Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Appendix

  Dream Lover

  by Suzanne Jenkins

  http://goo.gl/YLkYA

  Dream Lover Copyright 2012 by

  Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.

  Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.

  Dream Lover is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The Smith mansion on Columbus Avenue is imaginary. Jack Smith and his family aren’t real, and their resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead is coincidental. The New York Department of Health segment is fictional. Any commentary, all dialogue and situations are fictitious. For more information about the AIDS virus, please contact http://aids.gov/

  Dream Lover is the third installment of the Pam of Babylon Series. Although it may be read as a stand-alone novel, character development is on the continuum of all five books in the series.

  For more information about the Pam of Babylon Series with links to the books, please refer to the Appendix at the end of this novel. For more information about author Suzanne Jenkins, go to http://www.suzannejenkins.net/ and http://goo.gl/YLkYA

  Chapter 1

  Cindy

  I think I am living a nightmare. I’m frantic because for over a month now, the man I am seeing, I was seeing, stopped calling me. He would often drop out of sight for two or three days, but like clockwork he’d call by the fourth day, always with an excuse. His wife was suspicious, his mother was sick, work was pilling up. My office is on Wall Street, down about four buildings from Exchange Place where his is. He has forbidden me to ever set foot there. He told me his boss has a very, very strict policy on marriage and divorce, morals, stuff like that. He said that if anyone suspected that he was having an affair he’d lose his job and then we wouldn’t see each other again because he would leave the city.

  Because our offices are so close, we would see other a lot. He used to escape for a quickie almost every day around eleven. At first I was a little miffed because I expected him to eventually spend more time with me. We went to the same place; a public bathroom that is a one stall closet with a lock on the exterior door on the campus of a university three or four blocks toward the harbor. We’d go in, make love, and then he’d buy me lunch from a street cart and we’d say good bye. He never took time for a real lunch. Rarely we’d meet for a drink after work. He’d call me at five and say the same thing every time.

  “Kiddo, how about a cocktail in ten?” He brought me gifts; bracelets were his most favorite. I have bracelets with every gem known to man. I was getting a little tired of bracelets. Then he switched over to earrings. I have pierced ears. Thanks to him, I have quite a collection of earrings. They are real, too. Not street vendor jewelry or any junk like that. My sister, Heather says that the garnet earrings he gave me for Valentine’s Day are antiques. Why would he give me a pair of antique earrings? So anyway, we would meet at a dive bar close to the Path Train. He would have time for one drink, two at the most. The bar is very dark. The booths are unpadded, uncomfortable. He always wanted to mess around so we sat in the back corner where it’s private. I was happy to do it because I figured he would be satisfied and then he wouldn’t have sex with his wife. Even though he was older, I didn’t know his age for certain but guessed he was about forty-five or fifty, he still could do it like twice a day. The bartenders in Manhattan could tell you a thing or two about the sex lives of their clientele.

  The first time I saw him I was standing on the corner by my office, buying a hot dog for lunch and he was behind me in line. I paid for my lunch and moved away so I could eat my dog without being in the way of the other’s in line. He bought a dog and soda, asked for a paper sack and took it with him. He was walking up town. He got into a cab with his lunch. I have never seen a person who could afford to take a cab buy his lunch on the street until that day. After that first time, I watched for him and saw that a couple of days a week he would do the same thing; buy his lunch at the same hot dog stand and then hail a cab. He never looked my way; another thing that bugged the heck out of me. I’m young and pretty and have been told I am a looker. I am a Jersey girl, through and through even though I am originally from Scranton.

  Finally, the following Friday about three years ago, he noticed me. He was buying his usual dog and soda and I made sure that I was close behind him. When he turned around to walk away from the cart, he almost smacked me in the face. I looked up at his face with a smile. I had on a tight, low cut sweater and the highest heels I can walk in. First, he looked me in the eyes, and then I saw his eyes move down. He smiled back. When I finished paying for my hot dog, he was waiting for me.

  “Want to eat together?” He said. I nodded yes to him. “I have to make a quick call,” he said. He walked away a few feet and spoke quietly into his phone. “Let’s walk to the park, okay?” We started walking down toward the triangle. He seemed a little nervous, looking around him like he might be observed. We were just going to eat a hot dog, so I wasn’t sure why he minded if someone saw us. He didn’t even know my name. We found an empty table and sat down across from each other. He extended his hand.

  “Hi there, I’m Jack.” He shook my hand and then started opening the bag containing his hot dog. “Thanks for having lunch with me.”

  “I’m Cindy,” I said. “Cindy Thomasini. You work downtown, right?” I asked. “I’ve seen you around.” I bit into the dog, but I was self-conscious. When we talked I would worry if there was food in my teeth, or my breath smelled like mustard. I put it down and drank some soda, trying to swish it around in my mouth as unobtrusively as I could.

