Butter on Cream

Butter on Cream - Michael, a recently single, slightly bitter, handsome Asian man, decides to indulge himself with an anonymous fling with a White woman, which he has never experienced before, as a birthday treat to himself. Lisa, a somewhat pretty, recent single herself, willingly submits to the seduction by Michael as a way to reassure herself that she is still desirable to men, as her long-term lover has left her for another man.

*

Michael pulled his pickup into a parking spot, turned off the air conditioner, and cut the engine. Stepping onto the sidewalk, the pavement shimmering in the early evening swelter that was Iowa, he checked his watch, again. "At least I'll have time for a beer," he thought as he caught his reflection in a darkened store window, and stopped to tuck his brand-new t-shirt into his khaki slacks. The reflection staring back was a tall, slim and toned Asian-American with a short, no-nonsense haircut, a slightly sarcastic smile,

and dark RayBan shades. If he looked nervous, and just a bit peeved, he hoped it didn't show. He'd never been on a blind date before. How'd he ever let his boss talk him into this? "She's the niece of our new client. She just moved here, and she doesn't know anyone... Come on, this client is important to us. And I promised... She's a lawyer, you know... And you seem to like brainy girls, like, you know, Grace..." and his voice trailed off.

Of course he liked brainy girls. Grace was a doctor. And Grace, he thought ruefully, left me for another doctor. Michael pushed open the gate of the outdoor terrace of Valentino's, the appointed meeting place, and sat down facing the street at an umbrella'ed table for two, grateful for the shade. And for the smiling waitress who offered a wine list. "I'll just have a beer, thanks," he smiled back, and soon the ice-cold brew was in his hand. After a few slugs, he surveyed the surroundings, scanning for the red-headed Ms. Allison Payne. He'd googled her, checked out her Facebook, texted out the details with her, and visited her firm's website, and had a pretty good idea, at least, of what she might be like. The inter-webs made it so much easier now to know what you might be getting into. He glanced at his watch again. 7:42. Hopefully, she wouldn't be late. He wanted to get this over with, and make an early exit. He finished off his beer, and waved the waitress over for another. "Damn, it's humid," he thought, and debated the wisdom of wearing a tight white t-shirt. Perhaps, he'd be able to keep the flop sweat to a minimum. Screwing the cap off the second beer, he noticed a girl emerging from the shop across the street holding a bucket and a squeegee. She was tall, with long blonde curls cascading to the middle of her back. She was wearing a pink, full-skirted sundress and flat, pink shoes. Her figure, as much as he could tell, was slender, lithe. Not too busty. Just nice. She proceeded to wash the shop's large front windows with long, graceful swoops. He studied her long, toned, arms and legs as she scrubbed and squeegee'd. "Not bad," he thought, pushing his sunglasses down to get a better view. "Not bad at all." She looked ethereal, sinuous, sexy. Like a ballet dancer.

Then, in his periphery, was a voice. "Michael? Michael Shaw?" Someone, a female someone, stepped into view. It was Ms. Allison Payne, Lawyer. And blind date.

"Hi, Allison, right?" Michael stood up, and offered his hand. Her handshake was remarkably wimpy for a lawyer, Michael thought nervously. He swallowed, thinking, "Here we go... might as well make the best of it..." He started with a smile, "Have a seat. Did you want a drink while we wait?"

Allison pulled up a chair opposite him and Michael waved the waitress over yet again. Ms. Allison Payne wanted an appletini, which the industrious waitress hurried off to get. And Allison started to chatter. And query. And chatter. She had never had a date with an "oriental", she just loved sushi, and the Chinese people had such a rich history, blah, blah, blah. He didn't bother to tell her he was born and raised in Wisconsin. And was only half Korean. The appletini was just making it all worse, but at least she wasn't blocking the view of the lovely ballerina window-washer across the street. Michael nodded and responded to Allison's many questions. "Jesus," he mused to himself, "Nooobody expects the Spanish Inquisition...If fact, those who do...God, I must be bored, I'm already quoting Python to myself... what is this, a fucking job interview?" But by then, he already knew that this evening was to be a complete bust.

