Authors: Robyn Harding
“Well, that’s just great,” I grumbled. Despite my best efforts, Colin’s inability to get over me could still be affecting Jim’s erection.
Mel reached over and gave my forearm a comforting squeeze. “It’s nothing to worry about. You’ve done all you can to have positive closure with Colin. Eventually, he’ll come round.”
Yeah, but eventually wasn’t good enough. I needed Colin to come round by tomorrow night! I didn’t know if Jim and I could survive another awkward and embarrassing attempt at consummating our relationship.
“And if things don’t work out with Jim,” Mel continued casually, “it’s not the end of the world. He’s your rebound guy after all.”
“No he’s not!” I shrieked. God!
Rebound guy!
That sounded so high school . . . or so
Sex and the City
! What Jim and I had could not be categorized with a cliché. Ours was a mature, grown-up relationship, based on mutual respect, trust, and astrological compatibility. “What Jim and I have is the real thing,” I insisted.
“I’m sure it is, but he’s still the first guy you dated after Colin, right?”
“Yeah, but I was already over Colin when I met Jim. Well . . .
practically
over Colin.”
Mel shrugged. “Maybe it’ll be different for you, but I’ve always found that when I end a serious relationship, I have to date a couple of guys before I find something meaningful again.”
“Well, I’ve already found something meaningful,” I said, defensively, “with Jim.”
“Okay!” she cried, holding her hands up like I was pointing a gun at her. “I’m just saying how it was for me. I’m sure what you and Jim have is the real thing.”
“It is.”
And it was, wasn’t it? As I trudged up the hill back to my apartment, I tried to shake the feelings of doubt Mel’s words had stirred in me. Jim and I had a future together, I felt sure of it. With Jim, there was hope for the marriage and family I had always longed for. I was now almost thirty-three and a half. And while I’d recently decided that putting deadlines on things like husbands and babies wasn’t healthy, I didn’t have a lot of time to mess around with rebound guys and the like. I wanted a serious relationship, and I wanted it with Jim. He was everything Colin hadn’t been, and he was everything I wanted in a man—once he regained the use of his penis, of course. When you found someone who fit with you so perfectly, it didn’t matter if he was your rebound guy.
Later that evening, I emailed the stitch ’n bitchers to let them know I wouldn’t be able to attend our next meeting. Three of them replied wishing me a good time with Jim, but Angie seemed to take my absence as a personal affront.
I had planned to do a run-through of “Eternal Love” for Nicola, she wrote. We won’t be able to if you don’t show up!
We’ll do it next week, I responded. We’ve got lots of time.
We don’t actually, came her reply. Nicola wants us to do a reading at her rehearsal dinner, which is in three weeks!
When I promised to recite my verse in front of the mirror four times a night before going to bed, she let me off the hook. But not without a final jab at my relationship with Jim.
It’s a shame that you have to be at his beck and call. In most relationships, you can have one night a week to spend with your friends. Anyway, have a nice time.
Ange
I was fuming. How dare she make judgments about my relationship? If Thad suggested they go for side-by-side high colonics next Thursday, she’d blow us off in a second! But I would not stoop to her level and retaliate with an insult. I was above it. Besides, I wanted to bleach my upper lip before my big date tomorrow night.
Twenty-four
JIM PICKED ME up at five-thirty. As I let myself out of my apartment building, nervous butterflies danced in my stomach. It had been ten days since I last saw him—eleven since I so unsuccessfully tried to seduce him. Would it be awkward? Uncomfortable? Or would we continue to pretend that night had never happened, and pick up where we left off?
But the smile on Jim’s face as he walked toward me reassured me. He swept me into a huge embrace and held me tight. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too,” I murmured. There, in his arms, any inkling of doubt I’d had about our relationship was washed away. Rebound guy? As if! This was real.
He released me, held me at arm’s length, and looked at me. “You look gorgeous.”
“So do you.”
“I’ve missed you.” He pulled me into him and kissed my forehead.
I looked up, our eyes meeting intensely. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Jim drove us to a cozy little restaurant he knew of in Magnolia. As we sped across the bridge, I kept my purse on the floor between my feet. Maybe
purse
wasn’t exactly the right term for the satchel I’d brought with me. Some might even call it a . . . duffel bag. But it was not a suitcase! Definitely not! I’d just needed something big enough to hold my wallet, lipstick, a change of underwear, my contact lens case and solution, and my toothbrush and toothpaste. If this evening went as planned, I would be coercing Jim into spending the night in Seattle, and I needed to be prepared. And it wasn’t like he’d notice that my purse was rather enormous. Big slouchy bags were in, weren’t they? I was sure I’d seen a picture of Lindsay Lohan carrying one on the streets of New York City. Come to think of it, I’d seen that picture in a magazine in my gynecologist’s office and it might have been two to three years old. But what did men know about purse fashions?
