The Fifth Stage Part 25

"I can't use you like this." I lean in to her embrace. The downstairs music reverberates against the floor, sending a shiver along the backs of my legs.

159.

She rests her chin on my shoulder, and her voice softens. "How are you using me?"

I don't respond, and she squeezes her arms tighter, as if she's insisting that I elaborate. I guess I owe her that muchafter all, I had half of her breast in my mouth. "I don't know. It's like I need something, but I don't know what."

"Claire, I do care about you, but I don't demand anything. If we've gotten a little carried away this evening, I'm sorry."

I clutch her hand to my chest. "No. It's not that. It's just..."

"How long has it been since you've done this?"

"About three years."

"That's a pretty long time." She brushes her fingers through my hair. The compa.s.sion of her touch comforts me. "What's her name?"

"Who?"

"The one who did this to you." She speaks as though my scars are visible, like she can touch them and somehow feel the remnants of my misery.

"Doesn't matter."

Rebecca's warmth flows into me like soothing milk. If she asks my lover's name again, I'll say it, but instead, she says, "How long were you together?"

"Eighteen years. We got together in high school."

"No wonder you're having a hard time. Best I've ever managed is five years, and that one almost killed me when it was over. Trust me, you'll be okay." She kisses my shoulder.

The evening isn't going as planned. Should've known my burst of inspiration wouldn't last. Should've known Rebecca would become a person to me instead of an object, and I'd back out. I'm aware of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against my back.

"I'm sorry for freaking out. I guess it's just that I've never been intimate with anyone but her."

"Talk to me. Tell me what's on your mind." Her hug feels safe, protective.

"Did you ever wish you were one of those people in the movies or in a book? The kind who always knows what's right, who never doubts or second-guesses?"

"Yeah, that might be nice, but those people don't exist in real life.

Everyone gets scared. Everyone wonders if they're doing the right thing, sometimes."

"Guess I spent too many years with a psychologist. When I feel something, I end up trying to figure it out, break it down, and see where 160 it really comes from. I'd be way better off if I could stop thinking so much."

"You don't have to get so uptight about thisjust feel it. Let go with someone else, so you can get her out of your system. I'm not talking about s.e.x, now. It's more than that. It's about letting your guard down and being really intimate. You know, putting yourself out there."

Without questioning my own motives, I reach down and untie her left shoe. I slip it off, then the right.

She stands up and helps me to my feet. "Come here, you." She hugs me tight, then folds back the bedspread. "One step at a time," she whispers, unb.u.t.toning her jeans. She wiggles out of the denim, and her pants fall to the floor.

I'm sweating down to the bone, but I'm not focused on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s or that s.e.xy pair of black panties covering her hips. I'm watching her eyes, patient and gentle, knowing the things I can't say. She's like a mirage, and I worry that she'll disappear if I reach for her, taking the deep understanding in her gaze with her.

"Now you," she says. She eases my sweater over my head, then helps me out of my jeans. Rebecca never takes her eyes off mine, doesn't look at my body or cop a cheap feel. She backs up to the bed and pulls me between the sheets with her. The linens are fresh from the dryer and still smell of fabric softener.

She traces her finger along my bra strap. "Can we take this off?" I nod, and with one hand, she unhooks the back fastener.

We're lying face-to-face, our bodies barely touching. She takes my chin and guides my lips to hers. Her kiss is tender and light, the kind of kiss you need after a hard day at work, giving everything and demanding nothing.

Then she lies back and pulls my head to her shoulder. "Let's just sleep tonight, okay?"

I snuggle up, one arm across her stomach, one leg draped over her thighs. I haven't felt a woman's naked skin against me in forever. My s.e.x drive should be kicking into high gear, but this is different. Rebecca is giving me more than s.e.x. She's soothing my heart in a way no one else hasnot Tonya, not even Elizabeth. In their arms, I'm a child. In Rebecca's, I'm a woman. As I drift off to sleep, I realize that she knows what I need better than I do.

161.

I wake a little after midnight. Disoriented and confused, I can't figure out where my dreams ended and reality began. A stream of red light flashing from a billboard across the street illuminates the room in spurts. The paintings on the brick walls are there, then they're gone. The TV screen stares at me with one huge eye, then blinks shut. Rebecca's slow breathing is the only constant, the one reliable stimulus my senses can relate to. I snuggle against her back, and she murmurs as she holds my hand tight against her chest.

I untangle my fingers from her grasp and slip away. I find my clothes by the blinking light and step into my jeans. By the time I reach the sofa, I've pulled my sweater over my head, but as I sneak toward the door in my sock feet, she says, "Claire? You don't have to go." Her voice is filled with sleep, raspy and low.

I thought I wanted a clean getaway, but when she says my name, I'm tempted to slide back into bed. I go back to the bed and sit down beside her. "Sorry I woke you."

"I sleep like a cat," she mumbles as she takes my hand.

