TUESDAY TALES - APRIL 16 - BUTTON

 

Welcome! Today I'm trying something different. I'm taking a small break from "Two of Hearts" to throw out something I've been working on for a new book. I'm anxious to get your feedback. What do you think? Does this character intrigue you? Is he real? Interesting? Would you want to read his story? 

The setting is her art studio where she's using him as a model for a book cover. He's 45 years old, just the right age to portray the hero of the book. This is what's going through his mind as he's posing for her. 

He's an old money Christian and she's a second-generation American Jewish woman. They are not dating and have had a contentious friendship tenuously drawn together over the love of a particular painting they saw at an art show. 

The snippet is a little longer than usual and I apologize for that. Please let me know what you think. And be honest! 

PS. I know it's a lot of telling and not much showing. I will editing in the showing after I nail down the scene. 

When you're done, hop on over to the other authors. Find them HERE. 

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 He watched her gaze travel across his shoulders and down the open front of his shirt. She adjusted the opening to be just so, not exposing too much of his chest, but just enough for the picture. When she drew her lower lip between her teeth his eyes were drawn to her mouth. Then he noticed a slight pink creep into her cheeks as her gaze rested on his chest.

He didn’t want to notice those things about her. He’d been perfectly content for 45 years not noticing much of anything that didn’t pertain directly to his life. He’d ignored most of the world, especially the little nuances of women. He'd kept his focus on his life and the things he needed to button up to get through his day. And that’s all.

But not now. Now he noticed. He noticed her, everything about her. How she styled her hair and what clothes she wore. He noticed how tight her blouse was, emphasizing her tempting but forbidden breasts. He noticed that her eyes shone in a different way. Was that desire? Was it lust? He had no clue because he’d never noticed it in a woman before.

Oh he wasn’t a virgin. Quite the contrary. But sex had always been kind of a bargain, a reward for treating an attractive woman to an expensive meal or a night at the theater. Kind of bought and paid for in a subtle way totally acceptable to society. But not with her. He’d never ask her to dinner or the theater, and even if he broke every rule of his and his family’s, she wouldn’t go with him anyway.

No. Sex had never been about a willing look on a woman’s face. It had always been about him making a subtle pass and either getting the green light or getting turned down. That was it. Quite cut and dried. But not with her. With her nothing was cut and dried. She threatened his sense of the world. With her it was about emotion, raw emotion. He saw it in her art. The way she sometimes followed the rules and other times took liberties. He burned with jealousy that she could be comfortable taking liberties while he never dared to step out of the box that had become his life. Why should he? He’d been content with his situation. He lived an extremely comfortable life, one that everyone else on the planet would envy. But not her.

She laughed at his rigidity, his conservative values and ideas. Laughed, like he was some kind of clown or something. And she’d questioned him, relentlessly until he felt unsure, unsure of his own ideas and of what was right and proper. She was never proper and she didn’t care. And it made him mad.

He raised his gaze to hers and saw something flit through – was that desire? No, he was delusional. He was the enemy, the Nazi waiting to throw her in a prison camp. No, she’d never desire him. At that moment, though, he could swear she did. Then he felt heat come to his own cheeks because he desired her. Wanted her in a way he’d never wanted a woman before. All hot and sweaty, earthy, and primal. The feeling shook him so that he suddenly felt unsteady.

“Are you all right? It’s hot in here. I'll open the window,” she’d said.

Hell, what was wrong with him wouldn’t be fixed by opening a window. Nope. He’d done it. Crossed over the line. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. The forbidden fruit. What the hell was he going to do now?

TUESDAY TALES - GENTLE

 

Howdy! Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where authors write to a word prompt. We have more from "Two of Hearts" this week. When you're finished, hop on over to the other authors' works you'll find HERE. 

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“Why don’t I send you a text every night. Would that do?”

He exhaled. A text, a cold, impersonal, don’t-bother-to-reply text. His shoulders sagged.

“Sure. Sure. Whatever works for you.” He refused to appear clingy.

“Could you sleep then?”

“Yeah. About coming for a visit.” He shut his eyes tight, praying for the right answer.

“You mean this weekend? That won’t work. A bunch of us are driving up the coast. Kind of an adventure. Then we’re going to write about the trip. Someone suggested a road trip film. But we’d experience it first.”

“And I can’t come?” His heart twisted.

“I suppose you could. But the rest of the team might feel kinda funny. You not being a writer and all. Like how would you contribute?”

“Pay for your hotel.”

