SC-Epilogue, Part 2a

Note from Nick: Part 2 of the Epilogue takes place from Aug 1990 – Jun 1993. The e-book will have a subtitle, but I can't do that here. So... you get a note.

Also, this week's installment is longer than the next two. I decided to include an extra scene to keep the money scenes together. (No, not that kind of "money scene." Money in the literal sense. You'll see.)

✧ ✧ ✧

Trip and I started our new company on August 1, 1990.

A day later, Iraq invaded Kuwait, although we didn’t think anything about it at the time. Why would we? We planned to build houses in America, not oil refineries in the Middle East.

So we signed a contract with Brett and started designing his house. We became friends with him in the process. He was only a few years younger than us and had a similar personality. Even better, especially for Trip, he loved talking baseball and got us tickets to all the home games.

He didn’t have a problem with Mindy showing off, either. She wore skin-tight dresses that revealed plenty of cleavage. And she never wore a bra, so her nipples were always stiff when she walked into the air-conditioned office. She wasn’t exactly a trophy—they seemed to love each other—but she was definitely the kind of the perk that came with a Major League career.

She also made another pass at me, although she was testing the waters more than anything. She couldn’t possibly expect me to have sex with her in my office. We didn’t have a receptionist or any other employees, but her fiancé and my business partner were in the next room.

Still, I played along and didn’t stop her when she started rubbing my dick through my pants. Then she unzipped them and extracted my hard-on, although she was in for a surprise if she expected me to freak out. I relaxed as she began stroking me. I even decided to see how far I could get. I pulled her dress aside and bared her breast. She sighed with encouragement when I stroked her nipple.

She didn’t seem worried that Brett and Trip might walk in, so I lifted the hem of her dress. She shifted to give me better access. I slid her panties aside and teased her pussy as she jerked me off. She knew what she was doing and made me come fairly quickly. She even had a wad of tissues ready for when I did.

“Next time you can come on my face,” she whispered as she cleaned me up.

She laughed softly as Mr. Big swelled at the prospect of another round. Then she straightened her dress while I stuffed my semi-hard dick into my pants. We walked next door to Trip’s office like nothing had happened. Ten minutes later we wrapped up our meeting and said goodbye.

I told Trip what had happened.

“For real? Dude! Okay, next time you go over the budget, and I’ll ‘show her the sketches.’ Is that what we’re calling it these days?” he laughed. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re batting a thousand. Base hit, every time you step up to the plate. Maybe not a home run—I mean, you didn’t fuck her—but still…”

“Yeah, but this also puts us in a bit of a pickle.”

His eyebrows rose with amusement. “Did you just use a baseball analogy?”

“It was a metaphor. An analogy is— Never mind.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“This puts us in a pickle,” I repeated. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, but now I am. Mindy’s hot and Brett’s cool, but this is a pretty big job. And right now it’s our only job.”

“Oh, that.” Trip waved away my concern. “I have two more lined up already.”

“Seriously? And when were you going to tell me… partner?”

“Calm down. They aren’t official yet. But you remember the Buckhead couple? And the guy that owns the car dealerships?”

“Yeah,” I said cautiously.

“They both accepted our proposals. They’re sending us checks to get the work started. I found out this morning. And I’m pretty sure the doctor and his wife are gonna go with us. So that’s three jobs right there, plus whatever else I can drum up between now and whenever. Have I mentioned this was a good idea? Well, it was. You were right.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But that still doesn’t solve our little ‘problem’ with Mindy.”

“Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “Listen, dude, Brett’s been dropping hints for a couple of weeks. I’m pretty sure he’s a swinger at heart, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. I mean, you’ve seen the way Mindy dresses whenever they come to the office. You think that’s for his benefit?”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Or, not entirely. But showing off your girlfriend isn’t the same as watching another guy fuck her.”

“Details,” Trip countered. “You know why they want privacy at their new home, don’t you? So they can play sex games and run around naked. Besides, he’s a baseball player. We’re all horndogs. Didn’t you know that?”

I tried not to smile but couldn’t help myself.

“Seriously, dude,” Trip said. “I think they wanna try swinging. I know you’re the expert, but I’m not so bad myself. I mean, I’ve been doing this almost as long as you have. And, no offense, but you’ve been in a rut lately. When’s the last time you and Christy got together with us? Or Mark and Leah? Or… anyone, for that matter? Since before Laurie was born.”

