Two to Tango (Erotic Romance)

by Strong, Mimi

  The big prize was a generous gift basket for the New Year’s Baby, the first infant born in the new year at that hospital.

  I was born at 7:27am, in second place.

  Second place became a theme for my first decade of life.

  The man I called Daddy would typically arrive at our townhouse on Tuesday at dinner time. He would sleep over three nights, and be gone Friday morning.

  I told my friends he was a business man, and that he traveled for work. He did something with computers. That was all I knew. To me, this life was normal.

  Sometimes I would hear him and my mother talking about The Others. At first I thought The Others were our neighbors in the townhouse complex, the ones who asked my mother too many questions, and found it interesting that she had male friends come to visit on the weekend. Eventually, I heard enough snippets of conversation to realize The Others were another family, and that my father was also their father.

  I imagined there was another little girl, just like me. She could be my twin. One day I would meet her, and my father would hold us both in his arms, and tell us we’d never be lonely again, because we would always have each other.

  The half-sister closest to my age turned out to be a woman twelve years older than me—more than double my age when our father, our daddy, collapsed and died. He was sixty-four. He fell down just outside the door to the townhouse, and my mother couldn’t push the screen door open, so we had to run out the back door and all the way around the complex.

  The paramedics gave him CPR, but he was already gone.

  My mother sat on the porch, the cordless phone at her side, and she smoked two packs of cigarettes, lighting one off the other. She took two phone calls, giving our address both times.

  It was past my bedtime and dark outside when a woman came walking up the pathway to our door. I watched from my bedroom window, through the blinds.

  The woman looked like she’d come from a fashion magazine. Black boots with stiletto heels. A long coat, over a dress. Flashes of metal from the buckles on her purse and the rings on her fingers.

  My mother tried to get her into the house, but the woman wouldn’t set one foot on the steps, much less inside.

  My window was open, but they spoke softly, so I couldn’t hear much more than a few words. The words I did hear weren’t nice ones.

  I shut the window and crawled into my bed.

  When I woke up, the previous night seemed like a bad dream.

  My mother was in the kitchen, frying chicken.

  “Chicken for breakfast?” I asked.

  She leaned over to exhale her cigarette smoke up the exhaust fan over the stove.

  “Would you rather have steak?” she asked, a mad glint in her eye.

  I lowered my gaze and muttered that chicken was fine.

  “Nothing but the best for us, from here on,” she said giddily. “What do you want for school lunch? How about I come by and take you out for lunch, for McNuggets? We’re going to be rich now, so you’d better get used to being spoiled.”

  I looked over at the seat where my father usually sat the two mornings he ate breakfast with us. Today was Wednesday. He was supposed to be there, except he wasn’t.

  “Everything’s going to change,” my mother said, dropping fried chicken on a plate in front of me. She opened a bag of candy and set it on the table between us.

  “I don’t like change,” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid. Everybody likes change.”

  I looked over at the calendar on the refrigerator. Some of the days hadn’t been marked off with an X yet.

  I picked at my chicken as I tried to convince myself the day was Monday. Dad comes tomorrow. Dad always comes home on Tuesday. He’ll get mad if he sees I’ve been feeding my fish too much.

  Tomorrow is Tuesday.

  Dad will come see us tomorrow.

  Today is Monday.

  ~

  I parked Gloria’s car in the usual spot, in the south west corner of the community center’s parking lot.

  Charlie pulled up alongside in his friend’s car.

  I stepped out and looked at the two cars, side by side. They were both surfaced in metal, glass, and paint, but everything about Duncan’s car was better.

  During the years my mother fought with my father’s other family to get my inheritance, she constantly pointed out the differences between what rich people had and what poor people had.

  Toward the end of the battle, when she started to accept we weren’t getting much, she started to point out how nice it could be when things like cars and apartments were modest. Humble. Simple.

  Charlie stepped out of the other car. “Want me to walk you in, or would I just embarrass you?” He had a big grin on his face.

  I gave him a smile. “Too embarrassing.”

  “You’ll be fine. At least you don’t have the hiccups.”

  “Thanks.”

  He gave me a hug, crushing my face against his chest. He hadn’t wanted to wear the same shirt he’d been wearing, so he had on a dark gray T-shirt of mine. I’d told him it was unisex, but it was a woman’s shirt. The sleeves were too short, showing off more of his triceps muscles.

  “I’ll catch up on phone calls out here,” he said. “I’m not leaving. Come out and see me after, no matter what.”

  I agreed that I would, and began the long walk to the doors. With each step, the sick feeling in my stomach got worse. I’d worn flat shoes, the least stripper-like choice, short of sneakers. My hands and feet were damp with nervous sweat, the shoes threatening to slip off with every step.

  I was still favoring my good leg, but at least I was walking.

  Once inside, I made my way to the director’s office, feeling very much like a kid being sent to see the principal at school.

  His door was closed, so I sat on a chair and waited.

  The secretaries all left for lunch.

  Fifteen minutes after the scheduled time of our appointment, he opened the door and ushered me in. There had been no one in the room with him, no meeting running late before mine.

  I took a seat and crossed my legs.

