Chapter 1: Tara

“My wife Sandy and are are going to grill up a few steaks Saturday. We wondered if you’d like to join us.”

My first reaction was, “The company owner’s just invited me to his house!”

My second reaction was, “Steaks? Isn’t that a little... high-end ... for a first invitation to a very junior employee?”

Nate caught my reaction right away.

He laughed, “Don’t worry – my brother’s in the business and he got a real good deal and gave Sandy ‘n’ me six of ‘em.”

So, two things: One, how quick he was to pick up that I was uncomfortable about his invitation.

Second, my... insecurity, I guess you’d call it, about someone in my junior position being invited for steaks at the boss’s house. And that’s something I guess I like about Nate – he acted like he’s been in my position before, maybe more than once.

So now that I’d reassured myself that I hadn’t misunderstood and that it wouldn’t be inappropriate for me at this stage of my career – if you could even call my entry-level position a “career” – I finally said the right thing.

“Sure, that’s great – I’d love to,” and then my mother’s voice kicked in in the back of my mind, “What can I bring?”

He kind of chuckled again.

“No, you don’t have to worry about bringing anything,,,, “ and then it was like he remembered something, like what it was like when he was my age and wanting to make a good impression.

“Tell you what – you know what you can do – do you like tiramisu? – my daughter’s crazy about tiramisu – can you call Gennaro’s Restaurant – they make really great tiramisu – and ask them to set aside four – no, make it eight servings – my wife’ll definitely want leftovers – and you can pick ‘em up Saturday on your way to our house.”

So that was good. Now I can bring something and know that people will like it. Also, I didn’t know that he – they – had a baby. Maybe it’d be nice if I could bring something for the baby, too.

“Sure, that sounds like a great idea – what time?” Nate said 2 p.m. and where, and then he added “Nothing fancy – cookout clothes – jeans and whatever.”

And that was the end. Clear and to the point, just like Nate. Unless there was a change, the next time we spoke of it would be Saturday afternoon at his house.

And I didn’t think much for about it. Nate had made it sound as low-key and casual – and therefore non-threatening – as he possibly could.

All that I had to do was maybe get some kind of small gift for their baby. And who knows about babies more than a mom? So I called my mother.

And the first thing she said was, “So how old is their baby?” and I realized that I was missing this critical piece of information. I stumbled and fumbled until Mom said,” You don’t know, do you?” Then, “Let me think,” and in a Mom-second she said, “A stuffed lamb. You can’t go wrong with a stuffed lammy. Even when they aren’t babies any more they still like stuffed animals.”

As always, my Mom is a genius.

And since it was my only task, I called Gennaro’s plenty early, and then instead of waiting to pick up the tiramisu on my way to Nate’s house and find that they’d “accidentally” given it to another customer I picked it up as soon as the restaurant opened at 11:00 a.m. Since I’m a bachelor (can you really call yourself a bachelor when you’re only 23?) and live alone there was plenty of room in my small fridge for the eight tiramisus.

So I waited till a quarter til 2:00 – I didn’t want to arrive too early – and got in my 8-year-old Prius – it used to be my folks’ but Dad gave it to me when I got a job and my own place – and set out for the address Nate gave me. I pulled up in the driveway and rang the bell. It took about 15 seconds – I figured everyone was out in the back yard – when the door opened and a pretty woman opened the door.

“Kyle? I’m Sandy – come on in!”

“Sandy” was, like I said, just – cute. About eight inches shorter than me, so, maybe, 5’-3”. She had blond hair, except not really blond, more like straw-colored, but I guess that’s blond, too, cut in a bob (I know because that’s the way my sister Katie wore her hair all through high school). It looked like she had a cute figure, too. She wasn’t wearing anything sexy, just tan shorts a little shorter than Bermudas and a red and white shirt, a really small check I think is called gingham.

Being a 23-year-old guy, I couldn’t help but notice that the top two buttons of her shirt were unbuttoned. Also being a 23-year-old guy, I couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a bra. But still, she was ... cute.

