Love Deluxe (5 page)

I thought of Jackson, remembered him throwing himself in the pool fully clothed to sober up when I was really mad. How we both would double over with laughter then go upstairs to try and make love, in seven months it never happened. For two and a half years I’d dwelt in the land of guilt and remorse. I’d dragged Jackson down into that dungeon with me. Of course he didn’t mind, he didn’t really know. That was the beauty of being involved with a drunk. As long as he was drinking he couldn’t care less about the dark places in my soul. But John Foster had something, a life force that was drawing me to him.

“Please God,” I prayed (which I hadn’t done in a long time) “let him save me from myself.”

Chapter Three

My offer on the lake property was accepted and we began construction immediately using house plans that Henry had drawn up years before. John finished the house in Olmos Park and we’d been driving to the lake everyday as the new project moved along. We made a good team, he filled my days and gave me reason to get out of bed in the mornings, and he seemed to thrive on having me near him. I spent part of each day with John Foster, we became each other’s best buddy and we were happy that way. We took care not to kiss or touch, knowing that the next time we wouldn’t resist. He said it should be right, that he’d been searching for me all his life.

We stopped by my parent’s house one day so they could meet John Foster. I could see them sizing him up, which I expected. My mother was flirty and almost girlish in his presence, the reaction he got from all women, young and old. She told him he looked like a movie star and in her book that was a big compliment. Mother was beautiful, slim and blonde (thank you
Miss
Clairol
) and would never dream of leaving her house without full stage makeup, tons of jewelry and a stunning outfit. She was, as was as her mother before her, an antiques dealer, which I had also become, although I never intended to. Her house was filled with the most beautiful furniture, paintings, rugs and objects that, like her, always looked ready to be photographed for a national magazine.

My daddy, whose little girl I would always be, was his usual larger than life Texas self, with cowboy boots, tall tales, the works. He was as tall as John Foster and even a bit taller and straighter in his youth. His eyes never lost their mischievous sparkle and he still had lunch every day with his aging oil-baron cronies at the Petroleum Club. I always said if you looked up ‘Texas male’ in the dictionary; there would be a picture of my father.

“Catherine,” my mother said, using my given name when we escaped to her bedroom closet so she could show me her new summer wardrobe. “Now that man is gorgeous, but who are his family? I know everyone in Alamo Heights and I don’t recognize him or his name.”

“They’re not local, he moved from Los Angeles last year, and his parents have settled in Austin. Mother, stop worrying about my love life, would you? It’s not serious, but he’s made me feel real joy again and I didn’t think that was possible. Let me enjoy it for however long it lasts, okay?”

“Oh darlin’, don’t listen to me, you just have a good time and I’m thrilled that you’re happy, it’s the best news I could hope for. You know your daddy and I worry about you every minute of the day after what you went through. What you lost, we lost, too. Our precious Brooks and then Henry so soon after that, it’s a wonder any of us lived through it. Still, darlin’, let me say one thing and forgive me for it. John is beautiful, he looks like a Nordic God, but it’s obvious he’s the kind of man you sleep with, not the kind you marry.”

My parents waved as we drove off, they seemed older and world-weary somehow. I was the youngest of their daughters, always their little girl, and they had held on to me when I was drowning in sorrow. Mother and I had always been able to talk about anything, but this time I wished she had kept her opinion to herself.

John and I ran into Myles one day and he invited us to spend the Fourth of July at his house on the lake. His on-again-off-again girlfriend would be there along with another couple that I knew vaguely. It sounded like fun and we would spend a couple of nights and then watch the fireworks from the Ski Lodge.

We took John’s car and rode with the top down. I wore sunscreen and a ball cap and he soaked up as much sun as possible. He swore that with his pale coloring he would become transparent without a tan. I took his word for it but worried about skin cancer all the same.

It was a gorgeous summer day and we chose the scenic route that wound along the edge of the Texas Hill Country. Above us the sky was a dome of blue scattered with cottony clouds, the surrounding limestone hills were covered with native mesquite and scrub cedar. Here and there bony cattle and goats grazed, it brought to mind trips from my childhood, and I felt at peace.

