A Different Kind of Forever

Chapter EIGHT

THEY PASSED INTO the summer together. After Emily and Megan moved down with their father, they were together almost every day and night. Michael was working on the score for the movie. The band had decided to take on the project. Michael had been hooked when he saw the first rough takes of the film. Gordon Prescott was filming a version of the Canterbury Tales, with a script based on the original stories. His pilgrims were a group of people taking a bus trip to Atlantic City on the Canterbury Bus Line. During the course of the trip, various tales would be told, all in flashback. It was a fascinating idea, and beautifully acted. For Michael, it was a chance to develop distinct themes for each of the characters. And so it had been agreed. Michael would do the writing. Seth and Joey would produce the soundtrack. The band would record at least three original numbers, and Prescott would get other bands to contribute to the soundtrack.

They spent most of their time at Michael’s house. He would work all morning in his studio. David Go, the elfin Irishman who had been tapped to do the orchestration of the score, had moved into one of Michael’s guestrooms. Seth Bascomb had moved into another. Seth owned five different homes, but none in New Jersey, so he always stayed at Michael’s.

Diane started spending mornings on the sailboat. She had spent enough time with Michael that she felt confident enough to go out on her own. She would go over to Merriweather in the afternoons to prepare for her new class. A graduate level class, an analysis of three works by Arthur Miller, required at great deal of research. This was the kind of work she had not done since her doctorate days, and she enjoyed it thoroughly.

She was invited to Marie’s for the Fourth of July. Marie and Steve had a beautiful 100 year old Victorian in Madison, with high ceilings and beautiful woodwork. Out back there was a large yard and a patio and pool. When she and Michael arrived, the place was already crowded with family, Marie’s friends and co-workers, as well as Steve’s family. Steve was a director for a major pharmaceutical house, and he had invited his whole department.

They mingled with the crowd. Diane had been accepted warmly by his family. Marie waved happily at them, and a few minutes later, Angela came running up to them, her face flushed with the heat.

“I have some hot news for you, Diane.” Angela said, giving Michael a quick kiss on the cheek “Guess who’s back in the States and planning on returning to Merriweather?”

“Not a clue,” Diane said, taking a sip of cold white wine.

“Quinn Harris.” Angela said excitedly. “He’s bringing his Coward revival, the one that did so well last season in London, to the St. James for a limited run, sometime in the spring. Sam told me all about it. So Quinn asked about taking on another class here, this fall. Isn’t that great? That would be such a coup for Sam, getting him back. We got a lot of attention last time, remember? And with your play going on while he’s here could mean some impressive coverage, don’t you think?”

Diane had to take a deep breath. Quinn Harris, back at Merriweather.

“That’s great. For Sam I mean,” Diane said. “Quinn is quite a catch.”

“Who’s Quinn Harris?” Michael asked.

Angela told him. “He’s a very famous director in England, and he was here a few years ago as a visiting Professor. It was very exciting for us drama types.”

Michael had been watching Diane’s face. “Did you know him?” he asked casually.

Diane met his eyes. “Yes. Usually I wouldn’t be hanging around the Merriweather drama department, but Sam had just decided to workshop my play, so I did get to know him.” She smiled briefly, then caught sight of Marie. “Your sister looks like she could use some help.” She gulped more wine and moved away from Michael.

Her heart was pounding. Quinn was returning. She never imagined she would see him again. She could hear voices around her, but they seemed to be at a great distance, and her hands and lips turned icy cold. Quinn.

She had been invited to a cocktail party to welcome Quinn Harris to campus, and she had not wanted to go. But Sam French had insisted, and from the moment she saw Quinn, she could not take her eyes from him. He caught her staring at him, and when she did not turn away, he made his way slowly across the room until it was just the two of them, standing in a quiet corner, talking for a few minutes that made all the difference in the world to both of them. They met the next day for coffee, early in the morning, and by dinner that evening she had fallen, so swiftly and surely that she could not even remember how she had felt about her life before she met him. That evening he told her about his wife. He would leave her, he said. They would be together. They were meant to be together. And she had believed him. But in the end she had said no. He was married. She said no, and her heart had broken.

Diane reached over to take a basket of grilled chicken from Marie’s hands, setting it on the table. Now Quinn was divorced and coming back. She had not thought about him in months, certainly not since Michael. Now, knowing she would see him again caused a powerful reaction, totally unexpected and unwelcome. Diane had no desire to face him again. She did not want any old wounds reopened.

Michael had come up behind her and put his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the table and against him.

“My sister has hired scores of people to help her with this stuff,” he said into her ear. “You‘re supposed to be a guest, remember?”

Diane smiled and leaned back against him. “Sorry. It’s automatic.”

“Yeah, well you’re depriving people of their gainful employment.”

She rubbed her hands against his arms. “Sorry.”

Diane could feel the question hanging in the air before he asked it. “What about this Quinn Harris?”

Diane chewed her lip. “Did you ever meet somebody, and in like, three minutes you’re thinking, wow, this is who I’ve been waiting for my whole life?”

Michael stepped back away from her. When Diane turned around, his face was blank.

Diane continued. “Well, that’s how I felt when I met Quinn. But he was married. So nothing really happened. Then he went back to England.” She reached out to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw, running her fingertips over his lips. “It was a long time ago. Things are different now.”

“There was something in your face, when Angela was talking about him,” Michael said.

“It was a long time ago,” Diane repeated. “I’m hungry. And I need to cool off.”

He kissed her. “Okay.”





By the second week of July, Sam French began casting for ‘Mothers and Old Boyfriends’. Diane began spending time at Merriweather in the mornings. She was enthralled by the whole process. They were casting ten male and eight female roles, and because the Merriweather program had been so well received for a number of years, the caliber of people auditioning was high, many known theater and television actors from Manhattan.

