Chapter 8: Endings and Beginnings (part I)

In early November the weather turned cold and raw. Everyday, the sky was the color of lead. Paul's cabin was closed for the winter. The leaves were off the trees. It was that in-between season between Fall and Winter. There were a few flakes of snow in the air, but nothing yet on the ground. Conversation split around two topics: would Michigan beat Ohio State and earn a trip to the Rose Bowl; was it going to be a tough winter and how much would it cost to heat the house. All-in-all, it meant that life was about normal. To Paul, it meant getting some work done. There were new items on his plate. A trip to inspect new plants in Latin America was not far off. The EU was promoting some new environmental standards, which meant even more travel. His area was understaffed and a recruiting program was under way. He also promised to recruit a local football prospect for his alma mater. Paul was busy and that's the way he liked it.

A favorite project of his was coming to a close that evening. It was bittersweet, because of all his works-in-process, this one meant the most to him. It was more important than the Peoria project, or the related lawsuit. It took priority over Glenda's job. It was a labor of love, so to speak. At the outset, all had seemed bleak. Careful, well-thought-out steps had changed that around. He was proud of his part in it, but he was really only an auxiliary to the main player. His secondary role didn't detract from the happiness of the moment.

He took the occasion to try the new Italian restaurant in town. It was not so new anymore—only to Paul. He sat at his table sipping a glass of Chianti reminiscing how he and Sally would always try the new restaurants in town. It was one of their hobbies, like swimming nude on a summer's morning at their cabin on the Peninsula. Sally and Paul always liked to share pleasures. It polished the apple, and that somehow made it taste sweeter. There was the pleasure of giving and the duty to receive, and the way they compounded each other. Glenda was a lot like Sally in that way. It was a memory of the past, but Paul realized that some men go through life without ever experiencing it at all.

Paul reminded himself to focus on the subject of the evening. He wondered why his mind had strayed to days gone by. He had never been a 'remember-when' kind of guy. It was a sign of growing old, he reasoned. That was sad, because his body still felt fit. His mind did, too, but his prospects for future youthful activity were poor. Still, he couldn't help reminding himself that there were some good old days. He had to snap back to attention because his guest for the evening was approaching his table.

"Audrey, it sure is nice to see you!" Paul exclaimed as he stood.

Paul hadn't seen Audrey since that day in the hospital several months ago. They spoke often by telephone. Audrey sent Paul her resume' and he circulated it for her. She traveled from Springfield to Michigan to discuss her prospects with him. Paul observed that Audrey's looks had returned to normal after the beating inflicted on her by Craig Morehead. He was interested to find the status of her internal scars, too. He would let that wait, because he knew that his protégé was eager to tell him about her future plans. That was a good sign in itself, in Paul's opinion.

"I can't believe that you drove all the way here," he continued.

"It wasn't too bad." she answered.

"It was eight hours!" he retorted.

"I guess I was a little eager," she admitted, with a little laugh.

Paul reached out his hand and Audrey took it. Paul gave it a gentle clasp. Audrey was not frail, but Paul never put the iron vise on ladies; he saved it for men at times of his choosing. Audrey's face flashed a look of expectation, and quickly of disappointment. Paul saw it. He interpreted it right away. Audrey had expected a hug from her mentor, not the handshake.

Paul was sorry that he hurt Audrey's feelings, but her reaction told him that he was right to keep the greeting to the handshake. Audrey had never tried to hide her feelings for him. It started the day that they met together in his office over the phony drawings that she had just wrested from Craig Morehead. Paul had difficulty understanding Audrey's attraction to him. On their first meeting she had declined to take a chair out of deference to his age. From that beginning, she seemed to look upon him as a thirty-year-old. Paul had no such illusions.

A waiter arrived at their table to take orders for drinks. Paul already had a glass of wine, and he stayed with that.

"I've never had Chianti," Audrey admitted. "I don't know much about Italian cuisine at all. Marge Bates and I ate here together, but all I had was Spaghetti and Chablis."

"Let's get a bottle, then, and we'll share it!" Paul said. "I'll help you order dinner, too. I love Italian food. I hope you're hungry."

"It sounds wonderful," she said. "I'd like to try something new."

Paul had no illusions, either, about his feelings for Audrey. He admired her courage and honesty. She was intelligent and sincere. Her smiling face reminded him of a flower opening in Spring. He had been close to giving in a few times. The idea was so tempting. It would be an easy jump from the dinner table to her hotel room. His feelings went deeper than fondness. At times he felt himself a father to her, or maybe a close uncle. At other times he was her mentor. In between, he heard a voice that urged him to become her lover.

