Glass Towers, Champagne Showers Page 2
He straightens his back and I can tell by the look on his face that I just hit a nerve. He sucks in his breath and says, “Well, you weren’t giving me what I needed so I got it elsewhere. I really didn’t want to hurt you, but that spark disappeared between us a long time ago.”
I gasp. “No spark? This was for better or for worse, jackass! If the spark was gone, it takes two to do the mattress mambo, maybe you should have tried to get back the spark.”
He puts a hand up in the stop position, “Whoa, wait a minute, while I was wrong for doing things behind your back, how about you? You became like a frigid spinster who laid there like a cold fish whenever we were fucking. I would get no response from you. I got more action from my own hand. I am a man who has needs.”
I didn’t wait for him to go on. I lunge toward him with my hands balled up into fists; I punch at his chest in a succession of blows. He grabs my wrists and shouts for me to stop. I start sobbing uncontrollably and collapse to my knees. Oh how I hurt. My soul is incredibly wounded and he is so callous.
As much as I would hate to admit it, he’s right in some ways. We had become perfunctory in our relationship, from sex on Friday night to having dinner every Sunday with his parents. We were so planned out that there was no room for spontaneity or excitement. We had changed.
Even when we were first married, we were active sexually and I had known that I had his full attention. But once I started working for Mrs. Davenports’ design firm, I noticed a change. I was working later and had to go in on Saturdays occasionally. At the same time, he was advancing in his career having been promoted to cover the whole tri-state area and the management responsibilities that went along with that. He was either traveling or in meetings all the time. We had a great income, a beautiful home, a house at the lake and we never saw each other.
Our sex life started to become something that we squeezed in. In many ways, I should have recognized the warning signs. I was too consumed in my job and maybe indulged in a whole lot of denial. I worked for that old bitty Mrs. Davenport, who had a lousy way of doing business and frankly was not a very good decorator. She had been decorating for almost three decades and she was stuck in a rut. Instead of evolving with the trends, she kept working with her antiquated methods. She relied heavily on her flunkies to come up with the concepts and to execute the designs. She took full credit for each job and paid us a fraction of what we were worth. Since the economy had been so challenging, I felt I was lucky to have a job at all and I was determined to get the experience on my resume so I could eventually leave.
Fate decided to take over, one day I went to work, and the locks were changed. I called the office number and it was no longer in service. Perplexed, I checked my email to find a message that said I was out of a job and she had closed the business. Messenger would send my final check. That was that. I found out later she closed the business and literally ran off to Tahiti with her life coach. I filed unemployment and spent some time re-assessing my career path. Thus far, I have applied to over two dozen job posts but nothing has materialized yet. Bradley kept reminding me that he made plenty of money so I should be choosy and that I did not have to settle.
Therefore, in addition to everything else, I am unemployed and kneeling before my ex-husband sobbing with my heart in my throat.
He bends over to help me up and quietly says, “Shit Dani, it seems all I’m doing these days is saying I’m sorry! I’m such an ass!”
I choke out, “Yes, you really are and frankly, I think I hate you!”
He gives me his boyish grin, runs his hands through his wavy blonde hair and says, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. I had no right to say those things. The divorce and recent developments have stressed me out. I have my doubts as to the validity, but I’ll have no proof positive or negative for several months so I have to ride this out.”
I give him one of my scolding looks as I reach over to the side table and grab a tissue. While I blow my nose, he looks down and smiles at me.
“You know, I think you are going to be better off without me, Dani.”
I raise my eyebrows while I am still wiping my nose.
“You deserve so much better than me. Hey, let’s walk up to Pedro’s Cantina and grab a farewell dinner and drink. When we get back I’ll help you finish packing.”
I start to shake my head no, but he grabs my hand leading me to the front hallway. I stop and tug my hand away.
“I will go with you under two conditions: tell me why you are home when you were supposed to be in Spokane tonight, and do you love her?”
