The Last Incubus Ch 05

The Last Incubus: Chapter 05

Chapter 5: Ross loses his virginity.

"For God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral. ~ Hebrews 13 v. 4.

*****

Thursday, November 30

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Tina took her usual shower at her usual time, except that today she kept the bathroom door closed. She emerged dressed in her pink terrycloth bathrobe, leaving the shower for me. She also didn't open the door and peek at me when I was in there. Maybe my words had some effect after all.

"Don't forget, five o'clock in my office," she reminded me before I left for Advanced Forensics.

I got to class before Bailie and left her the front center seat, taking the one next to it. She smiled when she saw me and looked surprised to see that I left her usual seat open.

"Don't you want that spot? Isn't that where you sat on Tuesday?" she asked.

"I saw the look on your face when you walked in on Tuesday, Bailie with an 'ie'. It was obvious to me that you usually sit there. I just didn't know it at the time. But now that I do, I'm giving it back to you."

She giggled. "That's silly, but I appreciate the gesture. But, if I ever get here before you, I'm going to return the favor."

"Now who's being silly?" I grinned.

Professor Talisman spent the first part of class reviewing the results from Tuesday. There was one group of students who mislabeled their sample. Another group used fingernail clippings rather than skin underneath the fingernails. The fingernail samples were a poor choice in any case, since any cells that might have been picked up were usually mixed with dirt and other debris that distorted the results. Bailie and I were the only pair with a perfect score. Although that didn't explain the discrepancy of my DNA report.

After class, I asked the professor about my report. He tried to brush me off at first, but when I persisted, he changed his approach and suggested I come up with my own answers from a forensic perspective. He went on further to say that since I hadn't been present for most of the semester, he would like a full written report of my conclusion before the end of the semester which would count for half of my grade, warning me that "lab error" could not be used even as a part of my conclusion.

Bailie waited for me in the hall during my discussion with Prof. Talisman.

"What did he say?"

"Apparently, the results are accurate. He wants me to come up with my own explanation and write a report about it," I explained.

"What are you going to write?"

"I have no idea, but I'm already late for my Marketing class. How about we meet for lunch? My treat."

"I'll have lunch with you, but I don't want you to treat me. I brought a salad from the diner. Is it alright with you if we meet in the library and walk to the cafeteria?"

"Sounds good. See you at noon."

***

Sitting together at lunch, it was gradually dawning on me that Bailie actually liked my company. She even offered suggestions about the DNA report Professor Talisman had assigned me. But there was one question about her that was bothering me. It wasn't until we were getting ready to leave that I gathered the courage to ask.

"Why does everyone call you 'Mousey'?"

"Probably because I tend to be very quiet and keep to myself. It also doesn't help that my last name is Mousseux," she explained.

"I'm sure you know that's French for 'mossy'. If it was me, I think I would prefer to be called 'Mousey'," I joked.

Bailie giggled. "I never thought of it that way. But, now that you've said it, I think I agree with you."

After lunch, we spent some time together at the library before she had to leave to work at the diner.

I walked her to the door when it was time for her to go.

"Would it embarrass you if I were to visit you this weekend--at the diner, I mean?"

I was flattered to see her face light up when I asked.

"No, not at all! I'd love to see you."

I expected her to turn towards the door to leave, but she just stood there, looking back at me. We stared for several seconds, until I remembered our agreement about not being nervous around each other. My heart started racing.

"Bailie?"

"Yes?" she said quickly, raising her eyebrows.

"I don't think you're 'mousey' at all. Of all the people I know, I think you're the strongest, bravest, and smartest person I've ever met."

Her eyes sparkled as they welled with tears, like stars reflected on a lake.

She leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips before quickly stepping back. She didn't say a word as she quickly turned and hurried out the door, but not fast enough for me to see a teardrop run down her cheek and land on the floor in front of me.

My heart stopped racing a couple minutes later.

***

At 4:45 I packed up my books and laptop and headed for the Admissions Office to meet Tina. I had calmed down somewhat since last night, but I was still uncomfortable about Tina's promiscuous behavior. I still remembered her as a cute 11-year-old with red, curly, copper-colored hair, whose cheeks dimpled when she laughed and was a bit of a tomboy full of mischief. Except for the dimples and the mischievous part, she was completely different. Her "cute" blossomed into a stunning beauty; and her hair, well how could it be so completely different?

