Chapter Two
1023 Words
Chapter Two
Bryan Joyce fixed his tie while looking into the cracked mirror over the four-drawer chest in the sparse hotel room. He gazed back at the chaos of sheets on the hammock bed and smiled. Paige left with a winsome grin and an air of satisfaction he was glad to see on her face.
They were purposefully clouding the affair in mystery, allowing themselves to risk a good deal by not trading the truth about their lives. He preferred it that way; gave him thousands of possibilities for her biography. Perhaps he’d just pick one each time they met, and he could live out his fantasies through her.
She was sumptuous against the sheets, her olive skin and rich dark eyes and shoulder length curls. He could imagine her smiling at him as he stood there. He wished for another glimpse of her, so insubstantial she was; he had no certainty that there would be another time, even if they’d made their date. A week was a long time away.
Funny, he hadn’t thought about Scott Hemmingway in months. Not that there was a reason to think of him, except that he ran across his name in the society pages, dating some hot femme fatale and whispers were flying. He must have seen him since the last time he landed in a sleazy motel with Paige Knox, but he couldn’t remember when. If “tycoon” described a man, it certainly described Scott Hemmingway, with his riches paraded lavishly, yet tastefully, anywhere he went. Inadvertently, this tycoon was responsible for Kate in Bryan’s life. She’d come to him on a business deal instigated by Scott; and he’d immediately fallen in love with everything about her. The business deal went sour, but the love affair remained. Now, Scott Hemmingway was responsible for Paige Knox in his life. Maybe someday, he should take the time to thank him.
This would be an odd affair, if it continued: two ordinary people screwing like teenagers in dive motels, not bothering to converse, just great s*x, and nothing more. Bryan had an image of people who did such things, but it had never been the image he had of himself. But then, maybe these near anonymous meetings were all he could handle.
The accident, Kate careening out of control in the Mercedes, going off the side of a hill. When he found her, there was just the cut above her eye, and a line of blood dripping onto her blue suit. Her scattered blonde hair looked as seductive as the last time they made love. But the expression on her lifeless face was hardly filled with softness. Perhaps it was horror, just before she died. Perhaps she’d seen the end in the instant before the impact and was terrorized by the fact that she wouldn’t live but for a few fleeting instants. Just three weeks ago, there were tulips and hyacinths and daffodils all over her coffin, appropriate of Kate to die in the spring when all her favorite flowers were blooming.
Would Paige know she was comforting a grieving man? Should she know? No questions. No self revelations. That was what they had decided. How many people had been offering their condolences? He could hardly turn the corner and not meet friends, acquaintances, and relatives with sorrowful faces. Maybe that’s why he liked seeing Paige’s animated face. She had no reason to change her attitude with him the way everyone else did.
At the door to the Lovejoy Terrace room, he caught the last glimpse of the rumpled sheets. That shining look on her soft face would remain with him for days.
It was late afternoon, and there was sunshine and warm air. No fog today. Was this a sign, maybe something new was reborn in him?
Bryan pulled the Land Rover into the short driveway of the bleached white city house. The garage popped open and he drove inside. Heidi, his cocker spaniel, was already in the garage, having zoomed down the stairs as soon as she heard the car on the block. What a watch dog, he thought to himself for the hundredth time.
“Here, girl!” he shouted. “Don’t you go out there, you know better,” he scolded the tawny colored animal back inside. He pushed the button on the automatic door and took the stairs quickly, with Heidi at his heels.
The rooms in the house needed airing; the day’s sun heated everything inside to scalding. One quick breath of fresh air at the first window he opened, and he smiled; he could smell the salt from the prevailing wind off the ocean. It would be a cool night.
The answering machine beeped on with the touch of his finger.
Mom . . .
Beep. “Bry, you’re invited to dinner, let me know by five.”
Bet Morris . . .
Beep. “Bryan, this is Bet, thought you might like a walk on the beach; we’re having a hot dog roast tonight, hoping the weather’s nice. Watch the sunset. Give me a call.”
George . . .
Beep. “Bry, where are you? If you’re there, damn, it pick up. I’ll be pissed as hell if you’re sitting in there listening to messages.”
Mom . . .
Beep. “Haven’t heard from you dear? You usually call, I’m making enough pot roast, so you can just drop by if you like. Don’t bother calling. Where are you anyway?”
Bryan went to the kitchen and pulled a batch of homemade spaghetti sauce from the refrigerator. He put on a pot of water to boil the pasta, and dumped the sauce in a saucepan. He was thinking of Paige. Her rounded body, and small waist, and the way she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, and then tugged a little until he yelled. He was thinking of pressing his lips against her full red painted ones, and moving all around her body in dozens of positions. He ate his dinner remembering every position, one at a time. It was a gymnastic feat. Of course, Paige was very limber.
The spaghetti tasted better than when he’d made it three days before. The flavors must have mixed well; he hoped he’d remember this particular concoction the next time.
While he was having dinner there were two more garbled messages on the machine. After the last one, he turned off the volume so he’d have the evening in peace.
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