A Super Tuesday

"Actually, reading all that literature proved a valuable training ground for reading the law."

They continued to browse for a few more minutes before leaving. It was still early, and Austin suggested they take a walk.

"Great idea," she said, feeling relieved to be out of the warm, stuffy confines of Bookends. The crisp autumn air refreshed her.

Holding hands, they walked up to the Washington Monument, a couple blocks away, and the centerpiece of Baltimore's Mount Vernon neighborhood. An architectural gem of nineteenth century swanky urban living, Mount Vernon was once home to the city's gentry, their descendants long-gone to suburban fringes. Wealthy residents still lived there in the few homes that remained intact. Investors had sliced the others into apartments, the domain of students and bohemian types.

Four small parks surrounded the monument, grass covered and lined with benches astride concrete walkways. Streetlamps kept the place bright at night. The city had installed them following the rioting last April, though police considered Mount Vernon one of the better inner-city neighborhoods. After circling the Washington Monument on the cobbled walk that surrounded it, they sat on a bench facing another monument, this one of John Eager Howard, another hero of the Revolutionary War. His Belvedere estate once encompassed the area. The bronzed JEH sat astride his horse facing north on Charles Street, unmoved since the city planted him there in 1904.

Austin held her hand. "So, I read fact, you read fiction. I support American foreign policy in Vietnam, you oppose it. Tricia, what the hell are we doing here?"

"Opposites attract, you know that. But seriously, just speaking for myself, I can think of a few reasons why I'm here with you. One, you're very good looking. Call me superficial, I don't care, I have a thing for dark haired guys with blue eyes and athletic bodies. Then there's your sensitivity, your empathy for the way others feel, your willingness to discuss issues. You could have lashed out at me for getting angry. Instead, you calmed me down and heard what I had to say without being judgmental. So far, I give you an A-minus."

He struck a faux pose of insult and hurt. "Just an A-minus?"

"Well, I don't want you to get all full of yourself, over confident. Now it's your turn."

"You mean to tell you how pretty and sexy and bright you are, and how you didn't stay angry for long and how you assuaged my dumb guilt over owning the car and how you respect my point of view even though you don't agree with it." Pause. "Oh, and how great your butt looks in tight jeans. More?"

"Um, that's enough for now. Keep going and you'll make ME all full of myself." She clasped her hands around his face. "Now kiss me already."

He did, purposely slow and gentle, careful to savor the warm, initial rush of kissing a girl he liked for the first time. He'd been there before, though it had been awhile, and this made it extra special. This was a novel experience in one sense: he had never necked on a park bench in the middle of the city. The cool, dry air, coupled with these grand old row homes surrounding them, enhanced the pleasure. He loved her scent, subtle but distinctive; it added just the right amount of spice to what nature produced from the pores of her lovely skin.

"You're quite the make-out artist," she said. "Anybody ever tell you that?"

"Not bad for a future accountant, you mean."

"Not bad for a future anything."

She meant it, taking notice of the moistness she felt between her legs. Good thing they were in public or she might do things she never did on first dates. Just minutes ago, she wanted to throw beer in his face. Now she wanted to throw off her panties. This was crazy. This was wonderful. Wonderfully crazy, she decided, breathing heavy as he planted kisses on her neck, making her hotter than she needed to be right now. After all, they were out in public next to Charles Street, one of the city's busiest traffic arteries. Cars rushed by, including a big black Olds that slowed in front of them. The driver yelled something lewd out his window, then sped away when Austin gave him the finger.

"Some people can't mind their own business," Austin said. "Time to move on, I guess."

Still breathing hard, Tricia said, "Yes, and not just because of idiots like him. Honestly, Austin, you make me think of doing things on a first date that I've never done before."

"Duh, like what?"

"Hint. It has nothing to do with selling cars."

"Showing me your law books?"

"Brilliant guess."

"Thanks."

Soon, they were walking back to his car, holding hands. "I never expected to feel like this on a first date," she said. "Frankly, it scares me."

"How so?"

She then told him about her painful breakup, how her ex-boyfriend met someone else. "He hurt me to the quick, which soured me on getting deeply involved with someone else. I've still got my guard up."

He didn't say anything more until they reached the car. Then, grasping her around her shoulders, he said, "I understand how you must feel. I've been burned myself. We'll take things slow. No rush."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. And look, I take back what I said earlier about you enlisting. I understand your sense of duty and all that, but I'd hate to see you go over there and run the risk of getting shot up. Or worse."

He found a parking space down the street from her apartment, a modern, twelve-floor high-rise. After a long goodnight smooch, she considered asking him up. She wanted to; however, after that romp in Mount Vernon, she thought it best to hold off. As he said, no rush. She opened her car door. "I had a fantastic time, Austin. Please call me."

He leaned in and kissed her one last time. "You can count on it."

*****

Instead, she called HIM, wanted to know if he'd like to spend Super Tuesday over her apartment watching the election returns. "Sure, but we could be up half the night," he said. "They're running neck and neck."

"If you don't mind, I don't," she said. "See you at eight."

She was excited about seeing him, though a little nervous. Recalling what transpired last time in Bookends, she debated whether to exchange information on how each of them had voted. Her disgust of what happened last August had driven her to do the unthinkable, vote for Richard Milhous Nixon. Nixon had a secret plan to end the war, or so he said. Humphrey and Democrats generally seemed more aligned with her politics. However, there was that scar from getting her head busted and the taint of LBJ's shadow trailing Humphrey. LBJ, she and the country now realized, had lied to the American people about the war.

