Chapter 8

Michael

The driver is waiting for me, and as I slide into the back seat of the limo, I feel a different kind of challenge. One that I’ve never encountered before. I like her. No, I mean I really like her. I talked myself into a corner, though, by not speaking up about having any money. This early in the game, I know it would be a game ender deal breaker, and that’s why I kept it to myself. The problem is, how am I going to manage to see her again without her eventually finding out who I am? By that time, she won’t be able to forgive my deception, and that will hurt—her as well as me. It is one of these moments when I wish I have a couple of close guy friends, to ask their opinions. Of course, most of the guys I know wouldn’t be quite so sensitive. They’d tell me just to bang her and get it over with. She is worth so much more than that.

I think about it on the way back to the office and throughout the rest of the afternoon. That evening, I find a little bar that I frequent from time to time. Even though smoking is illegal, once you step inside, all the rules change. I order a Scotch, neat and sit on the back stool to contemplate my situation. The door opens and in come three people in their late 20s. They are each dressed in costume, and I remember there is a playhouse not far down the street. Evidently, they’ve come either during intermission or between performances from whatever is going on there, and it is interesting to see them made up so close. Theater makeup is always applied for effect from an audience distance. I can see where this stuff could really get to you as it is caked on pretty thickly. I overhear them talking about the playhouse down the street, and that’s when I get the million-dollar idea.

“Excuse me,” I say in their direction. “I’m making an assumption here, but are the three of you actors?”

“Sure, all of us are,” one of the men answers. “Do you happen to be looking to hire some actors?” One of the others nudges him, and they all laugh at the silly idea.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” I have their attention instantly. “I can’t use all of you, and maybe none of you, but maybe you know someone.”

“Tell us about the gig,” the third one says.

“Well, I’ve got myself in a bit of a fix. The position would be more than a one-time performance, but I really have no long idea how long it would go on. I need someone who can pretend to be my aunt. She can’t be in heavy makeup or look phony in any way. She’s gotta look totally legit. It will pay well; she’ll live at my estate, and I promise you, it’s a very nice one. I’ll live in the guest house on the property, and all she has to do is pretend to be my aunt. Do you happen to know anyone who might be interested?”

The first one looks at the other two, and the three of them nod in unison. “Olivia,” they all say.

“Olivia?”

“Yeah, she’s a friend of ours. We worked with her before. In fact, I think the last thing we did was Mame. She played the title role,” replies the middle guy.

“Interesting. Actually, that sounds just about what I’m looking for. Where would I find this Olivia?”

“Not sure where she’s staying right now. She moves around. We can find her, though. Is there a way she can contact you?” The third one seems to be the one who knows the most.

I hand him my card. “The address is on there.” I turn the card over and write my personal cell number. “She can reach me at that number.”

“Cool,” he says with a nod and pockets the card. “Sure you don’t need any brothers or maybe a distant cousin?”

“No. One aunt will be fine. Thanks, though.” I drink up and leave the bar. I take the long way home, out to Star Island where I live. Calling the office, I tell them to do without me for the rest of the day. Mort is standing in the kitchen at the stove when I walk into the house.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he greets me, dressed comically in a checkered apron.

“Hey, there, Mort. You’re looking fetching,” I tease him.

“Thank you, sir. I’ve been reading cookbooks and decided to try my hand. I hope I may depend upon you to be my guinea pig.”

“I’d rather you just be my secretary, but if we must eat your British fare, we must,” I josh him. Everyone knows that British food has the reputation of being tasteless and unappetizing. He glares at me a bit without making it obvious, and I go into my study to wait until dinner is ready. I’m not terribly hungry. It seems like all I’ve done all day was have lunch and drinks. MacKenzie is definitely on my mind.

I’ve just settled into my leather chair when my cell buzzes. I pick it up, answering.

“Is this Michael?” It is a voice I’m not familiar with. It is an older woman, and she uses a very cultured accent.

“Yes, this is he. How may I help you?”

“I understand from a few friends of mine that you’re looking for someone to play your aunt?”

“I am, indeed. I have a situation in my personal life that requires the appearance of my wealthy aunt. Is this something you would be interested in?”

“Indeed, I would. Especially if room and board are included.”

“Yes, they are. I’d like to interview you. Would you be available this afternoon yet?”

“Sure. Tell me where you live.”

“Why don’t you give me the address where you are? I’ll send my driver for you?”

“Excellent.” She gives me an address that isn’t very distant from the bar where I met her friends. I call my driver and send him in her direction. Mort checks in on me once or twice, curious as to what I’m up to. I have to give him credit. Whatever he’s cooking, it smells good. If this woman looks promising, I’ll invite her to stay for dinner.

Mort is back shortly thereafter. “Sir, sorry, but there is a woman at the door asking for you.”

“Bring her in.” I don’t elaborate, and I can see it hurts his feelings a bit. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Olivia Steadman is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. She looks like she stepped out of the movie Sunset Boulevard, although she seems to be perfectly sane. She’s wearing a colorful caftan, her hair a mixture of gray and bleached blonde bound on top of her head, wrapped inside a turban. I can only see the part directly above her forehead.

“How do you do, Ms. Steadman?”

“How do you know my last name?”

“I make it my business to know who I’m dealing with. I made a few calls while you were on your way out.”

“I see.”

“Please, won’t you sit down?” I offer her the chair opposite my desk. She settles herself into the leather depths, arranging the folds of her gown into what she considers an attractive fashion. She pushes back a lock of hair that had escaped her turban, and I see her long, painted nails and massively over-sized costume jewelry. She looks to the side and spots my little built-in bar.

“I don’t suppose there might be a little sherry in that selection?” she indicates with one long, red-tinted nail.