  “Right over there,” he said, pointing to a tall, beautiful building on Exchange Place. “So you’re Italian,” he said, smiling. “How about you? What’d you do?” He was looking intently at me, staring into my eyes. I had a chill of pleasure because his look said, “I’m interested in you.” I told him a little about myself; I’m thirty-one, single, work as a secretary in a pool at the Stock Exchange and live alone in a studio apartment in what was an old slide ruler factory right by the Holland Tunnel in Jersey City. He was really interested in my building, the history of it, if I had a view. I did actually; I could see the top of the Empire State Building. I told him the traffic noise during rush hour going into the tunnel diminished what enjoyment I could get from living so close to the city. The only good thing abou
t it was that it was about one hundred yards from the Path Train.

  We finished our hot dogs, and then he started to fidget. I mean he was pulling on his collar and messing around with his tie, everything but looking at his watch. He started to push his chair back to stand up.

  “Want to walk a little before we have to go back?” He asked. I was already going to be late; we only got half an hour for lunch. But there was no way I was going to miss out on one second of time with him. He was an answer to my prayers, a real dream boat. I smiled and nodded yes. He moved right over to me and took my hand. We walked for several blocks like that. He asked me questions about my family and friends, the people I worked with. I guess he could tell I was lonely, that I was alone. My mom and dad still live in Pennsylvania, near Scranton. I went to school in north Jersey and never went back home. I tried living with girlfriends, but they always get engaged, and then I either have to move out so the boyfriend can move in, or they leave and I can’t afford the rent anymore. Last year, I saved enough to buy the little place I have now and think I’ll probably be there until I find someone to marry, although I didn’t tell him that.

  Conversation with Jack was so easy. He seemed interested in me and my life. He held my hand, letting go of it and placing his on the small of my back when we crossed the street. Before long, we were on campus, near the public john which became my home away from home. The first walk we took didn’t end up in the bathroom, but he did seem to gauge the time it would take us to get there and get back to Wall Street.

  When we got back to the Exchange, we made plans to meet at the vendor the following day. He asked for my office number; he’d call if he got hung up. But he was pretty sure his boss would let him leave right at eleven. He squeezed my hand hard and looking into my eyes, he thanked me.

  “I feel like I had a break from work, from the stress of my office. Thank you.”

  “What company do you work for?” I asked. He laughed, but shook his head.

  “I think I’ll keep that private, for now. Okay? Oh, and I’m married. Married with children. My wife has the money in the family, and she would sooner kill me than allow me to have lunch with a pretty young thing like you. So is it still on for tomorrow?” He bent down and looked into my eyes. I involuntarily shuddered. He laughed out loud! I’m such a pushover.

  “Yes! Why wouldn’t it be?” I smiled back at him. “See you tomorrow! I’m not going to have a job if I don’t get back.” He let go of my hand and we parted, he walking backwards, nodding his head at me in approval while he looked me up and down, and the chill went through my spine again. I wish I had run the other way.

  The next day, I left my office at 10:58 when I didn’t get a call canceling our lunch. I ran down the steps of the Exchange, and saw him at the hot dog cart the moment I stepped onto the pavement. That thrill from yesterday, the chill went down my spine again. He looked just unbelievable. He was like a model. Tall, fabulously built, broad shoulders, narrow through the waist and hips. He had on an expensive suit and was impeccable in every way; crisp shirt, shined shoes, silk tie. His hair was cut to perfection. How in God’s name was little Cindy Thomasini from Scranton able to attract someone who looked like he did? He was aware of our surroundings; I saw him give the area a once over just as I approached him. It must have been safe because he threw his arms around me and lifted me off the ground with a bear hug. It was thrilling!

  “You look wonderful!” He stated. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the minute you came out of the building. ‘Wow!’ I said, ‘She looks like a movie star!’ And you do look like one.” He bent down and kissed me right on the mouth. I wasn’t expecting it; a public kiss? I had a boyfriend in high school who for two years wouldn’t hold my hand in public. I wondered if older men just didn’t care how they appeared. He turned to the hot dog vendor and ordered our lunch, asking me what I wanted to drink. We walked to the triangle again and found an empty table. He talked the entire time, asking me questions about my job, if I had a boyfriend, what my plans for the future were.

  “No, no boyfriend,” I said. “I wouldn’t be here having lunch with you if I did.” He grinned at me.

  “This is just a hot dog! And I’m harmless.” He bit into his dog. “I just know that I like a pretty face and you have one. And your figure, oh la’ la’!” I guess that I must have been suffering from total lack of self-esteem, because no alarm bells went off. Was I becoming desensitized already? A man I knew for thirty minutes comments about my figure and nothing seems wrong about it? I think I was so flattered because he was so gorgeous. I had never dated anyone who wasn’t struggling. My last boyfriend worked at a muffler repair place in Hoboken, for God’s sake. This guy was like the king; there was an element of unreality about it. I felt like the girl in Rebecca. The rich man was paying attention to her and she was swept off her feet. The only problem was that it wasn’t to Manderley that Jack would take me, but to an empty bathroom stall on a college campus.

