Continue loh… asshle and hypocrites please go to hell…
I don’t believe I ever looked forward to a simple lunch session in the school cafeteria as much as I did that Tuesday afternoon. I hardly slept at all that night, tossing and turning restlessly as my mind kept screaming at me: Nina is back! Nina is talking to me again! Bleary eyed I drug myself off to school and experienced a near crawl of the time continuum through first period. When the bell rang I nearly sprinted to my second class, feeling like the teenager I was charading as for perhaps the first time since returning.
I took my seat and waited nervously while other students filed in, my eyes drawn to the seat next to mine, the seat that had been so recently occupied by a silent and reproachful Nina. That would be different today, wouldn’t it? She hadn’t changed her mind, had she? She was talking to me again, wasn’t she?
When she entered the room her face was blank, expressionless. She walked to her chair and methodically removed her book and notepaper from her backpack before stowing it in under her seat. She arranged her supplies on her desk and sat down.
“Good morning, Nina,” I told her nervously.
For a horrible instant I thought that she was going to simply ignore me as she had in the past. Just keep her eyes facing forward, her psyche radiating a stern signal that communication was not desired. Had she changed her mind? Had she decided to wash her hands of me after all?
Finally she looked over at me, her expression remaining blank. “Good morning.”
“Are we still on for lunch?” I asked her, dreading her answer but needing to hear it all the same.
A slight smile gave me hope. “Sure,” she said with nod. “If you still want to.”
Relief and renewed hope washed over me. I returned her smile. “More than anything.”
Her smile widened, warming her face and making me feel giddy. She was smiling! At me no less! In that instant I blessed that idiot Brett and his carelessness at leaving the scalpel blade up in the tray. In fact I wanted to buy him a beer for doing that.
The entrance of the instructor and the initiation of that day’s lecture brought our conversation to an abrupt end. I hardly heard a word that was said.
Third period offered us little chance to talk. By the time we found our seats in the classroom it was time for class to start. I barely heard that lecture too, so intent was I on the agonizingly slow ticking of the clock as it marched its way towards lunch.
Finally, lunchtime came. We walked in silence together to the cafeteria, unsure of what to say to each other, unsure how to begin. We got our food and then found seats at an empty table. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from this reconciliation but the awkward silence we were experiencing was certainly not it. We picked at our food, neither one of us able to make the first statement, both of us secreting nervousness as we secreted perspiration when hot. What was happening here? I’d never had trouble talking to Nina before. Why couldn’t I say anything now? Was it because, for the first time, we were both aware of our naked feelings for each other? Because we’d both used the word love in conversation? Because we both knew that our relationship depended absolutely on what transpired? Were we both deathly afraid of saying the wrong thing?
I wanted to reassure her that I loved her. I wanted to promise once more that I’d never hurt her again. I wanted to hear her say she loved me, only this time not in a break-up conversation or in anger. But none of that seemed right. I’d said my piece the day before and she knew how I felt. I knew I was on probation here, an extremely rigid probation. If I said or did one wrong thing, Nina would possibly disappear from my life, moving back to the fate that was still trying to claim her.
I looked at her, at the features of her plain face that were so beautiful to me now. I knew that something needed to be said. She looked back at me, probably thinking the same, probably wondering what was going to come out of my mouth, probably wondering if she’d made a mistake in giving me a second chance. What had brought us together in the first place? What had made us love each other before? Could that be recaptured?
“What was the book?” I finally asked, speaking softly.
She continued to stare at me for a moment, her face taking on the expression of one that doesn’t believe she’s heard correctly. “The book?” she asked.
I nodded. “You said you read a book you were dying to discuss. What was the book?”
Her face warmed almost imperceptively and I knew I’d said exactly the right thing.
“It was called The Cider House Rules,” she said.
“By John Irving,” I said, thanking whatever gods there may be that it was a book I was familiar with. This was not entirely a coincidence. Nina and I, we’d discovered earlier in our relationship, shared the same tastes in literature.
“You’ve read it?”
“Yes I have,” I said. “A very astute analysis on the issue of abortion. Very good book, one of Irving’s best I think. I particularly liked how well the characterization was done.”
She sat up straighter. “So did I. My favorite character was Candy. I really liked the way she…”
We discussed the book together, hitting upon our favorite parts and characters and then opinionating on what the meaning of the story was. This then led to a discussion about abortion in general. Though we were talking together as we used to it was clear to both of us that there was a strain that had never existed before. Nina was very guarded, her smiles not as broad or genuine as they’d once been. It was as if she did not want to enjoy our conversation, did not want to allow herself to get too close to me too quickly.
By the end of the lunch period it was plain what the rules were going to be. We would be moving slow and I was going to have to regain the trust I had lost. It wasn’t going to be awarded to me by default. Those were my terms, firm though unspoken, and I was going to have to accept them.
________________________________________
I had put considerable thought into the problem of Anita. Though I had ended my relationship with her and though my second talk with her seemed to have brought this fact home to her, I still felt a considerable amount of guilt. Things were not right with Anita. She had been pulled from her destiny because of me. And because she had been pulled from her destiny, her children had been pulled from theirs. They were growing up without a father figure in the house, something they were not meant to do. The ramifications of this could only be guessed at. Maybe there would be no change in their future. But maybe there would be a catastrophic one. Anita, for many reasons, needed to be steered back to her destiny. The responsibility for doing this was mine alone.
My talk with Tracy and the run of my own thoughts had convinced me that putting Anita back on her track was not only possible but should be reasonably easy at this point in time. Fate was, for once, on my side, my ally in this endeavor. All she needed, I theorized, was a little nudge. But the more time that went by, the harder that nudge would have to be. Since I was under a doctor’s orders not to return to either ROP or my normal job, I took it upon myself to fill this idle time giving that nudge. Her and her intended needed to be put together. The question was how to do it?
