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The Wilderness Road

Monthly Archives: August 2016

Five Mile Trail

28 Sunday Aug 2016

Posted by victoriaperpetua in Hiking, Hiking Tennessee, Nathan Bedford Forrest State Park, Tennessee State Parks

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Hikes, Hiking, Hiking Tennessee

A trailside violet.

A trailside violet.

I’ve added a new hike to my website.

The Five Mile Trail is part of a trail system in Nathan Bedford Forrest State Park in Tennessee that includes a number of loop trails within the system. There is also a 3-mile loop as well as 10-mile and 20-mile loops that course along the ridges overlooking Kentucky Lake.

The park is near commercial marinas and public boat docks and there are three boat access points available in the park at no cost. Among the fish to be caught in the lake are smallmouth, largemouth and striped bass, sauger, crappie, bream and catfish.

For a trail description, directions and more see: Five Mile Trail at my website.

 

True Love

21 Sunday Aug 2016

Posted by victoriaperpetua in Fiction, Short Stories, True Love

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Fiction, Short Story

TrueLovecover

In 1994, I found myself in between book projects–specifically in between Georgia Outdoors and Touring the Backroads of North and South Georgia. So, I wrote a story for True Love and it was accepted for their 70th Anniversary issue in November of that year.

At more than 8,000 words, it is a longish short story. My story didn’t make the cover as that issue featured 14 stories, two of which were book-length.

I have just a couple of things to say before I reveal my story’s illustration: 1) The models featured do not look a bit like what I had in mind. Seriously! 2) Oh my God, look at those mom jeans! Seriously!

TrueLovestory

 

For the third week in a row, I sat in one of the ritziest restaurants in town, waiting for Will. I was on my third cup of coffee, and the caffeine was starting to give me the jitters. To top it all off, I noticed a good-looking guy just a few tables away had been watching me for the past half hour.

I glanced at my watch for the millionth time. It was getting pretty obvious that I’d been stood up. I didn’t know whether to leave or to give him fifteen more minutes. After all, I understood that Will was a busy man.

I wasn’t surprised when the waiter arrived with a phone. Not again, I moaned. The tears sprung quickly to my eyes, and I quickly hid my face with the palm of my hand. If only that guy wasn’t watching my every move. As soon as Will explained why he wasn’t going to make it—yet another big project—I hung up without giving him the satisfaction of so much as a good-bye. I was furious, very apparently so. I have a very tough time disguising my emotions.

The waiter approached with obvious trepidation.

“The gentleman in the corner,” he said, indicating the man who had been eyeing me for the past forty-five minutes, “would like to know if you would allow him to join you.”

I smiled over at this mystery man. He smiled encouragingly. I blushed. Ah, what the hell, I thought. My day is already wasted. I’d taken the afternoon off from work to meet Will. Why not try to salvage what’s left of the day? I raised my hands in surrender. The waiter retreated with the phone.

“I’m not intruding, am I?” the stranger asked as he pulled out a seat. His gray-green eyes lent some life to his otherwise plain face.

“Hardly,” I laughed, in answer to his question. “The jerk I’m dating just canceled our third date in a row. You think he’s trying to tell me something?”

“Have you been seeing him long?”

I saw no reason to lie to this stranger. “For about eight months. He keeps telling me he’s going to divorce his wife. They’ve been separated for a year. I guess I should have known better.” My bitterness was quite evident.

“So, I take it your free for the rest of the day,” he said, changing the subject.

“I’ll say.” I smiled. “Amanda Gillford.” I extended my hand across the table.

“Terence Matthews.” He shook my hand. “How about a drink to counteract all the coffee you’ve been drinking?”

“I’d love one,” I said, releasing his hand, “but not here.”

“Oh.” There was understanding in his eyes. “Do you always meet him here?”

“Yes,” I sighed.

“I’ve never been here before myself. It’s a bit too ritzy for me. Actually, I saw you through the window. I just had to find out what a beautiful woman like you was doing all alone on such a sunny day.”

He opened the door for me, and we stepped out into the wonderful late spring afternoon.

It was nice to be with someone my age. At a small café overlooking the river, we stopped to have a beer and enjoy the warmth of the sun on their patio. Bright red geraniums bloomed in clay pots on every table, and I inhaled their bittersweet scent.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?” Terence asked.

“For rescuing me. If you hadn’t been there, I’d be at home now with the shades drawn, curled up in my bed in a fetal position, with the covers drawn over my head.”

“On such a wonderful day! What a travesty.”

“Like I said—”

“Well, we’ve got hours ahead of us, Amanda. I want to know everything about you.”

“Only if you’ll reciprocate.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Terence laughed. His smile warmed my heart.

I told him almost everything. I told him how I’d always wanted to be a writer but had given up that dream when I graduated from high school. My father, an abusive man to both my mother and myself, had died when I was twelve. Three years later, my mother discovered she had ovarian cancer. I spent every spare moment I had when I was fifteen and sixteen nursing her at home. The year I turned seventeen, the cancer, which we thought we had beaten with chemotherapy, was found in her stomach and intestines. It was spreading rapidly. Before the school year was out, she had died.

The insurance money—both hers and my father’s—barely covered her funeral and our debts. I finished out the year, but my grades dropped. There was no chance for a scholarship and no money for college. As soon as I graduated, I began job hunting. I was living with my aunt at the time, and I soon found a job as a secretary for a publishing company. I might never write books, but at least I could be near them. They had been a refuge from my father when I was young, and from my mother’s illness as I grew older.

I found another job, at night, working at a bookstore. For the next three years, I lost myself in work. I desperately wanted a place of my own. I didn’t want to have to depend on anyone ever again.

A year out of high school, I had finally raised enough money to rent my own place and to furnish it.

As for a social life, I wasn’t interested. I’d occasionally do things with my friend, Christie, but she was married and wasn’t generally available. On the evening of my twenty-second birthday, I lamented the fact I was still a virgin, and except for a few chaste kisses in high school, very much innocent to the games of love.

That night, I reassessed my life and what I wanted from it. I decided it was time I started dating. I wanted a love life, but more importantly, I wanted to find a good man, someone to love me, and someone to be a good father to my children. Listening to Christie talk of her childhood and marriage, I realized it was possible to have something better than I had.

Christie must have put the word out, because I started receiving invitations again. I quit my job at the bookstore and started dating. Then, just over eight months ago, I met Will.

“I fell head over heels,” I explained, “but I just can’t continue an affair with a married man, even if he is separated.”

“Is he really separated or is that just a line?” Terence asked.

I took a deep breath. He had a point. I didn’t know. I shook my head.

“Not to play the psychiatrist or anything,” Terence continued, “but maybe you’ve fallen for a married man just so you won’t have to deal with commitment.”

I stared at him with shock. Was he right? Was that why I felt more relief than anger the past three times Will had stood me up? “You may be right,” I said to Terence. “It’s something for me to consider. At any rate, I intend to end it all tomorrow. It’s gone on long enough. I need to get a real life.”

Terence paid for our beers, and we headed down to the river. As we walked beneath the willows, I asked him about his life.

“I’ve told just about all,” I said. “It’s your turn.”

“Well, it hasn’t been quite so tragic as yours,” he began.

Like me, Terence said he had a very close relationship with his mother. As a matter of fact, he raved about her.

“She’s the one who encouraged me to pursue my art,” he explained. “So far, I’m having limited success.” Terence said he designed stained glass and had sold several pieces already. “I really work as a welder,” he said, “but I work on my stained glass in my spare time.”

“Doesn’t sound like it leaves much room for a social life,” I reflected.

“You’re right. Just like you, I’ve put so much time and effort into my art, that I’ve neglected my love life, but not to the extent that you had.” He laughed and hugged me.

“What about your father?” We were sitting on a bench watching the river flow by.

“I won’t talk about him,” he said flatly.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“We don’t get along. I don’t like the way he treats my mother, and that’s all I’m going to say.”

I shivered. The sun was starting to set. Since it was late spring, the impending darkness still brought a chill.

“Let’s go find a nice, cozy restaurant,” he suggested.

“Italian?” I asked, hopefully.

“With red and white checked tablecloths and candles in old wine bottles,” he promised.

