Separating Riches (7 page)

“You’re not, Melinda,” she said encouragingly. “You’re just frustrated and I can certainly understand why. Your father has awful timing.”

“No, he deliberately used my wedding to make his big announcement because he knew I wouldn’t want to make a big scene. But the annoying part is that I agree with him. It is time I pulled my weight in the corporate world, for you, for our family when we have one. But he’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks I’m going to do things his way. I have my own ideas. Ideas that will help people, not displace them from their homes.”

“Melinda, I am so very proud of you,” Chris said, and she kissed me hard. “And I love you so much.”

“Well gee, if that’s all it took,” I joked, and she swatted me on the arm.

“Blackie, he’s waiting for you to say something,” George interrupted.

Damn!
I stood up, holding my bottle of beer up in the air. “Father, you did surprise me,” I said, stalling for time, while I tried to think of the perfect answer. “If you have enough faith in me to run your multi-million dollar Memphis firm, then I guess I’ll give it a try. It’ll be fun. But I want a free hand of course, to run things as I see fit. Oh, and I want that in writing.” He looked at me totally shocked, but I only smiled at him. “You taught me well, Father.”

“Can we please talk about this later?” Mother interjected.

After that, Father became quiet, probably working out how he could talk me out of it, and I used the opportunity to ply my bride with truffles, and then I took her hand and guided her to the dance floor. The band was electric, loud and throbbing. The floor came alive with multi-colored strobe lights, and my bride walked sensuously around me, tossing her hair back, rubbing her hands down her body. Sweat beaded across my forehead in response to the pressure between my legs.
Oh, baby. Do you know what you’re doing to me?

The heat escalated when the band played a slow dance, and my bride melded into my arms. It was as if we were sculpted to fit perfectly around each other, because she filled my body seamlessly. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling deeply the flowery fragrance of her shampoo. It was nice, but what I wanted to smell, needed to inhale into my lungs, was her scent. Her soft, compelling, moist skin, like a breath of fresh air.

As we swayed to the dulcet tones of the soft music, I noticed that Norma and Charles were dancing together, although they had at least six inches between them.

“Chris, do you see what I’m seeing?” I spoke before realizing that it meant Chris would have to break our closeness to look at them.

Chris leaned around. “Isn’t that so sweet. They make a handsome couple, don’t they?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling her back into me. “I’ve never seen Charles smile that much.”

“Norma looks so young dancing beside him,” she said.

“Yeah, so does Charles,” I said. “He’s practically floating on air. I can’t wait to tease him about it.”

Chris swatted me on the back. “Now, behave yourself.”

I laughed. “I am behaving myself. Otherwise I’d be taking out a full page ad in every newspaper in California.”

“Oh, well, as long as you’re behaving,” she laughed.

*

After Charles drove Norma home, Chris and I opened the ballroom doors and invited everyone we saw to the party. We had so much food left over, and I paid the band to keep playing through the night. Neither of us had an alcoholic drink during the night. Chris wouldn’t drink because she was terrified of what it could lead to again, and I had also stopped drinking save for the occasional beer at dinner. But tonight especially, I wanted all my synapses snapping for what I had been waiting on all day. The room filled up quickly, and we slipped out quietly. I looked over as I entered the hallway and saw my parents dancing together.

As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, we hungrily grabbed each other, and kissed every part of her skin not covered by clothes. The elevator stopped a couple of times, and I vaguely remembered people getting on and off, but I didn’t come up for air until the digital voice said we had arrive on the tenth floor.

Desperate to keep our lips locked, I fumbled with the door until I got it open. Then I scooped my bride up into my arms and carried her over the threshold and into the suite. My intention was to carry her straight to the bedroom, but I had forgotten how large the spacious living room was, and my legs began to jump like a rubber band.
Damn, I need to get to the gym more.
The elegant room had several loveseats, glass end tables, ornate lighting and sculptures. I carried her to the overstuffed sofa, laid her down and ripped her blouse off. I had a lot of pent up sexual tension that demanded to be satisfied.

