The Do-Over (23 page)

She reached for the cheery red kitchen towel and dried her hands as she faced him. “I didn’t announce you were being audited by the IRS, Dan. I just said—”

He held up a hand. “I heard what you said, Janie. It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He’d been surprised that his wife wanted to have sex. That didn’t seem like a good sign for either of them. “You didn’t get any of the clues?” She indicated her cleavage and legs.

She watched the defensive look he wore anytime he was called into question start its march across his face. “You’ve been dressing like that ever since you ran off to Canada.”

“I’ve only worn this bra twice!” She thought about it for a moment. “Three times. But I didn’t have perfume on before.”

“Forgive me for not putting that puzzle together. I’m a guy, Janie.”

“No you’re not and while I’m here everybody calls me Mara.”

He took a step closer. “Not a guy?” He began to circle the room like a pacer with an inner ear problem.

She rounded out of the kitchen, pushed her breasts out, and yelled. “A guy would have been all over this.”

“Oh! You have experience with that now, too? I thought you’d switch teams and just made out with girls!”

“Renny is a woman.” She cringed as the words left her mouth. What kind of defense was that?

“What kind of defense is that?” he yelled.

Dan yelling at her wasn’t going to get either of them where she wanted to go. She raised both hands chest high and slowly lowered them, breathing out as she did. “We’ve lost focus here. This isn’t complicated. I want to have sex. With you.”

He snorted, and she ignored it. “I don’t see why we can’t. We’re married. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

He dipped his head to the floor, but she couldn’t tell if he was contemplating the offer, or collecting himself for the next round of lesbian accusations. His head snapped up. “Okay.”

She took a step back. That was it? You just ask a guy and get a yes? Could it really be that easy?

He closed the distance between them, put his hands on her upper arms and drew her closer for a kiss. A nice kiss. Like always. Pleasant. Predictable. Not at all like the one he’d given her when she’d stapled his shirt to the floor. That was what she wanted more of. She pulled back, his hands remaining warm on her arms. “You’ve gotta call me Mara.”

He murmured a distracted consent and leaned in for another kiss, but she moved her head back, licked her lips. “I don’t think it should be the same either.”

He dipped in for another kiss then pulled back. “What?”

“I want something different.”

“Different like how?”

“Not, you know, the same way we’ve always done it.”

He took a deep breath, exhaled, as if to calm himself. “We’ve experimented with several positions over the years, J… Mara.”

She smiled, gave him a kiss for calling her Mara, but his lips didn’t say
kiss me again
.
Explain yourself, Mara Jane Mulligan
, that’s what his lips were saying. She didn’t think she could explain because she didn’t exactly know what she meant by different. It wasn’t as simple as top, bottom, sideways or in an elevator. It was a feeling she wanted. A feeling of… “I’m on a vacation from my life. Let’s have a vacation from our regular sex life. Let’s just approach it in a whole new way.”

His hands dropped to his sides. “You want me to dress up like a sheik or something? Are you gonna get a trapeze and expect me to engage in circus sex? Exactly what is involved in this unusual sex?”

Well, the sheik thing had never crossed her mind, although it had potential, but clearly he didn’t mean it. “I never said
unusual
. I said
different
, and I don’t even know what circus sex is. Nobody needs a trapeze here, just a willing spirit. And you don’t have one.”

“And you,” he pointed at her, his finger straying to her chest, “and your breasts, don’t have a partner.”

How dare he? Hadn’t he made vows about it? “You’re my husband.”

His mouth flew open in outrage, and she pointed back at him. “Now you know what you sound like.
You’re my wife. I’m out of facial tissue. Return home at once.
” She watched a vein throb at his temple and hoped it gave him a big ass headache like the one he was giving her.

“And home is exactly where I will have sex with you. Our house. Our bed.” He headed for the door and slammed it behind him with force. He really was in great shape. She watched it practically rock on its hinges and realized she was over-breathing again. Her breasts were goddamn heaving, heaving with no one there to admire them. If Dan thought he’d get off that easily, when she hadn’t gotten off at all, he was sorely mistaken. She ran across the loft, swung open the door and slammed it herself just for the pleasure of it. She hurried down the stairs and out onto the street, spotting Dan’s car as it took off.

