Well, if he wasn’t playing, what was he doing? Callie was not a virgin, she had had what she and Tonya called an “unfortunate encounter,” in college. Both she and the guy had been so nervous that it hadn’t been a sterling experience for either of them. While she had a normal sex drive, and had dated some very attractive men, she hadn’t met anyone who aroused her sufficiently to make her want to repeat the experience.
If she and Bryan had continued in the kitchen, they would’ve made love, and she wasn’t altogether sure she would’ve cared if someone had walked in on them. She reflected on the past couple of months and the friendship they had enjoyed. Apparently what she had thought of as a casual relationship had been something entirely different to him. Of course, Bryan could simply be lying. God knows he wouldn’t be the first man to say what he thought a woman wanted to hear to get into her panties. But that defied logic. After all, the man was a superstar and didn’t have to lie to get laid. So simple, deductive reasoning forced her to conclude that he meant what he said.
Callie rolled over in bed, grunting in frustration. All the logic in the world didn’t help if the conclusions she reached made no sense. Damn! She might as well call Psychic Hotline! She simply couldn’t figure out why Bryan would choose her. Callie was a realist. She knew she was a pretty girl, some men had even told her she was beautiful, but she always took that with a grain of salt. But Bryan had access to absolutely stunning women. Women totally out of her league. Magazine articles gave detailed rundowns on his love life, and it was an impressive list of famous actresses, models, and rock stars. One even said he was once engaged to a porn star. How could she possibly compete with that? She wrinkled her nose with distaste. Did she even want to?
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Three o’clock. Thank God the store was closed on Sundays. It was clear that she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
“I’m absolutely not believing this! The one time I decide to miss the party to stay home and write, you and that walking wet dream who’s been following you around for months get your swerve on in the kitchen of your mama’s house! While I’m slogging away, trying to get the murderer out of a locked room, you and old boy are bumping uglies. It’s just not right!” Tonya exclaimed, almost spilling her coffee in her excitement. Tonya had decided to add a twist to the classic locked-room mystery. In this story her poor victim actually vanished from a locked room of a high-rise apartment with no visible means of escape. Callie was dying to know how she planned to resolve the story, but Tonya would never reveal her endings. She said it was bad luck, but Callie suspected that she simply didn’t know yet.
Callie had left her folks’ home before the rest of the family awakened. After a sleepless night, she’d decided to go home to talk to Tonya. The kitchen of their apartment had seen more than its fair share of these types of heart-to-heart discussions, and she knew that she could benefit from Tonya’s greater experience and forthright honesty. Tonya had groused a bit when Callie awakened her, but she had gotten up readily enough when she realized that Callie finally wanted to discuss Bryan.
Like most of their apartment, the kitchen had a type of retro appeal with most of the furniture and accessories dating from the fifties and sixties. Though it looked very fashionable, they’d simply taken advantage of their family and friends’ renovations and claimed the discards. Tonya had a flair for decorating, and the kitchen had accents of bright yellow and pink. Callie often joked that it looked like the banana and strawberry taffy from their childhood. The chrome formica table and the yellow vinyl chairs with chrome legs had been found in her Aunt Catherine’s basement. The retro-50s chic had set the tone for the entire kitchen.
Callie got up to pour herself another cup of coffee. “We did not get our swerve on, Tonya!” Close, but not close enough, she thought to herself. The throbbing still had not ceased twelve hours after the encounter. Would she have survived actual lovemaking? Wrinkling her nose with distaste she continued, “And what kind of expression is ‘bumping uglies’?” She began to pace in front of the counter, sloshing coffee with every other step.
Tonya just shrugged and watched Callie bemusedly, certain that she had no idea of the mess following in her wake. Neat to a fault, Callie never failed to mop up even the smallest spill. Tonya smiled gently and waited for her friend to rejoin her at the table.
Callie stopped pacing and dropped her head dejectedly. “Tonya, I’m so confused.”
