Public Displays Of Affection

Chapter Fourteen

LoriSue charged in the front door of her house, knowing exactly where she'd find her husband. And sure enough, there he was, hoisting himself off the family room sofa, a chip bag falling to the carpet.

"Basement time again," he mumbled. "Have a nice day, LoriSue."

'Wait just a second, Jimmy. We need to talk."

On the thirty-second drive from Charlotte?s house, she'd made some decisions. Things were going to change for LoriSue Bettmyer, and they were going to change now.

"What is it, O eventually-to-be-ex-wife?" Jimmy shuffled past her to the basement door off the kitchen, clutching his chip bag.

"Would you please tell me what is so damn appealing about Charlotte Tasker?"

Jimmy guffawed. "For God's sake, LoriSue! Not this again!"

"I'm totally serious, Jimmy. Tell me "

He turned toward her and got a panicked look on his face. "I've never been with Charlotte Tasker."

It was LoriSue's turn to laugh. "Only because she won't have you. But that's not what I asked. I asked you what's so attractive about her."

Jimmy crossed his aims over his chest and leaned back against the basement doorjamb, frowning. "You want to know if I find her attractive?"

She nearly howled this time. "God, Jimmy! I've watched you drool over that woman for over a decade! What I want to know is why? What is it about her that draws men like flies to shit?"

"Ah," Jimmy said with a smirk. "This is about Joe Mills, isn't it?"

She stiffened. "What?"

"Come on, LoriSue. I saw the way your eyes lit up when that Rambo wannabe showed up at the snack bar. The way you poured on the charm."

"Stop it, Jimmy."

"I saw the way you reacted when he put the moves on Charlotte and went to sit with her in the stands."

"Oh? And I saw the way you reacted, too, Jimmy." She took a step closer to him. "It must really suck to see Joe just waltz right into town and take what you've wanted nearly a third of your life,"

A nasty smile creept across Jimmy's face. "Okay, LoriSue. You wanna know what's so hot about Charlotte Tasker?"

"Yes, I do,"

"She's every man's fantasy, that's all." The quiet reverence in her husband's voice didn't escape her. "She looks totally wholesome on the outside, but I can smell it. I can tell that deep down, with the right man, she'd be insatiable. And that's what is so hot about Charlotte Tasker. Any man would tell you the same thing."

LoriSue felt her mouth fall open. "That little mouse?"

"See, there you go, LoriSue. You see a mouse. I see an untapped nympho."

Her head spun. Maybe she'd gone about this backward. Maybe subtlety was the key. She hated to have to ask Jimmy this, but he did know her better than anyone. Sixteen years of marriage will do that to two people, for better or worse. "So I come on too strong? Is that what you're saying?"

Jimmy rose from the doorjamb and his eyes got big. "You're asking for my opinion about your sense of style?"

"Yes, I am."

"And you want the truth?"

She scowled at him. "Yes, I do."

"Well, yeah. Maybe you do come on too strong."

She tossed her head and jutted out her chin. "I thought you liked my look."

"I uh."

LoriSue let out a big sigh. of impatience. "Jesus, Jimmy. We're getting a divorce-and I've decided to let you have this house, by the way, so I can get on with my life-so just answer my question."

"I get the house?"

"I made an offer on that end-unit condo just listed over at The Lakes. I think they're going to take it and we'll be moving as soon as possible. Now, just dome do me a huge freakin' favor and tell me what you think of my look. I won't get mad."

Jimmy's face burned with suppressed glee. "I really get the house?"

"This place only reminds me of what a disaster our marriage has been. I want a fresh start for myself and for Justin."

"We haven't resolved the custody issue."

"I realize that."

"I want joint custody."

"We'll reach a mutually agreeable arrangement."

"And we haven't figured out how to divide ownership of the agency."

"We will. Just answer my question. Do you, or do you not, like my look?"

"I've never liked your dye job."

"What?" The exclamation came out so forcefully that LoriSue hurt her own ears. "You always told me you liked me as a blonde, you son of a bitch."

Jimmy shrugged. "I told you that because you seemed to like yourself as a blonde. I never really did."

"Well, I'll be damned."

"And your suits are about a size too small. It makes you look cheap."

LoriSue widened her stance. Put her hands on her hips. If she'd been wearing a gun holster, this was where she'd pull out her six-shooters.

She gave him a nasty little smile of her own. "You've let yourself go to pot, Jimmy. I fell in love with a fit and athletic man. Now you just sit in your recliner in the basement and eat chips and salsa and watch other men be fit and athletic on TV."

"I don't like your fake fingernails."

"I don't like the way you've tried to make it your personal vision quest to screw every woman in Minton."