“Oh, honey!” she cried, as I cupped and squeezed her beautifully shaped breast until it grew hot under my touch.

The large, L-shaped sofa provided plenty of room for me to chase her up and down the cushions, tossing pillows on the floor. I stroked her until her body shuddered as she climaxed, and then before she came down from the orgasm, I kissed, stroked and massaged her back into another one.

There’s nothing I love more than to make her come and hear her scream with pleasure. I had her screaming in every room of that suite, over and over again during the weekend, only taking a break when she had me coming with her.

“You are my life, my love, my wife. I love you so much that I can’t stand it. Nothing and no one will ever come between us.”

Chapter Six

What a Wild Weekend
—
Chris Blackstone-Livingston
and
Melinda Blackstone-Livingston

Waking up Monday morning beside my wife was the most wonderful feeling I had ever known. We hadn’t left the hotel room all weekend, and totally missed all the weekend festivities. But that was all right with me. We were busy making love in every part of the suite, except for the balcony, which I was loathe to do, much to Melinda’s disappointment. I was afraid it would draw unnecessary attention to us. It was a wonder that they hadn’t broken down the door before they did, with all the romping around and screaming we did.
Ah, the screaming.
I don’t usually let go of my filters like that, but I was caught up in the exquisite euphoria of it all. We weren’t arrested, thank God, and in fact impressed them with the fact we were completely sober. Melinda did have to pay for damages done to the suite, which came to almost ten thousand dollars. She said it was worth ten times that amount.

And now it was Monday. I slumped further down into Melinda’s arms and tried to forget what day it was. I hate Mondays. Last year, when I worked as a waitress, Mondays were always horrible because business was slow, which meant we had to spend our time cleaning. Robert Kline, the owner of The King’s BBQ restaurant in Memphis, was obsessive-compulsive when it came to keeping his restaurant clean. But then of course, he wasn’t the one who had to do the scrubbing, his staff was. I shifted my legs, feeling a phantom pain in my knees, remembering the time spent kneeling on the bathroom floor, cleaning the toilets.
Thank God, I’m rich again.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I cooed when Melinda finally woke.

Melinda kissed my forehead. “Morning,” she grunted. Melinda was never a morning person. “What day is it?”

“It’s Monday, and we are back in our temporary home. Are you ready to go back to work?”

I wanted to speak with the scholarship winner and Melinda needed to get started on her pay it forward case. We weren’t really on any sort of deadline, well, the scholarship program was on the college schedule, but our pay it forward case wasn’t. 

She rubbed her hand up my arm, and my body instantly responded to her touch. “No, not yet. I’ve got something else in mind.”

“All right, but you should know that I can barely walk right now as it is,” I joked. “You may have to carry me down to breakfast.”

“Deal,” she replied, tucking that warm hand of hers under my breast.

What an Extraordinary Weekend
—
Norma Shelby
, Charles Bentley,
and
George Kirk

For the first time in a very long time, I lounged in bed later than I normally do. I could see where the sun had begun to lift the darkness, and for a change, I didn’t worry about getting out of bed to greet it. Instead, I lingered, remembering the wonderful weekend I had enjoyed. In my eighty-eight years, I have seen a multitude of events, from World War I, to a man walking on the moon, and now same-sex marriage. I was so pleased that I could participate in my girls’ wedding. I hope they heard what I was saying, and that they take it to heart. Marriage is so hard to maintain if you lose yourself in your partner. That’s what happened with one of my marriages. He based his happiness solely on me and I was just too busy with my acting career to keep him happy. Of course it didn’t help that my career was taking off and his wasn’t.
I wonder what he’s doing now.

“My goodness,” I said out loud.

