Chapter 4

We were both soaked with perspiration and Emily’s queen-sized bed was in a shambles.

“You don’t have a cigarette, do you?” she said.

“Quit after high school,” I told her. “Sorry.”

“I quit, too — years ago,” she said. “But, oh boy, I’d really like one right about now.”

“I quit so early, I don’t even associate smoking with sex,” I said, laughing. “It does sound good, though.”

“I’m afraid to start up again,” Emily said, “even if it was only after sex.”

“Yes -- even six or seven cigarettes a day would be harmful to your health,” I said.

“Now you’re bragging. You’re young, Mr. Sinclair, but nobody’s that young. And even if you were, I couldn’t handle it — with or without the cigarettes.”

“I have a suspicion that you are all that I could handle. But the good news is, I think we’re going to be damned compatible.”

“I’ve got absolutely no complaints,” Emily said. “But don’t get overconfident. That was a real quickie, young man, and successful only because it was my first time in a very long while, so I was very much ... primed. But if you come that quickly the next time, chances are you’ll be coming alone and leaving the Old Girl hanging.”

“I think I can do better,” I told her. “Everything was under control until you started to come, and then you squeezed me so hard there was no place to go except to the finish line!”

“So if I don’t get there, it’s all my fault, huh? Boy, you men sure do learn young how to pass the blame.” She was joking, I knew, but there was a large grain of truth in the statement.

“Can’t call it ‘blame, ‘“ I said. “I’m pretty sure that squeeze was nothing more than an announcement that you were there! If you don’t squeeze until your time is near, maybe we won’t have a problem.”

“Really?” she said, laughing. “And just how much longer would you have held out, minus the big squeeze?”

“Well, another minute or two anyway,” I said, joining in her laughter. “But with a little foreplay next time, maybe we can strike lightning again once in awhile.”

“You’re talking about cunnilingus?”

“Well — among other things, yes.”

“You’re a nasty, nasty boy!”

“Have you got anything to drink?” I asked after a short silence.

Emily rose quickly out of bed. She didn’t move to put on a robe. She was proud of the condition of her body. God knows she should have been: She had nothing she should want to hide. Her body would have done credit to a thirty-year-old. “What would be your pleasure?” she asked.

“Maybe some white wine?” I said. “Anything cold, really.”

“Should I make coffee — for later?” she asked.

“Oh, yes! That sounds great, even now.”

“Yeah, to me too. I’ll brew some of my good Columbian.”

While she was gone I slumped into complete relaxation, breathed deeply, and let out a long, meaningful sigh of contentment. It had been a long time — well before my arrival in Frederick — since I’d last made love to a woman. If I had known back at the beginning of June that the first time I broke the drought would be with my almost fifty-year-old landlady, I’d have assumed that my life must not be going very well at all.

But right at that moment, I thought I’d had some amazing good fortune.

Emily returned with chilled white wine and I knew at first taste that it was far better than the stuff I paid for with my own money. In the distance, I could hear the coffeemaker doing its thing.

“I think we’re sufficiently compatible that we could share a cruise ship’s cabin,” she said.

“Listen, if you left on that cruise without me after this, my confidence would be shattered for life.”

Our departure’s still some considerable time away,” she said. “We’ll have time for a little more practice before leaving.”

“Gotta make sure everything’s shipshape,” I agreed.

“If you’d like to stay the night,” Emily said, “you’re welcome to do so.”

“Is that a yellow-tie welcome or a green-tie welcome?” I asked her.

“After our wine, the coffee, perhaps a short nap and a quiet dinner, I think it might be a green-tie evening, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m going to be up for it in about fifteen minutes,” I told her. “But I can wait.”

We did wait. But it was an early bedtime.

Changing the dates of Emily’s cruise proved no problem at all, but I had neglected to consider the possibility that the Frederick Keys might make the post-season playoffs and further delay my departure. If that happened, our cruise dates would conflict badly with Emily’s wish to be back to greet her boarders coming back for the fall semester.

I felt a little guilty about the fact that the Keys barely missed making the post-season, but I was secretly pleased. At least I’d played well in the final series and hadn’t been a contributing cause of our failure.

We had intended to drive to Washington Dulles very early on the morning of our scheduled flight to Miami. However, the weather turned quite bad, with heavy rains coming in from the north and high winds predicted for overnight. We decided to drive down the evening before our flight and book a room close to the airport.

Next day the weather had cleared considerably, and our flight was direct and uneventful. Although we furtively discussed the possibility of joining the Mile High Club, no realistic opportunity to do so presented itself. I think Emily might have been more timid about making an attempt than she would have been in the company of a man closer to her own age.

During our cab ride to the passenger docks in Miami we were in shirtsleeve weather that made Frederick’s summer seem cool by comparison. Maybe early September wasn’t prime season for cruising the Caribbean, but as long as our tiny stateroom was air conditioned, the outdoors could get as warm as it wanted and I wouldn’t complain.

Despite our both being ocean-cruise neophytes, we found signing in and getting aboard to be a simple and efficient process. No eyebrows were raised and no hint was detectable that anyone regarded us as an odd couple. We had decided to be reasonably discreet during the entire trip about our sharing a single cabin. We would, for example, enter and leave the cabin at slightly staggered intervals. However, we intended to spend as much time together in public (and in the cabin) as we saw fit. Those who didn’t mistake us for mother and son would perhaps be worldly enough to remain silent anyway. After all, no laws were being broken.

The huge liner left Miami on schedule and we were on deck, enjoying the sights and the new (to us) sensation of ocean sailing. Dinner that evening was a testimonial to the quality of the cruise line Mr. Farnsworth had selected. A truly memorable meal. Our table included two other couples and we all got acquainted and found ourselves comfortable in one another’s company.

I could tell that some of our dinner companions were dying to know what our relationship was, but all they got was our names. We didn’t even tell them whether we were traveling together.

Let ‘em suffer.

Early in the evening, Emily spoke to me on deck. “We’ve got eight days aboard this ship,” she said. “I’m sure there are all sorts of things to see and do. But for tonight, I feel like turning in early. If you’d like to look around, or go to the casino, that’s fine.”