Happy Endings
A Short Story by Marlene Sexton
Copyright Marlene Sexton 2011
Published by Red Heels Press at Smashwords
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Emma stood and stretched next to the Volvo she had borrowed from her friend and editor. She wasn’t used to driving and it was taking a toll on her back even though she’d only been on the road for a couple of hours. It was another half hour or so to the bed and breakfast was head to in Connecticut, but it was getting dark and the roads were icy. Still it was nice to be out of the city and all the hustle and bustle.
The cold late afternoon air and the smell of the ocean coming from Fishers Island Sound were invigorating and Emma climbed back into the car and continued on her way. She needed to get away from her noisy flat and find some peace and quiet to finish the biography she was ghost writing for a fairly famous stage actress. She didn’t normally take that kind of work, but times were tough and Emma’s own macabre poetry and dark horror stories just weren’t selling. She needed some money and this particular actress paid well and was easy enough to work with.
Emma finally made it to the bed and breakfast, a large, old colonial style home set amongst pastures and orchards. It was about six o’clock and already dark, but the innkeeper, a short and stocky woman with short, graying hair, came out to greet Emma anyway.
“You must be Emma!” The middle-aged woman exclaimed. “We we’re getting worried about you with all the ice on the roads. I’m Gladys McGillicuddy and this is my husband Oscar,” she said as she pointed to the thin but hardy looking man just emerging from the inn.
“Hi, I’m Emma. I’m not used to driving, especially on icy roads at night. I went really, really slow.”
“Well, come on in and we’ll show you to your room. You practically have the place to yourself. We don’t get many folks mid-week in the winter, you know. No, no let Oscar get those bags.” Gladys told Emma as she tried to carry her own bags.
“Thank you, Oscar,” Emma replied. She already liked Gladys, who reminded her of her own mother who passed away when she was only thirteen. Oscar seemed like a nice man also, though he apparently didn’t say much. They were a cute couple.
Gladys showed Emma her room on the second floor overlooking the pastures across the road with a view of the sound when it was light Gladys promised. It was perfect even if Emma couldn’t see the supposed pastures or the picturesque Fishers Island Sound. Quiet, cozy and cheerful. Not at all like Emma’s dark and moody apartment in the city. She pulled out her laptop and set it on the small desk while Gladys went on about the inn.
“...and dinner is at five. Sorry you missed it, but I’ll whip something up for you so you don’t have to go to bed hungry. We also usually serve wine and dessert at seven, but since it’s only you and the Finnegans up in the suite and you got here so late, we won’t bother tonight. They keep to themselves anyway. We’ve barely seen them at all. Young couple, so they are probably busy, you know.”
Gladys winked and Emma giggled. She loved how quaint and perfect this all was. She thanked Gladys as the innkeeper turned down the bed and then left Emma to get settled. After Emma shut the door, she fell onto the soft bed and sighed. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this until just that moment. She loved living in the Boston. The nightlife, the interesting people and the parties were all so much fun, but this was nice too.
She suddenly remembered she promised to call her editor, friend and on again, off again girlfriend, Haya, to let her know she had arrived safely. Emma grabbed her iPhone and dialed Haya, a cute, curvy Jewish girl, and told her all about the inn.
“I kind of wish you were with me. It’s so quaint and romantic. I’m not sure Gladys would approve of two girls sharing a room, though. She seems a little old fashioned,” Emma observed.
“I thought we we’re broken up again,” Haya pointed out.
“Just sayin! Anyway, Gladys is bringing me dinner and then I’m going to bed. I’m beat from the drive. I’ll talk to you in a few days.”
“OK. Night, Emma.”
“Good night,” Emma said and hung up. She slipped into a flannel nightshirt and big, fluffy slippers. Gladys showed up right then knocking lightly and Emma bid her to come in. Gladys had a small tray with meat, cheese and fruit, a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“You eat meat, don’t you dear?”
“Yes, why?” Emma asked.
