Duxford Airfield (the band) Pt. 09

"...Was there any music, in the dream?" my wife asked, curiously.

I sat and pondered Andrea's question for several moments.

"...No, I don't think so, only the sound of the desert wind. The dream was almost like a culmination of all the B - grade Western movies that I've ever seen, just before a gunfight happens. Now that I think about it, the whole thing almost seems trite, but in a strangely haunting kind of way.

- Andrea, I SAW her, and she was as real as you are now!" I said with conviction.

"Tim, I believe you, but it was just a dream, baby," Andrea said, gently.

"I know, honey, but my God, it was so vivid. Andrea, I felt like I really did know how to fly a Spitfire, I felt like I knew every single inch of that airplane, backward and forward. I felt like I'd flown that ship into battle a hundred times, or more. That Spitfire seemed so tangible; like it really was right there in front of me. I could actually smell the grease of the undercarriage, it was all so real," I said tiredly.

"I've had dreams like that too, Tim, they're so real that you honestly wonder if you were dreaming or simply remembering something that actually took place," my wife nodded.

"I feel better now, just holding you," I said, kissing the side of her head.

" - Babe, it's almost dawn now, and you're completely drained of energy and emotion. Prominent House has a way of overtaxing a person's senses, to the extreme, and we spent thirteen hours inside that damn place yesterday. Let's not forget that you also spent a solid hour, in the rain, pulling winch cable, on our way back. You're utterly exhausted, Tim," Andrea said gently.

"...Does Helen want to go back again, or are we done now?" I asked tiredly.

"Helen would like for us to meet with Earl Billingsly, on Friday, so we can all go through Prominent House together, just long enough, to make sure that all the paintings are taken care of, through proper channels. Helen would also like to make one final walk-through of Mary Wickersham's room and also the bedroom of the Countess. Then you and I will get on the plane with Helen, Sunday night / Monday morning. Helen already bought our tickets. Tim, it's time for us to go home now, as we previously agreed upon," Andrea said quietly.

I felt a sudden weight lift from me, with the knowledge that we would soon be getting on a plane and heading home.

"Does Helen have all the information, that she thinks she'll need, for Danny's book?" I asked, curiously.

"She's already got more than she can handle; when you combined Mary Wickersham's journals with those of the Countess. Helen has to comb through everything that each of them wrote. Then she has to put everything, that she does select, into a chronological format with what she already has written, for the book. - Helen has her work cut out for her, and she has a deadline to meet, but she'll make it happen. She's a professional, Tim," Andrea replied with pride and confidence.

"I seriously doubt if there's anything, anywhere else, within that whole house that really relates to Danny, at all. That one specific wing of the house, was probably where the Countess spent most of her time, Andrea," I replied, deep in thought.

"That's the feeling that Helen and I get also, Tim," Andrea answered.

There was a long silence between my wife and me as she rubbed my back.

"...Andrea, the Countess killed old man King, herself," I said quietly with conviction.

"Why do you feel that way, Tim?" my wife asked, just as quietly.

"Because the Countess shot skeet, and that painting, of King's mistress, was shot with a shotgun. Passion would be the only reason for that, Andrea. The Countess must have chased him all through that secret passageway, firing at him. That must be why all those shotgun blasts are there in the walls," I replied.

"Do you think King's remains are still there, somewhere?" Andrea asked.

"...No, I would seriously doubt that. I'd speculate that the Countess had a few extremely loyal male servants, maybe even lovers, that probably hauled him off and dumped him in a hole someplace, out in the desert. - I wonder if she had some type of diplomatic immunity?" I suddenly asked.

"Very possible," Andrea replied.

"...I guess that I must sound pretty morbid to you, right now, honey. I'm sorry," I said, closing my eyes.

"You just had a strange dream, and you're overly tired right now, is all, Tim. We're going to spend the day in bed now. Then on Friday, we'll visit Prominent House one last time, for a few hours, and then go home, late, this weekend," my wife said, pulling me back into bed and into her arms.

Andrea now slowly began to run her hands all over me without speaking, she then mounted me.

"Watch'a thinkin 'bout, now, babe?" she asked playfully; as if she didn't already know.

"You..." I gasped, staring up at her in awe.

"Think you could handle a real Spitfire this morning, do ya, cowboy?" she asked coyly, caressing my face.

"...I'd like to try" I replied, running my hands over her curvy bottom.

