Acts of Grace

"Can we open presents now?" Grace asked.

Tim and Claire looked over at Grace. Her plate was empty, while the plates of the two adults held scrambled eggs that were growing colder by the minute.

"Honey, Claire and I are --"

"--going to be arguing all morning, at this rate," Grace complained. "So maybe we could go into the living room and you guys could finish yelling at each other there."

"Mouse, we're not yelling. We're just having a discussion."

"Yeah, right," Grace said with a snort. It had seemed like such a good idea, asking Santa Claus for a new girlfriend for Daddy. She hoped he hadn't screwed up her other presents this badly.

"I tell you what. You go on ahead, and Claire and I will finish our eggs. We'll be right behind you and then we can open our presents."

Grace raised her eyebrows and gave her father a skeptical look.

"We won't even talk about grades or acting, okay, honey?" Claire said.

Grace gave a quick nod and dashed into the other room.

"What a sweetie," Claire said as they returned to their breakfasts.

"Yeah. Thank you for the card you sent after Sarah died, by the way. I still have it somewhere. It meant a lot to me that you wrote about her teaching."

"She was my favorite teacher," Claire mumbled. "Even more than my professors in college."

"That means a lot, too. Well, we'd better not keep Grace waiting. Have you had enough?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Clarke."

"I think you can call me Tim now, Claire. Shall we see if Grace has managed to keep from peeking?"

Opening the Clarke family Christmas presents took no more than fifteen minutes from beginning to end. One of them was a board game and Grace wasted no time in insisting that her father and her new friend play it with her. The morning passed in high-spirited competition that ended with Claire claiming the win. Tim escaped his daughter's demand for a rematch by noting that the turkey had to go in the oven, so Grace and Claire played a second time.

Grace skipped into the kitchen a while later, loudly proclaiming her victory. Claire followed a few minutes afterward, having replaced the game pieces in the box.

"Dinner should be ready around two o'clock," Tim said. "Claire, some of my clothes might fit you. Unless you'd rather wear sweats all day. Or if you have clothes in your car, I'd be happy to go out and get them for you."

"I wish," Claire said. "Maybe if you have some jeans or something, that would be great, Mr. Clarke. Tim. Actually, I'd like to run out to my car and get my script, since it looks like I'm going to be trapped here for a few days, anyway."

"Yay!" Grace cheered.

* * * *

"Because you're a . . . a . . .." Claire said.

"What? Are you afraid of the words? A slut? A whore? Maybe you'd feel more comfortable with a woman of loose morals."

Grace giggled as she watched her father read from the script that he and Claire shared.

"Okay," Tim said. "Time for a break. And time for you to go to your bedroom, Mouse, and watch one of your new DVDs."

"But I wanna watch you guys!" Grace protested.

"I know, honey. But it's an adult play and Claire and I need to talk."

"Fine," Grace said with an exaggerated sigh. She stomped off upstairs without any intention of putting the DVD into her portable player.

"Do you want some water, Claire?" Tim offered.

"Thanks. That would be great. And thank you so much again for reading with me. It's so much better with somebody else. And you sure are getting into Stephanie."

"I can't believe you would prefer to be Katherine. Stephanie is so much better of a role."

"I know that. But I've never done anything like Stephanie."

"I know," Tim said with as much gentleness as he could. "Maybe it's time for you to try, though."

* * * *

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Claire nearly spat the words at Tim. "You could sit in your suburban house and look the window out at your Volvo and your little dog and your 2.3 children and think how much better your life is than mine."

Tim opened his mouth to answer but Claire had a full head of steam.

"Have yourself a fucking party! Invite the neighbors over! Look at my sister, everyone! Look at the fucking loser! She can't stay off drugs, she can't stop drinking, she can't even satisfy herself."

Tim had the next line but found that he was watching the tears running down Claire's face. A giggle from the top of the stairs broke the mood.

"Mouse!" Tim growled.

"I wasn't listening!" Mouse protested. Tim and Claire heard the patter of feet in the hallway and the slamming of Grace's door. They both burst into laughter.

"That was wonderful," Tim said.

"It's hard," Claire said after a deep breath.

"Of course it's hard. That's what makes it good."

"Thank you, Tim. Thank you for encouraging me to do this. I still don't know if I'll be able to audition for Stephanie but I've learned a lot just reading it."

