Magic of the Heart

by C. J. Harte

  “I’m in music.” Maggie hesitated. “Mostly producing.” Maggie wasn’t sure how much more to reveal.

  “You must have to deal with a lot of men. I had a good friend in college who was determined to succeed as a symphony director. She struggled for a long time and then decided to just compose. Even that was difficult. She now teaches at Florida State.”

  Maggie smiled. This was one of her favorite topics. “Do you realize how few women conduct major symphonies or head major recording studios? And women composers haven’t gotten the financing men have. It doesn’t matter the genre. Where are the women? Sure, there are a few, but not nearly enough.” Maggie paused and realized she had revealed too much. “Sorry. My senior paper in college was on the role of women in music management and administration.”

  “Don’t apologize. Women still have many glass ceilings to break.” Susan searched for some clever thing to say. “What do you think it will take to make that change?” Clever, really clever, Susan! While it got the desired response and Maggie continued talking, Susan was suddenly aware of how much she was enjoying the conversation and didn’t want their time together to end.

  Fate intervened when the plane landed in Dallas for their only stop. First they were delayed for two hours while the airline tried to fix a leaky faucet, unsuccessfully. Next they were told the plane was not flyable. Finally, the airlines recruited another plane, at another gate, in another terminal. When the airline offered her VIP assistance including a waiting electric cart, Maggie grabbed Susan’s arm. “Come on. Why walk when we can ride?” Kids, carry-ons, and two adults were quickly moved to the awaiting cart and zoomed to the new gate.

  Susan had never had such great service, except for the time she broke her foot. She briefly wondered if Maggie was some airline VIP but then erased that thought with the acknowledgment of the assistance being designed for the kids. They were all settled in their first-class seats before their flying companions were embarking from the Sky Train at the terminal.

  Once aboard the plane and headed to Orlando, Maggie discovered her wallet was missing. “Damn, all my identification is in it. It had to have fallen out on the other plane.”

  One of the flight attendants noticed Maggie’s agitation and came up. “May we help you, Ms. Carson?” The attendant’s inquiries were not helpful. “A member of the cleaning crew may have picked it up,” the attendant said. “I am sure we’ll find it. Do you need to make a call or other arrangements?”

  Frustration evident, Maggie nonetheless remained gracious. “Ms. Carson,” the attendant whispered, “could I get your autograph for my nephew?”

  Her husband must be some star quarterback, Susan thought, as Maggie asked the nephew’s name and signed her name. Susan thought Maggie was vaguely familiar, but she quickly discarded that thought when she realized she had been staring at Maggie all evening. Of course she’s familiar looking. Susan, this is not like you. Sitting back in her seat, she tried to calm her racing heart. Come on, Susan, this is some married stranger. Chill, she reminded herself. An attractive married stranger. Admit it, you haven’t enjoyed being with another woman this much in a long, long, long time. What is it about Maggie? This is like the time I went to a circus and watched the magician pull rabbits and other wonderful objects out of the hat. But Maggie is a married magical person. Oh, shit.

  *

  It was nearly three in the morning when the plane finally landed in Orlando and they found their way to the baggage claim to wait for the bags. “My car is parked in the terminal lot. If you need a ride or if I can help with anything…” Susan let the sentence fall off. What else could she offer? Maggie obviously was financially secure…and married, she again reminded herself.

  “Susan, thank you. I have a rental car and hotel arranged. Oh, shit. I forgot. I don’t have my wallet.”

  Before her brain could get in gear, Susan opened her mouth. “I have my car here and I have a large house with plenty of room. You’re welcome to stay until you can work something out.” When her brain caught up with her mouth it screamed. What are you doing, Miss Obsessive-Compulsive Queen of Privacy? “I have only one child and it’s a really large house.” Great, that’s a winning argument!

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Guests are always welcome at my house.” Right, and it is going to snow in Orlando tomorrow. You’ve really gone and done it now.

  Maggie rubbed her sleeping son’s back. She quickly reviewed all her options before she made a decision. “Okay, but only if you let me buy dinner when I get some money.”

