Marriage Encounter

By John Shirey

The marriage encounter provides a focus on the reconciliation of the three couples’ problems, but the real story is how they meet, get married, have children and get into trouble, not necessarily in that order. It is meant to be a treatise on sex and marriage with emphasis on the emotional and psychological aspects of relationships, not necessarily the physical. Nonetheless, there are lots of incidences of nudity and plenty of sexual situations but no violence or bad language, just a wild romp through the crazy vicissitudes of wedded strife, or as it is sometimes referred to in France: comédie romantique.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Shirey
• Release date: Jul 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476401256

John Shirey

I am a retired chemist with five children and seven grandchildren with lots of time to spend on writing. All of my stories have a strong female character. My other efforts will be coming out soon.

Book preview

Prologue

"They say that love makes the world go around, which may be true, but love isn’t all that's required for a successful marriage. What’s needed is a contract or agreement between partners in which both promise that each will live with the other and preclude sex with anyone else.

Ah, but you say that love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage (an interesting simile.) If that were true, marriages would never fail. But, alas, that’s not the reality. Over half of all marriages end in divorce, a horrendous statistic, one that is a disgrace, not to mention a terrible waste of money and human potential, unless you’re a divorce lawyer, of course.

Since marriage is essentially a legal contract, the consequences of violating its terms are expensive both monetarily and emotionally. You would think that people would avoid divorce like the plague, but they seem to embrace it as if it were a fact of life. It seems that married couples give up too easily when faced with marital adversity.

As in any contract, negotiation is the only way to avoid termination. In a marriage, negotiation comes down to dialogue. Without dialogue, there is no hope for any marriage. Dialogue is not easy. It takes work to make marital communication meaningful and conciliatory.

That’s where we come in. We provide you with the opportunity and facilities for meaningful dialogue, but we can’t solve your problems. You have to do that yourself. If your marriage is bent a bit, we can help, but if your union is broken, then you need a marriage counselor.

Your time here will be spent laying it all on the table, dragging out all the baggage that needs to be dealt with. This process is emotionally painful and mentally punishing, but if you hope to rejuvenate your marriage, you have no choice. Let it all hang out, or dissent will boil and fester to the surface at some point that is neither convenient nor desired.

If you’re looking for a religious experience, you won't find it here. Faith certainly plays a role in marriage salvation, but where matrimony meets hard reality, plain old common sense constitutes a more efficacious balm. We urge you to let the process of encounter happen. You'll find it both enlightening and rewarding."

Jack Schafer flashed a reassuring smile at his wife, Diane, and received a tacit smile in return. Inwardly, he wanted to puke. This was not his idea of how to spend a weekend. He'd rather be out drinking beer and shooting pool at Charlie’s Pub and Grill with his buddies, not playing show and tell all with his wife.

But, here he was, sitting in a room with a lot of other men who would rather be someplace else. He knew it was a dumb idea allowing his wife to talk him into this. She probably just wanted to harass him in a setting in which he couldn’t escape. Shit!

Funny about that: the women always introduce themselves first. Men just don't ooze with sociability, do they? Must be a macho thing.

I'm Sue Ann, and this is my husband, Robert.

Jack adsorbed Sue Ann's image like a camera exposure, Very cute. She has her straw-colored blond hair teased too much, but it frames her full face well. Her eyes are rather large but still pretty. Luscious lips. Must be a good kisser. A fantastic set of knockers. She likes to advertise them by wearing a tight-fitted blouse.

Jack's wife gestured to him. This is Jack, and I'm Diane.

Robert looks kind of nerdy. He’s tall with a well-proportioned physique, but he has a narrow face with a thin, but neatly trimmed mustache. His wife has a good figure. They look like Mutt and Jeff.

We're Larry and Gwen.

Jack gave them a courteous smile.

She has a mousy look: long brunette hair parted in the middle, a bony face with thin lips, very nice boobs, though. Probably has long trim legs, but she’s definitely not my type.

Diane flashed a quick smile.

Larry has neat hair. Looks smart, but it’s hard to tell. He has those dark deep-set eyes under bushy eyebrows. He looks like he should be up in a pulpit. Maybe he’s a politician.

I'm not so sure this was a good idea, Gwen said. We could just as easily have stayed at home and argued.

That imitated constrained laughter and polite giggles.

We're not supposed to argue, Sue Ann said, playfully batting her long luscious lashes.

Gwen frowned. You can call it what you wish--discussion, encounter, negotiation--but married people never discuss, they argue.

That elicited a few giggles, but mostly nervous stares.

Well, Diane said with a reassuring smile. I suppose this is a good opportunity to rise above argument.

To what? Gwen said, a hint of disgust in her eyes. Bickering?

She earned more unrestrained laughter.

Diane's smile turned ornery. Let's call it constructive criticism.

By any other name, Gwen shot back.

Sue Ann twisted her face with dismay. I hope we're not going to spend the entire weekend constructively criticizing. If that's all it is, then I'm leaving now.

She wasn't the only one with that urge. No one really knew what an encounter involved, what payment in time and emotion that was required. The sudden realization of the need to bare one's soul did not sound very appetizing, actually sounding frightening.

I'm sure that's not what they had in mind, Diane said. They said something about listening to talks.

Boring, Robert said with a sarcastic twang. I'd rather be watching the game.

Jack smiled. Going to be a tough one. Michigan's got a powerhouse defense.

Not to mention that future Heisman, Colbane, Larry added.

If you guys are going to talk sports all weekend, Gwen said. I know I'm going to split.

The women laughed; the men smiled but were inwardly perturbed.

