Page 17 of Pleasure Island
6
Mila
“Hello, darling…”
The cultured tones of my grandmother, Millicent Thatcher, had me smiling. Taking the phone over to the couch, I stretched out as I greeted her, “Grandma. How are you doing?”
“Still wishing they’d come up with a better term for grandparents thangrandmaandgrandpa,” she retorted with a sniff.
But I heard the smile in her voice. “I can always use French. Would that make it better?”
She laughed. “No. Because I’d know what it meant.”
“I know what it means too,” I said. I knew how to get to her. “It means you’re one of my most favorite people in the world.”
Another laugh, followed by, “I better be.”
“So, to what do I owe this honor?” I asked. We’d just talked a few days ago. I tried to remember to call her every weekend, and if I recalled correctly, we’d talked on Sunday.
“Can’t I call and talk to my one and only granddaughter without any ulterior motives?” she asked loftily.
“Of course you can.” And I waited.
She sniffed. “Very well. I was wondering if you had plans on Friday. I’m coming to town, and I’d love for us to have lunch and catch up.”
Considering my last meeting/meal with a family had almost landed me with a migraine, one might think I’d be reluctant to take on another so soon. One would be wrong.
Iadoredmy grandmother. While I loved my father, he and I didn’t always sync. It was the opposite with Millie. There were times when I was convinced she was my best friend in the whole world, never mind the age gulf that separated us.
“I’d love to have lunch with you. What time do you think you’ll be in?”
“I’m not sure yet. Do you have appointments? I can meet you at your office.”
Millie, unlike my father, didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at what I did for a living, but then again, Millie was a recovering hippie. Although she might not exactly consider herselfrecovering.
She was open about sex as much as I was and was comfortable with her own sexuality. I had no doubt she still entertained lovers on the side of her rather busy lifestyle. Lovers of both persuasions too. Millie had confessed to me years ago that she was bisexual. It was possible that her open acceptance of sex and sexuality was part of the reason I’d ended up being the woman I was.
My mother hadn’t been Millie’s opposite, but she’d been more reserved. As time went by, I ended up talking to Millie when I was having guy problems, rather than my mother.
“Absolutely you can come by – just promise not to flirt with anybody you might find attractive. Remember some of the people I work with do have serious issues.”
“Of course, of course.”
We talked for a little while longer before agreeing on a rough time to meet.
“I can’t wait to see you, darling,” she said.
“Same here.”
* * *
My client leftbefore Millie arrived.
I was more than a little glad.
Not that I doubted her promise to behave, but Millie sometimes let her mouth, and the fun of life, run away with her.
I didn’t need her flirting with the client. He was a young man, younger than those I normally saw, having issues with sex due to trauma in his early life. He’d seen several standard sex therapists with little help and had gotten my name from the internet.