"I wouldn't have been looking elsewhere if I'd gotten what I needed at home."

"Ha!" LoriSue leaned in and went nose-to-nose with him. She felt invigorated by this exchange. They were breaking new ground today, getting right to the point, and it felt wonderful. Hell. It felt empowering.

"You didn't even know what you had at home, you fool. You didn't deserve me."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed to slits. "You're exactly the opposite of Charlotte." He backed into the doorway to put some room between them and shook his head. "See, your outside says 'hot,' but I know better, LoriSue. You're an ice-cold bitch inside, and you always have been."

She didn't want to cry. She never cried. But that hurt. It was so unfair, and so inaccurate. And she felt so sad that her husband of so long knew so little about her.

"Look, LoriSue. We really need to get this divorce over with. I need to live aboveground again. I think I'm getting rickets from lack of sunlight"

Her hand trembled as she wiped her cheek, smearing her black eyeliner. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer, Ricket Boy," she said.

Jimmy apparently understood that was his cue to return to the basement. About halfway down the steps he turned and said, "I did always like the boob job, though."

Joe had no idea that entertaining kids was so exhausting. As if he didn't admire her enough, he held Charlotte in even higher esteem after several hours on the job.

There were a total of seven of them-six fifth-grade boys and Hank, clearly the odd man out. The little girl fascinated him, not just because of her athletic prowess and blunt commentary, but because of how affectionate she was.

More than once that day, Joe felt a small stab in his chest he recognized as sadness for the girl. Hank obviously missed her father. He could tell by the way she followed him around and chattered nonstop, then hung on any response he might have.

It was a little embarrassing and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to get her hopes up, but he didn't want to hurt the kid's feelings by being too brusque. He decided he'd be friendly and hope for the best.

The truth was that the world of children was an alien land to Joe. He had no nieces or nephews, and Daniel Simmons was the only kid he ever really had much contact with, and Daniel had been downright reserved in comparison to the in-your-face Hank and the gleefully cynical Matt.

At the moment, the group was involved in a chaotic game of pickle in the backyard, Charlotte and he manning the makeshift bases, tossing the baseball back and forth as the kids took turns trying not to get tagged out. When kids got caught in a pickle, they would invariably laugh so hard that they'd fall down in the grass, grab their bellies, arid roll around as the tears trickled down their faces. Joe figured the hilarity must be contagious, because he'd been laughing right along with them.

He and Charlotte were a good team, and there had been many times when he'd catch her eye and know intuitively what her strategy was, whether the next motion of her arm would be a fake-out. He wished the game would go on forever. It gave him an excuse to have constant eye contact with her, in a way he hoped she found nonthreat-ening. It gave him an excuse to join her in every smile, every burst of laughter.

It was another way they could communicate without words. Kind of like sex, but not near as much fun.

And Joe found himself wondering if this was what Steve once had. If so, he could see why his partner had been happy-for as long as it lasted, anyway.

"Soup's on, campers!"

The boys ran hard for the back patio, where Ned and Bonnie had been setting two tables for the crowd, but Hank stayed behind. As Charlotte gathered up the old seat cushions that had served as bases, the little girl sidled up to Joe.

She grabbed his right hand and squeezed it hard.

Joe froze. He had no earthly idea what to do. So he just stood still until Hank started tugging and led him up the slope of the lawn.

"I like you, Joe," she said.

"I like you too, champ."

"Infinity much."

"Uh, thanks."

Charlotte arrived at his other side and offered to take the baseball mitt still stuck on his left hand. "I'll go put this stuff away in the shed and meet you in a minute."

Joe relinquished the mitt and walked hand-in-hand with Hank.

"That was my dad's glove," she said.

"I kind of figured that."

"You don't play much ball, do you?"

He laughed. It was true that his arm was a bit rusty. "I managed to throw you out a few times, as I recall."

She offered him that patchwork grin, and he noticed for the first time how strange her newer teeth looked this close up, all corrugated at the edges. He didn't know if that was normal. He suddenly couldn't remember why the hell he thought it was a good idea to hang out with the Taskers.

Then he saw Charlotte glance over her shoulder and smile as she walked to the shed, and it all came back to him. He squeezed Hank's hand in response.

The actual dinner struck Joe as a combination of theater of the absurd and a three-ring circus. The six boys were relegated to a picnic table under a tree while the adults and Hank sat at the wrought-iron patio table.

Joe was amused by the boys' conversation, which centered on bodily functions, how much they hated females, and which boy could perform any number of physical feats better than the others present. It reminded him of a typical staff meeting at the Albuquerque field office,

At their table, Charlotte regaled them with the healh hazards of trans-fatty acids found in commercial baked goods and the bovine growth hormones found in meat and dairy products.

