Chapter 19B

Wednesday morning. My last Wednesday in New York.

While Martha showered that morning in the kitchen I finished making coffee and toast and I put on my running clothes. Then I remembered that I was supposed to take a day off from working-out.

Martha hurried into the living room to gulp down her coffee and toast. She saw me lounging at the table. "You didn't run yet?"

"Takin' a day off."

"Good!" She bent down to me, then she sat on my lap with an arm around my shoulder. "Good. You take a day off. I'm meeting Howard this afternoon, and I'll be back early for a change. And Ronnie will be around, and I want you two to have a good time together and do something. Don't just sit around getting depressed about... you know what. Hear me?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh, don't say yes ma'am like that. Please. Say okay, or say something besides that."

I smiled at her. "Your butt feels good."

She grinned. She gave me a kiss. She whispered, "That'll have me home very, very early tonight."

She kissed me again and rose and got her briefcase and left.

I sat at the dining table listening to her heels clatter down the stairs. I said to myself: Yes, ma'am, I'll take the day off. The whole day. Your little boy Steven will take a day off from all of it, from everything, from the questions and from Howard and from New York and from all the things I can't do anything about. You've all worn the hell out of me.

Instead of roaming the book stores looking for answers, I roamed some book stores and just looked, period. I spent hours completely wasting my time. The most serious book I browsed was 'Bartlet's Familiar Quotations', and an illustrated book on stress-relieving massage. After boring myself with that for a while I kicked around the East Side in Martha's neighborhood, getting horny going through nudist magazines at a newsstand until the proprietor shooed me away. I took a subway all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge and took another one back to where I started at 86th Street. Just before noon, I called Ronnie at work.

She answered the phone, sounding tired and cranky. "Hello, this is Veronica."

"Hello, this is Steven."

"Well, you sound in a decent mood. Very non-existential. What morbid secrets did you find in the book shops today?"

"Bartlet's Familiar Quotations, and a couple of nudist magazines."

She gave a half-hearted laugh. "Well, at least you could have raised your sights a bit and gone to the museum to look at the nekkid pictures."

"When do you want me to come over today?"

There was a pause. "Sure you wanna come over?"

"Of course! We having a change in plans?"

"Uh, no, it's... I'll be prepared to receive visitors at one. Okay?"

"Prepared?"

"Eh, I, uh, stayed up late. Very late. Drawing. Drawing, drawing, drawing. Didn't clean up my mess yet, but gimme time to take a quickie shower so I won't be all clammy. The air conditioner's on the fritz in the office today. So let's make it at one-fifteen."

"Okay, see you at one-fifteen."

"Good. Best tranquilizer I've had all day."

I hung up. I strolled up one street and down the other, waiting for one-fifteen. I remembered what one of the nuns used to say to the class: "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." I remembered the sight of Martha and Ronnie frolicking naked on the beach. I considered that Martha and Howard might be together later -- but I considered that only briefly, only for a split second, until I happened to look down Third Avenue and saw a church steeple rising above the smaller apartment buildings. I remembered reciting the Latin when I served at Mass; I remembered sitting up for many nights memorizing it. I remembered the sounds Martha made when she climaxed. I saw Ronnie's eyes glitter in the candlelight. I looked at the church steeple and muttered under my breath, "Fuck you."

Ronnie let me into her apartment. She wore the oversized shirt and the full, print skirt she often wore when she was drawing. She had a tired smile on her face, which looked tense and a little sweaty.

"You're here on time again. Uh... oh, come in. I'm cleaning up."

I entered. There was little room to walk. The floor was littered with charcoal and pencil drawings strewn everywhere. There were two ash trays filled with cigarettes on the floor.

She hurried to snatch drawings off the sofa. "I was hoping you'd be late. Here, lemme clear a place for you to sit.

I glanced around. "What'd you do? You did all this last night?"

