My Second Piece of Ass

Being alone in the house was not to my liking. Sleeping alone, eating alone and waiting for the phone to ring were my only reasons for being there. The rest of the time I found other places to go. While alone I had too much time to think. While walking or driving around I could concentrate on seeing new things and not have to think about what I had gotten myself into.

How well did we really know one another? I had picked Laura out of a line up. She was my number one. In a way, Laura had picked me out of a line up too. She had chosen me to spend a few days and nights with her in a Phoenix hotel. To me, it had been the most exciting thing that had ever happened. A woman who earned her living by giving herself to men willing to pay for her body had given herself to me freely. To her, I was a diversion, an amusement, a toy to dangle from a necklace, a receptacle for her nightmares.

Why had I signed the letter, “your loving brother?” We had avoided the use of the word. We had professed our devotion to each other without using the “L” word. She had bestowed the thing she most revered upon me, her trust. I had vowed to dedicate myself to her well being, to protect her.

Now that we had made a commitment to each other we were both, in our own way, exerting our well-meaning guidance on one another’s lives. Laura had given me an unspoken ultimatum; meet others, fuck Lacy, the cashier at the grocery store. In turn, I had sought medical help for her without getting her permission to do so. We were hell bent on thrusting our design upon the other. Was it love or simply meddling?

Being alone in the house was making me think too much. I had to get out. Yet, I had to be there to receive Laura’s call.

Laura telephoned daily to check on the progress with the house, my enrollment in the community college and my date with Lacy. These subjects seemed to fascinate Laura. Her voice was crisp and alert, even when I could tell she was depriving herself sleep.

I reported the meeting with Mr. Waite, the attorney. He was a grand-fatherly man with thinning hair, a slight paunch in the mid-section and piercing eyes. He inquired about Laura, saying he admired the grit that Miss Stone displayed.

“Will four weeks be enough time to obtain a mortgage?” the lawyer wanted to know. He was putting a contingency provision in the purchase offer. I said I didn’t know, that Laura had said she would take care of it. To be safe, we ask for six weeks to get approval for the loan.

I hated having to tell her that the offer had been rejected. “Mr. Husky objected to the mortgage contingency. He said he didn’t want to take the house off the market for six weeks and take the risk of losing a sale.”

“Randy, what made you ask for six weeks? We’ll pay cash. Do you think he will accept our offer if we tell him we don’t need a mortgage?”

I questioned her about paying cash to make certain that she was serious, that she knew how much money was involved. Laura was very specific; she had the funds in her savings account, our savings account, to pay cash for the house.

On Saturday I had good news. Mr. Husky had accepted our offer and Mr. Waite said it would only take two weeks to search the title. We set the closing date for the end of the month, Tuesday the 30th so that Laura would be available to attend.

“You can do better than that,” she said in the same tone that she had used the first time we kissed, nearly two years before. We were leaving the garden restaurant where a man had spoken to Laura, ignoring me. She had seen how angry it had made me. I was opening the car door for her when we saw the man come out of the restaurant, a female on his arm. Laura had said, “kiss me,” and then, “you can do better than that,” wanting the man to get an eyeful of her pressing her pelvis to me as I cupped her ass in my hand. “That lecherous bastard will be horny all day,” she had laughed.

I agreed to talk with Mr. Waite on Monday, hoping for Laura’s sake that the date could be moved up.

“How was the date? You didn’t use my bed? I warned you about that, remember?”

I had to confess that the date had not gone well. As I related the events of the evening before to Laura it came to me what had gone wrong. It was my fault; I was to blame. Because our telephone conversation had gone smoothly, I expected us to be just as relaxed and open with one another in person. As it turned out the opposite took place.

Lacy, who lived with her sister and brother-in-law, made me wait fifteen minutes while she put the finishing touches on something. I never found out what she had been doing while I sat in the living room with Jack, the man of the house.

At least I did not have to do any talking. For fifteen minutes I listened to Jack boast about how well he was doing in the house painting business. When I made the mistake of asking him if he knew Jimmy Crews, Jack exploded in a tirade of profanity. He charged Jimmy with giving low-ball prices, then not fulfilling his commitments. By the time Lacy showed herself I was feeling put off, wondering if she knew what an arrogant ass-hole her brother-in-law could be.

