Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (58 page)

He stepped away and turned his back to her while she rearranged her clothing. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I've been sending you signals all night. I thought you were returning them. I was wrong. It won't happen again."

He watched as she unlocked her car door and slipped behind the steering wheel. The interior lights illuminated her trembling body. “June,” he said as he held the door open, “I really am sorry. I'll never touch you again. Will I still see you tomorrow night?"

She thought he was lying. “I'll be there,” she said as she cranked the engine.

“I hate drinking beer from a paper cup,” Buzz grumbled.

“They don't allow glass inside the pool for fear someone will be cut if a bottle is broken."

“Well why the hell don't they sell it in cans?"

“I think they make more money selling draft beer."

“Somehow, Debbie, you look sexier in that one piece suit than in the thong bikini."

“I can't stand it, Buzz. Did you like the furniture?"

He placed his hand on her thigh as she lay beside him on the chaise lounge and was surprised to feel her leg quiver. “I like it. I like it all. Looks expensive. It beats me how you did all that shopping in one day, had the furniture delivered, bought and hung curtains and drapes and still finished scraping the garage."

She turned on her side, facing him and hoping he would be attracted to her cleavage. “I spent three hours going door to door, too."

“Anything interesting happen?"

“Maybe."

“Tell me."

“I don't think you will find it interesting, but, Buzz, I didn't know so many poor people live in Dot—farm families mostly. I ... I felt so sorry for them."

He nodded. “It's easy to forget they exist. They keep to themselves except for an occasional trip to the grocery store and, of course, to church on Sundays wearing their best clothes."

“I slipped one little boy a dollar. He was so happy, but his father made him return it."

Buzz nodded. “They're proud people, Debbie. Mom and Dad used to run a tab for them and let them pay their debts with garden produce, chickens and pork. I'm certain Bi-Lo won't allow that."

“What will these people do?” Debbie asked.

“You're going to be the first mayor in Dot. Maybe looking after our poor neighbors is more important than county water and sewer that will largely benefit the Dollars’ bank account. What we need is more decent paying jobs in Dot. I hired a couple of those kids today to work at the new station."

“I didn't know that we ... that you and Billy have advertised job openings yet."

“We haven't. These kids just dropped by. Billy plans to hire a total of eight employees for the two stations. He doesn't want anyone to have to work more than a forty-hour week. I told these kids to tell their friends."

“How did it go today?” she asked.

He turned on his side, facing her and ran his fingers over the upper swells of her breasts. “Billy ran me off at six o'clock. I had no idea it was so late."

“You enjoyed it?"

“Yeah—I did. Somehow, I felt at home. I just wish..."

“Wish what, Buzz?"

“That is was my place. That I owned it."

“Shit."

“What is it?” he asked.

“Those kids just came in."

He turned and looked at the five teenagers as they plunged into the deep end of the pool. “Go play with your friends,” he instructed.

“Buzz, you told them last night the show was over."

“Changed my mind."

“The pool is crowded tonight Buzz. There are people here who know me."

He grinned. “Tell the kids that if they'll feel you up only under water you'll jerk them off before the night is over."

“Buzz, please."

His eyes blazed. “I still have the cattle prod, bitch."

He watched her walk to the edge of the pool and dive in. She surfaced next to the youths. Her mouth moved and their heads bobbed. They all took deep breaths and disappeared beneath the chlorinated water. When they surfaced, Buzz grinned. The straps of Deborah's one-piece suit were no longer visible on her shoulders.

“Mr. Bennett,” Sewana squealed as she rushed to embrace her boss, “it's so good to have you back."

“I'm not back, Sewana,” he laughed. “I just dropped by to see Maggie a minute. Where is she?"

“She was out on her feet this morning. I think she had a big date last night. Anyway, she's in room 18 taking a nap. I'll go get her."

“No,” George said with a smile on his face. “Let her sleep. Is she ... I mean, other than being sleepy, is she okay?"

Sewana grinned. “She was singing, oohing and ahhing and humming all through the breakfast hour. I think she must have, uh, you know, enjoyed a very, very good date last night."

