Chapter 9

Paul’s turn:

Nothing in the relationship between me and this redheaded nymph has ever been negative.

Actually I was more than pleasantly surprised at her comportment when she accompanied me to a free event at the local library. For a girl who only a few months before was having meltdowns due to people at school, she handled herself in a roomful of total strangers filled with questions about writing.

Since I introduced her as my Muse as well as a budding writer in her own right, some people directed questions at her as well as to me. And she stepped up to the plate and knocked it out of the park.

“Uh, Barb,” one twenty-something guy asked her, “what’s the hardest part for you?”

“Good question,” she replied. “I think, there I am, story in my head trying to get out, I’m looking at a blank screen, and ‘what do I put down first?’”

“So what did you do to get over that?”

She giggled. “Started typing, ‘It was a dark and stormy night... ‘. Paul’s correct. “Writers write. Might not be Faulkner or Twain, but when you’re getting your feet under you, you have to write. Like you’re training for a marathon. You have to get on the track and run, or you’re just not a runner. Writers write.” And a big smile.

She looked at me. I nodded with my own smile. My flower has blossomed.

On the way home: “Well? How’d I do?”

“Baby,” I said, “I worried. I mean, you had trouble at school and you said you didn’t do well with crowds, but there you were in a room full of strangers and you were totally in control.”

“You were there, Paul. Nothing bad can happen if you’re there.”

“I dunno about that. But you stood there all self-assured and spoke clearly and delivered a great message.”

Giggle. “I darned near repeated a message I got from somebody else, verbatim. And,” she continued, “I had to be on my best game for bimbo watch.”

“Bimbo watch?”

“You know how you are. You’re like this bimbo magnet.”

“Uh, babe, women who show up at library events usually rate poorly on the bimbo scale.”

“See?!?” she squealed. “You can’t even TELL. They’re at the top of the bimbo scale. Crafty. Subtle.”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

“I have to,” Barb bubbled. She’s on a roll. “I’m the ONLY one who’s approached you without guile and ulterior motives. I didn’t have a goal. I was set up in life. I found you and at the same time found that you fit into my life perfectly.”

I was considering ‘perfectly’ when her age made me a felon and she had to go home every night to sleep in her own bed, but I kept my mouth shut.

“You, dear mate, took me on as a weird little friend and we grew into each other in a sedate and stately manner.” Snicker. “Okay, we kinda went over the cliff this week, but I think we’d already decided. I mean, YOU decided it was ME, and I decided it was YOU and so why not be the total package to each other, so here we are.”

I thought that I allowed myself to be at risk of arrest with amazingly little resistance on my part. I NEEDED Barb. Maybe it was like a druggie ‘needing’ that next hit that might kill him, but I needed this redheaded wraith next to me. I reached over and took her hand, eliciting a beaming smile.

‘What’s THAT for?”

“Because I need you in my life. I’m lucky.”

“Two of us,” she said. “Even if I have to be vigilant that some bimbo doesn’t get lucky.”

“Four billion other women in the world and they all have the same flaw. They’re not you.”

“You keep this up and we’ll end up in bed when we get home.”

“Sex as a reward?”

“One. It’s NOT sex when it’s you and me. I love you. You love me. So it’s making love, not sordid, sweaty sex. Two. I get just as rewarded as you do. Three. We bump our lives together like this and it’s like turning up the fire under a pressure cooker. Somewhere along the line the relief valve is gonna pop.”

All this conversation while waiting for the ferry to get us across the river to finish our drive home. We were one of three cars when we got there. Another drove up while we waited. Those other eyes, plus the console of my truck, kept physical hanky panky at a low level. Didn’t stop the verbal play, though.

“I’m developing a list, you know,” she told me as her fingertips traced my bicep.

“Another list?”

“Yep.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Don’t be.”

“What’s this list?”

“Places to make love.”

“Oh?”

“Number one was our bed. Your sofa. It gets better.”

“I can imagine?”

“Can you? Look at that moon. Don’t you...”

“Yes, that’s a pleasant image. The moon pales, though. A million stars can’t...”

“On the beach.”

“Oh, yeah. You. Anywhere.”

“Because you love me.”

