The Blameless Bystander

By Autumn Writer

Chapter 11—Winds of Change

In Irish families a certain custom looms over hearth and mantle of every home. It is more important in some families than others, and is an oft-broken tradition. It is, then, the existence more than the practice of the tradition that quickens the Irish heart.

It was largely because of this reason that James was grateful for his invitation to take Thanksgiving dinner with Shirley Jacobs and her family. It was a good excuse that he could use to turn down his parents’ invitation. There weren’t hard feelings between them. He only he wished to avoid the looks of sadness that he saw painted on their faces when he last stayed at his boyhood home.

In the Irish tradition, it is the duty of every family to give one son or daughter to the service of the Church. James—Jamie back in those old days—had been that chosen scion, the fulfillment of the familial obligation. When James announced to his shocked parents that he was forsaking his vows, they were more devastated than Father Brendan. It was a renege on their gift to God. They assumed the fault and guilt, profligate with the flesh of their flesh. James was sure that they still felt the same, expected probing in the vain hope that he would beg the Church to take him back. He loved his parents, but the physical distance between them served a good purpose.

In James’ Guatemala days the priests were invited to the celebrations on Christmas, Easter and applicable feast days. They were always welcome, surfeited with food and drink by the faithful who longed for closeness to them. As guests, they brought blessings and Communion to bestow on the villagers and it was more than enough. As the hour became late, they prepared to leave, and the people were grateful for that, too. The presence of the priests chilled, as well as warmed, the fiestas. With their departure, the real festivities began. James wondered if a teacher at Thanksgiving dinner would have the same effect.

James made a list of things to buy that he could bring with him to the dinner. Of course Shirley had refused all offers, but James wouldn’t show up empty-handed.

“If you’re gonna be all alone, you may as well come eat with us,” Shirley blurted out, after retrieving Raymond after his most recent tutoring session. “You don’t have to bring nothin’—just yourself.”

James gratefully accepted on the spot. “It won’t be too fancy!” she warned after he said ‘yes’, as though she was saving that part until he committed himself. Raymond handed him a note with the directions the next day at school.

James went to the grocery store with more intentions than plans. He had already bought some wine for the dinner table, a Riesling produced not far from where he and Vicki stayed a few weeks before. He bought a box of chocolates for afterward and some flowers for the table. Something for the children came to mind. A sack of large navel oranges did nicely, and a few bottles of grape juice that looked like wine were the final touch.

**********

James was sitting in a chair in the living area of the Jacobs’ apartment nursing a beer while Shirley finished preparing the dinner. Raymond wanted to visit with him, but as the oldest had to help his mother in the kitchen. James offered his services and when he did Shirley handed him the beer instead. He had no kitchen skills, so any attempt to contribute to the turkey dinner would have been risky, at best.

He sat quietly reading a magazine. Before long he noticed that he was under observation by a miniature face with straight black hair, matched with two tiny, round, dark-brown eyes. James assumed it to be Raymond’s youngest sister. He pegged her at five or six years old. When the little girl realized that he had spied her she ran away as would a wary rabbit to a place of safety behind her mother’s skirt and apron. From there she peered out, fathoming the tall stranger with the thinning red hair and pale skin.

“What is it, Lucy?” her mother asked, sounding only slightly annoyed. She bent low and Lucy whispered in her mother’s ear, and her mother whispered something back. She ran out into the room, abandoning her defensive position, and then disappeared into the bedroom area.

A short time later the girl reappeared, tiptoeing out of the bedroom, clutching a piece of construction paper. She approached James, slowly at first, and then covered the balance of the distance with a burst of speed as if to prevent herself from changing her mind. She stopped at his chair and thrust her hands out to James with the construction paper attached.

James took the hint and took the paper from Lucy’s hands. “Did you draw this, Lucy?” he asked her in a voice that portrayed amazement. Her head bobbed up and down in a ‘yes’. “I really like it. I think that it’s the best drawing of a turkey that I’ve ever seen!”

James’ praise made the child beam with pride. She did a little jump in place, an outlet for her excitement. She quickly about-faced and scurried back to her mother who was busy at the stove. Shirley bent low once again, and Lucy whispered something.

“Lucy wants you to have the picture, James,” Shirley called to him from the kitchen.

“For me?” James cried out. “That’s very nice of you, Lucy. Bring a crayon over and print your name on it, so that when I hang in up everyone will know who drew it.” Lucy sprang back to the bedroom, emerging after a few moments with a brown crayon. “Not too big,” James told her. “We don’t want to cover up his beautiful feathers.”

Lucy was able to print her first name slowly. To help her print “Jacobs” James wrote the letters on a piece of newspaper that he found nearby and the child copied it.

As she finished the last letter one of her siblings shrieked, “Tracey’s here!” The household gathered at the door.

“Glad you could make it,” Shirley greeted her grown stepdaughter cautiously.

