Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket (5 page)

     Helena frowned.

     “Magic Mike,” she repeated, brow furrowed in thought.  “I may indeed have caught that flick at one time or another—seven times, as a matter of fact.  It would have been eight but I wore out the DVD….”

     Meeting her words with a smooth, sexy chuckle, Trey continued to massage her shoulder as he whispered in her ear, “I’ve been told that I can give a mean lap dance, Helena.  So if you agree to be my dance partner this evening, I’d be more than pleased to demonstrate my—um, shall we say more intimate dance skills at a later date, in a more private venue?”

     In lieu of a verbal response, Helena undid her seat belt in jig time and jumped from the passenger seat of her date’s car; beckoning him from the driver’s seat as she exclaimed, “Well what are you waitin’ for, Dude?  Let’s dance!”

     Her enthusiasm again dimmed moments later, as she and Trey stepped inside the front entrance of The Last Tango: a beautiful club doused in sheathes of scarlet velvet; an ebullient design that expressed itself beautifully in brocade wallpaper, plush carpeting, lounge style chairs and even on the dance floor--where a sparkling ruby hued disco ball oversaw the proceedings.

     “This is a gorgeous place,” she praised aloud, clutching Trey’s hand as she noted that the vast majority of the club’s guests that evening seemed to match and merge with its sharp, sparkling décor.

     As a parade of smiling, sharply dressed couples passed her line of vision, Helena couldn’t help but notice their beautifully designed club wear, their perfect hair styles, their slender, toned figures.

     “And that’s just the men,” she gritted her teeth, narrowing her eyes at the endless line of what she and her sisters liked to call “Slender Susies”—the gals that always managed to win the pageant crowns, the societal accolades, and sometimes even the highest paying jobs; not to mention, of course, the undivided attention of each and every male in their midst.

     She relaxed seconds later, as she noticed that Trey didn’t even bother to glance in the direction of the women she perceived as her rivals; instead gracing her with a dazzling smile as he opened his arms to her.

     “Dance with me, Darling,” he invited her.

     Within seconds a transformed Helena floated across the dance floor; giggling outright as a smiling Trey swung, swayed and dipped her.

    
He makes me feel as light as air
, she mused, moving forward into Trey’s strong arms as he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him. 
No small feat, that.

     Wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders, Helena soon found herself falling in to the rhythm of the dance; moving in radiant tandem with her lover as they swept across the floor.

     Clutching her body to his and lowering her in a thrilling dip, Trey stared deep into her eyes and pressed his lips to hers; her breasts crushing against his massive chest as she slithered in his arms.

     She smiled against his lips as their sensual moves drew cheers and applause from the gathered crowd; along with a loud, sharp chortle that jarred her back to reality.

     Looking upward to find the source of the sound, Helena’s gaze clashed with that of a woman she’d never seen before, standing with a group of friends by the side of the dance floor; somehow, though, she knew her all too well.

     Tall and bone skinny, the woman’s flawless, model perfect features were contorted in an ugly scowl that belied her exotic, ebony-haired beauty.

     “It’s always a hysterical sight when fat chicks try to dance.  They look so damned stiff and awkward,” the woman commented, pointing rudely in Helena’s direction.  “How did she get a guy that hawt, I wonder?  And just how does he dip her without dropping her?”

     Trey had heard enough.  Raising a silent Helena to her feet, he took her by the hand and lead her to the side of the dance floor; searing her critic with a harsh glare as he snapped, “Just so you know, Madame, this woman has more class, intelligence and creativity in a single finger than you have in your entire body.  I demand that you apologize to her.  Now.”

     “Or in lieu of an apology,” Helena spoke finally, arching a caustic eyebrow in the direction of her critic, “You could just let me have a bit of your drink.  For as I’m sure you’re aware, we fat chicks sweat quite a bit on a daily basis—especially when we make any pathetic attempt at any form of physical exercise.  As a result of this we do need to stay hydrated, at all times.”

     Grabbing the woman’s crystalline champagne goblet from her weak, loose grip, Helena took a long, hearty gulp of its contents—before tossing the remnants over the head of her horrified rival.

