A Different Kind of Forever

Chapter FIVE

THEY WERE DRIVING back to Diane’s house, darkness closing in, cool air coming in through the open windows. Angela had insisted they stay for dinner, and it had been delicious - lasagna, salad, loaves of home-made garlic bread, and lots of wine. Diane had a wonderful time. His family was smart, opinionated, and argumentative, the kids noisy and cranky after a long day outside. Conversation ranged from film to politics to children and finally theater. Angela and Diane discussed her play as the kids all drifted away from the table, and the evening ended in a lively discussion of recent Broadway shows.

Now, Diane leaned back in Michaels’ front seat. “Your sisters are all wonderful.”

“Yes, they are.” He glanced over at her. “Did you have a good time?”

“God, yes. The whole family is terrific.” She had been drinking wine all evening, and felt relaxed and slightly giddy. “You are so lucky to have them.”

“Yes, I know. I’m really blessed.”

“I’m an only child. I always wanted to be part of a big family. I invented a baby brother when I was little.”

“Really? What was his name?”

“Wallace. And he was blond.”

“How long did he last?”

“Oh, he’s still around,” Diane starting to laugh. “Your sisters kept filling my wine glass.”

“No, that was me,” Michael said seriously. “I figured I’d take advantage of you later tonight.’

“Oh, you don’t need wine for that,” Diane said, still laughing. She stopped suddenly. “What time is it?”

“Just a little after nine.”

“Oh.” They were silent for a while. Diane turned in her seat. “So, Angela and Neil have the two little ones?”

Michael nodded. “Right.”

“And Marie has four kids?” she asked.

“Yeah. You met the boys. They’re still young enough to want to hang out. The older girls, well, they’re at that age, you know? They’re kind of anti-family now. They only show up if there are presents involved.”

“Megan and Emily are the same. It’s tough. And Denise?”

“She just spoils her nieces and nephews.”

“I bet you do, too.” He shook his head, and she started to laugh. “No, I bet you buy them stuff and take them places and drive their parents crazy.”

“No, I don’t, really. I’ve watched them, raising their kids. It’s f*ckin’ hard. I don’t want to make it any tougher, you know?”

“What a nice person you are,” Diane said, suddenly serious. “Really. You’re very sweet.”

He glanced at her. They were silent as he pulled into her driveway. She was suddenly aware of the darkness, how near he was to her, the unspoken something that had hung in the air between them for hours.

“Want to come in? I could make some coffee.”

They went into the house together, Diane turning on lights as they walked through the empty living room. She could feel him behind her. He’s waiting, she thought. He’s waiting for me.

She turned suddenly. They were face to face, and she could feel the heat from his body, and his eyes were endless, impossibly blue, and he leaned forward very gently and kissed her. She was trembling, and he kissed her again. This time she kissed him back, softly at first, then with a growing hunger, and her arms went around him, his waist, under the thin fabric of his shirt and pulling him toward her. His body was lean and hard, and she opened her mouth, and she could feel the smoothness of his skin against her hands. As his arms went around her, she made a small noise, like a sob, and then his hands were in her hair, and his lips were brushing her neck, soft, down her throat, a trail of kisses that shook her entire body. She brought her hands up, between them, gripping his shoulders and pushing against him abruptly.

“Stop.”

He let her go, stepped back, and dropped his arms to his side. She pressed her hands against her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” his breathing was strained. “I thought – I’m sorry.”

“No. No, don’t be sorry.” He took a step toward her, hesitant, and she moved away. “I need to think. I can’t think if you touch me.”

He stepped back again, and she pointed. Her hand was shaking. “Sit. Please, sit down.”

He obediently sat down in a wing chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. He was watching her face.

“Okay.” She brushed back her hair with one hand and took a deep breath. “I’m forty-five years old.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Exactly. Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I like being twenty-six.”

She laughed shakily. “Michael, be serious. Doesn’t it bother you that I’m nineteen years older than you?”

He shook his head again. “No. Would it bother you if I was nineteen years older?”

