Read Online The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, A Novel by Leslie Langtry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie Langtry
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it wasn’t that difficult to do.
“New York is alright,” Alan continued, “It’s just starting to wear a little thin.” He frowned as he looked out the window, a little distracted.
I was supposed to avoid mentioning the kids but I suspected they were part of the reason.“Couldn’t you write your plays from anywhere?”
“Yes.But there’s an energy in New York as far as the theatre goes.”He returned to slice his salmon, “I would want to live in a city that at least had a professional theatrical company.”
I wondered at that.Alan was never an actor or musician.He disliked being on stage.I didn’t even know if he could act or sing.But he’d always been interested in the human condition.He liked to throw two people in an arena and see where it would take them.Of course he’d want to be somewhere he could make a living writing plays.
I watched him cut his fish, those long, slender fingers that half an hour ago stroked my hand.Those same fingers that half a lifetime ago stroked my body . . .
“Laura?”I looked up and realized he had asked me something.He must have seen me staring at his hands.How weird is that?
“I’m sorry, I . . . uh, was lost in thought.”Not a good cover.Damn.
Alan looked down at his hands in puzzlement.I was sure he was thinking of a number of things.His smile caught me off guard.He knew!He remembered!My skin flooded with heat from head to toe.I must have glowed like a red beacon.
“You know,” his voice was low and husky, “we did explore a lot together.”
There were two choices.I could melt in a puddle of humiliation or rise to the challenge.I chose the latter, “That is something I will never forget.Two virgins fumbling through it all.”
Alan laughed, “Do you remember the first time?”
I choked on my wine, “How could I forget?In that AMC Green Hornet you borrowed from someone.”
It was his turn to look impressed, “So it was.I almost forgot about that car!”
Memories crashed around me like waves, “Remember in the winter we had to sneak blankets into it?”
“That didn’t last long.When we hit that rock and split the oil pan, coasting back into town just as the engine blew out.”
“Oh my God!”Now, there was a memory I couldn’t forget, “Your friend was so cool about that.I still cannot believe you tried to convince him we hit a steep curb.”
Alan leaned back in his chair.He looked so amazing, “Well, he would have bought it if he hadn’t seen the rumpled blankets spread out in the back.”
We laughed together and it felt good.Either the wine or the affection was making me all gooey inside.These were the kind of memories that made us the people we are – but not the kind of memories you can share with your family.
The check came and Alan waved me off, insisting on paying.I let him.As we walked outside a cool breeze skipped across the lagoon and draped around my shoulders.Without a word, Alan slipped his arm around me and I let him do that too.
We walked in silence for a while.His hand on my shoulder was warm and his grip firm.Just for tonight, we belonged to each other – making more memories that we wouldn’t be able to share with anyone.
The plaza was humming with people, but the crowd was faceless.No one would recognize us and spoil this moment.I certainly wasn’t going to spoil it by thinking of the kids, my husband or his wife.They weren’t with us, after all. I slid my arm under his and around his waist.His muscles tensed for a split second, then relaxed and he pulled me closer.
Several bars were just on the other side of the bridge, beckoning.A deceptively small arrangement of nightclubs lay before us, it was easy to drift in and out based on the song.We settled for a club devoted to music from the eighties.It seemed more appropriate.
The crowd was sparse.Obviously eighties music didn’t have much staying power.Not hard to believe when you contemplate the depth of Karma Chameleon .We found a small table for two near the
“New York is alright,” Alan continued, “It’s just starting to wear a little thin.” He frowned as he looked out the window, a little distracted.
I was supposed to avoid mentioning the kids but I suspected they were part of the reason.“Couldn’t you write your plays from anywhere?”
“Yes.But there’s an energy in New York as far as the theatre goes.”He returned to slice his salmon, “I would want to live in a city that at least had a professional theatrical company.”
I wondered at that.Alan was never an actor or musician.He disliked being on stage.I didn’t even know if he could act or sing.But he’d always been interested in the human condition.He liked to throw two people in an arena and see where it would take them.Of course he’d want to be somewhere he could make a living writing plays.
I watched him cut his fish, those long, slender fingers that half an hour ago stroked my hand.Those same fingers that half a lifetime ago stroked my body . . .
“Laura?”I looked up and realized he had asked me something.He must have seen me staring at his hands.How weird is that?
“I’m sorry, I . . . uh, was lost in thought.”Not a good cover.Damn.
Alan looked down at his hands in puzzlement.I was sure he was thinking of a number of things.His smile caught me off guard.He knew!He remembered!My skin flooded with heat from head to toe.I must have glowed like a red beacon.
“You know,” his voice was low and husky, “we did explore a lot together.”
There were two choices.I could melt in a puddle of humiliation or rise to the challenge.I chose the latter, “That is something I will never forget.Two virgins fumbling through it all.”
Alan laughed, “Do you remember the first time?”
I choked on my wine, “How could I forget?In that AMC Green Hornet you borrowed from someone.”
It was his turn to look impressed, “So it was.I almost forgot about that car!”
Memories crashed around me like waves, “Remember in the winter we had to sneak blankets into it?”
“That didn’t last long.When we hit that rock and split the oil pan, coasting back into town just as the engine blew out.”
“Oh my God!”Now, there was a memory I couldn’t forget, “Your friend was so cool about that.I still cannot believe you tried to convince him we hit a steep curb.”
Alan leaned back in his chair.He looked so amazing, “Well, he would have bought it if he hadn’t seen the rumpled blankets spread out in the back.”
We laughed together and it felt good.Either the wine or the affection was making me all gooey inside.These were the kind of memories that made us the people we are – but not the kind of memories you can share with your family.
The check came and Alan waved me off, insisting on paying.I let him.As we walked outside a cool breeze skipped across the lagoon and draped around my shoulders.Without a word, Alan slipped his arm around me and I let him do that too.
We walked in silence for a while.His hand on my shoulder was warm and his grip firm.Just for tonight, we belonged to each other – making more memories that we wouldn’t be able to share with anyone.
The plaza was humming with people, but the crowd was faceless.No one would recognize us and spoil this moment.I certainly wasn’t going to spoil it by thinking of the kids, my husband or his wife.They weren’t with us, after all. I slid my arm under his and around his waist.His muscles tensed for a split second, then relaxed and he pulled me closer.
Several bars were just on the other side of the bridge, beckoning.A deceptively small arrangement of nightclubs lay before us, it was easy to drift in and out based on the song.We settled for a club devoted to music from the eighties.It seemed more appropriate.
The crowd was sparse.Obviously eighties music didn’t have much staying power.Not hard to believe when you contemplate the depth of Karma Chameleon .We found a small table for two near the
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