     “Well I never!” The woman exclaimed, blinking furiously through an ugly sheen of smeared cosmetics, soaking black hair and spilled bubbly.

     “No, I doubt that you have.  And that’s the whole problem,” Helena beamed, adding as she waved to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd around her—which, she couldn’t help but notice, included a number of full-figured ladies who stood—still and shy—on the border of the dance floor.  “Hey, does anybody know if the DJ here has possession of the discs “All About that Bass” by Meghan Trainor and/or “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-a-Lot?  Come on, Gals, let’s dance!”

     Trey watched with obvious delight as an energized Helena lead a procession of plus sized ladies on to the dance floor; launching in to a spirited line dance that had booties shaking and cleavage clamoring.

     “No Skinny Minnies allowed on the floor!” The female DJ holding court at the head of the mirrored dance floor, herself a voluptuous African-American woman sporting a radiant ebony weave, hollered by way of a crystalline microphone, “But if you have a caboose, girl cut loose!”

     “In-deed!”  Helena agreed, arching her body in a sweet sashay immediately replicated by her cheering dance partners.

     Cheering from the sidelines, an applauding Trey just barely noticed when Helena’s critic—still ‘shaken and stirred’ on the sidelines—released a loud, sharp snort as she turned for the door.

     “Dis-gusting,” she shot over her shoulder.

     “Oh I agree,” Trey replied, adding as he raked a critical glance down the length of her wet, disheveled form, “You do indeed look quite disgusting—and for once, dear lady, your outside more than your matches your inside.”

Chapter Seven

     “Trey, I must say that this has been a dream of an evening.  We danced, we laughed, we bonded…if only I hadn’t gotten you banned for life from your favorite downtown night club, it would have been a perfect night.”

     Standing once again in the open doorway of her comfy loft apartment, Helena faced her laughing date with a wide, undeniably naughty grin.

     “Oh stop it,” Trey waved away her assertion with a broad, dismissive wave.  “My friend at the club loved you, as did the DJ and the owners.  I even heard the DJ suggest that The Last Tango start hosting Luscious Ladies dance parties—events where more voluptuous gals can feel welcome and comfortable.”

     Helena grinned.

     “I’m there!” she declared, engaging her handsome date in a spirited high five.  “I can’t rightly believe, though, that we’re climaxing such a romantic evening by way of a high five.”

    “Oh I agree.  Do allow me to rectify that mistake.”

     Sweeping her up into two strong arms, Trey claimed Helena’s lips in a hot, passionate kiss; his full, moist mouth pressing hard against hers as his massaging hands scaled her back.

     Leaning into his kiss, Helena trembled in Trey’s arms as their tongues entangled; their heated breaths mingling in the air above them as they lost themselves in the passion.

     Shifting his hands ever so subtly, Trey’s magic fingertips raised to tickle her sides and tease the border of her voluptuous breasts; freezing suddenly as he whispered against her lips, “So tell me, my lady.  How would you like that lap dance now?  A good dirty lap dance, as I’m sure you can guess, can lead to other, even more exciting things…”

     As if on cue, the telephone perched on the corner of Helena’s kitchen table rang loudly in the darkness behind them; ringing repeatedly until it was disrupted by the intrusion of a loud, sharp beep.

     “You’ve reached Helena, who I’m sure you will be devastated to learn is not available right now,” Helena grinned in spite of herself as she heard her own voice ringing forth from her answering machine.  “Please leave a message at the beep.”

     After waiting for the imminent arrival of the previously mentioned beep, Trey and Helena shared a secret smile as the air above them suddenly resounded with a sweet feminine voice; one Helena immediately credited to her mother, Miriam Vance.

     “Hi Dear, it’s me,” she chirped.  “I was just checking in to see how your first week went at your new job.”

     “Pretty darned well,” Helena said, winking slyly in the direction of a laughing Trey.

     “I especially was wondering if your new boss had gotten over your—ahem—rather strong critique of his company’s books,” Miriam continued.

     “Indeed he did,” Trey nodded with gravity, pinching Helena’s voluptuous rear end as he did so.

