Chapter 1: Missed

Sylvia answered the phone.

“Sylvia?”

“George!” she screamed, then in a more normal tone of voice: “Sorry. I hope I didn’t deafen you. Where are you?”

“Logan. The first booth I could find. I had to try directory assistance. What happened?”

“I graduated in midyear. You knew I would. I wrote you all about it as soon as I knew my new address.”

“Never got it. I got your November letter last month. Look, has anything else changed? I mean are you married or anything?”

“Nothing like that. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Dunno. I’m filthy. And I caught a cold in Santiago.”

“I’m coming. I have a car, now.”

“I’ll be waiting out front. You’ll know me by the coat I’m carrying. It ain’t just chilly in Chile; it’s damn-well freezing.”

She was glad he’d mentioned the coat. George looked different -- thinner, deeply tanned, standing taller. “Well,” he said, “you’re looking great.”

“So are you. Is this all you have?”

“With me. All the important stuff was shipped by the expedition. Gave some of my clothes to people there who’d been great helps. When you’ve worn three pairs of jeans for a year, sometimes wading streams and never seeing a washing machine, they aren’t worth carrying back. So, you’re an affluent teacher now? Car and everything.”

“Calling a new substitute teacher ‘affluent’ wouldn’t endear you to the union,” she told him. “And I only got half a year in. We’re making subsistence wage at best. I’m waiting tables again this summer. That’s where the real money lies.”

“Haven’t shifted my point of view yet. These clothes I’m wearing, not even counting the coat. (People were staring at me for carrying a coat in August.) These clothes would be considered significant wealth in the village. Gonna be a shame to throw them away. Goodwill wouldn’t take them?”

Goodwill wouldn’t take them. Bag ladies would turn up their noses at them. “Throw the coat in the trunk?” he asked. Probably he should. Where had it been anyway? A manure pile?

She opened the trunk for him, and he put his coat in. He admired her ‘Impeach LBJ’ sticker on the fender. “Can’t believe I voted for that mother,” he said.

“Had to. If Goldwater had got in, American troops would be fighting a war in Vietnam by now.”

She drove him back to her room. What would Mrs. Lorenzo say? Well, fuck her if she said anything. Once inside, she hugged him. He kissed her but protested. “I’m dirty!” That was inarguable, but she was glad to get him back.

“Question is, are you hungry? Spaghetti?”

“Your spaghetti? I ate on the plane, but it wasn’t your spaghetti.” He didn’t eat as much as he used to, though. “I’ve gotten out of the habit. They had some good stuff -- some stomach-turning stuff, too -- but their good stuff didn’t match your standards.”

“I’m dirty,” he said again as she came to him for another kiss. She put her glasses on the table, and he put his glasses beside them.

“For God’s sake. Take a shower.” The idea of his taking a shower, getting naked to take a shower, raised another idea though. “Not yet. You need to visit the drugstore.”

“Drugstore?”

“I went off the Pill.”

“Problems?” He wasn’t at his brightest.

“Nothing medical. It’s just that I didn’t need it anymore.” Her boyfriend had been in South America, after all. “Do you have money?”

“Enough for that. I should buy a toothbrush, too. Can I use your toothpaste?”

“Sure. I’ve got it here. You can take it with you to the bathroom.” When he got back, she outfitted him completely -- robe, towel, soap, toothpaste, shampoo. Then she guarded the door while he took a long shower. Luckily, she only had to warn one girl away.

Back in the room, with his clothes dumped far away, he smelled much better. The kiss was longer and heart-felt. “I’ve got a cold,” he protested. But it didn’t make him draw back. Her robe, which looked ridiculous on him, was tented in a way that she had never distorted it.

He moved from her mouth to her neck. The hell with hickeys; she was waiting tables tomorrow, not teaching snickering schoolkids. When he had unbuttoned her blouse, she stepped back. “Faster this way,” she said.

When she’d got the blouse and bra off, he stepped forward again and bent over. “Missed these,” he said. “Missed you.”

She ran her hands through his hair. There was less of it than there used to be, but it felt silky if awfully wet. She should have given him her hair dryer, too -- and a comb. His lips, on the other hand, felt as good as they ever had. He sucked one nipple, then the other. His hands tried to undo her jeans.

“You can’t do those,” she said, “hardly can myself.” She stepped back. “First the bed,” she decided aloud. She put the extra chair under the table, where it wouldn’t be hit when the bed came down.

“Where is it?”

“Look.” She opened up the double doors. “I’ll get it.” She pulled the murphy bed down every night, and there was a trick to it. If he had caught machismo in South America and had to do the work, he’d pull it down on his head. She would get out of the way.

He stepped back and let her do it. “This is fun,” he said when the bed was safely down. There wasn’t much room left. “I always said that work fascinated me, but it’s much better to watch when you’re dressed like this.”

“I would think you’d be tired of seeing bare-breasted women.”

“You’re thinking of Bali. Maybe there are naked people in the Amazon valley, but I was in the Altiplano. Freeze your butt on a summer morning even wearing a coat. Come here.” He kissed her breasts again. She turned her back, and he kissed her neck for a moment. He held her breasts from in back while she struggled out of the jeans. That moved his firm prick back and forth across her spine. Still in her panties, she turned to him and undid the sash of the robe.

He looked better out of it, better than he ever had, really. Every muscle was defined. He still didn’t look like an athlete, but he’d obviously not been bullshitting in his first letter when he talked about all the walking they’d done. His skin, though, was pale from the neck down. “Let me look at you,” she said and pushed him back. He stood there but kept his hands on her breasts.

She lay down on the top sheet. “Come here.”

“Don’t have to ask that twice,” he said. He lay down beside her and kissed her while his hands held her breasts. When his mouth replaced his hands, those went lower. She spread her legs in anticipation. It was as good as it had ever been. Soon, he helped her out of her panties. He stroked her and sucked on her nipples. She could feel the tension building, but she hadn’t had him in her for a year. She reached over towards his hardness.

Then she realized that she was unprotected. “Damn!” she said.

“Something wrong?”

“Could you get the rubber?” The bed protested as he climbed out to rummage through his clothes.

When he lay down again, properly covered, her excitement had gone down a bit. Still, when he kissed her breasts, she spread her legs. It had been a long time. “Now?” he asked as he began his entry.

“Yes!” she said when he was fully within. It had been a long time, and he stretched her. It didn’t hurt, though. The stretching was pleasant. She grabbed his head and kissed him. His tongue invaded her mouth.

He moved his head back, then. Perched on his arms, looking into her eyes, he began his motions. The bed squeaked with the unmistakable rhythm. Probably the whole floor knew what she was doing. Well, fuck them; she wasn’t the first girl to in the building to entertain a man in her room. Soon, he was pulling back -- almost out -- and then driving into her. She pushed her hips up to meet him.

Then he was thrusting against her without withdrawing at all. She felt him quiver within her, and then he collapsed. When he tried to roll away, she hugged him with both arms. She’d missed this.

It was hard to breathe with his dead weight pressing her down, though. When he pushed himself up again, she let him get off. “Wastebasket okay?” he asked. Where else could he put the rubber?