Sandy led me back through the house to the patio where Nate was firing up some deluxe kind of Weber grill, one sure a lot spiffier than the old Weber Kettle that my dad is still using. Maybe that could be a nice present for him sometime. Nate greeted me and shook my hand, like guys do, and I guess I did feel more like one of the guys and less like an employee (and a very junior one, at that). Then he asked, “Beer?” and without waiting for an answer asked, “What kind?”

“Whatever you’re having,” and then at the last minute I had a thought, “Unless it’s the last one you’ve got.”

And with that we settled into a nice conversation, about how long they’ve lived there, where they lived before, where I live and how long – the usual. Sandy joined us and asked, “So, how long have you and my husband worked together?”

And I thought, damn, she’s good! In that apparently ordinary question she managed to sneak in two significant messages: One, that now we are with “her husband,” not “my boss.” And not “how long have you worked for Nate” – it was how long have Nate and I “worked together.” Like I said, she’s good!

Then Nate told Sandy, “Hon, why don’t you tell Tara that Kyle’s here.”

Huh? Their baby – or, at least, their child – has been waiting for me? What kind of child waits for an adult visitor – except for Santa Claus, maybe? When Nate mentioned his daughter I just assumed that they had a baby. Nate looks young and he doesn’t act old – however that is – so I just assumed that he was only a few years older than me, so his “daughter” would be a baby, or at most two or three – maybe even four – but still young enough to enjoy a lammy.

Instead this tall slim teenage-looking girl comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray of raw veggies and some chips and pretzels and some dips, and I assume that she’s like a maid, or with the baby, maybe she’s a nanny.

Nate puts his arm around the girl’s shoulder and says, “Kyle, meet our daughter, Tara. Tara, this is Kyle. You know, the one I was telling you about.”

The one he was telling her about??

With this strange mix of shyness and confidence, she – Tara – lowered her eyes and looked down, but confidently extended her hand.

“Hi, Kyle, I’m Tara – it’s nice to meet you.”

Well, of course I stammered. I mean, I was expecting to meet – or I guess you don’t actually “meet” babies, but you know what I mean – and instead there’s this girl – young woman (I later learned that she was – is – 14). And I notice that she’s tall, almost as tall as me, and she has this straight blond hair down on her shoulders, and her oval face (I took a drawing course once) isn’t obviously pretty, but she isn’t homely either, and I decide that when she smiles and with just a little bit of makeup around the eyes that she’d be kind of pretty.

And then I remember Nate saying, “my daughter’s crazy about triamisu...,” and I realize that not a lot of babies are “crazy” about tiramisu.

But right now she’s the boss’s teenage daughter and I’m standing there holding her hand. Like an idiot. I saw Nate sneak a little smile but then hid it so I wouldn’t be embarrassed, again, like he’d been there before.

“Uhh, hi, uh, Tara. It’s a ... I mean I’m pleased to meet you...”

Tara smiled, and there it was – the pretty face I thought it might be.

“Dad told me that after he talked with you, that he might have given you the impression that his ‘daughter’ was a lot ... younger.”

But she made it seem so normal and friendly that I wasn’t embarrassed any more.

“Uh, yeah – that’s kinda – he...”

And then I remembered – the present I brought for Nate and Sandy’s “baby.” When I arrived Sandy told me to just put it on the chair there by the door. I’d wrapped it loosely in tissue paper, so a baby could open it easily! So Nate hadn’t seen that I’d brought a child’s stuffed animal for his presumably-little daughter.

I probably would’ve been embarrassed normally, but Tara made me feel like it was all OK, about me thinking she was a baby, and I thought “What the heck,” that she’d at least think it was funny. Who knows – she might even like it! And Nate – my boss – would at least appreciate the gesture.

I said, “Wait a minute – I brought something for you – or at least for who I thought you were! Let me get it,” and went back into the house to get the present from where I put it. I came back and handed it to Tara and she looked at it, and then she looked at me, I guess like you’re supposed to do to see if it’s okay to open a present right then.

She was trying to take the tissue paper off carefully but I told her it was OK to just rip it off, and when she did and saw what it was she lit up, and there was the prettiness I saw earlier. She looked at me and squealed, “I LOVE IT!” She started to step toward me and lean forward like she was going to kiss my cheek, but then she stopped. But she smiled again – a big, pretty smile – and said, “I really do love him! Mom, come see what Kyle brought for me,” and she seemed as pleased as if I’d brought her a silver bracelet or a big bunch of roses.