He sighs and turns to face me, takes one finger under my chin to tilt it up toward him, then he says, “I cancelled my trip because I somehow knew you would need me tonight. I don’t know how I feel about her. Deep down I am still in love with you but the distance has separated us and here we are.” He pauses. “I have to do what is right by her, I suppose. What that is exactly isn’t clear to me just yet. I have to let the whole thing sink in and see what happens.”
Pedro’s is packed and lively especially given it is a Thursday night. We share salsa and tortilla chips and down several Margaritas each, with top shelf tequila. I start to feel a little woozy, so we order a plate of tacos. We spend most of the meal reminiscing about when we first met and began dating. It is an awkward feeling sitting there with my now ex-husband rehashing the ‘good old days’. Once we have a few more drinks, our conversation begins to wane and Bradley is slurring his words. He never gets drunk so it is somewhat funny. It is a side of him I haven’t seen since before we were married when he used to party a lot with his frat buddies. I think I prefer him sober. Drunk Bradley is annoying and borderline douche bag.
I order an ice water in an attempt to sober up. Bradley pays our check and we get up to leave. He grabs me around my waist to help me bob and weave my way through the crowded cantina. As we leave the building, it is still warm out, typical for the month of August. He grabs my hand as we walk in silence with only the sounds of the live mariachi band fading into the distance. As we approach the front walkway, he turns to smile at me with his boyish grin. He looks very mischievous and sets me to feeling a bit leery. We walk up the stairs to the front door. He opens it and once we’re in the entry hall, he turns the lock and then looks at me with fierce desire in his green eyes. I have not seen that look in quite some time but I know that means only one thing. He wants sex.
Oh no!
“One last time for the road, Dani?” Before I can answer, his hungry sensual lips are on mine. His tongue darts into my mouth seeking my tongue. He tastes of tequila and salsa but before I can register what’s about to take place, he slips his left hand up my skirt and pins me against the wall. He slides his fingers inside my cotton panties and seeks out my pleasure point while I feel like the room is starting to spin. He clumsily begins to rub my clitoris in circles with his thumb while he probes my “P” with his middle finger. I involuntarily moan. He takes this as encouragement, scoops me up into his arms, carries me into the great room, and deposits me on the brown ultra-suede sofa.
He hikes up my skirt around my waist and pulls down my panties. He slips his index and middle finger into my wet “P”. I start to voice my objection, but it feels too good and I haven’t been touched like this in who knows how long. While fingering and rubbing me, he works me over with his tongue, all up and down my neck and down to my cleavage just above the v of my shirt. Too bad, he smells as if his mouth had bathed in a bowl of salsa. I turn my head toward the sofa back so I don’t have to smell his breath. He takes it as my point of desire, so he starts plunging his fingers into me with more ferocity. I gasp despite myself. He abruptly stops and stands up. He undoes his buckle then fumbles with the button and fly of his pants. He lets them drop to a puddle around his ankles. Yeah, real sexy maneuver there. He then moves my legs apart and settles into a kneeling position between them, as he does this, I lift my hips to meet his.
“Oh yeah baby, come to me, let me fill you up, baby”.
He then struggles to plunge his semi-hard cock into my wet and waiting “P”. He wraps his finger around the shaft and moves it up and down while the tip slides in and out of me. When his length is finally hard, he slams it into me. I gasp and suck in my breath from the sheer force. He starts moving his generous length in and out slowly and methodically at first, then he starts moving spastically in all sorts of directions before he slows to a thrusting rhythm again.
Remembering what he said about my being a dead fish, I move my hips to meet his hips in a circular motion. He groans deep in his chest and then says, “Oh baby, I always loved your tight little taco.”
What? My taco? Oh yuck! Who says that?
Then he stops and his eyes fly wide open, he winces and I feel his abdominal muscles tighten as he is now laying on me and then I hear ffaaaarrrrttt!
He laughs and then proceeds to infiltrate my body with his, once again, semi-limp dick.
Oh my lord, he just FARTED! Sick! That’s it I’m out of here!