I knew from my long relationship with her that Anita was a real estate agent specializing in single-family houses in the North Spokane area. Though I had never been there, I knew where she worked. I also knew that Jack Valentine, her destined husband, worked at the same office. What I did not know was what Jack Valentine did at that office and I only had the vaguest impression of what he looked like. My only memory of his features came from my previous life. I needed to gather some information.
Being free from ROP after my first lunch with Nina, I climbed into my car and drove to North Spokane, parking three blocks down from Anita’s office. It was located on a major street that fed to the freeway system. The street was lined with gas stations, mini-marts, and strip malls. The office itself was located between a dentist’s office and a pizza parlor. A light snow was falling as I entered the side parking lot of the complex, moving with all the caution of an infantry soldier in enemy territory.
I had purposely dressed warmly and was fully prepared to wait in the parking lot until she went out on a showing of some suburban house. I was aware that it might take several days of observation before such an event happened. After all, winter was not the prime time for real estate sales. But, to my surprise and delight, my luck was in. Anita’s car was nowhere to be seen after three circuits of the parking lot.
Gambling that she would not return in the short time I needed to be in there, I walked quickly to the door of the office and stepped inside, blessing the orgasmic warmth that rushed over me from the building’s heater.
There was a waiting area with several chairs and the inevitable outdated magazines. These faced a receptionist’s desk where a pretty young woman was typing with machine-gun bursts. Behind her were ten or so desks, about half of which were occupied. One of the occupants I recognized as Jack Valentine, the only male present in the room beside myself. None of the desk workers paid me any attention as I entered but the receptionist gave me a suspicious look.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice not nearly as friendly as it would have been had an adult walked in. She probably figured I was going to ask to use the bathroom or something.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said shyly. “My dad asked me if I would stop by here and pick up something called a…” I paused as if trying to recall information, “… a listing paper?”
“You mean a listing sheet?” she corrected, becoming instantly friendlier.
I nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”
“Did your dad tell you what range he wanted that for?” she asked patiently.
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head as if disgusted with myself for not remembering, “I’m sorry. Seventy-five to eighty-five thousand.”
“Why sure,” she said, brightening even more when she heard that. She stood up and headed over to one of the desk people.
I took a moment to admire her legs, which were truly magnificent encased in dark nylons as they were. I then cast a nervous look outside, making sure Anita hadn’t pulled up and was heading in. I could only imagine what would happen if she found me in there.
It took a minute but the receptionist returned with a sheaf of copied computer printouts upon which all of the current houses for sale in the price range I’d specified-the upper end for that time period in that city-were listed. The existence of such a document was not something the average sixteen year-old would have known about since most sixteen year-olds have not purchased a house in their past.
“Here you go, young man,” she told me, smiling professionally.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the papers and returning the smile. “And he also asked if I could have one of your brochures too?”
She picked one up from a stack on her desk. It was a full color pamphlet that listed the real estate agents employed by that office, their mission statement, and phone numbers. She handed it to me. “One brochure,” she said. “Anything else?”
“That should do it, ma’am,” I told her. “Thank you.”
A moment later I was out the door. Five minutes after that I was sitting in my car, letting the heater run while I looked at the paperwork I’d acquired. According to the brochure, Jack Valentine was indeed another agent, not a supervisor or a lawyer or something else, as I’d feared. Perfect. He was one of four males in an office staffed by eighteen.
I looked at the printout next, looking mostly at the addresses of the houses for sale. Eight years as a paramedic had made me more than passingly familiar with the layout of the streets in this, or indeed any Spokane County neighborhood. There were four listings in close proximity to the office. I started up my car and drove to the first of them, my eyes looking for the right combination of details. I had a pretty good idea of what I was looking for.
I checked all four of the houses as a matter of course but the moment I saw the second one I knew it was as close to perfect as I was going to get. A small city park was directly across the street, complete with rows of bushes and thick foliage. The house itself had two large trees in the front yard, trees which would serve to cut the view from inside the house. The driveway, which I looked at most carefully, was completely unobservable from the interior of the house due to it’s positioning. Truly, for what I had in mind, it could not be much better.
After dismissing the last house and firmly settling my mind on the second, I drove to the freeway, heading for downtown Spokane, my mind full of shaky confidence that my crazy scheme could be pulled off.
The hall of records was located in the Spokane County Courthouse, a dilapidated building in the unfashionable part of downtown. After battling for a parking spot, fighting my way through three clerks who wanted detailed explanations of why I, a teenager, wanted to take a look at these supposedly open public records, and then pouring through tons of paperwork in the largest filing cabinets I’ve ever personally seen, I was forced to admit there was something I missed terribly from my old life. The Internet. In 1999 I would have been able to pull up this information-information that took me more than two hours to retrieve in the courthouse-in less than five minutes. God bless technology, despite the Unabomber’s ravings to the contrary.
I finally found what I was looking for in an obscure file marked “Real Estate Transactions–1983”, a file which was not, I might add, stored with Real Estate Transactions 1900 to 1982 as you would have thought it would be. The file was more than an inch thick. I paged forward until I found the months of October and November. I began scanning through the columns of text and legalese, looking for two names in particular: Anita Browling and Jack Valentine. I found them eventually and copied down the names that were listed with them as clients.
Satisfied with my work, I returned the file to its proper place, signed out, and went home. I hoped this was all going to work. I’d been to a lot of trouble if it didn’t.
________________________________________
That night I gave Mike a call.
“What’s up?” he asked me, pleasantly enough.
“Not much,” I told him. “You still coming over to study tomorrow?”
“Fuckin’ aye,” he agreed. “Got a test coming up in English and I need you to go over this modifier crap with me.”
“You got it,” I said. “How’s ROP going?”
“Bitchin. I’m digging the new station. The BC has been hangin out with me a lot, you know, talkin to me and all. I think he likes me. He told me they’d probably be testing for hire in August this year. Looks like I might be getting paid to work there then.”
