Never Too Late (8 page)

As she stood in
front of the long mirror on the wardrobe, she tried to imagine Alessandro's
lips on the swells of her breasts created by the uplift foundation. But what
emerged in her mind's eye was Jerry's expression the first time he'd seen her
in the dress. She'd been standing in front of a mirror, much as she was now,
and Jerry came up behind her, curved his hands around her, his palms adding a
little more uplift, and kissed the hollow of her shoulder, and whispered in her
ear, "Baby, you're really turning me on now." The dress came off in
half the time it took her to put it
on,
and Jerry took
over from there...

But it wasn't
Jerry she intended to turn on tonight, she reminded herself, and somehow she'd
have to remember that. Taking one last look in the mirror, she pronounced
herself
desirable in the eyes of
Alessandro
and headed for the grand salon.

Jerry was
already there. When he saw her coming he walked up to her, clasped her by the
elbow to lead her out the room, and said in a curt, dry tone, "What the
hell are you trying to do?"

"If you
mean by wearing this dress... the girls said to wear something to please. This
dress used to please you enormously," she said. "You said it made you
horny."

"It did
once," Jerry said. "Now it makes you look like a middle-aged
hooker."

"
At least I don't wax my chest!
"
Andrea snapped. "Of course I don't know what you might have waxed below
your waist, but I can always ask Val if I get curious."

"That
coming from a woman who had liposuction done on her thighs is ironic,"
Jerry said, as he led her out the room.

Andrea looked
at Jerry with a start. She'd had it done over a month before in an effort to
feel good about
herself
again. But things had been so
bad lately the occasion to show off her legs had not come up. Other than the
episode in the shower, she hadn't shown Jerry anything in months. Fun-filled
sex was history. For the past two years it had been something just to get
through.

"How did
you know about that?" she asked. "Have you been following me around
and spying on where I go?"

"I pay the
bills on line, remember?" Jerry grumbled. "What's coming next? A
$10,000 face lift, maybe a pair of $15,000 silicone implants."

"Well,
no," Andrea said, "I'm satisfied with my face. And what I have
here," she said, covering her breasts with her hands, drawing his eyes
down, ''is enough to fill a man’s hands to overflowing, if you remember."
Seeing his jaws clench, she gave him a furtive smile, and added, "I'm
surprised you noticed my legs."

"How could
I not, with your shorts sucked halfway up your butt?" Jerry retorted.

"I was sitting
on the exercycle," Andrea said, in reference to her wearing shorts.
"You could not possibly have seen my butt!"

"The
moment you saw your Italian stud on deck you sprinted off the machine,"
Jerry said. "Your butt was definitely showing. But you knew it when you
wore skin-tight shorts that would show off your liposuctioned thighs to your
Italian lover."

Ignoring the
dig, Andrea gave Jerry a rueful smile, and said, "If I'm not mistaken,
sugar pie
, I'd swear you're
jealous."

Jerry gave a
short snort. "If I were jealous,
sweetheart
,
it wouldn't be over an Italian gigolo who'll drop you like a hot potato as soon
as he's through taking you for all you're worth. And if he doesn't get enough
out of the divorce settlement you'll be getting from me, he can dip into the Ellison
fortune. It's a much deeper pocket."

Andrea snatched
her elbow from Jerry's grip and folded her arms across her midriff,
then
realizing it pushed her breasts higher out of the
dress, unfolded them again. "You can't stand it that Alessandro's a decent
man who's attracted to me," she said. "I told him about us today and
he was very understanding."

Jerry let out a
little grunt of derision. "I'll just bet he was."

"Look, we
agreed to call a truce for today," Andrea said. "Can't you at least
try to be courteous? I did give you the best years of my life. You can't deny
that."

For a few
moments Jerry said nothing,
then
he sucked in a long
slow breath, and said while exhaling, "You're right. For the girls I'd do
about anything."

As they rode in
the horse-drawn buggy that had been waiting for them at the docks, compliments
of the girls, Andrea could feel Jerry's eyes returning to where the dress
revealed a deep cleavage and a sizeable amount of flesh. She also knew the
swell of her breasts were bouncing and jiggling as the buggy traversed the
bumpy road.