Diane grinned. You guys are out of luck. There’s no TV.

Bummer. Larry said, adding a mock frown but smiling at the same time.

Sucks to be us, Jack said with an obsequious grin.

You'll get over it, Diane said.

Maybe, Jack thought. Maybe this will be a disaster of the third kind.

Chapter 1

Jack Schafer kept his eyes focused on the bar rack as he pressed three hundred pounds up off his chest.

Don't let it waver. Push. Get it on the hooks. Whew!

He lay there on the weight bench, taking some relieved breaths. Ten reps with that much weight puts a serious strain on muscles. He had no complaints, though. No pain; no gain.

He needed this. Upper body strength is important for a second baseman playing for the Akron Classics, the best Triple-A team in the Continental League. Well, at least as far as he was concerned, it was. His extra work at the weight bench gave him just the edge he needed to get noticed by the Indians’ management. Never know when the call to the big time might come. Got to be ready is his mantra.

The idea of playing in the majors had been a dream of Jack's ever since he first picked up a baseball as a kid. His stats weren't all that bad: a 270 average with 23 HR's and 64 RBI's last season, not spectacular but still respectful. There’s nothing wrong with trying to make a dream come true.

What the hell?

At first he couldn't believe his eyes: a woman pumping iron. And it wasn't some testosterone-bulked-up butch. This was a looker. Wow!

She was fashionably trim with long lithe legs that flowed exotically out of pink shorts slit provocatively up the sides. Her cut-off white tee revealed nicely sculptured abs punctuated with a sharp well-shaped naval.

What really caught his eye was an impressive set of boobs that seemed to undulate beneath the fabric of her tee like living breathing mounds of flesh with minds of their own.

He wet his lips.

Oh, yeah! She attracted male eyes like bees to pollen. A man wasn't a man if he didn't find her appealing. No surprise here.

What the hell is she doing in a place like this?

Jack began another set of presses, hoping that it would impress her. It didn't. She got up and sashayed off to the locker room without so much as a glance.

Oh well, just needs a more imaginative approach.

Mel Blanchard was one of Jack's best friends and the Classic's premier shortstop. He was a lanky young buck with a rascally affable smile and bright, laughing eyes. And he never missed an opportunity to rib his primary drinking buddy.

Hey Jack, ol' buddy, I noticed you checkin’ out that babe.

Jack slammed his locker shut. Who wasn't checking her out?

Mel guffawed, more of a belly laugh. Nice looker, isn't she? Got one hell of a rack, doesn’t she? Bet you'd love to get in her panties, wouldn’t you?

Jack gave him an annoyed look. I'd have to know her name first, now wouldn't I?

Ha! Hasn't stopped you before.

Jack leered. Yeah. But this one has class, plus she's obviously in good shape.

You guys talking about that woman usin' the weights?

Jack and Mel turned to watch Evan Steward step out of the shower room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Evan had a lean smooth muscled body and a sharp-featured face framed with curly blond locks, appropriate for the best right fielder on the Triple-A circuit.

Jack nodded. Why? You know her?

Yep. Name's Diane, Diane Homes. She works for Gabriels.

Jack's eyes narrowed briefly. The flower shop on Main?

Yep, that's the one.

Jack twisted his face with a mix of disgust and doubt. How do you know so much about her?

Shit, man. She was my best buddy's wife. That bitch dumped his ass when he was in the Gulf War. Never did like that bitch.

Both Jack and Mel stared at him. Mel's attitude slowly changed from astonishment to orneriness.

A divorcee! Be a real challenge gettin' in her panties. Uh, Jack?

Evan's face twisted with disgust. Shit, Jack. She's over ten years older 'n you. Why would you want to screw around with an old bitch?

Jack flashed a weak frown. Who said I was? I was just curious, that's all. He paused while his face blossomed with a devilish grin. How much older did you say she was?

Evan shook his head and sighed. I'd avoid her like the plague, if I was you. She's nothin' but trouble.

Mel grinned. Ol' Jack here loves trouble, eats it up. Just a bigger challenge, right Jack?

Jack returned his grin. You know what they say: no pain, no gain.

Jack and Mel exchanged high-fives, accompanied by belly laughs.

Evan shook his head again. You guys are nuts.

It didn't stop their derisive laughter.

Hey, Jack!

Shielding his eyes from a unusually bright early June noonday sun, Jack turned to behold Mel's grinning mug coming at him from the usual shortstop position.

Mel flicked his head, shifting his gaze briefly toward the first base line. Isn't that the babe sittin' over there by first?

Jack didn't turn. Which babe?

Mel exploded with laughter. Don't give me that. You know who I'm talkin’ about.

Jack gave him an acknowledging smile before he took a quick look.

Now what's she doing here?

Come on, ol' buddy. You know why she's here: to watch you. He pointed an accusing finger at him. You impressed her.

Jack threw a teasing grin back. Guess I'll just have to put on a good show today.

Good luck, pal. With Pierce pitchin' we'll be lucky to not get booed off the field.

We'll just have to get more hits.

Fat chance.

The Bulls left fielder, Joe Taylor, stood in the box with the confidence of the league leading hitter that he was. He always had a shitty grin on his face, a kind of leer over top of an ear-to-ear mocking grin that infuriated most pitchers who faced him.

Jack braced for the expectant shot from Joe's bat that he just knew was coming in his direction. He positioned himself a few clicks back and toward left because Joe usually pulls a fastball to left field.

The millisecond the ball left the bat jack knew it was headed to his left. He pivoted and took a flying leap but the ball just missed his glove by a fraction of an inch and shot into center field. Fortunately, Mo Steffel, the center fielder got back to the ball soon enough to keep Joe on second.