“Cool, Mike,” I told him. “You’d better quit smoking and start running.” I advised. “I hear that physical agility test is a bitch.”
“Yeah, that’s what the BC told me too,” he said. “I thought maybe I’d start jogging at night before I go to bed. That’ll probably help.”
“Probably,” I agreed, inwardly feeling very pleased to hear his words. It sounded like Mike was growing up a little. Strange but true. “Listen,” I told him, “I was wondering if maybe you could do me a little favor before you head to the fire station tomorrow.”
“It’d have to be a quick favor,” he told me. “I don’t want to be late.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” I explained. “Just meet me at the payphone by the office after lunch.”
“What for?”
“I need to borrow your voice for something.”
________________________________________
“How is your hand healing up?” Nina asked me the next day at lunch, her voice still careful and guarded.
“I think I’ll live,” I answered, holding it up for her inspection. The stitches were still quite prominent but the skin itself was starting to knit back together. It didn’t actually hurt anymore but it itched like mad most of the time.
She nodded quietly. “You ought to be more careful what you do,” she commented.
“I’m trying to be, Nina,” I told her seriously. “I’m really trying to be.”
This won me a smile. Not the best I’d ever seen from her, but it was getting there.
By the end of that lunch period she’d thawed a little more. Not completely, but a little more. She laughed a little. She offered looser comments. She even slapped at my shoulder playfully once, sending thrills racing through me at her touch. I began to suspect that things between Nina and I might just work out. Maybe even sooner than I’d expected.
I left the lunchroom happier than I’d been in quite some time.
________________________________________
Mike met me at the payphone just as I’d asked him to. The light snow of the day before had turned into heavier snow accompanied by an icy north wind. He was shivering when I found him there.
“God damn, dude,” he told me, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm. “I was about to leave. I’m freezing my ass off out here. What took you so long?”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I was talking to Nina and time kind of slipped away from me.”
“Nina’s talking to you again?” he asked, feigning disinterest.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess you could say we made up.”
“Cool deal,” he told me wisely, speaking with his voice of experience. “I think she’s got the hots for you, man. You play your cards right, you might even get some off her like I did with Kathy the other night. Let me tell you, that bitch knows how to suck a…” He continued for more than five minutes, graphically detailing an encounter with this girl; someone I’d never heard of.
When he finished, I said, “Well that’s cool. But anyway, can you make this call for me?”
“Sure,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”
I explained what I wanted to him and we went over it a few times. “And be sure to deepen your voice a little, just a little, so you sound like an adult.”
“And why are we doing this again?” he asked.
“It’s a long story,” I told him. “But you can rest assured it’s for the betterment of all mankind.”
He looked at me for a moment and then laughed. “Jesus, Bill, you sure know how to come up with ’em.”
I handed him a dime and he picked up the phone. As he plugged the coin into the slot he took a sheet of paper from me, scanned it for a second, and then punched in the number I’d instructed him to dial. He held on to the paper after dialing so he could refer to the names and addresses I’d printed there.
I was worried that he would over-act but, to give him credit, he performed perfectly. He listened for a few seconds and then I could see by his face that the phone had been picked up. With just the right amount of deepening to his voice, he said into the phone. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Browling. My name is Bob Hartley. I was referred to you by a friend of mine who purchased a house on Sallyport Way last month; Rick Whaling?”
He paused for a second and then gave me a thumbs-up, letting me know she was buying it so far.
“Yes,” he said. “Rick loves the house and he recommended you if I should ever find myself in need of a good real estate agent. Well, as it turns out, my wife and I have been planning to buy a house for quite some time. We’ve managed to put aside eight thousand for a down payment.” A pause. “Yes, that’s right. Eight thousand. Anyway, we’ve been kind of looking on our own and we found a house that is listed with your agency out in North Spokane.” Another pause. “Well it’s at…” He read from the sheet, “twenty-one nineteen Westbrook Lane.” A pause. “Yes, Westbrook Lane.” He rolled his eyes upward for a moment. “Why sure, I’ll hold.”
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “She’s going to get the file on that house,” he told me. “Who is this bitch anyway?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” I said cryptically.
He shrugged and went back to waiting. A minute or so passed. Finally he began to listen again. “Yes, that’s right,” he told Anita. “My wife and I would like to take a look at that house as soon as possible. Is there any chance you could show it to us, say today about one o’clock?”
He nodded, completely into the drama he was participating in. “Very good,” he said and then listened some more. “No no, we know where it’s at. How about we meet you there?” He listened some more. “That’s right, one o’clock. See you there. Thank you very much, Mrs. Browling.”
He hung up the phone and looked at me. “Whatever you’re planning,” he told me, “you’re dialed in.”
“Thanks, Mike. I owe you one. You’ve been a benefit to oppressed people everywhere.”
“Yeah right,” he said. “Well I gotta go, dude. Catch you this afternoon.”
A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Hey, Mike?”
“Yeah?” he said, in the middle of turning to leave.
“You got any buds? I’ve been itching to get stoned.”
He looked at me strangely for a second. “I got some at home,” he told me. “About enough for a joint, but I don’t have any on me. You want to get stoned later?”
“Yeah,” I said, hiding the grin that wanted to break out on my face. Mike had pot but he wasn’t bringing it to school with him! For Mike, that was an accomplishment. “After we study today. I think we deserve it.”
“Cool,” he said, nodding. “Well, gotta jet.”
“See ya,” I replied, watching him go. He really was growing up.
Finally I turned back to business. I picked up the phone and put in another dime. Consulting my list I dialed a number. It rang three times and then a male voice responded.
“North Spoke Reality. This is Jack Valentine, can I help you?”