“It was eleven o’clock before I got back to my apartment. Over candlelight and wine, we had continued our conversation, moving from the subject of our lives to the subject of favorite books and movies. It seemed like we’d never run out of things to say. There was so much to talk about!

He kissed me gently on the lips after walking me to my door. “Can I see you again?” he whispered in my ear.

I looked down, pretending to consider, but he pulled my chin up until I was looking directly into his eyes.

“Yes,” I replied almost defiantly, and he kissed me passionately.

He tried to finagle his way into my apartment, but I’d had enough practice to learn how to close the door just enough to say goodnight without leaving room for my date to barge his way in.”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Well, give me your number then,” he demanded.

“I repeated it twice.”

“I’ll call you,” he told me, kissed me goodbye once more, and reluctantly took his leave.

I was in a daze that night. Once ready for bed, I lay staring at the ceiling while my mind whirled. Was I cheating on Will? Did I care? I was beginning to wonder what I saw in him anyway. Was that too terrible? After all, he hadn’t appeared too concerned about me lately.

I was tempted to call him right there and then and tell him it was over. But I’d have to call him at home, and I hated to do that. What if his wife answered? Then again, there’d be a certain satisfaction if she did. But I couldn’t do that. After all, I was one of the villains, especially if they weren’t separated at all, as I was beginning to suspect, thanks to Terence.

I decided I’d call him from work the next day. Of course, I wasn’t supposed to call him there, either. As a matter of fact, I was never supposed to contact Will at all. What had I been thinking all this time? How had I continued to fool myself that he had really cared for me? Even though I was alone, I blushed. How could I have been such a fool? I looked at the phone. I was tempted to call Terence just because I could.

I pulled my comforter closer around me and started thinking about Terence, wondering when I’d see him again, wondering how I could have ever been happy with Will.

Will and I had never talked, now that I really thought about it. I finally admitted to myself that it was mostly his financial power that had led me into a dangerous and stupid affair with Will, along with the father-figure image. Will was more than thirty years older than I was. Maybe I had been searching for the love and respect that I had never received from my father. I felt sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with all this.

I had met Will at a publishing party just over eight months ago. I’d been on a blind date with Christie’s cousin. I hated blind dates, but since Christie was my best friend, I just felt I couldn’t say no. To avoid being alone with Fred all evening, I suggested strongly that we go to the party being put on by my firm.

Secretaries weren’t usually invited to these lavish affairs, but we had just made an especially profitable deal and the whole company was celebrating. I told him it would be good for my career. It was also already evident that Fred and I weren’t compatible. He was nice enough. There was just no spark there.

Once at the party, we soon drifted apart. He ran into an old friend from high school. And me, well I met Will.

I was sipping a glass of wine and trying to mingle when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

“Oh, excuse me,” a tall, distinguished-looking man apologized, “I thought you were someone else.”

I nodded and looked away, assuming he would move on after realizing his mistake, but he slipped his arm through mine and began steering me toward the patio. The party was being held at the house of the president of our company. I don’t even remember what line he used to get me outdoors.

“Will Matthews,” he finally introduced himself.

“Amanda—” I started, and my eyes widened. He’d said Will Matthews. It was a fairly common name, but his face looked familiar now that I thought about it. Was he the same Will Matthews in the society pages? The same man who was the brains behind the word processing program I used at work? He must have seen recognition in my eyes, including recognition of the fact he was married, because he led me to a bench and began relating his marriage woes to me.

“So, just a few months ago—” he sighed, “—we were separated.”

Boy, was I gullible. I swallowed every word—hook, line, and sinker. He had held my hand during the entire story, and I felt my heart aching for him while simultaneously other parts burned for him. I already longed to feel his mouth on mine, his hands caressing my body.

He was rich and powerful, and I suddenly knew that this was the man to whom I wanted to lose my virginity.

Our bench was hidden from the open doors of the patio, and the next thing I knew I was in his arms, drowning in the depths of a very passionate kiss. Will didn’t waste any time getting what he wanted. I guess that’s why he was so rich. At that moment in time what he wanted was Amanda Gillford, and if it hadn’t been for Christie’s cousin, Fred, he might have had me a lot sooner.

I was dizzy with the passion of his kiss, and his hands doing things I can’t even describe. On top of that he was huskily suggesting that we find some place a little more private, when I heard Fred call my name.

“Amanda,” he called out into the darkened garden. “Amanda Gillford!”

I nearly leapt to the moon I was so startled. “My date,” I explained, blushing furiously. I thought I saw anger flare in Will’s eyes when I had jumped out of his arms, but it turned out to be amusement.

“I thought you were alone,” he whispered.

“I don’t think you ever gave me a chance to say,” I retorted, and started to walk off.

“Wait.” He grabbed my skirt. “Give me your number.” He pulled out a business card and a gold pen and wrote it down as I recited it.

“Amanda?” Fred called again.

“Coming,” I said, hurrying out of the darkness and praying I didn’t look too rumpled and out of breath.

For the next few days, every time the phone rang, my heart would jump and my stomach would drop. The next weekend was fast approaching, and I still hadn’t heard from him. He’s a busy man, I rationalized. He probably even travels a lot. For all you know, he’s out of town.

When he finally called on Friday evening, I was furious and had no right to be. I was also embarrassed. What was I doing at home on a Friday? I should be out, enjoying myself. If I hadn’t wanted to see him so badly, I would have told him I was on my way out the door. Instead, I gave him directions to my apartment.

In my mind, I had everything planned for when he got there. I would show him in, offer him some wine, and act coolly toward him. But, in reality, when I opened the door, he swept me into his arms and once his lips touched mine, I was a goner.

When we ended up in my bedroom, I found myself growing scared and pulled back.

“What’s wrong? He asked, with eyes so intense with lust they were both exciting and frightening.

Blushing, I admitted that I had never made love before. He promised he’d be gentle. He told me it was an honor to him that he was the first, and proceeded to introduce me to the pleasures of lovemaking.

It was wonderful, and at first he made me feel as if we were the only two people in the world. It wasn’t long before I felt as if I was in love with only one-third of a person because there were two sides—his family and work—I never met.

We only talked about his work once, and that was because I brought up the subject. I told him that I used his word processing program at the publishing house and that I loved it. We were snuggled up in a king-sized bed in the hotel where I always met him. I’d wait in the restaurant downstairs, and I’d get a phone call telling me what room to come to. He was very careful. He had explained to me that a man of his influence couldn’t risk his reputation by seeing another woman until after the divorce was final. Funny how that divorce never seemed to progress.

Anyway, we were sipping on champagne, and I suggested that the program could use and indenting feature. At first, he looked annoyed that I could bring up such a mundane subject while he was enjoying champagne and sex, but then I could tell he was thinking about it and considered it a good idea.

“I’ll look into,” he said a bit curtly. But he had other things on his mind, namely me, and were soon otherwise engaged.

It actually took me almost six months before I realized I was nothing more than a lover to him, just a mistress and plaything. He treated me royally with champagne, room service, caviar, lobster and steak, gifts of jewelry and lingerie. I was on cloud nine.

I did finally start noticing that he would never speak of his family or work. I was never allowed to call him, so I saw him only when he wanted to see me. It was, I realized, a very one-sided relationship. But I loved him, desperately, and when we were alone together, he professed his love to me. The situation was difficult, he said, but the divorce was underway.

Only Christie knew of our affair, and she was vehemently against it. I couldn’t stop, since I’d become dependent on him. So, Christie, while she spoke badly about Will, still supported me when two weeks would go by without a word from him. Crying on her shoulder in the ladies’ room, she pat my back and cursed Will for all he was worth.

Now for the third week in a row, Will had canceled our weekly rendezvous. I turned my head to look at the clock and realized that my pillow was soaked. I felt my face, and it was wet with tears.

Was Will getting tired of me? Or was he really involved in a major project like he said he was? I just didn’t know. It was no longer enough, meeting him once a week in an expensive hotel room. I wanted all of him, not part. I had tried to keep that need in me from showing, but I was beginning to wonder if Will hadn’t somehow felt that I was getting too serious. Perhaps he was drawing away. If that were trued, I decided I had better be the one to break it off and save myself a little heartache. I wondered how Will would take the phone call. I had a feeling he would be very upset—not because I was dropping him, but because I was the one doing the dropping.

