Safe Refuge

"This is unusual, I must say," Thelma says, slipping off her wire rim glasses and watching Nerissa arrange her clothes in the dresser. "I never knew Clark to help out someone whose probation had expired."

"I guess he likes me," Nerissa says with a wink.

Thelma chuckles. "O-kay, I'll say nothing more."

"Can I say goodbye to him? Privately?"

"Well, don't make it too private. We have rules against men in here, you know."

"I was thinking outside."

Thelma nods, and they walk downstairs together. Moments later, Clark and Nerissa stand in the driveway. Steam blows from their mouths in the cold air. Wearing nothing over her sweater, she huddles against his chest. "I'm going to miss you," she says. "Now don't forget about me."

He squeezes her and rubs her back. "That would not be easy to do. Besides, I hardly want to."

"Good. Now warm me to the bone with a farewell kiss."

"I'll warm you to the bone marrow. How's that?"

"Even better." He makes good on that to the point where she could strip naked and not feel anything but his sweet, fiery kisses and his strong, muscular body against hers. "I've stopped shivering."

"So I notice." He gives her a final squeeze. "Take care, Nerissa. I'll be in touch."

Upon re-entering the house, Nerissa thinks she better call Waxter Pharmaceuticals, her employer for the past year. They pay her a small base salary plus commission. Combined, when business is good, she earns a decent income. The use of a company car, a late model Chevy Cruze, is a great perk. What she doesn't like is the flirtatious nature of her boss, Felix Waxter. She's thought of filing sexual harassment charges, but she's not sure he goes far enough to take such action. Plus, she needs the work, and she's good at what she does. She's not sure if she can remain working while in Safe Refuge. She depends on the Cruze to make her sales rounds and wonders if Felix will let her take the car back here as she did when she lived in the apartment.

When Thelma tells her it's okay, she calls and tells Felix where she is and why. She listens as he lends a sympathetic ear. "Your boyfriend should be locked up," he says. "Well, you can always stay with me, you know." He chuckles. "Just kidding."

She doesn't think he's 'just kidding,' but she lets it go and asks about the Cruze. "I shouldn't be here too long before they find me a place. The car will be safe on their lot."

"Sure, no problem," he responds. "You've got impressive numbers. And I do mean impressive, in more ways than one. Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty—″

"Felix, stop it! Okay, just stop it!" She grits her teeth till they hurt.

"Sure, sure." He then makes arrangements to pick Nerissa up in the Cruze tomorrow. They'll drive back to the home office and then she'll be free to make her rounds. Thelma knows it's easier finding housing for women who work and therefore has no problem with Nerissa's employment.

*****

Felix Waxter inherited the business from his father who began Waxter Pharmaceuticals during the early years of the Nixon administration. Armed with a degree in chemical engineering from the University of Delaware, Felix began work at Waxter shortly after graduation, worked his way up from sales and became CEO by the time he turned thirty-nine. Now in his mid-forties, he remains a confirmed bachelor, unlike his two married brothers who chose not to go into the family business. People who know him joke that he's somewhat of a throwback to an age when sexist behavior was tolerated or at least didn't carry the stigma it does today. Felix believes in equal pay for equal work and all that, but he also believes that it's okay to make sexual advances—whether they're wanted or not. "All the Me Too movements in the world can't change biology," he's wont to say. "The sexual needs of men and women are different."

Felix's sexual needs gravitate to young women, women in their twenties, women young enough to be his daughters, and Nerissa Bohlen is one of them. He's never groped or touched her inappropriately. What he has done is make comments, suggestive and fair in his mind, harassing in Nerissa's. Looks-wise, Felix knows he's no matinée idol. He's your Mr. Average, if not your Mr. Slightly Below Average. He stands around five-foot-nine, paunchy but not overweight, and balding, which he attempts to cover up by combing his straight black hair over the bare spots. He's got thin lips, a long, thin nose and skin tone that looks as if he lives in Siberia. The slogan from those old Coppertone ads—"don't be a paleface"—could have been aimed at him.

He pulls into the driveway of Safe Refuge wearing a fur hat that COULD have come from Siberia, brown dress pants and a gray double-breasted topcoat over a tweed sports jacket. Nerissa greets him at the desk wearing gray wool pants and a heavy green sweater, with her coat draped over her arm. "Thanks, Felix, I really appreciate this."

"Sure you're okay to drive?" he asks when they get outside. "I mean, you did suffer a concussion."

