Four Friends

by Robyn Carr

  “Or fifteen,” she said. “I made us a brisket.” She looked over at Beau, sitting patiently in front of the sink, waiting for his biscuit. “Oh, did I forget something?” she asked, going to him.

  Bob pulled a small digital camera out of his pocket and began snapping pictures quickly, from various angles. “You’re spoiling him, and you’re going to make him fat like me.”

  “You’re not fat,” she said. “You’re perfect. Generous.”

  “You’re generous.” He laughed. “It smells pretty good in here.”

  “It is good. I know how to make about three things. And if you eat all your dinner, I bought dessert.”

  “Oh, Beau,” he said, bending to the dog. “Andy likes to spoil us.” Then he turned to Andy. “I’m sorry Noel isn’t here. I’d looked forward to getting to know him a little. He seems like such a nice kid.”

  “He’s a great kid. When I think about what I put him through, I shudder. And he’s been so good. It was nice of him not to get completely screwed up.”

  “You put him through?” Bob said, still snapping his pictures.

  “Well, it was the two of us for a long time after Rick left. Until Rick got himself resettled with the new wife. And a baby—they had a baby right away and another child right after that. Then later, I dated a lot—that can’t be very easy on a young boy, although I was careful about it. No one spent the night if Noel was here. But then I brought Bryce into his life, and I think Bryce was less mature than my son. There were so many fights, mine and Bryce’s, and Bryce’s fights with Noel...the poor kid.”

  Bob slipped his camera into his pocket. “You taking the blame for that, Andy?”

  “Well, he’s my son,” she said with a shrug. “It’s my job to protect him, to do my best by him. You know.”

  “He’s a nice kid, Andy. I’d say you did just fine.”

  “Except for the pot,” she added.

  “I smoked a little pot in college. I mean, I didn’t want to—but it was Berkeley, it was the law.” Then he grinned. “God that was a long time ago. Kind of makes me nostalgic.”

  “Don’t get any ideas about getting high with my son,” she teased.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m so dull, I don’t have a vice left.”

  “How about alcohol? You hang on to that vice? Because I have cold beer and a nice bottle of red wine.”

  “I admit, I’m weak when it comes to a cold beer,” he said.

  “Let’s take one out to the patio,” she said. “The weather’s so perfect. Chilled glass?”

  “Bottle or can, Andy. I’m pretty low maintenance. By the way, this is awful special, you cooking. I must’ve done okay on the kitchen.”

  She pulled a couple of bottles out of the new fridge. “Yeah,” she said, smiling to herself. “You did a good job on the kitchen.”

  They sat outside and talked about his growing up outside Santa Rosa on a farm, and her growing up south, in San Louis Obispo, an only child like Noel. Her mother passed when she was only twenty-five; that was especially hard. But her father was alive and well and in excellent health. Bob asked about Noel as a baby and young boy; she asked about his sisters—there were three, only one of whom stayed in California. They talked so long the brisket almost burned. The mashed potatoes were packaged, the vegetables frozen, the rolls from the bakery, but Bob seemed thrilled. He dug right in. Of course, Bob also seemed like the kind of guy who’d have been honored if she served him up a charred briquette.

  She poured glasses of Cabernet to go with the red meat and sat. “I want to hear more about you and your wife,” she said.

  “There’s not too much to tell, Andy. I think we were just friends. Literally.”

  “Were you in love with her?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I adored her, still do. It was over ten years ago I met her, through a dating service, if you can believe that. My sister made me do it—in fact, she filled out the forms.” He laughed and shook his head. “I guess she knew I’d never do anything under my own power. She was probably afraid of being stuck with me for life. So, I met Wendy and she was young, pretty, incredibly smart—and she liked me. All the blood rushed out of my head and didn’t reoxygenate my brain for two years. I’ll probably always love that girl. But, that’s pretty much beside the point.”

  “Okay, this is probably the wine talking, but didn’t you know, during sex?”

