Distribution Ch. 07

Just as Paige was adjourning the meeting, I saw Gordon McMahan drive by the house in his car.

I tried to explain what I'd meant by having something to confess as we drove to the bus station. She shushed me, saying that she would hear my confession the following week.

Nadine became so frustrated with my zombie-like mood that she left, saying she would return the next day.

"Come to dinner tonight. You shouldn't be trusted near a stove," she said.

I thanked her, saying that I had no intentions of cooking anything.

Aside from delivering the items to the pack and ship, I accomplished nothing that day. That afternoon, I tried to take a nap, but found that I couldn't go to sleep until much later.

I had no idea what time it was when the ringing telephone woke me. It was dark in the room, and I still had my clothes on. I stumbled to the light switch, saw that it was nine-thirty and splashed cold water on my face before answering the phone.

"Brian, I've got to know what you did."

My confession took over a half hour to tell. I didn't try to sugarcoat it. I skipped over what a jerk Curtis had been, and I hardly mentioned Georgia's need. I painted myself as the greedy one, nearly broke and desperate to stay afloat.

"I was surprised when it worked. She forgave one month's mortgage payment, and I've never done anything like that since."

"I want so badly to be able to trust you," Paige said, sounding really confused.

"There's someone I'd like for you to talk to. This would be a good time. She'll be at home, having a nightcap before bed."

"I don't know, Brian. You're taking a big risk, you know? If I catch her in a lie it will be the end of us."

I gave her Henrietta's telephone number, urging her to make the call.

As we hung up, I was proud of myself for not resorting to telling her how I'd turned Doris Kelley down.

I fully expected my phone to ring, but I went back to sleep, not knowing if she'd called Henrietta or not.

'

Nadine came early and we had breakfast together before she entered the next group of items to be auctioned.

Charlie and I built some makeshift shelving and tables to store the auto parts in the basement. I told him how well we'd done on the first group, venturing to say that we'd do better once our customers submitted positive reports about their experience with us.

I never found out what was said during their conversation, Henrietta refused to tell me, but the change that came over Paige was extraordinary. Her questions were probing, her answers particular, and her patience painstaking. I looked forward to the telephone calls. We talked about our day, our plans for the weekend, and we discussed sex often.

Like most subjects, Paige was pragmatic regarding sex. Once I discovered that she was willing to talk about it, I peppered her with questions.

Frequency: "Not every day, but often enough to keep the embers burning."

Duration: "All afternoon if possible, certainly long enough to drain us, physically."

Preferences: "I'll try almost anything once. You'll know if I want to do it again."

Protection: "I'm taking measures."

She left no doubt that we were going to begin having sex, and soon. Was she searching for another thing that we had in common?

On Wednesday evening I told her about a visit I'd had that day from a reporter from the local newspaper.

"Nadine told her about the letters."

"Was she cute?" Paige asked.

Why was she asking if the reporter was cute? I wanted to tell her that I'd shown the lady the research I'd been doing.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that she's cute."

"Is she coming back?"

"She volunteered to contact the four newspapers where Mackey worked. She said that she'll be back when she has their responses. She wants to do an article about him and Elsie."

"So...she's coming back?"

"Paige, she wants to meet you. I told her you'll be here this weekend."

"What did you tell her about me?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

"I told her about your piercing eyes, and how I get weak-kneed when you look across the breakfast table at me. I told her about your smile, and how it captivates me. I told her about your lips, and how I long to feel them pressed against mine."

"Brian, please stop, you're making me blush."

"I told her about your dainty feet, your shapely legs, and about the way it makes my spine tingle when you place your hand in mine. I told her that being near you drives me crazy. It makes me want to hold you, to touch you, and kiss you."

"Did you tell her about my ass?"

"Yes, I told her it's just the right shape, that I like to put my hand on it, and you like it, too."

"Did you tell her that we're going to make love this weekend?"

"Yes, I told her that I'm looking forward to this weekend."

"Good! I'm glad you made it clear that you are my turf."

"Paige, Miss Adams is in her early forties and wore a pants suit that was two sizes too small for her. She's a nice lady, but I assure you that your turf is safe."

