Note: References to all of my previous stories will be referenced heavily throughout this story. If anyone wants clarification, I'll reply to questions in reviews or private messages.
Big Fan: In regard to 'naked' Della – that particular reference can be found in TCOT Pretty Stones, chapter 25.
I wanted to address the out-of-place letter 'e' during Perry's joke about the V flight formation of geese in chapter 1 – something my father told me when I was a child and remains my absolute favorite joke in the world to this day. One of my cats, Penny Blossom, stepped on the keyboard and I left it in as her contribution to the story. All sixteen pounds of her is stretched in front of my monitor right now, and has been for every typed word.
I'm handing out Brownie points for knowing who I named my cat after, as well as from where I borrowed Perry's vodka-loving housekeeper, Alma.
Enjoy!
~ OED
CHAPTER 3
"It's hard to believe I've known Kaitlynn since she was born, and now she's getting married."
Della tucked her hand in the crook of Perry's elbow and sighed softly. "The years do go by quickly."
He smiled down at her. "Too quickly, if you ask me. Twenty-five years."
That irritated her, despite the soothing string music surrounding them. Couldn't he tell she was talking about the thirty-seven years they'd spent together? She was well aware of how long ago he'd met Max and Laura Parrish...and where. He didn't have to remind her. She wasn't senile. She simply chose not to involve herself in his friendship with the Parrish family, rarely asking questions about when he talked to or saw them. He adored Kaitlynn and was proud of her success even if he didn't like the type of music she performed, proud to be her 'uncle'. Della regretted that her nieces had never called him uncle, which was no doubt an edict from her brother before Henny finally managed to extricate the stick lodged up his ass since birth.
"How did you meet Max and Laura? They weren't students at the time you lectured, were they?" Maybe it was time to learn more about Kaitlynn Parrish and her parents. Or more accurately, Kaitlynn Parrish's parents and Kaitlynn herself.
Perry shook his head slightly surprised that she was questioning him about that time. "No, they weren't. I met Laura on an adjunct student advisory board at Georgetown. We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. I told you they were going through a very bad time and Laura had filed for divorce."
Yes, he had told her about the divorce filing – multiple filings according to Perry – but not that he was friends with Laura first. Somehow that mattered. She thought of Laura Parrish as an educated woman, because Perry enjoyed smart women; but not as a working woman. Now she was curious about whether Laura still worked and what she did. But not curious enough to ask Perry. "And Kaitlynn brought them back together?"
Perry shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with her questions and where they could lead. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to invite Della to Kaitlynn's wedding and introduce her to Laura after all, but at this time in his life, when society was more accepting of unwedded bliss, he didn't like not being with her. They still technically lived in separate residences, and when traveling continued to rent hotel suites with multiple bedrooms, but rarely spent a night in separate beds. His girl had lost none of her independence in thirty-seven years and he'd learned the hard way to pick his battles judiciously. He had seriously considered not attending the wedding at all if she didn't agree to accompany him. "You could say that. It was rough, but they weathered it, and now they are one of the happiest couples I know." That sounded awkward and forced, which it was, and he knew she would see right through it.
"Especially today, huh?" There was a lot about the mother-of-the-bride he wouldn't or couldn't tell her even if she were to ask, awkward platitudes about the status of the Parrish marriage aside. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs deliberately, and Perry's eyes dropped predictably and immediately to take in the sight.
"Especially today," he agreed, lifting his heated gaze to hers.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
They drove directly from the airport to his apartment, which he didn't think was a good idea at all, but she insisted.
Once inside, she made a bee-line for the bedroom and by the time he caught up with her, she had already stripped the bed. Sheets, bedspread, blanket, and pillows were piled in the middle of the room. Nothing like taking a little hostility out on inanimate objects to cleanse the soul.
"Della," he said gently, "Alma already remade the bed." For an extra twenty-five dollars and a bottle of Smirnoff, his long-time cleaning lady had agreed to come in the day before to pick up the mess his hurried departure left behind. Bless her vodka infused heart.
She snapped her fingers, barged into the bathroom, and soon the contents of his linen closet were flying through the air. She emerged from the bathroom and stood with hands on hips surveying the enormous pile of linens for several seconds before returning to the bathroom and reappearing with his silk bathrobe, which she added to the pile. She kicked off her shoes and went to work throwing towels and pillows onto the bedspread, and dragging the entire load through the living room, out the apartment, and down the hallway to the incinerator chute, into which she methodically fed all of his linens, beginning with his beautiful silk bathrobe that had set her back sixty-four dollars.
He stood by helplessly, knowing better than to say or do anything. Damn. He would really miss that robe. Eventually he wandered back to his apartment, satisfied she thought he had witnessed enough of his punishment.
After the last towel and then the bedspread was pushed into the chute, she returned to Perry's apartment to find him seated on the couch, a fresh cocktail in hand. Her eyes slid from side to side of the long couch and one eyebrow inched upward. He shook his head. Her eyes then shifted to the kitchen door, the raised fireplace hearth, to the two spacious side chairs. He continued to shake his head. "Only the bed," he finally said with emphasis, "and only once."
