Discretion's Reward

Jack didn't answer directly, but shrugged his shoulders as if to say he wasn't sure.

Abigail let out a long breath, a neutral expression still on her face. The museum had long ago done away with the moral turpitude clause in its employment contracts, and both men were 'consenting adults' as the saying went. So what action to take about any of this, if any, was up to her.

"Are Mr. Donaldson and Mr. Collins in trouble?" Jack finally asked.

"No, they're not," Abigail replied, a small smile now at the corners of her mouth. "Thankfully, stupidity isn't grounds for dismissal. And neither are you in trouble, I should add. I was just curious as to why you'd lied, that's all."

Actually, what she was really curious about was the fact that Jack hadn't tried to use the knowledge that Brian Donaldson was buggering his assistant to his advantage. Which was something she was sure any of the other summer clerks would have certainly done.

"Since you were willing to take the fall for what happened, can I assume that you don't have any future plans to share what we just discussed?" Abigail asked.

Neither Donaldson or Collins were married, which might have made the situation awkward, to say the least, so no problem there. Still, this wasn't something the museum would want spread around. That had been the reason for Donaldson's frantic call; it was inconceivable to him that Jack wouldn't tell someone about what he'd seen. When he hadn't, Abigail wanted to find out why.

"Of course not," Jack replied, adding that he'd always thought that what people do behind closed doors was their own business."

"As long as they remember to lock them," Abigail offered with a small laugh.

Jack just smiled.

"Well then, I guess we're done here," Abigail said with a sense of finality.

"But... what about the artifact that I broke?" Jack asked, his mind shifting back to what he originally thought this meeting had originally been about.

"If the vase had been packed properly in the first place, dropping it a few feet wouldn't have damaged it like it did," Abigail noted. "So that's on the shipper and their insurance company, not you. Besides, I've seen the photos of that hideous thing, and in my opinion it looks better in a dozen pieces."

Jack felt a feeling of relief wash over him. He'd been sure that, by tomorrow, he'd find himself banished to the depths of his father's dungeons. Thanking Mrs. Porter, he got up and headed toward the door. By the end of the day, the whole business with the broken vase had been dismissed from his mind.

That was until a few days later, when he was surprised to find a note in his time card slot that Mrs. Porter wanted to see him again at the end of his shift. What could that be about?

Whatever it was, he told himself, it couldn't be that important if it could wait until the end of the day.

-=-=-=-

As it was Friday, Jack wasn't surprised to encounter only a few people on his way up to the personnel office. With the weekend upon them, no one wanted to stay around longer than they had to, and most people exited the building like someone had pulled the fire alarm.

Even Miss Meyers had already closed up her desk, the cover on her IBM Selectric typewriter firmly in place, although Jack couldn't begin to imagine how she spent her off hours. Her absence did leave him with a small problem, there being no one to announce his arrival. He wasn't sure if he should simply go in, knock on the door of Mrs. Porter's office, or just wait in the reception area. The question proved academic, thankfully, as the personnel director stepped out of her office a minute later.

"Right on time," she said as she made a gesture for him to follow her back inside. "I do appreciate punctuality."

Abigail waited by the door until he was inside, then closed it behind them. This time, instead of directing him to one of the chairs in front of her desk, she gestured instead to the long couch over by the window.

"Don't worry, you're not in any trouble," she said reassuringly before setting herself down on the opposite end of the couch. "I was impressed by you the other day and it occurred to me afterwards that you might be a good fit for a position that I've been trying to fill. One that might be more compatible with how you probably hoped to spend your summer."

The atmosphere in the room was much more relaxed than it had been on his previous visit, as was Abigail's wardrobe. She was still wearing a business suit, but she had doffed the jacket, leaving her in just a light blue blouse and a beige skirt. The two upper buttons of the former, he noticed, had been undone.

"Would you like something to drink?" Abigail asked, mentioning that one of the perks of her position was a small refrigerator that held both wine and beer, as well as an assortment of non-alcoholic beverages.