But suddenly, it didn't matter. The ballerina window-washer had completed her task, and had disappeared into the shop. Allison and her annoying snobbish chatter and unintentional racism didn't matter. His rage over Grace and her new cardiologist husband, with custody of his son, no less, didn't matter. His relative inexperience and awkwardness with pretty white girls didn't matter. He'd never really dated, much less slept with, a white girl. Grace was 100% Korean, first generation, and had been the only woman he'd ever had sex with. They met when she was a freshman, he was a senior, and they were pretty much the only Asians at their small college. She got pregnant, and they got married, soon after. His college friends, white and black, boasted about their conquests, sleek sorority girls, party goddesses, blonde, blue-eyed and supremely sexual. He always fantasized about them, the haughty ivory toys he wouldn't, couldn't, didn't, ever have. It didn't matter. Even his loneliness, which he dulled with long hours at the gym and on the jobsite, didn't matter. Anymore. He'd made a decision. He was going to change all of this. Whatever it took, for once, he was going to be the one who saw what he wanted, took what he wanted, hit it, quit it, and walked away. This Asian man was going to get the white girl. He was going to get even.

After a mercifully short dinner and more unwitting condescension, he walked Allison to her car. She seemed receptive to more. He gave her a half-hearted hug and promised her he would call. He knew he wouldn't. Waving her away, he strode over to the dimly-lit window of the ballerina girls shop. And there it was, painted on the side window, in old-fashioned letters. Greene Jewelers. Specializing in Gold, Diamonds, and Porcelain. Goldsmith on Staff -- Repairs while you wait. Established 1980. We buy Gold and Estate Jewelry. Top Prices Paid. Lisa Greene, Proprietress. 555-2334. Website: greenejewelersiowa.com. Michael smiled. Things were going to change. His birthday was seven days away and he was already hatching a plan.

"Shit... it's morning...." Lisa rolled over and slapped her alarm clock to stop the angry buzzing. Rubbing her eyes and stretching, she padded into the bathroom to shower and jolt herself awake. Even though it would be fun to sleep in just once on a Saturday, she liked to work weekends. They were busy. And she liked to keep busy. It just made things easier. The steamy shower was waking her up, and she shampoo'ed and shaved her legs, thinking, "I'll wear some capris today. Be comfortable. And maybe clean the back room if it's not too busy." She let her soapy hand rub between her legs, stroking, maybe for a little longer than she needed to. But it felt good to want sex again, any sex at all, even her hand, and she hadn't felt anyone else's hands but hers on her neatly trimmed, tight pussy for a long, long time. Even though Garrett moved out in May, he hadn't touched her for months, almost a year, before then. Shutting off the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and combed her dripping hair. The waves were already springing up. She loved her curls as much as Garrett hated them. She'd spent the better part of 6 years of mornings torturing her hair straight. The way he liked it. Pretty much the only "straight" thing he probably ever liked, she thought sarcastically. Well, she was free from him and she was free from the blow dryer and the flat iron. Good riddance, she smirked to the mirror. To both of them. To all of them.

She heard her cell's ringtone that signaled an incoming text, and picked it up. A text from Garrett, spelling, "Coming 2 pickup the last of my stuff -- r u working all day? Ill leave my key this time, k?" Lisa punched the buttons back. "Yup - theres boxes in the spare room and dont let sinatra out. ill b back at 8 or so"... There was a time when call or text from Garrett would have made her cry, or throw things, or feel sick with shame, but all she could feel now was relief. And utter apathy. " Just get your shit and then stay out of my house..." she sighed under her breath. Sinatra, her Siamese cat looked at her like she was crazy. "Maybe I am, Sinatra," she said, rubbing his head, "Maybe I am." She picked out a black bra, panties, black capri's and a black tank top. And some flip flops. It was going to be another hot, humid day, and she wanted to be comfortable. Besides, who cared what she looked like? The customers? "They're lucky I put on makeup..." she mused, twisted her damp curls into a messy bun, stuck some black chopsticks in it and grabbed her keys, throwing them in her bag. It was 8:45 already... and she didn't want to be late. Work made the time fly. And she needed it to. When it was quiet, when she had time to think, remember, that's when she felt the loneliness, the ache, the regret. It was much better to be busy.

