Boss Lady: Interlude

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The calm before the storm.
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"You're dying to say it," said Marjorie Whitcomb to her lover, Barry Chambers, looking resplendent in his black tux, spit-shined shoes, charcoal boxer briefs, freshly barbered hair and a dash of his favorite cologne, "Driven" sold by the former door-to-door ladies. "Go on, Barry. Say it. I'm waiting to hear it."

The dark haired man beaming from ear to ear tried to serious up as he looked directly into the full length mirror. Even he had to admit that he cut a dashing figure. "The name is Bond, James Bond." He immediately burst out laughing as his exquisite lover embraced him and pressed her cheek against his chest. It had been close to a year since the last time they had been together. Their embrace was one of longing now fulfilled. It continued and he kissed the top of her shiny blonde locks, smelling of lavender. Each time he saw Marjorie, his heart skipped the proverbial beat. She had filled out some since the last time, although it wasn't fat, but toned muscle. She cared about herself and he cared that she cared. It was why he had taken to eating roots and berries for breakfast and lunch and joined a neighborhood gym when they had that mid-winter half price "cut the love slabs" special.

Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and sometimes his lack of self confidence was transferred to her in that he wondered what she saw in him. Rose color glasses had been discarded during their time apart. Many was the night before the fullness of sleep arrived that he wondered if they were just in deep lust or if it could blossom into something more. For him, it had. Yet fear was so rampant within him that Barry was afraid to broach the subject of future in any tangible way lest his lover be scared off, leaving him once more like Charlie Brown and the little red haired girl. He wasn't sure what it would do to him if she left. Last night, as he restlessly patrolled one of the twin beds in his hotel room, he came to the decision that the only thing he had to fear was loneliness. And he had been alone before. The sole question was when to act to quench the never ending thirst for her presence in his life, not just for an orgasm, or a few sweaty nights but forever.

Back to the moment, Barry let his fingers trace her strong back, gently pausing at the clasp of her bra, debating whether to unclasp it and..."What's that I smell, Marjorie?"

"Dinner, silly. I told you I was cooking dinner for you. Did you forget?" she slapped his shoulder.

"I hope we're having something smoked because it looks like that's what is coming out of the kitchen." Heads swiveled to see the first wisps of smoke coming from the kitchen. They rushed over there only to be greeted by the shrill scream of the smoke detector on station on the ceiling. Flames licked the outside of the stove as Marjorie tried to open it and put out the chicken which had become a flambé in the blink of an eye. She was overcome by smoke. Barry opened the windows and the back door then grabbed two dish towels, soaked them in the sink and grabbed the roasting pan and threw it out the back door into the swimming pool. It sunk like a rock.

Choking back a coughing fit, he guided his lover outside and hosed her down with a nearby garden hose. She did the same to him lest there be any errant flames searing their skin and lungs. There they stood for the longest moment. Marjorie was almost in tears as she looked down at her sopping wet body. Barry splish-splashed his way over to her and stuck out his hand. "The name is Bond, James Bond."

Rather than laugh, Marjorie just started to cry. "I just wanted everything to be perfect. And all I did was make a big mess. I'm so sorry, Barry." He embraced her and continued to rub her back to calm the oncoming dry heaves as she started to feel the pain of her perceived failure.

"It's okay, baby. I'll take you to dinner."

"No! I promised I'd make you dinner and dammit, I'm going to do it," she said. "Just as soon as I stop crying."

"Consider it done, m'lady." With that proclamation, Barry scooped her up in his arms and dumped her into the pool. "There you go, shaken, not stirred." He added the Welsh twist as a famous Bond had done so well so often.

"Barry Chambers, you Sonuvabitch!" said his lover, between flailing in the pool and laughing her ass off. "I'm going to drown."

He stood poolside and crossed his arms like Atlas overseeing the earth. Dry to the bone Marjie was the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, regardless of the ten year age difference between them. He told her once in his best Bogart, "We'll always have AARP." But dripping wet she was a goddess, nipples at the ready and the soft downward curve of her stomach caused him to ponder jumping into the pool and taking her right there. "Marjie? You're in the shallow end. Just stand up."

