The Accidental Virgin by Valerie Frankel Read Free Book Online

doorway, this boy dominated the space. His extra-large physique blocked the light from the hallway. He towered over Janice, an endlessly long arm around her narrow shoulders. Despite their extreme size discrepancy, the boy shared Janice’s blonde curls, her oval-shaped face and creamy complexion. They had identical cheek moles. Janice beamed up at him, madly in love with the boy. Stacy could see why. Jeans were made for 20-year-old male bodies.
    “This is my son,” announced Janice, as if presenting the president of the United States. “My younger son. Tommy.”
    “Tom,” he said, holding out his hand for Stacy to shake.
    “Hello.” Stacy smiled sweetly. She stood (he wasn’t
that
tall, actually, just looked that way standing next to his mom), and gave his hand a proper pump. Soft skin with scratchy fingertip calluses. “You must be a guitar player,” she said.
    The boy (Stacy knew he was a junior in college at — where was it — she tried to recall) said, “I play in a band at Northwestern.”
    Northwestern, of course, she thought. “Home for summer break. How nice for you, Janice.”
    The Doll pouted and said, “He’s leaving me tomorrow for England, and I can’t even have lunch with him. This meeting will last for hours.”
    Just as Stacy feared. It would be an endless round of mediocre notions, brainstomping and energy-sucking logistics. Back on the seesaw (“I hate my job, I love my job, I hate my job,” etc.), Stacy had to get off. She’d cried once today already, and that was her limit. Fiona would never let her go, especially after what had happened in the samples room. Maybe Janice would excuse her. A risky venture: Fiona and Janice’s delicate balance of power was precarious. Toes would be trampled. But here stood — loomed — a way out of the meeting and, quite possibly, her sexual conundrum.
    “No time for lunch?” said Stacy. “That’s horrible, Janice. You can’t have a young man wandering the streets of New York by himself for hours upon hours.”
    Tom laughed. “I grew up in Manhattan, Stacy.”
    She attempted mirthful flirtation. “Things have changed since you went off to college. Madmen throw bricks at people’s heads now. Stick them with syringes on street corners. The mayor is a Republican, you know. This town is frightening.”
    Tom set his blue eyes on Stacy in a way that filled her with confidence and daring. “I may need protection after all,” he said.
    “I will take you to lunch,” Stacy announced. She noticed a slight blush in Tom’s curved cheek, and a grin to go with it.
    Had Janice been a casual observer of this volley, she would have seen what had really been exchanged between the two young, attractive people. But since Janice was mother to Tom and boss (
in loco parentis
) to Stacy, her mind couldn’t fathom the potential incest of their stolen hour together. But something else gave her pause. Janice said, “I’m not sure we can do without you today, Stacy. Even for a quickie.”
    Stacy nearly fell. “A quick lunch.”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “I won’t keep her long, Mom,” said Tom with the big eyes and unction of a favorite son. “I promise, we’ll talk about you the entire time.”

Chapter Four

     
    Tuesday afternoon
    “M y mother is a slut,” said Tom Strumph. “I respect her for it. If there were more sluts in the world, rape statistics would do down. Date rape wouldn’t exist. And, I’d even make the quantum leap that pornography sales would take a nosedive.”
    Stacy and the college boy sat at her favorite restaurant, Genki Sushi, in midtown on 43rd Street and 5th Avenue. It took only two minutes of convincing for Janice, Tom’s mother (the slut) to agree to excuse Stacy from one hour of a thongs.com daylong planning meeting. In exchange, all Stacy had to do was entertain her youngest son.
    “I’m a big advocate of women’s rights,” continued Tom. “And by heralding a call to sluts doesn’t mean women should put