CHAPTER10
By noon the next day, Belinda had finished the painting in the kitchen. She ran over to her father's local warehouse and picked up the hardware and fixtures Janie, her father's secretary, had ordered at her request. She loved Janie. Totally devoted to her father and to the business and sharp as a tack, she made things hum along smoothly. Belinda picked up lunch from her Janie's favorite restaurant as a treat, and although they were old enough to be mother and daughter, they spent Janie's break chatting like girlfriends.
When Belinda returned to the house, she found a state of affairs that was almost unheard of...no one was around. She knew her father was at work; she had seen him there. Her mother was likely off at some Ladies Auxiliary of Something meeting, but there was no sign of Mr. or Mrs. Sims. She checked the back of the house; everyone's car was gone except for hers and Sam's. She phoned Sam and told him she needed help with a project and could he please come up for a moment. When he came up the hill, she took him to the shed and kissed him, then told him, "There's a tool here I've been using. It gets the job done, but I've never seen it used with any speed." Sam looked at her, not understanding what she was getting at. "Everyone is out of the house, she told him. "I don't know how long until they get back, but you've got five minutes to make love to me and get back to work."
He didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing her hand, he hustled her across the back patio, through the kitchen and into his room in the servant's corners. Seconds after the door was closed, he had pulled off her skirt and panties, dropped his own work shorts and briefs, rolled on a condom and lubed up. He picked her up and almost tossed her onto the bed, diving in and beginning to fuck her with no kissing, no foreplay. "Is that fast enough for you?" he asked. He was hot with sweat from the sun and hard work and Belinda loved the manly, funky smell and sweat dripping onto her as he pounded her ass into the bed. Belinda dug her nails into his ass as he fucked her hard and deep, not stopping until he had unleashed his orgasm into her waiting channel. He rolled off her. Without a word, she was up, replacing her skirt and underpants.
Looking back at him, she blew him a kiss, and with a "thanks, lover," she was gone. He glanced at the clock. Exactly eight minutes had passed since his phone rang.
When the Sims returned from their errands less than an hour later, Sam was back at work on his construction site, while Belinda was in the kitchen mounting wrought iron drawer pulls and cabinet handles. Belinda and Mrs. Sims in an out of each other's paths as the housekeeper worked to put away groceries and start dinner. "Two more days and I'll be out of your hair, Mrs. Sims," Belinda told her. A few times, she thought she saw the older woman looking at her strangely, but she chalked it up to her imagination. She had cleaned dropped her clothes, muddied from Sam's construction work into the washer, and Mrs. Sims hadn't been to the bedroom to see any evidence of their romp.
That night after dinner, Belinda showed off her work in the kitchen to her mother and father, who loved what she had done. "I still have to re-cover all the chairs, put in the new lights and mount the new faucets, but it's really coming along. I'm hoping to be done in a week or two. Of course, that means lots of nights studying. I'm becoming such a homebody," she said.
"Oh," interjected Susannah, "Dierdre Higginbotham says her son is just dying to take you out to dinner. It sounds like you could really use a night out. I'll make sure he calls you." Belinda felt like a bug trapped in a spider's web. She knew she was going to have to endure an evening of Peyton Higginbotham talking about his stock portfolio and his tennis serve or face the wrath of two angry, aging Southern belles very used to getting their own way. She sighed, and her father gave her an encouraging smile and pat on the back. He knew how she felt, but wouldn't interfere with his wife.
Sam had his own uncomfortable conversation after dinner. Hank, somewhat unusually, offered to walk him back to the house after he had enjoyed a nice evening of dinner and cards with the Sims. Hank cleared his throat a few times, and Sam could tell he was trying to say something. Finally, he came out with it. "I don't want to know anything about who you are romancing and how, young man," Sims said, "but you best remember this is still Mississippi. And you best make sure it stays a secret."
"Yes sir, good advice, sir," was all Sam could say, knowing all the while that there was no way he could stay away from Lindy, but also knowing his friend was right. They would have to be more careful.
On the phone that night, Sam told Belinda about the conversation, and she shared Mrs. Sims' strange behavior in the kitchen. Nothing in the house, they both agreed. Nothing ever. They had made some sort of slip up. At least it was the Sims who had suspected it; Belinda knew neither of them would ever do anything to hurt her. Sam was so wound up he didn't even complete his now nightly ritual of rubbing himself to climax to thoughts of his sweetheart. Instead, he slept a night full of scary dreams of losing Belinda in a forest, calling her name with no answer.
CHAPTER 11
Belinda had done enough rewiring that all the new light fixtures, which paired the wrought iron of the drawer pulls with a warm copper that drew in the new paint colors, were up in half a day. Mrs. Sims and her mother fussed as she flipped fuses to allow herself to work safely, interfering with their daily activities. "Really, Belinda," her mother exclaimed as she came into the kitchen to find out why the TV in the family room wasn't working, "the Higginbothams have all of their remodeling done when they go on vacation. So much more civilized." Belinda gritted her teeth and smiled.
