The Original Sinners: The Red Years

“Talk to me, Wesley,” she begged. He grew more courageous with every kiss. His hands roamed over her arms, her breasts, and even slid between her legs and caressed her through the fabric of her silk pajamas. “Tell me what you want to do.”

Wesley placed a hand on the side of her face and caressed her cheekbone with his thumb.

“I want to be inside you.” He breathed the words.

She reached between them and unbuttoned his jeans.

“Nora—” She heard a note of panic in his voice.

“We can get under the covers. Would that help?” She hoped he would say yes. Maybe it would help her, too.

“I’m the guy. I’m the one who should be saying that,” Wesley said with a rueful smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m older and a slut. Let me handle it, okay?” Could she handle it? She wanted to stop, wanted to talk to him before they went any further. She hadn’t been nervous like this in years. The night she gave her virginity to Søren felt like destiny. This felt like fear.

Wesley laughed. “Okay. Yeah, I would feel much more comfortable under the covers.”

Nora scooted off one side of the bed as Wesley slid off the other. As they pulled the sheets back, the pages of her novel fell off the bed and to the floor. Wesley picked them up and glanced at them.

Nora crawled across the bed toward him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. But Wesley didn’t respond. He just kept reading.

“It’s just fiction.” Nora kissed his shoulder.

“William and Caroline?” Wesley finally tore his eyes from the page. “That’s your father’s name and my mother’s name. Is this about us?”

Nora shook her head. “No, not really.”

“Not really?” Wesley took a step away from her and grabbed his shirt off the floor. Feeling both defeated and relieved, Nora pulled her camisole back on and sat cross-legged on the bed.

“No, it isn’t our story. He’s not quite me. She’s not quite you. It’s just inspired by us, by things I’ve thought about because of our relationship. They’re lovers. We’re just friends. Or were. Jesus, Wes. Did you plan this?” Nora couldn’t quite finish the question; the enormity of what they’d almost done together finally hitting her as she surveyed her disheveled bed.

“You quit your other job. I thought now maybe it might mean as much to you—”

“God, Wesley, it does mean as much to me.”

“Or is this just about your book?” he asked, holding the pages in his hand. He glanced down and scanned them. “The Gift of the Magi. That’s my favorite short story.”

“I know. It’s what they’re talking about the evening before this scene happens, about what people have to give up when they’re together.”

“So what is his watch? My virginity? I was ready to give that to you.”

“Your innocence. So much more valuable and so much more traumatic to lose.”

“And her hair, what’s that? You’ve already given up your job with King.”

“But I haven’t stopped being who I am.”

“It isn’t who you are, Nora. It’s just what you do.”

“Even if I’m not doing it for money, it’s still who I am. And I can’t sell it, not even to buy you a watch chain. It’s what writes my books and makes me me. It’s the only thing I have of value. And even if you wanted to give me your innocence, wanted to come into my world with combs for my hair, I can’t let you do that. So where does that leave us? You tell me.”

“With no Christmas presents, I guess.”

“I guess not,” Nora said, suddenly exhausted.

Wesley weighed the pages in his hands, flipped through them and pressed them to his chest.

“Why did you write this? Write a book about us?”

“Because I guess I’ve always known you and I can’t be together. God, I thought I was going to faint a few minutes ago trying to have vanilla sex with you. I hate that we have this thing between us. It kills me a little bit every day. The book— I don’t know. I guess I thought at least we could be together on paper for a little while. It’s not much, but it’s something,” she said, trying and failing to smile.

“Let me read it. All of it.”

“You don’t want to read it, sweetheart.”

“You said it was us.”

Nora remained unmoved.

“Please,” Wesley said, and Nora heard the slight but desperate catch in his voice. Nodding, she slid off the bed and retreated to her office. She grabbed the binder that held her most recent copy of her novel and returned to her bedroom.

“It’s not done yet. I still have about eight or so chapters to write.”

“How does it end?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

“The Consolation Prize.” He opened the binder and read the title out loud.

“Yeah, the consolation prize. You know, it’s what you get when you don’t win.”

