Tori Carrington - You Sexy Thing!

“Hõla, Consuela. It’s Grace. Is Mom around terrorizing the place?”

A soft giggle, then, “Just this morning she sez to me, ‘Consuela, I found wrinkle in bedspread. Completely unacceptable behavior. From now on make beds twice.”’

“Sounds like Mom all right.” All too much like Mom. A woman with a formidable education who had traded a career for her husband and daughter…and counting wrinkles in bedspreads. Gracie had never needed to look beyond her own mother for the reasons why she never wanted to marry. Her identity was too high a price to pay for a pair of warm feet to cuddle up to in bed at night. She’d always told herself she’d get a dog if she felt the need for constant companionship. Her parents’ marriage was proof positive that men asked for too much and gave up too little. It was enough to pick up her own socks. She didn’t want to have to pick up a husband’s, as well.

She leaned back and smiled, watching the vivid colors of autumn in Central Park sweep by as Consuela filled her in on a punctuation-challenged litany of her mother’s recent complaints. All of them nitpicky issues that probably would never have entered her mind if she looked beyond her house and husband and had a career of her own.

Consuela finally sighed, indicating she’d vented as much as she was going to that day. “You want you should talk to her?”

Gracie hesitated then bit her bottom lip. Not because she didn’t want to talk to her mother. But because the view outside her window was absolutely breathtaking. Only in New York could you blink your eyes like Samantha on Bewitched and move from city chic to abundant nature so quickly. She sighed. “Yeah, put her on. I haven’t done my bad deed for the day yet. I figure making her late for lunch should do it.”

Consuela told her to hold the line.

Grace trailed a finger down the steamed inside of the taxi window. Once, when she’d been home for spring break in her second year of college, she’d had the temerity to ask her mother if she’d ever achieved an orgasm. Despite her ongoing attempts to shock both her parents to the point of sputtering, she’d asked the question out of curiosity. Her parents had never seemed to share a physical closeness. They spent more time apart than together. And when they were together, they seemed occupied talking about which party to attend and who they should be seen with. The only time Gracie saw her mother actually touch her father was when she was picking invisible lint off his jacket before they left for social events. Even then, she did it in such a way so that no more than her fingertips brushed the material. When Gracie’s course material had concentrated on sexual frigidity, it was only natural that Gracie thought of her mother. Only natural that Gracie would want to apply her recently acquired knowledge to everyday life.

Her mother’s answer to the orgasm question had been the only time Grace had been slapped.

“Good heavens, Consuela, can’t you even see to the simple task of asking who it is?” Gracie heard her mother’s voice come over the line, followed by, “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Gracie!” A fumbling of the phone. “Consuela, it’s Gracie.”

Gracie didn’t want to cause any more trouble for the good-humored housekeeper by pointing out to her mother that Consuela and she had already spoken, but it took mammoth effort.

“Hi, darling. What a surprise it is hearing from you. You’re never up this early.”

“I’m working, Mom. I’m on that promotional tour, remember? I did a radio interview this morning in New York.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I must have forgotten.”

Gracie tucked her chin into her chest and bit her lip. She wasn’t sure if her mother actually did forget half the details of her only child’s life, or whether she preferred to ignore them.

“So are you nervous? No, pretend I didn’t ask that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous. Besides, you have that radio show you do every week. Why would you be nervous?”

“Actually, Mom, this was a different format, so I was a bit nervous. It’s over though, so I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself.” Gracie turned her head, watching as a young mother fastened the hood of a child’s raincoat. She smiled wistfully. Had her mother ever stood out in the middle of a downpour completely unprotected to make sure she had her coat fastened securely? Not that she could remember. Sounded like something she’d have the nanny or housekeeper see to.

She blindly reached again into her monster purse. Bypassing the bag of peanuts, she instead slid out a copy of her book. “Have you received the book yet?”

“The book…oh, right! I’m sure we have. In fact, I’m positive that we have. It must be around here somewhere. Why just this morning I’m sure I saw Consuela sneaking a peek between the covers.”

Ah, the self-protective reversion to “we” that her mother fell back on when she couldn’t quite face things on her own. Gracie wondered exactly who “we” encompassed. Her mother and her father? The entire household? Or the entire city of Baltimore? Gracie slowly ran her finger over the raised lettering, wondering at the hypersensitivity of her fingertip. “And you? Have you read it, Mom?”

A pause. Then a sigh. “No, dear, I’m afraid I haven’t. And I don’t think I will, either, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It isn’t all the same to me, Mom. I sent that copy especially for you. Not Dad. Not Consuela. It…” She sat up then straightened her skirt. An impossible task given its shortness. “It would mean a lot to me, Mom. I’d really like your input.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grace. What good would my input do now? You couldn’t possibly change anything.”

“I don’t want to change anything. I just want you to read it. Can you do that for me?” Grace leaned her forehead against the glass, then rolled the window down and took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. Finally she laughed, then said, “Never mind, Mom. I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“That’s my girl. I knew you’d come around if we talked about it, dear.”

But we haven’t talked about it. I’ve talked, you’ve stone-walled. Just another day in the life and times of Grace and Priscilla Mattias.

At any rate, she supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t gotten the usual “Grace, your biological clock’s ticking…there’s only a small number of suitable men out there and they’re all being snatched up by other women…are you ever going to settle down and give me grandkids” speech that punctuated most of her conversations with her mother.

“If it makes any difference, I’m glad your interview went well, Grace. And I’m happy that things are going the way…well, the way that you want them.”

What went unsaid was that “things” weren’t going the way her mother wanted them. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate you saying that.” She leaned back into the seat and grabbed for her peanuts. Things were going just the way she wanted them. Her first book was taking off. She had her new bayside condo in Baltimore that was now being renovated. And she was enjoying every moment of making her own decisions without someone constantly breathing down her neck and asking her just what in the hell she thought she was doing.

She smiled to herself. Yes, she was very happy with her life, indeed. She popped a few peanuts into her mouth. “So tell me, Mom. Which problem do you hope to throw money at during lunch today?”

CHOPPED LIVER. That’s what he felt like after his bout with Dr. Gracie Mattias, pure and simple and bloody raw. Dylan cast a glance around the lobby. Tanja wasn’t even around for him to vent at. She’d abandoned him outside the radio station, claiming she had family in the area and had scheduled to meet a friend for lunch, did he mind? He’d wanted to tell her yes, he did mind, but hadn’t. He was afraid he’d sound too…demanding? Unbending? Whiny?