Silence.

Words tumbled from her in a rush. “I know I’m running up a lot of extra expenses, but when I sell my first screenplay, I’ll pay you back.” 

“Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s not about the money. Fuck the money. I want you to have this experience. It’s not that at all. If I wouldn’t fit in, okay, then.”

“Maybe we could plan a weekend for just us? Say next month?”

“We could do that.” A month? Christ, I have to wait a month to get her for a weekend? Fuck.

“Why don’t you get on that? Text me a choice of two dates.”

“Clare, texting doesn’t work for me.”

“You know how to do it, right?”

“Of course, I know how. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Patience wore thin.

“Hey, no need to get belligerent.”

“No need to get belligerent? You’re relegating me to a text buddy? And you don’t think I should object to that? I’m your husband, not some acquaintance.”

“We knew this wasn’t going to be easy, Terry. Please don’t make it any harder than it is.”

“Didn’t you have fun when we Skype’d?”

Silence. Then her voice, lower, more gentle than before. “Sure, I did. It was amazing. I could almost feel you touch me.”

“Me, too. So, let’s do it again.”

“I don’t know. My roommate is here all the time. She’s a giant pain in the ass.”

“Then go to a hotel. I’ll pay for it.”

“It’s just not a good time.”

“Why? Why isn’t it? It’s a great time for me. I love you, Clare. I miss you.”

“I know. One month down and five to go.”

“It seems like forever.”

“It’ll pass before you know it. Look, I’ve gotta run. Get the stuff about our weekend together and text it to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you, Terry. Love you to bits.”

“Love you, too.”

And then she was gone. 

Terry headed for the kitchen. There was an empty take-out food container on the counter. He heaved it against the wall. The noise woke Queenie who came running in, barking.

Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - QUICK

 

Welcome! It's time for more FREE READS on Tuesday Tales. We're back with the continuing story of "Two of Hearts" and it's Terry's turn. When you finish hop on over to the other free reads by the great authors of Tuesday Tales. Find their works HERE. 

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After the walk, Terry pushed open the front door. He hadn’t overeaten like that in years. Closing his eyes, he could still taste the rigatoni. Covered in that sauce, that excellent sauce, it had created memories on his tongue. Clare cooked like that, too. As he unharnessed the pug, he remembered winter weekends when they didn’t get dressed, but spent the day cooking, eating, watching tv and making love. It had become a ritual. He’d pick one football game and she’d pick one movie.

Clare would make stew or soup or even a small turkey with stuffing, and bake cookies. And they’d pigged out. Snuggling up together on the sofa, Terry usually started things. A self-confessed breast fanatic, he’d start there. It wasn’t long before the tv was either on pause or totally ignored as they feasted on each other.

After toeing off his shoes, he sighed and padded into the living room. Might as well get some news in quick before he called Clare. While some perfectly made up and coiffed women and men fed details of the latest shooting or scam, Terry’s mind wandered. What would he say to Clare? How could he tell her he needed to talk to her, to connect with her, every day? He didn’t want to come off as needy, a tyrant, or, worse, a chauvinist. But he had rights, as her husband, and someone who adored her, didn’t he?

At ten of, his cell rang. It was Clare. Her being early was a good sign, wasn’t it? He smiled as he picked up the phone.

“Hi, baby,” he said.

“Hi.” Her tone was decidedly cool.

“We’ve been missing each other…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. But, well, my schedule has changed,” she said.

“Right. What is your schedule? I don’t want to call when you’re in class.” He kept his tone even.

“Texting is really better.”

“I have to be honest. I can’t sleep if I don’t know that you’re safe, wherever you are.”

“You need to touch base every night?”

“Yeah. I do. You’re my wife, I want to know you’re okay.” There! He’d gotten it out on the table.

Silence. He paced in the living room.

That's all. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "SILVERY"

 

Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where authors write stories to a word prompt. This week the word prompt is "silvery" or any variation on the word "silver". We have another episode of "Two of Hearts". When you've finished my story, please hop on over to the other authors. Find their works HERE. 

 

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“Why are you doing this? Needling me?”

“Because that’s what friends do.”

“Give each other a hard time?”

“Push each other to be their best,” he said, picking up the salad tongs to add more to his plate.

Jen mulled over what he’d said. She couldn’t argue.

“Okay, so you’re right. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you start writing. Tonight, after I leave. And that you write every night. Isn’t that what writers say? They have to write every day?”

She nodded. “Clare?”

“Yep. That’s what she’s told me a thousand times.”

