O+F Part 44

"She's got the money," Oliver said. "Sell her a big one and go down and paint Jacky."

"I'd like to," George said. "Something about her . . ."

"Yeah," Oliver said. "Those were the days." Oliver had thought life was complicated when he used to drive over the bridge to Jacky's. "

Bazumas!" he toasted.

"The finest," George said.

A pint later, Oliver reached in his pocket for tip money and felt a small thick square. On his way back to the parking garage he dropped Suzanne's note carefully into a city trash container.

20.

On Friday, Oliver left the hospital fifteen minutes after Suzanne drove out of the parking lot. It had been a tense week. He wasn't any closer to the missing $185,000, and he didn't understand what was happening to him personally. He had avoided Suzanne, although at least once a day he put his head in her door and they exchanged smiles, a moment that was a relief to both of them.

When he got out of the Jeep, Suzanne was standing in her doorway. "You remembered how to get here. Come on in." She shut the door behind him and came into his arms. "Hi, Stranger," she said.

He breathed in the familiar minty smell of her hair which was brushed out fully and freely to her shoulders. "G.o.d, you smell good." She squeezed him and stepped back.

"Let's get that coat off you." She had changed into dark brown cotton pants, a cream colored T-shirt, and a red plaid flannel shirt, unb.u.t.toned. She hung his jacket on a peg by the door.

"You look great," Oliver said. It was the truest thing he had said all week.

"Thank you." She stopped a moment, pleased. "I put the water on. Want some tea? Some lunch?"

"Tea would be good. I'm not too hungry--maybe a piece of toast?" He followed her to the kitchen. "I've got a headache."

"I thought you looked tense. Well, you just let me fix you right up."

She pointed to a chair, and he sat down. She knelt by his feet.

"Boots," she said, untying the laces, "here we go." She pulled them off and led him into her bedroom. "Lie down there; I'll be right back."

Oliver stretched out. He heard water running. Suzanne came in with a washcloth that she doubled and placed across his forehead and eyes. It was cool and moist. "There," she said. He felt her hands on his ankles and then his socks were drawn off. She loosened his belt and fluttered a light cover over his knees and bare feet. "There," she said again, satisfied.

Oliver was rarely sick. It was odd but comforting to be treated like a patient. He relaxed into the coolness of the washcloth as sounds floated in and out of consciousness. Suzanne moved around the house. A jazz combo started up quietly in the living room.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"I'll bring the tea." She returned with mugs and two toasted English m.u.f.fins on a plate. She put them on a bedside table, went around to the other side of the bed, and lay next to him, her head propped up on pillows.

They sipped tea and munched on m.u.f.fins. "I like it here," Oliver said.

"It's cozy," Suzanne said.

"It's hard not talking to you at work," he said.

"I hate it," she said. She put down her mug. "We don't need to think about that now."

"No," he said, closing his eyes. She placed her hand on his chest and rubbed slow circles. Oliver sighed and surrendered to the palm of her hand and her fingertips.

"Much better," she said. Her hand moved slowly across his chest and then down over his stomach. Her fingers reached under the top of his pants and paused. He sighed again and rolled a little closer. Her hair brushed across his face, and her fingers worked downwards, quietly circling and pressing. "Oooh," she said. "We have lift-off."

Oliver took a deep breath. Impulses swirled. He reached down in slow motion and undid his pants. Then he rolled over onto his knees above her and opened his eyes. Suzanne watched him as he yanked off her pants. A knowing smile twitched at the corners of her mouth while concern and a plea for forgiveness showed in her eyes. She was wet and ready. She held nothing back, let him drive her crazy, begged him for it, and then gave a series of wondering cries as releases rippled through her body, one after another.

He withdrew, still hard, and kissed her. He lay back and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. His headache was gone. Suzanne lifted one hand a few inches and let it fall back on the bed. "Oliver?" He moved his head closer so that he could hear her. "You hungry yet?"

"After awhile," he said. He ran a finger lightly down the top of her thigh.

"Gardenburger," she murmured.

He rested his whole hand on her leg. "Gardenburger," he agreed. She smiled slightly. The devil and the angels were gone from her face. She might have been a sunset or an early morning lake. They lay quietly for a minute.

"I love it when you just _take me_ like that."

"Mmm," Oliver said.

"All week, I don't know who I am. I get a hint, like, when you smile at me--but when you f.u.c.k me, I know." Her hand lifted again and fell over against his stomach. He patted her hand. She sighed contentedly and slid her hand down. "Oh," she said, "we've got work to do." She rolled to his side and put her open mouth on his chest. She stroked him steadily and then rolled to her back pulling him over on her. "Come on, Lover. Give it to me." She was urgent, calling repeatedly. The need built deeply and quickly, leaping into her, turning him inside out and helpless in her arms.

It was an hour later when he opened his eyes. "I was going to wake you at three," Suzanne said.

"Make that two gardenburgers," he said. "I'd better take a shower."

Suzanne cut up an onion and fried it with the burgers.

"d.a.m.n," Oliver said, emerging from the steamy bathroom, "onions!" He was still waking up. Suzanne was dressed again. Oliver sat at the kitchen table to eat, but he couldn't take his eyes from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

They were just right, hanging and swelling under her T-shirt; they were perfect for his mouth, like pears, but so much better. "G.o.d!" He shook his head. "You are too much."

Suzanne flushed. "Is that going to hold you?"

"Terrific," he said. He ate quickly and stood. "I've got to go."

"Hold on." She came close and picked a blonde hair from his shirt.

"Don't want you getting caught."

"No," Oliver said.

"Will you come back?" she asked softly.

"Are you kidding? As soon as I can."

She hugged him as though he were breakable. "I'll be waiting." It was almost an apology.

He ran one hand down her hair and the compound curve of her back. "Save that kiss for next time," he said.

"That one and a couple more."