Connections (15 page)

The kiss didn’t come as a surprise. But her reaction to it did. He’d called yesterday to say he’d be in her neighborhood and would like to take her to dinner. On her way to pick up a salad during her lunch hour, Louise saw a sign and on the spur of the moment, she ducked in the doorway. Following the red arrows up the wall, she climbed a steep flight of stairs. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, a buzzer released the lock, and she walked into the manicure place. Waiting for her turn, listening to the sing-song jabber of Vietnamese, Louise felt guilty. She always swore she would never do this. Or sit under a dryer, or have her eyebrows pulled out. Or her pores squeezed. Well, she’d been meaning to cut her cuticles for weeks anyway, and she was only going to have clear polish put on.

All afternoon, she found herself stretching her arms straight out, spreading her fingers, and admiring her nails. She noticed that she was holding her hands differently, carefully, so she wouldn’t chip the polish. Now that her hands looked more dainty, she regarded them with more respect.
Like they say about women
, she thought.
Act like a lady, and they’ll treat you like a lady.

She wore the same dress she had worn to the cocktail party where she’d met him. She had no choice, because she had no other dress. When he came to pick her up, he greeted Honda warmly, and her big, strong, protective dog slobbered all over him. Ken declined a glass of wine because it was getting late and he’d made a reservation. She liked that. He didn’t ask her what she wanted to eat or where. He just confirmed that Sparks would be all right with her. All right? It was perfect. Somehow, she knew he would order her own favorite—a New York strip, medium, with a baked potato. She was relieved Ken suggested a steakhouse rather than a restaurant with unpronounceable French entrées with sauces disguising the meat. Or some healthy piece of fish that swallowed easily, leaving no trace of flavor in her mouth. Louise liked to chew hard.

Back in her apartment now, she waited for her mother’s old Pyrex coffeepot to start perking so she could lower the flame. Then she took a long T-shirt into the bathroom with her and changed. Her outfit was all wrinkled and damp from clinging to her skin. So was her bra, so she left it off. She put her dress on a hanger and stuck it on the shower head behind the curtain. She could tell from the muffled lilt of his voice through the door that Ken was asking Honda questions. The response showed Honda was only too happy to answer.

As she came out of the bathroom, Ken pretended not to notice her return and said to the dog, “So whaddya think, boy? You think she likes me?” Honda’s thumping tail said he did. “You think she had as good a time as I did?” Honda did. Ken was sitting on the ottoman, holding the dog’s large head between his hands, alternately massaging his face and rubbing his ears.

“I’ve heard of ‘love me, love my dog,’ but aren’t we carrying things a little too far here? Huh, guys?” Louise turned the coffee off. She took out two mismatched mugs, one in the shape of a basset hound whose large ear was the handle, and a white one with the message, “Same Old Shit. Different Day.”

Ken followed her. “Need any help?”

“No, thanks.” Louise stared at the glass percolator. “My mother’s secret to good coffee: let it stand for five minutes before you pour.” She turned to face him, and that’s when he kissed her. It seemed like the natural thing to happen, there in the tiny kitchen, with enough room for two people only if they stood sideways, with the homey smell of fresh coffee…and the afterglow of a bottle of red wine.

The surprise was not their mouths touching softly, separating while they looked into each other’s eyes. It was their slowly coming together after what each had seen of the other’s soul, then grabbing one another like magnets. Fluid rushed to Louise’s mouth. His tongue softly glided over her gums, above her teeth, behind her teeth, coating the insides of her cheeks, probing her palate, spreading the syrup of their saliva, his and hers mixed together. Lips engulfed lips, sucked the other’s, pulled apart but, like putty, stayed attached.

Louise’s hips were pressed against the stove, her back rigid, avoiding the hot pot. Her breasts pushed against her shirt, enjoying the gentle friction of the cotton ribbing. She thrust her chest towards his, but he pulled away so they couldn’t touch. Her nipples tingled. They reminded her of teeth. You never feel them until you have an awful toothache. She never thought about her nipples; they were just there. Until now, when her whole being seemed rolled up into two tight little brown nubs aching to be touched.

Ken pulled back to look at her. He licked the kiss off his lips and opened his tie. He stared at her breasts, acknowledging that he saw her desire. It made her quiver. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Before she had a chance to close the door, Honda darted in, looked at them, and slunk under her bed. It was as if he could smell the sex. The fluid that flowed from her mouth to her groin, liquefying bone and tissue and muscle on its way. The craving that oozed out of her pores. She pulled her shirt over her head, took off her panties, wet from her want, and lay down in the dark. Ken undressed and got into bed beside her. She hoped the weight of the mattress wouldn’t crush Honda.