You can’t imagine how great that made me feel. First, that she wasn’t insulted by what I’d brought for her, or who I thought was her. And second, that she liked it, really.

About then Nate called me over to ask how I like my steak, and also to give me some grilling tips – you know, “man talk.”

And the steaks were awesome. I guess it’s good to have a brother in the business. Nate had grilled some kind of big-ass mushrooms (I didn’t know you could even grill mushrooms) and Sandy brought out some potato salad that she made, and it wasn’t like any potato salad I’ve had before – she said it was from a French cookbook and had some kind of French mustard (not French’s Mustard – French mustard!) and some kind of herb – tarragon – I’d heard the word before, but my mom sure never cooked with it.

And Tara brought out some kind of slaw that she made, and it was awesome! It was tangy, but also a little sweet, and also had this strange taste that I couldn’t figure out, but it tasted... awesome! I never thought I’d get excited over shredded cabbage, but...

Sandy asked me if Sam Adams was OK and brought out beers for me and her and Nate. And even though it wouldn’t have been so awful for her parents to offer her a small glass of beer, there at their own home, with them, Tara was drinking some kind of pale green drink she said was a “Mexican fruit water” – something I’d never heard of but it looked really refreshing. I thought I might have some later if there was any left.

And we talked about stuff – about the food, of course, but also a little about work, and a little about Sandy’s gardening and volunteering at the food bank and about Tara’s school, a little about my family – you know – getting-acquainted stuff.

Nate’s brother, the one who gave him the steaks, dropped by with his wife and their son. They were on their way to someplace else so they didn’t have time for steaks and stuff but when they learned there was tiramisu they decided they could stay just a bit longer.

And Nate was right: Tara, well-mannered, a little bit reserved, went crazy over the tiramisu. Again, for some reason it made me feel good, even though I hadn’t actually made it myself (fat chance!).

And by the time everyone finished and Nate’s brother’s family left and we talked a little more it had gotten kind of dark, and I knew it was a polite time to leave.

When I was leaving Nate said, “Looks like Tara won’t have any tiramisu left over. Guess you’ll have to bring some more the next time you come over, huh?”

At work about two weeks later Nate called me and asked me to bring him all the purchase orders we’d received in the last four days. Seems that a customer had called Nate and told him he thought that some of their POs might be bogus or stolen. I found all the POs and took them into Nate’s office and went over them and found a couple that Nate thought looked “hinky” and he said he’d call the customer about them.

Then he shifted gears.

“Looks like it’s going to be a scorcher this weekend, huh? Hey, if you’re not doing something else Saturday why don’t you come over. Pool’s no good unless you use it, right?”

Of course I said yes! You don’t turn down an invitation like that from the boss, and especially because it’d been such a good time with him and Sandy and Tara before.

This meant, though, that I had to go out and buy a decent swimsuit. The only swimsuit I had was one I’ve had since high school, and it’s no longer ... well, “decent.”

When I was thinking about driving to Nate’s house it made me remember how the last time I had gone to Gennaro’s Restaurant for the tiramisu, and that reminded me of Nate’s remark when I was leaving, about how “you’ll have to bring more tiramisu the next time you come over.” So I called Gennaro’s and had them reserve another eight servings of tiramisu for me to pick up Saturday.

So Saturday came, and Nate and the TV weather dude had been right – it was going to be hot – 88 already, and it was only eleven o’clock. When I got to Nate’s and Sandy’s about 1:00 it was even hotter, but their patio had a nice breeze. Also, it wasn’t too humid so it wasn’t that uncomfortable. Still, it was nice that the boss had thought of me and invited me over.

It was funny. I hadn’t ever thought about it, but it’s strange to see your boss... not dressed. Nate was wearing a swimsuit, pretty much like the one I’d just bought – trunk-style, but short, and not baggy but not tight, either. I never thought about it before but Nate’s in pretty good shape. It looks like he might be getting a little thicker around his waist, and I think that in high school he might have been on the swim team or something.

