For Your Love (5 page)

Chapter Eight

While Heather was trying to get back into the good graces of her husband, she was putting a crimp in Martin’s nighttime activities forcing him to find other distractions or go home. That night he thought about going to a bar to pick up a woman for a few hours, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Besides, he’d had enough adventure that day with Mata Hari.

It had also been an unusually busy day at the dealership. Mercedes Benz was running a nationwide promotion and they were short one salesperson due to illness. His throat felt raw from all the talking he had to do. And his feet hurt, as well. Going home didn’t seem so bad. Maybe he’d take Carla out to dinner. They hadn’t been out together for ages, not that he’d cared to be seen with her looking like the spawn of Moby Dick. However, lately she’d been looking more appealing. Had she been dieting?

He drove his Mercedes into the garage. Carla’s Honda wasn’t in the garage. He hated that silver Honda. It was bad for his image. No matter how hard he’d tried, there was no way he could convince her to drive a Mercedes like him. “Too snooty,” she’d said on more than one occasion.

Blondie greeted him at the door happily barking and jumping up and down. He let her out into the backyard to relieve herself. He waited for her to return and relocked the door. Since Carla hadn’t expected him home, she hadn’t left a note. He could call her cell, but knew she was either with Lynne or shopping. Where else would she be? Opening the junk drawer near the phone, he shuffled through the fast food menus and ordered a large pizza with the works—except anchovies. He hated that slimy stuff. Orson and Heather couldn’t get enough of it or caviar, which he somehow linked together under the “yuck” column in his mind.

Okay, he thought looking at his watch, let’s see if they live up to their own hype and deliver it within a half-hour. He hoped they did since he was ravenous, not having had the time to have a decent lunch. He grabbed a cold bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and began to chug it down, not bothering to pour it into a glass.

He took the bottle into the den and turned on the TV with the remote as he sank down into the overstuffed couch. Surfing through the channels, he wondered how there could be so little to watch with so many different choices. He finally settled on some black and white war movie that was probably made before he was born.

The doorbell chimed and he looked at his watch again. They’d made it in twenty-three minutes. He opened the door and took a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to the delivery guy who looked like he’d rather be getting a root canal than be there.

“Thanks,” Martin said as he grabbed the pizza and closed the door a little too quickly to hear the guy reply, “Thanks, yourself.”

He set the pizza down on the cocktail table in front of the sofa. Forgetting that the pizza was piping hot, he took a healthy bite.

“Yow!” he howled spitting out the piece. However, the damage to his upper palate was already done and it felt raw and stringy. He took a healthy swig of the beer and finished the bottle. There was no way he’d be able to eat the pizza without more beer, so he went back into the kitchen for another bottle and more napkins.

Martin polished off most of the pizza. By the time Carla returned home, she found him face down in the pizza box sound asleep. The sight of him made her laugh. Tears soon streaked down her face. When she was able to gain control of herself once more, she shook his shoulder to wake him. He groaned and lifted his head. Mushrooms, sauce and some other unidentifiable stuff clung to his patrician nose and face. That caused her to break out in a fresh gale of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Martin asked still sounding half asleep.

“You are.”

“Huh?”

“Here let me wipe some of that stuff off,” she said picking up a discarded napkin.

“Guess I fell asleep.”

“Give that man a prize!” She helped him to his feet. “Next time try a pillow instead of a pizza box, genius.”

She pushed Martin into the bathroom so he could wash his face before she went into the bedroom to undress for bed. By the time he emerged from the bathroom smelling more like soap than pizza sauce, she’d just removed her bra. Instinctively, his presence caused her to cover herself by crossing her arms across her chest.

“Don’t,” he said, as he approached her.

“You’re tired; go to bed.”

“I’m wide awake,” he said, drawing her closer to him.

