What is Love? (28 page)

Matt was flipping
through swatches as Sam approached. “I love them all,” Sam yelled.

Matt glanced up and
jumped to his feet. “But we need to choose,” he said, smiling like a soap star,
his handsome face lighting up upon seeing her. “How are you Mrs. Horvath? You
look radiant,” he said, air kissing her cheek.

“I should. I had a
bit of collagen injected. My face is still sore.”

“And your lips, very
flattering.”

“You think?” Sam
walked over to a display mirror. “I’m not sure. They do seem puffy.” She tapped
her swollen lips. “I guess it’s the contrast, from no lips to full lips. Don’t
you think my eyebrows are crooked? I think this one is drooping.” She touched
her eyebrows but couldn’t feel anything near her injected forehead.

“You look twenty
years younger.”

“Ha! Then I need
more. I want to look forty years younger.”

Matt laughed,
shaking his pretty head.

Sam touched her lips
again and put a bit more lipstick on. Under the harsh store lighting, the
effect of wrinkled skin, a semi-smooth forehead and bright red, puffy lips was
creepy, like a melted wax doll in a horror movie. She pulled out a tissue and
wiped off the lipstick. “I’m only just beginning. Wait until I’m finished. You
won’t believe it. I’ll be so sexy and hot.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“What’s left on the
house?” Sam asked, turning away from her reflection. “I’ve picked out so many
things I can’t remember anymore.” Sam walked over to the sofa and sat beside
him. “Did I decide on the sofa and the dining table?”

“Yes. The Menolio
with the red and white piping and the white lacquer table with brass.”

“Right.” Sam clapped
her hands. “This is so much fun. I can’t wait until it arrives. Did you book
the Painters Who Paint crew? And that one guy, Rory?”

“Of course. I also
hired another team, the one I’ve worked with on every job.” He leaned into her.
“Since you are in such an enormous hurry to finish.”

“When will the paint
and wallpaper be done?”

“In about two and a
half weeks—unless you change your mind again.” Matt crossed his arms and gave
her a scolding smile.

Sam picked up the
furry pillow and flung it at him. He covered himself with another cushion to
block it. “I can’t wait. This will be the coolest house ever,” she said as she
picked up another cushion and was about to hit him again. Suddenly, she dropped
the cushion and stood, shouting, “Oh
 …
my
 …
God! Matt. A party! I should plan a
great big party.”

“Perfect! Oh, yes.
Absolutely.”

“Yes, and everyone
will see my new look. My new home and my new clothes, and my new body. If I can
get a rush on the surgery
 …”
Sam
paced around the sofa display. Everyone will be there
 …
then they can see I’ll be okay. And Johnny will be so
happy.” Sam sat back, next to Matt. “What a fantastic idea,” she gushed,
hugging him.

This will fix
everything. My debut!
Her debut into the world as Mrs. Jonathan Horvath.
 

Several days later,
Sam lay back and touched her bandages. She couldn’t wait to see her face. The
doctor assured her most of her surgery would heal in time for the party, at
least enough to cover with makeup. The disappointment of not being able to get
nearly as much surgery as she wanted was, at least, offset by getting as much
as possible now: new breasts, an eyelid lift, liposuction, a tummy tuck,
varicose vein removal, age-spot lightening and a mini face-lift. The rest would
have to wait until her body was healthier. As she sipped her water through the
straw, she wondered what Jonathan was doing now. He had a trip to LA to see his
suppliers and negotiate a military contract in San Diego.

He will be in for
the shock of his life when she gets out of the hospital and the bandages come
off, revealing a young beautiful woman.
His wife. His new and sexy wife.

***

Ellen sat in a
limousine, holding Jonathan’s hand, basking in the unexpected pleasure of a
romantic getaway to Los Angeles. It was risky, having taken separate flights,
but his
wife
was recovering for a week in a reclusive hospital after
some minor elective surgery and he was desperate to see her.

Desperate to see
me! I have his undivided attention for three days and two nights. Three
glorious days and two nights to be alone, to be intimate, and finally, after
such a long wait, to feel his love.
Ellen had packed, anticipating a
weekend of romantic dinners, walks on the beach and nights of passion. She was
about to experience the best part of being Samantha Miller—having a young,
beautiful, sexy body, one that he desired more than any other in the world.

As the door to the
hotel room closed behind her, Ellen turned to face Jonathan. He looked at her
with a mischievous grin and his hand touched her cheek, stroking it, then warm,
soft kisses trailed down her neck. Ellen moaned with pleasure as tingles washed
over her body, increasing her nervousness, building anticipation and desire.

“I love you, baby,”
he whispered.

How she had longed
to hear those words. Words of love, to her
 …
to his wife.

But he wasn’t saying
these words to her. An icy tremor chilled her passion. Those tender words were
for
her
—for Samantha Miller. It was Samantha he loved, not her. Ellen
pushed this thought away as she returned his kisses. But her anger still
surfaced, extinguishing any loving feelings as it engulfed her. She fought the
tug-of-war in her heart as she tried to let go of her pain, to savor the moment
and relax into pleasure.

