The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (17 page)

It had sneaked up on me. When we first entered our bedroom,
I had been completely into Paul. I had been so happy that we were finally
reconnecting, thrilled that I was having intense, passionate feelings about my
husband again. But suddenly - during
spoons
I think it was
—
Javier popped into my brain. It was no longer Paul taking me
from behind; it was a sexy Spanish lothario, with smoldering eyes and a
chiseled jaw. “Oh Javier!” I wanted to cry out. “Harder! Harder!” But I managed
to refrain—at least the “Oh Javier!” part.

I was not a prude. I knew it was completely normal, even
healthy, to fantasize during sex. It wasn’t like I hadn’t done it dozens of
times before. But previously, my fantasies had been focused on the completely
unattainable: George Clooney, Mikhail Baryshnikov, and for awhile, Joe Sakic
—
when the Colorado Avalanche was having a particularly good
year. But I had not made it a habit to visualize real, everyday people while
screwing my husband. Certainly not people who were my friends’ lovers! Okay…
once, Trudy’s husband, Ken had popped into my head during the act, but it had
been more of a quick flash of his face than a full blown fantasy. Obviously,
this was not going to make it any easier to face Javier at tonight’s art class.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, I painstakingly outlined
my eyes in kohl pencil. I didn’t normally wear a lot of eye makeup but I felt
my upcoming encounter called for some. Adding a coat of mascara, I took in my
reflection. Too much: I looked like Cleopatra… or else Alice Cooper. Grabbing a
Q-tip from the bathroom drawer, I proceeded to remove some of the dark liner.
There… that was better. I hoped Paul didn’t notice that I was heading to the
Wilde Rose Arts Center wearing a full face of evening makeup. Who was I
kidding? I could have pranced out of the house wearing a tin foil bikini and
Paul wouldn’t have noticed. Although… after our Monday night session, he may
have become a little more tuned in.

Hair and makeup done, I moved to my bedroom to dress. At my
lingerie drawer, I hesitated, just for a moment, before extracting the red
water bra and G-string. It wasn’t that I expected anyone to
see
me in
this sexy underwear. It was a confidence thing. I remember reading a quote from
some supermodel who said all women should wear sexy underwear to feel sexier. Normally,
I did not put a lot of stock in the quotes of supermodels, but this one seemed
to make sense. And, since my intention was to get Javier to notice me, the
illusion of big breasts couldn’t hurt, either.

Over the red ensemble, I slipped a formfitting black sheath
dress and put on a pair of black knee-high stiletto boots. The leather boots
were a constant source of buyer’s remorse: they had been ridiculously expensive
and I’d had ridiculously little opportunity to wear them. But tonight, they
were the perfect complement to my femme fatale look.

“Whit woo!” Spencer fake-whistled when I walked into the
kitchen where my children were finishing a desert of chocolate ice cream. “You
look so beautiful!”

“Thanks, sweet boy.” I kissed his head.

“Why are you so dressed up?” Chloe asked, almost snidely,
taking in my outfit.

“I’m not
so
dressed up,” I replied, silently thanking
God that she couldn’t see the red underwear. “I just wanted to look nice. I’m
going to my drawing class… and then, maybe, out for a bite to eat with some of
the other… artists.”

Chloe shrugged. “You look like you think you’re going to the
Academy Awards or something.”

“No, I don’t!” I cried. “It’s not like I’m wearing a
sequined ball gown. Sheesh!” Paul’s key in the lock distracted me from Chloe’s
criticisms. I hurried to greet him.

“Wow,” he said, taking in my appearance. “Where are you off
to?”

“I’ve got my drawing class tonight, and then after, there’s
a cocktail reception for all the artists.” I hated lying to my husband and
daughter, but I was working a case, and it wouldn’t be prudent to involve them.

He helped me into my long, winter coat. “Well, have fun.”

“I will,” I said. And with a quick kiss for the children, I
was on my way to meet Javier.