“Why yes, Mr. Valentine,” I said, deepening my own voice, “you certainly can. You see, a friend of mine, Mark Vincent, recently purchased a house on…”
________________________________________
By 12:30 I was sequestered in the row of bushes in the park across the street from 2119 Westbrook Lane. Despite my overabundance of clothing I was shivering as the wind cut through my down jacket and snowflakes stuck to my cap. I was reasonably sure that I could not be spotted by anyone from the house even if they were looking for me, which they wouldn’t be. The snow that was rapidly accumulating on me would do nothing but help with my camouflage.
I’d enticed the two real estate agents to this house by offering them dream clients, making my fictional customers almost too good to be true. It was something no agent would ever turn down-people who had apparently already decided upon a house and had large down payments in reserve in order to help finance it. They would show up, visions of large, quick commissions dancing in their heads. I only hoped that one of my suppositions was correct. If I remembered my real estate agents correctly, they always parked in the driveway if they could when meeting someone at the house. This allowed the customer to get the whole view of the house as they stepped out of their vehicle. The driveway was big enough for both Anita and Jack’s cars to fit. It would certainly make things easier and less dangerous to me if they did not park in front of the house. If I was wrong, and they did, there were at least the trees to give partial cover.
As it turned out my supposition was a correct one. Anita arrived first at 12:50, fully ten minutes early. She pulled her car into the empty driveway, bringing it to a halt. Before she could even step out of her vehicle Jack pulled in, driving a late model (for that when) Buick. He parked it right next to hers.
They got out of their vehicles and looked at each other in surprise for a moment, holding a quick conversation. I couldn’t hear them but I could guess what they were saying. What are you doing here? A client for this house? Oh really? One o’clock? What a coincidence. What’s your client’s name? Really? Well, I’ll try not to step on you. Pretty weird, huh?
They spoke to each other as acquaintances, with no hostility I could detect. I saw them shake their heads a few times as if wondering at the quirks of fate that brought both of them here at exactly the same time. Finally a comment was passed that had to have amounted to, ‘why are we standing out here in the snow?’. They both headed for the front door.
Anita knocked on the door and then rang the doorbell a few times. In my planning stage of this I’d worried obsessively about whether or not the owners of the house would be home before I finally figured out that it really didn’t matter. Ideally, they would be gone but if they weren’t, the plan would still work. As it turned out, they were gone. Giving up on the doorbell, Anita walked over to the brass lockbox that was attached to the water pipe. She dialed in a combination and opened the box, pulling out a key. With the key, she opened the door. A moment later the both of them stepped inside, closing the door behind them.
My first thoughts that had led to this plan had told me that simply getting Anita and Jack into a house together for twenty to thirty minutes would be enough to push them together. Further reflection upon this, and the consideration that the occupants would be home, therefore breaking the mood, led me to modify that plan somewhat. Just putting them together might not be enough. I had to immerse them into a situation together. Even that, I reluctantly admitted, might not be enough, but it was better than just throwing them together. An extension to the plan developed. An extension that now needed to be put into effect.
I acted quickly, extricating myself from the bushes and moving west along the perimeter of the park until I was out of view of the house. I crossed the street and began walking along the sidewalk, strolling casually towards the house, doing my best impression of a neighborhood kid out for a walk in the snow. When I reached the driveway, where the two cars were parked, I took a good look around me, searching for any neighbors who happened to be out and paying attention. There were none. It was time.
I dashed between the two cars, both of which were ticking as their engines cooled down, quickly putting myself between the garage door and the front of Anita’s Chrysler. A quick look assured me that from here I was unobservable from any angle. I had changed the oil in Anita’s car several times, usually as a prelude to sexual activity, and I knew the engine compartment of it well. I knew, for instance, that you did not need to be inside the car in order to open the hood. My hand found the hood release, which was warm, and slowly pulled it until I felt a click.
Carefully, taking another quick glance for unwanted observers, I lifted it, wincing at the squeaking noise it made. When it was about a foot above the engine compartment I peered inside. Though, as I’ve mentioned before, I am not a mechanical genius, my 34 years on two different Earths had taught me enough to know that an internal combustion engine could be quickly disabled by removing one particular piece of it. I reached in and grasped the coil wire, which led to the distributor cap. Without this wire, electricity could not get to the spark plugs and the cylinders could not fire. I gave a sharp yank and the wire was in my hand. I stuffed it into my jacket pocket and then eased the hood back down, giving it a firm push to latch it and wincing again at the sharp noise that resulted.
One more quick glance around for danger and I dashed back to the sidewalk. I headed back the way I came, crossed the street once again, and moved back into the park. A few minutes after that I was back in the bushes, observing the house. I began to wait.
It was 1:45 before they both emerged from the house. In the ensuing fifty minutes I’d seen both of them peer out multiple times, looking for their clients pulling up out front, clients that were figments of my imagination. When they left the house, carefully locking it up and putting the key back in the lock box, they were talking to each other and shrugging. I wasn’t close enough to read their expressions so I could not tell how cozy they’d gotten during the waiting period.
They conversed a moment more and then headed for their respective automobiles. Jack jumped in his first and fired up the engine before Anita was even settled. I had a moment’s horror when it looked like he was going to back out and drive away before Anita even had a chance to crank her now-worthless engine. But thankfully, his mother had taught him some manners and he stood by, waiting for her to leave.
From across the street I could hear the grinding of her engine turning over without catching. She would grind it for about ten seconds, let it rest for five, and then grind it again. This went on for about four cycles before the abrupt cut-off of exhaust vapor from Jack’s tailpipe signaled that he’d shut down his engine.
He stepped out and walked over to her door. She rolled down the window and a brief conversation ensued. She then opened her door and stepped out, allowing him to sit down in her seat. He cranked the engine a few times himself, as if the mere presence of a man behind the key would make it fire up. Finally, when it didn’t, he walked around to the front and popped the hood.
The hood obstructed my view of the two of them while they peered inside but it was readily apparent that Jack knew his way around an engine compartment. It wasn’t sixty seconds before he stepped out from behind it, looking nervously around the street, peering up and down it, looking for the culprit who had taken Anita’s coil wire. He spoke to her for a moment, pointed into the hood compartment, and then she too began to look around.