"You didn't mean those things you said about me," she said in a pouting tone.

"On the contrary; I meant everything."

I could only hope that she believed me. On Thursday, it was as if she'd never doubted me. She was in high spirits, wanting to hear about the shipments I'd been making and how my research was going. She said she hoped to catch an early bus the next day.

When the telephone rang on Friday, I expected her to tell me that the bus was due to arrive in thirty minutes. I was disappointed.

"Brian, I scored tickets to tonight's game. You've simply got to go with us."

It took a minute to comprehend what she was saying. "Tonight's game, go with us?"

"Don't you follow sports? The Red Sox are headed for the playoffs. They're great tickets. Do you have a pencil? I'll give you directions."

I copied the directions she gave me, where to get off the expressway, the streets I would take to get to her parent's home, and where I could park my truck in back of their house. She made me read the directions back to her before she told me to dress warmly.

Dress warmly? It was the end of September, but I was still wearing short pants around the house. I dug out the sweater that I'd asked Amanda to pack for me, locked the house, and headed for Boston.

Ten minutes into my trip, I remembered the first distribution check and went back for it.

Her question, 'did I follow sports?' haunted me. Was she searching for something else that we had in common? I remembered that the Red Sox had won the World Series in two thousand four, and knew they were destined for the playoffs this year, but I didn't follow any sports team closely.

What Paige had said should be an hour and a half trip took me somewhat longer. As I entered the neighborhood, I saw that the houses were mainly brownstones, built attached to one another. The narrow alley was exactly as Paige had said it would be. An older man and a boy were standing next to the open gate. The man motioned for me to drive through the gate, and to park on the strip of grass that comprised the entire backyard.

Mr. Peoples told me to lock my truck. He walked with a slight limp and chose his words carefully, making me wonder if he'd suffered a stroke. We shook hands, and he introduced his grandson to me. Pat was a heavyset kid, good-natured, but shy. He wore a Red Sox cap, and freckles were clustered on his cheeks.

Mrs. Peoples was a vibrant woman. Her expressions, the way she emphasized certain words. Her smile made me think of Paige, who was obviously missing.

"Paige will be here soon. This is Mona," Mrs. Peoples said.

The girl had obviously been instructed to be hospitable. She stepped forward, smiled and extended her hand. "Grandma told me to curtsey, but I've outgrown that," she said, sounding apologetic.

"Your smile is better than a curtsey. It's your Mom's smile," I said and was rewarded with a wide grin. Her eyes were a darker shade of gray than Paige's, but her smile really did remind me of her mother. Unlike her brother, Mona was slim and her freckles were all but gone.

Her obligatory welcome out of the way, Mona excused herself.

"Stay off of the computer, Dear. We're eating at five-thirty, even if your mother isn't home. She wants to leave for the ballpark at six," Mrs. Peoples said to her granddaughter.

"What are we having?" Pat asked.

"Hot dogs and beans, but your mother said your limit is two hot dogs."

Paige got home just as Pat and I were putting mustard and relish on our second hot dogs. She came into the dining room, made the rounds to kiss everyone, complained that I tasted like mustard, and ran upstairs to change her clothes.

We were ready to leave when she saw that I was going out the door wearing the sweater. "Don't you have a coat?"

"I didn't know I was going to be here this long," I said.

"We'll stop on the way and get you one."

"Mom, we'll be late," Pat complained, but Paige's mind was made up.

We walked the three blocks to the subway station and rode to Downtown Crossing where Paige quickly picked out a coat that would keep me warm.

The subway car was crowded and we had to stand and hang onto a pole during our ride to Fenway Park. We got there just as the game was beginning, but it took several minutes for us to be seated.

Paige placed her son next to me, saying that it would be for three innings, after which Mona would sit next to me and she would be my seatmate for the final three innings. Mona rolled her eyes; like she didn't share her mother's eagerness to sit next to me for three innings.

Pat was anxious to impart his familiarity with the players and his knowledge of the game. He seemed particularly fond of the bench player, making me wonder if he rode the bench in little league.