After being with Jack for fifteen minutes I couldn’t get unwound. We had a lousy time because I was uptight. Unlike our telephone conversation which had been relaxed and easy, neither of us had much to say.

Lacy seemed pleased when I told her she looked nice even though I had said it begrudgingly. Not only had I suffered through being in the same room with her egotistical brother-in-law, we arrived fifteen minutes after the movie started. I was not comfortable being with Lacy and I don’t think she found me any prize either.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Laura wanted to know with concern in her voice.

“I think so,” I answered, wanting to end the conversation. I had no news about the house. I told her that I would wait for the call from Mr. Waite before going to the college to see if I could enroll for the fall semester.

“That’s good,” Laura sounded tired. I knew that my description of the date had disappointed her.

“I saw the car!” I exclaimed when she called Tuesday.

“Where?” she asked in an obligatory way, conveying to me that she had absolutely no interest in her former car. At least I was able to give her the good news; we were to close on the house within ten days.

“It’s going to require a bank treasurer’s check,” I told Laura what Mr. Waite had said.

She brightened, excitement in her voice as she gave me instructions as to how I was to transfer money from our savings account to our joint checking account, emphasizing “our” each time she mentioned “our” account.

“You’ll need a desk and chair to study,” she said when I told her I had enrolled in classes that would commence the day after Labor Day. “We’ll go shopping together, okay? I want to help you pick it out.”

I asked when she planned to take off, wanting to make sure she would be available on Monday the 29th, the day I had arranged for us to see the doctor.. Looking at a calendar she said she would probably come home early on Friday the 26th of August.

A battle ensued. Laura said she would take a taxi because it would be early morning before she could take off. I told her to call, that I would pick her up. She said she didn’t want to disturb me at 3 a.m. When we hung up I was under the impression that I had won.

She had not wanted to hear about the car, her car, the dentist’s car that she had sold. Her very first letter to me simply stated, “I sold the car.” We had not discussed it since. Until I saw the Corvette in the parking lot at the college, I had not given much thought to her disposing of the car. I did remember feeling badly when I received the news but not because I attached any special fondness for the car. My feelings stemmed from the way I had to respond to her question. “Was I being a whore for accepting the car?” she had asked me. My answer, disguised as well as I could, was yes, I thought she was being a whore. I never learned if it was my honesty that convinced her to sell the car or, as I wanted to believe, that it was because I was not here to share the enjoyment of driving it that made the car unnecessary.

The car was sitting off by itself. I recognized it immediately. Walking around it brought memories of our first weekend together, of Laura sitting in the passenger’s seat, wearing the white pants suit and straw hat, slanting her head to direct me to take the driver’s side. Seeing the car brought back memories of us driving from the barracks toward the main gate with a whole weekend ahead of us. And, those times when she brought me back to the base and saying goodbye.

Walking around the car was a long journey from the past. Nearly two years in the Arizona sun had taken its toll on the bird-shell blue paint. I hope I didn’t do that, I thought, seeing a scratch on the driver’s door and little nicks along the front fender. On the rear bumper a small decal read, “Ollie’s Auto.”

“I met the neighbor,” I announced when Laura called the next morning.

“Which one?”

“The one on the other side of the drive way,” I said.

“The one with the shutters? I want those. Can we have shutters on our house?”

I told her how it happened. Jimmy Crews had stopped by to see if we were ready to start the paint job. I explained for the third time that we did not own the house yet. Laura and I had not settled on a color for the exterior and the color for the inside was really up in the air. He said he would stop by again and I tried to discourage him, reminding him that I had his telephone number. I also said that I would not be around much. Besides taking care of buying the house I told him that I was starting school soon. Thinking of other reasons that he would not find me at home I mentioned that my sister and I were going to go shopping for a desk and a chair.

Jimmy’s eyes sparkled. “I know this guy,” he said, “come on, we’ll get you a desk.”

We were backing his van into our driveway to offload the old large oak desk that I had just bought from Jimmy’s friend when Sylvia parked in front of the house next door and walked over to introduce herself.

