Chapter 4: Stages

{date:2020-05-18a}

“You’re looking well,” Eric said Sunday when she got in the car. It was probably an empty compliment. She was wearing her usual winter coat, and it covered her dress. Even though he was wearing his parka, she knew he had on a suit and tie. He always did.

“Thanks. You always look nice. I feel like I’m underdressed when I’m with you. Do you own anything but suits?”

“Yeah. I even own a couple of pairs of jeans, which isn’t to say that I could fit in them. But think for a minute. What do you wear to school? Jeans?”

“Yeah.” And so did everybody else. Some of the younger instructors wore jeans.

“But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you when you weren’t in a skirt. So you dress up for Sundays. I, on the other hand, wear a suit every day to the office. So I don’t dress up at all for Sundays.” That didn’t make any sense.

“That’s a weird way to look at it. Not everybody at your church wears suits.” She felt unspoken accusations at home; she suspected that everybody was whispering about her at school. She went to his church to feel comfortable, and feeling comfortable meant fitting in. It was hard to fit in there. Claire and Joan dressed differently than Prof. Pierce and women her age did.

“Not everybody, not half as a matter of fact.” She’d thought that most of the men did. “But there are men who don’t wear ties.” Oh, the half who didn’t wear suits were the women. He was trying to be funny. “We’re mostly a live and let live bunch. On the other hand, lawyers, businessmen, guys who wear ties every day wear them to church, too. Some of the Northwestern folk wear sports coats. Dan Hagopian told me once that a professor could teach his class in his shirt sleeves so long as he had a sports coat hanging in his office.” That was a different subject, but odd.

“Sounds silly.”

“Oh it is silly. But every profession has its silliness.” Talking to him was nice. The first conversation hadn’t been, but that situation had guaranteed discomfort. Now, though, they had a past, and they were talking about other things. She really had to deal with their past, though. He’d told her to think about his offer to save her from being an unwed mother, and she had thought about it. It was time to tell him, but this ride was too nice. She sat and enjoyed his company for another couple of minutes.

“Look,” she finally said, “I’m awfully grateful for your offer. But this is my problem, and I’ve got to deal with it.”

“Well,” he said, “I was planning to wait until after service. We have a lot of talking to do. But I disagree almost totally. I didn’t make an offer; I made a request. I made it earlier than I had planned to because I thought that waiting was a bad idea. Even so, it was a request that I had planned to make at a later date.

“You think your kid is your problem,” he went on. “And so he is, but a kid isn’t solely your problem. Do you think that Carolyn, Prof. Pierce, goes off in a corner with her kids and deals with them without help? Now the first help she has is the father of the kids, and I can see why you don’t want him involved. But other people help, too. Some of them are paid; some of them, like me, are friends; some of them like the Sunday School teachers are part of the church; some of them are part of the community.” She didn’t really see where this was relevant. Sure, when she had a child, she would take her to clinics and put her in school. Sunday School? But she wasn’t talking about that sort of help, and neither, until now, had he been.

“Parents depend on a community,” he went on. “So do people with other sorts of problems. The first thing that Prof. Pierce thought of for you, well the second thing after you’d reported to the official authorities, was a support network. Well, the official government let you down. The support network seems to have worked better. But there are all sorts of support networks, and you shouldn’t think you have to go on your own because the most regular network has failed you. And I don’t mean the State’s Attorney’s Office, although we did fail you. The father of your child failed you one hell of a lot worse. You can force him to pay some support, but you can’t get blood out of a turnip. But you’re not going it alone. Nobody else does. Look, we’ll talk later.”

Well, he would talk later. That’s one thing he did well. He talked a lot, and he talked smoothly. He wasn’t like the smooth talkers she was used to; he just seemed used to saying things persuasively. He was more like the instructors and even more like the better high-school teachers, but he was different from them, too.

Claire was standing at the back of the church. She seemed to be waiting for them. Joan was sitting with Kurt, whom Candy had met the previous week. He was Joan’s guy. Claire, Eric, and she went down to sit with them. She sat between Joan and Claire.

