Chapter 1: Get a Room

Bill Pierce got to church early. The Hashimotos came in right after he did.

“You’re the greeter?” he asked Nancy

“Yep. Want to handle Alice while I handle Bulletins?”

“I’d be grateful.” He picked Alice out of her car seat, being careful to brace her neck. Lying on his arm, she grinned at him, and he grinned back. Then he went out the door to walk the landing at the top of the outside steps. She was dressed warmly and nearly surrounded by his body heat, and -- September or not -- it was a warm, bright, day. He greeted a few early attenders, and they greeted Alice.

Then a college girl came up the stairs. She was new; he would have noticed that impressive pair of melons if he’d seen it earlier. Still, he asked.

“First time?” She nodded. “Welcome. I’m Bill.”

“Carolyn.” She extended her hand, and he shook it. She had a pretty face and lovely, black, shoulder-length, hair. Nice voice, too.

“And this is Alice.” Carolyn and Alice exchanged grins. Carolyn went in, and he continued pacing. At the first notes of the opening hymn, he took Alice back to Carl. They cooperated in replacing her in the car seat, and he sat in a pew not too far away.

Bill half-way expected some parent to say, “You like my kid so much, then you change him.” None ever did. On the other hand, he maintained a policy of being helpful to those parents trusted him with their kids. Drew Kindred was one of those. The next Sunday was coffee hour, and Drew was changing Stan. Bill went to the other side of the table to talk to Stan and hold his hands. When Drew had got him dressed again, he lifted him and handed him over the table to Bill. Bill enjoyed the wriggling toddler in his arms, if not as much as he’d enjoyed him last year. Stan enjoyed it much less. Bill could tell that he would demand to be put down in a minute. Still, that minute could be used.

He walked over to Carolyn. Women were much more comfortable when approached by a man with a kid in his arms than when approached by a man without one. Maybe they figured that guaranteed they wouldn’t be groped.

“Carolyn, have you met Stan?” he asked. She hadn’t. “And Stanford, this pretty lady is Carolyn.” Stan was too young to be interested in pretty ladies. He wanted to run around. He let him down and admonished him to go to Drew. That left Carolyn and Bill to carry on a conversation, and they did. She made polite noises about the congregation -- not that she wouldn’t whatever she thought, but she had come back. She was an economics major, a graduate student. He ushered her to the line, while continuing the conversation. Then, before she could feel the need to get out of this guy’s clutches, he introduced her to the other graduate students who were sitting at their own table and left her there.

Carolyn started singing in the choir a few weeks later. That meant he saw less of her, but she was more likely to stick around. So, he talked to her briefly and watched her continually at coffee hour. He abided his time. Then, one rainy day, it came. She had on a light dress, which showed her figure to good advantage, not that anything would hide those melons. What the dress didn’t provide was much protection from the rain. He’d come prepared; he always did.

“That what you have for rain gear?” he asked her.

“What I have here.” Which, perhaps, implied that she had more suitable clothes at home. Much good that would do her. On the other hand, her situation did him some good.

“‘If you don’t like the weather in Chicago, wait fifteen minutes.’ I don’t think that applies to this storm -- it looks closer to forty days and forty nights. Look, stay here until I honk. I’ll drive you home.” And, when he honked, she ran out.

“Gee, thanks,” she said.

“Nothing. But I don’t know where you live. What’s the address?” She told him. He’d have liked to ask for her phone number, too. But that would have been too much. “Settling into your studies? Midterms aren’t coming up; are they?”

“Not really.” Which meant that it was now or never.

“Look, how’d you like to go out to eat Friday night? I could pick you up there and take you to a restaurant I like.” He held his breath, but not for long.

“I’d be pleased.” It had been that easy, after all his worry. Now, he had a date with the prettiest girl in the church. He’d make a reservation at Manfredo’s, not a place her fellow students could afford. But the idea of reservations led to question of time. Students probably ate earlier than he was used to.

“Is six-thirty too late? I get back from the Loop, and I have to get my car afterward. If I drove home from the Loop at rush hour, it would be even longer.” He was talking too much.

