The Making of a Gigolo (15) - Agatha Roberts

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18
19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36

Chapter Twenty-four

Erica looked across the table and wondered for perhaps the twentieth time if she was crazy. She examined the man, also for perhaps the twentieth time. He had sat next to her in class, and introduced himself as Terrance Dotson.

She remembered it all very clearly. Her first reaction had been automatic, and it was to ignore him. She replayed it in her mind.
"You can call me Terry," he said.

She glanced at him. He was smiling. He was looking at her face, and she waited for his eyes to slide down. When they didn't, she thought of Bobby, for some reason. The man's smile faded and something in his eyes told her he was disappointed by her frosty behavior.

"Erica," she said, suddenly. "I'm from Granger."

The interest came back into his eyes like light into a dark room. She thought it was amazing that she could see that. He didn't leer.

"Been there one time," he said. "I teach here, in Hutch, and I took my class there to see a musical."

"Really?" She was surprised.

"Yeah. I heard about how the kids had dedicated it to a couple of handicapped guys, and I wanted my classes to see that. I teach Social Studies."

"Me too," she said.

"Really?" He smiled. "Small world." They were still waiting for something to happen, so he kept talking. "So you probably know some of the kids who put that show on, huh?"

"Yes," she said. She didn't know whether to tell him who she was or not. She didn't want to sound like she was bragging. "They're wonderful kids."

"You can say that again," he said. "Because of them, my own students have adopted a nursing home and the VFW in town. They put together an extra credit plan, and they go visit people with disabilities."

"You're kidding!" she gasped.

"Not at all," he said. "They were really motivated by that musical. I'd like to meet the person who thought that whole thing up."

"They volunteered," said Erica. She was on autopilot now, just going with the flow, because she had no idea how to proceed. He obviously didn't know she'd directed the musical.

"Yeah," he said. "I heard that, but somebody had to have the guts to let them do it."

"That was Julia, our principal," said Erica.

"Well she's got balls." He stopped short, and closed his eyes. "Sorry," he said. "Sometimes I don't think before I speak."

It turned out that talking to Terry was like that. It was refreshing, in a way, because he wasn't all wrapped up in crafting each and every comment he made, to achieve a specific end. He just said whatever was on his mind. Sometimes it was a little unsettling, but more often it tended to lend itself to his credibility. There was very little guile to Terrance Dotson.

Now, as she sat in a small restaurant, and examined the man, she inevitably compared him to Bobby. That had started as soon as class was over for the day and he asked, "You want to get a bite to eat?"
A year ago she would have assumed he was pursuing some plan to get her in bed. She'd thought the same thing about Bobby when he had asked her if she wanted to go get something to eat. Of course thinking about Bobby was confusing. He had gotten her into bed. She had to remind herself, occasionally, that she'd had as much to do with the fact that they ended up having sex as he had.

"So, tell me about Granger," said Terry, breaking her train of thought.

They'd already ordered, so there wasn't anything for her to do except talk. "There's not much to tell," she said. "Chicago was driving me crazy, and there was a position in Granger. I went there. It's a small town."

"There has to be more to it than that," he suggested, when she went silent.

"I support the women's liberation movement," said Erica. She figured she might as well get that established, right up front. "Granger isn't exactly the bastion of equality. I don't fit in there well."

"My ex-wife is a libber," said Terry. There didn't seem to be any censure in his tone, even though he used a nickname she found objectionable.

"Is that why you divorced her?" asked Erica, feeling irritated.

"She divorced me, actually," said Terry. "She said I was a male, chauvinist pig."

"And are you?" Erica wondered why she felt like she had to be so confrontational.

"Probably." He grinned. "I think she took things to extremes, though."

"Why is that?"

"Well," he said, "for one thing, she insisted that I wash my own dishes, and clothes."

"What a shame," said Erica, with acid in her voice.

"Oh, I didn't mind that," said Terry. "I just think it's stupid for two people to use the sink and the washer, and do the grocery shopping and everything else, when one could do it with less confusion, and more economy."

"Why didn't you do it all then?" asked Erica. She clamped down on her emotions. He appeared to be an unrepentant bastard, but he was talking. That left room for him to be educated.

"I would have," he said. "She wouldn't let me. Said everybody had to do their share. She even split the bills right down the middle, and I had to pay half, while she did the other half. We had to have two bank accounts. She had her chair and I had mine. She wanted to change her name back to her maiden name. It wasn't a marriage. It was more like living with a roommate."

"Oh." Erica had the now familiar feeling that she had, once again, jumped to an incorrect conclusion. She thought about Bobby again as Terry went on.