“What do you want to win?” In his voice was a quiet promise that if he could give it to her he would.

“You, Wes. But I can’t win you without selling who I am to afford you.”

“And I can’t win you without selling my soul, right?” Wesley asked.

“Now you see why I said The Gift of the Magi was a horror story.”

Wesley only looked at her before turning his eyes to her novel.

She spun on her heel and left Wesley alone in her room with the book—the book she had written in a reckless attempt to exorcise the demon of love from her heart. Once Wesley finished the book he would know everything—know the good of her love and the evil, know she wanted him and why. They’d been so happy together in the strange little paradise they’d made together, but now she felt expulsion was imminent. And she had no one but herself to blame for her fall.

Nora returned to her office and sat at her desk. Outside, the last gasp of the retreating winter winds paced back and forth across her windows. Wesley was going to read her book. She opened her saved draft and put her hands on the keyboard. What could she do but write? At least now she knew how to end the big scene. William would try to make love to Caroline like she wanted. He would try, but he would fail. And between the two of them a chasm would open up so wide they could not even see to the other side. The moment they tried the hardest to be together is the moment they are forever torn apart.

Poor Caroline, Nora thought and swiped at a rogue tear hiding at the corner of her eye.

Poor William.

30

Thursday night at 11:48 p.m. Nora placed the last period in her book. She saved her document and shut down her computer. She could barely suppress her smile as she floated from the office and looked in on Wesley on her way to her bedroom.

All week after reading her book he’d been quiet, but not angry. Desperately she wanted to talk about what had happened between them on Easter, but she knew she needed to leave Wesley alone to think about it on his own. She could barely sleep at night for the flood of memories of Wesley’s hands and mouth on her, how close they’d come to making love. All this time he’d wanted her even more than she’d ever guessed. He’d been ready to give her his virginity, to give her his body. Her Wesley—he’d never have sex with someone he wasn’t in love with. Wesley in love with her…what was she going to do with that kid?

The kid in question was supposed to be sound asleep. But he turned over in his bed and smiled at her through the dark.

“You have an eight-thirty class tomorrow,” she reminded him. She came in and sat on the edge of his bed.

“It’s canceled. Professor Matheny’s sick. Or he just wants to start the weekend early. Either way I get to sleep in.”

“Congratulations.” She ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Wesley propped himself up on his elbows.

“Definitely.”

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“I finished the book.”

“Are you serious?” Wesley pulled back to look at her.

“Yeah. Just now. It’s full of typos but the book itself, it’s done. And it’s good.”

Wesley threw his arms around her. “That’s awesome, Nora. I’m so proud of you.”

She returned the hug and released him. “We’ll celebrate tomorrow night. We’ll celebrate the best book I’ve ever written that no one will ever read.”

“Absolutely. But I think someone will read it someday. It’s too good to just sit in a drawer.”

“Maybe. But I’m not going to worry about it. And neither are you. Bedtime.”

Nora started to leave, but Wesley called her name.

“What’s up, kid?”

“Tomorrow night when we celebrate, I want to talk to you about something.”

“About us?”

“About me. It’s not bad, I promise. There’s some stuff I want to tell you. A lot of stuff.”

“Tomorrow. It’s a date. ’Night, sweetheart.”

Nora leaned over to kiss his forehead. But at the last second Wesley turned his face up and brought his lips to hers. Too shocked to move, Nora only shivered in that eternal moment as a light, white and winged, brushed over her shoulder and settled somewhere she could not see.

She was still smiling when she fell asleep that night.

Friday morning, Nora awoke and dressed and gathered the handful of things she would need for the day. Last night’s smile still remained. Without Zach, without anyone, she’d managed to finish her book. It was done. It was good. And she couldn’t wait to start the next one.

And tonight she and Wesley would celebrate her book and maybe finally figure out what they were going to do about each other. But first she had an errand to run. And then she had a book to throw in someone’s face.

* * *

Zach sipped his tea and strolled around the conference room making pleasant small talk with his coworkers at his going-away party. J.P. had hired a very good caterer, but still Zach was taking a lot of ribbing for his refusal to allow J.P. to spring for lunch at The Four Seasons, especially from Mary.