"Tell me about you job prospects," he urged.

Paul already knew that she had an offer from the State of West Virginia for a similar position that she had with the State of Illinois. Paul had sent her resume to that State's Commissioner. They were old friends and teammates from their college football days.

"There are two positions that I have offers for right now," Audrey answered. "There are two others that I think will turn into offers if I wait long enough. I've already given my resignation to Larry Wilton. I've been sitting there with nothing to do lately, anyway."

Paul nodded approval. "You've done quite well for yourself," he said.

"Every time I went to an interview I would hear 'Paul Crane said this ... Paul Crane said that'. I owe you a lot of the credit."

"After what you did, Audrey, you deserved a little push," he told her. "Even if there had been no 'Morehead' episode, you still gave up a lot to do the right thing. That deserves some consideration."

The 'Morehead episode' was their code word for her brutal rape. The euphemism allowed them to avoid the harsh words without running away from the reality of it. He was always testing her in little ways to see if she was still forging ahead, despite the trauma. To Paul, it seemed like she was.

"Well, tell me about them," Paul said.

"I have an offer from the Environmental Commission of the State of West Virginia," she began. "It's more or less the same position as the one that I'm leaving. It's a nice offer because of the positive work environment. It's smaller than the office in Illinois, so maybe it will be less bureaucratic. By the way, Mr. Campbell told me he played football with you at State! I didn't know that you played football in college."

"Ancient history!" Paul declared. "Let's get back to you."

"There is a consulting firm that will probably make me an offer," she continued. "It sounds interesting."

Paul nodded his head, a sign to continue.

"I have an offer to enter a doctoral program at the University of Minnesota. There is a Graduate Assistant position that goes with it that would pay my way. It would be a lot less money than I've been used to, but I could manage it. I might be able to pick up some other work along the way. The professor told me that you wrote him a nice recommendation letter."

"The final possibility would be a job with a state agency in the South. They're having trouble getting the position funded, so that would be a long shot," she concluded.

By that time their entrees were in front of them. Paul ordered the veal for both of them. It was a good choice.

"If you want to go into consulting, I would suggest getting your PhD first," Paul advised. "With it, you would have a better expectation of a partnership. With a Masters you may be thought of as a journeyman."

" ... or a journeywoman." Audrey corrected with a smile.

"Then it boils down to working in West Virginia, or studying in Minnesota," Paul surmised. "It really depends upon your goals. You're still young. You have a long career in front of you."

"I think that you're telling me to go for the PhD," Audrey said.

"I think that is what you're telling yourself," Paul answered. "I think that you should listen."

Audrey beamed a broad smile. "I knew you would say that! I was hoping that you would. I think that I will."

Paul flashed a smile back to her.

"Don't be afraid of the challenge. You can do it. Look at what you've handled already."

Audrey didn't answer, so Paul pressed her.

"How are your counseling sessions going?" he asked.

"The counselor said that I was doing alright—that I didn't have to come back. She said that I could call her if I needed her, but I haven't."

"Any bad dreams—any flashbacks?" Paul asked.

Audrey shook her head.

"I was actually out cold when he did it," she reminded him. "Maybe I was lucky that way. I remember fighting him. I thought that I could fight him off up until everything went black. I'll always know that I never gave in. That helps a little."

"I think that you're going to be fine. Just remember that you have friends that you can lean on if you have to," Paul assured her.

As they were finishing their entrees Audrey grew quiet.

"You look like you have something else on your mind," Paul said.

"I do!" she declared. "It's hard to come right out with it, but this is the last time we may ever have together when it's just the two of us."

Paul raised his eyebrows in anticipation. "I'm ready to listen."

"It's just this," Audrey's lower lip trembled a bit. "I want very much to have a relationship with you. I want it to be more than just being what we are now. I want to have it tonight."

Paul had anticipated her plea, but the directness of it surprised him, nonetheless. He should have expected her to be bold, he told himself. Her courage was one of her traits that he admired so much.

"Audrey," he answered, "you know that once would never be enough, at least for me."

"That would suit me fine."

"Would it?" Paul asked. "Maybe it would for a while. Of course you have plans to go to Minnesota, and my life is here. It would be a long-range relationship."

Paul looked at her and she shrugged her shoulders. He knew that she was undeterred.

"You are twenty-eight—just starting out. I'm fifty-four. In ten years you will be at your peak. I will be sixty-four—definitely past mine. In twenty years you will be forty-eight—still a beautiful and vibrant woman. I'll be seventy-four."

