By MSHDV
It had been a rough night and he just wanted to sleep in especially
this morning, but the minute the sun rose he found himself jolted back
into the reality he had created for himself. Now he found himself sitting
at the kitchen counter with his third cup of coffee and the vision of red
still swirling in his mind. He could still feel the incredible sensations.
He could still feel the ache when their eyes locked, questioning all that
was happening around them. He could still smell her perfume and he could
still remember the last words of that damn song!
SURFACE WARFARE BALL
He had waited all night to ask her to dance and it was late now. Brumby
was back and somehow he suddenly knew time was quickly running out, to
night, tomorrow and forever. The moment of holding her in his arms tonight,
if but once, his only focus now, as he extended his hand to her.
"Mac?"
"Mic, excuse me?"
"I guess Rabb can have one dance with you luv, since I'll have all the
time with you I need and want now that I'm back for good."
"Thanks, Brumby, that's very generous of you."
Taking her hand hesitantly in his, trying to forget the implication
in the Aussie's words, he guided her to the far end of the dance floor,
away from their table, away from Brumby, away if just for one intensely
charged moment, from reality.
"Did I tell you that you . . . look . . ."
"Nice, surprised, content, what Harm?"
". . . beautiful tonight. You look beautiful tonight, Mac."
"No, but thank you. You know, I think this is only the second time you've
ever passed me a compliment about my appearance, Flyboy."
She was right, he could only remember one other time. It was in Colombia,
when she almost . . . Did she remember everything he had forgotten? Comfortably,
yet uncomfortably, he took her in his arms moving her even further away,
totally out of the Australian's steady gaze. Pulling her too close subconsciously,
he felt her tense and he moved back slightly to look at her.
"You OK?"
"Fine, why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been quieter than usual tonight."
"Just a bit overwhelmed."
"Not comfortable with the return?"
"What would you know what I'm comfortable with?"
"Mac, this is me."
"Yea, Harm I know and that's the problem."
Silenced immediately by the tone in her voice, not wanting to ruin this
moment when he had her all to himself, he silenced the words and just pulled
her to him again listening to the song drifting around them. Mesmerized
by the feel of her in his arms. . . for this intensely charged moment in
time.
If I'm not in love with you
Feeling her relax against him, the words between them forgotten for
the moment, he pulled her closer. Closer than he should have, losing himself
in the sheer pressure of her warmth and softness . . . wondering if his
heart was suddenly lying to him in this intensely charged moment in time.
And if I don't need your touch
Feeling her hand slip to the base of his neck, her fingertips light
and soft against his skin, he leaned his head down slightly. Catching his
breath at his action and when he breathed the enticing scent of her perfume
. . . wondering why his heart suddenly ached so in this intensely charged
moment in time.
Oh why in every fantasy
Feeling her gently pull away from him as the song ended, his feelings
were in turmoil while the sensations of her closeness still spun around
him. He heard her suddenly excuse herself, saw her faint smile and watched
her walk away from him towards the ballroom exit . . . wondering if his
fantasies would always have him lying in a world of maybes.
"Damn it! If I'm not in love with you, Sarah Mackenzie. Then what the
hell is this I'm going through tonight." The words were spoken whispers
to no one but himself, unrecognized emotions washed over him and left him
cold, as he watched the vision in red disappear through the ballroom doors.
****
HARM'S APARTMENT
He didn't know how long he had been lost in the memories of last night
before he heard the insistent knocking at the door.
"Hang, on a minute." Shaking the sensations that had quickly overtaken
his body he made his way to the door. "Mom? Frank?"
"Hello, darling. I hope we didn't wake you. I know it's early."
"No, no it's fine. I've been up for awhile." Harm gave his mother a
tight hug, more than surprise written on his smiling face. "Frank, it's
good to see you."
"And you, Harm." Frank Burnett returned the offered handshake with the
same strength and warmth.
"What are you doing in Washington? You didn't mention you were coming
the last time we talked."
"No, it was a sudden trip. Frank, had some business to take care of
on the Hill, so I decided to come along, check out some of the local artists
for the gallery and visit with my son."
"That's great, Mom. How long are you planning on staying . . ." He caught
the blur of beige out of the corner of his eye, he heard the sleep dazed
voice and as the blush started to creep up his face his only wish was that
this was all just a dream . . . a very bad dream.
"Harm, what's with the incessant banging? God, I'm going to be so puffy,
without my 8 hours. Who in their right mind would visit this early on a
Saturday? Honestly!"
Trish Burnett watched as Renee Peterson, wrapped only in a bed sheet
stumbled down the stairs from her son's bedroom. She had to remind herself
she had seen plenty of things in her fifty some odd years raising a son,
that she was a lady, that she had an open mind, that she could . . .
"Mom, Frank, this is Renee Peterson. Renee is . . . a . . . my . . ."
