The Making of a Gigolo (11) - Renee Zimmerman

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter Nine

The rooms were right next to each other. Felicity, thinking that all was well again, now that they had a plan for Bobby, waved gaily and said: "Come get us when you're ready. We've still got plenty of time."

Once in their room, Renee stomped around, while Bobby tipped the porter who carried in Renee's single suitcase.

"Why didn't you tell me this was an overnight thing?" she snapped.

"I didn't know," said Bobby, shrugging. "You brought a suitcase," he pointed out.

"Yes, but all that's in it is my dress for tonight!" she snarled. "I didn't even bring any makeup! Ohhh, this is a mess!" She looked at him. "And staying in a room all night with you!"

Her tone was almost vitriolic, and Bobby was stung. He knew they had gone farther at the drive-in than she'd planned on going, but had thought she'd had a good time.

"Hey, calm down," he said stiffly. "I'll go talk to them. We''ll get another room. If they don't have one I'm sure Chester and I can stay in one room, and you and Felicity can have the other."

She stomped one foot.

"Are you insane?" she almost shouted. "She obviously thinks we're sleeping together! Why, oh why did I ever get mixed up with a hick-town gigolo?!"

"You ran into my car, as I recall," said Bobby dryly. "And what's wrong with telling them there's been a mistake? There has been a mistake. It's just a fact. People make mistakes."

"You just don't understand!" she moaned. "If we do that, it will be like admitting to them that we're ignorant bumpkins!"

"Oh, of course," said Bobby, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I didn't think of that, what with me being a bumpkin all my life and all."

His tone broke through her anger, and she felt a stab of guilt. He had helped her.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said, somewhat sullenly. "It's just that they're so ..."

"Rich?" asked Bobby. "That doesn't matter to me. But it obviously does to you. I like them, and they like me. And I'm sorry I can only be myself, instead of the fancy pants man you want. I thought we'd had a good time together, even if I got all beat up on our first date, and pushed things a bit far on our second. I can see I was wrong about that." He grinned. "See there? It's not so hard to admit you made a mistake."

Then he wiped the smile off his face. "But not to worry. I won't touch you again. You'll be perfectly safe. I'll go stand in the hallway, while you change. That sofa over there will be fine for me tonight. You'll awaken refreshed and unsullied by the nasty old male prostitute you got stuck with."

He turned and walked to the door. His name was on her lips, as his tone stung her and made her realize how she'd sounded. But her pride kept that name only on her lips, until the door closed solidly behind him.

Even then, when it finally left her lips, it was only a whisper.

With nothing else to do, she turned to her suitcase. A minute later, as she bent over, wearing only her bra and panties, the memory of his voice, talking about what a cute butt she had, flitted through her brain. If she hadn't been such a bitch, he might be here right now, watching her bend over to step into her dress. She knew, deep inside her that he had really done nothing against her wishes. She knew that she had loved the feel of his lips and hands on her ... that he had forgone his own pleasure, thinking only of her. She knew, deep down, that her fear wasn't of him really. It was of her desire. It was true that he was a farm boy from a small town. It was true that he had no formal higher education. It was true that he'd never be wealthy and flashy. But ... he was also caring ... and generous ... and fun to be around. He was a nice guy, and he knew how to make her feel wonderful. He didn't deserve to be treated like she'd treated him.

She stood up in her dress, smoothing it into place. She'd picked this dress for Bobby really. It was clingy and light and the breeze would blow it around her thighs. It showed enough cleavage to be interesting, but not so much as to make her look like a tart. She had thought of it as a slightly daring dress, for a safe date.

She walked to the door and opened it. He was leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking distinctly out of place.

"Come back in," she said. "I'm sorry."

"We can just go now," he said. His voice was cool.

"Please, Bobby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said?"

"Why did you say it then?" he asked.

"Would you please come back in the room to talk about this?" she asked, looking up and down the hall.

"I don't think that's necessary," he said stiffly. "Let's just get this play out of the way, and get through the night, and you can go back home."

"Bobby," she pleaded. "At least let me explain."

"It's all right," he said. "You don't have to explain anything to me. Maybe we can talk later."

She thought about just reaching out and dragging him into the room, but he stepped to the next door and knocked on it. He looked back at her. "Do you have everything you need for tonight?"