George nodded and could not conceal his pleasure. “That pleases me. Maggie works such long hours. She deserves a little pleasure now and then."

He wandered into his office and sat behind the desk. I'll miss the place, he thought. He opened his briefcase and carefully reread the sales contract. “Maggie, dear, sweet Maggie,” he said aloud. “A year from now you won't be rich, but you will be comfortable.” He slipped the contract back into the manila file folder. “I wonder if she would like to buy my house?"

“George Bennett,” Maggie said as she used her hip to push open the door, “you're not going to sell your house, damn it.” After placing the plastic tray she brought with her on the edge of his desk, she filled two mugs with coffee.

“Must have been thinking out loud,” George said sheepishly. “I told Sewana not to wake you."

She smiled. “I had a good nap. I'm bright-eyed and bushy tailed now."

“You look magnificent."

She gulped down a large swallow of the strong brew and sat heavily on the sofa. “You do too, George. Sewana said you want to talk with me. If it's about selling you house, forget it."

“Let me say my piece,” George protested. “Damn, this is strong stuff."

She laughed. “Pot bottom. After last night, I figure we both need it. We were so exhausted from dancing when we got to your place, I was sure you'd fall asleep immediately and I wouldn't be far behind."

“You're a damn good actress, Maggie Skinner, and a beautiful, wonderful woman to boot."

“Actress?"

He nodded. “You knew why Dottie left me and tried your best to restore my self-esteem. I will never forget last night and the charity you gave me."

She leapt to her feet, not caring that coffee spilled on her jacket. “You think my reaction to your lovemaking was charity?"

“Calm down, Maggie. I meant it as a compliment."

She propped on the desk directly in front of him, placing her left foot on the chair between his legs. He could not force his eyes from the growing dampness in the crotch of her slacks that the posture exposed.

“I've been around the block a few times, George. You know that. You made love to me until four-thirty this morning. I have never moaned, groaned and screamed so much in my life. And, damn it, it was no act. You are the only man who ever took the time to find my most sensitive spots. You are the only man who has ever discovered I have an unusually large clitoris and spent hours fondling it. Hell, I think you are the only man who ever thought about my pleasure. You took me to the top of the mountain fourteen times, George Bennett, and it was not a damn act."

“You counted?"

“You're damn right I counted.” She wiped the moisture from her eyes and chuckled. “I might have missed a time or two.” She stood up and refilled their mugs.

“I apologize,” he said meekly.

“Apology accepted.” She returned to the sofa. “I want you to use your tongue on my clit every time. It was maddening, but, oh, so delightful."

He shifted in the chair and smiled. “It is a big sucker,” he said. “I could close my lips around it. It's almost like a little penis."

She laughed and tossed her hair. “It is a little penis, George. It just doesn't ejaculate semen."

He pushed her legs to one side, stood and adjusted the crotch of his pants. “I can't believe I did that."

“What? Adjusted your underwear to accommodate your erection?"

He nodded. “I have never been able to talk about sex with anyone, Maggie—not even other men. With you, it's so easy."

“Maybe we were meant for each other, George."

“I wish. Maggie, I honestly do, but even if you are willing, I can't do that to you. Do you realize that in twenty years I'll be dead?"

“Perhaps,” she said as she stood up and moved towards him. “But what a wonderful twenty years it will be for both of us. Do you think you can teach me to play golf, George?"

“We could go to the driving range and find out."

“Do you like to swim, George?"

“Not much."

“You've never seen me in a bathing suit.” She winked.

“On second thought, I think I can learn to like swimming."

“I love to fish, George. How about you?"

“If I were fishing with you, I'd like it, but I'd rather eat them."

“Have you ever panned for gold, George?"

“What."

Maggie grinned. “Marriage is up to you, George. Having children is up to you. I am going to move into your house today. Carl Elliott wants to sell the house I'm renting and Frank wants to buy it. That will work out perfectly. We'll run our restaurant together and have a ball doing it. We'll go dancing and swimming, play golf and watch television, fish and eat together, bathe together, sleep together, go to church together and have a hell of a wonderful life."

