The Beginning...Not the End, Volume 2

By Charmaine Gordon

Three more stories in the Charmaine Gordon series of Mature Romance combined in one volume. No Time for Green Bananas, Book 4; She Didn’t Say No, Book 5; and Dr. D and the Dad, Book 6. These Charmaine Gordon stories of love, passion, and suspense starring sexy seniors are also available as singles in ebook.

NO TIME FOR GREEN BANANAS
Series Book 4

Celeste Hamlin, seventy-five year old widow, has a goal... conquer the six mountains in the Saranac Lake region before deciding what to do with the rest of her life. Sixty-two year old Professor Paul Harris, meets the dynamic Celeste, and recalls the last words his wife said before she passed. “Find another love and begin again.” Will they begin again?

SHE DIDN’T SAY NO
Series Book 5

Grace didn’t say no to the Big Man On Campus, Scott Dwyer. And then her life changed... Years later, a too-close encounter of an unpleasant kind with a skunk and Scott’s German Shepherd reunites the former lovers. What happens in between are their stories of beginnings and endings and love lost, then found.

DR. D AND THE DAD
Series Book 6

A trip over a mound of sand on the beach begins a journey for Diane O’Rourke and Tony Flannigan. She’s a pediatrician, a bit over weight; he has a foster care home with three children under his sheltering wing... and a dark secret. Can they overcome the past and make the future work for them? They might just find the initial trip was well worth it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: VanillaHeart
• Release date: Apr 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311094681

Charmaine Gordon

Charmaine Gordon writes books about women who Survive and Thrive. Her motto is take one step and then another to leave your past behind and begin again. Six books and several short stories in three years, she’s always at work on the next story. The books include To Be Continued, Starting Over, Now What?, Reconstructing Charlie, Sin of Omission and The Catch, and her series of Mature Romances, The Beginning...Not the End.“I didn’t realize at the time while working as an actor in NYC, I’d become a sponge soaking up dialogue, setting, and stage directions. I learned many tools of writing during the years watching directors like Mike Nichols and actors including Harrison Ford, Anthony Hopkins, and Billy Crystal. And would you believe, I was Geraldine Ferraro’s stand– in leg model, my first job giving me entrée into all the Unions needed to work. When the sweet time ended, I began another career and creative juices flowed.”You can reach Charmaine athttp://authorCharmaineGordon.wordpress.comAnd on her FB page http://www.facebook.com/charmaine.gordon

Book preview

by Charmaine Gordon

Dedication

Kimberlee Williams, fearless and patient leader, we’ve gone from you saying, How about another story and soon, to When’s the follow-up? Are we having fun or what as friendship grows and new ideas pour from the creative juices flowing. This senior is having a proverbial ball working in the best congenial atmosphere ever imagined.

Acknowledgements

I first read the expression No Time for Green Bananas on my dear friend, Sandra Pesmen’s Widow’s Blog. Ah, a title for the Beginning. . .Not The End series and a seed grew in this author’s mind. Writing this series of short stories about Mature Romance and Sexy Seniors has given me so much pleasure the past few months.

Thanks to Yogi Berra for his It ain’t over ‘til it’s over words to live by.

Chapter 1

Straighten Up and Fly Right. Celeste Hamlin couldn’t get the old song’s lyrics out of her head knowing they held true. From this day forward she’d straighten up and watch out for buzzards circling to grab what she and Matthew had worked for all the years. She glanced around to see hugs and waves from grandchildren waving bye bye to their grandparents at another gate. Calls of ‘have a good time’ rang out in high sweet voices. Where were her grandchildren all grown up and capable of keeping in touch with their remaining grandparent?

Matt’s words of wisdom came to her, Don’t look back. Fix it when you return, m’love. Alone for the first time, she placed her backpack and rolling case on the slow moving track, credentials and watch in a box, Celeste knew they wouldn’t ask a woman over seventy to remove her shoes. Then all hell broke loose. Security personnel rushed toward her. The new hip replacement set off the buzz of the metal detectors. Arms raised as high as old bones allowed, she said, THR. Total hip replacement. I forgot about the metal. My head’s in the clouds and we haven’t taken off yet.