“Six thirty would be fine.” Outside her dorm, they exchanged phone numbers. He had her number, and a date. Now, all he had to do was not blow it.

“Thanks for the ride.” She said.

“The pleasure was mine.” And it had been.

Friday, he left the office precisely at five. He thought of himself as management, not one of the clock watchers, but leaving on time occasionally wouldn’t spoil his reputation. He got home a few minutes after six. He shaved and splashed on after-shave. Then, he called the number she’d given him.

“Sixth floor,” a girl answered. Oh yes, he’d lived in dorms, too.

“May I speak to Carolyn.” The girl shouted the name, and he heard the receiver brush against the wall.

“Carolyn Schneider speaking.” Was that her name? It didn’t sound at all like her; the voice wasn’t even pretty.

“This is Bill Pierce.” How much would he have to explain? How much of an ass would he sound like? Would the story be told often enough to get back to Carolyn? There was a pause, then another voice, pretty even over the phone, spoke.

“Hello?” It was Carolyn. Well, it was his Carolyn rather than the other. Well, if not his yet, it was the Carolyn he wanted.

“Sorry, I’d forgotten what dorm phone service was like.”

“I should have given you my last name. I didn’t think.” The girl was thinking about what she should have done rather than about what he should have done.

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m back from work and about to go out the door. What’s the drill? I forgot to ask you on Sunday. Do men just walk in? Will they call campus security if I try?”

“They’re not that bad. There is an entrance area. You give my name, Carolyn Nolan, and they page me. There’s even an inside area where you can go if I’m with you. If you’re on the floor, then they call campus security.”

“Will do.” But he didn’t have to. By the time he got there, she was already waiting in the lobby. She was carrying a raincoat this time. Unfortunately, she was wearing jeans. He had a reservation at Manfredo’s, and they would turn her away. Should he ask her to change? The church clothes would be totally acceptable. It would be a horrible start to a date, though. Well, he would be flexible.

“Do you like Chinese? Chinatown North, a section of Chicago, isn’t too far from here.”

“Sure.” Parking on Friday night wasn’t great, but he had a choice of restaurants he’d eaten in. The first one had only one couple ahead of them. After he’d seated her, and they’d picked up the menus, she opened the conversation.

“So, you manage to sell drugs which don’t lie, cheat, or steal?” She’d totally lost him. “What makes a drug ethical?” Oh!

“It’s more how you get it. It was the drug industry until people started talking about street drugs. You want one of ours, you get a prescription first. For that matter, most of ours wouldn’t interest a junkie. Representatives don’t dare leave a sample case out where it can be seen in a car, even so. The company has a few over-the-counter products, too, but I don’t deal with them. The marketing is entirely different.”

She was ready to choose her own dishes, which pleased him. He hadn’t enough experience here to know which were the best. She was drawing him out, which meant that she liked him. The problem with men inviting and women accepting or not was that you never knew whether she really wanted the invitation, was desperate for a change in menu, or felt that politely accepting was less distasteful than turning down a guy who’d -- after all -- driven her home as a favor. Anyway, he knew what part of a mostly-boring job was interesting. And she didn’t look bored.

When he drove her home, she stopped in the lobby. He moved to kiss her. She didn’t reject him, and he got the taste of her lips and the feel of her melons against his chest. He felt himself hardening. If she felt it, too, she made no objection. Saturday, he called to thank her and hear her voice again. He still wanted to take her to Manfredo’s. Well, all it took was a little planning.

He was carrying Alice again during coffee hour in church. She was more active now, and his carrying her was more of a service to Carl and Nancy. He stopped by where Carolyn was sitting.

“I’d like to thank you again for coming out with me Friday.”

“The pleasure was mine.” She sounded like she meant it.

“Could I tempt you to come for another dinner next Sunday after church?”

“I’d be pleased.” At which point, Alice started squirming. The girl had no respect for the laws of gravity. He nodded his goodbye and walked off fast enough to give Alice the motion she wanted. He got a reservation at Manfredo’s for Sunday at one o’clock.

They actually got there a little early. They talked about the church and what she called “his babies” while they waited.

