Experiment In Love

by Clay Estrada, Rita

He groaned. “A hot dog! That’s just what I need after shoveling down a pizza that held everything edible and a few things that weren’t!”

  “You didn’t eat it alone,” she said matter-of-factly. “I helped, too, to the tune of six pieces.”

  “And you’re still hungry?”

  “Pitting my expertise against yours on those machines made my appetite raise its ugly head. Besides, I’m not as rich as you are. For all you know this could be my first meal since our last date.”

  His eyes narrowed as they took a seat in the far comer of the room. “How do you know I’m rich?” The tired waitress came over and Victoria ordered for both of them. Two orange drinks and two foot-long hot dogs, with everything. Once the waitress had retreated Vicky picked up on the conversation as if they had never been interrupted. She was surprised that Kurt had stiffened so noticeably as he waited for her answer. Wasn’t it obvious?

  “Because you wear clothing that yells ‘designer,’ you’ve driven two different cars on two different dates, and you have more credit cards than I can count,” she said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. “So that tells me either you’re very wealthy or you’re spending way beyond your credit cards.

  His eyes skittered away, but not before she saw relief registered there. “So I gave myself away.” His smile was warm.

  It was time for a change of tactics. “Why are you getting involved through a dating magazine when you could meet women like you all on your own?”

  The waitress interrupted them once again, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts. The drinks and hot dogs were set before them and Victoria plunged into hers immediately.

  “Truth, now,” she warned before taking a bite.

  “I’m not ‘involved.’ I just answered your ad.” His eyes were blank, giving nothing away.

  This obviously needed a very direct approach. “Why?”

  “I wanted to see what would happen. Curiosity, I suppose.” He shrugged, and then sipped his orange drink. It wasn’t bad.

  “You don’t strike me as the sort of person who does things on the spur of the moment. I’d say everything you did was rather well-thought-out, deliberate, planned ahead.”

  “And you know me that well?” One brow rose in derision.

  “I don’t think anyone knows you well,” she answered with a lot more insight than he wished she had.

  “And what about you? Why did you put an ad in that paper?” He turned the tables, but she was ready for him.

  “Unlike you, I am the type to do something that quixotic. I thought it might be fun to see what would turn up. Who knows? There may be a story in it.” Her eyes were innocent, but he could see a touch of merriment twinkling there. It intrigued him.

  “What kind of story? For a newspaper? Magazine? What?”

  “For a new romance, of course.” Her lips curved in a provocative smile.

  “Ahhh, yes. The romance,” he murmured before taking a bite of his second dinner, a small smile plastered on his face. If Margie could see him now she’d never believe it! He hadn’t ventured into pizza parlors or hot dog stands since his college days, let alone spent an evening playing video games…and enjoying it!

  “What’s so funny?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “I was just thinking of a family friend. If she saw me now, she’d think I was losing my mind.” He took another bite and washed it down with his drink. He hesitated before looking at her, his gaze warm and very sincere. “And I’m honestly enjoying myself.”

  Her smile took his breath away. The muscles of his chest tightened and he clenched his free hand to keep himself from reaching out and pulling her to him so he could kiss her into keeping that look. Slowly her smile softened and dimpled her cheeks, her eyes locked to his as they both felt the immensely powerful mutual draw of physical attraction.

  The waitress came to check on things and the spell was broken. They began to talk of mundane subjects.

  He had a mother and three sisters living in the San Francisco Bay area. He enjoyed seeing them, but business kept him occupied most of the time. He owned various properties around the city, but he didn’t say where or how many.

  She had a mother and a brother. They lived in another state and she didn’t see them very often. He sensed rather than heard her hostility, but had sense enough not to pry. He learned that her uncle owned the small apartment building where she lived and the reason for her occupied mind when he had picked her up this evening was that she had to find a new rental. A cheap apartment was hard to find, especially in a safe neighborhood.

  “And your father?” he asked softly.

  “I have none,” she answered simply, her face freezing into a mask.

  He didn’t push.

  After they got into the car, Kurt’s hand reached for hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She gave a light sigh, her hand resting on his muscled thigh as he turned the corners with both hands.

  The radio played music that was low and soothing, wrapping them in a private cocoon amidst the lights of Los Angeles. His sigh echoed in the car as his hand tightening possessively. He turned onto her street.

  “Victoria.” His voice was just a whisper in the confines of the car. He had parked in front of the dimly lit apartment, but neither had made a move to get out. Instead, he had turned toward her. “I have an apartment you can use.” He was as surprised as she was by his offer. He had never intended to say that; it had just popped out.

  Her body went taut her hand pushing against the broad breadth of his chest. “No,” she said emphatically, much to his surprise.

  Seconds before he had been berating himself for offering it, but suddenly he was intent on having her accept. “Why not? It’s vacant and you need somewhere to live.”

  She stared up at him, searching his face to find the truth. “Why isn’t it rented?” He could feel her withdrawing from him and silently cursed himself for his bad timing.

  “It’s just been vacated and I haven’t had a chance to place an ad yet. At least take a look at it.”

