Wilson's Hard Lesson (48 page)

The white stucco exterior of the Craftsman/Renaissance
Revival house gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight, while the glass on the three
sets of French doors leading out onto the front veranda reflected the cloudless
blue sky.  Erin stood at the edge of the brick path that wound its way through
manicured box hedges and took in the sight before her.  This had been her home
since birth, a five-bedroom manor set in the rich, predominantly Caucasian
region known as Evanston’s Lakeshore neighborhood.   Most of the people who
lived around here either worked at Northwestern University just up the road;
professors, politicians, or doctors like her mother who came from old money. 
After her older brothers Peter and Brandon had moved out, and Dad had left, it
had just been Mom and Erin rattling around inside the sprawling, two-story
house.  Erin had often asked why they didn’t just sell it and get something
smaller, but Mom in her infinite stubbornness would just say she refused to
give up her home. 
Funny, considering how she’s hardly ever here to enjoy
it,
Erin thought with a smirk.

She let herself in with her key, not surprised that it still
worked.  Mom never changed the locks, not even after Dad moved out – in fact,
he
still had a key, and had an open invitation to drop by whenever he found
himself back in Chicago.  He often did come to visit, which Erin had always considered
to be a bit awkward. 
It’s weird seeing your divorced parents being friends,
she thought. 
Especially that time when Dad brought along his girlfriend…

Erin closed the door behind her and looked around.  Just
like the outside, the inside of the house had the same color scheme for every
common room: eggshell white walls with a slight ivory tint to the white paint
used on the trim, and white curtains.  That had been Dad’s doing, as he would
say from an architect’s standpoint that it utilized the natural light coming in
through all the large windows and cut back on the need for artificial
illumination.  Training three kids not to leave dirty handprints all over the
walls had been a challenge.  At least the hardwood floors gave the place some
warmth, honey brown and gleaming.  In the front sitting room across from the
veranda doors, a large green and gold Oriental rug took up most of the area in
front of the large, white marble fireplace.  Overstuffed club chairs with
matching hassocks faced each other over a low wood table. 

Making her way deeper into the house, Erin took her time to
familiarize herself with her surroundings.  Not much had changed in her four
years away in California.  She glanced in at the room that served as Mom’s
office, just to the right of the closed door leading to the master bedroom
suite.  Turning left, she wandered by the main floor bathroom and the bedroom
that had been hers as a child but had been converted to a guest room where her
father had been known to sleep whenever he dropped by. 

The hall ended at the large kitchen.  While the rest of the
house reflected the Craftsman style, this room had undergone a major upgrade. 
All blond oak cupboards with brushed silver pulls on doors and drawers,
stainless steel appliances, and a massive six-burner stove, Erin often imagined
it would make Gordon Ramsay wet himself with joy.  Again, the chef’s kitchen
had been Dad’s idea, as he had come from a large Italian family and loved to
cook whenever he could.  As for Mom? 
She could burn water.
  Erin headed
straight to the refrigerator and opened the door, half expecting to find only
designer bottled water and yogurt.  To her surprise, the shelves had been
stocked with all kinds of foods – from fresh produce to meats wrapped in
butcher paper.  “What the…?” she breathed, staring at the contents.  Had Mom
ordered some deliveries in anticipation for her return home, remembering how
Erin preferred to make her own home-cooked meals and nutritional breakfast
smoothies? 

Snagging a bottle of water, Erin closed the fridge and
continued on her way toward the stairs leading to the second floor.  Peter and
Brandon each had a room joined by a shared bath.  Erin had just started high
school when they had taken off to college, and the temptation of having an
entire floor to herself had been too great to pass up.  She took the center
bedroom, which had been Peter’s, and Dad had come back to help her to paint and
redecorate it and the bath over Easter break.  Directly across the hall from
her bedroom stood what had been the attic space, but Dad had finished it and
turned it into a recreation room for the boys, where they would study or sit
for hours playing video games on the big screen television set in the built-in
entertainment center.  Erin had claimed that room, as well.  She removed all
the framed posters of basketball players, sports cars, and swimsuit models,
replacing them with art prints of tranquil beaches and ocean life.  Removing
the smell of gym shoes had been a little more daunting, but eventually and with
a new carpet and a lot of air freshener, she had succeeded.