"I've already thought of that," she said. Tears were forming in her eyes.

"It's a selfish thing for me, really," Paul went on. "One day you would realize that you had made a mistake and that you should have found a younger man. But, I know you; you would never leave me, or even let me know that you wanted to. You would stick it out without saying a word. I would know it—I know it now—and that is the part that I couldn't stand. I'm so sorry, Audrey. I'm asking you to do this for me."

She sat sobbing, trying not to make a scene in the restaurant.

"That doesn't mean that I would ever not want to be your friend," Paul said. "It means a lot to me. I hope that we can continue as we are."

Audrey didn't look up. She had stopped crying. She nodded her head.

"You should know that it was a close call for me. If I cared for you less than I do, the answer would have been different."

Paul had spoken the truth.

Marge Bates was busy setting the table in the dining room of her home. It was four-thirty on a Sunday afternoon. She was getting the chore out of the way because she still had a lot of things to do. It had been a long time since she used the good silver and china. It was a pleasure. She got the Waterford out, too. She held nothing back. She finished setting the two places, put the serving pieces on the side and the white candles in the brass holders. She opened the wine to breathe—a hearty burgundy. It would compliment the pot roast that she had roasting in the oven. She checked on it, and finding it progressing as planned, made her way upstairs to get ready.

She finished brushing her teeth and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt good on the crisp November day. It cascaded over her head and shoulders. It was so relaxing. She let the spray pound the muscles in her back and took the soap and let it glide over her. First she washed her arms, then her chest and shoulders. She took some soap in her hands and rubbed it on her face and neck. She took a washcloth and did her legs. Soon she had her head full of shampoo. She took some of the lather into her hands. She couldn't help herself. She massaged it into her breasts, soft and gentle, lifting and cupping them. She let her thumbs stroke over the nipples. She imagined a man doing it. It could have been Carl, her late husband, or her recent lover, Paul Crane. Then her thoughts turned to a man who had never touched them, Walter Hartley. She scooped more shampoo from her hair and let her hands rub the lather into her lower triangle of hair. The pressure of her fingers was firm, but light, and then she let them drift lower. She pressed her hips back to deepen the contact. In her mind it was Walter down there, working his magic, whatever he might possess.

She roused herself from her daydream and rinsed the shampoo from her hair and all around. She decided that it was her favorite brand of shampoo. It was time to select her wardrobe. It was important to choose just the right thing to wear.

"I need something with warm, inviting colors," she began her mental checklist. "I need a top that lets him know that I have a nice set, but not too obvious. He'll have to make a move if he wants to get to see them. Nothing's for free in this world."

She searched through her closet. She found just the right skirt. It was a pleated, burgundy-camel plaid. She matched it with a camel-colored short-sleeved sweater of merino wool with a snug fit over her torso, and finished it with a string of white pearls. The rich fabric gave a soft look, to contrast with her large breasts pushing out from it. A dab of perfume behind her ears and knees, a comb-out of the hair and she was ready.

It was an outfit that was comfortable and friendly. It would make a man feel at home, and put him on edge at the same time. In a younger world, she might appear matronly, perhaps frumpy. For a pair of fifty-somethings it was just right. Marge knew what she was doing. The presentation must be demure, lest it alarm the quarry. It must match her personality—avoid looking contrived. He would feel at ease in pursuing her. She would appear to be far from captured, so he would venture a swifter chase. With his reserve abandoned, she would turn suddenly to spring the sweet trap.

The hour was approaching six. Marge picked out some music. She was careful to make the right selections. She wanted nothing too peppy, better to be relaxing. A Mangione recording fit the bill nicely. She backed it up with an MJQ and one from Sinatra. She was thinking about another when she heard a car door slam outside in her driveway.

It was Walter, right on time. Marge noticed that he took pains to approach her front door slower than he had to. He wore that wary expression of a soldier entering enemy territory. He was armed as he ventured into 'No Man's Land'. He bore a bouquet of flowers in one hand. In the other was a paper bag, shaped in the obvious form of a wine bottle. His coat was open. He was wearing grey flannel slacks, and a navy, wool vest with a plaid shirt underneath. He finally reached her door. From her view at the window Marge noted that he was as predictable as she had predicted that he would be.

"Come right in, Walter!" Marge didn't wait for him to knock. "I heard your car in the driveway."

Walter entered and Marge seized his coat and hung it in the hallway closet. He thrust the flowers at her.