by KT Morrison
At the bottom of the stairs he held his arm out to take her, she smirked, rolled her eyes again, looped hers under his and let him escort her through the kitchen.
“I haven’t worn these heels in almost five years,” she said as she clicked across the stone and towards the door at the back of the kitchen that led to the gravel drive. “I think I’m doing all right.”
“You are, Maggie. You really look stunning. I’m thinking I should have picked a shorter dress. I want to see those legs in heels.”
“Oh, please...”
“Don’t worry. I’m not terribly disappointed. I know what’s under there. I’d just like to watch those muscles work.”
They stopped at the door out of the kitchen. Ahead, dimly lit, just out of the reach of the light above the door, Cole’s lifted Jeep reflected back dully. On their right stood the hall table, black and angular, on top, a crystal Baccarat Damier bowl. Cole reached in the bowl, hooked the fob for father’s SL in his forefinger and winked to her, said, “I think we’ll take the Mercedes tonight, Margaret.”
“Oh...I don’t know,” she said.
“I could always turn up the keys for the Spyder...”
She laughed at the thought, said, “Oh man, Martin would cut those big balls of yours right off.”
Cole shrugged it off, said, “It is a really amazing car. A classic. I'd love to try it out. Where do you think he keeps the keys?”
Cole was looking at her with serious intent, but he was fooling. She knew that look. He was teasing her. Truth was, if she had decided to go out on her own tonight she would have taken her father’s SL. Or her mother’s Porsche. She wasn't much of a driver, only got her license over the summer when she turned eighteen. Had hardly ever driven at all, maybe a few thousand miles in her whole life, but just the same, her father wasn't precious with his day-to-day vehicles. No, he wouldn't have even batted an eye if she’d gone out to see a movie on her own and took his car.
She said, “Let's just take the Mercedes tonight, darling,” and she put her arm under his again and held herself close to him, keeping a straight face as long as she could before she burst out with the giggles. “I like your balls exactly where they are.”
It was on the Bellevue Road that the bad feeling came to her. A prickly green wave of worry settled over her as she considered where he might take her. They had driven through Jamestown, crossed the Newport Bridge, but now they had slipped south of Newport City and were heading into Aquidneck proper. Then they were zipping along the narrow mansion-lined Ruggles Road, and she knew there weren't any restaurants ahead, except, of course, one of the finest in the area lying ahead on the Cliff Walk.
The Mercedes hummed along the macadam at low speed; the radio tuned to Sirius’s classical station. Light from the GPS and the digital dashboard lit up Cole’s chiseled face from below. He was steady-eyed, stoic, looking a lot like a male model in this dramatic light, with his brushed back hair and his stubbled jaw with pouting strawberry red lips.
“Where are you taking me?” she whispered just above the volume of Stravinsky from the speakers.
He smiled, his eyes darting over to regard her without turning his head.
“Cole? ...”
“I told you I’m taking you to dinner...”
“Cole... Where? ...”
“A lovely restaurant where I know the food is excellent.” Now he was smiling again, the slightest meanness twisting one corner of his mouth higher than the other.
“Please, no, Cole...”
“Oh yes, Margaret. The Poirot.”
A fizzling pulse of anger sparked within her but it faded under a sadness. The knowledge she would surrender extinguished it. She knew she wouldn’t turn him away from this, and if she wouldn’t, well how bad was it really?
“The place where I’m getting married?” she whined, her heavy shoulders slumping, her back hunching.
“You’re not getting married...”
“Oh, I’m not?”
“Not there. It’s just your reception...”
“You know what I mean...”
“Lighten up, Margaret,” he laughed, let his head fall back lazily against the headrest while his eyes stayed on the road. Up ahead, their headlights shone on the open gate set in the stone walls of the mansion’s perimeter, boughs of buxus above in undulating clumps. “If you’re a good girl...a lucky girl...I might slurp your oyster tonight.”
She laughed, shook her head, smirking, reached out without looking and held his hard forearm just below his elbow. She squeezed him lightly, amiably, sighed, “You’re such an asshole.”
His other hand gripped her fingers against him and he leaned his head and kissed the back of her hand.
The car wound up the switchback driveway, climbing towards the dazzling, amber-lit mansion, stopped under the carport and a valet held the car door open for her. Cole took her hand as the SL drove off, and they walked the red carpet towards the brass double doors that would take them into the Poirot. She stopped him on the first step and he followed her gaze out to the horizon. The mansion sat high on the cliff and looked out over Sheep Point Cove. The water thrashed in choppy black and silver, and the sky was a deep and endless amaranthine, almost unblemished. She smiled and sighed. Though she felt a little robbed by this preview of her wedding night, she knew she was glad to be here.
“Well, this is a different Cole I’m seeing tonight,” she said after he had ordered a bottle of Chianti, a Fattoria di Petroio Classic Reserve.
Folding his hands together over the linen place mat he leaned forward, said, “I just want to have fun tonight, Maggie. I want to enjoy you as a woman. Ten months from now you will marry my best friend, but until then...”
“Enjoy me as a woman?” she said with pleasant snideness.
