Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
SHELBY
May, 2012
I stood in the lobby staring out the door until I saw both SUVs pull away, frozen in some kind of trance asking myself over and over if that really had just happened. Had I just spent several hours with Jake Ford where for much of the time I was channeling some confident woman well versed on feminist issues surrounding beauty? Was I charming? Was I flirting? From somewhere inside, my adolescent-self had poked at me to make the most of this opportunity and so I did. I was grateful too, no regrets. Well, maybe one. But that would be something to worry about another day months from now, and between now and then I was sure I could figure out what to do about it.
I helped Darius and Randall clean up lunch, then went about getting the treatment room cleaned up after the shoot. I threw away the paper from the table, put the strips, gloves and other supplies back into the cabinets, and sanitized my tweezers. I was taking my time, lingering on implements that all now contained other memories besides ones with clients. I knew it would be a while before I wouldn't immediately be reminded of Jake Ford during every leg waxing appointment.
I never worked on Fridays, and I was grateful that I didn’t have to switch gears and try to be professional. But despite having the day off, I wasn’t in a hurry to go home. I rarely was since Brody had gone to college. He used to be the reason I’d rush home, but now I often felt more at home when I was at work.
When I got pregnant with Brody, I finished my second semester of college, morning sickness and all, but since he was due in July, it didn’t make sense to register for my junior year. I never went back.
It was decided it was better for me to be a stay-at-home mom. But both grandmothers adored Brody and either hovered over him at our place or played tug of war to have him at theirs.
When he was around eight and I’d been spending his school days wandering around the house not sure what to do with myself, I got it in my head that I wanted to go back to school. I knew it wouldn’t be a hard sell with the grandparents, they would be more than happy to watch Brody whenever I’d need.
The hard part would be convincing Ari. He worked so much that he liked the idea of having me home to “man the fort.” I thought going back for my English degree would be a stretch, so I decided to follow in my Aunt Connie’s footsteps and learn massage therapy. I’d always looked up to her, especially since she was the comically polar opposite to her sister, my mother. She was a modern-day hippie, a living, breathing flight of fancy. When she’d first gotten into massage, she’d brought over one of her books to show us. It was published in the early seventies and in the illustrations demonstrating the techniques everyone was naked—both the therapist and the client. I’d giggled at how red my mother’s face had gotten.
Ari bristled at the idea at first, but once I started school and he became my practice guinea pig, he softened a little. Aspire was the first place I’d applied, and Ari liked the idea that I’d be working for gay men and with a bunch of women. Darius desperately needed another esthetician, so within my first year, he encouraged me to go through the training and get dual licensed.
“Hey, Shel. Why don’t you head home and relax. We’ve got this.” Darius pulled me out of my trance, standing and staring at nothing at the front desk. The afternoon clients were beginning to file in.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got to go home and make sure the kitchen is all set for Ari. He’s making my favorite seafood chowder tonight to celebrate.”
“Is that right?” Darius seemed surprised, but then smiled. “That’s sweet. How much are you going to tell him about how today went?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” I blushed. As far as Ari knew, it was just one of Brody’s favorite shows and Darius had coerced me into doing this whole thing. He had certainly not seen the audition video or had known about Jake Ford’s face on my bedroom wall.
He had given me some pointers for being on TV since he was a bit of a local celebrity. All the local news outlets loved him for their ‘must do’ spots or cooking demos. He oozed charm and he was still so very easy on the eyes. When it was a woman interviewing him, she’d often be visibly flustered.
“Don’t say absolutely all the time,” he’d told me. “Look at the camera here and there to engage the audience, but don’t talk directly into it. Try not to fidget or say ‘um.’”
He had no idea how much camera experience I already had. But my videos were all about talking directly into the camera. And it wasn’t being on TV that I was worried about. It was more about keeping my cool with the host of the show.
I decided to stop at the store on the way home to buy some fresh flowers. While passing through the bakery section, I spotted a beautiful loaf of fresh sourdough. Sourdough was part of the deal with Ari’s seafood chowder, so I thought I should buy it.
But if I bring it home and Ari had already bought it, he’d wonder why I bothered. Why I wouldn’t I have trusted that he would have gotten it? He knew full well how much it was an important part of the meal.
But if I didn’t get it, and he’d forgotten it, he’d be upset with himself. Maybe even to the point that the whole thing would be ruined. And find a way to blame me for it all.
