Chapter 6: Summer of 1991- Keyword: Fling

We stopped at a market and while Patti was shopping, saying she preferred to shop alone because my tagging along would distract her, I killed time at the drugstore next door. I found what I was looking for, Dining out in Atlanta, the magazine Smyth had boasted his articles appeared in.

I picked up the July and August issues of the magazine and on my way to the cash register I spotted the condom display, my favorite section in the store. How could I not stop and admire the colorful packages? The couples smiled at each other, looking ... well, satisfied. Should I pick up a box? No, Patti wasn't ready. Decision made, I went to the car and perused the July issue of Dining out in Atlanta.

A photograph of Ambrose Smyth, critic at large, appeared on page fifty-two. He was wearing a bright yellow shirt under a pale green blazer. The shirt was open at the neck, which was obscured by (I'm not kidding) a dark blue with yellow polka-dots ascot, which was tucked inside the shirt. His smile confirmed my suspicion; Smyth had obviously missed more than a few dental appointments. The yellow stains on his teeth were a shade lighter than the polka-dots on his ascot.

I skimmed the article while keeping one eye on the market entrance. Smyth was complimentary of the chef, whom he quoted at length, emphasizing the care and devotion paid to the freshness of each dish's ingredients. 'The impeccable attention to detail, ' Smyth wrote, 'is equaled by the flawlessly maintained kitchen.' What a load of crap! The chef could have told him he spit in the soup and Smyth would have quoted him, verbatim.

Patti appeared, carrying a bag of groceries. "Who's this," she asked after we got her and the groceries comfortably settled for the ride home.

"That's the voyeur. Smyth claims to be a forty-year-old virgin."

She howled. "Is that what you meant by keyword: virginity?"

"No, keyword: virginity means you tell me how you lost yours and I'll tell you how I lost mine."

She closed the magazine and held it in her lap, looking at the cover. "No one has ever asked that, not even Crystal."

"You don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable," I said, giving her a long glance before pulling into traffic.

"I want to. Besides, I can't wait to hear how you lost yours. I was seventeen and it was spring break..."

"Not now," I stopped her. "We can wait until we're in bed and its dark if you like."

She laughed and chided me. "You've already chickening out, haven't you? Does being in the dark give you courage?"

"Being in the dark is only part of it. I'm looking forward to being in bed with you. This is the maid's day to do laundry so the sheets will be clean and..."

Patti was holding her hand in the air. I got the idea and gave her my full attention.

"We need to establish an agenda and ground rules. This is how it's going to work: First, we'll have dinner. I bought wild salmon, which you can grill while I get everything else ready. After we eat and clean up I want to try that pool you've been talking about. After we tire of the pool we'll go to bed and take turns asking each another keywords. That's all, no mischief. Is that acceptable to you?"

I could have told her how many months Shirley had kept me at bay, but I didn't think she would want to hear about that part of my past and I knew I didn't want to be reminded of it. "By no mischief do you mean no kissing?"

Patti rolled her eyes and grinned. "Kissing is permissible. In fact, I would be hurt if you didn't kiss me."

"How about holding?" I asked as I turned the car into Holly's driveway.

Patti pondered the question, acting like it took her by surprise. We were out of the car and walking toward the breezeway when she answered. "Are you sure there will be clean sheets?"

Her answer amused me so much that I fumbled with the door key. "Yes, I'm sure. The maid does laundry on Friday. If she didn't change the sheets on the bed I've been using there are three other bedrooms."

"Holding is permissible, but only after an especially emotionally-filled answer," she said, wryly.

The conversation came to a halt as we entered the kitchen and Patti stopped to get her bearings. Once she had the layout implanted in her mind, work-surface, stove, refrigerator, sink, she turned to me with a 'where-were-we?' look.

"Is touching permissible?"

She was in the process of unpacking the groceries. For a second I didn't think she heard me. "Touching? Is that your codeword for feeling up?" she asked, already lining the contents of the bag across the work-surface.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"Sammy, we haven't gotten to the pet name stage yet. Are you sure the sheets are clean? Show me the room, please. I need to store my bag anyway."

I took her upstairs and she went right to the bed to check the sheets. Satisfied that they had been changed, she came to where I was standing, looking at the water below. "Are you partial to pet names?" I asked, feeling her leg rub against mine.

"Not especially. I think pet names say a lot though. Even if the person isn't sincere it shows thought has been expended in selecting the name."

