Love Deluxe (12 page)

“I’m hanging in there cuz that’s what I do. I’m going in for day-surgery on Thursday and as you know it’s not a big deal, a couple of hours is all.”

“I wish life would stop throwing you curves, Catey-bug. You’re stronger than anyone.”

I twisted my fork in the spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce and stabbed a buttery, herb crusted shrimp and said with my mouth full, “This is the last thing I’d ever want to eat before I die, it’s so fucking good.”

“God, it is. What do they put in this fucking shrimp? Wine, butter, garlic? Nobody can figure it out. I’ve tried to make it at home, it was a total disaster.”

I told her that John was on his way, he would be home sometime tomorrow. And that Linda had listed my house for sale and in the morning we were going to look at a place downtown that Jana George was restoring as a guest house.

“You’re selling a house you love in the heart of Alamo Heights and moving to downtown San Antonio? I’m not even going to ask, at this point my surprised response is on hold,” she said. “Wish I could go with you to look at it but I’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

“If it’s good we’ll go back and look together, who knows it may be nothing special.”

“Jana George’s guest house? It’ll be special; she doesn’t do anything half-assed.”

We ate and ate, finished the bottle of wine, put the leftovers in the refrigerator. It was my only meal of the day and I held my stomach and groaned.

“Don’t you dare throw up that expensive food, hussy!”

I promised to try my best and locked the door as she drove away. I set the alarm clock for eight a.m. and took two sleeping pills, eager to move past this up and down day.

***

The next morning the alarm blared. I’d left the drapes open and the late August light was pouring in, sprinkled with dust specks. The double dose of sleeping pills left me groggy. I got my glass of ice, straw and two cans of Diet Coke and crawled back into bed. I turned on the TV and watched news as I drank. It was only bad news as I flipped through channel after channel and I finally turned it off, disgusted at how people talked things to death.

John called as I was getting out of the shower, “There’s my wife. I’m nearly home, buddy, and I can’t wait to get my hands on you, are you up, what are you doing?”

“Where are you John, are you in San Antonio?”

“Not yet, but I’m in Texas… somewhere, hold on I’m looking for a road sign.”

And it dawned on me, the man could barely back the car out of the driveway much less navigate his way half way across the country.

“John, do you see a sign? Are you sure you’re in Texas, what was the last state you drove through?”

“Oh, New Mexico or maybe the edge of Colorado, but that was last night, I’ve been in Texas for a while, let’s see. Okay, I’m almost to Brownwood, pretty good, huh? I think a couple more hours and I’ll be there. Man, I need my sweetie, I’m never leaving you again, are you feeling alright? Damn, Cate, I’ve just been driving and driving and going crazy.”

“I’m ready for you to be home, too,” I told him, “but I need to finish getting dressed. I have an appointment at ten, but don’t worry it’s a good thing, hurry home but don’t speed.”

I laughed at that and he did, too. I felt the familiar stirring just thinking of him, knowing he was so close, almost with me.

“Let me get on my way, buddy, I’m running late,” I said, “I’ll see you in two or three hours, I think. We’re gonna make up for lost time as soon as you walk through the door.”

He groaned, his sexy ‘
I need you now
’ groan, the volcano rumbled deep inside me and it couldn’t be helped, I did need him.

Chapter Eight

The carriage house was in an area of downtown San Antonio that was on the rise but not quite there yet. Even so, I loved it the moment I stepped inside. It was old and sandwiched between much larger buildings, the back opened onto a small courtyard right on the San Antonio River. The second floor living area as well as the third floor master bedroom had original ten foot tall iron and glass French doors. Small balconies faced the city in front and the river in back. The ceilings were incredibly high and although there were just a few rooms they were large and airy. Emily was right; Jana George did things right and she had done a magnificent job restoring the place. Some of the walls were exposed limestone and others were painstakingly done in Venetian plaster. The original mesquite floors had been hand-rubbed and shone with an amazing patina.

“What do you think?” Linda asked. “All it needs are some great light fixtures and kitchen appliances and you’re in business.”

“Let’s go to your office and draw up a contract,” I said, “I can’t afford it but I have to have it. I’ll make a low offer but with cash and a quick closing maybe she’ll accept it.”

While I was signing the offer my cell phone rang, it was Carolyn, who worked at my antiques shop. She had an emergency and needed to leave and both of my business partners were out of town. She hated to bother me and normally she would just lock up and go, but the notoriously rude Tommy Lee Jones was in the store and she didn’t want to piss him off. I told her I was a couple of blocks away and would be right over. Linda said she’d call me as soon as she got an answer on the offer and she’d scheduled three showings for my house on Saturday. I drove the few blocks to the store with trepidation, Tommy Lee Jones lived in Alamo Heights when he wasn’t on a movie set and he was beyond temperamental.

