Old Ties, page 1
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Synopsis
A Love She Can’t Forget… For the umpteenth time in their 20-year relationship, Cleo’s lover has run off with another woman. Her friends wonder why she puts up with this; why she lets herself be hurt this way; why she doesn’t leave. But Cleo’s answers are always the same. I wait because I love her. I hurt because I love her. I let her come back because I love her…
A Passion She Can’t Deny… Anyone in her right mind would know better than to get involved in Cleo’s life right now. But Frankie hasn’t been in her right mind since the day she walked into Cleo’s cafe. The heat between them is undeniable, but Frankie desires more that a warm place in Cleo’s bed. She wants to fill her heart…
A Chance for True Happiness… Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time Cleo can finally free herself from the chains of the past and surrender to a passionate new love. Then again, old ties are the hardest to break…
Originally published by Naiad Press in 1997
Table of Contents
Cover
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by Saxon Bennett
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bella Books
Copyright © 1997 by Saxon Bennett
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Edition Naiad Press 1997
Bella Books eBook released 2015
Editor: Lisa Epson
Cover Designer: Sandy Knowles
ISBN: 978-193151-386-9
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other Bella Books by Saxon Bennett
Back Talk
Both Sides
Date Night Club
Family Affair
Higher Ground
In the Unlikely Event
Marching to a Different Accordion
Sweet Fire
A Question of Love
Talk of the Town
Talk of the Town Too
The Wish List
About the Author
My mother didn’t like my last explanation of self. She said there was more to me than reading, writing, riding, gardening, and fucking, not necessarily in that order. And she’s right. I thought long and hard and decided that I don’t write personal ads very well. More to me? I looked around corners and behind doors, thought of myself when I was a thirteen-year-old tyrant, or a sweet baby-faced child, already at war with the world, the anomaly I am today. More to me? I don’t know, gentle reader: if you find those parts please send them back as I don’t have a spare.
To Brenda for knowing when to say when
and for remembering what was good.
To the best partner a gal can have, Lin,
thanks for your patience, faith and love.
To my furry friend Sir J.H. Crappapore
for those precious moments when we write together,
what would I do without your long slinky tail
in my face.
Chapter One
Cleo Wetherfield sat at the counter of Cactus Jack’s Restaurant and waited for her coffee. She owned the restaurant, or rather half of it. Romaine owned the other half, which was fine when they were together, or when they were getting along. Now was not one of those times.
It was the waitress’s first day. Cleo hired her because her name was Frankie. She liked people with strange names because she hated her own. She always imagined her mother heavy with child desperately in search of a name. Cleo was convinced her mother found her name in one of those sixty-nine-cent name books found at the checkout counter.
Cleo was a name carelessly chosen from a paperback, lacking the grace of ancestry, and she was stuck with it until the worms picnicked on her eyeballs. Even then the name would be on the tombstone. Maybe she should put “Here lies the badly named” and let people wonder.
Frankie was named after Franklin D. Roosevelt. People always smiled at that and asked her if her mother had wanted a boy, but she hadn’t. She fully intended on having a girl. She wanted a girl with spunk. “A girl named after a famous man full of good traits would be filled to the brim with spunk.” The choice still didn’t make sense, but Frankie’s mother was not a woman of sense. She was a woman with guts. If the gut wanted it the mind followed, cowed by the sheer force of innate desire.
Cleo also hired her because Frankie was musically inclined. When Frankie wrote “singer” in the section marked “special talents” on the application, Cleo was sold. The restaurant had a Friday-night talent show. You didn’t have to be good. You had to try. Trying counted. The talent show boasted poets, writers, performance artists, and comedians; some of them were even funny.
But the real reason Frankie got the job was because she was cute. She was younger than Cleo, but then Cleo was pushing forty-something. Frankie had dark, shoulder-length hair combed into a ponytail and blue eyes.
Cleo loved blue eyes. Romaine had blue eyes too. Twenty years ago, Cleo had fallen in love with those eyes and had yet to retrieve herself from their captivating gaze. Cleo’s eyes were dark. We always want what we don’t have. Cleo knew hiring a cute, talented waitress was going to piss Romaine off, which was precisely why she did it.
Frankie finally figured out the coffee maker and returned with Cleo’s coffee.
“Thank you. So how do you like the job so far?” Cleo asked, trying to be sociable though her heart wasn’t in it. Funny, she thought, the older one gets, the more stock phrases one disguises as social graces.
“It’s fine. I haven’t been through a lunch rush yet, so I guess we’ll see.”
