Karma (11 page)

The next few days went by in a blur.

Marcy took Katie and Sam to school, went to work, and
often picked the girls up again when her roommate was working. Mike Thompson
had texted her a few times, but he had gone to L.A. for some sort of technology
conference. Marcy found it difficult to admit to herself, but she really missed
him.

Meanwhile her mind returned to the scene that she had
watched with André and the older woman again and again. Every time she recalled
it a wave of different emotions flowed through her.

She suffered nervous anxiety for a start. Did André know
that she had watched that scene? Would he be mad at her if he did? She was also
curious about sex, and experienced tendrils of desire. Did she really want to try
sex again?

It made Marcy wonder if with a different man - perhaps a
man like Mike - she might be able to reach orgasm. Sex was such an embarrassing
subject, mainly because she was so bad at it.

Being in André Chevalier's home, surrounded by French
people who had no problem chatting about sex, and asking her who she was
sleeping with, was a unique situation. Her fellow staff regularly complimented Marcy,
telling her how much they enjoyed her company. They were effusive in their
praise, admiring how keen she was in her work, saying how lovely she was, and
how lucky the man in her life must be.

Mike constantly complimented her, too. His tone of voice,
his care and respect made her feel desirable.

The damn man was still pursuing her, just really subtly. With
time on her hands again because of fewer hours of work, Marcy was becoming more
aware of her appearance, and hyperaware of her femininity. Her clothes fit her
better. Somehow, without even trying, she had lost three pounds. How had that happened?
Was it because of those long walks with Mike and his golden retriever? Or was
it just because she was extraordinarily happy?

Marcy had begun to actually feel attractive, but with
that came a strange restlessness.

For so many years Marcy had pushed her sensuality into
the background. No, not just into the background. It was more like she had
buried it so deeply that she never thought of it at all. And she had buried it,
not to protect it, but with the intention of forgetting it completely.

Marcy had sworn off sex and men. They were things that
she wasn't any good at, and was better off without.

Instead of sex, Katie had been her number one priority. There
had been so much to do. Marcy had concentrated on getting through a divorce,
nursing her dying mother, selling her mother's home to pay medical bills,
finding work and accommodation, and managing debts. The last four years had
been exhausting, really.

And here it was, all coming back to sex, a focus she had
rejected.

With her new boss's line of work, that subject was thrown
in her face day after day. The delicious irony of her situation couldn't be
overlooked, any more than an unexpected slap in the face. How had it happened? The
more she ran away, the closer she came to the thing that she had been avoiding
for years.

The universe was obviously trying to tell her something.

Marcy
recalled Carl Jung, the famous Swiss psychiatrist. He had said,
"That
which you resist, persists."
Marcy had been resisting men, and more
importantly, sex. So what did she get? A job surrounded by sexuality, and Mike Thompson,
a man who wasn't going to give up any time soon.

Have
sex, don't have sex; avoid men, spend time with men; should I? Shouldn’t I? The
confusion and uncertainty of her circumstances were stressing her out.

So maybe she should stop 'resisting.' Just give in and
let it happen.

Marcy was beginning to consider that perhaps she had been
too hasty after her divorce. If her recent erotic dreams involving Mike were
any indication, maybe she should try sex again. The scene she had watched with André
had aroused her, of course, but it had done more than that.

She had become obsessed.

Marcy now had a strange thirst that she simply couldn’t
quench.

She didn't know if she was submissive; for all she knew,
maybe in her heart she was Dominant. The cuffs, toys and whips, spankings and
bondage did nothing for her. The thought of sex did nothing for her either,
because for so long the idea of being skin to skin naked with a man had been utterly
off her radar.

What had caught her imagination was the passion and
communication that had passed between André and Jennifer. During that scene
Marcy had witnessed an enticing
closeness
that signified genuine
intimacy, and even love.

Jennifer Whittington had shown astonishing bravery in
jumping off that risky cliff. Marcy admired her. The way André had touched the
woman, the awe and reverence he had displayed.

