Cynthia's Nearly Son

Her original thoughts of a "stick-it-to-them" plan raced through her head and became adjusted with a wrinkle of seducing the gardener, but then she shook her head. Taking the gardener away from the young Randolph heir would be just what the family would want. The brief look Tom had given the gardener when he looked away from her told her she would be right to scotch the original plans. There was another way to hurt the Randolphs, who had all circled the wagons around the elder Tom during the divorce and done a job on her socially. She'd had to leave town altogether. Of course she was glad she eventually landed in Lexington. She was comfortable there and free to do as and who she liked.

As she approached the youngest Thomas Randolph of a three hundred years' worth of them, she saw the pout on his face. He looked so young and vulnerable. She couldn't think of anything more she wanted to do but haul him upstairs and jump his bones.

"I thought you were signaling for me to come over here and spend the afternoon in your room," he said, a hint of a whine in his voice.

"That's what I originally thought too, but I've had other thoughts," she said. "Sit down and let's reason this out. Why is it you want to have sex with me? Is it just because I'm ravenously beautiful and sexy?"

That set him back. They both knew it wasn't that, although she wasn't ready to concede that she wasn't sexy enough for him. "I've wanted . . . for some time . . ." he stammered.

"I don't think you've given me that much thought," she broke in. "And that's your boyfriend across the room there, looking worried, isn't it—the gardener you and your dad fought over?"

"Yes."

"You say you go with women too, but do you really?"

"Sometimes," he claimed.

"Not like you go with the gardener over there. Does he have a name?"

"Yes, he has a name. It's Randy."

She laughed. "Of course, that's his name if he was bedding both you and your father. The reason you want to hump me is to stick it to your mother and the rest of the Randolphs, isn't it? They're giving you a hard time about Randy, aren't they? You said as much to me yesterday."

"You want to stick it to them too," he said, still sounding touchy.

"We can still both get our way and you don't have to go through this charade." Fuck she was being magnanimous here. She could hardly keep her hands off this sweet young man—a boy who could have been hers—her son by his father. If the Indian intern hadn't worn her out this afternoon, this would have been much harder on her. "Randy doesn't have to share you with anyone."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Then she told him. He agreed to it. "It never meant anything to me anyway," he said.

"Go ahead and go to him," Cynthia said, as she stood from the sofa she'd been sitting in and looked away from the young man. This was really hard for her. Cougars had ethics and they were the reverse of doing any good deeds and turning down opportunities with young men. She watched Tom walk across the lobby to Randy, who had stood from where he was sitting to receive Tom in an embrace. Then she sighed and went back to the elevators.

That night Cynthia was feisty enough to fight Larraj Mehta for control in her bed and such was her insistence that Mehta eventually laughed, lay back on the bed, and let her ride his cock as she please. And she did please. Her trip to Richmond had been a success in just being able to notch her bedpost with an exotic young Indian. She was hoping it could become an even greater success with her campaign against the Randolphs.

* * * *

Cynthia hadn't originally planned to stop for lunch at Riverbend on her way out of Richmond to return to Lexington the next day, but now she saw no reason not to. She was finished with the Randolphs now. Her lawyer had called the previous afternoon and confirmed that he'd received the three Chagalls that Tom Randolph had left her—never mind that they were hers anyway and she could produce receipts to prove that—and that plans to challenge her on the ownership of her house in Lexington had been withdrawn. Ann obviously was extending a peace pipe and Cynthia was finished with her forward planning concerning the Randolphs anyway.

Ann met her on the back terrace overlooking the James River at a table set for two under an umbrella.

"It was good of you to come, Cynthia," she said. "I was hoping we could renew what we had before all of this unpleasantness with Tom. I saw you at the funeral and all of the old feelings I had just flooded in. God, you're looking better than ever before."

"By 'unpleasantness,' you mean you and Tom sleeping together when Tom and I were married—and you and I were sleeping together?"

"Well . . . yes," she said. Then she laughed, a little nervous laugh. "You always did cut to the chase."

"Which you used to love," Cynthia said.

"I still do. It will save time. First, about the suits the Randolphs were considering."

"My lawyer has already phoned me on that."

"I want you to know that that was all Tom's family. I didn't have any part of that."

"That's good to know."

"Then, there's my son."

"There's nothing there. He came to visit me yesterday and I sent him away."

That was true; she's sent him away, but not before forming a bond with him. She would help fight the fight with the Randolphs on his homosexuality if he promised not to create another Thomas Randolph—to cut that centuries' old line—which he should be able to do if he stayed faithful to his sexual preference. She just had to figure out how to make a difference in how the Randolphs responded to their last Tom's stand on his sexual preferences.

But then Ann gave her the opening.

"I'd really like us to return to how we were before Tom," she said.

"You want me back in your life?"

"Yes," Ann said. "If you are willing to be blunt about all of this, I might as well too. It was the biggest mistake of my life to let you go. I don't mean live together—but to return to the affection we had before."

"The affection?" Cynthia asked. "You mean the sex."

"Yes, I mean the sex."

"That sounds good to me," Cynthia said. "There's one proviso, though. You know what your son wants in life—it's men. If you are going to be able to have your preferences, you need to be prepared to leave him to his preferences. That's what he and I discussed yesterday. You'll have to stand with him against the Randolphs."

"They'll be pissed," Ann said. "He's their only hope to continue the direct male Randolph line—and the Thomas Randolph name."

"Yes, they will. But you're not a Randolph."

"You're right, I'm not. They didn't accept me any more than they did you twenty years ago. So, what do you think? Do you have to be back in Lexington this afternoon? Would you like to come in the house and see how I redecorated the master bedroom?"

"I don't know why the hell not," Cynthia said.