Tonya shook her head, astonished at what lust had done to her usually down-to-earth friend. Callie had always been the practical, sensible one. When they were in school, Tonya had gone from one relationship to another, always convinced that her new guy was “the one,” only to be sadly disappointed time and time again. Callie, on the other hand, had refused to let anyone or anything distract her from her goals. She had rarely dated and had never been in love. Everyone went to her for sage advice about their own travails. Tonya had known her all her life and had never seen her this discomfited. If her friend weren’t so dejected, she knew she’d be howling with laughter at this point. Maintaining her composure with great difficulty, she patted the other seat. “Okay, girl, sit down. Come on over here and tell Tonya all about it.”
Callie slumped dispiritedly into her chair.
“Now, what exactly is the problem?”
“I’m not sure that he really wants me,” Callie wailed. She rushed on, jumbling her words together. “And I’m not sure if I’m interested in him as a man, or if it’s because he’s a rock star. What if I’m some type of groupie, Tonya? I would look so ridiculous.”
Tonya leaned forward with her elbows on the table, propping her chin on the pyramid she’d made of her hands. “Didn’t you just tell me that this guy practically ate you alive in your mama’s kitchen? What do you mean, you don’t know if he wants you? Geez, Callie, does the man have to get it tattooed on his forehead? I knew you were inexperienced, but this is incredible. I can’t believe you got me out of bed to ask such an obvious question!”
Callie sighed heavily. “I know he wants me sexually, but I don’t think he wants a relationship. He’s a rock star, Tonya. You know how they live.”
Tonya shook her head at her confused friend. “Honey, all men want sex, and none of them want commitment. It’s your job to make them want commitment.” She reached out and took Callie’s hand. “You and this guy have been hanging for a couple of months, Callie. If it was only about the coochie, he’d be long gone by now. Looking the way he does, and in the business he’s in, he can get the coochie anywhere, anytime. He doesn’t have to wait around for it. Hell, he could probably have it delivered!” She chuckled at her own joke. “But that’s not what he’s doing. He would live here if you’d let him. He’s always a gentleman. He brings you lunch. Hell, he even feeds me! He takes you on outings. Works in the store like he’s on the payroll, and now he’s forced you to let him meet your parents. He couldn’t be more old-fashioned if he were John Boy Walton. The man is courting you, honey, and you’re too oblivious to know it. And as for you, you might be many things, Callie Lawson, but a groupie? Come on, no groupie on earth ever had a five-year plan. Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses to get around the way you feel about the boy.”
Callie’s eyes opened wide in amazement. When Tonya put it in those terms, Bryan’s actions made perfectly good sense. She wondered how she could have missed it. As for herself, maybe she wasn’t a shameless groupie, or at least not entirely.
Tonya smiled a Cheshire cat grin. “Besides, sweetie, I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. Just like he said, he ain’t playing.”
* * *
Callie and Tonya weren’t the only ones up with the birds this Sunday morning; Bryan was up earlier than usual also. He had struggled with his desire for Callie for months, and now after the kiss in the kitchen, he felt as if he were burning alive. God, how the hell had he managed to stop? He’d never been able to before. What was it about this woman that made him actually want to act decently? If he’d been back in L.A., he wouldn’t have cared who walked in on him and a woman. Of course, he’d never met a girl’s parents before, but he doubted that fact had anything to do with it. And if he was this hot from such an innocent kiss, surely they would explode when they were skin-to-skin. When they were skin-to-skin? If they were ever skin-to-skin. He probably hadn’t helped his cause any by practically inhaling the woman in her mother’s kitchen. In that moment, he simply hadn’t been capable of rational thought. His every instinct had screamed that he had to have her body as close to his as possible. She felt better than he’d ever imagined, and he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had her. With his mind churning with those types of thoughts, sleep was impossible. So he’d gotten up for his daily run, hoping that the physical exertion would take some of the edge off.
After an unseasonably warm, even for Alabama, fall, the trees were finally beginning their autumnal display. They didn’t get much of a color show in this part of the country, but the view with the river snaking below was glorious. Bryan always enjoyed running along the trails in the hills above his cabin, and as he did so on this day, he reflected on meeting Callie’s family, and of course, the kiss. All in all, the previous day had gone fairly well. He was surprised that he’d been able to control himself enough to keep it decent when he and Callie were kissing in the kitchen. He didn’t usually bother making out with a woman unless he was reasonably certain it would end in sexual satisfaction. But it wasn’t like that with Callie. Somehow her touches both soothed and stimulated him. He looked forward to them, even though he knew there would be no sex for quite some time yet, if ever. He enjoyed touching her, even platonically. He’d never had much non-carnal contact with a woman and was pleased to find that he could enjoy it so much.