Ned patted his round belly and said, "A little bovine growth hormone never hurt anyone. Look what it's done for me."

In the half hour it took to eat, Bonnie, Ned, and Charlotte got up and down from their own meals a dozen times to replenish plates and do everything from clean up spilled juice to put baking soda on a bee sting.

Hank never budged from his side. At one point she refilled his iced tea and looked up at him with huge blue eyes full of adoration.

She pulled on his shirtsleeve. "Wanna come to my ballet recital in two weeks? I get to wear a tutu and everything."

Joe felt his eyes widen. "Hey, sure. I'd like that."

"Ever had that hummus Stuff?" Hank said it in a whisper, nodding toward the barely touched dip at the center of the table.

"Mighty tasty." Joe scooped a wedge of toasted pita bread into the beige substance and took a big bite. "I think my mom made something like this when I was growing up."

Hank's mouth hung open. "For real?" She reached for a triangle of pita and held it over the bowl, a dubious expression on her face. "You didn't puke or anything?"

Joe laughed. "Not once."

After a moment spent steeling herself, Hank scooped the bread through the air and popped it into her mouth, plain. "I'd have puked, for sure," she mumbled, then once more bared those weird-looking kid teeth in that big smile ofhers.

Then she said, "Wanna see my tutu?"

After the campfire tale spun by Ned and Joe, it took Charlotte nearly an hour to get the boys settled down. Everyone agreed it was a real treat to have a professional storyteller like Joe contributing to scary-story time, but Charlotte was relieved that in the end Sasquatch only wanted to eat s'mores and not little boys.

Otherwise, she'd never get them to go to sleep.

Ned and Bonnie had just headed home. And Joe was drinking his iced tea on the patio keeping an eye on the tent while Charlotte put Hank to bed.

She tucked the sheet around Hank's body and kissed her sweaty forehead.

"I had fun tonight, Mama."

"Me, too."

"Can Joe come up and tuck me in next?"

She tried not to react too much to that question, though it concerned her. "I'll just tell him you said good night."

"I already said good night to him. Three times. He hugged me. He gives real good hugs."

"That was nice of him."

"I think he was stable tonight, Mama, don't you?"

Charlotte smiled down at her little matchmaker, her heart breaking. She'd seen Hank stare at Joe today, seeking out his attention whenever she could, sitting next to him, holding his hand. And Joe had been kind. But Charlotte knew that she needed to nip this puppy love in the bud. For Hank's sake.

"You know, sweetie, Joe probably won't live in Minton forever. He'll move one day."

Hank shook her head, her curls tumbling on the pillowcase. "Nope, Mama. I think he's gonna stay. He likes it here."

"Hank." Charlotte heard her voice grow stern. "I don't want you to grow attached to Mr. Mills. Do you understand?"

Hank shook Her head with conviction. "Joe likes us. He's going to stay forever. Matt agrees with me."

Charlotte frowned-why had she let Joe hang around tonight? The last thing in the world she wanted was to expose her children to more disappointment.

"We talked about it during the pickle game, Mama. Joe likes us. He likes you-a real lot."

"Sweetie, I need to explain something to you." Charlotte smoothed her daughter's curls from her forehead and leaned close, bracing herself on either side of Hank's shoulders. "Remember that night you said that I was going to start loving Mr. Mills? Please don't let that worry you, all right? I don't have plans to love anybody but you and Matt"

In the faint glow of her night-light, Hank's face broke out into a wide grin and her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Whatever you say, Mama."

"Good night, Hank."

Knowing she'd accomplished nothing, Charlotte kissed Hank's forehead again and walked toward the bedroom door.

"Daddy won't mind," Hank whispered to her back.

Charlotte came to a sudden stop in the hallway, those words reverberating in her heart and skittering down her spine. She glanced heavenward, her gaze cut short by the white ceiling, thinking just how wrong Hank was. She pictured Kurt up in heaven, peering down on her, not exactly judging her-he'd never really judged her-but he'd have that disappointed look on his face. He'd be disappointed in her current state of lust, her surrender to the needs of the flesh.

That look on Kurt's face always made Charlotte feel so uncomfortable in her own skin.

She arrived in the kitchen and her eyes immediately were drawn to the double glass doors in the family room and the vision of Joe seated at the wrought-iron table, his long legs stretched out to rest on an unoccupied chair in front of him, his right hand absently dangling down to rub Hoover's ear. The two of them seemed to stand guard, watching the flashlight beams dance inside the tent across the yard.