In ten days, they had a cast, and they began to read through her script. It was then that her real work began. She and Sam discussed which lines were working, which sounded hollow, where the laughs were. Diane was not a good collaborator, but she knew Sam was thinking only of the best for her play, and she made extensive notes on his suggestions, as well as suggestions from the cast. It was difficult for her to see characters that she created and felt belonged to her become absorbed by the actors, and the line between the character and the person portraying the character became blurred.

Michael listened to her, nodding in sympathy as she tried to articulate her frustration. They were sitting in her back yard, and she was pacing her patio, trying to explain. He grabbed her, pulled her into his lap, and kissed her soundly.

“I know exactly how you feel. There were times I’d write a song, spend all this time on, it, agonizing over each note, and the band would hear it, and they’d be, like, ‘that’s the best song you’ve ever written, man’, and I’d be thinking how f*ckin’ great I was, then Seth would say, ‘hey, maybe we should do this’, and Phil would say, ‘let’s change this chord’, and in fifteen minutes, the best thing I ever wrote would be completely different. It sucks. I know how hard it is to turn this over to somebody else. But unless you want to act all the roles yourself, you’ve got to allow for a little, well, freedom of interpretation.”

“I know. I guess the whole time I was writing, I never thought it would be actually performed, so what’s been in my head for all this time is hard to shake loose.” Diane kissed him right behind the ear, then began taking small bites on his neck

“Your neighbors are watching,” Michael murmured as she slid her hand under his shirt.

“Are they holding up scorecards?” She asked. “I think we deserve at least a 9.2.”

“I think we deserve even more, but we either have to wait ‘till it gets darker, or maybe go inside.” His hands were moving up the inside of her thighs.

She stood up, grabbed his hand, and led him into the house.





“You don’t text.”

“Neither do you.”

“Yes, I do. I text the girls all the time, especially now that they’re down the shore.”

“Who would I text? All the people I need are right here.”

“You don’t Tweet, either.”

Michael laughed. “Seth is in charge of all that. He’s the maven of all Social Media.”

“And you don’t have a Facebook page.”

“My life isn’t that interesting. What would I put on a Facebook page?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t yours the generation that must be in constant contact with everyone and everything?”

“Maybe. I’m an old-fashioned guy at heart. I don’t even like talking on the phone all that much. My cell is five years old. I’m not even sure I can text.”

“Your fans must be disappointed in you.”

“If they knew I was spending the morning naked in bed with you, some of them would be very disappointed.”

“True. Do you think if people found out about us, it could hurt your career?”

“Are you kidding? You sexy older women are very in right now. I’d be the envy of all my fans.”

“Ah. Is that why you keep coming around?”

His hand, which had been resting lightly on her stomach, suddenly moved.

“That’s one reason. Here’s another.”





They fell into a pattern as the summer wore on. The nights they spent at Diane’s, they would cook out on the grill, often asking Sue Griffen and her husband Pete to join them. Michael and Pete were both Mets fans, and after dinner, Diane and Sue would take a walk around the neighborhood and the two men would watch the ball game together. Sometimes, Sharon and her husband Richie would come by and the four of them would go out to Richie’s favorite pub. Richie played darts, and he began coaching Michael, who was a quick study and became fairly proficient. Sometimes, all three couples would meet at one home or another for drinks. Michael liked her friends. They liked him as well.

At Michael’s, there were a string of guests that came and went even if Michael was not at home. Mark Bender would come by to sail into the middle of the lake, then spend the day fishing. Theresa Milano, Michael’s first childhood love, would drive in on days off, swim laps for an hour, then fall asleep on Michael’s shady, perfectly mown lawn. His family came by often, to sail or to fish, often staying for dinner and far into the night.

Members of the band dropped in and out, checking on the progress of Michael’s work. They were starting to lay down tracks for the singles on the soundtrack. The Martone brothers did not want to spend any more time away from home, so the band decided to do as much work in Michael’s studio as possible. The band worked quickly together.

She started making dinner at Michael’s, two or three nights a week. She would stop by the store on her way back from Merriweather, and come back to his house with bags of groceries. Fred Chu, a Buddhist and vegetarian, never accepted her invitation to join them. He cooked and ate his own meals in the apartment he lived in over Michael’s three-car garage. Diane loved to cook, and Michael would often wander out of his studio to watch her. Seth and David Go would join them. For Diane, it was like cooking for a new kind of family.





She was careful they didn’t spend a full week together. She found reasons to spend a night alone. She would drive down to the shore to see her daughters, staying at a motel. She would start cleaning her house, pulling closets apart, calling Michael late in the afternoon saying she was going to stay there and finish up. She would catch the bus to Manhattan and spend the night at Rachel’s.

For the first time in a long time, Diane felt she was slightly out of control. Her feelings for Michael were a complete surprise to her. Her physical desire for him was intense. She would find herself, in the middle of the day, doing something as ordinary as washing dishes or watering plants, when a sudden wave would come over her, beginning as a throb deep in her belly and moving up, a physical jolt, leaving her breathless and wanting.

But she knew, and not just from the many nights that she slept peacefully beside him without passion, that it was not just his touch that held her to him. He had a boundless energy and enthusiasm about everything that she found a complete delight. They could talk about any subject. They laughed a great deal together. When she was with him, the world was in sharper focus. When they were apart, she found countless things to remember to tell him, to ask him about. Her solitude was no longer a comfort to her. It was just time spent waiting to see him again.

She thought that she was in love with him. She would turn to Jasper and say the words aloud, trying on the sound of them.

“I think I love Michael.” Her voice was always in a whisper when she said it. The cat would blink wisely in response. She would take a deep breath and go on with her day. But the thought was always there, crowding out the quiet and carefully planned life that she imagined she would be living.