Claire, you just walk in there and you say 'look, I realize I'm here to read for Katherine but I'd rather read for Stephanie.' All they can do is say 'no.'"

She took another breath.

"Okay, Tim. I'll try."

She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Take the chance, Claire," Tim said. "Sometime you just have to take the chance."

* * * *

". . . and God bless Daddy, and Mommy in heaven, and our new friend Claire, who could maybe stay just one more day?"

Claire laughed out loud as Grace opened one eye from her position kneeling beside the bed.

"It's been four days already!" she said. Two days after Christmas, just when it looked as if the county would be arriving any minute to clear the road, the next storm had dumped another foot and a half of snow.

"Don't you want your bed back, honey? I feel bad making you share with me for another night."

"You would stay longer if you and Daddy didn't spend all day arguing," Grace pouted.

Claire laughed again.

"You know perfectly well that it's a play, Grace. The characters in the play do a lot of arguing."

"All I know is for the first two days Dad did most of the yelling, and then you switched and you started yelling."

"Sweetie, I was planning on reading for the part of Katherine, who doesn't yell much. So when we started reading, your father did most of the yelling. But he's sort of convinced me to try out for the part of Stephanie, who yells a lot. So we switched parts halfway through.

"So you're not mad at Dad?"

"Oh, no," Claire said, a gleam in her eye she knew that Grace wouldn't understand. "Not at all."

"And Daddy's not mad at you?"

"I hope not, honey," Claire said. A smile flitted over her face. That would make for a most unpleasant night. "Ready for bed?"

"You bet. G'night, Claire."

"G'night, Grace."

Claire heard Tim go to bed half an hour later. She waited another half an hour before slowly pushing herself off of Grace's bed. The little girl was in a deep sleep, a smile on her lips. It was her father's smile, that crooked grin that she had become very fond of over the last few days. It was a smile that she hoped to see again in just a few minutes.

She would do without the high heels. It was much easier to tiptoe barefoot on the soft pine floor. The heels were still downstairs anyway. She crept out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her. The door to Tim's room was ajar and Claire eased it open. The light of a crescent moon illuminated the figure on the bed. Tim was sleeping on his back. He had built up the fire in the woodstove before he came up and the heat in the living room below poured up through the grate in the floor. So he had no need for the heavy quilt at the bottom of his bed. Instead, his body was outlined underneath only a flannel sheet.

With exquisite care, Claire leaned over and pulled it down. Her former teacher was sleeping in a pair of loose-fitting pajama bottoms and looked delicious in the moonlight. She put one knee on the bed and stopped, her heart beating wildly as Tim mumbled and shifted his position. Finally he stopped. Claire climbed onto the bed, lifting her other leg to straddle Tim's calves.

Sometimes, she thought to herself, you have to take the chance.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the tip of the chin and then again on his shoulder. He didn't move and she began to work her way lower. Her lips lingered on his nipple, sucking quietly.

"Sarah."

Tim's moan startled her. She hadn't even realized that his fingers were entwined in her hair. Was it good or bad that he was dreaming about his late wife? Was he going to be angry when he woke up and found that it was her?

She slid down ever further, kissing his ribs and his belly. She took a deep breath and slid her hand into the opening of his pajamas to pull out his cock. She stared at it briefly, letting her hot breath flow over it She longed to take it in her mouth, to feel it grow, to unleash its power. Even now, his sheer maleness was almost intoxicating.

But the patience he had shown with her over the last four days, his careful efforts to help her look deep within the wannabe starlet and awaken the real actress that lurked inside, demanded that she take no less time with him. She extended her liquid tongue and lovingly lapped at his balls, at the skin at the top of his thighs, and finally at his prick itself.

He probably saw himself as no more than her teacher even now. He would probably think the love that she now felt for him nothing more than one of the schoolgirl crushes that he probably had to deflect every semester. It didn't matter. She could feel him inside her even now -- inside her mouth, inside her pussy, inside her soul. As her tongue traveled up and down his prick, she knew that this was more than the mere thanks given the master by his pupil. But if that was all she could give him, so be it; she would make sure he was never thanked this well again.

