Southern Comfort Ch. 05

I stood up to go refill our drinks. I stepped behind him, and leaned over his shoulder. I took his eating utensils from him and laid them on the edge of his plate. Granny was still babbling away. He glanced up at me with a frown. I picked up the pork chop and put it between his hands. "Eat it with your fingers," I whispered in his ear as I pointed to a napkin tucked under the edge of his plate.

By the time I finished replenishing everyone's drinks, Granny was feeling tipsy and Bob's plate was virtually empty. I cleared the table of the dishes, rinsed them and put them in the sink. "I'll get the dishes in the morning, Grandmother," I called through the opening between the kitchen and the dining room. I began pouring Bob and me coffee with Irish whiskey.

"Get Bob some cake to go with his coffee," Granny advised.

"What kind is it?" I asked.

"Fruit-cocktail. Your favorite," she said still sipping at her second drink. I sliced him a piece of cake and set the desert dish in front of him with a fresh fork. He tasted it and his face broke into a big smile as he nodded in approval.

"Mrs. Johnson, this is delicious!" he said pointing his fork to the cake. He chased it down with the Irish coffee and made a face of pure pleasure. My grandmother fairly beamed with pride at his praise.

Bob was looking relaxed and at home finally. "In fact, the whole meal was superb," he said as he pushed his chair back from the table. He picked up his own dishes and headed in his sock feet to the kitchen with them.

He shed his suit coat and came back to hang it on the back of his chair. He began rolling up his sleeves. I frowned slightly at the fact he didn't seem to notice he was openly sporting the leather harness. Granny politely didn't comment on the gun. "What are you doing?" I asked feeling a bit of satisfaction that he had settled in so nicely.

"Dishes!" he said giving me a grin as he made his way back to the sink and began running warm dishwater. It was the first time he had really smiled in hours. Grandmother began a tirade of protests. She'd never seen a man offer to do dishes before. "I'm an old bachelor, Mrs. Johnson. You just sit right there and enjoy your drink. I've got this," he informed her.

Grandmother tilted her head at me and asked in a pleasant tone, "Where on earth did you find this one? He does dishes and takes his shoes off at the door. I need one like him," she teased as she glanced in his direction to see if he heard her.

"That's what I keep trying to tell your granddaughter. She needs one like me, too," he teased back without looking up from his chore. I rolled my eyes and propped my cheek against my palm as I watched him from a distance.

Grandmother attempted to push her chair back from the table. I guess she felt guilty for allowing him to clean up the kitchen. Guests aren't expected to pull clean-up duty and men don't do dishes, period. Neither is proper southern etiquette.

"Grandmother," I whispered across the table at her. I shook my head and frowned. "Let him alone," I said softly. She gave me a puzzled look, but she settled back in her chair.

I stood up and circled the table on the pretense of leaning down to give her another hug. "Bob's going through a bad time right now. He doesn't have any family of his own. That's why I brought him here. Let him help," I whispered in her ear. She gave me a slight nod.

It was after midnight before we all decided it was past time to retire for the evening. Grandmother offered me Papaw's old room. Bob looked uncomfortable for a moment. I shook my head at her. "We're sleeping in the Spanish room," I said firmly.

"Well, you can pull both doors shut. Y'all won't bother me," she added.

"Well, I wasn't planning on fucking him tonight, Grandmother, but we are going to sleep in the same bed," I snorted at her.

"Cindy..." Bob chided with a frown.

"What? I'm just saying, Bob," I sniffed at him. "When I fuck you, it won't be under my grandmother's roof. Give me a little credit, would you, please?"

Bob didn't reply but he did raise an eyebrow at my use of the word 'when' rather than 'if'. Granny ignored my slip of the tongue.

"She wasn't raised in a barn, Bob," Grandmother frowned at me across the table as well. "I don't know where all my granddaughters learned to talk like that," she said shaking her head in dismay. "Your grandfather would..." she began.

"Papaw would what? Laugh? You know I'm right. Papaw would agree with me and you know it!" I said rolling my eyes at them both. I stood up and stretched.

"Let's go to bed," I said as I made my way around the table to kiss my grandmother goodnight. Bob made his own polite goodnight speech, calling her 'Mrs. J', and we retired to the bedroom. **********

Once alone in our designated quarters, I went about turning down the bed covers while he undressed. He placed the holstered gun on the bedside table. There was an awkward silence between us for several long minutes.

