His Other Woman: A Renny and Rachel Christmas Romance by Nancy MacLaren Page A
Authors: Nancy MacLaren
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20 years younger than me. I hadn’t seen much future in the whole endeavor but Renny could be ‘persuasive’.
It was after some really great ‘persuasion’ one evening that I had agreed to travel to his home state of Tennessee and meet his family at their annual family Christmas reunion. I must have been drunk. I hate crowds of more than 2, I hate putting on a good face and I hate Tennessee. Well, I’ve never been there but I’m sure I’ll hate it once I get there.
* * * * * * * * * *
The mall was everything I expected -and worse. Marlene felt strongly that since she was paying she had the final say in all my purchases. To say that Marlene and I have very different styles is like comparing a nun to Lady Gaga. Still, she convinced me that even if I wasn’t comfortable I’d be stylish and look thin. Well, thinner. (“There’s only so much clothes can do,” she informed me.) I ended up with two pairs of jeans, a few shirts, some leggings and a nice outfit in a fantastic grey-blue that cost as much as my mortgage. Still, it was a beautiful ensemble, full, velvet skirt topped with a silk blouse with a very subtle Indian-looking pattern. I did want it. I did get it. Now, I hoped I’d have a reason to wear it.
After organizing my suitcase to keep me wrinkle-free, forcing me to pack make-up and ditch the granny-panties, Marlene took off, promising to take me to the airport the next day. I think Renny might have been paying her. I did consider a run for the Canadian border but the truth was I was dying to see Renny. Neither he nor Marlene should have worried, I would have taken a Greyhound Bus, sitting next to a smelly Texan with bad breath and a shirt that asked “Who farted?” all the way to Tennessee if it meant I got to play with that man and his body.
2.
Maybe Greyhound would have been better than the plane trip. My first time in first class and I get seated next to the most obnoxious man ever. No, he wasn’t fat or particularly smelly, or from Texas for that matter. I could have dealt with all that. He was a talker, but not a chatty, here’s pictures of my kids talker. Could have handled that as well. He was a know-it-all and worse than that, a tell-it-all. To me. He told it ALL to me.
He was very important in his own circle –which I think included him and his dog. He would ask me questions but not wait for my answer. I felt like the Teller to his Penn. Only he wasn’t funny. At all. Worse than that, he was Wrong! About everything. That isn’t fair, he had to have one or two good ideas –no, fuck that –he was wrong, arrogantly, hauntingly, stultifying WRONG. I know that last one is not a real word –I am a journalist after all – but that’s what he reduced me to, making up words!
I did consider accidently pouring my ice cold drink into his crotch but that might actually turn this cretin on. He was even wearing a wedding ring! Who would marry such a man? He had wrongly mistaken me for the kind of submissive, adoring female who would enjoy his masterful treatise on the state of foreign relations in Somalia. I am not.
“You have to shut up now,” I told him, several hours into the flight.
“Excuse me?”
“No, sir, there is no excuse for you or your endless, endless babble.”
“You got a lot of nerve, lady.”
“Yes, I do and you are stomping on my last one. So, do us both a favor and Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
I thought he might tell the stewardess on me or something. Or have a stroke. Can a person get thrown out of first class?
Renny was waiting for me in old, ripped up jeans and a T-shirt so soft and worn he must have owned it since he was a teenager. He was also wearing a huge, leering, infectious, glorious lop-sided grin. My heart actually leaped at the sight of him. Is that a heart attack or are you just glad to see me?
I rushed into his arms. I didn’t care this time
It was after some really great ‘persuasion’ one evening that I had agreed to travel to his home state of Tennessee and meet his family at their annual family Christmas reunion. I must have been drunk. I hate crowds of more than 2, I hate putting on a good face and I hate Tennessee. Well, I’ve never been there but I’m sure I’ll hate it once I get there.
* * * * * * * * * *
The mall was everything I expected -and worse. Marlene felt strongly that since she was paying she had the final say in all my purchases. To say that Marlene and I have very different styles is like comparing a nun to Lady Gaga. Still, she convinced me that even if I wasn’t comfortable I’d be stylish and look thin. Well, thinner. (“There’s only so much clothes can do,” she informed me.) I ended up with two pairs of jeans, a few shirts, some leggings and a nice outfit in a fantastic grey-blue that cost as much as my mortgage. Still, it was a beautiful ensemble, full, velvet skirt topped with a silk blouse with a very subtle Indian-looking pattern. I did want it. I did get it. Now, I hoped I’d have a reason to wear it.
After organizing my suitcase to keep me wrinkle-free, forcing me to pack make-up and ditch the granny-panties, Marlene took off, promising to take me to the airport the next day. I think Renny might have been paying her. I did consider a run for the Canadian border but the truth was I was dying to see Renny. Neither he nor Marlene should have worried, I would have taken a Greyhound Bus, sitting next to a smelly Texan with bad breath and a shirt that asked “Who farted?” all the way to Tennessee if it meant I got to play with that man and his body.
2.
Maybe Greyhound would have been better than the plane trip. My first time in first class and I get seated next to the most obnoxious man ever. No, he wasn’t fat or particularly smelly, or from Texas for that matter. I could have dealt with all that. He was a talker, but not a chatty, here’s pictures of my kids talker. Could have handled that as well. He was a know-it-all and worse than that, a tell-it-all. To me. He told it ALL to me.
He was very important in his own circle –which I think included him and his dog. He would ask me questions but not wait for my answer. I felt like the Teller to his Penn. Only he wasn’t funny. At all. Worse than that, he was Wrong! About everything. That isn’t fair, he had to have one or two good ideas –no, fuck that –he was wrong, arrogantly, hauntingly, stultifying WRONG. I know that last one is not a real word –I am a journalist after all – but that’s what he reduced me to, making up words!
I did consider accidently pouring my ice cold drink into his crotch but that might actually turn this cretin on. He was even wearing a wedding ring! Who would marry such a man? He had wrongly mistaken me for the kind of submissive, adoring female who would enjoy his masterful treatise on the state of foreign relations in Somalia. I am not.
“You have to shut up now,” I told him, several hours into the flight.
“Excuse me?”
“No, sir, there is no excuse for you or your endless, endless babble.”
“You got a lot of nerve, lady.”
“Yes, I do and you are stomping on my last one. So, do us both a favor and Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
I thought he might tell the stewardess on me or something. Or have a stroke. Can a person get thrown out of first class?
Renny was waiting for me in old, ripped up jeans and a T-shirt so soft and worn he must have owned it since he was a teenager. He was also wearing a huge, leering, infectious, glorious lop-sided grin. My heart actually leaped at the sight of him. Is that a heart attack or are you just glad to see me?
I rushed into his arms. I didn’t care this time
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