He leaned back, irritated, raised his eyebrows. “Listen...you’re my best friend’s girl, and I never took a sideways look at you. Least one you or Max saw...but you’re crazy if you don’t think I thought about it.”
“That’s nice,” she said, feeling herself soften. “What did you think about me?”
“Think I’m your friend cause your Max’s girl? Know how many my dudes who have girlfriends make me want to stab my brain with a pen? ... Well, you get the point. They aren’t like you. I’m your friend because I genuinely like you. On a profound level, Maggie.”
“And what about Max?”
“What do you mean?”
“You care about Max but you brought me here.”
“It’s not allowed? If this is so wrong, Maggie, tell me...”
“No...no, I don’t think so...”
“It’s not. You and I are friends. I mean that. You’re the only girl I ever liked because I...liked her. I spend time with girls it’s to fuck them. I hang out with you all the time and never made a move.”
“If you liked me all this time, in that way...then, yes, that is very respectable.”
“Right. And now I feel like there’s something on the table and I’d be crazy not to make a grab for it.”
“What do you mean? I’m on the table?”
“All three of us are friends. We all care about each other. What about me? Maybe I should get something here. Maybe it’s been my fantasy to date you. Take you out and—”
“That’s too much.”
“No, it’s not. I don't think it is. How about this? ...I know the arrangement you have, you and Max, and I get it, but what if I told you Max is manipulating you?”
“How?”
“He's doing this for his own...titillation.”
The waiter interrupted them, a sommelier at his side. The wine was poured, Cole approved, though she was sure he wouldn’t know to disapprove unless it was vinegar. But he was unafraid of the show, unafraid to let seasoned wait staff watch him sample the wine and nod, going through the theater that was fine dining. He had volumes of confidence and he looked good doing it. He ordered for her, picking Wild Boar because it went with the Chianti. They started with Nasturtium R
isotto and he ordered a Tuna Carpaccio as well. Oysters were clearly on the menu and she was relieved when he avoided them. She wasn’t confident enough for a performance tonight, and her heart wouldn’t be into slurping an oyster held out for her, nor watching him slurp one held by her. Though she was quite sure his reference in the vehicle was a comically vulgar one and he was insinuating the oyster between her thighs.
When the waiter left she was eager to continue, and she leaned forward again and quietly said, “Titillation?”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
“I don’t know. I’ve been having fun.”
“He’s very focused on what he gets out of this, though he bills it as you exploring the things you may have missed. If he truly cares you are fulfilled before he ties the knot with you, challenge him. Ask him for the things you've been curious about.”
“It’s not a free for all, Cole. I can’t go...” she whispered, “like, suck off the football team or something.”
“That what you want?” He smirked, cocked an eyebrow.
“Don't be stupid. I mean there’s rules. We haven't described them but we're fucked if we don’t know what they are without talking about it. I’m allowed to explore but of course we do it together. Max gets something out of it. I want him to get something out of it.” Now she leaned closer, whispered again, told him earnestly, “I like that he gets something out of it.”
Cole nodded and sighed. His gaze cast the room, mildly regarding the other diners while his mind went to work.
She said, “What do you think of me now? Do you think that’s weird? Do you think I’m weird?”
“No way. No way. Not at all. But don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be with another man, without Max watching? Not sex, or not just sex, but I mean, the full experience. Unhindered.”
“I guess. But...”
“Secret Society, Maggie, remember? We should do this.”
“This what?”
“Together. All three of us. For you. But let me...let me be a part of it, let—”
“You don’t think you’re a part of it?” she laughed.
“Don’t let Max tell you what you want. You tell us what you want. We’ll show you. I’ll show you.”
“You want me to cheat on Max.”
“I want you to know what it would be like to be with a man who knows what he’s doing, without the sex being a performance of some kind.”
Now she sighed, and her elbows went on the table, her hands clasped together, and she bit the knuckle of her thumb. She said, “I tell Max a lot more than you know. I tell him what I want. He wants to know those things.”
“Well, tell me.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, I know already,” he said, leaning back in his chair. A lock of his shaggy blonde hair fell free, and he smoothed it back. Farther from the table, without the light from the candle’s glow, his teeth shone white between his berry-colored lips.
“Why don’t you tell me then?” she laughed.
“We both know what you want.”
She laughed lightly, choked it off, lowered her eyes to her fidgeting hands. She’d folded and creased the corner of her napkin until it was a twisted whorl.
She hid the napkin away, tucked it down to her lap. She whispered, “You don’t think I’m weird?”
“Maggie, if I didn’t think it would freak you the fuck out I’d tell you I love you.”
“Don’t.”
“Not like that. But...I do.”
“Okay. Don’t say that.”
“I didn’t. I won’t. But I want you to trust me.”
“I do. I care about you too.”
“I know you do.”
Cole leaned to the table again, his forearms across the crisp place mat, his wineglass jostling, the chianti swirling, sending hypnotic blood-red cycloids dancing on the linen.
He said, “I know what you want, Maggie.”
“You don’t think...I’m...dirty...”
“No way... In a bad way? ...”
“Yeah, like...a...slut? ...”
