Unforgettable Weeks
Chapter 6

Copyright© 2015 by Jay Cantrell

Drama Sex Story: Chapter 6 - Two people from vastly different worlds shared one crazy night two months earlier. Regan Riley learned that life is sometimes serious and Andy Drayton learned that life can sometimes be fun. Now they've decided to see if they can overcome their differences and forge a relationship. This is the sequel to "Unending Night."

Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Consensual   Romantic   First   Oral Sex   Exhibitionism   Slow  

7 p.m. Sunday

Andy barely got off the phone with Regan in time to fix supper for his Mom. He was just pulling the pork chops out of the oven when the water in the shower shut off.

His Mom wandered out a few seconds before he put the salad on the table.

"Good timing," he said. She graced him with a tired smile. She didn't like trying to sleep on Sunday afternoons. She never felt rested because she usually slept Saturday nights too if she managed to be home on a Saturday night.

"Did Regan call?" she asked.

"Yeah," Andy said. His face reddened when he thought that he had spent three hours talking to her.

"How is she?" Camille asked.

"Good," Andy said. "Oh, hey, do you remember the picture I have of you?"

Camille nodded as she spooned out scalloped potatoes.

"Well, I showed it to her yesterday," Andy continued. "She recognized you. Get this: the woman who took the picture has it outside her studio at Greengate Boutiques. Regan said you are one of the prettiest women she's ever seen. She hopes you'll take a picture with her next weekend."

Camille rolled her eyes.

"I can't believe you talked me into getting those pictures done," she said, frowning. "The woman is probably using them as an advertisement for Photoshop."

"They're great, Mom!" Andy protested. "Regan isn't the type who would just say something like that to butter you up."

"Honey, you really don't know much about rich people," Camille said.

"Yeah, I can see where you get all your wisdom," Andy shot back. "I'll bet you run into dozens of millionaires at the donut shop or the wrecker company. Don't give me that crap, Mom."

Camille looked up at the tone of her son's voice.

"No, I don't run into wealthy people in my present circumstances," she said calmly. "That doesn't mean I've never known any of them. I have met some people in my life who are probably better off than the Rileys. In fact, I would say that I was closer to those people than you are to Regan at this point."

"Oh, bullshit," Andy said. "You forget; I know where you grew up. Grandpa was probably the richest man in the neighborhood and he still fell on the poor side of the ledger."

"Watch your language," Camille chided.

"Well, stop feeding me bullshit and I'll quit calling it what it is," Andy replied. This was as close to an argument as he and his mother had seen in a dozen years or more. But it galled him that she would say things about a person she had never met and then make up a story to justify it.

"It's not bullshit," Camille said.

"Fine, name one and I'll Google him tomorrow at school," Andy said. "Then we'll see what you think rich is and we'll see how you think they act."

Camille looked at her son. The day she had dreaded for 18 years had arrived and she wasn't ready for it. She could see Andy already had his back up because of her comments about Regan. She should have just let it go.

"OK, Andrew," she said. "I'll tell you about a rich family I knew very well: Your father's."


"So that's all you plan to say?" Andy asked after he picked his fork up off the floor. "Your father is wealthy and he's a prick so all rich people are pricks. Have a nice day."

"Andy, please," Camille said.

"Please what?" Andy said. "Please let me off the hook? Please just accept what I'm willing to tell you and let it go? You've got to be kidding me. I wait 18 years to hear about my father. You tell me he's wealthy and expect me to say, 'That's nice, ' and go about my business?"

"No, but I would rather you didn't raise your voice and you watched your language a little bit," Camille said. "Give me a couple of minutes to sort through my thoughts and I'll tell you as much as I can. Is that fair?"

Andy held up his hands in submission but then he spoke anyway.

"You know, there is this new concept called child support," he said. "It's all the rage and a lot of single mothers have joined. It's where, oh, let me think, yeah, it's where the father of a child is responsible for helping to pay for stuff so the mother doesn't wind up working 100 hours a week. How many times did we eat pork and beans for a week at a time? Now you say my father's family is wealthy. I don't get it."

He picked up his plate started to scrape the uneaten meal into the garbage. Then he thought again and pulled out plastic containers. Pork chops and boxed potatoes could be reheated and would taste just fine.