“I think I love him,” she would say to herself, driving out to his house. She sometimes reasoned that Michael was so irresistible to her because she had married relatively young. She had missed the sexual adventures of other women her age. She had slept with only a few other men before meeting Kevin, her high school sweetheart and a couple of brief college flings. She had loved Kevin deeply when they married. She was twenty-one, just out of college, and he, being five years older, had not wanted to wait. She continued to love him for many years into their marriage, and had remained faithful to him, despite the attention other men may have paid to her.

She wondered if she was just another sexually frustrated middle-aged woman responding to the attention of a younger man, but she dismissed the idea, because she realized that the spark that had been there from the very beginning, the thing that had drawn her to him from the very first day, was still going strong. He made her happy. From the moment she met him, it was not just passion he stirred in her. It was more. It was joy. And she had no idea what to do next.

If she was away more than a day, Michael would drive over to her house, unannounced. She was always there, waiting for him. Sometimes, he would come around the back of her house, and see her in the yard, tending her roses. He would wait outside the gate, not wanting the brass bell to give him away, and watch her as she weeded or raked. Her movements were quick and graceful, her concentration complete. She did not realize he was there, watching her, until he would call to her, or push open the gate. Sometimes he would walk into the house, and she would be in the kitchen, music blaring, dancing alone in front of the stove, and again he would watch her until he could resist no longer, and he would join her, and they would dance together in her tiny kitchen.

He hated them being apart. Gordon Prescott was bearing down on him, a huge, suffocating cloud that blotted out everything else. Michael spoke to him sometimes four or five times a day. FedEx delivered revised tapes several times a week. Prescott wanted him in Toronto. He wanted to know at every moment what Michael was doing, and Michael, used to the freedom of writing alone, under no restraints, was in agony. Diane was the one cool, soothing presence in his life. The nights she was not with him he spent awake, on his studio, with David Go, or Seth. Without her there, the movie pressed down upon him relentlessly. Her presence forced him to live a normal life.

They went into Manhattan together. Diane went to see Shakespeare in the Park. Michael followed gamely. He was not passionate about theater the way she was, and he did not like New York, but her excitement was contagious. They had dinner with Rachel. Rachel’s boyfriend, Gary, was a third year law student, clerking at a large firm on Madison Avenue. He was also a huge music fan, and he and Michael would get into long, rambling discussions of obscure bands, European bands, and techno-music. Gary was twenty-five. Rachel and Diane slipped back into their old relationship, much to Diane’s relief.

By the first week of August, Michael and David Go began to try to figure out what Toronto would be like for them. David thought they would need six weeks to record the score, at least. The tracks for NinetySeven were almost complete. Joey and Seth would produce the rest of the soundtrack, so Michael would not be needed for any further recording. Gordon Prescott did not believe in time off. Michael knew it would be a grueling time, not only physically, but he would be away from Diane. Thank God it’s only Toronto, he thought. He could fly back easily enough, for a day at a time. And she could fly up to see him on the weekends.





“What are you doing?”

Diane was in his bedroom, on her mat. “It’s called the Gate Pose.”

“Yoga? I didn’t know you did yoga.”

“Hey, a girl is entitled to a few secrets, you know?”

“Sure. Okay, what’s that one?”

“Downward Facing Dog.”

“Really? It looks like Take Me From Behind.”

She collapsed on the mat in a fit of giggles. “Michael, I was trying to focus.”

“Me too. I gotta tell you, that is a very good look for you.”

She wiped her neck and chest with a towel that she threw into the colorful tote bag she carried back and forth to his house.

“You’re taking home your towel? Why?”

She threw him a look. “I don’t want one of your minions doing my laundry.”

“Minions? I don’t have minions.”

“Of course you do. You have a person for everything around here.”

“No.”

“No? Then who does your laundry?”

He grinned. “I take it downstairs, knock on the secret panel, give the password, a blind, one-eyed gypsy takes it, and the next day, it reappears in the closet. Isn’t that how everybody does it?”

She had rolled up her mat, and now swatted him playfully with it. “You are impossible.”

He grabbed her. “Maybe. But since you’re all hot and sweaty anyway, want to try that Downward Dog thing again?”





“Tomorrow night I’ll be staying at my place,” she told him, stretching her legs out in front of her. They were out on the terrace of Michael’s house, sipping wine, watching the sun set over the lake. Diane had cooked dinner for them. “Sharon’s got the girls together. We’re all hitting the town.”

“Ah. The mythical Girls Night Out. What is it you all do together, anyway?”

“Well, we’re currently plotting to take over the world by manipulating the stock market to resurrect all the tech stocks, which we’ve been secretly buying up all year long. Then we’ll sacrifice a couple of chickens, and drink and dance naked around a statue of Simone de Beauvoir.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and nodded. “That’s what I would have guessed.”

Diane smiled. “We’ll go to Maxwell’s, probably. We can walk there, so we can all drink, and we’ll probably dance, but with our clothes on.”

“What a disappointment.”

“Then we’ll sit around and drink some more and talk about our kids and our jobs and complain about men.”

“Complain about men?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s inevitable.”

“God. You all are going to crucify me, right?”

“No.” Diane patted his hand. “You’re the new guy. I promise we’ll be very kind to you.”

“Gee thanks. I like your friend Sharon, but I would not want to be on her bad side.”

“Don’t worry. She likes you too. She thinks you’re cute. And besides, you told her you could get her Lyle Lovett’s autograph.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? I’d better not forget. I’ll call him this week.”

“You’d better, ‘cause you’re right about Sharon. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”



There were five of them, sitting at an outside table at Maxwell’s, waiting for the band to start playing again. They had met at Sharon’s and walked the six blocks, and were all feeling no pain. Ginny Smith, the youngest of the group at 36, was pouring margaritas from a pitcher. Carol Coopersmith, divorced and always on the look-out, had been flirting with the waiter. Sharon had a fight with Richie before leaving and was feeling feisty. Sue and Diane had been giggling all night.