Was there anything Marcy wouldn't do for a man that
looked at her like that?

No, it was not the possibility of sex that had interested
Marcy, as much as the intimate connection. Marcy had never known that with
Trent. When she was young and naïve, she had succumbed to the madness and
temporary insanity of 'love.' Back then, Marcy had imagined that she had found
such a bond with Trent. That was why she married him.

Now she knew better.

"True
Love" was something Marcy had never experienced. Was that what was missing
with Trent? The fact that he never really cared for her? That there had been no
real connection with him? That he had been using her right from the start?

Marcy
had completely given her heart to Trent, but on his side it was all fake and
pretense. Would she ever find love? Would she know what it was if she found it?

Mike Thompson was in her life now. An impossible man to
shake off, he was relentless in his pursuit. While continuing to resist him, she
considered him one of her best friends. The man came over virtually every day,
and always spent equal time and attention with Katie. He took them bowling,
mini golf, and to movies. Long walks in the park with Ziggy, and playing fetch
was a given. Katie was nuts about that dog.

They had also been to his house for dinner, and what a
house it was. All single story, warm and welcoming with a large wooden deck, pool
and spa. The damn thing was a mansion. Had his wife enjoyed decorating? The
furnishings and interior had a distinctly soft and feminine touch. Mike's house
was a home.

"Do you like it?" Mike had asked as she stood
outside his home for the first time.

"It's fantastic," Marcy had said.

"My wife, Barbara got it for me."

"Sorry?"

"When we were first married we bought this home
together." Mike cocked an ironic eyebrow at her. "It had to be big. We
wanted lots of children."

He shrugged in a brooding forlorn way that made her
wonder, why hadn't they had children? Had Barbara been incapable of conceiving?
Or perhaps Mike was sterile from a childhood illness?

Something in his brown eyes looked so sad and wounded. Children
were clearly a sensitive subject, so Marcy didn't ask.

He ran a hand over his moustache and trim beard. "Anyway,
I immediately got life insurance because I was worried about dying and leaving
her with debts. Barbara demanded that we get life insurance for her, too,
because she didn't want to leave me with debts either."

Mike had shrugged then, but his sorrow had shown.
"She died first and I got the house."

He had really loved his wife; that much was obvious.
Marcy found that fact made him more appealing. Mike was nothing like Trent. He
would never cheat on a woman, Marcy felt certain of that. He was a loyal love-one-woman-faithful-forever
kind of guy.

The relationship Marcy and Mike had together was one of
mutual companionship. Marcy liked him.
A lot
. Katie liked him, too. Mike
was naturally good with children, and would be a wonderful father.

Marcy didn’t know it, but she was beginning to give in. Mike
was in her thoughts all the time now. She recalled when Katie had fractured her
arm. That terrible phone call with Trent, and all her concerns for her daughter
had accumulated into an emotional flood of tears.

Mike had folded her into him, patting and soothing while
she wet his shirt from crying. It had felt so good to be held against his big
chest, to be comforted by him. Safe. Protected. Cared for. Marcy
never
cried in front of anyone. Wasn't it odd how natural it had been to turn to Mike?

He had been a virtual stranger at the time.

Instinctively she had felt comfortable with him. What
would it be like to be sheltered in Mike's arms once more? To be kissed? Maybe
she should start with a kiss and see how that went?

But honestly, sex was completely out, unless she could
become more confident about it somehow. Days ago, Marcy decided that if the
opportunity came up, she would discuss her inability to orgasm with André. André
was so liberating. That man was as calm and carefree on the subject of sex as
he would be while discussing a good wine.

Patient, polite and genuinely interested, Marcy knew André
would listen to her without shock, surprise or judgment. How could anyone be
embarrassed when talking to that understanding Frenchman? A man who could easily
discuss anything?

She was cleaning one of the ornate bathrooms when Gustave
came for her. "Marcy, Mr. Chevalier would like to see you in his office.
Will you be long?"