They stood there looking into each other eyes. He’d forgotten how beautiful her brown, doe-like eyes were. They always made her seem more vulnerable—until now. When he tried to kiss her trembling lips, she pushed him away. Martin looked at her trying to understand her actions.
Why didn’t she melt into my arms? Was it because I still reeked of beer? Was she tired, herself?
Then he became very still. Or did she surmise he was having an affair? Carla interrupted his thoughts, partially giving him an answer.

“I’m tired Martin, and from the way I found you, so are you. Go to bed,” Carla said and climbed into bed facing the wall. A few minutes later, Carla felt the mattress sag as Martin got into bed. The room was quiet for the next several minutes until Martin’s rhythmic snoring broke the silence.

* * *

As Carla lie awake listening to Martin snore, she went over the previous scene with him again in her mind. Had she been a coward or had she done the right thing? Had she blown another chance to confront him and let him know she was aware of his cheating? She concentrated on Martin’s reaction to when she’d told him she was tired. He hadn’t even attempted to try and change her mind. Was that because he’d been with his lover that day? No matter how she looked at it, deep down inside she knew she played it correctly. He didn’t really want her. She was just handy. Even so, she had nearly caved. After all, it was tough passing up having sex with him for the first time in God knows how long.

Carla sighed. No, it seemed best not to let him know that she knew he was cheating just yet. That way she could hold out for the entire ball of wax and win his love back completely with no strings attached. Seriously now, how much sweeter would that be?

And yet, despite her rationale, Carla still wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if pushing Martin away had given him the wrong idea? As she lay there listening to Martin’s breathing, Richard’s image came to mind. Maybe she should talk with Richard and get his thoughts on the matter.

Richard was the first male friend she’d ever had. She truly loved being with Richard and looked forward to seeing him. And if sometimes he looked at her so intensely it made her pulse go into overdrive, she wasn’t going to make too much of it, because it made her feel good. Besides, she knew their relationship was only platonic.

* * *

Noon, the following day, Richard came out of the gym to find Carla frowning at her car door. Curious, he wondered what she was doing and walked over to her.

“Oh, hi, Richard.”

“What are you looking at?”

“My car keys.”

“Your car keys?”

“Uh-huh. You know I was looking for you.”

“Before or after you came out here?” He was becoming increasing curious about her strange behavior.

“Oh, before.”

“Enlighten me. Why are you staring at your keys? He asked finally. “Are they going to do something special?”

“Nope.”

Then why are you standing out here watching them?”

“I’m not watching them,” Carla replied.

“Then what in the world
are
you doing?”

“Wondering how I’m going to get into my car.”

All of a sudden a light bulb turned on and Richard saw the whole picture. “You’re locked out?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” he replied as he shook his head chuckling.

“How can you laugh at a time like this?”

“Wait here,” he said with some laughter remaining in his voice.

“Where’re you going? I need a ride home to get my spare keys,” she called after him. “That’s why I was waiting for you,” she said, but doubted he’d heard a single word. Typical man, she sighed kicking a tire in frustration, as she wondered where Richard had gone and what he was up to.

Ten minutes later, he emerged from the building wearing a huge grin and carrying a wire hanger.

“Glad to have found this. These babies seemed to be coming extinct around here.”

“You can open my car door with a hanger?” she asked.

“Sure. You’d be surprised what these hands can do.”

“Why not just drive me home for the spare pair?”

“Oh, ye of such little faith,” he answered as he began to untwist the top of the hanger. When he’d fashioned it to his satisfaction, he said, “Stand aside and watch a professional work.”

With amazement, Carla watched as Richard deftly slipped the hanger, which now had a small hook on its end, down into her window. She saw the determination etched into his pleasant features and intense concentration in his eyes. It was incredible to watch him maneuver the hanger slowly back and forth until he was able to pull up the door latch. She had a fleeting thought that Martin couldn’t even screw in a light bulb without a manual.

“I’m impressed! You can work both sides of the law. Thank you,” she said happily, enthusiastically throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him, suddenly wanting to stand there all day and breathe in his special scent. It felt so good...

