Karma (9 page)

Marcy
didn't know what she was feeling.

For
the first time since she had gotten married at twenty-two years old, she was
seriously attracted to a man. It surprised her, because she thought Trent had
put her off men for life.

Mike
Thompson was tall, broad shouldered, and built like an athlete – not to mention
that handsome movie star face. The man was good-looking, but it wasn't his
appearance that had appealed to her. Her ex had been handsome, too. Marcy figured
that she was old enough and wise enough now to see past a person's looks.

On
the way home from the battery shop, Mike detoured to Sunset Park to give Ziggy
a run. "Where we going, boy? Where we going?" Mike asked, and Ziggy
could hardly keep still he was so thrilled. The big golden retriever, Marcy
figured, knew exactly where his master was taking him.

Sunset
Park was huge, with a thirteen acre duck pond, fishing, basketball courts and
sandy volleyball courts, dog parks, bike and jogging tracks, and a number of
playgrounds. There was even a place to play Frisbee golf. The sand dunes
section had about three miles worth of desert trails weaving all through it.

Mike
parked and put Ziggy on a lead as he bounded out, chuffing, snuffing and
wagging his tail with excitement. Marcy drew in the scent of fresh-cut grass
and warm dry desert air. The sky was blue and cloudless.

They
began a leisurely walk on one of the trails to Warm Springs Dog Park. Mike had
an amusing habit of walking backward from time to time, while excitedly
explaining things with his hands. This was such a natural behavior for him that
the man didn't even seem to be aware that he was doing it.

Marcy
found it incredibly entertaining.

Mike
was nothing like Trent or any other guy now that she thought of it. Her
attraction to him was unnerving. Did the man have any idea how damn cute he
was? Her eyes focused on his lips. They looked soft and enticing. Just what
would it be like to be kissed by those lips?

What
am I thinking? He's just a man.

She
took her gaze from his sensuous mouth, and down to the dog, a safer place to
look altogether. Why was Mike Thompson unsettling her?

It
was the middle of a work day, so the place wasn't packed. Nevertheless, they
were passed by the occasional runner, walker or cyclist with most people
nodding a friendly hello. Ziggy barked as a bunny scampered past them, and they
both laughed. The rabbits were usually only out in the early morning or late
evening.

"Do
you ever come to this park?" Mike asked.

"I
haven’t been here in years. It's all changed so much."

"We
sometimes have a family and friend get together here," Mike said. "They've
spent a lot of time and money on the park recently. As part of the renovations,
there are now three dog parks. They rotate based on the maintenance schedule,
and keep the large dogs and small dogs separated."

They
made it to the dog park and Mike unleashed Ziggy. With a hand signal and the
word "off" the big dog was free. With one last look at his master, as
if to say, "Will you be okay if I go play?" Ziggy sped away to check
out the other dogs. Marcy and Mike began walking around the park, leisurely following
him.

"So,
I've been meaning to explain to you," Mike said, "my wife died two
years ago from breast cancer."

"Oh,
I'm so sorry."

"Yeah,
that's why I freaked when you told me your mom died of breast cancer. I don’t
want that to happen to you. Were you nursing your mom around then?"

"Yes.
She died a year ago."

They
both sighed and were quiet for a moment, each caught in memories of the past.

"I
was glad to be there for Barbara," Mike said, "but it sure was tough
to go through it."

Marcy
looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "That's exactly how I feel about my
mom." His dark brown eyes softened with sympathy as he looked back at her

They
discussed details for a long while, what food could or couldn't be kept down
during chemo, or management techniques that they both had figured out. Marcy,
who had not previously talked about nursing her mother at home, found she
wanted to talk about it to Mike. Their experiences had been similar and equally
devastating to them both.

"No
one can prepare you to hear the worst news in your life," Marcy told him. "When
the doctor said, "Your mom has cancer," I just zoned out. I couldn’t
hear anything else."

"Oh
yeah," Mike agreed. "I know that feeling all too well. It's as if for
that one black moment your entire world falls away."

"Exactly,"
she agreed.

Marcy
was really glad to share her experience with someone who had lived through it. It
was another way they were bonding. While Marcy still didn't think that bonding was
a good idea, she enjoyed having a friend.

She
felt way too comfortable with Mike, which was unusual. He somehow slipped past
all her barriers. Or she let her defenses down with him around. Either way, it
would all end in tears if she wasn't careful.

The
melodic chimes of an ice cream van playing "Greensleeves" caught
their notice. Mike gave her a boyish grin and caught her hand when she didn't
expect it. Marcy felt it would be too churlish to pull away, so she obediently followed
when he dragged her over for a treat.

Mike
bought them two chocolate coated vanilla cones. It was over 65 degrees and a
cloudless sunny day with a light breeze. A trail of ice cream dripped on to her
finger, and Marcy licked faster.

He
guided her to a park bench, where they both sat under an Ash Leaf maple tree. It
was refreshing to see something other than common desert palms, Marcy mused.
That was another good thing about Sunset Park – it had well established trees.

