Ellen
If you read part one you will recall this took place during a more quiet era; when young men carried draft cards and the mere mention of “69” would elicit a howl from bystanders.
“What color was the shirt?” I recognized the voice and I considered hanging up, I had resolved to abandon the idea of having her write the contract, I wanted to forget the idea and to forget Wendy. I had also resolved to never touch wine again. Especially Chardonnay!
“What color?” I stammered.
“This is Wendy calling; I’ve got the first draft of your contract done, can you come over take a look at it, say 7:30?”
“You didn’t answer my question about the color of the shirt.” were the first words out of Wendy’s mouth when she opened the door.
She was jovial; almost giddy with excitement. She was dressed in the same tight pants but the loose blouse was replaced by a sweater, white with a red trim along the V-neck. The sweater stretched tight across her small breasts. Odd, I thought. Her petite breasts did not fit the rest of her body.
The same giant white beads adorned her neck. They were not pearls after all.
“Blue, I think. No plaid; black and blue I guess.” wondering what the hell difference did it make. I took my place at the end of the table and waited expectantly for the contract to be reviewed.
“This is a different cheese; it has a good bite. I hope that you like it,” she commented; grinning mischievously as she pushed a glass of Chardonnay my way.
I was livid.
“Where’s the contract?” I muttered, through clenched teeth.
Unruffled, she produced a single sheet of paper which I accepted with my left hand while lifting the glass to my lips with the other. My five points had been expanded into three sentences each; replete with legalese and typed neatly. There were no spelling errors but the document was devoid of those standard phrases one would expect to see in an agreement of this magnitude.
“One of our standard purchase orders would probably work just as well,” I said for effect. No response.
I did not look her way but sensed that she was not paying attention as I tried once again, “I’m planning on visiting them the day after Thanksgiving and would like to go back with an agreement.”
Pulling a pen from my pocket; I jotted down some suggestions in the margins, admonishing myself for not having brought a pen with red ink.
I replaced the paper on the table and took a long gulp of wine; judging that one more would drain the glass. I would then prepare to leave.
“Blue and black plaid?” she asked, “no white or other colors? Which way did the blue run?” Demonstrating, Wendy crossed her chest with her finger, first up and down, then sideways.
She reached for the paper and slid it into the briefcase next to her seat that I had not noticed. It was a narrow folder and maroon in color. Judging by the look; I’m sure that it was made from smooth Italian leather. I wondered if that was her only such case then suspected it probably was not.
I looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. The carpet, furnishings, wall covering and her briefcase all looked expensive. I could not help but consider the contrast.
As Marcie had claimed, Wendy came from a good family. I had considered my family good but it was not the same. She had lived a privileged life which she took for granted while I had immersed myself into the every day operation of a small business in which I had no stake.
I imagined that Wendy’s greatest worry in life had been deciding which color her brief case would go with one of the many outfits she wore! My main worry was how many gladioli to order and how they would be treated.
“Which way?” Wendy brought me back, her finger still making the crossing motion.
“I don’t remember”, I answered and reached for my glass again. I was not about to touch the cheese.
“Oh,” She said thoughtfully. “Not to worry. Did Marcie find out?”
“No”.
“Did she leave you alone with Ellen again?” She looked expectantly at me as she poured a second glass of wine for herself and then refilled my glass. “Did you do her?”
I cracked up; the anticipation on her face was almost juvenile.
I leaned back in my chair and told her about Ellen and myself. The morning after our dance lesson, I had discovered the record player was still turned on.
Thank goodness Marcie had not noticed. Nor did she seem to notice. Both Ellen and I had slept in our clothes. She was in a contemplative mood.
Ellen had found me in the greenhouse. Marcie made no move to separate us; she seemed to have been in a daze, we noticed and wondered if something had happened the night before. She had come home early and had proceeded directly to her room, thank goodness. We wondered if she would be going out with Tad that night. We both speculated about Marcie and the mood she seemed to be in.
I was in the process of getting the greenhouse ready to close down for the winter. We had sold most of the Christmas plants and there was no need to heat it until spring. Ellen sort of hung around, helping me move things out of the way so that I could hose down the racks and clean the floor before cutting off the water. For the most part though, she watched as we conversed.
She talked about what a guy my age needed to know about kissing, petting and making out. I was a little embarrassed to hear her talk like that, especially when the subject of oral sex came up. I attentively listened to her descriptions. No-one and certainly not a female, had ever spoken to me so frankly about sex as Ellen had done that morning.
One minute she was speaking seriously about tongue rigidity; the next minute she would demonstrate her point by trying to stick her wet tongue in my ear. She succeeded.
I secretly hoped that Marcie would leave us alone and for the most part she did.
It was during this talk that Ellen sternly admonished me. “Never fuck and tell. That’s the worst things a guy can do.”.
“You can tell now, about Ellen I mean,. You’ll probably never see her again.”
I had almost forgotten Wendy was in the room. Looking her way I leaned forward and revealed, “That’s not her real name.”
