Journey on a Yellow Brick Road

Scott left his desk and took a peek out his door to see Lynda wiping her eyes. The few offenders there, including the receptionist, were looking at her. Stepping outside his door, he called out to her, his tone on the edge of pleading. "Lynda, come on back."

She turned to face him across the ten yards of space between them. She huffed and kept seated, her face a picture of defiance. But when Scott called her again, she gave in, got up and returned to his office.

Scott shut the door, then sat behind his desk. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, watching her wipe her eyes. "But in my line of work, I see a lot of dishonest people, manipulative people. And maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but the investigator who wrote up you presentence report--"

"Yeah, I know, she called me an 'accomplished manipulator.' I'll never forget that line. My lawyer read me the report. And speaking of honesty, she was right. I can be that way because I've had to be. Living with an abusive parent can make someone manipulative. You get to feel that you can't trust anyone, so you make things up, manipulate people so they can't hurt you. Sometimes you even try to hurt them before they hurt you." He handed her a tissue from the box on his desk. "Thanks," she sniffled. She took a few deep breaths, dabbing her eyes with the tissue. Then she continued. "Anyway, none of this really matters because I'm homesick and would like to return to Oregon, if that's possible. Can you transfer my case?"

She went on to explain that Sharon McClain, a divorced aunt, had offered to let Lynda live with her. Case transfers were usually no big deal. An agent made the request to the receiving state and then, after the receiving state investigated the home plan, the case was usually accepted for transfer. Whatever sexual/romantic designs that Scott might have had on Lynda, he felt relieved at the prospect because he'd have one less case to worry about in a caseload that seemed to grow by the month. Not to mention that he'd no longer be tempted to break with agency protocol.

"No problem from my end, Lynda," he said. "I can do the computer work later this afternoon. Be advised that it's a process that takes about ten days." He stepped from behind his desk, took her hands in his and stood her up. Then he wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissed her on top of her head and released his grip. "I'd kiss you the way I did last night," he said, "if not for present company just steps from this door."

She looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes of hers. "I get it. I also understand your position. And believe me, I've never tried to manipulate you. Obviously, you can't be my boyfriend. I just hope that someday I can feel deserving enough to meet a guy with your good qualities. Like I told you, my ex-boyfriend is doing time in the slammer."

Scott heard a buzz on his phone. It was the receptionist telling him that Lynda's ride was waiting. "I better go," she said. "If you want to make that home visit, you know where I live. Remember, I'll probably be leaving soon."

She walked out into the lobby, leaving Scott alone to ponder. His line of work could be risky enough. Did he really want to do something that would make it even riskier? No, he wouldn't. But resisting the irresistible was never easy and improbable as it might seem, he found Lynda Jensen about as close to irresistible as one could get. He'd had hot-looking babes on his caseload before. One of them was Mya Winakur. She wasn't just cute, she was beautiful, beautiful enough to model a designer's clothing line. What's more, she didn't have half of Lynda's problems. Mya had picked up on his attraction (easy enough to do) and turned on the seductive charm in order for him to request an early release from probation. He didn't go for it. In fact, he thought it was comical the way she went about it, obvious to the point of being corny.

So far, Lynda hadn't asked for any favors beyond what agents typically do for their offenders. Scott's sense of distrust made him think that perhaps she was waiting for him to get more involved before pulling a blackmail routine. But that was kind of moot at this point. if Oregon accepted her case, she'd be gone, and that would be that.

He put her case in what the agency called "pending transfer status." It meant that Lynda no longer had to report. In fact, the only contact required on her part would be to report an arrest or a change of address before transfer. She called anyway, mainly to discuss her would-be career in forensic art. She also got personal: "Believe it or not, I'll miss you, Scott. I hope whoever supervises me in Eugene will be as nice and as helpful as you've been."

Needy or not, he was going to miss her, too. In fact, the day that Oregon accepted her case, he called and asked her to dinner. "My treat," he said.

She was all enthused. "That would be great. I'll be leaving on Monday, so can we do it this Saturday?"