"I'm not keen on pet names either. Can we skip that stage?" I asked, pulling her to me. Our lips met and my tongue forced her lips apart. After meeting a few probes with her tongue she pulled away, looking thoughtful.

"We can delay it until I tire of calling you Sammy and you get tired of calling me Patti. It will be your reward for the way you tested your limits. It shows respect for my wishes and makes me trust you. You found out how far you can go tonight and I know I have nothing to fear." This time she was the aggressor, pulling my head down and invading my mouth with her tongue. It was my turn to pull back.

"Where did we leave the question of touching?" I asked, disregarding the fact that I was cupping the cheeks of her ass with both hands.

"You're incorrigible," she said, taking my hand and leading me from the room.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

Patti wouldn't look at me, but I was almost sure she was blushing. She gave me an 'anything's possible' look and pulled me towards the stairs.

I started the grill, reinstalled the rope and hung the tarpaulin on it while I was waiting for the grill to heat up. We had everything set up to dine next to the pool and I was uncorking a bottle of Holly's chardonnay when Smyth's voice pierced the tarpaulin.

"That smells scrumptious. Is there a serving for me, Mr. Oldham? I only need a small helping."

"He doesn't know you're here," I whispered to Patti.

"There's plenty of everything. Go get a plate and we'll feed the poor man," she whispered.

The cork made a popping noise as it exited the bottle, sounding like a cannon firing. I expected Smyth to request wine with his meal and when he didn't say anything I turned toward the house. "I'm getting a plate for you, Mr. Smyth," I said when I reached the patio and he was in my sight.

"Honey?"

I froze, petrified. What a time to introduce a pet name. Smyth's reaction to the discovery that I had a guest was quicker than mine. "She's going to remind you to bring a wineglass for me, isn't that so, Dear?" he asked as I turned to see Patti with one hand over her mouth, mortified that she had let her presence be known.

She nodded to indicate that Smyth was right; she wanted me to bring him a wineglass.

The blood was still drained from her face when I returned with a plate, silverware and a wineglass.

"Don't worry about it. He knew someone else was here as soon as he saw the blind," I said as she transferred a slab of salmon and a few spears of asparagus onto Smyth's plate. Her hands were shaking as she filled his glass.

My assurance that she had not given anything away did little to lessen the guilt she felt. I gave Smyth a stern warning, "I don't want to hear a peep out of you," I said as I delivered his meal. He accepted the plate, silverware and glass of wine, silently nodding his agreement to abide by my order.

Everything went splendidly for fifteen minutes. We touched glasses, spoke quietly and enjoyed the grilled salmon.

"We were talking about touching before," I said, speaking softly, wanting to steer the conversation back to setting limits.

"We already established that 'touching' is analogous to feeling up," Patti replied, also keeping her voice just above a whisper.

Our banter was serious, very adult and titillating. I wanted to keep it going.

"I disagree, touching is nothing more than moving your hands while holding the other person. Feeling up is massaging, rubbing, even squeezing. Where do you stand on touching?"

Patti lifted her wine glass, looking at it, thoughtfully. "Touching is permissible."

"Touching outside clothing or bare skin?" I was quick to clarify the limits she was willing to permit.

"I suppose it depends," she said, taking a sip of wine.

"What does it depend on?" I asked, encouraged that she was letting me press on with the subject.

"It depends..." she stopped and took another sip of wine. I waited, anxiously. If I wasn't mistaken, Patti was actually blushing.

"DELICIOUS!" Smyth pronounced from his perch, destroying the mood and enraging me. Patti's burst of laughter encouraged him.

"May I enquire what's in the sauce?" Smyth asked, disregarding my order to keep quiet.

"Don't," Patti said when she saw me jump to my feet. Her wistful plea caused me to slump back into my seat. She looked pleased with me as she spoke.

"It's a plain yogurt base with Dijon mustard and..."

"Don't tell me," Smyth interrupted, "the seed of dill?"

"That's correct, the dill is fresh. I think fresh dill is so much more favorable than dried dill."

"You're quite right, young lady. The topping on the asparagus is the same sauce, isn't it?"

Their conversation was becoming irritating. Smyth was totally disregarding my order to remain quiet and Patti was keeping it going, obviously pleased that he complimented her on the concoction. The topping really did add to the fish and asparagus. Why hadn't I told her I liked the sauce?

"That's correct," Patti agreed, "would you like another helping of salmon?"

"No thank you, I've had plenty, but..."

