Calendar Girl (4 page)

Chapter Five

I
HAD COME UP
with a game plan. I didn’t tell Jeffrey because he had a way of derailing me in one of two ways. He either laughed so hard I scrapped the idea or he was the voice of reason. The second was the rarer of the two. Usually the level of laughter indicated how crazy I was at any given time.

‘I will simply give him the best blow job in the history of blow jobs,’ I told my reflection as I put my makeup on. A beautiful shimmery taupe on my eyes, espresso-coloured eyeliner, a hint of mascara and some rose-coloured lip-gloss. My black sweater fit me like a tasteful glove, my black slacks hit the lowest part of my heel. The heels were shiny high heeled, peep-toe pumps. ‘And then he will feel so grateful he’ll be powerless not to reciprocate.’ I struck a pose.

Absolutely. I would give him the world’s best hummer and then ask him oh so sweetly if he wouldn’t just try going down on me. Just for a moment. If he didn’t like it, he could stop.

For some reason I felt as if I could hear Jeffrey laughing in my head.

The doorbell rang and I scurried down to see Duncan. Dinner awaited us and then I’d do my thing.

The meal was divine and when he asked about my current project for work, I snuggled up next to him in the booth. He kissed a crumb of Chocolate Diablo Crumble off my lips and I ran my hand over the growing erection in his smart charcoal grey pants. ‘It’s going well. I love working with creative people. They’re fun but messy.’

I was a professional organiser, specialising in artistic types and sometimes hoarders. I was the one who said who came in and helped you manage your shit. And toss your shit. And track your shit. ‘Of course, you are creative, so those people are perfect for you. What is the theme for this party?’

‘This guy carves gargoyles and angels,’ I said, rubbing his cock.

‘Very nice. Why is that so exciting to you?’ His voice was a bit strained and when the waiter headed our way to leave the cheque, Duncan coughed softly so I at least stopped moving my arm. When the waiter turned, I rubbed again.

‘Because he’s on the cusp of being famous. He does various sculptures but he’s famous for his own signature works of art. Night art a lot of the time. Plus, small renderings of classic gargoyles and the archangels are getting noticed. There are a few Greek gods in there for fun, though.’

‘Very nice,’ he said and put down his charge card.

I leaned in and kissed his jaw and then nipped his earlobe. ‘And he works with stone. Rigid rock – diamond hard,’ I said and squeezed.

In his bedroom, Duncan had never gotten undressed so fast. His magical lips were back on mine, his big, smooth hands gliding over my skin. He had the softest hands in the world; I teased him about it. It was mid-March and I had reached the teasing point. He plucked at my nipples, teasing them to attention and then traced a hot eager trail from between my breasts to my belly button. I shivered at the pressure of his touch. He always knew how to keep me on edge and his wonderful tongue and lips always had me panting for more. Now if I could just aim them in the right direction.

We stood by his bed which was clad in high-count cotton sheets – mocha-coloured, this week. I dropped to my knees and felt him try to catch me on the way down. His hands clutching at my shoulders and then my hair. ‘Merritt–’

‘Shh,’ I said and took him in hand. His cock perfect and hard and long in my hand. A fine, fine specimen, I had to admit. ‘Let me do th–’

‘Merritt!’ he said again, pulling at my upper arms.

I twisted away so he couldn’t get a hold of me and leaned forward to lick at him with my tongue. Just as the tip of my tongue almost made contact, Duncan was the one to shift away from me. So fast and unexpected that the tip of my tongue hit the small red birthmark on his hip. I moved to him again and he dodged me again. No. Way.

‘Merritt,’ he started again.

Oh, no. No, no, no – no!

‘Yes, Duncan?’ I sighed, trying one more time. This time my tongue hit the top of his thigh. I could see where this was going now. Nowhere good.

‘I don’t do that.’

‘That?’

‘Fellatio,’ he said.

