Calendar Girl (13 page)

Chapter Twenty

I
POPPED INTO
J
EFFREY’S
when Matthew went to check on his shack. It made me laugh. My current suitor runs a shack.

‘Oh, there she is. Where was you last night?’

‘Grammar,’ I said, pushing past him. But he blocked me.

‘Sorry. Where were you last night?’

‘Let me in.’ I eyed him up. He had no hair to muss but his face had that easy relaxed non-kinetic look of a recently laid Jeffrey. And his eyes were sleepy and there were – now that I listened – furtive movements inside his tiny apartment.

‘I’m um ... otherwise engaged.’ He toed the brass threshold and waited. ‘How about I call you and–’

‘Wait, wait, wait!’ I said, something in my body humming with suspicion. ‘You get laid you crow like a mad man. How big he was, how good he was, how long, how deep, how many! But now, no. You are not telling me anything. So either, it was bad or ...’ I gasped. ‘Or you don’t want me to know who it is!’

‘Merritt–’

‘Merritt my ass, who is it?’ I knew. I knew deep down before I even faked him out. But fake him out, I did. I faked left and he bobbed to keep up with me. Jesus. He fell for that shit every time. When he moved I slipped under his arm on the gap at his right and darted into the dark interior of his lair.

I rounded the breakfast bar and collided with my sleep-tousled brother. ‘Jack! What the fuck?’ I threw my head back and stomped my foot and yes, I did see that I was having a temper tantrum. But I couldn’t quite control it.

‘Merritt,’ my brother said, putting his hand on my arm.

‘Do not Merritt me!’ I spun at Jeffrey and shook my finger at him like he was a bad dog instead of my very best friend. ‘How could you? How? You promised me. You did. And now ...’ I threw my arms up, tears clouding my vision.

‘Why is it so bad?’ Jack asked. Instead of bravado and yelling and bellowing like a bear, which is how my brother usually behaves, he sat on a bar stool and put his head in his hands. ‘What is the big deal?’

I froze. My mouth opening and closing. ‘Because,’ I finished weakly.

‘Because it’s all about you?’ Jeffrey said.

‘No, of course not! I’m not that way.’ And I wasn’t. Was I? Hadn’t Matthew just been telling me I was too compassionate to everyone but me? But was restricting Jeffrey and Jack my right or in any way beneficial to me. ‘I mean I’m ...’

‘Girl, you have had a shitter of a shock in your life.’ Jeffrey moved past me calmly. He pulled his bright blue kimono tight around his buff upper body and poured out three cups of fresh coffee. The small apartment was done in bright colours and rich fabrics with pretty baubles and eclectic art everywhere you looked. It was both energizing and calming all at once. ‘But you can’t control us because you had no control over your man and his wiener whacking.’

I burbled out a whoop of surprised laughter. ‘Jeffrey! It’s just ... Drake and then Jack came out. And I was behind him!’

‘I know it,’ my brother chimed in.

‘And the mother, dear goodness,
mother
. And the cage! Men. All of them nice and different. All of them with their little kinks.’

Jack covered his ears. ‘Lalalala! You are my sister, remember?’

‘Hey! You schtupped my best friend! You man up, Jack!’

He put his hands down and Jeffrey laughed behind his hand like a young girl. ‘Go on.’

‘The one I really really liked up and left for his ex. And now this new one is fabulous but I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore! And I don’t want to be sure about the men. I want to stick to the plan,’ I said to Jeffrey.

‘Plan?’ Jack asked, sipping his steaming coffee. He drank it black. Bleh.

‘Twelve months, twelve men. No strings. Fun and fucking. A buffet of hunks, if you will.’ Jeffrey said.

‘Twelve men! In a year? Merritt, holy moly, don’t tell Mom.’

‘I know. Shit. There is no cage that could hold that.’

Jack snorted and I giggled. ‘So now to me and the man,’ Jack said and I shit you not, I think that Jeffrey blushed. ‘What’s the big thing?’

I sat down next to Jack, suddenly weary. Jeffrey, the domestic goddess (on occasion) started whipping eggs in a bowl and set a pat of butter in a frying pan to melt. ‘Before all this Drake was my husband. Mom was nosy but normal. You were just Jack who had trouble meeting girls and Jeffrey was ... well, hell ... just as he is now. And that was my world. I loved you all and you all had your little niches in my life. Now everything is bleeding all together and I have these men who all make me feel so good in so many ways but none of them hit all the things I need. So I can’t help but wonder, is it them ... or is it me?’