  He didn’t blush, didn’t shy away. He was so straightforward, even on delicate subjects. “No. I mean, I could tell she wasn’t loving it, but I didn’t know much about women. I assumed I wasn’t very good at it. I kept...” He frowned slightly. “Is it wrong for me to talk about this?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said. Something inside her needed to know.

  “Well, I kept asking her to guide me, lead me, show me or tell me what felt good, but she just couldn’t. I thought she was awfully shy, but later realized she wasn’t shy at any other time. She went along with it, but it was obvious she didn’t enjoy it at all.”

  During their conversation something changed for Andy. She noticed the little bit of slightly graying hair popping out of Bob’s opened shirt and the sweet, faraway look in his eyes when he spoke, softly, about being willing to do anything to please his wife. Elbows braced on the table, hands clasped together, he gently opened and closed his fingers and she felt a shiver run through her. She found herself imagining those big, sweet arms around her, those large hands touching her, his wonderful voice asking her what she’d like. I’m losing my mind. Maybe the wine is way more potent than usual, she thought.

  “Of course, after the facts were in, I understood. There wasn’t anything I could do. It just wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes I’m real disappointed about that. But I also know, it’s no one’s fault.”

  “At least you never blamed yourself,” she said.

  “I did for a while,” he admitted. “I don’t know that there’s anything harder than wanting someone when she wants someone else. It’s all about chemistry, I guess. We had the right chemistry for some things, but not for all things....”

  Andy recognized the stirring within her. She was getting turned on by a fifty-three-year-old balding carpenter with the most beautiful hands, sparkling eyes, incredible smile and sweet face. There is something seriously wrong with me—I’m just a sex-starved nutcase. But the way his voice lulled her, his gentle spirit soothed her, she wanted to fold into his body like warm clay molded to him. She wanted to hear that soft, seductive voice talk her through lovemaking, tenderly asking how he could please her. I am totally nuts, she thought. I adore him! He turns me on! And tomorrow I’m going to be beet-red all day long, just thinking about what I’ve been thinking about!

  “Bob, you shouldn’t give up. I bet there’s a woman out there for you who’s not a lesbian,” she said “I mean, you’re a sweet, attractive man.”

  He laughed at her. “You think so, huh? I don’t mind—my life is pretty good. I like what I do. I have a great family.”

  “But really...”

  “Tell me what it’s like, dating,” he said, surprising her. “I haven’t done much of that. I know, I should have, but I never did.”

  “Well, it can be very disappointing,” she said truthfully. “It’s meeting someone, getting hopeful, checking them over and deciding if they meet the basic criteria, and then it’s like trying to put a round peg in a square hole. You try them out at dinner, with your friends, with your family, in bed—always hoping this time it will work. If one of these things clicks, you might have someone you can...” Her voice drifted off.

  “You can?” he prompted.

  “Someone who fits you just right, someone you feel you belong with, trust. I don’t mean just trust to be faithful, but someone you trust with your feelings. Someone who will always be there for you and have your well-being as a priority, while you have his well-being as a priority. Someone you never doubt. Someone you understand. I’d say true love, but it’s more than th
at. It’s one of those symbiotic relationships that makes no sense to anyone but the two of you. I thought I was getting close to it twice and I was wrong.... And I thought my best friend, Gerri, had it, then her marriage started to fall apart after almost twenty-five years.”

  “Aw, that’s so sad.”

  “It turns out he had an affair.”

  Bob shook his head. “We’re such fallible creatures.”

  “I think I have that syndrome—you know, they used to call it the Cinderella Syndrome, a totally bogus fantasy of being rescued by a handsome prince and living happily ever after.”

  “I don’t know that it’s so bogus. I bet it happens for some people.”

  “But you don’t have that illusion, do you, Bob?”

  “Well, I’m different,” he said, smiling. “I’ve accepted myself the way I am—just not the kind of guy who’s going to have a woman fall madly in love with him. I mean, even my wife, who I know loves me, chose me because I was safe. Harmless.”