Way to go, Pierce. Mel yelled, receiving a frown in return.

After gloving Mo's throw, Jack threw the ball back to Pierce and strolled back to a position much shallower than before but still closer to the third base line. The first baseman, Eddie Koch, stood deeper, halfway between first and second.

The first two pitches were low and away. Jack saw the Bulls’ coach signal what he just knew had to be a bunt. Both he and Mel moved in, but the batter took a strike when he crowded the box to bunt.

Sure enough, the next pitch was right where it counted; the batter laid a perfect bunt up along the third base line. Pierce charged over but delayed scooping it up, assuming it would go foul. Now the Bulls had two men on base.

The next batter popped up and Mel snagged it, preventing either base runner from advancing. Jack moved back to a position behind second and to the right, hoping to stay out of the runner on second’s sight in case Pierce made an attempt to pick him off.

The first two pitches were balls, eliciting a reaction from Mel. What’s the matter, Pierce; can’t find the plate?

Pierce ignored his jibe and threw a ball high over the plate. The batter made contact but the ball hit the turf to the right of Pierce and bounced into Mel’s glove. He transferred it and lobbed it to Jack. Jack gloved it, jumped over the runner sliding into second and rifled it to Koch, the first basemen, just in time to get the runner out.

All right! Mel yelled as he jogged off the field. He slowed to give Jack a slap on the back. Nice way to impress the babe, right, Jack?

Jack gave him a ornery grin. Right!

The Bull’s pitcher was a bruiser, a hulking brute with arms that looked like those of a weight lifter. His scowl matched his reputation, and his hard sandpaper-rough face hadn’t seen a razor for at least a couple of days.

Jack swallowed hard. He was the cleanup batter and Mel was on second, having hit a single along the third base line and then stealing, which wasn’t easy on the Brute, as the Bull’s pitcher, Joe Marcus, was often called. He was called some other less flattering names, too, but not to his face.

Jack took a strike inside on the first pitch, forcing him back in the box. The next pitch was low and outside, causing Jack to take a reflexive swing and a miss. Two strikes already, and his hopes were sinking fast. After adjusting himself, Jack moved up in the box and crowded the plate, almost defying the Brute to brush him off.

As expected, he did. Jack just barely missed taking a hit to his arm, but his effort to avoid pain sent him sprawling to the dirt. At least the ump didn’t call it a strike. He brushed himself off and defiantly assumed his usual stance. He had no intentions of backing off now.

The pitch came in just a click low but right down the pike. Jack swung quickly enough to send it toward left field. He threw his bat down and began his run to first. He kept his eye on that ball as the wind caught it and sent it over the left field fence. He clapped his hands, took a hop and came over the plate right after Mel. They exchanged high-fives and headed to the dugout. Jack took a quick glance to the stands, but stopped in his tracks. She was gone. Shit!

He watched the bar tilt slightly on its upward path to the hooks. The shuddering hesitation was quite familiar to him, the result of too many reps with too much weight. He had been there many times and every time hoping someone would lend a hand,

Their eyes met and locked for a moment. Hers exuded gratitude with a dash of surprise; his radiated concern with a smidgen of amusement.

Thanks, she said, adding a thankful smile. I wasn't sure if I could make it.

Believe me, I know what you mean.

She twisted out from under the bar, swinging her shapely legs down. You're that ballplayer, aren't you?

Jack gave her his best acknowledging grin. Jack Schafer. I play second base for the Classics.

She turned her head away for a moment. I'm not much of a baseball fan. She looked up at him with apologetic eyes. I didn't see your home run the other day.

Jack was surprised that she knew about his great triumph. It exhibited tacit interest.

You interested in some good food?

She tilted her head like a dog trying to catch an unfamiliar sound. I'm not sure I would make good company.

He gave her his best little boy lost look. I think you'll enjoy a dinner at Miquel’s. They serve an excellent shrimp stir fry.

She turned away again. I don't have anything appropriate to wear with me, and I live a half hour away in Tremont.

Jack grinned. No problem. I’ll pick you up at, say, seven. Miquel's is only ten minutes away from Tremont.

Oh, I don't want to have you go to that much trouble.

It'll be no trouble at all. I'm used to driving all over to . . . to find good restaurants. Besides, I need a night out with someone as intelligent as you. Most of my friends are strictly beer and pizza connoisseurs.

She laughed, a high-pitched hiccup sound that made Jack cringe internally, hoping that this wasn't the sign of air headedness. He had had enough of that.

Is it a deal?

She seemed hesitant at first, but her face relaxed. Okay. I live at 378 Fremont, in a condo.

He smiled triumphantly. I'll be there at seven.

An evening breeze off the lake had an early June chill, not bad enough to require a sweater or jacket but just cool enough to make it slightly uncomfortable. Jack pulled his Grand Cherokee into the double drive that slanted down from 384 Tremont. The condo was one of those more contemporary cluster homes where two separate quasi houses connect at twin garages.

He felt ambivalent about asking Diane out. She seemed too cautious, too conservative. He was more accustomed to eager compliance, not this tacit reluctance stuff that Diane exhibited.

And, another thing: her face wasn’t all that great. Her nose was crooked, as if it had been broken and never set correctly, and her lips were puffy. She had a narrow, boney face with high cheekbones, and her hair, although blond, was cut too short. He liked long hair on a woman. But, the rest of her more than made up for her facial deficiencies. All Jack Schafer really cared about was the real estate below the neck.