“Of course. Let me get it for you.” I pour her a small glass of sherry and hand it to her, a strong waft of toilet water overcoming me. The woman is down on her luck, there’s no doubt about that. She could probably play any role I ask her to, but I only need her for one.

“So, Ms. Steadman. Let me explain. There is a young lady who has recently entered my life. I won’t use any names as of yet, but you would meet her soon. She, for whatever reason, has decided she’s not interested in dating anyone who has wealth or connections. I may have misrepresented myself a little, and now I find myself liking her more than I’d expected, but I’m trapped by my own, well, we’ll politely call it deception.”

“Boy, I’ve never heard this one before. It’s usually the other way around,” she says, holding up her glass for a refill.

I accommodate her and leave the bottle on the edge of the desk. “So, I’m interested in hiring a woman such as yourself to stay here on my estate in the main house and to pretend that you are my aunt. It would be represented that the estate belongs to you, and as your beloved nephew, you permit me to stay in the guest house on the edge of the property. In return, I look after you, and other than that, we would lead separate lives. If the charade is successful, I want to date this young lady and will, at some point, find a way to tell her the truth.”

“You’re going to look for a way to get out of your bullshit, is that right?”

“Well, you’ve got a unique way of putting it, but pretty much, yes, that’s right. I don’t know her well enough yet to know how I can do that, which is why I need to buy some time.”

“And what happens to me if she doesn’t buy your bullshit?”

“Then your engagement in this house would come to an end, the curtain would fall. I would compensate you well for your time and trouble, and you would be on your way.”

“How about the butler?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The guy who let me in the front door?”

“Mort? He’s my secretary. He also fancies himself a chef, as well as a number of other positions. He shares the house here with me and would act as your butler when this young lady happens to be in the area. Would you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all. Is he married?”

“I’m afraid if you want details about Mort, you’ll need to ask him directly. So, I detect a very faint accent. Are you capable of presenting yourself as being from a moneyed set, let’s say from New York?”

“Well, of course. I’m an actress, after all.” She answers me in the perfect accent, and I know I’ve found the right woman, quite by accident, quite by luck.

“I should let you know, I’ve already done a background check on you, and while there are some shady things in your past, I don’t see anything there that would interfere with what I’m looking for. Are you interested in the position?”

“What does it pay?”

“You will be well compensated.” I mention a hefty sum, and the greed in her eyes is evident across my desk.

“When do I begin?”

“Well, I’ll send my driver to take you home and collect your belongings. If you would like to move in tomorrow morning, that will be fine.”

“How about tonight?”

“I’m guessing that your circumstances are rather limited at the moment?”

“Your mama didn’t have any dummies,” she shoots back. I like her. She is brassy but honest. I think we can get along well. She has enough character that we could improvise and make it look like she’s just highly eccentric. “The job is yours.”

“What’s for dinner?”

I look over her shoulder to see Mort standing in the doorway. “Yes, Mort?”

“Dinner is served, sir.”

“Excellent. Would you please set one more place for Ms. Steadman? Of course, let’s do this the right way. From now on, I will refer to her as Aunt Olivia, and you can call her Olivia.”

Mort’s eyebrows shoot up, but he’s too well-mannered to question me in front of our guest.

“Very well, sir. Ms. Steadman, may I show you to the dining room?” Mort is a stubborn cuss, but very good at politely showing when he’s pissed off.

Olivia sets down the brandy glass and with a flourish of her long sleeves, rises to her feet. Her nose rises upward, and in a very authentic Katherine Hepburn accent, she says, “By all means. Shall we go in?” With that, she sweeps past Mort and seems to find the dining room simply using her sense of smell.

I follow behind and hold a finger to my lips to silence Mort’s questions. “I’ll tell you later,” I tell him softly. In a louder voice I say, “Mort, that actually smells pretty good. Are you sure you didn’t order it in and dish it out on plates?”

“No, sir. I prepared it myself.”

“Is it safe to eat?” Olivia asks. I like her already. Mort doesn’t answer. We sit down, the three of us, at the table as Mort serves a delicious platter of Caribbean food. It is spicy, but delicious. “Not too bad,” Olivia comments, and Mort gives her a sidelong glare. I can already tell there’s going to be trouble between these two.

What I didn’t know is what kind of trouble it would be.

“Mort, Ms. Steadman will be moving in with us. I’ll be giving her the room at the head of the stairs. You should know I’m moving out to the guesthouse. There is a reason behind this madness, and I’m asking your cooperation. It’s important to me that Ms. Steadman, who shall from this point forward be known as Aunt Olivia Daughtry, be accorded the respect and position she’d have if she truly were my aunt and owner of this property. I have a reason for wanting this relationship to be believable, and I’m pretty sure you’ll catch on before too long.”

“It has something to do with that girl, doesn’t it, sir?”

“See how quickly you catch on, Mort?”

Olivia stands up at the table and looks at me. “If your driver will take me home now, I’ll be back soon with my belongings.” I nod and communicate such to the driver who pulls up promptly to the front of the house to collect her. I watch the car glide down the driveway and turn to face the fireworks. They are not long in coming.

“Sir, perhaps I do not deserve an explanation, but I must say sir that I cannot understand what you are about. This makes it difficult for me to adequately support you, and I must reserve my own thoughts on this until such time as it becomes clear.”

“I understand, Mort. I don’t blame you. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

I leave Mort to his ruminating and go upstairs to pack a few bags of my personal belongings. I carry these to the guesthouse and am relieved that I had taken the time to modernize and redecorate that building. It will serve as my personal residence for the time being, and hopefully, I’ll be able to get Mac to come and be with me there.

