Ride Home Ch. 04

I think this is pretty good as a stand-alone, but if you would like more context about Charley and John's relationship, check out previous chapters. As always, comments and emails are very much appreciated. I'm also active in the forums if you prefer to reach out there.

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The jazzy blasts of brass instruments matched the chaotic energy of Dr. and Mrs. Mayweather's New Year's Eve masquerade ball. Cathy Macauly led a group of drunken youths in an erratic, bouncy bop on the dance floor, tendrils of frizzy hair slipping from her elaborate coif and sticking to her sweaty face. Her ill-fitting black ball gown kept twisting and bunching around her skinny frame and she would have to stop and pull it back. It would have driven me insane, but Cathy didn't seem to mind, her joyful exuberance radiating from her like a beacon.

Danny Carver handed me a champagne flute, the happy, bubbly liquid sweet and crisp on my tongue. "I have an office set up for me downtown at the main building. It's got my name on the door and everything."

Ever since the whole Thanksgiving fiasco, my uncle, Edward, and his wife, Margaret, had been trying to set me up with young men from wealthy families. They were all very nice, but none of them were John, and I was getting very impatient with their matchmaking.

"You should see the view of the city from my window. It's breathtaking," said Danny.

"Breathtaking?" Danny was nice-looking and polite, but he only talked about himself and his money. And by "his" money, he really meant his father's money. Worst of all, I suspected he had no imagination. No interest in anything beyond what he could perceive with his senses.

"Oh, yes. I have a magnificent view of downtown from my office window."

"You said that already, Dan." I downed the rest of my champagne.

"I thought you couldn't hear me over the music," he said.

I glanced around the crowded ballroom, desperately trying to make eye contact with someone kind enough to come rescue me from that silly boy. The Mayweathers had impeccable taste. Rose gold and silver balloons and linens, and soft lighting gave the room a warm, cozy feeling. Men in dark waistcoats and slicked-back hair carried polished silver trays bearing drinks and finger foods maneuvered through the drunken masses with a grace that would make an aspiring fourteen-year-old ballerina burn with envy. They were the only people not wearing black masks.

Aunt Margaret's braying laughter rose over the din of the party like a fog-horn. I put my empty flute on a passing waiter's tray and grimaced as she gripped Donald Morgan's arm and leaned against him, her maskless face flushed with drink. Uncle Edward put his arm around her and pulled her away, winking at me over the rim of his whiskey glass. Danny Carver was their idea. They would be no help to me.

A pale young man threw his arms around Cathy and lifted her high into the air, spinning her around in a slow circle. She laughed and threw her arms out like she was in a movie, leaning back until the man lost his balance and fell on top of her. Their raucous laughter as their friends pulled them to their feet made me chuckle, Cathy's dress a tangled mess about her legs and torso. Two of her girlfriends helped her pull it back into place.

"What was she thinking when she decided on that dress?" Danny pulled his mask from his face, a string of elastic anchoring the cheap costume accessory to his head, wiping away the sweat under his eyes.

My own plastic black mask was hot against my skin, but I resisted the temptation to yank it away from my head for fear of melted makeup running down my cheeks. "What do you mean? I think she looks nice."

He snorted. "You don't mean that. She doesn't have the right body type for it. I know her little sister Mary has an acid tongue. I can't believe she didn't tell Cathy she looks like a scrawny girl playing dress up in her mother's clothing."

"That's mean. And I do think she looks nice. No one here is having a better time than she is and I think that's swell." I turned on my heels and stalked off to find another drink, done with pretending to like him.

He didn't follow me, so I didn't have to go far before stopping a waiter with a tray of champagne. "Sir, may I please have one of those?"

He stopped with a nod and a smile, holding out the tray. A pretty blonde girl in a strapless, black satin ball gown and a white mink scarf about her shoulders stepped out of the crowd and took a champagne flute with a black-gloved hand, a vacant smile on her face. "Charley Donovan. God, I haven't seen you since graduation."

I thanked the waiter and took a big drink, liking champagne more and more with every glass. "Has it been that long? How have you been, Abby?"

"Oh, I've been alright. Just taking care of my grandmother up in Connecticut. She went to stay with my uncle and his family for the holidays so here I am back in Philly. This is some party, huh? I've never been to masquerade. Won't it be something when we all take them off at midnight and throw them in the air?" She talked fast and her pupils were like dark pinpricks in her pale eyes.

