Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance) (16 page)

Her eyes shifted to her chest. “What have I done?” she asked the frightened woman in the mirror. Unexpected tears trickled onto her cheeks. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the dressing table, and stared at her image feeling guilty and defensive. Then, as if she’d just figured out the answer to her own question, she picked up a powder puff and began repairing her makeup.

“Natalie was right. You’re taking back what was stolen from you,” she told her reflection. “That’s what you’re doing.” She wiped her lips and then relined them and reapplied her lipstick. “Crying isn’t going to help.” A fresh swipe of brown pencil. Additional powder. A dab here and there of vanilla scented body oil. A quick flick of her hairbrush. “You’re not the first woman to find herself in this predicament, and God knows, you won’t be the last. Other women have succeeded in winning back their men, and so can you.”

With renewed courage, she stood erect, smoothed out her dress, and prepared to face her challenges.

* * *

“Divine. They’re absolutely divine,” Katharine said, examining her reflection in the full-length mi
rror in her bedroom. “Do you like them?” she asked Natalie, who was on her knees adjusting the hem of the evening gown Katharine planned to wear to the AJA banquet on Saturday.

“Do I even have to answer?” Natalie replied, putting in the last pin and standing up.

Katharine took off the gown and handed it to Natalie, who hung it carefully in the closet, then removed her strapless bra and draped it over the back of a chair.

Natalie turned to look. “Your figure is a d
esigner’s dream, Kat. Do you realize half the men in the world would give anything to see what you’re seeing in that mirror?”

Katharine cradled her new C cups tenderly for a moment. Then she turned around and looked at Natalie.

“You want to feel them?”

“What? Girl, it ain’t even like that,” Natalie ki
dded.

“I’m saying do you want to feel the implants?”

Natalie frowned. Katharine guessed she really did want to find out what they felt like but was embarrassed to say so.

Katharine pranced up to her and took Natalie’s right hand in both of hers. “Here, put your hand on my breast, like so.”

Natalie’s fingers trembled as she poked lightly at Katharine’s left breast.

Katharine raised her face to the ceiling in a belly laugh. “What do you think . . . they’re going to fall off and land in your eyes?”

The two women shared a laugh.

“Feels like warm, soft skin to me.”

“Naturally. What is it supposed to feel like?”

“I thought it would feel sort of hard, acrylic-like.”

“No, silly. They’re just an extension of something that was already there.” She returned to the mirror and turned around to view her backside.

“Hold up, now.” Natalie made a squeezing motion with her hand. “I know you’re not about to ask me to feel your butt!”

“No, I won’t,” Katharine grinned and flushed with embarrassment at the same time.

Turning serious-faced, Natalie said, “I mean, really, Kat, if all you wanted to do was plump up your rump, couldn’t padded underwear do the trick? And what about silicone push-up pads?” She placed her palms underneath her own breasts, but she didn’t need to lift them. Nature had already done that for her. “I really didn’t see anything wrong with your baggy butt and toddler tits,” Natalie said in her usual direct manner. “They matched the rest of your bony body.”

“For your information, Miss Thang, I didn’t need a breast lift. I needed
more
breasts.” She emphasized it in a frisky, airing sort of way by sticking out her chest. “Besides, I did it for Carson because I love him.”

“Hmmm,” Natalie growled. “You may have done it for Carson, chickadee, but what you’ve also done is now going to have every hungry, mouth-foaming man-dog sniffing behind and in front of you. You’ve had yourself assembled into a Frankenstein of sorts. How do you think Carson will handle that?”

“I think he’ll feel revitalized,” Katharine smiled. “And I don’t feel freakish at all.” Her Mister Grinch grin heightened. “Just be glad I decided against double D cups.”

Chapter 20

Carson had greeted his guests,
participated in conversations, answered questions, laughed at punch lines, but he had never moved out of sight of the woman standing in the doorway. She looked stunning, her brownish-black hair swept away from her face, a few curls floating about her forehead, the rest tumbling below her shoulders in subtle waves. Her makeup had been applied with great precision, her designer gown chosen with care to show off her newly enhanced figure.

Carson’s eyes indulged in the sight of her, drinking her in, savoring the sensations that flooded his body. When his gaze reached her face, he felt as if someone had pushed a pause button. All emotion was suspended, all feeling put on hold. Her makeup was totally different. Her body altered. He wanted to a
pproach her, to examine her, to take her aside and talk to her, but his path was obstructed by a crush of old friends and colleagues. The person he’d been waiting fo
r
his wife.
Estranged wife
, he corrected, noting the regret that had accompanied the thought, noticing the stares and audible gasps that accompanied her entrance.

