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-Five

The conversation in the kitchen between Mirriam and Prudence had, in fact, evolved into a, "I don't want him ... you take him," kind of banter. Both women, to be honest, thought about the man. He was single, good looking, educated, and would only be in town for a few months. For a woman who had needs, but didn't want to get tied down, he was very attractive. Mirriam had been trying hard not to think about him in that way. But he was a very engaging man. He wasn't pushy, but he was a lot friendlier than the average man might be. Their conversation was cut off as if by a knife when Constance and Jeff came back into the kitchen.

"What's wrong with Bobby?" asked Constance.

"Wrong?" Mirriam looked confused. "Nothing. He went looking for you. Didn't you talk to him?"

"No," said Connie. "When we came back in he was sitting in the living room ... in the dark. As soon as I said something to him he got up and left."

"That's odd," said Mirriam. "He said he needed to talk to you." Her eyebrows pulled together. "Where did he go?"

"He didn't say," said Constance. "He looked upset, though."

"He'll show up," said Prudence. "We'll find out all about it then."

"Can't you at least stay and have dinner with me?" asked Terry. Class was over for the day. He'd suggested they have dinner every night. She'd consistently said she had to get home. She hadn't told him about Owen, for some reason. They had eaten lunch together every day since the seminar started, but usually they talked about what they'd just heard in the classes. It was a good seminar.

But in the evenings she needed to pick up Owen. Her breasts were full and tender by then, and needed relief. She'd brought a pump with her, and used it during the day. One of the women in the cafeteria let her put the bottles in the refrigerator, so she could deliver them to Renee when she picked Owen up. Renee used them the next day. It had been working well, thus far. After that there was dinner to get, and Owen to spend time with. She had always been in a hurry to get home after class.

"If you have a boyfriend just say so," said Terry.

A week of getting to know each other had gotten them to the point where both of them felt pretty safe saying whatever was on their minds. They argued about things, but not that often. She had left Owen out of things intentionally, in the beginning, though she didn't know why. Now that they were almost friends, at least in her opinion, she felt like she should have told him. If she did now, though, he'd know she'd held it back. She didn't want him to think that. She didn't understand that either.

"I don't have a boyfriend," said Erica.

"I find that exceedingly odd," said Terry.

He looked like he was waiting for an explanation. He did that a lot. He'd say something, and then wait for her to respond. Why she always seemed to feel like she had to respond was something else she didn't really understand.

"There are complications," she said.

"Not too surprising," said Terry. "You're a complicated woman."

"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice querulous.

"It means that there are many facets to your personality," he said. "You're capable, but not overbearing. You're intelligent, but don't throw it in people's faces. You can be hard as nails, but have an obvious soft side. You store breast milk in the cafeteria kitchen, but don't have a husband or a boyfriend. I'd say that classifies you as being complicated."

That he'd somehow found out about the breast milk made her feel like he'd been spying on her. And now this question about the boyfriend.

"I never said I didn't have a husband," she said, confrontationally.

"Do you?" he asked.

"No, and that's none of your business anyway!" she said, her chin jutting out. "Why are you spying on me?"

"Oh," he said. "You mean the breast milk. I wasn't going to mention that, but sometimes you're so interesting that I don't watch my mouth. I wasn't spying on you. They let me keep a six pack of Coke in the same refrigerator. I saw the bottles and had to ask about them. One of the cooks thinks I'm interested in her, and she told me."

"That's horrible!" she gasped.

"What? Why is it so horrible to ask about something like that in a university refrigerator?"

"I mean about using that poor girl's emotions to get information out of her!"

"Oh," he said. "She's married, Erica. All I did was be friendly. I can't help it if I'm dashing and handsome, and make married women have naughty thoughts." He smiled wryly. "That's where I went wrong. If I'd have married a married woman, I'd probably still have her panting after me."

"Men are such a pain in the ass," sighed Erica.

Terry didn't miss a beat. "No wonder you have problems with men. I don't think you're supposed to let them do it in the ass, Erica."

