removing all signs of hair from the neck down.
Of course, her thoughts were on the day, on the incredible time she’d spent with Shawn. Yeah, yeah, she knew it didn’t mean anything, but he’d been so extraordinarily nice to her, it seemed like a dream.
They’d talked about his childhood and hers, which weren’t so terribly different. She’d been the youngest of four, he of five. She’d gotten a strange sort of encouragement from her parents to stretch herself and accomplish, where he’d had the faith of his mother to buoy his spirits. Where they differed most was that Shawn’s father was a dour and uncompromising man who had believed Shawn’s looks automatically made him suspect, and he’d tormented his son constantly, accusing him of being a “fag” and of having feminine ways. His father’s treatment had been terribly hard on Shawn, who was a sensitive boy, and had caused him to be wary of every emotion.
Finally, in college, at the University of New Mexico, Shawn had had a revelation: he wasn’t gay, wouldn’t turn gay, and whatever anyone else thought of the situation was their own problem. From then on, it was easy to accept the modeling jobs that had been offered. He’d left school with two years to go when the offer of riches became too great to ignore.
He’d moved to New York four years ago and had met with success he could never have imagined. He’d been in countless magazines, on television, on billboards, including one so famous it had become something of a risque icon. It was simply him in a pair of boxer shorts, and people from as far away as China recognized him instantly. Fame had its drawbacks, however, most of which centered around lack of privacy, but he’d said he figured there was always a price to pay for the kind of life he was living, and he’d grown accustomed to it.
He’d gone back to school against the advice of his agent and manager, but he didn’t lose any sleep over it. He had a plan, and it promised him a wonderful future.
Marla had told him of her college days, and how she never truly fit in with any crowd she’d found. She wasn’t as silly as the beer-drinking kegger lovers, and not so serious as the math geeks, but somewhere in between. She’d had a few good friends, but mostly she stuck to studying and listening to music. After she graduated, she’d researched the market carefully and had been offered four excellent jobs, but it was Jessica she wanted to work with. She’d never regretted the choice, although she didn’t see herself following Jessica’s strict “work-only” ethic. Marla still loved music, mostly classical and oldies, with some musicals, particularly those of Stephen Sondheim, to round out her tastes. That’s when Shawn had smiled that unbelievable smile at her. “I know him,” he’d said.
“Stephen Sondheim?”
“Yes. He’s a friend. I could introduce you.”
She’d been dizzy with the joy of it. To meet Stephen Sondheim would thrill her to her toes, but to have Shawn introduce him! It was simply over the top.
She finished shaving the one leg and picked up the canister to get the other one creamy, when the phone rang. Marla climbed down from the counter and hurried to the other room, a combination living room, kitchen and bedroom, to get the phone, fully expecting the call to be from Jessica.
It was Shawn. His sweet low voice took her breath away, and she didn’t say anything for a minute after his hello. He repeated the word, and she remembered how to talk. “Hi.”
“Am I bothering you?”
“Oh, no. No bothering here. In fact, the opposite of bothering which would be, uh…I don’t know what the opposite would be but you’re doing it. Nope. No bothering.”
He laughed, which made her all smiley and giddy. She sat down on the edge of the couch, crossed her clean- shaven leg over the hairy one.
“What are you up to tomorrow?” he asked.
“We have the dessert-and-jazz party at the Rainbow Room.”
“That’s tomorrow night.”
“I know, but I’ll have to go there in the afternoon to make sure all the decorations are up and stuff like that.”
“Ah, what time would that happen?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but probably around two.”
“Which would mean you would be available if, say, someone wanted to take you to brunch?”
That feeling swamped her tummy again, the one where the butterflies all took off at once and did the waltz. “Brunch?”
“You know, the meal that’s not quite breakfast and not quite lunch.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve had brunch before. Once when I was eleven, we stayed in Las Vegas and we had brunch every day for a week. I ended up overdosing on pancakes and cheesecake.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“Yes!”
“Good. How about I pick you up at ten?”
“Pick me up? You don’t have to do that. I’m not at the hotel. I’m at home because I had things to do, and I’m sharing the room there with this other girl, you met her, Vicky, she’s got brown hair and wears tights all the time, and anyway, she has all this stuff in the bathroom, which is fine, really, but hard to get around, so I decided to come home tonight to do all my girlie stuff…” She sighed. “Too much information, huh?”
“No, not at all. However, I did know you went home.”
“You did?”
“I called you, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah. How?”
“On the contact sheet from the agency.”
“Oh.”
“So I’ll pick you up, if, that is, you tell me where.”
“Oh, okay.” She gave him her address, and midway between her explaining where it was, he interrupted to tell her he already knew.
She closed her mouth, afraid it would start babbling on its own if she opened it even a bit. But then, he said, “See you at ten,” and she said, “Okay,” and then he hung up. She leaned her head on the phone for a second, wondering what she’d done in a previous life that could give her this in the present one. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it.
When she replaced the phone on the hook, it was mushed with lots of green gook from her face. After cleaning the receiver, she rushed back to the bathroom to finish shaving so she could take a shower. It was well past the time she should have washed off, so her face would be extra glowy. Which was nice, because then it would match how she felt.
JESSICA DIDN’T SAY anything for a long time after the waitress made her getaway. She was embarrassed, sure, but not terminally. She just wasn’t certain what to say next. How does one follow that?
Finally, she looked over to see Dan, who was laughing. His face was kind of scrunched up, but on him it looked good. She smiled, appreciating the joke, but also a little concerned. The telling had taken a toll. The erotic frisson had dissipated somewhat, but there was a lingering sensation in her lower parts that made her shift on her seat. He stirred her up, this man. Something fierce.
Yes, she’d decided to go with the flow, so to speak, and scratch her proverbial itch. But something else nagged at her, and it was a little voice in the back of her head that said this wasn’t all about sex. And if it wasn’t just about sex, then having sex might not be the right way to go. Having sex might lead to wanting more, and more was what she shouldn’t have.
All she had to do was think about the end of the campaign and the potential jobs that waited for her. On the other hand, the distraction of the attraction was quickly becoming too much to ignore, and that could easily lead to disaster.
“Now, that was a moment I won’t soon forget,” Dan said, wiping the corner of his eyes with his napkin. “The look on her face. Five’ll get you ten, we have another waitress serving us the rest of our meal.”
“I won’t take that bet.” She sipped her new drink, careful not to down too much, as she was hungry as a hound and the liquor would hit too hard. “I think they’re probably all pulling lots to see who has to serve us.”
“You certainly took it all with a grain of salt.”
She shrugged. “Not much I could do about it once it was done. Why fret?”
“Why, indeed?” He held up his glass. “To stoicism.”
