Revealed

Jillian continues making a new life for herself. Khang is sweet on her. Greg opens up.

Dear reader:

I'm gratified at the feedback from the first chapter in this series. The most positive response on anything I've written!

With that comes some anxiety over this second installment. Will it measure up? Did I lose the plot, the thing that made the first one so appealing?

Especially since I change the viewpoint halfway through. Moving away from the interesting character, the one with the super powers. To his girlfriend Jillian.

A lot of potential to illustrate not only how he does what he does, but how it looks from the outside, to somebody who's getting to know him.

And the potential to lose your interest. If that happens, let me know! Feedback is this author's best tool for getting better, and I thank all of you for the helpful remarks and encouragement.

- EM

"Here."

Greg held out a key, on a seashell keyring.

"What is this for?" Jillian took it, admired the shell, looked up curiously.

"The condo." Nervous. "You live here, right? You need to be free to come and go."

"That was fast. Usually it takes at least the fourth or fifth date before a couple moves in together."

Blushing, "I may have rushed it a bit."

"You think? We meet, I walk over here, eat your food, sack out in your spare bedroom an hour later. Two days on, we're a couple. Some kind of land-speed record!"

She saw that I was terribly embarrassed, steeped forward, hugged me. "Thank you, this is nice, I appreciate your trust. I'll need the key once I'm coming and going to work!"

I patted her back, awkward. "Reminds me, lets go check on your clothes! So we can burn that outfit."

Jillian looked down at herself, made a face. "I'm sick of this stuff. It's from my old life. And not very nice to begin with."

She was wearing tourist clothes from the strip, bought her first day so she could go clubbing. Loud, cheap, ill-fitting, not even very sexy.

Since she'd tried on her first bespoke suit, Jill had not felt right wearing off-the-rack. But suits were not appropriate for every day.

She looked troubled. "Am I getting too precious? Nothing but the best for me now?"

She was concerned about this change in herself, that was important to face.

"Khang's clothes do feel better, fit better. You'd be a fool not to notice. And you look better too! It helped get you a kick-ass job."

She was still uncomfortable, being lower-class all her life and suddenly enjoying comforts she'd never imagined.

But who was I to tell her how to feel? Her self-image was her own. I could tell her how I felt, that was fair.

"I like the person you become, when you put on your power-suit."

She grinned, punched me. "So you secretly want a powerful woman to tell you what to think?"

"As long as it's you, sure."

That worked; self-doubt time was over, she began to get ready to leave the condo.

We clambered down the long porch stairs to the beach, struck out across the strand.

A few tourists out, not many this early, young people stayed up late and got up late. Just a Mom and her two youngsters, Mom resting on a towel, kids poking around with bucket-and-shovel.

As we passed, we heard her say "Shit."

Jillian stopped, "Can we help?" I took another step, stopped, waited.

She noticed us, shook her head. "Misplaced my room key. Kids probably playing with it. They grab anything shiny, think its a toy!"

She got up to go through her beach bag, turned over the towel, getting more frustrated by the second.

Jillian looked at me. "Hey, big guy, see anything that might help?"

A glance at her bag and I knew the key wasn't there. Not in the towel, not anywhere in the sand around her. Not on her person.

The kids didn't have it either. Bucket and shovel but no key.

There! About six inches down, halfway to where the kids were sitting, buried in a hole. Kids!

I moseyed over, kicking at the sand, pretending to look. Reached down when I got to it, plunged my hand in the wet sand, dredged up the cardkey.

"This it?"

She came over, took it, turned it over. "Yes! Thank you! I would never have found it!"

"Just lucky I guess!"

We walked on. Jill impulsively leaned over, gave me a peck on the cheek.

"What's that for?"

"I want to give you positive feedback, every time you do something nice for somebody. My new policy."

I smiled; I could get behind that program.

I absently picked up quarters as we went along. Jill took them from me, put them in a pocket. "Laundry money" she had said in explanation.

The condo had a laundry room, it was a nuisance to keep change around for the machines.

By the time we got to the boardwalk she had a pocket jangling. The beach was littered with lost change, usually I wouldn't bend over for a quarter. But for Jill I could be bothered.

As we climbed up the steps, "You're behind about forty kisses."

She looked at me quizzically, then brightened, remembering.

