Queen Of Diamonds

NOTE: This story begins in 1996. Cell phones were expensive and uncommon. People were starting to buy personal computers for home use and had discovered email. Cars had cassette tape players, and VCRs were the main way to watch or record a movie at home. Airports were still hang-loose about who got to greet or see you off at the gate. And you couldn't legally buy absinthe.

All characters engaging in sexual activity, past or present, are eighteen or older.

[Many thanks to my volunteer editors, Sexyvibe and Animaris, whose considerable investment of time made this a much better story.]

* * *

I was actually having fun at my 20-year high school reunion picnic, despite the sweltering heat that was well over 100 that day. Don't even ask about the humidity. That's why I had left Texas for California years ago. I was reminiscing with a group of friends when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Jake? Jake Hayward? Hi! Trudy Tyler. Remember me?"

Oh, how could I not, even though I hadn't seen her in over twenty years? She looked remarkably unchanged; I would have recognized her anywhere.

When I was a young teenager, Trudy was the first girl I got sweet on. Her hair was very dark brown—almost black—which made her blue eyes stand out. Plus, she was one of the girls who developed very early, but she was completely at ease about it—didn't try to hide it, didn't try to flaunt it.

Trudy was also the first girl I had a serious slow dance with—meaning arms around each other with chests and waists touching. Her rapidly maturing bustline always felt very nice pressed against my scrawny torso. Even when I dated other girls, I always sought her out for at least one slow dance at the various parties we went to during our youth. Memories of those encounters barely faded as the years passed.

I can't remember how we drifted apart. Trudy was one of several girls that disappeared without any explanation prior to graduation day, apparently due to untimely pregnancies. She must have gotten involved with some guy that wasn't a student at our school. I hadn't heard anything about her since, not even who knocked her up.

I was glad to see her. It took guts to come back to a reunion after dropping out. She seemed very happy with her life and was in good spirits. Trudy's blouse displayed a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. I wondered if I was finally going to experience the full reveal later.

Trudy introduced the young woman with her as her daughter Kelly.

"But she wants to be called 'Kat' now," she said with a hint of exasperation. "Today's her birthday. She just turned twenty."

I did some quick math—then Kelly/Kat was the unplanned baby she had back then, all grown up now. Wow! It must be hard to get

any

child to go to your class reunion, particularly an older one—not to mention the one that caused you to drop out.

Kelly/Kat was standing several feet behind her mother and staring out in another direction, slightly turned away from us, as if she were by herself. She obviously heard her mother introduce her to me, but she ignored my extended hand.

Even though it was scorching, Kelly/Kat wore all black. Heck, I was miserable in a white t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. She had a rock and roll Goth look going on: torn black t-shirt, black zippered jacket, tight black jeans, and—I had to admit—some very cool-looking black leather boots. She had a pretty face, although clouded with a bored scowl. Her jet black hair was plastered to her face with perspiration as she struck a pose, indifferent to the good times going on all around her. Boy, she must have been dying in that outfit.

As Trudy and I talked we caught up on the missing years. Her daughter still lived with her in Dallas. Trudy would mention Kelly's name from time to time and glance back toward her, but she never looked our way.

"I was married to a man I met when Kelly was a little girl. Bob was a really nice guy, a good husband to me and a good father to Kelly. But he died three years ago."

I offered my sympathies. I felt ashamed when the first thing that came to mind was she might be looking for a hook-up at the reunion.

When I talked about my college years, Kelly's name came up again.

"I keep urging her to get her degree and not get stuck in a dead-end job like I did. She's been out of high school several years now, but so far she's barely earned a year's worth of credits at the junior college."

Still no reaction from Kelly/Kat.

"She was making good money in the men's department at Neiman Marcus, but she quit there to work at this little clothing boutique." Trudy turned toward her. "What's it called? Shameful?

"I think most of her money gets spent on clothes there." Trudy called her Kelly the whole time, not Kat.

Trudy looked really good—and sexy. I was trying to pick up on any signals that she might be interested in a tryst later that evening.

"Trudy, are you coming to the dance tonight?"

