Chapter 4

Saturday morning daylight woke Brian. He kicked off the bedcovers, stood and headed to his kitchen in his briefs. He filled a bowl with corn flakes, slopped in some milk and sprinkled it with some sugar. His spoon was in transit from bowl to mouth when he heard his buzzer.

He pressed the button on the intercom. "Yeah?"

"Brian -- it's Debra."

He pressed the button to unlock the lobby door. Then he dashed into his bedroom, pulled on a pair of jeans and grabbed a shirt. He was tucking it into his waistband when he heard a knock at his door. She was standing in jeans and her hoodie. "Debra -- how did you get here?"

"I took the bus. May I come in?"

"Certainly." He stepped aside. "You know -- I am surprised to see you. I thought you made it abundantly clear you never wanted to see me again."

"If you recall, my exact words were that I thought it might be best if we didn't see each other."

He nodded. "Thought it might be best -- leaving the door open for a reassessment."

"And, I never specified a timeframe."

"You will be an awesome lawyer with that kind of skill with weasel words," he remarked.

She pulled off her hood and unzipped her sweatshirt. Her hair, instead of being straight, fell around her face as a white mane of soft curls. "Brian -- I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I don't know what got into me. I hope you can forgive me."

"I can't, Debra."

"You can't? Why not?"

"Because ... What happened to your hair?"

"It's called a perm ... Brian -- my hair isn't important. We can talk about it later. You were about to tell me why you couldn't forgive me."

"Because it was my fault. I'm the one whose behavior was abominable. I should be begging you to forgive me. This thing with you has happened so fast. I got caught up in the rush ... I was so eager to ... to consummate ... something ... I got wrapped up in my own selfishness. I was pushing too hard ... too fast ... too soon. Debra -- I've been torn up inside over what happened ... over what I did and what I said. What bothers me most is ... I should've known better. I should have known better."

"What do you mean?"

He drew in a deep breath. "I lost my virginity my freshman year."

"What does that have to do with us?" she asked.

"Please let me finish. I met a girl early in the fall semester. She was the only other girl for whom I've felt anything like how I feel for you. She was from a wealthy family -- a true blue blood. At age eleven she was sent to an exclusive, all-girl boarding school, and she stayed there until she graduated."

"Boarding school?" she asked. "Do those still exist?"

"I assure you they do, for those with enough money. Her family had more than enough. So, she arrived here a virgin, with no experience with boys whatsoever. She was eager to make up for lost time, but she also had deep inhibitions about her own sexuality. I, on the other hand, came from a poor family. I was one of the uncool ones in high school. The other kids had clothes from places like Abercrombie and Gap. I had clothes from Goodwill."

"High school kids can be so shallow," Debra replied. "I know from experience."

"College was a kind of an equalizer for me. I came here on a scholarship, so no one knew about my background; not even this girl -- although I knew she was out of my league. I never could figure out how a girl like her could be attracted to a guy like me."

"I think I understand how she could be," Debra remarked.

"Anyway," Brian continued, "I also was a virgin and just as eager to make up for lost time. I realized early on that she would require a gentle approach. I had a roommate with an impressive collection of sex manuals. I read through them, studying the chapters on how to deflower a virgin, how to deal with frigidity, how to overcome inhibitions. I read the advice columns in the men's magazines. I memorized recommendations for introducing a girl to anal sex."

"You did anal with her?" Debra asked.

"No but I figured if a technique would work for that, it would work for anything. I knew what I was doing -- in theory, that is. At any rate, it was the week before spring break when we actually consummated."

"It took you a semester and a half?"

"It took HER a semester and a half," Brian replied. "We went slowly, inch by inch, exploring her sexuality ... helping her overcome her inhibitions and discover the pleasures she could find in her own body. When she was ready ... when the moment came -- it was glorious. It was a mutual defloration that deserved to be immortalized on a Greek vase or in a Shakespearian sonnet." Brian could feel his eyes beginning to burn. "I wanted it to be even more glorious with you, Debra. The mistake I made ... the mistake I've been kicking myself for making ... was not recognizing ... that maybe you required ... the same kind of consideration." He looked directly in her face. "If you're giving me another chance," he said, his voice cracking, "I won't blow it like Kris did in that movie. That I promise."

Debra regarded him for a long moment. She nodded. "Brian -- apology accepted."

"Kiss and make up?"

She smiled and nodded. Brian leaned to her. She slipped her arm around his neck and they kissed a long, lingering kiss. She brushed tears from his face. "Oh, Brian..."