Marcy, who had been bent over, sat up straight and wiped
a tendril of hair out of her eye with the back of her wrist. Her hands were
sweating in her purple rubber gloves, as she had been giving the six-person spa
bath a good scrub.

"Oh, I can finish this later. It's probably better if
I come now. You don’t have to wait, Gustave. I know the way."

"As you wish,
Mademoiselle
." Gustave gave
her a courtly bow and left.

Marcy went to the bathroom mirror, pulled off her gloves
and washed her hands. Then she pulled out her ponytail, brushed and tidied her
hair, and put it back into a ponytail. Her uniform was black, with a white lace
collar, and a white apron. Marcy liked it. It was professional, yet flattering.

It was strange how differently she looked at herself now
in a mirror.

The new makeup she was wearing accented her eyes, which
she had been told were striking. Marcy's somewhat sharp features didn't bother
her anymore. Neither did her rather over voluptuous curves. Because the people
she was surrounded by made her feel valuable and appreciated, her self-esteem
soared.

Studying her reflection, Marcy smiled at the face that
looked back at her.
I'm actually quite pretty
, she decided. It was the
first time she honestly could ever recall thinking that.

As she made her way toward André's office, her phone
rang. Caller ID said that it was Mike Thompson.

The
flight had only taken an hour to get to Vegas from LA.

The
Airbus A320 touched down at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, the 6
^th
busiest airport in America. Mike suspected that it was also the only American
airport that had over a thousand slot machines in it, enticing tourists from
the get-go, right at their arrival in Nevada.

It
was early afternoon as the plane taxied down the runway. Mike checked his seat
pocket to make sure he hadn't left anything, and shifted restlessly while he
waited. As it was a legitimate business expense, he had flown business class return
to L.A. for his convention. Mike was in a hurry to get off this plane and call
Marcy.

Marcy,
Marcy, Marcy
he sung to himself smiling with what he
suspected was a maniacal grin.
Marcy with the lovely brunette hair. How I'd
like to wrap my fingers around that hair of hers, and kiss her sweet lips. What
would she taste like?

Mike
pictured her in his mind. Those sharp features and long straight nose that gave
her a curiously questioning aspect to her face. Her large plump breasts, full
figure, and those striking honey-brown eyes. To him the combination was ridiculously
inviting. Soft and womanly, and sometime soon hopefully… willing. Did it get
any better than that?

Marcy
was a tall girl, probably five feet eight inches - less than a head shorter
than he was. When they made love he would easily be able to easily penetrate
her and kiss her at the same time.
Oh yeah.

The
sensual intimacy of that vision made his pulse skip. His blue jeans became
uncomfortably tight as he began to stiffen. Mike unfastened his seat belt, and shifted
in his aisle seat, smiling briefly at the older man wearing a pinstripe business
suit, in the seat next to him.

The
plane came to a stop and the high whine of engines switched off. This seemed to
be the signal, as people began to stand, talk and move.

Mike
stood up, and grabbed his bag from the overhead locker. He heard a loud thud as
the raised gangway connected to the door of the plane, and the sealed door was
opened.

Oh
man, I'm so gone on that girl - not to mention Marcy's daughter, Katie.

Mike
and Ziggy had their minds made up. He and his dog were not going to take no for
an answer. Marcy and Katie were already like family to him. Mike fully planned
to marry the woman, just as soon as he thought he might get a yes when he asked
her. He had even bought her an engagement ring.

For
a moment he recalled the round brilliant cut diamond set in platinum, with ten
perfectly matched diamonds, five on either side. Would she like it? Or had he
gone a bit overboard? He had looked at hundreds of rings while shopping in L.A.
This one had just stood out.

He
had been rushing their relationship too much already. The plan had been to go
slow, and to reel her in gently.

So
much for that idea.

Mike
just couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t hide how happy she made him. But did
Marcy feel the same way about him? He recalled her sweet blushes whenever he
touched her, the spark of attraction that they both felt. He was a determined
man. In time he would make her love him, by God.

