All the Right Strings

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

And so, the next evening, I was again driving up the long driveway. I’d called Marie the night before as soon as I got home.

“Got a hot date?” Marie asked, when I told her I couldn’t go to the movies with her.

“I have no idea. I helped a woman at the store yesterday and delivered a purchase to her tonight. She invited me to dinner tomorrow.”

“Is she hot?” Marie asked.

“Warm, but she’s real nice. I suppose she could be hot under the right circumstances.” I didn’t dare bring up the money thing.

“Then go for it,” Marie said. “And I’ll expect a full report the day after.”

* * * *

The procedures were the same as the night before: I announced myself, the gate slid back, and I drove up the driveway. It was earlier in the evening and still light out. I got to see more of the property. The grounds were breathtaking. They looked better kept than many of the golf courses I’d seen. In some places, trees were neatly placed. It didn’t look like they’d just grown there randomly and there were just enough trees to form a nice windbreak.

The same woman opened the door when I rang the bell.

“She’s on the terrace,” she said with a smile. “You know where it is.”

I jogged up the stairs.

“Hi!” she greeted me as I opened the door and walked out. She was dressed in a beautiful yellow silk blouse and very tight black trousers. Her gold jewelry highlighted everything she had on.

I had on not-so-tight tan slacks and a navy blue polo shirt.

“Just in time,” she commented. “Punctual, as well as efficient. I’ve never seen you in slacks before. I like it. You have a good figure.”

I looked down as I felt myself start to blush.

“A drink?” she asked as she walked to the cabinet.

“Do you have scotch?” I asked.

“A scotch drinker? Better and better. So am I.” She took out two glasses, added ice, and poured liberally into both of them. The bottle she poured from was a very expensive bottle of single malt scotch. The label bragged that it had been aged at least twenty-one years. I had tasted that brand once before but when I priced a bottle, found it was way beyond my means. That bottle had cost seventy-five dollars, and that was for just the eighteen-year variety. The twenty-one year stuff must cost twice that.

“I have a confession to make,” I admitted to her. “I don’t know how to address you. You’re Ms. Weldon at the store and your cards say just C.D. Weldon.”

She laughed. “Yes, I suppose Ms. Weldon doesn’t fit here. I know you’re Chris Anthony because I called the store. My name is Caroline but my friends call me Car.”

“Can I call you Car?” I asked. It wouldn’t be good to just assume I was a friend.

“I hope so.” She smiled.

Car turned toward the view, and then ambled over to the railing that surrounded the terrace.

“This is such a beautiful panorama. You can see almost everywhere,” I said as I turned around to look in all directions.

“Yes,” she nodded, as she sipped her drink. “It’s an over two hundred and seventy degree view. That’s why I bought this place.”

“You’re very lucky to be able to afford something like this. It’s spectacular.”

Car laughed. “Luck had nothing to do with it. Now, tell me about Chris.”

“There’s not much to tell.” I chuckled. “I’ve been working at that store since I graduated from college almost eight years ago.”

“Was that what you went to college for?”

“Heavens no. I went to school to be a cellist, but I’m not good enough to get a job with any major orchestra.”

“What would make you good enough for a major orchestra?” she asked as she looked out at the scenery.

“I’d have to devote everything to it. I’d have to practice several hours a day, but I don’t have time for that, nor the money to pay a teacher. I do spend most weekends playing with a quartet at the museum. Sometimes we even get hired for concerts in other places. Unfortunately, that doesn’t pay the bills.”

“So your job at Platinum Boutique is just a stopgap.” She peered at me.

“It seems so.”

“I’d like to hear you play sometime. Are you performing this weekend?”

“Yes. At the City Museum of Classical Art. Seven on Saturday and three o’clock Sunday afternoon.”

“Does that pay well?” she asked.

“Not really. It’s pocket change to give me some money to do things like go to the movies, or out for a drink.

“You can always come here for a drink. It doesn’t cost money. I take payment in other ways.”

My eyes must have been wide. Car whooped at my reaction.

“Then tell me about Car.” I smiled as we stood there looking out over the trees at the city in the distance and drinking our scotch. Where had she gotten all this money?

“Just the average things to begin with. I went to college and I got a job as a gofer on Wall Street.”

