March, 1987
“J, would you bring me my locket?”
Jordan looked in the jewelry box. He picked up the locket and a beautiful gold drop pendant.
“Em,” he said, coming up behind her. “This is lovely.” he placed it around her neck. She stared at her reflection, and then her eyes moved to his.
“No, I cannot wear that one. I want the locket.”
Jordan put the locket and chain around her neck and noticed the tears.
She glanced back at him in the mirror. And saw the question unasked.
“Elena gave that to me.”
“I thought she gave you the locket?” Jordan asked
“No. I gave this locket to her.” The tears flowed freely now.
Jordan apologized and retreated. Emily opened the locket: her picture on one side, and her daughter's on the other.
“It’s all I have left of you,” she whispered. Emily sniffed, blew her nose, and let K.C. Harlow finish the makeup. She walked into the living room, where Jordan stood looking out the bay window.
“What is it?”
“That car is back.”
Emily looked out the window. I know that car from somewhere. Before either could react, the car sped off. Emily went to the baby’s room and reappeared, cuddling baby Elena. She handed him to Jordan, who immediately tickled her, making her laugh. Eyes welling, Emily watched.
“Hey, you. Stop now, or you will have to do your makeup again.”
Emily couldn’t help it. “I’m just so happy you're being her father.”
They heard the gate rattling open. And Elena’s mother came through the front door.
“There’s my girls!”
Patrice was June Cleaver, Carol Brady, and Marion Cunningham all rolled into one. She hugged and barely pecked Emily so as not to wreck the makeup, then promptly relieved Jordan of Elena and gave him a quick kiss. Without missing a beat, she rubbed Elena’s nose with her own. Then her face grew serious.
“Someone almost hit my car.” Patrice looked at Emily.
“A blue sedan.” Patrice continued. “I think it was a Buick.” She looked at Jordan and Emily, whose eyes were locked on each other.
Emily shook her head. “Nothing, Mom. We have just seen that car around a lot lately. Maybe we have a new neighbor from L.A.”
The drive from Sonoma was silent. A silence that grew more and more deafening. Jordan flipped on the radio; Sportstalk announcers were debating the merits of UCLA or UNLV reaching the Final Four. A glare from Emily and his hands turned the station.
Naomi Judd’s mournful voice floated in the air. After 30 seconds, Emily’s head thumped against the window.
“Nooo.” Jordan changed it again.
“We built this City on Rock and Rooolll.”
Emily looked at Jordan.
“What? It’s San Francisco.” Jordan defended.
Emily just shook her head. “Leave it.”
Jordan noticed that by the end of the song, Emily’s finger was tapping the beat.
By the time they reached the KGO studios, Emily had been singing with the radio.
The first interview was KGO News. It focused on Charlotte.
“I’m here with K.C. Harlow, who appeared out of nowhere last year with the New York Times bestseller After Massaqua Falls, which stunned readers and brought focus to the plight of Appalachia—It spent 20 weeks on the list, peaking at number 3, behind Stephen King and Tom Clancy. That’s a pretty heady group for a first-time author. Welcome, K.C.”
“I’m Glad to be here.” K.C.beamed.
The next few minutes were the questions every interview asked. Then it got to Charlotte.
“Let's get to it. Charlotte. Despite being boycotted by the Chapter One chain, it still has hit the Times bestseller list.”
K.C. narrowed her eyes. “I will not disparage any company for the decisions it makes. Although,” she paused. “If they had sold Charlotte, then maybe it would have caught up with After Massaqua Falls.”
The anchor laughed. “Fair Enough.”
“Did you expect it to be as controversial as it has become?”
“Yes. And no.” Like my first book, it was something I had to write. I knew having the characters fall in love was dangerous.” K.C. was carefully thoughtful.
“Rumor is that you're a lesbian, and that's why Charlotte was written.”
K.C. smiled.
“My daughter, Elena, and her father might disagree with you.”
“Then why not make one a man?”
Emily gave a wistful smile. “We don’t get to choose who we fall in love with.” She waited a beat and said, “That’s the point. You don’t get to choose who you love, except for choosing to have a child, and that love is unconditional.”
The interview concluded, and they took Emily to a dressing room, where they put her in a cobalt blue dress. Back on set, an E.T. backdrop was in place, and K.C. met the show's reporter, Dan. Cameras rolled.