I push him off me and he stumbles backward. I swiftly put my feet on the floor and lean down to get my panties.
He takes that as I want another position and he slurs “Alrighttt, you want it from beeehind, baby?”
Oh, gross! I quickly pull up my panties and yank down my skirt.
Straightening myself up, I look at him and hiss, “This was a HUGE mistake. Now get out of my way, I’m leaving.”
Visibly maddened and probably confused, he stumbles out of my way as his pants are still pooling around his ankles. He hops after me with his erection at half-mast and rapidly declining. I reach into my purse to grab my phone and turn to face him.
He shrugs and says, “What am I missssing here? I thought yooou were into it?”
I frown at him and reply, “Well let’s see, your dick keeps going limp, you are all over the place when it actually is hard, you are blurting out ridiculous things and then to top it off, you fart and then laugh it off.”
He reaches down to pull his pants up and as if on cue, he farts again! He then falls to the ground and starts howling. Not laughing, but howling. In all the years, I’ve known him I’ve never seen him laugh so hard.
Seriously, I guess if I take a step back, it’s comical, I’m just not in a laughing mood. Here we are having ex-sex, drunk on tequila, smelling of tacos and salsa and he has revenge of the refried beans. It all seems fitting in a twisted sort of way.
Once he is done snorting and is able to come up for air, he takes a deep breath and slurs, “Dani, you don’t need to weave. I promisth thattt I’ll be on my best behavooorr.” He does the ‘scouts honor’ finger salute. “Youuuu just stay night and then I’ll help youuuu pack up the rest in the mooorning and say our gooooodbyesth.”
I am so tired and still tipsy, I couldn’t drive even if I wanted to right now. I don’t want to stay but at this point, I just want a shower and to crawl into bed, so I yawn and nod in agreement.
Chapter Three
I awaken the next morning to a dog barking insanely loud next-door with a pounding headache and strong sunlight streaming through the family room windows. I couldn’t bear to sleep in the master bed last night after all, so I cozied up on the sectional. I scurry to finish packing a small suitcase with some cute sundresses, a few bikini’s, flip-flops and sunscreen. I plan to get the rest of my things when I get back. Cannon beach here I come! I hear Bradley snoring in the guest room and am glad he is asleep so I don’t have to face him this morning.
My phone rings.
“Ma, hey! I know I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back last night… I fell asleep early after such a long day.” Okay a slight white lie, but I can’t tell her about my ex-sex.
“How did it go yesterday, sweet girl?”
“It’s done, Ma. I sort of feel better, but I really need a little salty air, salt water taffy, and some long walks on that Oregon Coast sand.”
“Where are you now, driving?”
“I’m actually on Highway 217 now; I just passed Hillsboro ...So probably another hour and a half and I’ll be there.” So, another slight white lie, at the rate I’m going, I’ll have flames licking at my heels soon.
“Okay. Your father and I will be at the Gallery Breeze this afternoon, so just let yourself in, baby and your room is all ready of course.”
“Thanks Ma, and please I really don’t want to rehash what happened this week...I just want some relaxation time.”
“Of course darling, I’ll relay the message to your father. We will respect your wishes.”
My mother knows how my father can be overbearing when it comes to his baby girl. Nevertheless, I suppose that’s just a sign of a father who cares and wants to protect his daughter.
The drive to Cannon beach is just gorgeous and peaceful. Huge trees line the highway and small waterfalls stream down the sides of the windy roads, as I get closer to town. The air is so crisp and clean; it makes me love Oregon. Okay, the rain and overcast skies get old from time to time, but this versatile state has so much more to offer. Especially now being summer, the weather is perfect. Not a cloud in the sky and in the upper 70’s.
I pull up to my parent’s home in Cannon beach. It is a large beach cottage of shingled grey, pretty much the standard look for an Oregon Coast beach home. It stands up on a hill overlooking the Coastline. If there is anywhere that will take my mind to another place, it is Cannon Beach. The sound of the crashing waves on the rocks is so soothing; it will take all the cares in the world away at my feet.