Twisting the key in her shop's door, she pushed it open and reached for the alarm system, disarming it. Snapping on the lights, turning on the till, opening the safe, replacing the diamond pads into the cases, setting the till cash in the register, all the familiar routines. She loved the routines. She loved her shop, her brick and brass and glass sanctuary. Dad had opened it when she was a baby, and she couldn't remember when it didn't exist. She spent her childhood there, helping out, hanging out, napping after school behind the cases. And working. From 14 on, all through high school and even during breaks from college. She took goldsmithing and jewelry design classes to be able to help out, even though her major in college was Theatre and Costume design. When she and Garrett had graduated, with Master's, mind you, she was overjoyed when he got a job teaching Theatre Arts at her old high school. She could go back to her beloved home town, to her beloved shop, and her beloved parents, until she found work that used her degree. Which, in this town, if you weren't going to teach, seemed unlikely. But who cared about that, when she could assist everyone's favorite teacher Garrett with his productions at school. It was ideal. But then Dad died. Suddenly. Heart attack. And Mom semi-retired to Florida to live with her sister. She said she just couldn't deal with the weather anymore, but Lisa thought it was the memories she couldn't deal with. Mom still technically owned the shop -- but it was all Lisa's responsibility now. And so it went for 3 years, Lisa and her work, Garrett and his all-consuming teaching/directing career, and his supportive, new best friend Rick, the soccer coach.

She should have seen it coming. When she met Garrett, he had just transferred from another, smaller college. They worked on some productions together, dated, had incredible sex and better coffee, moved in together, and experimented with drugs and scenes together just like good little Neo-Bohemian - Free -Spirited- Theatre Students did. When he proposed three-somes, complete with hunky, sexually-confused undergrads or androgenous goth girls, fueled with plenty of beer and ecstacy, she was down with that. Lisa would do anything he wanted. White, handsome, alternative, straight, and a Theatre Major? Everybody wanted him. And she had him. And she intended to hang on to him, even if it meant doing things she wouldn't have dreamed of doing when she fantasized about her perfect, lifelong partner. He told her she needed to "open", "liberal", and was so proud of her rejection of "bourgeoisie" morals. They didn't need marriage. They had each other. That's just what you did, trying on gender roles like they were vintage hats. When Lisa objected, he reassured her that she was the only woman he'd ever loved, and that it was, "We're partners in crime! Just you and me. Only Bi 'til we kiss college good-bye!" He didn't want to miss a thing, not one crazy thing, while they still could get away with it.

"There's no such thing as Bi," Lisa sighed inwardly, while dusting the crystal display. She winced at the memory of her own dalliances, "Just greedy... desperate, or gay in denial..." When her Dad had the heart attack, Garrett stopped smoking, began to exercise and watch his diet. "Good for him," Lisa thought. And the new soccer coach, Rick, was right there, helping him every step of the way. And soon, he was there, at their house, every day. Garrett started spending even more time "working", and "working out". He lost his pallor, his taste for drinking, and his thin, "rock star" physique, buffed out, and even quit begging Lisa's help on the school's productions. Lisa made excuses at first, "He's tired, he's overworked, he's training for a marathon, he's finally got a good het male buddy..." But then she came home early one slow Friday in May with a headache and found the two of them in bed. Her Bed. Garrett told her then. "I'm gay. Not Bi. I'm coming out. And I'm moving in with Rick." And that was that. She became, in that instant, an ex-wife. The one all her old friends from high school whispered about. It must be all her fault, right? The one who must have turned that wonderful, handsome, committed, caring teacher gay. All this, without ever being married. And six years wasted.

But Lisa had good memories, too, and when the shop was slow, when she was cleaning just for cleaning's sake, polishing the polished, she remembered the sex. Good god, it was insane, wasn't it? And she missed it, missed it all, but mostly missed the rough touch of a man, Garrett, any man, all the men who had wanted her, had her, every inch of her, and weren't afraid to treat her like a pretty fuck-toy. Someone who would take her, hard, throw her up against a wall and kiss her like there was no tomorrow, with no repeat, no second act. Like Garrett in the beginning, or the wasted, wild-eyed boys that they recruited for their sexual romps. No expectations, no baggage, no inhibitions, and no names. They told her she was the best, that she was beautiful. Who would argue with that? "But that's in the past." Her inner voice would scold, "That'll never happen again. You're damaged goods. You're older now. You partied too much. And everyone you know, and quite a few who don't, know that your man left you for... another... man. You know what everyone is thinking about you...there's something wrong with you. You made him go gay..."

