Just A Little Sex...

Zoe’s teeth clenched even harder in her jaw.

“He was called back to work early,” she managed with feigned nonchalance, “so I thought I’d come back and have my coffee here.”

“Silly you. I’d have stayed down there. The coffee here is just instant muck. You could have had the real McCoy at the Rockery.”

“Oh, well…” Zoe shrugged, smiled an indifferent smile, then sped down to the tearoom, hoping it would be blessedly deserted and she could have a good quiet cry. But as luck would have it, her boss was there, making coffee and muttering away to herself. ‘Til she saw Zoe.

“What on earth are you doing back so early?” Fran asked. “I thought you were having lunch with Drake?”

It was too much for Zoe.

Fran literally gaped when Zoe burst into tears. In the six months Zoe had worked for her, the girl had never cried once. Or even seemed flustered. She was so cool and competent that sometimes Fran forgot she was only twenty-five.

Fran was not by nature a soft or sympathetic person, but she’d had considerable experience in handling weeping females. Considerable experience in the cause of such weeping as well. Her part of the practice specialized in divorce cases.

Fran didn’t have to be told that a man was behind Zoe’s tears. And there was only one man in Zoe’s life. The very charming and successful Drake Carson.

Plucking a handful of tissues from the box sitting on the counter, Fran pressed them into her assistant’s hands, then led the weeping girl back to her office. Fortunately, this didn’t require going past June, who was the office gossip.

“Sit,” she ordered, pushing Zoe down into one of the large comfy chairs facing her desk before returning to her own black office chair. There, she waited patiently ‘til the worst of the weeping was over.

Zoe’s sobbing eventually subsided to a sniffle.

“Can I get you something?” Fran asked at that point, her tone matter-of-fact. “Coffee? Brandy? A hit man?”

Zoe’s head jerked up and she laughed a rueful laugh.

“Want to tell me about it?” Fran said.

Zoe looked at her boss and suddenly saw, not just the smart-as-a-whip lawyer, but the woman. Thirty-eight and still very attractive, with jet-black hair—cut into a short chic bob—piercing gray eyes, a pale unlined skin and an hourglass figure which looked good in the severe black suits she favoured. Highly respected by her colleagues and clients, she was married to Angus Phillips, the senior partner in the firm.

But what about before that? She must have had other men, a woman like her. Plenty of them. She’d seen so much more of life than Zoe. She might be able to explain what had happened between Drake and that blonde so that Zoe could forgive him and go on as before.

Because that was what she really wanted to do. Now that she’d had time to think about it, breaking up with Drake was just too horrendous to contemplate.

So she told her boss what had happened. Fran listened without interruption, her face not giving away a thing. But Zoe suspected she wasn’t shocked. Which shocked Zoe.

“Aren’t you surprised?” she said at last.

Fran smiled a dry smile. “Nothing men do ever surprises me, Zoe. The more attractive the man, the less I’m surprised. So no, I’m not surprised. I think it’s a shame, however, that you found out about Drake’s little indiscretion. If you hadn’t, you’d still be perfectly happy with him.”

“But…but…it wasn’t just a little indiscretion. He was unfaithful. And more than once, I suspect. I don’t believe for a moment he only slept with that woman on just the last night.”

“Why? Was she so very beautiful?”

“She was stunning, with the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen outside of one of those magazines.”

“Maybe he has a secret boob fetish. Or maybe she gave him something you don’t. Forgive me for prying, Zoe, but I can’t advise you without knowing all the facts. Are you sure you satisfy Drake in bed?”

Zoe floundered at this point. “I…I thought I did.”

“Why? Because you have sex a lot?”

“Well…isn’t that the main criterion?” Zoe had always been under the impression that most men complained that they weren’t getting enough.

“Not necessarily. Some men are more interested in quality rather than quantity. They like different positions. Different places. You’re not one of those silly girls who insist on always doing it in bed with the lights out, do you?”

“Of course not,” she denied hotly. And in truth, she didn’t.

It was Drake’s idea that they always do it in bed. He was big on creating a romantic atmosphere with satin sheets and scented candles and soft dreamy music.