Erin pushed open the door to her bedroom and stepped
inside.  It did not surprise her that she found no dust anywhere.  “Let’s hear
it for Molly Maids,” she said, smiling.  Being a doctor, Mom had always
insisted on keeping her home tidy, almost to the point of OCD.  She didn’t have
time for housework, though, so she hired people to come in and do it for her. 
Erin had always insisted on keeping her own area clean.  She had always felt
uncomfortable about strangers – even bonded ones – coming into her personal
space.  She didn’t mind them doing it while she had been away at college. 
Now
that I’m back, this room is off limits again.

And it would only be temporary, anyway, she thought, as she
dropped her bags on the floor, kicked off her sneakers, and flung herself onto
her old twin-sized bed.  She sank down into the thick duvet with a sigh and
closed her eyes.  As soon as she got a job, she would be able to get her own
place.  If she had to, she knew she could call on some old high school friends
she had kept touch with during her time at Stanford, who would be more than
happy to take her in as a roommate until she found a nice condo somewhere. 

She expected some argument from Mom about that.  In addition
to being a workaholic and a perfectionist, she could also be a little
controlling.  Either she would insist on Erin staying here, or she would try to
give her money toward an apartment.  Erin did not want that.  Her brothers had
never asked for financial help, and now they both had jobs and homes of their
own: Brandon, a physical therapist, lived in Boston with his wife and a second
baby on the way, while Peter worked as a civil defense attorney and lived in
Miami with his boyfriend.  Erin wanted to prove she could be just as
independent. 

Lack of sleep, jet lag, and the time zone change began to
take its toll.  Erin found her phone and set the alarm to wake her in three
hours.  That would give her enough time for a nap before she had to get up and
get ready for this dinner date with her mom.  Grabbing her pillow, she snuggled
in and soon drifted away into sleep.

When her alarm went off, Erin dragged herself out of bed and
into the adjoining bathroom.  She made a passing note of the fresh towels
artfully draped over the bar next to the tub.  Everything had been prepared for
her arrival home, just like a hotel.  She even found new, unopened bottles of
her favorite body wash, shampoo and conditioner.  While she waited for the
water to get warm, she stripped off her jeans, t-shirt, bra and panties,
dumping everything into the hamper.  She took a moment to look at her reflection
in the mirror over the sink. 

A petite young woman of twenty-two, she had taken after
Dad’s Irish side of the family with her fair skin and elfin appearance.  Dad’s
nickname for her had been “Pixie Stick,” and not just because that had been her
favorite candy as a kid.  Her copper-red hair had once been long and hung to
her waist; she had grown tired of the upkeep and had it all hacked off when she
got to California, donating the braid to Locks of Love.  Short hair suited her,
she thought, both for her chosen career – less hair to fuss with and get in the
way – and never failed to earn her compliments from both men
and
women. 
Erin still remembered the first time a girl had hit on her, one evening while
studying at the campus library.  She had found it flattering but had been
polite in her rejection. 

Zach used to tell her she had a great body.  Erin kept
herself in shape, toned but not muscular in any way.  She still wished her
breasts could be a little smaller.  She ran her hands over them thoughtfully,
taking in her pink nipples sitting high atop milk-white rounds of flesh with
visible blue veins running just under the surface of the skin.  Her fingers
trailed down over the soft curve of her stomach.  She had her mother’s body
shape, which included child-bearing hips, a nice round butt, and very little
thigh gap.  The neatly trimmed triangle of russet curls at the apex of her legs
pointed to her dainty feet.  Zach had always encouraged her to sculpt her bush,
claiming that the hair tickled his nose whenever he would go down on her, and
for the longest time Erin would indulge him by going with something simple like
a little strip just above the vulva.  Once they broke up, she had let it grow
back in to a more natural look. 

She turned away from the mirror and flipped the switch to
activate the shower.  Stepping inside, she slid the glass door shut before
immersing herself beneath the hot spray.  She took her time, just enjoying the
feel of the water rolling down over her shoulders.  Eventually, she lathered
up.  She found herself thinking about the guy from the Pancake House again. 
She couldn’t help it that she found him attractive.  She loved that hint of an
Irish accent.  She liked those broad shoulders, long torso, and narrow hips. 
She had always been a sucker for blue eyes, especially heavy-lidded ones.  What
she found even more appealing had been the scruffy face, that “I didn’t bother
to shave this morning, so what?” look, and she imagined what it would feel like
brushing up against her inner thighs… 

