Chapter 20: Erica, Kelley

It was eleven-forty-five when I left the apartment, combing my hair and knotting my tie. Gladys kissed me goodbye, opened the door, and told me to have a good time. I told her to put some clothes on.

Other than her soft voice, Erica was totally different, taller, blonder and older than the picture I had developed in my mind.

"What did you expect?" she asked, motioning for me to take the passenger's seat. The car was a Pontiac Firebird, red exterior, matching interior and a sunroof.

"I had you pictured differently."

"How did you picture me? Was it something that Rachel said?"

"I formed a mental picture based on the quiet way you speak. Rachel only told me you were coming here to pursue a Masters Degree. She didn't describe you."

"You heard my voice and thought ... what?"

"We'll go to Stella's," I said, directing her to take a left onto Main Street. "Your hair is much shorter and you even dress differently than I pictured."

Her hair reminded me of Gladys's, only Erica's hair was cut more like a man's than a boy's, combed back on the sides and longer on her neck. Instead of the wool blazer, pleated plaid skirt, knee-stockings and patent leather shoes I expected to see, Erica was wearing a leather jacket over a white knitted sweater, corduroy slacks and heavy oxford shoes.

I hadn't been to Stella's since last spring, when Shirley and I celebrated the end of the second quarter. The hostess and staff were new and I didn't recognize them from any of my classes, not that I would have expected special treatment. The restaurant was busy and we had to wait twenty minutes to be seated. I found out she was twenty-six, a political science major, and was on leave from her job. She worked for one of the agencies in Washington, D.C.

After we were seated and had ordered sandwiches, the conversation turned to the two towns and the two schools. I told her how dependent the town's economy was on the school and happened to mention the study Shirley had done on how many times a dollar changes hands before departing the town.

Erica became interested in the concept and asked questions I couldn't answer. "She wrote a paper. It may still be in my computer. If not, it would be in the library."

"Is that the girl who came to the window and said you wouldn't be long?"

Gladys went to the window? "No, that's someone else."

"She has the most amazing breasts I've ever seen," Erica commented and I agreed with her.

As we finished eating, I told her about Doctor Mercer's invitation. "He said to bring you if you would care to meet them. His wife is expecting a baby soon ... and ... or, we can stop by my apartment and make a copy of Shirley's paper if it's still in the computer."

She lifted her cup and took a sip of coffee, licking her lips before looking at me.

"I'll be glad to go with you if you will agree to do something for me," she said, timidly licking her lips again.

"What would you like me to do?"

Suddenly, her stare was direct, her eyes piercing. "Attend a debate with me."

"I'll be glad to," I said, not thinking to ask when the debate was to be held.

"Don't jump into this without hearing me out. I have to be honest with you, Sammy. First, it's more of a discussion that a debate. The moderator tries to maintain order, but it often becomes a shouting match. Secondly, what I'm asking you to do is above and beyond the normal request for help."

I looked at her; what was I getting myself into? "What are you asking?"

"I need a cover. You'll be posing as my boyfriend."

Erica watched my reaction, giving me time to contemplate my response. I paid the check and on the way to the parking lot I told her to give me the car keys. "I'm practicing," I said, helping her into the passenger's seat.

"I like an assertive man, but you need to know more. Margo and I are very open about our relationship, but you see..."

"Margo?"

"Margo is my roommate and my lover. You've no doubt heard of Margo Morgenstern. She's a free-lance columnist."

I shook my head and drew Erica's look of indignation. "Don't you read anything?"

I responded with a shrug. "I've never heard of Margo Morgenstern."

"Never mind, the reason I need a make-believe boyfriend is to combat harassment from one individual who is giving me shit about being gay. It could get rough."

"Sounds like fun," I said.

"It's a female."

"Oh," I said, relieved that I was stopping the car in front of the small house. "His name is Doctor Mercer, my accounting professor from last year. His wife is Grace. She's pregnant," I explained to Erica on the way to the door.