Then Sandy came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks – several different beers plus a pitcher of something red, and the bottles and pitcher were already sweating in the heat.

Sandy was wearing a bikini. It wasn’t a two-piece “mom suit,” but nothing extreme, either – not like a thong or g-string or something like they’d wear in Brazil – just a pretty standard bikini, and it was in this dark green-blue tropical print that looked real good against her skin.

And speaking of Sandy’s skin, the sun had brought out a spray of light freckles across her cheeks and nose. So putting it all together, she looked “cute,” but a slightly different kind of cute than she looked the last time, at the cookout. At the cookout she looked “wholesome cute.” Today she looks “beach bikini cute,” but I liked how she looked both ways.

When I first got to Nate and Sandy’s I still had my cargo shorts on over my new swim trunks. Sandy showed me to a half-bathroom where I could change and hang up my street clothes.

I didn’t see Tara and thought that she might be out with friends. But then I heard the front door open and Tara’s voice calling out “I’m home,” and her mom answered that we were all out by the pool and that she should come out where we were.

She made an appearance and saw me and waved and said “Hi, Kyle.” Her mom told her she should change into her bathing suit and join us, and then added, “Wear the new one – you know, the white one that fits you so nicely.”

Tara got this concerned look on her face.

“Are you sure, Mom? I mean, ... you know...”

“Sure, Honey – it’ll look so nice on you – it’s perfect for a hot day like this.”

We talked some more – small talk, about this weather, and comparing it with other hot days...

When Tara walked out in her new swimsuit. And her mom was right – it looked great!

Or more accurately, she looked great in it.

It was all white, I think the type is called a “tank suit,” and despite being a one-piece bathing suit it was really sexy. Or maybe I should say it looked really sexy on Tara.

On my boss’s teenage daughter.

The straps at the top were narrow, almost what I think are called “spaghetti straps,” and the leg holes were cut high. So high, in fact, that in the front you could see the crease where her legs met her body, and in the back they exposed almost half her... ass. And the material was really thin – so thin that it clung to every curve and muscle of her slim body. So thin that I could see where her ... breasts ... her nipples ... were.

To top off the whole... “effect” ... the high cut of the legs caused the suit to climb up into her ... into her crotch ... so that the thin cloth cupped around the lips of Tara’s ... sex ... and crept into the crevice between them. Yeah, she had a cameltoe, a perfect cameltoe.

I couldn’t believe that she’d wear a suit like that!

Or that her parents would allow her to!

Her parents! Shit!

I looked over at Nate – at her father. I did it without even thinking, not even trying to hide that I was looking at him. He saw my look. He just smiled a little smile and shrugged, like, “What’s a guy gonna do?”

And her mother. Sandy looked totally unconcerned. She was the one who insisted to Tara that “it’ll look great.” And there she is, soaking up the sun, unconcerned that a young man from her husband’s office might see their daughter “like that.” It was almost like...

But then Tara said, “Wanna go in the pool, Kyle?”

But before I could answer, Sandy said, “Tara, Sweetheart, first could you go into the kitchen, I have some pina coladas in the fridge.”

Tara looked at her mom with this question in her eyes, almost like she was pleading for something.

“Yes, Hon, there’s one for you, too.” Tara smiled, that pretty smile again, and bounced off into the kitchen to get the drinks.

In about a minute Tara comes back out carrying a tray with four tall creamy-looking glasses with maraschino cherries and pineapple slices stuck on them and she heads for her mom.

“Tara, Honey, why don’t you give one to Kyle first.” And again, she did that thing – she didn’t say “our guest” – she said “Kyle.” To them, I’m Kyle. I decided that I like being Kyle for them.

Anyhow, Tara comes over with the tray of pina coladas and she stands right next to me – right next to where I’m leaning back in a deck chair – with that beautiful cameltoe right even with my eyes.

I’ve got a little experience – I’m out of high school five years and been with college girls and all, but I’m no Casanova or Don Juan, either. But I’ve never experienced anything like this – my eyes just two feet – maybe less – from this young girl’s exquisitely encased sex.

So of course I’m feeling guilty, and I sneak a peek to my left, to where Sandy is lounging, holding a magazine, and to my right, toward Nate, and I don’t see either of them looking at me, catching me looking at their daughter’s ... But still, I get this feeling that they are watching me. Or at least, that they know what’s going on.