“Hi, it’s Dan with ET. I’m in San Francisco where I caught up with K.C. Harrow, who came from nowhere. With her first novel, After Massaqua Falls, she became one of the country's biggest book authors. Her second, Charlotte, has sparked controversy—and made her a bestseller again. Now Hollywood has come calling, and there's already another K.C. Harrow novel on the way. So, K.C.—do you ever sleep?”
K.C. laughed. “Sleep? What’s that?”
“It’s what us parents did before we had children,” Dan quipped.
“They are so worth it, though.” They both smiled at the thought of their children.
“So two bestsellers, and we hear there is a movie, maybe two? The screenplay for the movie, and now, another novel.” Dan looked wide-eyed at K.C.
“When you put it like that, Dan, maybe I should lie down for a minute.” K.C. paused. “I’m working hand in hand with the studio; Lorenzo and I are translating the book into the script. I’m working very hard to stay true to my novel. I think maybe fans do not appreciate a half-hearted adaptation.”
“And the second movie?”
K.C. laughed. “Let’s get the first one off the floor, shall we?”
Dan smiled genuinely. “Okay. Then tell me about this new book.”
K.C. smiled coquettishly. “Well, when I took a break and went to Miami, I got this colossal sunburn. I didn’t want to cut the vacation short, and I certainly didn't want to stay in the hotel room. So there was lots of shopping, art galleries, and oh, so much. Miami is known for the pools and the beaches and everything out in the sun, but the OTHER Miami, so rich in culture. That’s what Sunburn explores.”
Dan sidled close. “Any tidbits?”
K.C. said, “Weeelll, there was the theater.”
“Oh?”
“My friend dragged me into this art house. It was showing a French film. It started, and it turned blue.”
“As in sexy?”
K.C. nodded. “And it got bluer and bluer. I’m not sure if my companion enjoyed the film as much as watching me squirm, so that HAD to be in the book.”
“So not a bad experience?”
K.C. laughed. Goodness, no. If either of us had been offended, we would have walked out. Looking back, it was hilarious. The publisher liked it enough to pull it from November, and we should see it in June or July.”
“K.C. Harrow, everyone. Look for the summer book charts to heat up with sunburn, and the movie of After Massaqua Falls in?”
“The studio is looking after Thanksgiving, perhaps Christmas.”
The cameras went dark, and Dan and Emily chatted for a few minutes, promising to catch ET if she hit L.A.
As soon as she was off the set and in the dressing room, Emily shed the dress. The assistant took it, and Emily asked,
“Hey, can you find out where they got this? I want one.”
The girl smiled and said she would, since she looked smashing in that color. In a bra and panties, Demily found herself embraced in Dan’s arms.
“Easy, Tiger,” she moaned as he kissed her neck. She pushed away and dressed, then took the blouse off and removed the bra. She put the bra in her bag, leaving one button undone. The locket gleamed between her breasts. Jordan nuzzled her neck.
“J.”
“Hmm?”
“I'm starving.”
Jordan smiled. “Scoma’s?”
“Absolutely.”
A few minutes later, Jordan handed the keys to a valet. They went into the restaurant, and Jordan asked for a table. The hostess frowned.
“I'm sorry, there'll be about a twenty-minute wait.”
“That's fine,” Jordan said.
“K.C. Harrow?”
Emily turned.
A Japanese man a few feet away looked at her.
“You're K.C. Harrow.”
Emily smiled cautiously. “Guilty.”
“I’m the manager, Tim Nakano. Give me a moment; we will find you a table.”
He conferred with the hostess over the seating chart and smiled.
“Right this way, Ms. Harrow.”
Bussers were setting a table as they arrived. It was clear that Tim was taken with her; he even oversaw the waiter taking the orders.
Seated, Jordan looked around.
“I’ve always liked this place,” Jordan noted.
“Last time I was here,” Emily paused to sip her water with a twinkle in her eye, “I was a virgin.”
Jordan raised his glass. “To former virgins and beautiful moms.”
Emily blushed. The food came, and Emily was careful not to spill the Cioppino.
Declining dessert, the waiter left the check. Tim stopped by and asked how everything was.
Emily looked up at the smiling man and asked for a marker, a menu, and a napkin.
