“What if that woman already walked in, and she’s you?” James asked in his half-teasing, half-serious fashion.
James didn’t have the raw physical appeal of Grant, but he had a level of sensitivity that her husband had in short supply. James’ eyes were a remarkable blend of blue and green. His face was open and kind. And while it would have been impossible for her to explain, a small thrill went through her whenever he laughed and gently patted her hand.
Watching Barbara and her son together, Anna told her privately one quiet afternoon, “Be careful my dear. When James wants, he can be very charming. He’s much more like his father than I had ever thought possible.”
Barbara laughed. “James is wonderful, but I assure you, my Grant is man enough for me.”
Still, as the commuter bus taking her home that evening crawled along the busy approach to the Golden Gate Bridge, Barbara found herself staring out the window and wondering what James would be like to hold in her arms. Would his kisses be tender? Would his lovemaking be a little less fierce, and hopefully more patient, than Grant’s?
She had to admit a degree of curiosity. But she did not intend to ever follow her curiosity until, at a reception for the budding young geniuses that made up the Gate Six Artists’ Cooperative, she met Grant’s latest prodigy, Kitty.
Twice during the evening event, she caught a glimpse of them sharing a joke. At one point, when Grant wandered off to another artist’s studio, Barbara made it a point to strike up a conversation with Kitty Collins.
“We have two artists at the Moss Gallery in San Francisco where I work, who use a similar blend of colors and materials,” Barbara said, hoping to appear relaxed when she wasn’t. “You should come into the city one day, and we can have lunch.”
Kitty seemed disinterested and distracted. “I should ask Grant if he’d like to go into the city with me. All three of us could have lunch together.”
Everything Barbara disliked about Kitty doubled with that one comment.
It didn’t help that she was ten or more years Barbara’s junior, with high cheekbones, ash tinted blond hair, exotic brown eyes, and breasts that were all but falling out of her snug white cotton dress.
Call it a woman’s intuition or just put it down to the glances she saw them exchange, but for the first time in many years, Barbara wondered if Grant had fallen victim to his once-substantial sexual appetites.
Before coming to Sausalito, Grant had ended the distractions that frequently arose in their marriage whenever he found himself interested in another woman. Barbara was never sure if it was merely lustful curiosity, a playful nature, or a flirtation with more serious implications. After all, when she met Grant, he was involved with that alluring Jamaican woman.
Barbara now wondered if his pursuit of the perfect physique had done more than renew Grant's interest in their shared lovemaking. Perhaps it had also sparked an appetite for new sexual conquests.
There was a part of Barbara that desperately wanted to share her suspicions with Grant, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that, fearing she would appear both needy and insecure.
When she arrived home after a busy Saturday at the Moss Gallery, she detected a scent and a presence in her home she’d never noticed before. As she wandered from room to room, she convinced herself that the scent was identical to the perfume worn by Kitty Collins.
It was going on eight. Grant was not home, and there was no note and no cell phone message. Between the imagined scent and the disturbing image of Kitty’s overflowing breasts on the night of the artists’ reception, Barbara convinced herself that Grant was having an affair.
A burning anger rose from deep inside her. She decided to extinguish that anger with a succession of ice-chilled margaritas. Barbara fell asleep on the couch, wondering if Grant and his pet had made love there as well.
Mistakenly, Grant thought this Saturday was Barbara’s evening reception at the Moss Gallery for the opening of a new exhibit, which was actually scheduled for the following Saturday. So, when Ray mentioned that Debbie was spending the night up in Healdsburg with a girlfriend visiting from Chicago and suggested that they have a beer at his place after their workout, Grant thought for a moment, and then said, “Why not?”
Ray threw a couple of steaks on the grill while the two men shared a couple of beers. It was a mild night, so they sat outside, swapping stories about some of the interesting characters that they had met at Golds. There was the guy who did deadlifts while releasing a grunt that could be heard across the entire gym. Another man who, both Ray and Grant agreed, must have dropped a weight on his head at some point was equally bizarre. He stopped them both in the locker room one afternoon and asked if they were a gay couple.
Ray, not at all pleased by the question, replied, “Why the hell would you ask that?”
The fellow looked down at the floor for a moment, trying to recall what gave him that idea, then looked up and said, “I don’t know. I guess it’s because I always see you both together.”
“We share a ride, and we spot for each other when doing bench presses,” Ray said with obvious annoyance as he loudly shut his locker’s door.
Grant, who was lacing up his shoes, avoided eye contact with either of them. Still, he chuckled to himself. He thought it made no sense for Ray to get irritated with a guy who struggled to utter a single coherent thought.
By the time the steaks and a six pack of beer had been finished, and Ray had pulled out some very special Tequila Clase Azul for both of them to sample, and then taste again, Grant rose with some difficulty and announced: “Barbara should be back from her gallery reception by
