little?”
Seizing the opening, Annabelle wiped her mouth, then spoke carefully. “Mom, don’t you think you’re rushing into this wedding just a tad?”
Her mother dimpled. “Probably, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”
“You once told me that few good decisions are made quickly. Why are you in such a hurry to be married?”
Belle blushed and glanced down at her folded hands. “Why are most couples in a hurry to marry?”
She translated her mother’s expression, then gripped the edges of the table. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant.” Her mother was in her fifties, but hadn’t a woman in her sixties given birth not too long ago? Her mind swirled with the medical implications, and perspiration warmed her hairline.
Belle’s face crinkled in laughter. “No, dear, I’m not pregnant.” She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice. “In my day, a man and woman were eager to marry so they could become intimate.”
At that moment, Annabelle not only wished she hadn’t broached the subject, but she also regretted having made the trip to Atlanta. Mortification washed over her and her tongue felt gluey. “You’re going to marry Melvin Castleberry so you can sleep with him?”
“It’s ‘Martin,’ dear, and I want to marry him because I adore him.” Her mother hesitated, then added, “And yes, I have to admit the strain of resisting one another physically is becoming somewhat unbearable.”
Annabelle rested her elbows on the table and pressed fingers to her temples. Her trained mind sifted through the options and came up with two: She could either encourage her mother to set aside her moral beliefs and have premarital sex with this playboy in the hopes she would get him out of her system, or she could stand by and watch her mother marry him for all the wrong reasons. I-yie-yie , what a choice.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” her mother murmured. “I assumed you were no longer a virgin, what with college orgies and all.”
Annabelle peeked at her mother through her fingers. “Mom, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Sex, dear.”
“I know, but I’ve never—” She frowned, flustered. “This is not about my sex life!”
The three women at the nearest table cast curious glances in their direction. Annabelle glared back until they feigned interest in the menu, then she heaved a deep breath. Where had she left off? Oh yeah—the impossible decision. She took another sip of her juice, then began again, calmer now. “Mom, I admire your um, abstinence, but surely you realize that physical attraction is not enough reason to say ‘I do.’”
Belle nodded. “I agree that a good marriage can’t be based on sex, but it’s impossible to have a good marriage without good sex.”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Annabelle reached into her purse and pulled out a folded newspaper page. Clearing her throat, she flattened the creases against the smooth tabletop. “Have you seen this article printed in the entertainment section of America’s News a few months ago?”
Belle frowned. “No.”
Annabelle pushed the paper across the table. The headline read ‘Casanova Castleberry Cashes in on Claim,’ and the article was surrounded by photos of Martin Castleberry with some of his former starlet girlfriends.
Her mother dismissed the piece with a wave. “The studio Martin made movies for finally agreed to pay him the money he earned, and the papers are making a big deal out of it. Frankly, they should expose those producers who tried to steal from him.”
Annabelle pressed her lips together, then said, “The only person exposed in this article is Martin Castleberry. The reporter spent ten words describing his settlement with the production company, and ten paragraphs describing his penchant for young women.”
“Martin is different now.”
“Leopards don’t change their spots, Mom.”
“He loves me,” Belle
Seizing the opening, Annabelle wiped her mouth, then spoke carefully. “Mom, don’t you think you’re rushing into this wedding just a tad?”
Her mother dimpled. “Probably, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”
“You once told me that few good decisions are made quickly. Why are you in such a hurry to be married?”
Belle blushed and glanced down at her folded hands. “Why are most couples in a hurry to marry?”
She translated her mother’s expression, then gripped the edges of the table. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant.” Her mother was in her fifties, but hadn’t a woman in her sixties given birth not too long ago? Her mind swirled with the medical implications, and perspiration warmed her hairline.
Belle’s face crinkled in laughter. “No, dear, I’m not pregnant.” She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice. “In my day, a man and woman were eager to marry so they could become intimate.”
At that moment, Annabelle not only wished she hadn’t broached the subject, but she also regretted having made the trip to Atlanta. Mortification washed over her and her tongue felt gluey. “You’re going to marry Melvin Castleberry so you can sleep with him?”
“It’s ‘Martin,’ dear, and I want to marry him because I adore him.” Her mother hesitated, then added, “And yes, I have to admit the strain of resisting one another physically is becoming somewhat unbearable.”
Annabelle rested her elbows on the table and pressed fingers to her temples. Her trained mind sifted through the options and came up with two: She could either encourage her mother to set aside her moral beliefs and have premarital sex with this playboy in the hopes she would get him out of her system, or she could stand by and watch her mother marry him for all the wrong reasons. I-yie-yie , what a choice.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” her mother murmured. “I assumed you were no longer a virgin, what with college orgies and all.”
Annabelle peeked at her mother through her fingers. “Mom, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Sex, dear.”
“I know, but I’ve never—” She frowned, flustered. “This is not about my sex life!”
The three women at the nearest table cast curious glances in their direction. Annabelle glared back until they feigned interest in the menu, then she heaved a deep breath. Where had she left off? Oh yeah—the impossible decision. She took another sip of her juice, then began again, calmer now. “Mom, I admire your um, abstinence, but surely you realize that physical attraction is not enough reason to say ‘I do.’”
Belle nodded. “I agree that a good marriage can’t be based on sex, but it’s impossible to have a good marriage without good sex.”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Annabelle reached into her purse and pulled out a folded newspaper page. Clearing her throat, she flattened the creases against the smooth tabletop. “Have you seen this article printed in the entertainment section of America’s News a few months ago?”
Belle frowned. “No.”
Annabelle pushed the paper across the table. The headline read ‘Casanova Castleberry Cashes in on Claim,’ and the article was surrounded by photos of Martin Castleberry with some of his former starlet girlfriends.
Her mother dismissed the piece with a wave. “The studio Martin made movies for finally agreed to pay him the money he earned, and the papers are making a big deal out of it. Frankly, they should expose those producers who tried to steal from him.”
Annabelle pressed her lips together, then said, “The only person exposed in this article is Martin Castleberry. The reporter spent ten words describing his settlement with the production company, and ten paragraphs describing his penchant for young women.”
“Martin is different now.”
“Leopards don’t change their spots, Mom.”
“He loves me,” Belle
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