He didn’t have a clue what Christy and I had gone through over the past year. He knew about some of it, but he still dismissed it as “all in her head” or “what mothers are supposed to do.” I wanted to punch him in the face, so I took a deep breath to calm down. I really needed to find an outlet for my aggression.

“Let’s talk to the girls tonight over dinner,” Trip said, the voice of reason. “I’m pretty sure Brett and Mindy are up for swinging. I mean… dude! She gave you a handjob with him right next door. That’s bold. Besides, Wren totally likes Brett. And you know Christy wouldn’t mind another dick to suck.”

“I suppose,” I said.

“Come on, dude. Where’s the Paul I used to know? The swinger! The stud! The ladies’ man!”

“He’s a husband and father now.”

“So? You’re still a man, aren’t you?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Do we need to ask Mindy?” he teased. Then he grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s get you outta this rut you’re in. You need to loosen up and have fun.”

“If you say so.”

✧ ✧ ✧

We signed several more contracts in early 1991 and started hiring full-time staff, including an intern for me, a woman named Whitney. Trip and Wren sold their condo and moved into a much larger house, with a yard and a swimming pool. Christy and I did the same, although ours didn’t have a pool. It had a detached garage instead, which we turned into a studio where she could finally sculpt larger pieces. Her quality of life improved almost immediately. She slept through the night, ate well, and gained nearly five pounds.

“Kiss me! I’m finally back to triple digits,” she told me one morning, although she went from excited to thoughtful with whiplash speed.

“I know that look,” I chuckled. “Lemme guess… you’re wondering how much semen weighs?”

“How’d you know?” she pretend-pouted. Then she glanced at the door. “Laurie’s still asleep. We have time if you want to…”

“I’ll be late for work.” Still, I began unbuttoning my shirt.

“I know your boss. Besides, you work better without all that pressure.”

“I do,” I chuckled.

“Mmm… my favorite words, still.”

Suburban life suited us, although I still felt restless, like something was missing. I decided to join a gym and start boxing again. I was rusty at first but improved quickly. I didn’t have any desire to fight in matches, but I enjoyed the training. I also enjoyed hitting things that wouldn’t get me fired, arrested, or killed.

The exercise improved my stamina too. I hadn’t gone to seed, but I hadn’t had time for weightlifting or regular workouts since Laurie had been born. I lost ten pounds almost immediately, and I started to see definition in my arms, chest, and abs again.

Christy noticed immediately, and our sex life took a dramatic turn. It had been getting better for the past year, especially once we started swinging again, but it really kicked into high gear after I joined the gym.

“Oh my gosh,” she panted one night after two rounds. “I need to start doing aerobics again. Or Jazzercise. Or… something. Maybe I’ll start doing yoga. I can’t believe how sore I am. It’s a good sore, but still…” She stretched with a squeak.

“I think I want to get our toys out again,” she continued after a moment. “I know I haven’t really been in the mood for a while, especially with everything going on, but… I need it. I need you to hold me down and spank me, or tie me up and fuck me. Like, really hard. And… um… what do you think if I get a piercing?”

“What kind of piercing?”

“Nothing crazy,” she said quickly. “Not my face or anything. Only… I was thinking… maybe a little ring in my belly button? I’m excited now that I have one again.”

“Sure. If you’d like.”

“Thank you.” She fell silent again, but I could feel her working up to something.

“What is it?” I chuckled.

“You know me so well.”

“Mmm, I do.”

“Do you remember Nikki? From UT?”

“Nikki Tomasini? Yeah, of course. She’s hard to forget.” I wondered how the patriarchy was treating her. “What about her?”

“When we played strip poker…?”

“Also hard to forget,” I chuckled. Then I put the pieces together. “Hold on, are you talking about—?”

“Please don’t say no until you hear me out!”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“I know my body’s back to normal, but it isn’t the same. My nipples aren’t as sensitive as they used to be. That’s part of why I want to start using our toys again. And… I… um…”

I waited.

“I… don’t feel sexy sometimes.”

“You are, though.”

“Thank you. Only, I don’t feel like it.”

“So… what? You want to get your nipples pierced? Like Nikki?”

“Yes, please.”

“Why?”

She sat up, and I saw for the first time how excited she was.

“It’s supposed to make them more sensitive. And I like the way it looks. I’d have little nipple hard-ons. Like, all the time. The woman in the place showed me hers.”

My eyebrows twitched in surprise.

“Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“No kidding!” I laughed. “What woman, what place?”

“The little tattoo parlor by the pizza place we like.”

I nodded.

“I drove by there the other day on the way to the Chinese place. You know the one, with the mapo tofu and the yummy spring rolls.”

“I love the way your life revolves around food sometimes,” I chuckled. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt. Keep going.”

“Where was I? Oh, right, the woman. I went in to ask about getting my belly button pierced, and we started talking about other piercings. Oh my gosh, Paul, you have to meet her. She’s like me—she likes pain, I think. Only, I don’t think she’s bi. Maybe she is and just doesn’t like vanilla housewives, but—”

“You’re hardly vanilla.”

“I’m still a housewife. And that’s part of why I want to do this. A piercing, I mean.”

“It sounds like you want three,” I chuckled.

“I want more than that,” she said earnestly, “but the woman said to start with something simple.”

I snorted.

“A belly button is simple.”

“Nipples aren’t.”

“Yes, they are. Oh my gosh, Paul, you should see some of the other things she has pierced. Sensitive things. Lady part things.”

“She showed you?” I said incredulously.

She made a Christy-leap of logic. “Hmm, maybe you’re right.”

“About what?”

“Maybe she is bi. She showed me everything, even her piercings down there. She asked if I wanted to touch them. Maybe my radar was confused ’cause I was so excited.” She thought back. “Yeah, she’s definitely bi. Or lesbian. I’m not sure.” She made another leap. “Anyway, I don’t think I’m ready for that. Piercing my clit, I mean.”

My eyes bulged, but she was too excited (again) to notice.

“But I definitely wanna get my belly button done,” she finished. “And if you like it, we could get my nipples pierced too.”

“We?” I teased gently.

“I know I don’t really have to ask your permission, but… I want to. I like it when I feel like you own me. I know that sounds crazy, but…” She shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

“Some of the things I like are pretty crazy.”

She grinned and leaned over to kiss me. “Thank you. I think you’ll like my new piercing.”

“As long as it’s only the belly button.”

“For now,” she said. Then she cocked an ear.

“Did you hear something?”

“No, but I think I’ll check on her. I… um… want to make sure she’s good and asleep.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, okay. What for?”

“We have a date with the dining room table.”

She didn’t make the connection right away.

“It isn’t a pool table,” I said, “but it’s the right height.”

“Insatiable?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, yes, please!”

✧ ✧ ✧

Trip’s life changed the most with our new business. He’d been turning into a jerk at the big company, although I couldn’t really blame him. Corporate culture and management encouraged it. Still, he wasn’t the type of person I’d wanted to spend a lot of time with outside of work. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but I’d been slowly pulling away from him for the better part of three years.

That all changed once we didn’t have to deal with the boys’ club and hyper-competitive environment. We still had deadlines and budgets and the constant push for new projects—more so, since it was our own company—but we didn’t have the “greed is good” mentality, the pressure to win at all costs, to kill or be killed.

In other words, Trip became fun to work with again. He was still just as serious, just as good at his job, but I didn’t want to punch him in the face anymore.

“Admit it,” I said to him one day after everyone else had gone, “you’re happier now than you’ve ever been.”

“Oh, no argument.” He reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Gentleman Jack. “You want one?”

“Sure.”

He set two glasses on his desk and filled them. He passed one to me, and we leaned back in our chairs and put our feet on his desk. He took a long, slow drink. I did the same, and the whiskey fumes filled my sinuses.

“I’m even happier at home,” he said. “Wren says I help more around the house, help with Davis, you name it.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m doing anything different, but she does. And you know what they say…” He raised his glass. “Happy wife, happy life.”

“Amen, brother.”

“I’ve had some pretty good ideas in my time,” he said, “but this one tops ’em all, and I owe it all to you.” He toasted me and then took another long drink. “It’s been good for you, too,” he added after a moment. “I mean, you get to design things again.”

“Yep. And I can educate our clients about what makes good design.”

“Right. No more value engineering! God, I hated doing that. It always made me feel… I dunno… dirty. Like changing the background on the Mona Lisa or something.”

“The background in the Mona Lisa isn’t so special,” I said.

“You know what I mean,” he laughed, “Mr. Art History Nerd.”

“You’ve been around Christy too long.”

“Not long enough, you mean.”

I furrowed my brow.