We were greeted cordially. I introduced Erica and kidded Grace, saying that I hadn't seen her running lately.

It was mainly a getting-to-know-you session. Grace was very inquisitive, easily persuading Erica to talk about herself. When we left an hour later, I could count the topics of conversation on one hand. Grace managed to find out that Erica was a political science major, was on leave from a government job, and slept with Margo Morgenstern, whom Grace claimed she read as often as possible.

Doctor Mercer was unusually quiet; so was I. He pointed out a study-desk that he had purchased second hand. I was astounded when he said to Erica, "This is Sammy's design."

On the way to my apartment Erica remarked. "They're very open-minded. I felt welcome in their home."

"Let's see if that paper is still in my computer," I suggested, handing her the car keys.

She sat contemplative for a few seconds before getting out of the car. I was relieved to find the apartment empty, how neat the kitchen looked and my bed made.

"You have two of those desks," she said as I booted the computer.

"That one belonged to Shirley. Would you like to have it?"

"I would love to have it!" she exclaimed.

I found the paper and while it printed she asked, "Have you decided to help me?"

"I'll be glad to help, but I'm not sure what you're trying to achieve. Do you want to make this person believe you go both ways or that you've changed teams?" I asked.

"The former, but it's not just her. There are several members of our group that I want to think that we're sleeping together."

"But we aren't?"

Her frown enveloped her entire face. "No frigging way!"

"You're funny," I said.

"Margo made a list of suggestions," she said, taking a piece of paper out of a zipper pocket on her coat.

"One: Sammy must 'act' interested in the subject of the debate."

"Two: Sammy must 'act' interested in Erica."

"Three: Erica must 'act' interested in Sammy."

"Four: both of you must 'act' knowledgeable about the other's likes, dislikes, etcetera."

Erica folded the paper and handed it to me. "Any questions?"

"Yes, do I know you're sleeping with Margo?"

"Yes, and I know you're sleeping with the girl with the nice tits," she said with a 'gotcha' grin on her face.

I was curious. "Do I need to know if you have ever gone both ways?"

Her reaction was one of irritation with the question. She was heading toward the door when she turned. "Pretend I have," she said. "By the way, the next debate is Thursday night at seven-thirty."

"I'll pick you up at seven-fifteen. Where do you live?"

We were at the door. "Meet me at the library. You may drive my car. It will be perceived that I trust you."

She had avoided telling me where she lived. Did she trust me?

"I have another question. Does Margo sleep only with girls?"

"She sleeps only with me," Erica said. "I have a question for you. How did you get the scars?"

"This one is from high school football," I said, pointing to my cheek. "The other one is from a jealous boyfriend."

"I'm sorry I asked," she answered, showing indignation. "Act like you like me," she said, pulling my head down and kissing me on the lips. She was out the door before I recovered from the shock.

Upon hearing about my latest adventure, Marcie was cautiously apprehensive. "I don't like it. You could be hurt," she said.

I told her about the showdown with Charlie, omitting that it took place at three A.M. with all four of us sitting at the kitchen table, naked. The fact that Charlie was going to start paying rent placated her and we ended the conversation with her making a final observation about Erica. "How can you give her the desk if she won't tell you where she lives?"

I had to admit that she had a point.

I bought a gift for Alice's baby and mailed it. Otherwise, the day and night were uneventful. I didn't see or hear from Gladys. The next morning I found a check for the rent on the kitchen counter. Charlie paid for all three months, September through November.

On Friday night I described the debate at the grad school as we consumed pizza and beer. "They shouted at each other for two hours about the economy, sexual harassment in the workplace, the demise of the Soviet Union and who will oppose Bush in the presidential race. They all read the same periodicals and were saying essentially the same things, like whoever shouted the loudest won the debate."

Naturally, I only told them part of what took place. I neglected to tell about the looks I received from Erica's fellow classmates, how she held my hand when she was ranting and how she told me to put my arm around her waist as we walked to her car.