Jerry confirmed
that by saying, "A middle-aged woman displaying her goods doesn't suit
you. Besides, that dress is out of style."

Andrea wondered
about that. The dress was at least eight years old, if not older... several
years out of style. She'd brought it on the cruise to rankle Jerry. And it did.
But now she felt an urge to tug on the top and pull it up to her chin. "If
it bothers you, look the other way." He did, and for some reason that disturbed
Andrea more than if he'd been staring with disdain.

"Where are
we going?" Jerry asked, in a curt voice.

"The fax
said to some kind of zoological garden," Andrea replied, "though I
don’t know why the girls planned that for us. Going to a zoo isn't exactly a romantic
hideaway."

"Maybe
they're psychic," Jerry said. "Figured we'd feel at home in a
zoo."

"I thought
we agreed to cut the snide remarks."

Jerry let out a
little grunt of disgust. "Our biggest mistake was going on the damn cruise
in the first place. We should have come clean with the girls and let them get
their money back. If we had, we wouldn't be on the cruise from hell."

"You said,
when we were at dinner the other night, that you were enjoying the
cruise," Andrea reminded him. "Do I detect a hint of dissatisfaction
with your sugar baby? And after all she's done to liven up your sex life."

"I'm not
even going to comment on that," Jerry snapped.

"No, I'm
sure you're not. But I'm glad I came on the cruise," Andrea said.
"For the first time in years I feel like a desirable woman."

"But you
look like a middle-aged slut with it all
coming
out."

"Tsk, tsk,
tsk. There you go again, running down my dress." She let out a little
snigger. "But like I told you when we were packing, I'm not wearing the
dress for you. But I'm sure it will be appreciated before the night is
done."

"Not until
it's in a heap on the floor of your Italian stud's stateroom," Jerry said.

"We live
in hope," Andrea replied, then turned to look out her window.

A few minutes
later they arrived at Ardastra Gardens Zoo, where the buggy driver informed
them he'd be returning for them in two hours.

Following a
sign-guided path, and making no attempt to converse, they strolled between lush
tropical plants and took in the wide variety of exotic animals. Andrea couldn't
help but wonder what this was all about. The girls arranged everything geared
for romance, yet here they were at the zoo, looking at parrots and peacocks and
black swans and a variety of exotic animals that included lemurs, kinkajous, and
capuchin monkeys. It wasn't until Andrea noticed a poster with a line-up of
pink flamingos that she realized why they were there.

"Oh my gosh!
" she exclaimed.
"It's the marching flamingos. I read about them in
Frommer's
. They're trained to march on command." She also
realized their daughters, with their father's sense of humor, set this up for
Jerry, knowing his antics would make the show that much more fun. And a little
later, when a flock of parading flamingos came marching out on command, and in
drill formation with long-legged precision, Jerry looked at Andrea and grinned.
And the usual steeliness in his eyes softened into little points of pure
pleasure.

It was a smile
Andrea hadn't seen since Scott died, the smile that came just before Jerry did
something outrageous. If it had been their twentieth anniversary, they would
have returned to their stateroom after the flamingo show, where Jerry would
have done something wacky like coming out of the bathroom stark naked, but for
a pink feather boa looped around his neck, and marching with long-leg
precision, head thrusting back-and-forth flamingo-style, butt wiggling with a
flamingo swagger, or what he'd perceive as a flamingo swagger. And after his
performance, when she would have been curled up on the bed in stitches, he'd
strip off her clothes, and with the feather boa in his hand, do it's magic on
her, dragging it across sensitive areas, tickling places he knew would drive
her crazy, teasing and touching and tasting and giving her everything she
wanted...

Jerry reached
out, as if to take her hand, then curled his palm into a fist and propped in on
his knee. "It's quite a performance," he said, the lightness of
moments before gone. "I'll send the girls a postcard." Not
we'll
send the girls a postcard, Andrea
noticed, because there was no we, although there were moments when she forgot.

"I'll send
them one too," she said, then gave a little wistful sigh.

The show over,
they returned in silence to the buggy. But from the moment it pulled up at
Pasquale's Italiane Ristorante
, the
evening went downhill. Dinner was a tense, drawn-out affair, made more so by
the fact that the girls had arranged for them to dine at a cozy Italian
restaurant with candlelit tables and roving violinists playing romantic Italian
music.

