A Note from an Old Acquaintance

by Bill Walker

  She kissed him again, first on his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, her mouth gentle and insistent—the sweetest of kisses. At that moment any lingering doubts left his mind forever.

  He led her over to the futon and slipped the kimono off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, forgotten. Her eyes never left his while she peeled off the bodysuit like a second skin and tossed it aside, revealing a perfectly proportioned hourglass figure, her own skin like a smooth alabaster. A thick triangle of carrot-colored hair covered her pubic mound. She lay down on the futon, her eyes hungering for him.

  Brian wasted no time shucking his clothes and joining her. She came to him, melding her body to his, her passion mounting as he kneaded her breasts in his soft, warm hands. He felt her nipples stiffen beneath his fingers, her breath a hot murmur in his ear.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “Don’t stop doing that.”

  Inspired, he lowered his head to one of her breasts and flicked his tongue against the stiffened nipple. Her back arched in response, a low moan of pleasure escaping from her lips.

  She rolled on top of him then, straddling one of his muscular legs and began to kiss his neck. Her fingers snaked through the thatch of dark hair that covered his chest and she ground her womanhood against his thigh. Brian groaned, and she moved lower, circling his navel with her tongue. He was already rock hard and wasn’t at all sure how long he’d be able to hold out if she touched him there.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She looked up at him.

  “My turn.”

  She came into his arms again, giggling. He cupped her taut buttocks with his palms and kissed her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers.

  She sighed and rolled onto her back, opening her legs.

  “I want you,” she whispered.

  He mounted her, sliding home with no effort. She cried out, her voice echoing throughout the studio, as he began to thrust with an ever-increasing urgency. Her groans became louder and his low gasps of pleasure made for soft counterpoint.

  He knew his moment of release fast approached and there was no way to hold back the tide. It washed over him and he arched his back, pushing into her. She cried out again, her legs crushing him against her even harder. A moment later the wave receded, leaving them both awash in a sea of ecstasy.

  Brian looked down into Joanna’s eyes, seeing the power of his feelings mirrored there. For the second time that night he willed time to stop, knowing it to be the foolish, futile thing it was, but nonetheless wanting this moment to go on and on and on....

  “What time is it?” Joanna asked.

  Brian rolled over and picked up his watch off the floor, squinting to make out the dial. “Eight-fifteen.”

  Joanna nodded. She stood at the bedroom window, watching the planes taking off from Logan Airport, her arms holding the kimono closed around her, her expression unreadable.

  He rose from the bed and joined her, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned her head back against his chest.

  To the east, a jumbo jet lifted off a runway and banked sharply, heading toward Europe.

  “I used to love watching planes taking off as a child,” she said. “I’d always imagine myself on one of them, traveling to all sorts of exotic and wonderful places. Anywhere but Long Island.”

  “Was it really that bad?”

  Joanna was silent for a moment. “I just didn’t fit their mold,” she said, caressing his arm. She gave it a tender squeeze and heaved a sigh. “We’re going to have to get going soon.”

  “I know,” he said.

  She turned to him and gazed into his eyes. “Please tell me one thing, did you mean what you said? Do you really like my art?”

  “I meant every word. It’s brilliant. You should be exhibiting these pieces.”

  Joanna shook her head and walked back to the futon.

  “Erik thinks so, too.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  Joanna shot him a look. “My fiancé thinks he can solve everything with his checkbook. He thinks if he offers a gallery enough money they’ll show anything.”

  “He’s probably right.”

  “Which only makes it worse. I don’t want it on those terms.”

  “But isn’t the important thing to let people see your art? A sanctuary is one thing, Joanna, a mausoleum’s another.”

  “Let’s not talk about this anymore,” she said, reaching for her bodysuit.

  “Wait a minute. It’s not really his money...is it?”

  She sighed, shaking her head.

  He went to her, taking her two hands in his. “Like I told you at the other night, I have a file cabinet full of rejections.”

  “Why? Why do you keep them?”

  “As a reminder.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I keep them to remind me never to give up, that no matter what anyone says, I know, in here,” he said, pointing to his heart, “that I’m true to my craft. Someday, someone’s going to say, ‘This is great, Brian, we want to publish it.’ It’s what keeps me going through anything and everything.”

  Joanna smiled. “And I believe you will.”

  “So, why don’t you believe in yourself?”

  “I do; but I want someone to say those words to me without Erik’s thirty pieces of silver jingling in his pocket.”

  “Maybe I have a way for you to do just that,” he said.

  The idea had popped into his mind only moments before, surprising him with its audacity, as well as its simplicity.

  “How?”

  “Invite them here.”

  “What?”

  “It’s perfect, Joanna. You have a gallery right out there, all set up. All you need to do is get everyone here. Hire a caterer, a valet parking company—I’m sure for a few bucks they could use the Channel’s parking lot, it’s huge. Clean up that lobby, get someone to run that cranky old elevator and...presto, you’ve got yourself a show.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide, the wheels turning. “Do you really think it could work?” she asked.