She opens the driver-side door, throwing her coat in back. "Other than a slight headache, I'm fine."

"And you look fine," he says before entering the Cruze. "Very pretty, as usual."

She shoots him a forced smile. Like most women, Nerissa enjoys compliments on her looks, but not from people like Felix whom she has zero interest in other than what's connected to her job. In fact, she'd rather he not say anything given his less than subtle advances. She tolerates it. Barely.

"I can't wait until spring," he says, looking out his window at the snow-covered fields. The five miles to the office winds through a rural/suburban landscape of farms and upscale suburban development, big stone houses that stand on two-acre lots, tasteful and unobtrusive. She nods, saying nothing until he asks her more about Clark. "So your probation officer took you to the ER and then drove you to Safe Refuge the next day? I thought you were off probation."

"I am," she says, slightly annoyed. "He did me a favor."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"He is."

"So what about your boyfriend? You're not going back with him, are you?"

She sighs, trying to control her annoyance. "Probably not, Felix. I don't enjoy being beat up."

"The jealous type, is he? Is that why he slugged you?"

She swivels her head to the side. "It's personal, okay?"

He throws his hands up. "Okay, okay, I get it. Just trying to make conversation." He lets a few moments pass before speaking up again. "You could have called me, you know. I would have come get you, taken you to the ER or any place you needed to go."

"Including back to your house, right?" She knows she shouldn't have said that but couldn't help it.

"I'm sincere."

"Yes, I know. All too well."

He looks away, mumbles something she can't make out. Then he says, "Calling your probation officer, ex-probation officer. I don't get it."

"There's not much to get. I was in trouble and he was kind enough to help me."

"You sure it was purely altruistic?"

She feels her face flush with anger. "What do you mean by that?!"

"Come on, Nerissa. A guy in his position doesn't go out of his way like that just to be nice, not when he supervises a babe that looks like you."

She shakes her head. "Felix, please, I'm not in the mood for this today. I've been through enough in the last twenty-four hours."

He again throws up his hands. "Okay, I'll stop, stop telling you how hot I think you are, if that's what you'd like."

His shit-eating grin annoys her more than what he just said. "Oh geeze, Felix, you don't know when to quit. Yes, that's what I'd like."

He says nothing further until they reach the office, located in a suburban industrial park. Once inside, she sits in front of his desk, going over her sales itinerary for the day. Felix sits in his red leather desk chair, elbows on top, hands folded in front, nodding as she rattles off a list of potential clients. When she gets up to leave, he says, "So, as we agreed, you can take the Cruze back to Safe Refuge. Any idea when they'll find a permanent place for you?"

"From what Thelma told me, within the next week or so."

Still seated, he nods, looking her up and down, from her suede boots to the top of her sweater, undressing her with his eyes. He wishes her luck. Then, just as she turns to leave, he says, "Care to kiss me goodbye?"

She flashes her baby blues in disbelief. He'd never gone this far. "Excuse me?!"

"You heard me." He stands, throws his sports jacket over the back of his chair, then walks around his desk. "We've known each other long enough where it wouldn't be inappropriate to get a little closer."

She stands in the doorway, just a few yards away, holding her papers and coat, shaking her head. "It would be highly inappropriate, Felix, and you know it." She can see the disappointment etched into his face—anger too at her rejection. He pouts, clenches his jaw, bares his teeth. She expects him to snarl any second. Lowering her eyes, she sees him ball his hands into fists. Is he going to assault her? Ohmygod, it looks like he's about to lunge and strangle her. Now what?

Then, to her great relief, his body relaxes in successive stages—first his shoulders, then his hands, then his face. The snarl morphs into a smile, albeit a fake one. Once again, he throws his hands up. "Okay, okay, I can take a hint."

She glares at him for a few tense seconds. "I'm not sure you can, Felix."

She begins to leave. But then: "Hold it!" he barks. "I'm not through."

When she turns around, he's just inches from her face. "Felix, leave me alone and let me—"

"You're a fucking ingrate, you know that? How many bosses would let their employee drive around after work hours in a company car?"

From the smell of his breath, Nerissa now knows what she suspected in the car: he's been drinking. She backs out of the doorway. "Okay, that did it," she snaps. "Enough is enough. You just crossed a line you never should have crossed. I'm done here, I quit. She pulls out the keys to the Cruze, then flings them and her papers on the floor. "Sayonara Felix."