"You get those all at one go" she decided, turning to face me, putting her arms around my neck, offering her face for a serious smooch.

I took my time, getting my forty-kisses worth. Two teen boys bounding down the steps from the strip hollered "Get a room!" on the way past, laughing, friendly.

I finished, parted lips, looked at her face, a picture of contentment, eyes still closed. After a moment she let me go, continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Having a girlfriend was pretty nice. Casual affection was like a drug, and I was an addict.

Khang greeted us on arrival. Phuong was out, off playing Bai Choi at the senior citizen's center in Vietnam-town.

"What can I do for you?" She was eyeing Jill's outfit, clearly unhappy she was still wearing it.

"We were hoping you might have somehow finished some of Jill's clothes. She wants to burn this outfit, and wear something comfortable and attractive instead."

Khang lit up at that, more than glad to assist.

"Come back! I have finished all of your pants, a blouse. We will confirm the fit!"

I think she meant "I will ogle you as you change", which was a risk I was willing to take. Jill had assured me she wasn't going to switch-hit and play for the other team, no matter how hard Khang campaigned.

Back they went, so I sat in a chair out front. A polite fiction, the girls having some privacy while the boyfriend looked elsewhere. We all knew it was a sham, but it's important to observe tradition.

Jill stripped; Khang took each article she removed, holding it by one corner like a dead animal, dropped into a bin.

The new blouse looked fantastic on her. Not as formal as the ivory-button business blouse, some lace at the bottom, a narrower placket up the front, just three buttons. Softer material.

By 'confirm the fit' she meant 'stroke my hands over every inch of your torso'. Jill didn't mind, watching in a full-length mirror, smiling the whole time, smiling at Khang.

The pants were also impressive, skin-tight without binding, a tailored waist, some summer-weight cloth I didn't know. Button fly, which I found curiously sexy.

Khang did too, standing behind her with her arms around, snugging the pants, smoothing them over her hips, talking the whole time, helping her button them up.

Jill was still smiling when they came out again. I did my usual impression of a grinning fool, eyeing her up and down and watching her turn to show off.

"Miss Khang! You are a marvel. She has never looked better!"

Khang agreed. "Jill is a pleasure to fit. It is so easy to make her look good!"

We arranged to have the rest of the items delivered. A young Vietnamese boy with a bicycle had delivered to the condo before; he would know the way.

Nothing so crass as money changing hands was required; it had all been prepaid.

As I got ready to exit, Jillian said "I'll be just a minute honey. I'll meet you outside?"

I took the hint, nodded at Miss Khang, went out to sit on a bench by the street.

In half a minute Jill was there.

"Did you get the deed done?" I was referring to inviting Miss Khang on a date. She'd made it clear she fancied Jillian, and Jillian wanted to indulge her.

She'd been so kind, it seemed reasonable to return that in kind. And Jillian liked her, more than a little.

"Yup! We're going to dinner and a show, tonight!"

I smiled, to show I was a good sport. Jill leaned over, kissed me on the top of the head.

"Think of it as a girls' night out. With maybe sex afterward. We'll see."

That was reasonable, if I thought of it honestly. Jillian could manage her own life. Sex with a girlfriend? If she wanted. Her body to share as she saw fit.

It was harder to be honest with myself. I understood my feelings as jealousy, and manfully squashed any response.

Jillian understood, as she always seemed to. "I'll make sure you don't feel too lonely. Maybe something for dinner, you can reheat? You know I love you, right?"

That did sound good. I am a sucker for home-cooked meals. And yes, I did know Jillian loved me.

All smiles, I suggested a detour down a different street on the way back.

Passing the time, "Below this street runs an old subway tunnel. They gave up on that right away - kept flooding, water table too high."

"But right there", I pointed to a grate in the sidewalk, "is the old train, rusted to ruin, left in place when they closed up the tunnel. Engine, three cars."

"Can we go look?"

I doubted it. "Lots of cave-ins; not very safe. Plus, somebody tried to tunnel from there under the old bank, probably meaning to rob it. Collapsed. One of them is buried under the rubble."

She put her hand to her mouth, appalled.

Now a modern branch of TD Bank, I asked Jillian to wait outside while I ducked in to do some business.

Inside, my banker spotted me instantly. He came out of his VP office, all smiles and handshakes.

"What will we do for you today, Gregory?"