“I’d forgotten how talented she is. Ever since you built her that studio. You saw the painting she did of Wren and Davis, right? And she made him a set of those little… whatchamacallems? The turtles that know karate.”

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” I laughed. “Yeah, I saw those.”

“They’re just like the real thing. Better! ’Cause they’re one-of-a-kind. He keeps ’em on his dresser and says goodnight to ’em every night. He knows their names and everything.”

“They’re Renaissance artists! How can you not know their names?”

“Hey, I never studied music theory.”

“Touché.”

He eyed me over his glass. “And I’m not supposed to tell you, but Christy’s working on something for your birthday. You know I’m not an art nerd, but this is pretty cool.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her I know.”

“You’ll see it soon enough. But… yeah, mum’s the word.” He inhaled to clear his head. “Anyway, let’s say I have a new appreciation for how awesome Christy is.” He swirled his whiskey and stared into the glass for a long moment. “Something else,” he said somberly. “I… um… I’ve been talking to Wren, and I think I understand what you all went through after Laurie was born.”

My eyebrows rose.

“Yeah. I… um… I’m sorry. For everything you had to deal with, but also for how I treated you. Both of you,” he amended. “I mean, I thought it was all in her head or something, but… not according to Wren.” He tossed off the rest of his whiskey.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a downer,” he said. “I just thought you should know… You don’t have to go through that shit alone. Wren and I…” He cleared his throat. “We love you, man, both of you. And if anything like that ever happens again… come to us. We’ll help, any way we can.”

I swallowed hard. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“You’re way better’n I deserve,” he said seriously. “You and Christy and especially Wren.”

“We’re all pretty lucky.”

“You got that right.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Our business continued to improve over the next few months. We had several houses under construction already and nearly a dozen in varying stages of design. We were looking for ways to expand when Trip came across a large tract of land near Lake Lanier. It was almost three hundred acres and included frontage on the lake itself. It had been on the market several years earlier, but the listing had expired without a recorded sale.

Trip started digging and found out that the original owner had died. Trip called his son and asked if he might be interested in selling. He wasn’t, but Trip didn’t take no for an answer. He asked the man if we could buy him dinner and talk about developing the property instead. He wasn’t interested in that, either, but then Trip made a chance remark about baseball. The man was a Braves fan, and Trip knew an opening when he heard one.

“You know,” he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but… one of our partners is a Braves player.” He listened and then said, “No, an actual player. Uh-huh.”

I stuck my head into his office at that point, drawn by the conversation. Trip held up a hand to keep me quiet. Then he grinned, although he immediately composed his expression and pretended to apologize.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you who. He’s a silent partner. But… I might persuade him to join us if you want to talk about selling the property.”

I glared, but Trip wasn’t paying attention.

“You will?” he said in surprise. “That’s great to hear! Let me talk to my partner— Sorry, my not-so-silent partner.” He shot me a grin. “We’ll talk to our actual silent partner and see if he’s willing to meet. It’ll have to be Thursday.” He smiled and nodded. “Right, spring training games on Wednesday and Friday.” He flipped open his planner. “Okay, so… Thursday, seven o’clock. Do you like steak?”

He made arrangements for us to meet the man and his wife at Wren’s father’s steakhouse. Then he hung up and beamed at me. I gave him a pointed look in return.

“That wasn’t very ethical.”

“Oh, chill out,” he replied. “Brett’s been talking about buying some property. And this’d be a good investment.”

“I don’t think he’d like you using his name like that.”

“I didn’t,” Trip said.

I thought back and realized he was right. “A technicality,” I said.

“Still…”

“Okay, but… what if Brett doesn’t want to get involved?”

“Then I’ll figure something out. I just need his name to get the guy to the table. Once I start negotiating, I’m sure I can convince him. But don’t worry, I think Brett’ll be thrilled.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“And besides,” Trip continued, “the old list price was more than you and I can afford on our own. We can leverage it, but… We’ll need another investor if we wanna buy it outright. Brett’s the logical choice. But we’re putting the cart before the horse,” he finished. Then he picked up the phone and started to dial.

“Lemme call and leave him a message. Then I need to make reservations for dinner. Oh, and invite Christy, if you don’t mind. She’s a real closer, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Nana Choate was already planning to avoid taxes on her estate when she eventually died, and her financial advisors had suggested something called a gift in trust for each of her heirs, which included Christy. Nana C. had plans to transfer more of her wealth as part of several family trusts, but the gifts were the start.