“I wouldn’t have missed it. I was surprised when you invited me!” Tracey answered. She handed Raymond a covered pie plate. “I brought dessert,” she announced. Tracey glanced over to see James standing in the background. “Raymond told me that Shirley was thinking of inviting you,” she said. Back in the kitchen, a wry smile formed on Shirley’s face. Tracey made her way to help Shirley with the cooking, but it wasn’t easy. The children swarmed over her.

As Shirley’s family and James gathered at the table, Shirley seated James and Tracey next to one another. James and Tracey secretly gave one another embarrassed, knowing looks.

“Well, my man’s not here,” Shirley started after all ten people found their seats. “If he were, he would say the grace. I guess that would mean that it’s up to you to say the grace, James.”

James paused for a second, uncomfortable at his ascendancy. “With his father not here, don’t you think that Raymond should say it in his place?”

James’ pronouncement startled Raymond. At first his chest puffed with pride. Then his face lost expression and his jaw dropped. “I’ve never done that before,” the youth protested.

“Everyone says that once in their life. Go ahead, it’s easy,” James admonished as Raymond shrugged his shoulders. “Just tell God what you think that everyone is thankful for,” James added.

“Everyone’s got so much to be thankful for it’s hard to begin!” a re-inspired Raymond exclaimed.

“You see?” James said, “You’ve said it already. Your job is done.”

When they finished the main course they decided to allow an interval of time before serving dessert. The children, tired of sitting still, left the table. The adults, including Raymond, remained finishing the bottle of wine.

“Raymond had a wonderful time on his visit to Rochester,” Tracey told James.

“He certainly did,” Shirley agreed. “He told me all about it, but I didn’t understand much of it.”

“Raymond has much to think about in these next months,” James said. “It was a good idea to see what it was like in person.”

“Most of the engineers who I met there were Mechanical Engineers,” Raymond added. “I liked being in the factory.”

“Do you think that he belongs in a university like Cornell?” Tracey queried.

“I’ve seen many good students in my years of teaching Math. Raymond can more than hold his own,” James assured them. “Did you tell Mr. Thompson about your trip?”

“Yes,” Raymond answered. “He said that he would read up on the universities that I applied to.”

“Don’t let him do all the work,” James said. “Read up on them, yourself.” Raymond nodded.

“If it weren’t for you, things might not be going so well for him,” Tracey blurted out.

James was embarrassed. “It’s a lot of fun for me to do it. I love math, and I enjoy being around other people who do, too. I don’t know what I’ll do when Raymond is away next Fall.” It was Raymond’s turn to be embarrassed.

They were quiet for a few seconds, until the children came running to the table cajoling for dessert.

As James drove home later, Lucy’s turkey drawing was on the seat next to him. It was hardly a Picasso—it was far more valuable. To James, the affection showed him by the small child vindicated his innocence of all of what others had accused him. He cemented the conversation at the table into his memory. What he said was true; he enjoyed exercising his math skills with his able student, and he liked Raymond and his family. He hadn’t told it all, though, because he knew that they would never understand him.

“If I ever become a good person, I’ll owe it to Raymond,” he said out loud to…himself…or perhaps, to Someone else.

**********

As was his custom, James placed an envelope with his rent check in Mrs. Wilkinson’s mailbox on the last day of every month. His rental agreement was on a month to month basis, so a few days after Thanksgiving he covered himself for December. Every month he wondered how many more months he would remain in his tiny rooming house flat. The facilities were good enough for a single man who never had guests. The location was ideal—he could walk to work if he chose. It was a perfect neighborhood to form a number of potential routes for his running. And speaking of that, he always looked for Tracey as he made his early morning rounds. She was appearing less often, lately.

The only drawback to James’ apartment was the presence of his landlady, who he never managed to like, but learned to tolerate. She had been prying less of late, although he wondered a few times if she had made a few of her inspection tours while he was at work. Mostly, the price was right. He was just finishing paying his brother for his car and was trying to sock away a rainy day fund.

James returned home later that day. It was raining, a lazy kind of drizzle. He glanced up to the sky to gauge the dark clouds, wondering if it would get cold enough to snow. A drop of a few more degrees would do the trick. He picked up the mail from his mailbox as he passed the row of boxes. He didn’t look at it right away, preferring to get out of the weather. He did see Mrs. Wilkinson in the window peering at him with that suspicious squint that she always seemed to have affixed to her face.

James went into his apartment and placed the mail on the table and tossed his coat on a chair across the room. He felt like a scotch. It hadn’t been an easy day at school. It was review time with midterm exams around the corner. The students, just returned from the Thanksgiving holiday, were restless, and reviewing old material isn’t very exciting for young people in a holiday mood.

He dropped several ice cubes into a tumbler and poured in the scotch. It was a stiff one, but would last him the whole night. Before he would get to the end, the melting ice would dilute it to highball status. He turned his attention to the pile of mail on the table.

