Adventures with Max and Louise (19 page)

I lean back on the sink and take a sip from my glass. “Admit it, you drove those girls home in your mother’s Mercedes and made out in front of their houses.”

“I did not.”

“Right.”

“I took them to the cemetery behind Prep. First they’d talk about a funeral they’d been to. It made them scared, so they kind of squeezed up against me; saved me from making the first move. Why are we talking about this?”

“We’re talking about how you wasted your high school years.”

“I did. I did. I should have been chasing you.” He leans in closer.

“I was shy,” I say and smile into his blue eyes with the bits of purple in them.

“And you looked different. I mean, look at you now, all grown up.” He leans into me. I can smell the damp, clean soap of his after-work shower. “And in all the right places,” he murmurs as his lips softly touch mine.

“What kind of a cornball line is that?” Louise groans. “Man sounds like a pervert in a soap opera.”

Falling into the heady warmth of his kiss, I barely register Louise’s voice.

My cell phone vibrates insistently from my purse. Lifting my head, I mutter, “Go awaaaay . . .”

“Don’t answer it,” he murmurs, holding my head softly with one hand, while his other hand runs up and down my arm. A cool blast of reality works its way through the tropical mist of those kisses: I haven’t told Dad where I was going.

Gently, I break loose. “Just a sec. It might be my dad.”

I pick up the phone, and sure enough, there is my home number. “Hi, Dad,” I say, giving Chas an apologetic look.

“Sorry to bother you, Molls, just wondering if I should get dinner under way here or wait for you. I didn’t know what the plan was.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you I had a date.” I can just imagine the look of shock on his face.

He pauses a long time, and I know I’ve floored him. “A date? Well, good for you, that’s just swell. Well, I won’t keep you, honey. You have a good time.”

“Hang on, Dad. Why don’t you take something out of the freezer? There’s a chicken potpie I made in the back. In the blue Tupperware.”

Chas is running his finger through the sauce. He offers me some off his fingertip. I lick it off.

“Thanks, Molls. I think I can manage. You have a good time.”

I scrape some sauce off the pan and offer it to Chas. He opens his mouth, sucks the sauce off, and keeps my finger in his mouth longer than he needs to. “I will, Dad. Thanks.” My voice trembles, setting off Dad’s cop radar.

“You okay, honey? You sound a little shaky. Who’s this fella you’re with?”

Chas moves around to my side of the table, pushes my hair off my neck, and begins kissing me, quick, butter-scented kisses that send my brain fluttering.

I shake my head slightly to regain my senses.

“Lord help us, her brain’s flooded with hormones!” Louise trills. She turns pragmatic, ordering me around briskly. “Tell him Chas’s name. He’s a friend from high school; maybe your father remembers him. Tell him you’ll be back soon, and get off the damn phone before you start moaning.”

I repeat her words in a trance, my body writhing slightly under Chas’s hands. I hang up.

“It’s nice that you take care of your dad like that,” Chas murmurs as he moves his lips down the bridge of my nose and onto my lips.

“Mmmmm-hmmmm.”

“Have I shown you the view?” he asks between kisses.

“No,” I murmur, not caring in the slightest about anything other than what Chas Bowerman’s lips and hands are doing to my body.

He takes me by the hand and leads me to the windows. A wall of glass separates us from a forest of twinkling skyscrapers and Elliott Bay. A ferry approaches the dock. Moored freighters bob gently in the black water. Facing me, Chas runs his hand down either side of my body.

“Nice view,” I say, ignoring the view outside in favor of his face.

“I paid a lot of money for it.” He grins, bending down to kiss me.

“I bet you did.” I kiss him back, idly imagining the amount of dough it would take to buy a place like this, let alone furnish it.

We slide down onto the couch and engage in the most earth-shattering make-out session I never had in high school.

“That is the sexiest dress I have ever seen in my life,” he whispers hoarsely in my ear.

Thank you, sister Trina,
I think, running my hands down Chas’s firm back.

“Easy now, easy there, Molly!” Louise shrieks over the blood raging through my brain. “Remember, we’re still in a first-date type of situation here. This ain’t your wedding night.”

“Oh, come on, the bird’s been waitin’ ten bleedin’ years for action like this. I say, ride it out. Let ’er rip!” Max enthuses.

