6.
 The next morning he called Laurissa's cell phone from his car. "Just thought I'd say hello."
"I'm glad you did," she said. "This pool's looking mighty good." This pool? She must be home.
"I could use a swim right about now," he said.
"I'm tied up just now. How about in two hours?"
"Sounds good. I'll swing by." Two hours it was. He'd mark it as a long lunch with a client on his weekly sales log.
Laurissa looked thinner, somehow, when he saw her.
She wore a fluffy white robe. "Hi," she said brightly. "Look what I have." She tossed him a red white and blue beach ball. He dropped his cane, caught the ball, passed it back, and laughed.
"Hey, good reflexes," she said, stepping out of her robe. She wore a red bikini. Her skin was caramel; she must have been tanning. Small firm breasts, flat belly, long legs with just a punch of quiver around the thighs that made him want to touch her.
They tossed the ball back and forth in the pool. Played tag; he did surprisingly well in the water. She was gentle but affectionate. They bumped a lot. He swam underwater, grabbed her legs. They hung on side by side in the deep end.
"It's nice to have a friend," she said.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the mouth. They sank down in the water embracing. Her tongue met his. Then they surfaced, gasping. They played a game: Dove down to see how deep they could go and kiss. One time, their chins bumped on the bottom. Bill felt as if he were twenty years old again. She struggled to the surface in a welter of quicksilver bubbles and laughter. He felt the cold water, and a cold fear deep inside.
In the apartment, she looked very serious. She held his neck, pressed her thumbs worryingly into his collarbones. "Bill, what are we doing? I don't want to hurt you."
He pushed her hands down, pressed her to him. "You won't hurt me. Look, I'm kind of confused too, but I want you. Haven't felt like this in years."
"Go slow. We must go slow." She placed a fingertip on his nose. "I'm not looking for a kind of serious gig."
"I'm not either," he said. "I have a lot of things to sort out. All I know is I want to be friends with you, and I like holding you like this."
"It is pretty nice," she admitted. She looked up with pure Puckishness. "Want to be my sugar daddy? Just kidding. We can pretend."
"Sounds like a nice game." He laughed.
She said: "We could pretend. Are you hungry?"
He nodded. She made him comfortable in a corner of her small kitchen. He sat at a round white table. She wore an apron and fussed over the stove. She cut onions, which filled the kitchen with tears. She chopped celery, sliced tomatoes, shaped and patted burger patties. She put mayo and ketchup near the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Bill dealt them each a flower-speckled napkin, as if he were dealing cards. They laughed together.
After lunch, they sat on the couch in the living room. She sat closer to him than she'd ever done before. He put his arm over her shoulders and said: "I can help you with your rent. If you're not offended. I don't mean anything by it."
She pressed her forehead against his chest. After a long, pained silence, she said: "I don't have much choice right now. The super keeps leering at me."
"I don't blame him, in a way."
"You're so gallant." She pressed him back against the couch, and petted heavily. Steam rose on a nearby window, and a cactus in a little clay pot no doubt thrived on the moisture.
Bill found he was out of practice. His body was stiff and he was limp, even when she massaged him while they French kissed. He turned his face away in embarrassment and frustration. He was angry at himself.
"It's okay," she told him.
"I'm out of practice," he had to admit as he reached for his cane. He'd give anything now to flee from her. He wanted her badly. Finally, he admitted it to himself. What had happened to that twenty year old inside of him who used to be ripe and ready at a moment's notice?
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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