I watch from the window as the limo returns, dropping Aunt Olivia, as I would come to call her, at the main house. I depend upon Mort’s good manners to see her upstairs and help her get settled. They’ll have to fend for themselves.

I’m up early the next morning and have already formulated my plan. It doesn’t require much detective work to discover where Mac will be working. I know she will begin on Monday, and that leaves me four days to normalize the home situation. I make sure that when she arrives on Monday morning, there is a massive bouquet of tropical flowers and a card from me, congratulating her on her new job. It will also include my personal cell number and an invitation to call me. With that accomplished, I sit back to wait.

Sure enough, at the end of the day on Monday, she calls.

“Michael?”

“Hi, there.”

“The flowers are absolutely gorgeous. You shouldn’t have gone to such expense.”

“I’m not exactly a pauper, and it gave me a lot of pleasure to do that for you.”

“Well, they are gorgeous.”

“So, would it be presumptuous of me to say that your number came up on caller ID, and I just added it to my contact list?”

She giggles, and I find it charming. “I’d like that.”

“Do you like to text?”

“Of course. Especially late at night when I’m under the covers.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“That depends on whether you want it to be.”

I love this stage of relationships. This back-and-forth flirting talk where neither one takes the other one seriously until you’ve reached a point where you both recognize you’ve been serious all along.

“I did, indeed. So, what do you say that I meet you under the covers tonight about 10 o’clock?”

“I’d say I’d love that. I’ll wait for your call.” She disconnects, and it feels like the light has gone out of the room. I have three hours to kill before we speak again. I can’t wait.

* * *

Okay, I’ll admit it. I went to bed early. I haven’t done this since I was a young boy with an exam the next morning. This is certainly much more pleasant to look forward to.

I find I like staying in the guest house. The main house is overly big, especially before Mort came to live with me. This is more my size, and the tale of The Three Bears comes to mind. While it is great to have Mort fussing around the house, I also like my privacy, and so now I have the best of both worlds. Well, almost. There’s a certain young lady I’d still like to weave into the story.

Now, I’m lying here and considering the proper dress for texting with someone from beneath the covers. There’s no one around, so I hop out of the bed and strip, then slide back beneath the covers. I make a vow not to touch myself. That would be breaking some unseen rules, I’m quite sure. This isn’t, after all, a sexting call.

I’m watching the digital clock on my bed stand. Time has never been a quantitative thing for me—I’ve never had to punch a clock. Now each second seems to be a sealed box, full of mystique, and too heavy to lift for opening. At last, the magic digits roll up.

I touch her name in my contacts list. It simply reads, “MacKenzie.”

“Hello?” Her voice is sweeter on the phone than in person if such a thing is possible.

“It’s Michael.”

She giggles. “I know. You came up on my caller I.D.”

“Am I calling too late?”

“No, we agreed on 10:00, didn’t we?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’ve never really done this, and I’m feeling like an idiot with nothing to say.”

“Well, can I mention something?” she asks.

“Sure!”

“I thought we were going to text, not talk on the phone?”

Shit! “Oh, my God, do I ever feel like an idiot now! Hey, I’ll tell you the truth. I was just looking forward to talking with you and forgot. Is that a crime?”

“No, not a crime, but have you ever texted before?”

“Just business.”

“Hmm … it can be a fun experience, you know. A little liberating?”

“Want me to hang up and text?”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she says, being cooperative and spontaneous.

“Okay, screw it. I should have texted. This is nothing like how I normally get to know someone.”

“How do you usually do it?”

I have to think a second. There is a lot riding on my answer. “Truth? Maybe over a drink, a dance at a club, dinner …”

“That’s what I thought. So, what did you decide?”

“Decide?”

“Want to talk or text?”

“I’ll hang up now and text.”

“Bye.”

My heart is hammering, and I get up and go into the bathroom and get a drink of water before calling back. I feel like a supreme idiot.

MICHAEL: You there?

MAC: Yes

MICHAEL: Sorry, such an idiot

MAC: It’s okay. Thought you might like to try this. I’ll be gentle since it’s your first time.

MICHAEL: Thanks … I think? Do you go by Mac?

MAC: That’s what most people call me

MICHAEL: I never asked. You really aren’t married, are you?

MAC: Nope. You?

MICHAEL: No. Almost, once. But that’s long over.

MAC: What happened?

MICHAEL: She changed her mind.

I don’t want to tell her the whole sordid story this early on, even though she deserves to know. I’m beginning to accrue the things I will have to tell her someday, and none of them are going to get me gold stars.

MAC: I’m sorry. Been there.

MICHAEL: You, too?

MAC: A story for another time.

MICHAEL: You excited about the job?

MAC: Mega. Had a great first day.

MICHAEL: That’s good. I know you’ll be great at it.

MAC: Why do you say that?

MICHAEL: You’re smart, convincing, resourceful, and beautiful. That’s a golden combination.

MAC: What do you do?

Oh, crap. I knew she would ask this eventually. MICHAEL: Real estate investing.

MAC: Cool! I have a music degree (which is worthless), but it got me a job. I’ll take it.

MICHAEL: Do you have a boyfriend?

MAC: Want me to?

MICHAEL: Hell, no.

MAC: Then you’re in luck.

MICHAEL: Would you like to have one?

MAC: Maybe. Have someone in mind?

MICHAEL: How about me?

MAC: I’m smiling. You move fast.

MICHAEL: I can move faster.

MAC: I’m trying not to read anything into that.

MICHAEL: Do you like fast movers?

MAC: Oh, yeah.

MICHAEL: Lucky for you.

MAC: You’re funny. And a really nice guy – thank you again.

MICHAEL: I mean it when I say it was my pleasure.

