By The Sea, Gently

I waited down on the street for the person the office sent, and she turned up a half hour later, wide-eyed when she saw the house and wanting to know where the boy was.

"Upstairs," I said pointing at a staircase straight out of Gone With The Wind. "He disappeared up there as soon as we arrived. His mother just went to Mass Gen."

"What are Hell are you doing here?" the woman hissed, now looking like a half lawyer, half dominatrix Pit Bull from Hell.

I shrugged. "Haven't the slightest idea. Just trying to be nice, then -- here I am."

She shook her head then took off up the stairs, her bullwhip trailing behind. A few minutes later she came back down and met me in the kitchen -- where I was rummaging around in the 'fridge for something to drink -- when the phone rang.

I answered and talked to Simmons' partner Ely, who advised she'd be having surgery at six in the morning.

"What about Ben," he asked.

"I've got someone from the airline here now. One way or another we'll figure something out."

"She told me her sitter's out of town...uh, do you know Elizabeth well?"

"No, not at all actually. I met her on the flight today."

"You what? Were you the pilot?"

"Yessir."

"How'd you end up over at her house?"

"She asked me to meet her in the infirmary, and the next thing I knew..."

"Yes. She's a force of nature alright. Always has been."

"Well, I have someone from the airline here now, and I'll call corporate in New York and get them rolling on this. Anything I need to know about the boy?"

"Well, I don't know where to begin. First, the kid's a genius, a math prodigy and damn good on the piano. He loves airplanes -- I mean Loves them. He's impossible to, well, he sees through everything so don't try to pull one over on him. Just tell him the truth, and whatever you do, don't lie to him."

"Okay."

"Maybe someone could bring him over in the morning, let him see what's going on."

"Yeah, we can handle that. So, her full name is Elizabeth Simmons? No husband, or any other family?"

"No. Her husband passed a few years back, older man, esophageal cancer. Her parents passed back in 82, car accident. She's an only child, no other relatives as far as I know."

"This her parent's place?"

"Yup. Old family, banking and shipping, they've been in that house for a hundred and fifty years, or so I've been told."

"Well, thanks..."

"So, if you don't mind me asking again, why are you there?"

"Tell you what, doc. When you find out let me know, would you?"

"Right. Well, we'll see you later."

I rang off and turned to the dominatrix-lawyer. "Well, the kid's smart as Hell, and don't ever lie to him. You wanna call New York while I go talk to the boy?"

She nodded her head. "Sure."

I looked at her once again. "Say, you headed to a costume party or something?"

She turned beet red and I ran for the stairs.

The boy was upstairs in a den of some sort -- the room was all deep wood paneling and there was a TV built into one of the cabinets, and he was sitting there reading a book while a videotape played in the background.

"What are you reading?" I asked as I came and sat in a chair across from him.

"Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit," he muttered. "Have you read it?"

"Yes, well, parts of it. When I was in college I took a couple of ethics classes. Hegel, Kant, those guys."

He nodded. "How long have you been a pilot?"

"I soloed in college, never stopped after that."

He looked up from the book. "What was it like? The first time?"

"It's magic," I smiled as the memory came for me. "There's nothing like it. When you get out there on the taxi way and look around and there's no one but you sitting there? Wow. It's like the butterflies in your belly go wild..."

"Could you teach me?"

I'm not sure if words could describe the look in that kid's eyes just then, but Christmas morning came to mind. Ely's words came too. "Don't lie...he'll see right through you."

"Is that something you really want to do?"

"What do you mean by 'really want to do?'"

"Well, see, it's kind of like this. I only teach people who really, really want to learn to fly, like more than anything else in the world."

"Oh. Why's that?"

"Because I don't like to waste my time with pretenders. Are you a pretender?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Is learning to fly something you really want to do? More than anything?"

He bunched his lips and squinted a little, then nodded his head. "Yup."

I stood and held out my hand and he looked at me. "It's no deal without a handshake," I said seriously. "You're asking me to make a promise to you, aren't you?"

He put his book down and stood, then walked over and put his hand in mine. "It's a promise, then? You'll teach me to fly?"

"As long as you really want that more than anything else, I will. But you have to be honest with me, always and from now on. That's part of the deal, okay?"