Jeffrey turned, stirring his eggs without even looking. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes. It’s D: all of the above. They are not perfect, you are not perfect. Your brother is gay, girl, I proved that to him last night–’

‘Lalalalala!’ I yelled this time.

Jack blushed and dropped his head and Jeffrey grinned like the Cheshire Cat. ‘Your mother is adjusting. Your ex is ... confused? Crazy? The verdict is still out. You find something you need in each of these guys but not everything. And ...’ He turned and started to plate the eggs.

‘And?!’

‘And you need to be patient. With your life. With your heart. With yourself, Miss Merritt. I know you suck at it, but you must cut yourself some slack and just wait.’

Wait? Wait was the worse word in the world to me. ‘Um ...’

‘You heard me. You have to wait. Your life will work out. You just need to put your hands up and enjoy the rollercoaster ride a bit. Because white-knuckling it is not working.’

‘Merritt?’

‘Yeah?’

‘When I say,
God I want him
, who pops into your head?’

Pop! There he was. A big, tall, dark smouldering hunk of man. And I was shocked. Penn Fratila. I looked right at my brother and lied my ass off. ‘No one.’

‘Then you’re not ready,’ he said. ‘Keep having fun.’

‘OK,’ I whispered.

‘Breakfast is served, darlings,’ Jeffrey said and presented us with cheesy eggs, some sliced fruit and toast.

‘When did you make toast? I didn’t see you make toast,’ I said scarfing my breakfast like I hadn’t had cereal and coffee with Matthew at home.

‘I’m faster than the human eye,’ Jeffrey said with a flourish. ‘I have talented hands.’

‘I’ll say,’ Jack said between bites.

I dropped my fork and clamped my hands over my ears. ‘Lalalalala!’

‘Ready?’ I asked Michelle.

She looked like I was taking her before a firing squad instead of into her own recently cleaned out walk-in closet. ‘Yes. Thank you, Merritt, thank you,’ she said.

‘Don’t thank me yet. You might hate it.’

‘Is it shoved to the ceiling with stuff?’

‘No,’ I laughed.

‘Then I’ll love it.’

I took her hand and squeezed and together we pulled back the accordion door. ‘Tada,’ I said, trying to lighten the tension.

She gasped, covered her mouth and started to cry. I tried not to panic. This was not my first hoarder and I knew that usually the tears were relief. Only a handful of times had they been grief for lost stuff. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she managed, despite a heavy rush of more tears. Michelle, a big woman with long black hair, scooped me into her ample embrace and squeezed. I had to laugh, though I had hardly enough air.

‘I’m glad you like it. Now let me give you a tour.’

We hugged for one more squeeze and then I showed her. ‘Shoes in the shoe boxes. How many do you see?’

‘A dozen.’

‘Right, so if you find a killer pair of shoes and it brings your total to thirteen then ...’

‘I have to ditch or donate a pair to bring the total back to a dozen.’

‘A difficult feat for any shoe-loving girl,’ I joked so she wouldn’t feel singled out. ‘I have to make myself fork over old pairs I haven’t worn for a while when I get new ones.’ I reached in my pocket and handed her a card for the local women’s shelter. ‘I donate them here. It’s a shelter for abused women and their kids. They also have a job programme to try and help the women start over and gain independence. So you can feel good about donating. Someone who really needs your shoes will get them.’

Another fierce hug and I patted her back, said in her ear, ‘You will be OK.’

I echoed to myself.
You will be OK
.

‘Here’s a few for belts and scarves. Drop down hangers for trousers. Fifteen red hangers for dresses. No more than fifteen. Twenty for tops. A small shelf for sweaters. How many?’

‘A dozen.’

‘Good job,’ I said. Michelle’s main hoard item had been clothing and shoes and accessories. By giving her a definitive number for each item, we were helping her mentally track her items and commit to order.

‘What’s the pretty blue box for?’

About the size of a small footlocker, it was in the back under some hooks I’d put up for chain belts and purses. ‘That is a memory box. For the kids stuff. Love letters. Photos. Those small mementos everyone has. That’s important stuff like your art.’

‘I have very little to put in there now,’ she said. Not because she had no memories or keepsakes but because a great many of them had been ruined in the hoarding. They had inevitably been thrown out due to some mould and infestation issues.

‘Well, now you will.’ I turned to the closet and squeezed her hand again. ‘This is a fresh start. Take it and run.’

