Chapter 41

The morning after the night before was not nice, but copious amounts of water and painkillers helped, along with several cups of coffee.

All three gathered in Stan's kitchen, listlessly going through the motions of making breakfast. Finally, Stan said "Hey, we ought to go to Iorio's for breakfast. Getting out of the house would do us good, anyway."

"I never thought I'd hear you advocating fresh air, Stan!" grumbled Anne, though she had a slight smile on her face.

"He's probably right, though," Denise thought out loud.

"I know. Well, even a stopped clock's right twice a day!" Anne answered, and the two ladies sniggered at Stan

"I'm damned if I'm walking though. It looks freezing outside this morning! I'll take my car," said Stan, ignoring the jibes which only got worse after that.

When they entered Iorio's Stan was surprised to be greeted by Susan and Elaine.

"I thought you'd be still in bed, Elaine. Up all night partying, and still up and about this morning? I wish I could do that!" he told the diminutive girl.

Elaine looked shyly at Susan. "No, I kinda left the party early. You guys were still there. I wanted to come home to Suze..."

Susan reached over and took her hand. Stan and Anne smiled, and Denise said, "Aww, Ain't love grand!" and had to dodge a piece of breadstick thrown by Susan.

The friends sat together, exchanged news and gossip, sharing who'd been seen with whom at the party. After a while though Susan took Elaine's hand again and said, "You know that there's no formal invitations or anything, but we would both like you guys to come to our ceremony. It'll not be much, but you've all been very supportive, and you're our friends, so we want you there."

"Even me, Susan?" Denise said in a very small voice, looking down at her hands on the tabletop.

"Especially you, Denise. I think I can safely say, you know us best of all! And, well... I know I probably overreacted to what happened, and I don't want to break the friendship. So yes, we — I — want you to come, Denise."

Denise finally looked up at Susan. As Stan watched Denise, he saw hope flare, then die, eventually to be replaced by acceptance.

"I'd love to come, Susan, Elaine. Thanks," she said, quietly, sincerely. Stan nodded as well. But Anne seemed upset.

"When's it likely to be, Susan?" she asked.

"Probably the second week in February," announced Elaine.

"Oh, God. I don't know if I can make it!" Anne blurted. "I need to explain. I'm almost certainly leaving The Firm — that's not for public consumption, by the way. Not yet. But if it comes off, I'll be working God knows how many hours a day with no time off for good behaviour, or bad behaviour, either, Stan, so don't you say it! I'll try, honestly I will, but I just can't promise to be there."

Susan touched Anne's hand briefly. "It's okay, Anne. If you can't make it, we'll understand, but we'd love it if you were."

The couple of days before Christmas were an unaccustomed rush for Stan. In previous years, when Caron was still alive, she'd done much of it herself and all Stan had had to do was shop for and have her presents store-wrapped. This year was different. He'd already bought the presents for everyone, but wrapping them was not something he felt he'd be very good at.

Still and all, it was a job that he felt he had to do, so he did it. Actually, Stan was well pleased at the end. He was looking forward to giving his lovers their presents.

Then there were the cards for his more distant relatives, the aunts and uncles, cousins and so on. They'd all reached the point where the only contact they had was the twice-yearly exchange of Christmas and birthday cards. This was the main thing that Caron had done for him. He'd completely neglected it last year, but now he felt that duty was duty and, after all, they were family. So he looked for Caron's old address book.

Stan found it, began to look through it, and was quickly immersed in memories. Caron and he had been to this cottage in Ireland about ten years ago; then they'd corresponded with the owners a few more times. He remembered the cottage well: very Spartan looking on the outside, but inside it had gas-fired central heating, a satellite receiver and much, much more. The beds were large, and comfortable, and fun...

Stan spent well over an hour lost in his memories of the time there, and other times when he and Caron had been away together. A holiday in Tenerife which was their actual honeymoon, delayed a couple of years; a week in the highlands at another cottage that he'd loved but Caron hadn't; and many and various weekends away to various places.

He was still there, sat in his recliner when Denise came in. "Hi Stan!" she called from the doorway as she hung up her key.

Stan shook himself. "Hi Denise!" he answered, pulling himself together. It was already near dark — where had the time gone?

Denise entered the room, and Stan closed the address book, placing it on the coffee table with his uncompleted cards.

She took one look at his face, quickly crossed the room, bending to hug him. "Stan, whatever's the matter?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing really. I just got lost in memories, that's all."

"I'll make us a cup of tea and then you can tell me about it," she said.

A few minutes later, Stan began telling Denise about the cards, and Caron's address book, and then the memories it had invoked. She let him talk, interjecting a careful question every now and then to keep him going when he faltered. By the end Stan felt desperately tired. It seemed to him that Denise had shouldered a lot of the grief that he'd felt that afternoon. It wasn't completely gone, of course — he knew it probably never would — but he felt better, lighter somehow.

He looked up at the pretty red haired face and asked, for the first time, "Was there something you wanted, Denise?"

"Yes, actually, Stan. But you obviously needed to share that first, it's okay. But you do realise, it's way past the last posting date for cards?

That fact had obviously been lost on Stan. Denise's eyes twinkled, and she said, "Better late than never, Stan. Family is important. You can always blame the Post Office — just get them into the post as soon as you can."

Then Denise's face sobered, "Um, I wanted to ask if you minded if I made myself scarce this evening."

"Of course not, but... why?" Stan asked. 'Is it another woman — or worse, another man?' he thought, his anxiety rising.