They
sat together for some time without needing to speak, pleasantly enjoying a
treat while watching Ziggy play. He was off in the distance, running with a
couple of Labradors, one yellow colored, and one black. Marcy could hear the
dogs barking happily.

A
powerful impression of peace enveloped her while sitting with Mike.

Marcy
felt it then, that rare inexplicable connection that could be found with
another person. Was it real? Or like it had been with her ex, was it only the
illusion and pretense of companionship? In her heart, she hoped that it was
real. She could use more friends.

"I
can't stand the silence you know," Mike said in an almost conversational
tone after finishing his ice cream. "Since Barbara's been gone, I really miss
hearing my wife breathe in bed beside me."

It
took a moment for Marcy to respond to that intimate admission. The vision of a
man being soothed by the sound of his wife's breathing was poignant. It was
even sadder the way Mike had admitted to such a thing in that even tone of
voice. She swallowed, hard. For a moment she had the ridiculous impulse to take
him into her arms and comfort him like she would a child.

Marcy
cleared her throat. "Well then," she said, trying to sound cheerful,
"you should date."

"What
a good idea," he said studying her appraisingly.

"Not
me!"

"I've
dated quite a few people and haven't found anyone that even came close to interesting
me as much as you do."

"You
don't even know me!"

"We
can remedy that."

"That's
very flattering but I'm absolutely
not
going to date you."

"Fine,"
he said equably, apparently unperturbed and completely accepting of her
rejection. "Then we can just be friends."

She
smiled at him. "Friends I can do. You seem like a nice guy, Mike, which is
even more reason not to go out with you. I liked my ex-husband, too, and he was
a lying, manipulative serial cheater that nailed anything that moved."

Mike
sat up straight at that. "Seriously? What an asshole. That kind of
unfaithfulness must have really hurt."

"I
felt betrayed, but I'm over it," she said, unable to keep the bitter
resentment from her voice. "I never suspected, even though many of our
friends knew. I was young and stupid and in love, I guess. I had the crazy idea
that he loved me too, because he married me. Let's just say I have trust issues
with men for good reason. I just don’t want to make the same mistakes again."

"Okay,"
Mike said. His face was impassive, but his voice was sympathetic. He looked
like he was going to say something else for a moment, but he must have thought
better of it because he didn't.

"You
can believe that I had a ton of blood tests, just to make sure," she
added. "Who knows who Trent slept with? But he must have always used
condoms because I never got an STD. Lucky me."

"I'm
really glad that you dodged that bullet."

Mike
began to talk to her about what André Chevalier did for a living. He explained
that many of André's professional activities were sexual and highly
confidential. André counseled and advised couples in relationship counseling. He
also worked with rape and abuse victims, both male and female. It seemed that André
often helped his customers in a 'hands on' way to assist them.

"Are
you saying he has um… sex with his clients?" Marcy asked, swallowing the
last bit of her ice cream cone. Mike had finished his long before.

"Yes.
Not always, but sometimes, sure."

The
thought floored Marcy. Why did everything seem to come back to sex?
Particularly when she preferred to avoid the subject?

"Just
to be clear," Marcy said, her head spinning. "A couple comes in for
help in the bedroom, and Mr. Chevalier has sex with them? Like, what? A
demonstration or something?"

"Sometimes.
It's different for everyone I suppose. He records everything, too, so the
couple can take a DVD home."

"No!
Really?"

"True
story."

Marcy
laughed out loud, more from shock than from amusement. It was difficult to
reconcile the André she had met with the peculiar therapeutic activities he
engaged in. "Does he have sex with men and women both? Is he bi?"

Mike
blinked at that. His brows drew down as he considered her question. "André
is definitely heterosexual," he said shaking his head. "But I suspect
that if necessary he would cheerfully have sex with a male client. I can't see
a person's gender making the slightest difference to André."

Stunned,
Marcy opened her mouth to speak. When she could think of nothing to say, she
shut it again.

Mike
threw his hands in the air. "You have to understand. André is unique. He's
a genius when it comes to sex, love and human nature. Solving the client's
problem is his priority. He doesn’t have a single fixed idea on how healing takes
place. I've never met such a lateral thinker, I swear."

"Okay,"
she said. "André works with men and women, helping them with sexual
issues. What does any of this have to do with me?"

Mike
turned toward her, meeting her eyes. "Marcy, you will probably see some
things that you will think are peculiar. Do you know anything about BDSM?"

"You
mean like dungeons, whips and fetishes?"

Mike
tilted his head at her, his lips tugging up in a half-smile. "That's close
enough for now. I brought a booklet you should read – it's in my car. You
really do need to get educated on the subject. The thing is that André deals
with many people who desire training in that area, either as a submissive or a
Dominant. He works with all sorts, but his specialty is women."

Mike
smiled and shook his head. "That man knows everything there is to know
about a woman - how to find their secret fantasies that they didn't even know
they had, and how to fulfill them. André charges big money and guarantees
satisfaction with whatever sexual issue that the client wants to solve. He
gives 100% refund if they are unhappy with his services. Do you imagine that
any of this will bother you?"