They had spent the first part of the evening catching up, comparing vacations, the kids, and the heat. When the band had started playing, they all got up on the dance floor. Maxwell’s was a popular spot with all ages, and they were not the oldest people dancing. During the seven or eight songs that played, Diane was asked to dance by three different men. She declined the offers. When the set had ended, and they were back at the table, Diane gulped another drink.

“Okay,” she announced loudly, “I have been coming here for years without incident, and tonight I get hit on three different times.” She looked around the table. “I need somebody to explain this to me.”

Carol Coopersmith leaned forward. She was very attractive, sleek blonde hair, tall and thin, brilliant blue eyes. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger.

“I have a theory,” she said. “It’s because you’re in love.”

Diane blinked as all four women looked at her. “What?”

Carol nodded. “You know how, in nature, when a female is ready to mate, she sends out something, a phoneme or something-“

“Pheromone,” Sue corrected.

“Thank you. So anyway, the female sends out this pheromone thing and every male in the neighborhood knows she’s ready for sex and comes a-calling. Well, I think it happens to us. When a woman is in love, and knows she’s going to go home and have great sex, she sends out her own little pheromone and every guy in the room smells it, and figures he might be able to get a first crack. That’s why women who aren’t dating never get approached. But women in a hot relationship are like magnets.” Carol shrugged and took a drink. “And that’s my theory.”

Diane looked around the table. Sue and Sharon were grinning. Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Are you?” Ginny asked.

“Am I what?” Diane sputtered.

“Going home and having great sex?” Ginny kept a straight face, but Sue was starting to giggle.

“Of course she is,” Carol announced. “We all know who she’s been seeing. How could she not? Besides, what do you think they do together? Play chess?”

Diane was annoyed. “Now, wait a minute, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Carol shrugged innocently. “Listen, Diane, I say more power to you. If you can keep somebody like him waiting up for you, that’s great. But don’t try to tell us there’s actually something going on aside from sex. He’s what, not even thirty? What else could you have in common with him?”

“WHAT?” Diane leaned across the table as Sue reached over and took hold of her arm. Diane glared at Carol.

“Listen. Michael and I have tons in common. We both love Aretha and hate Prince, we both like Spanish films, we both read Eastern philosophy, and we hate pro football. We have a great time together, and I can’t believe you would think that.”

Carol blushed and looked closely at Diane. “Well, I guess I stand corrected. I didn’t think you actually, well, dated.”

Sharon had been looking at Carol critically. “What did you think, Carol? That she had him stashed in a motel room somewhere and just dropped in for servicing?”

The women all laughed as Diane rolled her eyes. “God, Carol. I mean, yeah, he’s younger, but so what? Would this be a big deal if he were twenty years older? No.”

Ginny waved a pretzel in the air. “If he were twenty years older, we probably wouldn’t be so interested in the sex part,” she said.

Sharon burst out laughing, burying her face in her hands. Sue looked at Ginny and patted her hand. “Well, Carol might still be interested,” she told Ginny soothingly.

“It’s just that dating is so different at our age,” Carol said. “Diane knows what I mean. In your twenties, you’ve got all the time in the world to date around, and you can spend time with a guy who may or may not be the one.” She shrugged. “In your forties, especially with kids, you don’t have time to f*ck around, unless you want to just f*ck around, you know? Come on, Diane,” she waved her glass. “Tell them. You know by the third or fourth date if a guy is going to be a wash-out. You can’t afford to waste time on a maybe. So, if you stick with a guy for any length of time, it’s either sex, or it must be pretty serious.” She tilted her head and leaned back in her chair. “So tell us, Diane,” she asked, smiling, “is it serious?”

Diane scrunched up her nose, making a face, and stared into her drink.

Sue explained. “Diane is having a hard time reconciling her two selves, the staid professor and respected mother by day, crazed groupie by night.”

“I am not a crazed groupie,” Diane said stoutly. “I’m the keyboard player’s hunny bunny.”

Ginny frowned. “Do musicians in rock bands have hunny bunnies?”

Sharon shuddered. “No. And that sound you hear is Jim Morrison rolling over in his grave. I can’t believe you still haven’t figured this out,” she said to Diane disapprovingly. “Jesus Christ, why are you so wishy-washy about this? Why don’t you just admit that you’re crazy about him?”

“Okay,” Diane said happily. “I am crazy about him.”

“Oh good,” Ginny chirped. “Can we get shots now?”

“Yes. We need to celebrate.” Sharon said as she looked around for the waiter.

“And is he crazy about you?” Carol asked.

“Shit, yes,” Sharon answered. “You should see them together. He’s a doll. He laughs at all her jokes.”

Diane looked at Sharon haughtily. “I happen to be a very funny person.”

“Not that funny, sweets. And he stares at her.”

Diane looked at her in surprise. “He does?”

Sue nodded in agreement. “Yep, he sure does. But you stare at him too, so it’s okay.”

“I do?”

Sharon was emphatic. “Oh, yeah, all the time. Face it kiddo, you’re in love.”

“Wait.” Diane felt panicked. “God, that’s what this is, right?” She chewed her lip as a shot glass of tequila was set down in front of her. “I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think? Maybe I’m in love?”

“It’s an age-old question,” Carol said sadly. “Is the sex great because you’re in love, or are you in love ‘cause the sex is so great?”

“I think the pheromones have spoken.” Ginny said, reaching for the salt shaker.

“Let’s just drink up in a hurry. The band is about to start again.”

It was after two in the morning when they left Maxwell’s. They walked back slowly, laughing and singing. They dropped off Ginny first, then back-tracked toward the street where Sue and Diane lived. As they approached Diane’s house, she could see Michael’s truck in the driveway.

“He’s here,” she said happily. “He drove down to see me.”

Sue squinted. “Does he have a key to your house?”

“Yep.” Diane nodded. “He sure does.”