It didn't get any better as they went shopping. Bobby was polite, but cool. He did not touch her, either to help her out of the car, or by putting his hand in the small of her back, as a man sometimes does to steer a woman. He seemed to be completely without opinion as to what clothing he should get. "Whatever you think," he said, more than once. Even Felicity realized something was amiss.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, at one point.

"I just don't want to be a bother," he said, calmly.

Felicity knew Bobby better than most other women, having spent hours and hours in his arms. She pulled him aside.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

"There's nothing to tell," said Bobby.

"Did you two have a spat?" asked Felicity.

"I guess so," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Absolutely not!" said Bobby firmly. "We'll work it out."

Felicity looked at him, and took his hand. She squeezed it, and said "All right." Then she let his hand drop again.

Bobby just wore the clothes for the theater out of the store. His old clothes were put into a bag, and thrown into the trunk of the car.

"They'll have the other things you need at the hotel," said Felicity. "They have toothbrushes and things like that."

Dinner wasn't exactly strained, but it wasn't as relaxed as it might have been either. Bobby held Renee's chair for her while she sat, and then he seated himself. He chatted with Felicity and Chester about things going on in their lives. He spoke to Renee too, but much less than to the others. He didn't exactly ignore her, but he didn't lavish attention on her either. Felicity stared at him more than once, but he ignored her pointed looks.

Renee wasn't blind. She realized what was happening. He had taken her harsh words to heart. She knew she had wounded him, calling him a bumpkin, and ... the other thing. Her spirits sagged, as she realized she had hurt the feelings of a perfectly nice man. At one point she wondered how it was that she managed to ruin things with the men in her life. Then she shook that off. Daniel had ruined that, not her. Bobby was nothing like Daniel. She tried to catch his eye, and smile, to tell him with her eyes that she was sorry she'd been so selfish and insensitive. He didn't look at her, though, no matter how often she looked at him, across the table.

Felicity didn't know about Daniel. At one point she asked what to her was an obvious question.

"So, why did you decide to come to Granger and start a childcare center?"

Renee had no idea how to respond. She didn't want to talk about Daniel, and she had no real explanation for how she ended up in Granger unless she did.

"She's a little shy about that," said Bobby, suddenly. "While we were working on the renovation, I kind of figured out that she just wanted to cut the apron strings, and strike out on her own. Granger was about as far away as she could get from her parents." He grinned, as if that explained everything. "You know how rich parents always want to plan their children's lives."

"Oh I do, do I?" asked Felicity archly.

"Of course you do, Dear," said Chester. "You've already planned what schools you're going to send poor Charles to. And I've heard you talking to Annie about which finishing schools are acceptable, in case the next one is a girl." He smiled gently.

"You're pregnant?" asked Renee. She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have asked that!"

"It's all right," said Felicity, as if it didn't matter. "Not yet, but we're working on it." Her eyes only touched Bobby, and then moved over to Chester.

"I wish you luck," said Renee weakly.

"I think things will work out well," said Felicity. "They did last time."

Renee realized, with a shock, that if she was correct in her assumptions ... if Bobby was the man who produced that child with Felicity ... that meant they were trying to do it again. The man sitting across from her was ... servicing ... the woman sitting next to her! And they intended to get her pregnant!

That was shocking. But what was even more shocking was that Felicity's husband, who had to know all this, was simply sitting there, smiling benignly.

Renee had, at least to some degree, pushed the fact that Bobby was sexually available to women for money into the back of her mind. She had begun to concentrate on him as just a man. Now, though, she was reminded starkly of his status in the community. He was having sex with Felicity. She had arranged this little junket, inviting him along, and paying for everything. Renee hadn't thought anything about the fact that Felicity paid for the clothing he was wearing. She'd originally thought of that as just making up for her poor communication. Now, though, it took on a different flavor in her mind.

At the same time, it was painfully clear to Renee that Bobby hadn't had to ask her to come with them. He could have come alone. Had he done so, he could have mated with the woman, right there in the hotel. The old man obviously didn't care. She remembered his aimless humming in the car. Maybe he was senile, and didn't even know what was happening! Old habits, habits of a rich, little spoiled girl, bubbled up in Renee. In the old days she schemed and plotted to get what she wanted, if she couldn't just buy it outright. She glanced at her rival, and suddenly Felicity didn't seem so sweet, or innocent. Maybe she had done this on purpose! Maybe she had hoped that Renee would revolt and kick Bobby out, so he could go over to the other room, and sleep with her!

