Chapter 53: Wolves and Prey

Monday, December 2, 1985

While flipping through today’s issue of The Battalion, I came across something that might be very interesting indeed. One of the many clubs the MSC hosted was called ‘MSC Madrigal Dinners’. They put on shows with madrigal singers and other medieval-themed entertainment, often at the MSC. This week, on the fourth through the seventh, they were doing the same sort of thing, but holiday-themed and at the Hilton. The price was reasonable for a date night (if a bit on the higher end for 1985), and it felt like something a number of girls in my life might like.

One, in particular, was an interesting case. If Darla and I went, we could — in theory — retire afterward to a room at the Hilton. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t get a hotel room for us, but this was a very special case. We would already be there. And, of all of the options for a night where the Wolf finally claimed his prize, a room at the Hilton was likely the best of the options. We had quite a few others — the basement guest room, Jas’s and my room at the house, the empty upstairs apartment, Darla’s dorm room, or even the back seat — but all of them had their issues in one way or another.

This couldn’t be a surprise, obviously. We would need to talk about it. We could go to the dinner without a room reservation — the odds were extremely high that the Hilton would have vacancies every night in December — but even having it on the table meant a conversation. Springing it on her that night seemed wrong.

Conveniently, we were getting together soon.

I had no idea if Amy would like a renaissance-flavored holiday celebration. It could be her thing, or it could be totally not her thing. In any case, I wasn’t going to make a date with Amy until I had one set with Darla.

I didn’t even have to mention the dinner to the girls. Angie was already rounding up people by the time I got home. Paige and Jas were clearly in, Mel seemed interested, while Cammie was dragging her feet. Before I could say anything, though, Cammie said, “Okay! Seriously, it sounds really good! I’ll go!”

“Yay!” Mel said, hugging her.

“It’s ... I just...” Cammie said.

Mel looked her in the eyes and said, “You used to not have the money. Honey, you have an operating business with income. And you have commissions, too. You have the money. It’s time to take yourself seriously and treat yourself like you deserve to be treated. You don’t have to rely on them, and them leaving you out in the cold doesn’t matter, not now. You’re making more than they would have given you, anyway.”

I had feeling we were getting a look into an old argument, one that might not die down anytime soon. I was on Mel’s ‘side’ of it, but I understood Cammie’s. Until recently, there had been a level of contrivance every time we made sure Cammie had the resources to keep up with us.

There didn’t have to be now. Cammie was the president of a company with a solid income stream. Most of that should be plowed back into the business, but she deserved to have an income from it, too. We weren’t talking earth-shattering numbers. Her commissions alone would easily pay for everything we did in a year, excluding vacations. Probably even one moderately good vacation, although not a month in Britain.

Cammie sighed and nodded. She said, “It’s hard, sometimes. But, really, you’re right. I’ll try to do better. Forgive me?”

“Always!” Mel said, pulling her into a hug.

“So ... what night?” Angie said.

“I have something with Monique on Friday,” Jas said.

“‘Something,’” Paige said, making finger quotes.

There were a few giggles at that.

“We’re going to a movie. And then ... maybe dessert,” Jas said, smirking.

“Okay! No Friday.”

“I have plans but no days are set,” I said.

“Oh, that really helps!” Angie said, making a face.

“I have a project meeting tomorrow,” Mel said. “And they want everyone to keep Thursday open.”

“Saturday? Anyone got anything Saturday?” Angie asked.

We all shook our heads no.

“I can make sure Saturday is free,” I said.

“Saturday it is! Anyone want to stay at the Hilton?”

We all shook our heads. I might, but it wouldn’t be Saturday night.

“Okay, we’re all going home. Steve is designated driver because he can have more wine than any of the rest of us and still be okay,” Angie said, giggling.

“Second!” Jas said. “All in favor?”

Everyone was.

I headed to the Commons a bit before our meeting, then hung out at the stairs leading down to the cafeteria. Darla turned up not much later and gave me a hug. Her outfit tonight was a green blouse, capri jeans, tennis shoes, and the ponytail, plus her ubiquitous glasses. If Sunday had nodded to tomboy, tonight was practically a declaration of it.

We headed downstairs and proceeded to fill our trays with yummy and healthy food options.

Well ... it was the Commons cafeteria. Moderately yummy and mostly healthy would have to do.

Darla picked a table about as far away from the crowd as you could. That was trickier than one might imagine, because (this being 1985) there were a small number of smoking-allowed tables in the farthest corner and two of those were full of people waving cigars around.

Still, we did the best we could, sitting at least five tables from another person and eight away from the smokers. It was a large dining area, thankfully.

After a bit of brief conversation, we mostly just ate for a bit. After perhaps fifteen minutes of that, Darla started blushing a bit.

“Honey?” I said, squeezing her hand.

“Um...” she said, biting her lip and staying red. After a short pause, she said, “So. I have ... a few topics. All of them are ... um ... yeah. I’m going to be red a fair bit. You’ll have to deal with it.”

“Good girl,” I said.

That made her shiver, but she said, “Um ... why?”

“Because you’re tackling them, not hiding from them.”

“Oh! Um...”