There was no one in the reception area of the Admissions Office when I walked in. Since I was early, I took a seat and waited. After a few minutes, I took out a textbook and started reading. It was nearly 5:20 when Tina emerged from the Dean's office followed by two faculty professors I didn't recognize.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. There was a meeting that came up at the last minute," she said as she started gathering her things to leave.

"Hungry?" she asked on the way to the car.

"A bit," I mentioned quietly.

"Do you like French cuisine?

"I don't think I've ever had it, unless French toast and French fries count."

"Ugh. Absolutely not. I'm taking you to a place that has a real French chef. Your taste buds are going to be in for a treat tonight," she said with a dimpled smile.

After a short walk in the bitter cold to the staff parking lot where her Range Rover was parked, we sped off in the late November darkness towards the downtown lights.

"Where are we going?" I asked when we reached Bangor's downtown area.

"To a place called 'Richard's'. The finest restaurant in the city."

She used the French pronunciation: "Ree-shards," and I only connected the spelling after we pulled up in front of the building and read the sign.

She handed the valet the keys and a tip and we walked up the steps where a heavy-coated, tuxedoed doorman opened the door.

"Good evening, Miss Nicholson," he said, a vapor cloud forming at every syllable in the cold night air.

"Good evening, Mike. I hope you're staying warm this evening," she replied, leaving another tip.

"Certainly, Miss," he replied, eyeing my shiner suspiciously.

The restaurant was elegant, and I quickly became self-conscious about everything: my black eye, my shabby second-hand winter coat, my shirt, chinos, and shoes. My "shoes" weren't actual shoes, but all-purpose canvas and leather footwear, sneakers basically. Tina was wearing an expensive-looking black coat over a short blue jacket and white blouse and a matching blue pencil skirt. It wasn't fancy, but everything she wore looked fashionable.

Inside, a middle-aged woman took our coats, and we were greeted by the Maître d'.

"Good evening, Miss Nicholson. You look lovely this evening as usual. I'll let 'Ree-shard' know you are here."

"Thank you, Guillaume. We're a little early. Is it okay if we have a seat in the lounge?"

Guillaume looked at my eye and his smile faded briefly. "Of course, Miss Nicholson. Please follow me."

He led us to a small table near the bar. There was an orchid in a small vase next to a flat candle floating in a brandy glass of water in the middle of the table. Guillaume pulled out a chair for Tina and pushed in closer to the table after she sat down.

"Thank you, Guillaume," Tina said and held up her hand with a folded bill in it.

"You're welcome, Miss, and thank you!" Guillaume replied as he took the bill and eyed me before pulling out a chair for me.

I could count on one hand the number of times I've been in a restaurant, and none were even close to being this fancy. This was the first time anyone had ever pulled a chair out for me, and I wasn't sure what to do. Tina smiled and nodded slightly with her head, and I sat down in the chair that Guillaume offered.

"Thank you," I murmured, reaching for my wallet for money I knew wasn't there.

Tina furrowed her brow and shook her head slightly.

"You're welcome, sir," Guillaume replied, and motioned to a pretty, young girl near the bar as I sat down.

"Tina, I feel so out of place here,"

I whispered across the table as the cocktail waitress approached.

"Don't worry about it. You're with me and we're important patrons," she replied casually.

"I feel so

--"

I started.

"Good evening. What can I get you two?" the cocktail waitress asked. The smile she gave Tina quickly faded when she saw my eye.

"I'll have a glass of white wine. What about you, Ross?" Tina asked.

I hadn't had much experience with alcohol. Other than a couple of cheap beers and a glass of red wine once, I couldn't say what I liked or what to order. While I was thinking how to reply, the waitress turned back to Tina.

"Would that be Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc, Miss?"

"You must be new here. I'm Tina Nicholson. I'll have the Verdicchio. I know it's Italian, but Richard keeps a few bottles of it around for me."

"Yes, Miss, and you sir?" the waitress asked me.

"I don't know. Maybe just a glass of water?" I replied.

