come while he impales me, my body clutching with his steady rhythm, pulsing softly and releasing all the pressure of the day into a long steady pulse. I float beneath him, letting myself go, letting everything go, as tears fall in orgasmic response. He kisses my cheek, gathering my tears on his tongue and presses himself in me for one last thrust, his seed emptying into my body.

  He holds me while I cry. I’m not sure who or what the tears are for, me, Dad, Greg, or Lynx, I just know I am safe in his arms and I can let all of it go.

  ~~~

  I wake up to an empty bed. At first I feel panicky, and then the soreness and fulfillment of my body let me know that it was not a dream. I shower and throw some sweats on, walking around the apartment to look for a note or evidence of his presence. He walks through the door holding up my spare key and a pizza.

  “You’re up,” he says. “I was hoping to be back by then, but I don’t know this area well and got a little lost finding something to eat. Hope you’re hungry.”

  “Ravenous,” I exclaim, practically pulling the pizza box out of his hand. “This is just what the doctor ordered.”

  We eat mostly in silence, both of us too hungry to let conversation keep us from downing the pizza. He sifts through the papers I have stacked on the table, sorting out the ones related to the closure of Lynx from the others.

  “What did your lawyer mean by ‘irregular accounting procedures’?”

  “I don’t know and I can’t ask. My retainer for Paul is up and I don’t have the money to rehire him. This analysis was all I got.”

  “We’ve got to get the file in Blake’s office,” he says yet again.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes!” I snap at him. “I agree. But no matter how many times you put that thought on the replay list we still have no idea how to get that file.”

  “I tried the last two days,” Mark confesses. But Blake’s playing pretty close to the chest. Anytime he left, his assistant would be in there. There’s no opening.”

  “You work there. You have the keys and the alarm code. Can’t you just sneak in at night?”

  “I hate to ruin your view of me as an outlaw rebel, or Mission Impossible type spy, but I don’t have the key to Blake’s office and I don’t know how to pick locks. The only way to get in there is when the door is open.”

  “Maybe we’re overthinking this. Why can’t you just walk in, grab the file and run?”

  “Because I don’t want to be the warden’s accountant when I’m doing 15 to 20 for theft. Didn’t you ever watch Shawshank Redemption?”

  “Okay, let’s think. Can’t steal it. Can’t talk him out of it. Can’t sneak it out. Can’t sneak us in. Can’t exchange it.”

  “Wait.” Mark puts his finger up to stop the momentum. “We can exchange it. We can make a replica–it won’t be exact but it will look enough like it that he won’t know unless he looks closely.”

  “So you go in, trade them out, he thinks it’s still there and we have the smoking gun.” The light in his eyes grows bright. He has a plan, and I can see it working through the system of his analytical mind.

  “Not me.” He smiles. “You.”

  “Me?” I laugh out loud. “That would be great except there’s this little matter of a restraining order, an assault charge, and the fact he hates my guts. Maybe you should re-watch Shawshank Redemption.”

  “Look, he will never leave me alone in his office long enough for the switch, but he’d let you in and he’d leave you alone.”

  “Are you insane? The last time I visited his office I left in a zip tie between two cops! I’m hardly on the Ten Most Truste
d list!”

  “You would be,” Mark’s voice curled around the phrase. “If he let you in.”

  “And why on earth would Blake Stone let me into his office?”

  “This is the gross part.” He squints, giving me a warning.

  “Oh, god. You don’t seriously want—”

  “You told me he propositioned you. That’s why you attacked him in the office, right?”

  “I would rather spend eternity in hell with nothing but a CB Radio and an old TV Guide.”