by Susan Lewis
‘Hi, this is Ellen,’ she said, as he answered his cellphone. ‘Oh, hi, honey,’ he responded, sounding genuinely pleased to hear her. ‘How’re you doing? You still with your folks?’
‘Yeah, still here.’ She smiled, so easily able to picture his humorous dark eyes, dishevelled silver hair and unbelievably sensuous mouth that she melted back against the tractor shed, hugging an arm to her waist. ‘How about you? How are you doing with the band?’
‘With the band, OK,’ he answered. ‘But I’ve got to tell you, I’m having a real tough time otherwise. I mean real tough.’
Ellen’s smile faded. ‘Nola?’ she said, wishing the woman’s name didn’t have to come into every conversation they had.
He chuckled softly. ‘The woman’s name is Ellen,’ he told her, ‘and I’m missing her like crazy.’
Immediately the light returned to Ellen’s eyes, and the insecurity fled. ‘But she’s only been gone a couple of days,’ she reminded him. ‘And you’re supposed to be catching up with her in New York tomorrow. Is that too long to wait?’
‘Damn right it is,’ he said gruffly. Then, after a pause, ‘Listen babe, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make New York. Something’s come up here. Vic Lovell, you know the guy who’s supposed to be taking over the rewrites on Prizewinners? He’s backed out and all hell’s breaking loose around here so I feel like I ought to stay. Do you mind?’
‘Of course,’ she answered. ‘I miss you too and I was looking forward to seeing you. Why did Lovell back out?’
‘Oh, it’s kind of complicated to go into right now, but he’s not getting along with the director and a couple of the other guys wanted to fire him anyway. It’s crazyville, but we’ll work it out. How’s it going down there? How’re your folks? Did you tell them about me?’
‘My mother swooned and my father’s coming after you with a shotgun,’ she told him.
He laughed. ‘When do you get back to LA?’
‘Next Tuesday,’ she answered. ‘Ted Forgon’s asked to see me as soon as I get in.’
‘Does that mean something?’ he said.
‘I’m not sure,’ Ellen responded, loving him for caring. ‘I had a bit of a run in with Faith Berry, one of the seniors, before I left on Thursday, it could have something to do with that.’
‘What was it about?’
‘Oh, you know Faith, you never get to the root of what’s bugging her, but it was something to do with the way I’d spoken to her at a meeting we had last week. She thought I’d made her look foolish in front of the guys from Universal.’
‘Because you closed the deal for a higher figure than she was prepared to ask,’ Clay said. ‘I can’t see Forgon having a problem with that.’
‘No, but Faith’s been stacking up the complaints since I arrived and you know what this business is like, one day you’re in lights the next you’re in history.’
Clay laughed. ‘Tell me about it,’ he said. ‘But take it from me, honey, Forgon’s not letting you go anywhere, ’cos if anyone knows when he’s onto a good thing in this town, Forgon’s the man. And you’re one hell of a good thing. So good I can hardly believe my luck or what’s happening to me right now, just thinking about how god-damned beautiful you are.’ As his voice dropped, taking on a sleepy, much more intimate quality, Ellen felt an instant response flare through her loins. She knew what was coming next and already her heart was starting to pound, as her nipples stiffened and the desire turned almost to a pain.
‘You some place private?’ he asked.
‘Kind of,’ she responded. ‘I’m outside, by the barn.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘A shirt, cotton pants.’
‘Undo the shirt,’ he said huskily.
Ellen’s fingers moved to the buttons and began to twist. ‘It’s undone,’ she told him a minute later.
‘You wearing a bra?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered, gazing blindly out at the night. ‘It’s a front fastener.’
‘Then undo it, honey,’ he said. ‘Show those big, beautiful breasts to the moon. Did all those cowboys go home yet?’
‘There might be a couple still around,’ she answered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear, even though the farmhands had taken off much earlier in the day.
‘Touch yourself, honey,’ he whispered. ‘Squeeze those nipples and tell me what you’re thinking.’
Ellen’s pulses were racing as she leaned back against the barn, stroking her breasts and imagining it was his fingers pulling at her nipples. ‘I’m thinking about how hard you must be by now,’ she told him, ‘and how much I want you inside me.’
‘It’s where I want to be,’ he groaned. ‘Christ, I miss you.’
‘Are you touching yourself?’ she asked.
There was a smile in his voice as he said, ‘Hard and fast.’
‘I think there’s someone watching me,’ she whispered, looking round at the dark, empty night.
‘One of the cowboys?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Do you want him to fuck you?’
Ellen’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Do you want his cock?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
‘Then pull down your pants.’
Obediently Ellen pushed her pants down over her hips. She could feel the cool night air like a caress on her skin and the need for him slaked through her in piercing waves. ‘They’re down,’ she told him, barely able to speak.
‘Is he still watching you?’
‘I think so. Oh God, I wish you were here,’ she gasped, pushing her fingers between her legs.
‘So do I, honey,’ he said softly. ‘If you let the cowboy touch you, I’ll kill him.’
Ellen smiled. ‘My fingers are where you should be,’ she told him.