After too many beats to count, they finally broke apart. She had no more idea what had made her act that way, but she found it enjoyable—perhaps a little too enjoyable.

Finally, Richard spoke. “You’re very welcome. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure. Do you mind if my friend, Lynne, joins us? We promised to work out together tomorrow.”

“Of course not. I’d like to get to know her better,” declared Richard.

“Okay. It’s a deal. See you then,” Carla said and got into the car.

As she started the engine, she watched Richard pick up his gym bag and walk over to his BMW. It was green just like his eyes.

Chapter Nine

Carla hadn’t realized just how important Richard had become to her until he had to go away for a few days to depose several clients. She was having lunch with Lynne at the 5 & Diner. Since Carla and Richard had discovered the restaurant, Carla would sometimes meet Lynne there or the three of them would hook up for lunch. Though the friends hadn’t seen or spoken to each other much recently, Lynne was only happy to point out the bitchiness that Carla was exhibiting at the moment.

“You’re awfully cranky. I know you’re not PMSing, ‘cause that was what ruined our last lunch together. So tell me, have you and Martin finally brought his philandering out into the open?”

“Martin, who?”

“Be serious.”

“No. As far as Martin’s concerned I’m in Carlaland and too preoccupied with my writing to have noticed what he’s been up to.”

“So things really haven’t changed?”

“Aside from the fact he’s continued to
work
late
so often without any explanation or isn’t to be found when I happen to call him at the showroom, he hardly says three complete sentences to me at a time. No—pardon me—we’re up to five, since I’ve been losing weight. He’s even made a half-hearted attempt to have sex with me.”

“You’re making progress. So what’s with the attitude?”

Carla took a sip of coffee and scrunched up her eyebrows as she pursed her lips in thought.

“I don’t have a clue. I just feel out of sorts, like something’s missing.”

“Or someone?”

“Lynne, what are you trying to say? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“I can see that. Chill.”

“I
am
chilling. See? This is me chilling,” Carla said pushing the words through her teeth.

“No, you’re not. And you’d better put that knife down before you gouge a hole in the table and we’re banned from this place.”

“Okay,” Carla said, as she put the knife back on the table, “I’m fine. Tell me what you were going to say before.”

“All I meant was that I think you miss Richard.”

“Richard?”

“Yeah, Richard.”

“Why should I miss Richard?”

“Because he’s away,” Lynne said watching her friend’s reaction.

Carla had begun to play with the crumbs on the table as her right eye began to twitch. Without looking up, she replied, “I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.”

“Like hell, you haven’t. Whenever we get together or talk on the phone, you always bring him into the conversation. Just talking about him you light up like a Christmas tree.”

“We’re just good friends,” Carla replied quickly wondering why she sounded so defensive.

“How long has he been gone?”

“Two and-a-half-days,” answered Carla.

“I rest my case.”

“You tricked me,” Carla protested.

She had to admit she truly missed Richard. She missed the warm glow that his beautiful smile and cheerful voice provided whenever they were together or spoke on the phone. He was only a security blanket—nothing more—she mentally insisted as if to convince herself. She refused to think about his gentle touch of reassurance when she needed it, or his adorable dimples that appeared whenever he smiled…Or think about the scent that was his alone or the play of the muscles on his back as he poised to dive into the pool. And his tight ass, Carla nearly groaned. He was just a friend. Nothing more, and after all, she was a married woman…

“Earth to Carla, come in,” Lynne called breaking into her friend’s thoughts. When Carla’s eyes met hers, Lynne asked softly, “Are you sure he’s just a friend?”

“Of course! He’s only a good friend. Are you forgetting I’m trying to win back Martin? There’s no way I’m not going to jeopardize that.”

“Whoa! Slow down, kiddo. Adultery never entered my mind.”