She was wearing more makeup than he’d ever seen her wear. Her breasts, spherical and even, seemed to stand at attention. As she turned to reveal her profile, her flowing gown clung softly to her perfectly rounded backside. Beads of sweat formed under his shirt collar, and he reached inside his jacket pocket, extracted a linen handkerchief, and swabbed his neck. Outwardly, she seemed like a stranger, but certain movements, certain idiosyncrasies reminded him that the woman inside that exquisite package had been his wife for more than twelve years.

He watched from a distance as Cindy made her way to Katharine.

* * *

Katharine saw her coming towards her. She turned to move in the opposite direction, but it was too late.

“Pardon me, please,” Cindy called from behind her.

Katharine stood still.

“Pardon me,” she repeated.

Katharine turned to face her. She’d never forgotten how stunning she was. The photograph image of Cindy was glued into her brain for later recall, but even the picture failed to capture the loveliness of her complexion.

She held out her hand. “Hello, my name is Cindy Lomax.”

Reluctantly, Katharine shook it loosely.  “Katharine,” she said despicably.

“Carson’s wife, right?”

Katharine grinned smugly.

“I recognized you by Carson’s description. He and I talk frequently. He even calls me in the wee hours of the morning . . . just to talk, of course.”

Katharine clinched her fists so hard, she could feel her fingernails digging into her palm. She wanted nothing more than to smack the shifty grin off her face. She was delighted when Hank walked up and greeted her by kissing both cheeks. He then introduced himself to Cindy, which gave Katharine an opportunity to vacate.

“I think I’ll go over to say hello to Allison.” She smiled softly at Hank and looked sharply at Cindy saying, “Excuse me.”

Cindy gave her a tight-lipped smile.

* * *

On the way to locate Allison, Carson intercepted her. “Shall we go into dinner?”

Linking her arm through his, they strolled to the dining area. Small talk dominated and it was a bles
sing, so that by the time they were seated, she felt composed and in control. As honoree, Carson’s round table was strategically placed on a raised platform where the audience could easily observe him and other esteemed guests, speaking on his behalf.

Katharine settled herself next to Carson, her scent drifted past his nose. It was light. Feminine. Delicate. Not perfume. Eau de
toilette. A definite contrast to the heavy fragrance favored by Cindy and most of the other female guests.

During the meal, Carson and Katharine were i
nvolved in conversations with others seated at his table, so much ‘til it annoyed him that he couldn’t talk with his wife. He was constantly aware of her presence and on several occasions began a conversation with her only to be immediately interrupted by others.

Cindy sat at the adjacent table where Stephen and Natalie were seated. Her close view was open to Carson and Katharine. When they’d finished eating the main course and dessert was being served, Katharine graciously excused herself to go to the l
adies’ lounge.

Carson decided to follow her. With all the atte
ntion he’d received as guest of honor, he couldn’t spend the time with Katharine like he’d wanted, so this was perfect timing to steal a few moments to be with his wife.

Carson moved into the room feeling clumsy and inept. He didn’t know what to say or how to act. B
efore, when they had sat down for dinner, he’d sensed a renewed closeness, an easy familiarity, even a hint of rekindled emotion. Now he felt a distance, a draft, a coolness that came from a door being opened, being prepared for an exit.

He stood behind her. “You look wonderful.”

She looked up at his reflection in the mirror and mouthed a thank you as she reapplied lipstick.

His eyes moved to her breasts. “When did you have that done?”

“A few months ago.”

“Why didn’t you mention it?”

Without a response, she placed the tube of lipstick in her purse.

“I—I don’t know who you are these days. It’s like we’re strangers,” he said. He took a seat next to her on the cushioned vanity bench, rested his arms on his knees, and clasped his hands. “It’s not right an
ymore,” he said wistfully. “I think we made a mistake, Kat.”

She turned to him. “No, Carson,” Katharine a
ccented. “You made the mistake. You were the unfaithful one. You were the one who walked out on me and the children. Remember?”

“I walked out on you, not the children.” He pounded his chest as if to emphasize his remorse. Looking around to make sure the room was empty, he added, “I may have been unfaithful in my thoughts by indulging in the girlie magazines, but, whether you believe it or not, they meant absolutely nothing. And I’ll say this only once . . . I’ve never committed adultery.” As far as he was concerned, kissing Cindy didn’t count as infidelity.

