On Monday there were eleven applicants for the two part time painting positions that I had advertised to fill. Huley sat next to me in the cafeteria as I spoke to the young men, one at a time. Some of them had experience, others did not. Some had their own transportation, others did not. Some looked strong enough to handle a heavy ladder, and some had to be eliminated from consideration for a variety of reasons. At the end of the lunch hour I had not made a selection. Neither Huley nor I had eaten lunch.
To anyone paying attention, we were a couple. That was probably the reason I had been unable to decide which of the young men to tell they had the job. With Huley brushing against me and touching me on the arms and looking into my eyes I couldn't concentrate on the task at hand.
I apologized for letting her sit there for an hour without eating as we walked toward our respective classrooms. I was starving but she did not seem to mind.
"You didn't call," she complained.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know when the best time would be," I said, touching her hair even though it was in place and looked perfect. We were already late for class.
"Don't do that. You know what it does to me," she said but didn't reach for my hand.
"I'll call tonight, what time is best?"
"Anytime before nine," she answered, taking my hand in hers and holding it.
"How long is this call likely to last?" I asked, thinking she wanted it to end before nine.
"Twenty-six minutes," she said, giving my arm a final touch as she dashed off to class. I watched her go, really noticing for the first time what she was wearing. The two small mounds in the front of the pink sweater had brushed against my arm a dozen times and short black skirt had been an extension to my pants for most of the hour we had spent together.
That afternoon I asked Jimmy if his wife could make a rug for Sylvia, saying that I wanted to do something for her because she was helping to take care of Laura and because the work on her addition was being held up.
Jimmy put me to work putting a coat of primer on the window sills he had replaced. I was working at the back of the house; he and Davey were working on the front. We were scheduled to finish on Friday and go on to the next job on Saturday with the help of the two part timers I was going to hire.
I recognized the lady who came out the back door but not the giant male behind her. She was the short stocky madam that I had seen on my first visit to the brothel about two years before.
"Mr. Tucker, Tess wants you to bring these boxes to her," the lady said.
I got down from the ladder and took the box she handed me, saying I would be glad to bring them home. The tall man had another box and a case. He followed me to my car, remaining silent. I didn't say anything either until he spoke. As I slammed down the trunk lid he said, "How's Tess?"
"She's doing well, I think. I'll find out tonight, she went for a checkup today," I answered, straining my neck to look up at his face. He was not old but the stooped shoulders and need of a haircut made him seem so.
"Tell her Ralph was asking for her," he said, turning to look at how the fresh paint was being applied to the front of the house before returning to the back door.
Sylvia was there when I got home so I couldn't ask Laura who Ralph was or tell her he was asking about how she was doing. They had good news. Sylvia had taken Laura to see Doctor Torpid who had given a good report.
"Where do you want this stuff?" I asked Laura.
"I don't know, the bedroom for now, I guess." Then to Sylvia, "It's records from one of my accounts. I'll work at the kitchen table until we get me a desk."
We decided to celebrate Laura's good report by having a glass of wine with our dinner. I thanked Sylvia for taking Laura for her checkup, adding that I would kiss her shoulder. When Sylvia made a motion toward her top button Laura spoke up, "show some restraint, you two."
It was nearly seven when we finished eating. As I sat down to study I picked up the book on the Fall of Rome that Huley had loaned me. "Do you have anything on this?" I asked Sylvia, showing her the book. She promised to bring me anything she could find in the small town library. At 8:30 I called Huley.
"I forgot to give you the notes, the ones on the guys you talked to about the job," Huley said as soon as she came to the phone.
"Oh yeah, I need them, I forgot their names already, you distracted me," I admitted.
"You distract me. I told mama what you said about getting our first kiss out of the way. She thought it was sweet that you kissed me on the shoulder first."
"Really, you told your mother about that? Didn't she think we were studying?"
"Hey, mama knows all. She knew what we were doing, she's cool with it."
"Cool," was all I could think of to say.
"I told her about that thing you do to my hair too. She says you've got to stop doing it in public."
"Your mother's saying for me to stop putting your hair in place, why?"
"Randy?"
"Yes?"
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"It makes me wet," Huley whispered.
"No. Is that what you told your mother? I don't believe it."
"That's why she says you've got to stop doing it."
"I don't believe you told your mother that."
"Ask her next time you see her. She's going to tell you to stop doing it to me."
"Huley?"
"Yes?"
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"When you were rubbing your leg against mine in the cafeteria today?"
"Yes?"
"It made me wet and my mother is going to tell you not to do it to me."
"Oh you, boys don't get wet. I'm going to tell mama what you said." she laughed.
"How about your dad? What did he say?"
I thought I knew the answer. I only asked for confirmation to my presumption. Huley went berserk, warning me to not even think of telling her father something of that nature. "Papa likes you, don't fuck it up by talking that way in front of him," she said, almost pleading.
Before hanging up I agreed to take her to the football game our school was playing that Friday night.
In bed that night I told Laura about my telephone conversation with Huley, avoiding, of course, any mention of Ollie Pettersen.
"She gets wet when you play with her hair? That sounds promising," she commented.
"She's probably exaggerating. I don't believe she said anything to her mother about it either. I think she talks that way to keep me stirred up. I told her she affected me the same way," I remarked.
