Weekend in New England
Chapter 2: Islands in the Stream
A/N: To recap, in The Other Guy, Steven Piascik is a wealthy Trusts and Estates attorney whom Joss has been dating for several months. Reese has ignored Piascik's presence in Joss' life, and his own feelings for her as well, until he meets Steven in Joss' apartment. Steven realizes that Reese cares for Joss as well, and the two men have an intense exchange in a local bar. In that story, Reese goes to Joss' apartment the next day and makes his feelings known to Joss, but in this story, he never made it there and Joss has accepted Steven's invitation for a weekend away, where they will be intimate for the first time.
This chapter is split into two sections. In the first section we spend some time with Steven Piascik and in the second section, we learn more about the place he is taking Joss to for the weekend, as well as little about the owner.
Done.
Steven Piascik realized he was humming again as he completed the arrangements with the owner of the private island he'd reserved for his weekend with Jocelyn Carter. Steven had conducted an exhaustive review of over two dozen places before he'd settled on the island, which was approximately a two hour drive east of the city, far enough to make a quick return impossible, but not too far if there was an emergency with Jocelyn's son, Taylor or his daughter, Skye.
The place usually wasn't open this early in the spring, but Steven was very persuasive, swaying the owner when he booked all the rooms, even though he and Jocelyn would be the only guests. He knew that most of the homes on the other islands weren't open yet, so there would be no boat traffic, noise from loud parties or other activities. The weekend weather promised to be unusually warm for April, so they could go for walks, sit outside and just enjoy the beauty of Long Island Sound.
The owner himself would be present during the weekend to attend to their needs, assuring Steven that they would have all the privacy they desired.
Steven leaned back in his chair. He knew his staff was wondering what had come over him this week. He was calm, smiling, effusive with his compliments, even bought lunch for the entire department today. His admin Celia poked her head in his office so much, she looked like a bespectacled cuckoo bird, and when she disappeared with several other staffers for almost an hour today, he knew they were talking about him.
Wait till they see what I'm like after a weekend with Jocelyn, he thought.
A whole weekend with Jocelyn Carter.
Steven sighed, thinking about finally being with the woman who had consumed so much of his thoughts for the last few months. She was smart, beautiful and most importantly, didn't put up with his crap, as she proved when she firmly shut down his attempt at the symposium luncheon to maneuver her into taking a lucrative corporate security position and give up her career as a homicide detective.
Steven had spent too much time with women easily bowled over by his wealth and social position and he was tired of always getting his own way, tired of the easy conquest, tired of being bored.
He knew he would never be bored with Jocelyn. She was her own person and didn't even blink when the woman he dated last year, Michelle Hayward, practically burned a hole into Jocelyn's face with her accusing glares during the luncheon. Steven had broken up with Michelle weeks before he met the detective, but he could tell that she wanted to believe that Jocelyn had somehow stolen him from her, rather than they simply weren't right for each other.
Though he didn't want to admit it, when Steven asked Jocelyn to go away with him, he was surprised when she said that she'd have to make a few arrangements first and even more surprised when she called him two days later and confirmed that she would spend the weekend with him. He knew that Jocelyn liked him, liked spending time with him, but she always seemed to be holding back, as if she was waiting for something else to happen.
As if she was waiting for another man.
He'd had his suspicions and they were confirmed when he met her friend, John Reese, at her apartment last weekend. Steven had been a short, chubby, poor boy, and even though that kid was long gone, seeing the tall, handsome, elegantly dressed man, brought all those old feelings of inadequacy to the forefront.
John Reese was the guy who stood out, the guy everybody fawned over, the guy who didn't have to do anything to get the girl.
The cock of the walk, as his grandmother used to say.
Jocelyn and Reese clearly were good friends, and after chatting with him for a few minutes, Steven thought he might have been mistaken about the man's feelings for her, that perhaps he was letting his own preconceived notions color their relationship.
But when he kissed her, he saw it.