‘I will. I’m starting over and I’m doing it right this time.’

Amen.

Chapter Twenty-one

H
IS FINGERS WERE IN
my hair again, twirling light and dark strands together, slipping his fingers free of the ringlets he created. Matthew would twist them with enough torque to make what resembled a curl wedded with a dreadlock. Then he’d move on to the next. He’d invited me over to his house and cooked me dinner. A nice huge steak, medium rare, potato pancakes and fresh corn, ice cold beer and some fruit and cookies for dessert. The man knew food. Simple but super good food.

‘Wanna take Nibble for a walk?’

I eyed Nibble. Nibble, which was a tiny name bringing to mind mice and fluffy rabbits and adorable little cuddlies, was a 60 pound bull dog who drooled constantly. And had won my heart in seconds. ‘Sure,’ I said, but made no move to rise. I’d worked all day at Michelle’s home with Dr Calibri. I’d come home to a fast shower and then a fast drive over to meet him. I was pleasantly boneless while he played with my hair.

Who needs Prozac? Just get someone to stroke your hair.

‘You’re not getting up, Merritt.’

‘I know. Sorry. I’m just so ...’

‘So?’

‘So
ahhh
, you know? You are like a human Valium.’

He laughed softly and I put my legs up in the air, flexed and then pointed my toes. He was better than yoga. ‘I like that I have that effect on you.’

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, my former girlfriend said I was too low key.’ There was a distinct tone of sadness in his voice.

‘You are low-key, but that’s good. And not all the time. I mean, hell, the foyer the other night was not low-key. It was high-key. It was one of the highest keys I’ve ever been to ... done? Experienced. Whatever. You know what I mean.’

His stomach jumped under my head as he laughed. ‘I see. So when you say, I’m like a human Valium, you mean I put you to sleep?’

‘I mean you make me feel mellow.’ I wriggled and there was that hard-on pressing my ear again.

‘Hmm. Define mellow.’ He reached under my head and I heard his zipper hiss under my head. His fingers moved and jostled me and then he was rubbing his cock in my hair. I laughed because while it was a bit odd, it was also oddly sexy.

‘Like my bones are made of marshmallows and my blood is made of sunshine. You make me feel less panicky. Less jittery. Less obsessive. I came here to be with you instead of asking you over because then, no one could get me. Jeffrey is banging Jack, my mother thinks my brother is having an “affair”, though he’s not in a committed relationship so how he could be having an affair is beyond me. A friend recommended me to a woman who is a shopaholic and hides it from her husband but now her ailing mother has to come live with her and the spare rooms are full of purchases. But here ...’

He wound my hair in ribbons around his erection and then released it. A hard, silken, flesh and blood curling iron. I smiled, turned my head to his lap, kissed the tip of his cock so that he sighed.

‘Here what?’ he asked. His voice a little strangled from arousal.

‘Here I feel like I don’t have to be on alert incessantly.’ I opened my mouth and slipped down on his cock. Licking and sucking, I moved lower and lower until I felt him in the back of my throat and my nose brushed his warm skin.

‘Oh, is this how you do mellow, Merritt?’ he said.

‘I want you to feel what I feel. Do you feel loosey goosey and all untangled?’

He thrust up under me, fucking my mouth gently at first. I moved my mouth over him, pushed a finger through the fly of his jeans and boxers to lightly stroke his balls. ‘I do. I feel both tense and fluid.’ He panted like I was chasing him and when I went to take him all the way, he stopped me. Grabbing hunks of my hair in his hands to tether me.

‘Bend over the sofa back. Come on. Get up on your knees, put your chest on the back of it.’ He helped me up. Peeled me out of my leggings and thong. Pressed my breasts to the back of his sofa and traced the line of my spine with his warm fingers. Each vertebra sang out when he touched me there. His fingers found my wetness, pressed into me, slipped in and out of me until my cunt was as desperate and eager as his cock.

I heard the foil packet and smelled the familiar smell of sex. Arousal, sweat, latex. I pushed my ass out, begging him to touch me, to feel my skin and enter me. ‘Ready, baby?’ he asked.

‘Beyond ready.’

Matthew parted my hair like ponytails; holding one in each hand, he entered me and fucked me in slow even strokes so my body caught up around him in a tight vice of slick flesh. My breasts banged the back of the cushion and his mouth pressed to the back of my neck, my shoulder. He nipped at my skin as his hips thrust up high and hard and I pressed back to him to get him in harder, deeper, faster.