Jim brought my attention back to the car. “You like Thai, right?”
“Love it!”
“Me too.” Jim took his eyes from the road and smiled at me. We even had matching taste buds! I couldn’t believe I’d had even a moment of doubt that he was the one for me.
Seated amidst the exotic Asian surroundings, we chatted easily. There was much to catch up on after so many days apart. Jim told me about Chicago, the conference he’d spoken at, and a particularly bizarre colleague who’d brought his mail-order bride to all of their meetings to help her pick up the language.
“God, that’s so weird,” I said.
“I know. The poor woman must have been bored to tears.”
“Well, of course that part’s weird, but it’s even weirder
buying
your wife.”
“It is,” Jim said, and took a sip of his beer. “But it was hard for Ed to meet women the traditional way. He’s older, overweight, bald, a smoker... He’s not exactly a catch to a Western woman, but Jung really seems to like him. As strange as it is, they seem really happy.”
“That’s nice . . . I guess.” I took a drink of my beer. “It’s still really weird, though.”
Jim covered my hand with his. “Not everyone can be lucky enough to find the perfect girl right under his nose.”
I looked down and blushed. God, he was so charming! I wanted to say something back like: “I feel lucky to have found you, too,” but I suddenly felt girlish and tongue-tied. Jim seemed to sense my discomfort and asked, “So, what have you been up to this past week?”
I told him about the article I was working on for Martin’s magazine and we discussed the challenges of organic versus traditional farming methods. While a couple of months ago this conversation would have bored me silly, I was gaining a new-found understanding and appreciation for the environmental issues facing us today. Thanks to Jim, I was caring more and more about the future of our planet. God, he was so good for me.
Eventually, our food arrived. As Jim dished pad Thai onto his plate, he changed the subject. “What about those friends of yours you were telling me about—the married girl and the gay guy?”
“Nothing to report,” I said, helping myself to an enormous scoop of green prawn curry. “One of our friends is profiling him.”
“Oh?”
“She’s trying to compile all sorts of information on him, so we can determine if he’s gay or straight.”
“Well . . . good luck with it.”
“Thanks, but I’m still hopeful that my friend and her husband will work things out.”
As dinner drew to a close, I began to feel anxious about what was to come. It was so wonderful seeing Jim again that I felt I couldn’t bear to let him go. I also feared that if he left me tonight, I would view our evening as an enormous failure. Good food and lively conversation was just not enough anymore. We needed to solidify this relationship! To take it to the next level! And I desperately needed to know that he was capable of satisfying me as a woman.
When our middle-aged Thai waitress brought the bill, I summoned all my courage and spoke. “So, I don’t know what you have planned for the rest of the night, but I was really hoping...” My voice cracked, but I forged ahead. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you for so long and I’d really like to spend some more time with you, so I thought, maybe, you could...”
“Stay the night?” he finished for me.
“Well . . . yes. But no pressure . . .”
He sighed heavily, “I don’t know, Beth. I’ve been away for so long and I’ve got a lot of work to do at home.”
My heart sank like an iron in a swimming pool. Oh god. Don’t start crying. That would really be beyond pathetic. I took a deep, calming breath and forced myself to think positively. It wasn’t the end of the world. We would have other nights together, other chances to consummate our relationship. Maybe Jim would invite me to Bainbridge again soon? I looked up at him and managed a weak smile. To my surprise, he was wearing a mischievous grin.
“I already booked us a room at The W.”
“Oh my god!” I squealed. “You jerk! You totally tricked me!”
As we sped back toward the city, I tried to stay calm, cool, and collected, but my internal voice wouldn’t let me ignore the importance of the next few hours. We wouldn’t drink too much this time—Jim, because of his past performance issues, and me, because I didn’t want to alter my personality. Last time I’d had too many glasses of wine with Jim, I’d acted like a crazed nymphomaniac. And the time before that, I’d passed out! No, there would be just enough alcohol to lighten the mood, and not enough to inhibit an erection, instigate sexually aggressive behaviour, or induce a coma.
Jim’s voice interrupted my reverie. “Do you want me to take you home so you can pick up a few things?”
“Uh . . . I . . .” Oh damn! How did I tell him that I already had a purse full of contact solution and clean underwear? It sounded so . . . premeditated. “I’ll be okay,” I finally said.