“Please, Michael,” she pleaded, “don’t try to confuse me with logic. It’s not fair.”

He laughed. “Okay. From now on, no more logic. I promise.”

She took another breath. “I haven’t had sex in over six years. Not since before my divorce.”

“Whoa.” He sat back in the chair. “Six years? Shit, nothing like a little pressure.”

“Pressure?” She crossed her arms across her breast, hugging herself. “That’s how much you know. The way I feel right now, the only foreplay I need is for you to unbutton your shirt.”

His mouth twitched. “Oh.”

“Don’t you know how sexy you are? You should read some of your fan sites. I mean, I did, and boy, was I floored.’ She began pacing up and down in front of him, hands flying around her face as she spoke. “But then I saw you on stage. I mean, my God, you’re incredible. You’ve got all this talent and energy and I don’t know what else, and you put it all out there. Shit, Michael, what a turn-on. No wonder all those women want you.”

“That’s what I do,” he said softly. “It’s my job. I love it, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But it’s only what I do. It’s not who I am.”

I know,” she said. She stopped and looked at him, eyes wide and dark. “If that was all this was about, I could just sleep with you and walk away. And believe me, I am so tempted right now. But I know that you are so much more than just that. And this right now, you and I, this is more. At least,” she faltered, “at least I think it is. Unless you just want to get laid. Oh, shit.” She covered her face with her hands. “That’s it, right?” She dropped her hands and looked at him miserably. “You must think I’m a real idiot.”

“No, that’s not it. And I don’t think you’re an idiot.” He spoke quietly, his eyes boring into hers. “I think you’re one of the brightest people I’ve ever met. I love how passionate you are about things, your work, your kids, your whole life. You’re funny and kind and I think you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. When you smile, you break my heart. I think you’re amazing.”

She looked at him, his blue eyes, the dark, straight brow, the angle of his cheekbones. She knew the taste of him now, and desire came over her, filling her chest and throat. “This is happening very fast. I have to decide what I want to do.”

He stood up. “Yeah, I know it’s happening fast. And for the record, yes, I do want you. If there was a cave nearby, I’d knock you over the head and drag you there by your hair. That’s all I’ve been thinking about.” He had been walking toward her, and she had been backing away, until her back hit the wall and she could go no further. He put his hands up, one on either side of her face, and leaned in. “I’ve been watching you all night, and every time you said something, or laughed, or smiled, or ate something, or drank something, I just wanted to touch you.”

She had flattened herself against the wall, palms open, bracing herself. Her eyes were looking into his and she felt warm and dizzy, breathless, and there was a deep, heavy ache between her legs.

He whispered, his breath warm and soft on her hair. “I just want to touch you.” His lips were on her cheek, soft and dry as he spoke. Her lips parted as she turned her head and found his mouth, and she closed her eyes and moved toward him.

A car door slammed outside in the driveway, and they heard the faint beep of a car alarm being set.

Michael straightened and backed away from Diane. Her hands flew to her cheeks and she drew a deep breath.

The front door banged open. Diane whirled, and her daughter Rachel came into the house.

“Hey, Mom.” Rachel was tall, very slender, wearing a mini-skirt and a tight shirt with long flowing sleeves. She looked past her mother to Michael.

“Gee, Mom, I would have been happy with just an autograph, but this is good too.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel. My sisters have been singing your praises all night.”

Michael seemed very calm as he shook her hand. “Michael. Hello. I heard all about you as well. My sister is Angela Bellini.”

“You’re kidding? Dr. Bellini? She is such a nice woman. How is she?”

“Good.” Michael answered easily.

“You had dinner with your dad?” Diane asked. Her voice sounded hoarse, and she cleared her throat.

“Yeah. I’ve been calling you all afternoon, but no answer.” Rachel looked at her mother, then back at Michael.

“My fault,” Michael said. “I roped her into helping my sister paint.”

“Oh, Mom is so good at that,” Rachel exclaimed. “She did a mural on my wall,when I was really little, in our old house, remember Mom? Winnie-the-Pooh. I just loved that room. She could make lots of extra money doing that kind of stuff.”