‘Of course you don’t.’ Fellatio. He didn’t do cunnilingus
or
fellatio. Well, there you have it.

I took the hand he offered and rose off the cream-coloured carpet like royalty rising to a throne. When he kissed me softly and said, ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

I shook my head, no. No. I didn’t mind. Barring it being a colossal waste of his oral talents. His lips crushed down on mine and when he sheathed his cock, bent me over the bed and gripped me from behind, I spread for him, pushing my ass high to give him access to my eager pussy. His cock did all the right things. He slipped in and out of me like a dream. His big soft fingers reaching under me to rub out brisk circles on my clitoris. I bucked under him, biting my lips as I came, watching the fast stroke of his hand working under me. He turned me, my ass to the edge of the bed, my legs splayed high and watched his cock slipping in and out of me. His knees shook the mattress and his big blue eyes took in the shake and sway of my breasts. Still in me, he leaned in and kissed me, crushing me down, moving into me until I was coming again and he was coming with me. A small expletive flew from his lips and then he was done.

A kiss on each eyelid and my nose and then in my head I said it with him. ‘I could use a shower. When I’m done I’ll clean it out and–’

‘Then I can go,’ I finished.

He smiled, nodded, happy I understood. Off he went and I pulled his duvet over my nakedness. The water cut on in the next room and I dialled my phone.

Jeffrey answered, ‘Chellllo! House of sin! How may I take your order?’

Someone snorted in the background. One of Jeffrey’s cronies, no doubt. I frowned. ‘Jeffrey,’ I whined.

‘Oh dear. What is it now, my love?’

‘I had a plan,’ I confessed, tears pricking my eyes for the first time. I could not live in a world with no tongue.

‘Of course you did, honey,’ He tsked and I heard him settle down to listen like a hen scooting into a comfy spot in her nest.

‘I was going to give him the best blow job. The. Best.’ I sniffled. Sighed.

‘And then he’d do those magical things he does when he kisses you down yonder. South of your border. Right?’

I nodded and then realised he couldn’t see me. ‘Right.’

‘And he took, but didn’t give?’ Jeffrey took a swig of something because ice cubes tinkled merrily on his end. Someone whispered and I frowned. Familiar voice but too hushed to place.

‘No, he didn’t even take.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me–’

‘He doesn’t do
that
,’ I said.

‘That?’

‘Fellatio,’ I whispered with venom.

‘Oh, lord!’ Jeffrey said, shocked beyond words.

‘I know.’

‘Honey?’

‘Yes?’

‘Dump that man. Clearly he’s not in his right mind.’

I couldn’t agree more. After my shower, I found him building a fire, pouring us wine. ‘I’m going to head out,’ I said, brushing my hair. I know not to brush when my hair is wet, but damn, my nervous energy needed to go somewhere.

‘You’re not staying? I’ll get you a robe and you can sit with me while I do a crossword. I have a nice Merlot. And ... Merritt? Something wrong?’

See. There it was. Honesty or not? ‘Yeah, see ... about that. There is a fundamental item missing from our bedroom repertoire,’ I said, trying to use phrases he might grasp. Instead of ‘You don’t go down, dude!’ I was going to shoot for reserved and classy language. Clinical. Calm. Like cunnilingus and fellatio.

‘Such as?’

‘See, you are a wonderful kisser.’

He smiled, pleased with himself. Proud of his skills. As he should be! But ...

‘And that’s a bad thing?’

‘Nope. It’s a great thing. It’s the fact that there’s a designated no-kiss zones that is doing it to me,’ I said. I was brushing the shit out of my hair. A breakup master I am not. By the time I spat it out, I’d be bald.

Duncan looked a bit miffed, then confused, then dawn broke over his handsome, yet somehow clinical face, and he said, ‘Ohhhh.
That
. The whole cunnilingus/fellatio thing.’

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ I waved my hand hating the whole turn of the conversation. My face burned with frustration and embarrassment. ‘All that stuff. And why can’t you just say blow job and um ...’