She waved her arms and yelled. “Open your eyes!” But, of course, he didn’t look in the rear view mirror. Hadn’t he dented the back bumper of the mini van two years before when he struck their garbage can? He never looked back and damn him if he didn’t suck at looking forward too.

“Everything okay?”

Her head whipped around to John and Celia on the sidewalk in front of Abundance. She felt the burning heat of a muscle in the side of her neck. Damn, she hated when that happened.

“I’m fine.” She held her hand against the sore muscle and tilted her head side to side to loosen it up. “A little self-induced whiplash.”

Celia radiated concern. “I hate when that happens.” But John moved closer, pulled her hand away, and she felt his long fingers rub her neck. She panicked. She purred. She couldn’t believe how good his hands were. Panic returned to keep her out of trouble, and she tried to pull away, but her body didn’t actually move.

Celia jingled her car keys. “Okay. Glad you’re okay.”

She tried to plead with Celia with weak-willed puppy eyes. It seemed like the right level of pathetic, especially when John’s warm hands continued to rub away the pain, and her body pulsed and swayed. Celia seemed to miss the pleading, so before she completely lost consciousness, she mouthed, “save me.”

To Celia’s credit, she only appeared confused for a second and then leapt to the task, grabbing Mara’s arm and dragging her down the sidewalk toward her car. Dragging her, Mara was ashamed to admit, because she didn’t leave John willingly.

“See ya, John,” Celia called out with great cheer, “Mara and I had plans to go out.”

Mara gave a half-hearted wave but didn’t turn to him again as Celia bundled her into a late model import and started the engine. It chirped and then turned over. Mara knew she’d been on the edge of more trouble. She leaned against the headrest, closed her eyes. “Thanks, Celia.”

“Sure, I was done since the shipping crew’s on. But, you know, I never thought of John as bugging anybody, you know, that way. He’s great to work for.”

Mara’s eyes opened. “It wasn’t sexual
harassment
, Celia.”

Celia checked her rearview mirror as she switched lanes, and Mara couldn’t help but think that if Dan possessed that skill, she wouldn’t have needed rescue or a thousand dollars worth of body work on the mini van.

Celia slowed, thinking interfering with her driving. “Oh.”

Mara felt herself blush. She was an idiot, and it was beyond embarrassing to know that a recent high school graduate had her act more together. “So, listen, you can drop me anywhere. I could use the walk.”

Celia turned to her, and Mara saw a flash of disappointment before she faced the road again.

“Unless you want to go somewhere?” Mara asked.

“That’d be great!” Celia grinned at her. “Where should we go?”

“You’re from here. I’ve only been a couple of places, really. A strip club. A lesbian bar.”

“Wow,” Celia whispered the word.

“Well, it’s not like the bar is just for lesbians or anything, and they have live music.”

“Good music?” Celia asked with a different tone than Mara had heard before. She hadn’t asked like a sweet, easily impressed girl. She’d asked like a musician.

“I thought it was really, really good.” She smiled as Celia straightened at the wheel.

“Where do I go from here?”

Renny finished the set to a small but appreciative gathering and made her way to where Mara and Celia drank pink things with umbrellas. It had taken Celia a while to convince her that at nineteen she could legally drink. Canada remained a land full of opportunity.

“You’ve replaced me already?” Renny gave Mara her cat look.

Mara tried for a casual laugh despite the powerful feeling of… envy, she realized. She was definitely lusting for an ounce of Renny’s to hell with everything spirit. The woman had style and strength. “Celia, Renny. Celia works at Abundance, but she’s really a singer.”

Renny waved for a drink and took a seat.

“You’re very good.” Celia didn’t gush or flower-up her praise. She said it simply as if she was qualified, and there it was.

“You any good?” Renny challenged, her toughness enough to make Mara nervous for Celia. Sweet, tender Celia. Her impulse was to build the girl up so she didn’t crumble or dismiss herself, but Celia just smiled and let Renny know the answer was yes. In response, Renny hooked her thumb toward the stage and shrugged as if she didn’t care. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Celia lifted the mic up to her mouth, shifted a little on the stool, and the woman at the piano played some slow jazz. Celia appeared completely relaxed there in the spotlight, listening to the music, ready to begin, but Mara felt like her heart jumped further up her body every time it pumped. She swallowed to get it out of her throat.