Steven had spent years with people in court rooms and at conference tables, while they listened to someone's last wishes. There were the ones who cried, the ones who screamed at him, the ones who got into fist fights when they didn't get their grandmother's locket or the multimillion dollar estate, but it was the ones who calmly sat there, the ones who only gave the slightest eye twitch or faintest twist of the lips when they didn't get what they wanted, they were the ones who he had learned to pay attention to, the ones he counseled his clients on when they were deciding who would get what after they died.
They were the ones you had to watch out for.
They got what they wanted, sometimes via legal means and sometimes not, but they always got their way.
John Reese was good, very good at hiding his emotions, but just for a millisecond, as his eyes flashed from pale gray to a fathomless dark blue, he revealed what he really wanted – and he really wanted Jocelyn Carter.
Steven decided to attack first and in a bar a few blocks from Jocelyn's apartment, he had a brief, vicious conversation with the man. He'd expected an all-out battle for Jocelyn's affections after that.
But nothing happened. And if Jocelyn agreed to go away with him, she had decided to stop waiting.
He'd called it – John Reese, for whatever reason, was a total chicken shit when it came to making a move on Jocelyn.
Steven smiled. The only cock that was going to be in motion this weekend, he thought, is mine.
He stood in his office doorway. "Celia, I'm going home. Take the rest of the day off."
She gave him a long look over her spectacles, then scrambled to gather her things before he changed his mind.
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"I'm spending the weekend at my aunt's."
A simple statement that dissuades any other questions, as you visualize your friend or colleague spending a quiet, boring weekend with an elderly relative, drinking weak tea and watching network television.
Only those in the know were aware that the 'aunt' was an island off the coast of Connecticut. Forty years ago, one of Syd Pryce's band mates dubbed it Antarctica because it was so far away from the other small islands and rocky outcrops that made up the archipelago known as the Thimble Islands*.
The band had just done three sold out shows at the Yale Bowl** in nearby New Haven and had decided to spend their day off floating around and partying. Through the haze of groupies, booze and other intoxicants, Syd looked at the lonely spot.
He knew that there was something special about it. The trees grew straight and tall there, even though they should have been bent and twisted by the wind. He could see a meadow in the center of the island. And though there were dangerous rocks and ledges around it, there was also an open section, almost like a path in the water, beckoning you to explore.
He wanted to take a closer look, but his band mates were bored and they asked the captain to turn back.
But Syd never forgot it. And years later after the band went the way that most bands do, with the breakups, feuds and reunion tours, the rehab stints, the alimony, palimony and paternity suits and the inevitable In Memoriam photos at the award shows, he asked the same captain who had piloted he and his band mates around to take him to the island.
A former Boy Scout, Syd brought a tent and some supplies and spent three days and nights there. He had partaken in many of the temptations offered to him during his years with the band, but had never succumbed to them. There were no angry ex-wives or neglected children, no track marks on his arms, no solo album collecting dust or derided acting attempts.
While he'd spent, donated or given away most of the money he'd earned with the group, he'd written songs for other artists under his real name, Brian Woodward, and that money was in a separate account, which he had never touched.
And he wrote a letter, every week, to his best friend, no matter where he was in the world.
As he walked every inch of the island, he was amazed at the huge elms, hemlocks, beeches and hawthorns that flourished here, many varieties that had either succumbed to disease or been pushed out by invasive plants in other places. During the Revolutionary War, all of the trees had been cut down on the other islands in fear that the British would use them to conceal their approach. Perhaps this island was spared because it was so far from all the others. The meadow contained many native flowers, herbs and berry bushes and while there were large rocky formations throughout, Syd noted, they were in the eye line of the closest islands, blocking their view of the place.
Syd was a talented musician, had played for hundreds of thousands of people and traveled the world, but that life was over now. Totally alone for the first time in years, he knew what he wanted.
Most importantly, he knew the person that he wanted, too.
On the fourth day, the captain returned and brought him back to the mainland. Syd rented a plain sedan and drove to a little town two counties east where his best friend was the librarian.