“Recession,” Zach reminded her.

“Tangerine cheesecake,” she countered.

“The lady has a point,” J.P. said. “It’s quite good cheesecake.”

Zach set his tea down. He leaned over the buffet spread, took a plate and filled it with some gourmet cheese and a piece of the cake.

“Here,” he said, handing the plate to J.P. “You two make your own damn cheesecake.”

Zach was secretly touched by how many of his colleagues had bothered to come to the luncheon. He knew free food and a break from the desk and the phone would get almost anyone to an office party, but everyone was talking to him and wishing him well in L.A. He almost regretted how his own grief over Grace had kept him from getting to know some of the other editors better. Americans were a fairly charming group of people. Even New Yorkers, not known for their friendliness, were more immediately affable than most Europeans. He’d decided Americans were quick to like people because they couldn’t conceive of anyone not liking them. Even Nora, who made her money being vicious to people, was without a doubt the most engaging person he’d ever met. He recalled how priggish, at moments outright churlish, he’d been to her at their first meeting, and how she’d responded only with humor and a promise to try harder for him. Looking around the party he felt her absence keenly. Had they not fought, she would be here with him right now, toasting her book’s completion in public, toasting their attraction to each other in private. Last week in anticipation of their first night together, he’d already bought the wine. He’d even bought a candle. He felt a fool for what had happened between them—even worse than losing her book, he’d lost her friendship.

The congenial atmosphere of the little party dampened considerably as Thomas Finley entered and started talking over his coworkers. Zach ignored him, huddling in the corner and chatting with J.P. and Mary about upcoming projects in L.A.

“I’ve only handled a few screenplays,” Zach said. “And the U.K. film scene is quite small. Hollywood might prove to be rather daunting.”

“Faulkner thought so, as well,” J.P. said. “He was working with a director, Howard Hawks, out in California. He told Hawks he thought he’d work better from home. Hawks told him that was fine not realizing Faulkner meant his real home, Mississippi. The man just packed up and went back to Mississippi to work from home.”

Zach and Mary laughed. J.P. patted Zach on his shoulder and excused himself to the restroom.

“You’d like to go home, wouldn’t you, Zach?” Finley said, slapping his hand on Zach’s back. Zach repressed a shudder and turned to face him. Of course, Thomas would wait until the second J.P. was gone to start in on him. “England, I mean. I don’t know if L.A. is safe for you. Have you ever had a tan in your life? Probably not. No tanning in a fog.”

“I plan on working in L.A., Thomas. Not playing.”

“Working like Faulkner?” he asked with a smarmy grin. “How many affairs did Faulkner have while out in L.A.? Three? Four? Of course, you’re not married anymore, Zach, so I guess they won’t count as affairs. Oh, wait…you’re still married, aren’t you? I’d forgotten. Hard to tell sometimes. So I guess Nora Sutherlin was number one.”

Zach locked eyes with Finley. “I am not, was not and have not slept with Nora Sutherlin. She is, was, one of my writers. I try to respect that line.”

“Writer? She’s a whore, Zach, and we both know it.”

“You don’t know anything, Thomas,” Zach countered. “Call her whatever you want—she’s still one of the most promising writers I’ve ever worked with. I’d far rather work with whores than hacks any day.”

“Hacks?” Thomas took an angry step closer. “None of my writers are whores. And they’re definitely not hacks.”

“I wasn’t talking about your writers.” Zach heard a collective gasp from around the room as the implication of his words sunk in.

“You son of a bitch.” Before anyone but Zach could react, Thomas raised his arm to take a swing at him.

But Zach had more fights with drunken football hooligans under his belt than he cared to admit, thanks to his days as a bartender in university. He ducked and swung back, making fierce, hard contact with Thomas’s chin. His head snapped to the side and Thomas went down in an instant.

There was a long silence as the room seemed to take in the scene that had just played out before them. And then it was filled with applause and laughter.

“Mary,” Zach said. “Did you know that the first rule of S&M is to hurt, but not harm?”