"Make that two glasses of Verdicchio," Tina instructed the waitress. Then she turned to me, "Try a glass of wine, Ross. I think you'll enjoy it."

"Very good, Madam," the waitress said as she left.

"Tina, what are you doing?" I asked after the girl was gone.

"You're uptight. We're here to relax and enjoy ourselves. Maybe the wine will loosen you up a bit," Tina suggested.

I looked around the lounge nervously, wondering who else might be staring at me. "Well, I'm definitely uncomfortable, but I don't think a glass of wine is going to help."

It turned out I was wrong about the wine. It was not only delicious, but I no longer worried who was watching me. Tina was on her second glass, and I was almost finished with my first when I sensed someone behind me.

"I've saved the private room for you, and I would be happy to escort you there personally."

That voice sounded familiar, and when I turned and looked, there was Richard, the man who was leaving Tina's house last night.

"Oh Richard! Thank you so much! You remember, Ross?" Tina introduced.

"Of course! Welcome Ross. I hear you're feeling out of place. I remember what it was like to be a struggling college student. You are a welcome guest here and please let me know if anyone here treats you differently."

"Th-thank you," I stuttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tina smile and nod to Richard.

Richard escorted us through a door near the back of the main restaurant into a small room with a single table and two chairs placed side-by-side facing a roaring fireplace. The logs crackled from the blazing fire and the entire room smelled of the oaky fire, taking on a warm and cozy atmosphere.

Richard held the chair for Tina and then for me after she was seated.

"My chef has prepared a special Chateaubriand for you, adorned with a burgundy wine sauce of his own creation. Of course, if you would prefer something else, I'm sure I can have it arranged," Richard announced.

Tina turned to me. "Does that sound okay to you?"

"This is my first taste of French cooking, so I don't really know what that is. But if Tina likes it and you recommend it, then I'll try it," I replied, looking at Richard.

"Mon Dieu! You've never had French cuisine? Oh, Monsieur Ross, you're in for a treat! Leave everything to me. I will give you a dinner that will make you think you're in Paris." Richard was positively beaming when he left.

For a couple of minutes, we were alone in the room. Tina turned to me. "Are you feeling any less nervous?"

"I think the wine helped. That was really good. I had no idea wine could taste so good."

Tina laughed. "I can see I've got my work cut out with you. There are all sorts of pleasures waiting for you to experience this evening."

"I saw you nod to Richard. What did you say to him about me?" I asked.

"Not much. Only that you were shy and have a limited wardrobe."

"Exactly what sort of a relationship do you have with him?" I asked.

Before Tina could answer, a tall, balding man in a black and white waiter's outfit came in with two clean wine glasses and a bottle of wine. He showed me the label before making a display of removing the cork. He poured a small quantity of wine into my glass and stood back. He must have been prepped by Richard, because he made a point of not looking at my black eye.

I was puzzled. I looked at the tiny amount of wine in the glass and then at the waiter holding the almost full bottle.

"You're supposed to taste it to see if it's alright. If you like it, he'll fill our glasses," Tina explained.

"Oh, please forgive me, sir. I should be happy to guide you through it, if you would permit me," the waiter said, sympathetically.

I held up the glass by the stem and looked at the waiter. "I just drink it?"

"Yes, sir. But if you want to impress your waiter and fellow guests, you should slowly twirl the wine inside the glass and smell it before tasting it. Then, when you're ready to taste, sip the wine while sucking in a small amount of air with it. That way you oxygenate the wine while tasting it."

I followed his instructions. It was weird and I didn't think it really accomplished anything. But the wine was good.

"I like it," I acknowledged.

"You have a good palate, sir," the man said as he poured the wine into Tina's glass before filling mine. "This is a vintage Chateauneuf du Pape personally selected by Mr. Richard himself. This bottle costs over $400."

My jaw dropped and Tina giggled.

"I'll leave you some privacy and come back later to refill your glasses," he announced as he left the bottle on the table before leaving the room.

Tina and I toasted our glasses and took a sip of wine before resuming our conversation.

"Ross, before we talk about my relationship with Richard, can we talk about last night?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry for the way I behaved," I admitted.

"Thank you. But I think I may have deserved some of your anger. Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, of course."