He could indeed. No longer did he feel bound by the prohibitions of his job. Technically, he was still her agent, but that would soon change. Besides, as far as he was concerned, this was just dinner, another 'community contact,' albeit it one he didn't plan on putting in his field notes, however innocent it might be. Innocent? Who was he kidding?

It was still light out when he picked her up in his blue Honda Accord coupe. Per the recommendation of a friend, he was headed toward a Middle Eastern restaurant located right on Main Street in the charming old mill village of Ellicott City. Early nineteenth-century stone buildings lined both sides of the narrow street that housed boutiques and various eateries. He thought she looked so cute in that red, white and blue sundress and the way she fixed her hair, with the braided left and right strands that swept from front to back. He wore what he typically wore on warm spring Saturdays, jeans, a short-sleeve pullover and brown loafers sans socks.

Turning from route 40 onto Frederick Road, he asked if she was excited about returning to Oregon. "Yes and no," she said. "I miss my friends back home. But I'm anxious about who I might get to supervise me. Like I said, I hope to get someone as nice as you. And if it's a male agent, it wouldn't hurt if he was as nice looking, either."

Scott smiled, wondering if that as yet unknown agent would find Lynda as hot as he, and then muster the discipline not to show it.

Luckily, he got a parking space on Main Street just after meter hours. At three stories, this place was taller than many of the surrounding buildings. Like them, it had a stone facade and also a balcony just below the second story. Inside, wood prevailed, from the hardwood flooring to the tables and chairs and wide beams that lay across the ceiling from wall to wall.

"It's all good here I've heard," Scott said while they perused their menu, seated against a wall at a table for two. Lynda decided on the chicken kabab, while Scott went with the grilled lamb ribs. When the server brought the carafe of red wine that Scott also ordered, he proposed a toast. "Here's to a future forensic sketch artist."

Lynda clinked her glass against his but her cautious smile told him that she wasn't overly optimistic. "Hopefully," she said. "We'll see."

Scott knew that she had had a difficult upbringing and therefore he didn't push the issue. Instead, he got her to talk about what she might do when she returned to Oregon. No surprise, she was vague and non-committal. "I'm not sure," she said. "Other than working retail or stocking shelves some place, I'm not qualified to do that much. But I do intend to sign up for GED classes."

He gave her a thumb's up. "Good move. You're not a dumb girl. What you need is more confidence and discipline. Success begets success." By her expression, a cross between annoyed and pained, he realized that he sounded as if he had her in his office, talking to her over a desk. "Lynda, I'm sorry. We're here to relax and have fun."

"Yeah, I was almost expecting you to request more NA slips." She held her frown for a few tense seconds. Then she began to smile. "That's okay. I know you care about me, want to see me succeed."

Both thought the food, which included roasted veggies and rice, was top notch. "Tell your friend he made a good choice," she said. Moments later, after taking a sip of whine, she said, "Scott, I hope we can keep in touch after I leave. I'm not yet on Facebook but there's email and my cell, which should be up and running when I get a job."

"Sure, of course. I do want to know how you're doing. And if your new agent doesn't treat you right, I want to know about it." His tone was tongue in cheek but on some level, he meant it.

"Will do," she said, chuckling.

They skipped dessert, then decided to take a short walk through Ellicott City. Not being from the area, Lynda didn't know about the severe flooding this area endured during long, heavy rains. Scott filled her in as they strolled along Main Street. "We'd be under water now if a hurricane decided to come through here," he said. "Many of these businesses you see had to start over. Some never returned."

"Well, you wouldn't know it now," she said. "It looks like a cool, happening place."

They were window shopping in front of a boutique that had closed for the day. Lynda stepped closer and canoodled her arm around his. "Thanks for dinner," she said.

He leaned over and kissed her. "My pleasure."

Scott didn't plan to neck with Lynda when they returned to the car, but that's exactly what he began to do after putting his key in the ignition. He saw no need to hide his feelings. Not now, not when she was leaving the state, and not when he'd most likely never see her again.

"Oh, my, Scott, I could go for your sweet kisses all night," she whispered. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you like me."

He ran his hand over her smooth, bare legs. "I'd say you're right. The night is still young, you know."

