The Making of a Gigolo (15) - Agatha Roberts

by Lubrican

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19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36

Chapter Twenty-six

Bobby entered the room to see Constance lying on her side, on top of the covers. Her knees were bent a little, and pulled up a bit. Her head was on his pillow. She looked so beautiful lying peacefully there, that his heart wrenched in his chest. Tears came to his eyes and almost immediately overflowed, making twin trails down his cheeks. He felt the urge to turn and go back, even if that meant he had to face the twins. He couldn't suppress a sob.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head.

"There you are," she said.

He balled up his fists and rubbed his eyes, like a little boy. He tried to choke back more sobs, but couldn't.

She was suddenly up, her arms around him. She didn't say anything, merely held him and moved him inexorably toward the bed. When they fell on it together, he felt like his bones might break. Bed was the last place he needed to be with this woman. But her arms were stronger than his were capable of being, just then. He felt her kissing his hair, and her free hand pulled at him, in different places, making him adjust until they were lying side by side, with one of her arms under him. She hugged him tightly, still not saying anything, and her hands simply stroked up and down along his backbone.

His mind just shut down. It was too much to deal with and he retreated to a place where nothing could touch him. He was, clinically catatonic, at that point in time. His sanity lurched into a tiny box, and pulled the flaps in after it. Eventually, his stiff muscles began to loosen, little by little, until he was limp. His wracking sobs waned, until he was only breathing deeply.

Constance held him, her own mind whirling. What had devastated this man to this degree? She had a sudden fear that one of his children had died, but then she was sure some word of that would have come to her. It was too small a town for something like that to go uncirculated. He was calming, though, so she just held him.
When she realized he was asleep, she let herself go back to sleep too, still cradling him in her arms.

One reason sleep is so important is that sleep allows the mind to process things ... to reflect and examine various information and problems without the distractions the waking mind has to deal with. The unconscious has ways of looking at things more dispassionately than the conscious mind can.

While he slept, Bobby's mind began sorting out the plethora of sharp and spiny thoughts, and started the procedure of dulling their razor edges and points. Concepts were categorized and filed together, like pieces of one of the jigsaw puzzles Bobby enjoyed working on so much. As the pieces fell into place, the concept took form. Some synapse sparked, and Erica's voice said, "You love her" again. Bobby's mind viewed the image of Constance, standing quietly and gazing at him, and finally agreed. His subconscious spoke to the vision of the woman and whispered: "I love you."

Bobby woke. He felt lethargic, but his senses detected evidence of the woman pressed against him instantly. He smelled Connie. His eyes opened to see her sleeping face. His skin felt her arms, still around him. The reading light was still on. There was no window in his room, so he had no idea what time it was, or whether day had come outside.

There was a dull ache in his chest, but it was infinitely more bearable than what had wracked him, body and soul, last night. Something niggled at his mind. His dry mouth and complaining bladder made it impossible to think. Based on that, he decided it was morning. He wanted nothing more than to lie here like this, with her against him, forever, if possible. But he knew that couldn't be. Resignation had begun to take root in him. She had gotten over the loss of Tim. He could get over the loss of her. Knowledge that she would be happy again was a huge boost to his resolve to help her do exactly that.

Her arms tightened as he tried to get up, but he slipped out of them as she made signs of waking. His shoes were still on, and felt heavy on his feet as he went quickly to the bathroom. To avoid splashing, he lowered his jeans and sat. It was while he sat there that something new popped into his head. She was here! She had left her new lover to come see about him! It was astonishing. She was sitting up, rubbing her eyes when he came out of the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I knew something was wrong," she said. She yawned, and became more alert. "What is wrong?"

"You shouldn't have come," he said.

"Why not?" she asked. "Answer me, Bobby. What's wrong?!"

"He might not understand," said Bobby, feeling like he might have ruined something for her.

"Who might not understand?" asked Constance. "What are you talking about, Bobby?"

"Jeff ... Professor Hamilton."

"What?" Connie looked confused. "Would you please tell me what's going on, Bobby? I was so worried about you."

"Connie," he pleaded. "I saw you with him. I heard what you said. He won't understand if you leave him and come to me like that. You were here all night, Connie! He won't understand!"

Constance's mouth fell open. What he was saying didn't make any sense, of any kind. She began to worry that he was having a breakdown of some kind. If that was true, she didn't know how to act. What should she say? Should she try to get him to go to a doctor? She needed time to think. To try to get it, she decided to just try to keep him talking.

"Jeff won't mind," she said, trying to attack his apparent fear that the professor would be angry, about her spending the night in Bobby's room. She didn't much care who got upset about that. Bobby had needed her, even though she didn't actually do anything, and she was glad she'd been there. He was acting strangely, but he was much calmer than he'd been last night. She didn't know what Professor Hamilton had to do with anything, but that seemed to be Bobby's current fear, so she tried to reassure him. "He was talking to my mother, and your mother, when I left. He wasn't unhappy at all."

Much as Erica Bradford's world had moved and twisted, as things happened to her that required she view the world from a different perspective, now Bobby's world jerked a bit. Why hadn't Jeff come with her? How could he let her go off alone, looking for another man?