The doorbell sounded like the theme from a Disney cartoon. After a few minutes, the door cautiously swung open.

Hi! Diane tilted her head and smiled, just short of true warmth.

Jack returned the smile, but his was very warm if not too eager. Hi!

Diane moved to the side. Come in. I have to check something.

The doorway opened on a small foyer overlooking a sunken living room, which was relatively compact but appeared spacious because of a cathedral ceiling.

Diane disappeared into a hallway that took a sharp left at the back of the room. She emerged a few minutes later clutching a cashmere sweater and a black leather clutch.

I'm ready now.

Good, he said, his expression reflecting both relief and confusion.

She checked to make sure her front door was locked before following him to his SUV. As he walked a few steps ahead, Jack tried to calculate the odds of seeing the inside of her condo again.

Acting the gentleman, Jack held the Cherokee's passenger door open while Diane, with some difficulty, climbed in. He gave her an amused smile before closing the door and getting in.

You like your condo? he asked as he pulled onto Tremont.

Yes. It's rather on the pricey side, though.

I can imagine, with those association fees and all.

That's true, but it provides my daughter and me more privacy than an apartment.

Jack swallowed.

A daughter? Good old Evan didn't mention that little detail. Must be from her previous marriage. Of course, dummy!

How old's your daughter?

Mandy just tuned twelve. She's staying at one of her friends.

How interesting. Not!

He flashed a polite smile. Better to leave well enough alone.

When Jack pulled into Miquel's parking lot, he noted the lack of spots.

I'll drop you off. I can park over at the bank.

When he returned after parking, Jack opened the entrance door to the restaurant and invited Diane to proceed. He was pleasantly surprised that she had waited on him. Most of his dates would have gone on in and headed straight for the bar.

They didn't have to wait very long. The hostess was quite familiar with Jack, much to his chagrin and Diane's amusement.

You come here often, I take it? she said, adding a teasing grin.

Jack helped her into her chair. Miguel’s is definitely one of my favorites . . . when I want something more satisfying than burgers and fries.

Everything sounds good, she said after a cursory scan of the menu.

The shrimp stir fry is an excellent choice.

She twisted her face. Oh, I don't know. Shrimp is high in cholesterol.

Why the hell is she worried about cholesterol? She's slim and trim and well shaped.

How about veal scapelli? It's mostly pasta.

Okay. She added a brief smile as punctuation.

A gaunt young man with short spiked hair and a gold earring arrived at their table. I'm your waiter, Eric, and what do we wish to drink? His voice was high-pitched, almost feminine.

When Jack caught Diane's teasing grin, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

We'll, he said, emphasizing the word, have two Bud Lights.

Eric sashayed off, allowing Jack the opportunity to release a suppressed laugh. After he settled down, he stared into Diane's expressive green eyes. They stared back at him with an accusatory glimmer.

She tilted her head. Why did you ask me out?

The question caught him off guard. I wanted to . . . to get to know you.

Why? Surely you don't consider me eligible material.

Jack worked hard to suppress building frustration. I thought that you're interested in . . . look, all I want is a chance to have dinner with a stimulating companion, someone not pumped up on whiskey and steroids.

You must date some pretty weird women.

Most of them are airheads, incapable of coherent conversation.

She flashed a grin. But competent in bed.

Damn! She's swinging with both fists.

Jack feigned unflappable disinterest. I wouldn't know about that.

Diane feigned teasing contempt. Oh, don't give me that. Men always have bed in mind when on a date.

He tried to give her his wounded pride look. I wouldn't say always.

She shot back a skeptical look. What did your buddies say about me? That I'm a divorced bitch too old for you?

Jack's right eyebrow rose. If I thought that you were too old for me, as you put it, I wouldn't have asked you out. He became angered, but it was a show. If you wish, I can take you home.

That made her pause and think for several minutes before lowering her eyes in an apologetic manner. No, I'd like to see how good the food is in this place. She flashed a teasing grin that both infuriated and stimulated Jack.

Not a good start. Fat chance of seeing the inside of her condo again.

This is good, she said after taking a bite. You were right.

On the other hand, you never know about a woman.

He flashed an ingratiating smile. Thank you.

Chapter 2

Larry Tobath stared at his Dell Optiplex LCD monitor as if in a trance. The Excel sheet displayed on its screen was complicated, having many linked worksheets in a plethora of files buried in Woodson and Sons' distributed databases. All he wanted was some first quarter projections, not the entire god dammed convoluted budget for the marketing department.

He could care less about what some dickhead manager thought that his department should spend on travel and expenses. Larry wanted to know what his division VP expected in new first quarter sales. His bonus was riding on it.

He picked up the receiver of his phone and punched three digits into the keypad.

Janice, where in the hell’s the file for first quarter projections?

Try the Section-Five server. It's in the corporate directory, the voice at the other end said.

Thanks, Jan, Larry shot back, trying not to sound too flustered.

What would you marketing guys do without us assistants? She added a guffaw as punctuation.

Hey! You won't get an argument from me. I've always pressed O'Brian for more assistants.

Must have helped, she said. We're getting a new hire today.

Good! Have him come by.

Her, Larry. It's a her.

Even better, he said in a mocking tone.

You men, she came back in kind.

Larry burst into Donivan's Deli and headed straight for the end of a line that always balloons as the lunch hour progresses. Donivan's had grown large enough to include a cafeteria that features many sandwich, soup and salad selections, making it a good place to get an inexpensive lunch within walking distance of the office.

The sight was both curious and amusing: a young woman straining to reach a salad at the back of a display case, her blouse pulled up and her skirt stretched down enough to reveal a fairly sizable sliver of skin.

