The Real Thing Read online

  The Real Thing

  by

  Linda Rettstatt

  The Real Thing

  Copyright © 2015, Linda Rettstatt

  www.lindarettstatt.com

  Cover Art by SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt

  Published September, 2015

  3rd Act Books

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden without the written permission of the author/publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Note

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Dedication

  For my friends who have had the courage to enter into a marriage or committed relationship. Having the flexibility to change and the patience to allow another to change is something remarkable. Holding fast to the love that brought you together in the first place is pure gift. This book is dedicated to those who love past the differences, see beyond the flaws, and still find a way to laugh. Here’s to those of you who have dared to seek the real thing.

  Chapter One

  “Wait, wait. Stop.” Jane pushed on Mitch’s chest and slid from beneath him. She stood beside the bed, hands on her bare hips.

  Mitch stared up at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “All of it. It’s all wrong. It isn’t working.” She studied him for a moment and then reached for a notebook on the nightstand, flipping back through her notes. “Oh, I see what’s wrong. No wonder that didn’t feel natural.”

  Mitch sat up and dragged fingers through his damp hair. “What the hell are you talking about?” He reached for the notebook. “You have notes on how to have sex? We’ve been doing this for over twenty years.”

  She took back the book. “Yes, we have. All the more reason to experiment. I have ideas that we need to test out. I can’t very well write them into a story until they’re tested and proven.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “No. I’m a professional. What if I write a sex scene that can’t possibly work and someone tries it? And when it doesn’t work they either call me a fraud or they feel badly about themselves because they can’t do it.”

  Mitch moved to a sitting position on the bed, his passion obviously deflated.

  “Please clarify one thing for me.” He shifted his gaze up at her. “Were we making love just now, or were we staging a scene for your book?”

  When he put it that way, it sounded as if she’d only been using him. “Both.” She sat beside him and patted his thigh. “I have to find new material for my characters, otherwise my writing will get stale. What better way than for you and me to try them out first? And new language would be helpful, too. There are only so many ways to describe an erection.” She smiled. “Makes sense, right?”

  He pushed her hand away, stood and pulled on his boxers and jeans. “Are you even listening to yourself? I’m your husband, not some actor hired to serve as your sex slave-slash-model.”

  “Sex slave? Oh, please. Let’s be real. You weren’t exactly slaving here.”

  “Yes, I was. When I thought I was making love with my wife. You could have at least told me what you were doing.”

  Feeling naked now that he was partially clothed, she stood and pulled the sheet free, wrapped it around her body and knotted it above her left breast. “I couldn’t tell you. Then you’d be acting and it wouldn’t be natural. Some authors use dolls to test out positions, but I thought this would be more authentic.”

  “Authentic?” His voice rose. “I’m not your damned Ken doll.”

  “Mitch, I don’t know why you’re so upset about this. You’ve never complained before, and I’ve been writing for three years.”

  He tugged his tee shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans. “I’ll admit that when you became Devon the Irish firebrand, I enjoyed playing along with the fantasy. But having to change my wife’s name every six months and having her call me everything from Andrew to Zeke is getting old. It’s confusing. I don’t want to play anymore, Janie.” He sat on the bed and pulled on his shoes. “I miss you. I miss us.”

  “We’re still us. Can’t you be a little supportive here? I’m trying to build a career and, you have to admit, it’s paying off.”

  Mitch shot to his feet. “At what cost? I feel like I don’t even know you anymore. And for your information, not every man dreams of sex with a different woman every couple of months. Some of us just want to have sex with our wives.”

  “And you are.”

  “No, I’m not. In the past three years, I’ve had sex with Devon, Juliette, and Alexis. Let’s not forget Marie, the French model—for two different books. That lasted almost a year. Don’t you remember? I introduced you at the office Christmas party as my wife, Marie. Ted Harkins thought I was losing it. When was the last time I made love with Janie?”

  “You’re being ridiculous. It’s always been me. So what if we use different names and practice new positions? Some men would be envious. Lots of couples enjoy role-playing in the bedroom. And I can’t help it if I’m prolific.”

  Mitch’s gaze settled on a spot somewhere beyond her left shoulder. She knew that look. He was thinking. Or he was tuning her out.

  “Remember that time you suggested I let my hair grow longer so it curled down over my collar and you kept buying me shirts a size too small? The guys at work never let me live that hairstyle down. And then there was the time you insisted I wear those reading glasses you brought home, even though I don’t wear glasses, so I’d look intellectual. My favorite was when you made me get my ear pierced.” He tugged at his ear lobe. “That hurt. You’re always making me into someone else.” He punctuated the last two words by pointing an index finger in her face.

