Only on Saturday Night

Jessica Peyton arose at 6:07 a.m. every Monday through Saturday. Even if she set her alarm for a different time it jangled at six, like someone thought she’d made a mistake. After the second snooze Mrs. Whitmore’s business-like knocking made sleeping impossible. The woman took her job as housekeeper far too seriously.

By 6:20 Jessica left her bathroom, wearing jogging clothes. After drinking eight ounces of water she left to run the same three-mile route she ran every morning. Rain or snow sent her to the treadmill in the home gym.

By seven she sat in the breakfast nook, sipping her eight ounces of orange juice from a gold-rimmed, crystal, juice goblet. She swallowed the last of her juice by 7:02, when Mrs. Whitmore set a gold rimmed crystal fruit dish on its matching saucer in front of her and reached for the glass.

Her father had set the morning schedule, but everyone still followed it, even after a stroke put him in a nursing home. Mrs. Whitmore still allowed six minutes before she removed the fruit and replaced it with one slice of raisin toast, a four-minute boiled egg, and a cereal-size bowl of cheese grits.

No butter dish or salt shaker ever appeared because the food was always perfectly seasoned by Mrs. James, the family cook for as long as Jessica could remember.

At 7:12 the dishes were removed while the butler stood behind her chair with his hands on the back. Would he have pulled out the chair with her still in it?

Jessica walked in her sedate pace upstairs to her room, then into her walk-in closet. Rows of suits, blouses, and slacks were arranged by color and seasonal weight. No browns mixed with grays, navies, or blacks. No slacks hung with skirts or blouses.

She selected a gray, knee length, pencil-slim skirt and the gray silk blouse she always wore with that skirt and its jacket. Bending she picked up the medium-height, gray pumps. She carried these to her lingerie dresser.

White, no-nonsense, Vanity Fair panties occupied the top drawer. Taking the top pair, she opened the second drawer to choose a white, serviceable, front-closure bra. She took a slip from drawer three. Removing her jogging clothes she left them on the antique monk’s bench beside the bathroom door.

By 7:20 she stepped from her shower to dress in her simple lingerie and business outfit. In two minutes at her vanity she applied minimal powder, blush, and lipgloss and tamed her blonde hair into a Grace Kelly type bun at the nape of her neck. Pearl studs adorned her ears, her only jewelry other than her plain gold watch.

At 7:30 she walked from her front door, carrying the purse to match her gray outfit, to the warmed gray Volvo. If no traffic lights stopped her, she pulled into her reserved parking space by 7:45. Red lights might put her there as late as 7:50.

Her time, attention, and pride belonged to J. B. Peyton Department Store from the minute she entered the store ‘til closing time at 6:30. Every article of her clothing had come from this conservative store.

No dust or dirt marred the perfection of floors or walls. Mirrors and windows sparkled or Jessica Peyton would know the reason why. No employee wanted to disappoint her.

Mothers brought their children there to shop for quality clothing and practical shoes. Businessmen could shop and walk out with a perfectly fitted and matched suit and accessories appropriate for any power meeting anywhere. No personal shoppers were needed since each salesperson offered the quality service afforded the very rich or powerful.

The store carried no neon colored clothing or baggy jeans. Jewelry and cosmetics counters were safe for teens with no parents in tow.

By 10:00 Jessica would leave the computer screen on her on father’s walnut, organized, man-sized desk and walk down the two flights of stairs to the small store restaurant. There she greeted the stay-at-home mothers and retired people who enjoyed visiting over coffee and pastries.

Business deals had been struck at the spotless, cloth-covered tables. Senior citizens stopped their conversations to spend time with Jessica. Each asked after her father and shared their joys and problems with her. Matchmakers plotted long after she’d returned to work.

On her way back to her office Jessica walked the aisles of her father’s store, greeting each customer and each salesperson. At 12:15 she made her second visit to the restaurant to make the rounds of tables, shaking hands and hugging regulars and welcoming newcomers.

She had daily schedules, weekly schedules, and monthly schedules. The store had been her life before her years away at college and since her return. Her father’s stroke had put her in charge, but not really in charge. She still followed his polices, making no major changes.

Her afternoon included one more round at 3:30, just before the restaurant stopped serving. After more hours of paperwork, the store would close at six. At 6:30 she would leave, waving goodbye to the guards.

If it had been Monday, Wednesday, or Friday she would have headed to the cemetery to put fresh flowers on her mother’s grave. She would have stayed one hour, telling her mother about her days and her father’s condition.

Since it was Saturday she turned right, toward the nursing home, ten and six tenths miles out of town.