"Okay. Where's my mom?"

"Mass Gen. Surgery on the bone around her eye, I think six in the morning."

He nodded his head again, then looked at a clock on the wall by the big Trinitron. "It's late. I'd better get to bed now. Will you be here in the morning?"

"Unless something happens, yes, I will be."

"Will you come get me then? If something bad happens."

"Yup. That's a promise."

He looked up at me just then. "When mom came back to the seat this afternoon she told me she liked you. She said you were honest."

"Nothing good ever comes from telling lies, Ben."

"Yup," he said as he padded off to his bedroom. "See you in the morning."

+++++

Ben and I made it over to the hospital for first visiting hours, at nine the next morning, and I left him there with another woman from the home office, after I had a better idea what might happen to him over the next few days -- until his mother could go home -- and I took off to go home and get ready for the next day's flight.

So of course I was a little surprised when Dr Simmons, well, I guess I should start calling her Elizabeth now, called me later that evening.

"You know," she began, "I don't know your name...all of it, anyway."

"Pat," I told her.

"Pat Patterson? You're not Irish or anything, are you?" She laughed at that, by the way.

"What gave it away? The red hair?"

"Your insufferably green eyes."

"Insufferably?"

"Yup. The first time I saw you, well, when I looked in your eyes I think I went weak in the knees."

"Did you now, Lassie," I crooned, in my best County Cork brogue. "And why do you think that is?"

"I'd be careful, Pat. You sound like the guy from the Lucky Charms cereal commercial."

"Swell."

"So, you're flying tomorrow?"

"I am, yes. Back to the grind."

"Could you, well, I don't quite know how to ask this, but could you call me when you get back?"

"Call you? Where? Will you still be there?"

"No, I'm going home tomorrow, and I'll be off the rest of the week. Maybe Friday evening? Could we go out to dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner. You know, that thing two people do occasionally? When they want to get to know someone a little better?"

"Ah, how could you tell?"

I think that caught her a little off-guard.

"You'd like to get to know me?" she said slowly.

"Yup, I think I would. How about you?"

"Uh, well then, I take it the fact I have a son doesn't bother you?"

"Well, yes, now that you mention it. The fact he's eight years old and smarter than I am kind of worries me."

She laughed, then yelped. "Ouch...that hurt."

"Oh, sorry. I know some really bad knock-knock jokes if you're in the mood?"

"No thanks," she moaned, "I'm trying to quit."

"Good, 'cause I can't remember any right off the top of my head."

"So, should I get a sitter, or do you want him to come along?"

"On a first date? Are you kidding?"

"Good. I'm glad you said that."

"Do I need to get a sitter?" I asked, grinning.

"Uh...do you have a child at home?"

"Goldfish, but they're clingy."

"Ah, well. Up to you. Do you have my home number?"

"You'd better give it to me, just in case."

She did. "Thursday night, then," she said, her voice a little nervous. "You'll call me?"

"Yup. I should be home mid-afternoon."

"Okay. I can't wait..." she said, then the line went dead.

"Now what the devil was that all about," I said to the four walls -- and though I was certain they weren't listening -- well, what the hell.

+++++

"Hello? Pat, is that you?"

"It is. How are you?"

"Where are you?"

"Frankfurt."

"Is everything alright?"

"No, not really."

"What...what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking about you. A lot. Very distracting, as a matter of fact. What have you got to say about that?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You seem to be the cause of this distraction, so I thought you might be able to help me figure it out."

"Are you in your hotel room now?"

"I am."

"Are you, you know, horny?"

"You know, yes I am, and I find that kind of odd. For the last few years I just haven't been, and now all of a sudden I am. I'm having a hard time understanding why?"

"Really?"

"No, not really." I heard her laugh on the other end and I don't know why, but that sound made me very happy. "So, how are you? Home yet?"

"Yes, about two hours now. Thank God for Percocet."

"Bad, huh?"

"Not real bad, but worse than a headache. And my face...! I look like a raccoon!"

"Well, it's a cute face. I'm sure you'll heal just fine."

Long pause after that one.

"You think my face is cute?"

"Hmm? Well, yeah, I reckon I do. Is that a problem?"

Another long pause.