Sylvia was a plain woman, that’s the only way to describe her. The few strands of gray in her pulled back hair would suggest that she was nearing age 40 but I found out later that she was only 33. As she shook my hand I noticed the only attractive thing about her. I was stuck by her gray probing eyes. She smiled and shook hands with Jimmy, saying that she had wanted to meet the young lady that she had seen but had never caught her at home. “You will,” I assured her, saying that Laura would be home soon for a few days. As she walked back to her house I saw stubble on her bare legs.

“We gonna have to sand it to get the nicks out,” Jimmy was saying. “We’ll give it two coats of varnish. It’ll be better than anything you can buy new, lot’s cheaper too.”

Laura wanted to know if I had taken care of the banking.

“I’ve been busy, I told you about buying the desk and meeting Sylvia,” I answered defensively.

“When is your next date with Lacy?”

“I haven’t called her,” I had to admit. Nor had I been to the grocery store where she worked, having decided that when I needed food I would shop in a neighboring town.

“Remember what we talked about,” Laura said in a warning tone as we ended the call.

Two nights later I was working on the desk when I heard a knock at the front door. Jimmy had told me how to buff the oak with steel wool. It wasn’t Jimmy; he knew to use the back door. Sylvia had been over a couple of times but she also knew to come through the rear door. Anyway, she would not visit at 10 p.m.

As I turned on the light at the front door I saw a small woman wearing what appeared to be a rain coat. Boy, was she ever prepared, I thought. It seldom rains in Arizona but when it does, it really rains.

She was young with short dark hair and too much rouge on her cheeks. “Tess sent me,” she said in a placid tone, only slightly moving her lips to deliver the message.

I looked up and down the street, wondering how she had arrived. There were no cars in sight. She had mentioned Tess. That explained everything I needed to know. I invited her inside.

“I’m Mary Ann,” she said as soon as she stepped through the door. Removing the rain coat and looking around for a place to stow it, finding none, she dropped it on the floor. Mary Ann exposed her body, covered only by two small pieces of fabric, for my approval.

I stepped back, embarrassed to have this stranger offering herself in such a bold manner.

“Tess sent you?” My embarrassment had changed to amusement. “Tess sent you?” I asked again.

“She told me what you like,” Mary Ann said purposefully. “But we can’t use her bed,” she added.

“Did Tess say to tell me you are Mary Ann? What’s your real name?” I asked the young girl. She gave me a quizzical look and puckered her lips as if she had forgotten the question.

“I’m not supposed tell you. I’m supposed to do Mary Ann with you, that’s all I know.”

“Is that all you are supposed to do? Mary Ann? How about milking? Did Tess tell you to milk me?”

“No, we can’t do that,” the girl became agitated.

“What did Tess say, tell me exactly what she said for you to do,” I interrogated her, wanting to know how specific Laura had been with the instructions.

“Tess said I can’t do that, even if you ask. Tess said no one but her milks you.”

“Tell me your real name and I’ll take you back to the brothel,” I offered the girl.

She looked at me with apprehension on her face which I mistook for misunderstanding.

“Whorehouse,” I said, thinking she did not understand brothel.

“Don’t you want me to do Mary Ann with you?” She looked hurt, as if rejection was new to her.

“Why don’t you put the raincoat back on. It must be chilly wearing only that,” I urged.

“Is this what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I know I was supposed to wear a skirt and blouse but this is all I had. I’m sorry, I did it wrong?”

I picked up the raincoat and handed it to the girl. “It’s okay, Mary Ann was a long time ago. I’ve almost forgotten about that.”

“I’ll do the milking thing. Just tell me what to do. We can’t tell Tess and we can’t use her bed, that’s all.”

I laughed. What had Laura told this girl? Why had she paid her to do Mary Ann for me? “We can’t do that. Tess would have your ass and mine too. She’s the only one that does that for me.”

We sat at the kitchen table and drank two fingers of scotch. Laura would be suspicious if the girl arrived back at the brothel too early. The scotch did not loosen her tongue; she still would not tell me her real name. I wondered what Laura held over her to make her afraid to confide in me.

The girl sat on the far side of the car seat. She said nothing until we were turning the corner onto the street where the brothel stood alone midway down the block.