Groundskeepers kept the outside of the Peytonville Nursing Home immaculate. Walls and floors inside sparkled. She seldom detected the urine odor associated with such places. As usual everyone on staff greeted Jessie with smiles.

Her father’s room smelled of the fresh cut flowers she’d brought and the florist arrangement delivered earlier. She couldn’t tend to him and run his store.

While she fed him a dish of ice cream, wiping his face after each spoonful, she told him about the store. In detail she delivered each message she’d been asked to deliver and shared each funny thing that had happened since her visit on Thursday. She wasn’t sure of he understood or cared, but she talked anyway. He fell asleep, as he always did, before he could finish the treat.

When his orderly came to put him to bed she left.

She always conferred with the neatly dressed, handsome young doctor Evans. In the past two years ago since he’d become her father’s doctor, he had never failed to answer all her questions. Their conversations were always aloof. And why not, she held tight reign on her emotions when she visited.

Doctor Robert Evans had watched the beautiful, Grace Kelly look-alike daughter of J. B. Peyton each Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evening. The first time he’d met her he’d been off duty, technically but had stayed late to handle an emergency. Since then he’d made it a point to be there for her visits.

She spoke with each lonely, old person on her way out, hugging many who thought she belonged to them. She smiled at everyone but he felt little warmth in her smile at him. He would’ve liked just one real smile, one that reached her eyes. Maybe one day he’d prolong their handshake and see if her hand warmed in his.

Astride his old but shiny bad-ass Harley he’d always watched her leave the parking lot, turning right. Then he’d gone home, alone.

Tonight he waited. She’d turn right and head back into town and he’d turn left toward his own house.

To his surprise she turned left. He pulled out behind her. After all, he was going that way. Two miles down the road she passed his turn and so did he. Where was she going tonight? After twenty miles she pulled into the parking lot of an old, but well-kept, one-story motel. He pulled off the road but watched her park in front of room number 112, bypassing the office.

She opened the door and went inside. Why would she already have a key? Could she be meeting a lover? He shouldn’t spy on her but he felt rooted to the spot.

He couldn’t take his attention from the closed door. Fifteen minutes later he had called himself all kinds of a fool, a pervert, and worse. He’d leave her to her privacy and just wonder every time he saw her why she needed to go to a motel. He started his bike to leave. A final glance at her door stopped his breathing.

It opened and he was struck by the shiny, emerald dress with a long, slim leg showing through the slit to the woman’s hip. Glittery, strappy, spike heels made her seem taller than he’d remembered. One step outside revealed long, fluffy, blonde hair. Her dangling earrings flashed green sparks. Damn.

He wanted to bury his face in the generous bosom she revealed when she bent to open the car door. When she slid behind the wheel he wanted to gnaw on her ankle before it disappeared into car.

What the hell had happened to the prim store manager? Could she be living two lives? When she left he followed her, farther away from her home and his.

She pulled into the crowded parking area of a neon lit tavern. He followed. What kind of trouble could she find here or was she meeting someone? Did she know what she was getting into? He couldn’t picture the cool blonde frequenting a place like this, but the woman in green should be a hit here.

Loud music assaulted his senses, the rhythm of a base cello and drums created the image of writhing bodies and need. By the time he opened the door he barely noticed the noise. He had to find Jessica. At this moment he couldn’t bring himself to think of her as Ms. Peyton.

He spotted her immediately. She had chosen a tall stool at the bar. Their gazes met over her cocktail glass. What the hell should he do? What should he say? "Hey, are you as hot as you look? Are you here looking for sex? Will I do?"

Jessica had seen the doctor’s bike behind her when she’d left the nursing home. What she wouldn’t give to be able to ask him to take her for a ride on it, but she had an image to uphold. Some perverse part of her had wanted to invite him into the motel room. His black leather jacket made him look sexy. Could she walk up to him and run her hands inside it to study the chest under it? That bold she wasn’t.

Rubbing the stem of her drink glass she remembered how she’d felt, knowing that while she undressed he waited outside. Did he imagine that she was naked? Maybe having sex? Did he wish he could be inside the room with her?

The dresser hadn’t the quality of hers at home but the mirror was clear. She’d watched her body glow when she’d stepped into the green thong panties, such as they were. The green push-up bra had made her breasts so full. Or had her thoughts about the doctor made the swell? She’d love to wear lingerie like these under her conservative suits. These hadn’t come from her store. Her father would never have allowed such. They’d probably be burned if she took them home.

She moved a crossed leg and let it dangle, then swing slowly, opening the slit more. Was he watching to see how much she’d reveal? With each sip of her drink she wondered how far she would go.

