[Critique Group 2] My Submission for July 26th (1472 words

[Abbie Taylor]

I'm planning to submit this short story to Magnets and Ladders.

***

REUNITED




        I hadn’t had a drink in ten years, but that changed when I went 
to my first high school class reunion. My wife was out of town that 
weekend so couldn’t come with me. She did a lot of traveling since her 
romance novel made the bestseller list. We were living in Sheridan, 
Wyoming, where I went to high school, so I didn’t have to drive far to 
the reunion.

        On that Friday night in early June, I went to the Holiday Inn, 
where most of the events were held. The first was an icebreaker with a 
cash bar. Since I didn’t keep in touch with most of my classmates, I 
only planned to stay long enough to greet a few people and get some 
free food before heading home after a long day at the office.

        When I walked into the ballroom, I spotted her. She stood in a 
corner, looking as beautiful as she did when we graduated. Her long 
blond hair cascaded in waves down her back, and her sea-blue strapless 
dress, the same color as her eyes, accentuated her tanned shoulders. 
She wore black sandals and red nail polish. Our eyes met, and against 
my better judgment, I found myself walking in her direction.

        “Ryan Foster,” she said. “I’d have known you anywhere.”

        “Heather...is your last name still Wilson?” I looked at her 
left hand and didn’t see a ring.

        “I’m afraid I’m still single. I heard you got married. Your 
wife didn’t come with you?”

        “Nope,” I said, captivated by her eyes. “Kate’s at a writers’ 
conference.”

        “A writer?” said Heather. “What does she write?”

        “Mostly romances,” I answered. “You may have heard of her 
latest one, Sunset Passion. It’s on the New York Times bestseller list.”

        “Oh, what an interesting coincidence. I picked that up at the 
Denver airport so I’d have something to read during my layover. Did you 
know I’m living in Los Angeles?”

        “No,” I said, relieved at the opportunity to change the 
subject. “Are you an actress?”

        “Me,” she said with a laugh. “No, I work in an art gallery. 
Let’s get something to drink and catch up. I’m dying of thirst.”

        We found an empty table in a corner, and I went to get our 
drinks. I hoped by the time I got back, others would be there so we 
wouldn’t be drinking alone. When I returned a few minutes later with a 
bloody Mary for her and a Scotch and soda for me, the table was still 
empty except for Heather. I put down our drinks and sat across from 
her. “So if you’re not an actress, what do you do with yourself besides 
working in an art gallery?”

        “I model on the side to make extra money.”

        “Modeling, I’m not surprised. You were always the prettiest one 
in the class.”

        “That’s sweet of you, but it’s just a way to pay the bills.”

        “I thought models worked in New York.”

        “Not if they model swimsuits,” she said. “Wait a minute. I 
think I may have...”

        She opened her purse and pulled out a photo that looked like it 
could have been from a magazine cover. I stared at Heather’s body, clad 
in a black bikini. Looking at her lying in all her splendor on a sandy 
beach, I felt myself getting hard. “Wow!” was all I could say, as I 
handed her the photo.

        “I’m glad you like it. I’ve been told I’m pretty irresistible, 
even to married men.”

        “Well...um...I...um...I’m sorry. It’s just that the last time I 
saw you was at graduation, and now look at you. With that scholarship 
you got to UCLA, I should have known you’d do well.”

        “I majored in drama, but I’ll admit I just don’t have the 
talent. So during my sophomore year, I switched from drama to art, but 
I couldn’t paint, either. I considered moving back here. I thought Dad 
might let me work with him in his coin-operated machine business, but I 
knew that would bore me to tears, so I stayed in Glendale, and as they 
say, the rest is history.”

        “You always had a head for figures. Remember when you sat next 
to me in geometry?”

        “Yes, I remember cheating off your tests because I’m really not 
that good with numbers.”

        “You like living in California?”

        “Most of the time,” she said, taking a long sip of her drink. 
“but I often think about what would have happened if I stayed here. 
Anyway, I saw an ad for a modeling school and dropped out of college to 
give it a try.”

        “And you became a successful model overnight.”

        “Well, it wasn’t easy. I had to work a few topless jobs before 
I found an agent and got the job modeling for Sporting Life.”

        “So you only model swimsuits?”

“I’ve also modeled water skiing, scuba diving, and tennis wear, but 
that’s not nearly as lucrative or fun.”

        “Wait a minute. Didn’t I see you on the cover of Sporting Life 
last winter wearing nothing but a tiny bikini and skis?”

        “Oh my God! That was the worst shoot I ever did. Remember when 
I went skiing with you and your brother when we were seniors? I kept 
standing and falling, standing and falling. Your brother said I was 
falling wrong and could get hurt, so I ditched the skis and walked to 
the lodge where I waited until you guys were done skiing.”

        “Yeah, I’ve always remembered that day.”

        “Okay, enough about me,” she said, taking another sip of her 
drink. “What have you been doing with yourself all this time?”

        “Honestly, there’s not much to tell. After high school, I went 
to Sheridan College and majored in police science. After a year, I 
decided I’d rather defend criminals instead of arresting them, so I 
transferred to Laramie, where I got my law degree, and that’s where I 
met Kate.”

“Aw, how sweet.”

“She was majoring in creative writing, got her MFA, and after I 
graduated, we moved back here and got married. I think she’d rather be 
in New York City where all the agents and editors are. I don’t think 
she’s happy living here, but there’s not a lot I can do about that now.”

        “Oh, the things people give up for love. So do you have any kids?”

        “No, Kate never wanted children,” I said, for the first time 
regretting my marriage. “She was too busy writing to be bothered. She 
always wore a diaphragm when we, well, you know.”

        “Yeah, I had to do a little of that to get where I am today, 
but I don’t mind. I like a good fuck.”

        I found myself laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants. She 
handed me her empty glass and said, “I’d love a refill.”

        “I need to make a quick pit stop first.” As I walked across the 
ballroom, I kept looking back at Heather. What was I doing?

        In the restroom, I heard the band playing “Islands in the 
Stream” and remembered dancing with Heather to that song during my 
senior Prom. As the singers tried unsuccessfully to imitate Kenny 
Rogers and Dolly Parton, I was anxious to get back out there and do it 
again. I finished my business, hurried to the bar to get our drinks, 
and headed to the table. Setting our glasses down, I took her hand and 
said, “Come on, let’s dance.”

        By the time we hit the floor, the song was over. They went 
right into “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” which was a bit livelier than 
I would have liked. Heather began swinging her hips, so I went along 
with it and got into the rhythm of the song.

        Throughout the night, we danced several times. The more I 
drank, the more things blurred. One minute, I was feeling her body 
against mine, and the next, we were back at the table, laughing, 
talking, and drinking.

After we danced to “Sexual Healing,” we walked out to the lobby to say 
our goodnights. Instead of pecking her on the cheek, urging her to keep 
in touch, and walking away, I went with her to the front desk, got a 
room, and stepped into the elevator with her.

        When I woke up, it was dark except for the faint light from the 
clock that showed it was four in the morning. My head ached, and there 
was a knot in my stomach. Heather was asleep, and at the warmth of her 
body, I started to feel aroused. I knew I had to slip out, go home, and 
pretend this never happened.

        The room spun when I sat up. I slowly disentangled myself from 
the sheets, swung my legs over the side of the bed, stood, and looked 
around. Where were my pants?

-- 
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author http://abbiescorner.wordpress.com
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie at samobile.net
Order my new poetry collection at 
https://finishinglinepress.com/productWORD8%%.php?products_id=2081 .