"I know, and I'm not ready for you to take me back to Saint Regis at Old Court. Do you have any ideas for what we can do next? Because I sure do." Her knowing grin conveyed in no uncertain terms what those ideas were.

"Lynda, you gave me ideas the minute I first saw you." He stroked the tender skin of her face with his thumb, then kissed her. "Do you need to call Rhonda first?"

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Lynda said, "Oh, she doesn't care what I do or where I'm at. Let's just go. Take me home with you. Please."

"Well, now that you put it that way..."

They both laughed.

Scott took Frederick Road back to route 40, where he got on 695, also known as the Baltimore Beltway. Then it was on to a suburban burg called Owings Mills. He was buying a townhouse there, one built in the go-go years of the nineteen-eighties, when developers were turning the once rural farming area into a busy suburban town, replete with office park and a huge mall.

Scott lived in a two-story, end-of-row house with red shutters, a bay window in front and a tiny lawn that sloped down to the sidewalk. Some would call it a starter home, but Scott liked the house and the area and had no plans to move "up." It was a fully carpeted, three-bedroom, two-bath affair. Nothing fancy, but it had the "three Cs" as he called it -- cozy, comfortable and convenient.

"Welcome to my palace," he said facetiously, when they entered the living room, furnished with a sofa, one Eames-style leather chair and a forty-inch flat screen TV.

After glancing around the living room and the small dining room beyond, she turned her attention to the framed paintings and prints displayed on the walls of both rooms. Some fell into the realm of abstract expressionism, while others were scenes of cityscapes, including one of Times Square that Lynda especially liked. "Very nice," she said, standing just a few inches away.

"As an artist, I figured you'd appreciate some of this stuff," he said. Then he offered her something to drink.

Turning away from the picture, she said, "For some reason I'm in the mood for tomato juice. If you have some."

"Coming right up." Scott went into the kitchen and fetched the drinks which he served in wine glasses. As he handed one of them to Lynda, he noticed her admiring an oil painting of four men sitting at a table playing cards. "That was done by a local artist," he explained. "Bought it at an art show. Notice how real that overhead lighting looks."

"Yeah, how about that? A wonderful rendering. It looks simple but it takes a special kind of skill to create that kind of effect." She took a few sips of her drink. Then, placing it down on the coffee table, she said, "And it takes a special kind of man to compel me to come back to his place."

Scott placed his glass next to hers, then reached out and put his arms around her. "And it takes a special kind of woman to appreciate the art I've got hanging around here. That would be you."

Scott resumed with Lynda what went on in the car, this time standing up and with his hands roaming over her back, then down and under her dress to feel her cute derriere over her panties. She pressed her body closer, grinding her loins against his, giving every indication of what she wanted, if not expected to happen within a relatively short space of time. Sure enough, moments later, he tucked his hands inside her panties over her bare butt. "How about if we get naked? I hope you're amenable to that idea."

"Quite amenable," she said, feeling the bulge over his crotch. "Only, I'd prefer your bed to this sofa. Can we take our drinks upstairs?"

He found that cute. "Of course."

Drinks in hand, they kicked off their shoes, then took the steps into a short hall and then into the master bedroom. It was a typical bedroom (if any bedroom could be called typical). A night table stood next to a queen-sized bed. A dresser stood next to one wall, while a bookshelf took up another wall, stacked with books, CDs and other stuff. A miniature sound system sat on top.

As they sat on the edge of the bed holding their drinks, Scott opened the night table drawer and pulled out a pack of condoms. "Will I be needing these?"

She nodded. "I haven't been on the pill for a while. So yeah, you will." She took another sip, placed her hand over his knee and said, "You know, Scott, the last thing I thought when I first met you was that I'd one day be in your bedroom discussing condoms."

He laughed. "Not the usual topic for an initial interview. But then I didn't expect to be so enamored with you either."

"Enamored. Now there's a word I haven't heard very often. None of my boyfriends ever said they were enamored with me. Come to think of it, it was probably missing from their limited vocabulary."

He placed his glass on the night table and wrapped an arm around her. "Well, I'm glad it's a first."