Now there was Terence. I felt like I ought to feel guilty about my feelings for him, but actually all I felt was defiance. I was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Were you asleep?” It was Terence.

“No, I had to get up to answer the phone, anyway,” I chuckled, pleased to hear from him even at this late hour.

He laughed. “I just wanted to hear your voice one more time before I fell asleep.”

I grinned into the phone.

“What are you doing for breakfast?” he asked.

“I never make plans for breakfast—” I looked at my clock. It read twelve-fifty, “—until after one.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to call you back.”

“Or we could continue our earlier conversation.”

My clock was pulsing one-ten a.m. when Terence said, “So, when can I pick you up for breakfast?”

“Let’s see,” I said, “one o’clock plus eight hours equals nine a.m.”

“You don’t need eight hours sleep.”

“Hey,” I argued, “that’s only seven hours plus an hour to wake up and get ready.”

“How about seven?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Deal,” he laughed.

“See you later,” I started to hang up.

“Hopefully sooner,” he said.

“Mmmmm. Good night.” I hung up. Had I ever been this happy?

I awoke to a pounding on my door before dawn. My ever faithful clock radio told me it was just after five in the morning. Dragging myself out of bed, yawning, I pulled on a robe and slowly headed for the door.

More pounding. “I’m coming!” I yelled. I hadn’t even been asleep four hours, but I knew it was Terence.

“I couldn’t wait until morning,” he explained. “I thought we could watch the sunrise together.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Do you always look so good after four hours of sleep?” he asked, kissing me on the forehead.

“Are you serious?” I finally spoke.

“Of course.” He pulled me close, kissed me again. It was hard to resist him, but I pulled away.

“Then make some coffee,” I said, pointing to the kitchen, “while I get dressed.” I returned a few minutes later dressed in jeans and a warm sweater.

“Am I dreaming?” I asked him. He was in the kitchen opening cabinets.

“Where are the mugs?” he asked.

I pointed. They were hanging beneath the cabinet, right in front of his face. Men!

Grabbing a blanket, we went out onto the terrace of my apartment and snuggled up, backs against the brick wall of the building, and waited for the sun to come up. The sky had already begun to turn pink and orange but the sun had yet to appear. When it finally peeked over the horizon, we looked at each other, as if we had caused it to rise, and then we both burst out laughing.

“Time for more coffee.” I stood up and opened the sliding glass door to my apartment.

“I agree,” he said, following me inside.

As we leaned against the counter and sipped the warming brew, Terence suggested a diner where he said we could get a fabulous breakfast. I grabbed my purse, and we were on our way.

We spent the entire weekend together. From the diner, we headed to the grocery store to purchase a picnic lunch and then were off to the mountains for the day.

It was almost dark when we pulled back into town. Terence dropped me off at my apartment so that I could get ready for our dinner date. After a late movie, I was exhausted, but Terence begged me to hold on just a bit longer, and I allowed him to take me to his favorite club for a few dances and a nightcap.

When, at my door, he asked me out for Sunday as well, I decided to be blunt.

“Isn’t his getting to be an expensive weekend for you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he admitted, “but it’s worth it for you.” He took me into his arms. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

I agreed. It did seem as if we were long lost friends as last reunited and discovering there was more to our relationship than just friendship.

“Still,” I said, “we don’t have to spend another night on the town. Why don’t you come over here around noon?”

“Around noon?” he interrupted. “That late!”

“Church is over at eleven-thirty.”

“I’ll go to church with you!”

He looked so earnest that I had to laugh. “Of course you can go to church with me, Terence. Pick me up at nine-thirty.” He looked as if he might protest again and I put a finger over his lips. “Don’t push your luck.”

He hugged me tightly and said, “Okay, I guess I can wait until nine-thirty.”

A couple of minutes and a passionate kiss later, he was gone with a wave. I watched, heart thumping madly, until he was out of sight. This was all happening so fast. Was I rebounding from Will to Terence? Did I care?

After church, we came back to my apartment for brunch. Together, we fixed scrambled eggs, bacon, croissants and fruit, and a big pot of hot coffee. We lingered over our meal for hours, sipping coffee, nibbling on the food, and reading to each other from the comics page.

At three, stretching, Terence hoisted himself off the sofa. “My mother reminded me this morning that I had promised to take her to a concert this afternoon.”

I tried not to let the disappointment show in my face. “It’s getting late,” I said. “Do you have time to get ready?”

“Just enough if I leave now.”

“Have a good time,” I said, walking him to the door. I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking when I would see him again.

“Shall I come over after the concert?” he asked, hopefully.

I started breathing again. “I have some work that I really need to get done, not to mention the fact that I am exhausted for some reason.” I smiled. “I think I’ll call it an early night.”

It was his turn to look disappointed. “What about breakfast tomorrow?”

“I have to go to work.”

“So do I,” he said, “but we can just get up earlier than usual, especially if we’ll be hitting the sack early.”

“Well, yeah, sure, why not?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, opening the door.

“I can’t wait,” I told him.

Monday morning, when I opened the door to let Terence in, he said, “You look ill.”

“I have an unpleasant task facing me today,” I explained. “A task I am definitely not looking forward to.”

“What’s that?” he asked, pulling me into a bear hug. I pulled away and stared at my feet. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I have to call Will and tell him it’s over.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “Why don’t you get the dirty deed over with before breakfast so that we can enjoy our meal.”

“He’s not at work yet,” I explained, cheeks flaming. I never thought that my association with Will would cause me so much embarrassment.

“Call him at home,” Terence said, pushing his way into my apartment and heading toward the phone. Picking up the receiver, he asked me for the number. “I’ll call him,” he said. “I’ll be glad to.”

“I can’t call him at home,” I said, angrily, taking the receiver from his clenched fist. “What if his wife answers the phone? I can’t do that to her.”

“Do you know her?” he asked with surprise.

“No, of course not. But I’ve thought about her often enough, and I have come to the conclusion over the past few nights that she isn’t the witch Will made her out to be. I think he knew he had to make her sound bad to keep me where he wanted me.”

“Where was that?” Terence asked, his eyes colder than stone. “In bed?”

I felt as if I had been slapped. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I reacted with anger. “You knew my situation the day we met! As a matter of fact, if it hadn’t been for Will and his standing me up, we’d never have met. Perhaps that would have been better.” I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

“I’m sorry,” Terence said, taking me into his arms and kissing the tears away. “I was suddenly just overwhelmed with jealousy. I feel like I’ve known you all my life, and suddenly I felt cheated on.”

“This is just a part of my life that I need to finish,” I explained, “and I intend to do it today, as soon as possible. Knowing Will, I won’t have to worry about any repercussions.”

“Well,” he warned me, “just make sure you don’t forget to make that call today. I’m not sure how long I can stand this married man of yours hanging over my head.”

I said goodbye to him in the lobby of my office building. He looked at me sternly, but did not repeat his warning. He left and my stomach took a dive. I really didn’t want to call Will. I hated confrontations.

Once at my desk, I picked up the receiver and then quickly put it back down. Iwould wait until ten, I decided. That would give me time for another cup of coffee, a confession to Christie, and Will would surely be in his office by then.

“Did the creep show up on Friday?” It was Christie. Perfect timing.

I bared my teeth. “I’m calling him at ten to tell him it’s over.”

“Why ten?” Christie asked, hugging me in congratulations. “Why not now?”

“Because I’m nervous for one,” I said.

“Whatever for?” she interrupted. “That jerk never shows you any consideration. You ought to be ecstatic to be the one to tell him to get lost. Better you than him.”

“I know. I keep telling myself that, but my stomach’s doing flip-flops anyway.”

“Face it, Christie. I’m a wimp. I hate saying no.”

“I’ll bet that keeps your dates happy.”

“Ha, ha. Come get a cup of coffee with me. I have a lot to catch you up on.”

With Christie’s threat of standing over my shoulder until I called Will, I picked up the receiver. My hands were trembling, but my voice was strong when I asked to speak to Will.

“I told you never to call me at the office,” he whispered viciously into the phone.

Gritting my teeth, I said, “I figured since it would be both the first and last time, I could get away with it.”

“It had better be the last.”