"No, I promised Kelly if she came to the picnic, we'd spend the evening together. She wants to go to FunLand, the old amusement park."

"Is that place still open?"

"Yes, it is. Ferris wheel, bumper cars, miniature golf, the midway—all of it."

A flashback hit me: Trudy and me on the Tilt-A-Whirl at FunLand. I got sick and had to hurl when I got off. It was humiliating. She was actually pretty cool about it and stayed with me until I felt better—and we weren't even on an official date that night.

"And we're going to eat at Billy's Barn."

That was the classic Texas roadhouse near the local college campus: burgers and beer, jukebox and dancing. It had been there forever.

"Even after I moved away, Bob and I would bring Kelly here to go to FunLand and Billy's. I guess she has a nostalgia thing from her childhood."

I tried one more time. "Sure you don't want to go to the dance? Other classmates will be there that didn't want to brave this heat. It'll be air conditioned."

"No, I promised Kelly we'd do what she wanted for her birthday."

Still no response from Kelly/Kat to any of this. Well, so much for the "twenty years later" romancing with Trudy, at least for that weekend.

"Jake, this is really great music they're playing. I haven't heard these songs in ages. Did someone put together a tape?"

"You're talking to him right now."

"Oh, that was such a swell idea. It really gets everybody in the mood—and feeling young again. Thank you so much for doing that."

"I'll be honest, Trudy, I did it for myself," I joked. "I had fun making it. Nothing's worse than a party without music, particularly a class reunion."

Trudy was ready to move on. "Jake, it was so good to see you again." She gave me a hug. And it was so good to feel your nice big boobs against my chest again, Trudy.

"We're going to talk to some other people over there." You may be, Trudy, but it looks like Kat's lost her tongue—or whatever that expression is.

"Oh, could you get me a copy of this tape? It's really super."

"Sure, I'd be happy to. Where should I send it?"

Neither of us had a pen, so I asked if she was set up for email yet.

"Yes, can you believe it? Kelly talked me into buying a home computer, but she has to show me how to do everything."

Her Prodigy email address was easy to remember. As I said my final goodbyes to Trudy, I stepped toward her daughter. "It was nice meeting you, Kat." Was that a possible minor eye movement in my direction? "Considering the heat out here, I really admire your dedication to fashion. Those are really nice boots you have on. You look good in them." I thought I detected the merest flicker of a smile, but I may have been imagining it.

They walked over to another group of alumni. Kelly/Kat assumed exactly the same bored posture several feet away from Trudy, so it wasn't just me. I was really disappointed that Trudy wasn't going to be a possible conquest that night. She was the most desirable of all the female classmates I had seen so far. Maybe if her daughter hadn't been with her. Trudy had this laid-back sexiness. I was always attracted to that. Too bad.

That night as I went to bed after the dance, I thought about Trudy and how I wished she had been there. My imagination was very active. What would she have worn to the dance? A dress with a plunging neckline or one that exposed a lot of leg? Other women had dressed like that to show they still had it going.

I fantasized that we were both there in the same hotel ballroom where many of our high school dances had been held. Of course, Kelly/Kat had been banished from the picture. I asked Trudy to dance to a slow number. Her full breasts pushed against my chest.

"Jake, I remember how nice it felt when we used to dance this closely. But we're all grown up now. We can take things a lot further than we could before. We could go up to my room later, if you'd like. We could do some more 'dancing' there."

My libido took off like wildfire. Having that dance with Trudy in the privacy of her hotel room. Kissing. Fondling. Slowly unzipping her dress. Yanking back the bedcovers and tumbling into a wanton embrace. I imagined her astride me, unfastening her bra. The tingle I felt as she lowered her breasts into the palms of my hands. I started to stroke myself, lost in thoughts of fucking her into the early morning hours. That wasn't the first time I had masturbated to sexual fantasies of Trudy—and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

* * *

When I got Trudy's address, I immediately sent the tape to her. I wanted to keep the relationship going in case I had another chance to see her in the future. We started a polite email exchange. Despite dropping numerous hints, it became clear that Trudy wasn't going to invite me to come see her the next time I was in Texas. So much for that.