  “Absolutely, but you’ve got to keep the faith, and you’ve got to be willing to take the risk. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re brilliant!” Joanna threw herself into Brian’s arms, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. It was a full minute before they broke it. “You know what’s really weird?” she said, catching her breath. “I wasn’t even going to go to Nick’s party, I was feeling so down about a lot of things, but I meditated that afternoon and when I was done I knew I had to go—I knew there was a reason I had to be there.”

  Brian kissed her forehead. “I normally don’t go to those kinds of affairs, either. Can’t dance to save my life.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she said, grinning.

  “Thanks. But seriously, it’s funny how one little decision can change everything, isn’t it?”

  She nodded then grabbed his wrist and checked his watch. “Crap, we’d better get going. I told Erik I’d be home by 9:30.”

  They dressed quickly and Joanna took a few minutes to turn off all the lights before they headed to the elevator. Brian let her have the honors with the cantankerous old lift, not wanting to press his luck.

  “How do you keep this place secure?” Brian asked when they reached the ground floor.

  She smiled and pulled a barrel key from out of her handbag and inserted it into a small metal panel he hadn’t noticed on his way in. With a twist of her hand the green LED turned red.

  “I just activated all the motion sensors on the sixth floor, plus I deactivated the elevator. The only other ways in or out are the fire exits, and those are dead-bolted and tied into the alarm.”

  “Nice,” he said, following her out onto the sidewalk.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes bulging. “Oh, no! Damn it!”

  “What, what is it?”

  He pointed to his Celica, then turned and kicked a nearby signpost. All four tires of his car had be
en slashed. And whoever had done it hadn’t been content just to poke a hole and deflate them. They’d gutted them.

  “Oh, God, Brian. I’m so sorry. This neighborhood isn’t the best, but I’ve never seen anything like that happen before.”

  Brian nodded, regaining his composure. “What about your car?”

  Joanna walked around the Mercedes, gasping when she came abreast of the driver’s side door. Brian rushed to her side and surveyed the damage.

  “Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head.

  The door had been keyed, and not just with random angry scratches. Two words were carved into the glossy black paint in crude four-inch high letters: RICH BICH!

  Tears welled up in Joanna’s eyes. “Erik’s going to be so upset.”

  Brian placed his arm around her. She was trembling.

  “Who would’ve done such a thing?” she asked. “It’s as if they’ve been watching me—”

  “Hey, now,” he said, turning her to face him, “it’s just a couple of stupid kids with nothing better to do. Besides, they probably thought bitch was easier to spell.”

  Joanna laughed in spite of her tears, and leaned her head against his. “Just hold me for a minute, okay?”

  Brian enfolded her in his arms. Her breathing slowed and he felt her trembling subside after a few moments. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Can I give you a ride home?”

  “If it’s no trouble.”

  Joanna gave him a look. “Come on, get in the car.”

  They took a different route toward Back Bay, following Atlantic Avenue, past Fanueil Hall, crowded even now with late shoppers and restaurant-goers.

  What the hell was he going to do about his car? Without functioning wheels, how could he have it moved?

  As if reading his mind, Joanna said, “Would you like to use my phone to call a tow truck?”

  “I appreciate that, but I think I’ll wait until morning. I’m going to have to find a place with a tilting flatbed truck. They can at least drag it up onto the bed on the rims.” He shook his head, swearing under his breath.

  “I’m really sorry about this. If you weren’t visiting me....”

  Brian turned from the window. “It’s only a car, Joanna, and a rather unreliable one at that. As far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t trade the last three hours with you for a garage full of Ferraris...”

  “...Or a 1963 split-window Corvette?”

  “Not for a gaggle of them.”

  She laughed, her eyes shining. “There you go again, saying the most perfect thing.”

  He smiled. “It’s what we writers do.”

  She brought his hand into her lap and held it while she drove with the other. They fell silent, leaving Brian to his thoughts. He’d wanted to say far more than his comment about the Ferraris, but was afraid of spoiling the moment. How do you tell a woman you’ve known for less than a week that you want to spend the rest of your life with her, that you can’t imagine any kind of life without her in it? And how the hell do you tell a woman you love her when she was going home to her fiancé?

  “Can I ask you something?” she said, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Anything.”

  “Would you help me put my show together?”

  “I’d love to, but do you think that’s a good idea? I mean—”

  “Don’t worry about Erik. He’s too busy to pay much attention. He’ll just be happy I’m going along with his idea.”

  She fell silent again, her mood turning pensive. The sadness in her eyes lanced Brian’s heart.

  “You okay?”

  Joanna nodded. “I’m fine. It’s just that Erik doesn’t understand what I go through with my art, what it means to me, not like you do. He thinks of it as my ‘little hobby.’ He’d be just as happy if I wanted to spend all my time going to parties and charming his clients. Maybe more so....”

  “I’m sorry, Joanna.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re kind and thoughtful and sweet.”