They quickly gave up looking for the guilty party and turned their attention to looking under and around the vehicle, as if the coil wire could have just fallen off the distributor. When they didn’t find it on the ground they searched the hood compartment. When they didn’t find it there they began to converse again, this time with much shaking of heads and puzzled glances up and down the street. The conversation continued for a few moments and then Anita smiled at him, obviously thanking him. They walked to his car and he opened the passenger door for her (way to go Jack, I thought happily). She sat down and he walked across to the driver’s side. A moment later his car started and they drove off.
Though I didn’t know Jack at all, I know what I would have done in such a circumstance. I would have driven her to the nearest auto parts store and bought her a new coil wire, taking it back to the car and making a big show of installing it for her, making it look, of course, more difficult a job than it really was. I would then dramatically sit behind the wheel and fire up the engine, grinning sheepishly at the accomplishment of fixing the car for her. Hell, ma’am, it weren’t no trouble at all. Of course she would be grateful to her knight in shining armor. Perhaps they would decide to go to dinner?
As they disappeared from my sight I extricated myself from the bushes and stretched, popping my stiff joints. I shook the accumulation of snow from my clothing and then headed for my car.
“The rest is up to you, Jack,” I mumbled to myself, smiling as I walked. “Take advantage of Fate.”
________________________________________
Overnight the snowstorm we’d been experiencing developed into a full-scale blizzard. The wind tore through the Eastern Washington area, driving the snow before it. When I awoke Thursday morning it was still going strong. A look out my window, at the icy, covered streets, at the snowdrifts more than eight feet high in some places, told me that I would not be going to school that day.
My confirmation of this came when I went downstairs to breakfast and found Dad still in his pajamas and robe, his face unshaven. As a teacher Dad was probably even happier than the students were when they closed school for the day. After all, he still got paid for it. Mom too was lounging around in her pajamas. Her work had apparently decided to make it a holiday as well. I was not as happy. That meant there would be no lunch with Nina that day.
“There’s lots of good news today,” Dad told me as I sat down at the table.
“How’s that?” I asked him, digging into the bacon and eggs Mom had prepared in honor of the non-work day.
“Looks like you were right on the mark about the latex thing,” he said, sliding a section of the newspaper over to me. “Take a look at this.”
I picked up the section and looked where he was pointing.
FEAR OF AIDS LEADS TO NATIONWIDE GLOVE SHORTAGE read the headline. It was an Associated Press story, which meant that it had been printed in newspapers all over the country. The text of the story told of hospitals, fire departments, and ambulance companies all ordering large amounts of latex gloves in response to fear of disease and a federal OSHA mandate that all health care providers wear gloves on every patient contact. Every patient contact! This was exactly what I’d been waiting for.
“Out of sight,” I said, grinning.
“So this is going to make you some money on those stocks, right?” Dad asked.
“This is going to be like hitting the lottery,” I told him happily. “Actually like hitting it twice.”
“Twice?” he enquired, putting his paper down.
I nodded. “There’s two aspects of stock ownership in a case like this,” I explained. “First of all there’s profit. Selling all of those gloves is making a lot of money for the companies I’ve invested in. That allows me dividends because as a partial owner of the company, I’m entitled to a cut of the profits. The second aspect is the price of the stock itself. Now it’s gone steadily upward since I first invested in it but not dramatically by any means. The increase merely reflects those wise investors who have taken the time to research the company and note the recent increase in profits. But now that this story has appeared in the paper, all that will change. Everybody and their mother will know that latex is going to go through the roof and they will all rush to buy stock in it. That is going to drive the price of the stocks through the roof, therefore making my holdings much more valuable.”
Dad had long since learned not to question my wisdom on the workings of the stock market. After all he saw me researching it and studying it every day. “So how much are we talking about here?” he asked.
“It would not surprise me,” I said, “if the value of my stock doubled by the end of the year and tripled by the end of the following quarter. Plus I stand to receive a healthy dividend check.”
“Amazing,” he whispered. “And I thought you were throwing your money away.”
“This also means that I need to start putting my income somewhere else, to find another trend that’s about to take off.”
He looked confused. “Why is that? Shouldn’t you continue to invest in latex?”
“No,” I told him. “As the stock goes up, putting further money in it will be futile. Remember that I now have to pay the inflated price for more of the stock. What I need to do is keep my assets in latex right where they are and let them go up. But my future income needs to be put into other places; places that are cheap now but that are likely to rise in the future. That’s what investing in the market is all about.”
“So what are you going to do now?” he asked.
I smiled. “I’ve been planning this for quite a while now,” I told him. “The money from the latex investment will probably peak about the time I’m ready for college. It should be enough to get me enrolled and carry me through the first year. From now on my paychecks will be invested in something with slower, but steady medium-term growth. Something that will rise considerably over the next few years instead of months. I’ll continue to dump money into those until they rise to a point where they’ve reached their peak of growth. It’ll build me up capital for the big move I’m planning to make in a few years.”
He shook his head. “What do you mean? What are you going to invest in now? And what big move are you talking about?”
“Right now I’m going to begin investing in the computer industry. Apple, IBM, and a chipmaker called Intel. Over the next few years I believe that computers are going to start appearing everywhere and they’re all going to be made by a few companies.”
Dad looked at me in amazement. “You think those three are going to make all of these computers and the chips? What about Atari and Commodore?”
“I think they’ll be out-marketed,” I said. “Just a prediction you understand, but they probably won’t be able to hold their own when the computer revolution swings into full gear.”
“I see,” he said, looking at me strangely. “And this big move you’re planning to make?”
“It’s kind of complicated,” I told him. “I’ll know it when I see it though. You see, every computer has to have something called an operating system; software that tells it what to do.”
“Okay,” he said, semi-following me so far.