  And kind and sweet and gentle and earnest, Andy thought. Suddenly she wanted to get up, walk him to the door, enjoy her kitchen and forget this insanity before someone came after her with a net!

  “But, Andy, it’s not exactly over for you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful young woman.”

  She laughed. “But, remember, I’m twice burned. Believing in someone and having them fail you completely is very painful. I think it’s smarter for me to learn to live as you do—happy with my life as it is. It’s not a bad life, after all.”

  “Wanting what you have versus getting what you want,” he said.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  “Wanting what you have versus getting what you want.”

  She was quiet a moment. “That’s brilliant. Where did you get that?”

  “I don’t know. A long time ago, standing in the bookstore, I had an epiphany. There were books on how to get everything and books right next to them on learning to live simply with less. There were books on losing weight next to books on how to be fat and happy, and I thought no one knows anything. No one knows the answer—whether it’s believing you can have it all or believing having it all would be too cumbersome. I realized being happy doesn’t have anything to do with things. It’s all a state of mind. You shouldn’t ask me, Andy. I don’t strive for anything. I think contentment is addictive.”

  “God,” she said. If only I could be content with what I have. That would give me such peace of mind.

  “Lao Tzu said, ‘To know when you have enough is to be rich beyond all measure.’” He grinned. “Philosophy major.”

  “Whatever you have, Bob—I want some of it.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” he said, laughing.

  They talked through dessert and coffee. “I should probably get going,” Bob said.

  “So soon?” she asked.

  “Andy, I’ve been here four hours. But it sure was fun. Thank you.”

  “Do you have to go?” she asked in spite of herself.

  “I start pretty early tomorrow morning,” he said, standing. “Can I help with the cleanup?”

  “No, absolutely not.” She rose, too, but reluctantly. “I’ll need something to do to wind down from the evening.”

  “Wind down?” He laughed. “Did I get you revved up? We didn’t play football or anything.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Really, it was great.”

  “It was,” she agreed. He called to Beau and walked to the door. He turned and Andy spontaneously put her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.

  Slowly, perhaps doubtfully, he let his arms close around her and she couldn’t remember ever feeling so comfortable. So protected and nurtured. She felt his lips touch the top of her head in a small, friendly kiss and her heart leaped. She lifted her head and looked at him. “Stay a little while,” she whispered. “Just sit on the couch with me for a little while.”

  He smiled at her, ran a rough finger over her cheek. “Feeling a little lonely?” he asked.

  No, she almost said. Not lonely. Nothing as innocuous as that. But all she did was shrug and lead him into the living room, which was dark. She sat and pulled him down beside her, then put herself into his embrace again, her head on his shoulder. His arm was around her and he stroked her curly hair, combing it with his fingers. She smiled, seeing Beau sitting by the door, waiting patiently, watching them curiously.

  She sighed, lifted her head to look at Bob. She let her eyes close and pressed her lips against his. He was passive at first, letting her do this, but finally he kissed back. Then he kissed deeper, moving over her mouth with skill and desire, forcing her lips open, letting her tongue into his mouth. She put her hands on his face, pulling him harder against her, feeling his arms tighten around her. They kissed for a long, wet, breathy time, devouring each other’s mouths, invading and being invaded, sighing and moaning. At length they broke apart.

  “Andy, what’s happening here?” Bob asked.

  “Whoa,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d do that. In fact, I was telling myself I shouldn’t.”

  “Oh, Andy. I think maybe you’re just feeling...you know...needy.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It think it’s you. You and me, anyway.” She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. “You’re a very good kisser.”

  “I don’t know how that’s possible. I haven’t done that much kissing.”

  She unbuttoned his shirt a little bit and pressed her lips against his chest. Then she went to his mouth again. “Stay,” she whispered.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Andy,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Union rules? I’m not a client anymore.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry. I mean, if you’re feeling, you know, like you need a little attention, there’s nothing wrong with feeling that—it’s just nature. But—”

  “Stay,” she said. “Please.”