  Maggie’s lopsided smile was worth it. Susan’s heart threatened to stop beating. She took another deep breath, sealed the agreement with a handshake, and herded Maggie and her children into the waiting car. Considering the amount of luggage Maggie and her kids had, Susan was glad she had a minivan.

  As they drove away from the airport, panic finally set in. Susan realized she had no idea what kind of person Maggie was, where she lived, how she lived, how much money she earned. She figured Maggie’s husband earned a six- or seven-figure—but who’s counting—salary. Still, she was bringing a total stranger to her modest home in Winter Park, a conservative, upper-middle-income area north of Orlando. A place no one outside her family had ever stayed.

  Susan’s house once belonged to her parents but was given to her when her father retired and her parents started traveling. The older neighborhood was composed of many old friends of her parents as well as an increasing number of young upwardly mobile families with children, looking for the “right” starter address. When her father died, Susan’s mom came back to live in the mother-in-law cottage behind her house and to care for Susan’s daughter during Susan’s frequent out-of-town business trips.

  *

  Susan used the remote control to open the garage door. As she drove into the garage, a nagging parental voice reminded her of her lifestyle, her responsibilities, and her near dread of meeting new people. Now, she’d spent the entire trip entranced with a stranger and brought Maggie and her children into her house. Me, the queen of…no, don’t go there. Well, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

  The sleeping children were carried in and quickly settled into the spare beds in Cady’s room. Cady stirred briefly but fell back asleep. Unloading the car was a quest to defy gravity and other laws of physics. Somehow they managed to get everything into the house in one trip. “You’re a lifesaver,” Maggie said.

  Susan felt both awkward and guilty. Awkward because of her need to continue the connection with Maggie. Guilty for the feelings of attraction. Her control slipping, she mumbled something.

  Maggie reached for Susan’s arm. “Susan, I’m serious. I can’t tell you how much all this means to me. Thank you.”

  Maggie’s hand heated the skin on Susan’s arm. A subtle tremor began in the center of Susan’s body and threatened to spread. Susan willed her body to stay still. After Maggie let go, Susan felt unexpectedly empty.

  Everything changed once they moved into the room that served as Susan’s home office. The white enameled daybed was now the resting place of many late-night reports. The computer sat quietly. The whole room was a silent testimony to her structured, organized life. My boring. organized life.

  “I’m sorry the room is such a mess,” Susan said as she grabbed a stack of papers. “I leave all my folders out so I can return to them when I get home.” Looking around at the carefully arranged and color-coordinated stacks of working files, she realized she had a whole Southern Forest in processed paper. Oh, goddess, suppose she’s one of those rabid West Coast environmentalists. There was no way to suddenly make all the paper disappear unless Susan began shoveling it under her clothes. Briefly she wondered if Maggie would notice if she tried to hide the paper under her blouse.

  Maggie was clearly amused at Susan’s scurrying. “You can organize my office any day. Yours looks so neat. I have to rely on my assistant to help me figure out what I
do each day.” Susan didn’t care if Maggie was an environmentalist. She was willing to start a paperless work system if Maggie approved.

  As they cleared the room, Maggie asked, “If it wouldn’t be a problem, I’d love some hot tea. Anything herbal or caffeine free. Then if you can point me to a hot shower, I’ll be eternally in your debt.”

  There was a small half-bath off the family room. Another full-size bathroom was located near Cady’s bedroom, next to the spare bedroom in which her mother slept. The pipes in that bathroom made lovely noises that were loud enough to stir the neighborhood. Why haven’t I gotten that fixed? That left only the bathroom in Susan’s bedroom. She had little choice. Why did I invite this person into my house? Well, it’s a little late to worry about that now. The voices continued to argue. Shut up! Susan finally ordered her overactive imagination.

  She grabbed towels and led Maggie into her bathroom. “If you don’t mind using the shower in my bedroom, you can go ahead and clean up there while I fix us both some tea.”

