“How is it?” Dottie asked, rushing up with deep concern etched on her face.
“It hurts like hell,” Jan replied, “but Dr. McGee says I'll live. She wants me to stay off my feet for the rest of the week. Dottie, I'm sorry."
Jan looked at Jake mischievously and said, “Jake, how do you feel about being a waitress for a few days?"
“There's no need for that,” Dottie interrupted, her face now relaxed and eyes twinkling. “I've already hired your replacement."
“Say what?” Jan asked while carefully sliding into the booth Jake previously occupied.
Dottie jerked her head towards the black-haired girl behind the counter. “Karissa said she would fill in for you. In fact, she has worked as a waitress before and was thinking of asking me for a job anyway."
The athletic looking girl smiled and nodded when Jan glanced in her direction.
“She's the barber's wife, isn't she?"
Dottie nodded.
“Look, Dottie, I haven't quit. I still need my job."
“Lighten up, Jan. She's just filling in for you."
“Dottie, I'll pay for the coffee pot."
“Don't be ridiculous. Now, Jake, you ordered the country style steak dinner, right?"
“I want one, too,” Jan said.
Jake reached across the table and held her hand in his.
Jan was startled. Earlier he used the word “love” and now he was publicly displaying affection for the first time. Dottie Frank obviously noted the gesture.
“Is it still bad?” he asked.
She placed her free hand on top of his. “The Co-Tylenol and lotion have kicked in. I feel much better,” she assured him.
They ate in silence for several minutes.
“Jake,” she said, “a few minutes ago a thought popped into my head and it surprised me so much that I dropped the damn pot."
“Are you that unaccustomed to thinking?” he asked playfully.
“No, you old fart,” she replied quietly. “I guess my subconscious just put two and two together and I was surprised by the answer. When we first met, you told me you import merchandise and sell it through mail order at an average net profit of five dollars. Right?"
“Right."
“At the time it sounded like a low income business to me, but on another occasion you said your customers average buying four items on each order. Right?"
“Right again."
“That's a profit of twenty dollars an order. Last night, when you told me you were getting behind filling orders, you said you average two hundred orders a day."
He smiled. “About four thousand dollars a day, twenty-four thousand a week."
“Jake, that's ... that's ... that's nearly a million and a half dollars a year."
“More like a million and a quarter,” he said. “Of course, Uncle Sam and the Governor get about forty percent of that, but I wind up with something like seven to eight hundred grand a year."
“What the fuck...” She glanced around hoping nobody heard her, lowered her voice and continued, “What are you doing living in that run down shack with junkyard furniture?"
He played with the food on his plate before answering. Still looking at his plate, he said softly, but distinctly, “Jan, will you marry me?"
Her mind went blank. She stared at him in disbelief.
“I'm sorry,” he said, again moving food around on the plate with his fork. “It just slipped out. I'm old enough to be your father. I'm fat and flabby and I can't even have sex with you. A young thing like you ... you probably want to have children someday. It was stupid. Forgive me, Jan.” He looked at her and the distress in his eyes melted her heart. “Please forget I said that."
She found her voice. “It was not stupid, it was sweet."
He looked away.
She reached for his hand, held it tightly and felt it trembling. “I will never forget it,” she continued. “You caught me off guard. The last thing I ever expected to hear from you was a marriage proposal."
“I know. I said it was stupid."
“And I said it wasn't."
“Just for a minute there,” he said, looking past her at nothing, “I just thought that making money and having nice things to enjoy would be fun again if I could share it with you. You couldn't possibly want to tie yourself down to an old loser like me.” He removed his hand from hers.
She chased his hand and gripped it as tightly as she could. “Listen to me, Jake. I could want to marry someone like you. It just never occurred to me that ‘the someone’ might be you. I know how much you loved your wife—still love her. I didn't think there would ever be enough room in your heart for someone else. You said as much yourself."
“I know I did, but I was wrong.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Jan, you'll never know how much energy I derive, just from your smile, from your touch, from your presence, from thinking about you. I used to get up in the mornings and force myself through the day. Now I bounce out of bed, eager to spend time with you. It doesn't matter what we actually do. When you are at work or at your place, I am still happy because I know I will see you again soon. I'm an old fool, Jan."
“You're not an old fool, Jake. Don't talk like that.” She paused. “Earlier, you said you love me. Do you, Jake?"
“Yes."
“When did you know?"
“When I saw you in pain. My heart went out to you like it used to..."
“You can say her name, Jake. It's okay."
“To Mary,” he said. “You're right. I do still love her, but I now know there's room in my heart for both of you."
“Jake, we need to think about this and talk about it—maybe when we get back to your place tonight."
He seemed to regain his composure. “I am honored that you would even consider it, Jan."
* * * *
They spent the evening pretending to watch television. He nursed a beer and she held onto a glass of wine. When the eleven o'clock news came on, he stood, stretched and said, “I guess its time to get ready for bed."