After the service, there was no coffee, but they stood there talking. Kurt and Joan wouldn’t be together after they went out the door, and they would rather be together in the group than alone out in the nasty weather. Who could blame them? The Christmas Eve service the next day came up. Claire asked if she would be there, and the others said she’d like it. Would she? They didn’t seem to understand that she was dependent on Eric, though Joan, who had driven her home once, should have seen it. The trip by bus in the late morning was bad enough. She didn’t want to make it both ways at night -- on Christmas Eve night, no less. God knew what the schedule would be on that night. She looked at Eric.

“Sure,” he said, “if you want. I know the time.” They seemed to take that as settled, and the conversation went on for a while before they went out. Again, she waited at the door while Eric got the car. She noticed a guy hovering in the background.

“I’ll make sure that the doors are locked when you’re gone, and I’ll go out the other way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No sweat. Somebody’s always the last. We really need a parking lot.” At that point, Eric drove up. She left the guy with a thanks. She’d been alone with a strange man and felt apologetic instead of scared. She was getting better. It was right after church, they were both bundled in coats, she, holding the door ajar to watch for Eric, had an easy escape route, and he was clearly somebody with a church responsibility. Still, she was getting better. And both the church and Eric had helped.

By the time she was down the steps, Eric had the door open for her. She got in, and he went around to his side. He took his usual period of silence to get the car onto a main route. This time, it was south along the lake front.

“Let’s start at the end and work backward,” he began. “The Christmas Eve program is late but not all that late. it starts at 8:00 p.m. and isn’t in the sanctuary. What I thought of, despite the rule against inviting a girl at the last minute, is my picking you up at 6:30 again. We could eat and make the program. Does that suit?”

“Sure.” He was incredibly generous. And she had already said no to his proposal, which had been generous, too. So she didn’t have to worry that he was taking the time because he believed that she was about to become his fiancée.

“Okay,” he went on. “Let’s deal with the more important issue. Do you see yourself as avoiding men for the rest of your life?” This was the more important issue? And really, nice as he was, was that his business? Well, he’d said he wanted to be the man in her life, and she’d said she wasn’t ready to have a man in her life -- at least, that way. While she wasn’t sure she wanted him to be that man when she was ready for one, that did establish his interest in that question. Anyway, that was one question she could answer.

“No. I’m sure I can shake this. It’s just right now, it’s too much.”

“Okay. I understand why it’s too much. I said, way back, that I wouldn’t take it personally if you wanted to ride in the back seat. Well, if you’re off men, and as far as you’re off men, I won’t take it personally.”

“You’re a sweet guy, Eric.” He was doing so much for her, and he -- aside from the proposal -- asked so little from her. She’d made out in the back seat for an hour with a guy who had bought her a Big Mac and a shake. Eric always bought her more expensive meals, and she hadn’t even kissed him.

“Then, too,” he continues, “if you’re going to get over it, you’ll do that in stages.” That made sense. “I won’t force any stage -- beyond the ones I’ve forced already.” He, really, hadn’t forced her to do anything. The closest thing to force was going to talk with Miss Murphy. “If you feel ready for some stage, and try it, and -- after trying it -- you feel that you really weren’t ready for it, I won’t take that personally, either.” The problem was that it was personal, at least a little. She’d made out, made out much further than she felt capable of right now, with guys she hadn’t liked as much as she liked Eric. She hadn’t ever willingly kissed a guy she had been as little attracted to as she was attracted to Eric. And what were these stages he was talking about, anyway?

“You mean sex?”

“That is really one of the stages, but not the one I meant. I was thinking of kisses. If you think you could risk a kiss with me, and then figure that was a mistake, I’m not going to insist on another one.”

“I think I’m at that level now.” Attraction was one thing. Gratitude was another. Eric was a totally nice guy.

“Good, because I’ve been wanting a kiss from you for a long time. But let’s put that off for another minute and let me finish my thought. You’re right. Sex is the last stage.”

“I’ve only had it once, and that was...”

“What you had, Candy, was rape. That isn’t sex. Maybe he had sex; you didn’t. I’m not the world’s greatest expert, but there is a difference. Anyway, it is one stage, and -- while I’ve said that you’ll choose the stages and I won’t -- I’ll say that you’re not ready for that stage yet. And, I’ll bet, you’ve done some of the stuff in between. Some of that, you’re not ready for yet. Anyway...

