Confessions of a Bad Boy(25)
I try to think of all the pet names I could call Jessie, and make the stupid decision to look at her for inspiration. My eyes go straight to the soft curves hiding beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, and suddenly all the things I can think of to call her wouldn’t be suitable outside a sound-proofed bedroom.
“Um…‘cutie’?”
“Aww!” Jessie says, smiling broadly as she presses the warmth of her taut body against me and puts her arm through mine. I feel the sudden, throbbing power in my groin of a man who hasn’t had sex in years, and realize it’s going to take a lot of cold showers to get through this weekend without doing something stupid. Again.
Arm-in-arm, we walk up the steps to the giant porch of the retreat, waving breezy hellos to the people sipping wine on the tables off to the side as if we’re an actual couple here on vacation. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.
The second we step through the large, open entrance, the hot aromas of the vineyards give way to the cool atmosphere of luxury. The large hallway feels more like a hippie mansion than a lobby, full of wicker chairs, aged wood furniture, and overgrown potted plants. We step past a few other couples and look for some kind of check-in desk.
“What are we supposed to do?” Jessie leans in and whispers in my ear, the heat of her breath sending a little shiver down my back.
“I don’t really know. This is my first time here, and I guess they’re used to regulars.”
We take a few more steps into the middle of the lobby before I feel a smack on my back like a boulder just dropped on me.
“Nate!” comes the threateningly friendly voice of Robinson. I turn around to face him. “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!”
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Robinson not dressed like he’s attending a Viennese opera in the eighteenth century, but it’s still one hell of an outfit. As if his loose, cream, linen trousers and his untucked, half-buttoned cotton shirt didn’t complete his ‘turn-of-the-century colonialist’ look, he went and added a safari hat. It works. He looks like Hemingway shaved his beard and lost a few pounds.
“Ah, well it’s my first time finding the place,” I say, as we shake hands with out-of-office vigor.
“Won’t be your last, though,” Robinson winks, before turning his attention to Jessie. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Tessa,” he says, taking her hand so gently for a second I almost feel like he’s about to kiss it.
“Yes,” Jessie replies, with so much composure in her voice it feels like she’s doing an impression. “I’m sorry if I came across a bit curt last time, I was just a little anxious about Nate doing so much running around that day. You know how he’s always trying to do it all.” She punches me fake-affectionately on the bicep and I grit my teeth and smile.
Robinson furrows his brow like a strict schoolmaster.
“That’s no good, Nate. I like a hard worker, but a family emergency is a family emergency, and your loved ones should always come first. Speaking of which.”
Robinson turns around to get somebody’s attention and I use the opportunity to look at Jessie, casting a quick expression at her that says what are you doing? She quickly replies with a shrug that I interpret as you wanted me to schmooze, didn’t you?
“This is my wife, Alexandra,” Robinson says, puffing his chest out with pride as he steps aside to reveal the woman approaching.
Suddenly Robinson’s obsession with ‘loved ones’ makes a whole new level of sense.
To call Alexandra a woman in her fifties would be deceitful fact – she has the kind of ageless, graceful beauty that’s far too remarkable to let a few wrinkles stand in its way. Her outfit stands out just as much as Robinson’s – but for entirely different reasons. With her grey, knee-length dress, tightened around her hour-glass figure by a white belt, she’s straight out of the Jackie Onassis look-book circa sixty-one. Hepburn shades below Bardot hair. On any other woman you would call it a ‘look;’ on her it’s like meeting a Truffaut femme fatale in the flesh.
“A pleasure to meet you,” I say, gently taking her extended hand.
“Likewise,” she replies, in a silk-wrapped voice, before turning to Jessie. “Welcome.”
“Well,” Robinson says, clapping his hands and waking me out of Alexandra’s spell, “I’m sure you’re tired, and want to get acquainted with the place.” He gestures to a nearby porter. “We’ll be having dinner by the pool tonight – should be a rather interesting affair, I’ve got quite a few people to introduce you to.”
“Thank you very much for having us,” Jessie says through a home-baked, wholegrain smile. She pushes herself up against me, arm around my waist, head pressed against my shoulder. I know it’s meant to show us off as the clean-cut happy couple, but the fact I can feel the softness of her breast against my chest makes my thoughts anything but clean.
Robinson grins widely at her, impressed and delighted.
“The pleasure’s mine. See you this evening.”
After the four of us nod gracious farewells, Robinson and Alexandra walk away. Jessie and I exchange a quick sigh and allow the porter to take our bags and lead us between the paintings and pottery that adorn every corner of the retreat.
“That was pretty good, Jess-Tessa. I think Robinson liked you. Keep it up.”