One item was the phone bill; there was some junk-mail, as usual; not much else. The final item was an envelope that had been placed in the box by Mrs. Wilkinson. He recognized her handwriting scribbled across the front. It was probably his receipt for December’s rent, he thought, but it was odd because she seldom used an envelope, just stuck the receipt loose in his box. It was probably because of the weather.

James tore the envelope open and was treated to a rude surprise. “Notice of Rental Termination” was the heading across the top of the single page. It was a photostat of a canned form wherein she had filled the blanks. The rest of the letter didn’t say very much, just that he had to be out by the end of the month and leave the propane tank full.

James hadn’t expected the notice. Now that he had it, the surprise wore off quickly. With his identity revealed, his presence no longer served Mrs. Wilkinson, and by nexus, her daughter, Doris. Inside scoop had become public information. He had heard rumors that it was Doris who shouted his name out at the School Board meeting. Now, he was sure of it; at the same time, he didn’t care.

He thought about running down to confront the nasty old hag. He was about to, but thought better of it. She would be waiting for him—that was sure. He decided to let her stew until morning. He decided to read for a while and correct some papers. At any rate, he stopped worrying about it. He had a glassful of scotch going to waste.

In the morning he completed his run. He decided not to speak to her until he returned home from school that afternoon. He’d ask a few people in school if they knew where he could find a good place. He had lunch with Vicki in the Teachers’ Lounge.

“You might find it difficult at this time of year, especially being known as you are,” Vicki warned. “Doris’ mother was smart. The law says that a tenant gets a full month’s notice to quit an apartment. By doing it on the last day of the month she gave you the shortest time possible.”

“You mean, if I had paid my rent a day late I would have gotten an extra thirty days?” James asked.

“Probably so,” Vicki answered. “It would be different if you had a lease. Where were you thinking of looking?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” James admitted. “It looks like I’ll have to learn fast. The problem is that it has to be a furnished place. I don’t have any furniture.”

“You’ll find someplace. Just keep looking,” Vicki assured him. “You can spend some time at my place, but we need to be careful. Once people know that you’re kicked out of your apartment, they’ll start watching to see if you’re shacking with anyone. I’d rather not face that.”

“How would they find out?” James asked.

“You’ve forgotten all about Doris,” Vicki reminded him. “She’ll spread the word like wildfire. In fact, we better break this up before she shows up and sees us. Come to my place tonight and we’ll go through the paper—and we’ll do something later that’ll take your mind off your troubles.” After she made the date, Vicki picked up her tray and shuffled off.

When James arrived home he strode past his landlady’s front door, but she called to him and James walked to face her on her porch where she was standing.

“Did you get my notice?” she demanded as she squinted at him.

“I sure did,” James answered. “I plan to be out by the deadline.”

“I won’t have child molesters living on my place!” she declared.

“I’m not that, but it doesn’t matter to me if you believe it or not,” James answered back.

“I saw you take that Indian boy up there,” she retorted.

“I was tutoring the boy in math,” James replied with some anger. “For the record, I deny doing anything wrong. Other than that, I don’t want to discuss it with you.”

“I don’t want any Indians on my place, either,” she hissed as James turned his back and walked away. “He wasn’t even a full Indian, just a half-breed,” she mumbled to herself as she turned toward her door. “Just be sure to out on time!” she yelled at James as he disappeared around the corner.

In the next days James found much difficulty finding a place to live. He was determined not to impose on Vicki. He sensed her discomfort well enough and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for co-habitation either—even for a short time. Staying overnight for fun and games was much different than learning to leave the toilet seat down and having the television on when trying to read.

There were only a few openings for furnished apartments. Several landlords with openings refused to rent to him because of his notoriety. A few landlords were willing, but their places were only fit for the rats which had already claimed them. James finally settled for a furnished trailer in a trailer park about three miles outside of town. It was quite similar to that where he had taken Thanksgiving dinner not long before. It would do until Spring.

*************

Ethan Chandler peeked into his daughter’s room after dinner, expecting to find her busy with her homework. She had been staying in at night lately, and that suited him fine. If he could, he thought that he’d have a father-daughter chat and see what her thoughts were about her college applications. To his surprise, she wasn’t in her room, although the desk lamp was turned on. He glanced across the hallway at the closed bathroom door and light leaking out the space between the floor and bottom of the door. He shrugged, being accustomed to the women in the house monopolizing the bathroom. He would come back later.

As he passed the door on his way to the stairs he heard a noise that made him stop and listen harder. He heard it again, and realized that it was Becky inside the bathroom sobbing. He froze in place and heard her once again.

“Becky,” he spoke loudly to be heard through the door. “Is everything alright in there?” His voice carried little alarm. In his experience, tears in the bathroom meant an outbreak of pimples, or the gain of a few extra pounds.