Somehow, I found myself in the arts center’s parking lot,
twenty-five minutes later. The drive had been a blur, a swirling collage of
erotic fantasies starring a certain nude model, punctuated by pragmatic pep
talks about getting to the bottom of Karen’s death. When I turned off the
ignition, I felt prepared, steeled for what was ahead. Javier was a suspect in
my best friend’s murder, not my potential boyfriend… or one-night stand… or
passionate, slightly rough encounter in the arts center’s boiler room. He was
not, as Karen had said, irresistible—at least not to someone as sexually
satisfied and strong-willed as me. No, I had a job to do. I was to interrogate
him, using all my feminine whiles and intuition. If I could get him to break
down and confess - great. If not, I would watch his every move, each gesture
and subtle tic.
CSI
had taught me that there were several physical
manifestations of guilt: darting eyes, dry mouth, fidgeting hands. One dart!
One fidget! One urgent sip of water and I would be on the phone to Detective
Portman.

I strode confidently into the classroom and found a vacant
drawing horse. I was obviously overdressed, but I planned to casually mention
that I was off to a cocktail party after class. There was no need to feel
insecure or conspicuous. Clipping my pad of paper to the drawing board, I
prepared to straddle the bench. Unfortunately, swinging my leg over in the
fitted skirt was proving impossible. Shit! What was I going to do now? I could
sense my composure slipping and a nervous, jittery feeling taking hold. I took
a deep, calming breath. Okay, this had to be achievable. I couldn’t be the only
art student to show up in a short, tight skirt and high heels, could I? I
looked around the room at my largely bohemian classmates. Could I?

Finally, I managed to mount the drawing horse by standing
behind it and shimmying myself forward with small, hopping movements. Not a
very elegant or sophisticated approach, but at least Javier wasn’t in the room
yet. Once in place, I clasped my bare knees tightly to the piece of wood
between them, my high-heeled feet splayed out beside me for balance. It was
tricky, but if I didn’t make any sudden movements, I felt sure I could hold my
precarious position for the full hour.

As we waited for the class to begin, I leaned over to my
neighbor. “I’ve got a cocktail party after this,” I pronounced loudly.

“Oh.” The woman with long, gray hair, a hand-knitted sweater
and Birkenstock sandals did not seem interested.

Soon, our instructor, Allan walked to the front of the room.
“Good evening class. Tonight, we’re going to focus on contouring and shading.
Whether drawing still life, landscape or portraiture, light and darkness play…”

I tuned out. This didn’t apply to me: I was on a serious
mission.

“And now,” Allan said, drawing my attention back to the
platform. “I’d like to bring in tonight’s model.”

Despite the fact that I was on a serious mission, my heart
began to pound like a frightened rabbit. Calm down… I told myself. You can do
this. Do it for Karen… your dear friend… your dear, dead friend…

“Class, this is Amanda.” A dark-haired young woman clad in a
white robe, padded in her bare feet to the platform.

What?! Where was Javier?! Who the hell was this… tart?!
Somehow, I refrained from jumping up and screaming it audibly. This was
probably because my knees remained in a vice grip on the drawing horse, lest I
provide Allan and the model with an excellent view of my transparent, red
G-string panties. But no matter how dejected I felt, I could not fall apart.
Instead, I swallowed the lump of disappointment in my throat and breathed
deeply to stop the slightly panicky feeling in my chest. Hopefully, no one had
noticed the dismayed flush in my cheeks and the thin veil of perspiration
covering my forehead. It was highly unlikely, as Amanda had now dropped the robe
to reveal her annoyingly perfect human form. She had obviously not breast-fed
anyone.

“All right artists,” Allan announced. “Amanda will begin
with a one minute, seated pose.”

There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t flee—at least not
quickly given my impractical outfit. I was forced to sit there, sketching the
perfect curve of Amanda’s stupid, perfect back. But by the end of the hour, I
had several half decent sketches—maybe not very good compared to my
classmate’s, but a huge improvement over last week’s drawings of Javier. And
more importantly, I had come up with a “plan B”. When I left the house tonight,
I was intent on a meeting with Karen’s former lover. The evening had definitely
thrown me a curve ball, but I was flexible, capable, working my case… I was not
going to give up that easily. When Amanda had covered her flawlessness, and
most of the artists had packed away their accoutrements, I approached our
instructor.

“Hi, Allan.” I smiled warmly and extended my hand. “I’m a
new student, Paige Atwell.”

He took my hand. “Hi, Paige. You started last week, didn’t
you?”

“Yes. I’ve been … out of town so I started late.”