Then about a month later she asked if I could send her another tape. Kelly had borrowed hers and never gave it back. I was

very

surprised to hear this. Kelly/Kat had seemed so antisocial, and I didn't really see her as someone who would be into music that her mother's generation grew up with. Still, I was proud to have my music tastes validated, both by Trudy as well as her offspring.

I was

completely

floored about a month later when I got an email from Kat herself:

have any other tapes like this one? kat

btw, it's shameless - not shameful

Actually, I did. I had made three tapes for the reunion weekend. There was way too much good music to fit on a single tape, and I wanted to be able to cover several hours without repeats.

I emailed Trudy first to mention that Kat had asked about another tape. I was still a bit shocked about her contacting me directly like that. I wanted to make sure that Trudy knew about her request, particularly since she had forgotten to copy her mother on the email. I didn't say anything about her getting the name of her daughter's place of employment wrong.

Trudy wrote back that it would be very kind of me to send another mix tape to Kelly and would I mind giving her one as well. I mailed the copies of Volume 2 to Trudy right away. I was still bummed that the tone of her emails was always bland—no flirty prose or anything. It was about as sexy as the ones I got from my female cousins, full of their gossip and nonsense. I'll admit I started losing interest in keeping in touch with Trudy since I never detected any signs pointing to a future romance.

Almost a year after the reunion, I got another unexpected email:

thx for the 2nd tape, really good music, kat

Well, at least she acknowledged it, even if it was months later. I noticed Trudy wasn't copied on this one either.

At that point, my contact with Trudy had essentially stopped. The months passed, and I had more or less forgotten about the two of them when another Kat email hit my inbox:

you said you had a 3rd tape, can i get it? Kat

It had been a full two years since the reunion. Why would she bother asking about that final tape at this point?

I noticed Kat's email address had changed; it was now at University of North Texas. Well, good for her. I guess Trudy's hectoring finally got through to her about taking charge of her future. I dutifully mailed two of them to Trudy. I said something about how I just remembered I hadn't sent them a copy of the final tape, so here it is. I wasn't trying to hide anything, but I made it seem like Kat hadn't been the one who asked for it first.

It wasn't too long after I mailed the last tape, when I started getting the occasional email from Kat asking questions about the bands that were on the tapes: what other songs they did, if they were worth seeing live at an upcoming concert, what albums should she buy—things like that. Of course being the music nerd that I was, I always answered in great detail, adding loads of trivia that she probably didn't care about. These email responses rambled on at some length. And I'll admit that I was showing off, particularly to a "girl"—whether it had been Kat, or Trudy, or any other female.

The odd thing about all of this was I had never heard Kat utter a single word. Trudy was never copied on any of her emails so I didn't bother keeping her in the loop anymore.

Kat's emails never strayed from the topic of music, so I never asked any questions about what she was studying or anything else about her life. I didn't really care or need to know. We didn't communicate that often—sometimes several months went by between the emails. I felt a bit weird having any kind of contact with the female child of someone I had dated over twenty years ago, but it wasn't like she was some teenager.

The only time I got a non-music email from Kat was when she announced that her mother was engaged. Trudy was getting married the next summer to a guy she had been seeing for several years. I guess that explained her disinterest in getting something started with me. Until then I had been holding out the slightest flicker of hope my renewed friendship with her could turn into something more.

It was liberating in a way, I suppose, to finally get some closure. I'll admit Trudy had become the top box office star of my masturbatory fantasies, yet I'm not proud to say there were times I thought of her while I was having sex with someone else.

The music-related emails from Kat continued to pop up in my inbox from time to time. She was actually writing longer messages—which for her meant more than one or two choppy sentences. I couldn't help but be flattered that some "youngster" was appreciative of my musical tastes. She had started signing her emails as "k" instead of "kat." Still, I never initiated the exchange; I always let her make the contact. I didn't want to do anything that would smack of "dirty old man" behavior.

I never received an invitation to Trudy's wedding. I guess that saved me from buying a gift.

