Borrowing Trouble (6 page)

“Oh, yes.”

“Then I have no complaints and neither should you.”

“Trip, let me be clear about this. Your mom spent well over three thousand dollars on me this afternoon. It just feels wrong.”

“Let me be clear about this. Don’t sweat it. She’s my mom. She spends an obscene amount of money on clothes, stuff for the houses, art. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”

“I still feel crappy about it.”

“Listen, you like the dress, you tell me that I’m going to like the dress, and my mother liked buying you a dress. Just be happy.”

“Okay. I’m chilling.”

“Good. Are you wearing this sexy dress right now?”

“No. It’s for the St. Jude benefit.”

“Okay, now this makes complete sense. And when it comes to that party, we all just go along with anything and everything she wants. So, let me change my response to this: Did it make my mother happy buying you the dress?”

“Yes. She even said she’d loan me some earrings to wear with it.”

“Perfect. You need to be happy about it. Now back to what you’re wearing.”

“Trip, are you looking for phone sex?”

“Please tell me that I’m not on speakerphone or you’re at your office right now. Because I’ve never been this hard from a board game before”

“No, I’m home. And I’ve got an hour or so to kill before Erica comes over. We’re going out on the town tonight. Her parents have the kids and Josh is in New York.”

“Perfect. So, let me ask for a third time, Miss Tanner. What are you wearing?”

I spun around, making sure the blinds were drawn on my bedroom windows. “Well, Mr. Brannon. It seems you caught me at an opportune time. I was just about to change out of my work clothes and into something for dinner.”

“Far be it from me to interrupt your plans, Miss Tanner.”

“No, you’re not interrupting a bit. If anything, it sounds like you’re going to enhance my evening.”

“I very much intend to do this. Let me close my office door.”
He’s at his office?
“Okay, where were we?”

“Are you back in town?”

“No. I’m still in Pennsylvania. I get back tomorrow night, so you’d better clear your calendar for me. The whole weekend. I’ve been jerking off to thoughts of you all week and I’ve got some plans.”

“Trip, you’ve been thinking about me and touching yourself all week?”

“Very much so. In fact, I’m touching myself right now.”

“You are perhaps the horniest man I have ever met.”

“I’m not disputing that. Like I said, you’d better clear that calendar for me. Now, tell me exactly what you’re wearing.”

“Trip, are we really going to do this?”

“
Going to?
Marisa, I’m already doing this and you’re joining me.”

“Admit it, you like me feisty.”

“Yes, I like you feisty. Now tell me what you’re wearing.”

“A gray and black work dress and black patent heels.”

“And why are you still wearing these clothes?”

“Because you’re not here to take me out of them.”

“Let’s fix that, then. I want you to take off your dress.”

“How much do you want me to take off my dress?”

“Feisty isn’t the word for you. I may have to tie you up this weekend.” I gasped in surprise. “Okay, then I’ll table that motion for later discussion. Let’s just get you out of that dress.”

“You haven’t said the magic word yet,” I teased, tucking the phone under my chin and unzipping my dress.

“Please, Marisa. Like nothing else, I want you naked now.”

“Done. I’m standing here in my bedroom, all alone and wet for you, Trip. In fact, these little pink cotton panties are just soaked. They need to come off right now.”
That’s one benefit of phone sex. He doesn’t need to know about the Spanx
, I smiled as I wiggled out of them.

“Now you’re talking.”

“Tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m sitting in an extra office outside of Harrisonburg with my pants around my ankles and my dick in my hand, thinking about my girlfriend all the way in Memphis with her smoking hot body and how her eyes get really big right before she comes.”

“My eyes are really big now.”

“Touch yourself, Marisa.” I heard him begin to pant.

“How should I touch myself? Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

“Take your hand and cup yourself. Then roll your fingers back and forth across.”

“Trip,” I sighed, stretching his name out, as I lowered myself onto my empty bed to comply. My legs were beginning to tremble with need.

“That’s my girl, now I want you to make one long stroke with your middle finger all the way from your bottom to your top.” I obliged and gasped when my finger met my clit.

“Right there, right there. Now gently bounce up and down on that spot. Tell me how you feel.”

“Fuck, Trip. I want you in my mouth so badly that I can taste you. I want to run my tongue all the way around your head and then suck. Hard. I want you to come all over my breasts.”

His breathing picked up and turned into a pant. “Okay, now get your vibrator.”

“Excuse me,” I said, breaking from the moment.