"I liked doing things with her, but it was impossible to do anything with her. She kept breaking everything down into her part and my part. She was trying to make everything as equal as possible. I thought it was stupid. I guess I shouldn't have told her that." He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Actually, I think the divorce was good for both of us. She seems to thrive under the yoke of the oppressive dominating male bastards who pay the bills."

Erica's eyebrow went up.

"She's a secretary," he explained. "We dated in high school. I went to college and she went into the work force to make money right away. Now she has no skills, but still thinks her boss should make her a partner."

"She has skills," objected Erica.

"I guess so," said Terry. "She's just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd have made a very good farmer's wife. In a family like that both people have to work hard to make a go of it."

"I suppose so," said Erica. He obviously wasn't going to be interested in her any more. She wondered, briefly why that seemed to bother her.

"Anyway," he said. "The last thing I want to do is talk about my ex-wife. What about you? Are you one of those extreme types, or do you just want a fair shot at things?" He seemed to think there were only two categories.

"I just think women should be recognized for their capabilities," she said. "Equal pay would be nice too."

"I couldn't agree more," he said.

She was both shocked by his comment, which was delivered in the same voice he'd been talking in, and distracted by the delivery of their food. It was a few minutes before she could respond.

"I thought you were bitter about feminists," she said.

"Not at all," said Terry. "I just believe in moderation. She loved feminism more than she loved me. I don't mind being fair, but I'd sort of like to still be able to be a man without having to apologize for it all the time."

"It's men who have denied women an equal shot at things," she said.
He stopped eating, and looked at her. "Other men," he said. "Not me. I'd like an equal shot at things too, and if women stereotype me, I don't get that."

"Feminists are stereotyped," she said. "Men think about women stereotypically all the time."

"Then you know what I'm talking about," he said. "Why do you think I asked you what kind of feminist you are?"

"Asking that sets me up for failure," she argued. "If I say I'm strident, then suddenly I'm an uncaring bitch. If I say I'm moderate, then you won't take me seriously."

"You're assuming I won't take you seriously," he said. "You're stereotyping me."

"What was the first part of me you looked at?" she asked.

"I know where you're going with this," he said. "You might be surprised to find out I looked at your hair."

"My hair?"

"Hair can suggest lots of things about people," he said. "At least that's a theory of mine. Some women - men too - spend a lot of time on their hair, making it look just so. They use stuff on it, sprays and gels and all that kind of thing. Why do they do that? I think it has something to do with making a presentation. They want a certain response, whatever that may be. But I don't want to touch hair like that. It looks all hard and fake. At the other end of the spectrum are people who don't wash it, or cut it, or take care of it at all. I'm not sure what that means, but it rubs me the wrong way for some reason. I don't want to touch that hair either. It's not really fair, but it's just the way I feel. I'm working on that."

She started to respond, but he held up a hand.

"And then there are those of us who are in the middle somewhere. We wash our hair, and keep it clean and healthy. We don't put a bunch of chemicals on it to make it better, or special, or eye-catching. It's just a part of us, and we're okay with that. It's hair that looks like it might be nice to run your fingers through. My theory is that those people are the most level headed, and the ones I'm most likely to get along with."

"All stereotypes," said Erica.

"I know," he sighed. "It's really hard not to use them." He went back to eating.

Erica began eating again too, but her mind wasn't on the food. He had basically just said that he wouldn't mind running his fingers through her hair. But he'd said it in a way that wasn't chauvinistic. She looked at his hair. With a tinge of dismay she realized that he was right. Under the right circumstances, the idea of running her fingers through that hair wasn't objectionable at all.

She didn't buy into all his opinions. But the way in which he'd presented them didn't bother her either. He just said what he was thinking.

"I don't agree with everything you said," she said.

"I'd hope not," he said, smiling. "We're different people, after all. It would be boring if we agreed on everything, don't you think so?"

They ate a few minutes longer. She had another question, but she wasn't sure it was one she wanted to ask. She couldn't resist, though.

"What was the next thing you looked at?" she asked.
His fork paused, halfway to his mouth.

"You sure you want to know?"

She wasn't, even more so now, but she was stubborn. "I asked, didn't I?"

"Yes, but why did you ask?" He waved his fork. "Never mind. It was your face, and then I looked at the rest of you. Happy?"

Actually, what Erica was feeling was the tension of conflicting concepts. After Bobby, she couldn't help but think about men a little differently than she had in the past. She still had values. Her feminism was still important to her. But that didn't seem to threaten this man. He was behaving like a male ... sort of. There were at least male components to his behavior. He'd admitted he looked at her body. Something in her liked that. That was one of the things Bobby had made her think about ... like being perceived as a female. Under the right circumstances, it wasn't as objectionable as it had been in the past. She looked at Terry. He was waiting for her answer, even though his question could have been perceived as rhetorical. He was looking at her face, instead of her breasts.