As her tongue finished its circuit, she felt a twitching and knew that it was time. She took his cock in her fingers, using her thumb to massage the oh-so sensitive area at the base of the head. And then she pulled it gently toward her mouth and her lips surrounded the head even as she continued her massage. Tim's cock tasted just as delicious as it looked, though, and her fingers unconsciously slipped around it so that she could begin fisting it with her palm. She started taking more and more of his cock into her mouth, sucking him with abandon.

Claire found herself unable to make a rational decision. She could feel twin trickles of wet stickiness sliding down her inner thighs. She longed to squeeze them together. Maybe she could shift herself to kneel between his legs rather than astride them. Maybe . . .

"Claire."

A thrill coursed through her body. Tim's voice was still heavy with sleep. He was dreaming about her now. It was her lips that he imagined on his cock, her tongue on his glans. The thrill ran all the way through her, stiffening her nipples, fluttering in her belly, and finally reaching her pussy. She felt herself climaxing. Without anything other than the silk touch of her panties against her, she was cumming.

"Mmmmm," she groaned, burying her nose in Tim's pubes, swallowing more dick than she had ever thought possible. Suddenly, he was cumming too, his cock shooting steam after stream of gooey jism into her open throat. God, hadn't the guy gotten any since his wife died? Didn't he ever jack off? She couldn't possibly gulp all of this down, could she? She felt her cheeks beginning to bulge.

But then Tim moaned. His fingers tightened in her hair, holding her close against him. And Claire felt a blissful release. She realized she was more than capable of swallowing everything she could give him. His pleasure was contagious. She felt herself cumming yet again, this time solely in response to her partner's climax.

"Claire."

She opened her eyes. He was done spending and she could tell from his voice that he was awake. She looked up at him, his softening prick still in her mouth. Had she fallen asleep? Had she fainted? Her eyes held his, waiting for him to chastise her, to express his shock, to order her out of his house. He looked at her for what seemed forever. Her stomach was fluttering again. Her breaths were coming quickly.

"I want to make love to you," he finally said.

It was perfect. She felt faint again. She lay her head against his thigh and just let herself feel. Tim reached down and grabbed hold of her shoulders.

"Come here, love," he said, giving her a gentle tug.

She looked up at him with a smile.

"I already came, love," she answered. "Right here. But I want to do it again and again and again."

* * * *

Flurries were swirling around the late '90s Honda Civic that was headed south on the New York State Thruway over the school's Easter weekend at the end of March.

"Are we there yet?"

"Has the car stopped?"

"No."

"Then we're probably not there yet," Tim said. He looked over at Grace in the passenger seat. "Only another half hour, honey."

"And then we go to the play?"

"First we go to a party. Uncle Dave always has a party before his plays."

"But Claire will be there?"

"For a little while. Then she'll have to go get ready."

"Where's the party?"

"At Juilliard, where Claire went to college."

"Where she was waited."

"Wait-listed," Tim said with a laugh. "Yes. It means that they haven't decided about whether to let you in or not. In her case, she did get in."

"Even though you gave her a bad grade?"

"Well, I did make a phone call for her," Tim said, looking over and giving Grace a wink. "Your grandpa knew a guy in the admissions office, so I let him know that I didn't think the grade really reflected her potential."

"That was nice of you, Dad."

"Your daddy can be nice, you know. Look! You can see New York. See the skyscrapers?"

"Wow!"

* * * *

"I don't believe it!"

The tall, bearded man in the jacket and dark turtleneck stared at the couple walking toward him. The younger of the two broke free and ran toward him.

"Uncle Dick!"

"Mouse!"

He bent down and caught her as she threw her arms around his neck.

"Hello, Richard." Tim approached at a much more sedate pace.

"I can't believe you're here. I thought I'd given up sending you invitations since you never came anymore after . . ."

"You did take me off your list," Tim assured him as they embraced. "I got an invitation from your star tonight."

"Sylvia?"

"Sylvia's not your star," Tim scoffed.

Dick smiled.

"Well, she does have top billing," he said. "You know Claire?"

"She was one of my first students. Sarah's, too. Is she here yet?"

"Not yet, no. Well, that explains a lot. You wouldn't believe her audition. Her agent puts her up for Katherine, and she comes in looking gorgeous. And I look up and look back down. And then she says, 'Mr. Whitman, I'd like to read for the part of Stephanie.'"

