Chapter Thirteen
Thursday faded into winter dusk, and Danny had no return e-mail from Julie. She’s definitely got a busy schedule, he thought, sloughing it off. There are dozens of reasons why she might not have written.
Late in the afternoon, after some serious consideration, he called his friend Bobby Brooks and begged off from their regular hockey night. He claimed he had too much to do. In reality, he didn’t want to get into discussions about Michele, Valerie, or Julie with his buddies, and he knew it was inevitable that Bobby would want an update on his love life. Instead, he headed home to read and to carry on with his exercise regimen.
Michele had called him at work in the morning wanting to know if he was still alive. He apologized for neglecting her. He wished he’d had the courage to simply end things between them over the phone, but instead he lied to her, saying that he, too, was looking forward to tomorrow night.
He spoke briefly with Valerie, also by phone, telling her about the success his recruiters were having and thanking her for helping him to adopt a positive frame of mind.
Before bed, he read another several chapters in “The Consummate Marriage.” The relationship picture was beginning to clear up for him. He could now see that interdependence was the key, and this concept was based upon the blending of two personalities, where two sets of needs, goals, and ambitions become united as one, such that each person is swallowed up into the other. He could not say exactly why, but he knew this was what he wanted out of life. Gone were his dreams to be his own man, the master of his own fate. He had tried that and found it hollow and unrewarding. Now, he wanted to be lost in the heart and life of someone else, someone who also wanted to be lost in him. And, though it did not make much sense for him to choose Julie again as his partner, he couldn’t imagine losing himself in anyone else. The truth was, he loved her; he had never stopped. Only now, he had an uphill battle to get her back. Now, he had to prove himself to her all over again.
He met Michele Sullivan at her home in Clawson at seven o’clock, Friday evening. She kissed him on the cheek and invited him in. Her blue eyes sparkled; her auburn hair bounced like a bushy mane.
“What do you say we have a drink before going to the restaurant?” she asked, helping him with his coat. “Unless you made an early reservation, that is.”
“No. I was going to play it by ear, see what you were in the mood for.”
“Well, I’m in the mood for a drink. Jason’s father picked him up for the weekend about a half-hour ago, and I’m a nervous wreck after talking with him for just five minutes. This is the first time since Christmas he’s taken any time for the poor kid. Anyway, tonight I’m footloose and fancy-free. So what’ll ya have?”
“Just a Molson if you have one.”
“Coming right up. Why don’t you take off your boots and get comfy.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
Danny did as she suggested, unlacing his Timberlands and placing them on a plastic mat by the door. Michele’s living room was neat and clean, with a floral couch and matching recliner of a nondescript modern style in off-white, pink, and mint green. There was a blond rattan and glass coffee table, set with a green vase containing a silk flower arrangement. Prominently splayed out from among variegated leaves were two lacquered cattails, some marble-sized red berries and a stemmed seed pod like a small round waffle. A mirror, also framed with the familiar blond rattan, and two cheap prints of pastel beach scenes in imitation wood frames decorated the walls. Danny hated the whole look, right down to the frosted pink carpet. But, of course, he would never tell Michele that he thought her taste was insipid.
He plopped onto the couch and tried to look comfortable.
Michele returned carrying an open bottle of beer in each hand. She set them on the coffee table and perched her compact frame on the recliner. She was wearing a cream-colored, v-neck sweater and a brown corduroy skirt that rode up to mid-thigh when she sat down.
“You look a little beat,” she said. “How was your week, tiring?”
“A little. You know what a grind work can be, especially this time of year.”
“Why don’t you relax a little. I’ll give you a back rub.”
Danny had mixed feelings about the suggestion. “You don’t have to...”
“Sure I do. Just call it ‘part one’ of your birthday present.”
“Okay, then. But remember, I don’t celebrate those anymore.”
“We’ll see about that. Sit here on the floor in front of me,” she suggested.
He obeyed. She spread her legs apart so he could lean up against the chair. He felt the brush of her nylons through the sleeves of his flannel shirt and her warmth against the middle of his back. Her petite hands were surprisingly strong as she bore down on his shoulders, massaging both trapezious muscles at once.
“You’re a little tight.”
She squeezed harder. “How’s that feel? I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No, no. It feels good.”
She moved to the neck and massaged him there with both of her thumbs. “We’ve got to get some of these knots out.”