He turned to see if his mother wanted him to do the same with hers but she was just staring at the plate. Andy felt like an ass.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have raised my voice and I don't need to know this now if it makes you uncomfortable."

Camille gave a sad smile. She looked more tired than usual. She got up and added her supper to Andy's before stowing the containers in the refrigerator.

"No, I've come this far and you're already angry at me, so I might as well press through it," she said. "Sit with me?"

Andy put his arm around his Mom's shoulders and joined her on the couch.

"I'm not angry at you over this revelation," Andy clarified. "I'm angry at you for lumping a person you've never met in with someone else without even giving her a chance. What would you do if I told you I thought your boss was stealing from the company and the only evidence I presented was because he's black?"

"I'd be very disappointed," Camille said. "I didn't raise you to think that way."

"No, you didn't," Andy said. "You raised me to look at people for who they are. You taught me the color of a person's skin or a person's accent or how much money they have doesn't matter. I assumed it meant all people, not just minorities and poor people."

"Sure, use my own words against me," Camille said.

"You've done it often enough to me, I thought it was appropriate," Andy said, smiling at his Mom. "I'm serious. If you don't want to talk about this, I won't press. I was telling Regan yesterday that I stopped worrying about my father years ago when I realized you loved me enough for two people."

Camille looked down at her hands.

"How much do you remember about your grandmother?" she asked.

"Enough that I hope she needs a kidney transplant one day and I'm a match," Andy said with real venom in his voice. "Then I'll tell her that it's a real shame her life has gone to shit but it's not my responsibility to help her."

Camille's eyes shot to her son's.

"Your grandmother did not say 'shit;' she said 'crap, '" she said. "How much of that did you hear?"

"All of it up to and including the slap," Andy replied. "I saw your face wasn't red when you came outside so I assumed you left her on the floor."

Camille nodded as tears came to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly.

"Andy, you were never meant to hear that," she said. "I am so sorry, honey."

Andy shrugged.

"It gave me a new word to look up," he said. "I'd heard the word 'bastard' before but I didn't know what it meant. Once I looked it up, it made sense why she never liked me. I didn't much care for her either, so I guess we were even."

"I could have killed her when she said that," Camille said. The bitterness she felt a decade earlier returned. "Well, I guess you understand part of what I'm going to tell you. Do you remember my Dad?"

Andy suppressed a smile. He wondered if Rita Riley would lose her status as Regan's mother at some point and become known only as some child's grandmother. It seemed likely.

"I remember he was a lot nicer than Grandma," Andy said.

Camille nodded.

"Your grandmother is a very religious woman," Camille started.

"Who apparently forget that charity begins at home," Andy cut it. Camille smiled but nodded again.

"I spent as much time in confession when I was a child as I did in school," she continued. "Dad didn't play that game. He went to church and all but he wasn't ridiculous about it. After I graduated high school, I was accepted to St. Mary's College. As you might guess, it is affiliated with the Catholic Church. Your grandmother thought I should find a nice Catholic boy, get married and raise a lot of Catholic babies."

Andy rolled his eyes.

"I guess I was a pretty girl," Camille said. "I've been told I was."

"And you've been told at least twice today that you're a beautiful woman," Andy interrupted again.

"This is hard enough without you butting in," Camille said. "So, I got to St. Mary's and I met a guy. He was handsome and funny and charming. I was just a shy, stupid girl who didn't know any better."

Andy's eyes narrowed. He hated that someone had taken advantage of his Mom and he decided he might look up his father just to kick the man's ass.

"But, Mom, that doesn't explain about why you didn't hit him for child support," he said. "You know, it's not too late. I'm still under 18. If you file for it now, they'll get it from him if he's still alive."

Camille shook her head.

"Damn it, will you put away your stupid pride for once," Andy said. "You have sacrificed your whole life and I'm as much his responsibility as yours."

"It's not pride," Camille said. "I'm scared."

"Of what?" Andy asked hotly. "I swear, if he threatened you he and I are going to meet whether he likes it or not."

Camille's mouth dropped.

"No, Andy," she said. "You have it wrong. I'm not scared of him. Evan never threatened me nor do I think he would ever hurt me. I'm scared he will come and take you away from me."