“They aren’t mine. I just borrow them. Don’t you think that they’re cute?” At that point, they got their table. Carolyn seemed happy, and she was still in the draw-him-out mode. He was willing enough; he’d done better in economics, and enjoyed it more, than most of his classmates. On the other hand, that level of enjoyment wasn’t a particularly high bar.

“Do people really rob your salesmen of their drug samples?” she asked.

“Not often. Replacing the windshield they break to get the case is the representative’s responsibility. Only slow learners replace two windshields.” Showing her that he understood the economist’s rule of changing behavior through economic incentives. “And the drugs they carry shouldn’t be anything the addicts want. But those aren’t the smartest people.

“Look,” he continued, “suppose that somebody has a blood pressure of one-eighty. The doctor prescribes one pill a day to bring it down below one-fifty, and that isn’t really healthy. Now, what would happen if you took that pill? We really don’t know, but if it lowered your blood pressure thirty points, you’d probably faint. They test these things out to see whether they deal with problems, not to see how they affect healthy people. Now, some addict gets those pills and gulps a dozen. If he survives, it’s a miracle.”

“I thought lower blood pressure was good.”

And they went on from there as far as that subject fit into a dinner-date. Then they got onto the poor economic conditions. He knew what the problem was, and it always amazed him that papers talked about other causes. Since she was taking training in economics, she should agree.

“This Great-Society crap was bound to ruin the economy. Washington needs the discipline that businessmen deal with every day. Instead, they dole out this Keynesian bullshit.” But she didn’t agree. She, in fact, disagreed quite harshly.

“Well, first of all, the economy was doing all right -- spectacularly well, in fact -- when Kennedy and Johnson and their appointees were in control. The growth rate of real GDP was significantly higher than it was under Eisenhower. Somehow, the economy grows well when Keynesians are in control; it tanks when they’re replaced with old-school economists -- somehow, that’s supposed to demonstrate the weakness of Keynesian economics. After all, this is macroeconomics. It’s what I study.” That was too much. He couldn’t bite his tongue.

“Well, it’s what you’re in your first quarter of studying. I have an MBA, and I studied it all.”

“In the first place, I may have just begun my graduate study of macroeconomics,” she interrupted, “but I have a bachelor’s degree in economics. I don’t really see why they’d put much emphasis on macroeconomics in a business school. Microeconomics is what you do, after all.” That was putting him down. He forgot that she was a pretty girl and went after her.

“Micro, macro, economics is economics. You guys may get lots of theory, but I know how things work. I make it work every day.” She was unconvinced.

“And in the business-school economics you studied, did they tell you that a decrease in price would lead to an increase in volume? That’s standard for beginning micro. Well, you’re operating in the real world -- drug sales. Would a decrease in price lead your doctors to prescribe more? We’re both talking theory. It’s just that the theory you learned is a little simplistic.”

“Just shows how much theory is worth.”

“And the statements you originally challenged weren’t theoretical. They’re the matter of statistics, statistics published in Economic Report of the President with Richard Nixon’s name up front.”

“You can prove anything by statistics. What you call growth was just inflation.” He then got control of his tongue. They didn’t go back to the subject, but he felt he’d spoiled this date. When he’d taken her back to her dorm, she proved that. She avoided his kiss.

And she didn’t cool down. The next few times he saw her in church, she seemed to be avoiding him. He let her alone except for testing the waters occasionally. Every week he could hear her voice, and every month he could see her at coffee hour. Somehow, that increased his frustration. He’d been right about what he’d said, but he became convinced that he’d been wrong to say it. He’d certainly been wrong to blow up like that on a great date.

That didn’t keep him from blowing up at other times, though. Maybe the frustration made him likelier to do so. One coffee hour, he’d been admiring a baby new to the church when Dan Hagopian came over. Dan was on the committee to deal with new visitors, and he was interested in the one who had learned to talk, so Bill went his way. Soon after, he heard Ruth Schweib, one of the soft-headed graduate students say something about the inadequacy of the level of welfare. He expressed his frustration at having his tax dollars spent on welfare cheats. He might have expressed that frustration rather more loudly than was absolutely necessary, but Carolyn was at the same table, and she was ignoring him. Not long after he’d finished, Dan walked over.