‘What?’

‘Going down on? Eating? Whatever! The point is that the oral attention is very important to me and the thought of someone who thinks it’s too messy. No, that
I’m
too messy. Well, it all just upset me.’ I was still brushing the merry hell out of my hair. Soon I’d be holding all of it in my hand while my shiny bald pate radiated with the glow of his professional low-level lighting.

Duncan blinked, stared and sighed. His face said he was weighing options, considering, ruminating. He was on all levels a very logical man. I could see him thinking the whole dilemma through. ‘Well, Merritt. I really like you.’

I nodded. ‘Ditto.’ How could I just get out of here? I’d broken up with him, now it was just a matter of a graceful escape. Hell, at this point I’d take graceless.

‘I guess I could ... 
try it
. But just for you.’

I studied him. The slutty part of me just wanted to toss the brush, say
OK!
and have at it. The stubborn (annoying) part of me watched him and felt a heavy sadness settle over me. This is what being a grown-up felt like. What being practical and logical and truthful with yourself felt like. Did I really, really want to be someone’s pity lick? Did I?

No. I did not.

‘Gee, that’s super tempting, Duncan, but I’m going to pass.’

‘And he gave me one more of those magical kisses for the road ...’

‘What a waste of talent,’ Jeffrey sighed. He grabbed a long, midnight blue velvet dress from the rack. ‘What says you? It’s 40 per cent off the ticket price and the ticket price is 40 per cent off the original price.’ He batted his long, fake lashes at me and grinned.

His nails were painted a lovely navy blue but his lips were bare. Jeffrey was in that magical state I adored. Caught somewhere between drag and not drag. It would be like seeing Cinderella’s pumpkin as a pumpkin but still sporting the carriage wheels.

‘I think it would look fabulous on you,’ I said.

‘Come to the show.’

‘Nah.’

‘Come to the show. Come on! You can do it. You’ll have fun,’ he wheedled.

‘I know, but I need to lick my wounds, Jeffrey. I mean, am I really that horrible that a guy couldn’t go down on me?’

A silver-haired woman who was attacking a display of black dresses turned to us, eyes wide, lips a shocking shade of coral.

Jeffrey smiled at her and gave her a little finger wave and tsked. ‘Girl, you are way more of a plum than a coral! You deserve new lipstick, honey!’ he trilled.

She hmphed and off she went to another display.

I had to swallow a laugh. ‘You have to come,’ he continued.

‘I can’t.’

‘You have to. There’s still a few weeks left in March and you need to get out and boogie!’

‘I’m setting up a meeting with a new client. Sorry.’

‘Party pooper.’

‘Queen.’

‘Ho!’

‘Slut!’

And then we were laughing and more than one coral-lipped, silver-haired woman was frowning at us.

Chapter Six

T
HIS GUY LIVED
in the boondocks. I drove up the dirt path and turned left at the ‘felled tree’ as Penn Fratila had instructed. The cabin he’d told me of was now visible ahead. A striking log cabin that made me envious. I’d always wanted to live in a log cabin.

A man stepped out when he heard my tyres on the gravel. He waved, his jeans low on his hips, his dark sweater hugging nice muscles. Dark hair, tall, lanky but powerful. Whew. Such a hot, hot artist.

‘Mrs Evans?’ he said, his voice thick but clear with some unrecognisable accent.

‘Merritt,’ I corrected, smiling.

‘Mrs Merritt?’

‘No, just Merritt. Mrs Evans is my mother.’ (My very, very upset, angry, judgmental mother). ‘And you are Penn Fratila?’

He nodded, coming forward, taking my hand and shaking it slowly. It seemed his natural inclination was to kiss it. Instead, he bowed slightly over it and shook. I smiled. ‘I am.’

‘That’s an interesting name,’ I said.

‘Fratila?’

‘Penn.’