  The director, a haggard man with sallow skin and permanent razor burn, leaned back in his chair, his hands folded together behind his head.

  “Skylar Evans. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Mr. Carey, working with children is my dream job. Can I just say something? I truly regret the things in my past, and they are in the past.”

  He tipped his head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost all your sparkle.”

  I glanced over at the office door. The closed office door.

  I forced out a laugh. “All my sparkle is now strictly G-rated. Now, as I said at our previous meeting, which was cut short, my teaching credentials are still correct. I completed my instructional hours and have the diplomas. Some of the exaggerated details I had on my resume are truly regrettable. I am so sorry.”

  Mr. Carey frowned, pursing his lips as his eyebrows pushed down, narrowing his eyes until his pupils were shadowed holes. Dangerous holes you could fall into.

  “Exaggerated details?” he said. “Truly regrettable?” His tongue darted out of his mouth and he licked his thumb in an unmistakeable gesture. “Let’s not live with regrets,” he said.

  The room got very still, and all I could hear was the sound of his computer whirring.

  I looked up at the painting on the wall above his head. It was an oil painting of ships on an ocean. Three ships.

  His chair creaked.

  “First, you lost the laptop,” he said. “I covered for you that time. Moved some budget figures around. I like you, Skye. I think you have a lot of sparkle. This new issue, however, isn’t so minor. Isn’t so fixable. Cheryl has shown quite an interest in… your dance program. You know Cheryl, don’t you?” He licked his thumb again. “I think she used to go by the name Cherry Pie.”

  Chapter 23

  Charlie

  Skye tapped on the passenger-side w
indow, startling me. I’d been sending some text messages to Cooper, the investigator, letting him know things were going well with Skye.

  I told him about the white Tercel, and how she shared it with a friend, which was why he hadn’t been able to track Skye down on his own. He said that was no excuse, and he planned to cut back his drinking so he could be better at his job.

  That made me laugh.

  Skye slid into the passenger side, her cheeks flushed.

  “Talking to your boyfriend?” she asked. “Tell Duncan I said hi.”

  I thought about explaining the whole investigator thing, but I could hear in my head how creepy it would sound, like something a stalker or psychopath would do.

  “Duncan sends his regards,” I said, sliding the phone into my pocket. “You seem chipper. Can I assume that everything went well in there?”

  She opened her purse and pulled out a pack of gum. “Fine,” she murmured.

  “You got your job back? I guess I’ll start going to recitals, to watch your students dance. Do you ever dance with them?”

  “Sometimes.” She chewed two sticks of gum, staring straight ahead.

  I started the car’s engine. “I’m still yours for the day. Where do you want to go? A drive in the country? I think the auction house is open.” I glanced over, looking forward to the reaction I expected from mentioning the auction house. “You still need some lamps.”

  “No auction house,” she said, smiling. “How about a movie matinee?”

  “But it’s a gorgeous day. Look at that sunshine. Do you really want to sit in a dark theater?”

  “I feel drained.”

  “From your meeting. Right. What you need is a brisk walk and some fresh air. That’ll fix you right up.”

  She rested her head limply against the head rest. Her voice as quiet as a kitten, she said, “Don’t fix me.”

  “Skye, I can’t take a hint, but I can take a direct request. Movie it is! Should we swing by Duncan’s house and pick him up?” I grinned at her. “Duncan loves popcorn.”

  “It’s up to you,” she said.

  “I may not have had a girlfriend that lasted more than a month, but I do know a woman trap when I heard one. It’s up to you means things are about to get tense if I really believe it’s up to me. My stepmother says that to my father sometimes. That’s when I clear the room.”

  I guided the car out of the parking lot and turned to go downtown. Mid-day traffic was light.

  “Your father remarried?” Sky asked.

  “Twice.”

  “Poor guy.”

  I studied her face, glancing over as long as I could between keeping an eye on the road. I thought of the red dress I’d seen outside the steam room—the same red dress Skye had been wearing the night we met. I had convinced myself that my original theory was just paranoia, and that Skye wasn’t my father’s mistress, but now something was amiss. She was hiding something. Or trying to drop a hint.

  My mouth got dry. I should have taken a piece of gum when she’d offered.

  “Why would you say that?” I asked.

  She stared at me, her face blank and her blue eyes wide. “Sorry, I dazed out there. Say what?”

  “I said my father had remarried twice, and you said, poor guy.”

  “Yeah. I meant you. Poor you, having to go through all those changes.”

  “I guess. I was twenty when he married the current one. Her name is Willow. She’s not that bad. I mean, she probably deserves better than us.”

  Skye kept looking out the window, distracted. She put her thumb in her mouth and nipped at the thumbnail for a few seconds.

  “Hey, don’t bite your nails,” I said.

  She yanked her hand down and made two fists on her lap. “I try to be good.”

  I felt bad for scolding her. She was the same age as me, and I had no right to try to parent her.

  I said, “Go ahead and bite your nails if you find it relaxing. Who am I to say it’s wrong? You’re not hurting anyone. They’re just nails.”

