tracy
"Love By The Numbers"
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Chapter Seven

Phoebe let the front door close behind her with a bang. Her head was bent down as she fished in her bag for her Tiffany sterling-silver key chain. "I thought I told you I have to be at TNGF's by one in order to pick up Trina for her softball game. Her coach is a real ball buster when it comes to being on time, and God forbid my darling daughter has something else to blame me for in life."

Phoebe raised her bag higher and buried her nose further. She had yet to look up. "You haven't seen my Chanel lipstick, have you? You know the classic red one that's supposed to make you look like some glamorous French movie star who has affairs during the day with younger men in five-star hotels and enjoys being tied up with silk handkerchiefs?"

"Phoebe?" J.C. tried to get her attention.

"Yeah?" Phoebe's focus went undeterred. The woman had the tenacity of a terrier on Ritalin.

"If I've lost it somewhere, I'm going to be totally pissed, and when I'm totally pissed the only thing that settles me down is a cigarette, and not one of those sissy filtered ones either. I know, I can hear you say it. I should try to set a good example for my daughter, not that a twelve year old would ever listen to her mother, mind you. But this is one of those times where I'm not going to set an example." Phoebe raised her head.

And her eyebrows.

Then she lowered her purse and let it rest on one hip. "Hell-llo. Looks like I missed something else, as well." The only thing she didn't do was whistle.

Then she whistled.

J.C. ground her teeth. "We were just gardening."

"Is that what they call it now?" Phoebe looked inquiringly at Liam.

"Did you say something about being tied up with silk handkerchiefs?" he asked, truly eager to hear more.

The corners of Phoebe's mouth curved up in a knowing smile, and she turned back to J.C. "Maybe you're the one who needs the cigarette?"

J.C. looked to the heavens. She had learned long ago that life wasn't fair, but did the gods have to keep reminding her every frigging day?

Why, for instance, after a night of over-imbibing did she look like a steel wool pad left in a dish-draining tray while Phoebe, who must have downed more, much more, looked ready for lunch and shopping with the ladies. Did she have to look so damn perky in her pressed Lucky jeans, Ugg boots and Three Dot shirt? And why was Phoebe's hair a shiny red bob, while hers was seemingly fossilized several steps beyond the ultimate hairdressing faux pas -- Princess Leia's earmuffs?

Ever the realist, J.C. knew there was no point in decrying the injustice of fate. No one wanted to listen -- least of all your supposed best friend -- and, besides, it only gave you a headache.

So she brought the sides of her wet bathrobe together and displaying exceptional decorum under the circumstances, made the introductions. "Phoebe, I'd like you to meet Liam McDonald. Liam was kind enough to repair a horticultural problem I had."

Phoebe's tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek as J.C. spoke, her eyes wide and unblinking. "Yes, well, I understand a green thumb can be the answer to every girl's dreams," she said, sticking out her hand. She narrowly avoided J.C.'s swiftly kicking foot. "I'm Phoebe Freeman, and, boy, let me tell you, has it ever made my day that you bumped into J.C. the way you did."

"Thank you, I think." Liam looked at J.C. "Did she say J.C.?"

"Short for Juanita Carlotta, but it's a well-kept secret," Phoebe confided with a gleam in her eye. "Juanita Carlotta Schubach." She grimaced when this time she didn't managed to avoid J.C.'s toe jab.

Liam frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's really quite simple," J.C. said dismissively. "The china company my mother worked for was making commemorative dinnerware for King Juan Carlos of Spain at the time of my birth."

"And she wanted to give you a royal touch?"

C.J. shook her head. "More like she was extremely loyal to the company."

"The women in her family are like that." Phoebe spoke directly to Liam, placing a hand on the side of her mouth as if divulging secret information. "Once they reach the age of thirty, they tend to think their jobs are the only thing in life. We know better, don't we?"

Then she made a big point of looking at her Citizen watch. She had an eye on a Rolex for her birthday this year, a present for finally leaving her twenties behind. "I'd love and stay to chat, but my daughter's softball game awaits. Liam, it's been nice meeting you."

"Same here." Liam still looked a bit dazed from the full impact of Phoebe's sudden appearance and wisely stuffed his hands in his pockets, hooking his thumbs outside.

Phoebe turned to J.C. "Maybe you could just walk me to the car and give me your terrific recipe for tiramisu?"

J.C. glanced at Liam with a what-can-I-do-expression and trundled along after Phoebe as she crossed the street to her parked Lexus -- used, but still a Lexus, cars being the accessory of choice for a Jersey girl.

"Phoebe, I'm pretty sure that Liam doesn't think we're trading baking secrets," J.C. whispered loudly. "And did you have to say that?"

"What? That you only think about your career?"

"No, I meant the over thirty part. Next he'll be looking for stretch marks."

Phoebe beeped to unlock her car. "Trust me, there are no visible marks for him or anyone else to see."

J.C. looked down and saw her bathrobe had fallen open again. She bundled it together, only to catch Mrs. Dibenski peeking out her bay window. She waved sheepishly, then turned back to Phoebe.

"Anyway, it's not like it really matters. I mean, he's just here to work in the garden, right?" Of course there was the matter of the interrupted kiss.

Phoebe walked around to the driver's side. "J.C. sweetheart, men do not come over to a girl's house on a Saturday just to plant flowers. Sow some wild oats maybe, but not plant flowers." She opened the car door.