MAC: So, tell me a secret.

MICHAEL: Why?

MAC: Silly. That’s how this works. You say things you wouldn’t if we were face to face or on the phone.

MICHAEL: How do I know I can trust you?

MAC: You can divorce me if I tell anyone.

MICHAEL: In a crazy way, that makes sense.

MAC: So?

MICHAEL: There’s one secret that comes to mind right now, but not sure I should tell.

MAC: Go ahead. The worst that can happen is you have to divorce me, remember?

MICHAEL: Shit. Okay. Here it comes.

MAC: I’m waiting … tick-tock-tick-tock.

MICHAEL: I’m naked

MAC: Jesus, you ARE fast.

MICHAEL: Now your turn.

MAC: To get naked, or tell a secret?

MICHAEL: Both

MAC: Nope, you only get one.

MICHAEL: How about naked?

MAC: Done.

MICHAEL: No shit? You’re naked right now?

MAC: Yes

MICHAEL: Wish I was there.

MAC: Really?

MICHAEL: You’d better believe it.

MAC: What would you do?

MICHAEL: Anything you like.

MAC: So, I have to be in charge of this, too?

MICHAEL: Hell, no. I want to touch you.

MAC: Where?

MICHAEL: Eventually, everywhere, but I would start with your ass.

MAC: You don’t waste time.

MICHAEL: You’re too precious to waste.

MAC: Thank?

MICHAEL: I’d cup each cheek and rub circles so my thumbs meet in the middle.

MAC: Hey, I thought this is your first time?

MICHAEL: Only texting, not making love.

MAC: Woah. You made me gush with that one.

MICHAEL: That would only be the beginning.

MAC: And what would be the end?

MICHAEL: Don’t like endings.

MAC: Me, either.

MICHAEL: Have dinner with me?

MAC: What? Where did that come from?

MICHAEL: I’ll send a car for you. Come and have dinner with me. Nothing to worry about, there are chaperones.

MAC: Who? Your dominatrix?

MICHAEL: I’m serious.

MAC: Let me think about it.

MICHAEL: What’s to think about?

MAC: I’m just starting a new job, as you know. Need to get settled in first.

MICHAEL: Dinner is after hours.

MAC: And then you have to get up.

MICHAEL: Getting up is no problem.

MAC: I knew you’d say that.

MICHAEL: Can I text you tomorrow?

MAC: Sure.

MICHAEL: And you’ll think about having dinner with me?

MAC: Sure will

MICHAEL: Goodnight, Mac (I can call you that, can’t I?).

MAC: I’d be insulted if you didn’t.

MICHAEL: Okay, I’ve loved this. Sweet dreams.

MAC: Nite, Sexy!

Jesus! I had no idea you could get so aroused just tapping keys on a phone. I’m liking it, but it’s also frustrating. If she were here in person, I’d already have her in the bed with me.

* * *

I’m losing my ability to focus. This is a problem, especially for me. I have no idea where this is coming from. I’ve had women in my life before, but there was always a pattern, a procedure that was understood ahead of time. It was customary that the lady and I would agree in advance that we were only looking for friendship and a good time. This, with Mac, is something altogether new, and I’m not prepared for it.

I have a busy work schedule today. I have to concentrate. I’m putting together the partnership for my new development, and I’m the hub of the wheel. The others all have something else going on that provides their primary income. I’m the one who needs to make this happen. So, why is it all I can think of is Mac?

I throw my pencil across the desk; it’s no longer a tool, but an aggravation. I’m staring at the phone, and I want to pick it up and send her a text. I know I can’t do that for two reasons. The first is that it will interrupt her day and she’s on a new job. The second is, I’ll never be able to stop.

It’s finally time for lunch, and I meet a couple of my prospective partners in a small restaurant in the lobby of my building. They’re laughing about something that happened on the golf course yesterday, and I’m not only not interested, I find it irritating. This feels like torture. I’m always on my game; what’s the matter with me? I’m watching them eat roast beef sandwiches, and I want to ram them down their throats. I want a stiff drink, a cool shady place, and a certain girl with long chestnut brown locks lying beneath me. This is what it feels like to go insane?

I eye my phone again, knowing I can sneak off to the men’s room and send a few quick texts. What harm can there be in that? If she’s busy, she just won’t answer. I know better than that. I’m going to restrain myself until after work.

After work comes just about 3 o’clock. I’m feeling like a kid, waiting for the bell to ring so I can leave on summer vacation. I know what’s going on. It’s the uncertainty. No one’s ever left me in this position. The women I’ve known have always been crawling over me. I never had to do anything to get their attention. This is different. Maybe it’s the way she was raised, or maybe it’s because she wants nothing from me. All I know is that something has to change. Now it’s 5 o’clock, and I can imagine her driving home. I don’t want to text her now, she’ll be driving. How long do I wait? How long does it take for her to get home? I’m feeling like a schoolboy. Telling myself to get a grip, I’m acting like a fool. I decide to take a swim, to get my mind off things.

The water’s warm, and it feels like silk against my skin. Crap! This only brings back the feelings from last night. This is no good, either. I force myself to swim ten laps, and I’m counting each and every one of them. Good! I’m done. I bail out of the pool and grab my towel. I realize I’m in full erection, and not only is there nothing I can do about it, I really don’t want to. I wrap the towel around my waist and head over to the guesthouse where I take a cold shower and fix myself a stiff drink. There’s a meal on the table for me. I guess Mort brought it over. I can’t do that to him, make him live with a strange woman he doesn’t know or particularly like. I hired her, and I should get to know her a little better. We should set up the scene, so to speak. I eye my phone again, and the same feelings of helplessness course through me.