It was tempting indeed, tempting to look at Joe's silhouette and think of Kurt and everything her husband had been-guardian, provider, father, lover, friend. Charlotte straightened her shoulders and prepared to go outside, telling herself that Joe could never fill the space Kurt once occupied. Joe was her sexual fantasy man, and fantasy men didn't make good husbands and fathers. Everybody knew that.

But Joe had helped clear the table that evening, hadn't he? He'd been so loving and patient with Hank. He'd formed an easy friendship with Bonnie and Ned. He'd been a good sport with a pack of rowdy boys. And those were all things a girl didn't usually expect from her sexual fantasy man.

Right?

She opened the "back doors and Joe looked up and smiled. There was a small lantern on the table, which cast a soft bluish light over his features, making his black eyes that much more mesmerizing. He removed his feet from the chair and sat up quickly, wiping off the cushion, then patting it to indicate he wanted her to sit close.

She wondered what in the world they'd have to talk about. They knew nothing about each other, except for that brief encounter so long ago and the few quick conversations they'd had in the last two weeks. Had it been two weeks? On one hand, she still felt the shock of recognizing him at the punching bag like it was yesterday. On the other, it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn't right next door, when her body wasn't alive with the proximity of him.

She sat down and crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. Joe just looked into her eyes, silent, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Charlotte returned his gaze and pondered the mystery of sexual attraction. Why did one man, like Jimmy Bettmyer, make her skin crawl, while another, Joe Mills, made her libido do the Lambada? Sexual attraction had as many layers as organic whole wheat phyllo dough. What she felt for Joe was based in the physical senses, of course, the resonance of his voice, the breadth of his hand, the male scent at the crook of his neck, the black liquid passion of his eyes. But another part of the attraction was intangible. She felt joy in his presence. She felt sensual and alive. She felt like herself.

She couldn't stop her thoughts-they came racing at her too fast and hard to fight back-and Charlotte found herself comparing Joe to Kurt. It was unfair, like comparing a Ferrari to a Volvo, and she knew it.

With Kurt, she felt safe. He was strong and steady and reliable, and when he touched her, it was with the same reserved strength he used to interact with the rest of the world. When they made love, it was pleasant and sweet and usually over too soon. Most often, it was with Charlotte beneath him-that was the way he preferred it-and despite his position, he always left it up to her to control the pace and timing. Her favorite part was when he would hold her afterward and stroke her hair.

That was when the dark thoughts would rush into her, as she hid her face in his chest. That's when she'd admit to herself that she longed for so much more, something elusive and wonderful that she and Kurt just couldn't seem to produce together. She wanted certain physical sensations, yes. She wanted her legs up over her ears. She wanted to ride a man's body hard. Every once in a while, she wanted to be flipped over onto her belly and taken from behind by a man who was blinded by a need much like rage, a force that would propel her into the dark rushing swirl of sex.

But she also wanted something beyond the physical. She wanted that otherworldly sense of connection she'd had with Joe, the way he'd used his mind and words and emotions to push her past the corporeal into oblivion. She wanted to know she was being loved by a man who'd surrendered to his desire for her, who wouldn't hold back, who couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.

Once, only once, she'd summoned the courage to come right out and ask Kurt for what she wanted. It shocked him. He pulled away from her, paced the bedroom, and told her he respected her too much to degrade her that way*

"What in the world are you thinking over there?" Joe asked.

Charlotte shook her head. Like the grief, the regret could attack her without warning. Tonight, it was relentless. She felt powerless against it.

She thought of her wedding night. She was completely exhausted. Ironic as it was, after all the years of wanting and waiting, she was not at all interested in having sex on her wedding night. By the time the reception was over and the revelers left their hotel suite, it was two in the morning. Her head throbbed from the champagne and the lack of food-she'd been too excited to eat. Her feet hurt from the narrow heels she'd worn with her wedding dress. Her mouth hurt from hours of smiling. She could barely keep her eyes open.

But Kurt had swept her up off the hotel sofa and carried her lovingly to the big king-size bed, where he murmured to her to not be afraid, that he wouldn't hurt her, that he loved her more than anything in the world.

Charlotte's body shook. She was scared to death that at this most sacred moment Kurt would discover that someone had been there before him and she'd be found out- her ruse exposed-and he'd want the marriage annulled. Tears sprang into her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell him everything, her lips forming the first words of the sentence that would spell her doom-"Remember the day I picked you up at National Airport?"-when her new husband's mouth came down on hers and he'd kissed her hard and his hands went to her breasts and she surrendered herself to whatever fate would bring.

Fate brought a pleasing but silent coupling, followed by Kurt apologizing because he knew it must have hurt her. He told her he felt her shaking, saw her tears, and hoped that she could forgive him for being so rough.

