Chapter 16C

Wednesday, Ronnie's half-day off, Ronnie met me at her apartment. I gave her Anita's birthday for a chart. Ronnie told me that she couldn't borrow the calculator from the office, so I'd have to help her work out the numbers using manual tables that came with her books. It was a pain in the neck. I spent more than half an hour calculating the figures, and another half hour checking them.

Ronnie lounged on her sofa, watching me as I bent forward over her coffee table, working. She said, "See what I mean? You wanna make money doing that, you'll have to find a faster way."

When Anita's chart was finished, Ronnie lit a cigarette and leaned into the corner of the sofa, extended lengthwise as she was the previous Wednesday when she showed me the other charts.

"Let's seeeee," she muttered, looking down at my chart and Anita's in the lap of her straight skirt. "Steven, you two didn't understand each other very well."

I sat on the edge of the sofa. I raised my eyebrows at that remark.

"Really. I mean, there was this basic, kind of fun, romantic thing, but... What I mean is, you didn't see other as each of you really are. You both had so many fantasy images projected onto each other.

I said gloomily, "Oh."

She said quickly, "But you did love each other." Then her eyes narrowed when she saw something in the charts, and she said, "And, wow, did you. Oh, you two were hot. Really hot." She grinned at me, then frowned playfully, "Steven, you should've told me."

I blushed.

She teased, "Did you and Anita do it? Huh?"

I blushed again, waving her off with one hand.

"C'mon, you can tell me. I won't snitch." I didn't answer. She asked in a make-believe, shocked whisper, "Steven, did you and the Cisco Kid's daughter really do it?"

I stayed rigid, looking down at the coffee table.

She let up on me and said, "Okay. A gentleman. I didn't think you'd tell. Good for you." She looked back at the chart, and went on seriously. "But you did have a strong emotional bond. That would be so nice, Steven, but it was so colored with romanticism, and... signs of dishonesty here. One or both of you wasn't telling the truth, or at best, you were both concealing something. But..." She glanced at me. "It was obviously a love relationship. Very romantic, with big problems. But you already know that, you knew that while it was happening. I don't know how to tell you what you already know."

I insisted, "I already know what my feelings were. But what does the chart say about Anita's feelings?"

"They were comparable to yours. Why, didn't you think she felt something?"

"I dunno. I thought maybe it was just physical."

Ronnie's mouth opened in shock and amusement. "What? My god, a *guy* whose complaining because a *gal* just wants his *body* ?. Oh, holy mother mary and jesus mahogany christ. Sure, she was physically attracted. I could see that when you met her. Don't need astrology to see that." She took a drag off her cigarette and reached to flick the ashes in the ashtray. "But you didn't see her as she was. You saw what you wanted to see. Not that she isn't something to look at. And she has brains to match. But you just didn't want to accept her situation."

"She didn't tell me about that until a couple of days ago."

"She didn't? Even I knew that. She told me at the party she was going to UCLA."

I sat on the edge of the sofa, looking out the window, thinking aloud and trying to put the sequence of events together. "She made a confession. She said she purposely didn't tell me about it until the last minute." I sighed. "Why would she do that?"

Ronnie blew a thin stream of smoke and looked at Anita's chart. "Honey, she's just afraid of getting too close."

"Yeah. She said that. In so many words."

"Well, give her credit for being honest, for godssake. I told you she was independent." Ronnie took a drag and looked at me, wagging her head. "You told me yourself, you can't make somebody love you. Remember telling me that?"

I kept thinking aloud. "She told me she didn't want to spoil our time together."

"At least she was willing to give you that much. Couldn't you just accept it for what it was?"

I said, looking toward the window, "I wanted more, I guess. Needed."

"Yes," Ronnie said, her voice dropping. She leaned her head back against the armrest and closed her eyes. "Needed. I know all about needed. Yeah. All about that." She chuckled, and she lifted her head and looked at me again. "Ah, Steven in love. In love with what wasn't there."

I looked at her. "Wasn't there?"

"How could she give you what she didn't have?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Ronnie took a drag. "But you were with her for a little while. Was it nice?"