“Don’t worry you son of a—” I was losing my cool. I started over. “It will be.” My voice was ice.

“If you’re angry about me canceling Friday—”

“Canceling the past three weeks, Will”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “I told you I was working on a very important project.”

“I have no doubt that’s true,” I told him. “Regardless, I am angry, and I don’t want to see you again.”

Silence again, and finally, “If that’s what you want.”

I couldn’t tell if he was hurt or relieved. “It’s what I want,” I said, but I could feel the tears stinging my eyes. He was supposed to be the one who was upset, not me! I hung up on him. Let him think that I was angry. I was angry. I felt degraded and used. Had I really only been his plaything?

I took a deep breath and looked over at Christie. I nodded. It was done. She gave me a thumb’s up. I smiled. After all, I had wound up with something better—Terence. Now I could pursue this new relationship with no feelings of guilt or deception. I had a new and happier life to look forward to.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” Terence asked. A month had passed, and we had seen each other as often as possible. So often, in fact, that I had come to take for granted our weekends together.

“You tell me,” I replied.

“I want you to meet my mother,” he said.

“I’d love to meet her.” I hugged him.

“We’ve been invited to dinner.”

“And your father?” I asked. I still hadn’t been able to pry any more information out of him about his father.

“Won’t be there, thank God.”

I wondered if I would ever find out what had caused the break between the two, but I was delighted about finally meeting his mother. I looked forward to this weekend with just a bit of trepidation. Terence, and his mother, Irma, were very close, and was also an only child. What if she didn’t like me?

When Saturday finally rolled around, I agonized over what to wear. I finally settled on a matching skirt and blouse in a rich, jewel-toned paisley. I had bought it to attend a friend’s wedding the previous winter. It seemed perfect for an evening dinner without being overdressed.

Terence nodded approvingly when he came to pick me up. “You look beautiful,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Nervous?”

“Just a bit,” I admitted. “I really hope she likes me.”

“She has to,” he replied. “How could she not?”

I gasped when we pulled up to the gates of a huge mansion on the outskirts of town. I looked at Terence, feeling shock. “You never told me your family had money,” I accused him. He had led me to believe his mother had lots of class, that she was very tasteful, and a once-struggling artist just like himself, but from the one-room efficiency that he occupied in an iffy section of town, I’d never have guessed that Terence’s folks were rich.

“It’s my father’s money,” he explained. “Mom has to live with it, or I guess I should say that she has chosen to live with it. I, on the other hand, decided to make it on my own. I don’t need help from him.”

He said the word “him” like it was a bug he wished he could step on. Terence rolled down his window and punched in a number at the gate. There was a buzzing noise and the gate slowly rolled back to allow us to enter.

My palms were sweating freely now, and I wiped them against my shirt to keep them dry. I didn’t want my first impression to be a clammy handshake. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about that. Irma met us at the door and hugged me when Terence introduced us. Her gray-green eyes were warm and her blond hair was tied loosely with a black velvet bow.

“My son has told me so much about you,” she said, wrapping an arm about my waist and leading me into a comfortable room lit with candles and art deco lamps. “This is my sitting room,” she explained, offering me a seat on a small sofa. “The room my husband entertains in is too stuffy for me, too masculine.”

I stood up almost immediately. “Are those your paintings?” I wandered over to a wall that was adorned with several watercolors.

“Those are Mom’s,” Terence affirmed, coming up behind me.

“They’re wonderful,” I whispered. And they really were. “That one reminds me of the day we met.” I pointed to a spring scene of the river in which flowers bloomed and clouds danced over a fair sky.

I returned to the sofa, stopping to admire some photographs on the side table. My heart skipped a beat. It was Will, a much younger Will, but Will nonetheless, in a photo with Terence and Irma. Terence looked to be about seven or eight. They were all laughing.

When Terence had told me his last name was Matthews, I had noticed the coincidence, but hadn’t thought twice about it. After all, there are lots of Matthews. Even when Irma had mentioned Will a few minutes earlier it hadn’t clicked. But here it was, a photograph. I was suddenly very thankful that Terence’s father wasn’t going to be here tonight. What was I going to do? Did I confess to Terence that the man I had left for him was his father? He interrupted the thoughts that were whirling about my mind.

“That’s my father—” he picked up the photograph, “—in happier days.”

“Terence,” his mother said reprovingly.

I felt pale and weak. I needed to sit down. I stumbled to the sofa.

“Amanda, are you all right?” Terence asked, fear causing his voice to rise an octave.

“I just suddenly felt dizzy,” I explained. “I wasn’t lying.”

His mother stood up and walked over to a small cabinet. She opened it up and pulled out a brandy snifter and some brandy.

“Here,” she said, pressing the glass into my shaking hand, “drink this.”

I took a sip and the brandy burned its way to my stomach, igniting a small fire there. It brought me back to my senses. So this was the woman Will had railed against. How dare he! I knew one thing for sure. Even if I confessed to Terence about Will, his mother could never know.

“Thank you,” I smiled, taking another sip. The color was returning to my cheeks. “I guess I just let myself get too worked up about meeting you.”

Irma squeezed my hand. “You’re every bit as sweet as Terence said you were.” I looked over at Terence and saw how wonderfully happy he looked. A shiver coursed its way down my spine. Would he still look at me that way after I told him about Will?

Dinner was fabulous, and afterwards we returned to Irma’s study for a nightcap. Terence and I curled up on the love seat, and Irma relaxed in a comfy armchair. We talked about Irma’s and Terence’s art and my past ambitions for writing. Terence even reminisced with his mother about his early childhood. Irma was just pulling out a photo album when there was a loud rap on the door. I think we all jumped.

Without even waiting for an answer, Will opened the door and looked in.

“What are you doing here?” Terence asked, unconsciously pulling me closer to him.

“I happen to live—” The look of shock on Will’s face was obvious as he registered just who was sitting next to his son. Although I was able to keep my face neutral, my heart was pounding like a sledgehammer, and I felt sure that Terence could feel it. I felt him stiffen behind me.

“I’m sorry,” Will stuttered, “I didn’t realize you had company.” Fortunately, Will’s back was to Irma when he had first seen me, and he had recovered himself by the time her turned to speak to her.

“Will,” Irma said more graciously than she acted, “this is Terence’s girlfriend, Amanda Gillford. Amanda, this is Terence’s father, Will.”

I nodded, and smiled, but I could feel Will’s eyes burning a hole through me. It was obvious to me that he suspected foul play, and it enraged me that he knew so little about me that he’d assume that I was up to no good.

“Nice to meet you,” he said brusquely. “The meeting was canceled,” he told his wife as he left the room.

As soon as Will left the room, Terence stood up, practically dumping me off his lap.

“Oh, Terence,” Irma said sadly, “you don’t have to leave just because he’s home.”

“Thank you for dinner, Mom. It was wonderful.”

She walked us to the door. “Please come back again soon, Amanda. I enjoyed your visit.”

I waved goodbye as Terence hustled me into his car. I was dreading the ride home. I felt sure that we were leaving for more reasons than just the fact that his father had shown up unexpectedly.

Terence was silent all the way back to my apartment, and I was too afraid to break that silence. When he stopped in front of the building with his motor still running, I had to say something.

“I think we need to talk,” I said.

His eyes were filled with hurt and anger, and I flinched. It suddenly dawned on me that he might be thinking that I had used him to get back at his father.

“Terence,” I said, “I didn’t even know he had a son.”

He just stared at me with disbelief. “How could you?” he finally said.

“Terence,” I begged, “I swear that we have nothing to do with him.”

“I can’t talk about his now. I need some time to be alone.”

I stepped out of the car and watched as he roared away with a squeal of tires. I felt sick. I’d given up Will, and now I’d lost his son. I trudged wearily up to my apartment and cried myself to sleep.

When I still hadn’t heard from Terence by Monday morning, I considered calling in sick but decided I needed a shoulder to cry on. Christie was the only one whocould provide that shoulder.

She was sympathetic and even offered to call Terence to vouch for me. I thanked her but told her it was something that I was going to have to work out for myself. I wasn’t even surprised when a few minutes later, I received a call from Will.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Funny,” I replied, “I wasn’t sure that was something you knew how to do.”

“Don’t be smart,” he barked. “Meet me at the regular place at noon.”