"How do you feel about me?"

I met Tina's eyes. "Maybe you were right when you asked if I was jealous. During all those years apart, I still remembered your silly giggle and the way your cheeks dimpled when you smiled or laughed. I loved your curly red hair that shone like new copper. I guess it was hard for me to see you with someone else, and how happy you looked with Leslie."

Tina's eyes grew moist. "You really thought about me that much?"

"Of course! I thought about what you said last night, and I realized that crush I had on you never entirely went away." That felt more emotionally intense that I had intended, and I turned my head away and stared at the fire.

Tina reached over and held my hand.

"Ross--"

At that moment, the door opened, and the balding waiter came in. He was carrying two small plates.

"This is fois gras," he announced, putting the plates down in front of us. There was a small light-brown cylinder in the middle of each plate, except my cylinder was cut in half. "It's goose liver that's been flown in special from France where the geese are raised to produce its unique flavor. The chef suggested you start with just a sample, sir, because fois gras is an acquired taste and most people trying it for the first time aren't very fond of it. But if you like it, I will provide you with a much larger serving."

The waiter topped off our wine while I sampled the fois gras. He was right. I wasn't "very fond of it."

"I think this portion is enough for me," I told him, trying to suppress a smile.

He suppressed a smile back at me. "Very good, sir. I'll let the chef know you agreed with his decision."

He was about to leave when I called out. "Wait. What is your name?"

"It's Robert, but out there it's 'Ro-bear'," he replied, tilting his head towards the main dining area and giving me a conspiratorial wink.

"Does anyone ever call you 'Bob'?" I asked.

He laughed. "Everywhere but here," he said as he left.

Tina picked up my hand again. "Ross, I had no idea you felt so strongly about me."

"Can I ask you the same question? How do you feel about me?"

She took a sip of wine before answering.

"I never forgot you either, Ross. You were always someone special to me. It's hard for me to describe what you mean to me. As much fun as I've had with Lezzie and... well,... others, there was always something missing. Something that I felt we shared with each other."

"What was that?"

"I wish I knew. When we were kids, it felt like there was a special bond between us. It was as if my life would not be complete without you somehow. I never quite understood what that meant."

Tina leaned into me and put her lips against mine. We were no longer innocent children and maybe I should have pulled away, but I didn't... I couldn't. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the crush I had on her since I was eight, but those lips felt so good against mine.

She held my head as her tongue slowly and sensuously slid between my lips. It felt like warm, moist silk slowly gliding into my mouth. I let her in, and for the next minute she danced with my tongue before wordlessly coaxing me to enter her mouth and explore what she had to offer.

Something was happening to me. Maybe it was the wine, or the romantic dinner, or maybe I was just being horny, but that kiss changed my outlook. It was liberating. I felt I could simply "let go" and give in to my feelings. My heart pounded, and I eagerly returned the kiss, enjoying the feel of her lips against my tongue.

It was my first open kiss, and its sexual nature felt bold and primal. She tasted of wine and fois gras and somehow those flavors were so much more palatable inside her mouth. I was energized and apprehensive at the same time, and my heart pounded in my chest.

The sound of the door opening and a man gently clearing his throat brought me back, and we quickly separated. It was Robert holding two plates of food, which he set before us from the other side of the table. First to Tina and then to me.

On the plate were six slices of evenly cooked steak, each about a quarter inch thick, a perfect red right up to the edge of the cut. Artistically drizzled over the top of the steak was a burgundy sauce that smelled of rosemary, garlic, onion, ginger and a hint of clove. Alongside the beef were evenly cut pieces of red potato lightly coated with butter and flakes of fresh parsley. There were five asparagus spears peeking out from beneath the chunks of potato.

Closely behind Robert was the cocktail waitress holding a tray with two goblets of water and a basket of warm rolls and a small crock of butter. She set the contents of her tray in front of us and withdrew. Robert refilled Tina's wine glass and topped off mine.

"Bon Appetit," they said as they left the room.

We wordlessly dug into our meals, the food was too good to interrupt with conversation. Robert came in a couple of times to check to see if everything was to our satisfaction. When we were almost finished, Tina placed her hand on my thigh and asked me, "Ross, are you a virgin?"