She straightened up, a batch of drawings in her hand. She wiped wet hair from her face. "Yeah. Until two or something. A mess, huh?" She motioned toward the sofa. "Come on, sit. I'll get this up."

"Well... want me to help?"

She grabbed papers hurriedly, piling them face down on the coffee table, which was also covered with drawings. "No, it's okay. Have a seat."

I lifted my feet high and stepped carefully into whatever open patch I could find, making my way to the sofa. I said, "Sure you don't want some help?"

"No, no, I have them in order. Doesn't look like it, but they're in a certain order."

I made it to the sofa and sat in the middle of it. I watched her stooping and bending as fast as she could.

She said, "Want me to get you anything?"

"I'll wait."

"Okay. Good. Just a second."

At my right on the sofa were a couple of stray drawings. I picked them up and held them out to her. "Here, what about these?"

"No!" She rushed to me, her footsteps shaking the windows, and she swiped the drawings from me.

I said, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." She brushed hair from her face, her eyes averted from mine. She smiled quickly. "It's just... unfinished. I don't like people to see them... unfinished." She got onto her knees and started shoving the drawings together into a spot on the floor.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm the one who's sorry. I overreacted."

I watched her for a moment. "Hey, I feel stupid sitting here while you work yourself to death. You're getting overheated. Got your big window fan working?"

"No, it's... just the little one in the window, there. The big one hasn't worked for a couple of days. It's slow, it hardly moves."

"Let me take a look at it."

"Okay. In the kitchen."

I took a look at the window fan in her kitchen window. It was coated with dust, the leading edge of the blades were thick with fuzzy, greasy residue, and black lint and soot blocked the motor housing.

I had previously cleaned Martha's fan. Ronnie's was just like it. I searched through her kitchen drawers for some tools. I called out, "You got a screwdriver? Pliers? Anything in here?"

"I don't know. Somewhere."

I found some old pliers. I had to use a kitchen knife as a screwdriver. I removed the window guard and the fan's rear grill. It was a mess. I ran hot soapy water in the sink and dipped a rag in it to clean the blades and major parts. The water was dark brown by the time I was almost finished.

Ronnie walked into the kitchen and pressed her hands into her lower back. "Oh! I finally got most of it up. Almost broke my back."

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah. Finally. I'm sorry. I couldn't get a subway up here fast enough, I got here too late to clean up."

"That's all right." I swished the rag around the big fan blades to soak up the final, thin layer of black soot. "There's so much soot in the air in this town, with all the traffic and those oil-burning water heaters."

She said, "Steven, you're wonderful."

"That's all right. The blades were weighed down with garbage." I turned to her. "You have a vacuum cleaner?"

She looked at me. There was that same hint of nervousness in her eyes that was there when I showed up. "I borrow Martha's."

"Oh. Uh, got some tweezers?"

"Yeah. I'll get 'em." She hopped out of the kitchen. I rinsed the rag in the soapy water, and started to drain and clean the sink. The sooty stuff stuck to the old porcelain. I had to wash it off.

Ronnie came back with tweezers and handed them to me.

I took them and walked to the fan, looking at her. She seemed flustered and edgy. "You all right?"

She looked at me, hands on her hips. She gave me an almost-smile. "Yeah. Tired. Hot."

"Yeah, it's pretty warm in here." I worked with the tweezers to pick small gobs of sooty hair out of the motor housing, one at a time. I said, "You look worse than tired." She didn't reply. I turned my head to look at her.

She blushed and ran a hand over her eyes. "Well, I... subways don't run, air conditioners don't work, people at the office go nuts, the fan... too many things break down, and I break down. Sort of. I don't know about these things. Folks used to yell at me. You know, the whole thing."

I worked away at the hairy soot. "Well, I'm not yellin' at you."

Behind me, she went on, rambling. "I wasn't smart about this. My brothers were the smart ones. I was the dumb one."

"Yeah? Can your brothers draw?"

"My brothers can't even spell."