“Great. Well, welcome. Do you have an artistic background of
some sort?”

I took this as a compliment. “No, actually, this is my first
art class ever. I didn’t even take it in high school.”

“It’s good to develop new interests, later in life.”

I took this as an insult, but decided it was time to get to
the point. “So… I had been hoping to see Javier here tonight.”

He gave me a knowing smile, as if he heard this from a lot
of his “later in life’ female students. “Javier and Amanda both pose regularly
for the class. Javier was working tonight.”

“Right… right…” I said, as if Javier had told me he’d be at
his other job. “What’s the name of the coffee shop he works at again? It’s
slipped my mind.”

“The Old Grind.”

“Right. That’s it, The Old Grind. Yeah… The Old Grind in uh…
?”
 “Cherry Creek.”

“Of course! The Old Grind in Cherry Creek… right, right,
right. I might pop by there—before the cocktail party I’m going to,” I added,
indicating my outfit with a sheepish grin.

Allan continued to nod and smile. It was difficult to
discern whether he was just a nice, friendly man, or if he found my pursuit of
Javier amusing. I had to admit, it did not look good: a woman my age, dressed
to the nines, ferreting out information on the whereabouts of a gorgeous nude
model. I decided to do some damage control. “It’s just that I have a message
for Javier… from a mutual friend… from Spain. She just called me yesterday
—
from Spain—and she asked if I’d be seeing Javier. I told her
I’d be seeing him at art class, and that I’d be happy to pass on the message…
which is fairly urgent, and… y’know, all the way from Spain.”

“Well…”Allan said. “That’s very nice of you to take the message
to him.” His smile was confusing. He was either impressed by my kindness, or
found my story comical.

“I’d better be off,” I said. “See you next week.” I already
knew I’d probably be too embarrassed to show up.

I drove to Cherry Creek like a woman possessed. I had to get
there quickly, or I’d chicken out and head home. My mind raced, a multitude of
thoughts playing in my head like a tape on fast forward.
…Must find Javier…
Must interrogate him… get to the bottom of this whole mess… he’s not that
good-looking… certainly not irresistible…
After much driving around the
neighborhood in aimless circles, I finally found The Old Grind. Parking the SUV
a block and a half away, I hopped out and tottered briskly toward the coffee
shop. It wasn’t until I was mere steps away from the building that I paused.
Did I really want to do this? Was I getting in over my head? My cell phone was
in my purse, as was Detective Portman’s card. I could call him right now,
apologize for not mentioning it before, but tell him there was someone he
should speak to—a
person of interest
, I think they called it. I would
tell him about Karen and Javier’s affair, and ask him, very sweetly, not to
tell Doug unless it was absolutely necessary. He seemed like a nice guy. We’d
had some sort of rapport. I’m sure he’d understand my efforts to protect my
friend’s reputation.

My hand dug inside my bag and searched fruitlessly for the
phone. This moment of difficulty gave me pause to reflect. Would Portman even
be at the office at this hour? A glance at my watch told me it was almost nine
thirty. And what about that jerk Conroy? Portman might keep Karen’s dalliance
under wraps, but I doubted he’d be as sensitive. My hand stopped its frantic
search. No… I couldn’t call for backup just yet. I would have to do this on my
own.

The coffee shop was on the corner, attached to a number of
trendy shops and restaurants. I entered the long, narrow space and was
immediately assaulted by a blast of warm air and the pungent aroma of coffee
beans. The room was nearly deserted, save for two tables near the front window
occupied by a well-dressed middle aged couple and a college student and his
laptop. I stayed near the door at first, unbuttoning my coat in the sudden
heat. It had been stupid not to rehearse my next move, but I also knew it
wasn’t wise to over-think it. Even at this moment, I was seriously considering
turning around and running back to my car.

But I didn’t. I slowly entered the room, heading
systematically toward the counter. I hadn’t seen Javier yet, but I knew he was
there. The sounds of cups rattling and an espresso filter being banged free of
its contents signaled his presence. Even if he had been silent, I would have
sensed it was him. It was like his being gave off some kind of an electric
current that found its way to me. I approached the counter and stopped. My
heart was beating loudly in my throat. Javier looked up, probably alerted by my
audible pulse. A slow smile of familiarity spread across his sensual lips.