Grabbing the detachable shower head, Erin flipped the
setting over to a strong pulse.  She placed one foot up on the side of the tub
and, holding onto the top of the door track, she aimed the water’s powerful
jets at her labia.  She closed her eyes and moaned as the spray pounded at her
clit in a heavy, rapid rhythm.  To her, it felt like a warm, wet tongue
flicking at her, driving up her arousal to greater heights.  It had been so
long since the last time she had sex.  Zach had been pretty good, very
enthusiastic. 
I wonder what Michael would be like,
she thought. 
He’s
older…probably really experienced…bet he’d know just what to do to get me off,
make me scream.
  She imagined him spreading her open, grinning at her with
that shark smile before burying his face between her legs.  Her fingers
tightened on the shower door.  She thought about the bristle of his beard like
sandpaper as his tongue beat at her clitoris.  She gasped, heart racing, and
moved the shower head in circular motions.  Oh, yes.  She could see him looking
up at her, just those piercing, ice blue eyes visible above her mons,
contrasting with the coppery fuzz of her bush.

She shuddered and let out a long, groaning curse as she
climaxed.  Panting, Erin leaned her forehead against the wet tile as the waves
of pleasure faded.  She fumbled to return the shower head to its cradle and
turned the dial back to a normal spray.  With another quick dowse, she turned
off the water. 

Orgasm had left her feeling loose and relaxed, which she
liked.  She finished her hygienic routine, shaving and plucking and primping
while the hair on top of her head dried naturally.  Wrapped in a towel, she
went back into her room and opened the closet.  She had left some clothes here
when she went off to school.  Among them she found every woman’s standard
Little Black Dress, a simple number with capped sleeves and a boat neck
collar.  She pulled it on, not surprised it still fit as her weight had not
fluctuated much over the years.  She found a pair of modest black heels and
some plain silver dangle earrings from the jewelry box on her dresser.  Her
girlfriends had always been jealous of the fact that she never really needed
makeup other than a little color over the eyes.  With a bit of lip gloss to
make her pouty pink lips shine, she decided she looked good enough for the
upscale likes of Boka.

She tucked her California driver’s license into a small
black clutch with a shoulder strap, making a mental note to go to the DMV first
thing Monday morning to get an updated version of her old Illinois card. 
Making her way downstairs, Erin snagged a spare set of keys off the hook near
the back door and followed the path through the back garden to the detached
two-car garage.  Mom had encouraged her to leave her Nissan Versa in Chicago
when she went out west to college, and sometimes drove it herself to keep it in
good working order so Erin would always have her own transportation whenever
she came back for a visit.  Erin smiled when she saw the silver car.  She had
driven it down to New Orleans and back last year during Spring Break, taking
her high school friend Corrine along as they used that trip to celebrate her
twenty-first birthday. 
I really need to give Corrine a call, let her know
I’m back.
  Mom had asked her to hold off until tomorrow; Erin made a mental
note to pay her old partner-in-crime a visit.

She found it odd that Mom’s Mercedes now sat in its spot
next to the Nissan.  Usually, that half of the garage stood vacant more than
not whenever Mom went to work for the day. 
Wonder if there’s something
wrong with it?
  Of course, Mom would have had it towed to the shop
immediately if there had been some problem.  She never liked to let anything
sit unattended, she always had to have someone right on it, taking care of matters
for her.  Just like the maid service.  She wanted a clean house but she had to
be at the hospital, so she hired someone else to do the work.  Erin’s brothers
used to joke that if Mom ever found a way to clone herself, she wouldn’t need
anyone else – she would even go so far as to replace the hospital staff. 
But
she would still be up there, working with them. 
Erin had often wondered if
Mom had a fold-out bed in her office. 
Yeah, right – she probably doesn’t
even sleep.

Putting aside the question of how Mom got to work today,
Erin pulled out of the garage and started the drive toward downtown to Boka. 
She had been to the restaurant several times before as it had become one of
Mom’s favorite spots.  Erin had always found the décor of weird paintings of
animals dressed in period clothing to be a little strange, and the menu to
border on the pretentious.  She let the valet park her car and went inside. 
“Hello,” she said to the maître d.  “I’m meeting my mother here, Dr. Marianne
Dempsey, at seven.”

He made a quick check of his chart before smiling at her
again.  “I’m sorry, Dr. Dempsey has not yet arrived, but I see here a note that
she had called a half-hour ago to say she would be delayed and to see that you
are seated at her table.”  He stepped out from behind the podium and motioned. 
“If you will follow me, please?”

“Thank you,” Erin said.  She trailed him through the
restaurant, past other diners at tables with pristine white linens, gleaming
glassware, and polished silver.  She took a seat at the spot Mom had reserved
and looked around. 

A handsome young man with dark brown skin and cleanly shaved
head appeared moments later, dressed all in black with the exception of a dark
red silk tie.  “Welcome to Boka,” he said, with a warm smile.  The diamond stud
in his left ear glinted in the low light.  “Might I interest you in a
beverage?”