Sharon looked at her sideways. “Do you have a key to his place?”

Diane shook her head. “I don’t need a key. He has an electric pad thingy to get in. I know the code, but Fred is always there. Fred lets me in.”

Carol had her arm around Sue’s shoulder. “Who is Fred?”

“The butler,” Sue said carefully. “Michael has a butler.”

“Ooooh, really?” Carol made a face.

“Yep.” Diane giggled. “I think I’m a little drunk,” she whispered loudly.

“Me too,” said Sue, “but we’re almost home.”

They went up Diane’s walk. Diane fumbled in her purse for her keys, and Sue leaned against the doorbell. Diane made shushing noises, giggling as she tried to fit the key into the lock. She was leaning her head against the door, fumbling with the lock, when the door opened and Diane stumbled forward. Michael caught her, straightening her up.

She broke into a wide smile. “Honey, I’m home,” she sing-songed.

Michael stood, shirtless, jeans low on his hips, squinting at the women. He had obviously been asleep. He looked at Diane, then at her friends, and smiled groggily.

“So, I guess you had a good time.”

Diane walked around, stood behind him, and put her arms around his waist, head on his shoulder. “We were celebrating,” she told him.

He chuckled. “Celebrating what?”

“My rhizomes,” Diane said distinctly. Sharon and Sue began to laugh. Carol held out her hand. “Hi, Michael. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. I’m Carol.”

Michael shook her hand, then looked over at Sue. “Okay, what do I do? I’ve never seen her this drunk before,” he said.

“Well,” Sue explained, “luckily, the situation is not dangerous, only embarrassing.”

“Am I embarrassing you?” Diane asked him in a loud whisper.

“Of course not,” he said with a smile. He looked sideways at her. “You’re adorable.”

Sharon sighed. “See,” she said to Carol, “I told you. Good night, Michael.”

“Good night. Hey, wait, should I walk you home? Sharon, are you going to be okay?”

“Thanks, we’ll be good,” Sharon told him. “Carol is crashing at my place, so we’ll get Sue home and stagger the rest of the way together.”

“Unless,” Carol purred, “it’s too much trouble, Sharon. I’d hate to impose. Maybe Michael could drop me home?”

Sharon snorted in disgust. “Forget it, babe. That ain’t workin’ here.” Sharon waved. “G’night Diane. Sleep tight.”

Michael closed the door and turned around to face Diane. She stood, leaning forward against him, still smiling.

“I had a good time,” she told him, “but I think I need to go to bed now.”

“I think so too. Can you find the bathroom? Can you get undressed?”

Diane nodded, determined. “Of course I can.” She straightened up, turned around, and marched down the hallway. Michael shook his head, went into the kitchen and poured a large glass of orange juice. Passing back through the living room, he locked the door, turned out the lights, and waited until Diane came out of the bathroom. She had changed into a tee shirt, and grinned when she saw him.

“Here you are again,” she exclaimed happily. Michael went into the bathroom and came out with a bottle of aspirin. She was sitting on the bed, and he spilled out two tablets into his hand.

“Take these,” he said, trying to sound stern, “and drink all the juice.”

She did as he said; handing him the glass, then fell back onto the bed. He picked up her feet and pulled the sheet over her, turned off the light, stripped out of his jeans and got into the other side of the bed. She immediately curled to face him.

“I hope I’m not hung over tomorrow,” she whispered.

“Me too. The juice should help, and the aspirin. You’ll be fine.”

“I had a lot of fun. I have really great friends.”

“Yes, you do.” He could feel her body, pressed against him, starting to relax. He lowered his voice a little.

“You friend Carol seems nice, too.”

“She’s a bitch, sometimes,” Diane told him sleepily. “She thought the only reason we were together was because of sex. She didn’t think we could have anything else in common. Sharon yelled at her.”

“Sharon did?”

“Um huh.”

“And you said?”

“I said we had tons in common.”

“That’s true.”

“Um huh. Then Sharon said I was in love,” she murmured.

He held his breath. “And you said?”

“I said maybe,” she breathed, as she fell asleep, and he lay next to her, staring into the darkness.

She awoke once, near dawn, and went into the bathroom for more aspirin. When she climbed into bed, he opened one eye.

“Drink more juice,” he said.

She nodded as she slid back to sleep, “I did.” When she awoke again, the sun was shining weakly and she was alone. She looked at the clock. It was after ten. She lay still, her head barely throbbing. Good. She got up and went into the bathroom. She stood under the shower until the last of the headache was gone. She stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, and put on gym shorts and a tee shirt. As she went into the hall, Michael called from the kitchen.

“Get back in bed. It’s too wet to sit outside. It rained all morning while you were still asleep. I’ll be right in.”

She climbed back into the bed, plumping the pillows behind her. Michael appeared with a tray, laden with coffee cups, muffins, and the morning paper.

“Oh, God, look at this.” Diane watched as he set the tray in the center of the bed. She grabbed a mug and sipped coffee gratefully. “This is so delicious. And I need this so badly, you have no idea. And muffins? You went out to the bakery in the rain? You are an angel. Really.”

He carefully got into bed beside her. “So, how are you? How’s the head?”

She reached for a muffin. “So far, so good. I think you saved my life last night with the juice. I feel almost normal. Thank you so much.” She broke apart a muffin and glanced up to find him watching her.

“You were celebrating rhizomes?” He asked.

She laughed softly. “We were sure as hell celebrating something,” she said ruefully. “God knows what I said last night. Half I don’t remember, and the other half was a crock of shit. But I did have a good time, I remember that.” She chewed her muffin and sipped more coffee. When she glanced at him again, he was very still, gazing at her thoughtfully.

He leaned forward. “Do you remember what you said to me last night? About being in love?”

The blood rushed to her face. She could not look at him. She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember. Oh, Michael, I wish I were sure.”