Move over here. Boarding pass, please. The stern uniformed woman checked her pass. Oh, Ms. Hamlin, her tone softened, I have to pat you down. Times have changed. Security has beefed up and changed regulations at every airport, big or small. Charter or regular. Step behind the curtain. Please.

Celeste Hamlin grinned after the frisk. Delia, when someone does that to me I expect moonlight, roses, champagne, and a great dinner. My compliments to you and the training program. You do a great service to our country.

Ms. Hamlin, I’ll have someone escort you to Gate 4 where you’ll board right away. Safe journey.

It’s just a hiking trip to see if I can handle mountains again. Been a while.

Just a hiking trip. A tinge of sorrow accompanied the words. Celeste was ushered into her favorite chartered plane, the Gulfstream G550 and chatted with the pilot, co—pilot and attendants. They all worked for O.U.R. Airlines, the company started when the Hamlin’s were young, fiery, and ambitious. O.U.R. They had laughed when they decided on the special name because it excluded the world. Laughed and had sex on the old couch in the small office, giddy with plans, determined to succeed. Half the fire went out since Matt died. I’ll manage. My goal is to prove I can conquer the mountains again, all of the six. And don’t fly home without the proof. The Gulfstream was a bit over the top for this short trip but what the hell. The advertisement paid off.

Opening the itinerary folder, Celeste reviewed her instructions. The jet from Teterboro Airport close to New York to Lake Placid would be met by the tour guide. They’d travel the short distance to Saranac Lake, check in at the well known lake side Inn Celeste had stayed with her husband every year. No hiking for him. He paddled his own canoe while she tackled the mountains. The passengers aboard, all vetted, a mix of married couples and one widower, different ages. Always a winning combination. She crossed her fingers and hoped for the best. Every chartered trip had to be a knock—out with all the competition vying for customers. She offered a side trip to Lake Placid, one night — two days in Sarasota, special dinners every night with games and prizes similar to the old resorts in the Catskills without celebrity entertainment.

This will be a perfect get—away. Some easy trails for hiking; everyone can go at their own pace, faster or slower as they please. As for me, I have no time for green bananas. Not at my age. No falling. Just get stronger and stay healthy. She sang softly, Cool down, momma, don’t you blow your top — just straighten up and fly right. My new/old theme song. 1943 hit song over and over again, thank you, Nat King Cole.

Smoothing short blond hair, she admired the beauty of the interior of her plane. Spotless, carpet fresh and no leftover debris anywhere. Celeste stretched her long legs as best as possible before settling in the luxurious beige leather padded seat. A sharp pain the left hip area made her grimace. A Percocet moment? No, not yet. Takes a whole lot of pain before I take two.

Chapter 2

The flurry of excitement began with the sound of happy chatter as her passengers started to climb aboard. Maryanne greeted each in her flight attendant’s cordial way, Welcome and make yourself comfortable. She knew everyone’s name after memorizing photos. Five years of experience with O.U.R. Airlines paid off with every flight. There are no assigned seats on this flight to Lake Placid. Let me know if you require help with extra baggage. WIFI is available at the desks if you care to work after we reach altitude.

Betsy Martin’s voice rang out. George, this is a vacation. Our time, not work time. Put down your computer or I’ll...

"Just kidding, honey. ‘My time is your time.’ He sang off—key and replaced the computer in the carrying case.

An audible sigh of relief came from the nearby passengers.

Sue Altman whispered to her husband, Joe. We haven’t even buckled our safety belts. I hope she calms down. Joe squeezed high up on his wife’s thigh and grinned.

Paul Harris flexed his neck muscles and rolled wide shoulders before taking the seat next to Celeste. Hi, I’m Paul.

She winced, another sharp pain radiated from the hip down her leg.

You’re in pain. May I help? Ice bag or Tylenol? Both?

Slowly the pain subsided. Celeste breathed and tried to relax. Thank you. I’m still recovering from hip replacement surgery. I thought the worst ended but there seems to be residual in store. No time for green bananas for me.

I had right hip replacement not long ago. So far so good. Which hip?

Left.