Felicity put her napkin on the table.

"I'm going to powder my nose." She looked at Renee, one eyebrow raised in the universal female language of, "Are you coming with me?"

"I'm fine," said Renee, smiling. She wouldn't go to the bathroom with that witch if she was going to pee her panties!

Bobby stood up. "I'll escort you," he said. "I'll just visit the men's room too."

Felicity smiled at him, and Renee felt her blood begin to boil.

They weren't even out of sight when the old man to her right spoke.

"You don't seem to be having a very good time, my dear," he said gently.

"What?" She was surprised he'd spoken.

"You seem upset," said the man. "I get the impression this isn't quite what you expected."

Renee blinked. The man wasn't senile at all. She was so surprised that her opinion of him was completely mistaken that she was at a loss for words.

"Come now," he said softly. "The whole point of having you along was to have fun. If you're not having fun, then we're wasting our time. Has Felicity done something to upset you?" he asked. "Or is it Bobby?"

Renee's angst bubbled out of her.

"It's just that they ... I mean the two of them ... how could you just stand by while they ..."

"Have sex?" said the old man, that strange smile on his face. "We assumed you were having sex with him too."

"No!" yelped Renee. "It's just a date!" She blushed furiously at the disclosure of her consternation.

"I see," sighed the man. "It appears we jumped to some incorrect conclusions. I'm sorry about that. It wasn't intended to embarrass you like this. I guess we've just gotten too used to Bobby's ways."

"But why?" moaned Renee.

Chester chuckled. "Look at me," he said. "I was almost eighty when she married me. I've been no good to her as a man. Oh, we play at making love, and we love each other, but I couldn't give her children. What was I to do? I had no heir ... no grandchildren to ease an old man's mind as he nears the end. We were just lucky that Bobby was there."

"You feel lucky?" asked Renee, weakly.

"Bobby's a fine young man. His seed is strong, and his children are healthy and full of life. I feel ten years younger since he brought a baby into the house." Chester frowned. "But that's us. It's inexcusable that you were placed in this position. I'll rectify that immediately. You'll have your own room tonight."

He started to get up, obviously prepared to call the hotel and make the arrangements.

"Wait!" said Renee. He paused, and sank back down into his chair. He reminded her of her grandfather, who was so kind and understanding to a little girl, when she broke an expensive vase, or came in from playing all dirty.

"It's me," she said.

"I don't understand," said Chester.

"Bobby and I have gone out before ... on dates. I just wanted to have some fun. He told me about ... what he does. I didn't want that, but I didn't know anybody so I ... I hired him ... just to take me out, but not for anything else." She blushed.

"I understand," said Chester. "As I said, I'll get you your own room."

"No, you don't understand," she moaned. "He's been so good to me, but I've been horrible to him. I said things ... horrible things ... back at the hotel. I thought horrible things about you and your wife too! I thought this all happened on purpose ... that it was some scheme. I feel like such a fool!"

"You're not a fool," said Chester. "You have a perfect right to your opinions and beliefs. It is my wife and I who erred, believing something that was not true. We should have given you much more information before bringing you here. I can't tell you how sorry I am for that. I'm sure Bobby will understand too."

"That's just it," moaned Renee. "Bobby has been wonderful to me. He helped me through my ... through a very hard time for me. He doesn't deserve to be treated like I treated him. If you get me my own room, he'll think I hate him." She slumped. "He probably already thinks that."

"Not wanting to have sex with a man doesn't mean you hate him," said Chester, gently. "It only means you don't want to have sex with him. Bobby will understand that, too. Felicity treated him very harshly, in the beginning, but he was patient with her, and let her feelings evolve."

"That's the problem," sighed Renee. "Part of what you saw in me was jealousy. When Felicity was talking about having another baby, I knew what she meant. I knew that she and Bobby ... I got jealous. I do have feelings for him. I just don't want to!"

"Why not?" asked Chester. "He's a wonderful boy."

"There are ... complications," said Renee.

"Ahhhh," said the old man. "A husband?"

"No," she said first. Then: "Yes, but not really. I got an annulment."

"Then what's the problem?" asked Chester.

"I'm not ready for another man in my life," moaned Renee.

"But you're jealous of Felicity," he said.

"Yes, and that's wrong!" said Renee. "I shouldn't be jealous. That's the thing. I like Bobby. I feel things for him ... but I don't want to ... and ... Oh, it's all just so jumbled up in my mind!"