My mind tended to wander at times. I was thinking of Melinda and Chris and how happy they were and how perfectly they balance each other out. Friday at the wedding dinner, I heard Melinda’s father, Robert, tell his wife that he gave their marriage six months and Melinda would be back to her old self again, carousing around as Blackie Blackstone. I might be wrong, but I got the feeling that’s what he was hoping for. I couldn’t fathom why, when Melinda had changed in such a positive way. Now, instead of getting drunk and promiscuous, she was sober and helping people. What could he gain by wanting his daughter to go back to her wanton ways? I had no answer, but I was sure of one thing. As long as I am alive, I intend to help Melinda reach her full potential.

And then there was Charles. Handsome, charismatic, funny, proper, Charles. It wasn’t until the weekend was practically over that I learned his last name. He was so used to just being Charles that his last name, Bentley, was an afterthought. He told me that he had been with the Blackstones since his father was their chief butler. It’s all he ever wanted to do, and he enjoyed it. He also confided to me that he thought of Melinda as his daughter, though he could never let her know that. It wouldn’t be proper. I tried to understand that philosophy, considering I had no such qualms about speaking to Melinda from my heart. Perhaps I’m trying to fill the void my daughter’s death left in my soul, all those years ago.
Of course I am.

Charles and I spent most of the weekend together, exploring the city. We went to Fisherman’s Wharf and ate lunch, rode the cable car down the scary roller coaster streets, and we even strolled hand in hand through the Muir Woods. I felt young again, having the attention of such a handsome man.

I’m not sure whether it was fortunate or not, but George insisted on joining us. I know he had planned to take me around himself, to capture memories of the last time I was in San Francisco, for my biography that he was writing, and that’s probably what rendered him blind to the thought that three was a crowd. God love him, George was in his own little mind set, and I swear I think the young man was salivating when I told him the story of meeting Joan Baez in 1969 at the Presidio.

“It was when I was between husbands, and one of the gaffers from a movie I was working on in LA, I think it was
My Love Escapes Me
, asked if I wanted to go with a group of them up to San Francisco, to see the Golden Gate Bridge. Of course I had seen it before, but I thought it would be fun to get out for a while. George, I believe that was in the spring of 1969, but I’m sure you can research it to be certain.”

“I believe you are correct, Norma,” Charles said.

“Charles. Were you there, also?” I asked.

“No, and it’s something that I regret to this day. I’m almost as big a fan of Baez, as I am of yours, Norma.”

“That is so sweet of you to say, dear.”

Charles beamed with delight, and I wondered if he was becoming smitten with me.

“Anyway,” I continued, “we ended up joining the last leg of a march going to the Presidio, and I ended up walking beside Joan. In between the singing and chanting, we got to know each other a little. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“March 4, 1969, Norma,” George said, showing me a website with a picture of Joan and some other people.

“That sounds about right. You see, San Francisco was important to the protests in the sixties because so much of the brutality of war was there for all to see. The Letterman Army Hospital, treating all those wounded and the cemetery on the post burying so many soldiers could not be hidden. So, protesters flooded the city and the Presidio was an important place for them to be seen and heard. I met a delightful young woman who told me she was stationed at the Presidio, and in spite of repercussions, she snuck off base to see Joan Baez.”

“I’m impressed with how much you remember about that tumultuous time, Norma. Do you remember her name?” George asked as he checked to see the recorder was running. I didn’t even know he was recording me, but then I wasn’t surprised by it.

“Yes, I do remember her name, but I promised that I would never divulge it.”

“What could it hurt after all these years?” George questioned.

“A promise is a promise, George. As I was saying, the young girl was dressed in what she called civvies — jeans and a T-shirt, wearing nothing to identify that she was in the Army, except her dog tags under her shirt and her military ID in her wallet.”

“We knew that she was one of many against the war,”
the Baez fan said.
“We heard her folk songs begin to take on a new sound and send out a different message. Came the day when we heard that Joan Baez was going to put on a protest concert right outside the main gate.  The main entrance to the Presidio. As the news was being spread about the event, word came down from Headquarters to the Company Commanders.

