Claire Thompson - Tracy in chains

Tracy bit off her own retort that she'd bet it was. The jerk was probably totally humiliated by his horrible behavior the other night. Either that, or he conveniently didn't remember a thing.

Not referring to the incident, Kyle had recently sent her a long heartfelt letter about her betrayals and said, despite it all, he still loved her. He admonished her that she owed him, owed the relationship, so much more than she had given it. Tracy thought a lot about what he had written. She realized she herself had spent much of their marriage feeling that Kyle 'owed' her something as well. In the end, neither got what they felt was their 'due.'

She had asked Paul, "How do we get to this point then, where we feel someone owes us something?"

"When we have given more than we should have," he answered.

"Why should? Tracy asked, confused.

"Because. We didn't give because we wanted to be generous. We gave because we wanted to control."

Ah. Bingo.

Things had gone pretty smoothly, once attorneys got into the process, and the proceedings became more impersonal. There were a few phone calls at night when an obviously drunk Kyle called to scream at Tracy, calling her horrible names and finally breaking down in tears over the phone. The calls shook Tracy badly. She got Caller ID and took to screening all calls after that.

Tracy blossomed as she explored her relationship with Paul. Free at last of the constraints of deceit and obligation, she began to fully realize the possibilities opening up in her life. She couldn't afford to stay in their house alone, and there was no alimony in Texas – not that she'd have taken it. She could take care of herself.

Kyle said he felt attached to the house, and would buy her half of the appraised value, after they paid all their joint debts. This suited Tracy, even though most of the debt was for things Kyle wanted and she hadn't cared about at all, like the large Jacuzzi bathtub, the ridiculously expensive redwood deck, and his $20,000 stereo system.

She didn't care about the money. She didn't care about her job, either, and began to dream of finding something new. She didn't know exactly what she wanted to do, but she knew she wanted to dosomething. Maybe she would go back to school and finish her degree. Maybe she would leave Houston altogether, go to New York and find Paul.

Paul, who really would have waited those thousand years, who'd secretly been in love with Tracy almost from the first time they'd spoken on the phone, was the one who kept advising, urging her to wait.

"This isn't the time to leap into action, Tracy. I know it feels like it is, but trust me. I've been there. What's important, is a lesson I learned a long time ago. When you aren't sure what to do, the best thing to do is nothing. Wait; take your time. Let things settle themselves. You and I have all the time in the world."

When Tracy spoke longingly to him of their meeting, of her coming to see him, he said, "Listen, I have a better idea. Why don't I come to you? You have enough going on right now without hopping a plane to New York. Let me come to see you. We'll make a weekend of it."

"Oh, I couldn't have you here," Tracy responded. The thought of her darling Paul lying where Kyle had lain was repellent to her.

"Not there, silly. I'll get a hotel room. What's the big deal? It'll be better anyway, on neutral territory. Just you and me. We'll get to find out at last if what we feel is real. "

And now he was winging his way to her. Maybe that's why she was so damn nervous. What if it wasn't real? What if it was only their shared desire; their urgent need to connect with someone that had led them to cling to each other? She had spent the last nine years fooling herself that Kyle was the perfect man for her. Apparently, her powers of self-deception were rather remarkable, she thought ruefully.

Her sandals rubbed her heels. She knew better than to wear new shoes in airports. She found the monitor and stood blinking up at it, applying her lipstick, feeling the contour of her lips with the tube of pretty pink color that matched her fingernails and toenails.

The plane had already landed, and she wasn't at the gate, like she wanted to be. Shit, shit, shit. She hurried toward gate four, hoping he wasn't standing there, thinking she wasn't going to show.

And then she saw him.

He was smiling at her, grinning as he watched her hurrying toward him in her stupid shoes. He moved toward her like a hip-hung jungle cat, his stride confident and deliberate.

They met midway and Tracy felt suddenly shy. Paul took her in his arms and held her. He was laughing, teasing her. "I looked up and saw this gorgeous woman running down the hallway. I was like, man, who is that girl, in such a hurry? Who is she so eager to meet?" He released her and she looked up at him, a little embarrassed, but he was smiling so widely, so clearly delighted to see her, that she relaxed and laughed with him.

"Fucking shoes," she said.

"Take 'em off, why don't you?"

"Here? In the airport?"

"Sure, why not? It's warm out. You give me the keys and tell me where you're parked. I'll bring the car around."

Paul was dressed in a dark blue cotton shirt with no collar, tucked into very faded and clearly much worn blue jeans. He had probably just grabbed the first thing out of his closet. His dark hair was long, pulled back in a ponytail, shiny against the fluorescent lights of the terminal.

"Where's your stuff?" she asked, as she slipped the useless sandals from her feet.

"You're looking at it," he said, hoisting his duffel bag up over his shoulder. "I travel light." He was only staying for the weekend, after all. But no whips and chains? She mentally grinned at herself, realizing she was a little disappointed, having expected an arsenal of BDSM toys like Guy carried around.

Reading her mind he nudged her and said, "What, you were expecting a whipping post and a cat o' nine tails? Didn't think they'd travel too well, if you know what I mean."

His accent was so cute, so New York. She grinned up at him, not denying it. She was used to him reading her mind anyway. It was comforting in a way, to be so understood. To be loved for, rather than in spite of, who you were.

God, she was here with him, with Paul, in the flesh! She wanted to kiss him, but he was striding along, eager to get outside and get the car. When they exited the terminal he stopped and dropped his bag. Taking Tracy in his arms, Paul brought his face down to hers and gave her a long probing kiss that left her literally weak in the knees. It was he who finally pulled away, and Tracy held on, not wanting to let go.

Paul smiled down at her and chided gently, "Let me go, Tracy love. Let me get the car so we can get out of here." A little embarrassed, Tracy let go of him and pointed him in the direction of her car, hoping he'd find it. A few minutes later he pulled up and she climbed in the passenger seat, feeling comfortable with him at the wheel.

They drove along in relative silence, discussing the best way to get to the motel where she had booked a room for him. She made sure in advance it was nice, and bought a bouquet of pretty spring flowers in honor of his arrival. She also bought strawberries and bottles of water. As she was placing them on the low bureau, she gave a rueful smile, remembering the first time with Guy, and the handcuffs and Dr. Peppers.

When she told Paul about the cuffs, he snorted in disgust. "No real Dom would use metal cuffs! They can break your skin if you struggle in them. That's the point, I guess, but they aren't toys. No, soft leather cuffs are much better." She remembered that talk; he had been so nonjudgmental about her experience, and her reactions. He did seem a little jealous of Guy, though at the time, she had no idea of his true feelings for her.