“If you’re right that you’ll overcome this and I’m right that you’ll do it in stages, then I see you as having two choices,” he was on a roll. This was like a teacher in front of the class. Sometimes, it really was a discussion. Other times, he just laid it out. Eric was just laying it out.

“One, you go through the stages and, when you’re at the stage where marriage is appropriate and you have someone with whom you want to have a marriage, you get married and go on to the next stage.

“Two, you get married, married to a guy who’ll bear with you while you go through the stages. Then you go through the stages with him. Admittedly, the marriage will require a certain degree of intimacy which you’re not quite ready for, yet. But I can wait for most intimacy until you feel comfortable with it.” And that brought him back to the idea of marriage.

“I don’t...”

“It would take a while to get a two-bedroom apartment, but I could do that.” While she wasn’t sure she wanted a marriage with Eric, she was goddamned sure she didn’t want a fake marriage with anybody. Then, too, if she had a fake marriage in the expectation that it would become real, she would feel intense pressure to make it real, and the idea of that pressure scared her -- scared her a hell of a lot more than the idea of sex did. He might say that he wouldn’t be demanding, but even if he weren’t, she would demand it of herself.

“I wouldn’t feel honest doing that.”

“Well it might be better for the baby, but it’s your decision. And, of course, that’s what I see as your possibilities. You’re in a car with this being thrown at you, although some of it is merely saying your situation out loud. It’s your decision, and it will continue to be your decision. But, getting back to what you said earlier, do you think you’re ready to be kissed without freaking?”

“Really, yes.” And, whatever her feelings about Eric, and they were all tangled up, she would feel safer being kissed by Eric than she would being kissed by any other man.

“Well, you’re not ready to be kissed by the driver of a moving car. Let me get this over.” He got off Sheridan, and onto a side street. He parked the car. “Okay. Why don’t you give me your hands?” Taking each of her hands in one of his, he leaned over her. She had expected to feel a little panic, but she didn’t feel any. The kiss was dry and short, more like a birthday kiss from Dad than a kiss.

“Was that okay?” he asked after it was over. It had been. He gave her another, longer and more real. It still wasn’t frightening. “Look, I’m not grabbing you.” He held her head while giving her another kiss. That felt more like a real kiss. It didn’t generate any fright, but it didn’t generate that much desire, either. He didn’t stop, and she wondered if she was really in control. When she pushed on his shoulder, he stopped. She felt more love for him from his stopping when she asked than she had from the kiss. Eric wasn’t a romantic hero, but he was a great guy.

“Was that too much?”

“Not really. I pushed to see what would happen.”

“I let go. I’ll always let go. Well, this was fun, but I was going to feed you when this started.”

They both had bowls of soup. Maybe the soup was what she needed to settle her stomach. Maybe the kisses and the experiences in church were. Anyway, it was the best meal she had had in the past six weeks.

“Y’know, what about my picking you up earlier tomorrow? Maybe 6:00?” Okay, Eric was an older man; he was very kind; he knew all about lots of stuff. He was still a guy, with a guy’s sense of deviousness. He wanted more time to kiss -- maybe another place and maybe more than kisses. Well, he would stop; she’d tested that he would stop. She wanted to go a little further. How, aside from trusting Eric, could she guarantee that it would only be a little? Well, getting a girl out of tight jeans was a struggle. She would never wear jeans on a date when she meant to make out -- seriously make out.

“Sure. They say that the dress is casual for the program.” Joan had said that. Joan was a girl and sensitive to her problem of dressing to fit in.

“Yeah. It’s not a worship service. It’s mostly about kids.”

“Will I see you in jeans?” Which was another question.

“As I said, I’m not sure that they’ll fit.” Well, the guy’s tight jeans were another precaution. “You won’t see me in a suit; that’s for sure. I don’t work Christmas Eve.” Okay. Her jeans would be her only protection. They were enough. Hell! Eric’s niceness was enough.

“But I can wear jeans?”

“I’d love that.” He seemed actually positive about the idea. Which meant that he was thinking about seeing her shape, and not thinking about seeing her -- and worse feeling her or entering her -- naked groin. Fine!