After a couple of minutes on the neck, she worked the upper part of his back that was within her reach. Then she moved to his temples. A moment or two later, while rubbing his head with both hands, she slid down off the couch and around him, landing on his lap, whereupon she sat, straddling him with her legs, her skirt bunched up around her waist. Danny could feel himself getting aroused, and he was sure she could as well. He began to worry about losing his objectivity and disregarding his plan to ease out of their relationship before the evening ended.
Meanwhile, Michele slipped her hands down behind his head, drew his lips to her own, and kissed him passionately.
After a near-eternity in which Danny could feel almost every muscle in his body go slack, she separated from him with a lick of his lips. She pierced his eyes with her own. “Happy birthday,” she said, smiling. And here’s one for good luck.”
Danny responded with greater abandon this time though he knew he was digging a pit for himself, one he would have to climb out from later this evening.
After the second kiss she pushed herself up using his shoulders, filling his nose with a bouquet of wonderful fragrances. She smoothed down her skirt and stepped aside. “Here,” she said, handing him his Molson. “You better drink up before the beer gets warm.”
They spent most of the trip to the restaurant making small talk. Danny was simultaneously worrying about what he might do if she decided to make another move on him — and pondering what had possessed her all of a sudden. Curiously, if they had been together one week ago like he had hoped, there would not have been a question in his mind as to how he might respond. Now, he felt he would be taking advantage, leading her on, all for the purpose of a little sexual gratification. He wished he knew why relationships were always so damned complicated.
They ate in the Sushi Room at the Japanese steak house (her choice). Danny knew all about the reputation raw fish had for increasing the libido, and Michele seemed over-amped already. He worried all the more as he watched her shove down raw salmon and tekka maki. In addition, he didn’t have much trust in himself to do the honorable thing, especially after putting away a carafe of sake. It had been over a year since he’d been with a woman. With one more advance like the one she made on him earlier, he’d likely be about as unyielding as Jell-O.
During the ride back to her house, Michele was talkative. Danny learned how she and her friend Marylou had spent most of last weekend speculating about their futures — two, thirty-something, divorced women scheming how to get their lives on track before hitting “the big Four-O.” For her part, Michele admitted, she decided to stop feeling sorry for herself, and to go out and grab what she wanted from life. She had played the victim long enough.
Hearing this, Danny immediately understood her change in demeanor and saw himself as a potential conquest in her campaign for self-fulfillment. But, naturally, she would want something more than a night of good sex out of him. That was just a come-on, like twenty-five cent-a-pound bananas.
Nonetheless, he accepted her offer to come in for birthday cake and a nightcap, asking only that she make it a coffee.
“That sounds good to me too,” she said.
She led him into the kitchen and proceeded to put on the pot. He sat down at the small oak dinette table and began the conversation he had been loathing all week.
“You know, I’m going to a recruiting seminar in Anaheim, California, the week after next.”
“You are? How long will you be gone?”
“Well, the seminar is only three days, but I am going to take a couple days vacation so I can stay the entire week.”
“Isn’t that where your ex-wife lives?”
“Not exactly. She’s down in Newport Beach.”
Michele eased herself onto the chair across from him. “Are you planning to see her?”
“Well, I hope to, but I haven’t told her I’m coming yet.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said. “You’re planning to surprise her, right?”
“Something like that.”
“And what do you think she’s going to do? Tell you all is forgotten, and she’s ready to take you back?”
“I’m not that naive.”
“Well, I hope not.” She rolled her blue eyes at him.
“Look Danny, I don’t want you to think I’m giving you advice, but you have to remember that I’m the one who’s been divorced for ten years. I’ve had a lot of these same feelings, and there’s one little nugget of wisdom I think I ought to share with you.”
“What’s that?”
“Things are never the way you imagine them to be with your ex. There’s a good reason you’re not married anymore, and time doesn’t make that reason go away. In fact, if you ask me, things only get worse with time. Me and Jimmy fight more now than we ever did — on those rare occasions when we talk to each other at all, that is. And believe me, if it wasn’t for Jason, I’d never have one more word to say to the lousy creep.”
“I know you’re right, Michele, but something in me keeps saying that I have to try to work things out with her. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I really believe I still love her.”
“Of course you do. You’ll always love her.” She took his hand. “But mark my words, Danny. You’re going to go out there and find out that you don’t like her anymore. And she’s not going to like you either.”
“I guess I’m going to have to discover that for myself.”
“Oh, you silly man.” She stood up and yanked both his arms to pull him out of the chair. Danny had to assist her by exerting some effort to lift himself on his own. “Come with me,” she said, leading him out of the kitchen, “I’m going to show you what love is all about.”