When she stopped and
looked up at him, he smiled at her, with adoring eyes and genuine affection.
Her heart swelled. Here he was. He was hers now, after years waiting. His hands
slowly slid down her neck and traced around her breasts, creating shivers of
pleasure—a pleasure she hadn’t felt in years—how many years had it been? Too
many to count, endless years of neglect and longing. But now
 …
this, his touch against her skin.
Desire swept over any residual anger, overwhelming it, extinguishing it. She
reached up to touch his chest, the same chest that she touched when they first
met, the same chest she lay her head on after lovemaking, the same heartbeat
 …
the same man.

All the years’
resentments washed away as he thrust himself on top of her. She knew she was
ready. She felt wet
 …
a wetness
that had dried within her long before they had stopped making love. A wetness
now flowing
 …
flowing with love
and tenderness, with forgiveness. She wanted him—desperately. Chills raced
through her thighs as he gently spread her legs apart.

“You love it, don’t
you girl,” he panted, then reached down and turned her over, twisting her onto
her stomach. “Come on, you know you want it.”

Her stomach buckled
with disgust. How many fights had originated from this position? How many
nights had she wept with shame from such a depraved act?

Soft flesh prodded
her from behind. “Come on, Daddy wants in.”

Ellen tried to roll
over. “Please don’t do this, you know I don’t like—”

He stopped her and
grabbed her hands. “Oh no you don’t, you know you want it, you bad little girl.
You want to be punished, don’t you?” He grabbed his necktie and tied her hands
to the headboard. Ellen stared at the headboard as the room spun and nausea
mixed with dread. The harder she struggled to free her hands, the harder he
pressed into her. He held her hips, jabbing her like an animal. She cried out
to stop, but he continued with increased virility.

“That’s it, you bad
girl,” he grunted. “You want more, you better beg.”

“I hate this. I hate
you. You know I hate this,” Ellen cried out.

“Oh, poor baby,” he
whispered, slowing down briefly before accelerating. Her hands tightened around
the rough wrought-iron curls of the headboard, her head hitting against them
with each thrust. “That’s it, you’re a bad little slut, aren’t you? Come on,
bitch,” he panted.

“Stop it, Jonathan!”
Ellen yelled. “Just stop!”

“Oooh
 …
you love it, don’t you? You want
more? I’ll give you more.”

As he pumped harder
and faster, her anger and humiliation rose in unison. Rising steady, increasing
 …
until
 …
until a wave overtook her. It was like a bursting of
tingles mixed with waves of rage. She panicked and gasped, releasing the
headboard as he grunted, making his final hard thrusts and slamming her head
into the metal filigree.

Jonathan collapsed
onto Ellen, his sweaty chest sliding across her back. Disgust and embarrassment
surfaced within her. Ellen bit her lip as she held back the tears forming in
her eyes. Jonathan flung himself beside her, panting like a Great Dane.

“Untie me, for
heaven’s sake!” Ellen demanded. Jonathan wheezed and coughed, sputtering like
an old car out of gas. He propped himself up and leaned over her, untying her
hand. Sweat dripped onto Ellen’s back as his belly pressed against her.

“There you go, baby
girl,” he said as he struggled to free her other hand. Ellen rubbed her wrists
and rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet over her body. She turned away from
him and closed her eyes.

“Wow, you were
crazy—that was fun.” He laughed as he slapped his belly and collapsed beside
her.

“Crazy? I was crazy?
You call that fun?”

“I thought
 …
it sure felt like you enjoyed it,
my pretty little tramp.” He rubbed her arm.

Ellen slapped his
hand away. “You thought
 …
you’re
such a bastard.”

“I’m a bastard?
Since when have you stopped liking it rough?”

“Since now. Since my
 …
illness. I
 …
I can’t do it like that,” Ellen said, wondering how he
could find pleasure behaving like a brute.

“You’re serious?” he
asked, then rolled onto his side and kissed her shoulder.

She pulled away.
“Yes, I’m very serious, that’s not making love, that’s
 …
that’s disgusting.” Ellen sat up, holding the sheet over
her chest.

Jonathan lay back
and rubbed his face several times, as if washing it. “Okay, I’ll back off. I
don’t understand. What do you want?” He turned to face her.

“For you to make
love to me, soft and caring.”

“You must be
joking—you? The hot little tramp, the one who taught me all this?”

Ellen pulled at the
sheet but Jonathan was lying on it, pinning it to the bed. She rose, quickly reaching
for the hotel robe. “I can change,” she said, as she slipped into the robe and
tied the sash around her waist.

“Yes
 …
yes, you sure can.”

“I don’t want to be
a
little slut
and all that stuff
 …
that rape stuff.”

“But you enjoyed it.
You always have, so I don’t see—”

“I did not enjoy
it!” Ellen screamed. “You enjoyed it. You weren’t thinking of me at all. You’re
selfish.”

“I’m selfish? Honest
to God, you sound just like Ellen. What the devil’s gotten into you? I’m
selfish? Coming from you? Unbelievable.”