“I have never felt more positive about anything in my whole life.”

She looked at him then. “What?”

“I’m in love with you.”

She caught her breath.

“I’m in love with you,” he said again. “I think I have been from that very first day. There hasn’t been a moment in months that I haven’t thought about you, wanted to be with you. You are the sweetest, truest, best thing I have ever found, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”

“Oh,” she whispered, as she broke into a smile. She felt a rush of happiness. She stared down into her coffee, then back up at Michael. He had a half smile on his face.

“I’m overwhelmed.” She put the mug back on the tray. She was still smiling, feeling young and silly and happy. “Michael, I just – oh, my.” She reached out and grabbed him, pulling him toward her, kissing him, small, excited kisses on his lips and face. She was half laughing, and he took her by the shoulders, kissing her deeply.

She stopped laughing. “I don’t know, Michael. I think I am in love with you. But I’m not sure.” She stroked his cheek. “Is that going to be enough for you?”

“Are you kidding? It’s fine, it’s great.” His eyes were bright. “I’ll take it.” He kissed her again, and she sank into the pillows.

“I need to celebrate again,” she whispered.

“Again?”

“Long story. Move the tray. Kiss me again.”

He did.



The next week she stopped by her house and there was a message from Sharon for her to call.

“I need new toes,” Sharon complained. “Let’s get a pedicure and have lunch. I haven’t seen you in days.”

Diane looked at her feet. “Good idea. Actually, I think I need a total tune up. How about TonyO’s?”

“Wow, aren’t we fancy schmancy? Can we get something for tomorrow on short notice?”

Diane flipped through the phone book. “It’s summertime and everyone is off somewhere else. I’ll call. I’ll let you know.”

When Sharon walked into Antonio’s Day Spa the next morning, Diane was waiting for her. Sharon looked at her closely as they sat down, plunging their feet into foaming water.

“Did you get your eyebrows done?” Sharon asked.

“Yes. And a bikini wax, mud treatment and a facial. I feel like I’ve been here since dawn.”

“Since when do you spring for all the extra treatments?” Sharon spoke cautiously. She knew that Diane, while financially comfortable, did not have a lot of extra money. And everything at Antonio’s was very expensive.

Diane looked guilty. “Well, with the girls gone and Michael feeding me, I felt I could splurge.”

Sharon nodded her head slowly. “Sure. But since when have you been getting facials? And mud? What the hell is that about?”

Diane took in a deep breath. “A couple of nights ago, Michael and I went to the movies, and afterwards, I went to the bathroom, and you know how those lines are, so I was in there for a while, and when I came out, this incredible girl was talking to Michael. Sharon, she was gorgeous, legs up to her neck, boobs out to there, swinging all this long hair around. I just looked at her and felt, well, old and run-down. So I figured I’d treat myself to a little sprucing up.”

“Shit.” Sharon said angrily. “You look fantastic, Diane.”

Diane looked at her friend. “I know I do. I think I look great for my age. But I’m still forty-five, you know? My boobs sag, I’ve got those great little lines around my eyes, my jaw line is soft and puffy, not to mention the gray hair.”

Sharon snorted. “Now wait. Your hair always looks terrific. I haven’t seen gray on your head in a long time.”

Diane made a face. “I’m not talking about the hair on my head,” she said wryly.

Sharon sighed. “Oh, that gray hair. Yeah, that really sucks.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve never been very self conscious about my appearance before, but now it seems important, you know?”

Sharon was watching her friend’s face. “What does Michael say about all this? I mean, I don’t know him all that well, but he seems very, I don’t know, unimpressed by the physical. Or material. He’s really down-to-earth, isn’t he?”

Diane chewed her lip. “He is. He would never say anything. He tells me I’m beautiful and sexy and gorgeous, no matter how I really look.”

Sharon sighed. “So, what gives?”

Diane watched as bright coral polish went on to her toes. “He told me he was in love with me.”

“But that’s great!” Sharon exclaimed.

“I know it is. It’s better than great. I’ve been walking around with this huge ridiculous grin on my face, feeling like a silly fifteen-year-old. And then I saw him with this woman and it just, I don’t know. It made me feel perfectly awful. I wanted to scratch her eyes out.”

“Jealous? My goodness. So you must be in love with him after all.”

“I don’t know, Sharon.”

Sharon looked at her closely. “What’s holding you back?”

“Well, for one thing, I just spent a small fortune trying to make myself look ten years younger because of him.”

“No, Diane, you did that because of you. He doesn’t care, remember?”

“I’m suddenly feeling very insecure about things. Does that make any sense?

Sharon raised her eyebrows. “You? Insecure? Jesus, Diane. That’s ridiculous.”

Diane shook her head miserably. “I know. It’s becoming serious and I’m a little freaked.”

“That’s understandable. I can’t imagine what it would be like to fall in love at our age, with all we know and have been through. It’s got to be huge.”

“It is. And I feel I’ve got more at stake than he does, but that’s not very fair, is it?”

“Maybe not fair, but true. You’ve got kids to think about, and he may be a smart guy, but he’s clueless when it comes to all that.”

“Exactly.”

“Still, I think the two of you are great together.”

“I do too. I just wish I were ten years younger.”

“Hey, don’t we all?”



When she got back to Michael’s, David Go was sitting in the kitchen, watching Fred take apart three large, cooked lobsters. David reminded her of a garden gnome, small, bald, and ugly. He was charming and funny, and, according to Michael, very talented.

He grinned up at her. “Hello, love. You and Michael will be feasting tonight. Look at the size of those blighters.”

“Fred, I said I’d cook tonight,” Diane admonished.

Fred shrugged. “You will make him fat. Too much carbohydrate. Too much dessert. You very good cook, I can tell. You treat food with much respect. But he needs protein tonight. He worked all day. Mr. Prescott called four times.”