"I'm sure it will. I guess there was some kind of wild masquerade in Venice, Italy two Septembers ago and people have been trying to emulate it ever since. I'm sure they wore finer masks than these, but the decorations here are very nice. Very warm," I said.

She laughed wildly, spilling her drink on her dress without noticing.

I debated on whether it would be kinder to tell her or to pretend I hadn't seen it when she said, "You're so smart, Charley. And nice. You were always so nice in school. It used to piss me off something awful."

"Why?" I no longer cared about being polite.

"Because I thought it was bullshit that one girl could be so pretty, and so smart, and still be so nice all the time. All the boys were simply crazy about you. I honestly hated your guts." She stared off into space, pulling at a silky thread hanging from her left thumb.

"Oh."

She laughed again. "See? If I were you and you were you, I'd have told me to go fuck yourself."

I couldn't help but laugh along with her.

"I feel bad about not liking you. We honestly should've been friends." She knocked back the rest of her champagne.

"We still could be."

She smiled. "No. I think I'm going stay up in Bridgeport. There's a young mathematics professor in New Haven that wants to marry me and I think I might do it. I was going to wait til after my grandma died so I can keep taking care of her, but she told me she wants to see me get married."

"That's actually very sweet," I said.

"Isn't it?"

I took another big drink, a tap on my elbow making me jump, champagne burning the back of my throat when I swallowed.

An elderly waiter with a milky left eye held out a glass of whiskey on a small platter, the amber liquid mysterious like a magic potion. He pointed his thumb at the bar behind him. "That man over there sent you this."

The man in question was very handsome in a black tux that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, blonde hair golden in the soft light. John Corrigan pulled his mask away from his face, the skin around his eyes red and puffy.

I laughed as wildly as Abby, who looked over at the bar to see what was so funny.

John held up a glass of his own.

I took mine with a nod to the waiter. "Thank you."

He walked off without a word.

I raised my glass and he drank his in a single swallow, his eyes never leaving mine. I followed suit, making every conscious effort not to choke.

John shook with laugher, setting his mask down over his face and holding a finger over his lips.

Abby smiled, looking back to me. "Is that your fella?"

I blinked away tears, the burning in my chest fading to a pleasant warmth. "Yeah."

"Well, don't just stand there, go talk to him." She gave me a playful slap on the shoulder and walked away.

"Will you be in town for a while?" I called after her.

She looked back over her shoulder. "Til the third."

"I'll call over to your house on the second. Maybe we can go get lunch or something."

"Oh, I'd love that, Charley." She turned away, hurrying after a passing waiter.

When I looked back at the bar, John was gone.

Somewhere during the evening, that party had turned into something chaotic. Feral energy filled the grand room, jerking in time with the choppy music. I wove through the crowd, pretending I was at a bacchanal, stopping to wave at a man with dark curly hair and a scraggly beard. I almost stopped to chat, but managed to stop myself, thinking he might be offended if I told him he looked like a satyr. Mr. Mayweather smoked a cigar at the top of a grand staircase, resting a hand on his belly as he laughed deeply. He was certainly fat enough to be Bacchus.

"Oh, my God, Charley's here! Come here, Charley!"

Mrs. Albrecht's pinched face was as pink as the shrimp waiters carried around on their silver platters, tails curling over the rims of cocktail glasses filled with ice like some kind of cruel mockery of their lives under the sea. She waved me toward a group of her equally intoxicated friends, her mask resting on the top of her head and her pretty green eyes sliding in and out of focus as I approached.

She threw her arms out and I was altered enough to walk into a tight embrace. "My sons will be tickled pink that I saw you here. They're at my sister's with their cousins for a children's New Year's Eve Party, probably all sugared up while they wrestle in the basement. I told my sister she was mad for having them all in her house at once, but she loves the chaos for some reason." She turned toward her friends, pressing her sweaty cheek against mine, her flowery perfume making me nauseous. "This is Charley Donovan. Ed and Marge's niece. She babysits for me."

