Authors: Sandra Kitt
Leah couldn’t help smiling. And feeling proud. Both of their wardrobes were filled with her sister’s creations. Gail had designed the event for this evening, complete with props, such as cactus plants and wooden fences, ropes and cookout gear, a saddle, Stetson hats, and even the dried white shell of a Texas longhorn steer had to be located and displayed. The invitations had read, “don’t forget your spurs,” and Gail expected to see lots of tooled leather calf boots and fringed vests.
Leah arrived home from work to find Gail fussing to make her hair look both western and New York chic. Whatever that meant, Gail’s thick nape-length hair would not cooperate. She settled on combing it straight back and behind her ears, which allowed her to don a Stetson. When she was finished dressing, she was wearing rust-colored suede jeans with a cream silk blouse, elaborately stitched red boots, and an expression that said
this
new trend was not her idea of fashion. But if anyone could carry it off, it was Gail. Still, she had no intention of being the target of snide comments or looks of amusement. She arranged for a car service to take her into Manhattan to the store.
When Allen called for Leah, she was similarly dressed, and she felt equally as silly. Allen was far less sanguine. From the moment he entered the house he did nothing but complain.
“Woman is out of her mind,” he muttered, although dressed pretty inconspicuously in jeans and a simple white western shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons.
“Allen, you look great,” Leah reassured him, and she meant it. He was a handsome man.
Leah had always been impressed and moved by Allen’s physical presence. You couldn’t help but notice him. He was tall and broad-shouldered and carried himself straight, with a nearly imperial bearing. His hair was always neatly cut, with a thick and soft curl. His heavy mustache was the same, and he wore tortoise-shell glasses that gave him an air of intelligence and command. He was thoroughly masculine, Leah didn’t deny, but she’d long ago observed that Allen had a tendency toward churlishness and lacked a sympathetic nature.
She could see that he’d drawn the line at cowboy boots. They really weren’t his style. Allen’s only concession to the theme Gail was promoting was a leather belt with a huge silver buckle in the shape of a horse’s head. He was simply coordinated and the casualness of his clothing made him seem less restrained than he normally was.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.” Leah tried to soothe him as he turned and fussed in front of a mirror.
“Look like some damned country yokel. I don’t like this shirt.”
“Why don’t we try a scarf or something tied at the throat?” she suggested, but already Allen was shaking his head.
“I’m not going anywhere with some bandanna, or whatever it’s called, around my neck.”
Leah hesitated, feeling somewhat annoyed for trying to assuage his ego. “Are you going to wear the Stetson?”
Allen gave her a quelling look that annoyed her even more. “Let’s get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
At the store an hour later, it was clear to Leah that she wouldn’t be competing with anyone. Everyone was dressed more or less the same way. A few outfits were outrageous or bold, like the young woman who easily stood at just under six feet tall, wearing a very short denim skirt that stopped an inch below her behind. Her black body suit had no back, and her knee-high suede boots were tangerine red. And she wore an Indian headdress complete with plumage and beads.
Allen and Leah didn’t see much of Gail, which was to be expected. They did find themselves being continually swallowed in clusters of people until Leah began to feel claustrophobic. She became separated from Allen but spotted him some distance away in conversation with several people. No doubt exchanging business cards and nurturing a prospective new client. It was too much of an effort to try to reach him, so Leah wandered about on her own, nursing a glass of champagne. She slowly elbowed her way through the crowd, trying to see some of the displayed fashions and accessories that would go on sale the next day. She stopped by a lighted showcase with an arrangement of Southwest silver and turquoise jewelry. Her attention was caught and she stood fascinated by the craftsmanship of the individual pieces.
She was still staring when she heard a male voice behind her.
“Gail … look, hon, you can’t just slip away like this. You’re needed in the—” He stopped when Leah turned around to face him.
She stood facing a tall black man with several cameras hanging around his neck. He wasn’t in costume like everyone else, except for a token red bandanna tied around his upper arm.
He stated the obvious, running his gaze quickly over her. “You’re not Gail.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” Leah smiled.