  She grabbed his finger shoved it aside. “What’s the big deal? Is it really that huge a sacrifice in support of my career?” The sheet began to slip and she tightened the knot, securing it in place. “I go to your office parties for you.”

  The color in his face deepened and his jaw set tight. “For me? Not with me. See, that’s the point. You keep score. You do something for me, then decide what I have to do for you in return. When the hell was the last time we did anything with each other? Together. As hu
sband and wife.”

  Jane felt the heat of anger spread up her neck. “In case you didn’t notice, there were two of us in that bed—together.”

  “Yes, me—or whatever character you’ve assigned me to be this month, and you—the director. Well, I don’t want to star in this movie anymore.”

  He picked up his wallet, shoved it into his hip pocket, then crossed to the closet and withdrew a duffle bag. He stalked into the bathroom and swept his toiletries from the sink top into the bag. After stuffing in underwear, a few clean shirts and zipping the bag, he reached for his keys.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need space. I’m leaving.”

  Mitch slung the duffle over his shoulder and marched out of the bedroom like a soldier heading to war. His feet pounded down the stairs and, a few moments later, the garage door whirred open.

  Jane stood at the window, stunned, as she watched his Infiniti SUV back down the drive and keep going. He hadn’t bothered to close the garage door.

  She groaned and dropped the sheet, reaching for her bathrobe. The hardwood floors sent a chill through her bare feet as she padded down to the kitchen. She stopped in the mud room, slid on a too-big pair of Mitch’s sneakers and descended the three steps into the attached garage to close the door. She gazed across the cement expanse where her Honda sat looking pitifully small. When she sat down on the top step, the cold from the cement seeped through her robe, giving her a chill.

  What the hell just happened? One minute, she and Mitch were making love. Oh, okay, they were having sex. The next thing she knew, he was packing to go…where? She didn’t even know where he could be. But she was alone. She gazed at the empty space where his SUV had been parked. That’s when panic set in.

  ~ * ~

  Mitch drove for twenty minutes before he realized he had no plan. He pulled into the vacant lot of a closed Shop-n-Save and shifted the SUV into park. The green glow of the dashboard clock read 2:20 a.m. Fortunately it was Friday night and he didn’t have to work tomorrow. Jane always went to the gym on Saturday mornings at eight. He’d just wait and slip back into the house once she’d left and get more clothes. And then… What?

  He yawned as exhaustion turned his bones to jelly. Or perhaps it was the realization that he’d just walked out on his wife. He leaned back into the head rest and closed his eyes. Where had things changed? They had a good marriage. They’d raised two great kids. Well, one great one and one with potential. Kristi was smart, beautiful, level-headed and had goals. She’d graduated a year ahead of her peers from high school and was already settled in at Temple.

  Rob, on the other hand, was dangerously close to being benched on the football team because of his grades. And football would likely be his only ticket to college. Thank God the game this week was away and Rob planned to stay at a friend’s house for the night. The last thing Mitch wanted was for his kids to get pulled into the middle of his and Jane’s marriage problems. The words sobered him. When had he and Jane developed marriage problems? He hadn’t seen this coming. But tonight was the last straw. He just couldn’t put tonight in a good context and his sense of humor had taken a vacation. A man could only take so much.

  He turned off the engine and the lights. Lowering the seat back, he reached behind him for an old sweatshirt that lay on the back seat and rolled it into a pillow. He was too tired to think. He’d think in the morning when the light of day might lend some clarity.

  A loud rapping startled Mitch. He opened his eyes only to be blinded by bright light. After blinking a few times, he made out the form of someone standing outside his window and shining a light in his face. He turned the key and cautiously lowered the glass a few inches.

  “What?”

  “Sir, are you all right?”

  “I was until you woke me.” Only then did he notice the blue uniform and hat. Police. “I’m sorry, Officer. I was sleeping.”

  “May I see your license and registration?”

  “Why? I wasn’t speed sleeping.”

  “Funny. Step out of the vehicle.” The policeman lowered the flashlight and took a step back. “Slowly, keeping your hands in view.”

  This was just great. Now he’d have to explain to Junior Patrolman why he was sleeping in his SUV in the parking lot of a closed grocery store. Because his wife treated him like an inflatable sex object. “Fine. I’m getting out.” He opened the door. The inside light came on and a ding repeated to let him know the keys were still in the ignition. He closed the door and faced the young cop.

  “License.”

