The Sleeping Beauty Proposal (19 page)

Nor did we ever discuss sex in the Michaels house. Never. While my friends' mothers were taking their teenage daughters to the OB/GYN to get outfitted with all sorts of protection, the only prophylactic my parents made available to me was the threat of a one-way ticket to St. Mary's Episcopal School for Girls.

Which all adds up to me, Genie Michaels, repressed woman in the high-waisted floral underwear. A woman so unsexy that the man she was dating for four years couldn't bring himself to bear spending a lifetime of unsexy nights with her.Well, I'm here to say that the old unsexy Genie Michaels is officially dead.

Because here in the Sexuality section, I have just found the book that's going to change my sex life:
The Good Girl's Guide to Naughty Sex: A Step-by-Step Manual on How to Ride Him Hard and Get Put Away Wet.

Yes!

Quickly, I open the book to hide the cover. Oh, my.This
does
have illustrations.Wait.What is that? That can't be ... no.

I scan the contents:

Oooh. That sounds interesting. (And it's an excellent civics primer.) I flip to this chapter and am told, right off, that
extreme cleanliness
is very important if I wish to undertake any of these activities. Perhaps this book is slightly over-the-top for me.

Even so, I'll buy it. I have no choice. I need to know about those Southern states. At least, that's going to be my explanation at checkout.

Then again, I don't have to worry about what they're thinking at checkout, do I? I'm engaged. I'm about to be married. I
should
be purchasing sexual technique books since, as my religious radio station reminds me often, a “healthy sex life is at the heart of a solid marriage relationship.”

Also, I will get
Sensual Bathing and Orgasmic Massage: What You Don't Know Could Be Ruining Your Love Life.

That covers all the bases, doesn't it? Kind of a one-stop-shopping deal. Yup. And, of course,
The Cosmo Kama Sutra
because, after all, it's
Cosmo.
And
How to Blow Everything . . . Including His Mind.
These books should set me up perfectly. But, hold on. I throw in
Fouralarmsex,
which until this moment I was not aware was one word.

Great. I can't wait to get home and start reading, just as soon as I squeeze past this rather large man in black with the funny white collar and ... "Reverend Whitmore?”

“Genie?” Reverend Whitmore turns, his thumb keeping the page he was reading in place. “Funny running into you here.”

Okay, who was the wise guy who positioned Spirituality across the aisle from Sexuality?

“Um ...” I discreetly hide the books in my Victoria's Secret bag and take a chance the passing clerk doesn't think I'm shoplifting. "Actually, doing some research.You know, for work.”

He puzzles his brows. “But don't you work in Thoreau College Admissions?”

“Kids.” I give a what-can-you-do-with-them shrug. “Gotta know what they're up to.”To prove my point I point to
Fouralarmsex
on the shelf. “This is what they're into. Isn't that sad? That and hooking up. I swear, no one builds real lasting monogamous relationships anymore. It's all sex on the fly.”

But despite the tantalizing topic of
Fouralarmsex
and my moral consternation, Reverend Whitmore is not staring at the naked bodies on the cover. He has zoomed in on my ring.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Oh, no. Here goes. I'm about to lie to my minister, to the man who baptized me and led me through eight weeks of confirmation classes. “That depends on what you think
it
is.”

“My word, little Genie Michaels is finally getting married. Seems like just yesterday you were a babe in my arms.” He pouts in sentiment. “You've grown up so fast.”

Why do people keep saying that? I'm thirty-six. I've been living on my own for fifteen years. I have an automatic bill-pay on my checking account. I have spider veins in my calves.

"Yes, well. We children will do that, grow up, you know.”

“Have you set a date? Because I have to tell you, the church's Saturday calendar fills up very fast.”

"Er ...”

“And don't forget it will be necessary for you to take my six-week pre-marriage counseling course, that is if you plan on an Episcopal ceremony. Then again, I'm sure you know all that from Lucy's experience.”

Which Lucy described as “six hours of excruciatingly boring Q and A that would make even the sanest person in the world ponder the virtues of self-immolation.”

“I'm afraid we can't. You see, my fiancé, Hugh”—I nearly choke on the words—“is British and he's in England for an extension of his book tour.”

“
Hopeful, Kansas.
I read it. Such a powerful message of hope and redemption. He must be a wonderful, sensitive man. I do look forward to meeting him.”

“Oh, and I'm sure he looks forward to meeting you, too. Just that we don't have much time. We plan on getting married August twentieth and he won't be back until August fifteenth. I can't imagine how we'll fit in your classes.”

His forehead wrinkles even more. “Are you telling me someone else is performing the ceremony? I hate to think the church is losing a Michaels.”

“No, no. It's just that I haven't gotten around to asking. It's all happened so fast.”

“I see.” He shoots a glance downward, what everyone does when I tell them our wedding borders on shotgun.

"That's not it,” I say. "It's ... complicated.”

“Yes.” His old fat fingers tap the binding of
Biblical Families: Raising Honest Children in a Dishonest World.

I cannot stop staring at that word,
dishonest.

“I have no idea what my calendar is for August twentieth, but for you, Genie, I'll make room. For heaven's sakes, it seems like I've been waiting a lifetime for this day. For a while, there, I figured I wouldn't live to see it. But God is merciful and patient. What for us seems a lifetime, for Him is but a blink of the eye, and He seems to have blessed you with a wonderful life partner.”

We chuckle weakly. I think, if I don't get out of here this conversation is going to last a lifetime.

"And don't worry about the counseling sessions....”

Thank God! I'm off the hook for that one.

“I have worksheets you can send to Hugh. Even e-mail.”

“Worksheets?”