Thomas wiped blood from his mouth.

“Looks unharmed to me, boss.”

Without waiting another second, Zach ran from the room and headed for the elevators.

“Where are you going?” Mary called out as she raced down the hall behind him.

“I’m getting my writer back. Or at least her book.”

Mary grinned at him.

“Good luck, Zach. Just so you know this is why you’re my favorite boss of all time.”

Zach fled the building, his right hand throbbing, and hailed a taxi. Suddenly he realized he wasn’t sure what he was doing.

He gave the driver his address to his own flat. He’d try calling Nora again from there. If she didn’t answer he’d go to her house. And if she wasn’t at her house, well, he’d hunt her down any way he could.

Zach stopped in the lobby of his building and dialed Nora’s number from the phone at the front desk. If she answered he wouldn’t even bother going upstairs.

“Wesley,” Zach said, relieved to hear the boy’s voice. “It’s Zach. I need Nora. Please, is she there?”

“She’s gone, Zach. She was gone by the time I got up this morning. What do you want? You dumped Nora, remember? Want to dump her again?”

Zach sighed, guilt stabbing into his stomach.

“I was wrong about her, Wesley. I’m apologizing to her…again.”

“This time she really shouldn’t let you.”

“Believe me, I know. But please, can you give me any idea where she could be?”

“It’s Nora. She’s probably where you’d least expect.”

Zach hung up and tried to think. He decided to go up to his flat to dig out his copy of her book from under his bed and think it out. If she wasn’t at home she could be anywhere. With a client, at the 8th Circle, on the moon for all he knew.

Where you’d least expect… Zach thought to himself as the lift climbed the twenty-three stories. Those words reminded him of something he’d heard before.

You merely think you know her. It’s one of her best tricks. She flirts, she teases, she confesses everything but reveals nothing. It’s the oldest magician’s trick—smoke and mirrors, misdirection… You are absolutely certain she’s here, Søren had said. Zach slipped his key in the lock of his door and turned the knob. When all the while she’s right over here…

“Hello, Zach.”

It took almost a full ten seconds for Zach to register that Nora stood in his living room. She was wearing a suit and a tie and a smile so defiant he was as nervous as he was relieved.

“You’re home from work early,” she said. “I was ready to wait it out all day.”

“My God, you’re here. I just called Wesley looking for you.”

“You found me. And I won’t darken your doorstep for long. Just wanted to bring you a present.”

A sheaf of paper landed with a thud at his feet. Zach bent and picked it up. It was a book—her book—printed out and spiral bound. He flipped through the almost five hundred pages.

“Nora…”

“I finished it, Zach. Without you. Read the dedication.”

With trembling hands, Zach opened the front cover and flipped to the dedication page.

“‘To Zachary Easton, my editor. Fuck you.’”

“Very nice. I deserved that.”

“You deserve this, as well,” Nora said and came over to him. She met his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Zach, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about me. I’ve never had anyone take my writing seriously before. Your good opinion meant so much that the thought of losing it terrified me. I’m done with that part of my life now. I quit the other job and started writing again. Just writing. I know you tore up the contract. I know you’re done with me. I know it’s too late for me and Royal. But I wanted you to see the book and know I finished it. You can keep that copy. It’s the only hard copy that might ever exist.”

Zach gripped the book in his hand. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He couldn’t believe he had both the book and his writer again.

Nora seemed to be waiting for him to say or do something. When he couldn’t find the words, she stepped away, picked up her coat and headed for the door.

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” she asked, turning around.

“I didn’t tear up your contract. I still have it.”

“That’s very sweet, but an unsigned contract is worth as much as one in the shredder.”

Zach faced her.

“Is it just the hard copy you have? Or do you have an electronic version with you?”

Nora cocked her head at him. She reached inside her shirt and pulled out a thin lanyard from around her neck.

“Flash drive.”

Zach held out his hand and she put the flash drive in his palm.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he threw the paper copy on his sofa and plugged the drive into his laptop.

“Today’s Friday. My flight leaves Sunday. I’ve got a book to edit between now and then.”