When he touched her, finally, she wanted to scream. Wanted him to jab inside her, hard. She couldn’t wait. But he refused to hurry. He wanted to savor the intensity of her excitement. The pain of her longing for him. The tip of his tongue brushed the tips of her breasts. The air hardened the moistness left on her skin, and her nipples swelled more. Her senses were swimming. She spread her legs, and they were sticky from the sap between them. She pulled Ken’s shoulders toward her until his body was poised over hers. When their eyes locked, she knew that he took no delight in the anguish of her need, only pleasure in trying to fill it. Her whole body melted from his look.

Just before he thrust himself into her, she felt a moment’s betrayal. Because she could hear Honda whimper.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s final.”

“We have to talk about it. At some point, you just might have no choice. All right, you still have one now, but I mean if you weren’t able…if you weren’t capable of making the decision.”

“But that’s not the case here. I don’t have to cope with that now. And I don’t have to talk about it if I don’t want to.” Eileen’s blue eyes, usually bright and clear, darkened. Once again, it was like she was facing junior high school kids committing some prank or catching them giggling behind her back as she wrote on the blackboard. She looked at Danny as she would have the students—stern, uncompromising, and totally in command of her home and her life, as she had been of her classroom.

“Maybe he’d even like it better there,” Danny argued. “He’d have more room. And you could take him for long walks where there’s grass. God, the poor deprived thing has probably never seen grass.”

“Don’t you worry about him.” Eileen bent down and used both hands to lift Fibber McGee into her lap. “He’s perfectly happy. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” She squeezed him protectively. She watched Charlene walk around the living room, pretending to stay out of it. Charlene picked up the ceramic Boston Terrier on the top of the knickknack shelves, turned it over, and then replaced it. Eileen wondered what she expected to see—a Lenox china stamp? A Woolworth’s price tag? “Besides, it would be perfectly traumatic for him to make a change now.”

“Him or you?”

“Both of us.”

“Dogs adjust a lot better than you think. He’d get used to it, especially since he’d still be with you.”

“You have to promise me one thing,” Eileen said as her eyes followed his wife around the room, watching Charlene wrinkle her nose at the oversized papier-mâché pencil laying on the cocktail table. It was very crude to begin with, but the yellow of the hexagonal edges had somehow turned reddish with time. White drippings of Elmer’s glue, where she had stuck the broken tip of the lead point back on years ago, covered the top. Still it was one of her favorite things. From a long-ago fifth grader with beautiful blonde braids. “Promise that if…if something ever happens to me, you’ll have him put to sleep. I don’t want to think about him crying for me.”

Charlene and Danny looked at one another and exchanged some message with their eyes. God, Eileen used to hate it when her students would pass a note back and forth and, just as she’d reach for it, rip it to shreds so she couldn’t read it. She was always sure they were making fun of her. Just as she could tell these two, although they weren’t being malicious, were sharing a secret about her.

“Come on, Aunt Eileen, you know we’ve been over that. I already promised you. I have no reason to go back on my word. But the point is, if you would come home with us, the chances of something happening to you would be a lot less. At least you’d be safe. Away from these animals in the city, trying to take advantage of an old lady.”

Safe
, she thought.
What good is safe if I have to stay in that little bedroom upstairs that used to be the baby’s room? What would I do with all my furniture? My things? My papers?
She was humiliated that Charlene was here, listening. Eileen wished they hadn’t found a spot to park on the street and that Charlene had had to sit in the car, double-parked or in front of a hydrant. It wasn’t the same with her here. If Danny had come alone, he’d go home and repeat every single word to Charlene, but Eileen didn’t mind that. This was different; it made her squirm. “I know you’re only trying to help,” she said, “but I just can’t.”

Charlene walked over to her chair. Looking down at Eileen, she spoke to her husband. Like her mouth was at the back of her head. “Now, honey, we can see Aunt Eileen has made up her mind. She wants to stay here. No matter what’s wrong with it, it is home for her.” She patted the hand resting on Fibber’s back. Then she even patted Fibber.