"Well, they're pretty useless in this town, then."

"And I wasn't pretty. You had to be pretty, you know? 'As seen on TV'."

"You're pretty now. You're very attractive. You sure fooled them, huh?"

For a moment she was silent behind me. Then she said, "It's hard to forget all that sometimes. Creeps up on me. Not easy sometimes."

I turned to her and joked gently, "Next time you start workin' on my inhibitions, you remember what you just said."

She nodded and grinned. "Yeah. Right."

I looked the fan over. There was not much left to do in the cleaning department. I asked her, "You have any lubricant? You know, oil? There's a little spout here for lubrication."

"Mm. Got some three-in-one."

"No, no. Not for a fan. Something like engine oil. Thick."

"The super left some up here one time. I think." She knelt down to look into one of the lower kitchen cabinet doors. "In here, maybe?" She got on her hands and knees to reach inside. She had such cute legs. I was horny. I wanted to fuck her. Every time I saw slender, feminine, dark-eyed Ronnie she made me horny and I wanted to hug her and then fuck her. But it wasn't like wanting Martha. Wanting Martha was maddening. Wanting Ronnie was friendly, affectionate.

She lifted out a small, dirty, discolored glass jar.

I took it from her and removed the top. Motor oil. "Great. You have an eye dropper, or something?"

"Medicine dropper?"

"That'll do."

She left the kitchen again. I replaced the metal grille over the rear of the fan. I was peering into the slots of the motor housing to see if there were more than one lubrication point, when Ronnie returned. At my shoulder her hand appeared, with a thick glass, rubberbulbed medicine dropper.

"Thanks."

She leaned against me, her head on my shoulder, and she watched what I was doing. I could feel her soft hair against mine.

I used the glass dropper to draw oil from the jar, then peered through the grill, twisted my hand through an opening, and squeezed oil into the spout of the illusive little pipe on the edge of the motor housing. The stuff drooled right in. I needed more. I got another draw of oil and worked my way through the grill opening.

Just as I was ready to squeeze the dropper, I felt Ronnie's lips on my neck, barely brushing. It took me by surprise. What also took me by surprise was the vividness of her lips on me, with only the slightest contact.

She said softly, girlishly, "Thank you for this."

I said with the utmost casualness as I aimed for the little spout again, "That's okay. You rubbed my back, I'm rubbin' yours."

She kidded me, "I didn't fix your fan, though."

"You can fix mine next time." I leaned back, and she moved away a little. I turned on the power switch. The old fan groaned a bit and the heavy blades circled slowly. I grit my teeth, waiting. I hoped it worked; it was hot in Ronnie's place.

The engine picked up speed and built to a muted roar. I turned the speed control all the way up.

Ronnie sighed, "Ooooh, wonderful! I feel it already."

I turned around to her. She was standing with her eyes closed. I wiped the sweat from my eyebrows, and right away I knew I'd made a mistake. I had oil and soot all over my hands and arms.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Oh, we're a mess."

"I'll be okay." I walked to the kitchen sink and closed the jar and ran hot water to clean up.

She said, "But I got you all sweaty and everything. You were a nice, clean Catholic boy when you got here."

"Never you fear."

"Here, lemme get you some soda or something. Want a coke? Water? I can make coffee."

"Water's fine."

She opened the refrigerator. "Got some ice water here." She grabbed an orange juice container filled with water and then stepped to the kitchen counter beside me while I cleaned my arms with soap in the sink. She opened an overhead cabinet. She looked less tired, and cooler, but she still seemed tense and touchy. She took a glass from the overhead cabinet and poured water for me.

I said, "Thanks. I'll have my hands dry in a minute."

She gazed into the top cabinet. "Want a little wine?"

I tensed at that, remembering the last time. "No, thanks."

"Oh, c'mon." She brought down the wine bottle. There was about a cup of dark wine left in it.

"Ronnie, no."