Everywhere, the
Italian theme dominated: show cases with Murano glass, furniture that might
have come out of a Tuscan farmhouse, dark-haired waiters who spoke with Italian
accents, as if Alessandro Cavallaro were everywhere to remind her, and Jerry,
where she'd be going after they returned to the ship. By the time the
lemon-grass-poached lobster salad, and
treuette
pasta with seafood, and grouper with tomato-caper sauce arrived, Andrea's
stomach was so queasy, and her throat so dry, she couldn't get it down.

Jerry picked up
on that, and commented, "You've barely touched your dinner."

"I'm not
hungry," Andrea said, dabbing at the groper with the caper sauce. She
wrote it off to nerves, and the hazel eyes that kept focusing on her breasts.
Yet, all she saw in those eyes was disdain. There had been a time when having
Jerry look at her there made her face flush, along with other physiological
changes. He'd get that twinkle in his eye, and the little crooked smile on his
lips, and he'd make a comment that would have her feeling like the most
desirable woman on earth. And she had been to Jerry back then. She knew without
question his eyes had only been for her. He'd never been a man to stray...

"Well, I'm
not hungry either," Jerry said. "We might as well go back to the
ship. This whole day's been hell." Andrea couldn't deny that.

By the time
they returned to the ship, where Alessandro would have cocktails waiting for
her in his stateroom, the idea of taking a lover had lost its appeal and Andrea
didn't know why. Jerry had been a complete ass from the time they left for
dinner, they'd barely spoken three words without shooting verbal darts at each
other, and the singular moment of pure delight they'd shared when the flamingos
came marching out had been so brief, she couldn't visualize the look on Jerry's
face now. But maybe her mindset would change when she saw Alessandro, she
decided, as she closed herself in her stateroom to freshen up.

With a drink to
settle her nerves, and Alessandro's words of admiration to help her forget
the anniversary from hell
, she might be
ready to shed her inhibitions and let nature take its course.

Still, the
image of Alessandro's lips where only Jerry's had been was troubling...

A rapid
knocking made her jump with a start. She opened the door to find Jerry standing
there, eyes cold, face hard. He walked past her while unbuttoning his shirt.
"I'm still your husband," he said, "and I have certain conjugal
rights I expect you to honor."

Saying nothing,
Andrea closed the door and turned to face him...

Jerry wasted no
time shrugging out of his shirt and pulling off his trousers and briefs
together. There was no question he was aroused. When Andrea made no attempt to
undress, he took her roughly by the shoulders and turned her around, and in one
quick tug, unzipped her dress and stripped it from her body, leaving her
standing only in her pants, since the sundress had a built-in bra. She turned
to face him.

Feeling aroused
at the sight of him, but too furious at the situation to want to act on it, she
said, in a caustic tone, "Well, go ahead. Do whatever you want with me.
It's your conjugal right."

When he did
nothing, just stood staring at her, she said, with irony, "Am I supposed
to do some sexual gymnastics? Or maybe some sort of strip tease?" She let
out a little wry chuckle. "There's really not much to strip off though, is
there? Then maybe I'm supposed to do something like this—" she cupped her
breasts and said in a breathy voice, "Don't these please you,
sugar pie
." When he still said
nothing, she added, "You'll have to help me out here,
honey bun
. I'm new to the sugar bowl scene."

Jerry stared at
her, eyes yet colder, face yet harder. Which made Andrea even angrier that he'd
come to her,
demanding
she take care
of his problem. But when she let her eyes roam down his body she noted that
what had been thrusting up a few moments before was losing shape.

Raising her
eyes to his face, she said, "From the looks of it,
sugar pie
, you need your sugar baby's expertise. You've gone all
soft on me—" she mimicked Val. "But then, we older women don't have
what it takes, do we? I mean, these are beginning to sag a bit—" she
pressed the tips of her index fingers to her breasts. "But for $15,000, I
could be as stacked as Val, though I don't know what you do with all the
excess, how you contain it all in your hands," she said, humiliated that
he'd forced her to stand in front of him, a middle-aged woman past her prime,
while he was clearly comparing her to Val.