Marcy
crossed her legs and reflected on this new and very interesting information. Something
wrong with your marriage? Relationship problems could always trace back to sex
or money - at least that's what she had read. Consequently tons of people must
have problems in bed.

Marcy
had been one of them. She was thirty-four years old and had never had an
orgasm. Sex was the
big mystery
.

From
the first time she had made love with Trent she felt an array of feelings that
were far removed from pleasure: Confusion, insecurity, and a frustrating sense
of non-completion. True, Trent was an asshole. Maybe he was just a crappy lover.
Yet some of it was her fault surely?

She
just couldn't seem to "let go" and find pleasure in making love. She
was all up in her head. Marcy wondered if some unknown childhood incident had
screwed her up so that she couldn't enjoy the sexual act like other 'normal'
women.

"What
are you thinking?" Mike asked.

Marcy
gave him an ambiguous shrug. There was no way in hell that she was going to
tell Mike what she was thinking. Maybe she would get up her nerve and ask André
about it sometime.

André
Chevalier was an amazing person and a man of the world. Her questions wouldn't
shock him. Just like Mike Thompson, Marcy felt comfortable talking with André.
Unlike Mike, it seemed that the subject of sex just might, sometime, be an
acceptable topic to chat about with André.

"Let
me tell you how this applies to you," Mike said. "Sometimes André has
parties. A submissive man or woman may be naked or even chained at the Master
or Mistress's feet. You will not be part of the scene, but you'll be serving
drinks or cleaning or preparing equipment perhaps. I honestly don’t know what André
will get you to do. I think his staff shares various duties. Does any of this
make you squeamish?"

Marcy
considered the matter, imagining kinky sexual activities. "No, I don’t
think so, as long as I don’t have to participate," she said. "I'm not
a prude. Consenting adults should be able to do what they like, I think."

A
blue Frisbee landed nearby, and a barking German Shepherd grabbed it up in its
teeth. The Shepherd ran back toward a young man who was screaming "Atta
boy!" at the top of his lungs and clapping joyously. The dog dropped the
Frisbee at the feet of his master, and Marcy smiled, distracted for just a
moment.

Mike
shifted on the park bench, turning toward her. "How do you feel about gay
or lesbian sex?"

"Good
luck to them. I think love is a very good thing in any form."

Mike
gave her a big grin, arched an eyebrow, and patted her hand that was resting on
her thigh. "Do you see why I like you?" he asked. "Seriously, what
is not to like about you, Marcy Paget?"

His
comment seemed so heartfelt that Marcy just stared at him with an open mouth,
unable to respond. She didn't even try to move her hand away, when usually she
avoided being touched. A ridiculous warm glow filled her as a result of Mike's
earnest praise.

Marcy
was a pleaser, she knew that about herself. She liked the people around her to
be happy. It was in her nature to avoid fights.

Was
Mike Thompson, like her ex, being charming in order to get something? Because
Trent sure knew how to do that. What did the man want exactly anyway? To sleep
with her? Why? She was broke, in debt, and divorced with a seven year old
daughter. Marcy was not exactly a good catch.

Her
douchebag ex informed her during their divorce that she was a "fat, frigid,
ugly cow" that "no man would want anyway."
Prick.

"Okay,"
Mike said when she made no response. "I'm going to give you the booklet to
read. Study it and if you have any questions just ask me. I've put my phone
number on it."

Mike
whistled for Ziggy, who instantly galloped back to him, furiously wagging his
tail. On the way back to the car Marcy spotted a little blue and green
hummingbird, which she took as a good omen. Back at her condo, Mike replaced
the battery in her Neon and cleaned the plugs. When Marcy turned over the
ignition, her little car started up immediately.

The
sun had lowered on the horizon. In a few hours it would be time to pick Katie
and Sam up from school. Now she could drive her car to pick them up if she
wanted.

A
florist truck arrived and a man got out with a delivery of flowers. Marcy
opened the card. It said:
'Dear Katy, get well soon. Love Dad.'

Stunned,
Marcy exploded. "This isn't even in Trent's handwriting and Katie's name
is spelled wrong!"

"Son
of a bitch," Mike bit out in a snarl.

"Obviously
Trent got his secretary to arrange the whole thing, just to get me off his back,"
she growled. "Now he won’t even bother to call her." She fumed for a
moment. "I'm going to kill him." Visions of her taking an axe to her
ex loomed in her mind once more.

A
viciously muttered curse from Mike caught her attention. Marcy turned to study him.

Mike's
angry scowl and bright narrowed eyes said it all. They communicated everything
that he was feeling: agreement with her sentiment to murder; concern for Katie;
contempt and absolute fury toward her ex-husband.

An
angry man usually frightened Marcy, or made her introvert and back off. As
bizarre as it seemed, Mike's flaring rage on Katie's behalf was strangely soothing.
In fact, it raised Marcy's spirits.

"Kill
him?" Mike echoed gruffly. "As a close friend of yours, Marcy, I'd be
more than happy to help."