Play Date (7 page)

Lena felt tremendous satisfaction knowing she
had brought two beautiful people to orgasm. Whatever body
self-consciousness Lena had before, it had now vanished thanks to
the desire exhibited by so many people.

The three of them staggered their
reappearance at the party so as not to be obvious, returning to the
outside party ten minutes apart. Lena was the last to appear, just
as everyone was leaving.

“Mommy, I had a blast!” said Ryan, running up
to her.

“Good, Ryan! Mommy had fun too.”

Shane approached, Lena so much wanted to kiss
him. “When can I see you again?” he whispered into her ear.

“Now!” she laughed out loud.

“What do we do with the kids?” asked
Shane.

“I don't know,” said Lena, “Where can we get
a babysitter on such short notice?

“I'd be glad to watch the boys,” said
Danielle, holding her son's hand. “You two deserve some
alone-time.

“It will also give us time to start studying
for your real estate exam,” said Shane. “Lucky for you, I got my
broker's license last month so I have all the materials.”

“How did you know I wanted to get my real
estate license?” said Lena.

“Danielle told me,” said Shane.

“Of course,” said Lena smiling at Danielle,
realizing finally what a true friend she was.

When Nina Martini met the rest of the
five-person staff at Coping Hen Press, Nina knew they were
wondering why Conrad Harris had hired her. The shy, but statuesque,
thirty-year old mom had a Comparative Lit degree from Oberlin only
to spend the last eight years raising two kids with a philandering
husband. She had no work experience and no business getting this
job, but she desperately needed it.

But just beneath Nina’s lack of confidence
lay a sharp intellect. Beneath her dowdy, formless hair was a
lovely face, and most importantly (at least for owner and publisher
Conrad Harris), just beneath her unisex attire of khaki pants and
loose-fitting blouses simmered the outlines of a shapely body.

Unfortunately for Nina, the attraction was
not mutual. Conrad wore tweed, a brave act in the unserious,
sushi-sunshine of Scottsdale. And sadly, his face was strangely
foreshortened so that the distance between his mouth and eyes was
too close.

Conrad’s literary obsession since starting
his small press five years before was acquiring the back catalogue
of 1950s cult-author Tom Railings. Conrad had read Railing’s five
published novels at age seventeen and had been hooked ever since.
Rumors had floated for decades that there was a cache of
unpublished work exceeding one hundred manuscripts. But the
author’s widow, Clair, did not take Conrad’s calls. It was only
when he assigned Nina to the task that progress was made. After two
months of negotiations, Nina came to an agreement with Tom Railings
widow to purchase the entire collection for $350,000.

Conrad was ecstatic.

Nina’s mom dropped her off at the airport.
Her mother would watch the boys for a few days while she and Conrad
flew out east to purchase the book collection from the Railings
estate. Nina spent the ride to the airport texting seven-year old
Clark instructions for the birthday party he was attending:
“Remember, avoid Elliot until his Ritalin kicks in. His mom says
one more week. Love you.”

Nina dragged her wheeled suitcase into the
terminal but before she could make it to the Southwest baggage
check she was intercepted by Conrad wearing a black T-shirt, black
jeans and a baseball cap. “Hi Nina!” he yelled. For some reason
Conrad’s ubiquitous tweed suits had now been replaced with
“asshole” attire. For Nina, it was the first of several bad
omens.

The 737 accelerated down the runway, angling
hard into the sky. Nina could see Conrad leering at her from across
the aisle from the corner of her eye. She looked lovely in just a
pair of jeans and a white blouse, the most form-flattering clothes
she had worn since her first day of work.

The flight attendant offered Nina a choice of
drinks and she decided on scotch. As Arizona disappeared beneath
her, the scotch took her mind off of Conrad’s attire.

The plane landed at Newark five hours later.
They caught a connecting flight to Plattsburgh International in
Upstate New York. Renting a car, they motored down the shore of
Lake Champlain towards the stylish North Country town of Snuffex.
Sitting on the passenger’s side, Nina nervously made conversation
while Conrad’s adoring gaze sucked all the air out of the car.

