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In a matter of hours, she'd turned her life upside down. Julie was sure this sounded like madness to Thomas and Marcus, but she wasn't stopping the train. She had to do something different, or nothing would change. Somehow, something had to change. She was going to explode out of her skin otherwise.
A significant pause conveyed a lot. Or rather, they'd noticed her state of mind these past few weeks, confirmed by Thomas's next words. "We know you've been restless. If this is what you want, what you need, we're behind you all the way. Charlotte's only a couple hours from our North Carolina house. My Mom would welcome you at her place. Any time you need feeding and mothering, she'd love to have you come stay overnight. And it goes without saying Daralyn and Les would be thrilled to see you."
Daralyn was a family friend and Celeste was Thomas's sister. Julie always had primo girl talk time with them whenever she visited. Thomas had once said they considered her like their big sister.
Tears stabbed at her again. Thomas's family had made her feel welcome from her first meeting with them. They'd offered her a sense of belonging, one of life's true treasures. She wanted it to be enough, and sort of despised herself for wanting, needing more. For longing for her very own just-for-her person. Other women went through life without this craving. Maybe she'd read too many romance novels as a teenager.
Yep, that's what she'd do. She'd blame it on the romance industry. Maybe she'd gather together a million sad, lonely women still waiting for Prince Charming, thanks to Harlequin and Pretty Woman, and bring a class-action lawsuit. Maybe Richard Gere would appear at the trial and they could have dinner together...
"When you don't talk, the gears in your mind are going full throttle. Grunt so I'll know you're there."
She summoned an unladylike, pig grunt and heard Thomas chuckle, a deep, sexy sound that gave her vitals a little spin. Damn him and Marcus for being so decidedly gay, and rabidly monogamous on top of that. Another of life's little 'fuck you, Julie' messages, without the literal and very pleasant fuck you.
"We'll be back in North Carolina after we get this next gallery tour out of the way," Thomas continued. "We'll come see you then."
Please, not too soon. She took a breath. "I love you guys for caring about me, but don't worry, okay? And don't take this wrong, but unless you and Marcus convert to bisexualism and decide I'm the answer to your threesome dreams, don't call me for a few weeks. I depend on you two too much, and I'm too raw right now. I don't know if it's having another birthday and I'm in the grip of some tediously typical analyze-my-whole-life crisis, but I need some alone time in my head. Without someone who knows me better than I know myself interrupting the flow. I need to recreate myself. You know how it is when you're painting."
"Creative space. I get it." The gentle note in his voice said he did. She needed to get off the phone. It was time for a really ugly, cathartic cry. "But promise to t
ext us every couple of days so we know you're okay. Proof of life. Send us Madison's phone number so we have a backup emergency number."
"Okay, Dad." But she would, because they watched after her, as she watched after them. It's what the people who cared about you did. "Love you guys."
She was choking up, so she disconnected, hoping he would understand.
She wished that her entirely interesting and fulfilling career, and the many wonderful friends she had, could be enough for her. Most of the time she convinced herself it was.
This was not one of those times.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she let the silence wrap around and hold her as she forced optimism into her bleak mind. Change was good. If she couldn't have what she'd always dreamed of having, maybe running an erotic performance theater in North Carolina would help her. She could immerse herself in sex. Not sex for herself, but the artistic expression of it.
Sure. Seeing beautiful, idealized depictions of erotic intimacy was a great plan to end her clawing, aching need to be in love.
She was going to add Disney to that lawsuit. She'd been duped into thinking of romantic love as Cinderella with a happy circle of blue birds chirping around her. It was more like a circle of vultures, ready to tear out her heart with their sharp claws.
"Ugh." She groaned, bending over at the waist to press her face into her knees and link her hands over the back of her head.
Dramatic melancholy. Its vivid imagery never let her down. She was going to snag a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie from the front desk and go to bed. The smell had been assaulting her since she'd arrived. Maybe she'd have two, and imagine having someone in the room with whom she could share them, touch his mouth if some of the melted chocolate smeared it. She'd collect it on her finger and try to taste it, but he'd grip her wrist and draw her finger to his mouth, sucking on the digit and then clasping her around the waist to bring her close. He'd turn that tease into a mouth-to-mouth transfer of fresh baked cookie and chocolate scent, heat and pleasure.
Body-wise, her fantasy lover was always a compilation of the best parts of Thomas, Marcus and assorted Hollywood stars. Yet his face remained shadowed, because the eyes, the cliched windows of the soul, had to be real, not fantasy. If they couldn't be, the best way not to disrupt her fantasy was to keep them hidden.
Yeah, thinking about sex was sure to make her feel better. Not. She wasn't above using an intense workout with her vibrator to help put her to sleep, though. It wouldn't be the first time.
Oh, crap on Crisco, enough of the wallowing. She was starting a new chapter tomorrow. It would be the turning point in her personal story, the post-intermission act where things started to go in the right direction. This was going to be her best year yet. Fuck love, fuck dating, fuck Cupid. She had a great life.
She'd never needed a partner to dance wide open under the stars, and she wouldn't let a few minutes of moping change that.
North Carolina, watch out. Here I come.
Chapter One
Six weeks later
The radio beeped. "Julie, the roof contractor is here to discuss those leaks."
"Great. I'm in front of the stage. Send him down, Harris."
Putting her hands on her hips, Julie rocked back on her heels. It was coming together. The load-in for the first production was scheduled for next week. That meant the much-anticipated arrival of rented sound and lighting equipment, the building of the scenery, the run-throughs with the cast, the tedious yet essential technical direction.