“Wrong,” I told him. “If you want to talk to me, you can meet me in the riverfront park at noon. You’re no longer calling the shots, Will.” I hung up. I was furious. How dare he treat me like I was his mistress!

I arrived, purposefully, a couple of minutes late and found him packing along the riverfront.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

“Want?” I pretended to act confused. If he thought I was trying to blackmail him or play out some form of fatal attraction, then he could stew in his own juices for a while.

“Money? he asked. “Is that what you want?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I calmly walked over to a bench and sat down. What I really wanted to do was cry. What had I done that these men could think so horribly of me? I had never asked Will or Terence for anything. I had even made sure that Terence didn’t spend too much money on me by cooking dinner and providing numerous breakfasts and lunches. I had even insisted on paying several times. Terence was a welder, after all, and as far as I knew was low on cash because of the expenses involved in buying the materials for stained glass wasn’t cheap.

Will really must have thought I was low if I would stoop to seducing his son just to get back at him.

He sat down next to me, eyes blazing, and opened his mouth to speak. I put a finger to my lips.

“Sh!” I said. “Will you let me talk? Will you promise not to say a word until I’ve told you everything?”

Will crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. So I told him everything—from my impressions the night I met him, until Terence had dropped me of at my apartment on Saturday night.

“It’s obvious to me now,” I concluded, “that you saw me as a low-class, I’ll do-whatever-you-say lay. I’ll admit that I was naïve, that I lack education, and that lack of education has forced me to take what you consider and unimportant job. But it doesn’t make me less than human, Will, and it doesn’t make my motives less than honorable. Remember your roots, Will? I remember you once told me your daddy was a truck farmer and that you built your way up from that. Does that make you despicable? I love Terence. I don’t care if he comes from money. He’s a wonderful person, although I doubt you know that. I don’t know what led you to the distance between you two, but I’m sorry it exists. I just hope I haven’t lost Terence because of all this.”

Will stared quietly at the river for ten long minutes before he spoke. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I underestimated you.” Silence, then, “What about Irma?”

“I don’t even want to talk about how you treat that wonderful woman,” I said with a flash of anger. “She deserves better.”

“You’re right,” he said. “She does.” But you don’t know the whole story. We have an understanding. Irma and I are best friends, but she lost interest in sex after she lost our second child. She agreed to put up with my philandering as long as I didn’t bring embarrassment to the family name or cause a scandal. I take it that this means you don’t intend to tell her about us?”

“Does Terence know all of this?”

“No, of course not.”

“Maybe you should tell him. Maybe he deserves to know all the family secrets. I can understand that you’d be disappointed in his disinterest in your business. At least, I learned that is one of the reasons for your split. But, really, Will, Terence is a very talented artist. You should be proud.”

“I am,” he said, quietly. “Irma keeps me informed.”

“Then for God’s sake, why haven’t you told him so?”

“He wouldn’t listen.”

“Have you tried?”

“No.”

“I think you could use a little more humbling,” I smiled to soften what I said. After all, it was nice to know that this man wasn’t entirely the monster I thought he was.

Will smiled, too. “You have a point, Amanda. Give me a chance to patch things up with Terence.” He stood up. “And maybe it will work out between the two of you.”

“I stood up, too, and took Will’s hand. The electricity that had once been there was gone. It was as if my eyes had suddenly opened, and I saw Will clearly for the first time—an older man who worried about his work, his wife, his son—just like any other married man. I wished, for Irma’s sake, that he would stop his philandering, but that part of Will’s life was no longer any of my business.

Two days passed, and I still had not heard from Terence. I was beginning to worry that Will had reneged on his promise to make up with his son. I was curled up on my sofa on Thursday evening reading a book when there was a knock at the door.

It was Terence. He looked defensive but ready to make up. I let him in. I returned to the sofa and he joined me. I waited for him to speak.

“My father came to see me,” he started. I nodded warily. “And he told me about Mom losing her daughter a year after I was born, about their agreement, even about you.”

I blushed. After all, I had enjoyed a relationship with his father. It would be hard to reconcile that even if they had a great relationship all this time, but I knew it had to be especially painful when he had hated his father for so long.

“I don’t know what to say.” My voice was husky with impending tears. I really didn’t want to lose Terence.

“Don’t say anything. Just hold me.”

We held each other forever, it seemed. And then we talked. There was a lot to work out. I had to assure him that I no longer felt anything for his father. He had to assure me that he no longer held any animosity toward me because of that relationship. We both agreed that it was something that his mother need never know about.

And finally, when there was nothing left to talk about, he carried me to my bedroom.

We were married the next spring down by the river. I carried daffodils, and an assortment of other spring flowers. And, while Christie wept into my bouquet, Will proudly stood up as his son’s best man. It was a small wedding with only our closest friends and family in attendance.

Terence is working full-time on stained glass now. With a little help from his father’s connections, he has more than enough stained glass orders to keep him busy. As for me, I’m taking care of our daughter, Lilly. Her grandparents dote on her, and why not, she’s perfect. Lilly’s grandmother takes her twice a week so that I have time to write—at least, I’m giving it a try. Who knows, maybe that dream will come true, as well.
 

True Confessions

14 Sunday Aug 2016

Posted by victoriaperpetua in Fiction, Short Stories, True Confessions

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Fiction, Short Story

TrueConfessionscover

I have a confession to make: After Menasha Ridge Press published our first book–The Appalachian Trail Backpacker’s Planning Guide (yes, that’s quite a mouthful)–and before we finally had a dozen or so books to our names through a few different publishers, we did just about anything we could to bring in the freelance money. This included photography, map-making, book design and editing, writing articles for magazines, and even–yes, I’ll admit it–writing stories for magazines the likes of True Confessions and True Love. . . . Just a little bit conflicted about these being my first nationally published fiction.

I sold my first story in 1992 to True Confessions. Although I had changed the names to protect the innocent (okay, the story was completely fabricated to begin with), the magazine changed them yet again when they published it. You just can’t be too safe.

So here it is exactly how it appeared in the December 1992 edition of True Confessions:

TrueConfessions

I Took My Clothes Off For A Peeping Tom

It was with only a touch of self-consciousness that I stood naked in front of the mirror and carefully examined my body. It needed to be perfect tonight—legs smoothly shaved and silky, stomach muscles taut . . . . Perfect, I thought—at least, as perfect as my body will ever be.

A sheer, white negligee lay on the bed behind me. It, too, was perfect—brilliantly designed for the striptease I had in mind.

I pulled on the translucent panties, making sure the ribbons on each hip would loosen with a gentle tug. I didn’t want my dance to turn into a fiasco as I wrestled with knots. I slipped the negligee over my head and double-checked the ribbons that would allow me to remove the garment in an enticing manner. Then I began the dance I had been practicing for two weeks. Soon he would be watching.

As I danced, I thought about what had led me to this desperate action.

The first time I laid eyes on Dan Cafferty, my legs nearly gave way. I was dancing with my steady at the time, Mitchell Gardner, when I happened to turn my head. A pair of watching eyes seared me to the core.

When the dance ended, I rushed over to my best friend, Veronica, who was giving the party.

“Who is that guy?” I wanted to know. I pointed out a well-muscled back. His hair tickled the collar of his shirt; a friendly arm was slung around the shoulders of Veronica’s boyfriend, Daryl.

“Oh, that’s a friend of Daryl’s,” she informed me, a smile of indulgence on her pretty face. “You interested?”

I glanced guiltily at Mitchell, who was waiting patiently in line to get me a soda. I sighed. “No, just curious.”

“His name’s Dan Cafferty. He’s a senior. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

My legs were quaking, but I managed to smile and shake his hand. The deejay announced a slow song, and Dan pulled me toward the dance floor.

“I’m with a date,” I said reluctantly. I could see Mitchell in the background looking for me.

“Too bad.” Dan let go of my hand, and it was with heavy heart and legs that I made my way back to Mitchell.

I tried to enjoy the rest of the party, but eventually I complained of a headache and asked Mitchell to take me home.

There was only a month left in the school year, and as hard as I looked, I never saw Dan around school.