Thinking that he was still technically on the clock since he hadn't punched out, Jack said that a soda would be fine. Abigail followed suit, electing for one that was sugar free.

"Now, to get to the matter at hand," she said after they'd both had an opportunity to take a few sips from the cold cans. "But before we do, I would hope that you'd apply the same prudence to our discussion that you demonstrated in regard to Mr. Donaldson. Can you do that?"

"Of course," Jack replied, wondering what the hell this was all about.

"Good," Abigail said, taking another sip of her soda.

"You said something about a new position?" Jack asked, putting his own drink on the table in front of the couch.

"Yes, it's something that I hope you might be interested in," Abigail said, placing her soda can next to his.

"What would it entail?" Jack asked, thinking whatever it was, it had to be better than all the grunt work he'd been getting as the low man on the totem pole.

"It would be in the nature of a personal assistant," Abigail offered.

"Isn't that some sort of secretary," Jack inquired, having heard the term, but unsure what it really entailed, "like what Miss Myers does?"

"It can be, but not in this case," the older woman replied. "Trust me when I say that Doris really isn't equipped to handle the particulars of the job I have in mind."

"What kind of requirements?" Jack then asked.

"Requirements of a personal nature," Abigail answered somewhat ambiguously.

"I don't understand," Jack said.

"Then I guess I should probably just spell it out for you," Abigail said after another pause. "What I'm looking for is a young man who can attend to my physical needs. One who understands the value of discretion, something that you've already demonstrated that you do."

"Physical?" Jack repeated cautiously, getting the feeling that she wasn't talking about someone to take her car out to be washed or pick up her dry cleaning.

"I'll be frank and call it for what it is," Abigail said after a beat. "I'm looking for someone to attend to my sexual needs."

"You want me to fuc..., I mean be intimate with you?" Jack said, unable to fully believe that was what she was saying.

"You can say fuck, Jack," Abigail smiled. "We don't need to use euphemisms. And yes, that's exactly what I want from you. I want you to fuck me."

"Mrs. Porter, you're married," Jack exclaimed.

"That's true," she acknowledged with casual indifference. "However, due to certain medical issues, my husband has been unable to take care of my needs for some time now. Which leads me with the choice of relying on self-gratification, which only goes so far, or seeking satisfaction elsewhere."

"And you're, I mean..." he then started to say, but paused.

"I certainly hope the next word out of your mouth wasn't going to be 'old'," Abigail interrupted, a disappointed frown momentarily replacing the smile on her face, "but I will accept older as an appropriate description. Still, even if I was what some might consider old, there's no yardstick that measures when a person loses interest in sex. Some people are still sexually active in their seventies or even later."

That remark brought to mind the tail end of a conversation Jack had overheard during his grandmother's Tuesday afternoon bridge club a few months back. Sylvia Brent had commented that it was frustrating that her husband could no longer rise to the occasion when she was in the mood. To which Alice Harris had remarked laughingly that with all the things doctors could do these days, you'd think they could come up with a pill to fix that. The rest of the women had then laughed as well, especially after Brenda Stephens, the oldest of the foursome, quipped that was why she made sure there were always batteries in the house. Jack didn't understand the reference at first, at least not until he was changing the batteries on a flashlight a few days later.

"How old are you?" Jack abruptly asked, thinking that she couldn't be as old as any of those women.

"How old do you think I am?" she asked in turn.

"Fifty.... four?" Jack said after a long moment's hesitation, always having been told this was a sensitive subject for most women.

"You are a darling," Abigail softly laughed before adding without hesitation, "but I turned sixty-three on my last birthday."

"Sixty-three?" Jack repeated, having thought for sure that she was in her mid-fifties.

"It's just a number, Jack" Abigail smiled, "and not one I'm ashamed of. It doesn't determine where I am in my life, at least not as far as the important things go. And it doesn't make me old.. In fact, I've always believed that you only really start to become old when you stop enjoying life."

"But your husband..." Jack then started to say, only to again be cut off.

"Is totally on board with this," Abigail said in the same casual manner that she spoke of him before, leaving Jack dumbfounded. "In fact, my taking a lover was his idea in the first place. He doesn't feel I should give up one of life's joys simply because he can no longer participate."