" . . . his girlfriend. Mrs. Rabb!" Tangled and tumbling, looking as
bedraggled as a pigeon caught in a badminton game, Renee walked towards
Trish with her hand extended slowly, appearing to be losing her fight with
the sheet that covered her precariously.
"It's Mrs. Burnett, Renee." Harm smiled apologetically at Frank, while
sub-consciously pinching himself trying to wake up from what now was turning
into more than just a dream . . . it was turning into a living nightmare.
"Of course . . . it's just that Harm speaks so little of his family."
Entangled still in her cover, she moved to stand by Harm slipping her arm
through his possessively.
"It's an understandable mistake, dear . . ."
"Oh, great coffee! Just want I need after last night." Winking seductively
at Harm, she turned her attention back to their guests. "Would anyone like
a cup?"
"Renee, why don't you go and . . . put . . . go . . . get . . ."
"Oh, yea. I must look a fright. Now everyone stay put, I'll be right
back."
Harm tensed visibly as Renee kissed his check and as he felt his mother's
heated gaze, suddenly remembering another time when she had that same look
in her eye. He was a babbling idiot then too. Was it Joanne Carlson or
Carol Withers? Was it in Bellville or La Jolla? The last time she had caught
him with his hand in . . .
"Harmon!"
"Coffee?"
"Thank you." Trish Burnett graciously composed herself and offered a
weak smile to her son all the while trying to comprehend what had just
happened. What had possessed him to end up with . . . Temporary insanity
induced by over active male hormones was the only reason that could justify
. . . her.
****
Harm tried to listen attentively to his mother and Frank as they talked
about their sudden trip to Washington, but he couldn't concentrate. His
thoughts were fully anticipating with apprehension, Renee Peterson's next
entrance.
"So, how's Mac?"
"Engaged."
"Really? You never mentioned it."
"No, not really, not exactly. Look Mom it's a long story and one I'd
rather not get into right now."
"Oh. Well, I was hoping we could all get together for dinner on this
trip since we missed her on your last trip to California."
"I don't know if that is such a good idea . . . her fiancee . . .her
friend, well, he's just returned from Australia, I'm sure they are busy
. . ."
"That's a great idea! How about dinner tonight? I know this great little
French Restaurant that just opened and it's just the in place in Washington
now. I'm sure that Mac and Mic can tear themselves out of their lover's
embrace long enough to join us for dinner. Even lovers have to eat, don't
they Harm?"
Was it her pouting voice that made the hair on the back of his neck
stand at attention? Was it her sexual inferences that made him wince inwardly?
Was it her appearance again wrapping her arms around his waist tightly
that made him flinch outwardly? Or was it the vision she had painted in
his mind of Mac in Mic's embrace that grated his nerves like fingernails
scrapping down a blackboard. This was not just a living nightmare . . .
it was the worst of all possible living nightmares.
****
Dinner plans were made, Trish calling and extending the invitation personally
to Mac. Thrilled at her acceptance, Trish set the time and they all agreed
to meet at the restaurant 30 minutes earlier than their reservations for
drinks.
As the limousine made its way through the early morning traffic back
towards the Capitol, Frank Burnett knew he could no longer ignore his wife's
solemn mood.
"Trish, he's a grown man and he certainly knows his own mind. Going
over there unannounced just made for a very difficult situation." He took
her hand when she turned and he saw the look in her eyes.
"My son is unhappy, Frank."
"Trish, you met the woman under not the best circumstances. Just give
yourself time to get to know . . ."
"He's unhappy, with who he is and who he has become."
"Trish how do you . . ."
"A mother knows. A mother just knows, Frank."
SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT
"Dinner with Rabb's mother and stepfather? Now there's a reason to have
flown 10,000 miles."
"Mic."
"Sorry, luv, but I had just assumed we would spend my first full night
in DC alone. A nice warm meal, a nice a warm bed, a nice warm . . ."
"Didn't I once tell you not to assume, Mic and besides you'll like Trish
and Frank."
"Trish and Frank is it? What are they like?"
"The perfect couple . . . the perfect parents . . ."
"Just like you and I will be, eh, luv?" Mic took her in his arms forcefully
and settled them both on the sofa.
"Yes, just like I've always wanted to be." Mac tensed at his sudden
assault, not wanting to go where Mic so obviously wanted to take her, but
. . .
****
She felt his wet needful kiss and felt his hands roam over her body
heatedly.
His need for her more than evident in all his forceful movements. Mic Brumby
was a good man and she knew he loved her. He had left his home, his family,
and his career for her. Swept up in the moment she allowed herself to satisfy
his needs and some of her own pent-up suppressed desires.