I shrugged. "Yeah."

"Yeah? Who made the first move? Was it you, for a change?"

I shrugged again. "I asked her if I could kiss her."

Ronnie laughed. "Asked her? Oh, you're even more untrusting than I thought. You're such a case. No wonder Martha gets so frustrated with you." She leaned on her side and crushed her cigarette in the ash tray on the table. Then she lay back against the armrest again, one hand behind her head. "And very difficult to seduce. You have to have everything under your control, nothing left to chance. Or else you need some sort of hurricane of emotion, or something. It's like Jane having to rip off Tarzan's loincloth and cart him away. C'mon, that oughtta be your job once in a while."

I sighed, uneasy, knowing she was right. I said resignedly, "I dunno." I rubbed my face with my hand. "She sure got me messed up."

"Eh, I know. I get messed up too. Look what happened to me when that former mister nice guy stood me up. He sure caught me by surprise. Hey, you're blaming yourself too much."

"I think, sometimes... if I want love, it won't happen. If I just want sex, they'll dislike me for it."

She grinned, shaking her head again. "Oooh! Parents, parents parents. And Catholic guilt if I ever saw it. Written all *over* you."

I said defensively, "Well, I do feel something for the person I'm with."

"Of course! But do they have to give up the rest of their life?"

"All right. Okay, Okay."

"Steven, nobody has 'just sex'. Not anybody I know. There's always something emotional going on, even with creeps like George." She looked down at her skirt and straightened it a little, crossing and uncrossing her legs on the sofa, while she said, "You did it with me and Martha, didn't you? But it wasn't 'just sex', I felt very strong emotions from all of us. And you're really sweet, having 'just sex'. I never had that before. It was always so possessive and so... selfish, and rough. Yuk. And one sided.

"But if you know all this, and you have all those charts, how did you end up with George?"

"Well, dear, leave it to fools like Ronnie to rush in where wise men and drunks fear to tread. Georgie-boy was just the last in a long line of mistakes, that's all. It was a case of learn it or live with it. And I sure wasn't gonna live with it. Not with that."

I didn't say anything. I was tempted to smoke a cigarette. I looked at the pack of cigarettes on the table. I said, "I think I need one of those."

Ronnie laughed, surprised. "What's the matter?" She reached for the pack, grinning playfully at me. "Am I making you nervous? Steven? I don't believe you, you act so innocent!" She handed me a cigarette and her lighter, and she leaned back into the armrest again, smiling at me. She watched me light the cigarette. She said, "You're so physical and so open when it's three of us. But being alone with me and talking makes you nervous. How long's it gonna take you to get over that?"

I inhaled and felt the hot stuff go down, and blew out. "But this is different."

She chuckled. "How?"

"I don't know."

She gave a wily half-smile, like a gentle poke in my ribs. "More... personal? More intimate?"

I nodded yes. "I guess."

"Talking? Talking intimately about yourself? With me?" She took another cigarette out of the pack, eyeing me with that same, curious smile. "Are you this way with Martha?"

I thought about that. I admitted, "Yeah. Most of the time. I guess."

"Let me guess: I'll bet you never talk to your parents. About anything personal." She lit her cigarette.

I admitted quietly, "No."

"I didn't think so. Neither did I. It was Martha I started talking to. And she had to drag it out of me." She gazed at me for a moment. "I take it that you, uh, aren't sleeping on Martha's sofa every night."

I blushed. "No."

"Oh, look at that blush. Steven! I don't believe you! After the three of us? After playing doctor with Martha back in Memphis?" She put both arms behind her head and stretched, and relaxed again. She sighed, a little flustered. "Don't you just get horny sometimes? I don't mean with your first date and strangers, I mean when you're with somebody you know, somebody you trust? Martha?"

I took a drag. "Yeah, I guess."

"Come on, we're friends. We're more than friends. When anyone tries to get close to you, you're a lot like me. And Anita."

I felt anger rising at that. I knew Ronnie could see my eyes narrow and my jaw clench. I said irritably, "I know that. Well, I'm not sixteen yet, how am I supposed to feel?"