“Come on, you’re a grown up. Just because we haven’t played with it doesn’t mean that you don’t have one hiding somewhere in your bedroom.”

“Fine. And if you must know it’s in a shoe box under my bed.”

“Duly noted. Now get it.” I rolled onto my stomach, reached under my bed, and pulled out a deep purple Stuart Weitzman box, flipping off the lid.
Hello, friend. Haven’t seen you in a while.

“Okay, I’ve got it. What would you like me to do with it?”

“I want you to shove it up you, pretending it’s my dick.”

“What else do you want Trip?”

“I want you to use your other hand and pinch one of your nipples. I’m sure they are hard and lonely by now.”

“Trip, I really want you here,” I moaned, complying with his requests.

“And I’ll be there tomorrow night. Now tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m sliding it in and out of me.”

“Is it one of those rabbit things where it can touch your clit at the same time?”

“Your knowledge of vibrators is beginning to creep me out a little. And no, it’s not. It’s just a little red wand.”

“Pull it out, put it where it feels good and come for me, Marisa. Oh, Marisa,” he groaned. “We are going to have so much fun tomorrow night. I’m going to lick you and fuck you over and over until you don’t remember your own name.” The thought of Trip’s tongue on my pussy sent me over the edge, my body lurched and I called out his name in a stupor. “Baby, I’m right with you baby, oh, fuck, Marisa. I fucking love you.”

I fell limp on the bed. “Hmmm. Please come home,” I muttered, entirely spent and barely able to muster the power to switch off the vibrator.

“You make me so happy, Marisa. Okay, I’ve got to get cleaned up before my business dinner. You girls have fun. If you want dinner or drinks at Pig and Barley, you know it’s on the house.”

“Oh, Pig and Barley would be great, but you don’t need to buy us dinner or drinks. Just snagging us a table at the last minute would be awesome.”

“Marisa, there are many things I don’t
need
to do, but I want to do for you. And
to
you. So, please, let me buy you dinner and get you and Erica liquored up. It’s the least I can do after surviving lunch and shopping with my mother.”

“Trip, you are spoiling me.”

“Few things make me happier. See you tomorrow night. I’ll be back around nine. I’m flying commercial.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at your house.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. I mean that.”

“And I hope you know I mean it, too.”

“Now go put me in the poorhouse. I’ll let Bert know you’re coming.”

Chapter Twelve

I hopped off the trolley and strolled the final couple of blocks to Pig and Barley. Pushing through the rough-hewn wooden doors into the warmly lit restaurant, I spotted Erica dressed in her Left Bank chic skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a well-worn slim brown leather motorcycle jacket. She was seated at the bar, curled around a highball glass and staring into the middle distance.

“Hey, chicka!” I called, dropping onto a highly polished reclaimed wood stool next to my best friend. “What’s good?”

“Well, Bert has kindly directed me to something he’s calling the ‘The Sound and the Fury.’ I’m not sure what’s in it, but it’s got bourbon and a hell of a kick. This is number two,” she mused, bringing the glass up to her mouth and draining it.

“Sounds like I’m behind you. I need to wet my whistle, too.” I caught Bert’s eye and he greeted me with a hearty handshake across the bar.

“Hey, Runner Girl. Good to see you back. I’ve got a bottle of wine with your name on it and a table coming open.”

“Thanks, Bert. This is my friend Erica.” After introductions, we chatted happily for a bit about the restaurant, which he co-owned with Trip, and his latest tattoo – a bike chain encircling his firm left calf. After giving us a guided tour of his tattoos that were ‘fit for public viewing,’ in his words, he sauntered off in search of the promised wine.

“Well, we’re not moving to a table.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We are eating at the bar where I can enjoy your company and the excellent view.”

I glanced around the bar, following Erica’s line of sight to Bert’s exposed muscular and heavily tattooed forearms working a corkscrew. “You’re in an interesting mood, my dear. You want to drink or talk?”

Erica brought her eyes back down to her glass and clinked the single large ice cube against its sides. “Drink. Can’t talk, but I can listen. And I want to hear about shopping.”

“That was the clumsiest change of topics I’ve ever witnessed. But I’ll forgive you anything.” I filled Erica in on the hours spent in a sumptuous dressing room at Joseph, surrounded by four-figure dresses, as we sipped the unoaked French chardonnay Bert had set in front of us.

“So, you’re like her very own Barbie doll to play dress up with?”