Jim held my hand as we walked briskly through the funky art deco lobby of The W Hotel. His pace indicated that he was as eager as I was to spend some time alone together. Unfortunately, we shared the elevator with another couple with Arkansas accents, which precluded any daring elevator foreplay. But finally, we reached our destination. Jim opened the door for me and I stepped into the clean, modern luxury of the room. Closing the door behind him, Jim went directly to the phone and ordered a bottle of champagne. “And after that, we’re not to be disturbed,” he instructed.
When he hung up, he turned to me, still lingering near the door. “Alone at last,” he said, beckoning me toward him. I crossed the room and he took me in his arms, kissing my lips. I responded, but softly, gently, without the zeal I’d displayed on Bainbridge. This time, I was going to be ladylike—no more tongue-thrusting and dry humping for me. I would let Jim take the lead.
The champagne soon arrived and Jim went to the door. I sat demurely on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, as he tipped the server and carried the champagne bucket to the table. When he’d popped the cork and poured us two glasses, he joined me on the bed. “To finally being alone together,” he said, taking a drink. It was a rather large drink, I couldn’t help but notice. I’d have to keep an eye on his consumption. If it looked like it was getting out of hand, I could always knock the champagne bucket over and spill the rest of its contents.
“To being alone together,” I seconded, taking a sip of my own.
Jim reached out, and with two fingers, traced the line of my cheek. “You’re really beautiful, you know.”
“Oh . . . gee . . . thanks,” I mumbled, nervously.
“And you don’t even realize it.”
“Well...” I said, with an awkward shrug. “I have been told that I look a bit like Sandra Bullock.”
Jim smiled. “You’re far more beautiful than she is. How’d an old guy like me get so lucky?”
“Uh . . . I guess because you’re rich.” Jim laughed, obviously enjoying our repartee, but I was becoming increasingly anxious. Maybe older guys were turned on by this flirtatious banter, but I was ready to get down to business. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I was going to lose control and throw my leg over him. And based on our last experience, that could ruin everything. Thankfully, Jim must have picked up my subtle cues. He took the champagne flute from my hand and set it, with his, on the bedside table. Then, he leaned toward me and kissed me.
I followed Jim’s lead, matching his pressure and intensity. When his hands began to caress my body, my hands began to caress his. When he pressed against me, I slowly sank back onto the bed. Now that we were horizontal, I sensed an increased intensity in Jim’s kisses. I reciprocated to show that I was keen, but without overdoing it. Nothing was going to go wrong this time. Nothing!
Jim paused to remove his shirt and I stole a glimpse at his crotch. It was hard to see in the romantic lamplight and with his charcoal pants, but I was pretty sure I noticed a bulge. Yes, there was definitely a tent-like appearance in the zipper area. I let out a little gasp—a combination of excitement and relief. I had done it! Jim had wood! Our future was set!
And then I heard it—a faint but insistent beeping coming from near the desk. “Oh, shit,” Jim muttered, glancing over his shoulder to where his jacket hung on the back of a chair.
“What is it?” I asked, panic-stricken.
“My BlackBerry.”
Despite my vow not to exhibit any sexually aggressive behaviour, I grabbed him by the belt and pulled him down on top of me. “Ignore it,” I growled, kissing him passionately. Thankfully, he returned my hungry kisses and his hand snaked its way up under my sweater.
But the fucking thing would not stop beeping! It was soon apparent that, while we were going through the motions, we were both distracted by the continuous signal. “I guess I should check it,” Jim finally said, extracting his hand from my bra.
“Who could be paging you at this hour?” I grumbled.
“I don’t know. It must be an emergency.” He crawled off me and went to retrieve the device from his pocket.
An emergency? What kind of emergency required the services of a semi-retired green architect?
“Oh no,” he said quietly, staring at the tiny screen. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?” My voice was shrill with panic. Everything was going so well this time. I’d done everything right! Jim had an erection! What kind of God would let an emergency page interrupt us at this exact moment?
Jim looked at me. “I’m so sorry Beth, but I’m going to have to go. It’s urgent.”
This moment called for patience and understanding. Obviously, something extremely important had come up, something more important than consummating our relationship. Tonight was not the night, after all. It just wasn’t meant to be. But somehow, I couldn’t seem to find that place of peaceful acceptance. “What the hell is more important than our night together?” I shrieked. “Some kind of architectural emergency? What?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Is one of your buildings not being energy efficient enough? Using too much water? Is the interior environment not getting enough natural light?”
“Uh . . . no,” he said, quietly, his eyes dropping down to the floor. “It’s my mother . . . She’s . . . had a stroke.”