The man arched a brow, looking at Leah closely. “A sister?”
She nodded. “I’m Leah.”
“Hi. Steven,” he said, putting out his hand for her to shake.
“Gail’s around here somewhere. Probably going crazy. You might check and see if she’s with the models. I think it’s almost time for their show.”
But Steven wasn’t listening. Instead, he seemed to be studying her, making Leah wonder with amusement if he was counting all her eyelashes. And he was holding her hand much too long. She pulled it free.
“Yeah, well … that’s why I have to find her,” he said, still scrutinizing Leah with unmistakable admiration. “I’m supposed to record this circus, but I need to know where the outlets are for the extra lights.”
Leah shrugged. “Can’t help you.”
“Are you here alone by chance?” he asked with a caressing, hopeful grin.
Leah shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Oh, you just broke my heart,” he moaned dramatically and clutched his chest.
“As a matter of fact, I have to go find—”
“That’s too bad.” He slowly pulled himself together. “Gotta find your sister. But I’ll see you again,” Steven said significantly before turning away.
A runway had been cleverly constructed down the center aisle on the second floor of the store, between junior sportswear and petites. Leah, unable to locate Allen, was escorted to a solitary seat in the audience as the fashion show got under way. The music came on loud and fast and kept up a throbbing momentum for the duration of the show. She was certain that a speaker had been placed directly under her chair. Before long Leah felt the beginning of a headache pounding at her temples.
She finally spotted Allen in the front row of the audience to her left, seated next to Gail. They were laughing and Gail was trying to place a Stetson on Allen’s head, but he wasn’t going to allow it. Leah was grateful that for the moment her sister and Allen seemed compatible. Yet even as she watched them together, she felt isolation and envy engulf her. She didn’t understand why she should feel this way. Soon Gail was called away to see after yet another detail of the evening, leaving Allen alone.
By the time the show was drawing to a close, Leah’s head felt ready to fall off her shoulders. There was too much cigarette smoke, mixed with the smell of spilled wine. Too many different perfumes and colognes in the air. Too much music and too many people. She was ready to go home.
When Allen brought his car around to the side door of the store, Gail was ready to leave as well, and she stood waiting with Steven.
“Can you give us a lift?” she asked Allen pleadingly.
It was obvious to Leah that that was the last thing Allen really wanted to do. But he shrugged.
“Where to?”
Gail took hold of Steven’s arm and smiled up to him. “Steven’s place.”
Leah felt somewhat grateful that Steven was paired with her sister, if for no reason than she hoped it might quell his interest in her, which he didn’t even try to hide. It irritated Leah that her sister would be attracted to someone so shallow.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Gail asked conversationally from the backseat.
“I thought the models looked like hookers,” Allen offered dryly.
“I thought they were fabulous,” Leah said with a yawn.
“Tired?” Steven asked her. Leah didn’t answer.
“In other words, you didn’t like the show,” Gail said to Allen.
“Do you really care what I think?”
“Not especially,” Gail admitted airily. “If you knew what you were talking about, you’d have my job and I’d be in banking.”
“Is this a domestic fight?” Steven asked with a laugh.
Allen made an impatient sound.
“Could you turn on the heater? I’m cold,” Leah murmured.
“As soon as the engine warms up a little.”
Gail chortled and reached between the seats to turn the heater on. “If you drove a better car, we wouldn’t have to wait,” she said.
Allen made another impatient sound.
Leah settled into her seat with closed eyes, letting the petty argument drift around her. She didn’t care what it was about. She just wanted to take some aspirin for her headache. She wanted the comfort of silence and solitude. She wanted her own thoughts and imagination to wrap herself in.
Allen made the stop requested on University Place in lower Manhattan, and then he and Leah drove back to the Brooklyn brownstone.
“I could really use something to eat,” Allen hinted broadly.
Leah smiled benevolently at him. “If you’re willing to do the cooking, be my guest.” To her surprise, he did.
