A Different Kind Of Forever (13 page)

“You own a lake?” She asked carefully.

“Well, kind of. My neighbors and I do. There are four of us.”

“Wow. Your own personal lake.” She ate a fistful of grapes slowly.
 

“I didn’t make any money until the second CD,” Michael explained. “My Dad took one look at the check I got when it went platinum and told me it was time to move out of his house. I was twenty-one. A friend of his, a judge, was selling his place. My father and I drove out to Mendham and bought it. The house was a mess, so I knocked it down. Nick found an architect for me. We’d been to Japan on the first tour, and the buildings blew me away. So I had a house built, and a dock, and bought a boat ‘cause I always wanted to sail.”

“Who takes care of everything while you’re on the road?”

“I have a guy, named Fred Chu. He was an old client of my father’s. Immigration problems, I think. He looks after the house, feeds Max, and organizes all the other guys.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Other guys?”

“Well, there’s a guy for the yard, a guy who cleans the house, a guy who looks after the cars, a pool guy, and a boat guy.” She had started to laugh, and he was shaking his head, laughing with her.

“I know, it sounds ridiculous. I mean, it’s just me and the dog, right?”

“Man, being a rich celebrity really sucks, Michael.”

“Oh, you know it.” He put down his wine glass and began to crawl to her side of the couch. She spread her legs and he lay between them and kissed her, hard. She sank deeper into the couch, wrapping her legs around him, her arms creeping around his neck.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?” She asked.

“Yes. Absolutely. Although the original plan was to wine you and dine you, then take you to my place.”

“You had a plan?”

“Of course. Waiting at home are three bottles of champagne and a closet full of rubbers.”

 
“A whole closet full? Your recuperative powers must be impressive.”

“Very. Someday I’ll write a song about it.”

“Wow. So, do you mind going to plan B?”

“Not at all. In fact,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile, “I happen to have a toothbrush in my glove compartment.”

She kissed his neck. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m something of an optimist.” His hands were back beneath her dress. He was kissing her as she began to move her hips against him.”

“It would seem,” he said softly, “that you aren’t wearing anything under your dress.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m something of an optimist too.”

She began pulling his shirt away, tugging at his jeans, and she stopped and looked at him. “I do have a bed, you know,” she told him.

“I know,” he replied, kicking his jeans to the floor. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to it.”

And they began again.

In the morning, they left the house early. There was a beautifully restored Volkswagen convertible bug sitting in Diane’s driveway. She stared at it, delighted.

“This is yours?” she asked. “It’s perfect. Can I drive?”

They put the top down, she slid behind the wheel and Michael found his cell phone in the back seat and began to check messages. They stopped for breakfast at a diner, then went back up Rt. 24, through Morristown, and on to Mendham. Michael talked on his cell phone, and Diane drove happily, the wind whipping her hair. He directed her off the main road, winding through quiet country, until she turned up a narrow drive, gently rising, with a grove of massive pines offering only a glimpse of a house set far back from the road.

Michael’s house was long and low. She stopped the car before a tall, red, double doors and they got out.

“Your house is beautiful, Michael.”

“Thanks. I really love it.”

They walked into a low-ceilinged foyer that opened to a large, lofty space, glass walls opening to a pool and a stretch of blue water beyond. Diane caught her breath. It was beautiful, the room, with its stark, elegant furnishings, and the view, bright and glittering.

Max came bounding from somewhere, and Michael yelled loudly, “Fred, it’s me.” He looked at Diane. “Want the tour?” She nodded.

Beyond the living room was a dining area, equally quiet and gracious. The kitchen was a gleaming space of stainless steel and black, with a small, round gentleman Michael introduced as Fred, who bowed over Diane’s hand and welcomed her. There were guest rooms and a large media room, and on the other side of the house, a small office, a vast studio, and Michael’s bedroom, walled on two sides with glass, looking out over the lake and lush trees.
 

Michael led her back to the kitchen. “Fred, can we have lunch? Around one. Out on the dock?” He asked.
 