“Maggie Skinner, did you just propose to me?"

“I just told you how things are going to be,” she said as she picked up the plastic tray. “Like I said, marriage is up to you."

She held the tray and her eyes melted his heart. “Tonight I want to do it with the lights on. I want to see the expression on my man's face when the bells start ringing."

She moved to the door, hesitated and looked at him. “You wanted to see me about something?"

He pulled the document from the file folder. “Not now,” he said as he tore the contract to shreds.

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” Greta asked.

“It's hot as hell out there,” Hank replied.

“In here, too. The electric fans and these shorts don't help much."

“Frank ought to air-condition the place."

“He said there ain't no insulation in this old warehouse. Said it'd cost too much."

“Frank and me finished dragging the ball fields at the school and we were about to die. He keeps soft drinks in a cooler in the back of his truck, but he wanted to come to Dot's Diner to get some iced tea and cool off."

“Then how come you're not at the diner with him?"

“Miz Jenkins told me to come talk to you."

“Don't joke about Miz Jenkins."

“I ain't joking. There I was with sweat pouring off my body and I started shivering. I wish she wouldn't do that."

Greta turned away from him. “Them flowers all you need today, Sarasue?"

The black lady nodded. “It's for our anniversary. Carl and I have been living in sin for exactly one year today. If he don't remember, he ain't getting none tonight."

Hank laughed. “You talking about Carl Elliott, the contractor?"

“He's the guilty party,” Sarasue said.

“If y'all been together a year, how come you don't make him marry you?"

“Honey, don't nobody make Carl do nothing—except maybe Tim Dollar. We've talked about it, though. Carl says we might tie the knot at this year's Christmas party."

“What Christmas party?” Hank asked as Sarasue walked away.

“The Dollars have a party for the whole town every Christmas Eve. Seems like somebody always gets married. What did Miz Jenkins say for us to talk about?"

“She don't talk to me plain like she does you."

“You don't know her good yet."

“I think I know what she wants. I guess she'll kick me in the balls or something if I start down the wrong path."

“Probably."

“Why ... why did you take me into your home and bed the instant you laid eyes on me?"

“I told you. I like sex and you were available."

He shook his head. “There's more to it than that. You treat me special—rubbing my back, cooking up big meals, always watching the TV shows I like, doing things with your body no woman could possibly like just ‘cause you know I like it."

“I don't do nothing I don't like. Is this what Miz Jenkins wanted you to talk about?"

“I'm getting to it. There's something you ought to know. I knew Sandy, uh, Dollar years ago. She was a lying bitch then and she still is."

“She trying to get you in bed?"

“How'd you know?"

“Just a guess."

“She says if I don't do what she says, she'll make up lies about me—tell people I raped her—send me back to prison."

“Well, fuck her then. I don't give a shit."

“I don't want to—not after being with you. You're more than any man could ever want."

“You sweet talking me, Hank Elkins?"

“I reckon I am.” He pulled her to him but she pushed him away and went to the counter. She thumbed through the Rolodex and dialed a number.

“Sandy? This is Greta Dominick. Hank Elkins is my man now. You leave him be or I'll tell and I don't have to make up no lies."

Greta hung up the telephone and, with absolutely no expression on her face, said, “She won't bother you no more. I reckon that's what Miz Jenkins wanted."

“I can't believe you just talked to the richest woman in Dot like that."

“You heard me, didn't you?"

“Am I really your man?"

“It's just an expression."

“The thing is, I think I want to be your man."

“You like my blowjobs?"

“Damn right. You're the only woman I ever knew who would take all of it down her throat. But there's more to it than that."

“I know. You like my butt hole too."

“Shit, Greta. I plain old fashioned like you—all of you. In another week or two I'll have your place fixed up real nice. I was just thinking perhaps our relationship is something more than a ... a convenience."

“Hank Elkins, don't you go thinking no thoughts about love, marriage and the patter of little feet."