“Whoah,” he sighed. “That’s a bad word. That’s heavy.”
“It is.”
“Why would you ever say that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.
“Does Max call you that?”
“I don’t want to talk about Max anymore.”
Max called her that because she liked it. But he also called her that because it turned him on. How would she explain that to Cole? Explain it without mentioning Jay and the things she did with him. Did for Max. Did for herself too, but in concert with her man. The twisted part of their sexuality was gripping tighter and tighter, and the further they explored the more complicated it became, and soon they would be tightened right up like the corner of her napkin. There was a fear in her of what Max might want next. Afraid that she wouldn’t have the sense to say no.
Cole took her hand, watched her patiently from across the table, over top the deep orange bouquet of greenhouse marigolds. She said, “Tell me. Tell me, Cole. Tell me what I want.”
“Let me show you, Maggie.”
The reality of his words were jarring, and she slipped her hand away from his. “I can’t, Cole.”
“Tell me you don’t want to.”
“No.”
“Honestly, Maggie...look in my eyes.”
She resisted, rolled her eyes around mildly, averting them, doing everything to avoid looking at him. She jumped when she felt his hand on hers again. Warm, large, covering hers. She looked at it, looked at the veins, the big knuckles. He had large and well-formed hands. So masculine, but not dirtied with labor. The skin a healthy tan.
“Look in my eyes, Maggie,” he said softly.
So she did. Looked over the flickering candlelight and right into his shimmering blue eyes.
“What, Cole?” she whispered. “Of course I want to. You know that.”
“I know that.”
“Of course I want to,” she repeated and looked away again before the foundation of her resolve crumbled under his waves. He still held her hand, his thumb running along her wrist. He was still holding her hand when their food arrived.
4
Regency
Saturday, October 7th
She wouldn't meet her own eyes in the mirror. Avoiding her reflection, she washed her hands in the spotless bathroom where she had gone during their food tasting last weekend. Outside the heavy wooden door, she knew Cole would be waiting.
She’d left him at the table to settle the bill and came in and pressed a cold paper towel to her cheeks, digging her fingers into the muscles under her eyes. Touched up her makeup then, her amber eyes darting over the Maggie in the mirror and unsettling her. How would she stop them from doing something that would be a mistake? They were helplessly tumbling that way. Cole cleared everything from her path, let her see him put cushions along the route and she knew, if she wasn't careful, they would end up tumbling into her bedroom. How terrible would that be?
On a scale of 1 to 10, it was a nine. It was Max's greatest fear. He’d told her. They wouldn't laugh at him but it was without him. Just the other night they'd already gone too far, and in the aftermath she could feel her brain struggling to make it okay, twist her indiscretion into something that would be for Max's erotic benefit. She could do it now too. Tell herself that as hurtful as it would be to sleep with his best friend, her loving Max would reap a benefit. How would she reveal it to him? In bed, maybe riding him...? She could picture that, getting on top of him, his hands on her breasts, she could control their lovemaking and tell him every detail. He would love it. In a way it would be for him, it would be a present she could slowly unwrap for him.
“Shit,” she sighed, grasping her neck with both hands and boldly looking at her slutty face now. Where Maggie? At home? Your parents will be there. In your dad’s precious Mercedes? Bad idea. The Poirot would be booked. Where else? Find a hotel somewhere along the way? They needed to knock thi
s off. Quit it. Put the jets in reverse and blast back some of this forward momentum before they both did something they regretted.
She snatched her clutch off the marble counter and opened the door. He was there. Waiting. Posing as he was last weekend. It had been okay then. Why not now? Really...why?
His uneven smile made her toes clench inside the points of her Gucci’s. Easing off the high, marble-topped table, he crossed the hall to her. She didn’t smile, just watched every move he made the whole painstaking voyage to her. They met face to face, her taller in her heels than she had been the last time they’d come together in this hall. It was quiet in here, but from the restaurant side they could hear the murmur of patrons, the clink of silver on china. He leaned to her, his hand going over her shoulder again, palm against the wall to her right. She sucked her lips into her mouth and looked deep into his eyes. He kissed her. Slow and delicate, his lips came in and took command of her. She softly grunted, her head tilting back weakly on her neck as she succumbed her lips, succumbed her heart. Hands staying at her sides, one elbow bent to hold her clutch tucked to her waist. His mouth worked on hers, soft lips suckling and biting at her, rough beard scratching her porcelain skin. She moaned into his mouth and the sound broke her in two.
“No. Cole, don't, please,” she whimpered. Her eyes swelled with the threat of tears.
The tickle of her hem being lifted danced up one shin, across her knee. He stared in her eyes and she didn't stop him. She bit her lip and in her mind she had the strength to say stop, had the power to say no. The hem danced up her thigh and neither of them wavered, their eyes locked on one another, not even darting suspiciously up and down the hall to make sure they weren’t discovered. Her hand moved to his wrist. Felt his cuff, his cufflink, gripped him but didn't stop him. His fingers touched the bare skin of her thigh and she gasped. Then he ran them higher, up underneath her dress, dancing along the hollow again in the space where her hip met her tummy. It fluttered, and she held her breath.