I drove toward the shop with my mind darting frantically from the offer on the carriage house and where the hell was John, when I heard a thump. I was horrified to see a bird bounce off the windshield and fall to the street. I pulled to the curb, got out and picked it up. It was dead and my heart sank, I placed it in the grass and drove away feeling helpless. My phone was ringing as I got behind the wheel, it was Linda. She had one last question but I told her I’d just hit a bird with my car, I was flustered and I’d have to call her back.

As I walked in the shop Carolyn rolled her eyes, snatched up her purse and rushed out the door with a whispered thank you. I’d dealt with the moody Mr. Jones before so I just busied myself behind the counter and left him alone. He called me over, asked a question about an antique buffet and since I’d rarely been to the store in months I had to wing it. I looked at the tag, rattled off the age of the piece, city of origin, and then gave it a scandalous past in a New Orleans house of ill repute. He seemed satisfied and said he’d take it, he didn’t even quibble over the price. I waited for him to tell me how he wanted to pay and if he wanted it delivered, knowing that if I made any suggestions he’d want the exact opposite. When he realized I wasn’t going to say anything one way or the other he reached in his shirt pocket, handed me a card, and said to call his people as he walked out the door.
Wow,
I thought,
the secret to Tommy Lee, just the facts Jack,
(or a few lies in this case).

My cell was ringing and I knew it would be John, “Hey, where are you?”

“Where are you?” he asked, “I’m at the house and my sweetie’s not here. Come get me!” He said in his best foot stomping lost-boy voice.

“I’m at my shop and I can’t leave, I’m the only one here.”

Before I finished the sentence he said, “I’ll be there in ten,” and the phone went dead. I walked to the rear doors and locked them, went into the bathroom and checked my face in the mirror. I was pale and a little thinner and my eyes looked huge in my face. I heard the bell on the front door and I hurried to meet him. His lips were on mine before either of us could say a word, we kissed and didn’t stop.

He took my face in his hands and whispered, “Catey, Catey.”

I smiled and walked to the door, locked it and turned the sign to “closed.” He stared at me with such adoration I could hardly breathe. I took his hand and led him to the back of the shop. I stopped in front of the most expensive piece of furniture in the store, an eighteenth century French daybed with tapestry covered pillows and a coverlet made from priceless antique fabric. He watched as I unbuttoned my blouse and let my skirt fall to the floor, I lay on the narrow bed in pale blue panties and a lacy bra purchased in Paris. He leaned toward me and I put my hand on the growing bulge in his pants. He groaned and unzipped them, placed my hand inside. We made love, half dressed, ravenous for one another then lay tangled together and laughed at our deflowering of the magnificent bed.

“Tell me now, buddy,” he said. I tried to get up but he pulled me down, “Tell me,” he demanded and his voice as solemn as I’d ever heard it. I brushed my hair away from my face, twisted it into an impromptu pony tail and realizing I had nothing to secure it, let it fall to my shoulders.

“I thought I was pregnant but I’m not.”

He stared at my hair, ran his fingers through it for minutes and whispered, “We might have had a baby?”

I stood up, got dressed, “No… I don’t think so. I’m sorry if you feel cheated, we never discussed… children. I never in my wildest dreams thought I might get pregnant. I won’t ever let myself have a child again, John. I guess that’s unfair to you, leave me if you need to.”

He tugged on my hands and I sat beside him, “I want you, it took my whole life to find you and I’ll never let you go. I don’t want a kid, I never have. Do you think I’d let my dad play granddaddy? No fucking way,” he said and I felt him shiver. He stood up and looked down at me, “That’s it buddy? Well that’s nothing at all, you and me together, we’re all that matters.”

We locked the store and John showed me the Range Rover, he was as proud as could be. We pulled out of the parking lot and he smiled and said, “I need
Panchito’s
, there’s no such thing as good Tex-Mex on the west coast.”

“And I’ll bet you’re so hungry you could eat concrete.”

He grabbed my hand, lifted it quickly to his mouth and kissed it over and over, “You know me so well, smarty pants! John and Catey forever, man, you really had me worried.”

I climbed in and leaned back against the dove grey leather seat, closed my eyes and thanked God that John Foster wasn’t the fatherly type. At the restaurant we ordered margaritas and I listened as John told me all about his trip to L.A. and Las Vegas.

“I stayed with my friend Jimmy, do you remember him from the wedding? He moved to L.A. from Canada, man, he’s a kick-ass immigration attorney, his girlfriend just left him and he’s pretty bummed about it. I bought the Range Rover from him, it’s brand new, he had it for less than a week when his girlfriend moved out. It made him think of her so he wanted to get rid of it. We went to Las Vegas and threw down some yellow chips at the craps table and we were both on fire, we couldn’t lose. I told Jimmy, Catey’s my good luck charm, my sweetie is solid gold.”

“How much did you win?” I asked, intrigued.

“A lot, a whole hellava lot,” he said, grinning, his eyes sparkling like sapphires.

“Enough to pay for the car?”

“Oh buddy, enough to pay for a lot of cars.”