She was once again, shocked by this curious man. He'd said something completely unacceptable, but the way it came out was just a little teasing joke. Still, she didn't want to respond to that, so she went back to his comment about the breast milk.

"I have a son."

"I figured," he said. "I shouldn't have brought it up, and I'm sorry. You obviously wanted to keep that private. Like I said, sometimes I say things without thinking them through first. I should have waited until you were ready to tell me."

"I have to go," said Erica. "I need to get home and feed him."

"Okay," he said. "When school is going on I'm busy all the time, but in the summer I get a little bored. You're fun to talk to. That's one reason I keep trying to get you to stay. I guess I assumed it would be that way for you too. I should have known you had a good reason to get home every night."

On the drive home Erica wondered about his choice of words. He said that she was fun to talk to, and that was one reason he wanted her to stay. That suggested there was another reason he wanted her to stay too. Her imagination supplied that reason. She thought it was interesting that that didn't make her unhappy with him.

Erica parked the car. Bobby was sitting on the edge of the ramp. Will spent almost every night at Christy's now. She got out, expecting him to come help her with her things, but he just sat there. She wondered if any of the neighbors had seen him waiting, and then decided she didn't care. People thought what they thought, and there wasn't anything she could do about that. She left the diaper bag in the car and just took Owen out. She needed to feed him first, and could come back for her other things later.

"Hi," she said.

He looked up and, even in the dark she could tell that something was wrong.

"What happened?" she asked. "Come on in. I have to feed him. I'm about to burst."

He followed her in, but still didn't say anything. She felt completely normal opening her blouse in front of him. Rather than fiddle with the nursing bra, she handed Owen to Bobby and took both the blouse and the bra off.

He still hadn't said anything, but handed Owen back to her. Their son latched onto a nipple eagerly and she felt the tingling zings as her milk let down even before she could sit down.

She sat back and sighed as Owen sucked hungrily at a nipple. She let the other one just drip, because it felt so good to let the pressure diminish. Because of the seminar, she hadn't talked to Bobby in over a week.

"What's wrong?" she asked again.

"I don't know," he said. His voice was low, and she could hear the pain in it.

"Well what happened?" she insisted.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"Not acceptable," she said shortly. "If you're going to come over here all broken up about something, you have to tell me about it."

"I'm not all broken up," he said.

"You want some milk?" she asked.

"No thanks," he said.

"See?" she said dryly. "When was the last time you weren't interested in my breasts? You haven't even looked at them tonight!"

"Yes I did," he argued. "You just took your top off. I couldn't miss that."

"Tell me what's wrong, Bobby," she wheedled.

This was a Bobby that Erica had never seen before. Gone was his confident air, and his calm demeanor. He was in agony, and it was so harsh that it brought memories of Will's flashback to mind. He wouldn't volunteer anything, but she found out he'd answer questions, so she asked them until she narrowed the field, and found out it was about a woman. It was something she'd never thought about before ... Bobby Dalton with another woman. She realized that was silly. If he'd won her over, he wouldn't have any trouble winning other women over too.

Little by little she got deeper into his funk, until he did begin volunteering information. It was disjointed. It was about a woman named Connie, but she got the wrong answers about this woman. He didn't date her. "Not really," was his characterization of it. She wasn't his girlfriend. That made Erica feel better. If he'd been making her pregnant while cheating on his girlfriend, she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep from wringing his neck. It was as he finally began to describe what he'd seen, earlier that night, that the situation gelled in her mind.

He was jealous. She knew what that felt like.

"You like this girl," said Erica.

"She's my best friend," said Bobby.

"No, I mean you really like this girl." Neither of them noticed the irony of the fact that Erica was using high school girl terminology for that kind of affection. Subconsciously, though, Erica knew it wasn't precise enough. "You love her."

"I can't love her," said Bobby.

"Why not?" asked Erica.

"Because I don't know what love is, for one thing," moaned Bobby. "And anyway, there's Tim."

Then Erica found out about Tim.

"That's awful," she said. Owen had fallen asleep on her other breast. She just held him, and let him sleep.