“A glass of Chenin Blanc would be wonderful,” Erin said. 

“I’ll get that for you right away.”

“Thank you.”  Erin pulled out her phone and sent a text
message to her mother. 
At restaurant, waiting for you.

A few moments later, she received a reply. 
On my way
now.

Thirty minutes and one glass of white wine later, Erin saw
her mother come into the room.  An attractive, statuesque woman in her early
fifties, Marianne Dempsey carried herself with both grace and determination. 
Dad had always attributed it to her heritage, coming from Northern Italian
stock.  She had a light olive complexion, long face, and a narrow nose.  Her
thick black hair, normally worn up for work, now draped her shoulders in dark
waves and in direct contrast with her white silk blouse.  Erin had inherited
Mom’s hazel eyes while her brothers had taken after her in height. The older
woman spotted Erin and broke into a wide smile.  Erin stood up to greet her as
she approached.  “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, honey.”  Mom kissed her cheek, only to reach up
immediately to wipe away what Erin knew would be a wine-red lipstick mark. 
They settled into their respective seats, Mom smoothing a hand over her black
pencil skirt as she crossed her shapely legs at the knee.  “Well!”  Marianne
smiled at her daughter.  “You look wonderful, very healthy – and that is not
just my professional opinion, either.” 

“You look pretty good, too,” Erin said, and meant it.  Most
women her mother’s age who also worked as hard as she did, always came across
as much older.  She often wondered if another reason her mother devoted so much
time to her job had been due in part to some secret magical pact she had made
that guaranteed her eternal beauty in exchange for long hours at the hospital. 
“So, what –“

“Just a moment,” Mom said, cutting Erin off in mid-sentence
as she turned to address the waiter who had just come back to the table.  “A
bottle of champagne, please,” she told him.  She gestured to one of the four
standard place settings.  “And you can take that; there’s only the three of us,
tonight.”

“Three?” Erin echoed.  “Who’s joining us?”

Mom beamed at her.  “Well, that’s the surprise I told you
about.”  She craned her neck, looking back toward the entrance, and then raised
her hand to signal someone. 

Erin looked – and her heart seized in her chest from shock. 
Threading his way through the tables, dressed impeccably in a charcoal grey
suit and a blue shirt that made his eye color pop, was none other than
Michael.  Everything seemed to slow down to a grinding crawl as he strode
toward them.  His gaze shifted from Mom to Erin, and his eyebrows inched upward
while his grin faltered.  He recovered, however, enough to lean down and share
a lingering kiss with Mom.  On the mouth.  Erin blinked and everything resumed
its normal speed, but she still found it difficult to breathe as she watched
Michael settle into the chair closest to her mother and they linked hands. 
That’s when Eric saw the rings on Mom’s finger.  “You got remarried?” she
gasped out, when she could find the power to speak again.

Marianne chuckled.  “Yes.  Erin, I would like you to meet
Michael Kassmeyer.  Michael, this is my daughter, Erin.”

“Your mother’s spoken very highly of you, Erin,” Michael
said. 

He reached across the table and Erin felt a sense of
déjà vu as she shook his hand. 
 How, in all of
Chicago, in all places and of all times, had she managed to meet a married man
who turned her on so much that she would wind up fantasizing about him while
masturbating – only to find out hours later that the guy was her
stepfather?
 
Not only that, why was he acting like this was their first time ever meeting?

Mom’s pager went off.  Normally, that sound never startled
Erin because she heard it so much she had grown selectively deaf to the noise. 
Now, she jumped as though she had been shot.  Mom did not notice, too busy
looking at the message.  “Damn,” she muttered.  She smiled at them as she
pushed back her chair and stood up.  “I have to make a call.  I’ll be right
back.”  Excusing herself, she headed for the exit at a quick pace, already
pulling out her phone.

“Well, now, this awkward,” Michael said, breaking the silence
that fell over the table in the wake of Mom’s departure.  He looked at Erin. 
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you this morning.  All the photos I’ve seen
of you, you were much younger and you had longer hair.  I remember Marianne
saying her daughter was away at college studying Marine Biology, and this
morning you told me you just got your degree, but I still didn’t make the
connection.”

“Did she ever tell you my name?” Erin asked dryly. 

“Yes!”  Michael shook his head and huffed out an embarrassed
laugh, reaching up to scratch at his neck just under his shirt collar.  “I
guess I just won the prize for Least Observant Person on the Planet.”