I squirmed away from her, shrugging. "Well, I think that actually sounds like a lot of fun. Darry, Matt, and Nick can get rough, but it's so cute how much thought they put into their pretend games. Why, last time I watched them for you and Mr. Albrecht, they were playing pirates and Nick said-"

"You talk about my sons like they're nice boys." She threw her head back and laughed, her friends joining in.

"They are nice boys," I blurted, confused by her strange statement.

She punctuated her laughter with an odd stomp of her foot against the tile floor, the sharp click of her heel faint beneath the music and the garble of drunken revelry. "You can say a lot of things about my sons, but 'nice' isn't one of them."

"Who's fault is that?" asked a woman with a king's ransom of diamonds around her neck.

I opened my mouth to ask her if her necklace was a Christmas present, but Mrs. Albrecht laughed again. "Mine. I'm a terrible mother."

All of her friends except for the woman with the necklace were sympathetic, hushing and cooing at her. Phrases like, "Boys will be boys" and "They'll grow out of it" were thrown around like they meant something.

She silenced them with a wave of her gloved hand. "I never should have married, let alone had children. Don't have children, Charley. Stay young and beautiful forever."

Once again, I found myself desperately glazing around the room for a savior, John nowhere to be seen.

"I don't think we've met, but I know your uncle. I used to play with him and your mother when we were children." Black eye makeup had oozed out from under the bottom of a rail-thin brunette's mask. "Belinda Cafferty." She offered me her hand, launching into a series of questions about babysitting.

I answered them all as best as I could, the champagne-whiskey combo making my tongue thick and my head heavy. Mrs. Albrecht introduced me to all of her friends, who's names I forgot as soon as she said them. One of them dug through a tiny pocketbook for a pen and a piece of paper to write down my phone number when a grinning man with wispy gray hair broke up the gaggle of drunken women with a roar, scooping one of them up in his arms, her delighted shrieks piercing my ears. "Here comes the Big Bad Wolf to eat up all the hens!"

I slipped away into the crowd, brushing past a pair of men arguing about the Philadelphia 76ers an inch from each other's faces. John grinned at me from along the back wall and my heart leapt into my throat. He must've seen something in my face because he held a finger over his lips and moved into the little hallway that led to the bathrooms and coat room.

I hurried after him, dodging waiters and my grandma's friend, Mrs. Dorothy Kitteridge. I told her I'd come find her after I powered my nose. If word got back to my grandma that I snubbed her lifelong friend, there'd be hell to pay. John leaned against the entryway, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he watched me approach, a bored Apollo come down from Olympus to mingle with drunken humans at his brother's party. If we were lucky, Apollo would bless us with his lyre and Bacchus his flute.

Weeks worth of agony and longing surged through me, the joy of seeing him again mixing with the fear of another long absence. I lifted my floor-length skirts over my ankles so I could get to him before he disappeared again.

Danny Carver appeared out of the crowd, stepping directly in front me, grabbing my arms when I couldn't stop quickly enough. "You were right about what I said. That was petty. I'm sorry, Charley. I'm not a petty person, I-"

"Look out, Dan. I'm about to piss myself. Too much champagne." His face twisted with shock and I wrenched away from him as John moved into the hallway. I hurried after, noting his black leather shoe heel as he slipped inside the coatroom.

A naked bulb burned overhead, casting weak light over the racks upon racks of expensive coats. The scent of mothballs, expensive cologne, and tobacco smoke was heavy in the air, their particles swirling about each other, coming together to create a toxic death cloud of old age and bad taste.

I turned around in a complete circle, giggling in confusion. "John?" I had seen him go in there. I was sure of it.

Something rough and warm clapped over my mouth, pulling me into something hard. "Gotcha!"

Hangers clattered against the rack and coats fell to the floor as John yanked me back into the dark space behind the rows of winter apparel. I ripped away from him, stumbling into the wall with a thud, panting as my heart threatened to explode.

He laughed. "Did I scare you?"

I shrugged, moving closer so I could embrace him, resting my head against his chest. "Only for a moment."

He pressed his cheek against the top of my head, rubbing my bare arms with strong hands. Neither of us spoke, content just enjoy the press of our bodies against each other.

"I've missed you, John. I'm so happy to see you," I smiled up at him, giddy with drink.