Tim hurried off and returned shortly.
With a flourish, Emily wrote on the menu.
“To everyone at Scoma’s, thank you for the warm welcome, the fabulous meal, and for making us feel like family”
K.C. Harrow
On the napkin, she wrote,
Tim, thank you for making our evening special.
K.C.
Finally, Emily coaxed Tim to write down his wife’s name, promising signed copies of both books and an early copy of Sunburn.
Jordan insisted on paying, so Emily doubled it and left it as a tip.
Outside, the valet went to get the car, and Jordan commented,
“You carry a pen but not a marker?”
“A pen is useful.”
“And a marker isn't?”
“Not unless people suddenly start asking me to sign menus.”
They laughed as the car pulled around. Jordan opened the door, and Emily got inside. Jordan slid behind the wheel, and they drove off to the hotel.
Behind them, a figure in a trench coat and hat rose from the bench, got into their own car, and pulled out.
Emily reclined in the seat, giving Jordan vague directions. Frustrated, Jordan pulled over. “Where exactly?”
Emily looked over at him. “Didn’t I say the San Remo?”
Jordan bit his tongue and put the car back in gear.
The San Remo was not the new Hyatt. It was old, but it had charm, and Jordan decided it fit Emily. He went to the desk and said there should be a reservation for Johnson. The clerk found none, and he said, “Harrow.”
Emily stood there, biting her lower lip, very amused.
“Calder?”
The clerk looked at Jordan impatiently.
Emily finally took pity on him.
“Brontë, Charlotte Brontë.”
The clerk smiled. “Ah, Miss Brontë, thank you. All is in order; the Penthouse is yours.” he paused, noting just overnight bags. “Do you need assistance?”
“No, we are just here overnight. I had a television interview.”
Ah, very good then. Have a pleasant stay.”
In the elevator, Jordan asked, “Charlotte Brontë?
Emily patted his cheek. “Famous people always use an alias, my dear boy.” The door opened into the foyer for the penthouse suite.
She unceremoniously dropped the bag and stripped, pausing at the bathroom door. “Coming?” she invited.
She adjusted the water to warm, and when Jordan stepped in, she turned him so his back blocked the spray. She got on her knees, and gently started to suck on his cock.
“Em.”
“Hmmm?” Her hum sent shivers through his body. She picked up the pace as her head bobbed back and forth. Raging hard, Emily released him and, grabbing the base of his cock, licked it like an ice cream, then swallowed it back to the root. Emily was all about the blowjob, everything she learned he liked, especially the light scraping of her teeth. It took 15 minutes before she took the head of his cock into her mouth to receive the sperm pumped from his balls. She stood and gave Jordan a peck on the lips.
“Scoma’s does have anything like that on the dessert menu.”
They took their time in the shower.
As they dried off and Emily sat in a chair drying her hair, she looked at Jordan with an innocent expression.
“How much do you love me?”
Jordan narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”
Her smile widened.
“Why do you assume I want something?”
“Because you only ask that question when you want something.”
“That is a terrible thing to say about the mother of your child.”
Jordan sighed. “What do you want, Emily?”
“Water, Coke, and alcohol. You want it too.”
“Why do I want it?”
“How else will you get me drunk and take advantage of me?”
Jordan sighed and dressed.
As the door was closing, Emily shouted, “And Twinkies!”
oOo
Naked, Emily went out to the balcony, the salt air filling her lungs as she breathed deep. She sat at a table, legs propped on it, and wrote in her ever-present notebook. She had finished several pages when she heard the door.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“I have sex with famous women and make them bear my children.” J shot back.
“Good. I thought you were the Hotel Dick.”
“I don't think hotels have had dicks since the 60s.”
“This one does. I know. I sucked it.”
Jordan handed her a whiskey and coke. She sipped, then downed a third of it.
“Perfect. Come here.” She motioned for him to kiss her.
“You will make someone a great wife one day, J.”
“You are naked.”
“Observant, too”
“Why?”
“All the better for you to bend me over the rail and make me sing your praises.”
She looked out over the Golden Gate. Silence.
Jordan stood over her, naked as well. Without a word, he reached down, hoisted her over his shoulder, and carried her to the bed.