"But this is Liam McDonald we're talking about," J.C. said in hushed tones as if referring to a sacred deity. She clenched the wet bathrobe more tightly to her body. It really was not pleasant.

Phoebe raised her eyes and glanced across the street. Liam acknowledged her gaze with a small wave before plunging the hand back in his pocket. Phoebe shook her head at J.C. "The birthday present I got you, the box of rubbers? I gave it to you for a reason."

"You mean it wasn't just an impulse purchase?"

Phoebe slid into the seat. She looked up at J.C. "I was hoping at least one of us could have a sex life. Well, now's your opportunity. The guy's clearly interested, which, frankly, is a mystery to me, considering the way you look. Maybe if you put a little concealer on those circles under your eyes?"

J.C. rolled her eyes. "I don't think concealer is the answer to my problems."

"What problems? Just accept it. This is your lucky day."

"Phoebe, you of all people should know I don't believe in luck."

Phoebe turned the ignition. The radio came on, blaring an Alannis Morrisette I-hate-men anthem. "Go for it, girl -- for all the rest of us suffering women," she shouted above the music.

J.C. leaned in the car window. "Could you be a little quieter? I'd like to think the whole neighborhood didn't know we were discussing my sex life."

"They know no matter what," Phoebe warned, but she punched down the volume. "Anyway, take my advice. Use him 'til he drops. I mean, if I were you, I'd be inside, ripping off his clothes, getting all hot and heavy in every bedroom in the house, and maybe even the bathroom."

She stared off into space. "Yes, definitely the bathroom. He looks like he's strong enough to hold you up so you could straddle his hips and let your hair down - so to speak." Phoebe refocused on J.C. There was a scowl on her face. "If I'd ever tried that with TNGF, I would have been resting on his love handles."

"Phoebe, the potential dangers associated with casual sex are well documented."

"Well, then consider this. The fallout from serious relationships is even better documented, and that's according to this bitter single mom. So, right now, from my perspective, what do I see? I see me going to a softball game with a bunch of screaming twelve year olds and a coach with a comb-over, while you, a single, unattached female, is here with a guy any woman would gladly trade a lifetime supply of chocolate for. To me, it's a no-brainer."

Phoebe stared at J.C.

J.C. chewed on her lower lip. "Really? A lifetime supply of chocolate?"

"Maybe not an entire lifetime. On the other hand, if I saw the size of his you know what, I might just change my mind." Phoebe hit the accelerator.

J.C. had to jump back when the car peeled away from the curb. She eked out a nervous smile and walked slowly back to her yard. Why was this boy/girl thing so complicated, especially when it was between a man and a woman? If she acted on impulse, what were the chances that she'd be rebuffed? Or perhaps scarier, that she wouldn't be rebuffed.

Could she go through with it? Could she invite her fantasy man inside with the idea of seeing the sun, the moon and the stars, as well as the bottom of a box of condoms?

She stepped next to Liam. "Do you want to come in? Dry off?" Okay, she was starting off slowly.

Liam looked down at his clothes. "Thanks, but I'm disgusting -- all wet and sweaty."

J.C. could only imagine. She shook her head. "That doesn't make any difference. I mean, I can easily put up a wash, do your T-shirt, whatever." She looked down at her own clothes. "I know I could throw a few things in, as well."

"Yeah." Liam could only imagine. J.C. with a few things was spectacular. Without them...

Be patient. Exercise finesse. "If you're sure?" Okay, the finesse thing was gradual.

"Sure," she said, not sure at all. J.C., her head bent, her heart pounding, her desire growing, her second thoughts mounting, let Liam open the front door for her. She waited in the entryway as he closed the door behind them.

"You know." "I was thinking."

"You first." Liam held out his hand.

"No, you," J.C. demurred. "You're the guest."

"Well, in that case-" he rubbed his nose "-Um-" he cleared his throat "-I was thinking."

"You were thinking?" J.C. noticed that if you looked at his right earlobe carefully -- something she just happened to be doing -- you could see the faded remnants of a pierced hole.

"I was thinking that maybe we should talk." Liam noticed the fine line of her brows, the wide bridge of her nose and its slightly upturned tip, perfect for running a finger down, kissing the length of.

"Talk?" she asked. His neck muscles were thick, she observed, but not overly thick, more firm, contoured.

"To get to know each other first, that is." He took in the way the small cleft above her upper lip was so delicate, so symmetrical. How her full lips were slightly chapped, but that wasn't bad. It made them seem more real, more vulnerable.

"First?" she asked. He had the smallest of scars just cutting through the bottom corner of his mouth, like a reminder of a boyhood scuffle or a fall from a tree house. Perfect for touching, for licking.

"First? Oh, right, first...before...doing the wash...then, you know, next...doing things like getting to know each other...better..." He looked at her eyes, large, bright and intense.

"Of course...the wash...then getting to know each other...better" She stared at his eyes, piercing, searching and probing. It was getting more and more difficult to breathe.

"Well, as for getting to know each other...better, I'm J.C. Schubach, and if anyone ever addresses me by my full name, I know he's either calling about a bank loan or trying to sell me replacement windows."

Liam smiled. He watched her chest rise and fall with each labored breath. "I promise, no loans, no windows. I'm Liam McDonald, and I just want to say I'd like to get to know you...better." He wet his lips and swallowed. "Some things, like good wine, can't be rushed."

She nodded. "That's very true. So, I think we should take it slow."

And like that, they threw themselves in each other's arms.

(Copyright, Louise Handelman, 2024)

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