Here, let me get that, he said, reaching past her outstretched hand.

She extracted herself from the display case and rewarded Larry with a warm smile while nervously fumbling with the task of straightening her clothing.

Larry didn't expect it to go any further than that. After he paid for his corned beef sandwich, chips and diet Pepsi, he immediately went into search mode to find an unoccupied table, a task that he knew required timing and aggressiveness to achieve. Much to his surprise, the woman he had helped followed him and sat down at his table.

Nowadays, such behavior is considered risky if not actually dangerous, especially for a lone woman. Besides, most people religiously guard privacy.

Hi! she blurted, as if it were normal and proper to intrude.

Larry blinked. She smiled.

I'm Gwen Panir, your new assistant.

Hi. he replied, his face still frozen with surprise and a dash of amusement.

You're Mr. Tobath, right? She sounded like a little kid on Christmas morning.

That's what my security badge says.

She giggled, and when her face relaxed, she seemed more mature, more sensual than his first impression, but both were sublime, hidden qualities.

Thanks for the help back there. I don't know why they insist on sticking things way in the back. They should provide step-ups.

Probably too expensive. Donivan's doesn't go out of its way to provide amenities.

She looked around. You're certainly right about that. She added a subdued sigh. They told me that it was a good place for a cheap lunch.

They're right. If you want something a bit more elaborate, there's a good sit-down restaurant up the street.

She smiled. I'd like that.

Ah, an invitation, perhaps?

I'll tell you what: why don't we catch supper there after work?

Sounds good to me, she said, sounding genuinely enthused.

Larry studied her interesting face in an attempt to discern a true motive for her unexpected interest in him. Her bright eyes reflected a bubbly personality, and her face had a chiseled look that was emphasized by thin lips and a perky little nose. The only flaw was stringy, straight mousy hair, but he saw nothing devious on her otherwise appealing visage.

The one physical characteristic that he could not fault at all was her bosom. Her ample breasts protruded at him from behind a tight blouse like torpedo heads and their cleavage peeked at him from a generously low cut neckline. Not that he was complaining, but her bra straps were visible, an unusual fashion flub for a woman in a formal business world.

He had one hell of a time keeping his eyes out of the valley, though.

How do you like it, so far? he asked her, trying to maintain his cool.

She paused from munching on a club sandwich to give him an amused smile. Everybody has been just wonderful. First days on a job are usually cold, if you know what I mean.

This isn't your first position?

Her smile faded. No. She practically growled the word. I was with Ernst and Weller.

His right eyebrow rose. Really? They're one of the top agencies. What happened?

Old man Ernst's son had roving hands, if you know what I mean. I didn’t do anything to encourage him.

Oh, sure, and pigs fly.

And what did I get out of it: they accused me of unprofessional behavior. Oh, they gave me a generous severance and a recommendation for not starting anything. I figured it wasn't worth the hassle to fight it.

Danger, Will Robinson!

We haven’t had problems like that at Woodson and Sons, Larry said, wishing he hadn’t. At least none that I’m aware of.

She scrunched her nose. Stuff like that isn’t broadcasted around the office. Nobody knew about my problem. Even if I had told them about it, they wouldn’t have believed me.

I’m sure.

Larry elected to avoid further sensitive conversation. He nudged her over to talking about the weather, the shopping downtown and other benign subjects.

Larry didn't see her the rest of the afternoon and he assumed that she had forgotten or it was just one of those polite promises that most people make but seldom honor.

Besides, office romances, especially with underlings, are dangerous. Breakups often result in sexual harassment suits. The company abhors such lawsuits because most are settled out of court, ending the careers of those involved. Caution must prevail.

But like a bad penny, her smiling face appeared seemingly out of thin air. He continued walking down the hallway leading to the elevators unsure of his prospects.

Hi! she said, bubbling over with joy. I thought I had missed you.

He wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he just smiled.

Do you have a car? he asked as he held the door for her.

Heavens, no. I catch the old 34.

That’s the same bus that I ride. Interesting.

That restaurant is only a block up Seventh. We can walk.

Works for me, she said with a benign smile.

They walked in silence to the restaurant mostly because there were too many prying ears and eyes. When they arrived at Kelly’s Café, Larry held the ornately carved door open for her.

Thank you, she said before entering.

They only had to wait a few minutes for a booth near the back. Larry waited until the waitress went off to fetch their drinks before asking, Where do you live?

The Stafford Arms, she answered with no hesitation.

Both Larry’s eyebrows rose. Oh, really?

Yes, she said, her face twisting with a smidgen of curiosity.

That’s where I live, Larry finally said.

Oh, really? Her face lit up with excitement.

What floor? he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Fifth.

I’ll be darned. We’re neighbors.

She laughed, and Larry couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or just expressing excitement. He didn’t quite know how to explore this interesting new development, but one thing he was sure of: he would be escorting her back to the apartments. What happened afterwards was anyone’s guess.

She didn’t exploit the interesting revelation in their dinner conversation. Instead, she seemed to be interested in discussing aspects of her new job and discovering useful tidbits about the people she would likely be working with. Larry kept the information as generalized as he could. He didn’t want any gossip getting back to the staff. Insider info is both privileged and dangerous.

They caught the Number-34 bus up to Nineteenth Street. The Stafford building sat across the street from the bus stop and its protected entrance was keyed, as was the elevator. A security guard manned a central console behind reinforced glass.

When they arrived at the fifth floor, Larry turned to the right. She turned to the left, but instead of continuing on her way, turned and beamed an inviting smile.