“Oh, so many girls from the city don’t, you know. Oscar shot the deer this last fall and made the salami himself. The cheese is from the dairy down the road. I hope you like wine. I certainly do.”
“I love wine, thank you!”
“Mind if I join you, dear?” Gladys asked hopefully.
“No, I’d like the company. Thank you for the snack. I’ve only been here half an hour and I love the place already. I feel like I’m back at home,” Emma said as she held her glass while Gladys poured her a generous amount of red wine. Emma was fond of dark, Gothic styles, but she missed the cheeriness of her childhood home and the inn reminded her of life before her mother died.
Gladys took a seat on the bed opposite from Emma and sipped her wine. Emma ate the sliced salami, sharp cheddar and apple wedges, hungrier than she realized. The two women talked of Emma’s journey and the city as they polished off the bottle of wine. Gladys left to get another and they started working on that one too.
“One of the benefits of owning a bed and breakfast, you know. Not only do Oscar and I have a big wine cellar, but it’s tax deductible too!” Gladys exclaimed as she giggled and then asked, “So, Emma, what do you do in the city?”
“I’m a writer,” Emma replied.
“What do you write? Books? I read a lot of books up here in the winter, maybe I’ve read one of yours.”
“I doubt it. I write poetry and novels, mostly horror. I’m not really a happy endings kind of girl. I don’t really believe in them”
“Oh! I don’t like horror,” Gladys said sincerely.
“Well, apparently you’re not alone. It doesn’t sell well so I take on freelance work to pay the bills. I don’t like it as much, but a job is a job, right?” Emma explained.
“So, what’s a bright, pretty, young girl like you doing without a husband?” Gladys suddenly changed the subject. There it was, but Emma didn’t mind. She knew being a lesbian didn’t sit well with most folks, especially in the country, but she didn’t hold it against them. She had found most people didn’t judge her solely on her sexuality even if they generally had a negative view of it.
“Oh, I’m sorry, too personal wasn’t it?” Gladys apologized, apparently sensing Emma’s hesitation.
“No, its fine. I’ll be honest Gladys. I’m a lesbian. I’m not into men. I like them well enough as friends...well I guess I do. I don’t know many straight men. I like the gay men I know and the few straight ones I’ve gotten to know were nice enough. I’m just not attrac...Oh, that’s probably T.M.I.”
“T.M.I.?” Gladys asked.
“Too much information.”
“Oh! No, no dear. I’m not worried about it. Just curious is all. Live and let live I always say. As long as you’re happy. Do you have a girlfriend?” Gladys asked as she poured more wine. Emma was pleasantly surprised by the woman’s attitude.
“No. Well, sort of. I have an on again, off again
relationship with my editor, Haya. It’s off right now,” Emma explained.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re a cute girl. What are you, thirty? You have time to find the right girl. Love always finds you when you least expect it, you know?”
I’m twenty-nine. I guess I am young, but I feel old. I’ll be thirty next summer. I feel like life is slipping away,” Emma said. She knew she was still relatively young, but it wasn’t how she felt. She was cute, however. Thin and pale, with dark hair and eyes. Emma usually wore dark clothes and more eye make up than she should, but it matched how she felt most of the time.
“Oh, Emma, you’re so young still. Wait until you’re my age. My goodness! Look at the time. I’d better let you get to bed. I’ve taken up enough of your evening. Besides, two bottles is my limit,” Gladys said and then snickered at herself, clearly a little tipsy.
“No, no. I’ve really enjoyed this. Thanks for keeping me company. I am tired, though,” Emma said beginning to feel the wine herself.
“Well, goodnight, dear. Breakfast is at 8:00 am. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Gladys. See you in the morning.”
Emma turned out the lamp by the bed and was asleep almost immediately. She dreamed of her mom, but at times Gladys took her place. Later she dreamed of Haya and then other women she had been with over the years. In the early hours of the morning, a new woman she didn’t know came to her in her dreams and they made love.