I stood in the bakery section having a familiar internal debate. It certainly wasn’t always about bread, but so often I’d spend time trying to see things from every angle, trying to find the best solution. Unfortunately, I’d been terrible at geometry.
I looked down and realized I was cutting off the circulation in my left thumb. I decided to buy the bread and put it in the pantry. This way if Ari brought his own loaf home, I could use this one another time. And if he’d forgotten it, I could just “coincidentally” have had this loaf I’d bought for sandwiches.
I walked into the house and put the bread in the pantry. I grabbed a vase and set the flowers on the kitchen counter. I sighed as I looked around. I rarely called it my house. It felt more like somewhere I was staying rather than a home to me, even after more than seventeen years.
Ari’s parents had helped us buy a house one subdivision over from theirs in an affluent suburb about thirty minutes west of Milwaukee. His mother Marion had overseen a remodel and took it upon herself to decorate as well. Ari never had much of an opinion himself, although he was very particular about how the kitchen would be set up after he’d finished his culinary training.
And it was determined by everyone that I was too young to know what I liked.
I’m convinced that if hell exists it wouldn’t be fire sprays and molten pools. It would be a square box painted beige, furnished in beachy pastels, and decorated with framed calligraphy cursive instructions for life.
Although, sure, maybe in hell they’d say “Suffer. Cry. Beg.” instead of “Live. Laugh. Love.”
I learned quickly that anything new I brought into the house was a personal affront to Marion and she’d make her hurt feelings known to anyone and everyone who would listen. After a while, it just wasn’t worth it.
The two things I had been successful at bringing into the house without much fuss were plants and books. I’d created cozy little garden library vignettes all over the house—places where I felt comfortable and safe. I’d also found a beautiful vintage vanity at a flea market. I’d lied and said I’d inherited it from my Great Aunt Marjorie (who had not died, nor had she, in fact, existed at all). Marion looked down her nose at it, suggesting a “coat of paint, at least.” But in the end, I won, and there she sat in her original, albeit slightly scuffed, glory in my bedroom.
And in the bottom right-hand drawer under some silk scarves lived a small laptop, a DSLR camera, a tripod and a ring light. The secret world of Cherrie Bombshell.
It was nearly 2:30 p.m. and I decided to text Ari. I figured he’d probably gone into work for a while on his day off too, considering I was busy all morning. He was very involved with everything to do with his restaurant, not just back of the house. He oversaw all the hiring of the staff, the wine and spirit list, and the schedule. The only thing he left solely to his managers were the books.
He’d leaned into his name from the very beginning, deciding to do his culinary training in Athens at the Chef D’ Oeurve to learn from the best while at the same time learning all he could about Mediterranean food. He left to spend two full years there right after our wedding, his little son only a year old. He didn’t want to upset his immersive experience and after the first few months, he refused to come home for visits, wanting me to go there instead. The first time was magical, like a movie honeymoon. He was so excited to show me everything, so enthusiastic, so alive and bursting with passion. He took me to Santorini and the sunset made me cry.
When I’d gone the second time, he’d become so bonded with his fellow students, so deeply immersed in the program, the culture and in “his process,” he’d leave me at his little apartment or to wander around on my own for hours and hours every day. I never went back.
Hi! The shoot went great today. I’m home already. What time do you think you’d be here?
I decided to pour myself a glass of wine and call Kendra. She’d been texting me all day, and I kept pushing her off, wanting to wait until I had time and space to give her the full rundown. She was the only person with whom I could share every delicious detail.
“Soooooo?”
“Oh my God, Ken. It was amazing. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning. How did he look?”
I took a deep breath and let out a moan.
“That good, huh?”
I spilled the entire contents of the morning in as much detail as I could remember, finding myself shaking with excitement all over again at the retelling.
“Jake Ford watched your videos? Like, all of them?”
“He didn’t say specifically, but definitely videos, plural.”
“Holy shit, Shel. It sounds like he is into you.”
“What? No. That’s crazy.”
“Why is that crazy? You are super hot, and those videos are awesome. Plus, it sounds like you held your own during the interview. It definitely seems like your little crush has a crush.”
I could feel myself blushing. Kendra was right about half of it; I had a full-on married woman crush. I would never act on it, and I knew the feeling would pass. But for the time being it was odd, like a puzzle piece whose edges have been altered–I was having a little bit of a hard time fitting into my life.
