High Dive

"Blake, do you love me?" she asked. "I mean, are you in love with me? For keeps?"

"Yes, Buckley, you know I am," I said. "I've been in love with you for years."

"Good." She let our hands drop back to the table. "That makes this a lot easier." She slid one of those velvet boxes across the table to me. "Open it," she said.

I did, and inside was a platinum band. It looked like a wedding ring! "Wha... what's this?" I could hardly breathe.

"Will you marry me?" she asked.

I looked up and those eyes were glinting silver, the silver of her passion and her tears. "Really?" I could hardly speak. "God, yes, Buckley, but I didn't... I don't..."

She laughed, and the sound of that was liquid silver, too. "I know that, silly man," she said. "You can take me shopping tomorrow. I already have it picked out."

I signaled for the check. As soon as the waiter got back with my card, I stood, held out my hand and she rose gracefully to her feet. My arm was around her shoulders, her head was on my shoulder and her arm was around my waist.

When we got home, it was the sweetest slowest lovemaking I had ever experienced. Afterward, she rolled half on top of me and rested her cheek on my chest, her hair covering us with a pale veil. I felt something wet drip on my chest and when I tilted her head up, her eyes were pools of moonlight.

"Having regrets, already?" I whispered.

She shook her head. "I'm just so happy," she said. "God, I love you. I'm giving myself to you, Blake. Take care of my heart and please don't hurt me."

I pulled her up to taste the salt of her eyelids and then the fullness of her lips. "I love you, too," I said. "I'll never hurt you, Buckley. I never have, and I never will."

Being in love with a beautiful woman is never easy. That was especially true with her. She was the center of attention in most settings, the object of attraction in most rooms, and it was difficult to adjust. Buckley had said she was going to take the Florida hotel industry by storm. I had no idea how one did something like that, I was a biochemical engineer. I knew she had a job of some kind, working for some high roller, but I couldn't have told you what she did if my life depended on it. I did start to notice when it started taking more of her evenings. Even then, I didn't say much. I could use the time to recuperate and get ready for her, and when she got home, she was insatiable, or rather, even more insatiable than usual.

I started feeling the heat when she started wearing her clubbing dresses and staying out past midnight. One late afternoon, I was watching her dress for an evening out. She was putting on a show for me as she poured herself into this dark blue dress I hadn't seen before. Its back opened in a V almost down to her tailbone, and the skirt was some frothy thing that looked eager to show off all the length of her toned legs. My mouth hung open and I drooled. Yes, she could still do that to me. She enjoyed it, too. She stood up and I saw the front. All I can say is it was about three deep breaths from a wardrobe malfunction. I gulped.

"You're wearing that?" Could I possibly be more of a cliché?

Buckley laughed that silver laugh of hers. "I have to dress to impress, you know."

"Impress?" I snorted. "Buckley, you could wear a burlap sack and be the hottest woman in any room you walked into."

"I couldn't do that; things would poke through the burlap." She smiled at me and did something or other that made her nipples stand out like hard little bullets through that scandalous dress. I tried to get her to be serious.

"Buckley, I know you have to schmooze with these hotel guys. I'm okay with your being out evenings, though I start to get worried when it's past midnight. I know how it affects guys when you dress like that. Are you sure some of them aren't getting the wrong idea?"

"I know they are, babe. That's the whole point." She was still laughing at me, but she must have seen something in my face. She took my face in both her hands and turned those silver eyes on me.

"Blake, I can see you're worried because you won't be there to say no when things get out of hand. Remember the rules? That's why they're there. Even when you're not watching, I always keep them, completely. The wild child stays on her leash until she gets home to you.

"This is all about making people think they can get things they'll never even touch. Men or women, it doesn't seem to matter. I flirt with them, and I'm very good at it. I get what I want from them, and then I come home to you. That's always the best part."

Buckley glanced at her phone, and tossed it quickly into her purse. "I'm going to be late if I don't leave now," she said. "Please trust me, Blake. I love you so much; I will never do anything to hurt you. Ever." One deep loving kiss and she was gone.

