Chapter 59: Cindy Meets Suzanne, properly

I ripped the letter to Becky into shreds and went downstairs to find that Suzanne had just arrived. She had been to an engagement dinner with the girls from the office.

"Is that as far as you got before John left?" she asked, looking at the chessboard with only one pawn out of its starting position.

"He didn't see me move that piece. I moved on my own," I said.

Suzanne looked at me, questioningly. She may have recognized my need to talk with someone or perhaps she just wanted to catch up after our week apart. She patted the couch cushion, the same place where Cindy and I had sat only a few minutes before. I sat down next to her and talked while Suzanne listened.

I told her what was going on at school, how the Colonel was treating me, the strange collection of 'misfits' in room Four C, my suspicion that our tuition was being funded by someone other than a blood relative and my disappointment at being assigned to practice with the junior varsity. I even told her about the Marcie Cochran rule and the elaborate plan Spence and I had cooked up to change the rule.

Telling Suzanne about the Marcie Cochran rule made me remember that I hadn't had a chance to talk to Cindy about it and that, in turn, made me think of Cindy. Pointing to the moved pawn on the board, I admitted that I had concocted a story about a chess game being in progress so that Cindy would have an excuse to come over. This brought me to how I had just destroyed my letter to Becky in which I had confessed being unfaithful to her.

Suzanne listened to everything I wanted to say without interrupting. "Did you speak to John about any of this?" She asked.

"No. I don't want him to know that the Colonel still holds a grudge against me. But I did have to tell him that I didn't make the varsity team yet."

"Good," she said and I could tell that she was happy that I hadn't said more to Mr. Oldham.

"You better put the chess set away," she said. She didn't have to remind me of Mr. Oldham's aversion to a partially finished chess game being continued. I had heard of chess matches going on for weeks but not in the Oldham house. Either you stayed up until the game was over or the game ended unfinished when one or both of the players preferred sleep to wining.

"Why did you feel compelled to lure the Baldwin girl over here?" Suzanne asked as I carefully placed the chess pieces in their case.

"I needed to talk to her. We hadn't seen each another for a week," I answered.

"I understand that you wanted to see her but that's not what I meant. Why didn't you go to her house?"

I turned from the cabinet where the chess case was always kept. "I was waiting for you to call. Mr. Oldham told me what to say," I said.

Suzanne didn't comment but I could tell that she was touched. "Is this girl ... is she special? Is that the reason you wanted to see her so badly that you misled her?"

"I didn't mislead her. She wanted to see me too," I responded, defensively. "She just needed an excuse to come out and I supplied it."

"That's not what I asked. Is she special?" Suzanne's stare was steady, imploring.

"Is she special? She's not Becky," I began. "We have an arrangement, that's all. We've discussed it. Cindy needs someone who she knows will not cheat on her and I guess I do to. She must be special to me because I like being with her. She didn't stay very long tonight and when she left I went outside with her. I didn't want her to leave because I still have things that I want to tell her. She's special to me and I think I'm special to her."

Suzanne was seated on the couch and I was standing next to the cabinet where the chess pieces were housed when Mr. Oldham came into the room.

"I was about to tell Sammy that he must bring the Baldwin girl to the club on Sunday, John. It sounds like we need to meet her," Suzanne said.

"The Baldwin girl? Does she play golf?" Mr. Oldham asked.

"It's Cindy, Sir. I don't think she plays," I answered. And then to Suzanne, "you've met her. She came to Sonya's birthday party."

"That's not what I'm talking about. We need to meet her properly. Tell him, John."

Naturally, Mr. Oldham agreed with her. It was settled. I would bring Cindy to the club to meet Suzanne, properly.

Sometime during the night I awoke and looked around the room. The only thing visible was Becky's picture. She was staring at me. I got out of bed, turned the picture frame around to face the wall and got back into bed. After ten minutes of lying there I got up, walked to my desk and happened to look down at the wastebasket and the shredded letter. Thinking that was what was keeping me awake, I moved the wastebasket to the hallway and went back to bed. When I still couldn't sleep I got out of bed again, turned my desk lamp on and found a single sheet of blank stationery.

Dear Becky,

I'm involved with Cindy Baldwin. By involved, I mean that she is the one I want to share things with. By involved, I mean that we trust each other. By involved, I mean that we have an arrangement to be together. And yes, by involved I mean that we have sex together. It's good.

Cindy knows that I am in love with you and that she will never take your place in my heart.

Sammy

I addressed an envelope, inserted the single sheet of paper and put a stamp on the letter. The next morning I made sure the letter went in the outgoing mail and the contents of the wastebasket went into the trash.

Ned had mowed the park but left the edging up to Josh and me. We worked together until lunchtime when we took our clippings and the weeds we had pulled to be disposed of. Ned arrived to inspect our work. We both gave Josh a pat on the back, telling him he could expect a check for his work.