While he thought about that, Constance was thinking again about what Bobby had just said. He'd seen her with Jeff? He'd heard her talking with him? All they'd talked about was the fountain grass in the back yard. She couldn't understand why that would get Bobby upset.

"Bobby?" She watched as his eyes focused. "What did you mean about seeing me and Professor Hamilton?"

"I saw him take you behind the shed," said Bobby. There, that should give her the opening to explain that something wonderful had happened.

"Yes," she said. "The sprinkler came on next door, and it was going to get us wet." She acted like she expected him to continue.

"And when you came in," he said. "Before you turned the light on, I heard you planning to have babies."

"Babies?" Her voice went up. She looked shocked.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," said Bobby. "I was just sitting there."

"Bobby, I don't know what's happened to you, but he never said anything to me about babies."

"He said he was going to fertilize you," said Bobby. "You said you wanted lots of babies."

Like a light had gone on, Constance saw the whole thing. She couldn't remember the exact conversation, but she knew what it was about. She thought it was funny that Bobby had misunderstood, but then his reaction to what he'd heard exploded into her mind, and it wasn't funny any more.

She stood up and walked to Bobby. She took his hands in hers.

"We were talking about fountain grass, Bobby," she said softly. "It's called Pennisetum Setaceum." She sounded proud that she'd remembered the name. "We have some growing in the back yard, and it wasn't doing very well. I was afraid it was dying. He looked at it and he was telling me how to get it to grow again. What you heard was him saying he'd help me get it healthy."

Bobby blinked.

Imagine, for a few seconds, that a doctor has told you you have cancer, and that you're going to die. Imagine working through that to the point where you accept that death will come. Then imagine the doctor coming back to you and saying, "Gee, I'm sure sorry about this, but the X-rays I was looking at belonged to someone else. You're actually fit as a fiddle."

It's more than a light turning on. It's more like the overwhelming brilliance of a nova. It buffeted Bobby like the spectacular death of a star overwhelms all within its reach. He felt like he was expanding, like that star, and then he collapsed back in on himself.

"He's not your lover?" Bobby's voice sounded like a little boy's.

"No, Bobby," said Constance softly.

He felt shame so deep and so intense that he couldn't face her. He had to turn away. Only the fact that her denial made him feel like he could actually be happy again kept him from bawling.

"Was that what this was all about?" asked Constance.

His head nodded, but he still looked away from her. He felt her hands on his shirt, pulling, trying to make him turn.

"I'm sorry," he moaned. "I was so stupid!"

She insisted that he turn and face her. His eyes rose, and when they saw hers ducked back down.

"I was so worried about you," she said.

"I know," he whined. "I'm really sorry. I thought you were going to go away with him, and I'd never get to see you again."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Uh huh." He still sounded young.

"I think you need to kiss me now, Bobby," she said.

He looked up, his eyes wide.

"You made me worry," she said. "At least you can kiss me."

Bobby had had to hold up a lot of women in the past, as he kissed them. His kisses had caused a number of them need support to stand, or someplace to sit. Suddenly, he knew how those women felt.

Constance couldn't hold him up as she kissed him. So she just sank down with him, both of them going to their knees on the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and wouldn't let go. She breathed through her nose, and kept the kiss going until he started sniffing alarmingly.

When she finally let him go, there were tears running down his face. She could see the raw relief in his eyes, though, and knew these tears were good ones.

"I love you so much," she whispered.

Then she kissed him again.

It was the last day of the seminar and they sat, as usual, across from each other at a lunch table. Terry's behavior toward her, when she had returned to the classroom, after she told him she had a child, had been just as before. He still exhibited interest in being around her. He still blurted out things. It was as if her baby just didn't matter. Now, as they ate their last lunch together, she realized she was going to miss him.

"I'll miss this," she said, giving her thought words.

"Me too," he said.

They ate for a while.

"You know," he said, pausing, "there's no rule that says we have to miss this." He looked at her. "You only live what ... forty miles away?" He grinned. "Besides, I haven't had time to break down your defenses to my eventual underhanded plans."

She felt the thrill of being desired.

"I suppose you want to come to Granger so you can shack up with me for a while and then go back home," she said, teasing him.

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "You could come up here, shack up with me, and then I could send you home." He grinned again. "I'm on board with this feminist idea that women should be equal in all ways, to men. Wouldn't that mean they can be the aggressor? Pay for the meals on dates? Stuff like that?"

Something in Erica decided that he was only half kidding, and she liked that. It proved he was thinking about things seriously.

"Yes," she said. "That's one of the things that would make things more equal, but it misses the point."

"And the point is?" he asked, inviting her to go on.

"The point is that true equality doesn't have anything to do with whether you're male or female," she said. "I have talents, and you have talents, and they should be judged without reference to whether it's the talent of a man or woman."

"We both teach Social Studies," he said.

"Yes, and based on what I know about you, I bet we're both good teachers, but I'd also bet we get paid differently."

"I see your point," he said. "But doesn't the fact that you're female, and I'm male, automatically mean we see things from different perspectives, and that has a fundamental effect on the way we teach?"