‘I’m not so loose now,’ he said, releasing my hair so that it cascaded in a ticklish soft wave along the length of my back. I shivered at the sensual stroke of hair on skin and then he caught up again in just one hand. His other hand found my nipple. Matthew pinched and pressed so that little fever shivers worked through me. I needed no help, my orgasm kept inching closer, but I ground my clit to the heel of my hand, finding just the right pressure to make me grow tauter still around his driving cock.

‘I’m not so loose either,’ I whispered. ‘In fact, I’m rather tight.’ I clenched my cunt up around him.

He said, ‘Oh, Merritt, hell.’

That was that. He pulled the rope of my hair up and forward so that my head bowed in response. His other hand yanked at the bend of my hips, angling me a little more severely and the head of him slammed the perfect place in me that I clutched at the sofa, sobbing out my pleasure as he came with a harsh cry.

Matthew wrapped his arms around my waist but we stayed in our rear facing tableau on his sofa. ‘We have a knack for that.’

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Coming together,’ he said, softly.

‘You like that, don’t you?’

‘You betcha,’ Matthew said. He kissed me on the spine, down, down, down until I jumped under him, giggling. ‘Now how do you feel?’

I flopped onto my back and ran my big toe up his belly so that he shook this time. ‘Loose all over again?’

‘I think Nibble wants some attention. You have it in you? The night’s really gorgeous. It’s that twilight colour outside.’

‘In the purple air,’ I said.

‘What’s that?’

‘Something Jeffrey and I would say when we were in high school. Where should I meet you? In the purple air. It just meant at twilight.’

‘It’s pretty.’

‘It is. And, yes. Nibble, would you like walkies?’

Nibble, as big and crinkly and gruff looking as he was started to wag his tail so fiercely that he had to flip to his back and bare his belly before he simply toppled over. I reached down and stroked his tight stomach while Matthew found the leash. ‘You are a handsome, handsome boy,’ I told him.

‘Looks like I have some competition for your affections,’ Matthew said.

I laughed. But later it seemed to be a portent, that statement.

‘You sure you won’t stay?’

‘You said you have to get up when?’

‘Four,’ he grinned.

I looked at the clock. Going on midnight. ‘No sir. I want you to rest and I want rest. My first appointment isn’t until ten and I really want to crash hard for the night. I’ll wake up at four and then I’ll feel guilty so I’ll get up ...’

‘But you don’t have to,’ he said, tugging my waistband so that I shuffled closer to him. Matthew kissed me with his soft sweet lips. I had to admit it, I was tempted.

‘Oh, but I would. I know me. I’d go ahead and get up because I felt guilty and then I wouldn’t be able to sleep and then, it would just be horrible. Me trying to make sense at an initial meeting on no sleep.’

‘We could just fuck all night long. Never sleep,’ he said, tempting me. ‘Hard then soft then slow then fast.’

‘That’s a lot of fucking,’ I said. I returned his kisses. Allowed him to pull me flush and press against me. Boy, he was good. ‘But I can’t. Next time. OK?’

‘Fine, fine. Torture me.’ He put my hand on his cock and I squeezed him and he groaned.

‘I’m sorry! You’re making me feel so bad!’

He pulled back my hand and kissed me. ‘Not my intention. I just like being with you. We’ll get together soon. OK? Call me later tomorrow?’

‘Of course.’ One more kiss and I walked out into the now navy blue air. Small specks of golden white stars peppered the crushed velvet sky. I took a deep breath of night air and listened to the crickets and the wind. ‘Sleep tight,’ I called softly.

‘You too, Merritt.’

In the car, I finally turned my cell phone back on. The readout showed one missed call and one new message. I didn’t recognise the number. Either a misdial or brand new client. I’d try it back tomorrow.

The message was not Jeffrey or Jack or even my mother, either crying or buzzed. It was the smooth, rich voice of one Romanian. ‘Merritt? It’s Penn Fratila. I wanted you to know that I am coming home earlier than was planned. I was hoping we could move our meeting up a bit. Not September. I’ll be home in less than two weeks and I ... I am a bit obsessed with ...’ Was it a bad connection or a language barrier? He kept pausing. ‘... those cabinets,’ he said.

Something in me said he was lying. And I was concurrently lying to myself. Because the sound of his voice had my body responding the same way it had just responded to Matthew’s lovemaking and amazing hands. My body was very in tune with the intoxicating cadence of Penn’s voice. My brain called up his image easily. Lean angular face, dark eyes, dark hair and the tiny shots of silver I’d seen in that dark mess of hair.