"I would like to make a modest withdrawal."

It took about five minutes to arrange and I had a paper bundle in hand, tied with string. Too large to fit in a normal zipper bag.

"What was that about? Making a deposit?" Jillian was curious, since I'd not been 'scavenging' this morning and I hadn't taken much cash with me.

"Just the opposite. I wanted to have enough on hand so you wouldn't need to always be asking me." I handed her the bundle.

She took it, not looking at it, squinting at me.

"I can't take your money." She sounded fairly uncertain, since she certainly could take my money. We'd been sharing it freely for some time now.

"Think of it as household incidentals. Like toilet paper. Not a big deal. Just a convenience, not worth keeping track."

I could find money, found it all the time, collected it like picking up trash, like recycled newspaper, just something to keep in stacks until needed.

This was a big step. All her life, cash was valuable and rationed. Now, our new life together, that had been turned upside-down.

The question was, could she take this next step?

She hefted the parcel, sizing it up.

"This has to be, what, a thousand? No, more than that; we found that thousand in the trash, it was smaller than this."

"Ten thousand."

Her shocked look spoke volumes.

"I... I'm....not...."

I sympathized. "It takes getting used to, money becoming just paper. You've come so far, this is another big step. Not only another number, a bigger number.

It's me, asking you to let all that go, to change your value system, to base your values on something else. I understand if it's hard."

She could see what I was saying, understood it intellectually. But still emotionally conflicted.

"Lets just take it to the condo, put it in a cupboard. Talk about it some more later. I don't want you to agonize over this. It isn't worth that. It isn't worth any bother at all."

That was something she could do. Reluctantly she tucked the parcel under her arm, took my hand.

As we walked along she seemed nervous, so much cash on us, looking around furtively. But she loosened up, realizing that if challenged she'd just surrender it. Absolutely nothing to take any risk over.

And if it was not worth any risk, then was it worth any emotional stress? It was just a pile of paper, representing convenience.

She was smart; I thought I had worked all this out, could guess what was going through her mind. But I was wrong.

Finally she said what was bothering her. "It represents hard work on your part. You've handed me, what, a thousand hours of scavenging? Half a year's effort?"

She was concerned about me! I'd already underestimated her. Now loved her more.

Her guess seemed about right. But in this case, it wasn't exactly true.

I nodded. "Usually you'd be right. But my bank account isn't all 'found money'. About half is my parent's estate, their house my uncle sold when they died. Plus my uncle's estate, left to me when he died, his house and tire business.

After that it's compound interest, for almost 20 years. In that time it doubled, doubled and doubled again. Plus my deposits the whole time. Whenever the fishbowl gets full, I deposit most of it."

She nodded, knew about the fishbowl on my end table in my bedroom. Stuffed with rolls of money, wads of soiled bills, money in money-clips found in the street, under bushes, in the park, in alleys.

"Still, it's all yours..." she wasn't even convincing herself. "What if you run out? Get sick and can't get any more for a while? Can't pay your rent."

I smiled, and she got mad. "What are you hiding? You're keeping something from me. Tell!"

"Something I learned in Scouts, about personal finances, a merit badge. If you make regular deposits over a period of years, with compound interest, it really adds up. Start out with a good balance, it can be surprising."

"How surprising? A hundred thousand? Two hundred?"

Not wanting to alarm her, I suggested timidly "More?"

She was exasperated. "Tell me!"

"Two million, eight hundred thousand and change."

She was staggered, literally. Almost dropped the parcel, I put my hand under her elbow to steady her.

"You can't be serious."

"There's more to the story. I put half of it in a technology fund for a few years, made about a million just with that. Spent some, a tidy sum, on the condo. The thing is, it takes money to make money. But the more you have, the easier it is."

She was vexed. "So all this running around after ten dollars here and twenty there..."

I colored. "Some of that was me showing off. But after all these years I've got in the habit. It's more than a game. I feel like, if I can tidy up the world, get money back into the system and working, it helps not only me but other people..."

I trailed off. She was not sold. But she was concerned about a different thing now, the ten thousand forgotten. Progress!

I tried again. "In my defense, I was raised poor too. It seems... precious of me, if I pass up ten dollars just because it's muddy or a cat peed on the bag it's in. Like I'm disrespecting my folks, all the hard work they did raising me, how hard they saved to keep me in school."