Diane looked at David. “Oh, no. How bad?”

David shrugged. “Prescott is a f*cking maniac. But Michael’s tough. Go on in, we’re done. He’s floating around in there somewhere. I’m off to Manhattan. I’ll be back tomorrow sometime.”

“Have fun. Are you sure I can go back there?” Diane never interrupted Michael when he was working.

“Yes. Have him play for you what we did today. He’s bloody brilliant, our Michael. Really. I’ve been doing this a long time. He’ll win awards, if Prescott doesn’t kill him.”

She walked back towards the studio. Music was playing, a woman’s voice, very sweet and Celtic. She looked into the studio, a long, windowless cave-like space that always intimidated her. It was empty. She took another few steps into his office and looked in.

Michael’s office was covered on two walls with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, crammed with books, papers, his awards, and souvenirs of his travels. There was also a television and stereo equipment on the shelves, a few videos, and CDs. One wall was solid glass, overlooking the front expanse of yard. The last wall was filled with his desk, a long, cluttered work table filled with two computers and various printers, fax machines and a copy machine. There was a battered leather sofa by the window, and a large leather swivel chair in front of the desk

He was there, barefoot, dressed in shorts and a polo shirt, listening very carefully to the music playing. She could see the concentration on his face, the complete stillness of his body. She did not interrupt him, but listened with him as the song ended. He sensed her, turned, and broke into a smile.

“Hi. You’re back.”

She crossed over to him and kissed him lightly. “Yes. David says you’re to play something for me. He says you’re bloody brilliant.”

“Listen to this girl. Prescott wants her for the ballad. What do you think?”

“I like her. She’s got a great quality to her voice.”

Another song started up. “Yes, she does,” Michael said. “She’s well trained. I never had voice lessons. I just open my mouth and hope for the best. But she’s got great control.”

Diane sat down and began to spin around on the swivel chair. Michael reached over to pick up a stack of papers, a fax from Prescott, frowning. He glanced at her.

“I like your toes,” he said, smiling quickly.

“Thanks. They’re supposed to make me look devastatingly sexy.”

He chuckled, still reading. “You’re already sexy,” he murmured, flipping a page.

“As sexy as that blonde the other night?”

He was frowning again. “What blonde?”

Diane stopped spinning and was watching him as he read, eyes moving, looking displeased.

“At the movies.”

He was shaking his head at something, then glanced up at her again. “You mean Janice?”

“Janice? She told you her name?”

Something in her voice made him look back up. “Yes. Her name was Janice.”

“Did she come on to you?”

He put down the papers. “She invited me for a drink.”

Diane sat up straighter. “What did you say to her?”

Annoyance flickered in his voice. “What do you think I said? I said sure, and we drove to her place, had a couple of drinks, then I f*cked her and drove back to the theater, just in time for you to come out of the bathroom.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you pissed off at me now?”

Michael took in a deep breath. “What are you doing? What is this all about?”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are.” He was angry. She could hear the hard edge in his voice. She had heard it before, but never directed toward her, and braced herself against him.

“You’re trying to pick a fight,” he continued. “I had never met that woman before, and will never see her again, and you’re trying to make something out of it. If anyone has a reason to be jealous, it’s me, not you.”

She stared at him. “What have you got to be jealous about?”

“Your old boyfriend is coming back, isn’t he? In a couple of weeks?”

“Who are you talking about?” she asked, angrily.

“The Englishman. Harris.”

Diane clamped her jaw. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“And what the hell has Janice to do with anything? I didn’t spend three minutes with her and decide I wanted to spend the rest of my f*cking life with her, as you apparently did with Harris. It’s funny, we’ve been together every day for weeks and you can’t figure out if you’re in love with me or not, but you made up your mind about him quick enough.”

“I told you that was a long time ago.”

“Not so long, Diane. Only two years ago. Were you in love with him?”

She chewed her lip. “Yes.”

“Did you f*ck him?”

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, her eyes blazing. “Yes, I wanted to. I wanted to go off to London and marry him. I fantasized about bringing up the girls in England. I used to imagine terrible things happening to his wife so we could be together.” The words were coming faster now. “I thought that if I could spend the rest of my life with him, I’d never ask for another thing. When I made up my mind not to see him anymore, I spent two days in my room crying. If I saw him on campus, I’d have to run in the other direction because it hurt so much. After he left, I actually bought a ticket to London so I could fly after him. When I cancelled the ticket, I was drunk for a night and a day. Is that what you want to hear, Michael? How much I wanted Quinn Harris?”

“Do you still want him?” Michael’s voice was quiet, his face pale.

“I’m with you, Michael,” she said softly.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No,” she said tiredly. “I guess it doesn’t.” She stood up and walked across the room, staring out the window.

“Quinn was like a dream come true,” she said softly. “He was kind and thoughtful and charming and brilliant, really brilliant. It wasn’t just who he was that I fell in love with, but what he represented, the kind of life I could have had with him. It was the kind of life I had always thought I wanted. Until I met you. Now I don’t know what I want.”

She turned and looked at him, taking a deep breath. “I never imagined I could be happy with somebody like you. Not just the age thing, but everything about you is just so different from what I’ve been planning for the rest of my life. Do I still want Quinn? How can I? What I feel when I’m with you is so far removed from anything I imagined with Quinn. It’s like wanting to walk and then learning to fly. It’s overwhelming. It makes everything in my head so much harder to figure out.” She hugged herself tightly. “I don’t know if I love you, Michael, but I know I can’t lose you. I couldn’t stand it. When I saw you with Janice the other night and thought that maybe you might want somebody younger, I felt so awful, God, this huge empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.” She spun around, spreading her arms wide, laughing shakily. “I just spent about three hundred dollars to look younger and sexier so you won’t leave me.”