She greeted him at the door of her ninth floor apartment. "Not your usual accountant's attire," she joked, "but I love what you're wearing." She thought he looked sexy in his jeans and varsity jacket, black with tan leather sleeves, thrown over a tight fitting blue T-shirt.

He closed the door, gave her a quick kiss, then looked her over. "Well, let me return the compliment," he said, admiring her hip-hugging tan shorts and tight pullover blue blouse.

Barefoot, she invited him to kick off his sneakers and join her on the couch. She had already set out the snacks on her coffee table—cheese and crackers and a bottle of red wine. Her color, seventeen-inch Sony TV was already on, tuned to CBS and Walter Cronkite.

"I love your setup here," he said, as she filled both their glasses. He raised his glass in a toast. "May the best man win."

A sly smile creased her lips. "And who might that be?"

He chuckled. "Tell me and I'll tell you."

"I asked you first."

He nodded. "Well, I hope this doesn't offend you, but I voted for George."

"Who?"

"George, as in Wallace."

She almost choked on her wine. "You're kidding!"

"I was afraid you might react that way." He struggled to keep a straight face, laughing inside, enjoying her incredulity and outrage. Finally, the dam broke and he doubled over in hysterics. "Had you there, didn't I?"

She slapped him gently on his shoulder. "Yes, you did. So really, who did you vote for?"

"Humphrey."

"Really? No kidding?"

"Guess you had me figured for a Nixon guy. Looks like we voted the same ticket."

"Well, you might not believe this, but I went for Nixon-Agnew, the law and order duo." She rolled her eyes to emphasize her sarcasm.

He leaned back, staring at her suspiciously. "Now it's you putting ME on."

She raised her right arm, then explained her reasons. "So that's why, though in reality, I don't see much difference between the two. Neither one excites me. At least Wallace supporters, for all their misguided, racist ideology, appear genuinely passionate about their candidate."

"Wallace might be racist but he taps into white backlash over the riots we had last April and in the summers before. People, me included, are fed up and disgusted. I'm no racist, but..."

She put her wine glass back on the coffee table. "But what? Look, the riots disgusted me too, because I don't believe most of the looters gave a damn about Martin Luther King. If they did, they'd have respected his philosophy of non-violence. But Wallace...come on. Left up to him, he'd try to throw out every civil rights law on the books. You do believe in equal rights, I hope."

"Of course. But I also believe in law and order. What we've endured every summer since Watts is anarchy. We can't let it go on."

"I agree," she said, and turned toward the TV. "Well, let's just see what happens. It could be a long night."

A prescient observation it turned out. As the night wore on, "too close to call" became a common refrain with Cronkite and anchors on the other two networks. Then, before dawn in the East, the tide shifted in Nixon's favor where it remained.

By that time, Austin and Tricia were snuggled in each other's arms, half-asleep on the sofa, their wine bottle nearly empty. "Well, it looks like your guy won," Austin said. "Looks like we will have Nixon to kick around some more." He sat up, rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. "Damn, it's close to four. Guess I should be headed out."

Tricia tightened her arms around him. "In your condition? No way. You need to catch some z's. We both do." She clicked off the TV, stood up, yawned and stretched. Then she took his hand and said, "My queen-sized bed will accommodate us very well." He nodded, then let her lead him into her bedroom.

For the next few hours, sleep took priority over everything. By nine, they were awake but still in bed, stripped down to their underwear. Lying on his side against her back, Austin brushed her hair back to see the scar made by a cop's nightstick. He kissed her over the spot, then threw his arm around her. "If I had been with you in Chicago," he said in a soft voice, "that cop would've had a fight on his hands."

She turned around, flashed him a warm smile. "I have no doubt you would have done your best to protect me." She gazed into his blue eyes, then began playing with his chest. "I'll let you in on a little secret."

"Okay."

"I've never made love before breakfast."

"That makes two of us. I hope you believe there's a first time for everything."

She slid her index finger down his nose. "I'll be late for work."

"And I'll miss my accounting class."

"Perfect." She sat up, then slipped off her bra and panties.

"You can't go in like that."

"Why not? Bet I could sell more cars this way."

"I bet you could too. You sold me fully clothed."

"And now?"

"And now you've sold me again. No dickering necessary."

She placed her hand over his crotch. "Speaking of DICKering, why don't we slip these off?" She took down his Hanes briefs and then climbed on top of him. "Better?"

"Much."

"You're an easy sell. Ready for a test ride?"

"Ignition on."

She felt his organ rise against her thigh. "I'll say!"

He buried his face between her boobs, smelling the sweet fragrance of her smooth skin. "I really like you, you know."

She arched her head back, then leaned forward and kissed him. "I get that impression. But you know what? I really like you as well. A lot. Even though, politically speaking, we're not fully in sync."

Words morphed into sounds of pleasure in the late morning of post-election Wednesday. Politics took a back seat, then got thrown out the window altogether. They proved again that affairs of the heart usurps politics every time.

Afterward, they canoodled in bed engaged in post-coital repartee. Austin said, "One of my better test rides, I'll have to admit. Smooth shifting. Quick acceleration. Handles beautifully around curves. Power to spare. She's a keeper, Tricia."

"Holy metaphor, Batman!" she said, laughing. "Glad you like her. Like I said back at the dealership, all yours for the right price."

"And what's that?"

"Nothing exorbitant. Just stay the guy that you've shown me so far to be. Smart. Honest. True. Sensitive and funny. Think you can do that?"

"I know I can do that."

"Then we have a deal." She cuddled closer, planted kisses on his forehead, ran her fingers through his hair. "Thanks, Austin, for making Super Tuesday truly super."