Picking up the plate, I go up to the main house, opening the door noisily to announce myself. I can hear voices coming from the direction of the dining room, so that’s where I’m going. Mort and Aunt Olivia are at opposite ends of the table like two commanders facing off. There’s tension in the room, and I hear Aunt Olivia say, “Why on earth would you leave London to come to a godforsaken place like this?”

Mort’s face is flushed, and I figure my timing is good. I pull out a chair between them, not taking sides, and sit down. “Well, I can see we’re getting along.”

Mort doesn’t even acknowledge me. I can see his gears are turning, and I imagine he’s leaving behind his restrained upbringing to give her a piece of his mind. “Madame, I do not believe that God has forsaken this place. Simply because it’s hot makes it no closer to Hell.”

“Maybe not for you, but it is for me,” she snaps back, stabbing a piece of asparagus with her fork and popping it into her mouth like it is an exclamation point.

“Then I suppose the question might be, why are you here?” Mort appears to be satisfied with his response, and I’m getting a big kick out of this.

“The Brits are a pretty sober bunch,” she’s saying. “Not many of them are any good at playing my kind of roles. So, luckily, there are plenty of parts in my business for the colonials.” She says this last word in a tone of derision, and it only serves to mock him.

“So, what have you two done today?” I interject, hoping to draw their attention away from the big bone they’re both intent to gnaw on. They continue to ignore me. Each of them is carefully forming their next verbal bullet. I try again. “So, tell me, Aunt Olivia, a little about the performances you’ve been in.”

“I thought my audition was over,” she comments, staring a hole through a spot positioned directly between my eyes.

I’m trying to remember that she’s an actress, and therefore given to dramatics. I’m not sure that my coming up to the main house is a helpful thing. If anything, I feel the need to retreat again. I return to my dinner, picking at the asparagus. I’ll have to remember to tell Mort that I don’t like asparagus. “It looks like my new project is a go,” I say aloud and then wonder why I did it. It’s almost like I was a young boy, seeking approval from his parents. This is ridiculous. “What’s for dessert, Mort?” I need to get a grip on the situation. Who is running whom? I rephrase my question. “Mort, I’d like ice cream with strawberries, and you can bring it down to the guesthouse.” I stand up with a little more force than necessary, head to my office to grab a few flash drives, and noisily leave the house. I’ll let the two of them fight it out, but when it comes time for performance, Aunt Olivia had better be at the top of her game.

A glance at my phone tells me that it’s past dinner time now. It’s the perfect time. I completely forget about Mort bringing me dessert and fall across my bed, tapping her number.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Michael.”

She gives me that giggle again that I remembered from the previous night. “I know, Michael. You still come up on my caller ID.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Look, I want to be upfront with you. I want to see you again. Have you given any thought to joining me for dinner?”

“I’ll be upfront, too. Yes, I thought about it all day.”

“And?”

“And, I accept. When did you have in mind?”

“Tonight?”

She laughs, and it’s a musical sound again. “I’ve already eaten, you know.”

“So have I, but I want to see you.”

“Perhaps you could move to the kitchen and eat your ice cream before it melts?” Mort’s voice comes from behind me in the doorway.

“Who is that? Your dad?”

I flush, both in anger and embarrassment. “Mort, set it on the table and leave, please.”

“I guess not, at least I don’t speak to my dad that way.”

“That is Mort.”

“And who is Mort?”

“He’s … he’s sort of an assistant to my Aunt Olivia.”

“Aunt Olivia?”

This is where it’s going to get sticky. I have to be careful how I word this. One slip, and the whole thing is up. “Yes, you’ll meet her when you come for dinner.”

“It sounds like you live with her?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes I do. She’s elderly, you see, and not able to live alone.”

“But I thought Mort lives with her?”

“Aunt Olivia and Mort have a rocky relationship. It’s too complicated to explain on the phone. Anyway, Aunt Olivia has an estate here on Star Island, and I live in her guest house.”

“Oh, that’s a nice area.”

“Yes, it is, and I’m lucky to be here. She needs someone to look out for her. She’s self-sufficient, but then there is any number of people who want to take advantage of old ladies who live on their own. I know you get the idea.”

“Sorry, except I’ll admit I’m still confused about Mort.”

“Just think of him as a live-in butler. You might consider him to be a part of the Aunt Olivia deal.”

“So, you were inviting me to dinner. When did you have in mind?” She’s bringing the conversation back to us. Good. This makes me more comfortable.

“Today’s Tuesday. How about Friday night?”

“Friday works,” she answers in a voice that sounds a little disappointed.

“Did you want to come sooner?”

“Do I have to answer that?”

“No, I think I get what you’re saying, and I couldn’t agree with you more. How about tomorrow night?”

“That works even better.”

“I’ll send the car for you … that is, Aunt Olivia’s car.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d rather drive myself. I know about where I’m going if you’ll just text me the address?”

“I will, maybe about 7:30?”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

The white noise on the phone returns, telling me she has disconnected. I wish I had waited to ask her to dinner until the end of the conversation, so we could’ve talked longer. I hear a voice behind me and turn around to see Mort standing in the doorway. “I thought I asked you to leave?”

“You also asked me to look out for you. Sir, I know this is none of my business but …”

“That’s right, Mort. It’s none of your business,” I snap at him. His eyebrows rise, and he turns on his heel, placing the tray in his hands on the table, and then I hear the door close. Well, that’s just great. Now he’s pissed off.

* * *

My attention is riveted on every single detail. I know I’m getting on Mort’s nerves, and he’s feeling his territory is being invaded, but I want everything perfect. Aunt Olivia is overseeing even me, so between the three of us and the many workmen I hired at the last minute, everything will be perfection. I will admit, I’m nervous. I have no idea why, but I am, so let’s just leave it at that.