Tim smiled.

"And she had it," Dick said. "Right then. She had that quality in her voice. I didn't even need to hear her read the part. But once she did, it was even better of course."

"Claire and Dad yelled at each other all Christmas," Grace piped up.

"Did they?" Dick asked. "Your daddy was the first director of this play, when we were in college together. Oops, my mistake. There she is over there."

"Claire!"

Tim watched Grace take off again. He desperately wanted to follow. He and Claire had talked a few times since she left and he had been the first one she had called when she learned she had gotten the role. But he didn't want to look desperate.

"That's not Sylvia she's with, is it?" he asked Dick.

"No, no. That's her understudy, Allie Wadsworth."

Tim nodded.

"You took a chance casting Claire. The other woman is a more typical Stephanie. She's got a sort of edge to her."

"The poor woman seems to despise life. That's Claire's only problem. Too damn happy. I asked Allie to be my picador tonight."

"Your picador?"

"You know, the guy who sticks the bull before the matador takes over. Allie's supposed to give Claire a little goad tonight."

She was doing a good job. In the last three minutes, she had managed to suggest, without being overtly offensive, that the only reason Claire had gotten the job was that she had slept with the play's producer. Claire was quietly fuming, searching her brain for a snappy retort when she heard Grace's yell.

She too knelt down to accept Grace's embrace. She looked up to see Tim. Not wanting to appear desperate herself, she decided not to run over there. Instead, she introduced Grace to Allie and explained how they had met.

"And that's your father over there?" Allie asked. "Talking to Mr. Whitman?"

"Uncle Dick?"

"He's your uncle?" Allie asked with malicious glee.

"He's not really my uncle," Grace explained solemnly. The malicious glee in the voice of Claire's friend had gone completely over her head. "He and Dad went to school together."

"Well, that explains a lot," Allie said.

"What are you talking about?" Claire was getting angry now.

"Somebody made a phone call, that's all."

"I read for this part," Claire said between gritted teeth. "Your little suggestion that --"

"Dad made a phone call," Grace said.

Allie laughed aloud.

"What?" Claire asked her.

Grace looked up at her with wide eyes, uncertain of the look she was getting.

"Daddy told me he made a phone call for you."

"Son of a bitch," Claire said. She looked over at where Tim was talking with Dick. Her reservations about going over there had disappeared.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" she said, trembling as she stood in front of him.

"What?"

"You made a phone call, you son of a bitch," she spat. She threw her drink in his face. For good measure, she added a slap to his cheek before storming off.

"That's perfect," Dick said.

"What?" Tim asked.

"That's the attitude I need. She's gonna slay 'em tonight."

"But she thinks I called you!" Tim said. "She obviously thinks I got her the part. You and your goddamn picador."

"Tell her tomorrow, pal. Let her read tonight's reviews first, okay?"

Tim nodded. He sat in the audience that night and was slain.

* * * *

Tim sat alone at the restaurant in the late summer sun. School was beginning in another week and he and Michelle would have precious few weekday evenings together for the next few months. She had just started teaching French last year and it had taken Tim until a few days before the end of the spring semester to agree to her repeated intimations that she would love to be asked out.

She was a very attractive brunette. Her only flaw, in Tim's eyes, was her youth. At twenty-four, she was twelve years younger than Tim. Finally, though, on the day after Claire accepted a Tony award -- in the company of an actor who had looked just as pretty as Claire when they had been standing together on the red carpet -- he gave into her almond eyes, her auburn hair, and her winning smile.

Grace hated her at first, of course. She wasn't Claire. Even now, Grace still wasn't overly fond of his new girlfriend and didn't understand why Claire didn't call anymore. Hadn't she and Daddy made up?

Tim had lied to her. He told her that he had explained the misunderstanding but that Claire was just too busy with her play. The truth was that while the reviews of Habitrail had been good, the reviews of the performance of Claire Bennett were over the top. He couldn't tell her. He was afraid of taking that away. It was her dream to act, to get reviews like that. Whatever she had felt for him that night that she had crept into his room, she would get over it.

Just as Grace would get over her. Grace and Michelle had spent the afternoon together, "bonding," with any luck, over a mutual love of bicycling. He looked at his watch again. They would be here any minute now.