Not that she wasn’t happy with the arrangement. Zoe liked comfort. And candlelight was so very flattering. As for different positions… Zoe was more than grateful that Drake didn’t want to do it doggie-style on the floor, or up against the wall in the shower or with her on top. Even thinking of the physical exposure such positions would inflict on her made her cringe.

Now she wondered if Drake had secretly craved doing it in just those ways all along, but hadn’t wanted to ask. It had taken a brazen blonde in an elevator to fulfil his sexual fantasies.

“What about oral sex?” Fran persisted, and Zoe could feel herself blushing. But it did seem odd having this very frank conversation with her boss when up ‘til today, their relationship had been strictly professional.

“It’s…er…not my favorite form of foreplay,” she confessed. She’d done it once. Sort of. For about twenty seconds. But thankfully, Drake stopped her before the unthinkable happened. He’d never asked for it again, or steered her that way a second time, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it off her own bat.

“I don’t think it’s Drake’s, either,” she added, a touch defensively.

“Really? That’s unusual. Most men are pretty keen. But I guess it takes all types and you’d know your boyfriend best.”

“I thought I did,” Zoe said wretchedly. “Maybe I don’t know him at all. Maybe our whole relationship is a sham. Maybe he’s having affairs right, left and center.”

“I don’t think so, Zoe. If he was, I’d know about it.”

“Huh?”

Fran gave her a droll look. “Angus and I have been living in the same building as Drake since the time you started dating him. We share the same garage, the same elevators, the same swimming pool and gym. I’ve never seen him with another girl except you. Not once. Clearly, he’s not in the habit of two-timing you, or I’d have caught him at it by now.”

Zoe brightened a bit at this news. “But what does Drake mean when he says it was just sex with that blonde, and that she meant nothing to him? I got the impression he didn’t even like her. I can’t seem to get my mind ‘round that concept. How can you have sex with someone you don’t even like, or really know? Is it just a male thing? Is that why I can’t understand it?”

Fran gave her an incredulous look. “Haven’t you ever fantasized about having sex with a stranger, or met a man and been struck with instant lust for him? All you want is to get laid, right then and there. No getting-to-know-you stuff. No prelims. No niceties. Just down-and-dirty sex.”

“Good Lord, no,” Zoe denied, her face hotting up again. “I can’t think of anything worse. I have to at least like a man before I can go to bed with him.” She’d even liked the ghastly Greg, ‘til he’d shown his true colors. “I haven’t even looked at another man since going out with Drake, let alone want to get laid by one.”

“You’ve never had a one-night stand?”

“No. Never.”

“My, my, you are an original, Zoe. Maybe that’s why Drake is so crazy about you, and doesn’t want to lose you. Such romantic idealism and tunnel-vision loyalty is rare in this day and age. He could trust you anywhere, anytime. Which brings us back to the point. Can you ever trust him again? Should you or should you not break up with him? Should you believe him when he says he’s sorry, and give him another chance?”

“That’s exactly my problem,” Zoe said unhappily. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“And I honestly can’t tell you what to do. It has to be your decision. All I can say is I’d like a dollar for every woman I’ve represented who’s later regretted breaking up her marriage over a spot of adultery. She ends up miserable and lonely whilst the husband simply moves on to the other woman.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Zoe mumbled. “Being miserable and lonely.”

“Then give him another chance. What have you got to lose?”

“My pride and self-respect?”

Fran laughed. “Most of the divorced women I know don’t find pride and self-respect much solace in their beds at night.”

But it wasn’t the sex Zoe was going to miss so much. It was the company. And the sense of purpose. The promise of a happy future together.

She sighed. “I suppose I will take him back. In the end. But I hate the thought of his being forgiven so easily and so quickly. Drake’s coming over after work tonight and I just know he’ll talk me ‘round in no time flat.”

“You’d rather him suffer a while longer, is that it?”

“Yes, I guess so. Then he might understand how much he hurt me by what he did.”

“You know, that’s not such a bad idea,” Fran said, twisting back and forth on her swivel chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Why don’t you go away somewhere for the weekend and not tell him? Let him sweat for a while. Let him worry and wonder over where you are, and who you might be with. I guarantee, when you finally get back, he won’t take you for granted ever again.”

The idea did appeal.

“Why not go home for the weekend?” Fran suggested.

“That’d be the first place Drake would think of. He’d ring there for sure.”