Would you like to see my apartment?

Yes and no.

Larry was torn between arousal and caution. Okay, he blurted, not exactly sounding enthused.

He followed her down the hall to apartment No.527. His apartment was No.512. It seemed just too damned coincidental.

She unlocked the door and entered, allowing an automatic light sensor to illuminate the living area. Her apartment was one of the few studio suites in the building. A galley kitchen sat behind a bar and the bedrooms and bath were behind a wall that didn't extend all the way to the ceiling. On the left was what Larry assumed to be a photography set. A heavy light blue sheet of paper hung from the ceiling and flash units sat around a camera mounted on a tripod.

Larry followed her in but stayed nearer the entrance, as if he were concerned about becoming trapped.

I’ll put a pot of coffee on, she said as she headed toward the kitchen. Make yourself at home.

Oh, sure. Like, I can get comfortable.

He carefully settled into a flame-red leather easy chair near a large lemon-colored couch. The living area had additional items of extreme décor: a twisted metal sculpture that looked like the result of a terrorist bombing, a vase decorated with stripes that resembled those on a barber pole and an industrial ceiling painted matte black. He knew that the apartment administrators were liberal, but this was a bit too much on the far side.

She returned with a cup of coffee. Do you need cream or sugar?

No, he said, accepting the cup. Thanks.

She sat her cup down on a driftwood table and settled back on the couch, but she soon sat up and began to fidget.

Do you mind? she said, reaching up her skirt. I just have to get out of this pantyhose.

Larry had barely time to nod before she began peeling the irritating garment down over her shapely legs.

Is this a striptease?

After that interesting show, she took a sip of coffee before she reached up behind her blouse.

This damn bra is pinching me, she said, adding a mock frown.

Larry’s eyes widened with surprise when her blouse popped open revealing quite a bit of the offending bra.

Oh, I’m sorry, she said, grinning.

Larry bit his lip in an attempt to remain in control.

I feel much better, now. She blew a relieved breath.

God, I hope so.

Larry took a few gulps of coffee before standing up. I hate to rush off, but I have something I must do before work tomorrow.

Her face took on a dejected look. Oh, that’s too bad. Then her face brightened. Perhaps we can do this again.

I’m not sure I could take the increased testicular pressure.

Yes, he said, standing up and heading for the door. Perhaps we can.

When he got back to his apartment, Larry collapsed in a chair and blew out a relieved breath. He didn’t know how to react to his first encounter with the new assistant. Was she trying to put a move on him, hoping for a favorable review?

That’s crazy. She had just started. Surely, she doesn’t find me attractive. Maybe she does. Damn it! I don’t know what to think.

Larry didn't see her at work the next day. To his relief, she was assigned to Dan Hastings, who was almost old enough to be her father. He was particularly surprised that she hadn't come around at the end of the day. Perhaps, his abrupt departure last night chilled her interest in him. Probably just as well.

After work, Larry did his laundry and settled down in front of the tube for the early news before he rustled up something to eat.

That’s when his doorbell chimed. He jumped up and cautiously cracked open his door.

Hi! she chimed.

He almost couldn't believe his eyes. She stood outside his entrance attired in a long, pink silk robe, holding a bag of prepared food in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Hi! he replied looking completely dumbfounded.

Noting his confusion, she tilted her head and smiled. May I enter?

Sure, he said, his face exhibiting embarrassment with a helping of humble pie.

Larry looked up and down the hall before closing and latching the door.

Aren’t you taking a chance walking down the hall wearing only a . . .

That elicited an ornery grin. Life requires risk taking.

What the hell's that supposed to mean?

The bag contained walleye sandwiches with coleslaw and sweet potato fries, which she laid out on his breakfast nook booth. He poured two glasses of her Monterey Chardonnay and took a quick swig. He vacillated between consuming enough to dull his senses and cautious imbibing.

He chose the latter.

I want to apologize for the other evening. My mother always did accuse me of being too aggressive.

I'm sorry, he shot back. I didn't run out because of anything you . . . I really did have to finish a report.

She rewarded his diplomacy with a warm smile and silence for the rest of the meal. He wasn't sure that he had offended her, but she said nothing to indicate alienation.

They returned to the living room wine glasses in hand. He sat in his favorite Lazyboy and, much to his surprise, she alighted on an ottoman, sitting with her back straight like a model posing for a glamour shot. She allowed her robe to separate, revealing all of her left leg and a generous sliver of skin all the way down below her navel.

Noting the lecherous look on his face, she grinned, adding more coals on his rapidly developing fire.

All he could do was blink and take a gulp of wine. How's your training going?

Splendidly. Mr. Hastings is very patient, and it's a good thing because I've made mistakes.

Haven't we all. You'll get the hang of it.

She allowed the other half of her robe to fall away uncovering her right leg and increasing the chasm between the two halves to well below her navel. The view was both breathtaking and disturbing.

It was decision time. Should he go for it or should he proceed with caution. Most men would throw caution to the wind, but he had a career to protect. One slip and all would be lost.

On the other hand, it was obvious that she wanted sex. Why else would she be exposing herself? What a fascinating dilemma.

Perhaps, a little playful probing is in order.

Don't you feel a draft like that? he asked, trying to sound discrete.

She immediately swung her legs together. Oh, I'm sorry. Her face reflected embarrassment but her eyes gleamed with a hint of tease. I guess I’m not paying attention to my modesty.

I second that understatement.

Despite her self-admonition, she allowed a delicious portion of her left breast to become exposed. Larry could barely control his reaction to the pleasant gift. He didn’t know what to say or do, so he just smiled like a patron at a nudie review.