When her mother had left, Mrs. Sims, who was being put out to a much better degree by her inability to use the kitchen and sometimes the laundry room, squeezed Belinda's arm and said, "You keep on working. It looks right special and it's good for a woman not to have to wait around on a man to get a thing done." By just after lunch, the fuses were all set back to on and Belinda was poised to start on the chairs in the eat-in breakfast nook and the barstools that flanked the large kitchen island. The three faucets would wait. She had worked out a deal with her mother's favorite local upholsterer to let Belinda help do the work on the seating, as long as he received his full fee. Belinda was excited to learn a new skill. She just had to find the right fabric.
After catching a belated lunch, Belinda went down to visit Sam. Mr. Sims was nowhere in sight, so she felt able to open up with some things that were on her mind. First, she explained about the date with Peyton, and why it was necessary to keep any suspicions at bay. He didn't like it, but understood. And the utter disdain in her voice assured him there was no danger of competition. She told him she hated condoms and that she would investigate other options until she could get back to school and get back on the pill. At that, Sam's heart almost pounded out of his chest. They hadn't really talked much about what would happen after the summer, and here she was stating that their continuing relationship was a given. He was over the moon. For a moment, Belinda sat silently on the stone bench near where he was working. He could see from her face that whatever else she had on her mind wasn't making her happy. He worked as quietly as he could, giving her the time and space to say what she needed. Finally, in a quiet, unconfident voice that was so unlike the Belinda he knew, she asked, "Do you think your parents will like me? I mean, will they accept me as your girlfriend?"
Sam pulled out his iPhone, scrolled forward to a picture of his parents and handed it to Belinda.
In the picture, she saw a handsome black man, built like Sam, but a touch thinner and much darker, and next to him, a brunette with shining green eyes and skin was that was as pale as Belinda's own. "No," he said, watching her study the photo, "I don't think they'll have a problem. My brother Sean might have something to say; he's all about a bruthah stickin' with the sistahs," Sam's voice took on an exaggerated accent. "My parents are going to love you." He put his iPhone back in his pocket and answered Belinda's unasked questions. His parents met in college, sort of. Dad had overworked himself finishing up his M.B.A. and wound in the hospital with exhaustion, dehydration and who knows what else. Mom was here from Ireland on a medical fellowship. She nursed him back to health and they fell in love. With her dark hair, she jokes that it makes sense they would marry...she's Black Irish." He chuckled at the family joke.
They decided not to meet that night given what the Sims had said, then Belinda said goodbye and told Sam she was off to the library and her father's office. First, she picked up a few books on plumbing basics. Plumbing had always been her nemesis, and she had always allowed her dad to hire a plumber to do that portion of any remodel she took on around the house. Then, she dropped in on Janie, picked up her faucets, visited for a few minutes then went off to poke around in the vast warehouse for the plumbing parts she thought she would need to finish the job. She knew it pissed Chip off to find her there, so she tried to be quick, asking for help from various workers, but she didn't manage to escape.
"Really, Belinda," Chip sneered, sounding like her mother in one of her worst moments, "can't you place an order like a normal customer? How am I supposed to run things with you in here distracting everyone?"
"I'm just on my way out. Last stop this summer, I promise!" Belinda answered with a sunny smile. On the inside, she was seething, wanting to remind him he was a salesman not a supervisor, and maybe he should get back to making some money and get off her back, especially since he wouldn't even have the job he did if her father didn't own the company. She'd overheard her father groaning enough at Chip's sales figures to know that for a fact. For her last errand, she got on the freeway and drove a bit to a town where she hoped no one would recognize her. There, she purchased a spermicidal gel that promised 98% effectiveness—just as good as condoms, she thought—and with the advantage of not having a latex barrier between her and her Sam.
When Mr. Sutter came home from work, he found Belinda at the kitchen table, surrounded with beginner plumber books and faucet parts. "Daddy, can you explain a few things to me?" she asked. "I want to get this right so I don't flood the house."
"Why don't I ask Sam Greene to help you with the plumbing?" her Dad answered. "He really knows his stuff. And he's been taking on some extra projects around the house on Saturdays, so I think he'd be willing."
Belinda was torn; while she would love the extra time with Sam, she really wanted to finish this project on her own. "Maybe I'll use him as a consultant to answer questions," she told her father, "but I really want to do this myself."
That night at the cabin, Belinda attempted to use the new spermicidal gel, with disastrous results. Waiting for Sam to come down from the house, she spread the gel around her lips, then prepared to insert the filled applicator. Before she did, a burning sensation warned her that something was wrong. Sam found her crying in the bathroom, splashing water onto her very delicate, very irritated bits. Through her tears, she explained what she had tried to do, and how it had gone so wrong. "Oh baby, that was so thoughtful. I hate condoms too. But this is terrible!" Belinda kept splashing, then washing with soap as Sam suggested. The burning subsided somewhat and she remembered he cortisone cream she kept in her backpack for bug bites. It was soothing, although she was still red and in no shape for sex. She cuddled up to Sam, and he kissed her, but when she reached for his crotch, he pushed her away. "What kind of guy do you think I am? I can wait until you feel better, and I'm certainly not going to get my rocks off with you in pain."
"In that case," Belinda answered, "what do you know about statistics? I'm bogged down in plumbing at the house and I may be asking you about that tomorrow. My history and my cost accounting classes are going great, but this advanced statistics course is giving me fits."