John plugged in his iPod and explained the significance of each song in great detail. Music was his passion and I realized that he might not know his left from his right, but he could tell you precisely what songs Mick Jagger had sung on any tour in any city in the last twenty-five years. The Rolling Stones was his favorite band of all time, but he loved dozens of others. Stone Temple Pilots, Motorhead and Nirvana, and he had a weakness for what he called “seventies classics.” Lately he’d been listening to Tool, Alice in Chains and Morphine. I liked Morphine pretty well and he thought it was funny that I was sure they sang different words to the same tune over and over again.

A certain song sparked a memory for John, an early episode of his father inflicting what he described as his particular brand of sadistic parenting. As he told the story I began to form a picture of the horrible man who’d spent much of his life emotionally torturing his son. Over the past weeks John had let a few details of his extreme love-hate relationship with his father work their way into our conversations and I hadn’t liked what I’d heard.

As the story went, John was probably about four years old, not yet in school. He and his parents were visiting his grandmother at her farmhouse in Pennsylvania. His father took him outside, the winter was hard upon the countryside and the snow was nearly as deep as John was tall. There was a swift-flowing creek on the property that had always frightened him. His father led him to the water and warily crossed an icy log that had fallen across it. He laughed and taunted John for being afraid to cross and insisted that he was nothing but a sissy and a crybaby. That he’d always be a momma’s boy, he would never be a man. John began to cross, slipping and fighting tears. That act, crossing the icy water, was his greatest fear. But he did it, tears clouding his eyes and freezing on his cheeks, he did it to win his father’s love. At four years old he knew that was a commodity he had to earn. He didn’t look at me as he told the story and he laughed it off at the end but I saw him brush away tears.

He said it was right up there with the time he saved and saved to buy a bicycle and left it in the driveway after school. His father ran over it with the car and told him, “That should teach you to be more careful with what you love.”

I felt disgust for a man who could do such things to a child. John Foster and I had something in common I realized, something indelible, we were both standing in line at the pain department.

At Myles’ house there were hugs and greetings and a rather resentful look from his overly protective girlfriend. She was a royal bitch at least twice his age, although it was hard to be sure how old she was since her face seemed permanently caught in a wind tunnel.

The other couple, a lawyer and his date, I’d met briefly at various social functions. His name was Carl Hanna, better known as
the hatchet
. He had a reputation for being a hardcore ambulance chaser and rumor was that he’d zealously chopped off a client’s thumbs to insure a bigger insurance settlement. He was short and pudgy with a double chin and his skinny, big-breasted girlfriend was the definition of a “Sex on a stick.” Carl’s eyes were beady and they twitched with excitement as his eyes roamed over my body greedily. He made no secret of his sleazy, lustful nature and I hoped he’d left his hatchet at home.

Myles showed us to our room which had been decorated by his grown daughter when she was about seven. It had twin beds and was heavy on pink and purple princess décor, the headboards were even shaped liked crowns. John and I exchanged “
WTF!
” looks and settled into our little kingdom.

We had supper on the deck overlooking the lake and it dawned on me that somewhere along the way John and I had begun to resemble a couple. There we sat, three men and three women, pairs, laughing and talking, enjoying ourselves. That thought gave me a little “
oh no you don’t”
pang but I brushed it away and let myself be carried along on that wave of simple joy.

Before long John had everyone in stitches with a story he was telling about his parrot.

“Man, it was great day and we were walking to the beach, Turkey, that’s my parrot, was on my shoulder and a car honked and spooked him and he flew off. I could see him flying from tree to tree so I was running down the street in L.A. traffic and I was wearing just my swim trunks and flip-flops yelling “Turkey come back,” at the top of my lungs!  I had long hair back then, nearly to my waist and I guess someone called the cops because they showed up and handcuffed me. But just when they were about to put me in the patrol car— Turkey perched on the hood and I got him to whistle a Tom Petty tune and the cops were so impressed they let me go.”