“Hardly. I won’t deny that she was clearly having a good time picking out dresses with me and lunch wasn’t terrible. She mainly talked about Trip, so it was easy to stay interested. Apparently, he loves to ski so much that they spend Christmas week at their place in Telluride. Started doing it when Trip was a teenager in order to get to see him over the holiday break. He’d mentioned once he got in a little trouble playing too hard in Telluride but either his mom doesn’t know about it or she isn’t sharing his deep dark secrets yet.”

“Think that was a hint about the holidays?”

“No,” I replied, brushing off the implication. “That’s pretty much a lifetime from now anyway.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Thanksgiving is a little over a month away.”

“Want to see if our table is ready?”

“Not particularly. I wasn’t kidding about enjoying the view from here.” She nodded her head toward Bert whose back was to us as he tapped orders into an iPad. It didn’t escape me that her gaze lingered.

“Okay, you need to spill. You’re three drinks into the evening and we haven’t had a bite to eat. Did a gallery drop you?”

“No. That’s fine. In fact the show in Chicago went really well. Amazingly well. I’ve sold six pieces so far and am doing a commissioned piece for an accounting firm’s lobby that I got out of the show. It’s Josh and I can’t talk about it.”

“He’s okay, right? Like not going to die on us or anything?” I asked lightly, not expecting anything to be truly seriously wrong.

“As long as he stays in New York and gets his shit together, I’d say he’s going to stay alive. I’m certainly not going to collect him.”

“What? What do you mean ‘get his shit together’? Please tell me it isn’t what it sounds like. You guys are my role models.” The worry I’d initially brushed off as her having a bad day roared to life.

Erica snorted. “Hell, I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s just MIA. He Skype’s with me and the kids every night after dinnertime, but otherwise it’s like he’s avoiding me. Outside of that for the past two weeks, it’s been an occasional text message.”

“You think things are bad at work?”

“I think things may be bad all over. And that’s all I can say about it. So, fancy dress, fancy shoes, fancy party?”

“Yes. It’s a fundraiser for St. Jude at the art museum. Trip’s parents invited me to sit at their table. In fact, Bitsy says I’m to come and sit with them regardless of whether Trip is in town for it or not. But based upon the way Trip said that we are to do whatever his mother wants for this fundraiser, I can’t imagine he won’t be there if she wants him there.”

“And he’s being nice to you?”

“Let’s just say he’s being really nice. Not to touch on a sore subject, but have you and Josh tried, well, you know, to work things out over the phone so that you can stop imagining yourself licking Bert?”

Erica’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me!”

“Come on. You’ve been eyeing him and you’re in a foul mood. Someone needs to get la-aid,” I sang.

“This is coming from you, my friend whose boyfriend spends half of his time out of state?”

“Like I said, we’re working it out.”

“Please, please tell me that you’re not sexting and sending him nudie pics.”

“I’m not twenty. And the good ol’ fashioned phone works just fine.”

“Ah ha, so that’s why you were ten minutes late and are full of vim and vigor.”

“A lady never tells,” I replied with a sly smile, refilling my glass of wine.

“Well, talk to me about phone sex in five years when he’s on the road for thirty weeks out of fifty-two and you have kids, okay?”

Okay. That’s a jab that I didn’t see coming. I thought she liked Trip. I thought she was happy for me. I know he’s on the road a lot and it’s kind of like having a part-time boyfriend, but I think it’s going well. Is she seeing something I’m missing or is this mainly about Josh?
I didn’t know how to respond, so I punted. “So, table or no?”

“Seriously, no table. We’re two single women out on the town tonight and I, for one, wouldn’t mind being chatted up by some random man just to remind myself that I have a pulse.” Without waiting for my response, she raised her hand, flagging down Bert for what I hoped was to order food and nothing else.

***

I stumbled into bed a few hours later, my head swimming. Erica veered off into the guestroom for the evening.
So this is what our spend the night parties have turned into now that we’re in our mid-thirties? No truth or dare, just a lot of truths.
My heart ached for Erica.
What’s wrong with Josh? What’s wrong with her? He’s smitten with her. Has been for years. I can’t imagine he’s running around on her, but I guess you never really know about anyone. She’s just miserable and I don’t know how to make it better.
My phone buzzed and issued a small chime.

Did my drunk girl make it home?

A smile crept across my face at the knowledge Trip was thinking of me, caring for me from far away.

Yes. Bert took care of us.

I understand he also got you home.

Drove us himself.

Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I hope you mean that.

I mean it
.

And with that, still in my jeans and striped tunic from dinner, I rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.