“It's not ideal, but we'll muddle through. Some of the questions are tricky. Brain benders, I like to call them.You know, what happens if one of you becomes paralyzed. What if one of your children is born severely retarded or dies. What if one of you falls in love with another person. How would you cope should one of your parents move in and need round-the-clock care.What if one of you loses his or her job and can't find work.”

Boy, marriage is depressing.

He squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “You know, the kinds of issues married couples face after the honeymoon.” He taps the Sexuality bookshelf. "Ah, yes.Those were the glory days. I remember them vaguely,” he says, before waddling off.

I am so stunned by this statement that it takes a few seconds for me to realize that not only does he engage in sex but that he has also walked off with my Victoria's Secret bag—thongs, orgasmic massage book, and all.

Chapter Fourteen

Reverend Whitmore cannot take my bag of thongs and sex manuals, especially since I haven't even paid for them. If he leaves the store with them, he'll be busted for misdemeanor theft and thrown in jail!

I can see it now: him waddling through the shoplifting sensor oblivious to the sixty dollars' worth of stolen sex manuals in his possession. Alarms ringing. Security personnel closing in from every side. And there will be the good minister, flush-faced and baffled to find he is holding my hot pink bag of naughty undies along with
How to Blow Everything ... Including His Mind.

"No!” I scream, dashing from the aisle, turning the corner, and running—
smack!
—into, of all people, Nick.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He grips my shoulder, laughing as if we're playing a game of tag. “You all right?”

Actually, I'm not since, aside from being filled with heart-pounding anxiety, I have had the wind knocked out of me after impaling my solar plexus on his elbow.

“Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to.You sort of sideswiped me.” Never mind my agony or the fact that, in his dark navy carpenters' union T-shirt, Nick is spellbinding. I have no time to talk—even if I could.

“Sorry,” I gasp, when I get my breath back. “Gotta run.”Wiggling from his grasp, I make it as far as the railing when I spy Reverend Whitmore on the floor below, pushing open the double front doors. Miraculously, he has passed the sensors without so much as a beep, despite my pink bag securely in his grasp.

Too late, I realize, letting out a long sigh. I am just not meant to enjoy good sex, that's all. I should be a Puritan like my alleged ancestor, the famous John Howland. Except for the all-day praying on hard benches.That's a bit much.

“Lose something?” Nick asks, joining me at the railing.

“A friend of mine walked off with all my stuff.”

“Can't you catch up to her?”

"Him,” I say. "And, no, it'd be too embarrassing.”

“Right. Of course. Horribly embarrassing.”

We are silent, watching the customers perusing tables below. Nick is no doubt at a loss to understand what the crazy woman next to him is up to now and, frankly, I don't have the energy to explain.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Not that I think carpenters don't read,” I hasten to add, lest Nick peg me for a snob.

“Killing time.” He holds up a slim copy of
Fear and Trembling,
which I haven't read since a college philosophy class and I'm not sure I really read it then. “I've just gotten to the good part where the spy is being double-crossed by his Russian lover who's selling nuclear secrets to the Chinese. Typical Kierkegaard, violence on every page.”

“Gee. I'll have to give him another try, now that I know there's that much action. How's the sex?”

“Not bad, though he's kind of conflicted. I think Søren's about to break off his engagement to the love of his life, Regine.”

Is Nick hinting he knows my secret? Or is this true? Damn. Where's my reserve of Kierkegaard trivia when I need it? “Well, it's hard to keep a good Danish existentialist down. At least, that's the way the song goes.”

He laughs. “You're great, Genie. Very funny. I wish I were going for coffee with you instead of the person I'm supposed to meet. Anyway, I'm beginning to think she's stood me up.”

She? What
she
would stand up Nick?

“I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee,” I offer cheerily. "Besides, I'm a good placeholder if she shows. First rule of being stood up—never be alone. Always pretend to be having the time of your life in case she arrives late.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely.The last thing you want is for her to find you looking forlorn and worried, milling around the remainders table and checking your watch.That'll be a total turn-off. She needs to see you already in the company of another woman.”

He's smiling now. "Meaning, you.”

“If you're game. My recommendation is to grab a table by the window. That way, when she walks by, she'll catch us in deep conversation and will curse herself for being tardy.You know what they say, ‘Those who dither, suffer.' ”

"I thought it was ‘Those who procrastinate, mas—' ”

"Shhh! Please. I'm a respectable woman. We'll have none of that talk.”

“Sorry,” he says, feigning seriousness. “I forgot about your prior history as a virgin.”

“You can erase the memory of that conversation from your databanks, thank you very much,” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. “Now, do you want me to help or not?”

“How could I refuse?”And with that, he slides his arm around my waist and gives me a slight squeeze. “Is this too much?”

Not enough, I want to say, drinking in the smell of his clean shirt, the faint hint of soap. “Perfect. She'll be seething with jealousy. ” We head toward the escalators, scanning for his date. “What's she look like, anyway? I need to know so I can make a pass at you when she walks in.”

"Tall. Rail thin. White, white skin. Kind of scary, actually.”

“Sounds delightful. Do you always go out with skeletons?”

“Beggars can't be choosers, not with all the best women spoken for.” He lets go so I can step in front of him on the escalator. What am I doing with this make-a-pass business? I am playing with fire, is what I'm doing. And I better take care that I don't get burnt.

Luckily, we do find a table by the window, where I wait while Nick orders us two coffees. I decide it's not just his Mediterranean magnetism, as Todd calls it, that attracts people to Nick. It's his overall demeanor. He is one of those naturally friendly people who talk to total strangers as if they've known them for years.

Like the girl behind the counter, for instance. Something he's said has her giggling, and it appears as if she's throwing in a chocolate croissant for free. (Oh, goody.) Sure, his good looks help. The longish wavy dark hair.The masculine jawline and trim physique. The shoulders out to there.