The
passengers began unloading, and as he was right at the front, he was one of the
first people off the plane. He extended the handle on his suitcase, pulling it
behind him. The second he hit the terminal, Mike rang her, while still walking
up the off ramp.

"Hello?"

"How
are you gorgeous? Did you miss me?"

"No.
Why?" she said without missing a beat. "Were you gone?"

He
laughed. "Oh, you are a cruel and heartless woman. I haven’t seen you for
five days."

There
was a long pause and Marcy said, "It's been five days and eleven hours,
but who's counting?"

An
even longer pause ensued while Mike's heart did somersaults of joy.
"Marcy, you know that I love you don't you?" he unthinkingly blurted
out.

"Love!
Oh my, God! Don’t talk to me of love. I have no idea what love is. It seems
like an insane chemical reaction that makes a person crazy, losing all sense of
proportion. The last thing I need is another man."

"A
couple things here," Mike said stepping out of the main thoroughfare and
letting the concentrated herd of other passengers pass him. He stood off to the
side of a book shop, glancing up for a moment at the poster of a man wearing a
crown. "Game of Thrones" still appeared to be featured everywhere he
went.

"In
the first place," he began confidently. "I don’t believe that you
have ever had a real man. There was Trent, of course, but clearly he doesn't
count."

Marcy's
soft feminine giggle thrilled him.

"If
you had ever had the chance to experience life with a real man, you would find that
a man can be quite useful. Responsible, and helpful in fact. Not to mention fun
to have around."

"Is
that right?"

"That's
right." He transferred the phone to his other ear. "And second, I do
love you and that is just the truth."

"Mike…"

"No
listen to me here for a second," he interrupted. "Ziggy and I have
talked about this
a lot,
man to man." Mike heard Marcy's snicker
through the phone and was glad of it. He didn’t want her to get all worked up
over this.

"Okay,
well maybe not man to man," he continued, "but certainly man to dog.
Ziggy has a ton to say on the subject of love. Unconditional love, loyalty and
devotion are all subjects a dog knows everything about, you know? Besides, you
know what kind of dog Ziggy is. He's highly opinionated, true but he's also
very wise underneath all that tail-wagging. That dog knows exactly what he's
talking about."

Marcy
laughed out loud. The sound of her genuine amusement warmed him.

"Anyway,
Ziggy's been nagging, telling me that I should just go ahead and tell you how I
feel. I was against it of course, wanting to take it slow and to break it to
you gently."

"Is
that right?" Marcy said and there was a happy smirk in her voice.

"I
think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, Marcy, from the moment
I saw you smile," Mike said, making his voice low and intentionally
compelling. "I swear to God, when you smile your whole face shows exactly who
you are. Anyway, it's not my fault. I couldn’t help myself. How could I not
fall in love with you?"

"I
don’t do love, Mike, and I'm terrible with men."

"Yes,
yes, you've told me that before," he said. "Listen. I love you. That
is just the truth of the matter. It is my problem not yours. I can't change it
and I wouldn't if I could. I can only control my actions, not how I feel. But how
I feel is this, you're the only one for me. You know how sometimes you just
know? Or maybe you don’t."

Marcy
remained silent.

He
shook his head, trying to clear it so his words came out right. "Anyway, that's
okay, if you aren't there yet. I'll deal. Marcy, I swear, we're totally
compatible. From the time I wake up in the morning and pretty well all day long
I find myself thinking, "I wonder what Marcy is doing right now?" I
look forward the whole day to seeing you and Katie. That isn’t just a passing
thought, it's a daily fixation."

"Mike…
I think of you, too."

He
waited, hoping she would say more. When she didn’t, he just cleared his throat,
feeling incredibly cheerful at her concession. He knew it! He just knew that
she liked him, too. He wondered why she had such trouble admitting it.

"Okay,
well, that's great," he said. "We like each other and that is more
than enough for now, honey. Until you decide that we may be able to have more,
I'm just going to hang around you all the time like…" he paused and
exhaled while he considered possible parallels. "Well like your best
girlfriend, okay?"

