Chapter 21: Cherry, Apple, and Chocolate

October 12, 1996, Rutherford, Ohio

After I’d recovered from my surprise, she showed me her test results, and I showed her the card I carried in my wallet.

“Don’t you want to know more about me?” I asked. “And my circus?”

“That wasn’t the question you were supposed to ask.”

“True, but it’s the one I did ask.”

“You think my answer will be different if I find out about your life? I already know you’re married. And you called it ‘open’, which I guess means you can fool around.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Does it matter?” Winter asked, her eyes fixed on mine. “You’ll go back to Chicago; I’ll stay here, then go to college, meet a guy, get married, and have kids.”

“I suppose if you look at it that way, no, it doesn’t.”

“You remember I told you I babysit for Paul and Liz? He’s ten years older than she is. They got together when she was fourteen. He got in trouble for it, but she never regretted it.”

Putting two-and-two together, and making a few assumptions, that would have been the early eighties, which meant the ‘trouble with the law’ Paul mentioned was most likely a statutory rape charge. I remembered from talking with Mary Harrison back in High School about an older guy she’d been with who had been busted for that. The penalties then were usually light compared to the current ones. Back then, it could easily have been probation or, if not, then at most a couple of years in jail. Nowadays they threw the book at you.

“I guess I don’t see the point you’re trying to make,” I replied.

“Just that I think you’re too worried about the age difference. I have friends who were with older guys and they thought it was great.”

“Older MARRIED guys?”

“I haven’t forgotten you were married since the last time you mentioned it. In fact, I said it just before. You don’t have to keep repeating it.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m just concerned about what you expect to happen.”

“I just TOLD you,” she said, sounding exasperated.

We were both finished with our floats, so I took the heavy glass mugs back inside the shop, then went back out to the picnic table.

“I need to walk off some of that sugar,” I said. “Want to come along?”

“Sure.”

We set off down the sidewalk, walking away from the motel. In addition to the walk, I needed to think. Winter was right in that I did want her, and she obviously was interested in me. She didn’t seem to be totally naïve, and I didn’t feel I’d manipulated her, beyond whatever giving off the vibe might have done. She had asked me for something innocent - root beer floats - as a way to extend our conversation and see where it might lead. She’d had the destination in mind when she’d done that. And if I was honest with myself, I had to admit I had the same destination in mind.

“You know there’s a baseball playoff game on TV right now,” she said impishly.

“You aren’t old enough to buy beer! When I lived in Ohio we could buy 3.2 at age 18, but the government decided that wasn’t adult enough to drink, and changed the laws to 21.”

“So straight to the other ‘b’ then?” she laughed.

“I’m boycotting baseball because of the strike a few years ago when they canceled the World Series.”

“Then there really IS only one ‘b’ left!”

“What if I don’t like those?”

“Riiiiggghhhhttt!” she guffawed. “Show me a guy who doesn’t!”

“You might have a point.”

“Might?”

“I suspect somewhere there is some guy who doesn’t. I don’t think I’ve met him!”

“Me either!”

“Will you do something for me?” I asked.

“Anything!” she exclaimed.

“I’d be VERY careful about saying that around me! But I didn’t mean that. Let’s finish our walk. You go home, then tomorrow we have lunch, play miniature golf, go bowling, and have dinner. If you’re still interested, then you can ask.”

“Me? You’re supposed to ask!”

“Under normal circumstances, it is the guy who asks. But this isn’t a normal circumstance!”

“I suppose not. What time tomorrow?”

“It’s up to you. I’m always up very early to run and practice karate. I usually eat lunch between 11:00am and 1:00pm. I have no plans tomorrow other than the ones I just made with you. I’m in Room 14 at the motel. Just come knock on the door.”

“How did you know I bowled?”

“I didn’t, but it can still be fun even if you don’t have experience. I haven’t bowled in a LONG time. I used to be pretty good. I guess I’ll find out if I still am.”

We finished our walk at Lou’s, and I watched as Winter got into her car and drove away. I walked back to the motel, went into my room, and did the usual karate warm-up exercises to help burn off some of the sugar, took a quick shower, then played Civilization II until it was time for bed.

October 13, 1996, Rutherford, Ohio

On Sunday morning I woke up at first light, put on shorts and a t-shirt, and walked to the park for my run. When I finished my five laps around the small lake, I moved to the grassy area and after stretching a bit began practicing kata. Unlike in London, I didn’t attract any spectators, but it was very early in the morning in a small town.

When I finished I walked back towards the entrance to the park, noticing a Sheriff’s cruiser parked there. As I approached, the deputy climbed out and walked towards me. Having dealt with enough cops in Chicago, I moved my hands to my side and turned them to show my palms. I wasn’t carrying, because I didn’t have an Ohio concealed carry permit and wasn’t sure what the law was. The gun was locked in the trunk of my car, in a metal box lined with foam to keep it safe.

