I spent most of the next morning on the computer. I had neglected work the day before, as you can imagine, and had a backlog of jobs. I worked at home, doing typesetting and layout and design work in Photoshop and Pagemaker. I did this work for the print shops in town, most of which had been around for generations and consequently didn't have anyone on staff who could do computer work.
This was my career. Not much money, true, but it was engaging and I was good at it. I could set my own hours and, as I was doing now, work in my bathrobe if I wanted to.
Phillip owned a used-book and record store, housed in a building that spanned almost an entire block. He had inherited this, like our house, from his parents. Phillip rented out the extra space to four other businesses, and most of our income was derived from the rent he took in. We weren't wealthy by anyone's standards, but we were comfortable, and the work we did was mainly for ourselves. I didn't have to do the computer work, and Phillip didn't have to run his little shop. We did these things because we liked to.
My mind wasn't on the work this morning, though. The events of the day before now seemed like a dream, even more so because I was engaged in something as normal and mundane as editing Pagemaker documents. The memory tingled. I felt awake and alive. Everything; the warmth of my coffee mug, the terrycloth robe against my body, the feel of the keys as I typed, all took on a sensual quality. After half an hour, it got to be overwhelming. I had to go into the bedroom and get myself off.
After that, it was a little better. I could halfway concentrate on the work, but my mind still wandered. I began to worry that something might be wrong with me. All I could think about was sex. I was horny as a fourteen-year-old boy.
My friend Gloria called at around ten. She wanted to meet for coffee. I was grateful for the distraction.
"Yeah," I said. "Where do you want to go?"
"Jumpin' Java?" she suggested.
That name gave me a chill. It was where I'd met Amanda.
"Sure," I said, hesitating slightly. "Be there in half an hour."
I thought of Amanda as I got dressed. I wondered if she'd be there. I'm sure she influenced the clothes I chose to wear. A loose skirt that didn't quite meet my knees, and a plain black tank top. Underwear? None. I hadn't gone braless in public in years, and as for stepping out of the house without panties- I don't think I'd ever done that. I felt naughty, daring. The lack of undergarments gave me a constant awareness of my body.
Gloria wasn't there yet when I arrived at the coffee house. I got my drink and sat down at the same table I had the day before, scanning the crowd. I wasn't looking for Gloria and was almost disappointed when she showed up.
Gloria was my best friend in this town. She was one of Phillip's tenants, renting the space next to his shop. She sold trinkets and knick-knacks, classy-looking, expensive things, catering mainly to the tourist crowd. I liked her a lot. She was easy-going and funny, about ten years older than us, but very young-spirited.
"Hello, Heath-ah," she always said my name like that. Gloria kissed me on the cheek then sat down with her coffee. "What's new?"
I considered telling her, if only to see how shocked she'd be.
"Oh, nothing," I said instead, trying not to smile too much. "How's business?"
"Oh, you know. It's a slow time of year. That's how I can afford to close up and come drink coffee with you."
It was always a slow time of year for Gloria's shop. She wasn't very concerned, though. She had inherited plenty of money from her husband, who'd died years ago. Like us, she ran the business for her own amusement.
"You look great," she said, grabbing my arm. "Did you do something different?"
That was an understatement. "No," I said. "Thank you, though."
"I'm serious," she said. "You look radiant. You're glowing, Heath-ah. You're not . . ."
"Pregnant?" I laughed. "No."
Gloria laughed with me, shaking her head. "I didn't think so, but from my experience when a woman glows like that, either she's pregnant, or she's been having some seriously good sex."
That was too much for me. I actually blushed. "Well . . ."
"I knew it," Gloria said. "That's great. I am so jealous."
Gloria was between serious boyfriends at the moment. This situation bothered her about as much as the lack of business in the shop. She had a few male friends around town whom she floated between, but she always liked to grumble about her sex life.
"Speaking of that, how's Phillip doing? I haven't seen him in a few days."
"He hasn't been in the shop?" This wasn't unusual. He was always going on sales runs to buy books and records.
Gloria shrugged and adjusted the brim of her hat. "He wasn't there this morning. He might have been there yesterday, but I didn't get a chance to talk to him."
"Phillip is . . . great," I smiled.
"You naughty girl," Gloria scolded. "You're as bad as Francine."
Francine was Gloria's daughter, who lived in Seattle. The two were as close as sorority sisters, talked daily on the phone, and told each other everything. I'd met Francine once when she was down here visiting, and she seemed more like a younger version of Gloria than an offspring.
Gloria began to tell me all the latest dirt on Francine, who was having a fling with a married black man. I could tell that Gloria was thrilled by the fabulous immorality of her daughter's life.
I listened to her without really hearing. I was just watching her. She was a very animated speaker, a very alive kind of person. Her face was lined a little with age, but this gave her dignity and perhaps even an exotic quality. She had European features, though she was born in Connecticut and spent most of her life here in Illinois.
Before today I had not realized how attractive she was.
That was the frame of mind I was in, so aware of my own sensuality that everything I saw seemed to glow with erotic energy. As my good friend talked, I found myself noticing her breasts for the first time ever, and idly wondering what it would be like to kiss them. Crazy crazy crazy.
She must have noticed that I wasn't paying attention to her words.
"Earth to Heath-ah," she said.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a little out of it this morning."
"I guess so," she said. "Is Phillip to blame for that, too?"
"Partially," I said, then I saw her. Amanda, making her rounds of the patio tables again.
Gloria followed my gaze. "These girls . . ." she said, generalizing with the wave of her hand. "They'd be so pretty if they'd just get cleaned up. Do their hair, wear some make-up, stop shopping at the Salvation Army." Gloria laughed. "Shave their armpits for God's sake."
Amanda either hadn't noticed me yet, or was purposely ignoring me. She was wearing the same dress she had worn the day before. I couldn't take my eyes off her, remembering how she looked without it. I wanted her to talk to me. I didn't even care that Gloria was here.
"Phillip likes that type," I told Gloria.
"Oh, I know," Gloria said. "We've had that talk. These girls come into his shop a lot. Don't worry, Heath-ah, your hubby's as faithful as a German Shepard, but he likes to look."
"So do I," I said, tearing my eyes off Amanda with real effort. I looked at Gloria and smiled.
"I think it's great that you two can be so open and honest about that sort of thing," Gloria said. "My husband was so jealous . . ."
Amanda stood before our table, cutting off Gloria in mid-sentence. She refused to look at me, instead smiling down at Gloria. I felt like a scorned teen-ager, and this feeling made me angry at myself. Such a crazy jumble of emotions.
"Excuse me," Amanda said to Gloria. "Do you have a couple dollars I can have?"
Gloria flashed me an incredulous look. I managed a weak smile.
"Honey," Gloria started. "Do you have a job?"
"A job," Amanda said coyly. She winked at me, and this acknowledgment shoveled about two tons off my heart. I still resented her for this unwarranted power I had given her over myself. "What's that?"
"That's very funny," Gloria said. "What's your name?"
"Amanda."
"Well, Amanda," Gloria said. "I'm going to give you the best advice you're going to hear all day. Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, eat a bowl of cereal instead of hitting the bong, then put a bra on and go around town filling out applications. You're bound to get something. That way, you don't have to bother nice people in coffee shops to get your love bead money."
The condescending tone in Gloria's voice stung me, and I wasn't even it's target. But Amanda was unfazed. She was smiling sunnily, like this conversation was a game she was enjoying.
"I don't have a bra," she said. "But if you give me a couple dollars I could go buy one."