"That's what I don't understand," said Bobby. "She was so broken up about Tim. I knew she needed me, but not like you needed me, or the others. But now this guy comes along, and in one night they're planning on having babies? She just met the guy, for Pete's sake!"

"It doesn't sound right, Bobby," said Erica.

"It's not right!" he yelled. Owen jumped in her arms, and Bobby looked chastened. "Sorry," he said softly.

"No, I mean it sounds too quick. It can't be what you think, Bobby."

"He said he wanted to fertilize her! She said she hoped they'd have lots of babies!" His voice was so pained that Owen woke up, and fussed.

"Let me put him down," said Erica. "I'll be back."

She took their son to his crib. He needed changing.

"Bobby," she called out. "Would you get the diaper bag out of my car?"

When he didn't answer, and she went looking for him, he was gone. She had to put her blouse back on, to go to her car herself. She worried about him, but there wasn't anything she could do.

She went back to her baby. It wasn't until half an hour later that she remembered him saying that Connie hadn't needed him like Erica had ... and the others.

She wondered who the others were.

Bobby drove around for hours, meandering along country roads, not going anywhere, just thinking.

Erica had said he was in love with Connie. He'd rejected that, but it wouldn't go away. It was like a fly buzzing around his ear that he couldn't swat, and that wouldn't go somewhere else. The driving calmed him somewhat. He thought back to what Connie had said about being in love with Tim.

She'd talked about liking to do the same things, and that she loved being with him. Bobby liked being with her. He always looked forward to seeing her. And they'd always had fun, whatever they were doing. It wasn't quite the same as she'd described, but it was very similar. He thought hard, and could almost remember her saying the words: "Once we were together, I couldn't imagine us apart again. Even when he was gone, it was like I could feel him ... like there was a string or something that went through the air and connected us."

Bobby felt hopeless. It wasn't like that between him and Connie. He could sense her moods when they were together. Somehow, he could tell what to say, or what to suggest, but it didn't feel like there was a string connecting them. He tried to feel for her now. It didn't work.

A person can only take so much depression before it takes a toll on the body. It was fully dark when he drove up the driveway. He was tired in a way he couldn't remember ever being tired before. He wasn't even sure he could get out of the car. He almost cried again when he saw Connie's car, parked in the yard. The lights in the house were off, and his mother's car wasn't there. Had she brought Jeff back to the B&B? Was she up there, in his bedroom right now? With the lights off that could only mean one thing. Was he fertilizing her at this very moment? The hot spike in his guts twisted.

The twins were home, and there was a light on in the barn. He didn't want to face them. They'd know something was wrong, and pry.
He thought seriously about just staying in the car. He saw the door to the barn open. It was Betty. She strolled towards him, coming to the driver's window. When he didn't roll it down, she opened the door.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Not really," he said, trying to make it sound like there was not much to talk about.

"Connie said something was wrong. She's been waiting for you for hours. What's wrong, Bobby?"

"Connie's here?"

"She's in the barn. Surely you saw her car."

"Connie's in the barn?" This didn't fit with information his mind had already whispered must be true.

"Of course she is," said Betty. "Where else would she be? Bobby, what's wrong!?"

Bobby wished people would stop asking him that question. He didn't know what was wrong.

"It doesn't matter," he sighed.

"Of course it matters," said Betty. "We love you."

That got the idea of a possible smile from Bobby's brain. They did that so much, saying everything as if they were attached at the hip. He was surprised to find that her simple comment felt good.

"Thanks," he said.

"You coming in?" she asked.

"I thought I'd just sleep here," he said.

"That's stupid," said his sister. "Besides, you have to talk to Connie."

"I don't want to," he said.

"Well I don't know what's wrong with you, but she's been waiting for a long time to make sure you're all right, so you're going to go in there and at least let her see you're alive!"

He let himself be bullied into getting out of the car, and she basically dragged him to the barn. Matilda was up too.

"What's wrong?" she asked, instantly, as her brother and twin came in the door.

"He won't say," said Betty.