“The company that gets in on that market will make billions, trillions even. They’ll quickly be able to dominate the software market if they make their move at the right time and in the right way.” I grinned. “I imagine that there’s someone out there who sees this as well as I do. I imagine that someone has probably got a company that makes software going right now, as we speak. And I imagine that someone is just waiting for the time to be right to introduce an operating system that will set the standard for all computers and make it damn near impossible to operate one without it.”
“Bill, how do you know so much about this?” Dad asked me slowly.
I shrugged. “I read a lot, Dad. And I’m blessed with above average reasoning ability.”
He shook his head a little. “Right,” he said. He considered for a few more minutes. “You know, I have some money from each paycheck that is just going into the credit union savings account.”
I looked up at him. “Yeah?”
He nodded. “Maybe I should put some of that in the stock market.”
“Maybe you should.”
________________________________________
By late afternoon the worst of the blizzard was past, leaving only flurries drifting through the air. The snowplows caught up with their work, clearing the roads of the city to something approaching passable. About six o’clock, after being cooped up in the house all day I was getting restless. I needed to get out and do something. An idea occurred to me. An idea that I couldn’t get out of my head once it was in there.
Maybe Nina would like to go out and catch a movie with me.
It was probably too early in our reconciliation for this. It might seem I was being too forceful, pushing too hard. I might lose some of the ground that I’d gained. I probably shouldn’t chance it, I finally decided.
And so thinking I went to the living room and dug out the newspaper, flipping through to the movie section. Maybe I would just go by myself. Yes, that’s what I would do. I frowned as I read through what was currently playing. One of the problems of traveling back in time was that you inevitably had seen all of the movies before. I had another fifteen years to wait before something new, from my perspective, came out. I sighed.
I put the newspaper down and then picked it up again. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask her. She wouldn’t abandon me for that would she? But then again…
With a start I realized that I was acting like what I was: a teenager trying to work up the courage to ask a girl out on a date. I’d asked girls out on dates a thousand times in my life. Chastising myself for being immature, I picked up the phone.
Thought I hadn’t called it in a while, I knew Nina’s number from memory. The phone rang more than eight times and I was about to hang up in frustration when it was finally picked up.
“Hello?” It was Nina. The very sound of her voice thrilled me inside.
“Hi, Nina,” I said. “It’s Bill.”
There was a very long pause. “Oh… hi,” she said finally, in a voice that sounded decidedly weird.
“Nina?” I asked, “Are you okay?”
“Uh, sure,” she told me. “Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes? I’m eating dinner right now.”
“Sure,” I said. “But…”
“Thanks,” she said quickly and the phone clicked in my ear.
Slowly I put the receiver back in its cradle. What was that all about? Why had she sounded so weird?
With a worried mind I went back to the kitchen to grab a soda from the refrigerator.
It was another twenty minutes before the phone rang. My dad picked it up and yelled for me. I told him I’d take it in the den and locked myself in there.
“Hi, Bill,” said Nina, her voice sounding much more normal now.
“Hi,” I answered. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Why would you ask that?”
“You just sounded kind of funny on the phone.”
“Oh,” she said, and then, “well, the fact of the matter is that it’s probably not a good idea to call me here just now. I haven’t told my parents that you and I are, uh, talking again.”
“I don’t understand,” I told her. “Your parents liked me before. Just because we had a… well a fight and stopped seeing each other for a while, why shouldn’t they like me? All teenagers do that from time to time.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she replied. “I don’t really want to go into it right now. But please, don’t call me at home just yet?”
“Okay,” I answered, very troubled by this.
“So what did you want?” she asked brightly.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to think quickly. The don’t-call-here speech had just taken the wind out of my sails, making asking her out seem a bad idea after all.
“Bill?” she asked. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” I said, throwing caution to the wind. After all, I had to say something. “I was wondering if maybe you’d… uh, well… like to go out to a movie with me tonight?”
“A movie?” she asked, her voice unreadable.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “If you’re not doing anything else, that is.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” she asked next, seemingly puzzled.
“Well, yes. I am.”
She was silent as she digested my request. Finally she said, “It’s a bad idea to do this so soon, Bill.”
I cringed, feeling stupid for asking, feeling ashamed of myself for pushing things. “Oh,” I said. “Well maybe some…”
“But what the hell?” she interrupted cheerily. “I could stand to see a good movie tonight.”
I was so overcome by the rejection that it took me a moment to process that I hadn’t been rejected after all. “Really?” I finally said.
“Really,” she told me and I could hear that she was smiling, I could see it. “What did you want to see?”
“Anything you want, Nina,” I answered happily. “Anything at all.”
“I’ll borrow Mom’s car and be over in a little bit.”
We hung up our phones and I sat there for a moment, basking in the glow of success. She was going to go out with me. On a date no less. Things really were looking up.
Finally I stood up and headed upstairs to take a shower and get dressed.
The movie we decided on was one that I really had no desire to see, Flashdance. But I didn’t let this bother me. I would have gone to see a four-hour documentary on the history of the ice cube tray with her if that was what she’d wanted. We took my car, leaving her Mom’s parked at the curb in front of my house.
We talked of inconsequential things on the way; the storm we’d experienced, our hopes for college scholarships, how our ROP jobs were going. It was the first time since we’d come back together that there was no strain in the conversation. Our words flowed easily out of our mouths, the friendship that we’d developed in the past finally manifesting itself once more. Nina giggled frequently as we chatted, even blushing a time or two at my remarks. She seemed like she was regaining her old personality. It made me warm inside to look at her, to see her smile, to hear her laugh.
We took seats near the back of the nearly empty theater, setting down our popcorn and stowing our drinks. We reclined and munched and drank and waited for the movie to start. We talked of some of the things we’d done in the past. Going to the lake in the summer, studying during the school year, going skiing in the winter. The remember game. Just as the lights started to dim down in preparation for the ten minutes of previews that preceded every movie, I turned to her.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” I told her. “And I’m glad you gave me a second chance.”