  “This is such a crazy idea.”

  “Please,” she said again.

  “Where do you want this to go?” he asked.

  “To the bedroom,” she said without hesitation.

  “Oh, man, this isn’t happening to me,” he said, pinching his eyes closed.

  “Yes, it is. But I want it to happen to me, too—and pretty soon.” She stood from the couch and took his hand, pulling him up.

  “What about your son?” he asked.

  “Gone for the night.”

  “Oh, man...”

  She laughed slightly. “I’ll be gentle with you,” she said, teasing him.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he assured her. “Listen, I don’t have anything, like protection. I’ve never carried anything like protection.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”

  The bedroom was dark. Andy kicked off her shoes and flopped on the bed, but Bob moved more slowly, taking her in his arms, holding her, kissing her, pressing against her. She felt his large hand cup her bottom and pull her against him and she groaned.

  “You sure about this?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Oh, man, I can’t be doing this.”

  “Yes, you can,” she said. “And do it a little faster, will you please?”

  He carefully unbuttoned her blouse, removed her bra, unzipped her jeans and helped her slide them down. His hands moved so slowly all over her body, almost as if he didn’t want to miss anything, and then his lips were on her, kissing her everywhere, from her cheek to her ear to her neck and shoulder. He kept whispering her name as his tongue moved from her neck to her nipples to her navel.

  Andy started squirming and pulling at his clothes. “Let me,” he said, and he undressed quickly. He wore goofy patterned boxers, which slid down to the floor and disappeared from Andy’s sight. And there he was—what she could see of him in the dim light, compact and solid, a small patch of hair on his chest, and so much more. Bryce thought he was
blessed—hah!

  Bob lay back down beside her, carefully drawing her into his arms, pulling her close. She reached down, closing her hand around him and was amazed by his size, his apparent power. Then she felt his fingers glide smoothly over her tummy and down, down, into her.

  “Want to tell me what you like? Show me how to make you feel good?” he asked.

  “I’ll speak up if you seem to need advice,” she said breathlessly. “So far, you know exactly what to do.”

  He caressed, kissed, massaged and then his mouth moved lower, down her body, over her breasts, across her belly. He gently pulled her legs apart and started to lick her. She almost rose off the bed, it was so erotic, so wildly sensual. She spasmed, lifting her hips against his face, crying out, gripping the coverlet in both hands, completely and instantly out of control. Her whole body trembled in an orgasm that was fast, long and deep.

  When she fell back onto the bed, he released her, rising over her with a laugh that was soft, lusty and sounding very pleased with himself. “Well, that worked pretty well,” he said.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, touching his face with gentle fingers. “Oh, my God, I didn’t expect that.”

  “Neither did I,” he said. “That was wonderful, just wonderful.” He brushed the hair away from her face. “Want to stop now? You all taken care of?”

  She shook her head and spread her legs to take him in. It was his way, she realized, to move slowly, carefully, luxuriously—filling her and rocking with her in an easy, deep, rhythmic motion that felt so good, Andy thought she would lose her mind. It had been in her mind to return the favor, not have a second pleasure, but she was already headed that way. She was prepared for this to be over for him quickly, having had so little sex in his life, but it wasn’t. He took her lips with his. He was so agile and despite his size, kept his weight off her. The pressure began to build in her again and she thrust back at him greedily, wantonly, and he moved to her pace, pumping his hips. She dug her heels into the mattress and pushed against him, and it happened again—she exploded into an orgasm so powerful, it sent electric waves through her whole body, leaving her in quivering, clenching spasms. Yet he hung on, and when she was starting to come down from the experience, he grabbed her bottom with his large hands and plunged into her, enjoying his own release. And then gently, so tenderly, held her against him, stroking her softly while she struggled to catch her breath.