Nora searched his face.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely. I told you I wouldn’t sign the contract until I’d read the last page. Good thing I’m a fast reader.”

“Then I’ll let you get to it.”

“Stay.” Zach set his laptop aside and stood up. “I’ll need your help. If something needs to be rewritten then I’ll need you here to do it.”

Nora took her cell phone out of her pocket and turned it off. She reached out and locked Zach’s door. She walked over to the wall and unplugged his landline phone. She stood in front of the sofa and grinned dangerously at him.

“Okay, Zach. Let’s do it.”

31

“Okay, here—” Zach shifted his laptop so Nora could look at the screen. “I’m shifting the order of the paragraphs. Caroline would think about his feelings first before she’d allow herself to think about hers. But I need some sort of transition.”

Nora reread the page.

“She could look down and notice the bruises on her arms. He gave the bruises to her. It would help her shift perspective.”

“Good. Write.” Zach passed her the laptop. He went to his kitchen and dug through a box until he found his wineglasses. He opened his almost empty refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of chardonnay and poured two glasses.

“Thank you.” She took the wineglass from him with one hand while she kept typing with the other. “Very good,” she said after the first sip. “This is fantastic. What’s the occasion?”

Zach reddened a little.

“I bought it over a week ago. I thought we should have some wine to celebrate when we finished your book—”

“And when we started sleeping together?” She finished the sentence for him. Zach looked at her and sighed. She’d taken off the suit jacket and loosened her tie. How could a woman look so feminine, so tempting in such masculine attire?

“Something like that.”

Nora shook her head, took another sip of wine and finished the paragraph. She started to pass his laptop back to him but she paused and grabbed his wrist instead.

“Your knuckles are scraped.” Nora looked up at him.

Zach gave a rueful laugh.

“I clocked my office prankster at my going away party today.”

Nora’s eyes widened and she burst out laughing.

“That’s fabulous. I’m sure he deserved it.”

“He called you a whore and I called him a hack. In my defense, he threw the first punch.”

Nora nodded her approval. “You punched out a guy defending a woman’s honor. You’re a real man now, Zach. L’chaim,” she said and raised her wine.

“L’chaim.” They clinked wineglasses.

Zach took his laptop back and sat next to Nora on the sofa again.

“I’m proud of you, Nora. You finished the book without me, despite me.”

“To spite you,” she said. “What can I say? A writer writes.”

“And you are a writer now. My writer. You can still be my writer even in L.A. We can still work together.” Zach smiled at Nora and she smiled back.

“Work together or sleep together?”

“Is ‘both’ the wrong answer?”

“Both is negotiable.”

He tried to resume his reading but he knew there was more he had to say to her.

“I tried to call you.” Zach tore his eyes away from the screen. “Last Sunday. I called every number, emailed you.”

“I was working and didn’t want to be interrupted. Why did you call me?”

“To try to talk things out with you. Mary gave me what for about you.”

“I like that girl. She’s one of us. She got me to sign her copies of my books the first day I went to see J.P. She told me my books were her favorite one-handed reads.”

Zach laughed and rubbed his face.

“I don’t want that image of my assistant in my head, Nora.”

“What do you want, Zach?”

Zach studied her face, wanting to memorize every line of it. Who knew how long it would be before he saw her again, if he saw her again? Her green-gold eyes glimmered strangely in the lamplight. What did he want? He knew but wouldn’t say it aloud.

Nora tilted her head and gave him a slight smile. She brought the glass to her lips and drank slowly.

She lowered the glass and her lips shimmered wet with the white wine.

Zach reached out, laid a hand on the side of her neck and kissed her. She didn’t seem the slightest bit shocked by the kiss. She opened her mouth to him and he tasted the wine on her tongue. The Chardonnay-sweetened kiss was more intoxicating than the alcohol. She kissed back…slowly, deeply and with breathtaking expertise. She bit his bottom lip, teased his tongue, drew him in farther and faster. And then she abruptly stopped and pulled away. She crossed her legs and picked up the hard copy of her novel.