“Well,” Diane said, giving her daughter a hug, “now that you have a job that pays a living wage, I don’t need to make extra money.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rachel headed for the kitchen, dropping a handful of belongings in a heap on the coffee table. “Can I get a drink of something?”

“Sure, honey, go ahead.” Diane watched her daughter leave the room, and then looked at Michael.

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ve got to fly to Toronto tomorrow.”

Diane nodded. “Rach,” she called, “I’m walking Michael out, okay?”

They walked out to his truck, and he got in silently, slamming the door. He started the truck and sat, staring ahead. Diane leaned in through the open window.

“Your daughter is a knockout,” Michael said.

“Yes, she is. Want me to fix you up?”

He chuckled. “She looks exactly like the last three women I went out with.” He glanced at Diane, then looked away. “I think my tastes have changed.”

Diane reached in and very carefully pushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

“How long will you be in Toronto?” She asked.

“I think until Wednesday. I may be writing a score for a movie up there.”

“Oh, wow. What’s the movie?”

“I don’t really know. Do you know somebody named Prescott? He’s a theater guy, I think.”

“Gordon Prescott? I know who he is. He’s supposed to be a genius. How exciting for you.”

“This is a very exciting time. I’ve never done anything quite like this.” His skin looked very white in the darkness, his eyes lost in the shadows of his face.

“I bet. Imagine, a movie.”

“I’m not just talking about the movie,” he said quietly.

Diane chewed her lip. “When will I see you?” She asked softly.

“We could have dinner. Thursday night.”

Diane shook her head. “No. Megan has an awards thing Thursday. Girls’ softball. How about Friday? The girls go with their father on Friday nights.”

“Good. That would be good. What time?”

“They usually get picked up around six, so, what? Six-thirty?”

“Okay. I’ll call you from Toronto.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I could use a little time, I think.”

He nodded. “If you want to talk or anything, my sisters have my cell phone number. Ask one of them, okay?”

“Okay. I will. Have a good trip.” She backed away from the truck as he pulled away. Diane took several deep breaths, then went back into the house.

Rachel was sitting on the couch, drinking orange juice, legs crossed. “Well, he seems very nice,” she said conversationally. “He’s adorable in person. His eyes are incredible. I wonder if he wears, you know, blue contact lenses.”

“He doesn’t,” Diane replied, sinking into the couch. “All his sisters look just like him. The same blue eyes.”

“Met the family, have we?” Rachel tilted her head as she looked at her mother.

Diane met her daughter’s look. “Yes. I had dinner with them.”

“And you met him, when? Two weeks ago? Not even. Emily told me the story. How cute. Something to tell the grandkids.”

Diane leaned forward. “Why are you angry?” she asked gently.

“You just met him, Mom. I saw how the two of you were looking at each other when I came in. What’s going on?”

Diane sat back. “Are you and Gary having sex?”

“You know what, Mom? That’s none of your damn business,” Rachel said hotly.

“Exactly.”

Rachel’s nostrils flared. “You’re old enough to be his mother.”

“Yes. He and I were just having that discussion. I don’t think he cares all that much.” She leaned forward again. “How is the workshop coming?”

Rachel shrugged. “We start performances in three weeks. Can you come out and see me?”

“In ‘Slaughtered Shakespeare’? I’m not sure my heart can take it, but I’ll try.”

“How many tickets? Will you be bringing a date?”

“I’ll bring your sisters.” Diane chewed her lip. “Rachel, please don’t say anything about Michael being here. Emily and Megan don’t know.”

Rachel shrugged again. “Sure, Mom. Your little secret is safe with me.” She stood up and gathered her things, purse, sweater, a woven carry-all. “I just wanted to stop and say hello. I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”

Diane stood with her. “No, honey, you didn’t interrupt anything. And even if you did, it still would have been fine.” She put her arms around her daughter. Rachel’s body was tense, rigid.

“Drive safe, and call me, okay?”

Rachel kissed her mother on the cheek. “Okay, Mom. Good night.”