  “It’s in my wallet in my hip pocket,” Mitch said before reaching behind him. The way his night was going, the action would be misunderstood and he’d be shot. He carefully tugged his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open to remove his driver’s license.

  The cop shone the flashlight and said, “Mitchell Devereaux.” He looked up at Mitch. “Have you been drinking tonight, Mr. Devereaux?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “Then why are you sleeping in your vehicle when you live only five blocks from here?”

  “My wife and I had a disagreement. I left, then realized I didn’t have anywhere to go at this hour.”

  The cop stared at him for a moment. “And when you left, what condition was your wife in?”

  Mitch drew his eyebrows together. “What do you mean? Wait. You think I hit her?”

  “Did you?”

  “It wasn’t that kind of fight. Besides, I have never and would never hit my wife. We just disagreed on something and I’d had enough, so I left.”

  “May I see your vehicle registration?”

  Mitch nodded. “It’s in the glove box. Shall I get it?”

  “Please.” The cop shone the flashlight beam into the vehicle, watching Mitch’s every move, his right hand resting on the butt of his holstered weapon.

  Mitch opened the glove box and rummaged though repair receipts before producing the registration card. He backed out of the vehicle and handed over the card.

  “Stand behind your vehicle while I call this in.” The officer walked back to his cruiser and spoke into the radio. After a few minutes, he returned to Mitch, handing him back his license and registration. “You’re free to go, but you can’t sleep in this parking lot all night.”

  “Fine. I guess I’ll get a room, then.”

  “So, what were you and your wife fighting about?”

  Mitch opened his driver’s side door, then paused and looked back. “Sex. What else?”

  The cop grinned. “I hear you. Women.”

  “Yeah. You’d think we were asking them to do something unnatural.”

  The cop’s grin faded. “Were you?”

  A flush heated Mitch’s face. “Of course not. Goodnight, Officer.” He started up the SUV and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the police cruiser behind, lights still flashing. Now what? He considered the parking garage across from his office building, but thought better of it. A knock on his window in that place and he could end up dead. It was nearly four a.m. He drove for six blocks and found an all-night McDonald’s. If he couldn’t sleep, he would need coffee to stay awake a few hours.

  Just as he settled into a booth with a steaming cup of coffee, his cell phone buzzed. A glance told him it was Jane. She was probably worried. Well, let her worry some more. He hit ‘ignore’ and slid the phone onto the table top. He wasn’t in the mood for a discussion. Hell, he was too old for this. He wanted to be in his own home, in his own bed, adjusting his side of the Tempurpedic mattress and falling into a sound sleep. He leaned against the side of the booth. He could almost feel the way the bed adjusted to his body. He yawned. Almost feeling the way the memory foam pillow would curve under his neck. Almost….

  “Hey, buddy. Wake up. You can’t sleep here.”

  Mitch blinked up at the tattooed and multi-pierced young man.

  “No loitering. If you need a place, go to the shelter on North Avenue.”

  Mitch drained the lukewarm coffe
e and stood, picking up his cell. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night.” He tossed the cup into the trash and headed back outside. His brother, Dave, had a spare room. He’d just go there, sleep in the SUV in the driveway until he saw activity in the house. Dave owed him a favor or two. It was time to collect.

  Chapter Two

  Jane lay staring at the ceiling, wondering how everything had gone so terribly wrong so fast. To be honest, she had been directing their lovemaking. But it wasn’t like Mitch didn’t get something out of it. There was a time in their marriage and even before when he loved for her to tell him what to do, where to touch and how. Wouldn’t you think that after twenty years, he’d appreciate a few new suggestions?

  She lifted up and pounded the pillow. His pillow. His cold, empty pillow. Tears stung. “Shit.”

  The sky outside had begun to lighten to a soft grey. Rain was predicted for most of the day. She picked up her cell and scrolled through for missed calls, already knowing she hadn’t missed any. Why wasn’t Mitch answering? Was he that angry, or was he lying in a ditch somewhere? Maybe he’d driven through the city and been carjacked.

  Jane glanced at the clock—six-twenty a.m. On a Saturday morning. Too early to call Steph. Her sister-in-law was also her best friend and had the patience of a saint. But waking her too early on a Saturday would test that patience.

  She got up and tightened the belt on her robe, then padded downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was unlikely Rob would be home before afternoon. She started the coffeemaker and studied her calendar. The first draft of her current book was due in two weeks. According to her working outline, she still had at least seven chapters to write. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be an issue. But now? She had no time for distraction. Janelle DuMonde—her alter-ego—had never delivered a book late and wasn’t about to start now.