Becky didn’t answer, but cried louder.

“Becky, what is it? Are you sick?” he yelled. By this time, Judith had joined him, alerted by the commotion.

“Becky, let us in!” the mother called out. “You can’t stay in there forever.” She wiggled the locked doorknob for emphasis.

“What could be wrong with her?” Ethan asked his wife.

“I think I know, but we’ll find out soon enough,” Judith replied. The mother’s words must have been heard, because there was a click of the lock and the bathroom door swung slowly open. Becky stood at the sink fully clothed. Her face was red from crying and she hung her head. Her blonde hair fell unkempt in front of her face.

“Oh, no! I thought it was this,” her mother whispered.

“What is this?” a confused Ethan asked loudly. On the sink he there was a mini beaker filled with urine. A little stick lay along side, stained blue at the end. “What’s all this stuff? Is this a drug test?”

Becky slowly shook her head and let out another sob. “Tell your father,” her mother commanded. Becky didn’t answer, just kept her head hung low. Judith turned to her husband. “It’s a pregnancy test kit. That blue stain on the stick means that she’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” the father roared. “It can’t be!”

“I’m afraid that it is, Ethan,” Judith answered. “I knew that she missed her period; I’ve noticed some other things about her appearance, too. I was hoping so much that I was wrong, but I knew deep-down that I wasn’t.”

“With whom hast thou sinned, child?” the father demanded in his bibical tone.

“It doesn’t matter who the father is,” Judith said calmly. “You’re forgetting that she’s not a child—at least in years. She’s eighteen.”

“Tell me who it is!” Ethan roared, his anger boiling. “You’ve brought shame upon this house!”

“No—I can’t,” Becky blurted out between sobs.

“How can I preach to my flock when mine own abode is stained with transgression?” Ethan picked up the empty text kit box. “Where did you get this contraption?”

“Mr. O’Toole got it for me, but…” she began the answer.

“O’Toole!” Ethan screamed. “Him again! He had you when he was supposed to be tutoring you? He despoiled you in the school?”

“No—no!” Becky cried. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Don’t deny it, harlot!” Ethan yelled back. “I’ll make him pay for this!”

“No!” Becky pleaded through her tears but her father was already stomping down the stairs and her mother was pulling her away, into her bedroom.

“Mother, it wasn’t Mr. O’Toole,” Becky swore as she and her mother stepped into her room. Judith closed the door.

“I know it wasn’t him,” her mother informed her. “You’re father is angry now. He isn’t listening. I know who it was—Brad Morris. I found the stain on the sofa cushion in the Brides Room in the church basement in September. You took him down there. You lied about the cheerleaders’ sleepover.”

“I thought Brad loved me. When I told him about the baby, he dumped me,” Becky pleaded through her tears. “He told me to go to the clinic in Hornell.”

“Brad is not the right boy for you—I never liked him or his father,” the mother advised. “Don’t ever tell your father that it was Brad. If he believes you, he’ll make the two of you get married. Then you’ll be stuck with him—maybe for the rest of your life. Would you really want that?”

“But Mr. O’Toole was trying to help me. He didn’t do anything,” the young girl protested.

“Your father will never prove that the baby is O’Toole’s, and he’ll never stop hating him,” he mother explained. “Mr. O’Toole will be alright. He can hold his own against your father. We have to think about you right now.”

At that point Ethan returned, bursting into the room. “I’ve figured out what we’ll do,” he announced. “I’ll report O’Toole to the school. They’ll have to pay for this. People will see that he led an innocent astray. You’ll be an example—like the Prodigal Son. At each week’s service the people will see the pain of your guilt and your repentance. You will sit in the front for all to see. When the baby is born, we’ll put it up for adoption—casting out the work of the devil. ”

“Ethan, you can’t do that to her,” Judith fought back. “She’s our daughter; she’s hurting. She needs us.”

“She owes us this for the shame she has brought down on us. In the end, I shall forgive her for her sin,” Ethan pronounced.

“Only God can forgive sin,” Judith reminded him. “Do you think that you’re God?”

“You blaspheme, woman!” Ethan yelled back. He stood glaring at them with arms crossed over his chest. The two women looked back in fear. He waited for a response from them. Hearing none, he abruptly left the room, to take solace in his study.

Ethan remained there into the early hours of the morning. Judith and Becky stayed upstairs. He stared out the window, searching for the meaning of the night’s events—if they were the dissolution of his whole life, or a sign from the Father of yet more important things to come.

At four in the morning Ethan heard the padding of steps on the stairs. His mood brightened. They were Judith’s steps—he knew their weight and pace. For sure, she was making her way to beg his Forgiveness. He would give it, but not easily, for her defiance was a transgression that he would not suffer lightly. In the end, he decided, he would turn the other cheek as he had always preached to those who followed him.

