A Different Kind of Forever(32)
“Mark,” he said, trying to ignore the girl as she pressed against him, “let’s get out of here. I need to get an early plane tomorrow.”
“That’s right. You’re going to Toronto. What the f*ck is in Toronto?” Mark had finished his drink and was signaling the bartender, who was carefully ignoring him.
“A movie, Mark. I may be doing a movie.” Michael tried to pull away from the blonde. His body was responding to her. Diane was still fresh in his mind, and this woman’s touch was beginning to affect him. He gripped her left wrist and turned to her. “Please, not right now,” he said to her softly.
Mark grabbed Michael and swung him back around. “A movie? A f*ckin’ movie? Jesus, Mike, can I be in your movie?”
Michael tried to maneuver his friend away from the bar. “It’s not my movie, Mark. You ready to get home?”
The blonde slid between Michael and Mark. “Don’t go yet,” she said, smiling. She rubbed herself against him, and he felt an immediate erection. She felt it too.
“See, I knew you’d be happy to meet me,” she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Michael pulled her arms away. “Not now,” he said again, louder, rudely. He grabbed Mark and pushed him ahead, through the crowd. He could hear her voice, shrill, following him outside. He and Mark started down the sidewalk, and she was right behind them.
“Hey, hey wait.” She put herself in front of Michael again. “Your friend here said you were a nice guy. Come on, be nice to me. I’ll be nice to you.” She was stroking him through the rough denim of his jeans, and he suddenly thought how easy it would be, that she would probably f*ck him in the front seat of his truck. He was rock-hard, and she kissed him, her tongue deep in his mouth.
Mark staggered against them, and the blonde shoved him angrily. Mark started yelling, and Michael grabbed him again, pushing him further away.
“Hey, I’m sorry, really,” he called to her. “Listen, I’ll be back here tomorrow, okay?” He hurried Mark along, praying she would not follow. When he glanced back, she was walking back into Rollie’s. Michael sighed thankfully.
He walked them to Mark’s apartment. Mark searched his pockets, dragged out a key, and they went up three flights to a sprawling loft studio. Mark worked on Wall Street, and made easily six figures a year. The rent on his apartment, overlooking the river and Manhattan beyond, was four thousand a month. Michael rolled his friend into a crumpled king-sized bed, then stripped, found a towel and took a long, steaming shower. He dried himself off and stretched out on Mark’s sofa, looking out at the lights of New York. He was exhausted. He squinted at his watch, pushed a few buttons, and set the alarm. 5 o’clock. Even that would be pushing it. Was Toronto considered international? Would he need to be there even earlier? It didn’t matter. As drained as his body was, he was wide awake. After an hour of tossing, he got up, threw his rumpled clothes back on, and drove to the airport. He went through security, checked in, and sat, reading Gordon Prescott’s script, and thinking about Diane.
Diane spent the whole of Sunday working outside. It exhausted her, which is what she had hoped for. The large patch of ground where the azalea had been was going to be a rose garden, she had decided. Since the cutting down of the old maple last fall, she finally had an open, sunny spot in her yard. She cleared the smaller brush, transplanted the pachysandra, and worked bags of peat moss and compost into the soil. When Emily and Megan returned from their father’s at seven that evening, her muscles hurt and she felt she could fall asleep standing upright.
She had had trouble sleeping the night before. She kept thinking about Michael. There was not a thing about him she did not find desirable. He was bright. He made her laugh. He was thoughtful and sensitive. He was obviously crazy about his family. And when he kissed her, she wanted to tear all his clothes off. She hadn’t felt that strong a physical attraction in a long time. She kept feeling his mouth against her skin, and she finally closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers between her legs until she brought herself to a quick, hard climax. Only then could she sleep.
The girls obviously quarreled at their father’s, and it came home with them. Diane was not in the mood. She kept hearing them snipe at each other, and it set her teeth on edge. When Sue Griffen called and suggested a walk, she readily agreed, despite her aching legs. She shouted up to the girls where she was going, and walked outside. Sue was coming down the street, Sharon Ingoe beside her. Sharon was short and sturdy, with legs like tree trunks beneath her shorts, her gray hair cut short. She lived down the street from Diane and Sue, and had known them for years.