  “Perfect.” Maggie reached for Susan’s arm as she walked by. “Susan, you have been great. If you’re uncomfortable about anything, it’s okay. I can wait until we get moved to the hotel.”

  “Maggie, please, make yourself at home.”

  Maggie gently caressed Susan’s shoulder, then moved to briefly touch Susan’s cheek. “Thank you.” With that she turned, walked into her room, and started to unpack some items from her overnight bag.

  Susan placed her hand on her cheek. She watched as Maggie pulled things from her luggage. Her movements were slow and deliberate. Susan struggled to breathe. Maggie had a definite grace and sensuality. While she didn’t meet most people’s criteria for classic beauty, she had a magnetism that caused others to notice her. Tall, lean body. Languid movements of a cat, carefully sorting through her possessions.

  Finally she held up a midnight blue satin nightshirt with buttons down the front and long tails in the front and back. Maggie would be stunning in it, Susan decided. Her breathing became shallow and rapid as she watched. Maggie held the nightshirt, examining it, running her hand up and down the fabric. Susan realized that Maggie knew she was watching yet she refused to acknowledge Susan’s presence.

  Susan had become a voyeur, unwilling to pull herself away. Maggie removed her blazer, slowly folding it over a chair. Next she slipped off her loafers as she unhooked her leather belt. Only as Maggie unbuttoned her jeans did Susan force herself to turn away.

  Susan returned to the kitchen and mechanically attempted to make tea. No cogent thought surfaced—only emotions and images. The water boiled out, forcing her to refill the pot. On the third attempt she was able to force herself to focus on the simple act of making tea. As Maggie walked into the kitchen she was setting two cups of tea on the table. Susan’s heart rate had finally returned to normal…until Maggie entered.

  Wet hair hanging down below her shoulders, moisture glistening on her face as well as all exposed parts of her body, Maggie was every bit as stunning as Susan had imagined. Susan’s reaction was visceral. The desire to touch was more intense than anything she had ever experienced. She curled her hands into tight fists to keep from reaching out. Maggie’s nightshirt reached mid-thigh, and well-formed, tanned legs were clearly visible. She was beautiful. How does she manage it? She either works out or keeps herself physically fit in other ways.

  Maggie’s movements were again deliberate and graceful. She walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat. One leg folded under her and the other foot resting on the seat with her knee just under her chin, she stared up at Susan.

  Susan knew she was in trouble. She turned away with a not-so-gentle reminder to herself that Maggie was a married woman with two children. She also briefly considered that she didn’t have time for a relationship, even if Maggie wasn’t straight. Relationship? What am I thinking? Sometimes reality was better than a cold shower.

  “I seem to be constantly thanking you,” Maggie said. Her voice was soft, her eyes inviting. That wonderful lopsided smile was just beginning. “I insist you let me make it up some way. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Susan had to stay focused on the sheer act of picking up the cup to avoid spilling it. “You really don’t have to do anything. I know what it’s like to be stranded.” Yeah, right! You don’t go outside to pick up the paper without a detailed plan for how you open the door, how quickly you walk, how you bend and pick up the paper. Stranded? I am never stranded. Not me! Even her mother questioned where Susan developed this compulsion to organize every facet of her life.

  “I told you. I won’t take no. In fact, if you and your family don’t have any plans for Thanksgiving, I would like you to be my guests. That’s when Derek arrives. I realize you may have other plans, but if not, please say yes.”

  Susan wanted to say yes, but then she remembered: Thanksgiving is in two weeks. It’s my turn to cook. My sister and her family are coming over. And then the thorns of reality began to pierce.

  “Susan, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I…I’m…I’m fine,” she muttered.

  Oh, shit. Shit! Shit! Shit! What have I done? All her fears and inhibitions attacked at once. Some evil plot, surely. Her life had been a constant battle for control. Control made her comfortable but also allowed her to postpone decisions. Especially about her personal life. She felt control slipping. Oh, shit.