Rough? she'd asked herself. That was rough? And so began thirteen years of comparing her husband to the mystery man who'd made her lose her freaking mind in a firestorm of lust and forceful language, the man now sitting across from her on her back patio, gently stroking her knee, and staring at her like she was some odd creature on display at a petting zoo.

"Charlotte?"

Then she thought of the evening she found her husband dead. He didn't answer when she told him dinner was ready, so she walked toward die family room, repeating his name while she wiped her hands on the green-checked kitchen towel. Her brain had started to buzz with alarm before she reached him. Something about the way he lay on the couch didn't look right. He appeared too loose. His chest wasn't rising and falling. The instant her warm fingers made contact with the cold skin of his cheek, she screamed.

It wasn't until hours later that she remembered her hideous secret wish. That Kurt would just disappear, so she could take a lover.

"Charlotte? Are you all right?"

She took a deep breath and straightened in the chair. She tried to smile at Joe. "Do you have any idea how strange it feels to be sitting here with you? You're not supposed to be real. You're my fantasy."

He laughed a little. "I think I know exactly how strange it feels."

"Do you have any idea how weird it was to have you here today for the barbecue?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you know how often I thought of you over the years?"

"How often, Charlotte?"

"Every single day."

"I can beat that," he said, his white smile flashing in the night. He tapped his front tooth with his index finger. "At least twice a day for me."

She laughed, stopping his hand from continuing the warm circular movement around her knee. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never-especially if it makes you feel so outrageously ashamed that you decide you need to make it up tome."

Charlotte shook her head and smiled. "I already feel guilty enough."

"Maybe it's time you stopped feeling guilty at all."

His hand was back, but this time it was higher, and his palm was stretched hot over the surface of her thigh, where it kneaded gently.

"Joe-"

"I'll go crazy if I don't touch you, Charlotte. I've been looking at you all day, thinking about touching you, wondering when it would be safe to touch you again, knowing exactly how you feel in my hands."

She couldn't do this with a tent full of kids not twenty yards away. She knew how it was with Joe-five minutes and she'd be on him like white on refined rice. Charlotte decided it would be best to end the evening with a warm "thank you" for all his help and a kiss on the cheek. No lip-to-lip contact. She tried to rise from the chair, but Joe caught her hands and pulled her back down.

"What I've always remembered, so clearly, is how dainty you were. How big my hands felt on your hips and waist, how feminine and soft and sweet you were."

"Oh, please." She tried to get up again, but his strong hands held her in place.

"You had this tiny waist and trim little knees and the sweetest round breasts with the perkiest little pink cherry nipples-"

"Stop right there-"

Joe bent close to her, his face not an inch from hers, her hands still gripped tight in his own.

"And this beautiful small perfect peach between your legs, Charlotte. A ladylike little split fruit covered in peach fuzz-so juicy and hot that I've never been able to forget it."

Charlotte felt numb. No one had ever spoken to her like this before-well, just once, thirteen years ago-and she couldn't help but notice that Joe's words sounded like something right out of one of her poems. She wondered if his voice had been the poetry inside her soul all the while.

The thought startled her.

"Sorry, but I'm not so dainty anymore."

Joe pulled back a bit and smiled.

Charlotte hoped her voice didn't sound shrill. She hoped she didn't sound as hysterical as she felt She wanted to come across as practical, because someone needed to be practical here and it didn't appear as if it was going to be Joe. "Like I said-"

"You're not that girl anymore."

She huffed. "That's right, Joe. I'm not that girl from the side of the road. What I am is a thirty-five-year-old widow with a mortgage aad a job, a woman who's carried two babies inside her, squeezed them out, nursed them with those little cherry nipples you seem to have liked so much, and frankly, all my dainty parts have been put to hard use."

He continued to grin and said nothing. It was definitely time to say good night.

"You are beautiful to me, Charlotte." Joe's words came out in a rough whisper. "From what I can tell, you're still dainty and feminine, and I'll be damned, but you smell exactly the same as you did back then. You feel the same in my arms. Your kiss still tastes the same. And I swear, Charlotte, if I don't get another one of those kisses right this second-"

He raised his hands to cup the sides of her face, then slowly so slowly, brought his lips down onto hers. Charlotte felt as though all the blood in her body rushed to her mouth, as if not a single red blood cell wanted to miss out on the sensory block party now taking place on her lips and tongue.

He pressed on, pushed open her lips to receive him, and kissed her senseless. He kissed her until she couldn't breathe and couldn't remember her name. He kissed the living hell out of her.

Just the way she liked.