‘Ah, my parents. Pennsylvania was a name they liked.’ He waved me in and turned to the cabin.

I followed. ‘You’re named for Pennsylvania!’

‘Yes, ma’am. I am.’ We walked into the main room. The ceilings soared high overhead, blonde honey-coloured wood and skylights. I bet it was amazing in the snow.

‘Why?’ he turned to me and blinked. What a rude question! My cheeks blazed and I busied myself looking around the house. I mean, why did my mother name me Merritt? I have no idea, actually, I’d have to ask her.

‘Because they thought it sounded like a place where they were from. Where I’m from.’

‘Where?’

‘Romania,’ he said and turned to go up the loft steps. He waved me up.

‘Transylvania?’ Christ, was he a vampire? I tried to swallow it but my laughter bubbled up and out of me like grits out of a hot pan. He turned, smiling. No fangs. More laughter. Damn.

‘No. Romania. They aren’t one in the same, you know.’

By then we were in the loft. I turned and shut my mouth instantly. One wall was an enormous canvas. Gorgeous rich shades of blue and silver and gold. A nightscape with the moon slicing through dark crushing midnight blue. I sucked in a breath. ‘Is this yours?’

‘It is.’

‘Oh, my God. It’s so ...’

‘And this is mine too,’ he said, waving his hands to indicate a huge mess of paints and trays and tarps. Chaos.

‘Yes, but–’ I pointed to his canvas, all logical word usage having escaped me.

‘But my agent thinks I’ll be more productive if you could–’ It was Penn’s turn to point at the avalanche of supplies and mess.

‘Fine, fine. I will. Let me get my date book.’ It all had me flustered. Him, his accent, his name, my rude comment, his stunning work of art that made me feel the chill of a winter night mixed with the internal warmth and peace of love and acceptance. My fingers stumbled through my purse as organised as it was. They didn’t want to grip because my tummy was doing that nervous tingly thing it did when faced with a handsome man and a thick accent.

‘Not very organised for an organiser, are you?’ he laughed. When he grinned, more than my tummy tingled. My pussy let loose with a rush of warm arousal.

‘I am! I’m just ... um ...’

‘Yes?’

‘Stiff fingered,’ I sighed, finally managing to snag my book. ‘When would you like me to come in and–’

‘I’m gone until mid-September,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Mid-September. I leave the day after tomorrow.’

‘Then why did you–’ I blew out a sigh.

‘My agent, Eugene, insisted I contacted you
before
I leave.’

I glanced around, again, really seeing my surroundings now. ‘Maybe we should just bring in a backhoe while you’re gone.’

His handsome face went dark and he glared.

‘Kidding, kidding ...’ I muttered. ‘October 1
^st
?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good. I’ll come back on October first and we’ll ... we will ...’ I waved my hands like some movie sorceress but damn, nothing happened. ‘We will get this under control. Right?’

‘Yes,’ Penn said, inclining his head. I caught him for just a split second staring at my lips. In a sinful way. But I reminded myself: we do not fuck the boss. And he was my boss starting October 1
^st
.

‘Good,’ I said again.

When I left he did, in fact, kiss my hand. And my stupid tummy tingled all over again. ‘I very much look forward to it,’ he said. ‘Very much.’

Thank God I stayed silent.

I drove back down the long, dirt drive and dialled Jeffrey on speed dial. He answered with a breathy hello. Was that someone in the background? BOTM? Which stood for Boy Of The Month. ‘I’m coming,’ I said.

‘Then why in the world are you on the phone!’

‘Tonight, you doof.’

‘Oh, good! I go on at seven. Be there at six. We’ll have drinkies.’

Someone chuckled in the background and Jeffrey gave a half sigh, half moan.

‘Eew! Who is that?’

‘Gotta go,’ he groaned and hung up on me.

Damn.