Cindy called while I was having lunch, saying that she had been ordered to go shopping with her mother and Jeannie.

"Shit! I was looking forward to seeing you this afternoon," I exclaimed.

"I'm sorry. I was going to do something special for you," she whispered.

"I wanted to talk to you," I lamented.

"There's still tonight," she said.

"I don't want Josh and Jeanie to hear us."

"We'll find a way to be alone," she promised.

I told her about our luncheon date at the club. She seemed excited, saying she would look for something special to wear.

Josh came looking for me but I told him I was going to spend the afternoon in my room, reading. I did go to my room but not to read. I spent the afternoon trying to answer letters but Becky kept popping into my mind. Had I done the right thing telling Becky about how it was between Cindy and me? Was she involved with someone? Would she tell me if she were? Would I ever hear from her again? I wrote letters to Greg, Trisha and my mother, telling them that things couldn't be better, thinking, what a liar I was. I also wrote to Alice although she had not written since she returned to school. I related the night before, having Cindy come to the house, waking up to find Becky staring at me and the letter I had written to her. Just picturing Alice reading the letter helped ease the tightness I felt in my chest. I could almost see her, wearing the metal-rimmed glasses, nodding her understanding and smiling to herself about my adolescent description of my troubles. I didn't expect an answer; picturing her nodding and smiling helped sooth my heartache.

Jeanie wanted to see Moonstruck and Josh got into line to buy the tickets. But Cindy held back, tugging at my shirtsleeve. "You guys go ahead. We'll wait for you at the ice cream shop," I said, feeling Cindy's bare knee rub against the back of my leg. I knew that I had spoken for her when I felt her breath tickle my ear. Jeanie took exception.

"They're going to sit in the car and make out," she said to Josh, loud enough for anyone in the area to hear.

"No, we're not," Cindy disagreed. "We'll be at the ice cream shop when the movie lets out."

"Buy the tickets, Josh. Enjoy the movie," I urged and watched as he moved toward the window. Jeanie looked at us, distrustful, before reluctantly joining Josh in the ticket line. She bumped her ass against his, turning to see if we noticed. I smiled at her and took Cindy's hand.

"She's such a baby," Cindy remarked as we took our seats in the almost vacant ice cream shop. We both ordered two scoops of vanilla ice cream with hot fudge and a cherry on top, specifying no nuts and no whipped cream.

"I have something to tell you and something to talk to you about," I said, looking across the table at her. But I didn't say more. She watched me and I could tell the silence was making her nervous, probably wondering what I had to say that was so pressing. Her lips were parted, slightly, and her eyebrows were raised, questioningly. Her tongue made a swipe along her lower lip and when she became conscious of the action she closed her lips into an anxious smile, as if to ask, 'what?'

Our order arrived and I could smell the fudge but neither of us looked down. I don't know what Cindy was thinking but I was lost in the moment. "I like your hair that way," I said, making her drop her eyes and smile, self-consciously.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" she asked, catching a drip of hot fudge that was running down the side of the dish and bringing it to her lips.

"No, that's not it. I was just thinking about last night. I told you the parts that I like best about you but forgot to tell you why I like your hair. Then I saw the ponytail. I can't remember you with a ponytail except for tennis."

She picked up the spoon, dipped it in the hot fudge and then looked into my eyes, clearly discomfited. "I wore it this way for you. You said you liked it this way."

"I did?" I asked. I couldn't remember saying such a thing. "When did I say that?"

"You said it," she answered, looking miffed.

"I do like it," I said, picking up my spoon and dipping into the ice cream, wanting to comfort her.

"My hair is too short to wear it this way. I'll let it hang loose if you prefer," she offered, watching for my reaction.

"Don't you dare? I like it that way. I was just trying to tell you that your hair is one of your parts that I like best."

We spooned the ice cream and fudge into our mouths, both thoughtful. "Do you like it as much as my lips?"

I didn't have to think about my answer. "It's right up there but I think I like your lips better."

She was smiling and I thought I knew what she was going to ask from the wicked glint in her eyes. "Which do you like better, my lips or my pussy?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or get mad. I wished that I hadn't mentioned the ponytail. "If I had to pick one it would be your pussy but it wouldn't make me forget about your lips."

"I knew it. You're hung up on one thing and the rest is just window-dressing," she said, jokingly.

"I'm sorry but I was being honest. Your window-dressing is better than anyone else I know."

We stared into each other's eyes, letting our ice cream melt in the dishes. "Your honesty is what I like best about you," she admitted, her eyes unwavering. "It's right up there with your cock."

We laughed and I held her gaze. The waitress brought two glasses of water and picked up our dishes. I decided it was time to begin our discussion.