     “Anyway, I also wanted to fill you in on what’s going on around here.  We hope you can make it home in a few weeks for your sister Helga’s high school graduation.  Your sister Heather just got engaged—again, here’s hoping three times will be a charm—and the poodle has been suffering from rampant diarrhea.  We’re changing her brand of puppy snack sticks and hoping for the best.  Talk to you soon dear!”

     Exploding with laughter, Helena and Trey collapsed in each other’s arms as the sound of another loud beep signaled the completion of the phone message.

     “Nothing like a call from Ma to royally kill the mood,” Helena guffawed, adding as she squeezed the shoulders of her similarly amused date, “Sometimes I think she plans it that way—that she has some sort of surgically inserted scanner chip that lets her know when I’m about to get busy.”  She paused here, adding more seriously, “It’s probably a good thing, though.  As wonderfully fantastic as things are going right now, Trey, I still think we’re moving a bit fast.  So with that in mind, let’s regard the fantastic lip lock that just passed between us as one heck of a kiss good night.  Good night, Trey.”

Chapter Eight

     The next few weeks passed in a haze for Helena, who remained buried in other people’s manuscripts at work and in her own at home.  Indeed, at Trey’s suggestion, she had started work on a Victorian romance titled “Pride and Passion”; and in her mind she already was plotting the second book in the series, “Sex and Sensibility.”

     “This is what happens when a gal spends her teen years with her head buried in Austen novels,” she mused, adding through gritted teeth, “Along with some occasional clandestine peaks at Skinemax after Dark.”

     Of course, one could argue that—when it came to Helena Vance’s life and the plot and characters of “Pride and Passion”—the inherent similarities went far beyond the titling system.  The book, after all did feature a fiercely independent heroine—the blonde and adorably full figured Lady Helen Anne—and a handsome, elegant hero who went by the distinguished moniker of Lord Trace.

     “I only wish that my real life romance could run as smoothly as its literary counterpart,” she mused one day, seated in her office as she put the finishing touches on the rough draft of “Pride and Passion.”   

     Oh, she and Trey were having a wonderful time together; continuing to enjoy lunches and dinners in one another’s company, as well as occasional journeys to The Last Tango—where every Thursday was now officially Helena Vance Night.

     Yet while Lady Helen and Lord Trace snuck romantic kisses in the sanctity of perfumed rose gardens, their real life counterparts had to sneak their own pecks behind water coolers and file cabinets.

     “Beige file cabinets yet,” Helena sniffed, saving her own file for “Pride and Passion” on her computer screen.

     It just wasn’t that easy, she mused, to conduct an office romance; and although their nights were their own to enjoy, it was becoming increasingly difficult to say good night to the man she desired so ardently; especially as his good night kisses became far more heated and passionate in nature.

     He’d come close to begging her to spend the night; and although Helena was never one to reject the advances of a painfully gorgeous and sensitive man, she had managed thus far to delay their first sensual encounter.

     “Why?  Because I’m a good ol’ Midwestern gal with a strong sense of moral propriety—not to mention a dedicated career woman who refuses to be distracted from her goals and life plan,” she sniffed, adding as she hit the send button on an e-mail to her eternal tempter, “Either that or I am completely and totally insane.  Or perhaps an artful combination of both!”

     In any case, her pesky seducer just kept on trying to tempt and tantalize her—and after reading some of the steamy love scenes included in the pages of the manuscript she’d just sent him, his efforts were bound to escalate—and her resistance, by contrast, was bound to decline.

     “Oh, I’ll probably be able to hold him off a while longer,” she pursed her lips in thought, then, casting a stray glance at her Timex watch, “For at least three more hours, anyway.  Maybe three and a quarter.”

     Shaking her head to clear it of its horny haze, Helena turned her attentions to her editing work; opening the computer file that held her Edit du Jour—a sure to be scintillating read titled, “Story Book Romance.”

     “A book publisher begins a steamy affair with his new editor in chief,” she read the book’s synopsis aloud in a tense, frustrated tone.  “She knows she can’t resist him—and after spending a single night in his muscular arms, she wonders why she even tried.”

     Pausing in her place, Helena gritted her teeth hard and balled her fists beside her.

     “Damn you, Trey Lawrence,” she seethed, shifting in her seat in a wave of acute discomfort. 