"I understand," said Chester. She shot him a dark look and opened her mouth but he held up a hand. "No, really, I think I do. You see, Felicity went through much the same thing. She didn't like Bobby at first. She didn't want to. She resisted what I asked of her. Then, as she got to know him, she did like him. She was afraid she'd like him too much."

"That's how I feel!" said Renee, sitting up.

"She was worried that she'd fall in love with him," said Chester. "But, you see, Bobby isn't the kind of man who will let you fall in love with him. Not that way. At least not with Felicity. He has a knack about him ... he seems to know how to have this kind of relationship, without it getting ... messy."

He looked up.

"They're coming back. What do you want me to do?" He seemed poised for action, somehow.

"Nothing," said Renee. "I need to think."

"There is no shame in knowing what you want," said Chester. "If the arrangements for tonight need to be changed, just tell me. We'll work it out. We can even skip the show, and go straight back if that's what will make you feel better."

"No!" gasped Renee.

"No what?" asked Felicity, nearing the table. "What's wrong?"

Chester waved a hand negligently in the air. "Oh, I was just telling this delightful young lady about eating grubs when I was in Australia, and I suggested she'd enjoy them. Perhaps I was wrong. I do hope I haven't ruined your appetite." He reached out and patted Renee's hand.

"You never told me you were in Australia," said Felicity, as Bobby seated her.

"Oh, it was a long time ago, in my misspent youth," said Chester glibly. "There is much I haven't told you."

"We must rectify that," said Felicity, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "I want to know everything about you."

"Later, Darling," said Chester, smiling. "We don't want to bore the nice young people who were so kind as to come with us."

Renee mulled over everything that had been said while Bobby and Felicity were gone. She couldn't possibly believe that the nice old man next to her had intended any discomfort for her. She thought about her jealousy of Felicity. Felicity hadn't done anything wrong. Not if her husband had actually asked her to have Bobby's child. Twice, now that she thought of it. It was strange, but understandable, the way Chester put it.

She felt horrible for the things she'd said to Bobby. She couldn't take them back, as much as she wished she could, now. Those kinds of hateful things couldn't just be forgotten. He was still hurt. She could tell, in the stiff way he sat, and the way he ignored her. She had ruined this outing ... for both of them.

She looked at Bobby. Knowing that Felicity had had problems with him ... had been upset by him in the same kind of way she, herself was upset by him ... that helped somehow. She had loved what he'd done to her ... in the moment. He had deprived himself to satisfy her. She felt her eyes begin to tear up as she realized she had trashed the man who had been so good to her.

"What's wrong?" asked Felicity, leaning toward Renee. "You're crying!"

"No," said Renee, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. "I'm Okay."

Felicity turned to Bobby, her face clouded.

"What did you do, Bobby?" she demanded. Bobby looked pained.

"Nothing!" said Renee, reaching for Felicity's arm. "It wasn't him. I just acted very foolishly, and I can't do anything about it now."

"Oh," said Felicity, not knowing what to say.

"They had a misunderstanding," said Chester. "It will all be worked out later."

"Oh," said Felicity, frowning. It was obvious that Chester had more information than she did. Bobby had still refused to talk about it, on the way to and from the restrooms. Apparently, Renee had been more forthcoming to Chester. She looked at Bobby, who seemed extraordinarily interested in his veal, and then at Renee, who was obviously trying to control her emotions. "Do you two need some time alone?" she asked.

Renee almost cried again, then, but held it in by pure will. "No," she said. "I'm sure it will all get worked out tonight, after the show."

Bobby lifted his eyes then, and they locked on Renee's. He saw the pleading in them. In a flash he examined his own behavior, and recognized it as the pouting that it was. She owed him nothing, and he owed her nothing as well. Except manners. If his mother had seen him tonight, she would have tried to take him over her knee.

He forced a smile, trying to feel it in his face and make it real.

"I'm sure things will be fine," he said.

The mood lightened a bit, after that. When dinner was finished, they drove around Kansas City, and Felicity showed them things from her past. Bobby was impressed with The Plaza, and its ornate fountains and glittering stores. When Renee took his hand in hers, he let her, and squeezed it briefly, one time.