I consider ordering them to shut up, but I’m distracted by Chas slipping his hand under my bra. He reaches under the cup and softly strokes my left breast. His fingers circle my nipple several times, giving me goose bumps.

Louise is mad. “All right, girlfriend, time to get back on shore. You might be floating in the sea of love, but I’m telling you, honey, it’s full of sharks, and you’re gonna get bit in the ass! Slow the hell down!”

“Ach, stop bein’ such a wanker and let ’er ’ave ’er fun!” Max bellows.

It feels so good, I don’t care what Louise thinks or how far I am prepared to let things go. All I know is how wonderful I feel. This isn’t just any guy.

Chas squeezes my right breast. It feels great to me. Unfortunately, Louise isn’t nearly as receptive.

“You don’t squeeze Louise!” she screeches with the ear-splitting cacophony of a braking train. I plunge from sensual ecstasy into eardrum-shattering torture. In desperation, I push Chas away with such force that he tumbles off the leather couch, spilling cushions onto the floor as he lands with a thud.

I sit up on the couch holding my ringing ears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

Chas lifts himself by the elbow off the carpet. “You got one hell of a hook for a girl.” He dusts himself off. “Don’t think I have any cracked ribs.” He presses his side dramatically, stands up, and shakes his head, confused. “I guess I thought you were having a good time.”

“I’m really sorry. I just . . .” I can’t think of excuses fast enough. Louise leaves me in the lurch.

Max is thinking aloud. “Let’s see, you’ve got an infected nipple? No, much too gross. Childhood trauma? No, no. Tourette’s syndrome?”

I dive in myself. “I really don’t have a good reason. I was enjoying it.”

Chas looks at me, questioningly. “You sure do have a funny way of showing it.”

Getting up from the couch, I yank my dress up over my breasts and kiss him on the cheek. “Um, I’m sorry. It’s been a long time.”

He stands up, rubbing his back where he hit the ground. “I guess I should ask what happened to your last boyfriend. Is he still alive?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what came over me.” I kiss him again, on the lips.

He kisses back, but with little enthusiasm. Clearly, we are done for the night. I turn my back on him and pinch my left breast hard.

“Ouch,” Louise says. It hurts me too.

I ask Chas for directions to the bathroom. Once inside I close the door and splash my face lightly with water. After drying off, I stare in the mirror, focusing on my cleavage. “Stay the hell out of my love life,” I warn Louise. Inhaling sharply, I march down the hallway, dreading facing Chas.

He waits for me in the kitchen, wearing his coat. His face is studiously blank as he holds out my coat. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

And suffer the awkward moments that follow punching one’s date? No thanks.
“No, really, I’ll just take a cab, thanks.” I slip into my coat.

He lifts his car keys off a set of hooks in the cupboard. “Molly, it’s ten o’clock. I’m not letting you take a cab. Come on, you’ll love my car.” Before I can protest any further, he takes my arm and ushers me out the door to the hallway. I just hope to God Max and Louise are quiet on the ride home. I might end up punching them.

Chapter Twenty

C
HAS’S CAR IS
a navy blue vintage convertible BMW, top down, with the heater on full bore. Chas asks my permission to keep the roof open, to which I happily agree, hoping to recover some goodwill after punching him. Faint stars make their way through the city lights. It’s a beautiful night.

On the drive home, I am too overwhelmed to try to repair the damage. Besides, Chas clearly isn’t in the mood for talking. He seems perfectly content to wind the purring car around the city streets, toward Capitol Hill. I sulk, feeling sorry for myself because Louise ruined my date. I wouldn’t have gotten a date with Chas if it weren’t for Max and Louise, but I choose to ignore this in favor of wallowing in self-pity. We drive in silence, enjoying the freshly washed city. One more stretch of retail shops and restaurants, and we’ll be very close to my house. I’m busy reliving my disastrous plunge from the couch and the evening’s swift demise when Max pipes up.

“Ask him about the car,” he counsels. “Any bloke has wheels like this loves ’em dearly. Ask him; go on.”

“How long have you had this car?” I ask over the whipping hum of the wind.

Chas grins, leaning slightly toward me as he talks. “Two years. I was on a waiting list through a dealer before I met my buddy Steve’s friend, who imports them. He finds them in all different conditions and restores them. He kind of cut me a deal on this one. She was in good shape, but she’s still temperamental.”