His previous girlfriends had been frustrated by his lack of casual affection. Some had even suggested that he see a therapist, but he was fairly certain he knew why he was sexually aroused so easily. For the first eighteen years of his life, his relationship with Brodie had been the only emotional connection he’d had. Nobody had comforted him when he hurt himself or given him loving caresses and kissed boo-boos away. If there were monsters in his closet, and he knew from experience that there were, it had been up to him to fight them off. His basic needs had been taken care of most of the time, but anything more than that had not been forthcoming. As far as he knew, his mother wasn’t an especially affectionate woman, at least not with him. She never seemed to have any problem being affectionate with her endless string of abusive boyfriends, but apparently non-sexual contact was out of the question for her.
He craved touch and affection, but having never experienced it, he became overly excited. In the past, tenderness had been impossible for him, and usually he was very rough and aggressive in bed. Characteristically, his sexual encounters resulted in tearful and angry soon-to-be ex-girlfriends. Most of his former lovers were in the entertainment industry and didn’t relish lovemaking that resulted in bruises and carpet burns. Their annoyance was aggravated by his not being particularly tender at other times and his rejection of their affectionate touches. With Callie, his usual burning desire was tempered with a surprising need to be gentle. He wasn’t altogether sure of his ability to maintain that tenderness, but he had finally met a woman who made him want to try.
Callie looked out her apartment window onto the bleary streetscape below. Usually the faux Dickensian façade of downtown Maple Fork cheered her, as the renovation of the area had made the success of her bookstore possible. But today was one of those bleak fall days when the clouds seem to come down to meet the earth and bring slow chilly rain with them. Even the cheery storefronts and pseudo-gas streetlamps failed to brighten the scene. Located as it was in the commercial space above the bookstore, a more sophisticated real estate agent would probably refer to their apartment as a “loft.” Here in Maple Fork it was called storage space and had been thrown in free of charge when they rented the building. Fortunately, it already had plumbing and electricity and it had taken only minimal work to make it habitable. The apartment stretched the length of the building, but she and Tonya used only the front half; the rear was dedicated to storage. It had the twelve-foot ceilings and beautifully distressed hardwood floors typical of loft apartments. Of course these floors had been distressed the old-fashioned way, by years of having boxes and crates moved across the soft pine surfaces when the owners used it for its original purpose. Tonya had been particularly enamored with the eight-foot-high fan windows and the brick walls she called “deconstructed.” To Callie, they just looked like a bad plaster job.
Their friends were always telling them that their apartment looked like something you would see in New York City. Callie really loved the apartment, especially the massive eight-piece sectional. When they’d received it, the sofa had been upholstered in an unlikely shade of orange velveteen. Now re-covered in chocolate brown chenille, it resembled nothing so much as a giant Hershey bar. Callie frequently retreated to it as her favorite haven from the hectic pace she had to sustain to keep her business afloat.
Despite the dreary weather, Callie luxuriated in this lazy Sunday morning as it gave her a rare opportunity to pamper herself a bit. She looked forward to a long soak in the tub, a hot oil treatment for her hair, and treating her poor, abused feet to a pedicure. Yesterday had been a particularly grueling day in the bookstore. Publishers were sending stock in for the holidays, and she had spent most of the day on the ladder storing overstock. In her next store she would definitely remember to locate those bins at floor level. Reaching above her head with heavy books had left her shoulders tight and sore even after a hot shower, and she really appreciated an opportunity to relax. She felt a mild twinge of conscience as she and Tonya had once again missed Sunday morning church services. Much to her mother’s dismay, regular church attendance had been one of the first casualties of owning a small business. Usually she managed to at least attend on the first Sunday of each month. Receiving Communion assuaged her guilt somewhat; it proved she wasn’t a total heathen. Going outside was not at all inviting on such a gloomy day. Much better to stay at home and get some much-needed personal time. Of course, she’d also have the pleasure of explaining all this to her mother, again.