"Okay, okay, Aunt Ronnie was fifteen once, Martha was too. But, sweetheart, you look older, and when I met you I was really impressed. So impressed, I didn't care if you were fifteen or fifty. Not that I was struck by lust at first sight, but -- know what I mean? Let's face it, you've had experience, and it hasn't been typical. And I don't mean just me and Martha. Your family isn't exactly Ozzie and Harriet, any more than mine was. And I'm guessing you didn't invest much time with Howdy Doody and Winky Dink. You were way ahead of that before you got here. Like me. I was still a teenager when I came to New York, but I felt like sixty."

I fumed for a moment, settling down and resting my elbows on my knees, looking away from her.

She said softly, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm one to talk. I've been through this, too."

"Eh. Okay. All right."

She was quiet for a moment. She said, "It just occurred to me, I've never seen you angry. Never. The whole time you've been in New York. I didn't think what I was doing would get you so upset."

"What were you doing?"

"Don't you know?"

"No."

"I was flirting."

Her answer surprised me. I turned my head to glance at her, twisting to the side in my sitting position. She was unsmiling, reclining and looking at me, her eyes gentle.

She asked, "Why would that make you so angry?"

I sighed, trying to calm down. I said, "Because I don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"How do you know when they want it?"

"Well, if they have any brains at all, the girl learns to give signals."

"Like what?"

"Like what I've been doing for the past thirty minutes."

"Yeah?" I flicked the cigarette on the ash tray. "I didn't see you doing anything."

"Well, I'm not ripping my clothes off. Does somebody have to come on like a streetwalker to make their point? Everyone has their own signals."

"So how do you recognize these signals?"

"You spend time with someone. You date. You take chances. You learn to get close. Why do you think Martha's having you meet all those people, and setting you up?"

I said vaguely, "I have my own theories about that."

"Don't you think we were giving you signals that first night, the three of us together, after the beach? Martha told me later she thought we'd have to order out for more Coppertone before you got the point. She knew you'd be scared to death.

I took another puff. I said sarcastically, "Well, I didn't get those signals from the girls I met in Memphis."

She said, "But, sweetheart, we're not in Memphis."

I glanced at her, and I blushed again, looking down at the floor.

She said, "I know you, I like you, you're attractive, and you're a great lover. And we've been together, for godssake. But I was trying to get *you* to seduce *me*. I was in a mood to be seduced, not to jump on you or have you jump all over me. I wanted a quiet, affectionate seduction. Alone. With you. Or a talk, you know? Close? Revealing? Just between me and thee? I had no idea you were so afraid of me. Or so afraid of yourself, or whatever it is. And I've tried it more than once, too, but you don't seem to pick up on it."

I said, "Oh." I shrugged. I shrugged again. I toyed nervously with the cigarette and then mashed it out in the ashtray.

Ronnie said resignedly, "Oh, Steven, I'm just flirting. You know, after all we've experienced together..." She glanced down at her shirt, and she saw a cigarette ash on the front and she whisked it away with her fingers. "I don't see why Ronnie should have to work so hard to get a kiss or a hug once in a while. I know it's a physical thing, but it doesn't have to mean sex. You know?" She looked at me again. "My goodness, you're so unpredictable. Opening up one day and closing down shop the next. Even at fifteen, if you were in Memphis, you'd give your Aunt Ronnie a hug. Anyway --" She glanced at her wrist watch. "You gotta get outta here. We both have things to do. My boss will expect some sketches tomorrow. And you've spoiled Martha, she'll expect another fancy dinner." She crushed her halfsmoked cigarette in the ashtray.

"A hug is all you wanted? A hug?"

"Eh, we can work on that later." She made a motion to rise.

I leaned toward her. "You mean, I never just gave you a big hug?"

She held up a warning hand and turned her face away. She said primly, "No, no. Nope. Too late. Moment's gone."

"That's all you wanted?" I said again, moving toward her on the edge of the soda.

She said more firmly, turning her face farther away. "Nope. I told you. Missed your chance. My insecurities have returned."