I nod and listen, holding my hair back as it whips into my face. After this it’s easier. We move on to minutia about the skiing trip, the weather in the mountains, what time he will pick me up. I can tell from Chas’s absentminded replies that my behavior in the condo troubles him, but he is too much of a gentleman to cancel the skiing trip. After a long silence at a stoplight, I apologize again.

He puts his hand lightly on my knee, squeezing it in a conciliatory gesture. “Please don’t apologize anymore. Honestly, it’s fine. It was getting pretty intense, and although I would have preferred a gentler reminder, I’m totally over it. So let’s not waste any more time on that, okay?” He gives me a smile that warms me to the toes. “Here, find some music you like.” He hands me his iPhone, pointing to a music menu. . I scroll down through the selections, noticing that we have a lot of favorite bands in common, finally choosing Adele. As the music fills the car, I slide down into the leather seat, calming myself by counting trees. Any man that has Adele in his car is evolved.

As we pull into my driveway, I am painfully aware of the two recently renovated houses flanking ours. Young, moneyed software employees have claimed more than half the houses on our street, accompanied by legions of contractors, painters, decorators, and landscapers. Our once proud home is staunchly middle-aged, saggy, faded, badly in need of attention. Chas escorts me to the front steps, where we stand awkwardly at the door. The knocker hangs perilously by one nail. Chas leans toward me, and I offer my lips. He swoops to the side, kissing me on the cheek. It’s embarrassingly tame after our torrid session in his kitchen.

Chas rocks back on his heels, his hands buried in his pockets. “Are you sure,” he asks gingerly, “you still want to go skiing? We can slow things down, you know, a little. It’s whatever you’d like. I’m okay. Just talk to me. Even if you want to call this off, just be honest.”

He seems so vulnerable, so unsure of himself; I have to resist the urge to throw my arms around him. I touch his cheek lightly and look into his eyes. “I’m very sure I want to continue to see you, and, yes, I’d love to go skiing.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll have separate bedrooms. I promise.”

I kiss him on the lips. “We’ll see.” Upstairs is the clever $300 anorak Trina found that somehow minimizes my ample rear end. Keeping up with Chas’s lifestyle is going to drive me into bankruptcy. Luckily, it matches the boot-cut ski pants I got from Trina, leftover, depressingly, from when she was pregnant.

Before he leaves, I remember one pressing detail. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve got to be on
Good Morning Seattle
early tomorrow, so do you mind if we go after that?”

“Only if you’ll let me go with you.”

“Are you sure you want to? They tape it at seven o’clock in the morning. We have to be there by six.”

“I’m in construction, I’m used to early mornings. We can leave from there.”

After we say a quick good night, I go inside. I rest on the window seat, watching the taillights of his little red car wink out of sight. I can hear Dad upstairs yelling tame epithets because the TV cops aren’t acting like real officers.

“You moron, you don’t walk right into the building; you call for backup and search the damn exits!”

I laugh to myself, feeling a fleeting sense of peace. The city at night, Chas’s concern, my dad’s peculiarities: all seem infinitely charming. The world, for once, turns in my favor.

“You are not using your head with this man,” Louise warns, breaking my reverie.

“No, I am not. I’m using my heart, and it feels great.”

“ ’e’s a fine lad,” Max says.

“Mmmmphfff,” Louise huffs.

Max and Louise leave me alone for twenty minutes of daydreaming on the window seat. I gaze into the navy blue sky, wondering what my first television appearance will be like, how I’ll face the cameras. I decide to move my worrying upstairs, poking my head into Dad’s room on the way. He’s snoozing on the bed while the TV cops fumble their way to sure death. The sport pages litter the floor by his bed. I tiptoe in and shut off the television. Dad’s eyes suddenly open.

“Oh, hey, I must have drifted off. How was your date?” He checks his watch.

I sit on the side of the bed. “It was fun. I’m going skiing with him this weekend.”

“Good, good,” he says, then frowns, glancing at the plunging neckline. “That’s some dress.”

I squeeze my arms over my chest. “Yeah, Trina helped me pick it out.”

“I think you do a fine job picking out your own clothes.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure it’s me.”

He squeezes my hand. “I’m an old geezer. What do I know about fashion? I just hope you found someone nice. It’s great to see you going out, enjoying yourself. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t stay cooped up so much.”