My wife slowly rode me to ecstasy with the energy and vigor of two women. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and calculated. Physically and emotionally speaking, I was far beyond the point of exhaustion, yet my body responded to her as if I were a man twenty years my junior.

My wife's female mystique and prowess never failed to catapult me into absolute orbit, and just when I believed that I could predict her, she would surprise me, yet again. Over and over, Andrea took me near to the edge of nirvana, yet then she would intuitively slow or stop momentarily, just before my accent into euphoria. Andrea's lovemaking was equally as much a mental game of chess, as it was physical finesse.

Finally, when I could hang on no more, I succumb to my wife's feminine spell as we rode the wave into euphoria, together.

...Afterward, we lay quietly within each other's arms and let the peace of the moment fulfill us. I was absolutely and completely vulnerable to this woman, with no hope of ever redeeming myself from her. This frightened me, yet I also knew that nothing in the world would ever be as exhilarating or bring me as much joy, as the intimacy shared with my wife.

"You're wonderful, Tim. What are you thinking about now?" she asked quietly.

"...You're the one that's wonderful, wife. I was just reflecting that I'll need to call the Epps, in the next day or so, to sell back the bicycle. I kind of hate to let it go, it's such a beautiful machine" I said as Andrea and I lay in each other's arms.

"You have several at home, baby," my wife answered.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, honey. How's Connie doing, by the way?" I asked, off-hand.

"She's staying with Mick for a few days. He's the closest thing that she's ever had to a real dad" Andrea answered.

"Do you and Mick ever talk, at all, anymore?" I asked.

"Rarely, mostly, when we do talk, it's in regard to Connie. They love each other, and that's a good thing, Tim," Andrea replied.

"How's he doing?" I asked quietly.

"Tim, he looks awful, Connie sends me photos, sometimes. Mick doesn't do anything now but sit in front of the TV and eat, and he's gained about seventy pounds since our divorce" Andrea answered.

"That's too bad," I said.

"Yes, really it is. - Don't you EVER do that to me, Tim! My God, don't ever let-yourself-go, that way. Maybe I'm being self-centered; when I say that, but I don't ever want to be chained to a couch potato. It's not only unhealthy but also extremely unattractive" Andrea spat.

"I know, honey" I replied quietly.

"Ex-husband, or no ex-husband, I'd stand in support of him, if Mick was making any kind of an honest effort to get back into shape and take better care of himself, but Connie says he couldn't care less. - Tim, don't you EVER do that to me!" Andrea repeated, adamantly.

"Baby, I enjoy fitness, especially the bicycle. I also know what I've got at home, and how extremely rare you are. - If I dropped out of the picture tomorrow, there'd be twenty guys lined up to ask you out and I don't intend to ever let that happen. By the way, you'd better keep your own little ass in shape, for me, as well," I said bluntly.

"Like you, the bicycle is my refuge from the world, Tim, only I ride a real bicycle, and not a recumbent" Andrea teased me.

"You've been riding a recumbent, for the last week, you silly little shit," I replied, with a huff.

"Do you ever miss anything at all, about Susan?" my wife asked, abruptly changing subjects.

- Andrea caught me completely off guard with this question and I was a bit taken aback...

"... (***sigh***) No, nothing at all, Andrea. Susan was emotionally unavailable, to begin with, and she blew through money; like there was no tomorrow. It's impossible to have a meaningful relationship with someone like that, I know; because I tried for several years.

I'd bust my ass all summer, working some remote job, and she'd blow through everything I'd made before I could even get home from the fuckin' job. I'd be tired and dirty from months of work, just to come home and find nothing but overdue bills and an empty bank account. I made a hundred-and-twenty-thousand dollars one year, and I had to borrow fuel money from my boss just to keep the goddamn truck running for the rest of that year.

Susan couldn't have cared less about all the time I'd spent in the saddle that year, she was too busy fucking that worthless sonofabitch, Irwin, behind my back anyway. Andrea, you don't EVER have to worry about me going back to Susan" I said with disgust.

"There must have been something that you loved about her, once" Andrea reasoned.

" - Susan was extremely physically attractive, Andrea, but to this day, I honestly don't know who the real Susan is, because she never once, got in touch with her true self, much less, me. I begged her to go to marriage counseling with me, but that was a no-go.