“We’re going to make a fortune off that act in Vegas,” I said, “John Foster and Turkey whistle the classics!” 

We all talked and joked into the night and sometime after midnight each couple headed to their room with Myles promising an early morning boat ride.

In our room John and I took turns in the bathroom then each settled into a twin bed. I wanted him in my bed but the house was tiny and the lawyer and his girlfriend were in the next room.

“Kinda lonesome over here all by myself,” he said, lying on his side, feet hanging off the end of the bed. “You wanna come over and join me in this pink paradise?”

“I think I’d better stay put, you know “The hatchet” and his sex-toy are sleeping on the other side of this wall.”

He stretched one long arm across the short distance between our beds and touched my cheek, rubbed his thumb across my lips.

I lay very still with my heart thumping and my emotions running wild.

“We’re kind of a couple now aren’t we?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know John, I just really wanted a friend and things have changed. To be honest, I’m not sure what’s happening or what I want to happen or if it should happen. I’m scared… I just don’t know.”

“Well, you go to sleep and dream up the answer,” he said.

“And what about you, what will you dream about?”

“Seeing you in a bikini tomorrow,” he said with that irresistible grin.

I threw my princess pillow at him and turned out the light.

***

The next day was the Fourth so there were lots of parties going on around the lake. We piled into the boat and started making the rounds. The lake was busy with boats and jet skis but the water was smooth and the ride was wonderful. As the day heated up I took off my cover-up and propped my feet up to get a little sun. John watched and shifted uncomfortably, then raised his eyebrows and smiled at me. I gave him a sign with my finger I was sure he wouldn’t mistake which made him throw his head back and laugh out loud.

We tied up to the dock at the Ski Lodge and the others went inside to have drinks. John and I sat on the pier throwing acorns in to the water.

“Did you have sweet dreams last night?” he asked, studying me.

“I had interesting dreams.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” I said, “they didn’t really make any sense.”

“So, no clues from the other side as to where your future’s going?” 

“No, I guess I’ll be forced to figure that out myself.”

I’d barely spoken the words when he leaned forward and kissed me. It was another ‘
stop the clock’
kiss, intense and scalding hot, and when he pulled away we both looked surprised.

“Whoa,” he said as I whispered “Oh my!” at exactly the same time.

The rest of the day passed in a haze, when we looked at each other such sparks passed between us that Myles and the others blushed and looked away. We sat close together wherever we were, always with some part of our bodies touching. The air around us felt electrified and we smiled like idiots. Carl’s beady eyes watered and followed my every move and Myles pursed his lips in an ‘
I told you so’
look.

Later, Carl caught me alone on the boat, slipped his small, smooth hands around my waist and said, “Cate Stuart, you’re extraordinary. I think you and I would be amazing together.”

“Really? I’m just not that impressed by your smooth moves. Wait until our dates are out of sight and see what you can get going on the sly? In my book that’s defined as sleazy, but we can run the idea by John and your girlfriend if you like.”

A look of pain crossed his bloated face and he began to stutter a bit, fishing around for something to say. He pulled himself together and leaned forward, his dry lips brushing across my mouth.

“I could make you moan in bed, baby. Tell me, how do you like your orgasms?”

What a jackass
, I thought, and then looked him straight in the eye.

“With John,” I said and then wiped away the feel of his nasty kiss and smiled my sweetest smile.

He looked sufficiently shocked and scurried off, avoiding me for the rest of the day. I couldn’t believe I’d said such a thing. But guess what, I decided— Fuck him if he can’t take a joke!

***

That night John stretched his long body beside me in the twin bed. We spooned back to front and then I turned to face him. Face to face, body to body, it seemed to have been such a long time coming. We lay still and silent, studying each other, so close together we occupied very little space in the narrow bed. At last his hands moved over my body, one settled on the small of my back and the other tangled in the length of my hair so that I was held captive to his whims. A thrill coursed through me as his eyes blazed with need and lips claimed mine.