By the time he confronts her outside, she's dialing Clark's cell and lets out a sigh of relief when he answers. Felix stands coatless with his arms folded against his chest, listening to Nerissa's pleas for Clark to pick her up. Eyeing Felix warily, she says, "I'll explain later, Clark. Just hurry. Please."

Felix rubs his arms in the cold air. "Who did you just call?"

"None of your damn business. Now leave me the hell alone or my next call will be to the cops."

She stuffs her hands inside the pockets of her coat, turns around and steps away from the entrance. She has nothing more to say to him.

*****

Clark leaves a voice mail for his supervisor, telling her he'll be late because of an "emergency." The emergency is Nerissa's call, the thing that prompts him to take a detour from his usual morning commute. Why is he doing this? A rhetorical question—he knows why, knows that guys will go to ridiculous lengths for the women they care about. It's the damsel in distress thing, and Nerissa, from the way she sounds, is obviously in distress. Work related, it sounds.

When he pulls into the parking lot, she wastes no time in hopping into his Honda. Her cheeks are red from the cold, her eyes red from crying. He throws the gear in park, keeping the engine running. He hugs and kisses her and brushes the remaining tears from her face.

Moments later, as she's explaining what happened, Felix emerges from the building and approaches Clark's car, nodding his head. "You're Nerissa's probation officer, I bet," he says through the slightly cracked driver's side window.

Nerissa leans toward the window. "Ex-probation officer. Remember?" she cries contemptuously.

Felix smirks. "And now new boyfriend, it looks to me."

Clark debates whether to drive off or jump out and get physical. He doesn't care for men who sexually harass women, especially men old enough to be their dad.

Nerissa knows what he's thinking. "He's not worth it," she pleads. "You'll only get in trouble."

Clark glares at Felix, picturing what this clown would look like if he chose to ignore Nerissa's advice. He also knows that he'd be looking for another job and might even end up on probation himself if he gave in to emotion. He turns to Nerissa. "You're right, he's not worth it."

Minutes after he drives off the lot, Nerissa says, "I wouldn't blame you if you dropped me off at Safe Refuge and never spoke to me again." She shakes her head. "I just seem to make a mess of things. No home and now no job."

Clark reaches over and squeezes her hand. "Don't beat up on yourself. From what you tell me, you should have left that place a long time ago."

"It was tolerable, albeit barely until today, until he crossed the line." She glances out the window, watching a man in a heavy, double-breasted overcoat standing in his long driveway beside a green Jaguar. Then, turning back to Clark, she says, "Anyway, it looks like I'll be staying at Safe Refuge longer than I had hoped."

He keeps his eyes on the road, thinking back to what Felix had said, about him being Nerissa's 'new boyfriend.' That could well be the case—especially if Clark takes her up on her proposal to stay with him. He wonders if she still wants that. More important, does he? Ever since he left his parents' nest, he's lived by himself. Taking Nerissa in would be a huge adjustment. Is he ready for such a change? He isn't sure, but he's willing to try, willing to change his life for this special girl.

He's still lost in thought, when she says, "You have that faraway look in your eyes. Are you okay? Well, I mean besides being pissed that I'm making you late for work."

"Oh, just thinking about what you said yesterday on our way to Safe Refuge. Were you serious about me taking you back to my place?"

She looks startled—in a good way—the way a child might look after receiving a toy that she once thought was out of reach. "Yes. Is that what you're thinking?"

He glances at her face, so adorable, so pretty, especially those beautiful blue eyes filled with warmth and hope. "That's what I'm thinking. You can stay with me until you find another job and then your own place. Still want to go?"

She takes a couple deep breaths. "Ohmygod, Clark, of course I want to go. But what about Safe Refuge?"

"We'll pick up your stuff there, then head on over to my house."

When they get to Safe Refuge, Clark gets his supervisor on the phone, tells her his "emergency" will require him to take off the whole day. "It's a family matter," he says when she inquires. Thelma wishes Nerissa good luck after hearing what happened with Felix.

Then it's off to Clark's house, a brown clapboard, bungalow-style post World War One era single family home tucked just inside the city line. "Not exactly upscale, but the neighborhood is safe and it's convenient to the city and county," Clark reveals when he pulls in front. "It's a fixer-upper that needed lots of work when I got it, but the price was too good to pass up. It's still a work in progress."