...I didn't know it, at the time, but Susan was a compulsive pill popper. She must have been on, at least, ten different medications and whenever she didn't like a certain situation that might be slightly uncomfortable - then she'd just start washing down pills and check out for a while. Then she'd be a zombie for days on end, or a raving bitch. I'd rather be single for the rest of my life; than have her back, or anyone even remotely like her. Christ, I was nothing but a babysitter" I said with utter disgust.

"...Mom got strung out on prescription meds; after Dad died. She had three or four doctors bamboozled, all at the same time. Mom was a horrible mess before she died, Tim. That was a rough road for Gail and me," Andrea replied quietly, in reflection.

"...Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to get on a soapbox, concerning my long-ago ex-wife, or dredge up any old memories for you," I said, quietly.

"You didn't get on a soapbox, Tim. Do you really think the Countess was a lot like Susan? At least, that's what you mentioned yesterday; when we were inside Prominent House." Andrea said.

...The Countess of Knoff and my ex-wife, Susan, were the last two people that I wanted to talk about right now, but I answered my wife's question.

"...(***sigh***)...The Countess and Susan undoubtedly had many parallels, Andrea. I think the Countess was very likely self-centered, in the extreme, but maybe we'd all be just like her, if we'd walked in the same shoes that she did," I said after a long pause.

"Do you think she also killed the mistress, when she dusted King?" Andrea asked roughly.

...This question was a bit morbid for Andrea, yet, it was a fair question...

"I've thought about that, Andrea, and my gut says no. I think the Countess would have probably threatened the mistress with an ultimatum of some sort, but not harm her. It was King himself, that the Countess undoubtedly despised. I think she would have viewed the mistress as nothing more than a little tramp and gold digger, a nuisance, of sorts. She may even have been able to identify with the mistress, to some extent" I answered in reflection.

"Whatever became of her, do you suppose? - The mistress, that is," Andrea asked.

"She probably just went off into obscurity and found some other dupe with money" I replied dismissively.

"Yes, that's probably exactly what she did do" Andrea nodded.

"After King's demise, the Countess may well have given the mistress ten grand, or so, in travel money, - just to get rid of her, once and for all" I answered, thoughtfully.

"That was a ton of money, back then," Andrea nodded.

" - Andrea, tomorrow is the end of all this horseshit, for us. We're done here in Odessa, we're done with Danny's game, we're done with The International Monitor, we're done with stuffy lawyers and we're done with Prominent House, as well. Helen can stay with us for a few weeks, or however long she wants to, and finish her book now, and you and I can go on with our lives," I said heatedly.

"You've stood tall throughout this whole adventure, Tim, and Helen and I love you for it." my wife replied.

"Adventure, did you say adventure? It's been a cluster fuck, from the git-go, woman. Sometimes I think I'd like to drop you off at the next curb and drive away from you, but then I'll look into your eyes and know that you see me, first and foremost, as your friend. And because of that, I'm hooked for life" I replied, using one of Andrea's own cynical lines back on her.

"That's the kind of answer I'd expect, from someone that rides a recumbent" Andrea teased me.

"Stop the madness, no more dirtbags on recumbents" I quoted, on the verge of sleep.

"I ride a recumbent sometimes, and I'm not a dirtbag" Andrea retorted.

"You're just a horny broad that needs to start attending your Nymphomaniacs Unanimous meetings again - take Helen Lunsford with you, she could use a few of those meetings, herself," I scoffed.

"Nymphomaniacs Anonymous" Andrea corrected.

"Same thing" I grunted dismissively.

"If I start going back to Nymphomaniacs Anonymous meetings again, do you think you'd be my sponsor and take me through all thirteen steps of the program?" Andrea asked coyly.

"Go to sleep, Andrea Millhouse" I mumbled.

"My name isn't Andrea Millhouse, Tim. It's Andrea Donovan now, remember?" she replied.

"Whether it's Andrea Millhouse or Andrea Donovan, Nymphomaniacs Unanimous or Nymphomaniacs Anonymous, it all amounts to the same thing. PLEASE GO TO SLEEP NOW!" I retorted, pulling my wife closer to me and reveling in her jasmine scent.

"...Keep a few things in mind, husband. First, and foremost, I'm not Susan. Second, I like to cook, I like to clean, I like to fuck and I don't spend money. For me, the sun rises and sets in you, babe," Andrea said, in a suddenly serious tone.