Ellen went into the
bathroom and stared at the young face reflected in the mirror. She hated the
face that stared back at her. What would Samantha have done? She tried to
visualize the same scenario with Samantha.
Poor, young, desperate Samantha.
She probably did go through all this humiliation and game playing just to win
him. How pathetic. How sad. She leaned over and splashed cold water over her
face.

“Come here, baby,
Daddy’s sorry. Come on. Let me make it up to you,” Jonathan called out.

Ellen left the
bathroom and stood over the bed. He reached up and pulled on the ties of her
robe.

“You’ve got to be
kidding me!” Ellen slapped his hands away. “Not now.”

Jonathan pulled his
hand away and stared at her, looking like a wounded puppy, then glanced away,
folding his arms over his chest. “Well, what the hell
do
you want?”

“Hold me,” she said
as she crawled in under the sheet. “Just hold me.” Jonathan put his arm over
her and pulled her close, his heart racing, pounding its rhythm against her
body. This was what she had wanted all along, to have his arms around her and
his love inside her.

Her mind flashed to
her first meeting with Jonathan as Samantha, in his office, with the door
locked, the tenderness in his caresses and his warm kisses. She rolled over and
kissed him. He returned her kisses and gave her a gentle squeeze. She filled
with sadness at the tenderness he was capable of giving to Samantha—but not
Ellen, not his wife.

“I’m sorry,” he
whispered. Her eyes watered as she thought about how long she had waited for
tender words and kisses. “Oh my sweet baby,” he said, wiping tears off her
cheeks. Ellen thought of the irony that her tears only worked as Samantha. That
he was immune to his wife’s tears. She kissed his cheek softly and as she did,
her robe opened.

His hand reached
down between her legs. “Shame to waste this erection,” he smiled.

***

During the next
three weeks, the Horvath residence was a hub of activity. Teams of painters
arrived, including the company Rory worked for, but much to Sam’s disappointment,
he never did. She kept herself busy as truckloads of furniture and fixtures
came and went. Once Sam decided to host her grand party, the house had to be
completed in time, which meant rush orders, plenty of overtime for everyone,
extra teams and round-the-clock activity.

Jonathan even
appeared to enjoy the disruption in spite of his constant questioning: “Are
they going to be done soon?” And “I can’t wait to have everything back in order
and quiet again.” At one point, the tables were gone and she and Jonathan wound
up eating in the library with trays on the side tables. It was more fun than
eating in the stuffy dining room, more comfortable, and Jonathan seemed more at
ease, making jokes about the delays and the late furniture deliveries. And he
was actually beginning to lighten up.

Finally!
Since she had come into this situation five weeks ago, this Ellen body, he’d
been so uptight and gloomy all the time. He wasn’t anything like she
remembered. But then, his wife had tried to kill herself and he certainly
carried his share of guilt. He hardly laughed, as if one wrong word or glance
might send her back into insanity. Not that she helped with her threats about
killing herself. Her intent was simply to have him all to herself—she had no
real intention of doing anything that stupid.

But, she could see
why Ellen had gone mad. If he was as much of a deadbeat as he had been this
past month, it was no wonder. Even after all the surgery, he barely said
anything, never complimenting her, never making her feel pretty or young. What
he did do, all the time, with his constant looks of shock or dismay, was—he
made her feel old!

Sam wanted to have
fun again—was desperate for it. Nothing she did was fun—except shopping and
buying tons of expensive things. And decorating. She really enjoyed planning
and picking things out with Matt. But wasting time having lunch with Ellen’s
friends—
oh, my God! Snooze.
They were the strangest bunch of old ladies.

All they talked
about was other people and all their pathetic problems, including horrific
details of age-related illnesses. And they had something bad to say about
everyone. That Mrs. Rosenthal, Greta, was an insecure, greedy wrinkled witch,
who cared more about her ugly dog than her husband. And the
Lady
, Mrs.
Sutherland, what an oxygen thief. She was so full of herself, droning on about
“helping the helpless,” as if she actually cared about someone unemployed and
broke, or with addiction problems—people with real problems.
What a fraud
.
She wouldn’t be seen having a conversation with the undesirable
helpless,
let alone get dirty and
help
them. All she really cared about was
hearing herself speak and criticizing everyone, especially waiters, who seem to
constantly forget to top up her wine. Perhaps done intentionally because they
know how nasty she gets when she’s tipsy and want to spare everyone the pain.

They were all a
bunch of snobs. But the worst was Mrs. Z. The stupid old biddy was a real
nutcase. Sam tried to talk to her about the committee she was supposed to be in
charge of, and it didn’t help that Sam had no idea she was supposed to be doing
anything, and that no one told her anything until she had missed three
meetings. Mrs. Z was no help; in fact, she appeared appalled that Sam would
even ask her about what she was supposed to do. The whole thing turned into a
huge mess, with Mrs. Z accusing Sam of incompetence.
How am I supposed to
know all the rules and stuff? God, these people take their lives way too
seriously. It’s only a museum; you’d think they’re curing cancer or something.