"Oh," she said, and did so. Once inside, they jumped in the shower to rid themselves of the smoke that adhered to their skin. The warm water cleared the senses for each as they came to the realization that this was the first time since the oral pleasure in her office when the ice had been broken that they were completely alone and free to do as they pleased. She looked at him with a caring he had hoped he would always see in those crystal blue eyes. Her skin felt wet but so good to his touch.

Exploring her up and down with his fingertips and then the strong palms of his hands as she surrendered to the warm water rushing down over her shoulders, over her breasts, glistening in the overhead fluorescent lighting which brought an inner glow to his love for her. She had to know. She wasn't naïve or dumb. Marjorie was smart, a take charge woman who, for this moment, was very content to let him be in charge. He would not let her down.

Down on one knee, he squeezed her inner thighs as she gently parted them to allow access for whatever he wished to use to please her. Of course, she had her preference, but this was his show. All she needed to do was let him please her anyway he wished. He would know. She smiled as her decision was confirmed with the first of his fingers sliding into her waiting pussy. He probed each side of her while searching the pubic hair for that clit which was so sensitive it could be used as a motion detector for an orgasm. She raised up on the balls of her feet when he found it. A nearby towel bar helped her steady herself as he rubbed his rough tongue against her throbbing desire for him. "Oh god, that feels good."

Barry couldn't hear her, but he knew she was enjoying his ministrations. Her free hand was at the back of his head urging it toward her pussy. She tasted so good. Her ass was in his hand. He squeezed it in time to each lick of her clit. Her moaning was loud enough to be heard above the shower. His tongue left her clit and kissed her inner thighs on each side alternating with little nips of her freshly showered skin. Was this the right time to tell her he loved her?

Perhaps not with a mouthful of shower water.

Those strong thighs tensed and collapsed around his face. He was so intent upon pleasing her; he almost missed its beginning. He kept licking and probing until she pushed his head away with both hands. "Stop, you'll give me a heart attack and I'll drown in the shower."

"Okay," he replied, like a petulant child told to stop pulling pigtails. She guided him to his feet and they embraced. Steam enveloped them and fogged the glass shower stall. He slid his arms around her neck and pulled her as close to him as he could and placed his mouth next to her ear. "I love you," he said, and waited.

His life had time to pass before his eyes in both DVD and Blu-Ray before she answered. "I know Barry. I'm not blind." Not on the list of top ten responses that he expected to hear. He held on hoping there would be more. There wasn't. "Let me take care of you now."

"Maybe later," he said, knowing her non-response had totally taken the wind out of his sails.

The temperature in the steamy shower had dropped like that flaming chicken into the swimming pool in the blink of an eye. Both knew it. Neither spoke of it. She barred him from the kitchen, which still reeked of burnt entrée. He contented himself with a classic movie channel showing "High Society" with Bing, Frank and Grace. He would have given an internal organ to be dropped into that movie set rather than sit in the living room of a woman who didn't love him. He didn't mishear her. And she didn't misunderstand what he said. It just wasn't in the cards for them. Now the question had become, how did he get out of there and back home so he could sort this all out. Dinner was ready.

The table was set with fine crystal, linen napkins and goblets that were fit for King Arthur and his Roundtable. Silver platters with handled domes covering their contents were before each of them. She sat at one side of the table when he held her chair out. He poured the wine, giving her way more than he did for himself. Emotions were harder to keep in check if one was imbibing too much. He wasn't sure how much self control he had to begin with. Had he morphed into a metro sexual? Let's not get crazy, Barry, he thought. Time to be tougher than your anti-perspirant.

"I hope you like it. It's not what I had planned originally, but I think you'll be pleased," she said brightly. It appeared that he had kept those emotions in check very well because Marjorie was acting like she hadn't broken his heart a few moments ago. She removed the dome from before her to reveal a deliciously presented plate of spaghetti and meatballs. It looked great but the emptiness in the pit of his stomach wouldn't be sated by food. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really." She shrugged and started eating with a gusto he had once found endearing. Dashed hopes had a way of stealing one's appetites. "How are things back home? How's Jeannie?"

"Your daughter? After our last time together, it was three days before she talked to me. I called, left messages, sent flowers and even went over to her place, but she wouldn't answer the door at first."

