Chapter 2

I didn't know what to do with my hands. After I caught myself tugging on my shirt sleeves yet again, I shoved them into my pockets. Then I started rattling my change, which led to stares from a woman entering the library. I backed up towards the side of the entryway, trying to make myself a little more inconspicuous. I realized I was tugging on my sleeves again. Maybe I should have brought a book. Standing in front of the Denver Public Library holding a book wouldn't seem too strange. Which of course I was.

Tamara had indeed given me her phone number the next morning, after another round of sex. After two weeks of trying to guess her motives, I'd finally called. She'd asked me to meet her in front of the library on a Saturday morning. She said she'd explain more once we'd met. I'd arrived early and was now growing more nervous with each passing moment.

Finally I saw her coming up the sidewalk, an older woman and a boy with her. Tamara was surprisingly plain. No makeup, baggy clothes, her hair pulled back and loosely bound. The juxtaposition with my memories from the brothel was striking. The older woman looked grandmotherly, with grey coiffed hair over pretty functional clothes. The boy looked about ten and was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans but looked a little...

Oh. Down's Syndrome. High functioning, apparently from the way he moved.

Tamara saw me and smiled and waved. I waved back and they were soon close enough to talk. The grandmother hung back a couple of steps.

"Hi John!" Tamara exclaimed. "John, meet my son, Billy. Billy, this is my friend John."

He hung back a little shy, but his mother urged him forward. I extended a hand and he gave me a handshake. In doing so, he looked me up and down and his eyes widened.

"You're funny looking!" the boy stated.

"Billy!" Tamara said.

The boy looked embarrassed and started to cling to his mother. I bent down to bring my eyes level with his.

"Actually, Billy, I'm not funny looking. I'm The Ugly One."

He heard the capital letters and stopped scrunching up his face and began staring at me in curiosity.

"Yep, The Ugly One. That's what the kids called me in school."

"They didn't call you Sped or Dummy?" he asked.

"Oh they called me lots of things. But somehow The Ugly One was what they called me the most."

I extended my hand again. "Good to meet you, Billy."

Billy tentatively reached out and took it. He shook hands hard this time and then let go and looked up at Tamara.

"Now you go on to story hour with Grandma," she told him.

Billy nodded and allowed the older woman to scoop him up and lead him into the library. When they'd disappeared through the doors, Tamara looked at me.

"That was great," she said. "You were really good with him."

"Is Billy who you wanted me to meet?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Let's grab some coffee and I'll tell you about it."

So we walked across Civic Center Park to the south end of the 16^th Street Mall and located a coffee shop within a few blocks. After we'd ordered and settled into our chairs, Tamara paused to collect her thoughts.

"I had Billy when I was young," she began. "His dad took off as soon as he saw he had Down's. I struggled on and finished college with some help from my parents. Then my dad died and mom couldn't help me out financially anymore. We did okay until I decided I wanted to go back to school and become a doctor. I didn't know how to afford med school though."

I raised an eyebrow when she paused, and after a sip of coffee she continued.

"I'd been working in a pharmacy as a cashier and gotten to be friends with this one girl just before she quit. A month later she stopped back by, flashing a bunch of cash. We went out that night and after a few drinks she told me how she'd earned it. She'd started working for an escort agency.

"Now I grew up in a pretty liberal household. My parents taught me there was nothing wrong with sex and didn't mind when I started sleeping with boys as a teenager. In fact, they used to let me take them to my room as long as they didn't spend the night. They didn't say anything when I went through a lot of boys really quickly, though I think my dad was disappointed in me. The fact was, I liked sex and I liked boys, and I didn't see anything wrong with having a lot of either.

"So after my friend spent the evening talking about the fun she was having and the cash she was making, I started thinking. I asked her a lot of questions later and the only thing I could see wrong with what she was doing was that she could be arrested or beaten up because she was working illegally. That's when I started looking into Nevada."

I nodded at that.

"Mom wasn't too thrilled, but she said she'd support me, which included looking after Billy while I was off working. That meant I could concentrate on school while I was back here instead of having to work full time as well."

"What about traditional financial aid like loans?" I asked.

Her face turned sour.

"We tried, but even accounting for Billy's disability, it wasn't going to be enough. Unless I was willing to go into debt for the rest of my life."

"Besides," she continued, "I still like sex and working let me be with men without the hassles of a relationship."

I didn't quite understand that but the expression on her face when she said "hassles" discouraged me from asking more.

"So where do I come in?" I asked.

Tamara sighed. "They're mainstreaming Billy at school. He got picked on before but I'm scared it's going to be much worse. Also, he's not talking to me or his grandma as much as he used to. Last spring he would run home from school and barricade himself in his room and not tell me why. Sometimes I could hear him crying. Once when I asked him what was wrong, he said I wouldn't understand because I was a girl."

Tamara looked pained. She struggled to catch her breath again at the memory.

"I spent a lot of the summer wishing his dad hadn't run off, or that he had an uncle or something," she continued. "I thought that maybe if there was a guy he could talk to, he'd open up a little more and share what was happening at school. Then when you said you were from Denver and that you'd been picked on in junior high too..." Anxiousness covering her face as she looked at me.

"You want me to be his friend," I stated.

"Yes," she said. "She reached out and took my hand. "I'll pay you back, of course. Just not in money."

"By having sex with me?"

"If that's what you want."

My dick stirred at the thought. The memories of her body straddling mine and her breasts under my mouth sent my blood racing. God this was tempting. Unfortunately, my gut was queasy with the thought. I sat, thoughts churning. Tamara waited patiently.

"As much as I would love to have sex with you regularly, I can't do it," I said. "Sex with you was good a lot because you didn't have to do what you did. I don't want you to have sex with me because you have to. I don't want to destroy those memories."

Tamara's face fell. She pulled her hand back from mine and took another sip of coffee. I had an idea.

"How about if instead you fix me dinner on a regular basis?" I suggested.

Her face brightened.

"Remember how I need some practice being around women? You could be my pseudo-date, helping me learn how to act before I go on a real date. It would also give me a reason to see Billy on a regular basis."

Tamara was now nodding her head at the idea.

"How about Thursday evenings?" she suggested.

I nodded affirmatively and Tamara reached over and grabbed my hand again, squeezing it hard.

"Thank you John!"

The delight in her eyes made me squirm a little, but I smiled back. Then Tamara asked me about my food preferences and any allergies. From food the conversation flowed to drinks and restaurants, of which I knew very little, but it felt relaxed and even fun. Finally, Tamara checked her watch.

"We need to get going if we're going to be back by the end of story time," she said.

I drained the last of my coffee and we headed toward the door. All too soon, we were back at the library. We paused, apparently a few minutes early.

"Uh, John," Tamara began. "There's one other thing. Tamara's my working name. My real name is Lynn."

That struck me as odd, before I remembered that a "stage name" was common practice in Nevada. I realized I felt tense with her revelation.

"Can I still call you Tamara? I think I'd feel better."

"Sure," she said, "but not in front of Billy. I don't want to confuse him." I nodded in response.

Just then Grandma and Billy emerged from the library. Tamara/Lynn moved forward to give her boy a hug, which he took with all the mixed emotions of a pre-teen. I stood by while she asked about story time, which got me wondering if he was too old for that. He seemed to have enjoyed it though—a little child still mixed in with that growing body. It hit me how much junior high was going to truly be hell for him when he got there, with no place to really fit in. I closed my eyes to dismiss the images.

When I opened them, Tamara was standing in front of me holding Billy's hand, Grandma once again discreetly distant.

"Thanks John," she said, pressing a piece of paper into my hand. "My address," she said when I looked down at it.