A Different Kind Of Forever Page 9

  Sue waited until Diane got in step with them before she elbowed her friend.

  “So? Did he call? Did you see him? Tell us. Sharon knows all about it. What happened?”

  Diane gave them a sketchy version of the day before. She told them about Rachel. Her two friends listened without a word. When she was finished, they had walked several blocks, and were in the children’s playground. Sue stopped at a bench and sat down, looking at Diane in amazement.

  “Holy shit. You met his family and everything? And you have another date? I can’t believe it.” Sue grabbed Sharon’s arm as the woman sat beside her. “And he’s a doll. I mean it. His face is beautiful. And he’s got the body of a little Greek god.”

  Sharon was puffing. “I know what he looks like. My Jack plays those guys 24/7.”

  Diane was walking back and forth in front of them.

  “Diane, sit and speak.” Sharon patted the bench beside her. “I need details.” She turned at looked at Sue, saying excitedly, “This is just like Danielle Steele.”

  Sue shook her head. “Not quite. If this was Danielle Steel, he’d be much taller and Diane would be an exiled Bulgarian princess. But it’s still pretty good.”

  “What about Rachel?” Diane looked at her two friends. “She’s angry at me for some reason.”

  Sharon waved her hand. “Of course she is. She’s been panting after the guy since she was what, fifteen? I remember the last time they gave a concert here. Rachel drove you crazy. She had Mickey Flynn posters everywhere. And he was just a cute kid then. Now he’s older and sexy and paying attention to her mother.”

  Diane sat down between the two women. “But Rachel has been with Gary for over a year. They seem good together.”

  Sharon snorted. “So what? Me and Richie are good together, but if George Clooney wandered in and crooked his little finger in my direction, I’d be outta here.”

  Diane and Sue burst out laughing.

  “That’s not true,” Diane protested. “You’d never leave Richie.”

  “Wanna bet? Besides, kids never get that their parents have a sex life. She figured you and Kevin did it three times then folded the tent.”

  “It’s uncomfortable.” Diane said. “I’m uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”

  Sue smacked her friends’ arm with her open hand. “Go for it. You’re friggin’ forty-five years old. How many more guys like him do you think you’re going to meet?”

  “But I’m happy with my life,” Diane said, shaking her head. “You know I am, both of you. I am not looking for a man. So who do I meet? I mean, shit. He’s gorgeous. Okay, so maybe not gorgeous, but, well, yummy.”

  Sharon looked at her suspiciously. “Yummy? Did he kiss you?”

  “Yes,” Diane said defiantly.

  “Any tongue?”

  Sue exploded into giggles and Diane blushed. “What is this, high school? Any tongue, my God. We’re grown women here.”

  Sharon nodded seriously. “That’s right, and this grown woman wants to know if there was any tongue.”

  Diane sat straight. “He’s a great kisser.”

  “So, he got you horny, right?” Sharon prodded.

  “Okay - yes. Happy?” Diane waved her hand in front of her face to cool her flaming cheeks.

  Sharon was nodding. She was very serious. “That’s good, Diane, because if nothing else, you really do need some sex.” The women all laughed again.

  “I know.” Diane said ruefully. “I had a hard time sleeping last night. My imagination was getting a little crazy.”

  “Want my vibrator?” Sharon asked.

  “Get out.” Sue burst out. “You have a vibrator?”

  “Hey, Richie’s on the road a lot.” Sharon gave Diane a wicked grin. “So, I guess you’re a cougar now?”

  “Oh, shit, why do women who go out with older men have to have a name like that? When it’s the other way around, we don’t call the men anything.”

  “Yes, we do,” Sue said. “We call them lucky.”

  The women were laughing again, and they giggled and jostled the long way home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Diane left the Dickerson campus and walked up the steps of Walter Mosley Hall, which housed the drama department of Franklin-Merriweather University. The building was only a few years old, across a beautiful courtyard from the Walter Mosley Theater. Walter Mosley had left several hundred million dollars for construction of the facility because, he said in his will, he had never been happier than when he worked the lights in the old Merriweather auditorium.