Ethan could tell by the sounds of the footsteps on the stairs that Judith was coming down barefoot. It surprised him because the weather had turned toward winter and the floors were cold. He waited patiently, preparing to mete out justice tempered with tough love.

“Woman, cover thyself!” he cried at her as she entered the room. She was naked, arms at her side. Her form was slender and nicely curved, as it had always been. Her face was naked of expression, too. If she had chosen to, she could have turned her nakedness into seduction, but she hadn’t done that for so long and it wasn’t her purpose in that moment.

“Cover your own goddamn self, Ethan,” she retorted. “Oh, sorry! I see that you’re already covered up; and isn’t that the way you always are, Ethan? You’re always covered in every way.”

“I don’t understand you, Judith,” Ethan said.

“Covered in virtue and scripture,” she explained. “Not one shred of human weakness or feeling.”

“Judith, you’re not making sense,” he protested.

“I thought that I would treat you to one last look,” she answered. “You’ve ignored it long enough. I didn’t want you to forget it.”

“Judith, this is unlike you,” Ethan said weakly.

“How do you know?” she spat hate with her words. “Maybe I’ve been giving it out it all over town. Haven’t you ever thought of that? It’s not a bad looking body, is it?” She roughly lifted her breasts in her two hands and held them up to show him. “Look at me, Ethan!” she shrieked. “Do you see love or sin?”

“What’s this all about, Judith?” he asked meekly.

“Ethan, I wasted my youth on you. We could have been happy, but you always had something against that. It’s my fault. I always went along—but not now. Becky’s involved, and I can’t let you destroy her with this plan of yours.”

“Judith, I’ve never suspected…”

“Maybe you should have, Ethan. How do you know that I’m not a harlot, like Becky?

How many men do you think I’ve been with? Who would enjoy sucking on these?” she demanded as she lifted her breasts at him once again.

“Who do you think?” she taunted him. “What other man has seen this?” She let go of her breasts and bumped her hip out at him, her triangle of pubic hair highlighted against her pale skin in the semi-darkness. “Maybe it was Jarrod—maybe O’Toole!”

“Judith, stop this at once!” he shouted.

“I am stopping, Ethan. It was just a last look for you and food for thought. I’m leaving now. I’m taking Becky. We’re going to my sister’s home in Indiana. Think about what I told you.”

She turned and left the room and ascended the stairs. Ethan watched her shapely buttocks flex as she disappeared up the stairs. Fifteen minutes later she and Becky were at the front door with their suitcases.

“Judith, we’re all under a lot of strain,” Ethan said as he approached her.

“Don’t try to stop me, Ethan. My mind’s made up. I can’t allow you to torture Becky like you said, and this is the only way that I can stop you.”

“We can discuss it,” Ethan offered.

“No, Ethan. I know you. You would promise and then go back on it later. I know you too well,” Judith answered.

“What will I tell the congregation?” he asked helplessly.

“Whatever you want,” she replied. “Try the truth. I know that Jarrod will help you say just the right thing.” She paused and Ethan’s face lightened in hopes that she was changing her mind. “Tell Jarrod that I said ‘good-bye’,” she added.

“You’ll be back,” Ethan warned. “Until then, I’ll pray for you. I’ll forgive you.”

“Pray for yourself, Ethan. You need it more.” She picked up her bags and turned to her daughter. “Let’s go, Becky.” The bitter words were her final ones. Becky remained silent and followed her mother out the door. A minute later Ethan watched as the car disappeared down Main St.

*************

Wednesday was the day that James tried to arrange for a rendezvous with Abby for later in the evening. It was a day that worked quite well for a couple of good reasons. For one thing, since it was in the middle of the week, it was a good bet that Bubba would be on the road. The other reason was that it provided good spacing between Abby and Vicki. James wanted to be at his best for both bed partners. Like an ace pitcher, he needed a few days rest. He was becoming a little cocky about his sex life, and he knew it. He had, after all, good reason for feeling that way. He knew that his situation couldn’t last forever, so he didn’t want to spoil it with humility.

It was late on Wednesday afternoon when he arrived at Nathan’s office, under the guise of delivering a copy of the upcoming mid-term Algebra exam. He didn’t have much time. He had a tutoring student scheduled in ten minutes. Abby was at her desk, as usual. James craned his neck to see if Nathan was in his inner office.

“I can’t do it tonight,” Abby anticipated his question. “Bubba didn’t take the semi on the road this week. The truck’s in the shop with transmission trouble.” She smiled when she saw James’ crestfallen expression. “Don’t worry, though. He’ll be on the road twice as much after this to pay for the repair.” She looked around the room to make sure that no one was listening. “When that happens,” she added, “you’ll be wearing out your own crankshaft,” she warned as she gave him a little wink.

“Fair enough,” James said, laughing at the off-color quip. He turned to leave.

“That’s not all,” Abby called after him. James stopped and turned to face her. “Bubba’s going to call you tonight to give you an invitation of sorts. Say ‘yes’ when he asks you.”