“Nice shoes,” he said. “Who tied them for you?” Crazy question.

“You bats? I tied them myself.”

“You sure didn’t sound bright enough to tie your own shoes five minutes ago. We had a first-time visitor when you started sounding off about welfare. She immediately got her stuff together and left. Now, our diversity numbers suck, and you might not care about that. But I know what you do care about, and she took her baby with her. That’s one infant you’ll never carry, and it’s all because you can’t keep your damned mouth shut.”

“But I didn’t mean...” He sure didn’t mean that woman, not with her sweet baby.

“What you didn’t do was think. Look, some welfare mothers might be cheats; some might be dope addicts. What every single one of them is, is a mother. You have to choose between insulting them and their trusting you with their kids. And, for the sake of this church and its being welcoming, I hope to God that you choose selfishly.”

Dan had been too loud -- well, he’d been too loud first, but he suspected that Dan’s loudness was deliberate. He was infuriated for the rest of the day. Then he thought. He’d lost a lot more than the chance to hold another baby by expressing his opinions inappropriately. The next Sunday, he went over to Dan after church.

“We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Longer than this. Let Gladys drive home, and I’ll take you home. We can talk in my car.”

“Okay.” And so, they went to the Packard. He didn’t start the car.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Last week. You said I talked inappropriately.”

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. He trying to maintain a friendship.

“Thing is, I might have talked when it was even more inappropriate.” He told the story of mouthing off on a date that turned into a last date.

“Carolyn?” That was a detail he’d omitted.

“Yeah.”

“Something happened between you two, and people can tell. Let me think.” There was a long pause. “You know, asking a professor to talk when he’s sitting in a car really limits him. We talk standing up. Anyway...

“Go back a bit. You boss a crew of salesmen.” That was a fairly patronizing job description, but he’d come there to listen. “How much of that selling had you done when you were put in charge?”

“I put two months in the field.”

“Having been already hired as an executive. You weren’t a spectacularly successful salesman?”

“Representative, and it doesn’t work that way.” Representatives didn’t have records of how many prescriptions their doctors ordered.

“But you had listened to a lot of professors talk, and that put you in charge of people who’d had years of practical experience in selling.”

“There’s more to an MBA than listening to professors.”

“There’s more to any degree than listening. Which is fortunate, considering how few seem to listen. My point is that you’re in charge of the level where the real practical work is done. You expect to go higher. That’s because you have a better education than those guys have. And then, you put down someone who’s getting an education because your work is closer to the ground. And it’s not on the ground. You don’t make pills; you don’t even sell pills. You boss guys who sell pills. You know how steel workers vote?”

“The way their union bosses tell them.”

“That’s my field, Bill. That’s terribly simplified. Back when coal miners almost worshiped John L. Lewis, Lewis turned against the Roosevelt. Coal-mine regions didn’t. Anyway...

“People who have more education than you should listen to you because your experience is more nearly practical. People who have more practical experience than you should listen to you because you have more education. But you don’t have any respect for the opinions of the people with more practical experience, like steel workers and coal miners. You don’t have any respect for the opinions of people with more education like PhDs and grad students. You have the epitome which makes your opinions gold.

“Somehow, for some inexplicable reason, for some deep psychologically weird reason, some people are delusional enough to perceive that as arrogance.”

“Some people including you and Carolyn?”

“I can’t speak for Carolyn. Maybe, if you sincerely ask her for her honest opinion and listen to it, she might tell you.” Which dodged the question whether Dan thought him arrogant. Which clearly meant that he did.

“Well I’m not sure that she has more education than I do. I have a master’s; she doesn’t yet have a doctorate.”

“Well, I have a doctorate. She knows more economics than I do, and I took economics courses. The world is full of people who say that they know the theory as well as the theoreticians but know the practics, too. There are a few poli-sci PhDs running campaigns, and they could make that claim -- though even they probably don’t keep up with the lit. Generally, the claim is bogus. You have the economic theory which is needed to learn the business theory that is the grounding for your practical work. The business theory doesn’t qualify you to teach in the B school of the U of C. The economics sure-as-hell doesn’t. Apply for teaching post at some university and see if they give you an interview.”