I’m expecting Mac any minute now. The plan is for us to have dinner, just the two of us, on the patio by the pool. She will meet Aunt Olivia and Mort when she first arrives, and I’ve asked them to leave us alone from that point on. Mort is miffed, as usual, and I’ve begun to believe that is a normal reaction for a British butler. He’s dressed in a suit, complete with a tie—something he is insisting upon wearing. This only makes it that much harder for me to explain his position in the household. I’ll have to wing it.

On the other hand, Aunt Olivia looks positively regal in a heavily embroidered tunic over a long white skirt. I feel sure that this came from some costume rack along the way, but who am I to judge? The two of them have been sampling the brandy heavily, and I’m choosing to ignore it. At least it will calm things down.

I don’t know what Mac is expecting, so I’ll have to play that by ear. I’ve chosen to wear a pair of semi-casual slacks and sports shirt. I don’t remember ever fussing with my appearance as much as I have today.

I’m in my study, the only room in the house that’s off limits to the other two. I’m trying to divert my attention by playing video games on my computer, but my heart is thumping. There’s a tap at the door, and I look up to see Mort, a white towel over his arm. “Take that towel off, Mort. This isn’t a restaurant.”

“There is a young lady to see you at the door,” he says and makes no move to remove the towel. Mort has his own unique ways of going on strike, and I think we’ll have to have a talk about this later. I barely remember to turn off my video game before I spring from behind my desk and head to the entryway.

“Hello, there.”

“Hi. Am I too early?”

“You are perfect.” I give her a quick hug … very casual. “We try to keep things sort of low-key around here when it comes to scheduling. God, you look really nice,” I tell her as I take in the deep ruby red silk blouse paired with a black miniskirt and spike heels. She’s the kind of woman a man would never get tired of dressing up. “Come on in and meet Aunt Olivia.” I hold out my hand and pull her toward me, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. We head toward the patio where Aunt Olivia is lounging in a colorful chair, a margarita clutched in one ruby-tipped hand. She doesn’t attempt to rise, but then I don’t suppose I expected her to. She looks every bit the royal figure that I had hoped. “Aunt Olivia, may I present McKenzie Duncan? Mac, this is my aunt, Olivia.” I stopped there, suddenly realizing I wasn’t sure which last name to give her. This is entirely out of the oven before the baking is done. I just knew I would screw this up.

Mac held out her hand and smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she says politely.

“So, you’re the one, huh?” Aunt Olivia responds. Oh, my God, it has started already.

Mac, a well-bred young lady, chooses to overlook the somewhat rude remark and smiles generously. Then she did something quite unexpected. “I hope I’m the one. If there are others, I hope I can rely on you to let me know,” she quips.

Aunt Olivia smiles at me. “She’s okay; you can bring her around more often.”

I hear Mort’s attempt to clear his throat behind me and turn to see him approaching with a tray holding a decanter and a selection of glasses. “I brought some refreshments?” He sets these down on the glass patio table nearby and then turns toward Mac, obviously waiting for an introduction. I’m prepared.

“Mac, I’d like you to meet Mortimer Harrington, a dear friend of Aunt Olivia’s who has generously offered to stick around and look after us for the time being.” My wording is deliberate, and I see Mort’s eyebrows rise once again. I know now that the only way to deal with him is to keep him off guard.

“You can call him the butler if you like,” Aunt Olivia throws in. Mort glares at her, and I show Mac to a chair, waiting for Mort to serve us.

“Mort, why don’t you bring us the same thing Aunt Olivia is drinking?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have a beautiful home. May I call you Aunt Olivia?” Mac is consistently polite.

“Well, my name’s not Homer, so, if you want me to answer, I suggest you make that Olivia.”

Mac laughs aloud, and I am pleased. I can feel my nerves beginning to fade. I may have to give Olivia a little bonus when she leaves.

“Oh, and thanks about the house. I think it’s okay, for a shack. These places can get away from you, you know? More work than they’re worth?”

“I hear that a lot from my dad,” Mac says. “He’s always threatening to move to a condominium, but naturally Mom would have a fit. I think they’ll be staying put for a while.”

“Do you live with your folks?” Aunt Olivia wants to know.

“Only for a few more days or maybe a week,” she answers. “I recently purchased a house, but I haven’t had time to furnish it. I’ve ordered a few things, and they should be arriving soon. It’s more work than I expected, especially since I just started a new job. Perhaps Michael told you about that?”

“No, he doesn’t say much. He’s a quiet type.”

That brings another smile, and I think that Mac believest she is kidding.

“So, what is it that you do?” Olivia is great at small talk.

“I’ve just signed on with an art gallery and museum, The Emporium. They’re not large, but my job is to see that they grow. We focus on smaller, local artists, particularly those throughout Latin America, who are up-and-coming. This allows us to make wise investments without needing a major treasury at the start.”

“Sounds fancy,” Aunt Olivia observes, downing her drink and extending her hand outward in a signal to Mort to refill her glass. Mort is pretending not to see it, so I clear my throat to get his attention. With a sigh of obligation, he approaches, and refills her glass. I also happen to notice that Mort has his own glass he’s working on behind us.

“How long before dinner?” I ask Mort.

“It should be ten minutes, sir,” he responds and thinking that I’m suggesting he get to it, he downs his own drink and disappears inside. I give Aunt Olivia the look we had agreed upon.” She scoots to the end of her lounge chair, lifting the bottom of her skirt for clearance, and begins an exaggerated heave-ho motion, trying to get to her feet.