“Inform your troops to avoid the Main Gate. There will be a protest taking place and it may be a very large group. Police will be on site to keep the peace and we don't want any of our soldiers to be confronted by the protesters. CID will also be present to observe the activities. If any soldier is seen to be taking part, disciplinary measures could result.

“As soon as I passed through the gate, I mixed with the crowd. I gave it some thought and decided that instead of getting right up front, it would be better if I stayed back not quite to the outer edge of the crowd. I could observe the people better and if anyone was watching me, I could step away and go on into town or something. Because of the space in front of the gate, the crowd couldn't get really big so I was close enough to have a good view of the platform where the performers were making music. And there she was! Joan Baez! She was beautiful. Her voice was beautiful. The music was wonderful. The crowd was happy and enjoying the bright sunny day with one of the favorites of San Franciscans. We listened to her music and sang along with some of her hits. A couple of hours later, it was over. Everyone had a good day. If the CID was there, they had nothing to report.”

“What a great story,” Charles stated.

“Yes, it was, but what about you, Norma? Did you sing with the living legend?” George teased.

“Oh, no, my dear. It was a peace march, and my voice would have caused a riot.”

Breakfast — Melinda Blackstone-Livingston
, Chris Blackstone-Livingston, Norma Shelby,
and
George Kirk

We moved our lovemaking to the shower, where with the help of the handheld showerhead, I took my wife once again into orgasmic orbit.
God, I love doing that.
We finally made it down to the dining room, and found Norma and George already there, just starting their breakfast.
Dang, did we get up that early?

“Are you up late, or are we up really early?” I asked, looking at my watch. It was eight a.m.

“I’d say we’re a little late and you’re a little early,” George joked.

“So, how was everyone’s weekend?” Chris asked, as she scooped up a spoonful of scrambled eggs.

“Well, let’s see, I got married, and had lots of kinky sex in the—”

“All right, you. I don’t think they need the details,” Chris laughed, stuffing a piece of egg into my mouth, her eyes sparkling.
Beautiful.

“Hey, I can live vicariously,” George kidded.

“Who’s to say we weren’t all with someone having kinky sex, dear?” Norma asked.

“Did you sleep with my butler, Norma?” I asked animatedly.

“I assure you, Madame, I am a professional and would never—”

I stopped, almost dropping my plate full of food. “No! No, I’m sorry Charlotte. I was speaking about Charles, my parents’ butler.”

“Oh, yes, we exchange a few war stories,” Charlotte replied, pouring more coffee in Chris’ cup.

“War stories?” I huffed. Charlotte smiled and left the dining room. “If it was with Jeeves, Norma, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Charles was the stable male figure in my life, and though he never knew it, I looked up to him. To envision him having sex with Norma would be worse than when I walked in on my parents.
Ew!

“Jeeves?” Norma asked. “Oh, you mean Charles. He told me about how you two have cute little nicknames for each other.”

“Cute?” I scoffed. Maybe when I was ten it was cute, but it was more of an endearment now.

“I should have said affectionate,” Norma stated.

“So, was it him?” Chris asked curiously.

“Yeah, do we need to plan a double wedding?” I laughed.

“No to both questions,” Norma said. “Charles is a wonderful, gentle man, who will make someone a wonderful husband, but he has this vision of me from fifty years ago, when I was an actress. I’m not that person anymore.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m too upset by that,” I said. “I kind of like you hanging with us.”

“I kind of like it, too, Melinda,” Norma replied.

Kate walked in carrying her always present portfolio and iPad. She set them down on the table and went to the buffet table. As she filled her plate, she asked, “So, how was everyone’s weekend?”

All four of us laughed at once.

She turned and looked at us. “All right, what did I miss?”

“People having sex, dear,” Norma quipped.

“Well, that lets me out,” Kate laughed. “So, Melinda, I took the liberty of reinstating your agenda from last week, and just talked with the manager of the radio station. He said he will make himself available all day today and looks forward to your visit.”

“Of course he does. That’s excellent work, Kate,” I said. “Thank you.”