"Anne. I thought it would be a good idea for you to spend some time with her... alone," she said. Stan couldn't help the sigh of relief that came out, and Denise looked at him quizzically.

"What? Oh, nothing — just me being silly. Um, yes, of course, Anne," Stan spluttered out in embarrassment. Denise just kept looking at him, with deceptive calm. Stan realized he had better head off a storm. "I thought you'd maybe found another woman," he admitted, feeling a partial truth was the best thing in the circumstances.

Denise said, with a tinge of bitterness, "Hah! As if. I'm afraid that side of me has had to go into hibernation for a while. No, I was thinking about you and Anne. When was the last time you two made love?"

Stan spluttered some more. "I-I can't remember, actually," he told his lover — his other lover, he reminded himself.

"There you are then!" Denise cried, triumphantly.

"This has to be the weirdest conversation I've had," Stan said. "Being told off by my girlfriend for not making enough love to my other girlfriend!"

"Ah, yes, but you know I'm right, don't you, Stan?" Denise replied, waving a finger at him. Stan could only nod.

"Are you always this up-front about things, Denise?" he asked her when he'd recovered a little.

"Oh, no, Stan. I can be demure when I want," she answered, looking up from under her lashes at him. Stan's heart thumped at the sight, and he stood, reaching out to her.

"I think that, before I devote myself to my other girlfriend, this girlfriend might like a demonstration of how much I love her," he said, tenderly. Denise smiled, eyes now dancing with anticipation. She let herself be drawn to her feet and embraced him, offering her lips up to be kissed — an offer which Stan did not refuse.

Before they could get too carried away, however, Denise gently disengaged and eased away from him. "Not now, Stan. This day should be for Anne. I'll have my share another day — but your girlfriend needs you, now. She's been under a lot of stress, you know, and an unconventional relationship hasn't helped. I'm going to go now, and you can get yourself ready — I've already told her to come over here tonight."

"You what?" Stan spluttered, again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today.

Denise leaned forward to him again, speaking sweetly into his ear. "Just let us organise your life, Stan, you know you want to!" Then she drew back, whirled and began to go. Stan reached for her, and she stopped and looked at him when she felt the hand on her arm.

"I told you, I'm going to go. Now. Get some candles and a bottle of wine, organise a good takeout, put a movie into the DVD player and look after her, Stan. I'll see you tomorrow."

Denise kissed him briefly then turned away again. Stan watched her go, marvelling at her. She was a complex person, he realised once more. 'I wonder if I'll ever really know her?'

By the time Anne showed up an hour later, Stan had done as he'd been told. The only thing not yet organised was the food, as he wasn't sure what Anne would like. But the room was softly lit by several candles and by the glowing fake coals of his gas fire. He was showered and changed, had a number of films ready for Anne to choose from, and a nice Muscadet in the fridge with glasses ready.

Anne opened the door and called out "Hello, Stan!" He could hear her putting her coat up on the hook, then she walked into the room and stopped. Stan had barely a glance at her black dress, the one she'd worn dancing, before she burst into laughter.

"What?" he asked her, grinning himself — he couldn't help it.

"Denise came to see you?" she said, once she'd mostly recovered. "Don't bother, I can see she did. She called me and told me to come around, wear something nice and be prepared for a little romance tonight. I wondered what was going on, but now I see — and definitely approve!"

Anne sashayed towards him, and Stan stood, uncertain of himself, caught in the sheer power of her sensuality. Without removing a stitch of clothing, Anne had turned up the sexual heat considerably.

He reached for her as she came to him and pulled her close. She challenged him with her eyes, and he lifted his face to meet her as she bent down to kiss him. An uncertain time later, by some unspoken communication, they released each other.

"I'll fetch the wine," Stan said, "while you decide what you want to eat."

"That's easy, Stan," she replied immediately, "I'll be doing my damnedest to swallow your dick so that I can get the cream!"

For the barest instant Stan was shocked, then his libido kicked back in and he hurried into the kitchen to retrieve the bottle. He returned, opened it with a flourish and poured two glasses, a smaller one for him and a generous one for her.

Anne was lying in repose on the sofa, eyes smouldering. She reached for her glass and drew it to her lips. Stan couldn't help but follow with his eyes as she took a mouthful of the wine, clearly enjoying it but maintaining eye contact with her lover.

"Maybe we'll order the food later," Stan said, huskily as he laid a hand on her knee and gradually stroked up her leg. The dress did not interfere as he moved up white, soft, silky thigh towards the damp heat at the top. He huffed as his fingers encountered soft curls instead of fabric and he knew that Anne had again worn no panties tonight.

Anne's eyes were dancing with barely suppressed laughter at his expression. He'd stopped, suddenly, breath held, and she touched his face gently. As she stroked his cheek she told him in a chocolate whisper, "Breathe, Stan, breathe. You're no good to me if you pass out!"

Stan took a convulsive breath and moved. He put his arms under Anne's thighs, lifted and parted them. His look challenged her to stop him. Anne had said she wanted his dick, but clearly was happy for him to go down on her too, so she spread herself, pulling the dress up above her waist and lifting her ass to improve Stan's access.

Stan took no further time. He began planting light, butterfly kisses on her thigh, moving gradually up, sometimes varying by licking or sucking for a moment. He reached her pubic hair and twirled his tongue among the curls, teasing her, breathing in her heady scent, now playing his fingers along the outside of the same thigh.