But the day was sunny, the shop busy. Lisa had no time for idle sex fantasies or recriminations as she sold a modest wedding set, replaced 3 watch batteries, sized a ring, sold a few small pieces of gold jewelry, sold and wrapped crystal and porcelain gifts, answered the numerous phone calls, and made cheerful small talk with the steady stream of customers. The clocks in the clock section were all chiming merrily 7:00, and with the growling of her stomach in time with the chiming, Lisa realized she hadn't eaten yet. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number by heart. Valentino's. "Trudy," she recognized the voice on the other end immediately. "It's me. Got a table for me at 8, or are you booked solid?" Trudy assured her that she'd find her a spot, if she might not mind eating at the employee's table. "Like that matters. See ya.". She'd been eating at Valentino's since they opened when she was 10. Thank God she felt like eating again. She patted her rumbling, taut midsection, shrunk from weeks of appetite-less stress and rage, "Be still, my pet, less than an hour to go..."

One hour to go. Or so. Lisa wanted to fill the time with a project, and with a wedding party assembling at the church kitty-corner down the block, it was always fun to go out and wash the windows and watch the wedding. But she'd done that last week, and the windows were still spotless. So off to the front displays to re-arrange. "Perhaps a back-to school theme? I suppose it's not too early..." she thought as she gathered some of the inexpensive pieces to fill the window. She sat in the broad, front shelf and fiddled with the display and watched the wedding party take photos. And soon, it was time to close.

Lisa followed the regular routine, taking down the diamonds, putting them in the safe, ringing out the till, running the charge card reading, and counting out the day's deposit, to be put in the safe until Monday. She was just removing the last of the window display diamonds to be put in the safe, when she heard the door chime.

A customer. Hurrying to stash the last displays, she glanced over to see who it was. Usually, this time of the day, it was a last-minute gift purchase for the weddings, by someone who had forgotten or procrastinated. That was why the shop stayed open until 8:00. Somebody always forgot. Between bending into the safe, tucking things away, Lisa looked up and scanned the shop. A Guy. Tall and slim, with a dark tan. And he looked dressed for a wedding, with black slacks, loafers, and a black t-shirt and shades.

Lisa, half in the safe, called over to him with her standard greeting at this time of the day. "You're just looking? Or can I help you with something? Did you need a wedding gift?...We offer free gift-wrapping. The crystal section is to your right." She gestured towards it.

"Well, no, I had a question," the voice answered, and Lisa shoved the last of the displays into the safe and turned around. He started, half-smiling, half-smirking, his eyes hidden by his dark shades, "Umm, I was reading your sign, outside, and I want to... Sell Gold And Estate Jewelry For Top Prices Paid...are you... interested?"

Lisa studied him as he spoke. He removed his sunglasses, revealing his ethnicity. Asian. He was exotically handsome. Tall, confident, almost cocky, golden skin, his body toned and lean. She took in his sharp, defined cheekbones, his thick black hair, his sly, crooked half-smile, and his mischevious, dark almond eyes.

"Is he being serious?" Lisa thought, and answered with her favorite standard answer. "Just...depends..." She smiled back, cocking an eyebrow and meeting his gaze. "What have you got?"

He retrieved a small black box from his front pocket and placed it on the till counter in front of her. A Benedetto's Jewelers box. "Uh oh," Lisa thought, " Here we go...somebody overpaid...Shit..."

He slid in towards her, saying somewhat sarcastically, "I sure you'll be impressed. I know I am."

"Well, that's good," Lisa replied, with mock seriousness, her eyes locked on his, "I'm glad somebody is..."

Snapping open the box, Lisa knew instantly what it was. A Bennedetto's Forever Band. 12 grams of platinum, with a top-quality ¼ carat diamond, bezel set. Retail $3250.00. Worth? About $800.00, tops.

Lisa thought to herself, oh so slyly, "Selling our wedding band, are we? We must be single. Not so forever, eh?"

He surveyed her with interested eyes, watching her watching him. Did he see a spark? Michael cocked his eyebrow, thinking, "She seems into it enough... Good...good sign."

Lisa studied the ring perfunctorily under her jeweler's loupe, but she was already familiar with this ring. She'd bought about 15 of them in the last 5 years. Lisa started her well rehearsed patter, designed to soft-peddle the fact that she was about to tell somebody that they paid about 4 times what that item was worth. And that their marriage was really over. You never knew if they'd be angry, or like that one time when that guy started crying. Women's tears she could deal with. She had before, many times. Men's tears, not so much. But this one didn't seem at all upset.