I unpack the car and grab the hide-a-key to the cottage. My mother is a neat freak, everything in order and in its place. I must get that from her. My parents are lovers of art in all forms. They just opened a new gallery in town called Cannon Breeze Gallery. This is their life, quirky, artsy and so them.
My room is immaculate like always. My mother has left all my favorite things. I walk in to find warm fuzzy cozy socks on my bed, a Japanese quince candle, and a new pair of Nike running shoes. My mom spoils me; she also got me a bottle of Barefoot Bubbly, my favorite! It feels so good to be home. A wave of relief warms my body as I let out a long sigh. What next? I think to myself. It’s a pretty day out and I have the whole place to myself.
I slip on my turquoise string bikini and throw a white cotton slip dress over the top. I notice the dress is a bit too loose, probably from all the weight I have lost during the divorce. I pull my long wavy chestnut brown hair into a high ponytail and look in the mirror. I gasp at my reflection. My usually bright blue eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. The bags under my eyes are black and my skin looks dehydrated. Not a good look even if I am just at the beach. I grab my large shades to cover my eyes and a pair of flip-flops from my suitcase. I think it’s time for a nice long walk down the beach to soak in this sun filled day. Wait; let me see if mom has some bubbly in the fridge, I could sure use a cold adult beverage before my stroll, hair of the dog and all! Oh how could I forget! Stormy must be outside in the backyard. I’ll take her for a little walk with me. I grab the leash, Stormy and a small tote to collect shells. No cell phone, technology or ties to anything for the next few hours. Pure heaven! Stormy is my trusted little pal, a sweet tempered border collie who is thrilled to see me as she wags her tail and eagerly bumps me with her snout. I have enough to handle here; I will leave behind the adult beverage for now.
I head out down the hill and across the wood bridge to the beach. I slip off my flip-flops and bury my freshly pedicured toes into the warm sand. Oh, it feels so good to be home! Cheerful rainbow colored kites fill the sky with little kids building sandcastles all around. As I walk down the beach, I pick up beautiful shells and sand dollars along the way. After about a mile, I see this little agate colored shell. I reach down to pick it up. As I stand back up, I stop right in my tracks.
Dear God, where did he come from?
Standing a few feet from the shore is a magnificent looking man about 6’2”, sandy blonde
wet hair in a Body Glove dry suit with a surf board under his left arm. He throws down his board, starts to unzip his dry suit, and lets it hang down from his slim waist as he runs his hands through his wavy hair, highlighting the streaks of gold in it. He starts to shake his head to get out the water from his ears as he turns and locks his crystal blue eyes with mine.
Snap out of it Dani! Oh my, why can’t I move? My whole body is frozen. I finally realize I have been staring at this bronze Neptune of the Sea for several minutes, mesmerized. Really? Okay I must be in a trance. Is that a God of the Sea? Yeah, pretty close!
I’m so embarrassed, I slide my sunglasses back on my face to break the trance. I turn to walk away. No run! No, that would look too odd running on the beach with a white flowing slip dress.
“Good afternoon.”
Wait, is he talking to me? Did he just speak? Me? I look behind me and no one is close to me. All I can seem to do is keep looking over his body and that sandy blonde hair wet from the cold Pacific Ocean water. Those transparent blue eyes that look right into me, a slim aristocratic nose, and lips that are full and well defined but firm and teeth that are straight and gleaming white. You only see those babies in toothpaste commercials.
He looks at me with this questioning gaze.
“What,” I say with a squeak in my voice. Did my voice really just tweak like that?
He grins bigger with this amused twinkle in his eye.
“Isn’t that your dog?”
I turn ever so slightly, following his gaze and realize that Stormy’s leash has slipped out of my grasp while I was in this trance!
Stormy is soaked and heading straight for some beach goers and their picnic basket!
She must have run into the water because she is now covered in sand, soggy and about to trample these poor people!