Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

“We've always been friends. I've always suspected she sensed we could be more.”

Bucek nodded. "You'd have been an idiot not to have been interested in her. Single gals of her quality aren't out there at your age, and at mine. So, what is she?”

Matt understood the question instantly. "UU, but she's not practicing.”

The older man's sharp guffaw made all heads within twenty feet turn their way.

“Sony, Matt." Frank was trying to smother his laughter with the linen napkin. "She is independent. Well, UUs are very easy with ecumenical anything. The ceremony shouldn't be a problem."

“No."

“Spit it out.”

Matt glanced at his small plate of wing bones and crumpled batter.

Frank smiled. "I'm not asking about what you're eating, I'm asking about what's eating you."

“That transparent?"

“You're as edgy as a seminarian with a question about wet dreams.”

Matt looked around, but everyone was chatting and drinking and ignoring them again. He lowered his voice. "I'm living in sin."

“Do you like it?”

Matt felt Father Frankenfurter had let him down with the blunt, almost jovial question. "Obviously, yes. And no.”

“What's not to like?"

“I can't receive communion at mass."

“So don't. Everyone will just think you didn't fast, if they think anything."

“But we may not get married for months."

“Didn't we priests always advise young couples to wait?”

“Frank, you're supposed to be the voice of authority and wisdom here."

“Nope. Not my deal anymore. Come on, Matt! You were a parish priest for years. How many beautiful nuptial masses did you officiate at where the lovely young couple moved into separate apartments after months, even years together, just before they showed up in your office to discuss wedding plans?"

“A lot, I suppose. Some wanted advanced degrees before marrying. Many had been 'dating' for several years."

“Sounds sensible to me. Why can't you do likewise for a few months?"

“I was a priest. I'm supposed to follow the rules more than anyone."

“You were supposed to be compassionate too. How about having a little compassion for yourself. Look. You are in love with a great young woman. You know she's had another lover—"

“It wasn't just that. They'd planned on marrying eventually, except his . . . job got in the way.”

Frank waved a dissenting hand. "I'm not slamming anyone. I'm saying that people who love each other should express it the best way they know how. There are way too many people in this world expressing hate. They're in the headlines every day. Jesus associated with the common people who felt love, not the control-freak hypocrites who ran the temple. Oops, your girlfriend has a name made for double entendres in our game. Are you hurting anyone? Then chill."

“But—”

Frank raised that commanding hand again. "You came here to Las Vegas hunting a man, right?"

“Looking for."

“Hunting. I know a bit about that. Your abusive ex-stepfather. What drove that?"

“I stood up to him when I was in high school, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to see what had become of him, I wanted to . . . scare the crap out of him, take out on him what he'd taken out on my mother. Not me, my mother."

“So you had an agenda of hate."

“Anger, more."

“And did you catch up with him?”

Matt nodded, taking a slug of scotch.

“What did you do?"

“Slammed him against a wall. Told him what I thought of him. Tried to beat him up back, but he was such a loser, so truly small after I saw him again. He wasn't worth my rage."

“You're a lucky man.”

Matt gave him a questioning look.

“You had every natural right to hate and harm that guy. And that would have been a mortal sin. You would have been taking on his evil, perpetuating the chain of hurt and retaliation. You stopped. So, forget it. I'm not the one who's going to call love a sin for you. Yeah, I know the church has confused love with sex, for centuries, but I'm out of it now, and you are too. My advice: Don't overthink it, kid. Love needs to be embraced with open arms and eyes and no damn guilt, just as we all do, God bless us everyone. So enjoy.”

Temple lay awake in bed, running the events and questions of the day through her head, when she heard the floor above her creaking as Matt came home.

Late. Three-thirty.

She wondered what had kept him out. Whatever it was, he must be wide-awake still, like her.

She'd heard the sounds of his movements above her rooms before. This was an old building; floors creaked, faucets squeaked. Now the sounds of his motions drew her. She'd fought so hard for months to ignore their attraction, to not think about him. Now she didn't have to. She could lie here getting turned on. She could think about doing something about it.

When she spun her legs out of the bed to the floor, Louie, arrayed by her feet, meowed his protest.

“It's all yours, fella. Spread out and enjoy.”

She was wearing her favorite sleep T-shirt, which was as unflattering as a Mother Hubbard dress. But she didn't plan on keeping it on long anyway.

She ran barefoot up the stairs and knocked on his door.

It took a minute or two to open. He must have been in the bedroom already.

No, he still had his open shirt and Jockeys on.

Not for long.

“Hi, I'm your nonaddictive sleeping pill," she said. "Better get in bed and let me start acting on you."

“Temple!" He was laughing as she backed him up into the bedroom, onto the bed.

“What? I'm too much for you?"

“Never," he said fervently. She liked fervent. "It's just that I never dreamed that you'd come up here like this, to visit me."

“What did you dream?" Temple asked.

“Oh, God. That you'd suddenly really look at me. See me. Love me. I was needy, I guess.""I don't think so, Matt. I think you were hot. That's the way it starts when you love someone. You want them too.”

“One? Them?"

“Making general subjects agree with verbs is the writer's worst chore. Cut me some slack."

“I don't want to cut you some slack," he quoted her. " 'Not one bit. I want you on your toes,' working your heart and soul off, 'to make me a very happy' guy."

“There's no way we can be on our toes in this position," Temple pointed out, wriggling her bare ones.

She knew she shouldn't tease him. He buried his face between her neck and shoulder. She giggled.

“That tickles!"

“This is bad?"

“This is good." Temple sighed.

She felt a little guilty. Not about Max, for once, for about luring Matt from the rules of his church.

She felt like an older woman. My God! Her. She, the woman, was the more experienced. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The woman on top. Society said there was something unnatural about this inversion of the "natural order." Women were supposed to be anxious and ignorant. Innocent, they called it. Duped, others might call it.

But it was her responsibility now. To be gentle with him. To admire and encourage his intensity, his unfurling lust. Whew. She could shatter him with a careless word or gesture. Make him doubt himself, what he felt. It was a tremendous responsibility.

And . . . wow, really exciting.

He was responding with even more intensity tonight, kissing her, covering her. Matt was tireless, passionate, in love with love.

First love. Could it really be only love? She wished, wished, wished that was so. It would salve his always raw Catholic conscience. God must have wanted this, because it was so exulting, so personal, so ecstatic. God needed sex, or else there'd be no universe, no natural world, no creatures great and small.