However, Carla was able to read between the lines and sensed Lynne thought there might be more to her relationship with Richard. There definitely wasn’t. Of that Carla was certain—or almost certain. She couldn’t explain the strange hollow feeling she often got in the pit of her stomach when they were together or why every time their gazes met, her heart turned over in response. Or the inexplicable erotic dreams she’d have where she was making hot love to Martin who suddenly morphed into Richard. It was Richard’s mouth on her breast, his lips and tongue sucking and licking her nipple, while his large hands parted her curls and stroked her relentlessly. Then he was sliding into her…deeper…deeper…

Carla felt her cheeks burning. She was becoming uncomfortable with the emotions the conversation was stirring up and had a funny feeling that Lynne was scrutinizing her—and with good reason. She often found herself thinking about Richard and that scared her—a lot. Maybe it showed.

Sensing that the conversation had become too intense for Carla, Lynne changed the subject. “Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. I’ve been dating someone.”

Carla watched Lynne’s face light up and knew that this guy was someone special. She narrowed her eyes. “What? And you didn’t tell me because…”

“I’ve been so busy at work and—”

“No excuse. How did you meet him?” Carla asked.

“He came to the real estate office and rented an apartment a few weeks ago,” Lynne replied, her hazel eyes twinkling.

“So what does he look like? Tell me—and don’t leave out a thing,” Carla said, excitedly.

“He’s so cute. You’ve got to see him. He sort of reminds me of a young Robert Redford with lots of freckles and the deepest blue eyes. Oh, and he’s very tall, too.”

“Next to you, a midget is tall.”

“I’m five feet and one-half inches. Not a midget,” Lynne said, indignantly.

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a private investigator. That’s why he’s in Scottsdale. He’s on a job.”

“You sound like you like him.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Hmm. Maybe you can get him to stay after the job is over.”

“Maybe. Yeah—that would be nice,” Lynne said and glanced down at her watch. “I’ve got to run. I have to show a house this afternoon.”

“Good luck. And I hope you make a sale and get a big commission.”

Lynne smiled. “Thanks.”

As they both rose from the table, Lynne reminded, “Call me.”

* * *

Back at home Carla smiled. It was about time her best friend found someone special. Besides, Carla always liked happy endings. She’d been hoping to alter the direction of her own life to ensure a happy ending. That was the point of working out and half-starving in order to get back into shape. In fact, she was more determined than ever to make herself better than she’d been before. A new, improved model fit for any showroom. She smiled at her own mental quip.

A beat later, Carla picked up her cup of coffee and rose from the chair behind her desk. She walked over to the window and stared out at the fenced backyard that ran the length of their small ranch-type house. When she and Martin first purchased the place, she imagined their kids playing on a swing set back there. Instead, it had become Blondie’s domain.

Children. Richard was right; she did want to be a mother. Being Blondie’s mommy didn’t quite cut it, any longer. There would always be that emptiness, a void, that even having Martin back, could never be filled. Her eyes filled with tears as she turned and walked back to grab a tissue from the box on her desk.

She decided to make a fresh pot of coffee and went into the kitchen. On the refrigerator was a calendar with a picture of children gathered around a birthday cake with lit candles on it. It made her think of Martin’s birthday, which was December 20th. Each year, ever since they’d first met, she’d fussed over him on his birthday. Whether it was a special night out or a quiet night in, she planned an evening he’d never forget. Year after year, she wracked her brain to come up with a fresh idea, usually starting to plan a month in advance. However, he never reciprocated. She opened the refrigerator and took out the coffee can. Grabbing a filter from the cabinet over the coffee maker, she began to scoop out the coffee.

For her birthday, it was the usual same-old thing: a dinner out complemented with a gift selected by one of the women who worked at the showroom. Well, she was tired of the same-old, same-old. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, right?

Damn! She’d lost count of the scoops she’d already put into the filter and had to dump the coffee back into the can. Starting again, she tried to remain focused. One, two, not this year…

Despite her lack of concentration, she was able to get the coffee maker going. Why should she put herself out when she had to share him with…whatever her name was? “Well, not this year, buster! Things are gonna be different!” she said aloud to the coffee machine, which only gurgled back in reply.