  Brian wasn’t sure how to respond to that, or even if he should. “So the fact you’re not wearing his ring has nothing to do with me?”

  Joanna shook her head, a wistful smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Erik won’t let me wear it. He’s afraid I’ll fire it into one of my clay sculptures, or lose it. Truth is, I don’t mind so much. Every time I put it on I feel like I’m on display, as if every envious eye in the room is glued to it.”

  Brian nodded.

  “Anyway, about the show.... I’d love for you to look at the mailer Nick designed, maybe rewrite it.”

  “I’d be honored,” he said, grateful to steer the conversation back toward safer ground.

  “Great. I feel better about it already.”

  “How much lead time do you need for something like this?”

  She thought for a moment. “At school, I’m flooded with invitations all the time. It’s not unusual for these artists to send them out two weeks in advance of the events, sometimes less.”

  Brian nodded. It sounded reasonable. “If you can get me a photocopy of your mailer this week, I’ll turn it around as fast as I can. I’m sure Nick can find a printer and a mail house to get it out quick. Why don’t we aim for March fifteenth, which I believe is a Friday. I can also check our files at the office for caterers and call around for some valet parking. Will that work for you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Brian looked out the window and realized they were now on Beacon Street, just passing Clarendon. He’d be home soon.

  “Are you sure your fiancé isn’t going to want to put his stamp on this?”

  Joanna shook her head. “No, he’ll just write the checks.”

  A moment later, they pulled up in front of his apartment building. She turned to him and took his face in her hands and kissed him. “What time do you get off work?” she asked.

  “It depends, sometimes not until late. The next couple of days are pretty hectic.”

  “Then why don’t you call me on Thursday and let me know when you’re leaving, and I’ll bring the mailer and meet you here.”

  “Or you could just meet me at the office.”

  “Business wasn’t the only thing I had in mind,” she said, kissing him again.

  “Ah, well, I guess I win the Doofus Award for that one, don’t I?”

  She laughed. “I’m sure you’ll more than redeem yourself.” She glanced at the clock, her mood shifting. “Damn, I need to go.”

  She gave him a quick peck on the tip of his nose and Brian took that as his cue. “I’ll see you Thursday,” he said.

  As he had before, he watched her drive off before going inside.

  After grabbing his mail, he checked his messages. There were a total of five, one from his mother. He replayed it twice, frowning.

  “Hi, dear, sorry you’re not home. Your father had a very interesting day at work. Call us when you get in, if it’s not too late. Bye, Sweetie.”

  He glanced at his watch. It was just after 9:00. Not too late. He dialed their number, which was picked up on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Oh, Brian, are you all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just getting senile.”

  Brian laughed. “You? Never. I just got your message. What happened with Dad?”

  “I’ll let him tell you, it’s all a bit confusing to me.”

  The phone clunked when she put it down and Brian could imagine it resting on the flecked Formica counter in the kitchen. Through the phone, he could hear his mother yelling up the stairs for his father. A second later, the phone clicked when the extension was picked up.

  “How you doing, Slugger?”

  Brian grinned. It was the same greeting his father always used, ever since his little league days. Somehow, coming from the old man, it always sounded right. �
�I’m fine, Dad. Mom tells me you had an interesting day.”

  “You could say that,” he said, turning serious. “Had some visitors over this past week from an investment group out of Columbus. They’re looking to redevelop the entire downtown area, here, since we’re pretty much a bedroom community. Pretty impressive plans, too. Got a lot of money behind them. They’re interested in buying the store.”

  “Really?”

  “They’re talkin’ about maybe two million for it. Lock, stock and barrel.”

  “Jesus, Dad—”

  “Didn’t think the old place was worth that much, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, aside from the land and the building, there’s forty years of goodwill there. Your mother never wanted me to buy the place, thought renting was safer. Looks like an I-told-you-so’s in order.”

  Brian laughed. “So what did you tell them?”

  The older man chuckled. “Told them I’d give it ‘due consideration.’”

  “But sell the store? That place is your life.”

  “No, Brian. You and your mother are my life. Besides, it’s not as if you’re coming home to take over for me....”

  This was a sore point between him and his father. While he loved playing in the aisles of Weller’s Hardware as a child, had helped out after school when he grew older, and still relished the smell of fertilizer and machine oil, he could never buy into his father’s dream.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You’ve got to follow your dreams, not mine. And I’m proud of you. You and your partner have done well for yourselves. And someday, if you’re still writing, that’ll come true, too.”

  A strange mixture of emotions arose in Brian: happiness that his father recognized and appreciated his ambitions and accomplishments, and sadness that the old man’s dreams were dying.

  “That means a lot to me.”

  “I know....”

  “So, if you sell, what are you and Mom going to do?”

  “Florida. Gettin’ tired of shoveling the front walk every winter.”

  Brian smiled at the memory, and at the thought of his father in Bermuda shorts.

  “Somehow, I can’t picture you sitting on the beach with a Mai Tai.”

  “Nope, I’ll just stick one of those fancy little umbrellas in my Michelob.”