We laughed as I nodded my understanding.

“It only took me six years to move up. I made my money on stock. I seem to have a second sense about when to buy and sell, so I became a broker. That’s what Weldon Brokerage House does. I have a few select, rich, and adventurous clients. I don’t take everyone.”

“Wow. I’ve never had the courage to buy stock.” I crossed my arms in front of me and leaned back against the railing.

“You’d just need a trusty broker. Have you wanted to buy?”

“I think about it every now and then, when I get a little extra to put away.”

Just then, a woman came out onto the terrace, pushing a rolling table with a large tray of dishes on it. They were all guarded with metal covers. I assumed that must be Judith. She was tall and going gray, in her mid-forties or early fifties. She sorted the dishes and placed settings in front of two chairs. She also took a bottle of Bordeaux from the cabinet against the house and set it on the table with a corkscrew.

“Is there anything else you want?” she asked.

“Thank you, no, Judith.” Car shook her head and Judith left with the cart.

“Let’s see what she fixed,” she said as she sat down facing the house, leaving the chair overlooking the wonderful view for me.

“Ah! Veal parmigiana!” Car exclaimed as she took the cover from her plate.

“Wonderful. I love veal parmigiana!”

“That’s good. It’s one of Judith’s best.” Car took the cover off the large bowl in the middle of the table. It held several pieces of garlic bread. We each took one and began on the veal and the salad in dishes beside our plates.

“Why don’t you open the wine?” she said. Then she changed the subject. “Any relationships?”

I must have grinned. “Not right now.”

Car seemed pleased with that.

I reached for the wine bottle, removed the metal from its neck, and wound the corkscrew into the cork. I pulled the cork out, then poured a little into her glass.

Car looked at me with a warm, though surprised smile.

“I see you’ve done this before,” she said.

“Yes. My father made sure we knew things like that.”

“Do your folks live near here?” she asked as she inspected the wine.

“No,” I admitted. “My mom moved back to New Hampshire, to be near her sister when my dad died. That’s where she was originally from.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be,” I told her. “He had everything he wanted except a daughter who would give him grandchildren. It’s a good thing my brother’s wife likes being a mother. They’ve got five kids and they’ve only been married eight years.”

“And you never wanted children?”

I shook my head and smirked. “Nope, not me. I wouldn’t know what to do with one. What about you?” I put a bite of veal into my mouth.

Car laughed, “No, there are too many other things to do.” She poured wine into our glasses.

We talked and talked while we ate the meal. She was easy to talk to and several times I thought we were flirting with each other. By the time we were finished, the glass of scotch and the half bottle of wine had me a little light headed.

“Do you drink like this every night?” I asked.

“Not every night,” she answered. “It depends on what I want to do later.”

I may be wrong, but I think she winked at me.

“What do you want to do later?” I inquired, knowing I shouldn’t but asking anyway.

“I want you to make love to me.”

I was shocked. I didn’t know how to respond. My mouth must have fallen open.

“Don’t you want to?” she asked.

“Uh…” How do I phrase this? “Of course I do. I didn’t know you were interested.”

“Well then…” She reached for the telephone and pressed one number. “Judith, we’re finished eating…no, no dessert.”

She hung up, then stood, and reached for my hand. “Come on inside,” she told me. Her voice was soft and gentle. Then she pulled me to her and planted a passionate kiss on my face. I could feel the heat rising inside me.

“You are aggressive, aren’t you? I love aggressive women.”

“If that’s what you want, I can be very aggressive.” I took her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. Once inside, Car closed the door, pulled the shade down on it, and closed the blinds on the window beside it. I looked for shades on the glass wall but there were none.

“You don’t have to worry about that wall. When they see that the shade on the door is down, everyone knows not to disturb me.”

I smiled. “What do you like?” I asked.

“Whatever you do best.”

Being coy would not work here. I pulled her to me and kissed her. I ran my hands down over her hips and pressed her to me. In under a minute, I had her blouse off and her trousers unzipped and pushed to the floor. I shed my own shirt and pants and kicked off my loafers.

I backed her onto the bed, followed her down, and removed our remaining clothes.

