"Billy, not down there!" It was too late. His son was flying down the steep brick driveway at a speed that would have intimidated Usain Bolt. Ninja cape flapping in the breeze, sneaker heels flashing bright red, he had dwindled into nothing in the blink of an eye.
"Hi Tom." It was one of his neighbours, accompanied by two fairy princesses.
"Hi Joel. Well, who have we got here?" He took a couple of candy bars out of Billy's overflow bag and handed one to each of the two little girls.
"Elissa," one of them said, pouting.
"Then you must be Marissa."
"No, I'm Elissa. She's lying."
"How's it going? Where's Billy?" Joel was staring dubiously at the Ninja sword his son had left behind.
"Down there." Tom waved towards the long dark driveway.
"You let him go down there?"
"I didn't let him go. He just went."
"Well, it looks like it's dark. Nobody home. Ever meet them?"
"Not that I know of. Strange house down there." The neighbourhood was built on the side of a hill. The best lots, the ones where Joel and Tom lived, were up on top of ridge, where it was almost level. But this street ran along the side, where it was very steep, and the houses were set well above on one side, well below on the other, on lots that sloped so much that one side of the house had at least one extra floor, sometimes two or three. But this house was built on a little plateau, two hundred feet down at least from the street, and twice that far back. It was surrounded by thick forest for a hundred yards on all sides. A long brick driveway coiled its way down the cliff to reach it. No one ever ventured down that driveway. There were rumours. CIA safe house. Drug cartel. No one knew who lived there, or even, for sure, if the house was occupied. There were never cars in the driveway -- but, of course, there was an immense garage, with doors for three vehicles. There was no reason a car should be parked out in the open.
"Can you see him?" Tom was peering down the hill, searching for his son.
"Think so. On the deck. You can just make him out." Suddenly, there was a shaft of bright white as a door opened, then closed again.
"Okay," Tom said with false bravado, "he got his candy. He'll be back up in a minute or so."
"Okay. Come on princesses. Time to climb back up to home. See ya."
Joel dwindled away to little chants of "Carry me! Carry me!" Tom tried to imagine him struggling up the hill with a princess under each arm. Combined, they probably weighed a lot less than Billy. But there was no way he was going to carry his son back up the hill.
A minute passed, no Billy. Another minute. With a sigh, Tom put his foot on the first brick and began his descent.
Billy had dashed down without a care in the world, but Tom immediately felt his knees complaining at the steepness. He felt how slick the bricks were from the evening dew, how treacherous the leaves were, slippery as banana peels, how the acorns which had somehow managed not to roll down the hill were ready to do so with his assistance, and to take him with them in the process. He was trembling by the time he reached the flat stretch at the bottom. At that moment, lights went on everywhere, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He took a deep breath and walked up onto the porch. As he approached the door, it swung open. He was staring at a very beautiful woman, medium height, hair a tangled mass of dark curls, wearing a thin bathrobe, still wet enough that it was clinging to her body. Wet enough so that is was almost transparent, so that he could see the dark outlines of her nipples as they attempted to jut through the fabric. Wet enough that it was sticking to her thighs, so that when she stepped forward, each side of the robe went its separate way, revealing a second mass of curls that matched her long dark hair.
He forced his gaze up to her face, almost elfin in its delicacy, high cheek bones, small sharp chin, full lips, straight nose, flaring a little at the base, and those eyes! Huge, dark. Ochi chernoya, ochi strashnoya. Dark eyes, strange eyes. The words of that song they'd learned in high school, about all the Russian he remembered, came to him. Kak loobloo ya vac. How I love you. He stood there, frozen, unable to even breathe. He was sure that his heart had stopped beating, that he was going to die that way, disabled by the shock of her beauty.
"Hello," she offered him a hand, and broke the spell. "I am Karina." There was something Russian, at least Slavic, about her accent.
"Tom," he offered back. He was a bit startled at how she had shared her name with him so quickly. Karina, Karina. He tried to memorize it. It was embarrassing, when someone told them their name right off the bat like that, and you talked to them for an hour, and had no idea what that name was at the end of the conversation.
"You must be the father of Billy?" She smiled as he nodded. "He assured that me you would be down here in a few minutes. Please, come inside out of the cold." Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. But it was quite obvious that she was shivering a bit on the porch. Her nipples were very hard, probably from the chill.
"Where's Billy?" She had ushered him into a room full of leather couches and thick, plush carpets. He had seen rooms like that, on the internet. Usually, there was a naked body or two draped over the couches. This room, though, was empty. Except for her, sprawling herself out casually, careless of the way the robe was parting even further as she sat down.
"In the family room. Dining on milk and cookies." She saw the expression on his face. "It is necessary to fatten him up some more," she added. Then, seeing his bewilderment, "like Hansel und Gretel." She gave it the German pronunciation.
"Oh. He's fattened up enough already for one night. He's been sneaking candy bars the whole way." Tom sat down, not on the couch next to her, but across from her. It was not, he insisted to himself, so that he could stare at those smooth brown thighs, almost completely liberated now from the bathrobe.
"You're the runner!" They both blurted it out at the same time, as they recognized each other.
"I see you all the time!" Then she added, out of the blue, "you have a very beautiful body."
"Thanks." He knew it was true, but it was nice to have confirmation. "You too."
"Thank you for saying so." She smiled, and pulled one knee up beneath her chin. He was trying not to stare. No, that wasn't true. He was staring as hard as he could, and she was looking him in the eye, daring him.
"You are running during the day?" She phrased it cautiously, delicately, but the implication was obvious. Why aren't you at work?
"House husband," he answered. Might as well get it out in the open. Why not? She was baring herself to him. "Mr. Mom."
"Mr. Mom?" She echoed the phrase, puzzled.
"My wife works. I stay home and raise Billy."
"Oh." She seemed puzzled still. "I see."
No you don't. "You're wondering," he said, "why we don't both work, like most couples."
"No," she said, "I did not mean to offend you."
"It does not offend me." He was starting to imitate her speech patterns. "For a while we both did work. But we were never getting to day care on time. One of us would be on the road. We were working weekends. It was a nightmare." She gave him a look that made him blush. "I got laid off," he said. "I never found another job. My wife is a consultant. She makes a lot of money."
"But?" She actually leaned forward and put her hands on his knees.