Mitchell and I drifted apart over the summer. I found a job working as a bank teller and found I enjoyed it so much, I was disinclined to return to school. Mitchell was busy preparing to go off to college on the West Coast, and, quite honestly, ever since I’d met Dan Cafferty, I had a hard time thinking about anything else. My job was my only relief, keeping me so busy, I had little time to think.

 

Three days before school started, Dan entered the bank. My stomach nearly dropped all the way to China when our eyes met. Smiling, he walked over to my window.

“Mindy, right?” he asked. I could only nod dumbly and grin like a fool. “You been working here long?”

“All summer,” I said, slowly regaining my composure.

“If I had known you were working here, I wouldn’t have been using the automatic teller.” He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.

“Then I’m thankful it’s our of order today.” I returned his smile.

“You sound like a free woman,” he said, leaning against the counter and bringing his face closer to mine.

I blushed. “Mitchell is heading off to college. We decided it would be better if we let things go.”

“Well, I know it’s short notice and it’s Friday night, but do you have any plans?”

“Well, I had planned on cleaning out my sock drawer,” I joked.

“Then you’ll probably be too busy for dinner and a movie?” His eyes twinkled with merriment.

“Oh, I could probably squeeze them in.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

He took me to the local diner, and we talked about ourselves over hamburgers and sodas. It turned out we had a lot in common. We both loved the movies, especially comedies, and dancing. We also discovered that we both loved animals, and he quickly made a date for the following weekend to take me to the zoo.

I thought that first week of school would never end. Fortunately, there wasn’t much homework yet and I was able to slide by, but I knew that if I wanted to graduate in the spring, I was going to have to buckle down and get my classwork done. If I didn’t graduate from high school, there was little chance of moving up in the bank.

Saturday dawned sunny and beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue, and it felt like my heart was trying to fly up to the clouds. When Dan arrived to pick me up, he thrust a bouquet of wildflowers into my hands as soon as I opened the door. I couldn’t stop blushing because I kept remembering the touch of his lips on mine when he’d chastely kissed me goodnight the previous weekend. I wanted more, and I found that my daydreaming was beginning to disrupt my bank work as well as my schoolwork.

I enjoyed every minute of the hour-plus drive to the zoo. I had packed a picnic lunch—fried chicken, potato salad, and cookies—and we ate it beneath a large oak in a park beside the zoo. Once in the zoo, we spent hours with the big cats. Since it was a beautiful day, they were outside their cages, pacing back and forth. I had a hard time no comparing their muscular bodies to Dan’s. He’d been working with a paint crew all summer and was as tawny and muscled as a lion. I longed to run my hands over his strong back.

I’d never felt this way about a guy before. For the first time in my life I knew what raw sexual attraction felt like. But not only did I want him physically, I also enjoyed our conversations and the way he made me feel like an adult. My parents still treated me like a child instead of the seventeen-year-old that I was.

When we finally left the zoo and climbed back into his car, I was already dreading his leaving me at my doorstep. But instead of making the turn toward my subdivision, Dan continued straight toward the river. There, as the sun began to set, Dan roughly pulled me to him and said, “I’ve been waiting to do this all day.”

His kiss was gentle but I could feel the passion beneath it. It took every ounce of strength I had not to lose control and let my feelings take me where they so desperately wanted to go. This was only our second date, and I didn’t want him to think that I was that type of girl. I was still a virgin, and I decided it would be better for me if I waited. Dan didn’t push me. As soon as he felt me stiffen against and untoward caress, he began to back off.

“You’re right,” he whispered in my ear. “We shouldn’t push it.”

That night, as I drifted off to sleep with the memories of Dan’s kisses, I decided I would look into birth control. We already had a date for Friday, and I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to say no to him.

 

As the year progressed, we began seeing more and more of each other. I was only able to hang on two months before I succumbed to what my body had been wanting since I’d first spotted Dan on the dance floor. It was wonderful, and Dan was gentle, making me feel things I didn’t know were possible.

In December, Dan got down on bended knee and asked me to marry him. We began planning our June wedding. It would be small, with one attendant each. We decided to hold our reception in my parents’ backyard. A weekend alone in the city would suffice for a honeymoon, for we had more important things to spend our money on.

The one thing both of us were sure of was that we didn’t want children until Dan could afford to keep me at home. It had always been my dream to have my own home and several children and to raise them myself until they went off to school. I had already been putting money aside from my job at the bank, and I continued to do so with more fervor.

Dan began working overtime with the paint crew a couple of days a week so that we’d have money for a down payment on a house. A month before we were married, we found the perfect starter home in a quiet residential area. It was old, but I fell in love with the huge oaks that shaded the front and backyards. There were three small bedrooms—perfect for us to have two children! I couldn’t help but start planning how I’d decorate for my future children.

We began spending our free time at our new home, preparing it for our life together.

By July we had already settled into the routine of married life. Just being able to spend the entire night with Dan made me deliriously happy. I’d wake up in the morning when he got out of bed for his shower and dash into the kitchen to get the coffee going and pack his lunch. As soon as he left for work, I got ready for my teller job. Except for the two nights a week he was still working overtime, I always had dinner ready for Dan when he got home.

Weekends and the other three nights a week, we threw ourselves into fixing up our house. We painted it ourselves, a very pale yellow with white trim. I cringed when Dan balanced precariously on the ladder to reach the high spots.

Inside, we wallpapered and painted, sanded and refinished wooden floors, stripped linoleum and retiled. There seemed an endless amount of work to be done, but we had all the time in the world.

As the sun set on those wonderful late summer nights, we’d relax in our porch swing, nestled in each other’s arms, and murmur our plans for the future.

We’d only been married about six months when the recession started to affect the building market. An entire crew was laid off, and the crew Dan was on was forced to cover for them. Although it wasn’t double the work, Dan began working more and more overtime. At first it wasn’t too hard to handle, but as the months wore on, he began feeling the stress.

He went to work in the dark and came home in the dark, and the wonderful life we’d been building for ourselves began to fall apart. Renovations to our home stopped entirely. I ate dinners by myself, and since I hated to eat alone, I began to lose weight. But arriving home from work to the prospect of another lonely evening in front of the television left me feeling cold and empty, and I quickly lost my appetite. I even stopped cooking myself meals, preferring instead to throw a frozen dinner into the microwave. As Dan’s days got longer and longer, I began crying myself to sleep.

At my wit’s end, I finally suggested that he quit the overtime, but he insisted that not only might he lose his job if he refused to work but that we also needed the extra money if we ever intended to have children. When I offered to continue working and put the kids in day care when we had them, he nearly bit my head off.

So I was forced to sit back and watch Dan work himself to death. We rarely spoke anymore. He’d leave in the morning before the coffee had sufficiently opened my eyes much less loosened my vocal cords, and he would get home well after I’d gone to sleep. I’d often find him in the morning, stiff, upright, and sound asleep in his favorite armchair, the television’s volume turned down low so it wouldn’t wake me.

Weekends were the worst. If Dan didn’t have to work on Saturday—and he often did—he would sleep almost the entire weekend.

It was getting to where I couldn’t remember the last time we’d make love. And, after almost a year of marriage, I still felt the same passion for him that I had the day we met. Hard days and late nights had left Dan too tired to feel inclined toward sex or even conversation. He spoke to me mostly in grunts and yawns, and I was beginning to feel like he was blaming all this on my desire to stay at home and have children even though he knew I was willing to wait.

The strain was getting to be too much for both of us. I missed our conversations and cozy dinners. Even though it was still too cold, I missed the evenings we’d spent on our porch swing. I would have gladly bundled up and even faced a blizzard just to spend one quiet evening rocking in his arms. But mostly I was getting desperate for affection—a warm kiss on the cheek and a hug would have sufficed, although what I really longed for was the intimacy and passion we’d shared in bed. I wracked my brain for a solution, and that’s when the idea of a striptease occurred to me. Maybe I could entice Dan back into our bed with a provocative dance. I set to work that very night.

 

For the next two weeks I experimented with music and slowly put together a routine I felt sure would make Dan’s blood boil. For several nights, I studied music videos just to get some ideas for some tantalizing moves. Then I began putting things together. I’m not sure if I just wasn’t thinking or of maybe subconsciously I wanted it that way, but I left the blinds open in our bedroom when I practiced. Our bedroom window faced the house next door, not the street, and I had never seen a light on in the room opposite. I was pretty sure no one could see me. And if they could—well, I had to admit the idea was kind of exciting.