  She relaxed slightly, but not enough to put her hand back on his leg, where he wanted it. Why was she so skittish? Did she think strings were attached? He found he liked the idea, but kept that fact to himself. She was fun to be with, exciting, asking for nothing — which was a novelty. But she was still just another woman. Right? Right! He almost convinced himself.

  “No strings attached?” she asked him, still cautious.

  “Only the ones you care to attach,” he said solemnly.

  She immediately became more practical. “Where is it and how much is the rent?”

  He pulled her back into the curve of his arm, resting his cheek on the top of her head, his hand straying to rest lightly just below her breast “It’s a townhouse where the old Warner lot used to be. What are you paying now?”

  She gave him the figure and he made a noise deep in his throat. “I’ll give it to you at the same price. It’s reasonable.” He turned her chin up so he could see her reaction, but his eyes were sidetracked, staring at her firm, round, perfectly shaped mouth. Without another thought his lips closed over hers, sweetly, tenderly molding hers to fit the curvature of his as he slowly drew a response from her.

  His soothing hands and questing tongue were all that Victoria wanted and she gave in to his lead, her head drifting back to rest on his arm, her small breasts thrust forward to touch the silky fabric of his shirt as he shifted to lean above her. Her arms wound around his neck, one hand cupping the back of his head while her other hand strayed to his neck, running a tingling fingertip down the tautened muscles. Her mouth opened willingly, holding nothing back from his exploration. His hands left her ribcage to stroke her back and bring her closer to him. She obliged, melding to him with a childish eagerness to please and be pleased.

  If she had any thoughts at all they were chaotic. It was wonderfully exquisite to be in his arms. It was also something she had never experienced before in her life and it overwhelmed every
thing else.

  A low moan came from somewhere deep in his chest and his hand strayed down to the hem of her skirt, pulling it up with an urgency that scared her.

  “No.” Her voice was soft, but her small hand on top of his relayed the message instantly.

  “You’re right. We should go inside and be comfortable. I haven’t necked in a car since I was sixteen.” His voice rasped against her nerves like sandpaper against silk as he put the car in gear and drove the last block to her apartment.

  “I mean no. Period.”

  His eyes widened as her point got across. He smiled ruefully. “I see. I’m still dancing at your pace.” She confirmed it with a nod. “I‘m a grown man, Victoria. I don’t like waiting like this. Games aren’t fun anymore.”

  “I’m not playing a game. And if you think I am, then perhaps we’d better not see each other.” She moved out of his arms and slid across the seat to the door. “Thank you for allowing me to show you my idea of a good time. I enjoyed it.”

  The door was open and she was gone before he even had time to answer. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, cursing under his breath, but he didn’t drive away until he saw the light go on in her apartment. Damn the woman! She was making him jump through hoops he’d never had to jump through before, and he didn’t like it!

  ***

  Victoria stood in the shadow of her dark bedroom and watched Kurt’s car drive away, tears stinging her eyes. Somehow Kurt Wentworth had gotten closer to her than she had ever allowed anyone else to get. Why did he have to be just another man on the prowl, looking for a night of sex the way other men hunted for trophies to hang on a den wall? Did it give them all a vicarious thrill to discuss their prowess over and over, impressing others with their virile masculinity? Her own opinion of men had always been low; they were constantly looking for bodies instead of minds, but this was the first time it had mattered so much.

  Damn her for being such a fool!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Victoria? How are you, dear? I didn’t receive a letter from you last month and I was worried.” Her mother’s voice sounded faint and very weary.

  “I’m fine, Mother. How are you feeling?” Worry overcame the usual emotional distance she kept from her mother. Although she didn’t live with her or visit often, she still loved her, even if she couldn’t always respect her.

  “I’m doing well. The chemotherapy treatments are working, even if I do feel as limp as a dishrag for a day or two afterward.” Her mother’s soft sigh came over the wires, tightening like a cord around Victoria’s chest “Your father spends as much time as he can with me, and that makes it easier.”

  Victoria’s heart hardened. “How nice. And how does he manage to do that without letting his wife, his children and his voters know?” Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

  “Can’t you ever forgive, Victoria?” Her mother sounded so very weary.

  But she wasn’t about to give on this topic. “No, I can’t. The fact that he’s been remarried for twenty years and still tries to pretend to us that we’re his family is repugnant to me. We’re swept aside so his career won’t be publicly tinged with the dirt of another family, legal or not, sitting in the corner of the state to wait at his beck and call.” Victoria heaved a breath; immediately sorry she had ever said anything. It was old ground and neither her mother nor she was going to change her opinion at this late date. It had all been rehashed too often in the past; the present was constantly filled with the remembrance of it. “I’m sorry, Mother. Tell me, how is Brent? Is he doing all right?”

  Relief tinged her mother’s voice. “He’s doing very well. He’ll graduate next month, as you know. I think he’s going to make a fine lawyer. Your father is so proud of him.”

  But not proud enough to attend the graduation, I bet, Victoria thought to herself. “I’m glad,” she said aloud.

  “What have you been doing lately? I haven’t talked to you in so long. Is everything all right? Do you need anything?” Her mother’s querulous voice persisted.