Good, Lord, Carla thought, I’m really losing it. I’m obsessing about a man who is so self-centered he hardly cares whether or not I’m here. Either he thinks I’m spineless or that I’m too caught up in my writing to confront him. Well, I have news for him. I care. I also have needs and feelings, too! And as soon as I’m back to my new, improved model, watch out! The coffee maker nosily gurgled its approval.

Carla poured coffee into a mug and brought it back to her desk. She was glad she finally made a decision about Martin’s birthday. It had been nagging at her for some time. She’d take Martin to dinner and give him a tie as a present. And if it turned out that he wasn’t happy with the arrangements or gift, too bad. As of this moment, her complaint department was officially on hiatus. She was no longer going to be a mat for any man’s feet.

* * *

Jessie Thompson hated to go home, lately, now that Jake was there supposedly on the mend. She’d walk into the same scene day after day and that evening was no different or less nasty. As she turned the key in the lock, she heard the bass of the TV vibrating against the front windows. She could have broken down the door and Jake wouldn’t have heard. The man had to be deaf—or dead. The thought both chilled and, yes, delighted her. If he were gone, she’d be free in so many ways, and yet…. She let that thought drop as she opened the door and walked inside.

The combined stench of stale beer and cigarettes made her choke as her eyes began to swim against the dense haze of cigarette smoke that filled the air like a rain cloud. Lately everything smelled like a dirty ashtray. Before the accident, Jake would smoke outside the house. Now that he was less mobile, he not only smoked inside, but he smoked twice as much. If he didn’t cut down, she’d threaten to stop buying cigarettes for him. However knowing Jake, he’d merely find another way to get them. When it came to his own creature comforts, he proved to be mighty resourceful. Getting a job, well, that was something else entirely.

Jake sat splayed in his recliner like a Buddha, half-asleep. His soiled grayed tee shirt barely covered the extra pounds now packed around his middle. A crumpled, empty bag of potato chips lay on the floor next to him, while the evidence still clung to his shorts. Jessie moved quickly through the discarded empty beer cans strewn on the area rug and shut off the TV.

Jake had to get a job, if not for financial reasons, for her sanity. Every time she walked into this mess, she could hear Aunt Louise’s voice loud and clear. How many times had she begged her to leave the slob? It wasn’t right for him to lie around in his own waste while she slaved at a full-time job. She shouldn’t have to come home and clean up after the pig. In that respect, her aunt was right. She wasn’t getting any younger and often came home exhausted.

She noticed the cigarette still burning in the ashtray and waded through the empties to put it out. Her luck, the moron’ll burn down the house next. “Jake, wake up!” she said, shaking him.

“Whaat?” he slurred. “Where’s the fire?”

She wanted to let loose and scream at him, but realized it would be a total waste of good breath. He was half out of it and she’d never reach him tonight. Tears of anger and regret stung her eyes and, a beat later, began to fall as she made her way to the kitchen. Putting the tea kettle up, she realized how useless it was to get upset over her good-for-nothing husband. Perhaps Aunt Louise will loan her the money to find a decent divorce lawyer. She’d had enough.

Jessie tried to put things in perspective as she sat there warming her hands around the mug as if it could travel to her heart, which felt like ice. Logically, when something is diseased, one should excise it. In that respect, cutting Jake loose would be the right course of action. No one would point any fingers of accusation at her. She’d remained by her man through it all. And it hadn’t been a picnic. So, why couldn’t she do the
right
thing? Why couldn’t she look him in the eye and tell him, “Enough!”

Grabbing the mug, she walked into the bedroom. Her mouth fell open as the mug dropped to the floor. The bed was covered in rose petals. A large birthday card was propped against her pillow. It had been signed: “To the love of my life.” How had she forgotten her own birthday? Yet, Jake, even in his sorry state, remembered. She felt achingly touched.