The musical was wonderful, and all of them loved it. In the darkness of the open-air ampatheater the stars twinkled brightly above. The Man of La Mancha is a passionate show, containing all the elements that have fascinated mankind for ages - intrigue, violence, sex, gain, and then loss, and finally, redemption. There is something in the show to speak to everyone. Renee was no exception. Various scenes in the musical would stay with her for years, because it caught her at a very reflective moment in her life.

Then, the tension in the little group increased again as they drove back to the Crown. It was late, and though Felicity talked about getting drinks, Chester firmly guided her to their door, leaving Renee and Bobby standing in front of their own.

It was Friday night. Renee had already made a call to make sure that Rhonda would be able to be at the childcare center, to open it the next morning. Business was usualy light on Saturday. Most of the kids on that day were drop-ins, staying only a few hours as their parents went off to do some kind of activity. With the child care center covered by Rhonda, there was no need for any of them to rise particularly early the next day.

Bobby unlocked the door, and held it open for Renee. She started to walk past him, and then stopped, and turned to face him, inches away. She looked into his face.

"I'm really, really sorry for the things I said," she whispered.

"I know," he said.

"I wish I could take them back. I know I can't. I know I hurt you, and I wish I hadn't. I wasn't thinking straight."

"It's okay," he said. "Why don't we talk about this inside," he suggested.

Once inside, Renee stood, uncertainly, in the middle of the sumptuous living room portion of the suite.

"Are you still going to sleep on the couch?" she asked.

Bobby closed the door.

"I think that would probably be for the best," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"You need time to figure out what you want to do," said Bobby. "It's as simple as that. Me being there would only distract you ... and you'd distract me."

"Are you trying to decide what to do too?" asked Renee.

"Not really," said Bobby. "Not in the sense that you are. I just don't want to cause you concern, or pain, or anything like that."

"It isn't you that's causing me pain," she said. "It's me, really. I jump to all kinds of conclusions, and end up believing things that just aren't true. I like you, Bobby. Really I do."

"I'm glad," he said, smiling. "We have forever to work this out. Why don't you get some sleep, and maybe we can talk some more on the way home tomorrow."

"Okay," she said.

She turned and left, and Bobby looked around. The couch was large, and looked soft. There were throw pillows scattered around the room, and he picked up one of them to lay his head on. He took his shirt off, and was planning on draping it over the back of a chair, so it wouldn't be wrinkled when he put it back on in the morning.


He turned, to see her standing there.

"I don't have anything to wear to bed," she said. She made another assumption, which was that women didn't just wear underwear to bed. The social strata she'd come from wouldn't think of doing that. That's what pajamas were for.

He grinned.

"Sleep naked," he said.

She blushed. "Can I borrow your shirt?"

"Sure," he said, and tossed it to her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said automatically.

Almost formally, they parted for the night.

Renee was restless. The bed seemed huge, for some reason, and she couldn't seem to find a comfortable position to lie in. Scenes and songs from the musical drifted in and out of her thoughts.

She couldn't help but compare herself to the wench, Aldonza. Not that she thought of herself as the local whore ... but Aldonza had treated Don Quixote very badly, making fun of him, when all he wanted was to elevate her to the level of being the Lady Dulcinea.

She couldn't help but compare Bobby to Don Quixote too, in the sense that he wandered here and there, righting wrongs, and trying to make the world a better place. Bobby wasn't crazy, like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills, and living a fantasy, but his attitude toward life itself was like that of Don Quixote - always seeing the best in people.

The final scene, where Dulcinea confesses that she wants to be the woman Don Quixote perceives her to be, and confesses her love for him, had had her leaning forward in her seat, under the stars. Then, when Don Quixote died, she had almost cried.

Here, in bed, she felt like Aldonza, uncaring, ignoring the man who believed her to be a fine lady. Her Don Quixote was out there on the couch. If she had driven him away ... if he ignored her, in the future ... it would be as if he had died. The thought of that brought tears to her eyes.

She thought of the song she had heard, so many times before, without knowing the perspective in which the song was originally used. It was a little like her own life, when things had gone so terribly bad. Her dreams had been dashed, and only Bobby - well, Bobby and his family, really - had brought her to the point where she could dream an impossible dream. Yet, that dream hadn't turned out to be quite as impossible as she'd thought. She had gotten the annulment. She did have her own business, and she was using her education and talents to make a difference in people's lives. Not only that, but Bobby had offered her ecstasy, with no strings attached, as well.