“It’s the evening cocktail hour I’d worry about. Living here makes most of us highly dependent on diversions. Choose your poison.”
“A town with a drinking problem?”
“Let’s just say we have the European sensibility of taking the nip off the day and, in this case, every day.”
“I see.”
“How in god’s name did you end up here anyway?”
“My aunt lives here.”
“Let me guess, you left a bad relationship, female perhaps, and now you want to spend the summer forgetting. Am I close?”
“Right on target. Is it that obvious?”
“No, but that’s how most of us end up here. We leave the city hoping for some peace and quiet and the chance to forget.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Too long. Oh shit!”
“What?”
“It’s Romaine.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“Ex-wife, twice removed.”
Romaine Little strode into the restaurant quickly, her boots striking the hardwood floor with even precision.
“I want an explanation, and I want it now.”
“Have some coffee,” Cleo offered, looking at Frankie.
“I don’t want any fucking coffee. I want answers. I want to know why you sent a box full of my panties cut into very small pieces to my studio. My receptionist opened it with the morning mail.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t let your receptionist open your mail.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I’m mad. I told you to get your shit out of my house. But you were in such a hurry to hop into bed with your latest fling that you couldn’t be bothered. I figured you were obviously having such a good time with your pants off that you couldn’t be bothered with panties. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
Romaine grabbed her wrist as Cleo picked up her coffee cup.
“Don’t start, Romaine. I’m not yours to do that to anymore. Remember?”
; Romaine squeezed hard, clenched her jaw, and let go, sending coffee oozing across the counter.
“I’ll come get my stuff.”
“Don’t bother. I had it sent to the studio.”
Romaine glared at her and marched to the door. She turned. “Times like these, I don’t wonder why we can’t make it work.”
“Romaine, go fuck yourself.” Cleo said without turning around.
Frankie simply looked at Cleo.
“Will you please hand me a towel?”
“Are you all right?” Frankie asked, mopping up the coffee.
“I’m fine. But I would like some more coffee.”
Alice strolled in. In her late forties, she was slim with dark hair graying slightly at the temples. She dressed like a bad drag queen. Her butch girlfriends thought she was the femme to die for. Cleo didn’t understand it, but then go figure with lesbians. There’s no accounting for taste. Cleo had gone out with Romaine. Figure that one.
“Quite the outfit,” Cleo murmured under her breath.
“I heard that. At least I don’t wander around in men’s underclothing,” Alice replied, snarling.
It was true. Cleo wore only boxers and men’s undershirts, with a tie if the occasion was festive. Frankie wondered about the ensemble but was too polite to ask.
“I only do it to piss Romaine off. She hates it, which of course forces me to do it. Besides, I’ve quite a collection. It’s a hard habit to leave off.”
“Was that Romaine I saw flying out of here on her little black broom?” Alice asked.
“You’re so astute. She’s mad at me ’cause I ripped up all her expensive little undies and sent them to her at work. Bad girl. But I couldn’t resist. Call me silly.”
“My god, you are the worst.”
“That’s why you love me so,” Cleo said, smiling and scrunching up her shoulders.
Alice looked at her. “Haven’t you some gardening to do?”
“It’s a good thing you’re the manager or the place would have gone under years ago. I’ve no sense of time management, and all Romaine wants to do is fuck every little strumpet that strolls into town.”
“Remember that next time I’m up for a raise,” Alice said, shooing her out the door.
“Good luck with the lunch rush, Frankie,” Cleo called out as Alice shoved her out the back door. “She sure is cute, don’t you think, Alice?”
“She’s not my type. I like men, not little boys.”
“I have a penchant for the less-than-lipstick, not-been-’round-the-block-more-than-once woman-child.”
“And how do you know she is one?”
“She has that air of innocence about her, and she only wears Chap Stick. I checked.”
* * *
“So what do you think of our owners? Crazy bunch, but they’re harmless,” Alice said, leaning on the counter.
“Romaine didn’t look harmless.”
“Oh that. Well yeah, they’ve had a few knock-down-drag-outs. But the police have only locked them up once. Most of the time it’s a bit of broken crockery or a window, flattened car tires, and let’s see…One time Romaine threw every bit of glassware and crockery in the entire restaurant at Cleo. It was starting to look kind of cheesy anyway and needed to be replaced.”
“How long have they been at this?”
“The last twenty years. On for seven, off for three, on for another seven, then off for two, then on for a year, is that twenty? I think I’ve got it right.”
“Are they still trying to work out the fine details?”