"Not even enough for a full glass here." She got a small glass and uncorked the wine. She gave me a quick smile as she poured. "You sure?"

I eyed her sternly. "I'm sure. How about you?"

"Oh. Won't hurt anything."

"Ronnie."

"Well, I'm --" She put the bottle away and reached for the glass. She said, suddenly intense, "I had the creeps all night. All night."

I turned off the sink water and dried my hands with the dish towel, shaking my head slowly. I couldn't just grab the glass from her. I knew from family experience that the results could be volatile. I also knew to remain calm. "I wish you wouldn't. You don't really need that."

Her eyes darkened as she looked into the glass. For a brief, eerie moment, she seemed different, seemed hard like the women I'd seen in the streets. She muttered, "How do *you* know what I need?"

"Ronnie. Please."

"So join me if you want."

"You know I won't."

She looked down into the glass. She said dryly, "Here's to the great state of Michigan."

She stepped closer to the counter, lifting the glass a few inches. She looked deeper into the glass. Then she closed her eyes. Her hand lowered a few inches. She whispered plaintively, "Please stop me."

"How? You won't listen to me."

She moved the glass toward me. "Take this away from me. Take it."

I gently put my hand around the glass and took it from her. Her eyes still closed, she put a hand across her face.

She said, "Get rid of it."

I poured the glass of wine down the sink and put the glass on the counter.

She looked down at my hand and took it in hers and held it tightly. She relaxed a little. "I've embarrassed you. I'm so sorry, Steven. You didn't need this." She gave my cheek a kiss and backed away from me, nervously rubbing her arm at her side. "Look, you got messy fixing my fan. You can take a shower in here if you want to. I'll take one after you." She started toward the living room.

I said, "Ronnie. Don't go hiding out on me, now."

She paused in the kitchen doorway. "I'm just going to get some clean towels."

"Oh. Okay."

I stood by the shower stall, unbuttoning my shirt, making up my mind about leaving or staying. She returned quickly with two big bath towels, and she at least had the makings of a smile on her face. She handed me one of the towels, saying "Here's yours," and she hung the other on a hook outside the stall. She started out of the kitchen again. "I promise not to look, okay? I know how shy you are when you're alone with your Aunt Ronnie."

I said, "Hey. Where you goin'?"

She turned around and faced me, surprised. "Just in here. I can clean up a little more while you rinse off."

I beckoned her with a nod of my head, and I pulled off my glasses and put them on the kitchen counter and started unbuttoning my shirt again. "Come on, take a shower with me. Didn't you say you wanted to cool off with a shower?"

She stared at me.

I said, "Come on. You've been in a sweat all day." I pulled my shirt off and lifted a leg to start on my shoes.

She walked toward me slowly, frowning but pleased. "In there with you?"

"Sure! We've been nekkid together. We even showered together, three of us in one of these." I shrugged and added, "And we've shared a few other things."

She smiled at me, and her eyes smiled at me, and she hesitantly undid a button on her shirt.

I unbuckled my belt. "Want me to help?"

"You go in first."

I scoffed, "You're kidding!"

She went to the next button on her shirt. "There's something different about you today."

"Like what?"

"You're not even blushing."

I pulled down my pants and kicked them off. "Martha's been giving me classes in blush prevention."

"Martha blushes worse than you do. She even blushes so bad sometimes, she breaks into tears."

I reached for my jocks. "Come on, no fair. I'm almost nekkid and you haven't even started."

She watched my jocks go down and she watched me kick them away. I stepped toward her. She said, "I can do it."

"I can help." I undid the last button on her shirt, and she watched me open her shirt and take it off. I ran my hand around her waist looking for the zipper of her skirt. "This thing have a zipper?"

"It's just an elastic waistband."

I tucked my fingers under the skirt's waistband, but she stopped me, smiling.

She said, "You go ahead and start the water. I'll finish." She pushed her skirt down, and I stepped into the stall and started the water going, adjusting hot and cold, and she kept looking at me with mild disbelief as she took off her loafers and her bra and then her panties.

