Chapter 8

“I have to bring it in every day,” Sasha groused. “What a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll bet it is. I’ll meet you in the Village. What time do you finish for the day?”

“Any time after five.”

“Fine. Have the car in a garage in the Village somewhere near West Fourth and Sixth Avenue. I’ll meet you at the Cornelia Street Cafe at six. I’ll be wearing a red rose, so you’ll recognize me with my clothes on.”

Sasha laughed and stood and hugged her tightly. “I feel funny about going into a sex-aid store.”

“Relax, honey -- I’ll protect you.”

“But -- why?”

“I want to get us some toys. Like Joni’s Butterfly, and maybe some nice vibrators or dildos or both ... and I want to be wicked!”

She said it with such a pixie-esh expression her face that Sasha had to giggle and hug her again.

“Will you be wicked with me?” Sasha asked.

“Count on it.”

“It’s a date!” Sasha agreed.

When Emma stepped into the house, she found Jake sitting in the living room, staring at CNN. A snifter was on the end table next to his chair and the brandy bottle -- half-empty -- was next to it.

He didn’t look up at the sound of her entrance.

“Hi, husband.”

He hit the MUTE button on the TV’s remote control and turned. “Hello, wife.”

She walked over to him and bent at the waist to kiss him. The kiss lingered.

“I know that taste,” he said. His speech was still clear. “I take it you were successful.”

She doffed her coat and sat on the other part of the sectional. “Yes. And it was lovely.” She flicked her gaze at the snifter and bottle, then back to him, waiting. He understood.

Jake was a recovering alcoholic. He’d fallen a few times, but generally went through his days. By agreement, they kept a small bottle of brandy in the house. A long time ago, they’d made an agreement and had a safe installed in the wall of the bedroom. Only Emma had the combination. She would never question him if he found himself unable to resist -- provided that before he reached for the booze, he stashed the car keys in the safe and juggled the combination.

“They’re in there,” he said. “I wasn’t sure I could handle it if you stayed the night. I’m not getting any younger and I wonder, sometimes, if this one is going to be the lover you fall for --forever.” He shrugged, slightly uncoordinated.

There was another, older, more powerful agreement between them -- complete honesty.

“I could really fall hard for her.”

“I could tell.”

“But I couldn’t live without you, every day, right here -- holding me.” She felt tears welling in her eyes. “Just the thought of not being in your arms...” She shook her head too hard, too fast. “I can’t stand that thought.”

“I feel the same way. So -- “ He nodded toward the snifter. “But it doesn’t help enough.”

“Does my being here help enough?”

He stared at her until she added: “Rhetorical question.”

“You goddam betcha. Would you put some coffee on?”

The tears overcame her defenses, despite the genuine smile. “You goddam betcha.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“See previous response.” She stood. “By the way, she wants you, too. A lot.”

He closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead, then exhaled slowly. Finally: “Me? All of me?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m the only person who could want all of you the way I do.”

“I know. Help me stand.” He held out his hand. She took it, knowing he didn’t physically need it, and led him into the kitchen. As she made the coffee, she told him about the planned date at the sex-aid store and Sasha’s cravings.

Later, as they undressed each other for bed, she told what she and Sasha had done and said, and what she planned for Friday night.

In detail.

The snow hadn’t started yet, but the Weather Princess on the Weather Channel had promised it. Given the temperature and the feel of the night, Emma suspected the promise was going to be well-fulfilled by morning.

She was hoping other promises would be equally fulfilled.

Emma sat at one of the coveted window tables in the Cornelia Street Cafe. From time to time, Famous People walked by. One had even entered and was sipping a decaffeinated espresso at another table while other patrons pretended not to look at her. Emma had no inhibitions about staring till she was sure. After that, she was more interested in watching the street, for Sasha.