‘You got me there,’ he said. Then his voice sounded strangled as he said, ‘Jesus Christ, I’m going to come just thinking about being there.’
‘I can feel you filling me.’
‘Oh God, Ellen,’ he moaned. ‘I’m there. I’m right there.’
‘Do it harder,’ she begged. ‘Really fuck me.’
‘I’m coming, honey,’ he panted.
Ellen’s fingers were moving rapidly back and forth, bringing on her own shuddering climax.
‘Are you with me?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Clay.’
There were several moments of silence, then his voice came over the line, saying, ‘I want to kiss you real bad.’
Ellen’s eyes were closed, her lips were parted as the breath shook from her lungs and the climax shot from her fingertips right into her body. Only with Clay had she ever had sex like this and until now she’d never have believed it could turn her on so much.
‘Are you OK, honey?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered weakly.
He chuckled. ‘I guess you really were doing it,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘It was you who did it,’ she told him.
‘Me and the cowboy.’
She laughed. ‘Can I get dressed now?’ she asked.
‘Hell, I really want to say no,’ he answered, ‘but this is the third time the bleep’s gone, telling me someone’s trying to get through. It could be the kids. I’ll call you later, OK? Love you,’ and he was gone.
‘Love you too,’ Ellen echoed as the line went dead and, taking the phone from her ear, she began to hike up her trousers. Now that his voice was no longer there, egging her on and arousing her so much, she felt faintly embarrassed at what she had done and suddenly afraid that someone might actually have seen her. But it wasn’t very likely and, refastening her bra and shirt, she gazed out at the moonlit fields. It was strange how sometimes when she spoke to him she ended up feeling so miserable after, especially when there didn’t seem any reason to, but as a wave of dismay coasted through her heart she forgot all about the intimacy they had just shared and gave in to the bitter disappointment that he wasn’t goin
g to make New York, even though she’d already guessed he wouldn’t.
Sighing, she thought of how they never went anywhere together. They only ever saw each other at his house where the security was tight and totally ignored each other if they were ever at the same parties. Even worse was that sometimes as much as three, or even four, weeks would go by without them seeing each other at all, which was of course how come they had got so good at telephone sex.
Pushing herself away from the wall, she started slowly back to the house. The wind was picking up now and in only a pair of check, seersucker pants, a thin shell top and one of her mother’s hand-knit cardigans she was starting to feel cold. Not that she noticed particularly, for her mind was still full of Clay, wondering exactly what he was doing now, where he had been when she’d called, and if he’d really meant it when he said he was missing her. She hated giving in to her insecurities like this, but she’d had such a rough time with boyfriends in the past – with the exception of Richie, of course – that despite her success as an agent, she sometimes wondered if there wasn’t something seriously wrong with her character. Maybe there was something in her that made men treat her badly, for she’d yet to meet one who didn’t, even though they started out as besotted with her as she was with them. And none of her friends seemed to have the kind of problems she had, so she could only conclude that she was doing something they weren’t. Or maybe not doing. She wished to God she knew which, or what, because it was playing hell with her self-esteem and Clay, with his interminable divorce case and obsession with secrecy, wasn’t really doing much to help.
But now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on her problems; her mother would only detect something and though Ellen rarely held anything back from her, she knew that her mother wasn’t yet ready to accept the hell-raiser Clay Ingall as a part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d changed a lot since those early days when his reputation had been as wild and crazy as any other rocker from the sixties, but compared with the allegations his wife was throwing out about him these days, his past was starting to appear pretty tame. Indeed, if she didn’t know him so well, Ellen guessed she’d probably have him labelled too, because neither his looks nor his image did much to portray the kindness and sensitivity she had come to know.
The moment she walked in the door of the farmhouse her mouth started watering, as the delicious aroma of her mother’s special pot-roast was filling up the house. Her mother was right there in the kitchen, absently stirring gravy as her eyes stayed riveted to the TV.
‘Anything I can do?’ Ellen offered, stealing a taste of the gravy.
‘Set the table, honey,’ her mother answered, still watching Lucy. ‘And take your father a beer.’
Ellen glanced up at the clock over the washer. At six fifteen every evening her father had a beer. And sure enough, even without looking Nina Shelby had known it was time.
Amazing, Ellen thought, pulling open the refrigerator and taking out a Budweiser. Most other evenings the workers would still be here and they would drink a beer too, out on the porch, while Nina served some of her bite-size home-made pies and hot potatoes. As it was Saturday they were alone as a family.
Helping herself to a carrot, Ellen carried an open bottle through to her father and set it down on the cherry wood table beside him. His eyes didn’t move from the TV as his hand went out to take the bottle. Ellen crunched loudly on the carrot. The bottle paused at Frank Shelby’s lips, then he continued to drink as though nothing had happened and no one was there.