“What kind of an invitation?” James asked.

“He wants you to be a sub on his bowling team,” Abby explained. “He heard about all your troubles and he wants to help you get to know some folks better. Bubba’s really a good guy and he likes you. Besides, his team needs a sub real bad.”

“I’m not a very good bowler,” James entered a mild protest.

“They don’t care,” Abby said. “They’ll give you a handicap. Just be a good sport and buy a round of beer on your first night.”

“Doesn’t it make you nervous, Abby,” he asked. “The whole idea kind of gives me the creeps.”

“You mean because you and I sleep together when he’s out of town?” Abby asked back. She shook her head and smiled up at him. “Not a bit. I think that it’s exciting! It makes me feel tingly. I’ll be thinking about it when Bubba and I are in bed together tonight.”

James shrugged his shoulders, wondering at the tiny brazen woman. “Whatever you say,” he called to her as he left for his session with his student.

The next night was Thursday, the regular night for Bubba’s team. James rolled three games totaling four-twenty, and he had warned Bubba not to expect much more than that. The two men sat at the bar nursing their third beer. Most of the other bowlers had left.

“We’re lucky to have you on the team,” Bubba told him. “You should plan on coming every week, even though you’re a sub. With eight guys on the team, there’s always a need. I’m absent more times than not, myself.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” James replied. “It’s a good group of guys, and I had a good time.” The two men clinked glasses. “Do they know about my troubles with Reverend Chandler?”

“Who in this town doesn’t?” Bubba answered. “The guys don’t care about that stuff. None of them goes to his church, and I doubt that any of them believes him.”

“It’s not true, you know,” James felt the need to assure his new friend, and felt surprised that he cared enough to do so.

“I already told you not to worry about it, James,” Bubba assured him. “If you bring it up again, I’ll make you buy another round.”

“I’ll buy one, anyway,” James offered.

“Good!” exclaimed Bubba. “While we drink it, I’ll lay out a proposition for you.”

The bartender brought them another round and took the money from James’ pile of bills on the bar. “This has to be my last one. I’m feeling no pain as it is.”

“I need a helper over Christmas,” Bubba declared. “I’m taking the rig down to Florida to get a load of citrus—oranges or grapefruit, depending on the prices and orders. I have customers in Maryland and Pennsylvania—small grocery stores in small cities and towns. With a helper I could save a lot of time handling the crates. Otherwise, I have to sit in line waiting for the store employees to help me. If you come along, I can squeeze in at least one more, maybe two more, trips.”

“So you want me to ride along?” James asked.

“Right,” Bubba continued. “I’ll give you a fifth of what I make, after taking out for expenses. If we get in three trips, you’ll be in for fifteen hundred. You’ll be on Christmas break, anyway.” James hesitated. The offer came as a surprise. “What do you say?” Bubba urged. “You’re in good shape, single. You can get out of the snow for a week. I’ll do all the driving. What have you got to lose?”

“It’s a deal,” James agreed, clinking glasses with Bubba once again.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Bubba said. “Right now, I’ve got to get home. Abby will be climbing the walls. When I’m home she likes my full attention in the evening—if you know what I mean,” Bubba informed him with a laugh. He tossed down the rest of his beer and left James at the bar finishing his.

As he finished his drink James thought how well he understood Bubba’s comment about his libidinous wife. Then he started wondering if he had made a mistake when he agreed to the Florida trip with Bubba.

“A little less beer,” he thought, “and I would have thought it over more.” He shrugged. “Oh, what the hell—I’m into it now.” He gulped down the last of his beer and picked up his money. He left a tip for the bartender and headed for his apartment.

*************

Raymond and James sat at the dining room table in Tracey’s house, pouring over the related rates problems that James had assigned. For the first time he saw Raymond struggling with a concept.

“Don’t be discouraged. You’ve handled more difficult things in calculus. Draw it out in a graph first. Be careful to start with good equations for your derivatives,” he advised. “You can’t skip over it; it’s used too much in the sciences.”

“There’s just something about this…” Raymond complained.

“Try this problem. You’ve got just enough time for it while I write out your assignment for next week.”

Tracey walked into the room stretching as though she had nodded off to sleep in her living room during the Calc lesson. Since they had Thanksgiving dinner at Shirley’s house she had let her guard down more when James was in her house.

Part of James was grateful for Tracey’s display of her form as Tracey extended her arms over her head. She was, after all, a woman who had plenty for a man to see. Part of James wished that she wouldn’t, because it only gave him ideas that he knew were out of reach. He hadn’t forgotten the mental picture of the Mayor skulking out of her house in the early morning. James had Lexus taste and a Chevy wallet.

“I’m going to get ready for something that I’m going to do tonight while you boys finish up,” she informed them. “Let yourself out when you’re finished. You’ll probably be done before I am. Just lock the door behind you.” With that, she disappeared down the hallway.