Jack found that hard to believe, especially since it sounded too much like the line he'd overheard his father use with one of the waitresses at La Promenade Impériale during his time there. Only in that case, it had been an assertion that his wife was no longer interested in the physical aspects of marriage. Something he knew from still living at home wasn't true. The memory put an expression on Jack's face that Abigail took to mean he didn't believe her.

"To be honest, I thought the idea crazy at first too," she said in response, "but the more we talked about it, the more I came around to his way of thinking. After all, it's just sex."

Just sex was a perspective that the nineteen-year-old had a hard time wrapping his head around, especially since few girls his age would agree with the supposition.

"And once I decided that it was something I wanted to do," she continued, "the question arose of who I should take as a lover."

Again she paused for a beat.

"Having an affair with someone in our social circle would be too awkward, of course, since just about all the men are married, and I know their wives. So in the end, we decided that a stranger would be best."

Jack realized that she'd definitely given this serious thought.

"Well, maybe not a total stranger, just someone who could keep it uncomplicated," she went on. "Someone only interested in the physical aspects of it and not inclined to develop any emotional entanglement. The question then, of course was where to find someone like that?"

"I guess you could take out one of those ads I've seen in the Village Voice," Jack offered, the thought popping into his head.

"I actually did consider something like that," Abigail laughed, "but then decided to save that as a last resort. I mean, with all of the young men that work in the museum, how hard could it be to find someone that might be interested? Oh, and yes, by that time I had decided that he had to be younger. After all, since the whole point of it all was physical satisfaction, why not pick someone with youthful stamina?"

That also made sense, Jack thought.

"Finding that person, however, turned out to be harder that I thought it would be," she said as she brought her reasoning to a close. "As I'm sure you've noticed, a good number of the unattached young men that work here are more...how shall I say it, more inclined toward someone like Mr. Donaldson than me."

That, Jack had to agree, was true. During his first week on the job, another summer hire had invited him out for a drink after work, implying that they might go back to his place afterwards. Jack had made it clear as diplomatically as he could that he didn't go that way and no further offers had been forthcoming. Over the course of the next few weeks, however, Jack had seen the same young man leaving with different co-workers at the close of the day.

"There would be practical benefits to the position as well, aside from the obvious, of course," Abigail pointed out. "As an assistant to a director, you'd no longer be subject to anyone else's beck and call. Your time, aside from when I might actively require your attention, would be your own, to do with as you wished."

That was an attractive thought, Jack had to admit.

"And since I think I would only need that attention a few hours a week," she added, "your free time would be considerable. In fact, I wouldn't see a need for you to punch in and out during the course of the day, as I would be signing your time card."

This, Jack thought, had to be the most bizarre conversation he'd ever had with a woman of any age. He found himself wishing he'd asked for something stronger than soda to drink, but then realized that might not have been a good idea. It was enough that he was actually considering her offer cold sober.

"What if I don't want to do this?" Jack finally asked, a voice of reason asserting itself in his head.

"Then we just forget this conversation ever happened and things go on as they were," Abigail offered. "No harm, no foul, as they say."

"And that would also apply if things didn't work out as you think they will?" Jack added.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Abigail countered, pleased that Jack was interested enough to consider possible consequences.

"What if you're not happy with my... my performance?" he clarified.

"Oh, I'm sure that wouldn't happen," Abigail said with a smile, "but if one of us did have a change of heart, well then, we'd just apply the same rule."

Abigail then paused for a second as a small look of concern flashed across her face. One that said she had her own question to ask.

"You have been with a girl before, haven't you?" she asked.

"I'm not a virgin if that's what you're asking," he replied, adding that he'd had girlfriends before. "I've had girlfriends."

"Okay," Abigail said softly, having had the thought that being with a virgin really wasn't that some people made it out to be -- unless of course you were one too, which she certainly wasn't.

"Any other questions?" Jack asked, thinking that if she did have any concerns, now was the time to get them out in the open.