Draining her glass, she took the cherry and worried it from the stem, bit by bit. The doctor hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Crossing one leg slowly over the other she reached for the new glass the bartender had brought. Always Ginger Ale with a hint of Southern Comfort, served in a cocktail glass. Hell a real drink would’ve had her dancing on the bar or dead asleep. He’d added a cherry and a slice of orange but no paper umbrella.

Most of the people here were regulars and no one bothered her. She hadn’t come here for sex, just to get away. Even in her home, or rather the house that would belong to her someday, the people who looked after her couldn’t let go of her controlling father’s preferences. Sunday would be her only day without their loving attention, a day she could sleep late and eat whatever and whenever she chose. She wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings or sensibilities.

The handsome doctor nursed a beer while he watched her. Just what was he imagining? Would he like to go home with her? Maybe take her home with him?

Rowdier patrons usually came in around 10:00 and it was already 9:45, time to escape before she had to fend off the drunks. When she slid from the stool she saw surprise in his expression. Had he expected her to stay ‘til closing? Maybe dance on the bar or leave with some guy?

She pulled a twenty from her cleavage, scooped up her keys, and sauntered past the doctor. Now he knew her secret and she liked that one person knew. He’d stared at her but said nothing. This was the first time she had ever issued such a blatant invitation to any man. Maybe he was just shy.

Robert had watched Jessica or her sexy evil twin watch him. At first he’d wondered if she looked so seductive at someone behind him. Each time she’d swung her foot he’d imagined her moving against him.

There was invitation in each move she made. "Come and get me" had gleamed from her eyes. Her fingers caressing her glass stem, her teeth and tongue on the cherries and the orange slices sent his imagination into overdrive.

Watching her eat the first cherry had made him hard. The second one had taken all the moisture from his throat just waiting for her to take it between her lips. If she had been anyone but his patient’s daughter he’d have spoken to her, asked her to dance, kissed the lips she kept licking.

He had seen the transformation. He mustn’t forget her father was his patient. He wanted the woman in the green dress, but he wanted her out of it. Was the sexy woman watching him the real Miss Peyton? Could this woman be an aberration of the one he saw at the nursing home?

She walked past him, enveloping him in her musky scent. He followed her out. Who knew what jerks would see her as an easy target? He didn’t know what she’d been drinking. He’d follow her in case she had problems.

Back at the motel she stayed ten minutes, then left as her old self. She looked the same, but there was something different in her walk. She probably should have stayed to sleep the drinks off. Her driving was smooth and careful enough, though. She didn’t miss a light or a stop sign or weave from her lane.

She pulled around a circular drive and parked at the curving front steps. Watching her unlock her door and go inside he knew he should leave. He waited for her to close her door. She’d left it open a crack, he could see a sliver of light.

Anyone could walk inside. Five minutes he’d wait, maybe ten, surely someone would lock up. An eternity of imagining her undressing, showering, or taking a leisurely bath set him on edge. Hell, maybe she’d left the door open for him.

Maybe he’d just shut the door for her and leave. He pulled his bike behind her car, half expecting someone to come to the door and tell him to go away. He dismounted and walked up her steps. Instead of closing her door, he pushed it open enough to see inside. Maybe she needed help.

Her gray jacket lay in the middle of the floor. He stepped into the entry. Her skirt formed a puddle past her jacket. Curiosity drew him farther. She must have kicked off the sensible gray shoes, because one lay across the room and the other near a circular staircase.

His heart pounded. She might come out and shoot him as an intruder, but he walked toward the shine of gray silk near a door away from the stairs. The scattered clothing seemed out of place and inviting, especially the lacy topped stockings draped over a doorknob. His good sense had gone south.

He took the stockings in one hand, savoring their softness and her scent on them. Then he opened the door. Across the room he spotted open patio doors. His breath caught in his throat. There she stood by a lighted pool. The goddess beckoned and he was lost.

Jessica couldn’t believe she had left the door unlocked, much less open, in hopes the doctor would follow her inside. She’d wanted to do something crazy, irresponsible, and decadent. She concentrated on the last closed door between her and anyone inside. It moved a hair. She held her breath, praying the doctor waited on the other side.

Her blood pounded in her head. As soon as she saw him watching her through the open doors, she reached for the front clasp of the green, pushup bra. Slowly she let her breasts spill out. Power.

The power of sexual attraction sent a shiver of anticipation through her. He moved as if sleep walking. She watched his eyes widen when she slid her fingers into the thin elastic at her waist. A vein stood prominent at his temples.

He stopped so close she could smell his scent, hear his erratic breathing. She smiled.

"What took you so long?" Her voice was husky.

"You do this every Saturday night?"

"Yes." She looked down at her nakedness. "Oh, this?"

He nodded.

She laughed. "Only this Saturday Night.

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