Her blue eyes stared at mine, her face forming a serious smile. “Me too.”
About twenty minutes into the movie, while the dancers were dancing and the music was pounding from the sound system, I reached slowly out with my left hand, putting the palm over the back of Nina’s hand. She looked at me for the briefest second, hesitation marring her face, and then she turned her hand over, grasping mine, hesitation turning to contentment. Her hand was soft and dainty, fragile in mine. After all I’d experienced since my return, after all the girls and women’s bodies I’d enjoyed in every possible way, you wouldn’t have thought I’d get excited over the simple holding of a hand in a movie theater. You wouldn’t have thought… but it was thrilling me to the core.
Later on she edged slightly closer to me, squeezing my hand a little. I was fumbling and unsure of myself, of how far to take this, but in the end I couldn’t resist. I unclasped my hand from hers and put my arm around her shoulders. She stiffened momentarily, probably in nervousness as opposed to hostility, and then she relaxed, allowing me to pull her against me. She gazed up at me dreamily for a second.
“I really love being with you, Nina,” I whispered to her.
“Thank you,” she whispered back, nestling up against me, resting her head on my shoulder, making me happier than I’d ever been with any other person.
When the movie was over we walked hand in hand out of the theater into the frigid night. The sky had cleared of clouds, allowing the stars to shine in all their glory. The half moon drifted directly above us. Our breath puffed out before us and our cheeks turned red on contact with the air.
“Do you want to take a walk before we go back?” I asked her.
“Bill,” she giggled, “it’s freezing out here.”
“Yep,” I agreed. “So what do you say?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
The theater was located in the downtown mall, near the river. We strolled off the grounds and towards the scenic bridge and the levee. Soon we were staring down at the running water, watching the moonlight shimmer off of it.
“Did you like the movie?” she asked me, nestling against me as we stood there, allowing me to feel her weight pushing at me through her heavy down jacket. I put my arm around her once again, drawing her closer. She came willingly.
Though I’d promised myself that I would always be honest with Nina, there were times when that promise could be broken. This was one of those times. “Oh yes,” I told her. “It was a very good movie. That was a good choice.”
She looked up at me, staring in my eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” I assured her.
“I thought it sucked ass,” she informed me huffily. “We should’ve gone with All the Right Stuff.”
My jaw dropped for a second as I heard this and then I burst out laughing.
“What?” Nina asked, looking at me with amusement.
“I thought it sucked too,” I told her. “I was just being polite because you picked it.”
“I didn’t pick it!” she said, laughing with me. “You did!”
“Only because I thought that was what you wanted to see.”
“Why would you think I wanted to see that crap?” she asked, shaking her head in exasperation.
“Because every woman wants to see that crap,” I told her. “It’s a movie made for women.”
She turned towards me, not drawing her body away, but pushing it against mine. We were zipper to zipper with our down jackets, eye to eye. She let her hands slide down until they were nestled in the large pockets on my jacket. “I’m not most women, Bill,” she said softly, pulling me tighter. “You should know that by now.”
“I guess I should,” I answered, with a voice that was no longer steady.
Our eyes were only inches apart, our faces close enough so that I could feel her breath against me. The vapor from our exhalations combined, swirling together before drifting off into the night. I put my arms around her, feeling the curves of her body somewhere beneath all of the fabric and duck feathers she was adorned with. Our legs were pushing together. My body was tingling with anticipation and nervous desire. I was almost giddy with it.
Finally I leaned forward, moving slowly but deliberately, and touched my lips to hers. She did not resist, in fact she leaned into me, meeting me halfway. Her lips were cold and dry from the icy wind, but never had a pair felt so good against mine, never had my body reacted as it was reacting to hers. We slid our lips together softly, the kiss lasting less than ten seconds before we broke apart. But worlds suddenly changed in that ten seconds.
We continued to stare at each other for a long time after our lips parted.
“That was nice,” Nina finally said, barely above a whisper.
“Very nice,” I agreed.
“We’ve crossed a line,” she told me. “I told myself that going out with you was a bad idea. That if I did, I would fall right back in love with you the way I was before. You haven’t proven yourself to me yet, Bill. You haven’t shown me that you’re any different. You could be just putting on an act. After all, you must have a lot of charm to do the things you’ve done.”
“Nina, I…”
“Shhh,” she hushed. “Let me finish.”
“Okay.”
“In the end I simply couldn’t stay away from you. Except for a few rumors from school, I have no proof that you’re any different. I have no proof that you’ve given up your old ways. Your shining ability among the girls at school was your discretion. Your downfall was that it was they who were indiscreet.
“And I was right, Bill.”
“Right?” I asked.
“I fell right back in love with you. When you held my hand in the theater I almost melted. When you put your arm around me I did. And when you kissed me just now.” She took a deep breath, blowing a large plume of vapor into the night. “I love you, Bill. I was starting to get over you but now I’m head over heels again. You tell me you’re different now, that you’ve changed. I certainly hope so, Bill. I certainly hope I’m not being played for a fool.”
“You’re not, Nina,” I answered her. “I swear you’re not. I love you. I really do.”
“You hold my heart in your hand now, Bill.”
I nodded. “Yes I do. And I promise you won’t regret giving it to me.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, leaning forward for another kiss.
___________________________________________
Thats all for now bros.. gotta get some work done..
Clap! Clap! Clap! Sorry cannot give you anymore points as I have already done it. Best i have ever heard.
There are still those bros that keep giving me negative le…. this story really so not well liked meh….
We stayed by the water for a few more minutes, holding onto each other tightly, feeling the warmth that comes from more than just body heat radiating back and forth. We kissed a few more times, cautious, soft kisses. Nina was inexperienced at this sort of thing and I did not want to push her too fast and cheapen the magic of the night. Mostly we just held each other, her resting her head on my shoulder, me smelling the faint scent of her shampoo. I felt I could have done that forever.