"It looks like it's progressing really well," Nerissa says after dragging her bag of clothes through the front door. Your hardwoods are beautiful. And I love the look of that exposed brick on the fireplace. Did you do the hardwoods yourself?"

He nods proudly, tells her he took up all the worn carpeting throughout the house, then buffed the hardwoods after replacing some of the broken boards. He stands on one of the two Oriental style scatter rugs and points to the kitchen. "Up next is new linoleum for the kitchen, then new appliances, then a bathroom renovation, new railing for the back porch, perhaps central AC, although my window units work fine. Then, let's see, more painting." He sighs. "It never ends."

Nerissa focuses on the faded green walls. She can't fix old hardwoods or install central air, but she can paint. In fact, she helped her dad paint their home before her parents moved to California. She puts helping Clark paint on her mental bucket to-do list if things work out. Then she follows him upstairs to the three bedrooms. There's a queen-sized bed in the master and a twin bed in the guest room. A desk, file cabinet and desktop Dell fill the other room. "You use this room for an office, I guess," she says.

He nods while helping her off with her coat. "Which means you either sleep in the spare bedroom or...with me. Which will it be?"

"Do you really need to ask? My preference would be for the latter. What's yours?"

He acknowledges her rhetoric with a grin. Then, as he helps her fold her clothes into available space inside the two dressers, her cell goes off. It's Ronny, telling her he just made bail. She's surprised at his contriteness, expected him to scream profanities. "I'll never hit you again so long as I live," he tells her. He pleads with her to come back "from wherever the hell you're now staying, although I've got a pretty good idea."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"I called your work, talked to your boss man who said that agent Reagan picked you up."

"Felix, that bastard," she says under her breath.

"So he tells me you're staying at a shelter called Safe Refuge. So I call them and they tell me you're no longer there. So, putting two and two together, I figure you're with agent Reagan. Am I right? You're staying with your ex-PO?"

She knows she shouldn't say more, but she's too angry not to. "I'm some place that's warm and safe and secure and free from the worry of being assaulted. Now leave me the hell alone and never call again."

After clicking off, she suddenly feels overwhelmed by the events of the last few hours—Ronny beating her up, her trip to the ER, Felix's come-on, quitting her job. She can't recall going through so many changes in so short a time, being hit with all this shit all at once, leaving her with precious little space and time to recover.

When she starts to cry, Clark reaches out and pulls her to him. "Nerissa, you'll get stronger and recover from this. You made it through probation, you'll make it through this. You'll be fine."

"Right now, I don't feel so fine." She brushes aside her tears and looks up at him. "But I meant what I said about feeling warm and safe and secure. You make me feel that way, agent Reagan."

He takes her face in his hands. "So now it's back to agent Reagan," he teases.

She manages to smile. "Agent Reagan, will you make love to me?"

"Now?"

"Now is the best time of all. Yes. Now. Right here in this bedroom." Before he can answer, she lifts her sweater and throws it on the bed, then unsnaps her bra. "Please."

"Nerissa, making love to you is one thing you'll never have to beg me for." He fondles and kisses her breasts, not big but oh so firm, with the faint outline of veins showing beneath her soft, transparent skin. He brings his face between her breasts, inhaling her intoxicating scent, mango-sweet.

Slowly, she begins to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time, then rubs her hands over his chest, feeling the solid mounds of pectorals beneath his light body hair. "I've craved this kind of closeness with you since you picked me up at the ER."

He plays with her hair, then unsnaps her pants. "I've craved this kind of closeness just about the whole time you were on my caseload." He slides her pants down her full, luscious thighs, rubbing his hands over her smooth skin. He can't help but feel and admire the fine curvature of her plump calves as well, the way they taper down to her thick ankles.

Once under the covers, she tells him she's on birth control, then falls easily into his arms. It's their first time together, yet she senses a strange but wonderful familiarity, as if they'd been intimate before. Perhaps it's because she's known him for over a year or because of the physical attraction that had coursed between them early on or because of the way he's taken care of her since she left Ronny. Whatever the reason or reasons, she feels so grateful to be here, snuggled and protected. This is the way she had hoped things might have gone with Ronny, a hope dashed not long after they moved in together. It didn't take long before his "other side" came out, his insecure, controlling side and ultimately his assaultive behavior. She can't imagine Clark ever acting like that. He's always been a perfect gentleman, never condescending, unlike some other parole and probation agents she had gleaned from overhearing the rude way some of them speak to their offenders.