“Haven’t you heard of little white lies, Zoe? Just don’t answer the phone yourself and get whoever does to say they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you.”

“Yes, I could do that, but the trouble is Betty would ask all sorts of awkward questions.”

“Who’s Betty? I thought you were an only child and your dad, a widower.”

“I am and he is. Betty’s his housekeeper. She’s a lovely lady, but she’s far too intuitive and too darned good at worming things out of me. I honestly don’t want to tell her about this. Drake came home with me at Christmas and he wasn’t on his best behavior. He never is when he’s bored stiff. I don’t want to blot his copybook any further, not if I aim to forgive him.”

“Okay, so home’s out…” Fran started chewing the end of a biro as she did when working out some legal strategy. Finally, she snapped forward on her chair and stood up. “I have it! I’ll ask Nigel if you can use his weekender. He’s not going up there this weekend, because he’s off to the opening of some play tomorrow night, starring his latest love. Wait here.”

Fran was gone before Zoe could say yeah or nay.

Nigel was Nigel Cox, the third partner in the firm. Fortyish and openly gay, he represented several highly paid clients in the entertainment and sporting world. Zoe didn’t really have much to do with him. He had his own assistant, as did Angus. She’d heard of the weekender, though. From June, who called it Nigel’s little love nest.

Apparently, it overlooked a small beach up near Port Stephens, just far enough off the main tourist route for privacy, but close enough to civilization for essential supplies and services, which meant a good selection of five-star restaurants. Nigel’s second favorite hobby in life—according to the ever-knowledgeable June—was gourmet food.

Fran swept back in eventually, carrying a set of keys and two hand-drawn maps.

“Mission accomplished,” she said, dumping everything in Zoe’s lap then perching up on the edge of her desk. She looked very satisfied with herself. “Nigel, the dear, generous boy, never asks any awkward questions. Just handed these over and said he hoped everything would work out for you. Actually, you’re not the first female in crisis I’ve sent up there and they all spoke highly of the place afterward.”

“What’s it like?” Zoe asked.

“Never been myself. It isn’t called Hideaway Beach for nothing, and peace and quiet is not my bag. Neither is the sun, sea and surf. I can’t swim, for starters, and I burn like mad. Anyway, Nigel said to tell you the kitchen cupboards, freezer and wine rack are all stocked up and to help yourself. There’s also a gas station and general store half a mile down the road which fortunately has a liquor license. It has practically everything you might need. Fresh bread every day, milk, cigarettes, chocolates, condoms.”

“Very funny, Fran,” Zoe said dryly. “I don’t think condoms are going to be high on my shopping list.”

“Well, you never know. His only warning is for you to leave before three this afternoon as after that the traffic heading north on a Friday afternoon would give blood pressure to a corpse. And he suggests you get up very very early on the Monday morning rather than try to drive back on the Sunday evening, for the same reason. You do still have your car, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, of course I do, but…”

“I know exactly what you’re going to say. You don’t finish here ‘til six at the earliest on a Friday afternoon, since you have a slave driver of a boss who never knows when to quit. But just this once, I’m going to give you an early mark, starting right now. After all, we females should stick together. Can’t have the males of the species thinking they have us taped, can we?”

Zoe didn’t know what to say.

“No need to thank me,” Fran said, laughing at her girl Friday’s dumbfoundedness. “I’ll work your butt off next week to make up for it.”

Zoe smiled wryly. She didn’t doubt it. Her boss was a workaholic if ever there was one. “If Drake rings here or contacts you, you won’t tell him where I am, will you?”

“I’ll just say you asked for the afternoon off, you’ve gone away for the weekend but I don’t know where. Now don’t forget to turn your cell phone off as well. Or better yet, don’t take it with you.”

“I always take it in the car with me for safety reasons and emergencies. But I’ll definitely leave it turned off all weekend.”

“Excellent.”

When Zoe stood up with the map and the keys in hand, she was struck with a moment’s doubt. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Maybe Drake will get angry and dump me.”

“If he does, then he doesn’t really love you, does he?”

“You’re right.”

“Off you go now. And have fun.”

Zoe didn’t think that was likely. But she smiled. “Thanks again, Fran.”

Fran smiled back. “My pleasure.”