"I'm so happy to have you back."

"So am I," she said.

Brian embraced her and held her face against his shoulder. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, nuzzled his nose into her hair and inhaled her scent. "What I don't understand is ... after how I treated you, why would you come back?" He kissed her scalp.

"Kaycee made me do it."

"Kaycee made you do it?"

"Yes. I've been so miserable. When she saw I still was miserable this morning she asked me if I was over you or not. I told her, now I was thinking maybe I over-reacted. She said, in that case I needed to call you and clear the air. I told her I couldn't do that over the phone -- so she said I'd better get my white ass over here and talk to you." She stroked his cheek. "I missed you, Brian. I feel good when I'm near you. I missed that feeling."

"I missed you, too.

"Do you have plans for today?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Today is my day to volunteer at the food bank. You're welcome to tag along. They can always use another pair of hands."

"I've never done anything like that. All right, I'll come with you."

"So ... once I finish my soggy..." He picked up his bowl and regarded it. " ... my soggy cornflake soup." He dumped it into his sink and ran the disposal. Then he filled his bowl with fresh cornflakes. "Have you had breakfast?"

"To be honest, I haven't had much of an appetite the past few days. Right now those cornflakes look pretty good."

He grabbed another bowl and filled it for her. From his refrigerator he grabbed a jug of milk and poured some into her bowl. "Enough?"

"That's good."

"Sugar?"

"Please."

She sat beside him and ate a spoonful. "What do you do at the pantry?" she asked.

"Oh ... Sort donations, check for stuff that's past its sell-by date, stock the shelves. There's always work to be done."

"How did you get involved in it?"

"I told you I came from a poor family. When I was twelve or thirteen my dad was laid up and couldn't work. Every penny my mom made went to keep a roof over our heads, the lights on and the furnace running. If it weren't for that food pantry we wouldn't have had dinners. Once my dad was back on his feet and could work again, he vowed to repay their generosity. We never had a lot of money but he always contributed and we volunteered there as a family." He ate a spoonful. "We're all part of the human race, Debra -- we're all cousins, if you go back far enough. We're all family. If someone in your family needs help, you help. Once I got started in my career, I decided to continue helping. So I write a check once a quarter, and one Saturday each month I spend the day there." Debra regarded him. "Something wrong?"

She reached for his hand and squeezed it in a white-knuckled grip. "Oh, Brian -- I love you."

"I love you, too. I thought those words were hard for you to say."

"You gave me the courage to say them. It just sunk in what a decent, decent guy you are. You're a good man, Brian. You might be better than I deserve."

"I don't know about that. I'm no angel, Debra -- as the other night demonstrated."

"Water under the bridge, Brian."

He ate another spoonful. "Can we talk about your hair, now?"

"Okay..."

"Why did you decide to perm it?"

"Kaycee did it. She used to work in a salon. She said whenever she had man problems, she treated herself to a new hairstyle, to give herself a lift -- sort of a fresh start. So, she trimmed my hair and gave me a perm."

"Did it give you a lift?"

"It took my mind off it ... for a little while. What do you think of it?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

Her lip trembled. "Yes? No? Maybe..."

"I love it."

"You're not just saying that?"

"I'm not. I absolutely love it. Your hair is your most striking feature. When you've got it -- flaunt it. I love how it frames your face -- you have the right shaped face for hair like that. Take your glasses off..." She slipped them from her face. "Looks good with or without ... of course I like you better without but I know you have this irrational aversion to walking into walls and tripping over furniture. It's a keeper, Debra."

"It won't look like this forever -- it'll start to relax and grow out."

"I think it's a lovely style for a beautiful woman," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you..."

"I think it's too bad you keep your hair under a hat or your hoodie."

"I have no choice. I can't tolerate the sun. I think the perfect outfit for me would be a burka."

"A burka can be sexy," he said.

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course not -- are you kidding? I think it's the stupidest costume ever invented. Last summer I saw this Arab guy with someone -- a wife or daughter I presume -- and she was completely covered in a black burka. It was about 99 degrees and 95 percent humidity. I felt so sorry for her."

"I suffer on hot days," she replied. "I'm always wearing long sleeves and long pants ... and a big hat. I can't wear shorts or a tank top."

"What about sunscreen?" he asked.

"The stuff that's strong enough to work for me makes me break out. My only option is to cover up. It was one of the things that made me uncool in high school Sometimes, after the sun goes down, I'll go wild and put on a pair of shorts."