She lay in the arms of her lover, wondering about honesty, about integrity,
about truth and about love, especially about love. As she turned away from
him she allowed a single tear to slip silently down her cheek, cursing
her weaknesses, her insecurities and her inability to forget the vision
of dress whites and gold wings that would forever be part of her heart.
She didn't have to wonder however, how she had gotten to this point
in her life . . . a ferry ride on a warm summer night across Sydney Harbor
had been the single impetus that had propelled Sarah Mackenzie away from
who she was and into the reality that was now her world.
****
HARM'S APARTMENT
"You didn't mention they were loaded."
"What?"
"Your parents. I know my fashion and I'd say her entire ensemble, less
the jewelry, must have cost about what you net a month. With the jewelry,
about what you net a year."
"Renee, if you mean my 'mother', Frank makes a very good living and
they live comfortably. He's been very good to her . . . to us both."
"I'll bet. Her engagement ring is quite an eye full. I wouldn't mind
having something like that on my finger, Sailor. It certainly makes the
ring Brumby gave Mac, look like, well, a 'pop top'."
"I'm sure you'll never end up with a 'pop top', Renee."
"Is that a promise, Harm?" Renee was pleased with the sudden prospective
windfall sauntering seductively over to where Harm stood.
"Nobody would ever dare give you less then you deserve." Harm tensed
at her touch, not wanting to go where she so obviously wanted to take him,
but . . .
****
He felt the pressure of her body against his, her hands expertly undoing
the buttons of his shirt, her lips hungrily following the path her fingertips
blazed. His initial reaction was to stop her. But Renee Peterson was an
experienced lover and though completely self absorbed, she was sometimes
fun, definitely uninhibited and stroked his ego when it seemed he needed
it the most. He wanted to get away from her, but his own sexual needs pushed
him to take what he thought he needed and give what he knew she wanted.
Laying with her pressed firmly against him, he closed his eyes and wondered
about honor, about integrity, about truth and about love, especially about
love. He cursed himself for his weakness, for his insecurities and for
his inability to forget the vision in red that was starting to try and
untie the knot that had somewhere along the way become his heart.
He didn't have to wonder however, how he had gotten to this point in
his life . . . a ferry ride on a warm summer night across Sydney Harbor
had been the single impetus that had propelled Harmon Rabb away from who
he was and into the world that now was his reality.
****
THE DELMONICO SUITE
Trish Burnett clasped the pearl necklace around her neck and stood straightening
the jacket of the pale gray silk suit. She smiled at her reflection in
the mirror, noting with satisfaction that the years had been good to her,
even the bad ones. She signed at the loving memories that suddenly appeared
to her, like welcomed old friends from the past. Memories of the man that
had been her first love, memories of the man that had been her life, memories
of the man that had given her a son.
"Ready, Trish. The car is waiting downstairs."
"As ready, as I'll ever be."
"Trish, promise me you'll just give her a chance tonight."
"Frank, my concerns are not for her. I am concerned only for my son.
Something is wrong with Harm. I can see it in his eyes and as his mother
I can feel it in my heart. And besides, Frank Burnett, when have you ever
known me not to give anyone the benefit of the doubt."
"Never, my love. You've always shown everyone compassion with strength
and dignity . . . . or at least given them enough rope to hang themselves
only after showing them the error of their ways in the most diplomatic
fashion possible."
"Frank, really!" She tried to feign irritation, but when she felt him
kiss her cheek she couldn't suppress the small smile that crossed her face.
They walked from the suite arm in arm, Trish safe and comfortable in
the arms of her present. The man who had helped her through her most darkest
hours with his love, the man who had made a home for her with his love,
the man who had loved her son as if he was his own.
****
SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT
"Mic, we're going to be late. Let's go!"
Mac clasped the single strand of pearls around her neck, signing at
the memory of Dalton Lowne that suddenly mixed for a fleeting second with
her reflection in the mirror. She let the smooth strand slip through her
fingers, remembering the life that had slipped away that night in the cold
darkened alley. Shaking the memories of yet another man who had loved her,
but couldn't be loved by her, she returned to the present, a slight shiver
the only remnant left by the memories of the past.
"Mic . . .Oh there you are. Ready?"
"You're beautiful, Sarah."
"Thank you. This isn't too . . . "
"It's perfect. You could wear a potato sack and you'd still be the most
beautiful woman in the restaurant. I'll have to keep an eye on Rabb tonight,
once he catches sight of you."
"Please, Mic, stop it. Harm has Renee and I have you."
"But Renee isn't you, Sarah. She isn't you."
As Mic handed her the shawl and they quietly left the apartment, she
wondered for a fleeting moment, if he knew what she was trying so desperately
to bury in her heart, if she was that transparent. Slipping her hand through
his arm, she promised herself that she would try to do better. She would
try to love him, she would try to make a life with him . . . . and give
herself the life she had always dreamed of in the arms of a man that truly
loved her.