"My
best girlfriend?" Her chuckle was low and ridiculously sexy.

"Okay,
well, girlfriend with a penis," he corrected rolling along with his inapt comparison
anyway, "but hey, that isn’t my fault either. In life, it's important to
know your limitations. There are things one can do something about and things
one can't."

"Mike,
I don’t think we can ever be more than friends."

"Marcy,
my own true love, I hate to disagree. If I agreed with you that we can never be
lovers, well, then we'd both be wrong."

Marcy
cracked up over that one, which is what he had hoped. It was so easy to make
her laugh.

He
made arrangements to pick her and Katie up at their condo after work. He would
make them a spaghetti dinner at home. He blew her a kiss goodbye and hung up
smiling. It was Thanksgiving tomorrow. All his crazy family members would be in
one place, where they could meet Marcy and Katie.

Marcy
only had Katie in her family, but Mike had parents, grandparents, siblings,
cousins, nieces and nephews. Anyway, family is what Thanksgiving was all about.
It had hurt him to imagine her and Katie alone on such a special day. This year
Marcy was getting much more than she had planned for.

Mike's thoughts returned to Trent Berger. He had gotten
an old school friend, David Abbot, to look into the guy. David had left the Las
Vegas police force and become a PI. Why not find out what Berger was up to?
After years working in army intelligence, it was an obvious thing to do.

In life Mike had found that it always paid to be one step
ahead.

A
simmering rage flowed through him when he thought of Berger. That ex of Marcy's
was a real piece of work. The dickhead was already cheating on his new wife it
seemed, taking advantage of an employee. In Mike's experience, a cheater was a
cheater, now and forever. What was wrong with the asshole? Mike figured whatever
it was, it must be something serious.

One
thing was certain, with a guy like that, infidelity wasn't about sex. Trent Berger
had a pattern going. Perhaps his repeated sexual conquests made him feel powerful
and important? Clearly women were not
people
to an egocentric asshole
like Berger. They only existed as things to be used.

Mike
felt sorry for Marcy. Betrayal was hurtful to the one betrayed. Marcy had been wounded
by her husband's infidelities. She had been the last one to find out
apparently, which wasn't uncommon. She doubted her judgment now, and had
difficulty trusting men.

He
wondered how Trent Berger would like it if his new wife cheated on him? An
intense, almost overwhelming desire to make the man suffer fired his soul. How
could he do it? Maybe his new wife would find another lover? Debra was her
name. Perhaps Mike could be instrumental in helping that possibility become
reality?

Mikes
lips curled in a spiteful grin. It would be good to see Trent Berger get some
of what he'd been dealing out.

How
would the dickhead react to being betrayed? The desire to find out was
irresistible. The son of a bitch would probably be all guilt tripping, "poor
me, look what you did to me." Maybe he would even cry? Or would he become
violent? Mike didn’t know the idiot well enough to guess.

What
a cockroach. And just like roaches in the light, Trent Berger would skitter off
to hide if only half of his indiscretions were exposed. Or would he?
Unfortunately, Berger appeared to be the kind of guy who could convincingly
explain away everything.

Chronic
infidelity appeared to be just the tip of the man's iceberg of shortcomings.

Financially
loaded, Trent Berger had let his only child and ex-wife survive hand-to-mouth. Selfish,
irresponsible bastard. Yet the man would always be Katie's father. Sad but
true. Thus, at some time or another, for Katie's sake, Mike would have to find
a way to make the jerk man up and be a half decent father.

And next week I'll schedule a flight to Mars,
he mused dryly.

The thing with people like Trent Berger was, they didn’t realize
that their constant assholishness would eventually cause them some pretty dire consequences.
What goes around comes around, after all. The technical term in this case was 'bad
karma.'

It couldn’t happen to Trent Berger too soon to Mike's way
of thinking.

At least he would be a good male role model for Katie.
And by God, he already loved that kid as much as he would love a child of his
own. Humming happily, Mike got into a yellow taxi, and asked the cabbie to take
him home.