  He was wired all through lunch, paying me compliments, touching my hand, putting his arm around my shoulders. He kissed me passionately after we were done eating. I didn’t know if I could move when he suggested we walk again. He put his arm around me as we went along, and this time, the only time he would pretend we would have a future; he talked about how he would love to take me to the beach sometime. He talked on and on about teaching me to surf. He said that the wave broke directly in front of his house; there was a pile of boulders there in the surf left by a glacier a million years ago. He said that I was about the size of his daughter and could use her wetsuit, the implication clear and contradictory. I didn’t think his wife would appreciate a visit from me. Then we got to the bathroom.

  “I have to go,” he said, taking his arm off my back. As he walked toward the door, he turned slightly and offered me his hand. “Come in with me,” he said softly. “You’ll be safe.” I guess he could see the confusion on my face. Was I going to walk into my death chamber or just to watch him pee? I didn’t know him. But something about him was mesmerizing, and I followed him into the bathroom, smiling shyly at him. I thought he would try to make love to me, but he didn’t.

  “Being with you has turned me on so badly, and we really don’t know each other enough to have sex yet.” He was unzipping his pants. He reached into his fly and took out his penis, already erect. “Just stroke it a little, will you Cindy? It won’t take much, I promise.” So like an idiot, I came over to him and grasped him in my hand. He was right, it didn’t take long. He moaned my name over and over and pulled me to him, careful to not get his ejaculate all over our clothes. He snuggled his face in my neck, into my hair, moaning.

  “Oh Cindy, thank you. Thank you.” He grabbed a hand full of paper toweling with his free hand while the other arm stayed around me. He was adept at wiping himself off and putting his dick away with one hand. I didn’t know what I was feeling now; the flattery was gone. He let me go and I turned to the sink to wash my hands off. I used a lot of the soap; it had a medicinal smell that I would grow to hate. He didn’t wash his hands. I could smell his body when he put his hand up to my face to lift my chin so he could kiss me again. He was an expert kisser. I finally gave in and put my arms up around his neck and kissed him back. It was a long, deep kiss. He rubbed my back and didn’t let his hands go below my waist. I’m not sure if I was grateful or not. I just remember thinking I would have to wash my sweater where he touched it.

  “We better get you back to the office,” he said. I had forgotten completely about my job. What time was it, anyway? We started walking toward Wall Street and Jack started to talk. He told me about his children, a boy and a girl. His son was looking at colleges now and every weekend was spent going from one campus to another, all over the country. He was vague about where he lived; I thought it must be at the Jersey shore because he talked about the beach. His wife loved the water and so they moved there from Manhattan soon after he graduated from college. He loved his wife, but she was occupied in the lives of their
two children and her mother and sisters. He was lonely. He looked at me.

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to run from me right now. I’ll never leave my wife. My boss is a religious fanatic who will fire me if he finds out I am involved with another woman. Do you understand that? Are you willing to take this on? Er, take me on? Ha-ha!” He didn’t say anything about having feelings for me, about being interested in getting to know me better. It was all about what I was willing to put up with. For some unknown reason, I said yes. I would take him on. That night we met for a drink after work and he asked me to go to a hotel near the Path Train. It would be the only one we ever went to, and never for overnight. It was totally impersonal. Once, last winter there was a horrible snow storm. I stayed the night and went into work the next day with the same make up and clothing on; fortunately, I had a hair brush. No one seemed to notice.

  I don’t know why I allowed it, why I chose to waste three years of my life with a man who didn’t have one single feeling for me. He used me, like an accessory hand. I was a mouth, a vagina, a pair of boobs. When I think about my relationships with other men, there isn’t any evidence of self-deprecation, or self-loathing like what I exhibited with Jack. I was raised by loving, caring parents. My father and I have a warm, supportive relationship to this day. Well, until I tell them the news. I’m sure that this will throw them both for a loop. My mother won’t hear that I am sexually active, even at the age of thirty-one. It is not discussed in our family. I love God and Jesus with all my heart. I know that sounds like a contradiction after what I’ve done.

  We have had few arguments in our household and they always revolve around religious hypocrisy. My parents are devout Catholics. When I say devout, I mean that they believe the words that come from the Pope’s mouth are God’s words. They take the Bible out of context, choosing just the parts that seem to suit their purpose. An example; my sister came to my parent’s home one night last year, shortly before the holidays. I was there for some forgotten reason. Probably for Sunday dinner.