The Snuffex Inn was one of northern New
York’s only four-star lodging options. Large and wooden, it was
built on the edge of Lake Champlain and was the latte town’s focal
point. The few remaining real locals, eager to gin up the tourist
trade, told stories of how it had been shelled during the famous
1812 naval battle with the British on the lake, requiring the east
wing to be rebuilt. In fact, the hotel had been built in 1913,
missing the Battle of Lake Champlain by some one hundred years.
These were also the same locals who kept alive the stories of the
Lake Champlain sea monster, “Champy”—which sounded like a venereal
disease.

The town was quaint and prosperous. Engorged
with hedge fund money, the town’s stores all sold Chloe handbags
and designer livestock feed for hobby farms. The original townsfolk
and service workers had been shunted off to the more affordable and
déclassé Mt. Stanwick, ten miles away.

At the Snuffex Inn, Nina and Conrad retired
to their respective rooms. Nina’s was rustic with a high ceiling,
with bed spires going up half that height. For a quickie business
trip she was expecting something more along the lines of a La
Quinta Inn or a Motel 6, certainly not this.

Something caught her eye. Walking closer she
could see a rose-colored nightgown laid across the bed. At first
she thought it was one of the hotel’s many amenities but then
noticed that it was sheer to the point of non-existence and lined
with lace. This was something a husband would buy for his wife. She
became nauseous, running to the bathroom and throwing-up, not
knowing if it was the three scotches on the plane or the burgeoning
reality of her boss’s creepiness.

Nina called her mom and didn’t get a
response. So she called each of her kids. Luke didn’t answer but
she got a hold of Clark. “Hi Honey, it’s Mommy saying hi!”

“I’m fine,”

“What are you doing Honey?” said Nina.

“Grandma is making Luke and me dinner.”

“Tell me about the birthday party…”

Nina's mother grabbed the phone away from
Clark, “Hi Nina...”

“You didn’t answer your phone, earlier,” said
Nina.

“I’m trying to make the kids dinner before
little league practice at 6:00,” Nina’s mother said.

“What are you making them?”

“Mac and Cheese.”

“Geeze Mom! That’s not healthy.”

“Nina, dear, the humble Mac and Cheese is
very up-market now.”

The next morning Nina took a shower and put
on a timeworn Barbour barn coat and Levis. She had done some
research and thought that the attire was appropriately ‘Town and
Country’ for the day’s meeting.

Getting started at 9:00, they waited for the
Snuffex-Carlotta Ferry to take them on the twenty-minute trip
across the lake to Clair Railing’s Vermont home. During the
crossing, Nina watched the verdant shoreline pass by, something she
had not seen much of since she had left Ohio for the Arizona desert
ten years before. “How do you like your room?” said Conrad.

“It’s very nice,” Nina said. “But I was
expecting something more like a Hampton Inn.”

“You deserve more than that after what you’ve
done for us,” said Conrad.

“I haven’t closed the deal yet, Conrad,” said
Nina. “Let’s wait until we celebrate.”

“We’re much farther along than I could have
ever imagined and it’s all because of you. I think we should revise
your contract.”

Nina paused. “Uh, we never signed a
contract.”

“Okay, let’s discuss revising your salary
then,” said Conrad.

“What needs to be changed?” said Nina.

“I want to change your compensation from the
existing forty-thousand a year.”

“To what?”

“To something more in line with your value to
this company.”

“Like?”

“Forty-five thousand per year.”

“Oh.”

“You deserve it,” Conrad said, taking in her
plush figure with quick glances to his right.

“Well thank you, Conrad. The extra money will
come in handy.”

“I see your position at Coping Hen
changing.”

“Changing?”

“I see you and I working more closely
together. More as partners, less as employer and employee. Your new
title is ‘Senior Editor.’”