Michael left her house with his mind racing. He didn’t want to go home. It was too late to go back to Angela’s. He reached for his cell phone, scanned through the memory, and hit the button for Mark. Mark Bender, his closest friend from high school.

Mark answered, and Michael could tell he was out somewhere from the noise and music in the background.

“Mark, man it’s Michael. Where the hell are you?”

“F*ck, man, we’re at Rollie’s. Come, drink with us.”

“Who’s us?” Michael asked. He knew Rollie’s, a bar in Hoboken, blocks from Marks apartment. Mark drank there when he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive home.

“Well,” Mark said slowly, “there’s Brianne, and Laura, and a blonde who won’t tell me her name. But if the great Mickey Flynn were here, I bet she would.”

“Okay, man. But can I crash at your place? I need to be at the airport tomorrow at eight.”

“In the morning? Jesus, Mike, I thought the tour was over.”

“It is. Toronto is a different thing. I’ll tell you later. I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t leave on me, okay?”

“Hey, we’ll be here.” Michael hung up headed toward Hoboken. He thought about Diane as he drove. God, she was fantastic. Any woman who could hold her own among the Carlucci girls was a rare bird. His sisters were three of the smartest, toughest women he knew, and Diane had stayed right with them. She had even made them laugh. He didn’t often compare the other women in his life to his sisters, simply because so few even came close. But Diane had bowled him over.

She was so sexy, dark, flashing eyes, that shy smile that blazed out unexpectedly. And he could not wait to get his hands on that body. She would be great in bed, he could tell. Smart women, he had found, usually were. She hadn’t had sex in six years. What is wrong with the men around here? He thought. He couldn’t believe she told him that. She must trust him. She must also want him. He felt a flicker of heat. He had been aroused all evening, just watching her, imagining.

She was forty-five. That didn’t bother him. She certainly didn’t look it. Or act it. She had three or four earrings in her left ear, a series of tiny hoops peeking through her hair. She wore a large, onyx ring on her hand, and gold chains around her wrist. She seemed as comfortable in her jeans and sneakers today as she had been in the sleek pant suit she had worn the previous week to dinner. A class act. Maybe that’s why her age didn’t faze him. He knew her strength, poise and grace were as much a part of her as her skin, earned through years of living. Too many women he had met in the past few years were slick and flashy, but without any substance. Diane was the real thing.

He drove past Rollie’s, looking for a place to park his truck. It was a ’99 pick-up, bought with the first check from the first CD NinetySeven recorded. He liked driving it because he didn’t have to worry about it being stolen, scratched, or broken into. He parked on a side street and walked back to the bar. He felt grubby, his jeans blotched with dirt from working outside at Diane’s, and later at his sister’s. He had changed into another shirt, pulled from the duffel bag that was always stashed behind the front seat. He tried to scrape the mud off the side of his sneakers, then gave up. Rollie’s was a neighborhood bar, low-key and casual, so he wasn’t worried about not fitting in.

Mark was at the bar, leaning over a pretty young blonde woman. He saw Michael immediately, and waved him over. Michael took a deep breath. Mark was very drunk, Michael could tell by the silly grin on his friend’s face.

“Mike, come ‘ere, meet my beautiful friend. She didn’t believe me, but I told her you’d be here. She’s a big fan, aren’t you, my beautiful friend?” Mark was good-looking, tall and muscular, with medium brown hair and brown eyes that were currently red-rimmed and un-focused. He had buried his face into the blonde’s hair, but she was not paying attention. She was looking straight at Michael, and he felt a wave of anger as she licked her lips and leaned toward him, completely ignoring his friend behind her.

“Hey,” he said, nodding his head briefly.

“Hey yourself,” she answered, arching her brows. “I missed the show last night, but I listen to you all the time.”

“Thanks. Hey, Mark. Man, how’ve you been?” Michael walked past the blonde and put his arm around Mark’s shoulders.

Mark grinned sloppily. “Mike, glad you could make it.” He put his mouth close to Michael’s ear. “This one is for you, Mike. I saved her just for you.”