“I don’t understand it myself. They were each other’s first lover, and they can’t seem to let it go. Romaine goes out with other people; Cleo waits around until she’s done; and they start all over again. Sick, huh?”
“Different. How come Cleo doesn’t go out with anyone?”
“She calls herself a serial monogamist or some such nonsense. She thinks she mated for life, and so she waits.”
“That’s not healthy,” Frankie said, cleaning up the counter. “What should I do next?”
“Are you much of a prep cook? Seems we’re a little short today. I hate chopping veggies. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.”
“Cleo should have a load of stuff for you to chop.”
“I’ve never worked in a restaurant before. Cleo told you that, didn’t she?”
“Oh, yeah. It doesn’t matter. Folks ’round here aren’t picky. Cleo hired you because you’re cute, not because you’re qualified.”
“Oh,” Frankie said, making her way back to the kitchen.
Chapter Two
Cleo sat on the front porch in her favorite chair, rocking back and forth furiously.
“Why do I let her do this to me?” Cleo said aloud. “I must be stupid, insane, out of control. I just wish I could understand why I don’t get up and walk away when she dumps me. Why doesn’t the hurt get less with each one? You’d think I’d be long past caring. Why do I let her march back into my life when she’s finished with her playmates?”
Cleo asked herself these questions each time it happened, and to each question she knew the answer.
“I wait because I love her. I hurt because I love her. I let her come back because I love her.”
Sometimes when Romaine went away it was a relief. Cleo would hurt, and then she would begin to enjoy the pain, almost relishing the loneliness. Any good therapist would say her behavior was sick and wrong but that it had a productive side because she got to know herself best during these masochistic periods. When she began to rebuild her life, Romaine would stroll home and beg forgiveness. And the whole vicious cycle would begin again.
It was like having a new lover with the familiarity of an old one. Romaine would return with new experiences to share, and Cleo would fall in love with her all over again. Cleo avoided the fear of new relationships because Romaine was her oldest and best friend, her only lover. Loving Romaine was Cleo’s major fault.
Cleo was a coward. New things made her nervous, so she surrounded herself with old, comfortable things, and Romaine was one of these, her little lettuce head. She was Puddle and Romaine was Lettuce. How could she have another lover?
Who would call her Puddle? Who would she cry out for in the night, half-witted from one of her nightmares, if Lettuce wasn’t there? What if she awoke to some other woman, a veritable stranger, in her bed? She knew she couldn’t do it. She would wait again and again for Romaine to return.
Her rocking slowed as she remembered the falling-in-love times. Romaine was wonderful when she was in love. She was decent then, taking her incredible wrath out on others, saving her sweet part for you.
Romaine had an angry streak that ran deep, traceable to something about a witch of a mother. It was hard to tell where Romaine’s anger came from because she had disowned her family when she was twenty. Cleo had never met them. Romaine had Cleo and her old girlfriends for family, and that was all the family she needed.
The other sick part of the arrangement was that the girlfriends all knew one another and in most cases were friends, living in town or close by. A bunch of incestuous lesbians, sleeping with each other, trading partners, all having made love to the same woman. Cleo was the only untainted one of the bunch, not that some of them hadn’t tried. Bobbi had tried for three years.
When Romaine started staying out late and then being nasty to Bobbi when she did get home, Bobbi had gone to see Cleo, to talk, cry, and have a hand to hold. Cleo was there to pick up the pieces when Romaine broke it off, and Cleo and Bobbi became friends. Cleo liked Bobbi, liked her a lot. Bobbi wanted to be lovers, and she hounded Cleo.
Bobbi thought they were dating. They went to the bar together, to dinner, to the movies. They even went on weekend getaways, but to no avail. Cleo wouldn’t sleep with Bobbi. Sometimes when they were out picnicking, they would lie on their backs, stare up at the clouds, and play the cloud game. Cleo held Bobbi’s hand and was quite happy, but that was all she wanted. She wanted a friend to love, not a lover to fuck.
Sex always seemed to muck things up. With friends you could be yourself; being lovers meant you had to hide things. Cleo loved Bobbi too much to do that.
One night she almost succumbed. She made Bobbi dinner at her house, her beautiful house, the empty farmhouse no one wanted, the one she had built up from almost nothing. It had been sitting empty the day she drove past in her bright yellow truck. Broken windows were gaping holes, black and empty. Cleo felt an instant affinity. She had to have that house. It took years to get the house the way she wanted. But it was truly a labor of love. She made it beautiful, made it glisten and shine with care and pride. Cleo had precious few visitors because only special people got an invite. Bobbi was special.