“The only reason, baby. Otherwise I’d be engaging in mutually exploitive relationships with those bimbos you’re fending off.”

When we drove into the community her grandparents’ car wasn’t there. The two of us hustled the boxes of paraphernalia back into the house in short order and when I turned away from the closet door I’d just closed I was pounced upon by an active, happy teenaged redhead. Oh, the miseries I must endure, right?

She whispered in my ear, “I’ll take ALL my clothes off if you’ll promise to kiss me a lot.”

“Why, yes! I do promise!” I let her down and started undressing when her phone went off.

She put a finger to her lips and answered. “Hi, Grampa!” Pause. Her smile collapsed. “Is she okay?” Pause. “We just got back. I haven’t been home yet.” Pause. “You’re right. I’d rather not stay there by myself.” Pause. “You’ve been to his house. He’s got a guest room.” Pause. “Okay, here he is.” She handed me her phone.

“Hi, Hank, what’s wrong? Barb’s expression...”

“Beck’s been having abdominal pains. They come and go, so she’s been soldiering through. But this evening ... We went to the emergency room. They’re keeping her, at least tonight.”

“Is ... do they know anything?”

“You know better, buddy. Tests. Poking prodding, all that. Maybe we’ll find out tomorrow. She’s sedated right now but I don’t want to leave her. Can you give Barb your spare room for the night?”

“Sure. We’ll run to your house and get her some stuff. She’s good here.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you and Beck. Hug her for us (US?!?) and tell her I need another coffee cake.”

“I’ll do that, friend. Lemme talk to Barb.”

I handed the phone back to Barb.

“Oh, Grampa! I’m so sorry. Hug Gramma for me. We’ll be there in the morning.” Pause. “Okay, we’ll wait for your call. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” Pause. “Yessir. Love you, too. Bye.”

She punched to end the call then looked up at me. “This isn’t how I planned to spend the night with you.”

“I know, baby. Let’s go get you some things.”

“Okay.”

Trooping back downstairs was much more somber than the trip up only a few minutes ago. We walked to her house, went up the stairs and inside.

“I don’t need much,” she said.

“Change of clothes tomorrow, suitable for a possible trip to the hospital. Something bright for your Gramma. And pajamas.”

“I don’t usually wear PJ’s.”

“You do tonight, sleeping at a man’s house,” I pointed out. “And you will visibly demonstrate that fact when you get back home after this is over.”

She eyed me. “Good point.” I held a gym bag open as she stuffed the necessities into it, then we left. I checked to make sure the door was locked.

Minutes later we’re home.

Dinner was pancakes. Yes, I know it’s a breakfast dish, but when your sad girlfriend asks, well, pancakes.

“Shower, baby,” she said.

“By yourself, or...”

“Of course you’re supposed to help me.”

I know she’s affected. Not nearly as handsy. I washed her carefully, taking time to shampoo her hair and to soap and knead her back.

“Food-grade wash there, please. And rinse good.”

And she reciprocated. My growing erection diverted her mind. “I love this thing. Sorry, baby, it’s just...”

“I know, princess. I didn’t climb in the shower for the sex. I’m here because I think we’re alike and I love having you help me in the shower.”

“I know that, Paul. You’re considerate. One reason why we’re together.”

We finished showering, toweled each other off, she submitted to me drying her hair.

“D’ya really want me in pajamas?” Blue eyes. Slight wistful head tilt. Freshly brushed red hair. Naked as the day she was born, right down to that smooth peach of a pubic mound.

“I really want you in my arms, baby. If you’re up for it.”

“Bed,” she said. “We can talk in there.” Soft look in her eyes. “Wanna talk about Gramma.”

“C’mon. I know. Lost Mom and Dad a couple of years ago. But your gramma’s not dead, baby. They don’t even know what’s wrong with her yet.”

“You’re right. But I’m awfully worried. She’s been off and on lately and so has Grampa. I do most of the housework. Them climbing the stairs whacks ‘em out for an hour...”

She shivered a little. “Seriously. Do you turn the thermostat down to encourage me to cuddle?”

“I have never done that. I rely on my considerable charm to bring forth cuddles from those who consider me worthy.”

Squeal. “THOSE?!?”

“So far, there’s just the one.”