I held out a hand to her. "C'mon. Lemme know if the water's right for you."

She stepped to the stall, still looking somewhat taken aback, and I took her hand and she stood naked next to me and stuck her other hand inside. She said, "It's fine."

I held her hand and with my other hand I led the way into the stall. "Step right in. I'll show you something I learned at Fiore's."

She eyed me askance. "Will this hurt?"

"Nope. A little stress reliever I've tried myself, many times. Until the warm water ran out."

She muttered, getting inside, "Doesn't take long in this building, I guess you know."

She stepped inside and turned to face me, the spray bouncing off her back.

I stepped inside, and she moved inward a little, her eyes still watching my face. "What are you up to?"

"Me? About five-foot-eight."

"That's not what I --"

I held her gently by the shoulders. "Do you have an aversion to water running over your face?"

"What?"

"Does it drive you crazy if water runs over your face for a minute?"

"No."

"Okay. Turn around, now."

"Not much room to turn ar--"

I took a small step back, my butt sticking out of the stall. "I'll make room, now. Come on, turn around." I held her shoulders as she turned to face the shower. I said, "Now lower your head and step under the spray. Go ahead."

The water soaked her hair flat and ran over her shoulders and flooded off her face. I kept my hands on her soft little shoulders.

I said, "Now, just stand there. Relax. Let the water run down Just let water run down over your head and face. Okay? Feel okay?"

She spit water off her lips. "Okay."

"You want it colder? Warmer?"

"It's fine!"

"Okay, just relax a minute. We're gonna have you all calmed down in a minute, okay?"

"I hope so."

I got soap off the little metal bar on the side wall. "You still feel creepy?"

"Yes." She wiped the cascading water from her face.

"Are your eyes open?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes. Close your eyes and relax."

"Okay."

"That better?"

"... Yeah."

"You just enjoy that for a minute. I'm gonna wash your back, okay?"

"You're gonna what?"

"Wash your back."

"Steven? What are you up to?"

I slid the bar of soap back and forth across her back. "Why do you think I'm up to something?"

"I'm not used to you like this."

"Like what?"

"Like THIS!"

I started swishing the lather over her shoulders. "Nobody ever washed your back before?"

"No!"

"Not hurting am I?"

"... No."

"Trust me?"

"... Trust you about what?"

I began to gently massage the back of her neck with my soapy thumbs. I said, "I'm not gonna hurt you, Ronnie."

She didn't say anything.

I massaged slowly. "Hm? Okay?"

"That feels so good."

"Good. You just let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable, or creepy, or anything. Okay?"

"Okay."

I massaged her shoulders and then her shoulder blades and then her back and the small of her back with lots of bubbly soap, gently, and spoke to her. "We're gonna do this just for a minute, now, until you're relaxed... and all soapy clean in back. And nice and warm and comfy, okay? Whatever you wanna do... whatever you want... that's what we'll do. We'll stop, we'll start again. Whatever you want." I finished with her tush and the tops of her thighs, and I placed my hands on her shoulders again and kneaded them gently but deeply. She moaned pleasantly. I crooned into her ear, "Okay, now, I'm gonna get a little closer to you, okay? Don't worry, now, I'll just lean my chest forward a little bit. Now let your head fall back against me, just lift your head, let it lean back. Let the water run onto your face. Okay? Is that okay?"

She nodded yes, her eyes squinting in the spray. The back of her head was against my chin. I swept the spray from her neck and shoulders across her back, rinsing soap away. Then I let her head rest on my shoulder while I put my chin on her shoulder and I soaped my hands again. "Now we'll soap the front, okay? Step back just a little, now, just a little, keep the water off your face and relax. Relax." I rubbed soap on her throat, her chest. "Nice and easy, Ronnie, just soap. Just warm and easy." I skimmed her breasts quickly. "Okay?"