  Chapter Three

  Unsure what to do, Maggie placed her empty cup on the table and stood. She tried to remember the last time she had just talked with another woman. Maybe Derek is right, I need to learn how to have friends. Keep it light, she reminded herself. This gracious woman is just being kind.

  She searched for some words to bridge the gap growing between them. Maggie was not one to initiate conversation. Others sought her. She merely had to choose whom to respond to or whom to ignore. Along the way she had lost the art of graceful conversation.

  “Look, Susan, if I’ve said something or done something, I…I…” Maggie struggled. Her emotions were a whirlwind, confusing and treacherous. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should go ahead and get dressed and see if I can have someone pick us up and take us to the hotel.” Maggie picked up her cup. “I’m sure we can figure something out.” She trailed off as she waited for some response.

  When Susan finally turned to face her, Maggie saw the tears gently sliding down the side of Susan’s face. A knot tightened around Maggie’s heart. She wanted desperately to reach out and wipe away those tears, to hold Susan, to reassure her. Desire and anguish were at war. She did nothing, clenching her teeth. An army of aides and assistants handled every area of her life. She had not needed to take care of her own problems, much less someone else’s.

  Susan wiped away the tears. “Maggie, don’t leave. It’s not you. I’m tired and feeling a little overwhelmed. Besides, you don’t have any money or identification, remember? I’d like for you to meet Cady and my mom.” She gave Maggie a quick hug. “I’ll give you an answer about Thanksgiving later, okay?”

  Accustomed to giving orders and having things fixed immediately, Maggie remained uncomfortably silent.

  “May I use your phone?” Maggie asked as Susan left the kitchen. “My cell phone is dead and I need to let Derek know we’re okay.”

  “Of course. Sleep well.”

  Maggie’s arms and shoulders ached. She unclenched her hands and tried to relax. For once, neither money nor fame could fix the situation. She mentally replayed the day in fast forward. Only when the familiar male voice answered was she able to relax. “Hi, Derek. It’s me.”

  “Maggie, where are you? Are you okay? Your agent has been calling the hotel and they said you never checked in. We’ve been worried.”

  “Derek, we’re all safe. How’s Paul?”

  “He’s fine. Worried.” Derek was returning to calmer levels. “I’m so glad you are all okay. Are you at the hotel? What happened?”

  Maggie tried to frame an answer. No matter what she said, the truth wa
s stranger. In her infatuation with Susan, she had forgotten that a simple call to the hotel or her agent might have prevented any misunderstandings. “Do you want details or the Reader’s Digest version?”

  “Maggie, just tell me what happened.”

  As if recounting ordinary series of facts, Maggie talked about the late start, the delays, the plane problems, and the missing identification. She ignored any interruptions and rushed into the generous offer from the woman she had met on the plane. There was silence on the other end. She could guess what Derek was thinking, but he was wrong. “Derek, Susan’s a good person. She’s a successful businesswoman with a child of her own. We’re very safe here.”

  “Maggie, I don’t believe this. How could you allow some stranger take you and the kids somewhere?”

  “Damn it, Derek, what do you think is going to happen in five to six hours, especially with everyone asleep?” Maggie recognized that in the past she had made stupid mistakes. Stupid mistakes that dearly cost her. Not now, she argued, not now. “Her mother and daughter are in the house. In the morning, when my wallet arrives, I’ll check into the hotel.” Maybe.

  “Maggie, what do you know about this woman? What does she want? Does she know who you are?”

  “You’re right,” Maggie answered, taking the offensive, “I don’t know a damn thing about her. She’s probably a decent, hardworking single parent, living in a very traditional fucking middle-class neighborhood. And, no, I don’t think she has the faintest idea what I do or who the fuck I am. Derek, I could be one of those California crazies and yet she offered to let me and the kids stay here. And she’s asked for nothing. Nothing! I think she’d have more to worry about from me than I do about from her.”

  “Hang on, Mags. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you hurt. Let Paul run a check on her. She could be another Brenda Harper. Whether she is or she isn’t, she’ll never know we checked.”