Emma woke up at about six. She pulled up the big comforter to ward off the cold. She could see her breath and the windows were frosty. The approaching sunrise bathed the room in a dull light. Despite the cold, she was flush and her face felt hot. The dream she had been having was one of the most intense she could remember. The details were elusive, but the feelings it generated were vivid. She did remember that she was about to climax as she came awake. She hated when that happened.
The wine and all the talk of finding love with Gladys had obviously worked their way into Emma’s subconscious. Still, she didn’t really feel frustrated. She felt satisfied somehow and full of energy. She got out of bed despite the cold, turned on her laptop and wrote until it was time to shower and head downstairs for breakfast.
Emma didn’t work on the biography she’d come here to finish, but instead wrote of the inn when it was a farmhouse long ago. Part of the reason she came here was to find a little inspiration. Apparently, she had. The ideas just came to her, but they were good. Really good! This could sell, Emma thought.
~~~
Breakfast was incredible and filling. Biscuits and deer sausage gravy, poached eggs, hash browns, juice and coffee. Emma was stuffed. The Finnegans weren’t there, just Gladys and Oscar. Oscar did talk a bit, but Gladys dominated the conversation. She regaled Emma with stories about the local area, its history and even some gossip about people Emma didn’t know. Emma loved every minute. She missed this family atmosphere.
After finishing her third cup of coffee, Emma excused herself to go for a short walk before she got to work. She mentioned how cold her room was and Oscar promised to look into it. Gladys told her about a nice trail in the woods that led to a place with a stunning view of the sound. Emma took the advice and, after bundling up, headed for the trail.
Gladys was right. The view was amazing. It only took about twenty minutes to get to the low ridge where Emma could see the sound and the pastured below the inn. She sat on a nearby fallen log and drank in the serenity of the place. She thought if she ever made it big as a novelist, she’d buy a farmhouse up here somewhere. Of course, she’d also have a nice condo in Boston. She loved it there too. However, she knew that would never happen if she didn’t get back to work so she headed back down to the inn.
About halfway down the trail, Emma saw a woman ahead through the bare trees. She assumed it was Mrs. Finnegan and tried to catch up to introduce herself. The woman disappeared behind a thick stand of trees and Emma lost her. Oh well, she’d probably see them at dinner or at dessert afterward, Emma thought. She returned to the inn and didn’t give it a second thought.
Emma banged out the last few chapters of the biography before noon and intended to begin her first rewrites after lunch, but the story she had begun writing that morning wouldn’t stop intruding on her thoughts. She decided that after lunch she would work on the new story. For lunch, she decided to wander up the road to a fish market Gladys had suggested. Emma loved fresh seafood.
Even though it was cold, she walked along the nearby docks after eating. After all, this was a working vacation and she was determined to make sure she got a good dose of the vacation part. She wandered around for longer than she intended, but was back in front of her laptop around half past two.
Her room was warm again and she assumed Oscar had fixed the heat. During her walk, ideas for her new novel, and she was sure it would be novel now, came almost too fast for her to commit to memory. This place and the inn seemed to speak to Emma.
She wrote almost fifteen thousand words before Gladys came to get her for dinner. The words just flowed from her mind and they had the makings of a great story. Romance, betrayal, redemption and secret longings, it was all there. Emma was amazed what getting out of her element could do for her imagination. She wished she didn’t have a deadline to meet on the autobiography so she could concentrate on her own work, but she did have to meet a deadline. However, she made a deal with herself that she would work hard to finish the paid work tonight and tomorrow and then spend the last day at the inn on her own project.
Dinner was fantastic. Pot roast, potatoes and fresh rolls with real butter. Simple but amazingly tasty. The Finnegans weren’t at dinner either and Emma was beginning to think they were figments of Gladys’ imagination. She mentioned seeing Mrs. Finnegan, but Gladys told her that they had left early in the morning to spend the day in Mystic. She supposed it could have been Mrs. Archer, who Gladys had mentioned owned the acreage behind the inn, out for a morning walk. Emma thought that must have been whom she saw.