Oh, I’m sorry, she said, covering it back up. I guess I’m giving you quite a show.

An unexpected gift, but I’ll take it.

His face turned serious and he stared grimly at her for several seconds before saying, You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are incredibly beautiful. Believe me; I appreciate your show, as you call it.

She stared at him with surprised eyes, and her mouth dropped. Larry thought for a minute that she was going to explode in anger, but to his surprise, she smiled.

Thank you. You’ve been a perfect gentleman. Most men would not have been, but you have remained in control. I like that.

She stood up and tied the sash of her robe. Would you like to come over to my apartment tomorrow evening?

Yes, he blurted, not sure of what she was going to do next.

Good, she said. I’ll cook you a nice supper.

I would like that, he said, adding a weak smile.

She flashed a teasing smirk back at him before taking her leave.

Larry was left totally confused. He had no idea what kind of a game she was playing, but he liked the moves so far.

Luck came the next day. Gwen had been transferred to Research. Since she was no longer in his department, he would have nothing to do with the course of her career. He was free now to pursue a relationship, unless she was only interested in him because of his possible influence on her ultimate destiny. That's not a very encouraging thought, but it was a distinct possibility. Tonight would reveal the truth.

Larry rushed home to prepare for his date. His heart rate increased when he saw the message light on his answer machine.

I'm sorry, but I can't fix you supper. Something's come up. I'll catch you later.

Larry sank onto his couch and sighed.

Well, that's it. She was only interested in her career. Probably better this way. Now, I know where I stand: nowhere, that's where. Shit.

He decided to take a shower and go out to eat. He was just ready to step out of the shower when he heard the door chime.

Now who the hell can that be? he said to himself.

He quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around his middle. When he got to the door he cracked it while standing to the side.

Hi! May I come in?

He had trouble believing his own eyes, but it was the bad penny.

I’m not exactly dressed for mixed company, he said, trying to prevent her from seeing him.

Doesn’t bother me, she said, grinning with anticipation.

After he sighed, he reluctantly opened the door, nervously peering past her before closing it.

I thought you were occupied tonight? he said, trying not to sound as if he were admonishing her.

I took care of it, she said, but didn't offer any further explanation.

He hesitated, hoping that she would say something, but she didn’t.

I was just on the way to catch some food. Do you want to tag along?

She scanned her eyes up and down his body, making him feel more vulnerable than he already was.

Instead of going out, why don’t you come over to my apartment and I’ll fix you dinner.

He relaxed. I’d like that. Let me get dressed and I’ll be over.

She grabbed the front of the towel and pulled. Surprised by her bold move, Larry increased his grip on the back. She yanked harder, and it was all he could do to prevent her from disrobing him.

Okay, she said with a wistful look in her eyes, reluctantly releasing her grip on his towel.

He waited until she departed before blowing out a relieved breath. He thought for certain that she was going to strip the towel away. In fact, she would have if he hadn’t fought her attempt. The thought of that both alarmed and excited him. Was it a covert message that she wanted sex? Perhaps there's a way to find out.

Chapter 3

Stretching and yawning, Robert Ferris relaxed back on his poolside chaise and prepared to bask in the sun. Nice day to perfect a tan, he thought. Soon, the lapping blue water, glistening with the rays of a solstice sun, lulled him into a nap.

His nap was rudely ended with the swishing sound of his patio door.

Wake up, Robert. You have a visitor.

Startled, he had just enough time to grab a book he had been reading before his mother and a young woman approached.

You should sun yourself in something a bit less revealing than the latest best seller, Robert.

The amused look on the young woman's face added to his embarrassment. He slowly stood up while holding the book as a cover.

You should call before you bring visitors, mother.

This is my naked son, Robert, his mother said, gesturing theatrically.

Mother!

And this is Sue Ann Warner, his mother said.

She extended her hand and he shook it, noting the firm grip. Sue Ann was an impressive blond with an expressive face. She was blessed with delicately thin lips well outlined with crimson lip-gloss, large well mascara lashed eyes, and a nicely sculptured jaw. Her figure was well proportioned to her sizable bust.

Nice to meet you, Robert, she said in an astonishingly low pitched voice.

His mother smiled. Sue Ann is an assistant curator at the museum. The Arts committee is having a gala on the fifth. We're going.

Wheels began turning in Robert’s head.

Warner? Could this is the daughter of Jack Warner of Warner Enterprises, the developer of most of the major buildings and malls this side of the Mississippi; and, not to mention, a major patron. This is my mother’s idea of demented match making.

That’s nice, mother, but it would help if you gave me a little advanced notice.

His mother cackled. Oh, come now, dear. Your calendar is not that full.

He gave her an annoyed look, but it had no effect, as expected. The whole incident was made more distressing by the fact that Sue Ann was enjoying his embarrassing predicament. Her smiling eyes feasted on his body without restraint, and he could do nothing to prevent it. His mother seemed impervious to his plight. In fact, she seemed amused. She excused herself and went into the house, leaving her son to suffer probing female eyes.

You have a nice tan, Sue Ann said, grinning politely, with an undertone of tease.

Thank you, he said, trying not to sound perturbed.

Do you often sun in the all together?

Only way to do it.

I agree. She glanced over at his in ground pool. Do you skinny dip too?

Yes.

She smiled at him, making him even uneasier. He struggled to make sure that his book protected his modesty, especially when she walked over to the pool.

Sue Ann glanced over at a weight bench near the pool. You work out?

Yes.

Her eyes scanned up and down his body. It shows. You have a nice tight ass.