She shivered again, but it might have been more of a squirm.

“Well, then. Let’s rip the bandage off the first one, ‘cuz it might be big.”

“I’m ready,” I said.

She sighed really deeply and said, “I...”

Then she froze and lowered her eyes.

“Tell me?”

“I ... shouldn’t...”

“Darla,” I said. “You can tell me anything, if it’s true and from the heart. It’s fine.”

She sighed, still not meeting my eyes, and said, “I’m finding it very hard not to fall in love with you.”

I guided her chin up so she was looking into my eyes, and said, “That’s fine. And I feel the same way.”

“You do?” she said, blinking. “But ... you and Jas...”

“It’s not about falling in love,” I said. “Sex changes things, but so does dating and really becoming intimate with someone. It’s about when the love becomes possessive. Or hurts you because you can’t have everything you want. Jas and I both believe that, the more someone loves, the more they can love. That love is additive or even multiplicative. Most people...”

I kissed her softly, then continued, saying, “People distinguish between love of parents, or children, or friends, and love of lovers. We add distinguishing between our love, which is the center of our lives, with the love we have for other lovers. Most people don’t do that, and that’s fine, but just saying what you said, or what I said, doesn’t harm Jasmine at all. It’s not a threat. It wouldn’t make her jealous to hear it, it would make her happy, because ... why wouldn’t she be happy about you feeling love and happiness?”

“That’s still weird, but ... I mean, I understand that. And...”

She bit her lower lip, looking thoughtful, and hesitated. Then she said, “I ... I think ... um. So ... I can do that. Or am doing that. As in ... falling in love with you.”

We kissed again, and I said, “And I’m falling in love with you, too.”

“But it will all have to end,” she said.

I shrugged a little, and said, “That was inevitable, and it’s also ... only somewhat true. Even this long after we were a couple, I love Candice. I’m not romantically involved with her, and I think it’s exceptionally unlikely that I ever will be again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I’m not ‘in love’ with her, so that ended, though. And she’s not the only one, just ... the one who’s the least problematic to mention by name.”

She nodded a bit, then said, “And ... I mean ... I could have dated anyone, fallen for him, then learned something that made me not love him anymore. Or at least not be in love with him.”

“Certainly,” I said, squeezing her hand. “But ... I mean, yes. That’s an important thing for me, and for relationships like this. At some point, depending on the people, we can reach a point where continuing to be together risks adding more hurt than being together is worth. Some hurt is maybe inevitable, but...”

“But ... I mean, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m getting a lot out of this. And I don’t even mean all of the orgasms,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper at the end and giggling.

She paused, and then, a bit haltingly, said, “It’s ... well, just ... um, sexually ... now I know I can do this. All of this. And ... I know I like a lot of things I really never would have guessed I would like. I’m ... like... enormously more aware of what it feels like to really trust someone. So ... would I go through hurting to learn all that? How else would I learn it? I mean, unless I just got lucky and Mister Right was the first guy I did everything with? And ... for me, that was the ideal. If I could have had that, sure, I would’ve picked that, but it wasn’t realistic. That’s just saying you’re betting everything on luck, and I got a wake-up call about my luck years ago. At least, doing this, I know you’re not Mister Right, but I also know you’re not Mister Wrong. I know you won’t push me where I don’t want to go, I know you won’t ... like ... humiliate me, or threaten to, or gossip, or ... whatever. So ... yeah. The hurt is part of it, but it’ll be a good hurt.”

I could almost hear the gears whirring away as she worked through that.

“I’ll do whatever I can to ease the hurting,” I said, “But it’s out there. And ... well. Not the first time I’ve had this discussion. The thing is, we both have to be able to say, ‘This is where it’s getting to the point where we’re better off splitting up.’ There’s no requirement for either of us to ever say that, but we do have to say it unless your Mister Right is going to be completely able to share, at least emotionally.”

She giggled.

“I think my Mister Right won’t share.”

“Which is fine, as long as that’s what you want.”

“Before this, I would have said it’s what I need, and in a heartbeat. But ... well. I do think it’s what I want, but being this far along with you ... I get it so much more. I mean, why this works for you and Jasmine. You don’t risk your relationship, and you build all of these interesting relationships with other people, ones that might matter long after the ‘in love’ part flames out.”

“Plus, it’s fun,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

She blushed, and I said, “Don’t underestimate the value of fun. If you start where we do — that sex isn’t magic and that love isn’t a zero-sum game — then it’s ... I would go to a movie with a friend, or spend hours talking philosophy with them, or have a nice dinner, or ... whatever. Kissing, sex ... they’re different, but they’re not magic. The fun of it matters.”

“I get that, and ... well. That’s something I’m still deciding. If some of it is magic.”

“Only you can answer that. And you mostly did, by saying we’ll find out when we find out.”

“Yes,” she said.

“The next part ... I want to talk to you first, but I think I also need to talk to Jas...

She stopped, then shook her head.

“Okay! That says a lot, doesn’t it?” she said, giggling. “Like, okay! I need to talk to my boyfriend’s girlfriend about all this stuff. That says I trust her a lot, and that talking about it is way more important than being embarrassed.”