Finally, I felt as if my dance could not get any better, and I took off early from work on Friday so I would have time to prepare. I wanted everything to be perfect. I didn’t want anything—an unwashed dish, unvacuumed carpet, unmade bed—to spoil the mood.

After a relaxing bubble bath, I rubbed a scented lotion all over my body and accented my already thick lashes with a bit of mascara. A touch of lipstick was all I needed to complete the effect—Dan didn’t like lots of makeup. I brushed my hair until it shone and tossed my head to make sure my hair would swing right while I was dancing. It fell like a curtain around my face. I smiled at the impression—perfect!

Before practicing my dance one final time, I ran to the kitchen to get the champagne out of the refrigerator and put it on ice. I carried it back to our bedroom on a tray with two champagne flutes and two candles in the crystal holders we’d received as a wedding gift.

Tonight was the night. Dan wasn’t due home until well past ten, but for the first time in weeks he wouldn’t have to work the weekend. If I couldn’t seduce him tonight, I felt there was no hope for our marriage. It wasn’t like I hadn’t already tried. Wandering around naked hadn’t even produced a lifted eyebrow or a longing sigh. He wasn’t interested in me or my body. But how long could I go without the affection of the man I loved? We hadn’t even been married a year. I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever live a normal existence again. Surely marriages weren’t supposed to lose their flame this quickly.

I stood in front of the mirror to inspect my body. Perfect. The recently lost weight had left my stomach flatter than it had been in years—even my breasts, which tended toward fat, had lost a cup size, making them perkier than usual.

Taking a deep breath, I prepared to practice my dance one last time. It was already after ten, so Dan could be home any time now.

Pressing the play button on the tape player, I began the undulating moves of my striptease. Hips weaving back and forth, chest thrust high, I slowly removed my negligee.

I had reached the part of my dance where I was wearing nothing but my translucent panties when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I froze, arms crossed protectively across my chest. The movement had come from the window. My eyes locked on another pair staring forthrightly through the open blinds. I screamed.

I ran straight to the phone and called the police before returning to my bedroom and quickly pulling on a thick terry cloth robe. By the time the police arrived, I was shaking and in tears. I’d been stripping for two weeks. How long have I been watched? I kept asking myself. How long?

A concrete block beneath our window was covered with blurred, muddy footprints. It gave testament to the fact that someone had indeed been there watching, but whether or not the block had been placed there that night or much earlier, the police had no way of knowing.

Seeing the open blinds, they suggested that I close them at night. With a light on in the room, they explained, it was easy for people to see in from the outside and difficult for me to see out. They also told me it was doubtful that the peeping Tom would be caught, although it was very likely he was someone from my own neighborhood.

How my cheeks burned! How could I have been so foolish? And then Dan burst into the house, terror causing his eyes to blaze. He had arrived home to find the squad car in our driveway. I had lots of explaining to do.

Dan was very understanding. Over champagne I told him everything: How I thought he was no longer interested in me sexually. How I missed our talks, our lovemaking, our just being together. Finally I explained about the idea of a striptease, how I had been preparing for this night for the past two weeks. Tears slid slowly down my cheeks as I confessed that I hadn’t even bothered to shut the blinds, almost daring our neighbors to spy on me.

Dan was firm in admonishing me for my carelessness but was intrigued by the idea of my dance. With the champagne working, it didn’t take long for him to convince me to perform for him. Making sure the blinds were tightly closed, I turned off the lights and lit the two candles. I rewound the tape and once again pressed the Play button . . . .

 

I often wonder if the dance would have worked if Dan hadn’t known the whole story. Unprepared and tired, he might have found it silly. But having shared my fears and desires with him, it had an especially magic effect.

The next morning as we snuggled in bed, Dan informed me he would only have to work another couple of weeks overtime before a second crew would be hired. Renovations at the hospital would require extra workers, And, best of all, Dan said, he was being promoted. He was going to be in charge of the hospital crew.

“Foreman,” I sighed.

“It will mean the same amount of money but without the overtime,” he explained.

I hugged him tightly. Perhaps children wouldn’t have to be put off indefinitely, after all.

More than a year has passed since that awful time in our lives, and not all of it has been easy. Every time Dan calls and says he has to work overtime, I cringe. But I try to be understanding. As foreman he has a lot more responsibility, and I truly believe that it will never again get as bad as it was.

Besides, when Dan isn’t here, I no longer have to eat alone, nor must I avoid the porch swing. I enjoy sharing it with our infant daughter, Patty. The creaking and movement gently rock her to sleep, and to me there is nothing more precious than the weight of her tiny head upon my shoulder. Veronica Patricia Cafferty is the light of our lives, born this past spring just as the daffodils began to bloom. I immediately began talking about all the children we were going to have—I was so in love with Patty, I wanted a half dozen more—when Dan’s eyes took on a serious look. There was going to have to be a compromise, he said.

Although I’ve always wanted a lot of children, Dan and I finally agreed we’d have only one, or two at the most, more. He had a hard enough time sharing me with my parents and Patty, he said.

Last fall, when we discovered that I was truly pregnant, we celebrated by going to the zoo. A sonogram in December informed us that we were going to have a little girl, and we set to work decorating her room. It’s a sunny little place just perfect for Patty’s sunny disposition. Just to bring in a little extra money, and to keep my insurance, I continued to work at the bank up until Patty was born. But now, staying at home all day and caring for my daughter and husband, I find that I’ve never been happier. And, although we occasionally have our ups and downs, I think Dan and I have learned that it’s never too late to talk.

 

 

Anastasie et Rémy

07 Sunday Aug 2016

Posted by victoriaperpetua in Anastasie et Rémy, Fiction, Horror, Photography, Rémy, Short Stories

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Fiction, photography, Short Story

Rémy'sbow

PART I

            Anastasie stared forlornly out of the window of the café, watching as the wind caught the leaves and scattered them along the bricks of the street. She pressed her hand to her heart, biting her lip in an effort to quell the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. Ana felt as nearly dry and scattered as the leaves. She was only eight.

She tugged at the ribbons beneath her chin that secured her hat against the dark brown waves of her hair. They itched horribly.

“Ana,” her mother warned.

She thrust out her lower lip in a pout and turned angrily to stare out the window again. While she waited for her father to pay the bill, she mouthed the word, café, which was written backwards (at least from inside the small restaurant it was backwards) on the window. She smiled, slightly, proud that she could read the word backwards. Of course, it was a French word, which made it a little easier. The first word backwards was a little more difficult. “Abercorn,” she whispered.

“Hmmmm?” her mother asked.

She shook her head, and thought it instead. Abercorn. Abercorn Café. She was terribly bored. And she had nothing to look forward to once they walked back to the apartment they were renting in the big old house. It was the middle of February in 1919 and quite cold. She wouldn’t be able to play outside. Not that she had any friends with which to play. Her brother, Rémy (though her parents called him by his first name, Claude), had died in July of 1918 on the Marne. It was his death that had prompted the move to Savannah. Too many bad memories in France.

She missed him so much that at times she felt sure her heart would burst. Other times she felt so hollow that she was sure she must be nothing but an empty shell just like one of those bugs she had found attached to a tree in Forsyth Park. A cicada her mother had called it.

Claude Rémy Flaneur had been ten years older (she, apparently, had been quite unexpected) and had doted on her ferociously. She longed to hear his voice one more time. He had called her “Tasie,” and she hadn’t allowed anyone else to do so. And so she had called him Rémy in order to have her own special name for him.

“Rémy,” she whispered as they left the café, swiping away the tear that trickled from her left eye with a mittened hand.

 

“But Maman,” she pleaded.

“Mother,” she corrected.

“Mother,” Ana said, with a heavy but charming French accent. “Why can I not have a pet? Un chien? Un chat?”

“Dog and cat. But the answer is still no.”

Anastasie had been pestering her parents for more than a month for a pet. She felt that with a small dog or cat she would have something with which to share her sorrow and boredom, and, perhaps, eventually her happiness.

They always said it was impossible, but their reasons never sounded plausible to her. It was early April and the air had warmed considerably. She now enjoyed daily walks in the park and particularly enjoyed the fountain, which reminded her of the one in the Place de la Concorde in Paris.