The lights swooshed down and I sipped my Italian Surfer. They were dangerous drinks. So sweet and fruity that by the time you realised you’d had three or four you couldn’t string a sentence together. I sat at Jeffrey’s VIP table and waited. The house lights went down and the stage lights flared. I heard the beginning beats of
If I Could Turn Back Time
and started clapping.

Jeffrey emerged like the diva he is, his midnight blue velvet dress swirling around him. Silver fishnets and black mid calf dominatrix boots adorned his thin but taut legs. His earrings could have been used to signal a passing plane and he’d chosen his jet black Cher hair to complete the ensemble. His makeup was impeccable; the whole damn package was to die for. Truly, Jeffrey will forget more about makeup and hair in his life than I will ever learn. This is why they’d graduated him from just go-go dancer to performer. He was too good to only work a cage, not that he didn’t still jump in when needed and shake his moneymaker, because he did make money gyrating in his gilded cage.

I let out a drunken-best-friend whoop and raised my hands in the air! He didn’t bat a lash, just went on working that song like nobody’s business.

Someone dropped into the other seat. ‘Jack! What are you doing here?’ I hissed.

My brother waggled his pinky at me and sipped his purple drink. What the hell was that? What drink was purple anyway? I kicked him under the table and he winced. ‘Hey! Knock it off, Bitchy Bitcherson!’

‘Why are you here?’

‘I was invited.’

When I looked at the stage, Jeffrey was glaring at me. No one else would know, but I knew. I shut my mouth and paid attention. As he began his elaborate dance routine, he gave me a nod. Good girl. Shut it. Zip the lips.

I nodded back, swallowing a buzzed out giggle. ‘You’re drunk,’ Jack snickered.

‘Buzzed.’ I didn’t let my lips move or Jeffrey was going to kick my ass.

‘Lit.’

‘Mildly happy.’

‘Drunkard,’ he laughed.

‘Douche bag,’ I countered.

Then Jeffrey was giving me the evil eye and I started chewing my cocktail straw.

‘May I join you?’ someone said and I looked up. He had to be gay. I mean, we were in a gay bar, with a huge queen on stage performing and this guy was hotter than a lit match.

‘Sure!’

‘Absolutely,’ Jack said practically salivating.

But Mr spiky brown hair and sea glass green eyes only had a gaze for me. ‘Shane,’ he said, shaking my hand.

‘Merritt,’ I breathed.

‘Of course,’ grumbled Jack and then we were all applauding and giving Jeffrey a standing O. I was the loudest, doing my wolf whistle and clapping like a maniac. I mean, how else was I going to get him to forgive me?

Shane said he was a carpenter and I think I said something genius like, ‘Like Jesus’ and my brother said, ‘She’s drunk’ and Shane said, ‘She’s cute too.’

And then he took me home. When I woke up the next morning, there was a note.

Hey, there, Merritt,

You sure were fun last night. Call me when you get up. Or when the pain reliever kicks in. I’d like to take you out for dinner, maybe a whole evening that doesn’t involve Italian Surfers and me trying to convince you that I’m not Jesus just because I can build a bookcase. Call me.

Shane (who is not Jesus)

And then his number. I patted my throbbing head and realised I was still in my jeans, my black tunic and my chandelier earrings. All he’d removed were my strappy silver heels. The phone rang and I nearly gagged from the sudden ear splitting sound.

‘Grmph.’

‘Good morning, Mary!’ Jeffrey cackled like the horribly evil witch of the east coast. Cruella DeDrag.

‘Mary?’ I groaned. I rolled over, buried my head under the pillow. I needed a Big Gulp, a gallon of water, 60 ibuprofen and to die. Right now. On the spot.

‘How’s Jesus?’

I groaned again. Apparently I’d gotten stuck in a Jesus loop the night before. ‘Loop?’ I asked.

‘Massive, never ending, drunken loop,’ Jeffrey confirmed.

‘Jesus,’ I moaned.

‘Exactly!’ he giggled and I hung up on him.