3

MELINDA WAS HOME WHEN Zoe let herself into the apartment. Not an unusual occurrence, even at two on a Friday afternoon.

Melinda was what was often cattily termed a rich bitch. But that wasn’t strictly true. Sure, her father had given her this fully furnished two-bedroom apartment for her twenty-first birthday a couple of years back, but it was no palace, or penthouse.

It was, however, near new, with plush gray carpet, white walls and the sort of sleek modern clean-lined furniture which Zoe loved, so different from the clunky heavy wooden furniture filling the farmhouse back home.

Actually, on the market today, Melinda’s place would have sold for close to half a million. No doubt about that. Even the grottiest apartment in Milson’s Point was worth a packet.

Melinda was a very lucky girl to have received such an expensive present. Unfortunately, despite her darling daddy being a racehorse-owning billionaire, the day Melinda received the keys to the apartment, her allowance had been cut off.

“I’ve given you a roof over your head and that’s all I’m going to do from now on,” her father had bluntly announced at the time. “If you want to feed and clothe yourself in future you’ll have to get a job. Your brother had to make good on his own after twenty-one. I see no reason why you shouldn’t do the same, just because you’re female. You girls wanted equality. Well, now you’ve got it!”

Despite not having any practice at the art of supporting herself—she had done absolutely nothing since leaving school except socialize and shop—Melinda had risen to the challenge with gusto. First, she’d rented out the other bedroom in the apartment—Zoe was not Melinda’s first roommate—then set about finding work as a model. She wasn’t really qualified for anything else, and had no intention of serving in a store or working as a waitress. She wasn’t tall enough for catwalk modeling at only five-eight, but her long blond hair, sultry face and cup-C breasts gave her plenty of work doing photographic modeling for fashion catalogs, especially those of the lingerie variety.

Modeling, however, was just a stopgap. Her ultimate ambition was to marry someone far richer than her father.

But not for some years yet. At twenty-three, Melinda was concentrating on having fun.

And have fun Melinda did! Although Melinda had a steady boyfriend named Ron, she also went out a lot without him. Parties. Premieres. Gallery openings. The races. You name it, if she was asked, Melinda went. And with her looks and social contacts, she received a lot of invitations.

Zoe found her a delightful roommate. Always bright and cheery, and not at all lazy around the place. Which was a surprise, since Melinda had obviously been spoiled rotten as a child. But she liked and valued beautiful things and treated her own little home and her possessions with great respect. Open her closet or drawers any day, and all her lovely things would not only be beautifully arranged, but spotlessly clean. As was the apartment. She never dropped her clothes on the floor, or left dirty crockery around.

Best of all, Melinda didn’t smoke. A rare breed, Zoe had found after sharing places with various other girls over the last few years. Most of them smoked like chimneys. It was so pleasant to come home to nice-smelling rooms, even when all the windows had been shut all day.

When Zoe walked in, Melinda was perched up on one of the white kitchen stools, carefully painting her fingernails at the black granite breakfast bar. She was dressed in traffic-stopping short-shorts and a cropped top, both blue. Melinda just loved blue in clothes. And why not? The color suited her blond hair and blue eyes.

“Good grief!” she exclaimed when she saw Zoe. “Have I lost track of time? Don’t tell me it’s gone six. Ron’s picking me up at seven and I’ve only just started getting ready!”

“Don’t panic. It’s only twenty past two.”

“Thank God. But that’s silly daylight-saving time for you! You never know what time it is by looking out the window. So what are you doing home? You can’t be sick. You never get sick. You’re not sick, are you?” she asked, peering more closely at Zoe whilst she flicked her nails dry. “You do look a bit stressed.”

“No. I’m not sick. Fran gave me an early mark.”

“You’re kidding me. Commandante Phillips let you come home early and you’re not even sick!”

“Nope.” Zoe walked over, dumped her bag on the counter and switched on the electric jug.

Melinda eyed her warily. “This is very strange. So what’s up? Was there a bomb scare at the office? Some disgruntled husband whom your boss screwed over in court?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Then what? The mind boggles over what earth-shattering catastrophe could have led to such an unlikely occurrence.”

“Come now, Mel, Fran’s not that bad. She’s just a hard worker.”