He kissed the tip of my nose, tucking my head beneath his chin. "You better be. I snuck into this fancy affair just to see you. I'm sorry I didn't come to Thanksgiving. I-"

"Oh, I don't want to talk about that. My grandmother told me all about what happened. But I am curious to hear why you never tried my bedroom window again," I said.

"What did she tell you?"

"That you went to my uncle to ask if you could take me out on a date and he said no and uninvited you to Thanksgiving. I was so sad."

He held me close, his fingertips tracing swirly patterns over the back of my neck and shoulders, the tickling sensation pleasant. "Did she tell you what he said to me?"

"No."

"That you deserve better than a maimed soldier with nothing to him but a good name." His pulse pumped along with the rising and falling of his chest.

I turned my head to kiss his throat. "Don't worry about what my uncle says. My opinion's the only one that matters and I'm crazy about you."

"Even though I don't have any money?"

"I don't have any money, either. I've lived off the charity of others since my mother killed herself and my father left me and my brother on our grandparent's doorstep all those years ago. Besides that, I don't like these high society types. All they do all day is sit around all self-important and invent reasons to be miserable instead of going out and doing something useful," I said.

He gripped my arms and pushed me back so he could kiss me. "You look so beautiful. If Pennsylvania were a kingdom, you would be its princess."

I laughed. He may have been a romantic at heart, but John was no poet.

He kissed me again, this time pulling me tight against him. He slid his tongue into my mouth and I let myself get lost in the warm passion of his embrace, his caress making me melt into him.

He broke away. "I missed you, Charley. You'll never understand how badly I need you."

"How come you never tried to come and see me?"

"Your uncle sent me up to New York."

I kissed him softly. "That bastard."

He chuckled. "Lucky for us, I know a few of the waiters. I slipped one a twenty to sneak me in through the kitchen."

"You know, I don't like where this is going."

"What do you mean?"

"Romeo snuck into a masked party and he and Juliet fell madly in love with one another and look how it worked out for them," I said.

He shook his head. "Romeo and Juliet were silly children. We're silly adults who know better."

I laughed, reaching up to pull John's mask away, the red, puffy skin around his eyes making him look deranged. I pressed my gloved hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. "Oh, god, that looks terrible. Does it itch?"

He scowled. "Its this stupid mask. Who's idea were these?"

I laughed harder. "You must be allergic to it or something. Come on, the bathroom is close. We can wash your face."

"I don't want to wash my face." He took my hand in his, running his fingers over the smooth silkiness of my elbow-length gloves. "I want to feel your gloved hand on my cock."

It could have been the alcohol or it could've been the fact that I was desperate for physical contact after spending weeks at home alone in my bedroom with my fingers on my clit, but I gripped his soft cock and balls through the fabric of his suit pants, eliciting a sexy groan from deep within his chest. "How long will it take to warm up your car?"

He shook his head, tightly squeezing my wrist. "I want to fool around with you in this coatroom while your uncle and his fancy friends schmooze and sip their expensive whiskey. It'll be so hot. So naughty."

Revulsion and exhilaration warred within me, the thought of engaging in erotic activity while a throng of drunken revelers partied beneath soft electric light in another room titillating. It would've been so very Greek or Roman of me to engage in such a hedonistic display of public exhibitionism. I swallowed, attributing my recklessness to all the booze I had consumed. "But what if someone saw us? I would die of shame."

"It's just after eleven. No one will be needing their coat for hours. And they wouldn't be able to see us behind all these coats." He kissed me. "It'll be our dirty, sexy little secret."

It was suddenly very hot and wicked desire surged through my core, my clit swelling from tucked away inside my pussy lips. I rubbed him through his pants and he slid one hand to my backside and one just beneath my shoulder blades, pulling me close for a deep kiss. I moaned when he sucked my tongue into his mouth, resting my hand against his scarred cheek.

Maimed. My uncle didn't know what he was talking about. John was a hero, a liberator who stormed the beaches of Normandy and helped drive the Nazis out of France. My John didn't need money to be great.

He backed against the wall, breathing hard as he fumbled with his belt. "You're a dirty girl, Charley. Who knew?"

I bit my lip, annoyed even though he was only teasing me. "You love it."

He grinned, face and neck flushed with lust. "Damn right I do." His belt jingled in the dim space as he untucked his shirt.