"When you get in tomorrow, do you think you could come straight by?"

"Uh...no shower, no change of clothes? Not exactly a good first impression, you know..."

"Pat, I've had my first impression and I can't wait to see you, so...please? Come by right after you get in?"

"You know, I think it's going to be impossible for me to ever say no to you. I hope that's not a problem."

"Pat? I won't say no, okay?"

I think I started to shake a little when she said that. "Okay," I said -- just barely. "I'll see you around two or so."

"Okay," she sighed. "Bye."

+++++

She met me at the door, dressed to kill I think you might say. She had kind of classic fifties vibe going...grey flannel skirt cut just above the knee, white blouse, light grey stockings and pumps. Make-up over her bruise around the right eye, subdued red lipstick. Her deep brunette hair was shining and full of life, and when the door swung open she looked at me and smiled, then fell into my arms and put her arms around me...

"Oh God, you're a sight for sore eyes," I said, and she leaned back and looked me in the eye.

Then she kissed me. Gently that first time, but then with an intensity that left me excited -- and a little unsettled. "Where'd that come from?" I finally whispered.

"I haven't been able to think about a thing since you called," she sighed. "Pat? I think I've got it real bad."

I held her close then, my hand behind her head, and I closed my eyes as I took in the scent of her -- like I was imprinting her onto my soul. "You know, I really don't know what's going on here," I whispered. "Do you?"

She leaned back again and I could see she'd started to cry a little, then she nodded her head. "Yup," she sighed, "I think it's love."

"A love at first sight kind of thing, you think?"

"Nope," she smiled, almost a little girl's smile. "A love at first sigh kinda thing."

"Ah."

That next kiss was devastating. Deep, ferocious -- I could feel my toes curling and butterflies taking off in my gut, and we stood there in the shade with a cool breeze blowing and maybe, who knows, but I think time stopped for a little bit that afternoon.

You know, maybe when two souls collide -- something spontaneous and fierce like what happened to us that afternoon -- maybe time does indeed stop. Everywhere, all across the universe, even if it's just for a millisecond or two -- or -- maybe it just feels that way.

It felt that way to me, for what it's worth.

She was a tall girl, not skinny and certainly not overweight, and she was solid. Arms and legs trim yet muscular, like she worked out a lot, and she had a little button nose under her deep brown eyes -- all framed by that long brown cascade of hair -- oh, and those lips. I could talk about those lips for days and never grow tired. Set in a thin line when she talked about work, or full and pouty when she set to work on me, when she smiled, when laughter filled her heart the whole world knew just by looking at those lips. Her skin was always whitest white so the deep red lipstick she wore always seemed to shine with special intensity, kind of non-verbal way of letting me know she was there -- and ready -- when I was.

She was a few years older than I, not quite ten years anyway but that never seemed to make a difference, and yet in the end I think we both recognized how much life we'd let slip by, and how much living we needed to do -- just to get caught up -- and I think that was behind the almost surreal passion our coming together led us to. I was a neophyte where all this was concerned, and her's a dusty memory laid waste when her husband passed, but I played the eager pupil to her patient teacher and I can't even begin to imagine what life might have been like had we met years before.

Or if we'd never met.

But I guess that's the point of all this, isn't it? I always thought this would happen when the universe was good and ready for us to happen, and not one minute sooner.

Well, now, here we were that first afternoon, happy as two peas in a pod, and she didn't want dinner. No, she wanted to go see my place, which became our little code over the years for needing to find some privacy, some time and place away from Ben and the rest of the world, and that's where we went.

My new place was, as I mentioned, across the river in Cambridge, close enough to campus to walk to class, and I drove us over in my old 911 then held her as we walked inside.

My place is, well, let's be charitable and call it small. Tiny was the word she used, and given my entire place was smaller than her living room I could see the point she was trying to make. Yet my place is all oiled Danish teak and oatmeal colored fabrics, a few bright splashes of color here and there. Art on the walls? Well yes, if you consider posters with panel layouts of the 747-300 cockpit artsy. I had a framed M C Escher poster from my dorm in the living room, too.

"Jesus H Christ!" she moaned as she took in my little place. "You really live here?"

I laughed. "Yup."

"Is there a bedroom, maybe?"