"Asparagus?" she asked.

"May I trouble you for some more wine?"

We looked at the bottle at the same time and saw that it was nearly empty. I shook my head, 'no'.

"You're welcome to the few sips that are left, Mr. Smyth," she said, handing me the bottle. "We're eating light tonight because we're going in the water later," she added, giving Smyth more information than he needed.

Smyth held out his glass to be refilled as I approached. I handed him the bottle and walked away, realizing there was nothing I could say without getting into trouble with Patti. In twenty-five minutes, Smyth had connected with my date, someone he had never met before. Hell, they hadn't even seen each other. What he had done was to set me back in my quest to expand on the limits she would permit. Shit!

Smyth and Patti got their first look at each other when we carried the dishes and leftovers to the house. "Thank you for the delicious meal," he said when we came into his view.

Patti turned, "You're welcome, let me take your plate," she said, handing me the tray she was carrying.

Seeing them face to face, her reaching up to take his plate, silverware and wineglass gave me a horrifying thought. What if he mistakenly thinks she's here to take his virginity? Worse yet, what if he asks her if that's the reason she's here?

"Patti," I called to her, "I need you to hold the door open for me."

It worked; she left Smyth peering over the fence to open the door for me.

"Thank you again, Patti," Smyth said before I got her inside.

Shit! Now he knows her name.

"You're welcome again, Mr. Smyth," she said.

At least I had avoided having to explain why I had promised to get Smyth laid, something I was wondering about myself. We loaded the dishwasher and put the kitchen in order while telling each other how much we had enjoyed the meal. "I think we should forget about using the pool tonight," I suggested, hoping to avoid more contact with Smyth that day.

"Why? You haven't seen the swimsuit I brought to wear tonight."

The hint that her swimsuit would be revealing excited me and made me apprehensive at the same time. What if her swimsuit excited Smyth too? Was he still perched on his ladder, waiting to get a glimpse of her as we crossed the patio? I suspected he was.

"Let's check our telephone messages first. Would you like to watch the evening news?" I asked, hoping to delay going outside as long as possible.

She gave me a strange look, but my suggestion to check our telephone messages was a stroke of genius. I only had one message from Wanda, reminding me of the time her flight was arriving the next day. Patti called her answering machine and became excited when she heard the first message. "Another of our clients called to say he got our letter and says he wants to talk to me about a job that's coming up soon," she whispered to me, like the guy who had left the message could hear her. I smiled to show that I was happy for her. The second message dampened her mood.

"It's Sara; I've simply got to call her back, Honey."

She was apologetic, like she was interfering with our swim. I don't think she knew she had called me 'Honey' the second time.

"You should call her," I agreed, trying to sound conciliatory, like I was sacrificing our time in the pool.

"Come back," she said when I started to leave Holly's study where we were using the telephone. I took a seat behind the desk and looked for something to read while she made the call.

Patti dialed the number and began what turned out to be a very long conversation. She kept glancing at me as she consoled her friend. "It's not important that Howard apologize to either of us ... please don't cry, Sara."

Patti walked around the desk and playfully mussed my hair, before turning serious.

" ... no, I don't think Sammy's angry ... no, he doesn't hold a grudge ... I know him, he wouldn't intentionally interfere with your husband's chance for a job."

She took a seat on my lap and ran her lips over my cheek, poking the tip of her tongue into the indention at the scar's center. I was enjoying the way her tongue tickled me when she suddenly jumped off my lap.

... Look! Sara, pull your self together. It's not the end of the world ... It is?"

And then she was back in my lap, the receiver pressed to her ear.

"I'm not at home ... I'm ... staying with Sammy this weekend."

Patti tucked the receiver next to her stomach and spoke to me. "They want to see us."

"What's that going to prove? Tell her we have no say in who gets the ceiling contract."

Patti raised the receiver to her ear. "Sara, Sammy says he can't help Howard and I know I can't. Tell Howard we accept his apology, but there's really nothing we can do."

It took five more minutes to convince Sara that we couldn't help Howard. Patti alternated between begging Sara to stop crying and, once she discovered that it tickled, poking the tip of her tongue in the indention in my cheek. "Sara, if you don't stop crying I'm going to hang up ... that's better ... yes, I'm sitting in his lap..."

Patti put the receiver to my ear. " ... it's my father's fault. Four years ago he practically forced me to marry Howard and now that business is down he says I've made my bed and I have to lie in it. Howard blames me for everything that goes wrong..."