She didn't get home until 2 AM. Her clothes and hair were mussed and when I gave her a welcome home hug and kiss, she leaned on me like she only did when she was bone tired. I carried her to the bathroom, drew her a bath and washed that incredible body that I now knew so well. I admit it, I was alert for sights and smells that shouldn't be there, but there weren't any. She was asleep before I finished drying her.

We talked about it the next day. She was upset that I didn't trust her, and I was upset that she was dressing up like a party girl to go flirt with other men.

"I can see it's hard for you, Blake, and I'm sorry. I wish it could be some other way, but it can't. The people who really mean something are finally starting to recognize me and what I can do. I can't let up now. I always keep our rules, and I always will. If we need more rules or different ones, fine, let's do it. I will do anything I can to make this easier for you, but at some point, you're just going to have to trust me."

"Why does it have to be this way, Buckley? Can't you find something to do in your field where you don't have to do all of this?"

"Like what? Haven't you been to a hotel lately? No, you wouldn't need to with what you have right here. Everyone from the executive suite to the desk clerks to the house cleaners is flaunting it. When you moved here, you were refusing to settle for a job that was below your capabilities. I supported you by moving all the way across the country to be with you. Now it's my turn."

It went downhill from there. It was our first big fight, and we were miserable for days. Finally, we worked out that she would tell me where she would be and how late she would be. If I ever wanted to, I could come without telling her, and watch. I had to keep to myself, and not interfere with what she was doing. I wasn't happy with it, but short of dumping her, which was not an option, it was the best I was going to get.

Buckley was out working two or three nights a week, now. When she left, I would put my hands on those strong, beautiful shoulders, look into those silver eyes, and say, "Take care of my heart, babe."

"I'll bring it back safe and sound." She meant every word, and I knew it, but the nights waiting for her to get home got longer and longer. Finally, I decided I'd take her up on her offer. Usually these things had dinner, but she advised me to skip it unless I'd suddenly developed a taste for rubber chicken. I showed up about nine, told them Buckley Smythe was expecting me, and was ushered in.

Instantly, I knew what Buckley meant when she talked about these people. They looked like a bunch of posers to me: everything fake except the tans (This was Florida, after all). Then there was Buckley. I spotted her immediately from my seat in the darkest corner of the room. She was radiant. She exuded more sexuality than every other woman in the room without even trying, and believe me, they were trying.

I watched Buckley work the room. She was a professional among amateurs. With some, she made eye contact and it was obvious they were talking professionally. I could see respect on their faces as they listened to her. With most, she flirted. She had it down to a science. The dress wasn't just a party dress, it was a tool of her trade: she seemed to know exactly what it would reveal or conceal with every move she made, and it wasn't concealing a whole lot. There was so much gorgeousness on display that they didn't know where to look. I knew how they felt.

Buckley was working in close, almost as if she was dancing with the guy, making him feel like the two of them were the only people in the world. There was nothing else in his world at that moment but Buckley. Then I noticed her eyes. They had that silver sheen to them that promised the world, that would make any guy go to the end of the world for her. I had gotten used to thinking that look was just for me; it looked like it wasn't. Buckley was keeping all the rules, and the wild child was leashed as far as I could tell, but I was getting a very bad feeling about all this.

The bad feeling intensified when I couldn't see her for about five minutes. I had promised not to interfere, but it was all I could do not to go looking for her. Then there was a hand on my shoulder and a voice in my ear.

"Blake, are you okay?" I slumped bonelessly into the chair and released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"I think so. Just barely. Where did you learn how to do that?"

Buckley giggled. "I don't know. Years of practice?" She sat down with me. "I can't stay long, but I saw your face and it looked like you were having trouble with this, so I wanted to make sure you're okay. Are you? For sure?"

"I don't know, Buckley. I think so. I can see you're following the rules. I don't know which is worse, seeing it or imagining it. I wish you weren't doing it, but I guess that's not an option."

"Blake, it's going to get worse. There's a DJ later, and I'll have to dance with them. I can't send them down in flames the way I do when we go clubbing. I have to be nice about it. I'm good at it, but still, sometimes they get a little bit of something I don't really want them to have. Can you handle that?"