Leah helped and together, at nearly midnight, they were having waffles with strawberry jam and hot coffee. The second round of coffee was taken in the living room as they sat on the sofa listening to a CD of Luther Vandross. Leah leaned against Allen’s chest, feeling sleepy and more generous toward him than she’d been in a long time. She’d forgotten how nice it was to be with him sometimes, like now, when it was quiet and romantic and he didn’t talk too much, but just held her.
Allen had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and stretched his legs out in front of him. Leah had her head against his shoulder as she sat with her legs curled up, touching his thigh.
“Ummm. This is nice. Very nice.”
Leah just smiled to herself but didn’t say anything. She relaxed against him. She knew Allen well, knew what would happen next, and suddenly she didn’t really mind. She felt in the mood. He would begin to stroke her arm, and then work his long fingers up to her shoulder and neck. With her head near his shoulder she could listen to his deep breathing, which would signal the beginning of his desire. The sweet fragrance of his cologne would both tickle and annoy her nose. Then Allen would turn his head and his lips would press kisses to her forehead. His finger would rim around the shell of her ear. Leah began to feel languid.
Then Allen would take off his glasses and fold them away into the pocket of his shirt. He’d pull her abruptly into his arms and begin to kiss her ardently, immediately forcing her mouth open to receive his aggressive, rough tongue.
Guiltily Leah realized that her attention was drifting away from her feelings to thinking about Allen’s kisses and his technique. Her state of arousal waffled.
Allen held her too tightly in his growing excitement, and she was uncomfortable. She felt cramped and bunched up.
“Leah …” Allen moaned, kissing her deeply and breathing into her mouth as their tongues danced. He squeezed her breast and moved his mouth to her cheek and then her ear, and Leah could hear the wet kisses, the sound loud and not very pleasant. But Allen’s lips also found the sensitive area under her ear, and a titillating sensation stirred to life within her. Allen stood up, pulling Leah with him. Together they silently turned off most of the lights. The coffee cups were left on top of the table. Leah absently hoped they wouldn’t leave ring marks, or Gail would have a fit.
In Leah’s room, Allen hastily removed his clothing, carefully folding them over the stool at the foot of her bed. They got under the covers, but in five minutes the bed linens were disheveled and pulled from the mattress in the frenzy of their lovemaking.
Leah closed her eyes and settled down into Allen’s arms. She liked it when he stroked and massaged her breasts, especially her nipples, but he never stayed at it long enough. She rubbed Allen’s back, feeling the play of muscles under her fingers. She concentrated on the feelings budding deep within her loins, the sensuous throbbing that made her feel soft and which would spiral into a wrenching release if it continued. Her hands moved down to Allen’s thighs, and she heard the intake of air between his lips and teeth. Down his legs her hands went, and up again between them. He stopped stroking her.
“Oh … Christ …” Allen moaned and moved to settle on top of her, finding easily the object of his desire. He pulled Leah’s legs up to circle his waist as his rigid penis drove into her.
Leah tried hard to let her body take over, to flow into Allen’s rhythm as he moved within her. She wanted to share the euphoria, too. It was there, elusive, and she breathed slowly to make the sensation stay. Faster and faster, deeper Allen moved, his face buried against her hair. He had his own program, and her body simply did what he wanted it to do. Leah strained. Her breathing began to quicken, and her own moan escaped softly as she hovered on the brink.
Allen suddenly let out a heart-wrenching gasp as his hips thrust forward. His primal grunts and groans paced his release. He held Leah to him, so close to his sweating, quaking body that he squeezed her climax right out of her and it died. Leah groaned and closed her eyes tightly in frustration. Allen, thinking that she’d reached satisfaction too, sighed.
“Yeah, baby. … oh, yeah …”
Much later, Leah heard movement in the room. She was more than half asleep, but the sounds were familiar and didn’t fully awaken her. Soon it was quiet again, and she turned onto her stomach and went back to sleep. She only wondered if Allen had remembered to put the self-lock in position on the front door when he let himself out.
In her sleep she grew restless, drifting until a dream formed and another man came to mind. A stranger suddenly appeared within the private circle of her life. The reality-based dream, devastating in its details and physical effect, returned to Leah in the night. As usual, it was about the man in the stairwell. …