I took one of the glasses and took a long sip and raved about how delicious it tasted. And it did. But I still couldn’t ignore the image – the whole experience – of having Tara’s ... having Tara there, so close to me. Was I actually able to smell her or was I just imagining that I could smell her?

Tara took the pina coladas around to her mom and dad, then took the last one for herself. She took maybe two drinks, then said, “Wanna get in the pool now, Kyle?”

So I put down my drink and jumped in the pool after her, We didn’t fool around or try to splash or dunk each other, just “shared the time” in the pool. Their pool has a low board and Tara took a few dives off it and I watched her – she’s really graceful, with her long slim body and all.

Then we both agreed that we were going to be hungry soon and got out of the pool,. Sandy was there with big towels for each of us.

“Have fun, you two?”

Without even looking at me Tara answered, “Yeah, we did,” and then “Thanks, Mom,” and I wasn’t sure what exactly it was she was thanking her mom for but I was glad that they got along so good. And Tara was right. I did have fun – it wasn’t at all like I was having to entertain the boss’s daughter.

We all spent the afternoon going in and out of the pool until about 5:00, when Sandy called us into the kitchen. She’d fixed a big platter of cheeses and pickles and fruit and some thin-sliced special kind of Italian ham, plus rolls and French bread. For a dessert she had fresh blackberries from the farmers’ market and fresh cream to put on it.

When it was time to go I slipped on my cargo shorts over my now-dry swimsuit and went through the house to their front door. Nate shook my hand and said he hoped I enjoyed the day and that they all really liked having me there this afternoon. Sandy came up and gave me a hug and said they hoped that they’d “see me again soon.” Tara smiled and then said, “Can I walk to the car with Kyle?”

So Tara and I walked out to my Prius. I opened the door and turned to say goodbye when Tara said, “It was really nice having you here today, Kyle. I hope you come back real soon” and grabbed my hand and squeezed it, then turned and ran back to the house where Sandy and Nate were waiting in the doorway. All three waved as I started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

~ ~ ~

After that I didn’t think that Nate would be inviting me over to their house for a while. Not that anything bad had happened – just that they’d probably seen me enough for a while. But then the following Tuesday Nate pulls me aside and asks if I could come to their place for dinner Friday night.

“It’ll be sit-down and Sandy’s cooking up something special so dress nice.” Then he thought that might need more explanation (it did!) so he added, “Not jacket or tie or anything, but, you know – nice.”

Heck, yes, I called my mom!

“Did he say what kind of dinner it was going to be, or what it is that his wife’s fixing?”

What the heck did what Sandy’s cooking have anything to do with what I should wear?

My mom sighed, like she didn’t have the time to explain it to me. Instead she said, “You have those nice three-season wool slacks, don’t you?” Yes, the nice gray ones that aren’t “wooly” enough for winter but are fine for most of the rest of the year. “Wear those. And you have that lovely burgundy knit pullover your Aunt Tilda gave you last Christmas – I told my sister she shouldn’t have spent that much.” Yes, the maroon pullover with the little pattern knitted into it, and yes, it probably cost more than Aunt Tilda could really afford – I’ll have to let her know when I wear it, and how nice it is.

So now that my mom has, as usual, solved the world’s problems for one more week I guess I’m set for Friday night. Except for the fact that I should bring something – that I shouldn’t arrive (horrors!) empty-handed.

Back to Mom

“First, don’t bring anything food or wine. If it’s a special dinner then she already has everything planned out and you bringing something she isn’t expecting would simply mess things up.”

Silence, thinking.

“Flowers. Irises are in season – beautiful and classy but not stuffy or pretentious. A dozen should be enough. And Kyle,...” “Yeah?” “Get them at a nice florist’s, not out of the buckets at Shop ‘n’ Save.”

So the first thing I do is call Van’s Florists, which is the nicest flower shop near my apartment, and reserve “a dozen of your nicest irises...” and then thought it might help if I add, “They’re for a special evening.”