She rolled over, and put her face in her arm. She could smell him on the shirt he had loaned her. She could smell that faint odor that she recognized as ... Bobby. Her mind drifted back to the drive-in. His kisses had been so deep ... so passionate. She had felt like he was sucking the life force out of her. But then, his lips and fingers had put that force back into her, making her feel so wonderful.

He was right out there ... in the other room. He was on the couch because of her. She knew that if she hadn't driven him away, he'd be here ... next to her ... within reach.

She sighed.

She got up.

Bobby hadn't been able to sleep either. He, too, was remembering parts of the performance they had just seen. He had no grand plan for his life ... no dream of being somebody special, or important.

He thought back on his life. He had no complaints about his family life, hard as it had been when he was younger. He had been surrounded by love. While he had had the normal teenage fantasies about girls, he would never have thought he'd end up making love to all those women. He hadn't planned to be a father a dozen times over. In fact, he realized as he lay there, he hadn't planned anything at all. He had just drifted ... like Joe had drifted. True, he hadn't drifted nearly as far away as Joe had, but still, all he was doing was drifting.

Don Quixote, crazy as he had been, had a dream ... a desire to save the world, or at least parts of it, in the form of various people. He had a direction to his life, and made a difference.

Bobby thought about the women in his life. He could be fairly sure that he'd made a difference in Martha and Arthur Thompson's lives, if only because Arthur was off the bottle now. He felt pretty good about finding a way for Amanda to communicate with her father, Ron Griggs. But he wasn't at all sure that his involvement with anyone else was all that important. Sure, Renee had been on the skids when he'd met her, but she was strong, and had recovered, pretty much by herself, as far as he was concerned. And the others. There were the babies of course, but any of them might have had babies, and any man could have done that.

He wasn't exactly feeling sorry for himself, but there were scary doubts in his mind as to whether his easygoing attitude toward sex was helping ... or hurting. Renee was certainly terrified of him, and he didn't want to terrify anyone.

He heard the click of the door latch and the swish of cloth against her hips as she walked into the living room area. He didn't know whether to let her know he was awake or not.

"Bobby?" Her voice wasn't hushed. "Bobby, wake up."

"I'm awake," he said.

"I can't sleep," she said.

"Me either," he responded.

"Come to bed."

He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. He lifted his head.


"I don't want you to sleep on the couch." Her voice sounded soft, but firm.

"It's okay," he said. "I don't mind."

"Bobby," she said, with a trace of almost disgust in her voice. "I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

He reached above his head, to the lamp on the end table. He turned the lamp on, and squinted in the bright light. She stood there, in his shirt. It came to the middle of her thighs. The top two buttons were undone. Her hair looked tousled.

"I don't understand," he said, looking at her.

"I don't either," she sighed. "Will you come to bed?"

"I don't know," he said, tentatively.

"Why not?" she asked, now sounding impatient.

"I don't know what you want."

"Me either," she said. "Except that I don't want to be alone, and I want you to be the person I'm not alone with." She blinked, as if she were trying to figure out if she'd said what she meant to say.

"There's a problem," said Bobby.

She just looked at him.

"I like you."

"I know you do," she said. "You made it kind of obvious."

"But you don't want me to like you ... like that," he offered.

"I told you, I don't know what I want. I've been stupid. I said terrible things that I didn't mean, and I don't know why I said them, except to make you go away."

"I'm confused," he said.

"I don't want you to go away," she said, as if that explained everything.

"I'm still confused," he admitted.

"Can we talk about this in bed?" she asked.

"You can't tell a man to go away, and then turn around and ask him to get into bed with you," said Bobby.

"I know that. I told you, I don't want you to go away anymore."

"I really like you," said Bobby.

"You told me that already," she said.

"What that means is that I'll want to touch you."

For the first time she paused, before saying anything, like she was thinking about it.

"I know that too," she finally said.

When he got up, her eyes went to his briefs. He wasn't hard, but that particular equipment takes up room, even when it isn't hard. She didn't look away.

"You're sure about this?" he asked.

Instead of saying anything, she went back to the bedroom. He didn't know whether to follow her or not. When she came back out again, she had her purse with her, and was looking in it. She reached in and pulled out a crumpled ten dollar bill. She held it out to him.

"This is the smallest bill I brought with me," she said. "Take it, and get in bed." Her voice was firm.

"I'll take it later," he said, stepping toward her. "I don't have any pockets right now."

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>