My immediate thought was that I’d misjudged her. This woman was very hot. She knew what she wanted and made me want to do it. I suddenly had an expertise that I had never realized I had. It took us to heights I’d never imagined before. I couldn’t stop and I don’t think she wanted me to. I was transformed into a stone butch and had no thought of getting my own. I just wanted her to be happy. That was enough. I kissed up and down her neck, then down to her breasts.

“Beautiful,” I whispered as I started to swallow her t**s.

As my hand started down her body and found her sweet spot, I heard her gasp. Then, as my fingers entered her and my thumb rubbed that little orb, I couldn’t hear her breathe at all. My fingers thrust back and forth, back and forth. Before long, my whole hand was wet with her.

“This okay?” I asked.

“Oh, my God!” she wailed. “Yes, Chris, Yes!”

I couldn’t stop. I kept rolling my fingers inside her as I thrust deeper and deeper. Finally, I felt her muscles tighten. A scream erupted from her as orgasm after orgasm overtook her. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she cried.

I gently withdrew my hand from her. I held her against me, until her body started to quiet. After a moment, she rolled over to face me. “God, you’re good,” she smiled at me. “I knew you’d be good.”

I leaned over and kissed her again.

“You are so beautiful,” she said. “I figured you were gay, but I didn’t know if you were out at work or I would have hit on you months ago.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m closeted there. They’d never understand. A few of them are outright homophobic.” I stroked her body. “You’re a very hot woman, Car. It was an absolute pleasure. I hope this won’t be a one-nighter.”

She ran her fingers down my cheek. “No way,” she smiled. “This will not be the only time. I’ll guarantee it.”

I pulled her to me and kissed her passionately as I enfolded her in my arms.

Soon she was ready again and so was I. I wanted to take her higher than before. And I did.

* * * *

We both lay back, exhausted, but I sensed she wasn’t saying something to me.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I rolled over and supported my head on my fist.

“Very okay.” She rolled to me. “Chris, I’m going on a cruise to St. Lucia in a week or so. Want to come with me? We’d be gone three or four weeks.”

St. Lucia? I was floored. “I’d love to,” I whispered to her, “but I need to work so I can pay the rent next month.”

“How much do you make in a week?”

I grimaced. “Only about three hundred and sixty dollars after taxes.” It was embarrassing.

“Would five hundred replace that?”

I looked at her, wide-eyed. “It sure would.” Then I frowned, “but I can’t just take three weeks off. My job wouldn’t be here when I got back.”

She nodded, then her expression changed. Gone was the soft in-the-shadow-of-s*x look “What if I offered you a job? I’d pay you five hundred dollars a week to be on call.”

“On call? For what?”

“What you just did. Whenever I want it.”

“Uh…I don’t do that for money, but I’d definitely do it again without being paid.”

“But you’re so good at it,” she complemented me matter-of-factly. “Everyone does it for money, one way or another. Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“Didn’t I…? Of course I did. You’re a very hot lover.”

“If I want you to stay overnight, I’ll pay a little more. If I want you all weekend, that would be an additional fee. You keep me happy and you can have almost anything you want.”

I guess I didn’t look convinced.

“Think about it. You wouldn’t have to fall in love with me, just keep me satisfied.”

I looked at her as I thought through what she’d just offered.

Car waited a few minutes while I thought. “If you want to do it, quit the boutique and come back here.”

I stopped. I had identified one of the things that bothered me. “That’s a big risk. What if you get tired of me after I’ve quit?”

She reached out and caressed my face. “Do you want a contract? I’ll sign one for six months at a time. How does that sound?”

“That’s fair but it sounds crazy. A contract to make love to you? That makes me a prostitute.”

“No!” she protested. “A kept-woman or a gigolo maybe. But never a prostitute.” She stopped to think. “No,” she decided. “Never a prostitute.”

“I’ll still have to think about it.”

“Would you stay tonight? I’ll pay for it.”

I sighed. “I’ll stay if you want.” I was astounded. “But you won’t have to pay for it.”

She caressed me and pulled me closer.

“I’ll need to be up by ten, though. I have to be at work at noon.”

She smiled. “Once more to seal the deal?”

I shook my head. “I can’t commit to anything until I think it through. But I’d love to make love to you again.”

“Then let’s.” She hugged me into her.