Mike was expected at seven to pick her up for dinner. She had protested, saying that she preferred to meet him at the restaurant. But he had insisted, claiming she would have a hard time finding the place, and it was not at all out of his way to come get her.
Since her gut-wrenching self-examination on Wednesday evening, she had begun to see things differently. For the better part of two days now, she had been mulling over a new approach to the evening out with Mike Tattersall. Once she realized what a fool she’d been with Danny, how she had unconsciously sabotaged their marriage, she began to think that a relationship with Mike could not possibly be any worse. And, if she was so incorrigibly self-serving, why not take a shot at this wealthy, successful, good-looking guy who also seemed to be taking an interest in her. After forty-eight hours of deliberation, she had it all planned. Keep up the image of a romantically disinterested, career-motivated employee, and let him play his game. Sooner or later, he would tip his hand, and then she could decide what to do next. This way, if he really wanted her, she would not miss out on the opportunity just because of an arbitrary rule which she herself made up, and which may or may not have any value in real life. But, on the other hand, if he was just being an egotistical flirt, she wouldn’t embarrass herself by throwing caution to the wind and falling all over him, metaphorically speaking, that is.
Last evening, before they went to their classes, she aired this theory out on Trace. After a moment’s contemplation, Trace admitted that she couldn’t really find fault with it, except to say that she was sticking with her earlier instincts and her previous advice for Julie to “get out now, before things got complicated, and she got hurt.” Julie told her not to worry; she knew what she was doing.
Later, in class, Julie picked up some practical understanding by projecting herself and Mike into the material on sexual harassment in the workplace. She, the woman and the subordinate, was the one with the deck stacked in her favor. She did not have to allow a single thing to go on that made her uncomfortable. And Mike had to behave himself. Otherwise, she could have him dead to rights with a harassment charge in the classic style. So, let the games begin, she thought. I can’t lose.
Before Mike had chance to ring her doorbell, Julie exited through the sun porch and shut the inside door behind her. Feeling the bite of the crisp night air, she swung into her jacket as they walked toward his car, a black BMW of recent vintage.
“You look lovely this evening,” he said, opening the door for her.
“Thanks.” The cavernous interior of the car smelled like a curious combination of dyed leather and Mike’s cologne — very masculine.
“Where’re we going for dinner,” she asked as he backed out the drive.
“A little Italian place I like up on the mesa.”
“Good. I love Italian.”
He drove up West Balboa toward the Superior Avenue hill and Costa Mesa. It was a clear night and traffic was heavy. With Mike concentrating on the road, their conversation died out quickly. Jazz was playing on the stereo — just what she would have expected. Julie listened, enjoying both the mood and the luxurious ride, feeling strangely relaxed with her new self-awareness. She saw her reflection in the passenger window glass. She was smiling like the Mona Lisa.
After a few moments, Mike broke the spell. “Allison says you’re doing great. I think she hated to admit it, but she couldn’t deny the obvious. Like I said earlier, the Williams proposal is near perfect. Thanks for e-mailing it to me.”
“No problem. I’m glad you’re happy with it.”
“I’ve only made a few edits. We’re basically going with what you wrote.”
“I had a good teacher.” Julie lied, but saw no reason to criticize the outgoing mother-to-be.
“And I made the right choice for her replacement.”
You sure did, she thought. Nice of you to take the credit, too.
“So, since I’m convinced you’re going to work out perfectly in this position, I definitely want you to accompany me on the sales presentation next Thursday in Thousand Oaks.”
“Okay, I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess?”
“Well, I’ve got a night class on Thursdays — at Cal State, Fullerton. Will we be back in time?”
“That’s hard to say. Sometimes we have to wine and dine the client afterward, you know, to cement the deal.”
“I can’t really afford to miss class.”
“Let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it. These things have a way of working themselves out.”
She didn’t respond immediately. It seemed to her that he had just hurtled over her objection as though it weren’t even there, a trait of his, she was discovering. “All right then,” she replied, “But I’m going to hold you to getting me back before six. I can’t miss class.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But we can’t leave the deal hanging. Our business is entirely based on sales. And sales is all timing, as you will soon find out. So, if we get the signatures on the contract, and the big shots are comfortable, we’ll come home. But if we have to buy them some dinner and a couple of bottles of wine to make them all happy, then, so be it.”
“Well, we can always drive separately. Then if it gets late...”
“Julie, Julie. I wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t want you driving all the way to Thousand Oaks and back by yourself. You leave it to me.”
She decided to drop it. He was, after all, her boss, and she wasn’t exactly scoring points by badgering him. “Okay,” she said.