“Well, maybe so, but I wasn’t saying anything that my professors weren’t.”

“I’ll buy that, and not only at the B School. The economics department at the U of C is notorious for its conservative views. But you weren’t saying what her professors were saying. There is a debate in that profession. There are debates, lots of debates, in every profession.”

“So, it comes down to what her professors were saying as opposed to what my professors were saying?”

“To some degree. Also, the professors have arguments and data to support their positions. If she’s any good in her field, certainly if she’s ever going to turn out a dissertation, she knows the arguments and can find the data to support her professors’ opinions. “ That rang a bell.

“She said something about the president’s report on the economy.”

“The Economic Report of the President., an annual that comes in three sections. The first is prepared by the president’s Council of Economic Advisors. It’s signed by the president, but that pretense doesn’t go beyond the signature. You know, those Christmas letters that are signed by the whole family, but the wife is ‘I’ and the husband is ‘George’? Anyway, the first section tells how wonderfully the administration’s economic policies are working. Even in bad years it tells how wonderfully they’re working. The second section tells all about the Council of Economic Advisers. The third section is full of economic statistics going back decades. People, academics, actually read the third section, I don’t know of anyone who does more than glance at the first two, although somebody must be interested in what the Council of Economic Advisers is doing. I could tell you where to buy a copy. You could actually read the data. Then you would have the data to argue with her intelligently.” That didn’t sound like a way to get Carolyn over her anger.

“Well, thanks.” He’d already known that he had stepped in it. Dan had told him how he’d stepped in it. He drove Dan home. Maybe, if he listened while Carolyn told him how he’d stepped in it, they could start over. He liked the girl, and -- he had to admit now -- it was more than the melons that he liked. But she didn’t seem to be getting over her anger. She sang a solo, and he complimented her. That, at least, should have brought a smile. It didn’t.

One problem was that the whole damn church knew about his feelings for Carolyn. Any of the single women he asked on a date would feel like a second choice. And he didn’t date in the office. Some of the representatives and clerks did, but executives didn’t, and that policy had been laid out when he started. So, where was he going to get dates?

Business, at least, was going fine. He was promoted to regional sales manager, a position that brought him a real office and a secretary. Miss Flaherty sat in the larger room, but her desk was right outside his office door. She was pretty, but the rule against dating employees would go double against dating your own secretary. However, the rule didn’t mention ex-employees.

“Denise, do you have any contact with Maureen Spann, who used to work here?”

“Yes, we have lunch together on birthdays and such.”

“Well, I don’t want to force you to betray a confidence. Why don’t you tell her that I asked for her home phone number the next time you talk to her? If she’s willing, then you give it to me.” Denise looked like she was hiding a smile. “I know. Sounds just like high school, doesn’t it? But, in high school, I could walk up to the girl myself if I wasn’t scared to.”

At the price of a little gossip, he got the phone number. And the gossip wasn’t a complete negative. Anyway, he called.

“Maureen? This is Bill Pierce from back at Andalusia Pharmaceuticals. Nothing to do with that, it’s just that I remember you from back then. I was wondering whether you would be willing to have dinner after work some night.”

“Why thanks, Bill.”

“Where do you work now?”

“I’m at Harris Bank.”

“In the Loop, then?” If she worked in the main offices she would be. They had branches all over, and he didn’t know how many secretaries, as opposed to tellers and such, worked in the branches.

“Yes.”

“Would this Wednesday do? Say 5:30?”

“That would be fine.” They arranged to meet at the entrance to her building, and Bill checked which entrance she used.

The date went fine. Maureen lived on the North side, as he learned at dinner. They took the El home together, but he rode on to Howard after she got off at Argyle. They had other dates. He took her to the movies, driving in that day, taking her to dinner afterwards, driving her home, and kissing her on her doorstep.

When he took her to Manfredo’s for lunch on a Saturday in June, she was willing to return to his apartment afterwards for a drink. They had Manhattans on the couch of his living room. He could taste the cocktail on her lips when he kissed her.