Tears pooled in Katharine’s eyes.

“I hurt you,” he continued, hoping to stem the rage he sensed rising in her. “And I’m sorry. There’s no way to excuse my actions. Call it a twelve-year itch, a pre-midlife crisis, or whatever you want. The truth is that I still wanted the excitement in our ma
rriage and somewhere along the line, you no longer provided that.”

“When you walked out on me, Carson, you left me with little self-respect and no pride. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve suffered and I’ve struggled. I’m still su
ffering and still struggling, but slowly I’m winning the battle.”

“Walking out on you, Kat, gave us a chance to grow. A chance to get to know one another again. I mean, look at you.” His eyes traced a sinuous line from her ankle to her lips, snaking about the lan
dscape of her body. “You’re gorgeous,” he said in his most beguiling voice, “and, right now, I’d like nothing more than to rip your clothes off and make love to my wife.”

He moved closer and his mouth brushed hers, his hand sliding down her side to trace the curve of her hip.

She halted his progress. Her face was streaked with tears. For a long time, they didn’t speak, they didn’t move, they simply let the past drift over them like a cloud dark with rain.

“What about Cindy?” Katharine asked finally, dabbing at her face with soft tissue. “Are you going to walk out on her just like you did me and come flying back into my arms?” Her voice sharpened. “My life isn’t a ping-pong game.”

“Please leave Cindy out of this. She’s just a friend. There’s nothing between us. How many times must I say it?”

Without answering, Katharine sprung upright and left the room, with Carson tailing closely behind. Just as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, two beautifully clad women were a
pproaching the ladies’ lounge. He’d vacated just in the nick of time.

* * *

After everyone’s meal had settled in their stomachs, Mr. Parisi, the chairman of the board, stood at Carson’s table with a microphone.

“. . . To one of the greatest journalists in the n
ation,” Mr. Parisi said into the speaking device, ending his remarks. “Cheers!”

Everyone present, about seven hundred people, stood and raised their glasses in a toast. “Cheers!” they chorused.

Katharine’s face glowed with pride or pleasure.

As the others took their seats, Carson rose and looked around the tables. There was his wife in all her glowing beauty. Cindy, his attractive friend, was eyeing him with something more than affection.

“My friends,” said Carson, receiving the microphone from Mr. Parisi. “I’m not much at speechmaking, so let me just say to everyone: I will never forget what you’ve done for me.” He gazed at Katharine. “Thank you,” he whispered to her personally. Their eyes caught and rested on each other for several seconds. Breaking the hypnotic trance, he repeated the same thank you to everyone else, except this time in a stronger tone. He raised his sparkling cider-filled champagne glass as the others clapped and cheered. He turned to Katharine again, staring at her over the rim of his glass. Then he finished his brief, eloquent speech that was welcomed with a long, thunderous applause and standing ovation.

* * *

Cindy almost squirmed in her chair, seething at the strong attraction between Carson and his wife as they danced. She watched in a flame of envy how his arms fitted so cozily around Katharine’s slim wais
tline. Even she couldn’t deny how lovely her figure was. Other than Katharine, the only other women he’d danced with were Mrs. Parisi and his colleague, Hank Polanski’s wife, Allison. Cindy was offended that he’d never asked her for a dance. She’d hoped that by dancing with other men would’ve gained Carson’s attention in a fit of jealousy.

Other than the family photo that sat on the cr
edenza in Carson’s office, she’d seen pictures of Katharine before. The ones Carson had shown her from his wallet. She remembered the photos—Katharine with her Olive Oyl figure. The six o’clock effect—straight up and down. No curves, no breasts. Obviously, the photos weren’t recent. Carson didn’t tell her that she’d had implants.

Just look at her with her fake tits, Cindy thought, staring subtly at Katharine. I wonder what would happen if I stood, raised my glass, and say, “I’d like to propose a toast to Katharine for her new implant-enhanced figure. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to go through with it.” Then I’d look directly at her and say, “In honor of Mrs. O’Connor, I’d like to request the musicians to play an old Tammy Terrell and Marvin Gaye tune,
Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing
.”

Then I’d glance at my own chest and cut my head over my shoulder to emphasize my behind. At that point, I’d peer at her over the rim of my win
eglass, smile victoriously, and say, “Mine are real.”

Her sneer deepened.