  Sam French had arranged a meeting. There were sets and costumes to consider. A large cast had to be chosen over the summer. Rehearsals would begin mid-July. They would open in October and run eighteen performances, six weekends, through Thanksgiving. Diane was thrilled and terrified at the thought of seeing her words on a real stage.

  The meeting went well. Everyone was excited and enthusiastic, but Diane was impatient for it to be over. Angela Bellini’s office was at the end of the hallway, and Diane wanted to see if she was in. As everyone closed notebooks and laptops, Diane said a hasty good-bye and walked quickly from the conference room. Angela’s door was second from the end. Diane could not tell if it was open until she was right there, and the door stood ajar. Diane knocked softly, heard a muffled “Come in,” and pushed the door open.

  Angela was at her desk, typing on her desktop. She glanced up, saw Diane, and smiled in surprise.

  “Hi. Hold on just a sec.” Angela continued typing and Diane sat down. Angela hit the save button, then swiveled her chair.

  “What a surprise. I was wondering if maybe I would see you out this way. I heard Sam’s got a bunch of meetings lined up. He’s going crazy over this.”

  Diane nodded. “Yes, he is. I think he’s more excited than I am. We were just down the hall. That’s why I popped in.”

  “Well, great. I’m pleased to report I’ve actually unpacked a few books and bought an easy chair. Big steps for me. And we even got a swing hung up on Sunday, so both projects were very successful.”

  “Great. It was a lot of fun for me. Your family is terrific. You’re lucky.”

  “Yes, we are. Very lucky. I’m just sorry you couldn’t meet Dad. He left for Miami, a lawyers’ conference. He’s retired, but on some advisory board. He likes keeping busy.” Angela crossed her legs. “Mike still in Toronto?”

  “I think so, which is the other reason I stopped by. He said you could give me his cell number. Would you mind?” Diane kept her voice light, but her throat felt dry and tight.

  “Sure.” Angela reached for her cell phone and hit a few buttons. She jotted down the number on a post-it. Diane took it and slipped it into her purse. “So, you haven’t heard from him?” Angela asked.

  Diane looked at her levelly. “No. I asked him not to call.”

  “But now you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Yes.”

  Angela looked thoughtfully out the window for a moment, then turned to Diane. “He’s an old soul, Michael. My mother used to call him her little wise man. He has a remarkable capacity for being quiet. I know that sounds trite, but it’s not. It’s almost a Zen thing. When he’s listening, or thinking, or trying to decide something, he becomes completely still. You can barely see him breathing. He kind of turns inside himself. Even as a kid, he’d be racing around like a maniac one minute, then the next he’d be just sitting.” Angela took a long breath, deciding. “Our mother died when he was eight. He never really knew her as a healthy woman. She got breast cancer when he was just three. There were surgeries and chemotherapy and trips to Mexico. Then it went to her liver. She died at home, and it was long and hard and very sad. That may have had something to do with it, his being that way, but I think he’s just always had an inner strength, or maybe an inner peace, that he could draw on. He was always special, not just smart and cute, but a rare person. We all love him very much.” She looked down at her desk. “We’re all ver
y protective of him.” Angela carefully lined up a stack of papers. “We worry about him quite a bit.”

  “Are you worried about something specific? Diane asked carefully.

  “Of course we are,” Angela said patiently, looking up at Diane. “We all know why we love Michael. He’s a remarkable man. He’s a great brother. I’ve never met anybody quite like him. But someone like you, Diane, you’re so different from the women who are usually around him, we’re just wondering what the attraction could be, that’s all.”

  “I see.” Diane chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’ve never met anyone quite like him either, and maybe that’s the attraction?”

  Angela looked faintly surprised. “No, actually.”

  Diane stood up. “Michael and I have just met. Why don’t we see what happens before we continue this discussion, okay?”

  Angela nodded. “Good idea. Thank you.”

  Now Diane looked surprised. “For what?”

  Angela shrugged. “Well, I’m not quite so worried now.”

  Diane smiled and left.