“Thanks, Mark,” Michael whispered back, “But not tonight, man, okay?”

Mark looked at the bar and picked up a half-empty glass, sipping it sloppily. The blonde had come around behind Michael and slid her arms around his waist. Michael sighed. He should have gone home. He was in no mood for this.

“Mark,” he said, trying to ignore the girl as she pressed against him, “let’s get out of here. I need to get an early plane tomorrow.”

“That’s right. You’re going to Toronto. What the f*ck is in Toronto?” Mark had finished his drink and was signaling the bartender, who was carefully ignoring him.

“A movie, Mark. I may be doing a movie.” Michael tried to pull away from the blonde. His body was responding to her. Diane was still fresh in his mind, and this woman’s touch was beginning to affect him. He gripped her left wrist and turned to her. “Please, not right now,” he said to her softly.

Mark grabbed Michael and swung him back around. “A movie? A f*ckin’ movie? Jesus, Mike, can I be in your movie?”

Michael tried to maneuver his friend away from the bar. “It’s not my movie, Mark. You ready to get home?”

The blonde slid between Michael and Mark. “Don’t go yet,” she said, smiling. She rubbed herself against him, and he felt an immediate erection. She felt it too.

“See, I knew you’d be happy to meet me,” she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Michael pulled her arms away. “Not now,” he said again, louder, rudely. He grabbed Mark and pushed him ahead, through the crowd. He could hear her voice, shrill, following him outside. He and Mark started down the sidewalk, and she was right behind them.

“Hey, hey wait.” She put herself in front of Michael again. “Your friend here said you were a nice guy. Come on, be nice to me. I’ll be nice to you.” She was stroking him through the rough denim of his jeans, and he suddenly thought how easy it would be, that she would probably f*ck him in the front seat of his truck. He was rock-hard, and she kissed him, her tongue deep in his mouth.

Mark staggered against them, and the blonde shoved him angrily. Mark started yelling, and Michael grabbed him again, pushing him further away.

“Hey, I’m sorry, really,” he called to her. “Listen, I’ll be back here tomorrow, okay?” He hurried Mark along, praying she would not follow. When he glanced back, she was walking back into Rollie’s. Michael sighed thankfully.

He walked them to Mark’s apartment. Mark searched his pockets, dragged out a key, and they went up three flights to a sprawling loft studio. Mark worked on Wall Street, and made easily six figures a year. The rent on his apartment, overlooking the river and Manhattan beyond, was four thousand a month. Michael rolled his friend into a crumpled king-sized bed, then stripped, found a towel and took a long, steaming shower. He dried himself off and stretched out on Mark’s sofa, looking out at the lights of New York. He was exhausted. He squinted at his watch, pushed a few buttons, and set the alarm. 5 o’clock. Even that would be pushing it. Was Toronto considered international? Would he need to be there even earlier? It didn’t matter. As drained as his body was, he was wide awake. After an hour of tossing, he got up, threw his rumpled clothes back on, and drove to the airport. He went through security, checked in, and sat, reading Gordon Prescott’s script, and thinking about Diane.



Diane spent the whole of Sunday working outside. It exhausted her, which is what she had hoped for. The large patch of ground where the azalea had been was going to be a rose garden, she had decided. Since the cutting down of the old maple last fall, she finally had an open, sunny spot in her yard. She cleared the smaller brush, transplanted the pachysandra, and worked bags of peat moss and compost into the soil. When Emily and Megan returned from their father’s at seven that evening, her muscles hurt and she felt she could fall asleep standing upright.

She had had trouble sleeping the night before. She kept thinking about Michael. There was not a thing about him she did not find desirable. He was bright. He made her laugh. He was thoughtful and sensitive. He was obviously crazy about his family. And when he kissed her, she wanted to tear all his clothes off. She hadn’t felt that strong a physical attraction in a long time. She kept feeling his mouth against her skin, and she finally closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers between her legs until she brought herself to a quick, hard climax. Only then could she sleep.