"You don't have to worry about that now," Andy protested. "Jesus, Mom, you need to take a few minutes to read up on parental rights and responsibilities. There is no court in America that would let a father reappear 10 or 15 years after running out on his pregnant girlfriend and get custody."

Camille realized she couldn't stop until Andy knew the whole story. Giving him parts only left him to fill in the blanks. And he wasn't doing that very well.

"That's not what happened and it's not the American courts I worry about," Camille said. "It is the British Courts and they could easily side with him. You see, hell, how much do you know about Great Britain?"

"Enough to know it's no place we're going to visit if we hit the lottery," Andy said. Camille laughed in spite of herself.

"Would it surprise you to learn that I spent a Christmas there before you were born?" she said with a touch of wistfulness in her voice. "I spent a Christmas in a beautiful house near Cardiff, Wales. It was his family's second home. I'll never forget it and I would love to see some of that beautiful countryside again."

Andy's mouth had dropped.

"The reason I never asked for child support is because Evan has no idea you even exist," Camille said. "Dad was fine with things. He said as long as he treated me well – which he did – and I was happy – which I was – he was for it. But your grandmother hated Evan. First of all, he was English but more importantly, he wasn't a Catholic."

"You're shitt-, kidding me," Andy said. "A lot of people encourage their daughters to fall in love with nice men with a lot of money. Did this stupid woman live in the 1800s?"

"I think she wished she did," Camille said. "Evan's parents liked me well enough. They weren't jumping up and down with joy because I was not only a commoner but also an American. But they were pleasant and I won them over."

"Wait!" Andy said. "A 'commoner'? Do you mean you were with ... no, wait he's about a hundred and he was already married. The kids are only a little older than I am."

"England still has hereditary nobility," Camille explained. "Evan was heir to an earldom. He's probably already inherited. As his oldest son, you would be his heir. In fact, if you wanted to, you could probably claim his estate and the title. That's why I didn't notify him or seek support. He asked me to marry him. I knew I would have to choose him or my family and I chose badly. I told him that I couldn't do that to my mother. He left school and returned to England and that was that. It was two weeks later than I realized I was pregnant. But if he knew he had a son here, particularly my son, he might convince a court in England to give him custody because you are the heir to a title and an estate."

"And he would have played hell on Easter getting me back there, too," Andy said. "I don't care how much money he has. Jesus Christ on a cracker, Mom, you could have been the Lady Whatever instead of working next door to a crack house."

"Don't remind me," she said.

"But I don't understand a single thing you tried to say earlier," Andy continued. "He loved you and he treated you well. His parents accepted you. What could you possibly have against rich people? It sounds to me that you should be against parents who think they can live their children's lives for them – which is exactly what you sounded like."

Camille's eyes widened.

"I, well, I guess a part is that I've worried for years that Evan would learn about you and show back up," Camille admitted. "Today it's been about how you might find him with Rita Riley's money and decide you want nothing more to do with me since I hid things from you."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Andy promised as he hugged his Mom. "Have you thought about going back to college? Regan suggested that you might like San Jose State and you can afford it. Personally, I think you'd make a great teacher."

Camille laughed.

"You might not have noticed but I don't really like kids much," she said. "You can't believe how happy I was that you matured so quickly."

"What's his name?" Andy asked.

"Why?" Camille parried.

"Because I might want to contact him in the future," Andy said. "And because I think it's my right to know."

"Evander Ryan Duffield," she said. "He is likely the Earl of Smithfield now. His father is Andrew Ryan Duffield."

Camille sighed.

"Maybe you should contact him," she said. "The fact that you are a descended from an English peer might sway the Rileys in your direction."

"Fuck Rita Riley," Andy said harshly, then blushed. "I am so sorry, Mom. I'm a bit off balance now. I don't care if Rita Riley ever accepts me. If it takes something like that, she can hate me for the rest of her life. I was thinking more along the lines of hereditary diseases and such. You know, for the future."

Camille didn't even get irked by Andy's language.

"Will you tell Regan?" she asked.

"Maybe but probably not now," Andy answered. "I meant what I said. It doesn't make the least bit of difference to me who he is or where he is. You have always been all I ever needed. But what I want most of all is to see you living the life you deserve to live. I think you should let this Evan guy know that I'm around and let the chips fall where they may. In a couple of weeks, no one can force me to go anywhere."