“Good morning, Deputy,” I said.

“Hi. You can relax! I was just curious what you were doing in the park early in the morning.”

“Running and practicing karate,” I said.

“There’s a dojo not too far outside of town. You new here?”

“Just visiting. I’ll be here for about two weeks. Is there a problem with practicing in the park?”

“No. You just took me by surprise. When I drove past I sort of saw you out of the corner of my eye and something didn’t look right so I came back to check. But really, it was just something out of place. You get used to things that go on when you’re on patrol and anything different warrants a second look.”

“I’ll probably be here every morning for the next two weeks.”

“I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.”

He walked back to his cruiser and got in, and I headed back to the motel for a shower, then went to The Yolk’s on You for breakfast. I immediately missed Pam, who would have my order pre-written on her pad even before we arrived at Bucktown Bistro, so I had to carefully explain to the young woman waiting on me what I wanted, and make it clear not to add anything at all. Even though her back was turned, I was sure she rolled her eyes as she walked away.

The young woman, probably about sixteen, made me think back to the previous night, and the way Winter had responded. The attitude displayed by the two young women was night and day different. Both were in the same position - the better you treated the customer, the larger the tip you were likely to receive. And that notion applied in any field - our support engineers had to display positive, customer-friendly attitudes. There had been good reason not to allow Greg to talk to customers back when he had been NIKA’s principal engineer.

The waitress, whose name tag read ‘Shel’, returned to fill my coffee cup. When I’d asked about tea, the only thing they had was Lipton in bags, and I’d elected to have coffee instead. I picked up the copy of the Rutherford Tribune and enjoyed reading a different perspective from what was usually published in the Chicago Tribune. Of course, many of the stories were about local things about which I had little or no knowledge.

Shel brought my breakfast and disinterestedly asked if there was anything else I needed. I said no, and she dropped the check on the table. I continued reading the paper while I ate, and Shel did refill my coffee cup twice, so at least her attitude didn’t affect that part of her service. When I finished, I left a below-average tip, which was far less than my usual generous tip, and took my check to the register.

“Hi!” the pretty, dark-haired woman at the register said.

Her name tag read ‘Liz’ and I assumed she was Paul’s wife.

“Good morning! You must be Mrs. Reynolds,” I said.

“Then you must be the guest from Chicago staying in Room 14. Paul mentioned a fedora, and I haven’t seen anyone wearing a fedora in here in at least a year! Almost always it’s baseball caps or wool caps in the Winter. How was everything?”

“The food was good, the service was, well, adequate, I suppose. Shel doesn’t seem to be ‘customer oriented’ as we would call it in my company.”

I handed over the check and a $10 bill.

Liz nodded, “It’s getting harder and harder to find good help. I waited tables at a diner when I was a teenager, so I know what it’s like.”

She rang the check through the register, and made change, and handed it to me.

“You too, huh? We have that problem with interns and other entry-level folks. My friends back home in the fire department say the same thing. And I’ve heard it from others, too. I figured in a small town it might be better.”

“Actually it’s better here than in Columbus or Cincinnati, but too many girls Shel’s age have a bad attitude.”

“The waitress at Lou’s last night was more what I expected.”

“That had to be Winter! I’d hire her in a heartbeat but she’s been working for Lou since she turned sixteen and the only way she was going to leave was to marry her Marine boyfriend.”

“I heard about that. I have friends who are Navy lawyers and I offered to have him court-martialed!”

“More like whipped and keel hauled! She’s a sweet girl. She babysits for us and I wish I’d hired her when she was first looking for a job, but I didn’t have any openings.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you for the next two weeks,” I said.

“Weekday mornings you get our full-time staff because school is in session. Marnie and Sue will take good care of you! I’m usually here for lunch and dinner during the week. My morning hostess has Saturday and Sunday off.”

“Then I probably won’t see you until Saturday,” I said.

“Have a nice stay, and let Paul or me know if you need anything!”

“I will. Thanks.”

I left the restaurant and walked back to the motel. I wondered if it might make sense to get some bacon, eggs, and milk and make my own breakfast, but I decided against that. I filled the coffee maker with water and turned it on, using it to heat water for my tea. About ten minutes later, I sat down with a cup of Earl Grey and my PowerBook.

When I wrote the previous day, I’d focused mostly on work, trying to order my thoughts before my meeting with Bill Ivarstad. I felt I’d done a pretty good job of outlining how I was feeling, and that he’d help me explore solutions. What I wanted to explore at the moment were my thoughts about Winter and Summer, though I had very little to go on about Summer, except what Kara had said.

In a sense, I felt more comfortable about Winter because it had simply happened naturally, as opposed to Kara attempting to fix me up, again, with a girl. That said, as far as I was aware, all Kara had done so far was talk to Birgit. I needed to talk to Birgit, or what I’d been joking about was going to come to pass - Birgit encouraging her friends to be with me and, perhaps even literally selling access!