The girls obviously quarreled at their father’s, and it came home with them. Diane was not in the mood. She kept hearing them snipe at each other, and it set her teeth on edge. When Sue Griffen called and suggested a walk, she readily agreed, despite her aching legs. She shouted up to the girls where she was going, and walked outside. Sue was coming down the street, Sharon Ingoe beside her. Sharon was short and sturdy, with legs like tree trunks beneath her shorts, her gray hair cut short. She lived down the street from Diane and Sue, and had known them for years.

Sue waited until Diane got in step with them before she elbowed her friend.

“So? Did he call? Did you see him? Tell us. Sharon knows all about it. What happened?”

Diane gave them a sketchy version of the day before. She told them about Rachel. Her two friends listened without a word. When she was finished, they had walked several blocks, and were in the children’s playground. Sue stopped at a bench and sat down, looking at Diane in amazement.

“Holy shit. You met his family and everything? And you have another date? I can’t believe it.” Sue grabbed Sharon’s arm as the woman sat beside her. “And he’s a doll. I mean it. His face is beautiful. And he’s got the body of a little Greek god.”

Sharon was puffing. “I know what he looks like. My Jack plays those guys 24/7.”

Diane was walking back and forth in front of them.

“Diane, sit and speak.” Sharon patted the bench beside her. “I need details.” She turned at looked at Sue, saying excitedly, “This is just like Danielle Steele.”

Sue shook her head. “Not quite. If this was Danielle Steel, he’d be much taller and Diane would be an exiled Bulgarian princess. But it’s still pretty good.”

“What about Rachel?” Diane looked at her two friends. “She’s angry at me for some reason.”

Sharon waved her hand. “Of course she is. She’s been panting after the guy since she was what, fifteen? I remember the last time they gave a concert here. Rachel drove you crazy. She had Mickey Flynn posters everywhere. And he was just a cute kid then. Now he’s older and sexy and paying attention to her mother.”

Diane sat down between the two women. “But Rachel has been with Gary for over a year. They seem good together.”

Sharon snorted. “So what? Me and Richie are good together, but if George Clooney wandered in and crooked his little finger in my direction, I’d be outta here.”

Diane and Sue burst out laughing.

“That’s not true,” Diane protested. “You’d never leave Richie.”

“Wanna bet? Besides, kids never get that their parents have a sex life. She figured you and Kevin did it three times then folded the tent.”

“It’s uncomfortable.” Diane said. “I’m uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”

Sue smacked her friends’ arm with her open hand. “Go for it. You’re friggin’ forty-five years old. How many more guys like him do you think you’re going to meet?”

“But I’m happy with my life,” Diane said, shaking her head. “You know I am, both of you. I am not looking for a man. So who do I meet? I mean, shit. He’s gorgeous. Okay, so maybe not gorgeous, but, well, yummy.”

Sharon looked at her suspiciously. “Yummy? Did he kiss you?”

“Yes,” Diane said defiantly.

“Any tongue?”

Sue exploded into giggles and Diane blushed. “What is this, high school? Any tongue, my God. We’re grown women here.”

Sharon nodded seriously. “That’s right, and this grown woman wants to know if there was any tongue.”

Diane sat straight. “He’s a great kisser.”

“So, he got you horny, right?” Sharon prodded.

“Okay - yes. Happy?” Diane waved her hand in front of her face to cool her flaming cheeks.

Sharon was nodding. She was very serious. “That’s good, Diane, because if nothing else, you really do need some sex.” The women all laughed again.

“I know.” Diane said ruefully. “I had a hard time sleeping last night. My imagination was getting a little crazy.”

“Want my vibrator?” Sharon asked.

“Get out.” Sue burst out. “You have a vibrator?”

“Hey, Richie’s on the road a lot.” Sharon gave Diane a wicked grin. “So, I guess you’re a cougar now?”

“Oh, shit, why do women who go out with older men have to have a name like that? When it’s the other way around, we don’t call the men anything.”

“Yes, we do,” Sue said. “We call them lucky.”

The women were laughing again, and they giggled and jostled the long way home.