When Bob had finished disrobing, he slipped between the sheets and I slid out of my jeans and shirt, tossing them down on a chair. Bob had neatly folded his suit and draped it over the back of another chair across the room. I turned on my old stereo and tuned in a local station. I kept the volume low.

I joined him between the sheets and curled up with my head resting on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" I asked. He grunted in response. I could feel the tenseness of his body as he lay with one arm thrown behind his head and one arm casually wrapped around me. Another long silence ensued.

"I don't think this is going to work," he grumbled under his breath.

"If you're that uncomfortable, we could always go home," I offered.

"Honey, it doesn't get more 'at home' than this," he said lazily. "I'll be alright. I may not get much sleep tonight," he added with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He grunted again and thrust his hips upwards. I giggled at him. "Oh, I see. Is there anything I can do?" I asked, teasing him.

"There's a hell of a lot youcould do, but not in your grandmother's house," he snorted.

"Do you want to go out to the car?" I teased.

"Uh-uh. Bucket seats," he said shaking his head from side to side.

"The light is on your side. You can turn it off or leave it on. It doesn't matter to me," I said snuggling against his chest. My breast rubbed against him and he groaned.

"Do you want to roll over the other way?" I asked trying to have some mercy on him at least.

"Yeah, roll over. We'll try that," he agreed. I rolled onto my side and he flung an arm over me and settled his cheek against my pillow. His arm was nestled between my breasts and his penis was pressed between us against the small of my back. He cleared his throat and readjusted himself, but it only served to place his erection squarely between the cheeks of my ass.

"Aw, fuck me," he snarled in a low voice as he pulled me tighter against him and rubbed back and forth for a moment. "I'm never going to fall asleep like this," he complained in a whisper. I began laughing silently. The irony was his breath on my shoulders made me want to act like Iwas raised in a barn.

I stopped laughing and struggled to sit upright. I made a motion for him to roll over the other way. It placed the bedside lamp shining directly in his face. It's funny how it takes some doing to work out the little details with someone you're not accustomed to sleeping with regularly. Lee and I had the same problem. Platonic relationships are so unnatural.

I reached across him and turned the light off before I curled against his back spooning him from behind instead. He was holding my hand against him when I finally felt his chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Bob was out like a light.

It was daylight when I opened my eyes to find him propped on one elbow staring at me while I slept. Military men are always early risers. I could smell the aroma of bacon and coffee drifting through from the kitchen. I gave him a sleepy smile and stretched.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked.

"Relatively," he shrugged as he brushed the hair from my shoulder and ran his hand down my arm. "You?" he asked. I nodded. "I smell breakfast," he said with a grin.

"Yeah, Granny cooked every morning for Papaw for over fifty years," I explained. "I better get up and go help her." I threw back the covers and climbed from the bed. I pulled on the same jeans from the night before. "Do you want to get a shower before breakfast or after?" I asked.

He thought about it for a moment and decided, "Before, so I can look presentable at the table."

I went about laying out his personals and a fresh suit of clothes. I chose jeans for him and a dress shirt to match. "Your boots are still in the car. Without your jacket you won't be able to wear that fucking gun to the table now," I warned.

"I'll manage," he replied smoothly.

"I'll go lay out some towels for you. Go ahead and get your shower whenever you're ready." I let myself out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me. Whenever I was around Bob, I always felt as if there was some little something that was out of place. I wasn't sure exactly what it was, but I was having that same nagging feeling on this morning as well.

"Morning, Granny," I said cheerfully as I wandered into the kitchen a moment later. "Can I set the table for you?"

"How does Bob like his eggs?" she asked nodding at the dishes she had already laid out.

"It doesn't matter. He'll eat whatever you cook," I shrugged as I begin arranging the place settings at each chair. We chatted while we worked together in kitchen.

Bob appeared just as Grandmother was placing the last of three eggs on his plate. "Good morning, Mrs. Johnson," he called to her.

I thought to myself as I watched him, "God, he looks so damned good no matter what he is wearing." I considered swiping the dishes aside and having him for breakfast instead of bacon and eggs. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking at the moment, or if the same idea had crossed his mind, too.