  Diane spent all evening trying to decide what would be the best time to call Michael. She finally settled on 9:30, giving her a little over an hour to work before calling. She settled at her desk, proofreading her final exam questions, when the phone rang and it was Michael.

  “Look, I’m sorry to call, I know you told me not to, but I just talked to Angie and she said you stopped by and got my number, so I figured you’d changed you mind and here I am. Is that okay?” He said it in a breathless rush, sounding very young.

  “Yes, of course.” Diane grinned happily. “So tell me all about Gordon Prescott.”

  Prescott was a maniac and a genius, he told her. There had been meetings, screenings, dailies and more meetings, with the producer, the man who would do the orchestration, the second choice to do the orchestration, the assistant director, all of the actors. It was madness. She sat, curled into the corner of the couch, Jasper on her lap. When they finally hung up, it was too late for her to do any work, but she didn’t care. She spent Friday in a panic. Michael was picking her up at six-thirty. What if Kevin was late picking up the girls? She needed to shower and get ready. She didn’t know what to wear. She felt fifteen.

  “I’m a total mess,” she said miserably to Marianne Thomas. “I can’t believe I am being so pathetic.”

  Marianne looked at Diane. “Yes, I agree, you are being pathetic. But at least he’s single. Remember Quinn Harris?”

  “Oh, God,” Diane said quickly. “Quinn.” Quinn Harris had breezed onto the Franklin-Merriweather campus two years before, a visiting professor from London. He was England’s most sought-after theatrical director, married to a talented and flamboyant English actress. He had been invited by Franklin-Merriweather to teach a Master class. Because Diane’s play had just been embraced by Sam French, she had been invited to the cocktail party welcoming Quinn Harris. There had been an instant attraction. Quinn Harris was not conventionally handsome. Tall, slight, a few years older than Diane, he was soft-spoken man of intellect and quiet charm. He was as close to her ideal man as she could have imagined. They went out several times, and she found in him a kindred spirit. But he was married. She would not sleep with him. She had stopped seeing him.

  “I always admired you for how you handled that whole thing,” Marianne said, spearing a piece of chicken. The two women were having lunch. “A lot of women would not have cared about the wife.”

  Diane sighed and pushed around her pasta salad with her fork. “He would have broken my heart.”

  “He’s divorced now,” Marianne said.

  “Yes, well, he told me the marriage was over.” Diane shrugged. “What did you expect? They were both sleeping around like crazy.”

  “I don’t know about that. He never went after anyone else after you froze him out, and believe me, plenty were trying.”

  Diane smiled. “Yes, he was something else.” She took a deep breath. “Michael is something else too.”

  “So, are you perfect for each other? Are we talking happily ever after?”

  “No, actually, we’re not. Perfect for each other I mean. He hates traveling.”

  “Oh, no.” Marianne stared at Diane. “But that’s what you do best.”

  “I know. And he hates cities. And he wants to retire to Montana so he can live miles away from everybody.”

  “Well, don’t take that too seriously. Didn’t we all want that, at that age? I wanted to herd sheep in Wyoming, if I remember correctly. But I was young and stupid. I outgrew it.” Marianne waved her hand. “So will he.”

  “He’s apparently bought about five hundred acres somewhere outside Butte. He wants to ride horses and watch the sun set.”

  “Oh, how boring.” Marianne looked at Diane closely. “This could seriously dampen the entire happily-ever-after aspect of this relationship.”

  Diane laughed. “I haven’t looked that far ahead. I think he’s a lot of fun, and I have the major hots for his body. Does that count as a relationship?”

  “Close enough.” Marianne looked fondly at her friend. “You look happy. Your whole face is lit up. You deserve somebody wonderful. So where are you going?”

  “Dinner again. Last time, we went to Marco’s.”

  “Well, at least he knows good food. So call Kevin, and tell him to get the girls at five. Shave all the critical places and not too much perfume. Some men are allergic.”

  “Thank you for the advice.”

  Marianne looked smug. “You’re welcome. Make sure you have condoms. And make sure he feeds you first.”

  Diane buried her face in her hands and laughed out loud.