     Drawing a long, sustaining breath, she cleared her head of its frustrated haze and set to work; trying her dandiest to concentrate on commas and prepositions, as opposed to clandestine rendezvous and passionate interludes.  Running on a wave of raw energy that seemed almost inhuman in scope, she completed the edit in a little under three hours; carrying the completed disc into Trey’s office and presenting it to him with a prim smile.

     One that evolved into a full toothed beam moments later, as an intense Trey kicked his office door shut and swept her up in a hot, passionate embrace.

     Pulling her trembling body closer than close, he claimed her lips in a heated kiss; his full, moist mouth devouring hers as their tongues and fingers both entwined.

     Surrendering to his advances with a hard, raw gasp, Helena kissed her lover senseless as her hands scanned the silk-covered planes of his hard, massive chest; her pulse pounding as his attentions awakened her barely suppressed desire.

     With a single gasp she broke their kiss moments later; lurching upward and parting from his arms with a moan that bespoke her keen frustration.

     “So, Boss,” she gasped out, running the back of her arm across the surface of her sweat laden forehead.  “I take it that you passing enjoyed the rough draft of my first book, Pride and Passion?”

     Trey thought a moment, then nodded.

     “It was OK I guess,” he allowed with a shrug.

     Helena froze, heat of an entirely different kind suffusing her cheeks as she considered the many hours of work she’d put into the composition of her first novel; a work that had cost her several nights of sleep and a plethora of blonde hairs pulled taut from her addled blonde head—not to mention several solid gallons of hot chocolate with cinnamon accents.  Blast it, she just couldn’t work without the able aid of her hot chocolate with cinnamon accents.

     “OK?” she repeated, a slight tremble overtaking her fully made frame as she balled her fists beside her.  “Just OK?”

     Trey cleared his throat.

     “Well, maybe OK is the wrong word,” he allowed.

     “Ya think?”  Helena pressed, clenching her fingers and gritting her teeth until they ground audibly in the confines of her mouth.

     “Yes, I think,” Trey declared with a nod.  “As a matter of fact, I believe that ‘passable’ might be a better word to describe my reaction to your rough draft.”

     Shutting her eyes tight, Helena very slowly counted to 10, then counted the mental images of some cute, wooly sheep for good measure. 

     Her defense and coping mechanisms soundly exhausted, she opened her eyes to greet her employer with a cold, hard stare.

     “So do you reward all authors that submit ‘passable’ work with hot, passionate kisses?”

     Trey nodded.

     “Yes I do, as a matter of fact,” he revealed, adding as he arched his feathered eyebrows, “Didn’t you read that clause?  It’s in your contract.”

     Helena had heard enough.

     “I cannot believe you,” she bellowed, folding her arms before her, “Do you have any idea how long and hard I worked on that book, Trey?  Well let me tell you something…”

     “You don’t need to tell me anything, Helena,” Trey interrupted her, rushing to her side to take her hands in his.  “I know all about you and your incredible efforts through your writing.”  He paused here, his face bursting into a full-toothed beam that nearly stilled her heart.  “I have to admit I’ve been playing with you a little bit, darling.  The fact is that your book is nothing short of fantastic.  It’s fresh, it’s creative, it’s meaningful, it’s as sexy as hell—and, most of all, it just happens to be very, very well-written.  And, with your permission, I would love to sign you on as our newest contract author at Elmhurst Publishing.”

     Helena froze, tears running free down the surface of her face as she considered these words;

Words she’d dreamt of hearing all of her life.

     “Well, that and, ‘Hi Helena, I’m George Clooney.  Would you do me the honor of marrying me?’” she mused.

     Although she had to admit that the man that now took her hand, warmly and sincerely, in his, dwarfed even The Clooney in terms of complete and utter masculine radiance; and when he enveloped her in the cocoon of a warm, sweet hug, he impressed her even more.

     “You’re a fantastic author, bella,” he whispered, cuddling her close to him.  “You put your head and your heart into what you write—and you’ve just managed to raise the bar for every other author in this company.”

     Pulling back only slightly, Trey took Helena’s hands in his and squeezed her sturdy fingers.