“Aunt Olivia, here, allow me to help you.” I spring up and offer my hand which she takes and waits for me to pull her up. It appears she’s not interested in helping herself.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone now,” Aunt Olivia says in her Hepburn accent. I’ll have a tray in my room tonight. I have a bit of a headache,” she finishes as her ruby-tipped fingers meet to gently massage the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped you would join us for dinner,” Mac says, although I’m not able to tell whether she is serious or not.

“Thank you, my dear, but I’d rather eat in my room. I’m sure you will understand. Don’t let Michael keep you out too late. The food here’s not bad unless Mort has been drinking,” she adds just as Mort enters with a cart filled with covered dishes. He pretends to not have heard her but manages to run over the toe of her slipper with the cart.

“Watch out, you fool! I hope you’ve got good insurance,” she adds and then disappears indoors.

Mort’s face is passive, but I know him well enough by now to recognize that he thinks he just scored a point. I’m making another mental note to deal with this later and watch as Mort sets the patio table with white linen, napkins, flatware, and the covered dishes. “Sir, dinner is served.”

I hold out a hand to Mac, gratefully pulling her to her feet, and we go to the table and take our seats. Mort returns with two wine glasses and a bottle wrapped in linen from which he pours. He seats the bottle in a bucket filled with ice, and my eyebrows rise. “Do you like your wine iced?” I ask Mac.

“To tell you the truth, I prefer room temperature,” she says, “but this is fine.”

I recognize what Mort is doing. He is paying me back, much like a terrier that leaves little presents when it isn’t petted enough. What had I done to put myself in this position?

Mort disappears.

“Is everything okay?” Mac asks. I should have known she would pick up on the odd energy.

“I think Aunt Olivia and Mort have had words. They’re both old codgers, and each one wants to have the final say-so. I get caught in the middle sometimes.”

“I could tell something was off. But you stay somewhere else?” She sips her wine, warming the glass first between her hands. I make plans to strangle Mort.

I point down the hill using my salad fork. “Yes, there in the guesthouse.” Mort is quickly forgotten as I look into her huge green eyes. “You’ve got stunning eyes,” I tell her softly.

“Awww … aren’t you sweet? Actually, I was thinking the same thing about yours.”

Mort makes an appearance once again, this time ceremonially removing the covers from the dinner and salad plates. At least he’s had the good grace to make a nice dinner. There is lobster, a filet mignon and mixed salad with spring greens. “This looks delicious, Mort,” I compliment him.

“If you need anything else, sir, I’ll be inside.” He emphasizes the last word as a reminder that he’s been banned to the kitchen and won’t be checking on me. I’m feeling as though finally I might get a few minutes alone with Mac.

Mac chatters on about her new job, and I’m content to just listen and watch her animated face. She does a little characterization of her new co-workers, and she’s so descriptive I feel like I know them personally. I can only imagine what she’ll tell someone about my setup.

“My best friend, Abby, she and I went to school together. She’s very bright, a genius, I wouldn’t be surprised. She works in a lab and is my rock. She’s always telling me to slow down and think before I do something. Ever have someone like that in your life?”

I’m thinking of Mort. “Sort of, but that can be a pretty controlling situation.”

“I think it feels that way because they’re acting as your conscience. You don’t want to take their advice because the little voice in your head is agreeing with them, and you feel outnumbered. At least, that’s the case with me. I want to feel like I can make anything I want to happen, practical or not.”

“I can relate.”

We finish our meal, and I push my chair back and take her hand, inviting her down to the guesthouse.

“Are you sure I’ll be safe?”

“You don’t have to come.”

“What about the dishes?”

“Mort will collect them.” I notice that she completely bypasses my offer to let her refuse to come down. She is a whimsical, green-eyed nymph.

We take our time strolling down to the guesthouse and watch the sun set over the water as we talk. Our voices grow softer, almost in reverence to the fading light, but maybe because it feels more intimate.

I take her inside and show her around.

“But this is huge,” she says. “More than a guesthouse. This is bigger than most people’s houses! And yet, you’ve got it quite cozy.”

“I was thinking that just the other day. The main house is too big for me.” As soon as the words are out, I know I’m in trouble.

She smiles. “Huh, thank goodness you don’t have to live there then, right?”

I nod but wonder whether she noticed and is giving me the benefit of the doubt, or whether she’s waiting for another slip-up.

“How long has your Aunt Olivia lived here?”

“Oh, a long time. I was still in grade school, I think, when she bought the place.”

“Huh. Didn’t realize it was built back then.”

I hardly know what to say. Every answer is getting me deeper and deeper into trouble.

I pull her into the great room and turn on some music. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Uhm, maybe just some iced water? I have to go to work tomorrow.”

Nodding, I get each of us a glass and slide down onto the sofa next to her as I put it on the end table. “So, Mac, you’ve got a lot going on in your life. Your new job, now I hear you have a new house—is there room in there to be dating?”

Jesus, I am so good at offering up negatives. It’s a wonder she’s even here.

“I know. But, the house is there, and I’m in no hurry to get it finished. Don’t even have plans for it yet, except for a few rooms. Enough to sleep, eat, and shower, you know?”

I nod. “Yes, I was that way at first. Too much to take on.” Shit! I did it again!

She looks around the room and at the doorways leading to the bedrooms and baths. “Yes, it does take time, doesn’t it?”

“I guess what I’m asking is, are you looking to date or are you looking for a more permanent relationship?”

She’s looking at me and saying nothing.

I flounder. It’s now or nothing. “I mean, I think it’s a good idea to get these things discussed right at the beginning, don’t you?” She nods but doesn’t look convinced. “I guess I should just say that I had a bad experience with someone, and I feel stung. I like you, but, I’m not marriage material. How does that make you feel?”