“She works you hard. That I know.”

“But she appreciates the job I do, and she pays me well.”

“Huh.”

“You just don’t like her, do you? Yet you’ve only met her once.”

“Once was enough. That woman is tough as an old boot. Maybe that’s what’s needed to be a top divorce lawyer these days, but I sure as heck wouldn’t want to be married to her.”

Although Zoe thought Melinda was being a bit harsh, her comments brought home the fact that perhaps Fran hadn’t been the best person to go to for advice over her dilemma with Drake. Fran was pretty cynical when it came to her views on life, men and sex. She’d accused Zoe of being a romantic idealist, but Zoe didn’t think it was unreasonable to expect the man you loved and who said he loved you, to be faithful.

“For pity’s sake, are you going to tell me why you’re home early,” Melinda burst out impatiently, “or are you just going to stand there for the rest of the day, staring into space?”

“I don’t have much time,” Zoe said, popping two slices of bread into the toaster. “I have to be packed and gone by three and I’m in desperate need of some food first.”

“Packed? Gone by three? This is getting curiouser and curiouser.”

“If you want to know all the grisly details, then don’t interrupt,” Zoe warned, already sensing that Melinda wasn’t the right person to ask for advice, either. She just didn’t take life and love seriously enough.

Melinda’s big blue eyes rounded with even more gleeful curiosity. “Grisly details! Oooh. Do tell. Sorry,” she said swiftly when Zoe threw her a baleful glance. “I won’t say another word.”

And she made a zipping gesture across her mouth.

Zoe rolled her eyes at her friend’s pitiful attempt at a chastened face. This was going to be a total waste of time, but Melinda wouldn’t give her any peace ‘til she knew the ins and outs of everything. Just like June at work. And Betty back home.

Zoe supposed most women had a natural affinity for talking and gossiping. But she didn’t. She’d always been more of a thinker than a talker. An introvert, as opposed to Melinda’s extrovert nature. The good communication and social skills she now possessed hadn’t come naturally. They’d been acquired. With a lot of practice and hard work. By nature, she was quite shy. And private. And particularly possessive about her inner most feelings.

Sometimes, Zoe felt that the person she now projected wasn’t the real Zoe at all. Occasionally, when she looked in the mirror, she still saw the fat, shy tongue-tied teenager she’d once been.

“Zoe, for pity’s sake!”

“Yes, yes, I’m just wondering where to start.”

“Anywhere will do. Just start!”

Telling Melinda all the gory details took Zoe less time than it had to tell Fran, possibly because she wasn’t sobbing hysterically anymore. Frankly, her overriding emotion now was just plain anger.

“I don’t believe it,” Melinda blurted out when Zoe had finally finished the sordid tale. “Drake cheated on you with some blond piece, just because she had a ‘Bay-watch’ bustline? That doesn’t make sense. I mean, not once, in all the times he’s come here, has he ever given me the eye. And I’m a crash-hot-looking blonde with very nice boobs.”

Zoe smiled a wry smile. Melinda never let modesty get in the way of self-praise.

“Let’s not forget Drake has actually confessed here, Mel,” Zoe reminded her ruefully. “But of course, it was only just sex,” she added with extra tartness. “And the woman threw herself at him. Practically tore off the poor darling’s clothes. He was feeling like a bit of action and he couldn’t help himself. She meant nothing to him at all.”

“Well, I could have told you that. Drake’s crazy about you.”

“So he keeps telling me. But explain it to me, Mel. I mean, have you ever met some guy when you were crazy about someone else, but fancied this new guy so much that you just had to go to bed with him right away?”

“But of course! When I met Ron I was going out with Wayne who was a right hunk, I can tell you. But once I met Ron, I dropped Wayne like a shot.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you weren’t in love with this Wayne, were you?”

Melinda shrugged. “I guess not. Which is just as well,” she added with a wicked grin. “Because Ron’s much better in the sack.”

“Oh, you’re hopeless. You never take anything seriously.”

“And you, Zoe Simons, take life much too seriously. Look, for what it’s worth, I agree with your boss for once. I think you should forgive Drake. Give him another chance. It’s not as though he kept on with the blonde after he came back from the conference, did he? And she must live in Sydney to show up at the Rockery.”