As soon as the programme was over they sat down to eat at the old pine kitchen table that was engraved with names of workers and children from along the years. Ellen searched for and easily found her cousin Matty’s name, carved much bigger than the others with a diamond around it and a flower beneath. Matty had come to stay every year since she was five and Ellen four. She had always come alone as her brothers had other places to go and Aunt Julie wasn’t allowed in the house – nor was Uncle Melvin since the day he’d married Aunt Julie. Aunt Julie, in her younger years, had been a dancer in a Paris night-club where, Nina Shelby had once confided to Ellen, she had danced topless in front of crowds of men. It was only when she went to college that Ellen had actually gotten to know her aunt and uncle, until then she’d never even met them, for Matty had always been put on the plane in New York to fly alone over to Nebraska. Ellen had so envied her that freedom, and as much as she loved her parents, she couldn’t help wishing, once she got to know her aunt and uncle, that there had been as much fun in their house as there was in Matty’s.
‘How’s Matty, dear?’ her mother said, as though picking up on her thoughts. ‘Is she still running the coffee bar?’
Ellen nodded as she took a mouthful of food. ‘Mmm,’ she said, then, waiting until she had swallowed she went on. ‘She had an audition last week for a regular singing spot at a club on Sunset.’
Nina Shelby’s eyes slid over to her husband whose face remained stony. ‘That’s nice,’ Nina said. Then turning back to Ellen, ‘I thought she wanted to act.’
‘She does,’ Ellen confirmed. ‘But she’s not getting a lot of work and she has to pay the rent somehow. Oh, that reminds me, I brought some photographs of our apartment in Valley Village. I’ll get them after dinner.’
Nina nodded and took a mouthful of food.
‘Actually, I’ve been looking around for a place of my own,’ Ellen went on. ‘If Matty gets the singing job then I’ll probably move out, but I don’t want to do that until I know she can manage the rent.’
‘Could she find someone else to share?’ Nina asked.
Ellen was about to mention that Gene, Matty’s boyfriend, was dying to move in, but realizing that would be too much for her father, she simply said, ‘Sure, I expect so. She just has to find the right person.’
They ate on in silence for a while, the crackle and pop of the logs on the fire and the faint hum of the wind outside making the kitchen seem cosy and safe and very far from the rest of the world. After a while Ellen and her mother fell into conversation again, years of habit steering them safely around subjects that would either offend or upset Frank. Once in a while he spoke, addressing himself only to his wife as he asked about one of the workers, or talked about the upcoming harvest and the weeds that needed to be cleared before they could begin. Though Ellen could see how deeply it pained her mother to keep switching her attention between the two people she loved, she knew that to try to force her father to acknowledge she was there was pointless. He was too stubborn to shift, had come too far with this now to back down.
‘Do you think you’ll make it home for Thanksgiving?’ Nina asked, as she and Ellen cleared the table after a blueberry pie dessert.
Ellen thought about it, then nodded. ‘Mmm, there’s a chance,’ she answered. She was thinking of Clay and wondering if he was planning on spending it with his kids. She knew he would if he could, but he’d have to get Nola’s agreement on that and it was doubtful she’d give it. Whether he would come here instead, though, was another matter altogether.
Taking a clean tea cloth from an overhead rack, to wipe as her mother washed, she couldn’t help smiling as she tried to picture the forty-six-year-old rock star with his movie-star good looks, shabby denims and crocodile boots, sitting at a table with Frank and Nina Shelby of Willoughby Farm, Nebraska. The image almost made her laugh, though Clay would love it here, she felt sure of that, for being the kind of man he was it wouldn’t suprise her at all to see him motoring off to church with her father on Sunday, or helping chop wood, or walking the bean with the workers. He’d get a real kick out of getting involved in something so different from his normal life and meeting the kind of folks he never came across in LA.
What her parents would make of him, though, was almost beyond imagining, and just thinking about it got her feeling sorry for her father to think of how awkward and out of his depth he would be in the company of a man like Clay – and how horribly distressed it would make him to discover how deep
ly involved she was with a man so at odds with his own hopes for her future. After a time, though, he might come to accept the guitar and the Oscars and the denims; what he would never be able to handle was the fact that Clay was married. OK, Clay and his wife were split up, but that wouldn’t make it any better for Frank; if anything, it would probably make it worse, as divorce ranked right up there along with all the other deadly sins.
Not until late the following morning did Ellen see her father again when he and Nina, all spruced up in their Sunday best, set out for church. By the time they returned, Ellen and her rented car would be gone, so the goodbyes had to be said now before Frank and Nina climbed into the truck.
The parting was never easy, as Ellen hated leaving without having resolved things with her father, even though, in the last couple of years, she’d more or less given up trying. Nina always said that he would come round in time, but more than seven years had gone by now and Ellen couldn’t see it getting any better.
As she and her mother walked outside to the truck a chill wind was blowing across the land, dancing dead leaves around the yard and whistling merrily through the cracks in the old tractor shed. It was a crystal clear, bright sunny day making the sky seem bluer than ever and the beans about ready to explode.
Frank had already brought the truck round and was standing in front of it, looking awkward and impatient and slightly pale in the face. Ellen was surprised to see him there as normally he made himself scarce when the time came for goodbyes.
Nina’s eyebrows were raised, showing her surprise too as she turned to take Ellen in her arms. ‘You’ll call us when you get to New York,’ she said, hugging her. ‘Let us know you’ve arrived safely.’