  Suddenly Victoria was tired, mentally and physically. “I’m fine, Mother,” she lied. “I’m looking for a new apartment, something a little larger. My book is in the first-draft stage and I’m still working as a freelance writer. Everything’s fine.”

  The conversation continued with questions and answers, Victoria feeling guiltier by the minute as she realized that her mother’s health really was going downhill. If only she had the courage to go home. But ten years ago her world had come to a standstill and she had left, vowing never to return as long as her father, the great Senator Branden of Nevada, was around.

  Finally the conversation came to an end and Vicky vowed never to get behind in her letter writing again. As long as she wrote regularly, her mother didn’t call. And as long as her mother didn’t call, Victoria wouldn’t remember that terrible night when she had left or dwell on the painful years that had led up to it.

  Her mother was a sweet, charming, typical southern gentlewoman whose one love in life was a man she had agreed to divorce many years ago. They had met when she was just a child of sixteen, then met again when she was twenty-one, and she had once more fallen in love with the tall, somewhat overbearing man.

  Stephen Branden, ten years older, had been seeking a wife who would enhance and embrace his career in politics. He married his southern belle, but they both quickly realized just how ill-prepared she was to wear the heavy cloak of duty and withstand the constant political and public pressures that someone in his position had to become accustomed to. Within four years their marriage was annulled. Her mother had taken back her maiden name of Brown and bought a small house in the corner of the state, where she raised her family in peace and solitude. But Stephen still needed a wife who would be an asset, and found another, marrying just one year later to a woman whose social and political graces were well-known throughout the entire state. They were still married and even had a daughter from that marriage.

  It wasn’t until Victoria was fourteen that she realized what type of man her father was. She had grown into her early teens, never looking beyond the small sheltered world of her neighborhood. She knew her parents had parted and she and her younger brother accepted it. That was the way it had been since before she could remember and no matter how much they wished it was different, nothing they knew of would bring their mother and father back together. And when Daddy came to visit they were happy together, a real family for a while. So when the shock of reality came it left her reeling for weeks.

  One day, when she was seventeen, her dad had come to visit with a friend. They had gone downtown to do some shopping. While they walked down the street, her father telling her a few anecdotes concerning the last bills that had been passed, someone shouted to them. When they turned around Victoria could feel her father’s arm stiffen and saw his face turn white. A young girl, perhaps four years younger than Victoria and prettier than anyone she had ever seen, stood in front of them. She reached up and gave Stephen Branden a kiss on the cheek.

  “Daddy, what are you doing in Reno? I thought you didn’t approve of gambling,” she teased.

  Interested spectators stopped to watch tine group of youngsters across the street, creating a small crowd on the sidewalk. And, somehow, Victoria knew that her father was becoming more angry and frustrated at every person who stopped.

  When it was over Victoria stood rooted to the sidewalk, her mouth moving, but no words formed. Her father’s friend took her arm in his and patted her on the shoulder. Victoria barely remembered what had happened. She had been introduced as a daughter of a friend, and then her father had made excuses as to why he was there, his darting glances looking for reporters as he told the beautiful tall girl to be good and go back to her classmates, who were in town for a school-sponsored tour.

  Somehow they made it home and Victoria found her way to her bedroom. Her father had gone directly to her mother’s room. She’d heard the door shut quietly and the low hum of voices. Everything
else was blocked out.

  For the first time her parents’ way of life became a blinding reality, and the reality wasn’t at all romantic or nice: It was shoddy and shabby, bringing home the fact that she — not the other girl — was the one who meant nothing to him. She was the one with no claim; no rights to her father’s life — and nothing could change that except her father. And he wouldn’t. It had all been spelled out to her in the five-minute episode on the sidewalks of Reno.

  Finally she slept, but when she awoke her father, tired and worried, sat by her bedside, holding her hand as if it were a lifeline.

  “I’m sorry, princess,” he murmured.

  “Why didn’t you introduce me, Dad?” Her voice rasped in her throat from all the crying she had done.

  “It would only have embarrassed you both.” His head hung down on his chest.

  “Or the one who’s useful. Our family never seemed as sordid as it did at that moment. You come here and act as if we’re all a family again. We all pretend; even Mama dresses up and has your favorite meals ready. She plays your favorite CD’s — almost as if you were dating. And you let us pretend!”

  “I deserve that, princess, I know. But there’s so much you don’t understand."

  Her voice sounded old and tired. “Now I do. All these years, since the beginning of high school, I’ve known about you and Mom, but I thought it was romantic, thwarted love, and all that. Today, I saw it for what it really is.” Her voice hardened. “You have a perfect family you can show off to the public and the press, and when you get tired of your public image you can come here and…and slum!” Her voice cracked, but her resolve was strong. “And I’ll never forgive you. Never.” She stared straight into his eyes. “I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.”

  “Darling, don’t say that. You’re my daughter, my own flesh and blood.” His eyes begged for understanding.

  “Would you like to repeat that scene today and tell that girl - your other, more public daughter - that? Would you tell the world? Of course not; I’m just an embarrassment I’m not picture-perfect, nor a help to your career. You deny me, so I don’t see why I can’t deny you, too.”