He was watching her. “I’m not going to leave you, Diane,” he said carefully. “You know, my father never found another woman after my mother died. He said that she had been his great love, and he wanted no other. I believe in that. I believe that you can find one person to love forever. And I love you.”

“I know.” She nodded and hugged herself again. She chewed her lip. “Do you think we have a future, Michael?”

He pushed his hands into his front pockets and leaned back against his desk. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“I think about it, that’s all. When you’re my age, I’ll be retired. I’ll probably be a grandmother. You could still have a great career going, I mean, look at people like McCartney and Jagger, they’re in their sixties. When you’re in your sixties I’ll be in a walker, going to the MTV Awards hooked up to oxygen. Do you ever think about that stuff?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“What about kids? Because if you want any, you’re with the wrong woman.”

“I haven’t thought about that either. My dad has plenty of grandchildren, I have lots of cousins to carry on the family name. If I wanted children badly enough, we would find a way. It’s not a deal breaker.”

“What if I got sick? My dad died of cancer, and there’s heart disease on Mom’s side. Genetically, I’m doomed. You were eight when your mother died, Michael. Would you want to go through something like that again?”

He stopped smiling. “No. I can’t think of anything more excruciating than watching – no.” He took a step toward her, then stopped. “Something could happen to me too, you know? I could get sick as well, get into an accident, hell, Diane, it’s all a crapshoot, isn’t it? I love you, and if you get old and feeble and toothless, I’ll still love you. And if I’m crippled or senile, I hope –“ He stopped. They looked at each other across the room.

“This is a very strange conversation we’re having, isn’t it?” Diane asked softly.

He shrugged. “We’ve talked about everything in the past few months, religion, music, books, skin diving, everything except what we want from each other. Why do you think that is?”

“Because, generally we’re happy with each other? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?”

“So does this mean we’re broke?”

“No.” She crossed over to him and put her arms around his neck, feeling the strong, familiar strength of his body. “I think we’re fine. I think we just needed to set a few things straight. Please don’t worry about Quinn.”

His hands were in her hair, pushing the soft curls away from her face. “And I don’t want you running off spending money on trying to look younger every time I talk to somebody under thirty, okay? Although, you do look great. You’ve got a glow, or something.”

“Mud treatment.”

“Really? Okay, that’s gross. But you look great.” He grinned. “Are you glowing all over?”

“Maybe we could get naked later and see.”

“Okay,” he said softly. His eyes were still troubled, and she traced the outline of his lips with her finger.

“Michael, don’t you trust me enough to know that I would never hurt you?”

“I know that you would never deliberately look around for somebody else. But this is different. How do you know what you’ll feel when you see him again?”

“I don’t know. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll have this irresistible urge to spend the rest of my Sundays in front of a quiet fire, reading the London Times, instead of sailing off with you into another glorious day. But I wouldn’t bet on it, okay? I think you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I can live with that.” He kissed her, and she kissed him back, deeply, her arms tightening.

“When you kiss me like that,” he murmured, “things start to happen.”

Diane pulled away from him, smiling. “Sorry, didn’t mean to start anything. Not just this second, anyway. Now, do you feel like lobster?”

“You tell me.” He slid his hands down her back and pressed her against him. “Is this what a lobster feels like?”

She giggled, easing her hands into the waistband of his shorts. He kissed her again, hard, no longer playful and teasing.

“Wait,” she whispered, “wait, the door. What if David –“

“I don’t care,” he said, reaching behind her to pull the zipper of her dress down her back. The dress slid to the floor, followed by her bra, and he pulled her forward, sinking back onto the couch, pushing away her panties as she straddled him. He brought his hand between her legs, a feather’s touch, and she kissed him, soft, light kisses, as he stroked her.

He took her breast into his mouth, and she froze, sensation becoming too intense, and she waited, because she knew what his hands could do, knew how his mouth could make her feel. He was always slow, patient, coaxing her along until her orgasm broke like a pounding wave, and she gripped his shoulders as his fingers slid into her, wet and waiting. His tongue teased her, and his hand moved faster, flat against her now, and she threw her head back as the spasms took her, unable to breathe, mouth open in a noiseless scream. Then she sagged against him, a roar in her ears, and the ragged sound of her own breath.

She opened her eyes at last and she realized it was his body that was trembling now, not hers. His eyes were wide and blue, and his hands gripped her thighs.

“It’s just that I love you so much,” he said, as though picking up a thread of conversation they had just dropped a moment ago. “I love you, and I need you.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Prescott, and the movie, it’s making me crazy, and you are keeping me grounded. I need that, more than I ever knew.”

“What happens when the movie is done?” She swallowed hard. “Will you need me then?”

He shook his head hard. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He looked away from her, finding words. “This house - I’ve lived here for almost four years now, and it’s never been home. Even when Gretchen lived with me, it was just a place to eat and sleep. I never felt it was mine. Until you. You’re here now, and at last I have a place to belong. Wherever you are, that’s where I belong. That’s what I need. That’s what you give me.”

He moved beneath her, and as she rose on her knees, he slid forward, pulling down his down, and when she lowered herself down, he was hard and slick, and he filled her, as he filled all her lost and empty places.

“When we make love,” he whispered, “it’s where I’m supposed to be. With you.”

She moved against him, and a flicker of pleasure took her. He saw the change in her face, and took his hands away from her, forcing them down on the cool leather.

“Go on. Do what you want.” She moved again, rubbing herself against him, and his eyes glittered as he watched her. “Just tell me when. I want us to come together.” He pushed his hands against the couch as she rose and fell, and he clenched his jaw. “Don’t close your eyes,” he told her, and she pressed her forehead against his.

“I’m here, Michael, for as long as you want me.” She did not recognize her own voice. “You know that. I’m right here.” She felt the heat exploding. “Now. Now.”

He gripped her around the waist and plunged and they both felt the white-hot flash, Diane crying out, Michael again finding home.