"I guess I'll have to, won't I?"

Buckley nodded, and took my hands in hers. "Blake, I love you. I've loved you for twenty years. I can't show you how much right now, because these guys would think you were business competition. I'll be home by twelve, and I'll show you then that I'm only yours, always. Then we'll talk tomorrow. Okay?" She glanced briefly out to the room. "I have to get back out there now. Will you be okay?"

All I could do was nod, and she was gone.

She was right: the dancing was worse. I could feel my blood pressure rising as one after another, these hotel business assholes danced with her. Instead of being content to be with the most beautiful woman they'd ever hold in their arms, they used every dance as an excuse to exploit the vulnerabilities in Buckley's dress, and it had plenty. She did her best to avoid them, and she was good. I could see her eyes flash now and then and knew she was wanting to drive that spike heel into some guy's foot, or better yet, his crotch. Still, they were getting away with far more than I was comfortable with.

"She's impressive, isn't she?" Some guy had plunked himself down at my table. "I don't dance, not well anyway, but it's a lot more fun just to sit here and watch her. I've never seen anything like it."

We introduced ourselves. "Does she work for you?" I asked.

"I wish!" he responded, laughing. "Thing is, she's got all that," he motioned toward the dance floor, "and the smarts to go with it. I could never afford her." We watched her for a few moments.

"Every one of those guys thinks he's that close to nailing her." He held up his fingers an inch apart. "They'll argue on the way home about who will get her first, but the truth is, not a one of them has a chance."

"Why not?"

"She'll dance with you, smile at you, make you feel like you're the only man in the world, but you step over one of her lines, and that's it. She'll be nice about it, but you always know where the line is, and she always leaves alone. Always, and it's not that she doesn't get offers."

We watched her for a while in silence. She danced every dance, and there was always someone waiting for her when she left the floor. My companion shook his head and smiled.

"They never give up. You know, she reminds me of Elizabeth the First."

"Who?"

"Queen of England, 1558-1603. When she came to the throne, England was a third-rate power and women weren't supposed to rule. Everyone wanted to marry her off, preferably to someone strong enough to protect little England. Elizabeth wasn't beautiful, strictly speaking, but she was twenty-five, and she had that whatever it is that will make men fools over her, just like Buckley does. The difference is that Buckley is the most beautiful woman most of these guys will ever see. Elizabeth was a great dancer, too, and loved doing it. She flirted, and led them on, and favored this one, then that one, until finally England was strong enough she could tell all of them to go to hell. She died at 70, still single, and one of the best rulers England ever had."

I was mulling that over when my new acquaintance spoke again. "I'd better be going. Early day tomorrow, and I can't work people like she does." We chuckled together. "Just so you know: she's no different tonight with you here than she is any other time, and I've never seen her drink. Let me leave you my card, and let me tell you that I envy you." He left me the card and he was gone. Wait a minute, how had he known I was Buckley's fiancé?

Buckley was tired. She hid it well, and she was still enjoying her flirting, but she didn't fool me. I wondered how much of it was because of her worry about me, so I decided to leave. I stood up, which caught her eye: she'd known exactly where I was, of course. I gave her a wink and a wave, and was off.

It was closer to one than twelve when she got home, and she was tired. The party dress had clearly been under attack and sustained some damage, but was gamely holding on, rather like its wearer. I relieved it of its duties, and put Buckley to bed. Her feet looked red and a little swollen, so I massaged them until she fell asleep.

We talked it out the next day. "To tell you the truth, I'm starting to get a little tired of this, too," Buckley said. "I know it's hard for you to see me dress up and then sit home and wait for me, and that makes it hard for me, too. I just want to keep my in with people who might be helpful, and for most of them, there's only one way to do that."

"What happens down the road, when they realize they aren't going to get what they want from you?"

"The plan is by then, I'll be in a good enough position to tell them all to go to hell. Nicely, of course." I was reminded of what Jeff had said about Queen Elizabeth.

"Do you have a clear idea of what you want, Buckley? You said you'd take the industry by storm, and judging by last night, you certainly have everyone's attention. Where do you go from here?"