Fred smiled and nodded. “Very good cold crab. Salad. Good bread. White wine.”
 

“Fantastic. Thank you.” Michael led Diane out past the pool, down a beautifully manicured lawn to a small dock that stretched out into the water, with two weathered Adirondack chairs facing the water.

Diane had never been in a sailboat before, and he was patient, explaining what everything was and what it was used for. They practiced a few moves with the sail down, the boat simply rocking in the water. When they really got underway, Diane felt confident. They sailed around in small circles within the sight of his house. She was dressed in jeans and sneakers, and had worn a heavy sweatshirt on his advice. The wind was high and cold out on the water, but she found it exhilarating. They brought the boat back in and had lunch, sitting at a small table Fred had set up at the edge of the dock.
 

When they went out again, he took her past a curve of land and there was the rest of the lake, huge and glistening. They spent the next few hours racing across the water, Diane sailing the little boat by herself while Michael sat back and watched her. She caught him looking at her intently at one point, but when she questioned him, he just smiled.

“You look happy,” he yelled as an explanation.
 

They returned to the house and went into the village for dinner, to a loud, lively place in the center of town, where their casual clothes and Diane’s tousled hair did not matter. The staff was young and friendly, and they all knew Michael. Their waiter brought him a mug of beer without being asked. A waitress came over to chat, a young girl who Michael knew by name, and cast puzzled looks in Diane’s direction. Afterwards, they drove back to his house, and made love on his huge bed, the windows open to the cool night air, the room flooded with moonlight and the scent of water.

They had breakfast the next morning outside on his terrace, looking out over the lake. Fred served them Eggs Benedict. Diane stared down at her plate and shook her head.

“This is incredible. Do you get this kind of thing every morning?”

“Nope.” Michael poured coffee. “Fred must like you. I usually get half a grapefruit and stale Raisin Bran.”

“You do not. This coffee is delicious, and fresh squeezed orange juice. God, I could get used to this.” She spoke lightly, just chattering, stirring cream into her coffee cup, and she glanced at him and found him staring at her.

“What?” She glanced behind her. “What is it?”

He shook himself and looked down at his plate. “What should we do today?”

“I need to go home. I have work to do in my yard. I’m putting in a rose garden. Remember that azalea you helped me with? Well, that used to be under this huge tree that finally died, and last year I had it taken down and hauled away, so I finally have a sunny spot. I’ve always wanted roses. I’ve been planning and plotting all winter. I need to finish some heavy-duty soil turning today.”

“Okay. I’ll help you.” He drank orange juice.

 
Diane put down her fork and stared at her half-eaten breakfast. “Thank you, but no, really. I want to do this by myself.”

Michael ate thoughtfully, watching her face. She was still staring at her food.

“It’s just that my Dad, he had this big self-reliance theory,” she said, looking up at him. “He always said that if you relied too much on others, you would forget your own strength. So I like to do things alone.”

“That must have been tough on Kevin when it came to raising the girls,” Michael observed dryly.

“No. I know when to share.” She picked her fork back up. “Kevin always was right in there, pitching in, and I always let him. It was important for them to have two good parents. He’s still a great dad. It made me squirm a few times, but I got over it.”

“Then why don’t we have dinner tonight?”

Diane put her fork down and sat back again. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want Emily and Megan to know about this, about us. Not yet, anyway.” She drank the coffee, trying to find words. Michael leaned forward, curious.

“A couple of years ago, I met someone who could have been, well, special, but he was married, so I backed away and that was that. But the girls had met him, and they loved him. He was just such a gentleman, you know, very old-world. He was from England. When I told the girls he wouldn’t be back around, they were upset. I think Rachel had a little crush on him.” She looked at Michael. He was cradling his steaming coffee, looking at her intently.

“I already know all three of them have a huge crush on you. Rachel was angry the other night. She’s been madly in love with you since she was fifteen, and she walks in, and there you are with me. Not so good. And the other girls, I don’t know.” She shrugged and smiled ruefully. “You’re not just some dopey guy Mom is going out with, you know? There are certain, well, extra problems here.”