James half-listened. “Okay, sure,” he mumbled. A short time later he heard her close the bathroom door. A short time after that he heard Shirley knocking at the front door to take Raymond home. James answered the door while Raymond packed up.

“Where’s Tracey?” Shirley asked.

“In the bathroom, getting ready to go somewhere tonight,” James answered. As he said it they heard the water running.

“Okay,” she answered. “Tell her I said ‘hello’. Here’s your cookies.”

“I doubt that I’ll see her. I’m just going to pack up my things. She said to lock the door as I left. I’ll only be another minute.” Shirley nodded and turned to go. Raymond walked out with her. “That was a very nice Thanksgiving. Thanks, again—and thanks for the cookies,” James called after them. Shirley turned and smiled to acknowledge his thanks. James went back inside to pack up his things.

He was ready to go a minute later except that he couldn’t find his scarf. “That’s funny,” he said out loud. “I always keep it right with my coat.” He wanted to ask Tracey if she’d seen it, but beyond, in the bathroom, he heard the shower running. He continued searching. He wondered if Raymond had picked it up accidentally. He didn’t think so. As he kept searching he heard the shower shut off. He quickened the pace of his searching. If Tracey found him running around for a simple scarf, he thought, she would really be sure that he was a loser. Still, his mother had knitted the scarf for him, and it would be sad if he lost it without even using it for a season—so he kept looking.

He must have been distracted, looking under furniture and rechecking the pockets of his coat. He was on his hands and knees checking under the table when he got that feeling of someone watching him. He looked up and saw Tracey hovering over him, standing not more than two feet from where he was.

James jumped up in an instant. What he saw made him take a big gulp. She was wearing a long, sheer robe, made of silk. It was a deep burgandy color, and tied at the waist. It hugged her form, showing off the outline of her ample breasts and hips flared under a miniscule waist. James started to harden, which reminded him of his adventures at Abby’s house fixing her washing machine.

“Uhhh…I was just packing up,” he blurted out.

Perhaps it was the suggestion, rather than the actual view of anything that excited James, because the robe wasn’t transparent and it extended from neckline to the floor. James knew that Tracey had just emerged from the shower, so he knew that she couldn’t have much, if anything, on underneath the robe.

He felt guilty for no reason other than his thoughts and averted his line of sight away from the desirable target. He looked high and low, left and right, avoiding that which he knew was forbidden, and the same time so inviting. His eyes kept darting about, until they met hers by accident, and he found that they were watching him with a quizzical look. At that point, temptation overwhelmed him and he glanced down to steal a last look at that perfectly molded body under that deep, dark, burgandy robe. When he did, to his surprise, he found that she had loosened the belt and allowed the robe to drift apart while he wasn’t looking. It was then that he saw the matching camisole underneath; the same deep color; same rich fabric. The lacy bodice just barely hid her breasts. Her sculpted legs extended below.

“Looking for this?” she asked in a sultry voice, producing the wayward scarf, wrapping it around the back of her neck.

“Yes,” he answered obediently. “Where was it?”

“It was in my bedroom,” she answered in the same sultry voice.

“Your bedroom?” James’ voice was getting hoarse; his mouth was dry. “How did it get there?”

“I took it off your coat and put in there,” she replied in a soothing voice, “so that you’d be here looking for it when I got out of the shower.”

“I thought that you were getting ready for something you were going to do tonight,” James reminded her.

“I was,” she breathed. “I’m doing it now,”

She took the scarf from around her neck and looped it around his, as if to symbolize her capture of him. In doing so she stepped closer to him, and it was then that James noticed her perfume. She noticed James’ nose wrinkle as he took in the scent. “Do you like my perfume?” she asked. “I put it on for you. Everything I put on is for you,” she whispered to him, and her breath tasted of mint.

“I like it,” he said truthfully. “I like you, Tracey.” She smiled and purred a little to show her pleasure at his remark. “But why me?” he asked.

It wasn’t a real question, because he had already decided to allow the seduction to follow its course. It was just one of those questions that nervous people throw in between important statements to fill in perceived gaps. As unimportant the query was, Tracey didn’t take it that way.

She tightened the looped scarf around his neck and leaned up against him. Her face was inches from his and her eyes bore into him. “Because you’re special,” she whispered into his face. “You’re a nice man—not like most. You helped my brother; I like you. Because I want to make love to you all night long.” She paused for a second, waiting for James to respond.

He did by wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the mouth. It was gentle, but sensuous, meant to play back what she had said to him. When she felt him do it, she gave back in kind. Then she broke away for a bit because she had more to say.

“And it’s because you never expected it from me, and gave me respect just the same. Now I’m going to give you what you deserve but never asked for.” They kissed again, a repeat of the first. They broke it off. She stepped back and tugged him gently with the scarf still draped around the back of his neck. She led him down the hallway to the bedroom.