"Maybe," she finally said.

"My turn," he said. "What was the first thing you looked at when you saw me?"

"I don't remember," she said, feeling suddenly defensive.

"Come on, I was straight with you," he said.

"Your eyes," she said.

"Really? How come?"

"I wanted to see what you were looking at," she said, feeling somehow like that was unfair.

"You get a lot of men leering at you, don't you." He said it as if it was a normal part of any conversation.

"Yes," she said, wondering why she was validating his comment.
"I'll try hard not to leer," he said.

"Why would you even care?" she asked.

"I don't know. I guess I want to see if there's any chemistry between us. If I tick you off and you stop talking to me, it will be pretty hard to do that."

The tension flared in her. He was so ... bold? That wasn't the right word. Suggestive wasn't the right word either. He was obviously interested in her. What did that mean? She tried to decide if she was interested in him. She thought he was nice looking, but didn't like the fact that that popped into her mind. He was honest, or at least good at looking honest. It wouldn't be hard to find out how he felt about anything. He obviously didn't mind telling her that.

Again, he seemed to be waiting. He didn't push her, or ignore her. She thought about Bobby, and Jake, two men she liked. They were nice guys, really, a new concept for her, but one that was powerful. Maybe this one was a nice guy too. And he was right. If she pushed him away ... she'd never know. She felt strange, encouraging him, as she thought of it. Her mouth supplied words that were in her mind, but said in a slightly different way than she would have if she'd thought it out before speaking.

"Try not to leer too much," she said.

"So," said Candy, reaching past Bobby to get the peanut butter. She slid her breast across his arm. It was obvious it was intentional, because she slid it back across his arm when she stepped back. "What's this 4th of July thing that Matilda and Betty are so worked up about?"

"It's just a town picnic," said Bobby, keeping his eyes on the ham sandwich he was making for himself. His mother was over at Prudence's tonight. Professor Hamilton was with her. She had left food in the fridge for people to make their own supper. He'd never felt nervous around a woman. Not since Tilly, that first time he'd discovered sexuality. It bugged him that this girl got him so tense. "Everybody goes to eat. There's homemade ice cream and watermelon. Then there's a dance and fireworks."

"You gonna dance with me if I go?" asked Candy.

"I have a date already," said Bobby. He hoped he still had a date. Constance hadn't talked to him since he offered to pay her to go with him.

"Maybe we could dance tonight, instead," said Candy, pressing her breast into his arm. "Maybe out in the barn ... where it would be nice and private."

"I have to go see somebody tonight," said Bobby. "Sorry."

Candy pouted. She'd made it perfectly clear to this handsome older man that she was available. He acted like she didn't exist. The only thing that made her feel better was that Jennifer wasn't having any better luck.

"There will be lots of guys at the picnic," said Bobby. He didn't mention they'd likely be in high school.

Jennifer walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in only her bra and panties.

"Oops!" she said, holding one hand artfully up to her mouth. "I didn't know you were home, Bobby. I thought Candy and I were the only ones here."

Candy snorted.

"No problem," said Bobby. "I grew up with seven sisters. I've seen it all before." He grabbed his sandwich, and then a bottle of Dr Pepper from the refrigerator. "Gotta run. See you."

The two girls watched him leave, and then looked at each other. Both frowned.

"You don't suppose he's a homo, do you?" asked Candy dryly.

"That would be criminal," said Jennifer.

Prudence looked at Mirriam, trying to catch her eye. It was the third time she'd done this, since Mirriam had shown up with the professor in tow. When Mirriam looked at her, Prudence lifted both eyebrows and cocked her head, sending the clear signal for "what's going on here?"

Mirriam ignored her, also for the third time. The professor ... Jeff, it was ... was telling Constance about the research they were doing. Prudence couldn't just ask Mirriam to leave the room, but the urge was strong.

"Maybe you could tell us what's growing in our back yard," said Constance. "It's really tall, with kind of a fuzzy ball that sticks up on the top. It's beautiful, but it keeps getting shorter and shorter every year."

"Sure," said Jeff. "Lead the way. I'm sure we can figure it out."
The door had barely closed when Prudence turned to Mirriam. "So?"

"So nothing," said Mirriam. "The poor man is trying to evade the clutches of two of his graduate students."

"He's handsome," pointed out Prudence. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed that."

"He's a customer, Pru," said Mirriam.

"So? That doesn't mean you can't be friends with him."

Mirriam snorted. "I think friends isn't quite the word you have in mind, Prudence."