He smiled at his Mom.

"Not even you," he added.


9 p.m. Sunday

Regan could tell by the tone of Andy's voice that something was wrong. They had spoken on the phone four times and there was always a current of excitement that radiated from him. Now his voice was dull, almost lifeless.

"What's bothering you?" Regan asked.

"Nothing, I'm OK," Andy answered. He didn't think he sounded any differently than he normally did.

"Andy, if you don't want to tell me, that's fine," Regan countered. "But something is wrong. I can tell."

"Yeah, I guess there is," he said. "Mom and I sort of had an argument. It's probably the first time we've raised our voices to the other in I don't know how long."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Regan replied. "I hope it isn't because of me."

"It's not," Adam assured her. "Well, I guess it started while we were talking about you. You're about the only new topic we have to talk about. But it escalated pretty quickly and it wasn't about you anymore."

"Andy, I don't want to cause problems with you and your Mom," Regan declared.

"And you're not," Andy answered. He had told his Mom he probably wouldn't discuss this with Regan in the near future but he found that he wanted her input. "She told me about my father and I'm not sure what to do with the information she gave me."

"Oh!" Regan said. "I swear that doesn't make a bit of difference to me. I don't care if she was artificially inseminated by aliens or if he is a convicted serial killer. I like the man she raised you to be. If you want to talk to me about it, I'm here."

Andy chuckled.

"It's a little less exciting than aliens and a lot less creepy than a serial killer," he mused. He couldn't understand why he felt so much better about things just by using Regan as a sounding board. "Uh if I tell you something, can you promise me it won't go any farther?"

"Of course," Regan replied.

"It might not be that easy," Andy insisted. "But I have to figure out a few things and I'm not sure I can do this without help."

"I'll help however you want me to," Regan assured him. "And I'll keep the information to myself even if it causes me to burst."

"Well, I guess you can share it if you feel like you might explode," Andy said with a laugh. "That would take some time to clean up and all that."

"Now you're saying I'm fat?" Regan teased.

"Nope, you're my lovely, adorable, wonderful girlfriend," Andy said.

"Ooh, that's it," Regan said. "That is how I want to be introduced. Maybe throw in something about smoking-hot sexy. No I want sultry."

"Slutty?" Andy asked, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

"No, sultry," Regan giggled. "Although, you and I can discuss the possibility of slutty in private."

"So you're OK with yesterday?" Andy asked.

"Perfectly OK," Regan replied. "I was only disappointed that we had to part afterward. I don't like watching you leave."

"What's that old saying?" Andy asked. "'I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave.'"

Regan was silent for a moment.

"I don't get it," she said eventually.

"It means I don't want you to go but I like watching your butt when you do," Andy said.

"Oh, well, I don't mind that then," Regan said brightly. "Is it true?"

"Word for word," Andy promised. "Even in your skirt yesterday, I stood outside and watched you until you boarded the elevator."

"I'm glad," Regan said. "I saw how pretty Erin is."

"Now there is slutty instead of sultry," Andy said. "Regan, I promise you that you are just as pretty as any person I've ever seen. But you also have, I don't know, grace."

"Do you think I'm as pretty as your Mom?" Regan asked with a giggle.

"I saw an ugly side of her this evening," Andy said.

"Are things better now?" Regan wondered.

"I think so," he replied.

"What started it?" Regan inquired.

"Mom said I didn't know how rich people react," Andy told her.

"Well, that's probably true," Regan said softly. "And that led to the revelation about your parentage?"

"Not directly," Andy said. He decided to go ahead with the rest of it. "It appears my father is wealthy."

"Then why in the hell isn't he helping out there?" Regan said with real anger in her voice. "I hear this crap all the time. Some guy gets his secretary pregnant and then just abandons her and she just lets it go. She should make the son-of-a-bitch pay for the rest of his stupid life."

She paused and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Andy," she said quietly. "I forgot we were talking about your father."

"Well, that isn't exactly the way it happened," Andy said, smiling despite himself. It was nice that he and Regan were on the same page about so many things in life. "He asked her to marry him. She told him no because of my grandmother."

"I think I hate that woman," Regan cut in. She remembered that the woman had put Andy and his Mom out on the street without any warning when he was eight years old.

"Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that going around," Andy replied. "So he went back to England. Then Mom found out she was pregnant."