"I understand, Andrea, but keep in mind that I'm not Mick; and that I cherish fitness, yours and mine. I also see the sun rise and set in you too, wife. I love you always, Andrea Millhouse." I replied, just as seriously and squeezing her hand.

"My name isn't Andrea Millhouse, Tim," she repeated again.

"You need a Nymphomaniacs Unanimous meeting, Andrea Millhouse" I retorted.

In reply, Andrea quickly turned toward me and began tickling me as both of us broke out into uncontrollable laughter. She then deftly rolled on top of me again as we continued laughing like two teenage kids in the back seat of a Cadillac.

"I love you, Tim," she said softly, a full minute later.

"I love you too, wife" I replied, calming down again and kissing her.

"I'll let you sleep now, honey," she said, cracking open a window by our bed and then spooning against me again.

"Mmm" I mumbled, feeling Andrea's warmth and smelling the fresh desert air entering the room.

...The sensual curves of my wife now brought tranquility to me, along with a good clean honest sense of peace descending over me. Andrea and I pulled each other closer and just held each other. Our moment of senseless giggling had done us the most good of all, and each of us was on the verge of sleep.

As before, the big trucks entering and leaving the truckstop, from across the way, could be heard right outside our hotel room window as I scattered my thoughts and cares to the four winds. Morbid memories of my ex-wife, and also the strange dream involving the Countess, were all but forgotten now...

Andrea and I slept.

...My wife and I lolled in bed, frolicking until noon. Finally, rising from the bed, we started a pot of coffee inside the hotel room and then stepped into the shower together.

Andrea had once modeled, quite successfully, under the name of A.J. West. Her photos had appeared in various national publications and magazine advertisements, and once, her photo had even been displayed on hundreds of billboards across America, for six months. A certain brand of optical shops, all across America, was still using ads with her photographs and I had no doubt that she could land a modeling job, yet to this day.

My wife and I were both closing on sixty years of age now but Andrea could pass for forty or forty-five, easily. Younger men and adolescent boys seemed to be especially drawn to her and I speculated that much of this was because of the way my wife carried herself. Andrea had a youthful dignity and a grace about her that was simply indescribable. Much of this had to do with the fact that my wife was at peace within herself.

...Whenever my wife walked into a public room, every head in the whole place turned, especially mine. Right now, as we began to lather each other in the shower, I couldn't take my eyes, or my lips off of her.

Ever since our photograph had appeared on the cover of the smut magazine, The International Monitor, a few weeks prior, both Andrea and Helen had been letting their hair grow out longer. This was done in a subtle attempt to appear slightly different than when the photo had been taken.

Andrea was now sporting, what I liked to refer to as, "The biker chick look." I loved seeing my wife with long, wild-looking hair and there was no doubt in my mind that she could easily land a job modeling for the Harley-Davidson women's fashion line.

My wife was a natural at seducing the camera lens and she photographed extremely well, she also understood what advertisers were looking for in a photograph. Andrea's photographs possessed, what was known within the modeling industry, as "presence."

"A.J. West's photographs could seduce the paint off a barn door", someone in advertising had once stated of her.

- Whoever had originally quoted that phrase, had been right...

Looking at her now, in the shower with me, it didn't take a lot of imagination to picture Andrea depicted within an Easy Rider magazine advertisement wearing a worn leather vest and chaps while astride the rear seat of a big chopped Harley-Davidson. It would make very little difference if the advertisement was showcasing bullet-proof gearboxes or Ray-Ban sunglasses. Whichever the case might be, they'd sell a million of them...

I now stood just looking at her as the water cascaded down each of us.

"You are one hot little wench, aren't you?" I finally asked as I roughly pulled Andrea close to me and threw a selfish lip-lock on her.

We held a long kiss and then broke apart, both of us were now panting.

"Getting hotter, by the second" she gasped in reply, looking up at me.

We both stood eye to eye, just breathing deeply.

" - OH, FUCK!, we're running out of hot water! Hurry, Tim, and let's get out of here before we freeze!" Andrea said as she shoved me away and began rinsing herself in a frenzy. She then quickly stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, leaving me with a cold jet of water and dashed hopes of another morning tryst with her.

With a deep sigh, I cautiously rinsed myself with the lukewarm water and then turned off the shower. Stepping out of the bathtub, I then grunted, Andrea had left me with only one small facial towel to dry myself...