“It’s a lot of money,” Christy said. She told me how much.

“Hold on,” I said, “is that the whole trust? The family one?”

“No, that’s the gift to us. It’s enough to buy the property, isn’t it? Our share, I mean.”

“And then some.”

“I thought so.” She beamed. “You know how I am with numbers.”

“Speaking of which… Are you sure that’s the right number? Maybe you added a zero or something?”

“No, I wrote it down,” she said brightly. “She made me read it back to her. She knows I’m bad with numbers.” She grimaced but then brightened again. “I’ll show you!”

She ran out of the bedroom and returned with a Post-It. “See?”

“That’s… a lot of money,” I said.

“I like ‘a lot.’ And it means we can buy the land. Trip said we’d form a partnership to do it, and my name would be on it!”

“Of course. It’s your money.”

“Our money,” she stressed. “I told you, remember… For the rest of our lives?”

“That’s my line.”

“Well, it’s mine now too. So there!”

✧ ✧ ✧

Trip and Wren came up with the money as well, but their story was a soap opera more than a fairy tale.

Her father had been involved in a minor scandal a couple of years earlier, when his then-girlfriend had traded her birth control pills for Benadryl. They were both pink, and he hadn’t known the difference. She’d become pregnant and then tried to force him to marry her. He’d told her to get an abortion instead, but she’d had the child anyway.

Wren’s father had been “less than gentlemanly” about his obligations. (He was a chauvinist asshole about it, but I knew better than say that around Wren.) The woman had gone to court, and the paternity test had backed up her claim. Wren’s father had been ordered to pay monthly child-support. The money was enough that the woman didn’t have to work, which was probably what she’d wanted all along.

“My little bastard half-brother,” Wren called him.

I couldn’t really blame her for being upset, but the little boy hadn’t done anything wrong. His mother, on the other hand, deserved everything Wren said about her. She was a piece of work.

To make things even more interesting, Wren’s father wanted to marry his current girlfriend.

“Gold-digging tramp,” Wren swore when she found out, although she truly lost it when she learned that he’d asked her mother for a divorce.

Wren had never been in the Navy, but grizzled sailors would’ve blanched if they’d heard her. Honestly, I was a bit surprised that her language didn’t blister paint. Trip was comically impressed. He leaned toward me in the middle of her tirade.

“How many of those d’you think are real words?” he asked under his breath. “Doxy whore? Mangy bitch?”

“Oh, they’re real, all right.” Still, I couldn’t hide my admiration. “My favorite so far is ‘come-gargling trollop.’”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “that was good. ‘Slack-jawed skank’ too. But… what did she mean by ‘fucking neighborhood bicycle’?”

“Anyone can ride…”

“Oh, yeah! Right. Heh. That’s good.”

“What did you say?” Wren screeched.

“Nothing, babe, I swear!” Then he threw me under the bus. “It was Paul.”

She eventually calmed down, but not before she’d come up with some truly creative swearing. I’d always said she could take a few simple ingredients and turn them into something special. I just hadn’t realized that swear-words were on the menu.

At that point she started making arrangements to secure her inheritance. In exchange for an uncontested divorce, her father agreed to hand over fifty percent of the restaurants’ parent company to Wren’s mother. It was rightfully hers anyway, since she’d been the first investor and had supported him in the early days.

He brought in Wren as the senior partner for the fifty percent he still controlled. He had good managers and wasn’t interested in running the business anymore. He wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labors, plus his young girlfriend.

Wren hired a lawyer to draw up an iron-clad prenuptial agreement before she’d let her mother finalize the divorce. Her father’s new wife wouldn’t inherit a dime, although he insisted that part of his estate be set aside to support her after his death. Wren reluctantly agreed.

In the meantime, she used a portion of the restaurants’ profits to pay him a monthly buyout, and the checks were enough to let him retire in moderate luxury.

“I swear,” Wren said when it was all over, “I don’t care how long he lives, as long as I never have to see that fucking gold-digger again.”

“Babe, relax,” Trip said. “Take a deep breath. All’s well that ends well.”

“Easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You didn’t just help your father divorce your mother.”

“No,” he said calmly, “my mother died when I was ten.”

That hit home, and the fight went out of her.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, “it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “At least now we can buy the land, right?”

“Who cares about the land. I only care about you and Davis, Paul and his family. The rest is just stuff.”

I was really starting to like this new Trip.

✧ ✧ ✧