Marian Edmunds often said she couldn't be anything else but a librarian with her first name. Her hair, eyes and skin were the same rich creamy brown, except for dark brown freckles on her nose and cheeks. Full figured, her body was the type that society says to ignore, yet men couldn't keep their eyes off her. She had many admirers and had been engaged twice, Syd knew, but she had never married.
When he walked into the library, he was still recognizable as the bass player for what used to be one of the world's most popular bands, and several patrons approached him as a staffer ran to get her, but they all fell back when Marian walked out onto the main floor and greeted the tall, dark brown skinned man, the electricity around them palpable.
"Hey, Peanut Butter Girl," he said.
"Peanut butter and chocolate chips," she said, pointing at her freckles, "Don't forget those."
"Never do," he said, as he kissed her cheek.
The next day he bought the island, three weeks later he and Marian were married and twenty five years after that, Antarctica or the Aunt, as it was called, was one of the most private retreats in the area. Accessible only by boat, low key, yet luxurious, it was open for only six months out of the year. Syd, Marian, their two adult sons and a well trained staff catered to an eclectic clientele.
Most, but not all of their guests were wealthy. Many came for the solitude and the chance to get away from their everyday lives without having to travel long distances. Scientists came to explore the flora and geological formations. Corporate teams planned strategy there. The armed forces occasionally held training exercises around it, taking advantage of its isolation, yet proximity to nearby military installations.
And a significant number came for the truth.
The island was the place where the truth was revealed. People fell in love, or admitted they were no longer in love. Parents had frank talks with their children and children proved that they were now adults. Partnerships were formed or dissolved. New businesses or creative endeavors were envisioned or jettisoned. Some guests came every year or when they had a milestone birthday.
The phrase, 'Go to the Aunt', was whispered to those in need, like the password to a secret society,
If you didn't know where you were in your life, you came to the island. You might not always like the answer, but you could never say you hadn't heard it.
Syd often thought that if he could bring world leaders here, much of the globe's problems would be solved, but he knew that would never happen. The power of the island was that it was private – he knew that the effect would be lost if the rest of the world knew, that they'd try to bend it to their will, instead of letting the truth speak to them.
The man who had reserved the entire place was hard charging, determined and wouldn't take no for an answer. It was very clear that it was an important weekend for him and his lady friend, Syd mused, as he hung up the call.
His wife smiled as she walked into his office. "Last minute instructions from our guest?"
"Nothing we can't handle," he smiled back.
Marian leaned over his desk. "He really did book every room – I thought you were joking. This lady must be special. Or," she raised an eyebrow, "he's trying to prove something."
"We'll see. Either way, it should be an interesting weekend, Peanut Butter Girl. Give me one of those chocolate chip cheeks to kiss."
*The Thimble Islands are comprised of over twenty small islands and hundreds of rocky outcrops off the Connecticut shoreline. Captain Kidd was said have buried treasure there and as recently as the late 1990s, explorers were searching for the pirate's booty in the pink granite rocks that make up the archipelago. All the trees were cut down during the Revolutionary War and scrub pines, trees planted by the residents, wild roses and huge patches of poison ivy, making some spots impenetrable to humans, have taken root. Many of the larger islands are dotted with beautiful Victorian homes and boat tours during the summer give tourists a chance to see this special place. Famous residents have included P. T. Barnum circus star Captain Tom Thumb and President William Howard Taft, who maintained his summer White House there.
**The 70,000 person capacity Yale Bowl, home of the Yale University Bulldogs, stopped hosting concerts over thirty years ago, due to complaints from local residents.
A/N: So Steven thinks he has picked the perfect place for a romantic weekend with Joss – far enough outside of the city so she can't be quickly summoned by a late night phone call, accessible only by boat and with all the rooms booked, no surprise guests. Or so he thinks…
Next, Joss announces her weekend plans to Taylor and John. As we already know, Taylor and John have their best conversations when they say little - or in this chapter, say nothing at all. And John starts to formulate his plan to thwart Steven.