* * *

It was almost five years after the reunion when I got an email from Kat saying she was planning to come to Los Angeles later in the summer to visit an old roommate from college. I hadn't heard from her in months. She wanted suggestions for places to go: clubs, restaurants, and sightseeing. As usual I went way overboard, spending hours researching my answers. I wrote a lengthy email about the latest hot restaurants, unexpected places to see celebrities, and the hidden gems of Los Angeles.

It wasn't until I was about to send it when I noticed her email address was now at Tulane Law School in New Orleans. That was

quite

the surprise. Based on my limited first impression of her from the reunion picnic, I was guilty of thinking she didn't have it in her to pursue an intellectually demanding career like that.

I included my phone number and suggested if she needed anything when she was here, she could give me a call. Of course, being

really

uncool, I couldn't leave it at that. Like a jerk, I added something about maybe meeting for coffee if she wanted to. As soon as I hit SEND on that email, I felt a wave of shame and anxiety. That was completely out of line: some lecherous old friend of her mother angling to get some face time with her young daughter—as if!

I felt the uncomfortable mantle of middle-aged creep settling on my shoulders. Too late, might as well forget about it. But I couldn't. I'm sure she laughed out loud when she saw my email. She probably read it to her friends in a mocking tone. The only way I finally calmed down, albeit several days later, was by convincing myself that the email was so long that maybe she didn't read it all the way through.

Later that summer I called an old high school friend to see if anyone was putting together a 25-year reunion. He said no one had stepped forward to do the planning, even the people who had done the last two reunions. It looked like we wouldn't be doing it until the 30-year interval. I was actually fine with that. I still had pangs of jealousy thinking about Trudy getting poked by her new husband, so I put all that old high school stuff to rest—at least for another five years.

Then one Saturday afternoon a few weeks later, I was sitting around the house amusing myself by playing solitaire—with an actual deck of cards—when the phone rang. I picked up and heard a woman ask "Can I speak to Jake Hayward?" Another telemarketing call. I really should train myself to just hang up on them and not feel guilty about it.

Then I was

totally

blindsided when I heard: "Jake, this is Kelly. Trudy Tyler's daughter. Have you settled on a place for dinner tonight?"

Who? What? Trudy's daughter? Kelly? What happened to Kat?

Of course I didn't recognize her voice—how could I? I'd never heard her speak before then. I had forgotten that she was coming to L.A., and I certainly wasn't expecting to hear from her even if I had remembered. I recalled my embarrassing ploy of suggesting a coffee date, but what's this about dinner?

I mumbled something about her being confused about this. Then Kelly cheerfully said, "Oh, the Eastlake Grill. That's one of the suggestions you had on your list. Sounds like fun. Do you have the directions? I can meet you there."

What the fuck? I could hear other voices in the background talking to her while this was going on.

"No, I don't need you to pick me up. I can take a taxi, no problem."

Pick her up? Her voice was quite nonchalant—like we had talked about these non-existent dinner plans a few days ago. Then I realized something sounded unpleasant about the voices talking to—actually yelling at her—while she was on the phone.

"Kelly, is there a problem over there?"

"Yes, that's right" she said brightly, as if I had asked whether her flight had been OK.

Something was wrong.

"Kelly, are you talking this way because the people there are listening to what you're saying?"

In another way too happy voice, "Yes!"

I tried to collect my thoughts as quickly as I could. "Kelly, do you need me to come get you now?"

"So I'm ready to write down the directions," she answered.

I guess not. I recited them to her—damn, what's going on over there? She asked what time. I tried to think quickly. Getting a reservation there was going to be almost impossible for that night.

"Shall we say 8:00?"

"How about 7:00?" she countered.

"Uh, OK ... we can do 7:00."

"Jake, it's been five years now. How will I recognize you?"

I stammered while thinking about how to describe myself or what I was going to wear. I still had the deck of cards in my hand—I got a brainstorm. "Kelly, if you could be any card in a deck of fifty-two, which one would it be?" Needless to say she wasn't expecting that question.

"Umm ... let's see ... uh, the queen of diamonds?"

"Queen of diamonds then. I'll be sitting at the bar, and I'll put the queen of diamonds in front of me. That way you can be sure it's me. I doubt if anyone else will have one."