Since the Finnegans weren’t back and had informed Gladys that they would be dining out, no wine and dessert was scheduled tonight either. That suited Emma just fine since it gave her more time to get the autobiography in shape to deliver to Haya upon her return to Boston and still free up the last day for her own work.
Gladys invited Emma to sit with her and open another bottle of wine but Emma declined. However, she promised to join Gladys tomorrow evening if she finished her work. Gladys looked disappointed initially, but lit up when Emma agreed to drink with her tomorrow.
Emma retired to her room and worked until after midnight. It was a grind, but she made some real progress and was sure she could finish by tomorrow afternoon if she kept up the pace. She backed up the file onto a USB drive and shut down her laptop, then quietly went to the shared bathroom down the hall. She caught sight of a woman in a blue dressing gown climbing the stairs to the suite in the attic space. Mrs. Finnegan, Emma assumed, though she hadn’t heard them return. So, she did exist.
Emma returned to her room and climbed into bed. As she was drifting off to sleep, she heard a woman’s voice moaning. It was barely audible, but clearly, she was in the throws of passion. The Finnegans were going at it apparently. The moaning stopped and Emma thought as she drifted off to sleep that Mr. Finnegan sure didn’t last very long. She smiled at the little joke and was asleep.
~~~
A woman came to Emma’s bed. It was the same woman from the dream the night before she was sure. She couldn’t make out the woman’s face. It was too dark. The woman slipped the flannel nightshirt over Emma’s head and began sucking her left nipple. The woman’s touch was electric. Emma moaned as the woman moved to her other breast and then kissed her way down Emma’s nude torso. Emma’s soft, alabaster skin tingled as the woman’s hands lightly caressed her. The room seemed lighter suddenly, but it was filled with mist. Emma could barely see beyond the end ofher nose but she felt the woman begin to lap at her pussy.
Emma was so wet and aroused.
The woman’s touch was soft, almost ethereal, but her tongue was insistent and soon Emma was in the midst of an intense orgasm. It was like nothing she had felt before. It almost seemed as if the woman was infusing her with energy that spread throughout her body. Emma’s skin was beaded with perspiration and it felt as if it was a hundred degrees in the room. Emma’s bobbed, dark hair was sticking to her face and neck. Her small breasts were heaving as she fought to catch her breath. This woman was incredible.
Finally, Emma lost all control and was screaming loudly as the woman had two fingers inside her pussy and sucked at Emma’s clit. Emma’s hips bucked, trying to get the woman’s fingers deeper. The orgasm seemed to go on forever. Wave after wave of pleasure engulfed Emma. She felt as if she would lose herself in the pleasure forever and then suddenly the woman stopped and climbed next to Emma. The woman kissed her softly and held Emma close...
~~~
Emma awoke nude, her comforter had slipped off the end of the bed. Her nightshirt was on the floor next to her the bed. Like yesterday, it was freezing in her room. The windows were frosty, but the light was brighter than the previous morning. She grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around her naked body. She checked her phone. It was 7:32. Unlike last night, this dream left her feeling horny and frustrated, despite the intense orgasms she experienced. The dream was already becoming hazy and elusive in her memory, but the intensity of the pleasure was still clear to Emma.
Emma reached between her legs and stroked the thin patch of trimmed hair above her pussy. Then she slipped a finger into her unsurprisingly wet pussy. It felt good. Unlike the dream, this was real. God damn it, she was horny. Emma got into a slow rhythm that she knew would lead to a satisfying orgasm. Suddenly, a knock came at the door and Emma slipped her hand from between her legs, startled.
“Sorry, Emma, but it’s almost breakfast and I wasn’t sure if you were up,” came Gladys’ voice from the hallway.
“Yeah, I’m coming. Be down in twenty.”
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