"No human being can see anything from the same perspective as any other human being," she said. "We all have different life experience, and everything we do is filtered through that unique lens."

"Okay," he said. "But say you meet someone who just lost a family member. If you lost one too, sometime back in your own family history, you're better able to empathize with them than if you hadn't."

"That has nothing to do with my gender," said Erica.

"Having a baby does," he said. "I can't empathize with a woman who is about to have a baby. You can."

"Okay, I'll give you that one," she said. "I suppose there are some filters that are gender related. But I also think it's a fairly small number. The problem is that some people want to filter everything through gender."

"People put expectations on men too," said Terry. "That's not fair either."

"You're right," said Erica.

"The way I see it, it isn't a women's right issue, or a men's rights issue ... it's a human rights issue."

"I might agree with that too," said Erica, "when men have as much trouble getting their rights as women do."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess there is that."

"Do you really want to ... um ... keep seeing me?" she asked.

"You know I do," he said. He wasn't smiling any more. "I haven't tried to hide it."

"I know," she admitted. "I'm just not used to men who don't play games."

"There's an alternative to us driving to see each other," he said.

"What's that?" she asked.

"I happen to know we lost a Social Studies teacher at the Jr. High School," he said. "They're looking for one now."

"Me?" she asked. "Are you suggesting I move here?" She was astonished.

"You told me yourself that being in Granger isn't making you happy."

"But you and me ... I mean isn't this a little fast?"

"I don't know if you and I will ever get together or not," he said. "I know I like you, and I like the way you think. But moving here wouldn't be for me. It would be for the job. If you and I work out, that's great. If not, you'd still have a job. It wouldn't be any worse than being in Granger, and I bet the pay is better here too."

"But, if I moved here ... you'd ask me out?" she asked.

"Ohhh yeah," he said. "I want to get to know you better ... lots better."

She looked at him archly. "You're talking about sex, aren't you."

He looked back at her with a level gaze. "Sure am," he said. "Won't try to hide it. It's all part of my non-game playing strategy to make you want to get me in bed." He smiled. "Besides, when I found out you had a child, I knew there's at least one thing we both like to do."

What appealed to Erica Bradford, in this situation, was that a man had characterized the situation as her, wanting to get him in bed, rather than him, wanting to get her in bed. She liked that idea, because it gave her the power.

"I'll think about it," she said.

He reached into his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. He handed them to her across the table.

"I got you an application," he said, smiling. "Just in case," he added.

"I think you should tell him," said Jim. He was holding Agatha's hand.

"I know that," said Agatha, "and I've told you why I don't want to."

"I'll go with you," he said.

"Why are you doing this?" she moaned.

He lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Because this is unfinished business for you," he said. "I don't want there to be any unfinished business to get in the way of what's happening between us." He let her hand down to her thigh, but didn't release it. They were sitting on his couch.

Jim Dilly, from Agatha's perspective, at least, had relentlessly pursued her since that first time he had offered to buy her coffee. She'd gone along, that first time, mostly because of Cathy, who was one of her regular attendees at story telling time at the library ... and Jim's daughter.

She hadn't been able to figure out why he would be interested in her. She was unmarried, pregnant and living with her brother and sister-in-law. Somehow, he'd convinced her to spend more time with him and she'd learned that he was divorced. "It just didn't work out, I guess," he'd said. His ex-wife lived in town, and had custody, but Jim got to have Cathy most Saturdays, as well as other times when her mother had plans. His regular visits to the library with Cathy were because his ex-wife had a regular therapy appointment on Tuesdays. Cathy's mother was also dating, which meant that Jim took care of Cathy one or more nights a week. Agatha was a bit amazed that he didn't seem to mind that his ex-wife wanted nights alone with the man ... or men ... she was dating.

Agatha had also learned that Jim was fascinated with her. He couldn't explain it.

"I love the way you read," he had said, "but that's not it. I can't explain it. I just like being around you. Isn't that enough for now?"

It was all new and exciting, though in a completely different way than it had been with Bobby. This man was an unknown, and each time she was with him she uncovered a little bit more of the picture that he was. And he wanted to know about her too, asking all kinds of questions.

His questions didn't seem intrusive, somehow, and their relationship had been warm, though quite platonic, up to this point. That hadn't bothered her, really. Her belly protruded so much now that she had to plan everything around that. He had eventually felt comfortable asking her about the baby and, much to her surprise, she had felt comfortable telling him.

"What is happening between us, Jim?" she asked.

"You know I don't like being alone," he said. "I like you. I want to spend a lot more time with you."

While that might have sounded tepid to someone who didn't know the two of them, it electrified Agatha. They were already spending time with each other almost daily. The only way he could see much more of her was to start including nights.

"A lot more time," he repeated.

Agatha looked over at him. It was just like in the movies. Their faces drifted closer and closer. She knew he was going to kiss her. It would be her first kiss since Bobby. If she'd have had more time to think about it, she might have gotten scared. But now her heart leapt and she let his lips touch hers.

When it was over she kept her eyes closed. It had been soft and gentle, but powerful at the same time.

"I want to be able to do that a lot," he said softly. "Loose ends might get in the way of that."

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