I heard the back door open. “Hey, I think Ari’s home. I gotta go.”
“Okay, you saucy harlot. Love you.”
I smiled. “Love you, too.”
I walked into the kitchen and my heart swelled at seeing my beautiful baby boy. “Hey! What are you doing home?” I asked. Brody told me he most likely wouldn’t be coming home during finals, even though he was only thirty minutes away at Marquette.
“I wanted to come and hug you. I know today was a big deal.”
My heart exploded. I don’t know what I did in a previous life to deserve a son as sweet as this, and I tried never to take it for granted. “Aww, thanks baby. That means a lot.”
He wrapped me up in his arms and it was always so surreal to have him envelope me. He wasn’t quite as tall as his father, but still towered above me.
“How did it go?”
“It was great! I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“Do you know when it will be on?” Brody asked.
“They said they’d let me know.” I didn’t tell him Jake said he’d let me know.
“Do you mind if I do a little laundry? I have a date this weekend and I want to wash my sheets.”
“No problem.” Over the course of Brody’s life, we’d had open communication about sex. At least on my end. It was important for me to share everything I wish I had known growing up, bypassing all the shame I’d had to deal with. He was always pretty tight lipped about who he was sleeping with, however, and I never felt it necessary to pry.
My phone dinged.
I’ve got a chance to meet with that investor tonight. Last minute thing. I’ll be home late.
I felt a pang of disappointment. Nothing about the TV thing or the chowder. But the lack of an apology was not surprising, I know he’d been trying to get this meeting for months. Ari’s father David had put up the money for Ari’s original restaurant and then twice for second locations that he wanted to open. The first one was a pretty risky concept based on Greek Mythology, dancing on the edge of kitsch. It lasted less than eighteen months. With the second, he thought, ‘if it ain’t broke…’ and just recreated his original restaurant further west in the suburbs. It lasted a year. David refused to fund any more experiments and just suggested expanding his current place instead. Ari didn’t do well with the word no, so he’d been looking for investors on his own.
Brody wandered back into the kitchen. “Dad won’t be home. He’s got a last-minute meeting,” I told him.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom.” He rubbed my back. I hated that he’d felt the need to apologize for his father. And that he’d been doing it often and from a young age.
“It’s okay. I’m just so happy you’re here. Are you hungry?” I asked him.
“Always.”
I pulled out the sourdough bread from the pantry and went to grab the rest of the ingredients intending to make Caprese paninis with mozzarella, tomato, basil and a little balsamic vinegar. Brody snuck past me to rifle through the fridge. “Do we have roast beef and provolone? I think I just want a straight up sandwich.”
I pulled out some deli turkey. “This okay?”
“Yeah. Where’s the mayo?”
“You mean may-o-naise ?”
Brody smiled and stood back. He hunched up his shoulders and squinted his eyes shut. “I got nowhere else to go!” Heaving dramatic breaths. “I got nowhere else to go!” Perfectly imitating Richard Gere’s character Zack Mayo in Officer and a Gentleman having a meltdown in the rain. I laughed.
For years I’d been into rewatching all the tearjerker movies from the eighties and nineties like Terms of Endearment , Steel Magnolias , and Beaches . I appreciated the opportunity to cry without abandon. Without anyone asking why. Often, Brody would snuggle up next to me and watch too. It had since become our thing, quoting lines to each other whenever possible. Ari would roll his eyes at us or miss the joke completely and get annoyed, so it was always more fun when it was just the two of us.
Hours later I was settled on the couch watching a cozy British baking show on TV. I thought it was funny that I now knew what it might have been like behind the scenes of a show like that. I wondered what our spot would end up looking like after the editing.
I heard the back door. Ari had arrived, along with a familiar mix of excitement and dread. If the meeting had not gone well, the high that I’d been on most of the day would surely be over. I steeled myself and walked into the kitchen.
“Hey,” I said. I wanted to be supportive, excited for Ari. But at the same time, I needed him to know how disappointed I was that he hadn’t considered or even remembered the events of my day and what it had meant to me.
“Hey!” He was smiling and holding a bottle of champagne. The meeting had gone well. “Alan is going to talk to his partners, but he’s very interested. If it all goes well, we could have the money by mid-summer.” He walked over to me and gave me a closed mouth kiss with an exaggerated sound, “Mmmuah.”
“That’s great.” I was trying, but I could tell my tone fell flat.