I was horny. From a voicemail message.

He cleared his throat and I shifted in the car seat. I cranked the engine so that no one would think I was nuts. ‘So anyway, I will try you back tomorrow. I’m very sorry I missed ... you. I mean speaking with you, is what I mean. Of course.’ Then he sighed mightily the way I do when I put my foot in my mouth and the connection was broken.

Why was I so obsessed with an artist who sort of sounded like Dracula? We’d met two times. Two times and there was no rhyme or reason to my fluttering belly or my excitement or the swirls of anxiety mixed with anticipation in my chest.

‘It’s stupid is what it is,’ I sighed.

But when I got home and let myself in, I realised that all the way home I’d thought about one thing and one thing only. Penn Fratila and his intense voice.

I plopped on the sofa and poured a glass of wine. The phone rang in my pocket and I nearly had a heart attack. It was past midnight now and it had to be Matthew calling to check on me. Making sure I got home. I flipped it open without reading the screen.

‘Is it too late? Did I wake you?’

Penn. That voice curled along my skin like warm wood smoke. Tickled my ear, softened my pussy. My body seemed to sigh when he spoke to me. Thousands of miles away and I was putty in his artistic hands.

‘It is – I mean it is late – but not too late. I got your message!’ I blurted. ‘Sorry I missed you I was ...’ Damn, damn, damn. Why had I started that sentence? ‘Busy,’ I finished weakly.

‘With a date?’ he asked.

‘I ...’

‘Merritt, I’d be surprised if you said no.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Just a guy. A guy I just met. A nice guy but not ...’ and here I had been about to say
you. Not you, Penn. Not you, Penn, who I have some bizarre schoolgirl obsession with. You and your Dracula voice and dark eyes and big hands and dark stunning art. God!

His laughter was intimate despite the severe distance and it made me feel like if I closed my eyes I would feel his lips come down on mine.

‘I get it. A nice guy who asked you out on a date. Smart man. I was just ... wanting to see if you got my voicemail. If I could have you for July. As my organiser, obviously.’

He was lying.

‘Sure. You can have me as anything,’ I chirped. Eager to please. Ready to roll and apparently, with no gateway between my brain and my mouth. ‘I mean–’

‘I hope you mean just what you said,’ he interrupted.

Then my body truly got the green light to get turned on. Tingly and fidgety, ready to shift in my seat just from the connotation of his words. ‘I ... um, I ...’ And then I yawned. Hugely.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so rude,’ Penn said. The formal almost stiff lilt of his English made me hotter than ever. It was the sound of a foreign gentleman trying to woo in a language that is not his own. Sexy and endearing and hotter than an August afternoon.

‘It’s OK, truly.’ I laughed. But then another yawn hit me.

‘No, It’s twenty of eight here, which means it’s twenty of one there,’ he said.

I tried fast mental math. It took me a minute, but I got it. Seven hours ahead. ‘I am a tiny bit tired but –’

‘But I’ll call you when it’s not so late. I don’t have to work on a clock. I’ll call you later today, yes?’

‘Yes,’ I said. Yes, yes, yes.

‘I’ve been thinking about you,’ he said and my heart stopped. Or it felt like it. Then, ‘And our working together. I think you can help me.’

Again, he was lying. I knew it and he knew it. But I didn’t quite want to examine the fact that I couldn’t quite shake this man from my thoughts. I wasn’t ready to look at that or why it might be that he kept popping up in my mind despite our very brief meetings and all the other interesting, kind and sexually talented men I’d met recently. None of whom had any power to ever hurt me because it was fun and physical.

‘Sure. What time do you want to call?’

‘How’s seven, your time?’

‘That’s midnight for you? I can do six. My last appointment is at four. I’ll be home in plenty of time.’ So I’d have to postpone meeting Matthew. So what? It was just fun. And this was work. This was important work business kind of stuff.

‘Six it is. I’ll be here. With wine. And you?’

His voice made me think of soft velvet, dark as night, foggy evenings in front of a fire, snow, icicles. He made my internal landscape shift to a mix of secluded and cosy. Odd. ‘Wine it will be. I’ll need wine.’
Lots and lots of wine.

‘Good night, Merritt,’ Penn Fratila said in master of the night voice.

‘Goodnight, Mr Fratila,’ I said for no reason other than I was rattled.