“Good girl.”
Well, that was a sexist, condescending comment, she thought, but did not say. Maybe he honestly didn’t realize that she was an older woman.
There was a tear falling out of Michele’s left eye as Danny stepped backward across her threshold into the damp night. He reached out and smoothed it away. “I’m sorry, Michele. Please don’t cry. I’m not worth it.”
“It’s just that I had this thought that I may never see you again.” She sniveled.
“I’ll be back. And if things go as you predicted, I won’t ever doubt you again.”
“Just don’t make a fool out of yourself.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
“And you better hurry back. I’m not going to last forever, you know.”
“I know.” He descended the two steps onto her walk and waved. “Bye.”
“Call me.”
“I will.” He knew he probably wouldn’t.
Walking to his car, he listened to the familiar sound of the January thaw — snow crinkling, water dripping off rooftops, running down spoutings, rolling and rushing along the street gutters under frozen sheets of ice. He drew a deep breath through his nostrils; there was hickory smoke in the air, no doubt from romantic Friday night hearth fires nearby. He pictured young couples holding each other, listening to their fires pop, watching the flames dance. He sat down on the cold seat of his Regal GS, fired up the engine and drove off down the lane.
Michele would get over him. Besides, he reasoned, She can’t lose something she never had. He gave her credit though; she hooked him pretty well tonight with her charms. And she very nearly landed him, too, especially with that last big pull. But he held. Giving in would have been fatal. He made a mental note to keep telling himself that.
Still, it was all replaying in his mind as he entered the northbound freeway ramp at Fourteen Mile Road on his way home. She had gotten him onto the bed easily enough, and unbuttoned his shirt, all the way down. Then, while he lay there on his back, she began rubbing his chest and scratching gently with her nails. Then they kissed and eventually got to rolling around together. Her tongue was on fire, and she tasted sweet, like Japanese wine. He was weakening — fast.
But he held. Even then, he knew she would hate him if he made love to her and then dropped out of her life. He couldn’t do that to her; she had experienced too much heartbreak already in her life. And he did not want to know how good she might be either, though he got an inkling tonight of what Michelle Sullivan looked like in full abandon, her red hair flying, her lips and hands hard at work. Making love to her could have changed his mind about everything. And he especially did not want that to happen. For once, he had done the right thing, and he was feeling pretty good about it.
Of course, he would probably hate himself in the morning when he woke up, and she was not there next to him. But then again, that was not the particular hill he wanted to die on, or so he would be reminding himself for some time to come. Like now, as a hint of her perfume lingered. Oh, hell. Why didn’t I stay? Nobody likes to be alone — especially me. Julie, my dear, you better be worth it. And by the way, how long does it take you to answer a few simple questions?
Julie ordered some veal piccata and Mike, the broiled cod, southern Italian style. Since their disagreement in the car, things had smoothed out between them, especially once the Chianti started flowing. She quickly discovered that Mike liked talking about himself, so she let him, figuring that with each statement he made, she would have a greater advantage. And eventually, he would slip up and clue her in regarding his intentions. But he didn’t, at least not that she could tell in her semi-inebriated state, having drunk two glasses of the Tuscan nectar herself.
After their plates were cleared, Mike ordered them each some Tiramisu for dessert, along with shots of Frangelico. She had never tasted either, but he assured her she’d find both to her liking. By the time dessert was ordered, she knew that meeting tonight on the pretext of business had been a complete charade. Mike had not brought up a single business issue all evening except for the brief discussion in the car about the presentation next week which, she realized, he hadn’t even known about last Saturday. So it could only have been an afterthought and, in essence, a way of guaranteeing that they would end up together again. And for a whole day this time. It had been a pretty clever way of setting up another date, she had to admit. But what she was thinking now, where tonight was concerned at least, was that he simply wanted to take her out on a “date.” It was exactly as she had suspected from the beginning. He must be interested in her for more than just what she could do as his “Marketing Communications Specialist.” Only now, considering her new outlook, she was less worried about how to respond. She was actually beginning to feel comfortable with him. At least he knew how to pick good restaurants.
Their dessert and drinks came, and Mike finally did it — slipped up, that is. After plunging a spoon into his Tiramisu, he lifted it toward her, inviting her to taste it from his hand. “Allow me to turn you on to this luscious temptation,” he said, sliding the spoon into her mouth. She tasted it and smiled.
“What do you think?”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Yes it is, isn’t it?”
She had him now. But there was no reason to reel him in just yet.