Hot Summer Nights. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
deep sarcasm. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” His motorcycle boots made loud clunks on the wooden stairs as he climbed to his room.
He’s certainly a handful, Suze thought with mixed emotions, but he does well at school and so what if he wants to play on his bike? Kids should be allowed to be young. God knows I don’t remember ever being that young. And when did he start calling me Suze?
The phone rang and Suze answered it. It couldn’t be for either of her children since they each had a cell phone. “Hi, Suze, it’s me,” her husband, Kevin, said. “I’m going to be a little late. I ran into George Parissi. You remember him, the guidance counselor? Anyway…”
“That’s fine, dear,” Suze said, mentally rearranging what she had been going to make for dinner.
“I assume you’ve got work to do so I thought George and I would just grab a bite together in town and catch up. He wanted my opinion on…”
She did have a stack of town paperwork to look over and the local newspaper to read thoroughly before her council meeting. “That’s great. Then I’ll see you later.”
After a slight hesitation he said, “Fine.”
Kevin hung up the phone and looked around for his friend George. Suze didn’t seem to care whether he came home at all. She’d already been mayor for two three-year terms and was going to run for yet another. He didn’t begrudge her her career but it would be nice if she paid a little attention to him once in a while. They hardly ever talked, well maybe about the kids, and they hadn’t had more than weekly, perfunctory sex in forever. Maybe he wanted more. He glanced toward the bar and noticed a statuesque redhead sitting, nursing a drink. He wondered what would happen if he sat down next to her and struck up a conversation. Nope, he wasn’t desperate enough to go outside his marriage. Not yet.
He could tell George that he’d changed his mind and approach the redhead. It would never occur to Suze to consider that he was seeing another woman, and he secretly wondered whether she’d care. As long as he was discrete and no one knew, and as long as “the other woman” kept him out of his wife’s hair, he thought, she’d probably be grateful. He sighed, then plastered his usual big smile on his face and caught George’s eye. As he passed the redhead he paused, then kept walking.
Eliza closed her door, put the food container and soda on her desk, and turned on her computer. She put the bag containing her new designer jeans on her bed, propped a chair under the doorknob, and, when the computer asked, entered the password that protected all her files and mail.
She’d been out all day with Angel. Angel wasn’t really a friend, but she was old enough to have a car so a bunch of them had driven to a large, upscale mall where she’d spent most of her very generous allowance on a pair of skin-tight, low-rise jeans. Her mother would pitch a fit, of course, but that hardly mattered. All the girls had told her how really great they made her look, thin and grown up. She’d wear them the first day of school. Stop thinking about school, she told herself. She had many weeks until then.
She clicked on the icon to bring up the list of her incoming mail and let out the breath she’d been holding when she saw that there was a letter from Dennis.
Hi Eliza—such a pretty name,
Sorry I couldn’t write sooner. You understand how busy life gets sometimes in the advertising business. It’s just work, work and more work to meet deadlines. I got the picture you sent and it’s even better than the posed one on the site. You’re so beautiful that I can’t believe that you’re only fifteen. Wow, you look so mature I’d have assumed you were in college. I’ll send you my picture soon. Oh, and I’ll be online after nine tonight so, if you’re on, IM me. I can’t wait to talk with you.
Bye, gorgeous,
Dennis
Would she be online? Of course she would. She looked at her watch. Less than four hours to go. She could live until then, just barely. She leaned back and daydreamed about the handsome, mature man who thought she was beautiful.
She’d first gotten mail from Dennis three weeks before, only about a month after she’d posted her school picture on the “Friends” Web site. He’d told her a little about himself, that he was thirty-two, not too tall, with green eyes and black hair, lonely, eager to make friends with someone so youthful and vibrant. They’d exchanged letters, then she’d sent him a snapshot one of her friends had scanned in for her. She couldn’t wait to get a photo of him.
Next door to the Murdocks, Vicki Farrar heard the roar of KJ’s motorcycle as she sat on the sofa, her pink polished toes tucked beneath her, poring over a pile of legal papers. God, she thought, reading all this is going to be a nightmare. Marty Simonetti, the real estate attorney who was both helping her with her current project and sleeping with her when his wife, a sales rep for a pharmaceutical firm, was out of town, had insisted that she couldn’t sign anything without reading it at least once.
She picked up the first stapled stack but got a sudden reprieve when she heard the front door slam. “Trish, that you?”
“No, Mom, it’s a burglar.”
“Ha, ha. Very cute. Where have you been?”
Trish entered the living room, dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and lightweight jeans. “Around.”
Vicki gazed at her eighteen-year-old daughter. How in the world could someone as special as she was have such an ordinary daughter? She’s such a stick: limp mousey brown hair, a sallow complexion, and no breasts at all. She had great eyes, or she would if she ever wore makeup. Well, with the right guidance, she’d straighten out and understand that this life was all about good looks, and men. She ran her fingers through her thick, honey-blond hair. It would just take a little time. “Right. Around. With KJ?” When her daughter remained silent, Vicki said, “I just heard his motorcycle. Why in the world do you ride on that death trap? You know what they call people who ride motorcycles without helmets? Organ donors.” She thought about the silver Z4 convertible sitting in the driveway. A much better way to travel indeed.
“Mom, we always wear helmets and anyway, KJ’s always careful.”
“You know that Suze hates it when he hangs around with you.” She reflexively adjusted her tiny bikini top over her large, silicon-assisted breasts. “She thinks I’m a bad influence on you and thus on him.”
“He’s my best friend,” Trish whined. “Anyway, Suze won’t know anything. She never notices what KJ does. She thinks he’s still ten years old. Just in case, however, since it’s low tide KJ dropped me at Middle Beach and I walked here along the sand.”
“You’re right about that. She hasn’t noticed that he’s turning out to be quite a hunk.”
With an exasperated sigh, she said, “Please, Mom. Enough.” She spotted the stack of papers and raised a curious eyebrow.
Vicki patted the sofa beside her with her long, graceful fingers, tipped by perfectly manicured bubblegum-pink nails. It was time to tell her daughter all the wonderful plans she’d made. “It’s business stuff but it’s got to do with you, too. I’ve actually got a surprise. I know you’ve been looking for a job since graduation, but I’m taking care of that for you. I’m opening a business in town and you’ll be able to work for me. It should pay off quite well. I’ve made several business plans and my accountant has helped me with cash flow projections and one-year forecasts. I’ve even gotten a small amount of bank financing.” She’d had to put up the house as collateral for her small business loan but it would be worth it.
Trish picked up a sheaf of papers and flipped through them. “You don’t know anything about business, Mom. What kind?”
“I know enough about this kind of business and Marty is helping me with all the legal stuff. I’ve gotten a license, lots of permits and stuff, and the only thing left now is to finalize the lease on the storefront.” She was quite proud of herself. She’d only slept with Marty a few times before they started to