She plopped down on the couch next to him, comforted not one bit by that admission, and took the drink from his hand. She didn't really want to know, but she also didn't want to sit on a couch that he and another woman...she shuddered. "A new mattress will be delivered Monday," she announced.
"All right." What she had just done gave him hope that eventually she could forgive him. "But I have no sheets. Or towels."
She tipped her head back and drained the drink. "You can buy more. And you can shower at your club and do without a robe until you buy another one."
"All right."
She handed him the empty highball glass. "More please."
Perry picked up a bottle from the coffee table and poured two fingers of Scotch into the glass.
"I don't want to know who she was." The excellent scotch was loosening her up so she could say what had to be said. "This hurts so much, Perry."
His hand was unsteady as he handed her the re-filled glass. He was so close to losing her, despite the fact she had rid his apartment of everything the other woman might have touched. "I know. I'm sorry. I will never mention her or what happened unless you ask."
She snorted a laugh. The alcohol was working fast, probably because she hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. "That's not going to happen." She drained the second cocktail and regarded the empty glass with a forlorn expression.
"Am I driving you home, or am I pouring you into a cab?"
She was thoughtful for a moment, eyes shifting once more around his spotless apartment. "Pouring me into a cab. I can't stay here. I can't be with you right now. I thought I c-could, but I c-can't."
She suddenly burst into tears, which scared the bejeebers out of him because she had been so stoic and hadn't really cried, just sniffled for a few minutes at Henny's and Carter's and teared up a couple of times on the plane. He pulled her close, rocking and shushing her. Of all the idiotic things he had done in his life, this was the award-winner. In a weak defense, she'd told him, "I'm done. I can't be your afterthought anymore," effectively tearing out his heart. He should have ignored her pleas to leave her alone and followed her to the lake house that night. Instead, he'd wallowed in agony for days, completely numb, bourbon a constant companion. When his good friend's wife inexplicably landed on his doorstep five days later he'd slept with her, falling prey to her manipulative sympathy and his own unrelenting heartache, fully aware of how wrong it was but wanting to feel something, anything. The entire surreal encounter brought with it self-loathing, disgust, and pain so deep afterward he could barely breathe. And then he'd opened the door and found his truest, deepest love standing there.
"Is there...can we...?"
"I don't know," she sobbed, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. "I thought if I got rid of...but it only hurts more. I smell her everywhere."
He clutched her to him almost roughly, perhaps trying to squeeze the pain from her body like a wet sponge. "I love you. I was weak and stupid and I'm so, so sorry."
She shook her head, squirming in his arms, alternately sobbing and hiccupping. "You promised you would never...but you thought I didn't...and you – you...let me go, Perry. I have to get out of here." She broke free from his embrace but stayed seated on the couch, weeping into her hands.
He suspected she would eventually break down, just not within ten minutes of clearing his apartment of all its linens and admitting to experiencing olfactory hallucinations. "I don't know what to do, Della, I don't know how to help you..."
"Don't do anything! Don't help me! You've done enough already." She lifted her head and ran her hand under her nose. He offered his sleeve, but received only a scathing stare of rebuff. "I told you I would walk away and never look back if you ever did something like this and now that you've...done it...dammit, I don't know if I can walk away."
"I'm glad you don't want to walk away. I don't want you to, either."
"I promised myself I would be strong and independent and now I feel as if I'm betraying myself and all I've believed since Michael did the same thing to me."
He didn't appreciate being lumped into the same category as her ex-boyfriend Michael Domenico, who years ago had carried on an illicit affair with Della's best friend for several months; but he could see where in her eyes they were the same. And he definitely understood making promises. Shit, damn, hell. He'd promised Michael Domenico he wouldn't be a fool like him.
Except she didn't want to walk away from him the way she'd walked away from Michael Domenico. He had that to cling to.
"What if I forgive you for this, and you do it again because you know I'll look the other way?"
"Are you looking the other way?"
"Hell no!" she exploded, furious at his questions. "I don't know what I'm doing." She jumped to her feet. "I have to get out of here."
She headed for the door and was reaching for the knob before he caught up with her. She turned abruptly and he wrapped his arms around her to keep them both from falling.
"Why did you do this to us?" Arms dangling limply at her sides, her voice a quivering whisper of anguish, she felt as though she might melt into a puddle then and there.
He could resort to the blame game and point out what she had said to him over the phone and the fact she'd run away – again – to hide from what was hurting her instead of talking to him, but he was too old for such playground tactics. And besides, when it was all said and done, he finally saw it was his insensitive behavior that had caused everything to spiral out of control in the first place, and why he would just let her say and do whatever she felt necessary in order to eventually forgive him. "There was no reason," he replied quietly into her soft, dark curls. "There was stupidity. That's all."
"Stay here. I'll get my own cab."
Protesting would have done exactly no good. "I'll stay here."
She backed away from him, lifting sad, empty eyes to meet his. "I am really mad at you." Henny was right. That felt good. She was mad at him – had been mad at him for months.
"I'm mad at myself, too."
"Don't take this away from me, Perry. I don't want to share my anger with anyone, not even you." She turned away and opened the door.
"When will I see you again?"
Half-in and half-out of the door, she paused, her back to him. "Why, I'll see you Monday morning in the office. I'm mad at my lover, not at my boss."