I nodded for him to seat himself at the table. He reached for a side chair and I shook my head at him and nodded to the head of the table. Bob was officially designated 'man of the house', at least for the moment anyway.

"Good morning, Bob. Did you get any sleep?" Grandmother replied to his salutation.

"I slept like a baby," Bob answered as she placed a full plate of food in front of him. "Cindy will get your coffee. How about a glass of milk to go with your breakfast?" she offered. He hesitated and she went about pouring him a full glass of milk just as she had always done for Papaw.

During breakfast, Grandmother struck up a conversation with Bob that for the most part should have excluded me. I pretended to concentrate on my grandmother's cooking instead, but I was listening more intently than it appeared.

The interrogation began. Bob was sitting in the 'hot seat' and he didn't even realize it yet.

"How did you meet Cindy?" she asked him. I waited to see his response.

"Oh, I'd seen her around where she works. But, we finally were introduced on her birthday. I asked her not to dance," he said smugly.

"I've never heard of a man asking a girlnot to dance. You don't dance, Bob?" Grandmother ventured.

"Not too often. I'm too old to keep up with the kind of dancing she does," he said with a slight smile and a flash of amusement in his eyes.

"What do you do for a living, Bob?" she asked.

Bob hesitated a moment as he cast me an apprehensive look. "I have my own business, Mrs. J," he replied sounding wary.

"Oh? What kind of business?" she pressured him for answers as she tilted her head and smiled at him. She would have made a great inquisitor for the German Schutz Staffel.

Bob looked down at his plate and said rather smoothly, "I'm in the hardware business, Mrs. J." I half stifled a contemptuous snort. It made my grandmother cut her eyes at me.

"I see. I wouldn't think there's much money in that," Grandmother said shaking her head. "But, from the looks of your car out there, you must do well," she commented. He didn't say a word. I gave her comment some consideration.

"You'd be surprised at how much money there is in 'hardware' these days, Grandmother," I said sarcastically without looking up. Bob cleared his throat restlessly and that is precisely when the first seed of suspicion in my head began to germinate. Grandmother sensed there was something amiss and she looked curiously from Bob to me.

"I knew a man in hardware once. I guess he didn't work as hard as you do, Bob, because he went broke pretty quickly," she said. "I think I need some new hinges and door locks on that back door. Maybe you could take a look at it for me before you leave?"

Bob didn't realize it, but my little widowed grandmother was trying to toss a little business his way. I'm sure she thought he needed some help keeping up the payments on that shiny black car of his.

Bob was about to answer her when I interjected on his behalf. "Granny, that's not the kind of hardware Bob sells." She arched an eyebrow at me.

"He means guns. Bob sells guns for a living." I think Bob turned purple when I explained it to her. His fork clattered against his plate as it slipped from his fingers. He retrieved it quickly and continued eating with his head tucked low.

Bob had previously told me that it was no big deal if anyone knew he was a licensed arms dealer. Now, he seemed highly uncomfortable with me openly discussing it.

"Guns? Well, that sounds like a dangerous business to me," she scowled at him. "Why didn't you just say guns instead of hardware?" she asked.

"That's just what people in New Orleans call it, Grandmother. Some people are just kind of squeamish about saying what they really mean," I falsely explained to her.

"Besides, Bob can take care of himself. He's a decorated war veteran," I went on sounding casual. "I'm pretty sure he's got ribbons and medals, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he had at least one or two badges."

I felt Bob's foot slide over the top of mine and he gave me a firm nudge under the table. I was trying to appear to focus more intently on my plate. "Aha!" I thought to myself. Sometimes, hearing the facts instead of simply thinking about them causes the pieces of a puzzle to fall into place. Bob's foot continued touching mine as a precaution on his part.

"Where are you from, Bob?" Granny asked suddenly changing the subject.

"New Orleans, Mrs. J," he replied without hesitation.

"No. Uh-Uh. I know you live there, but you aren't from New Orleans," she declared shaking her head in denial of his claim. "You're not even from the south. I can tell by the way you talk. And, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't know how to eat a pork chop last night," she pointed out.

Bob's eyes darted in my direction and he cleared his throat again as he pretended to wipe his mouth with his napkin. Granny was just teasing him, but Bob began to visibly squirm.