Michael nodded. “Yes, you’re right. So when can I see you again?”

“Not next week. Next week is finals week, and I have to be at Dickerson every day. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. My students need all the attention I can give them.” Diane leaned forward, grabbing his arm and giving it a shake. “Please understand, if I have something that needs to be done, I don’t allow any distractions. I have to stay focused. And I could not concentrate on some poor freshman worried about a final grade if I thought I would be seeing you. Please, Michael, Friday night. Okay?
 

Michael blew out through his mouth and looked out over the lake. “Are you always this tough?”

“Yes. This is how I live my life. This is what has worked for me for a long time now. I am not blowing you off, believe me.”

Michael grinned. “Yes, I know. Okay, how about this. I have a program on my computer inside. We’ll plan out your garden, I’ll take you home, and I’ll call tomorrow.”

“You have a landscaping program? Really? Oh, that is so great. Yes, let’s go.”

They spent an hour on his computer, Diane pointing and trying to explain as Michael patiently clicked and double-clicked. He printed out her design, and drove her home. He kissed her very hard, then backed out of her driveway. She stood there for a long time, watching where his car had turned down the road, before she went into the house.

F
INALS WEEK WAS
the worst Diane could remember. She had been a full-time professor for six years, and had thought she had learned to weather the storm, but this year was horrific. The students were complaining non-stop, with one junior in particular who left e-mail messages that ran pages long. Emily and Megan were usually respectful of the pressure Diane was under and left her alone, but Emily had been asked to the senior prom by a young man, and wanted to spend the entire weekend down the Jersey shore with a group of seniors. Diane had said no. The battle was on. Megan, usually quiet and easy-going, wanted to spend a semester in France the following spring. Diane could not afford it. Kevin was balking. Megan was raging.

Diane was tired, ill-tempered and running out of patience with everyone and everything. She had finals to grade, evaluations to write up, and Rachel was still acting cool towards her. Diane could not wait for the week to be over. She could not wait to see Michael.

By Thursday, she was pretty much at her wits’ end. Then, Kevin called to say he was picking the girls up early, right after school on Friday. They were all going down to Long Beach Island to open up the shore house. She thanked him coolly, hung up the phone, and called Michael, telling him to meet her at four on Friday.

She got caught in a meeting Friday afternoon, then hit traffic. When she got home a sleek, silver car was parked in front of her house. A DeLorean. She walked around to the back of the house, and Michael was stretched out on a lounge chair, eyes closed. The faint jangle of the brass bell on her garden gate had not roused him. He seemed totally relaxed, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt. She watched him for a moment, still and quiet in the cool afternoon.

“Hey, is that your car out front?” she called, walking toward him.

He lifted his head and grinned. “Yeah - isn’t it fantastic?”

“It was my dream car for years.” He stood up and put both arms around her. She leaned against him with a sigh.
 

“This has been the worse week of my life. I’m so tired and miserable. I hate everybody.” She pulled back her head to look at him, kissing him hard. “Except you. You are the only person I can stand to be with right now.”

“Lucky for me. So, tell me what you need. A cold drink? Hot shower? Food? Sleep? Sex?”

“Yes. I need all that.” She kissed him again, slower this time, and her body began to burn. She stepped away from him. “A drink first, I think. We’ll go from there.”

He followed her into the house, declined her offer of a vodka martini, and opened a beer. She was wound up, talking nervously as she mixed her drink. She had kicked off her shoes and was pacing around the living room while he sat and watched her silently, letting her ramble. She finished her drink quickly.

“Look, I need a shower. And I really need to eat. Do you feel like a steak? Kevin used to say that stress made me carnivorous.”

“Sure. I’ll call Longacre’s and get a table for what, an hour?”

“Shit, it’s almost six. I can’t believe it’s this late. We’ll never get a table on a Friday night, not now.”