In the glow of strobing neon, she half sits up. The sheet falls to her waist, exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but she doesn't rush to cover herself. She's as comfortable with me now as she was a few hours ago. I'm tempted to stare, but don't. What's pa.s.sed between us is good and pure. I won't ruin it.

"Thank you for last night. I had a great time," I tell her, brushing my fingers against her cheek "No, thank you. It was great. I can't remember the last time I had a hot dog." She wipes her eyes and hugs her knees to her chest.

"I'd better be going. Poor Jitterbug must think I've gotten lost." I slip on my shoes and kiss her cheek before standing up.

"See you tomorrow?" she asks as I b.u.mp into a kitchen chair.

"Lunch? Sure, I'll be there." I take a last look over my shoulder before stepping out into the freezing night air.

It looks like snow. Ominous clouds block any light the moon might be trying to shed. I grab the handrail and ease down the steps. All the way home, I'm whistling Close to You, by the Carpenters.

CHAPTER 31.

I was pretty proud of myself. Lora and I had lived in our first house for five years, and the mortgage was over half-paid. Yep, I'd worked my a.s.s off, but look what I'd done.

Good old Claire deserved a break, so I'd taken a rare day off to do something I'd been putting off for ages, something just for me. I'd spent the whole day measuring, nailing, and climbing up and down a stepladder to make sure the basketball hoop above the garage door was installed to the manufacturer's specifications. After spending five hours in the muggy summer heat, I wasn't about to quit till I tried it out.

I stood before the hoop and wondered whether I still had it in me to lob the ball far enough to hit the rim. Time for truth. Could my thirty-year-old body still cut the mustard? I'd barely handled a basketball since high school, and it felt odd and large in my grip, like a huge orange cantaloupe.

I spun it between my hands, dribbled once, dribbled again, lined up the shot, and tossed it toward the basket. Nothing but net. Ha! I still had it. I skipped up and grabbed the rebound. A trickle of sweat soaked into my collar. Another quick hook shot. The ball ricocheted off the backboard and tumbled through the hoop.

And the crowd goes wild! Blevins charges the basket again, feints left, pivots right. And again finds the hole. I was standing in the middle of the driveway, arms above my head in a Rocky Balboa victory dance, when a car horn sounded behind me. I turned to see Lora pulling in, all smiles as she watched me make a complete fool of myself. When I moved aside, breathless but exhilarated, she stopped her black Camry beside me and rolled down the window.

"Who are you today? Annie Meyers? Nancy Lieberman?" She tossed her sungla.s.ses into the pa.s.senger seat and shaded her eyes with her hand.

She looked so pretty. Sure, I'd seen that navy linen suit before. I'd watched her thousands of times as her dark hair caressed her cheek when she tilted her head and smiled, but I lived for the moment of recognition, 162 163.

that split second when she realized it was me dancing around the driveway like a fifteen-year-old boy, the instant when her heart sprang up from her chest and kindled a flame behind her eyes. Coming home made it all worthwhilethe time away, the long distance calls, the loneliness of the road.

When I'd made it home from a late meeting in Nashville Thursday night, Lora had been in bed for hours. I'd been a sleep-deprived s.p.a.ce cadet when she'd left for the office early that morning, so we'd hardly seen each other in five days. When our eyes met, we both broke out in silly grins. If anyone had seen us, they'd have thought we'd been smoking something very good.

I bounded across the concrete and picked up the ball, which had landed beneath a pink rhododendron by the driveway. "Think I've got any college eligibility left? I might call Pat Summit and see if the Lady Vols need any help this year."

"Gee, I don't know. I hear she's got a six-foot-two forward who's slippery as an eel. She might manage this season without you." Lora pursed her lips, mocking my enthusiasm with a roll of her eyes.

"Maybe next year." I tried to spin the basketball on my index finger, but as usual, it careened away and bounced toward the street. "Up for a little one-on-one?" I skittered after the ball.

"Sure. Let me change first."

In a few minutes she returned wearing sneakers, baggy shorts, and one of my old Lady Warriors T-shirts. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail and looked as energetic as when she'd donned her cheerleading uniform so many years before to coax the Warrior football team to victory.

"Let's have it, hotshot." She bolted toward me and s.n.a.t.c.hed the basketball from my grasp.

"Hey! I wasn't ready." But she'd already done a quick layup and was pa.s.sing the ball back.

During our game we indulged in plenty of spirited hand-checking, and I took a couple of charges on purpose, letting her body shove against me and then slide away as she made her shot.

Lora had taken care of herself over the years, exercising regularly and watching what she ate. I, on the other hand, had become sedentary, spending too much time behind the wheel of a car and foregoing salad bars for fast food. So, with minimal effort, she trounced me in a game of twenty-one, but I didn't mind. It was worth the humiliation to watch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swaying as she dodged around me and drove the baseline.

164.