Robert wanted to sink into the ground, to just disappear. He was so embarrassed it showed on his face.

We have to go now, Robert, his mother said, finally returning to rescue him. I’ll call you later about the party.

Pleased to meet you, Robert, Sue Ann said, grinning.

Robert watched them leave and just stood shaking. He felt violated and shamed.

Why does my Mother do these things? Maybe this Sue Ann is just a spoiled rich girl with a perverted sense of humor.

After he thought about it for several minutes, he saw a glimmer of hope. The experience had been embarrassing, but it had an element of gratuitously salacious pleasure.

A familiar chirp prompted Robert to reach for his cell phone. He was on his way from the parking garage next to the Osborn Building where his place of employment resided. Ernst and Ernst is a prestigious auditing firm, and as principal accounts manager, he personally oversees the auditing of several large firms.

Yes, mother?

I’ll pick you up around seven on Saturday. Wear your best black tux, dear. It’s a formal affair.

He nodded to his secretary, Gloria, before entering his office. As much as I had expected, mother.

Be ready, she said just before terminating the call.

He looked at his cell phone as if he could argue with it, but he folded the cover and threw it on his desk.

Gloria appeared at his door. You have Mr. Stanton on three.

He nodded again, and then picked up his desk phone. Nice to talk to you, he said. What can I do for you?

I have my comptroller on the way to see you. She has some issues that we need to work out before our next audit.

No problem, sir. We’ll work it out.

Good.

He sat down. He often stood up when he was talking to an important client, but attributed the habit to nerves. He punched a button on his phone. Gloria, when the comptroller from Addison arrives, send her in.

Yes, sir.

Robert sat down and began to go through a stack of paper on his desk. Surprisingly, it was the last audit report for Addison. He looked at the bottom line, the net worth: Two-hundred-eighty-five million. Not bad for a custom manufacturer.

His phone chirped.

Ms. Tamison is here to see you.

Send her in.

When his office door opened, he bathed his eyes on an impressively enjoyable entrance. Dressed in a tailored dark blue suit, which she smartly filled out, and high heels that made her shapely legs even shapelier, Ms. Tamison moved with grace and bearing. Her face was as sharp as her outfit, with a delicate nose and lips, made more interesting with large blue eyes that contrasted with her impeccably styled blond hair.

Good grief! She looks just like Sue Ann.

He jumped up and went to her, taking her hand to shake it, noting the firm grip. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Tamison.

Thank you, Mr. Ferris.

You can call me Robert, he said gesturing to a chair. Have a seat.

She sat down, but it was a more fluid motion than he had expected.

What can I do for you?

We need to resolve issues concerning our physical inventory, she said, pulling some papers out of her briefcase. There are several discrepancies that we would prefer to avoid.

He accepted the papers. I’m sure we can work out any problems. It’s probably nothing more than a miscount.

A three hundred thousand miscount, she said, frowning.

Oh, my! That is serious. He looked down at the papers. Perhaps, it would help if we went over the inventory and determined where the majority of the miscounts have appeared.

Noting his staring, she frowned. Is there something wrong with me?

He blew out an embarrassed breath. Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that you look like someone I know.

She smiled. Her name isn’t Sue Ann by any chance?

His eyes lit up. Yes. It is.

She flashed a mocking smile, tilting her head playfully. You've had the misfortune of meeting my twin sister.

Oh, my goodness! Well, that certainly explains the resemblance.

Of course it does, you idiot.

She tilted her head again. Are you seeing her?

He shook his head. No. No, I . . . she’s one of my mother’s friends. My mother is on the Arts Committee.

She smiled again. Yes. My sister is a curator, a very good one. Her face firmed. Be careful. She has a penchant for trapping men.

Now, why the hell would she say something like that?

He simply smiled, hoping not to dig into something that could result in trouble.

Her face softened, making him relax. But, he found the warning ominous. If Sue Ann was his mother’s choice of a date for him, then what the hell was he getting into?

He watched her cross her legs, uncovering a rather sizable expanse of leg. She seemed to take pleasure in his interest in her anatomical delights, a fact that made him nervous.

He hadn't really taken the time to visibly assess Sue Ann's physical attributes, but if this was her identical twin, he was impressed with her shapely chassis.

Everybody who was anybody was here at the manicured gardens of the Metro Arts Museum. Men wore black tie and tail and the women were arrayed in designer dresses. This was the place to see and be seen.

Robert arrived with his mother but quickly melted into the crowd, as far from her as possible. He made his way past groups of conversing people strung along the large pool with its sculptured fountains and scattered expanse of water lilies, spectacularly illuminated by fluorescent blue.

His destination was the bar near the trellis-covered patio. A few glasses of Cabernet should sooth his wounded male pride.

Hello, Robert.

Robert turned to fill his eyes with a grinning Sue Ann wearing a saffron blue off-shoulder Versachi that revealed a generous portion of her magnificent cleavage.

He never missed a beat. What do you want to drink?

I'll have a glass of Avi Chardonnay, please.

She nuzzled up along side him and smiled. Nice tux, but I think I prefer you in what you were wearing the other day.

He shook his head. I'll never forgive my mother for that.

She laughed, adding to his humiliation. Fortunately, the band started up with some light pop, prodding some couples to begin dancing on the open patio.

Robert took a sip of his wine before he turned to Sue Ann. Would you care to dance?

Sure, why not.

They moved through the crowd milling around the bar to the open marble floored patio. The sun had long vanished below the horizon and a gentle night breeze caressed their moving bodies. They merged into the throng of dancers and