Ari could tell, too. “What’s up? I thought you’d be thrilled.”
And I thought you were making me seafood chowder because I filmed a fucking TV show today . “I’m just tired, I guess. I am happy for you.”
Brody walked through the kitchen on his way to flip the laundry. “Hey Dad.”
“Hey, Brods. How’s it going?’ Ari tousled his son’s hair, but Brody shrugged him off.
“Did you forget that Mom had her TV thing today? She said it went great and she’s really excited about it.”
“Oh, shit, Shel. Yeah, I forgot.” Ari had a split second of managing to arrange his face in an expression of remorse, but it quickly, reflexively turned to a smirk when he said, “Oh, I bet you were nervous. Were you so nervous, baby?” He reached out to pet my hair, but the look I gave him made him reconsider and he withdrew his arm. “Oh. You’re mad at me, huh?”
“She should be.” Brody interjected. “Acknowledging it at all would be the least you could have done today.” I looked at him with tight lips and shook my head; our unspoken don’t poke the bear. He glared at his father one last time and came over to me to kiss me on the cheek. “I’m going to bed. I’ll probably be gone before you wake up, so I’ll say goodbye now. I love you, Mom. I’m so proud of you.”
“I love you too, baby.” And with that, Brody went upstairs.
“Do you still love me too?” Ari walked over to me, he put his arms on my shoulders and kissed my neck. A jolt of electricity shot through my spine. The attempt at smoothing things over was about to begin. I sat on a stool at the island while I watched him pull two champagne flutes out of the cabinet.
“Yes.” I was still glaring, but my tone was softening.
“Good.” He popped the bottle with a loud flourish and poured us each a glass. Picking his up, he said, “A toast! To me finally getting my funding, and to you for…doing a cool TV thing.”
I picked up my glass too. I guessed that was as good as I was going to get. “To us.”
Ari took a sip and put down his glass. “Aww, baby. I can tell you’re still upset.” He walked over behind me and moved my hair away from my neck. He pressed his lips on the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder and trailed a row of kisses up my neck and behind my ear. My heart rate increased, the beat itself intensifying. His fingertips grazed along the front of my chest, teasing over my breasts, my nipples. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back into Ari’s chest.
His hand made its way down my stomach, inching ever further south.
There was no hesitation, spreading my legs for him had become as automatic as breathing.
Ari moaned his approval.
That voice. The heat and the familiar smell of him. The way he knew every centimeter of my body and exactly what it needed and when, all combined to elicit this response that was almost completely out of my control. My mind could be annoyed, irritated, or even enraged with him. My heart could feel betrayed and abandoned. My soul crushed. My spirit broken. But my body? That traitorous bitch would always, always surrender.
He moved his hand from between my legs and grabbed me tighter, one arm across my chest, the other splayed across my neck and throat, his mouth at my ear. “You’re so ready for me, baby. I am going to fuck you right here in the kitchen.”
“But Brody…”
“If he comes downstairs, it’s on him.”
“Just hang on one second.” Ari let me go and I grabbed my phone to text Brody saying we were arguing. That it was best not to come downstairs.
Ari lifted me up off the stool, his long fingers quickly unbuttoning and unzipping my pants. He lifted my shirt off, his hungry mouth on the tops of my breasts exposed above my bra. He pulled off my pants and underwear and lifted me onto the island. He knelt, his face diving in between my legs tongue first. I arched my back and stifled a scream.
While his head was lowered and his face out of my direct line of sight, I took note of the dark wavy hair and indulged in a moment of picturing Jake Ford in Ari’s place. I began to grind into his mouth and had to bite my lip to keep quiet as the first wave of orgasm crested. I convulsed so violently I thought I might bruise my tailbone on the marble countertop.
Ari stood and I was immediately yanked out of my fantasy. “Am I forgiven yet?” He kissed me sloppily, serving me a taste of his version of an apology.
“We’re getting there.” I began to unfasten his pants.
“Oh, we’re getting there are we? I know you.” He aggressively fisted my hair with one hand while he cupped between my legs with the other, the pressure of both becoming increasingly rough and possessive. “I know you’ve got at least one more in the chamber don’t you, baby? This next one won’t come so easily.”
For a minute, he’d allowed me to believe I was in control. And that he was making amends. But the tables had turned, and Ari’s favorite game had begun.
In no time at all, I would be reciting my mantra for mercy, “Please. Ari… please.”
He still loved to hear me beg.