Well, we have a matched set, Ms. ...?

Celeste. She smiled at the friendly man, a professor of Theater Arts at Columbia University. Long time hiker on sabbatical. A widower. All on a resume her company had checked. Every passenger had been vetted but the truth always came out during vacation, the real nature of each person. She didn’t care. Not anymore. Peace, a chance to heal and get back to the mountains she loved. Not too much to ask for. Conquer the mountains. Don’t be afraid, buzzed in her head.

Celeste, your expression about green bananas, I read that somewhere.

Age has acquainted me with many foolish expressions but this one makes the most sense. And I quote, from whom—I don’t know—Green bananas take time to ripen. Do not wait. There may not be a tomorrow."

A sobering thought during lift—off, Celeste. And on our way to the mountains in Saranac Lake. I like bananas, always buy a few yellow at a time so we’re on the same page.

The Gulfstream G550 reached altitude at breathtaking speed; Maryanne announced her safety instructions and said beverages and snacks would be served shortly. The passengers were free to walk around the plane, meet and greet or do whatever pleased them.

Celeste remained seated until the pain totally dissipated. Then, as hostess of the chartered vacation, she felt obliged to speak with each person. Excuse me, Paul, it’s time for me to work. She took one tentative step after another and her walk never faltered. An excellent sign. She felt his gaze as he watched her. Did he know who she was? Probably, if he read the welcoming letter and her signature. If not, the attractive man would soon find out.

Crossing the spacious aisle, she extended her right hand to banker Leon Mercer and to her surprise, the woman with him was not the Mrs. Sophie Mercer from his last trip. A gorgeous young friend named Tiffany stood next to Leon. Tall, slender, blond. A walking cliché of the other woman. Whatever became of Sophie? Don’t be so judgmental, the trip has just begun. Leon, we’ll abandon last names since we’re on vacation and we’ve taken this trip before. Welcome aboard. We’re in for a glorious week at Saranac. The gray haired banker shook hands.

This is my uh, companion, Tiffany Wells.

And welcome, Tiffany. Have you hiked before?

A sexy low voice answered. No. Leon said a guide would show me the easy trails. Thanks. I love your plane.

It’s my favorite. So she’s vetted me just the way I have all the others. Clever girl.

Like a one woman band, Maryanne rolled a cart of hors d’oeuvres to a table toward the middle of the plane, skirting around Celeste’s path. Linen napkins were placed with utensils and a tray containing endive stuffed with ricotta, raisins and almonds; quesadillas with ham and pepper; goat cheese bruchetta plus fresh fruit and vegetables were set in place. Carmine, her assistant, offered an assortment of beverages from water to champagne in crystal stemware. Food always set the tone.

Nothing but the best for this trip. Celeste shook hands with old acquaintances the architect, Jim O’Brien and his wife, Lucy. They’d met before on other trips.

It won’t be the same without Matt. Jim hugged Celeste.

Lucy elbowed her husband in the ribs.James, you have no tact. We were sad to learn about Matt.

Controlling her emotions, Celeste gazed out the nearest window at blue sky, the Gulfstream’s wings cutting through fluffy clouds. She sighed. It’s been eleven months and three days now but who’s counting? She looked at the two of them in their seventies, happy, apparently healthy, and mentally wished them well. This trip is for Matt. He loved Saranac Lake.

And canoeing. I went with him one year. Man, he paddled as if he’d been on a team in competition.

Long time passing. All college related, Jim. Medals, trophies, the whole shebang. Then he met me and we formed our company.

Lucy embraced her. Let’s drink a toast to him.

You read my mind, Lucy. Champagne, everyone? We’re toasting to my fallen partner, Matthew Hamlin.

A mix of fun touched by the word fallen implying loss brought the passengers to their feet. Everyone gathered around. Two bottles of Dom Perignon wrapped in linen napkins stood tall in a silver ice bucket and were placed center stage by Maryanne. Deftly she popped the cork on one bottle. A bit of fizz and foam followed and she poured glasses half full as instructed.

Raising her glass, Celeste felt a pang of loneliness. To Matthew who made all of this possible. She sipped champagne so familiar yet the taste had lost its’ kick. Thanks, dear Matt.