So I leave work at 5 minutes ‘til 5:00 and hurry home and shower and shave especially carefully (close, and no nicks or cuts) and change into the gray flannel slacks and a new T-shirt and the maroon knit pullover, and I only hope that I’m dressed “nice.” But, then, Mom is almost never wrong about these things.

I pull up into their driveway and ring the bell, and I wonder if Tara is going to answer but in about ten seconds the door opens and it’s’ Sandy, and she’s dressed really nice, with these tan slacks of some kind of amazing fabric that fit her like skin. I don’t mean they were “skin tight” – I mean they had this amazing way of following her body without stretching and without a single crease or wrinkle or anything – they just fit “like skin.”

And she was wearing a classy looking blouse or shirt in what I’d call an “emerald green” satin, or maybe even silk. And even wearing a cotton apron that was embroidered with “I’M the SECRET INGREDIENT,” Sandy looked like a million bucks.

I held out the flowers – Van’s had wrapped them real nice, with just a little open at the top so you could see the blue flowers inside. Sandy took them from my arms and said, “Oh, Kyle, these are lovely,” and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tara loves irises. I have just the perfect vase for them.

“Nate’s upstairs getting ready – he got held up at work at the last minute. Tara’s here – she’ll be down in a little while. Would you like something to drink – sparkling water? Club soda?”

She motioned for me to make myself comfortable in what I guess is their den. She came out a couple minutes later with two glasses of some kind of bubbly water. She’d removed her apron, so now I could get a better look at what she was wearing. And when she leaned over just the slightest bit to hand me my water I could see from the movement underneath that classy satin blouse that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Not very classy of me, but, hey, I’m a guy.

Just then Nate came down the stairs. When he saw me there with Sandy he said, “Hey, Kyle,” and then headed into the kitchen and came back 30 seconds later with a can of ginger ale and a glass and sat down with Sandy and me. He apologized for being late but said he was glad I was there and assured me that the dinner Sandy had fixed for us was going to be something special.

Then from upstairs we heard Tara’s voice.

“Mom, can you come help me with this?’ Sandy excused herself and headed upstairs. Nate and I talked a little about work and what kept him late today, and then we heard someone coming down the stairs. I looked up and saw Tara standing on the landing...

... and before I could even think I blurted “Holy shit!”

I heard Nate actually snort ginger ale out his nose. Tara giggled, while Sandy managed to restrain herself to just a smothered laugh.

“I mean, WOW!”

Then I managed to recover a bit more of my vocabulary.

“You look fantastic, Tara.”

And she did. She was wearing some kind of blue satin-looking dress that came down to just above her knees and fit her perfectly. And it’s weird to be talking about your boss’s daughter’s breasts, but strapless gowns can look silly on some girls, but Tara’s ... Tara’s were enough so that the dress looked right on her, and especially with the shoes she was wearing – black patent leather flats with a big buckle and just a thin row of rhinestones trimming the low heels.

The last time I saw Tara her hair looked like it had just been toweled dry after swimming (because it was). Now her blond hair was brushed shiny and gathered in a long ponytail that was secured by a rhinestone band and fell to the middle of her back.

And like I thought the very first time I saw Tara, she was wearing just the littlest bit of eye makeup, and to set everything off perfectly I could see the glint of very fine glitter on her cheeks.

She was stunning.

Sandy called us all into the dining room. When we went in I saw the irises I’d brought were in a tall crystal vase in the center of the dinner table. And then I saw it: The irises were the exact same color as Tara’s dress.

“Ohmygod – they’re beautiful! Did Kyle bring them?” When Sandy nodded, Tara turned and kissed me on the cheek. “Oh – oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to...” and she actually seemed embarrassed by her impulsiveness.

The kiss took me completely by surprise, but all my suave, sophisticated self could manage to say was, “Not a problem.”

Then Sandy said, “They looked so beautiful I wanted everyone to see them like that,. But if we’re going to eat I’d better move them over here to the sideboard.”

They had taken any extension leaves out of the big table so now it was just a small rectangular table that was just the right size for the four of us. Sandy sat closest to the kitchen and Nate sat next to her, and Tara and I sat next to each other, Tara across from her dad and me across from Sandy.

Sandy’s special dinner turned out to be something she called “veal piccata.”