Though love was in the air that night, so was a nearly zero degree wind-chill factor. Despite the down jackets and the embrace we shared, we finally began to shiver uncontrollably and our lips became so numb we could no longer feel our kisses. Reluctantly we let each other go and walked hand in hand back to my car.
We drove in silence for a bit, letting the car’s heater tackle the task of warming up the interior. I glanced at her several times. She was looking out the window at the passing scenery but not seeing anything. Her eyes were shining and glazed, her expression contented.
When I got to the freeway and no longer needed to shift gears, I took her hand in mine once again, doing it carefully since that was my sore hand. She gazed at me lovingly.
“No matter what happens, Bill,” she told me, “I’m always going to remember this night. My first date, my first kiss. Thank you for taking me.”
“I’ll always remember this night too,” I said.
A few more minutes passed, bringing my house and an end to this night ever closer. Finally I asked, “When can we see each other again, Nina?”
“I’m not doing anything tomorrow,” she told me quickly.
Sadly I shook my head. “Tracy’s flying in tomorrow and I promised Mom I’d pick her up at the airport. We’ll be doing all the family crap. But Sunday’s free and I have lots of Christmas shopping to do.”
“So do I,” she said. “How about Sunday morning around nine?”
“It’s a date.”
“I’ll come over to your house again,” she said. “Remember, no phone calls just yet.”
“Okay,” I said doubtfully. “I take it your parents would not be too thrilled to find out you’re dating me?”
“I’m sorry, Bill,” she said quietly. “I would just assume we keep this a little secret from them for the time being.”
“They liked me before,” I offered hopefully.
“That was before,” she said. “Things are different now. Very different.”
“What do you mean?”
There was a long pause, as if she was trying to gather her thoughts. “Bill, my parents are kind of old you know.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“My mom was 38 when she had me, my dad was 40. They’d been told that they couldn’t have children and they’d lived with that for years. They’d accepted it. And then, after all that time, my mom managed to get pregnant anyway.”
I nodded, not sure what to say, not sure where this was leading.
“You see,” she continued, “I’m their only child and they’re kind of overprotective at times. They’re also from a different generation than your parents. They’re as old as your grandparents are. I’ve always been very close to them, probably closer than a lot of kids are because of how they’ve always treated me. I’ve always been like, well a gift from God to them. Anyway, the day that you and I had our… our fight, I went home crying. I couldn’t stop crying in fact.”
“Uh huh,” I said, feeling more than a tinge of guilt at this admission.
“Well, my mom was home. She found me crying and she asked me what was wrong. You have to understand that was a strange way for me to act. I learned way back in grade school when I was ugly, lisping Nina not to cry. So obviously, Mom knew something was very wrong with me. I cried and cried that day while she held me and finally I told her what was wrong. I told her everything.”
“You mean…” I couldn’t finish, so stunned was I. She had told her everything?
“Everything,” Nina said. “About how I loved you. That she already knew. But then I told her about how I’d found out that you were sleeping with every girl you could get your hands on. How you had a reputation around the school for that sort of thing. About how the girls would come up to me and ask, well, you know.” She smiled crookedly. “Mom was kind of upset about that. In fact, she used a few words about you that I’d never heard her use before.”
“Jesus, Nina,” I said quietly. She had told her everything!
“She was more upset than I ever would have imagined. I figured she would comfort me and tell me things like ‘you’ll be okay without him’ and ‘he’s not worthy of you’, and stuff like that, you know?”
“Mother things,” I offered.
“Right,” she said, cracking a slight smile. “But that wasn’t what happened at all. She was outraged, angry. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen my mom that angry before. Not even when I was playing in her car in the driveway when I was a kid and accidentally let off the emergency brake and crashed it into the neighbor’s car across the street. She was almost insane with anger, Bill.”
“Wow,” I said, thinking it was no wonder that I’d gotten a cold reception on the few times I’d called after our break-up. “And your dad?”
“Mom told him that night,” Nina said. “I heard them talking softly to each other when they went to bed. The next morning he told me that I was to ’never see that bastard again’. That’s an exact quote, mind you. It was pretty plain that Dad was even angrier than Mom. Later that day Dad took me aside and had a talk with me.”
“A talk?” I asked, trying to picture jovial, terminally happy Mr. Blackmore having a serious talk about anything.
She nodded. “He told me about, well, boys like you. Boys who were only after one thing. He used a lot of profanity as he talked about it and he lost his temper a few times even though he was the only one talking. He told me how they could ‘fuck up my whole life’ and ‘destroy everything I’ve worked for’, how they were good for nothing but destroying other people’s relationships.”
“It seems your parents have some rather strong feelings about this,” I said, giving the understatement of the year. What she was telling me was very unsettling. Though I would have expected some depth of anger from her parents at what she had told them, this seemed a little excessive, even for older generation people who were raised in the pre-World War II era.
“Yes,” she answered, “strong feelings would be a good way to put it. Thank God it was me who answered the phone today. I don’t know what would have happened if Dad would have been the one.”
“Are we going to keep seeing each other, Nina?” I asked her.
She looked sharply at me. “Yes,” she answered. “I want to see you as much as possible. I’m already pouting to myself because I can’t see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t you think that your parents will find out about us pretty soon?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about that,” she told me. “If I keep coming over to your house and you don’t call me at mine, there’s no reason why they need to know anything.”
I opened my mouth to protest this statement. I wanted to tell her that her reasoning was flawed, that if I’d learned one thing in the past few months it was that you could not hide your activities from the people you lived with for any length of time. But before the first word could clear my lips I slammed them shut. What purpose could such a discussion serve right now? What purpose except to spoil what had been a perfect, glorious night?
“Okay, Nina,” I said, giving her a smile and giving her hand another squeeze. “We’ll play it your way.”