She bursts into a grin. “It makes me feel wonderful! I know you don’t really know much about me, and I don’t want to go into needless details, but like you, I’m not looking for marriage anytime soon. Once stung, forever suspicious, you know?”

I exhale with relief. “Boy, do I. So, can we date and be exclusive eventually without planning beyond that?”

She’s nodding and suddenly leans forward to kiss me on the cheek. I can’t let this go and pull her completely on top of my lap. I kiss her hard, on her mouth, her forehead, down the open neck of her shirt, and I want more. She’s sitting on my lap and can feel it.

I put my hand under the hem of her mini skirt and begin rubbing the inside of her thigh. She stiffens at first, but the circular motion seems to relax her, and she scoots enough to push my hand higher. I’m so hard I’m not sure I’ll make it to the logical conclusion.

“Will you stay?”

She pulls back, her eyes wide with consideration as I’m working on the buttons of her top. My index finger slides into the valley between her breasts, and then I’m able to reach her nipple. It’s hard and protruding. It needs to be sucked.

“Michael?”

“Hmmm …?” I’ve got my hand full of her round, firm breast and squirming with the chills it’s sending to my groin.

She doesn’t answer, and I look up. “Is something wrong?” I pray she doesn’t back away. I’m floating somewhere in a stratus that’s made of excitement without regrets.

With a sigh, she finally says, “No, nothing’s wrong. Wouldn’t this be better on a bed?”

No sooner do I hear her words but I’ve lifted her easily and am holding her against me, headed for my room. I lay her on the bed. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper and quickly lock the doors and turn out the lights in the rest of the house. When I come back, she’s lying across my bed on her tummy. Her top is half unbuttoned, the fabric gaping low, and I see her breast overflowing her bra. She is exactly how I left her.

My throat is dry with wanting her. I place my hand on her ankle, feeling her smooth skin beneath. She isn’t wearing nylons. Sitting down next to her, I begin to run my hand up each of her legs, stopping briefly at the apex to let the suspense build. I want to make love to her in a way she’ll never forget, but my ability to hold back is rapidly diminishing. “You’re so beautiful, Mac,” I whisper, and she utters a little kitten moan of pleasure.

I take this as a sign, and the next time my hand goes beneath her skirt, I continue upward, and my finger finds the slender fabric of her thong. I ease it aside, and it’s easy entry to feel the soft flesh of her swollen pussy.

“Oh, God. I want you.”

Pushing her legs apart, I reach upward and tug her panties downward until they’re on the floor. She’s not resisting. I want all of her, though. I roll her onto her back and ease her breasts from their silken cups, stopping only long enough to peel off my clothes and push the covers to the floor as she lies atop them. Her nipples are hard and fit into my mouth perfectly. As I suck, I’m massaging the apex of her legs, pushing a finger into her gently. Impatient, I unbutton the rest of her blouse, and between us, we get her clothing off and onto the floor.

The sun has totally set now, and the moon has taken its place. A shaft of light is streaming downward from the skylight overhead, and the creature it falls upon is so perfectly proportioned that I’m stunned my prayers could have been overheard. She is exactly the woman I’ve always dreamed of.

Two delicate arms reach upward for me, trailing fingertips down my chest until I feel goose bumps on my back. They slide over my hips and then slowly join together to hold my burgeoning penis. Her touch nearly sets me off, and then something primal within me knows there is only one place I want to be … inside her.

She’s reading my mind, and her legs part as her hips rise to invite me in. I slowly lower myself into her, each incremental inch a heightened sensation. She seals around me perfectly, and then I can’t help it, but my hips pull back, only to enter her again. I’m not content to stay in one place but consumed with the mindless need to cover, to touch, to explore her every feminine crevice. Sensations of erotic electricity drive me faster and faster, and I feel her meet my every thrust.

The primal is taking over now, for her as well as for me. I cannot drive hard enough to quench the overwhelming need for her. Her beautiful hips buck and roll from side to side. We both struggle to find a position where we can lock onto one another, never to be separated. I feel her begin to quiver and see her head toss back, her waist-long curls falling about her as did Venus’ when she rose from the sea. I know she is about to peak and give in to my own.

It is simultaneous and as all-consuming as if the earth has opened into great fractures around us. We cling to one another as the spasms envelop us, unable to break away until they subside and leave us breathless and lying in one another’s arms. There is a sheen upon her skin, and again, the vision of Venus comes to my mind. I seal our lovemaking into her skin with kisses, as she does to me.

Exhausted, I roll to my knees and retrieve the blankets from the floor at the foot of the bed, pulling them over us and tucking her in against me. She wriggles her sweet bottom against me, and I wrap my arms around her, just in case she changes her mind and runs away in the night.

With supreme contentment, I watch her fall asleep. I, however, am not so lucky. I’m completely rocked to my core with what has taken place. I’d been with enough women to know what to expect, and yet nothing prepared me for what just transpired. It defies words but at its base is a knowing. It must be what people refer to as finding their kindred spirit. I tend to joke at those references; that’s what you put in a greeting card or in wedding vows. It’s the kind of thing a woman wants to hear to be reassured that she hasn’t just given herself to a cad for nothing more than a sex act. I’ve heard women refer to their kindred spirit three or four times in their lifetime—which totally mocked the meaning. Not anymore. Like it or not, I’ve just experienced an unearthly place where only Mac and I existed. It’s shaking me up – this isn’t what I expected and certainly not what we discussed.

I’m not willing to let her go. The very idea of her doing anything even remotely like that with someone else makes me burn red inside. I’ve never been a possessive man, but this has changed now. She belongs to me.