“Sweet Maureen.” He began to unbutton her blouse. She didn’t stop him. When he’d got the bra undone and petted her for a while, he removed both and leaned back for a better look. Without the distraction of his kiss, and with his gaze so openly on her, she started to move her hands up to cover her melons.

“Don’t. You’re as pretty as I pictured you back then.” But not, some corner of his mind reminded him, as buxom as Carolyn was.

“You looked at me?”

“Probably everybody looked at you. I tried not to be obvious.” He went back to kissing her. Now, his hands had free access to her above the waist. For a while, she held his head against her as they kissed. When he moved his kisses downward towards her melons, she stroked his face, his arms, and then his leg. Her destination was obvious. He broke away and sat up. He rose and reached a hand down for hers.

“We’d be more comfortable in there.” He nodded towards his closed bedroom door. She gave him her hand, and he helped her up. They left her blouse, bra, and shoes in the living room. When had she removed her shoes?

In the bedroom, he kissed her again while they were standing. His hands went down her back to her ass while his chest appreciated her melons. He pulled her against him until her stomach was grinding against his hardon.

“Let’s take care of our own,” he suggested when he stepped back. He started on his tie. She got her skirt, half-slip, and pantyhose off before he was down to his underwear. She lay on the bed and watched him.

“Doesn’t skin feel better?” he asked when he lay down beside her. Hers certainly felt better, her melons under his lips, her leg against his leg and his hardon, her ass under his hand.

“Ihm hmm.” She stroked his hair. He passed his right hand up to her far melon, which he’d been neglecting. (His left hand was out of the action since he was lying on that elbow.) Then he stroked down over her stomach to her delta. When he pushed against her leg, she spread it enough to give his hand access.

He sucked on the tip of her melon while he rubbed up her furrow. He pushed two fingers into her tunnel to test its openness and lubrication. Both were inviting, but he went upward to her nub.

“Oh,” she said. He licked the tip while he stroked the nub. Then, when she seemed to be getting there, he started sucking the tip again. He rubbed his finger in a circle around her nub. When he rubbed it directly again, she went over with another “oh.”

He reached over to grab a rubber out of the drawer in the night stand. He rolled it down his dick. Then he knelt with his face right above hers.

“Maureen, lovely Maureen, say yes.” Actually, she didn’t say anything, but her hand stroked down his stomach to grasp his dick. As he moved his body into position, she led his dick to her snatch. He pushed into her tunnel.

She felt warm and smooth around him. He shifted to put his left hand on her melon while he grasped her ass with his right. As he thrust in, she raised her delta to meet him. He felt her ass tighten. As he moved out, she sank back onto the bed. Her ass softened in his hand.

It had been too long. He couldn’t wait for her to go over a second time. He came with a gush. He lay on her for minute, enjoying the softness beneath him. Then he rolled off and began stroking her body again.

“You are so lovely,” he said.

“Thanks.” She started to get up.

“Thank you. Do you want a shower?”

“I probably should.”

“I’ll go after you. We’ll go out somewhere else to eat dinner.” And they did, after watching some TV. Saturday afternoon doesn’t have the best programming for adults, but they paid more attention to each other.

He’d certainly enjoyed himself, and she seemed to have enjoyed herself, too. They fell into a pattern, Wednesday night movies -- occasionally, a play -- Saturday afternoon lunch and dinner at different restaurants with leisurely love in between. That meant that he drove into work on Wednesdays, but it was well worth it. After the first few times, he started choosing movies and restaurants between the loop and her apartment on Wednesdays and between his apartment and hers on Saturdays. There were a lot of choices. Covertly, he observed a rhythm in her responses to him. It must be her periods. He never mentioned it, and he felt a little guilty, but it was intriguing as bell. For one thing, he knew she was sexiest half-way between her periods.

One Wednesday in late August, he drove her home as usual. The movie had been romantic, and they’d shared a bottle of wine over dinner. His kiss in the entranceway of her apartment building was enthusiastic, and her response was more enthusiastic. He felt her hand on his dick through his trousers.