It had all the makings of turning into the kind of deal where each woman would try to get the other one to do something about this handsome professor, who was going to be in town all summer. They were interrupted, though, when Bobby came through the door.

"They tried to corner me," he said, to his mother.

"Who did?" asked Prudence.

"The same two who are after Jeff," said Mirriam.

"Oh, so now it's Jeff ..." Prudence grinned.

"Where's Connie?" asked Bobby. "I need to talk to her."

Prudence's mind was back on trying to figure out a way to convince Mirriam that there was an opportunity here for a little fun and frolic. She almost ignored Bobby, but said, "She's out back with Jeff." She grinned at Mirriam again as she emphasized the name.

Bobby went to the back door. He heard his mother saying that the man insisted on her calling him by his first name. She sounded defensive. He needed to find Connie, though, and apologize, if that's what it would take to make sure she went with him to the picnic. He opened the door and saw them by the back fence. It was twilight, but he could make out their shapes. They were standing, face to face. It looked like they were standing very close together too.

Jeff held out the frond that he had pulled down, and which he held between them.

"See here?" he said. "These are the seeds. They should be much bigger than this by now, and a darker color. I don't think any of these are viable. There's clearly a soil deficiency here. That's why they're growing so short too. All you really need is a good fertilizer and they'll bounce back.

"I hope so, said Constance, reaching to pinch off some of the seeds he had pointed out. "They're so beautiful, all lined up like this."

A lawn sprinkler in the yard next door suddenly came to life, and it began jetting water streams out in a circular pattern. Jeff saw it was going to hit them if they didn't move, and he put one hand around the young woman's waist to propel her away from the water. She stepped forward, having heard the sprinkler, and moved away from the fence toward the shed. Jeff went with her.

"With your neighbor watering them for you like that, if you fertilize right now, they might bounce back this year," said Jeff.

Bobby didn't see the water, or hear the sprinkler. All he saw was the man and woman, with their heads close together. Then the man put his arm around Connie and moved her out of sight, behind the shed. They stayed there.

Images flashed through Bobby's mind. He hadn't minded Tim. Tim had been good for Connie. Tim had been exactly what Connie needed. He'd been happy for them both. But this guy was a lot older. A lot older. To keep from imagining what they might be doing, back there in the dark, he tried to imagine what would happen when the professor left, at the end of the summer. Would Connie be crushed? Or would she go with him, back to the university?

He felt pain in his stomach. Either option made him feel miserable. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't have Constance to talk to. She understood him. Even when he'd confessed about taking money for sex, she hadn't screamed at him. Sure, she was upset about the joke he'd made. He felt sudden fear that he'd pushed her away ... into the arms of this man.

He didn't know what to do. It was none of his business. Connie was all grown up. She could do what she wanted. There were two girls, back at the farm. All he had to do was go back there, walk in, and say "Who wants to play hide the sausage?" Maybe both of them would jump at the chance.

That made his stomach hurt even more. He felt like crying. He turned, to go back in, trying to control his face. His mother and Prudence were still needling each other. He could hear it in the tone of their voices. They were teasing each other about something. He didn't want to be in there with them. They sounded too happy.

He went to the living room, and sat down in the dark.

He was still sitting there when Constance walked through the door, followed by Jeff Hamilton.

"I'm so glad we did that," said Constance, sounding happy. "I've been so sad. I liked it so much before."

"All you need is some fertilization," said Jeff. "With good fertilization it will be coming out your ears."

"I'd like that," sighed Constance. "I don't have much experience with that, though. I haven't done it very many times."

"I'm your man, Constance," said Jeff. "You leave it to me. I'll take good care of you."

"Oh thank you!" said Constance, obviously happy. "Imagine that! I'm going to do it with a real honest to goodness professor! Maybe we'll have lots of little ones, and they'll grow up to be big and tall and gorgeous."

"I'll do my best," said the professor.

Constance flipped on the light, and jumped when she saw Bobby sitting there. She blushed.

"Bobby!" she squeaked. "I didn't know you were there!"

Bobby, after what he'd just heard, and being already in a dark frame of mind, couldn't know that the blush was both from surprise, and the pleasure of knowing he was there.

"I know," he said.

He didn't understand what was going on, but he had never felt this miserable in his entire life. He felt rage, and fear, but didn't understand why he felt those things. He wanted to kiss Constance, and punch the professor, and that didn't make sense to him either. He felt like he might explode any second. Uppermost in his mind though was not doing something that would make Constance hate him. If she'd chosen this man, it was her right. It was none of his business. That decision made him feel like a red hot poker had been shoved into his gut. He wouldn't understand that until he'd had time to think. Right now, it was important to him to leave before he broke down, right in front of her.

He got up. "I have to go."

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>