Exhausted after her final basket, I grabbed the rebound and parked myself on the red-brick retaining wall between the driveway and the front yard. The sun was beginning to dip behind a huge oak tree in the neighbor's yard, but it wouldn't be dark for hours. It was my favorite time of yearwhen the evenings drew on like lazy ballads.

"Uncle!" I moaned between gasps.

Lora sat down beside me and elbowed my ribs. "What's the matter, old-timer? Not enough visits to the gym?"

"Too much time in cheap motels and too many pa.s.ses through McDonald's drive in," I said, lungs still heaving. "Besides, I've been out here working all day while you've been sitting on your a.s.s."

"Saving the world is mentally exhausting." She grinned and s.n.a.t.c.hed the ball from my lap. Adding insult to injury, she spun the ball on her index finger for a full fifteen seconds before letting it drop to the pavement.

"Show-off! I never did understand why you didn't play ball in high school."

Lora snickered and shot me a l.u.s.ty glance. "If I'd been on the court, I wouldn't have had such a great view of your a.s.s. Looked pretty good from the bleachers."

"You watched my a.s.s from the bleachers?"

She dribbled the ball first with her left hand, then with her right.

"I've told you that a hundred times."

"I know, but I never get tired of hearing it." I stood up and wiggled my b.u.t.t on the way into the house. "How's it look up-close?"

She skipped up behind me, and once we were shielded from the neighbor's sensitive eyes, wrapped her arms around my middle. "Looks even better now than it did then."

"Never get tired of hearing that either. You've always been good for my ego, you little s.h.i.t."

She sniffed the air between uswe smelled like a couple of wet dogs in a locker room. "Well, I've always been honest. And honestly, right now you smell bad."

"Whaddaya mean, bad? This is a great smell. They make cologne out of sweat, you know that? A guy at that place in Birmingham told me." I tugged my wet shirt over my head and shoved it in her face. "We could bottle this and sell it."

"Oh, no. No more inventions for you, hotshot. You're away from home enough as it is." She pushed away and scampered toward the bedroom, the swish in her own backside teasing me to follow. "No hanky panky till we shower," she yelled.

165.

After a luxurious hot shower, Lora and I settled down at opposite ends of the sofa sipping frozen strawberry daiquiris as we talked about our respective weeks. Sadness crept into her eyes as she told me about a young male clientnot patient, but clientwhose mother had caught him "messing around" with another boy. Lora wasn't sure if the boy was gay or just testing the waters of adolescence, and from what she could tell, neither was he, but the mother had gone off like a hand grenade in a bomb factory, spouting Scriptures and smacking her son's head during their initial consultation.

"When I got him alone, he would hardly speak, just nodded and looked at his shoes." Lora took a long pull on her drink. "After I talked with him, I spoke with the mother. You should've seen the look on her face when I told her that if her son is h.o.m.os.e.xual, I can't and won't try to make him straight. She acted like I'd set fire to her family Bible."

I shook my head. Who knew what my own parents would've done if they'd caught us all those years ago? But by the time they'd found out about my relationship with Lora, I was earning more money in a month than they'd paid for their first house, and although they didn't like it, there was little they could do about it. So we managed a head-in-the-sand coexistence. I pretended I didn't have a bedroom, and they pretended they didn't have eyes. My brother had been great, though.

Robert treated Lora better than his own wife, and I was more than a little c.o.c.ky about the fact that my girl was prettier.

As the evening waned and darkness fell, Lora and I crept closer to each other till we were sitting Indian-style, knee-to-knee, forehead-to-forehead. The gentle breeze carried the mournful call of a screech owl through the open windows.

"Claire, I was thinking about your trip to Los Angeles. Why don't I fly out with you? We can drive to Las Vegas for a few days, the two of us." Lora's strawberry breath flooded my face.

"I didn't know I'd gotten involved with a gambler." I sipped the last of my drink and made a rude sucking noise with my straw.

"I'd never ask you to gamble away any of your precious money, but I thought it might be fun to see the sights, take in a show or something.

You know, just be together for a while."

"That sounds great." I envisioned us strolling down the Las Vegas strip, surrounded by twinkling lights, taking in everything from pirate ships to pyramids. I shook my head. "But I can't do it, honey. I've got 166 four interviews in L.A. on Monday, and I want to take my time with them. The West Coast is a brand new territory for us, so we have to be very careful who we hire. After that, I'm back here on Tuesday afternoon to train Bob Carlisle."

She leaned back and stretched her legs across my lap. "Bob can wait a day or two, can't he? You said yourself he's going to need some time to learn the ropes before he can take over your sales territory."

"The sooner I get him trained, the sooner I can get off the road.

That's what we want, right?"

"Yes, that's what we want." Lora laid her arm across her face in a feeble attempt at hiding her disappointment.

She'd been begging me to take a vacation for two years. Just a few days in the sun, she'd say. Stop and smell the roses for a change . But I was so freaking stubborn, so blinded by insecurity.

I rubbed her feet, pressing my thumbs along her arch. "Baby, don't worry about it. Besides, you know what they say, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.'"