That connected. I felt bad, playing the dead-parent card. But it was all true.

The angry fizzled out of her, her heartrate started back down. Her shoulders relaxed, her spine bent back to a more comfortable curve.

She nodded, was silent for a block. Took my hand again, which felt awesome.

"How about this. I can shop for you, for us. Even if the money is free, or easy anyway, spending it can be a chore. I want to be part of this, part of us, and that means I contribute something."

I lit up, charmed by the idea. "You would do that? I get in a big box store, I zone out. The signs, the flashing lights, the people, all the stuff! Not just the boxes; all the stuff inside too. I just want to leave."

She laughed despite wanting to be firm with me, leaned into me, affectionate again.

"I can do that. I like to do that. It's exciting, for a little while anyway, to look for the bargain, to find just the right toaster or whatever. One of life's small victories."

I got it; life was full of stuff, and you took your victories where you found them.

"We have a deal!"

She set the bundle down on a bus stop bench we happened to be passing, took me again in her arms. Looked me in the face, then kissed me. Thoroughly.

When she was done sexing me up, her own body warmed and relaxed as much as mine, lazily untangled from my arms, took my hand, we started off again. All cozy and lovey.

A bag lady with a shopping cart was shuffling along by the building. "Miss! Miss! You forgot your shopping!" She was pointing at our parcel. Ten thousand dollars forgotten on a bus stop bench. Because it hardly mattered.

Laughing, she put her hand out. I got it instantly, took the wad of bills from my pocket, handed it to her.

She hared back to the bench, snagged the parcel. Approaching the lady she said, smiling, "Thank you! I would forget my head if it wasn't screwed on straight!". Handed her the wad of bills, closed the lady's hand around it gently.

"Oh you don't have to do that miss!"

Jill leaned over, kissed her on the cheek. "Yes, I do. You have a good day!"

Jill

Getting ready for my date! We'd stopped for some makeup on the way home, just drug-store stuff but I didn't need much, my complexion so midwestern-girl healthy. I want to cover that up, I'd have to use a trowel.

We'd given the ready cash to the bag lady, had to break into the cash bundle to pay for it, involving some secretive tearing of paper and stuffing of pockets in a bathroom stall. Fun!

Anyway I looked a million bucks in Khang's bespoke blouse, pants. The department store delivery had brought me fresh underwear, better tights, and some going-out shoes that weren't beach-comber salt-stained junk. Those went on the porch, who knows, might wear them again.

I admit, it felt so freeing to be rid of that tourist costume. That had all come to a bad end, best forgotten. Showered and re-dressed in all new stuff, I was a new woman.

Also my vase, now perched on a shelf with a strand of beach-scavenged morning glory trailing down. Greg had even complimented it. He hardly noticed pretty things. Well, me and Khang, but that's about it.

Khang had wanted to meet on the strip, not at the shop. Apparently Phuong was 'a busybody and didn't need to know her business'.

So now I was off, grabbing my new light jacket, Greg's supper in the oven - just some baked pasta thing, a few minutes to throw together but the way he drooled over it, might have been fine cuisine. I set the timer, even though he could see perfectly well when it was done!

Khang was standing on a street corner, fending off the attentions of some vacationers out for a good time. She did it effortlessly, from long practice I guess.

"Jillian! You look so cute! I love those shoes!" She stood on tiptoe, gave me a quick hello kiss.

Adorable! She looked less professional, more going-out, a blouse with some color and a short skirt. Those legs! When you could see them, not in that wool tent she liked to wear in the shop, they were astonishing.

Went from her hips to the ground, and you could see almost every inch. Add heels, she looked dangerously sexy.

I could see the attraction of being a lesbian. Instead of lumpy hairy guys, you had something like this to look forward to.

"Where would you like to eat? My treat! Greg says there's a Vietnamese place just off the strip..."

"No! No Vietnamese! I have to eat that every night, with Phuong! Fried food, that's what I want. Fried chicken! Or barbeque, even better."

Unsurprising, not even Italians ate lasagna every day. "Do you have a favorite place?"

"Dickies! They have them all over. There's two on the strip! One on each end."

We chose the one furthest from the shop, from the condo, intending to leave our normal lives behind and break new ground. Well, not for her, she lived here but I'd never been out this far yet. I'd been a tourist less than a week ago!