“Turn the TV off,” she said, and he complied. “Tell me the names of the shows we watched."
He looked at her blankly and she laughed.
“I couldn't tell you either. We've both been doing some heavy thinking. I have a suggestion to make, but you may not like it."
He sat on the arm of the overstuffed chair and she felt a twinge of guilt for having occupied his chair all evening.
“Marrying you is an idea that excites me,” she said as she began rubbing his back. “But it's not something I take lightly. We enjoy each other's company, but we don't really know each other. Has it been a month yet since we first met?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
“It probably will go against your upbringing, but I would like to move in with you."
“My generation calls it ‘shacking up,’ and isn't that what we have been doing?"
“No, its not. I've been coming here at night for the sex, pure and simple. I know you don't believe that, but it's the truth. What I propose is that we live together, share life together, and get to know each other before we make that legal marriage commitment."
He nodded but said nothing.
“There are strings attached,” she continued.
He looked at her, fully noting the serious expression on her face.
“I want to help you with your business."
He nodded.
“I want us to buy some sex toys to add to your ... to our pleasure."
“Sex toys?"
“I don't know exactly what I'm talking about—a vibrator—things like that."
“There are places that advertise on the Internet. Maybe we can get some ideas from them."
It was her time to nod. “I want you to see a doctor about the problem that haunts you night and day."
He just looked at her.
“Jake, please don't get mad at me. I care about you. I didn't mention your name, but I talked with Dr. McGee about what she calls erectile d
ysfunction. There are so many possible causes, but the important thing is that there are also many effective treatments."
He shot up from the chair and paced to the front door. He turned, and with a voice louder than intended, said, “I knew it. I knew that's what kept you from saying yes. Do you think for a minute that I have not already seen a doctor about my limp dick? The fact is,” he continued, walking back to her, “I've seen three doctors. They say it's all in my head. They want me to see a psychiatrist. Damn it, I'm not crazy. I'm just an old man who can't get it up any more.” He stormed out of the room.
She began to cry and shouted after him, “If you love me like you say you do you'd know good and well that I like you just as you are. And damn it,” she said, struggling to get to her feet, “if you love me you'd go to a doctor just to please me, if nothing else."
She took a step and the pain shot up her leg. He rushed back into the room and hugged her passionately. “Looks like it's my day to say I'm sorry. I accept your proposal to shack up and all your damn strings. I'll make an appointment with Dr. McGee in the morning. But I have a string attached too."
She rubbed her chest against his because she knew he liked it. She thought she felt something different in this embrace, but when she maneuvered her hand between his legs, she realized it must have been wishful thinking.
“I want you to quit working at the dinner and spend all of your time with me. I'll ... I'll pay you a salary if you like."
She kissed his lips lightly and, gazing into his eyes, she said, “You old fart, I'm turned on. Take me to bed."
Chapter Twenty-six
“What is it with you two?” Rita asked when she returned from tucking the children in bed. “You barely spoke during dinner."
“I had a hard day at the course,” Bo mumbled, slumped in the red recliner in Rita's den.
“Well, I, for one, have been looking forward to this since last Sunday,” Rita said, adjusting the yellow legal pad she held in her lap. “It is exciting to know that very soon the people I care for the most will be living with me. As we agreed Sunday, it may prove a little awkward at first, and certainly we must all make some major adjustments, but in the long run I think it will work out beautifully for all of us."
“I don't care much for your idea of Betty and me pretending to sleep in one room while actually sleeping with you in your bed,” Bo said.
“Bo, don't you understand about the kids?"
“I may understand better than you do, Rita. What if they get up during the night—sick or something—and come looking for you. They'll find Uncle Bo and Aunt Betty in bed with mama."
“That's why I said we must keep the bedroom door locked."
“So okay, they find mama's bedroom door locked and go to Aunt Betty's room, only Aunt Betty and Uncle Bo aren't there. We'd better solve it now. If we're not ashamed of what we are doing, why must we keep it a secret from your kids?"
“For one thing, kids talk, and I don't want Social Services taking my children away from me. If you have a better idea, Bo, spill it."
“I don't like the idea of us living together, period."
Rita's shoulders slumped and her smile disappeared.
“I thought we agreed last Sunday..."
Bo cut her off. “You and Betty agreed. I didn't. If there weren't any kids involved and if it were my house you were moving into, it might be different."
“Whoa here,” Rita said. “Are we now seeing a little male pride and ego coming to the surface?"
“Call it what you want to. Another thing—I don't like watching you and Betty going at it and I don't like Betty watching you and me. It just isn't natural."
“So, what you want is to continue living apart. You want to slip off with me occasionally and Betty to slip off with me like normal people having an adulterous relationship?"
“Why not?"
“Because we are not normal people. We have a special relationship. Betty, jump in here and help me out with this stubborn man of ours."
“I have AIDS,” Betty blurted out in a burst of tears.
Bo rushed to her side and hugged her as best he could in her seated position, and Rita was close behind, dropping to her knees and grasping Betty's hands.