"Do you think I should talk with her?" said Marjorie pausing between sips of wine. "I didn't think she minded that we shared you."

"I would agree, but that last time, I didn't want to share. I called out your name as I was pumping in her. She was offended. As I would have been," he confessed.

"Oh Barry, I'm so sorry. That must have been difficult for you."

"At first it was. But she finally talked to me after I cornered her in line at the coffee shop and she was short a couple of bucks to buy this designer coffee that had the DNA of a meteorite. I paid for it and she sat and let me talk.

"I told her I was sorry but that I didn't love her, that I loved you. That sex with her was just that, sex and not an expression of a lifetime to come. Or at least I thought it was," he said and gulped his wine in one determined move.

"What is that supposed to mean?" said Marjorie, putting down her fork and tenting her fingers before her face, a bit flushed.

"It means I love you, and you don't love me."

"I never said I didn't love you."

"In the shower, I told you I loved you. And all you could say was, 'I know.' It doesn't take a Mensa graduating class to figure that out."

She frowned and still looked lovely. "You're being childish. Did you ever think that I was as scared as you were about how I felt about you? No, you didn't. Did you ever think that I was as surprised for my feelings for you and what to do about them? No, you didn't. Barry, I care about you because of the person you are. But I need to breathe. You can't do everything for me, and that includes doing my thinking for me. If one person gives 110% in a relationship, what is there for the other person to give?"

Barry felt shell shocked. Marjorie continued. "Look, I don't feel a rush to move this along faster. It will develop a pace of its own. Can you be patient? Can you let things grow, or not? Let's be realistic, when I got married and had Jean Alyce, I thought it was forever. It turns out forever has a shelf life."

He stared from the opposite side of the table. "So, are you gun shy and I am paying the price?"

Marjorie gently tapped the linen napkin against the corners of her inviting mouth. Then licked them which got his attention above and below his belt. She pushed back from the table and walked over to him. She leaned against the table and took his face in both of her hands which now smelled of spaghetti and meatballs. Bending slightly at the waist, she caressed his eyes with kisses then his cheeks and finally his mouth which parted when her tongue tapped against it. They dueled for a moment then held the kiss long and tight. When they angled their heads back, Marjorie looked into his eyes. Hers were shiny.

"Mom won't ever lie to you, or let anyone hurt you ever," she whispered.

"Including you?"

She giggled among the falling tears and slapped the back of his head. "Of course including me, you knucklehead. Now eat your dinner before it gets cold." Her left hand reached over and raised the silver dome to his dinner plate. There was no food to be found, only a stapled sheaf of papers with a raised court seal for the state of New York. Barry picked them up and realized what it was when he read the top of the page which heralded two words, "Final Decree." He looked at her with quizzical eyes.

"That's what I have been trying to tell you for the last few minutes. My husband and I decided there was no sense continuing on with the sham of a marriage. We got lawyers. We admitted to grounds and now we have been released.

"Does Jeannie know?" asked Barry.

"I'm coming up in a week to talk to her about it. And no, you can't help. So you see Mr. Bond, it seems that you are shaken and stirred," she said, and walked back to her place at the table. "And in answer to your question, of course I love you. In fact, very much."

Barry and the rest of the fools within him rushed in. "Marry me."

"What?"

He pushed his chair back, moved over to her and dropped to a knee collecting her hand in his along the way. "Marry me, Marjorie. We love each other. It'll be great."

"No, Barry. I won't marry you. I've been out of my former marriage all of seven days. As I said before, let me breathe. We haven't even talked about it. What would our life be like if we got married?"

"Wonderful." But he knew she had him there. "Okay, so you won't marry me now, but at least please don't say no forever," he said.

She tapped his forehead with her index finger. "I never said no, forever. Let me warm up your supper and we'll talk about what the future might, I said might, be." Marjorie left to reheat his dinner. He went back to his seat. When she was gone, he pulled a little velvet box out of his pants pocket and flipped it open.

"Hang on, buddy. We're still in the game."

For the next six hours, they talked and laughed and cuddled as they dissected what a future together might look like. Kids? She had already had them and he wasn't sure he'd be a good father. Maybe adoption. Perhaps Jeannie would make them grandparents. Bills could be divided. Whatever money they had prior to the marriage would remain separate by prenuptial agreement. He could move down here and find work.