At the moment, though, her mother was plaiting her hair in preparation for bedtime. She was already in her nightgown, but was dreading the next step in her nightly routine. She would have to sit on the couch with her mother and read to her from a book written in English. And it was exceedingly difficult. She was sure she would be much more adept at the language if she had friends with which to practice.

“If I had a dog,” she told her mother, “I would promise to speak only English to him.” Her mother frowned and held out the book—Old Mother West Wind. She enjoyed the animal stories but it felt as if her mother did most of the reading.

She sighed and took the book. If she had a dog, she thought, she would read him stories from Old Mother West Wind.

 

The end of May. It was now so warm that they had to keep the doors that opened onto their second floor porch open all the time. Fortunately, they had screen doors to keep the bugs out. These enchanted Anastasie. They had not had the like in France. The only problem was that living room door kept wanting to shut, so they had to use a brick to keep it open.

Ana was staring out the door when her mother entered the room. She was bored once again. If she had a pet, she thought for perhaps the millionth time, she could take it for walks in the park.

“What have you got, Ma, mm, Mother?”

“I found this at a second hand shop,” she informed her daughter, holding aloft a small black dog that appeared to be made of metal.

“What is it?”

“It is a door stop. Is it not adorable?” She said “adorable” the French way, and Ana had to stop herself from chiding her. After all, her mother constantly picked on her about her use of French words.

But the little doorstop was indeed “adorable,” and Ana wanted to see it more closely.

“Is that a Bouledogue Français?”

“Yes, a French Bulldog,” she said, removing the brick that held the door open and replacing it with the little iron dog.

Ana knelt down beside it and appraised it, “He has not been well cared for, has he Mother?” The poor creature was pitted here and there with rust and she thought he looked a little sad. Yes, a little sad just like her. He looked as if he had spent quite a bit of time outdoors.

“That is probably why I was able to get him for such a reasonable price.” She nodded her head. “Yes, much better than a brick,” she said with satisfaction before returning to the kitchen to prepare their lunch.

They had definitely come down in the world, Ana mused. In Paris, her mother would have gone to the kitchen only to see how the cook was progressing in her preparations for meals. She had heard her parents talking, though, and knew they hoped her father would soon be promoted, and that eventually they would be able to buy their own home again.

Ana would have loved to live in one of the beautiful homes around Forsyth Park, but knew they had been talking about the possibilities in someplace called Ardsley Park. Which, perhaps, meant there was a park there as well. And, if they had their own home then maybe she could finally get a dog. She sighed, caressing the ears of the little iron dog. She knew that was probably a very long time away. And the little doorstop was the closest thing she would have for a pet until then.

She looked at it again. The way its head was cocked reminded her of the way Rémy used to look at her when he was teasing her, which was most of the time. Ana smiled and her big brown eyes began to glow as an idea occurred to her. “Rémy,” she whispered, the tip of her finger tapping its tiny nose, which was cool like a real dog’s would be. She would call it Rémy.

 

Summer slipped into full gear, and Ana found herself sitting more and more often next to Rémy. She still had no friends, her father was always at work and her mother seemed inordinately distracted.

But Rémy always had time for her. He was incredibly patient. He would sit and listen as she poured out her frustrations, read to him from the English books, told him of her dreams for the future. She still wanted a real dog, but decided not to tell him for fear he would get jealous.

 

“Anastasie!” her mother called in that voice.

What had she done now? “Oui, Maman?” she asked running down the hall from her bedroom where she had been selecting a book to read to Rémy.

Her mother raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, Mother?” she asked again.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to Rémy. One of Ana’s red silk ribbons was tied around his neck.

“The black collar was ugly,” Ana explained. “I thought Rémy deserved,” she slapped her hand over her mouth.

“What did you call him?” her mother looked as if Ana had slapped her instead.

“He reminded me of Rémy,” she said, swallowing hard.

Her mother studied the doorstop for a moment. It was true that the tilt of the dog’s head was reminiscent of one of Claude’s expressions. Finally, she sighed, and said, “Yes, I can see that. But please do not call him that around your father. It would upset him greatly.”

“Yes, mother,” she said, relieved. If her mother had told her she could never speak to Rémy again, she might have despaired. She had grown quite attached to him.

 

“Anastasie!” her mother called, once again, in that voice.

And once again she wondered what she had done.

“What is that?” she asked, as before, but this time she was pointing at the floor where her father’s newspaper had been torn to shreds.

Ana stared in consternation at the mess on the floor before looking up at her mother and shaking her head. Her first thought was Rémy, but of course that was impossible. He was sitting, as always, iron body planted firmly against the door to the porch preventing it from shutting out what little breeze they could get in the sultry Georgia heat. But, she hadn’t done it. Why would she rip up the newspaper? “I promise, Mother, I did not do this,” she said, but she knew it was in vain. There was no one else to blame.

And so she was sent to her room without her dinner, and when her father got home from work, she could hear them discussing the incident in hushed but worried tones.

She was sitting on her bed, trying to read but failing, when her father opened the door to her room.

He hadn’t even made it to her bedside before she started crying. “I swear to you, Papa,” she sobbed, “that I did not do it.”

“Then who did?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Rémy.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Pardon?” He was so surprised that he gave it the French pronunciation. “Qu’es-ce que t’as dit?”

“Rémy,” she repeated a little more loudly.

“Rémy?” he asked, stunned.

“Non! Non!” she suddenly realized what he was thinking. “Mon chien Rémy.”

“Your dog?” he seemed even more confused, if possible.

She felt the blood rushing to her face. “The door stop,” she mumbled.

“The door stop?”

“She is talking about the iron dog that holds the door to the porch open,” her mother said from the doorway.

Her father looked at Ana in disbelief. Had his daughter lost her mind? “How is this supposed to have happened?”

Ana blushed again. “I do not know, but I cannot think how else it might have happened.”

“Is it possible that you are responsible?”

Tears welled in her eyes again. She shook her head. She knew she hadn’t done it, but how could she possibly make them believe her. Instead, they would think she was just lying. She honestly didn’t know what to say, so she just continued to shake her head as the tears burned their way down her cheeks.

Her parents looked at each other helplessly. Apparently the loss of her brother had affected her more deeply than they had realized.

“Are you hungry, mon cher?” her mother asked.

Ana sniffed, and nodded her head.

“Come with me, I will fix you something light so you do not have to sleep on an empty stomach.”

 

Ana regarded her father’s slippers in dismay. She realized that it was entirely possible that she could have ripped the newspaper to shreds, but she wasn’t even close to being capable of chewing up her father’s slippers. Her teeth just weren’t sharp enough.

She marched over to Rémy, shaking with anger. “Bad!” she reprimanded him. “Bad, bad dog. Why have you done this? I am the one who will be blamed for this.”

Rémy stared back, silently, with cold iron eyes.

“Who are you yelling at?” her mother asked, rushing into the room. “Ana!” she gasped, horrified. Had her child really chewed her father’s slippers? It didn’t seem possible.

“Maman,” Ana said, baring her teeth, which revealed several incisors in varying stages of eruption. And, she still had her baby canines. “It is not even possible.”

Her mother swallowed, hard. Ana was right. It was not even possible. Only a dog could have ripped apart the slippers. “Je ne comprende pas,” she whispered.

“What is happening, Maman?” What she found terrifying was the coincidence that this was just the type of prank her brother used to play on her. He would do something that he knew she would get blamed for, but always at the last moment, he would laugh and tell his parents that he was the responsible party. And, he would always get away with it because he was his father’s beloved Claude, and it was just a joke, and so on and so forth.

She felt the goose bumps prickle her arms. But it cannot be my brother, she thought, because Rémy had died a year ago. She had insisted that she attend the funeral, had watched as they lowered his casket into the ground. And as the earth thumped against the coffin, she realized that he was irrevocably gone and the tears had poured down her face in a salty cascade, and her heart felt as if had been ripped from her chest. Yes, he was gone forever. She had reminded herself of that repeatedly during the past year. Nevertheless, and once again, she was wracked with sobs as she remembered her loss.

YOU CAN READ THE REST OF THE STORY HERE: Anastasie et Remy

 

 

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