While I was writing, I decided that if what Kara wanted was going to happen, I had to talk to Summer, not Kara, and if she expressed interest, then I’d have to broach the subject of Kara’s voyeurism. I chuckled as I wrote about making a pornographic video and Abbie’s script. I took my hands from the keyboard, picked up my cell phone and dialed her cell phone. There wasn’t a race, so I wasn’t worried about her being at the track.

“Steve!” Abbie exclaimed when she answered.

“Recognized my number?”

“I don’t know anyone who would call me with a 312 number on a Sunday morning besides you! How are you?”

“Pretty good. Are they turning you into a Southern Belle?”

“Fat chance!” she said with a soft laugh. “I may not dress goth, but these idiots all think ‘the South will rise again!’ and call it ‘the War of Northern Aggression’!”

“We could debate the politics of the Civil War until the cows come home, but that’s not why I called.”

“What’s up?”

“I thought of you the other day when Kara mentioned Virgin Slayer!”

Abbie started laughing and it was a good minute before she stopped.

“I thought about showing that to Jason, but I’m pretty sure his head would explode!”

“He is a bit on the conservative side.”

“A bit?”

“OK; a lot.”

“Are you thinking of making the movie?”

“Kara did suggest it!”

“Sign me up! An Abbie Stuart production! Directed by Abbie Stuart! Screenplay by Abbie Stuart! Casting by Abbie Stuart!”

“And the star of the movie? Where does his name go in the credits?”

“I thought you wanted to remain anonymous! I had an idea for how to film it - that your face would always be in shadow or you would be filmed from behind or an angle which didn’t show your face whenever there was a sex scene. And if you remember, the murder scenes would either only show a hand with a weapon or just the body after the murder had happened. That would add to the mystery of who the killer was.

“The only time your face would be seen would be as a suspect, but there were other suspects who the police liked more. Only with the last murder would it be obvious who the killer was - when you fucked the police detective’s underage virginal daughter all night and then killed her! Then the credits roll. And after the credits, a scene like in Young Sherlock Holmes with you checking into a bed-and-breakfast in Sweden.”

“Interesting. And where do you propose to find twelve virgins willing to have sex on film?”

“That was always the problem, though you never know! Of course, you could do it as an R-rated movie and just simulate the sex, but where’s the fun in that?”

“For me? For you? For Kara?”

“She likes to watch, doesn’t she?”

“You knew?”

“That was obvious when I was living there! I know you guys made a movie. I also know she would have killed to be in the room with you, me, and Claire!”

“I had no idea about that specific desire! She did tell me she was jealous of me and a girl initiating a virgin via show and tell, with no same-sex touching, which happened after you moved out.”

“I could see Kara liking that, and I guess it wouldn’t violate your marriage vows, so long as Kara didn’t participate except as a voyeur, or even if she wanted to ramp up her exhibitionism from the sauna or the pizza guy!”

“What do you think I should do?”

“You haven’t asked me for advice like that in a LONG time!”

“I know, but thinking about Virgin Slayer reminded me of all those deep talks we had.”

“Deep?” she teased.

“You agreed to only be bad with Jason, young lady!”

“Oh, I know, and I’d never, ever do it, but I can tease you like you tease Kathy!”

“Used to tease Kathy.”

“Uh-oh. Do I sense Steve Adams becoming ‘no fun’, thereby fulfilling Penny’s image of him?”

“That might not be inaccurate.”

“You know, there were times when I thought you were too serious and taking yourself too seriously.”

“I know. But I’m not sure you thought that at the end.”

“Not as often, no. But you know, you really only had two sources of fun - sex and computer programming. When we talked back in March, you said you weren’t doing much programming, if any at all. If you quit your dalliances, then I have to ask what it is you do for fun? I’m sure karate is enjoyable, but you’re an instructor so you have to be totally serious about it. And at work, you’re the boss, so that’s pretty much totally serious, too.”

“So I need a hobby?” I chuckled.

“You HAD one!” she laughed. “I discovered it when I was seventeen and all I can say is nobody I’ve ever been with has been as much fun as you! Especially that day with Claire...”

“That was a bit over the top!”

“Have you had more fun than that recently?”

“I never told you about the Saint Martin Six!” I chuckled.

“At once?!” she gasped.

“No, but within a short time in Saint Martin. All eighteen and recent High School graduates. And most of them were virgins!”

“When was that?!”

“About three years ago.”

“Then I’d say you’re overdue for some good, old-fashioned fun, Steve. Do you remember Abbie’s prescription?”

I chuckled, “I do. I actually read it to Doctor Mercer when I talked to her about how I was feeling.”

“And what did she say?”

“Her prescription wasn’t at odds with yours in a significant way.”

“Wait! You read it to her? It’s in your journals?”