     “After reviewing your work, darling, I now realize what it is that makes you so special,” he told her, adding with a saucy wink, “And now that I know, I plan to enhance and intensify my pursuit of you—so just be forewarned.”  He paused here, adding as he straightened his strong shoulders, “For now, however, we have to concentrate on getting your contracts signed—before, say, Simon and Schuster, discovers my secret and snatches you and your book away from me.”

     “Well now we can’t risk that, can we?”  Helena winked, adding as she inclined her head in her direction, “Although I must admit that, before I sign your contracts, I will need to ask one very special favor of you first.”

     “Name it,” Trey said immediately, leaning forward with eager ears to hear her stipulation.

     Helena grinned.

     “The safe and immediate return of my hands,” she told him, adding with a shrug, “I might just need them to sign your contracts.”

     “Well you’ll only need one of them to sign, correct?” he arched an exquisite eyebrow, dropping one hand as he used the remaining appendage to lead Helena in the direction of his desk.  “May I keep the other?”

     As Helena reviewed and signed her author contracts, she and Trey discussed possible plans for the release of her first book.

     “I’d love to have a big release party for you, of course,” Trey mused, stroking his sculpted chin in thought, “And a signing where all of your future fans and devoted readers can meet you for the first time.  Other than that, though, I believe we need to plan something really special to promote the release of this book.”

     Helena thought a moment, then snapped her fingers.

     “By George Clooney, I think I’ve got it!”  She pulled out an old favorite phrase for Trey’s chuckling amusement.  “Since this is indeed a special book—one that features a strong, no nonsense heroine clearly ahead of her time, then why don’t we plan a related fund-raiser on behalf of a local domestic violence shelter?”

     “I know just the place!” Trey insisted, snapping her fingers in kind return.  “My mom has volunteered for years at the Sunshine shelter on Fifth Street. They help so many women and children and are in constant need of funds; I think it would be a great idea to collect donations for the shelter at your release party.”

     Helena nodded.

     “My sisters and I used to volunteer all the time at the shelter in our hometown,” she recalled, adding with a shrug, “As nice as it was to help with cleaning and organizing around there, and sometimes to bring in the old clothes we were constantly outgrowing—of course, we couldn’t give up too many of our clothes, as we never knew when Mom would decide to pop out yet another infant female bearing a name starting with ‘h’—I always wanted to do more; to give some money as well.  I mean, that’s why a lot of women stay in those awful situations in the first place—they have no money of their own, to support them and their kids.”

     Trey grabbed her hand across the desk, bringing it to his lips for a long, sweet kiss.

     “For all of your sarcasm, Vance, you certainly do have a beautiful heart,” he praised her.

     “Well so do you,” Helena nodded with a smile.  “And a great ass to boot.”

     Trey howled.

     “I’ll get on the phone to the shelter later today, to ask for a representative to be in attendance at the release,” he promised.  “We can present her with a check at the end of the evening.”

     “Excellent!”  Helena applauded him, adding as she inclined her head in her editor’s direction, “And it might be even more excellent to donate part of the proceeds from the book sales to the shelter.”

     Trey thought a moment, then nodded.

     “Maybe ten percent?” he offered, stroking his chin in thought.

     “Make it thirty,” Helena countered immediately, folding her arms before her.

     She furrowed her brow in acute worry as Trey doubled over across his desk, coughing violently as all semblance of color abandoned his face.

     “Thirty percent?” he gasped out, clutching the edges of his desk in a near desperate gesture.

     In what she hoped would be a lifesaving maneuver, Helena held up two frantic fingers and yelped, “Twenty percent?  Is that more workable?  And less out and out traumatizing to your senses?”

     Straightening immediately behind his desk, Trey took a deep breath and immediately regained his composure.

     “Twenty percent,” he repeat, tone smooth and cool.  “That’s a workable figure.  Now, let’s get back to these contracts.”

     Throughout the next hour the couple completed work on Helena’s contracts and set up an editing and production schedule for her book.

     “As much as I’d love to have you do the edits for Pride and Passion, Helena, it’s just not ethical or even wise to do so,” he told her.  “We never allow authors to edit their own work—even a talented pen woman like yourself needs a fresh pair of eyes to check, double check and triple check your work.”