“And they won’t embarrass you in the restaurant.” Dressing for church was one problem. Dressing for his dinners was another. Eric didn’t seem conscious of women’s styles. What the hell! He was a guy. She didn’t know laws; he didn’t know about women’s clothes.

“As I said, I admit that I’m a lawyer. Nothing embarrasses me. I wouldn’t take you somewhere where you would be embarrassed.” Well, he never really had. That showed, she supposed, that he was thoughtful that way. He was thoughtful in all sorts of ways. He wasn’t, just because he was thoughtful, necessarily conscious of things like styles that would embarrass her.

“Unbuckle your seatbelt,” he said when he’d found the parking space closest to her house, “but don’t get out.” So, what had happened to the guy who let her have control? When she had done as he wished, though, he asked, “Now, do you think you could kiss me?” She could and did. This kiss was a little sexier. She was a sexy kisser, even if he wasn’t. Being in control was fun as well as being reassuring. He raised his hands to her face, but she pushed them away. She wanted to be in control. She’d been the recipient of kisses from lots of guys who knew what they were doing, and she used those techniques. She kissed over his face before returning to his mouth. She opened their mouths and touched tongues. This kiss was definitely sexy.

“You are wonderful,” he said when she’d ended it. They walked to her door. “Candy?” he said. When she looked at him, he kissed her, a wet kiss. “Thank you for a wonderful time,” he said when he’d finished. Being in control had been fun, but the boy, the guy, should have control. He shouldn’t have too much control, of course, and she was beginning to trust that Eric wouldn’t. She’d still wear jeans that needed a shoehorn to put on tomorrow, just the same.

“Now, Candy!” Mom said. Talking about understanding people, she wasn’t one. “Were you going to church or on a date?” That was an idiotic question. Couldn’t the guy who took you to church kiss you on the porch?

“Both.”

“Must have been a long service. You’ve been gone hours.”

“He took me to church. Then he took me to lunch. We talked. What’s the matter with a date going to church? You’d rather I went on a date to an opium den?” Were there opium dens in the modern USA? The ones in the stories she’d read had been in London long ago. Not even Mom was going to believe that she’d ever been invited to an opium den.

“Who was that? The same guy who took you out last week? What does he want from you, anyway?” And that was the million-dollar question. He’d said that wanted to marry her. But did he really want to marry her, or was he just feeling sorry for her?

“Well, he told Dad that it was because I’m pretty.”

“You’re going out with him pretty often, aren’t you? How about your studies?”

“Mom. Last week was finals. We’re between quarters.” Now she’ll ask about my studying in my room yesterday. Well, I’ll say I’m getting ahead for next year.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask me. And, along the lines of going out pretty often, we’re going to the Christmas Eve service tomorrow night.”

“You are? You said that they bored you last year.”

“Well, it’s a different church, a different program. Besides, I lied. It’s you who bore me, not the service, you and Dad. I’m going with Eric, and he doesn’t bore me.”

“Candy!” It was a screech.

“I’m going to my room. I’m going to read ahead for my classes next year.”

“That’s hardly in the spirit of the Christmas season.”

“Well, I’m going to a Christmas Eve service tomorrow, and you bitched about that. That’s in the spirit of the Christmas season. And you said I wasn’t spending enough time studying. Make up your mind.” Actually, Mom had made up her mind. Whatever Candy did was wrong.

When she got to her room, though, her thoughts were not on Geology, but on biology. How far would she go? The words of the question were old, but the actual question was new. When she was about where she’d been four years before. She had been kissed, and she was going to let him have a feel. Back then, though, she had been quite clear about morality and love. Morally, she shouldn’t, but she had loved Greg -- was it Greg four years ago? No, Christmas of ‘75, her freshman year, it had been Al, and Al had felt her bra but never removed it.

Anyway, she had loved Al, and she had rejected, well bent, morality to allow her love some access. Then, too, she had loved Al, but she hadn’t quite trusted him. She had trusted Greg, and that had been a mistake. Greg had bragged to all his friends about what they’d done, and about things that they really hadn’t done but he had made up.

Well, still, she had let love bend morality. Now, really, it would be immoral to marry some guy unless she was willing to have sex with him. So, morality wasn’t against having sex, much less against making out. The problem with making out with Eric was she probably wasn’t really in love with him. On the other hand, she trusted him more than anybody.