"What position do you play?" I asked.

"I like to catch, but coach makes me play in the outfield."

"That's where I played," I offered, trying to make him feel better. "I was a switch-hitting outfielder."

He looked skeptical. "You were a switch-hitter?"

"The coach told me to bat left-handed so I'd be closer to first base, but I believe he just wanted to get some use out of a batting helmet that had the earflap on the right side."

Eight-year-old Patrick Kindle, Junior knew I was fibbing, but he couldn't make me crack until it was time for him to trade places with his sister. "You never switch-hit, did you?"

"Don't believe everything people tell you, okay?"

His grin was a duplicate of his mother's.

"How old are your children?" Mona asked as soon as she was settled in the seat next to me.

"Amanda will be ten next March and Phillip will be seven."

"Do you have pictures of them?"

I opened my wallet and dug out the few snapshots that I carried of the kids. "These were taken last summer."

Mona scrutinized each picture before passing it to her brother. "This is Amanda. She's Brian's daughter."

The game was forgotten until the Red Sox came to bat, and Pat returned his attention to the game. Mona continued to look at the pictures and ask questions. "What do Amanda and Phillip like to do?"

"We live next door to my business. They like to watch the customers drive in and park their cars. They make a game out of guessing how many bags the people will be carrying when they return to their cars. Amanda likes to read, and they both like to play games."

"Do they have lots of friends?"

"We don't live near any kids their ages, but we have a big backyard and their friends like to come to our house to play."

"Do you have a swimming pool?"

"No."

She was quiet for a few seconds. I looked at Pat and caught him looking my way. He grinned, and I grinned back.

"I think I would like a big backyard," Mona said, speaking confidentially, like no one else was to hear her.

She confided in me, saying that her grandmother was very strict, but that her grandfather let her get away with almost anything. At the end of the sixth inning, her face was next to mine, and she was telling me the names of her friends, which ones she liked best, and which ones that could not be trusted. She scowled at her mother when Paige said it was time to change seats.

"It's getting chilly. I'm glad you insisted that we stop and get the coat," I said as she settled in next to me.

"Are you enjoying the game?" she asked.

"Your daughter kept me busy answering questions."

"Her mother is going to keep you busy being aroused," Paige said as she opened my coat and put her hand inside. I endured her roaming hand for the next three innings. At one point, she had it under my sweater, massaging my tummy, up to my man-breasts, and back down to my tummy.

"I'd be arrested if I felt you up like that in public," I said.

"Are you becoming aroused?"

"Yes."

"Me too," she whispered, as she patted my tummy and pulled my sweater down.

The subway was even more crowded on our trip home. Paige and I held on to straps that extended down from the ceiling of the car, and let the kids jostle between us.

I was struck by the orderly way the throngs of passengers waited on the platforms, and moved on and off the train as soon as the doors opened.

Once, when the train stopped suddenly, Paige lost her grip on the strap, and she and the kids collided into me. I was able to catch them, and we laughed when the train started up again, causing three sets of hands to attach themselves to me any way they could. How I missed my own family at that moment.

We were in good spirits as we trudged the three blocks to the house. Once inside, Paige instructed the kids to thank me for taking them to the ballgame. Mona leapt into my arms, but her brother was more restrained. I leaned down to return Mona's hug, and found Patrick's arms around my neck.

Paige broke it up, telling them to get ready for bed. Then it was her turn to thank me.

"I'm sorry for the accommodations," she said, pointing to the living room couch, which was covered with a blanket, sheet and pillow. "I'll be back to tuck you in," she said before running up the stairs.

I waited an hour for her to come back downstairs, eventually giving up, spreading the blanket on the floor and turning out the light. She gasped when she tripped and came crashing down on top of me.

"Brian, what are you doing on the floor?" she asked as she felt my feet, my legs, my torso, until she got her body turned around.

"I'm used to sleeping on the floor. The couch was too soft," I said, lifting one-half of the sheet and blanket for her to crawl inside. My hand went directly to her ass, and I could feel that there was nothing beneath the flimsy nightgown, no panties, nothing but soft flesh.