Chapter 17

Paul had removed his prosthetic limbs and, sliding carefully from the wheelchair into the waiting tub, had carefully shifted his torso down into the inviting hot water. His arms were muscular and very strong now, and the weight of his lean torso -- without legs -- was no challenge. The self-lifting process always gave Paul a certain amount of satisfaction -- pride, even.

Partly to keep the tub from developing That Ugly Ring, but mostly because he just liked bubbles, Paul always added a frothy bubble-bath mixture to the water. That night's bath felt especially welcoming after his long, long Saturday downtown, first at school and then later at Shea Stadium.

He heard the knock on the apartment's outer door, and a muffled woman's voice, but there was no way he was going to make any attempt to respond. In his condition, he was at least ten minutes away from the front door. For purposes of whoever it was, Paul was not at home.

"Oh! You're in the tub! I heard you come in, earlier, but when I knocked, and you didn't answer, I was... afraid something might be wrong."

Cindy Pooler had just let herself in with her passkey, using her supposed concern for Paul's welfare as an excuse. She stood just outside Paul's open bathroom door, pretending to be respecting his privacy. The bubble bath, however, gave Paul the only effective privacy he could get in that cramped little room.

"No, I'm OK, Cindy. I can knock on your door, later, when I get out of the tub, if there's something you need."

"Oh, no. Not really. I -- I found this little fold-out clothes-drying thingie, here. It was down in the laundry room?... See?" She stuck the aluminum fold-out contraption into the bathroom, her own body, in the process, partially following it in. The "drying thingie" was intended to allow an apartment dweller to hang small articles of wet clothing on its spindly arms, for air-drying.

"I just wondered if you could use something like this?"

Paul didn't rinse his underwear in the sink. His dirty clothes were either taken to a professional laundry, or he washed and dried them, himself, using the apartment house's coin-operated equipment. "I'm not sure I'd have much use for it, Cindy, but thanks for thinking of me."

The gizmo was drawn back out of the bathroom, and evidently propped against the wall in the hallway, but Cindy's head and shoulders were still visible. "Want me to wash your back?" she said.

"Got my brush," Paul said, indicating a long plastic back-scrubber, well within his reach.

"No substitute for the personal touch, though," Cindy said. She was suddenly on her knees next to the tub, searching between Paul's legs, in the bubbly water -- ostensibly for his washrag. She searched for it just long enough to find what she was really looking for.

"Oh, my!" Cindy said. "I see the only thing you lost in Iraq was your legs."

For a woman who had "accidentally" touched a man's penis, she certainly wasn't in any hurry to pull her hand away.

Paul was very tired, and not interested in starting anything with Cindy Pooler. But his penis was interested, and started to grow under Cindy's gentle massaging.

"It was Afghanistan," he said.

"That feel good?" she asked, ignoring the geography lesson.

It felt great, but Paul knew about Trouble. It started with "T" and that rhymes with "P," and that spells "Pooler."

"It feels good, Cindy, but you shouldn't be doing... that."

"I don't know why not," she said, expertly squeezing his now fully erect organ. "'Can't see what harm it could possibly do."

"Cindy, you know that I'm in a committed relationship."

"With that Silverheels woman?"

"Silverthorn."

"Right. Yeah, I know about her. I hear you and her in here, when she comes to see you. I can hear you -- fucking her!" Cindy's hand was applying more pressure now, trying to encourage Paul's captive erection to climax.

"Cindy, please!"

"This doesn't feel nice?"

"Yes, of course it feels -- nice. You know it does. But we can't do anything, Cindy. Really."

"I won't tell her."

"No."

"What are you going to do? Force me to stop? You gonna chase me out of here on them stumps of yours? Why can't we just be nice to each other?... Do each other a little favor?"

"Cindy, Goddamn it, stop!"

She didn't stop, but her grip loosened and the pumping motion slowed down. She was losing confidence in her seductive powers.