He deposited her on her back, amusement in her eyes. He knelt between her legs and gently stroked her hardened nipples. Then he began to stroke her body. Emily’s eyes closed, and then Jordan sprung the trap. All the times they had sex made Jordan intimate with Emily's body, and his fingertips knew right where to tickle.
“God, Jordan, no! I’m ticklish!” She screamed as she rocked and squirmed.
Jordan was relentless, and Emily cried out, screaming, laughing, and crying. Jordan played Emily like a violin, the torturous tickling heating her until she was boiling. With a single thrust, he buried himself inside her, and Emily screamed his name.
Jordan was rough with Emily, and her body responded, arching up to meet him. More than once, her eyes rolled back as she hit a higher peak. She hit him on the arm, her signal to change positions. She rolled over, and Emily began to rise and fall. She pulled his hands to her sides.
“Tickle me.” The tickling sensation sent Emily over the edge again, and she clamped down on Jordan, triggering his second orgasm.
Despite the happiness and warmth of her orgasm, Emily felt a cold guilt.
oOo
Sunday, Emily decided they were going out for breakfast. She called Jordan, who readily agreed to meet them at the Omelet Express.
Emily got there first, and the waitress was still cooing over Elena in her high chair when Jordan joined them. The couple took turns feeding the baby as they slowly ate their own breakfast.
A lanky redhead stopped suddenly beside the table.
“Jordan?”
Jordan looked up from cutting a piece of pancake for Elena.
“Lisa?”
The woman standing beside their table smiled uncertainly.
“I thought that was you.”
Emily immediately looked from Lisa to Jordan.
Lisa glanced at the baby, then at Emily.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.”
“You're not interrupting anything,” Emily said. “Sit down.”
“I—”
“Sit.”
Lisa sat.
The server came by and filled a coffee cup. Lisa ordered a croissant.
“So, you know J?” Emily asked.
Lisa looked uncertainly between them.
“How long have you two been married?” she asked, apparently trying to get her footing.
“Oh, we're not—well, we are, but not like that.”
Jordan choked on his coffee.
“Emily!”
Emily gave him her most innocent look.
“What? We're not married. Yes, you're Elena's daddy, but I think that part is apparent.”
She turned back to Lisa.
“And a friend should know what's what with you.”
“He's a wonderful father.”
“Em.”
“Look at him. She adores him.”
Elena reached for Jordan, proving her point.
“See?” Emily leaned toward Lisa.
“He cooks.”
“Emily.”
“He's loyal.”
“Stop.”
“He's handsome.”
Lisa laughed. “It sounds like you're trying to set me up with my ex.”
“Oh?” Emily gasped. “Then I don't need to tell you how good he is in bed.”
Both Jordan and Lisa choked on their coffee and stared at each other.
Just then, Elena made a very distinctive bodily noise.
Jordan seized the opportunity, grabbing the diaper bag and baby.
“Be right back.”
He hurried toward the restroom.
Lisa stared at Emily. “What the hell? Are you nuts?”
Lisa stood.
Emily grabbed her hand.
“Look, Jordan was sweet to me when I needed someone. Getting pregnant was my choice.”
“So, marry him yourself,” Lisa shot back.
Emily's expression changed.
“I don't love him. No, that's not right. I do love him—as the father of my daughter. But I'm not in love with him.”
She looked toward the restroom.
“He deserves that.”
Lisa stared at her, apparently debating whether Emily needed to be committed.
But there was no deceit in her eyes. Emily honestly wanted Lisa to give Jordan another chance.
Jordan returned and handed Elena to Emily.
Lisa looked him over again, this time appraisingly.
“Coffee.”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“I'll have coffee with him.”
“A weekend in Carmel-by-the-Sea. On me.”
“Excuse me?” Jordan said.
Lisa smiled. “Lunch.”
“Excuse me.”
Both women turned toward him.
“Women are talking, J,” Emily said.
“Yes, this is serious, Jordan,” Lisa added.
Emily faced Lisa.
“Overnight in San Francisco. Fine dining.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow.
“Dinner at my place. We'll see where it goes from there.”
Emily extended her hand.
“Deal.”
As they shook hands, Jordan looked down at his daughter.
“Daddy just got sold like a sack of apples.”
Outside, a blue Buick pulled away from the curb.
Another car followed.