“I can’t wait to have you inside me,” she said as she led him through bedroom door.

***********

James saw that Tracey had turned down the covers on the bed and the lights were out, except a dim one on the dresser. They stood alongside the bed about four feet from one another. Tracey opened the robe and let it fall off her shoulders. She was lovely in the soft light. She was the most beautiful woman that James had ever seen—that many men had ever seen. James was getting more excited. As alluring as she was in the camisole, he knew that there was much more to discover.

“You have to catch up,” she said softly. She was right; James had on all of his clothes.

He kicked off his shoes and quickly stripped off his socks. Those out of the way, he lifted off his sweater and shirt soon followed. “Kind of a wiry build—interesting,” she remarked at his upper physique, licking her lips.

He thought that she might step forward and attack his belt buckle, but she remained in place watching him. He undid the buckle and zipper himself and his trousers fell to the floor. He picked them up and folded them and placed them on the chair with his other clothes. “Neat—very unusual in a man!” she giggled but not in a girlish way, but sensually from deep in her throat.

Tracey’s eyes flashed as she looked at James. Without ado, she took the bottom hem of her negligee and raised the garment up over her head and off. She stood before him, unashamedly nude. From the look in her eyes, James could see that she was enjoying him pour over her body from head to toe. She remained still and let him do it, not raising her hands to her hips or to cover herself or turning to obscure the angle of vision.

James was in his shorts. They were tented out as his erection was pushed out against the fabric. He knew that it was his turn to reveal himself, and he did so without delay. His hard penis pointed straight out at Tracey. A droplet of clear fluid glistened at the tip. He was more abashed as she was, and barely managed to stand still as she looked him over.

“Nice,” she said softly, her eyes glued to his manhood. She approached and cupped it gently in her practiced hand. Her fingers danced sublimely on his scrotum. As he was about to return the favor, she stepped forward and kissed him. She broke it before he could kiss back and hopped onto the bed, finding the middle and lay down on her back.

“Come here and take me,” she whispered.

He climbed on with her. They lay on their sides kissing for a while. He clasped a breast that he never dreamt he would see, let alone hold as he pleased. As their tongues caressed each other’s he rubbed his thumb over the nipple and felt it harden. She let him know that she liked his technique through her mews and purrs and pressing her breast harder into the palm of his hand. He let his hands roam all over her, from her back, down to her buttocks cheeks and back to her breasts again. He felt her thighs pressing his as they lay together embracing. Mostly, he felt himself hard, pressing against her belly, and he knew that she must have felt it, as well.

After a while he turned her onto her back and straddled her. He bent his lips to a nipple and captured it, tenderly at first. He propped himself on his elbows until he felt her thrust her pelvis up in an attempt to press against him. He lowered his body down so that it rested on her. He rubbed himself back and forth and she pounded her vulva against him. They were panting, sweating, exciting one another. He left her breasts temporarily and trailed his mouth down her body. He reached her triangle of hair and rubbed his face in it. She grasped his head with her hands, pushing him harder against her. He dove lower, bathing his face in her warm crevice. He tasted her. She moaned loudly with pleasure, He pressed in—she yelled out.

He forced his face away from her center. He kissed and nuzzled his way up her body, stopping at her navel, each breast, even her shoulders. He continued slowly up her throat and finally her mouth. Tracey threw her legs around him. As she did, he went inside her, driving all the way to the hilt. She cried out once again, thrusting up to him to meet his every stroke.

Soon, she couldn’t keep pace with him. Her voice became higher, letting out a sound—between a gasp and a moan—as he pressed onward. “James!” she cried, as she climaxed. He felt her orgasm, the vagina in spasm contracting around him, the arms and legs around him in a death grip, the short puffs of breath. It was all that he had hoped for. Realizing it, he let himself go, releasing deep inside her. “Tracey!” he murmured as he finished.

**********

They were lying together, regaining energy after their orgasms. It was still early, and neither had anywhere else to be.

“I never expected this,” he admitted.

“I planned it while I was driving home on Thanksgiving night,” she answered. “At first, I wanted to do something nice for you because you’ve done so much for Raymond and been so nice to Shirley and her family. If it hadn’t been for you I would have never been invited to Thanksgiving. Shirley and I would still be feuding.”

“What do you mean ‘at first’?” James asked.

“Then I realized how much I wanted it. It wasn’t just for you. It was for me, too.” She rested her head on his chest. “I’ve been in bed with so many men, for so many reasons. I just wanted to do it with a man I liked him for a good reason.”

“I don’t know what to say, Tracey,” James said. “I like you, but I’m not sure…”

She placed her fingers over his lips to silence him.

“Don’t say anything. Don’t ruin it by thinking too much. We have lives to go back to after tonight. We may never be like this again, so let’s enjoy it while we can.”

**************

TO BE CONTINUED