"What about living together for a while?" she suggested as middle ground.

"Sorry, dear. If I am good enough to live together, I'm good enough to marry."

Jimmy Fallon, Carson Daley and Poker after Dark had all come and gone when they noticed that soon the roosters would be crowing. She walked him to the door. "Are you sure you won't stay?"

"As corny as it sounds, not until I get to carry you across the threshold."

She smiled and teared up once again. "You're a good man, Barry. Someone will be lucky to have you."

He encircled her with his arms and held her close. "Not someone, Sweetheart, you."

Seventeen hours later, Marjorie and Barry were entering the hospital fundraiser at the swankiest hotel in the area. It was New York elegant, Vegas cool and Bermuda tranquil all rolled into one. The affair was in the main ballroom with a full orchestra recalling memories of Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong and the Dorsey brothers. Barry was in seventh heaven. But he already was when he picked up his date an hour ago. His rented tux no longer smelled of scalded chicken which was a plus. But more to the point, his date had dolled herself up as he had never seen her.

Her hair was flipped under, bangs were slightly brushed to the side, and the part showed no evidence of roots whatsoever. It was as if she had been made up by David Copperfield since her face lit up the room as if by magic. Marjorie had selected an off the shoulder gown of electric blue that shimmered all of the way down to her shoes which were a gold match to the clutch purse she carried with her. But the piece de' resistance was the necklace he had brought for her on a gold chain. It was a gold locket with a small diamond on its face. When opened, it brought forth a handwritten profession of love from Barry, forever isn't enough.

The ballroom was wall-to-wall checkbooks. It was said this fundraiser was the social event of the season. For Barry, it had a ways to go before it surpassed Opening Day. Marjorie had to mingle and he dutifully followed along. In one group, she was asked if this was her husband.

"Not yet," he replied and received a pinch on his ass for his trouble. Not a bad tradeoff. Everyone he met who knew of Marjorie extolled her virtues to him. Dinner was buffet style so there would be more time to cajole, arm twist and schmooze for those blank checks of support.

Once they were separated for a long moment, and Marjorie rushed back and dragged him to the dance floor.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, but one of our surgeons thinks that his chief of service status entitles him to perks I'm not willing to give."

Barry looked through the crowd. "Should I kneecap him?"

"No dear, not at the moment." After swaying to Unforgettable and Soul and Inspiration, they walked out onto the terrace that led off onto a walkway down a small hill into a garden circled by bushes trimmed into animals. Hand-in-hand they made their way to its middle and she sat on the bench. His hand disappeared into his pocket and the box appeared. Barry sunk to one knee.

"Ready or not, Marjorie, will you marry me?" he asked. Her shoulders slumped and her linen handkerchief came out of the clutch purse. She dabbed at her eyes.

"I told you I wasn't ready to be married again. At least not yet," she said, with a soft voice designed to muffle the sting of rejection. It didn't. He closed the box and started to rise but she shoved his shoulders downward to keep him kneeling. "Not ready to be married, but surely I am more than ready to be engaged."

She offered her hand and he extracted the ring and slipped it onto her ring finger. "Thank you doesn't seem to be sufficient," said Barry. There was no reply because they heard a scream further up along the path. They ran toward it and encountered one of Marjorie's staff nurses in tears and holding the top of her dress from falling off.

"Angela, what happened?"

"Doctor Llewelyn said he wanted to talk to me about a job at one of his surgery centers, but he didn't want anyone to know he was going to steal me. That's why we went off into the garden, but he said I could only have the job if he could..." Marjorie hugged her. A man in a white dinner jacket, Clark Gable moustache, and silver hair ran towards them.

"I don't know what she told you, but she is a liar," he said, out of breath with a cold sweat starting to make its appearance on his vastly wrinkled forehead. He was mopping it up as fast as he could.

"Back off, Doctor. Can't you see what you've done?" said Marjorie shielding the nurse from his bluster. Barry's fists balled up. "You'd better call your lawyer because I'm calling the police. Barry, would you get my phone please?" Her date started rummaging through her purse.

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