  Kevin picked up the girls at five. A little after six, Diane called Sharon.

  “Listen, Sharon, here’s what I’ve got. Black pantsuit. Makes me look thin. The red jersey dress clings in the right spots, but it’s sleeveless. Is it too cool for sleeveless? Or there’s the old standby, that African print, you know the one. What do you think? Which one looks best?”

  Sharon snorted. “Who the hell cares what they look like? Which one is the easiest to take off?”

  Diane hung up and put on the red dress. She brushed her hair carefully. She put on one of her favorite CD’s, classical and calming. Jasper sat on her bed, watching her put on earrings and make-up. She felt nervous. The condoms she had bought were in her top drawer, and she pushed them aside as she searched for pantyhose. When the doorbell rang, she was still barefoot.

  She ran to open the door. Michael was wearing a beautifully pressed white button down shirt, sleeves carefully folded up, a narrow, red tie, jeans, and loafers.

  “You look very neato. I’m glad to see you got something out of that expensive prep school you went to.” she said.

  He grinned. “I’m traveling incognito.”

  “Shouldn’t you have a cashmere sweater draped around your shoulders?” she teased, as he came into the living room.”

  “It’s in the car,” he said seriously, “with my double-breasted navy blazer.”

  Diane laughed. “I’ve got to get shoes and stockings. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  Diane went back into the bedroom. The top of her closet was packed with shoeboxes. Diane knew the exact pair she wanted, the Nine West pumps, but as she tried to dislodge the box, she pulled too hard and a dozen boxes came spilling out of the closet. She covered her head with her hands, and let out an involuntary cry as the shoes tumbled down. She ducked for a moment as they all fell to the floor, then she looked down in dismay. There were shoes everywhere.

  Michael burst into the room. “Are you okay? What happened?” He looked around and said, in a different tone, “What happened?”

  “My shoes tried to commit suicide. They all jumped.” She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I’ll be ready in a sec.”

  She got down on her knees and began to pile the shoes together. Michael got down next to her. “Let me help you. Here.” He p
ut two shoes in a box.

  Diane looked at him and shook her head. “No. These are two different shoes.”

  Michael sat, legs crossed Indian-style, and looked around him. “But they’re all the same.”

  “No, they’re different. See, this has a rounded toe. This one is squared off.”

  He picked up two more shoes. “They’re all black. You have, what, ten pair of black shoes?”

  Diane grabbed the shoes from his hand. “You’re mocking me. I can tell.”

  “No.” He picked up an empty box and handed it to her, controlling his laughter. “I would never do that. I grew up with three women. If nothing else, I learned that the relationship between a woman and her shoes is a sacred thing.”

  She looked at Michael. There was a half-smile on his face. His dark hair curled around his ear. His lashes were perfectly straight and very long. She touched his cheek and he turned to her. She kissed him very carefully, catching his lower lip in her teeth and pulling gently.

  “I think I’ve made a decision,” she said in a whisper.

  “Yeah?” He was very close.

  “Yeah.”

  “So,” he said, his voice rough, “what do you want to do?”

  “Everything.” She kissed him, slow, teasing kisses, her hands on either side of his face. His arms went around her, drawing her to the floor. Her hair fell around his face and she kissed his cheek, neck, the hollow at the base of his throat. She pulled off his tie, and began to unbutton his shirt, her tongue hot against his smooth flesh. Her fingertips brushed him gently, thumbs against his nipples, and she heard an intake of breath, and felt him strain his body against the floor.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “Wait.” She reached back and grabbed a condom out of her top drawer. She held it up before him, then pushed it into his palm. She pulled his shirttail from the waist of his jeans and unsnapped them in a flick of her thumb, pulling down the zipper. He lifted his hips as she eased them down and tossed them aside, then bent to take him into her mouth. He made a sound, soft, and he moved uncontrollably as she closed her lips around him, one hand running lightly across the tight muscles of his abdomen, the other stroking him, following the rise and fall of her mouth. His hips moved, imperceptibly at first, matching her rhythm, and he grew harder.