"Breakfast is really good, Mrs. J. Thank you," he replied in an effort to avoid answering her questions.

"Yes, Bob, whereare you from originally?" I prodded while still sounding cheerful.

"Back east," he mumbled vaguely as he pressed his foot hard against mine again.

"Where?" Granny insisted knowing. If anyone could pry information out of Bob, my grandmother could. She was like an information vacuum cleaner.

"Around Virginia," he said cautiously. Grandmother nodded.

I interjected again. "Really? I once knew someone from a little town in Virginia." I paused as if I were thinking about it.

"Now, what was that place called?" I asked myself aloud as I tapped my fingernails against my teeth and looked up towards the ceiling for effect. "Oh, yes! I remember now. It was in Prince William County, I believe. I hear they have abig government installation there."

Bob suddenly covered his mouth with his napkin and coughed rather loudly. "Sorry. I think that bite went down the wrong way," he apologized as he scowled in my direction.

"Hey, are you alright?" I asked sweetly as I gave him a light pat on the back. "Some things are just harder to swallow than others, aren't they? Get a sip of your coffee. It might help. We don't want you choking on anything...yet," I said while still giving him a fake smile. "Would you like a little more whiskey in your coffee?" I offered.

He shook his head silently.

"What's your last name, Bob? I don't think Cindy mentioned it before," Granny said as she rejoined the conversation.

"Jones," he replied automatically.

"Jones?" I asked giving him an amused look. "That's a very common name, isn't it? I bet there's at least a couple thousand Robert Jones' in New Orleans alone," I suggested slyly.

"Jones," Grandmother repeated sounding doubtful. "You mean you didn't know his last name until now?" she asked me with a scowl of disapproval.

"I never asked," I said with a shrug. "Besides, if I had asked him, he probably would have just made one up anyway. Bob's very creative that way." Bob kicked me hard under the table. I jumped and my knee bumped the table making it shake.

I looked under the edge of it and asked, "Have you got enough leg room under there, Bob?" Granny lifted the tablecloth looked under the table, too. Bob nonchalantly slid his foot away from mine.

"Why would he make up a name?" Grandmother asked looking puzzled as she gave the tablecloth a shake to straighten it again.

"I was just teasing him, Grandmother. If he was going to make up a name, he would never come up with a plain old name like Jones, would you, Bob?"

"Could you get me another cup of coffee?" he asked giving me the evil eye. I stood up and carried his cup to the kitchen. Grandmother watched as I laced his cup with whiskey.

"Are you putting booze in his coffee?" she asked. I nodded. "At this time of the morning?"

"It's that or smoke a joint. Bob likes to do both at the same time. I think his job is just too stressful for him. He has to deal with all kinds of people. Everyone wants to own a gun these days," I informed her. "I don't like guns. That's why I don't date policemen. They almost never are without one." I thought I heard Bob choke on his tongue.

"You smoke that stuff?" Granny asked him suspiciously as her attention focused more on the subject of pot.

Bob turned purple and began to stammer. I meandered over and set his coffee in front of him. I reached inside his pocket and removed a rolled joint from his cigarette pack. I held it up for her to see.

"Does that answer your question?" I asked. "Bob's an interesting mix of personalities. On one hand, he's a war hero, but...on the other hand..." I said letting my voice trail away. "Sometimes, I wonder if Bob isn't two different people entirely," I said as I lit the joint and handed it to him.

I placed an ashtray between us on the table and lit a cigarette. I blew out the smoke in one long breath and directed it at him. Bob looked rather grey at the moment.

"Do you know who he reminds me of?" Granny asked. "Tom. He's got eyes like Tom."

"Have you seen him?" I asked almost too quickly.

Grandmother nodded. "He came by last week. He cut some tree limbs for me while he was here and dragged them to the road."

"Is he still working as a private bodyguard or did he decide to join the force yet?" I asked without looking at Bob.

"He didn't say. But, he must be doing something along those lines because he was wearing a gun the day he came by, too. He had to take it off to cut the tree limbs for me. Are you going to call Tom while you're here?" she asked.

Bob turned his head and looked at me as if he was the one who had asked the question.

"Not this trip, Granny," I said shaking my head at her. "He'll want to get together and I can't this time."