The dog swiveled his eyes to Charlene without moving his head. Eileen felt the soft vibration of the grumble starting in his chest. That’s all she’d need…for Mr. McGee to start growling at Charlene. Then, if she ever absolutely had to move in with them, they wouldn’t let him come with her. Or if they did, they’d be cruel to him. She quickly put him on the floor and stood up. “Okay, I’ll do this: I’ll think about it.”

Danny and Charlene knew she wouldn’t. They also knew they were dismissed. Class was over. They both kissed her, on opposite cheeks, and left. Frustrated but relieved.

Ken had trouble with his lecture. His words were about the effects of increasing longevity in urban families, but his thoughts were on Louise. Images of their lovemaking wandered in and out of his mind. He spoke about living longer, but saw her naked body beneath him. He talked about elderly parents filling empty nests, while feeling himself inside her again. He casually walked toward his desk and sat behind it, hoping no one was aware of the desire that was beginning to bulge between his legs.

He rushed through his closing remarks, gave a reading assignment, and dawdled over packing up his papers, until the last summer-school student had gone. He stood up and pulled his trousers away from his body, where his shorts were digging into the swelling. He was relieved to get back to the privacy of his small office. He could not get Louise and what had happened between them out of his mind. Nor did he want to. The telephone interrupted his pleasure.

“Hallo, Mr. Hollis?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Rosa. Rosa Bassetti. You remember? From Ms. Hargan’s apartment. The other day.”

“Yes. Hello.”

“You know, the lady with the ransom note for her dog, who was so upset, and you come and—”

“I remember, I remember. How could I forget you, Miss Bassetti? What can I do for you?”

“Not for me. For her. Eileen Hargan. I wanna know what you done so far to catch these people. Animals!”

“We’re working on it.”

“Working how?”

“Well, I’ve been talking to the local precinct. In fact, we’re trying to organize a senior citizens meeting to give advice on some of the swindles going on, to teach you how to protect yourselves.”

“Swindle? This isn’t a swindle! Like getting one of those poor old ladies to give away her money. Or donate it. Or take out magazine prescriptions. This is a real crime, no? And Ms. Hargan—what if she have a heart attack over it? Then it would be murder. No, a meeting is not enough. No way. We have to get together and do something real—act. You know, Ken—okay I call you Ken?—it’s one thing to frighten somebody. A terrible thing, no question. But to threaten a person’s animal, a pet that, you know, to lots of us is our child, our little baby, well, that’s something different. We gotta stop them before they do it again. Or really do it to someone. You wanna talk? I got some ideas. I help you.”

“Well, sure, Miss Bassetti.” Ken smiled into the mouthpiece. “We can use all the help we can get.”

“Good. I be your private ‘I.’ I for Italian. Get it?”

Chris Barrett got home first. He knew once he changed and cooled off, he wouldn’t feel like going out again, so he put his things down, turned on the air conditioner, and took Sabrina right out. When he came back, he stuffed his shirt into the duffel bag that was getting full from dirty laundry. Jason hadn’t been doing the wash regularly. Jason hadn’t been doing anything regularly lately, except getting on Chris’s nerves with his newfound causes. Although, Chris had to admit, Jason’s commitment added a new dimension to his personality, an enthusiasm and excitement, even an innocence. He realized, deep down, that it was frustration, maybe mixed with a little jealousy at Jason’s dedication to something other than Chris that was getting to him. It made Jason very irritating. And at the same time, very appealing.

Chris changed into a pair of shorts and a fishnet shirt and walked into the living room. The apartment had cooled off. He raised the temperature control and went over to his den niche. He unpacked the briefcase he had left by the desk, put the galleys on the chair—tonight’s homework—and looked at the mail. He slid the insurance and cable TV bills under the rubber band binding the pile of household bills in the top drawer. They were going to clean up all their paperwork, together, over the long weekend coming up. And paint the kitchen. Chris was looking forward to the four days of working together, enjoying the satisfaction from their physical labor. He was sure Jason was too, especially since he planned to close the store on Saturday. Aside from the theater tickets they had for a Sunday matinee, they were just going to relax and play it by ear. Maybe go downtown to watch the fireworks. Maybe go to the Cloisters. A real mini-vacation in Manhattan.

He threw away the junk mail, lit up a cigarette, and then made two stacks of envelopes—one for Jason and one for himself. Still dreaming of their holiday, with the cigarette hanging from his dry lips, he didn’t pay any attention to the crudely printed envelope, misspelled to “J. Roderman.”