"That's enough, let me go, he's not looking," she said as we got into the car. And then, "Here he comes, kiss me," she said, sticking her tongue down my throat.

I heard a tap on the window and looked up to see a tall man leaning over to peer into the car. I recognized him as one of Erica's adversaries from the debate and rolled the window down.

"Is he hurting you, Erica?" the guy asked.

"Did it look like he was hurting me?" she answered, sounding dumbfounded.

"Yes, it looked to me like you were in danger," he answered, still looking into the car.

"What would you do about it if I were hurting her?" I asked, starting the car. He backed away from the car, not answering me.

"He knows my name. Roger knows my name. Why did you have to treat him that way?" she asked, sounding upset as we left the guy standing on the sidewalk.

"He annoyed me."

"You could really take some lessons in diplomacy, Sammy."

"I thought it was a female who you wanted to impress," I said, amazed at how she had reacted when the guy called her by her name.

"She's the moderator. I think she bought our little act. Thanks, Sammy."

This stunned me, both the fact that she thought the meek, middle-aged moderator was harassing her and that she complimented me for helping pull off a charade. As I was getting out of her car Erica said farewell. "You really should read Time or Newsweek. See you next week?"

I was so confused when I left her that I went for a late night run. Doctor Mercer caught up with me. "We were impressed with your friend," he said. "She is quite opinionated."

I told him about the debate I had attended. "Erica was very vocal and the group is very diverse. She's using me to deceive some of her detractors."

"How so?" he asked.

"She wants her peers to think she's bi. I'm her prop. It's very mysterious."

"It sounds dangerous. Be careful, Sammy," he said as we parted.

"He knows my name," I laughed, mimicking Erica.

"I'm going back next week," I said to my Friday night companions.

"Bring her for pizza," Laura suggested and the others said they would like to meet Erica too.

After taking Wendy and Zelda to their dormitory, I stopped by the pizza shop and picked up Gladys, thus continuing a routine that, with the exception of Thanksgiving break, was adhered to like clockwork. If someone wanted to find me they could simply check the gym on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, my running route late on Tuesday and Thursday nights where I often met Doctor Mercer (he told me to call him George, but couldn't bring myself to), the political science debates at the grad school on Thursday night, and at the pizza and beer group meetings on Friday night. Later, until Saturday morning, I could be found in the sack with Gladys.

Saturday and Sundays were reserved for study. Gladys never told me what she did the other nights of the week.

It was evident that Marilyn had moved into the apartment. She kept the kitchen and bathroom in good order, did the food shopping and did some of the cooking. I did my own laundry and kept my room reasonably clean. Well, there was the one time when I was running the dust mop under my bed and the metal rod that Charlie had swung at my head rolled out. It was a half-inch in diameter and about eighteen inches long. I slammed it down on the bed and heard the thump it made. Damn, I thought, I'm glad my shoulder got in the way.

Everyone I knew left for home as soon as they could get away after quarterfinals on Friday. I didn't. I stayed in the apartment, dumped everything out of the refrigerator that could spoil while we were gone, read Time and Newsweek magazines, and was waiting across the street from the pizza shop when Gladys got off work.

"I thought you left," she said as she got into the car.

"What kind of pizza did you bring me?" I responded, not wanting to admit why I had hung around.

"How do you know I bought it for you? My mom is going to go hungry because of you."

"What kind is it?"

"Pepperoni, I knew you would want to see me," she said, grinning.

I opened the last bottle of chardonnay and we ate half of the pizza, talking very little.

Gladys kept looking around, like she was admiring the way Marilyn maintained the kitchen. "Have you fucked her yet?"

"No."

She cocked her head. "Isn't that what you said you would do?"

"I was just keeping Charlie on his toes."

"Are you going to fuck Loretta and Karen while you're home?"

Her question was too personal for me. "I don't ask you who you fuck."