  She unfurled her fists and rubbed her palms on her skirt. “What were we talking about? Right. Your stepmother. Willow, you said? That’s a pretty name. Is she pretty?”

  “Not as pretty as you.”

  She laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Charlie. Don’t turn left here, it’s a one-way street.”

  I hit the brakes, hard. “Whoops.” I corrected my mistake and turned right.

  “If we’re going to smash up Duncan’s fancy car, let’s be a little more creative.”

  “Skye, do you hate Duncan because he’s rich?”

  “No, I don’t hate him. I dislike him because he’s an asshole. And he’s an asshole because he’s rich.”

  “Ah,” I said, nodding. “Good to know. Are all rich people assholes?”

  “You tell me. You work at that club.”

  “They’re not all bad. And wasn’t your father rich? Am I remembering that right?”

  “He would have provided for his family if he wasn’t such an asshole. We weren’t even in his will, and he said he put the townhouse in my mother’s name, but he didn’t. It was all owned by his company, and are we really going to talk about this? Haven’t I had a bad enough day already?”

  I reached over and patted her on the knee.

  She flinched, her hands flying up in protective fists.

  I wanted to pull the car over to the side of the road and demand to know what the hell was wrong with her, but I resisted. My anger simmered down after a moment.

  “I just want to know you,” I said, wincing at how whiny and needy I sounded.

  “Relationships take time.”

  “But I only have one more night,” I joked. “You get your keys back tomorrow and make your final ruling. Does Charlie stay, or does Charlie go?”

  She allowed the smallest of smiles. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “You make me feel dramatic. It’s like auction fever, only for you. It’s Skye fever.”

  She covered her eyes with both hands, squirming in her seat. “Maybe we should pick up Duncan, so he can balance things out with his asshole presence.”

  “Nope.” We were at a red light, and I clicked the button to roll back the convertible top on the car.

  Skye stared up at the roof in amazement as it retracted neatly into itself and rolled away behind the back seat.

  Just watching Skye did something to me. Seeing the awe on her face, and seeing the bright sunshine light up her brown hair in streaks of gold and red, set my smoldering emotions ablaze.

  I waved to the man sitting in the car next to us, on the passenger side. “Gorgeous day!” I called over to him.

  Skye slunk down in her seat, covering her face with her hand. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Just happy.”

  “You’re a crazy person.”

  The man waved back. “Yes, gorgeous,” he said.

  I pointed to Skye. “I love this girl.”

  She peered over me, eyes wide, looking like she wanted to strangle me.

  Grinning, I said it louder. “I love this girl!”

  The man nodded and pulled away. The light was green. The vehicle behind us honked. I pulled off my seat belt and jumped up on the leather seat.

  “Hey, everybody! I’m going to the movies with my girlfriend, and I love her!”

  Skye held her face in her hands, her whole body shaking. She looked like she was laughing so hard, she was crying. Or maybe she had the hiccups again, or all of the above.

  All the cars lined up behind us started honking.

  The lady in the passenger seat of the car stuck behind me smiled and waved. She looked about sixty.

  “I’m wearing a woman’s T-shirt!” I yelled.

  The woman lowered her window and leaned out to yell, “Take it off! Woo!”

  Her husband, at the wheel, stopped honking and just shrugged.

  I pulled off the T-shirt I’d borrowed from Skye’s closet, whirled it over my head three times, and then jumpe
d back down into the driver’s seat. I put the car into drive and peeled through the intersection before the light turned yellow.

  Once she got control over herself, Skye said, “Why did you do that?”

  “Now we’re even,” I explained. “You’ve done some stripping in the past, and now I have, too. We’re totally even.”

  With a sly look, she said, “You didn’t take your pants off.”

  “Wait ’til the next red light.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Skye, if that’s what it takes to win your heart, that’s what I’ll do. I will take my pants off at the next red light.”

  She didn’t have much to say after that. She was probably trying to pretend she hadn’t heard me say I loved her.

  We stopped at the next red light. I put the car into park and jumped on my seat again, putting on a show for the couple behind us. It was the same couple as the previous light, and the woman looked delighted.

  Skye reached over and cranked up the music on the stereo so I had a beat to grind to.

  With my pants off, I gave everyone the best show I could, though I declined to remove my underwear, despite requests from my audience.

  ~

  When I woke up in the morning, I knew exactly where I was without opening my eyes. I reached over for Skye, but the covers were cool and empty.

  The bedroom door was closed, but I could hear music playing softly, and footfalls. Bare feet on hardwood. Was she dancing?

  I got up and opened the door slowly.

  The furniture was pushed to the side, and Skye was folded on the floor, face down. She looked like she was stretching, or meditating.

  She swept her arms out like unfurling vines, her fingertips walking along the worn wood floor. Slowly, like a plant growing in the sun, she raised her head and rose up, moving with the music. She wore a pale pink leotard, her dark hair loose and flowing as she moved. Something about her fingertips drew my attention. She wore black nail polish on her short nails.

  I leaned against the door frame and watched quietly. Her back was to me, and she didn’t seem to notice I was there.

  She danced. I couldn’t even tell which knee it was that had been hurt, but most of the movements were low-impact, with few jumps.