“You won’t tell Tess that we didn’t do anything will you?” she asked.

I assured her that I would not say anything, extending my hand as she was ready to exit the car.

“It’s Kelley,” she whispered, her small hand in mine. “She loves you. I guess you know that,” she said before slamming the car door and racing to the front door of the brothel.

Much to my chagrin, Laura took a taxi home, arriving about 3:00 a.m. on Friday morning the 26th. As she eased into bed I turned to place my hand on her belly. She brought her hand to mine and gave it a squeeze. She had showered and put on the long nightgown. There was so much to tell her. We lay quietly, waiting for her to drift off to sleep.

The house was in my name but Laura had paid for it. It belonged to the two of us.

There had been more items in the safety deposit box than I had anticipated. In addition to the savings book there were five envelopes. It would have been better if I had removed the savings book, made the transfer to the checking account and returned it to the box. Instead, I sat in a cubby-hole room and sifted through the box like the meddling spy that I was.

She had mentioned her will when she said Mr. Waite knew my name. The will had been made only six months before, making me her only heir.

“You did this,” was scribbled on the outside of the next envelope I picked up. Inside was the death certificate of Laura’s sister, Karen Stone. Seeing the name, I folded the paper and replaced it in the envelope. Perhaps I would come back and read the cause and the date of death sometime, if I ever got the courage.

A thick envelope contained a life insurance policy on Laura T Stone. It named Randy Tucker as the sole beneficiary. The policy had only been in effect six months.

In the forth envelope was a stack of United States Savings Bonds in various denominations. They were all in Laura’s name until I got to the bottom of the stack and found my name on the last six bonds.

I opened the thin envelope on the bottom of the box and removed a single sheet of paper. It was a copy of the bill of sale for the car. Ollie’s Auto had purchased the Corvette from Laura T Stone.

I had the sudden urge to evacuate the contents of my stomach; to spill my guts. I had just looked inside a person. It was as if I had opened Laura’s soul and peered inside. I had read her most personal and private documents without her permission. Did she know I would investigate everything in the box? Did she want me to see the life insurance policy and the will? Did she want me to see what her mother or father had scribbled on the envelope that contained Karen’s death certificate? How had she gotten my social security number to buy the savings bonds in my name and did she intend for me to see them? Did she want me to see the bill of sale from Ollie’s Auto? Was she trying to tell me something? Was she being a whore? Or was it more; a matter of trust?

Lying beside her in the dark I could not help wonder what I was doing there. The responsibility was enormous. I was all that she had. I was her everything. I had read her most private papers. It was as if I had opened her up and looked inside. Did I really know her? What was she hiding from me?

“I sold him the car and he drove me home,” Laura had read my mind. In the dark she clutched my hand to her stomach and spoke slowly and clearly as if she had rehearsed what she was going to tell me.

“I got out at the corner but he waited to see where I walked. When I got to the front door he was still there, waiting to watch me go inside. A week later he was there, asking for me. I was busy but he waited for me to finish. I acted as if I didn’t recognize him. I told him my name was Tess. He came back and asked for Tess and I took his money. He kept coming back. He said he wanted more. We went on a weekend date.

I did it for the money. When I refused to let him have my ass he said he had warned me that he wanted more. Do you know what the ironic part was?”

She had delivered the speech without showing emotion. I spread my fingers to cover as much of her tummy as I could because she had begun to shake. The speech delivered, she was breaking down.

“No,” I said, failing to see the irony.

“He doesn’t smoke, don’t you think that’s ironic? He doesn’t smoke, yet he brought cigarettes along on our date.”

Her body was shaking but she did not cry. I wished she would. I held her to me and she patted my hand, rubbing it, wanting to let me know, I think, that we were one.

“Laura?”

“Yes sweetheart,” she answered timidly in the darkness of the night.

“I want you to know that you are the dearest thing I have ever known. You have nothing more to prove to me. There is nothing more you need to tell me. I will not ask more questions of you. Ever.”

“It’s a matter of trust,” I heard her say as I felt her body relax.

I went back to sleep, feeling safe for the first time in months. Laura had disclosed