“How can you comfort me when you must know I may have given it to you too?"
Bo and Rita glanced at each other.
“Because we love you, Betty,” Bo said.
“You don't love me, Bo. You never did. We married for convenience, not love."
“Maybe. But I love you now."
“And so do I, Betty,” Rita added. “Tell us about it."
Between sobs, Betty related the details of her visit with Dr. McGee.
“Then you don't know for sure that you are HIV positive?"
“The second test result is supposed come be back tomorrow."
“Then let's don't panic until tomorrow,” Rita said as calmly as she could manage.
“We're all scared, Betty. There's no sense in pretending otherwise. But if you are HIV positive, where would you have picked up the virus?” Bo asked.
“The only person I can think of is Max Holder,” Betty confessed.
“But you told me you didn't have sex with Max,” Bo said with unintended fury building in his voice.
Before Betty could respond Rita gave her a quick look and said, “If Max had the virus it could have come through me to Betty. Let's just put everything on hold until we hear from Dr. McGee tomorrow."
* * * *
“How's your bottom?” Carl asked as he helped carry empty dinner dishes to the kitchen sink.
“Hurts like hell,” Sarasue replied. “Didn't you notice me sitting on a cushion?"
“Yeah, I noticed."
“How about working on some other part of my anatomy tonight?"
“Yeah. Hey, the world won't come to an end if we skip a night or two."
“I have a novel idea,” Sarasue said trying to sound lighthearted. “Why don't we try conventional sex tonight. You know, we kiss and stroke each other and imitate missionaries."
“That would be different,” he laughed. “Here's the plan. I'll take my bath while you wash the dishes. We'll meet in the bedroom for a night of unbridled conventional passion."
Only one bedside lamp was burning when Carl, nude and still damp, entered the bedroom. He smiled at Sarasue who lay on her back, completely nude.
“I have something for you,” she cooed as she fingered her erect nipples.
He snapped on the overhead light.
“What the hell..."
“Turn over,” he said as he sat beside her.
“I don't think you really want to see that,” she protested.
He pushed her over on her stomach and stared in horror at the damage his belt caused the previous night. Gently he touched the few areas of her buttocks not showing heavy bruises and swelling.
“If you've got to spank me, I can take it,” she said reaching for him. “Damn, Carl,” she exclaimed. “That's the first time I've ever touched you when you weren't hard."
Tenderly he kissed her battered bottom, and then began massaging her shoulders as she usually massaged his. “Sarasue, I've been thinking."
“I knew it was too good to last."
“I wish you'd stop trying to put words in my mouth."
“Sorry."
“Sarasue,” he started again. “I like everything about you. You have a great body and know how to use it. You're the best damned cook around and I certainly do like having a hot breakfast every morning when I get up."
“But?"
“But I don't like hurting you, even if you do get pleasure out of it. I read sadistic stories in my teens and they always turned me on, so when you suggested it I thought it would be great fun. It isn't. Once I get started, I just can't quit, like last night. Then I really feel terrible. I'm just not going to do it anymore."
Very carefully she turned over on her back and drew his hands to her breasts, pretending they were not still sore fro
m the abuse he inflicted every night since their relationship began.
“I know this is your thing,” he continued softly, “and there's nothing wrong with it in my book. I just can't participate anymore. Besides, you wanted to be on the giving end once in a while and I never allowed you to do that. You'll meet somebody who'll..."
“Hush a minute,” she said. “After my husband died, I started talking trash with different people on the Internet. There was one guy I met who began sharing his fantasies with me by e-mail. I started making up stuff to send back to him. I don't know who made up the first sadomasochistic message, but once we started there seemed to be no end. The tales grew wilder and wilder. Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that I would actually enjoy it. You're the first one I ever tried it with. Guess what?"
“You don't like it either?” he asked, surprised.
“Anybody who thinks orgasms are more intense when the body is wracked with pain has a bunch of screws that need tightening if you ask me,” she laughed.
“Well I'll be damned.” He kissed each of her nipples.
“It's back,” she giggled, groping between his muscular legs.
“Is there any way we can do it tonight without hurting you?” he asked.
“Let me on top,” she grinned, “but go easy on the boobs."
She impaled herself and he contented himself with stroking her thighs.
“You know why I spend so much time working on the house next to Rita Holder's?” he mused.
“So you can see me more often?"
“Well, yes, but that's not all. That's my house we're building and it should be ready to move into in a couple of weeks."
“Hmm,” she replied.
“I was just thinking. Would you be interested in being my live-in housekeeper?"
“Yessss,” she cried.
He wasn't sure if she answered his question, experienced an orgasm, or both, but he managed to blurt out, “Greaaat."
* * * *
Big Willie pulled off his muddy brogans and left them on the back porch. Louise was fussy about getting their new carpet dirty. “Where you is, you pretty thing?” he called out.
“In the kitchen."
He stared at her through the kitchen door.
Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Page 45