We talked about that for a while. She was interested that I had met Jeff, whom she called one of the good guys, and intrigued when I told her he thought he couldn't afford her. She decided to have a little talk with him.

We didn't really make any decisions or change anything, but she started working fewer evenings and coming home earlier. I gradually adjusted, and became more confident in myself and in her.

We flew back to California to get married. My parents were beaming and even her mother seemed to clean up enough that she didn't embarrass her. We had a romantic honeymoon in Mexico, and settled in to married life.

It was the happiest time of my life and Buckley just bloomed. The wild side toned down and was usually only unleashed at home. There were occasions, every three months or so, when she dragged me out and we went to clubs. I came to realize she needed that excitement, that admiration and that she enjoyed the pursuit that swirled around her. She played the players and gave the good guys a dance of a lifetime.

We had been married three years, and we were out on one of those Buckley nights, when things started getting more complicated. I had been to the bar for fresh drinks and when I got back to our booth, there was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen sitting there with Buckley.

"Blake, this is Sinclaire," Buckley introduced me. "She asked me to dance. I told her that I'm married and we'd have to ask you."

When you're married to someone as beautiful as Buckley, other beautiful women just sort of fade into the background. It takes a lot to make you sit up and take notice. This Sinclaire woman had what it took, and then some. "Um... well, sure, I'm good," I managed to stammer. They both laughed at my tongue-tied state and went out on the floor. It was like watching an explosion. They were both tall and so gorgeous it almost hurt my eyes to look at them. A fast song was playing, and when it changed to a slow beat, I saw Sinclaire crook one finger at me.

I pointed at my chest and mouthed, "Who, me?" and she threw back her head and laughed. She nodded and I walked through the press of bodies to her and Buckley. They drew me into their embrace and I was sandwiched between two of the most stunning women on the planet. Before I could embarrass myself, the dance ended and they took me back to the booth.

We talked for hours. She liked to be called Sin, she was an attorney, and she lived about 15 minutes from us. She and Buckley sat side by side in the booth and there was quite the contrast. Sin was a glowing milk-chocolate beauty, her skin the color of coffee with lots of cream. Her hair was a wild mop of shiny black curls with hints of brown and auburn and she had a face off a fashion magazine cover. Her eyes were huge soft brown pools and they were mesmerizing.

We talked until I saw Buckley yawn. I glanced at my watch and it was one AM! We walked Sin outside and saw her into a cab; we found our own car and drove home. I could feel Buckley studying me.

"Did you like her, Blake?" she asked.

"Yes, she's a sweetheart. I think you like her, too."

She blushed a little. "Yes, I do," she said. "I'd like to be her friend."

"Yeah, me, too," I said. "Buckley, are you setting me up? Did you know her before tonight?"

She gasped. "No! I'm not setting you up, and I didn't know her. Why would you ask me that?"

I pulled her head down on my shoulder. "It's okay," I said. "We sort of had this conversation once, remember?"

She nodded. "Are you mad at me, Blake?" her voice sounded like a scared little girl and she was trembling.

I squeezed her. "No, baby, I'm not. Are you thinking about her in a relationship kind of way?"

Her nod was nearly imperceptible, as if she wasn't quite sure of herself. "I just met her, so I don't know her that well, but I think I would like that. I won't do anything you won't like, Blake. She gave me her number, but I'll just lose it, if that's what you want me to do."

"Are you going to leave me?" I asked.

She sobbed. "NO! I knew that's what you might think, but I'm never, ever leaving you, Blake. Let's just please forget about it, okay? I'm so sorry. I won't ever mention it again."

We pulled into our driveway then, and I helped her out and kept my arm wrapped around her as we went inside. I led her into the bedroom and undressed us both, pulling her into her favorite snuggling position, half-atop me, and stroking the silk of her back.

"No, that's not what I want," I said. "I knew this about you, Buckley. I've known ever since you came to live with me. We talked about it once. We should have talked about it more. I'm sorry we didn't. You would never do anything behind my back, would you?"

She shook her head. "No! I love you, Blake. I would never hurt you like that or disrespect you like that. You know that."