****
HARM'S APARTMENT
"Let's go, Renee. It's getting late!" Harm slipped his jacket on, shaking
his head at how one woman could take two hours to dress for a simple dinner.
"You know I hate to be rushed when I'll getting ready. What?"
"You're not going to wear that tonight?"
"What's wrong with this?"
"There's just not very much of it."
"Harm, you've seen this before. I've worn it out a couple of times."
"Not with my mother and step-father, you haven't."
"Would a Nun's Habit be more appropriate? What's wrong with you anyway
lately?"
"Nothing. Forget it. You look fine. Let's just go, we're going to be
late."
He grabbed his keys, not wanting another last minute shrill confrontation
with Renee Peterson and headed to the door. Everything would be fine. Frank
would be the perfect host and his mother would be the commensurate hostess.
They would have drinks, they would have dinner, they would make small talk
over coffee and then they would all go home. Frank would take his mother
back to the hotel. He would bring Renee back to his apartment and Sarah
. . . Sarah . . .would go home in the arms of Mic Brumby.
As he slammed the passenger side door of the SUV the vision in red swept
through his mind again surrounded by the last strains of that song . .
. and he wondered . . . wondered once again what the hell was happening
to him.
LE MAISON
Frank Burnett escorted his wife to a table in the restaurant lounge,
the restaurant much more crowded then one would have thought for a perfect
summer night. After ordering their drinks, he made his way to the maitre
d' to confirm their reservations, while Trish seated herself in the small
alcove.
Left alone for a moment, she scanned with a perceptive eye her surroundings.
The restaurant was tastefully decorated in muted tones of brown and sand,
the walls only adorned with impeccable prints of some of the great masters
in unobtrusive frames. Frames that only served to enhance the painted subjects
without over-shadowing their beauty.
As she watched her husband return to their table, she noticed with relief
that even though the bar was a press of bodies, with soft classical music
drifting down from the ceiling, it still appeared quiet enough to allow
its patrons to carry on a conversation without shouting themselves hoarse.
A small smile played across her lips. Other than the apparent air of wealth
that hung around her, this just didn't strike her as the type of establishment
that the 'princess of the sheets' would frequent often. Perhaps, there
was more to the beige bedraggled bundle she had encountered at her son's
apartment earlier that day, then she thought.
"That's what I like to see. . . your beautiful smile." But as fast as
her smile appeared, Frank Burnett watched it dissipate, replaced with a
thin mask of veiled confusion.
"Trish, honey, what is it?"
Trish Burnett tried to focus and refocus on the sudden explosion of
fake fur that entered the restaurant hanging possessively on the arm of
her son.
"It's just . . . I . . .I just can't decide whether she's on the inside
of that outfit trying to get out, or if she's on the outside trying to
get in."
Frank followed his wife's dazed expression, noticing Harm and Renee
approaching them from across the crowded lounge. He shook his head sadly
understanding the hungry stares of the lounge male clientele that followed
Renee Peterson's entrance. He had been young once and he remembered when
what a woman was on the outside was much more important than who she was
on the inside. He had been young once and he remembered watching a woman's
neckline go down and her hem line go up and he remembered hanging around
hoping to be there when both ends met. He was young once and as he glanced
back at his wife, he was ever thankful that he had been lucky enough to
find the best of both in Trisha Rabb.
"Mom, I'm sorry we're late."
"Nonsense, darling you're right on time."
Frank watched the veil of confusion lift from his wife, only to be replaced
by the perfect shield of propriety she wore so well in difficult situations.
He participated in the greetings they all exchanged. And when he watched,
Harmon Rabb hold Renee Peterson's chair, he swore he saw a perfect shield
of propriety mask his step-son like the shield that now protected his wife.
And Frank Burnett, thought maybe just maybe Trish was right . . . maybe
just maybe . . .A Mother Knows.
Read Part II
HARM'S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The Night Before . . .
What is this I'm going through, tonight
And if my heart is lying, then
What should I believe in
Why do I go crazy
Every time I think about you baby
Why else do I want you like I do
If I'm not in love with you
Why do I miss you so much, tonight
If it's just infatuation, then
Why is my heart aching
To hold you forever
Give a part of me I thought I'd never
Give again to someone I could lose
If I'm not in love with you
Do I feel your arms embracing me
Lovers lost in sweet desire
Oh why in dreams do I surrender
Lying in a maybe
Someone help explain this feeling
Someone tell me
Back to the present . . .
GEORGETOWN
0930HRS (EST)
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON, DC
1000HRS (EST)
HYATT REGENCY
WASHINGTON DC
1830HRS (EST)
GEORGETOWN
1845HRS (EST)
NORTH OF UNION STATION
WASHINGTON, DC
1830HRS (EST)
WASHINGTON DC
1915HRS (EST)