"Which doesn't absolve him of child support," Regan pointed out. "I have a feeling the English would enforce that just as quickly as the U.S. courts do."

"He doesn't know about me," Andy said softly. "At least I don't think he does. I get the impression from what Mom told me that he might have been more than willing to help. But she was also worried that he might convince a court to give him custody. It gets a little convoluted. Uh, do you have the internet in your room?"

"Yeah," Regan said. Then it occurred to her that Andy probably didn't have it at home. She hadn't seen a computer while she was visiting him. "If you feel comfortable telling me this, I can look it up for you."

Andy pondered. He didn't think it would make any difference to Regan but his Mom was right. There was a lot about her he didn't know.

"Evander Ryan Duffield," Andy said.

"Sounds swanky," Regan laughed. "I'll see what I can find. You know, if you want, I can ask Dad to see what he can find."

"No!" Andy said quickly. "I don't want your parents to know about this – maybe ever."

"OK," Regan said. He heard the sounds of typing. "But Dad would be cool with ... Oh, God. Andy, uh, well, there is no doubt that Evander Duffield is your father."

"Why do you say that?" Andy asked.

"I did an image search," Regan said. "You look just like him. I mean, it's scary. Thank God I don't look this much like my mother. Jesus Christ, Andy, he's a freaking earl. That's nobility."

"I know," Andy said. "That's why Mom didn't tell him. I guess I would be his first child and in line to inherit the title, for whatever that's worth. But now that I'm older it probably won't make much difference. I don't want something like that and I wouldn't want to step in front of someone else who is probably looking forward to it."

"Well, from what I can glean, he's not super wealthy," Regan said. "I mean, he's well off. He sure as hell could toss a couple bucks a month toward helping you out."

She let out a loud breath.

"Andy," she said softly. "Honey, Evan Duffield has never married and he has no heir."

"Oh, fuck," Andy muttered. "Can you call back in a while? I need to talk to Mom again before she goes to work."

"Yeah," Regan said. "I have to put the phone away at 10. I'll call a few minutes before so I can tell you good night."


Andy walked down the hallway to his Mom's room. She had retreated there after their conversation and hadn't come out again. He knocked softly and she told him to come in.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, holding two pieces of paper. Andy sat beside her and put his arm around her.

"I told Regan," he said.

"I figured you would," she said. "I can see that she has become very important to you. I'm sorry I said hurtful things about her. I'm sure if you like her then she is a nice person."

"I went out with Erin for nine months," Andy countered. Camille shook her head sadly.

"We both know why you did that," she answered. She handed over one of the things she held – a photo. At first glance it looked like Andy standing with his Mom. But she looked younger and there were just enough differences in the men to show it wasn't Andy.

"She said I looked a lot like him," Andy said. "You know, you're prettier now than you were even then."

"What else did she say?" Camille wondered.

Andy chuckled.

"Well, her first reaction was that you should have gotten child support from him," Andy commented. "Actually, that was about her first through third reactions. She didn't have much comment when she found out who he was. I have something else I need to tell you."

Camille nodded.

"Why don't you call in sick tonight," Andy said. "In fact, why don't you quit altogether and use the money you've saved?"

"I might," Camille said. "I've been thinking about it. Now, quit stalling, tell me what you know. I can see it's bothering you."

Andy took a deep breath.

"Evan Duffield is still a bachelor," he said. "He has no children. He's just like you, it seems."

"He always was," Camille said sadly. Then she offered Andy the second slip of paper.

"Swiss bank account?" Andy wondered when he looked at the series of numbers written in ink.

Camille hugged her son and laughed.

"International phone number," she said. "011 is the prefix for international calls. The 44 identifies England. The rest is the number to the estate in Smithfield. At least it was 18 years ago. It might have changed."

"So you think I should just call this guy up and say, 'Hey, Pops, thought you like to know you're not really childless, '" Andy asked.

"I can't help you with what to say," Camille said.

"The hell you can't," Andy declared. "I don't know this guy. You do. Besides, it's your responsibility to let him know about me."

"Perhaps it is," Camille said. "But I've shirked that responsibility for 18 years and I'm not afraid to shirk it for 18 more."

Edited By BlackIrish; Proofread by The Old Fart.

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