Nina’s breathing was becoming shallow and she
was getting warm. She had never given Conrad an inkling—a
hint!—that she was interested in anything other than doing a great
job. She was a divorced soccer mom of two and had no interest in
being some trollop. “I’ve always wanted to be an editor,” said
Nina, maintaining her cool.

“I know,” said Conrad. You’ve mentioned it
many times.”

“With publishing changing so quickly, those
jobs are becoming fewer and fewer, added Nina.

“I would be a great opportunity for you,”
said Conrad. You’d be our second editor, along with Ben.

“Conrad, I want you to know how much I have
enjoyed my last four months here. This is the job I have wanted
since I was in college, but I’m not clear as to what you’re asking
of me,” Nina said.

“I don’t know what needs explaining, Nina,”
said Conrad, “The fact is that I am attracted to you and I want the
two of us to work more closely together.”

Nina’s sober demeanor cracked and so did her
tact. “Just what is with that lingerie in my room, Conrad?” Nina
said.

Conrad looked up at her, the shock on his
face mirroring hers. “Nina, what’s wrong?”

“That nightgown lying on my bed! I never gave
you any mixed signals. I never led you on.”

“And that’s why we’re having this
conversation,” said Conrad, smiling.

“I’m not sleeping with you! Do you get
that?!” Nina said not caring if anyone else on the ferry could
hear.

“You're being hostile,” said Conrad.

“You are taking advantage of your position to
force me into having sex.”

“I thought you were attracted to me,” said
Conrad in a hurt tone.

“Where the hell did you get that idea?! God,
you’ve made me so uncomfortable!”

Clair Railings, the widow of Tom Railings,
lived in a tasteful country-squalor cottage thirty miles east of
Snuffex, across the historic lake, lost in time in Vermont. This
was an E.B. White, life-of-the-mind, woodsy, rustic kind of
lifestyle, complete with a writing shack out back next to the
crumbling boathouse that was destined to become a shrine if anyone
cared enough.

They parked in the gravel driveway next to a
late model Jag, out of place here in this studied-dishabille.

Clair Railings answered the door. Not yet
skeletal, she was tastefully decrepit in her early 80’s. Mrs.
Railings led Conrad and Nina into the living room. Someone was
waiting for them in the room. “This is Binky,” said Clair.

“Binky?” said Nina.

“Henrietta Wilson von Binckerhoff,” said
Binky as she stood up and extended her hand to Conrad. “Going
riding later?” she said to Nina, checking out her horsey
attire.

“This is Conrad Harris and Nina Martini,”
said Clair.

Binky was long and lithe, dark-haired with a
pageboy haircut, black stretch pants with a cardigan sweater top
cinched at the waist, the hem hovering just above a fetching
bottom. Binky was older than Nina, in her mid-30s. Where Nina was a
series of (covered-up) curves, Binky was one single and efficient
curve from her black Chanel boots to her cranium. If plotted on a
graph, the graceful curve would take only the most minimum of
equations.

“Binky here is interested in the collection
as well,” said Clair.

“Wait,” said Conrad. “We weren’t told about
anyone else being interested.”

Clair Railings’ charm was evaporating in a
flash.

“I’m sorry, I only became aware of Binky’s
interest in the books just yesterday,” said Clair.

“We should have been notified of this
change,” said Nina.

“I'm sorry,” said Clair, “There was so little
time.”

“You had twenty-four hours,” said Nina. “You
could have called, texted, emailed…”

“Um, yes, well…” Clair said, stumbling over
her words and trying to remember what texting was.

“I own Élan Press,” said Binky, jumping in.
“We specialize in Young Adult fiction.”

“You, and apparently everyone else,” said
Conrad, feeling no further need to be polite.

“Young Adult fiction for the well-off teen,”
said Binky, “Stories set in the places everyone would like to
be—Beverly Hills, Grosse Pointe, and the Hamptons. There are
already plenty of folks writing stories about confused urchins in
Ohio finding the meaning of life in thrift stores. Our protagonists
already have everything figured-out for them. All that’s left is
deciding between whether they want the Porsche or the Audi for
their 16th birthday.”