Chatter resumed between the guests. And soon they almost licked the tray clean, she observed with satisfaction. All save one. The warmth of Paul Harris stood next to her.

Did you enjoy our little repast, Paul?

You mean splendid. I did indulge. Not too much. The ricotta filled endives were special. I had two and you had none. Of anything. Their eyes met. I understand this is a sentimental journey for you. It is for me, too. My wife died this past year. He flashed a shy grin. I hope we can be friends and a source of... he appeared to search for a word.

Comfort? She almost laughed. I’m older than you, Paul. Friends? Maybe. Thank you for your kind words. Now I’ll see if any endives are left, since you recommended them, and some fruit.

Almost limping, Celeste hobbled away in search of Maryanne. She needed dark chocolate. Friends, comfort? At sixty something, he’s too young and I’m not interested in either one. Give me a mountain, not a molehill. Nothing is going to interefere with my goal! Not even pain.

Chapter 3

The professor had time to think about the brief conversation with Celeste Hamlin before the jet landed in Lake Placid. She thinks she’s too old to be friends with me or is it because she’s too rich? The last time I was single I played Little League. Now I’m sixty-two, a grandfather, for God’s sake, and all I know is doubles. And I admire her accomplishments and especially her strength.

The sweet air of far upstate New York intoxicated a hiker’s blood. All the brochures proclaimed those heady words. Ever observant, Paul saw the passengers cease chatting across the aisle in the luxurious bus, as their expressions changed to wonder at the scenery, the gasp of sighs as they caught sight of towering mountains and a kind of euphoria reached them all. They became one in admiration bringing camaraderie before reaching Saranac Lake. Celeste sat alone, making a list not part of the atmosphere in the bus.

She wrote GOALS. FOCUS. CONQUER THE SIX THIS WEEK. A MUST. Like a kid in afterschool detention she wrote the words over and over, not stopping until the bus arrived at the Inn. Then she slid it into her bag and put a smile on her face to hide the tension.

Finally the bus came to a stop before a low spread out Inn by the lake, canoes in sight. Paul jumped off the bus, forgetting about his new hip for a minute, only to regret the action right away. Ouch. He moved aside while the other passengers stepped down, massaged his right hip and promised himself to ice it before hiking. That and two Advil might help. He waited for Celeste to disembark.

Taking hold of her backpack and her hand, he helped her down the two deep steps.

You’re such a gentleman, Paul, taking care of an older woman with a new hip.

Stop referring to yourself as an older woman. You’re a few years ahead of me but our hips are the same age. I did the dumbest thing. They leisurely walked to the hotel. Forgetting the hip that needs loving care for about a year, I jumped off.

Oh, Paul.

I know. Stupid. Like a kid, I forget age has crept up. I’m a grandfather who needs spectacles to read to my grandchildren. When did this happen?

Crept up is a good expression. When we’re not looking, age happens. And just look at this hotel. She stopped to admire the new coat of paint, still blue and white to reflect the sun and water. Hasn’t changed in all the years we’ve come here. They have a winning formula.

Checking in with everyone waiting in line, Celeste announced, You’re on your own, my friends. Read the itinerary, your maps, see what pleases you and what fits your ability. We’ll meet in the great room at six to compare aches and pains before dinner. No whining allowed.

The announcement was greeted by laughter.

Watching Joe and Sue Altman hurry down the hall to a spacious room far from the group to celebrate their second honeymoon Paul sensed the emphasis was on honey. Joe’s voice carried across the milling crowd. No mountains for us except the ones we’ll climb in the king size bed.

Paul Harris chuckled. Those were the days. He gestured to the portly banker Leon Mercer tugging his sexy companion, Tiffany, along. Somehow I believe hiking is not the first thing on his mind.

To each his or her own, Paul.

Chapter 4

Celeste closed the door, the same one she and Matt locked as guests of the Inn... together all these years. A large room with a view of the lake asked for and still hers. White caps like ruffles on a dress spread across the lake. A rowboat captained by an inept man struggling with the oars while his companion flailed her arms.

Good luck, she thought