When he began kissing her, she put her glass down and then proceeded to give him her undivided attention. That included tucking her hands under her dress to slip off her blue lace panties. "Speaking of firsts," she said, "my panties are usually the last to come off when I'm with a guy. But there's something about you that compels me to reverse the order. Feel honored?" She bunched her dress up around her waist and crossed her legs.

"I do," he said, gawking at her beautiful legs and the triangular-shaped piece of anatomy between them.

She did a half-turn. "Unzip me please."

He unzipped her dress. Then, by the time he disrobed himself, she was in the process of unsnapping her bra, while looking down at his budding erection and feeling the dampness that women feel when they're aroused.

The condom could wait. First things first, like climbing into his bed and pressing his body against hers, chest to chest, lips to lips. Closeness...that's what he wanted right now, before anything else.

In a near whisper, she said, "You're making love to me, really making love to me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, moving his tongue from her breasts and across her belly, enjoying, among other things, the sweet scent of her tender skin.

"Ohmygod, Scott, yes yes," she moaned, when he delivered some oral delight to her most private place. For him, there was nothing more erotic than a woman in a state of high arousal. He paused to slip on the condom and then resumed. She was more than ready for what came next, what usually comes next when a young woman is begging for more and a young man is more than willing to please her as well as himself in the process. Yes, he "really" was making love to her, his affection poured out in kisses and tender phrases, while his body rocked to a rhythm that appeared to be in sync with her own. Once they were strangers set in diametrically opposed roles, meeting face to face over a gunmetal desk in what amounted to a glorified cubicle. Oh, the amazing turns life can take, Scott thought, looking down at Lynda's adorable face, smiling up at him one moment, moaning in the throes of passion the next. His "offender" had become his lover, at least in this brief space of time, when former roles had passed, washed out to sea like a message in a bottle, drifting toward some distant shore.

He hugged her tighter when she climaxed, kissing her even as he followed right behind her, resisting the urge to tell her he loved her, for even in his heightened state of emotion, he had the presence of mind to know that genuine love took time, more time than he knew they had together. Yet he had a feeling, a gut feeling: someday, under the "right" conditions, he might be able to love this girl. But what were the odds? He'd have a better chance of being hit by lightning or bitten by a shark.

Upon recovering, she stretched out on her side. "I feel so safe with you Scott, more secure than I've felt for most of my troubled life. Stay with me awhile, will you?" Her sad blue eyes pleaded in a way that he couldn't resist. Not many men could, he thought.

He reached up and played with her hair. "Not sure what you mean by awhile, but I'd like you to spend the night. Do you want to?"

Her smile said it all. And then she said, "Yes, I very much want to. Had I known that you wanted me to, I would have packed a sexy nightgown."

He kissed her breasts and tummy. "You're sexy enough as is. And I plan to show you just how sexy over the next few hours. Are you with me?"

"I am so with you, agent Brewster. I hope you have enough condoms."

He had enough condoms for a couple more go-arounds, before sleep took priority. Sated and tired, they drifted off to sleep, naked and closer than any probation agent and his probationer had a legal right to be.

*****

"Please keep in touch with me," she said when Scott pulled up to the Saint Regis to drop her off Sunday morning.

"You know I will," he said. "But you keep in touch also. Let me know how you're doing. Good luck with your new agent. And for chrissakes, stay out of trouble."

She gave a mock salute. "Aye aye, sir." When Lynda reached out to him, Scott cut the engine and then, after a long kiss goodbye, she said, "I'll miss you." She had tears in her eyes.

"I'll miss you, too," he said, tearing up himself. "Be good to yourself."

*****

As the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And that was true in Scott's case for the next few weeks. Lynda missed Scott also, or so she said when they talked on the phone and traded email messages. There was talk about Scott flying out to see her. But just talk it remained. He soon began dating someone else. In addition, things weren't working out between Lynda and her aunt, Judy McClain. In fact, Judy called Scott to say that she had put Lynda out after catching her using meth. Scott tried calling Lynda's cell but it was out of order. He managed to contact her female probation agent in Eugene and got nothing but bad news. Lynda was incarcerated after getting busted for drug possession. If convicted, she'd face violation of probation charges.