"Oh, over here," I said, pointing to the Murphy-bed on one wall in the living room...and that really set her off -- laughing -- again.

"Oh, you poor man..." she finally sighed as she walked to my 'library,' -- three shelves of flight manuals and a few assorted textbooks I'd kept from college. Still, the building was brand new and I kept my place spartan, beyond clean. "So, how does this thing work?"

"Thing?"

"The bed, silly."

"Ah." I flipped a lever and pulled the bed down into the room and when I turned back to her she was folding her skirt. She turned, faced me in her garters and stockings and heels, then she went and sat on the edge of the bed -- pulling me along as she walked by.

She pulled my belt buckle and pushed my pants down in one movement, then took me in her mouth.

Okay, so station break here, time for a little information.

I hadn't been with anyone in, well, a really long time and I've never been one for spanking the monkey so let's be modest here and say that the dam was about to burst. Got it? Need I be more specific?

In other words, I doubt I lasted 30 seconds -- then it was like one of those WWII movies...you know, where the bomber flies in low and drops a massive bomb on the dam that supplies power to all Germany? Yup, that kind of explosion. A massive, embarrassingly drenching affair...with her gagging as this unexpected pyroclastic flow erupted and flowed down to her truly lovely light grey lingerie, cascading bits of spray landing on her stocking tops and all over my freshly laundered sheets.

And yet she held me by the cheeks, ate all she could with a sudden feral beauty that -- had I not been on my tip-toes and about to pass out -- left with breathless with new love for this woman.

Then she was reaching down and scooping up all this stuff -- and, and -- licking all of it from her fingers...and I swear...she was purring...like a cheetah, perhaps. Preening, basking in the glory of her prize?

So...that made me the gazelle, hmm? Does that sound about right?

+++++

There was always something about Elizabeth -- Liz -- I couldn't quite wrap my head around. She was beautiful, smart as could be and had inherited more money than anyone could believe -- or spend. She was a surgeon -- a neurosurgeon, for God's sake -- and she had been off the market for years? Why? Wrapped up in her work, she said, or with raising her boy, but I doubted it was that simple or, for that matter, easy to explain away. Her husband had been as equally energetic as she, a physicist who also had it in mind to invent things. Like huge advances in semi-conductor technology, among others, when not up to more mundane activities, like teaching physics at MIT.

The point?

She did her best to convince people that she was over his death, myself included, but the effort cost her. I found her once in her bedroom, one of his shirts held to her face. I saw her crying gently there and I called her name and she turned to me -- then away as she ran into the bathroom. I followed her, told her she needed to talk to me about these things -- but no. She wasn't having any of that, not that day and not ever. That part of her life was over, she told me, and as beautiful and important as he had been to her, she told me she had to turn away from him or he'd overwhelm and consume her 'til the end of time.

Which is, when all's said and done, an interesting place to find yourself in -- at least from my perspective it was, anyway. And yet with Ben and I? We found ourselves in an entirely different situation.

His dad had passed when he was just three years old, so at best memories of his father were hazy shady wisps of fog. Maybe that made things easier between the two of us, yet he had grown up with his mother's devastation always in full view, with her remembrances of the man always all around him, so in effect he had grown up venerating a distant memory as much as his mother. My presence became confusing for him those first days and weeks together, but we already had common ground of sorts under us. Flying, I guess, was where we saw eye to eye, and we conscientiously never drifted far from that place. Before school started I took him down to our training facility and showed him around the simulator room, let him "fly" a 747 for a few minutes and he was enraptured by the experience. That seemed to cement the bond we had, and our promise to one another, and that seemed good enough for him -- for the time being.

Depending on my schedule I was gone two to four nights a week, and this was almost a problem in the beginning. Liz was needy and very clingy those first few months together, and physically at times almost insatiable, yet then she'd drift off into this dark place for a while, usually when I was away -- but not always.

"Oh, it's just menopause," she told me more than once, but that didn't ring true and she'd laugh gayly and flutter away on a breeze. A few minutes later she'd dance into my arms and hold me like I'd never been held before and my love for her would come over us like a huge breaking wave. I'd hold on through all her cross-setting currents and buffeting emotion and when we came out of it -- together -- this love we had seemed monumental, enduring.