Bobby looked around. Constance wasn't in the living room.

"She's in your room," said Matilda, somehow knowing who he was looking for. "She got tired and I told her we'd wake her up when you showed up." She sounded angry for some reason. "Are you aware that we were worried half to death about you?"

Bobby didn't feel guilty. He knew she was trying to make him feel that way, but he was too immersed in self pity to be able to give much of anything. Connie was in his room, probably all excited about her new love, and waiting to tell him all about it. He would be expected to be happy for her. He told himself he owed it to her to be happy for her, but that didn't change how he felt. He stood there, trying to avoid his duty to go in and be Connie's friend. How could he support her, if he couldn't even support himself?

"Bobby?" Matilda's voice had gone from angry to worried.

He knew that if he stayed there, his sisters would pummel him with questions and concern. He knew they loved him, and that their demands would be based on that love. That gave him a limb to hang on to, in a way, but at the same time he knew he couldn't talk to them about what was going through his mind. Maybe later ... but not now.

Psychologists say that every person, at some point in his or her life, contemplates suicide. They say it's a normal part of the process of dealing with extreme disappointment or depression over the destruction of a hope or dream. Some people, when they don't see a way out of a problem, view ending it all as an option for ending the pain, the agony they feel will never go away. There is another motive for suicide, involving the subject's view that someone can be punished, or made to be sorry if the suicide is carried out, but that's not what was going through Bobby's mind at this moment in time. He didn't want to punish anyone. He just wanted the pain to stop.

Psychologists also say that, for most people, the contemplation of suicide is processed relatively rapidly, and rejected as an option for one reason or another. The important thing is that there be a reason for the subject to wish to stay alive ... some sense of hope that things might, at some point in the not too distant future, get better.

What Matilda, and Betty by her extension as a twin, did at that moment was extend love to their brother. And his response was to think "maybe later", which meant he had to stay alive so that, at some point, he could try to explain it to them.

So quickly is it possible for one in pain to wish for death, and then resolve to keep living. And all because of love. The irony of the situation is that love can cause the fall, and then be the only thing that drags one up from the abyss.

In any case, because Bobby chose to explain it later, his only option at that point was to go face Constance. He took a ragged breath and ordered leaden feet to move towards his door. He'd never answered Matilda's question which in itself, was so unusual that the twins just watched as he went to his room.

As one man trudged toward what he perceived would be his doom, and the start of a portion of his life that almost wasn't worth living, a few miles away another man was experiencing tension of another sort.

The tension felt by William Bradford was, if possible, as intense as that felt by Bobby Dalton, though it was based on distress of a different kind. Will felt many of the same things that Bobby was feeling ... terror ... the fear of the destruction of a dream ... the sense that everything could be going down the tubes. His happiness, and his future hung in the balance, as with his eyes closed, he ripped courage from deep within his body, and prepared to ask a question. What terrified him was the possibility that the answer would kill him.

"Will you marry me?" he said softly to the sleeping woman almost next to him.

He and Christy were lying in bed. Jillian had wanted to talk to "my baby" as she called it, and had crawled up on the bed between Will and Christy. She had talked to Christy's swelling belly until she got tired and fell asleep, cuddled between her mother and the man she just called "Will". Christy had been reading, but had fallen asleep too.

Will, propped up on his good arm and lying sideways, had just looked at mother and daughter, and thought about what he wanted more than anything else in the world. He'd tried to ask her a dozen times, but just couldn't. Now, at least, he'd been able to give voice to it, even if she couldn't hear him.

"Yes, I will," said the sleeping woman softly. Her head rolled, and her eyes came open. She smiled.

Will goggled, and his breath caught in his chest.

"I thought you were asleep!" he gasped, as his intercostal muscles relaxed and let his breath out in an audible sigh.

"I was just resting my eyes. Does that mean you didn't mean it?" Her eyes shadowed.

"No!"

Jillian jerked and lifted her head, before dropping it again when there was no further disruption.

"Good," said Christy softly. "I'm so glad you asked me. I was too chicken to ask you."

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