“She’s right.”

“Damn, lady. You are some awesome cook,” he said, refilling their glasses. “You have to take care of Stan, but you have to take care of yourself, too. If you don’t, there will be nothing left to give him. And your marriage will die.”

His words terrified her. Already overwhelmed with the responsibility of taking care of Stan, now she had to dance to Terry’s tune and do the right thing for herself.

“I’m going to be checking up on you. Don’t think you can pretend to write. I’m going to want chapter and verse, lady.”

“I’m going to find Willie another girlfriend.” She frowned.

He laughed again, lifting his glass.

When she offered dessert, Terry patted his belly and shook his head. But she brought out zabaglione and strawberries anyway. When he saw the silver bowl full of tempting cream and juicy berries, his eyes grew wide.

She asked Terry a few pointed questions about things with Clare, but he didn’t have any answers and seemed reluctant to put their relationship on the examination table. She left it alone. Having a friend who cared enough to tell you the truth was rare. She wouldn’t wreck it by poking her nose into his business.  By nine, they had finished their meal.

“Why don’t you get Queenie and we can take the last walk together.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be back in fifteen,” he said, scooting out the door.

The house tour would have to wait. Perhaps that was a good thing. Taking him into her bedroom, probably wasn’t a good idea at the moment. Shame filled her. As she hooked up Willie, she talked to the pug.

“It’s okay to think Terry’s hot, right? I mean, thinking someone’s hot isn’t doing anything about it, is it? Of course not. You’ll keep me safe, Willie, right?”

That's all for this week. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - MARK

 

Howdy doodles and welcome!

 

The authors are writing stories to the word prompt "mark" this week. I have more of "Two of Hearts" this week. To read the other stories, click HERE. 

 

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She filled her plate a second time. “So how are things with Clare?”

“Not so good. She hasn’t answered when I’ve called. We’re scheduled to talk tonight at eleven. I’m sure there are good reasons. I don’t exactly know when her classes are. But I don’t like it. I can’t sleep if I don’t know that she’s safe, wherever she is.”

“I get that.”

“How’s Stan doing?”

“Moving into a private room tomorrow. They don’t know how long he’ll have to be there. Depends on his recovery. But I’m guessing maybe four days, then home.”

“How will you handle him here?”

“Good question.”

“Have you hired help?”

“I contacted a service. I hate having a stranger living in our house. But I won’t be able to handle Stan alone. He’ll be in a wheel chair because he broke the leg and wrist on the same side. So, he can’t handle a crutch. Not yet, anyway.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I’ll have to move out of the guest room.”

 “You’re sleeping in the guest room?” His eyebrows shot up.

She took a drink of wine and blinked rapidly. “I can’t stand sleeping in our bed without Stan.”

It was his turn to comfort. Terry reached across the table and squeezed her shoulder.

“I understand. I hate sleeping without Clare.”

“Oh, of course. Then you get it.”

“I do.”

Terry finished the huge plate of food, then added a little more. “How’s your writing coming?”

“My writing?”

“Yeah.” He cut a meatball with his fork.

“I’m not writing.”

“Why not?”

“All day at the hospital. Making plans for bringing Stan home. Dealing with that fucking brat, Marcy.”

“But you’re home at night, right?”

“I get home around six, usually.”

“And what do you do with the evening?”

“I collapse.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Anger filled her. “What do you mean that’s no excuse?”

“You have plenty of time to write. You’re being a baby.”

She stiffened. “I need Stan.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t know…”

“You’re a grown woman. You can write or not write. It’s your choice. And all the excuses in the world aren’t going to change that.”

“You’re pretty high and mighty. What do you do with your empty evenings?”

“Ah, good one. Change the subject.” He smiled and looked at his plate, then up at her.

“I thought that was pretty clever.”

“You’re not going to weasel out of this so easily, Jen. If you want to write –and you say you do—then write, God damn it!”

Indignation warred with hurt feelings. Jen had no come back, no reply. She sipped her drink, staring at him with angry eyes.

“Why do you have to be so damn right?” She hated when she got petulant but couldn’t stop.

Terry burst out laughing. “Glad you admit it.”

That's all. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - SWALLOW

 

Welcome!! It's time for Tuesday Tales and another episode of "Two of Hearts". This week we're writing to the word prompt "swallow." Don't forget to hop on over and read the other stories by the talented authors of Tuesday Tales. You'll find them HERE. 