“John, are you kidding, you won thousands of dollars gambling? I thought people lost money when they gambled. I’ve only been to Las Vegas once, with Henry when we got married. It sucked, I played a couple of hands of Black Jack and lost, besides, who wants to count to twenty-one over and over?”

“You hated it?” he asked, deflated.

“Well, that was twenty years ago, we stayed at Caesars Palace and they had cheesy round beds with mirrors on the ceiling. We saw Wayne Newton and he was like, greasy looking.”

John sat back in his chair and laughed, “It’s changed, buddy, you’d love it now. Jimmy and I stayed at the
Bellagio
and it has an art gallery with paintings from some of those guys we saw in Paris. They even have a restaurant with a real Picasso painting, guess what it’s called?”

“The painting?”

“No, silly, the restaurant, it’s called
Picasso
.”

“Wow, somebody used their imagination.”

“Promise you’ll let me take you, you’re gonna love it. I’ve got a shit-load of comps now ‘cause I won all that money. We won’t spend a dime except to gamble, they’ll even cover our airfare. The shows are great, all the big hotels have different kinds of Cirque du Soleil and Penn and Teller are at the Rio, I love those guys.”

“I thought they gave you comps when you lose?”

“Oh they do, but if you win big they give you whatever you want to keep you gambling. They’re hoping you’ll lose, that’s how they get their money back. Food, rooms and shows don’t cost them squat. You will let me take you won’t you, buddy? There’s nowhere like Vegas, you’ve shown me a world with your rich friends that I never knew existed, now I can show you something cool that I know about.”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” I said, “but I’ve had a crazy week. I have things to tell you, we have things to take care of here in San Antonio and then I want to go to Florida.”

I told John about everything, putting my house up for sale, the carriage house I was trying to buy; all about Seaside and the beach cottage I owned with my sisters. Finally I said was having a gynecological procedure in the morning and that I wanted him to have a vasectomy.

“Man,” he said, “that’s a lot of stuff. You did all that without me?”

“Well, except for the deal in the morning and not the vasectomy, that’s set for Monday, if you want to do it. It’s quick and easy, thirty minutes in the doctor’s office, what do you think?”

“Yeah, why not, I don’t want any kids, ever. Wait, is it painful? Damn, it has to be.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s too bad, you’re a big boy, you’ll do great and I’ll take good care of you afterword.”

At home he laid his head in my lap as we sat on the bed, “What they’re gonna do to you tomorrow, that worries me, I never cared for anyone before. How can I love you so much?” He whispered. “On that long drive back from Vegas I thought I was going to lose you and I was dying inside.”

I pushed him down on the bed and tangled my fingers in his hair and tugged so that his head fell back and his neck was exposed. I kissed his throat, opened his shirt and worked my way down his body. I undid his belt and the button of his pants, slipped my hand down the front of them and stroked his growing erection. He moaned deep and raw and his voice was hoarse with lust. It always surprised me, how bold I was with him in bed, he made me feel free and powerful and sexy as hell. He tried to sit up but I pushed him back down, unzipped his pants and jerked them down on his hips. His erection sprang free, diamond-hard and huge, and I licked and sucked and his hips moved toward me even though he begged me to stop.

“No baby don’t, I won’t last,” he groaned.

It was almost a plea, I moved my mouth away and lay beside him, my mouth to his ear, I took hold of him and gently squeezed, “Don’t you dare finish without me, do you hear? Calm down and wait for me, that’s good.” I released him and he let out a tortured gasp, lifted himself over me, pushed the crotch of my panties aside and entered me roughly.

“God, you’re burning hot,” he said and plunged deeper and harder in an unrelenting rhythm until we both shouted and fell over the edge.

***

When I woke it was early, I turned to John and laughed softly. We’d fallen asleep half-dressed on top of the covers; we were exhausted and happily back together. I got up, brushed my teeth, filled the bath tub and climbed in. I scrolled through my IPod, chose a Norah Jones song and floated blissfully, listening to her beautiful voice.

John walked in the bathroom, naked and beautiful. He knelt beside the tub, kissed me long and deep and then splashed his face with my bath water.

“Are you doing alright, buddy?” He asked. “How’s my little wildcat? Want me to bring you a Diet Coke?”

I blushed, thinking about last night, not to mention yesterday on the marvelous daybed in my shop.

“No food or drink for me until after the… the thing at the doctor’s office, and don’t worry it’s not a big deal. I’m okay, how about you, worn out from that long drive home?”

“Nope, but I am worn out from lovin’ on my sweetie!” He left and came back with his cell phone, “It’s early in L.A. but I need to text this address to Jimmy, I left so fast he’s got a bunch of my
Harrah’s
chips, I’ll have him FedEx them. You said we go through New Orleans on the way to the beach, right? We can swing by
Harrah’s
there and I’ll cash them in. You don’t mind do you, sweetie, crashing in the Big Easy for a night? We’ll stuff ourselves on gumbo and I don’t know… other Cajun food.”

“Sure, sounds fun,” I said and I gave him the address as he texted and messed up and started over several times.