"Well, I do have one more, but I'm really not sure how to ask it," she replied.

"Seeing what we're talking about, I think we're past being bashful," Jack laughed.

"You don't have a small dick, do you?" Abigail said, admitting to herself that would be a disappointment.

"It's average sized," Jack said after a second's pause. "I've never measured it but..."

"Average is fine," Abigail interrupted, glad to put the question past them.

Silence followed and with it an end to any further questions, except of course the big one -- was he going to do this? He really didn't have an answer.

Once he'd gotten over the initial shock, her age really wasn't as much of an issue as it once might have been. Just about his only happy memory of his time at La Promenade Impériale had been the night, after closing, when the sous chef, a heavyset woman in her late forties, had taken Jack into one of the back rooms and ridden him like a pony. It hadn't been his first sexual encounter, but it had certainly been one of the most memorable.

"You want to think about it a bit more, don't you?" Abigail asked, noting his ambiguity.

"Is that okay?" he replied.

"Of course," she answered, again with a laugh. "I mean, it wasn't like I was planning for you to take me right here on the couch."

Jack softly laughed as well, hiding the fact that he had been wondering about just that.

"No, what I was going to suggest was that you come over to my apartment tomorrow evening and we could have a, well, trial run seems as good a way of putting it as any," Abigail said. "If it works out, great; if not, then we just chalk it up to a life experience and put it behind us."

She could see the interest in Jack's eyes at the idea, but also knew he didn't want to commit himself yet.

"Don't say yes or no now," Abigail quickly added. "Think about it tonight and tomorrow, and if you decide not to come, then just show up on Monday at your normal time."

Jack found himself nodding his head, thinking that was fair.

"But I do hope that you decide to show up," Abigail said in conclusion. "You're a quite handsome young man and I'd dearly love to show you the sort of things that a younger woman can't."

With that, she leaned forward and kissed him in a manner that he didn't think a woman her age was capable of, one that caused his lips to tingle even after he'd left her office.

-=-=-=-

"Hey, kid, you waiting for something?" the long-coated doorman asked as he finally walked over to Jack.

"I... I'm just early for an appointment," Jack responded, making an exaggerated show of checking his watch before adding, "And now I'm not."

He started for the entranceway, but before he could pass through it, the doorman cut him off.

"Not so fast," he said as he stretched out his arm. "Visitors have to be announced if they're not on the list."

Jack waited as the doorman took a clipboard from inside the small podium by the door, asking for his name and who he was there to see.

"My name is Jack Buchanan and I'm going up to apartment 9C," he replied.

A surprised look filled the doorman's face as he found Jack's name in the middle of today's list. Lowering the clipboard, he stepped out of the young man's way.

"The elevators are down the hall to your left," the doorman said.

Stepping into the lobby, Jack's thought was that this was a really nice building. A lot nicer than the one he lived in. Then again, with Mrs. Porter and her husband both working, they could afford it.

As he boarded the elevator, his mention of Mr. Porter reminded Jack of Abigail's claim that this had all been his idea. He was still certain she had been lying about that, but in the overall scheme of things that really didn't seem to matter.

Apartment 9C turned out to indeed face the front of the building, and less than thirty seconds after Jack rang the bell he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side. It wasn't until they stopped and he heard the sound of a latch being undone that he realized that they'd been too heavy to belong to Abigail.

"Can I help you?" the tall, salt and pepper haired man standing in the open doorway asked, once he'd seen Jack.

'Oh fuck, her husband is home,' Jack thought, his mind a panic as he tried to think of what to say. It hadn't occurred to him to have a story to explain him being there.

The look on Mr. Porter's face was still one of inquiry and Jack knew he had to say something before it became something else.

"I'm Jack Buchanan," he said in an almost stutter. "I..."

"Oh yes, the young man from the museum," the older man unexpectedly said, his face now showing a smile. "Abigail did mention that you might be stopping by. Do come in."

Jack was stunned at the thought that Abigail had told her husband that he was coming over. The question of the moment, of course, was, what did she tell him he was there for?