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The doorbell interrupted her sexy thoughts. Uh oh, not good to be thinking like that with an attractive man on the other side of the door. She swallowed a mouthful of water, fanned herself for a few seconds, then let Terry in.

His casual attire impressed her. She figured he’d come right from the office. But he’d changed. Too bad. Not that he didn’t look good in snug jeans and a T-shirt, but a man in a suit and tie made her swoon. But Terry wasn’t here to make her swoon, was he? Nope, he was here to be her friend, and help her eat a mountain of food. 

He handed her a heavy bag. She pulled out a bottle of fine wine. She recognized the label.

“I love this brand. Thank you! Come on in,” she said, stepping back.

“I’ve never seen a townhouse where one family lived in the whole thing,” he said, looking around.

“We only live on three floors.”

“Only?” He cocked an eyebrow and grinned.

She sensed a blush in her cheeks. “I don’t mean to sound like a snob. We rent out the upper two floors. Stan bought this twenty-five years ago for a song. The place was a disaster, so he told me. He spent a year renovating. Just because Stan won the Nobel doesn’t mean we’re rich.”

“I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.” He wandered toward the back.

“I mean, we’re not hurting for money, but not rolling in it either.”

“I get it. This is beautiful. Did you decorate it?”

“Yes.”

“You did a fantastic job.”

“Thank you. I can take you on the grand tour after dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he replied, following her into the dining room. She had set the table in festive spring colors of pink and green. After indicating his seat, she handed him a corkscrew.

“Would you mind?”

“Of course,” he said, picking up the bottle while Jen retrieved wine glasses from a corner cabinet.

She headed for the kitchen and returned with a serving dish of meatballs and one with pasta. Last, she fetched a large wooden salad bowl filled with fresh greens.

“Wow! This looks great.”

“Rigatoni with meatballs. It’s my favorite,” she said, passing him the pasta.

Terry loaded his plate. She watched as he chowed down. Lord, it looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. She smiled.

“Something funny?” he asked, between bites.

“No, no.”

“Come on, come on. You’re hiding something,” he said, gesturing.

She laughed. “Okay. You look like it’s been a month since your last meal.”

He blushed, immediately making her sorry she’d said anything. She squeezed his forearm.

“It’s a great compliment to the chef. To see you enjoying the food.”

“This is truly great. You have a gift. I don’t know about your writing, but you could be a professional chef.”

She filled her plate a second time. “So how are things with Clare?”

That's all. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - KICK

*

 Hello and welcome! 

I'm part of this group that writes to word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "Kick". We are again taking a peek at "Two of Hearts" this week. When you're done reading my story, hop on over to read the excellent stories by the other Tuesday Tales authors. Find them HERE. 

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“I don’t have any single friends anymore, except maybe Kathy. And all she does is complain. I don’t need that right now. Terry’s a positive person. Even if he is going through shit with Clare. It’s okay.” When she faced the pug, he took a quick swipe, catching her chin with his tongue.  Jen laughed and gave him a quick pet. “Good boy, Willie.”

She closed her eyes but was too keyed up to sleep. She only asked Terry as a friend. Of course he was attractive. She might be upset, and distracted, but, hell, she wasn’t dead. He was taller than Stan, and broader in the shoulders. Could he have played football in college? Stop comparing him to Stan! Stan was her hero, and always would be. But Terry was a friend, a good friend.

She’d figured out that he bought both of those cream puffs for himself. Otherwise why did he have two? He couldn’t count on running into her. Yet he gave one to her, and it was the right thing to do. The cream puff brought her back, gave her the kick she needed to see that she’d do whatever was necessary to help Stan. Still those dark eyes held mischief, as if he had secretly seen her naked or something.

His wife was a lucky woman to be married to a man who could do that. Jen guessed they had an amazing sex life. She turned her thoughts to her first time with Stan. It had been the most romantic and erotic evening of her life. She’d never forget it. The way that man made love was enough to curl her toes just thinking about it.

She pushed up and padded barefoot to the kitchen. She plucked a bottle of water from the fridge. Stan knew how to get her hot, zero to sixty in ten seconds –and sometimes simply with a look. She smiled at the memory of seeing him across the room at a deadly dull party. He’d been buttonholed by a boring economist when he glanced at her. The heat from his stare, slowly caressing her body, had made her shiver as it traveled up and down. She had rubbed her forehead, made up an excuse about a headache to the hostess, and approached Stan, appealing to him to leave. He’d shaken hands with the economist, then returned home, and spent two hours making love to her.