Celia took a breath, and there it was. Her voice was so lovely as it quietly moved through the place even the bartender stopped in the middle of a drink order, setting an empty glass back down on the bar.

Celia’s upper body swayed as she became even more involved in the music, singing about being on the sentimental side. She didn’t possess the polish Renny had, and she’d need it to take that voice out into the world, but god she had something great.

Renny studied Celia, Mara could tell by the way her head tipped to the side. She looked like an Olympic judge, one from a tough country. Not an unfair audience, like a Soviet during the cold war critiquing an American. Renny was more like a German judge getting ready to give the kind of no-nonsense assessment a real professional would embrace. Mara would have said her voice was laced with brandy. It seemed like the kind of thing said about a voice like Celia’s, and Mara was pretty sure it was brandy. She herself had never been a fan of brandy and probably couldn’t identify it in a line-up with its cousins, but Celia did have something rich and wonderful in her voice, a quality that Mara would just have to rely on Renny to explain to her. And when the last notes slipped away, she heard herself sigh, glad she’s witnessed it. “Is she as good as I think she is?”

Celia disappeared into a group of women by the stage, and Mara watched Renny stare at the microphone. “Better.”

She felt a share of the success, like watching something great could elevate the witness too. “She doesn’t have your presence.”

“She has her own.”

“Hmmm.” Mara considered that Celia’s strength just might be being Celia.

Renny seemed to still be thinking about what she’d just heard. “She’ll put it all together. A little pitchy from nerves. She could learn a thing or two about phrasing, working the audience more, but still keeping that distance to make you feel like you’ve overheard her singing alone. It works for her.”

“You sound like a teacher.”

Renny’s head jerked up in surprise. “I’m no teacher.”

Mara shrugged, waited in silence. She herself was a teacher, and more importantly, a mother. She could sometimes get Logan to find his way to her conclusion. The key was to keep silent long enough. She’d never tried it on an adult before. A minute passed as they watched Celia move away from her fans only to be waved over to another group.

“Not all women are born to be caretakers.” Renny said the word
caretaker
like someone else might have said
crack whore
, and Mara had to stop herself from pointing out the differences between crack whores and caretakers. Surely there were many.

“She can’t sing here anyway.”

Of course. It was Renny’s place to sing. It was her standing gig, and Mara hadn’t even given that any thought. Jealousy just didn’t seem like something Renny would bother with.

“She’s too straight for the place.”

“Oh.” Not jealous. Mara had been right about that. And wasn’t thinking of the student another sign of a good teacher? But Renny had also said
too straight
. “Hey, how come I’m not too straight for the place?”

“You’re confused, and that’s a fertile field, girl. We’re giving you a chance to see the light.”

She felt her mouth hang open then saw the amusement on Renny’s face. God, it was funny. And true. Her laugh held a subtle cry. “I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing.”

Celia approached the edge of the table, her face appearing younger than usual, if that was possible. She looked like she was waiting for Renny’s verdict. And Renny took her time. “Not bad.”

Celia let out her breath, gushed like the Celia she knew. “Wow, thanks!”

Renny acknowledged Celia’s excitement with a tired sigh. “I can’t help you.”

Celia shook her head. “Just singing in front of real people was so great.” She seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet. “Thank you.”

Renny rolled her eyes. “Oh, for christ sake, sit down.”

For at least an hour Renny ran through all the reasons she couldn’t help Celia, and Celia nodded like a golden retriever just pleased she’d had one shot at fetching the ball.

Renny became crankier as her reasons got lamer, and Mara loved every minute of it. It reminded her how she’d felt when she’d first started teaching, hesitant to fall entirely into it, but then she’d embraced the calling, the creativity of it, she supposed, the challenge of problem solving. Every day held the questions of how to get their attention, how to keep it, and what did they need to move past their frustration with new material. Even grading papers had been interesting. It was work but part of a good process. She’d highlighted what they’d done well to get them to celebrate their own triumphs.