I tried to put my arms around her and leaned down to her.

She started laughing, covering her face with her arms, protesting feebly, "No no. Nononono."

I nudged my face past her arms, trying to get my arms under her. We started struggling, with Ronnie squealing and laughing, and I managed to get my face against hers and one arm around her waist, and she squirmed and giggled, and I was surprised at how strong this willowy young woman was.

Then Ronnie did something she probably should not have done. By accident, or on purpose, she tickled my ribs. Martha had discovered long ago that tickling me produced a physically unpredictable reaction, a spontaneous, uncontrollable spasm. Consequently, tickling me was something Martha never did. But Ronnie had no way of knowing that. And because Ronnie and I had become so entwined, my violent, yelping effort to get away from her flung both of us onto the floor, knocking the coffee table out of the way. Ronnie gave a quick scream. In an instant, I landed on my back, with Ronnie on her side, face up on top of me.

She was laughing hysterically, surprised. "Steven, what the hell did you do?!"

I said, "You shouldn't tickle me." I tried to get up.

She pushed back. "Nope. Gotcha now."

Quickly she scrambled to stay on top of me. "Uh-uh, no you don't!" She uprighted herself quickly and sat facing me on my chest, her skirt hiked up and her knees on each side of me as she held my arms. She grit her teeth playfully, pushing my arms firmly onto the floor. "Gotcha. I Gotcha now." She bent over me, her face hovering over mine. She panted, "There!" She stared at me, pretending to be menacing. "So this is how you get the gal to climb on top. I seeee." She watched my face and held my arms down, but she tried to twist her elbows into my ribs, tickling me again.

I yelped "Oh!" and lurched under her, lifting us a couple of inches off the floor and bouncing down again.

She said, "Wow! Pretty ticklish huh?"

"Ronnie, don't tickle me. Don't tickle. No tickle. No-no."

"I promise not to tickle if you promise to give Aunt Veronica a kiss. Promise? Huh?"

"This is no way to treat your nephew."

"Sure it is. I'd love to have a nephew like you. Promise?"

"How about if I --"

"Promise?"

She watched my face to make sure I meant it and, holding my arms down to be sure, she lowered her face and let her lips touch mine softly for a second, then she raised up and looked at me, and lowered her lips to mine again, staying longer, and then raised and lowered again. It became a long kiss, Ronnie working her lips lovingly over mine, and her tongue went into my mouth and played, and she ended the kiss with a couple of smaller ones.

She opened her eyes and whispered smugly, "Thatta boy." She straightened up and settled onto me and said, "Hey, pay attention. Get this into your head. I like you. Stop being afraid of me and Martha. Okay?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She said, smiling, "No."

Ronnie sent me out of her apartment with another hug, saying, "Get outta here and go make Martha a big dinner. And hug her and kiss her and tell her you love her. Go on."

I made a huge pot of beef stew for Martha. I had bought a silly kitchen apron with a picture of Disneyland on it, and I spent all afternoon in the kitchen, cutting up potatoes and shelling fresh peas and cubing the beef. And feeling ambitious. Humming. Telling jokes to myself. Being with Ronnie that day had struck a note in me, but I couldn't define it.

I turned on Martha's radio and listened to a group discuss the Appalachian Arts exhibit Martha and I had seen. As I listened to the erudition displayed by those on the discussion panel, I kept thinking: that's what I need, more ideas, more knowledge, doing more, seeing more, attempting more.

I left the program on while I showered in the kitchen. I looked at my body and could see what the weeks at Fiore's had accomplished. I was lean and toned, well muscled. It was a swimmer's body. And, I thought, a body that should start bringing me pleasure without my being so Catholic about it, as Ronnie had noted. I'd go to Fiore's class tomorrow morning, and again Anita wouldn't be there. Perhaps someone else would be there. And they'd see a good body and find it attractive and desirable. And Martha would be home that night. I wanted to be fresh for her, strong, and affectionate. And I'd keep doing that, for Martha and Ronnie, and soon when I went to Fiore's I wouldn't think about Anita.