Towarzysz

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Putting the Morettis out of his mind, Kirby stepped into the hallway and knocked on the door to apartment 1. It took a minute, but the door opened and Lydia appeared in the entranceway. She was, as usual, wearing a mid-length house dress, this one a mix of blue, green and red, with short sleeves, a front half zipper and a thin cord belt.

"Done for the day?" she asked, already knowing he usually finished about this time.

"Everything on the list," he smiled, a reply he gave so often that it had almost become a private joke between them.

This time, however, Lydia didn't give her normal reply; instead she asked if he could come in for a few minutes, so she could talk to him about something.

"Is Mr. Kostrova home?" Kirby asked, thinking, why ruin what had so far been a good day?

"No, he is at Rick's to watch baseball game," she replied.

Kirby remembered that the Mets were playing the Dodgers out at Shea tonight. In fact, his dad was heading over to the bar after dinner to watch as well. On Friday nights, his mother watched the Brady Bunch, Nanny and the Professor, and Love American Style and couldn't care less if the Mets were trying to repeat last year's World Series win. Not that Doug McAllister minded watching the game on Rick's new twenty-five-inch color set over the household's nineteen inch black and white. It had been pointed out that he could always buy a color television of his own, but he always replied, why would he want to waste money on a foolish thing like that? Kirby always felt that his dad worried that if he got the new set, which he could well afford, he would lose his excuse to go over to the bar on nights like this.

"He' s over there already?" Kirby asked in reference to Mr. Kostrova, as he also recalled that the game didn't start until after seven.

Lydia just shrugged, waiting for him to accept her invitation, something Kirby did a few moments later, stepping inside the apartment.

If asked to describe the décor of the Kostrovas' home, the first word that would come to Kirby was 'frugal.' That wasn't to say he thought it looked cheap, but as long as Mrs. Kostrova controlled the purse strings, economy would always be the watchword they lived by. She believed in paying a fair price for things, but not a krona more, as he often heard her say.

"You have plans for weekend?" she asked after closing the door.

"Well, my friends and I were planning to see the new Clint Eastwood movie, Kelly's Heroes, over at the RKO," he replied, "but other than that, nothing really special."

Lydia seemed pleased with the answer. Then she went on to say that they'd finally managed to rent the long vacant apartment on the third floor. The new tenants, however, would only take the place if the living room was repainted beforehand. The rest of the apartment was fine, but those walls definitely needed to be redone.

Kirby nodded his head. He'd been in the apartment a number of times and the last people who lived there didn't leave it in the best of shape. He said that was good news, but what did it have to do with him?

With an inquisitive smile, Lydia asked if he would be interested in doing the painting. She would pay him extra, of course, say a full day's pay, even if it took less than that to do the job. The paint and other supplies had already been procured and were up in the apartment.

Kirby did a quick calculation, figuring how long it would take him to prime the walls and put down at least two coats. He could do it, but it would take a full day, possibly even an hour or so more. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he asked for an hourly rate rather than the fixed one she had suggested.

He could see that Lydia was thinking it over, but he knew the math as well as she did. Hiring a professional was going to cost twice what he was asking, and as far as just getting some kid to do it for less, he doubted that she could find someone she could depend on, especially since she said the job had to be done by Monday, when the new tenant was coming back to give them a deposit.

"We have deal," she finally said, reaching out her hand to shake on it.

She'd picked up that habit from some old movie, but Kirby had no doubt that she was as good as her word. Whereas her husband would've tried to skim a bit off the top for his own use, Lydia had always dealt with him fairly.

"When you start?" she asked.

"Well, I really don't have any plans for tonight," he replied after thinking about it a bit, "so I guess I could come back after dinner and lay down the primer."

Actually, Kirby did have a sort of date with Mary Polniacz, a girl from his high school who he'd taken to prom and had continued seeing after graduation. They'd gone out together every weekend, but in three months' time, he'd barely gotten to second base with her. So, in weighing another night of fumbling in the back seat with Mary and getting nowhere against making some extra money, the slim blonde came in as only his second-best choice.

Besides, Kirby considered, if Mary had to sit at home on a Friday night while all her girlfriends were out on dates, maybe she'd reconsider where she let him put his hands, or even more.

"Good," Lydia simply said.

-=-=-=-=-

"Finally," Kirby said to himself as he laid the roller back on the paint tray and looked around the now white room, checking for any spots that he might have missed.

Finding none, he walked over to the transistor radio he had brought to keep him company and, after waiting until his favorite Beatle song finished, turned it off. Kirby had grown up with the Fab Four and thought it a damn shame that they'd announced that they'd split up for good. Still, he'd heard the recent solo McCartney album and thought it had been really good. A lot better than those strange albums that Lennon had released with his new wife.

It took another half hour to seal the paint cans and clean the brushes and rollers. The drop cloths he would leave in place for when he came back tomorrow. In his rucksack was a change of clothes, but after noticing a few white splotches on his arms and neck Kirby decided that a quick shower before changing wouldn't be a bad idea.

Checking, the bathroom, Kirby found a bar of soap in the tray by the sink and a few old but clean towels hanging on the rack. Just what he needed to get the job done. Turning on the shower to let it warm up, he stripped down to nothing, stuffing his soiled clothes into an old pillow case he'd brought to carry them home in. He was about to climb into the shower when he caught his reflection in the mirrored door of the large medicine chest.

Kirby didn't have movie star looks or an athlete's body, but he didn't have anything to complain about either. Girls thought he was cute and he'd rather be a bit on the slim side than have to worry about his weight. He had some chest hair, not much, but enough to show that he was full grown.

The same could be said for the area around his cock, even though that came in much later than it had on his peers -- a delay that had led to a few hurtful remarks in the locker room at school. But those comments quickly vanished as, once he did start to develop, nature more than made up for the late start, giving him a cock other guys could only envy. Not that he'd had a chance to do anything with it yet, at least not with another person.

As he soaped up his body, clearing off the splashes of primer, it occurred to Kirby that the apartment above him was number 15. Which also meant that the shower, where Sophia Moretti would stand nude, was only a dozen or so feet away. Closing his eyes, Kirby tried to picture what that might look like, using the image of her that had never quite faded from his mind. As he imagined soapy water running across her breasts, down to between her legs, he felt his cock growing hard. It didn't take long before it was standing on its own, and even less time until he found one of his hands wrapped around it.

Slowly he moved his hand up and down its length, trying to imagine what it might feel like if it had been Mrs. Moretti's fingers stroking his flesh instead of his own. A pleasing warmth spread across him, fueled by more than just the hot water, as he tried to picture Sophia sharing his shower, her naked body pressed tightly against his. What the notoriously jealous dockhand's reaction might be to such an unlikely event was thankfully not something he thought to entertain. Instead, he closed his eyes just a bit tighter and increased the length and breadth of his strokes.

"Oh Sophia," Kirby whispered as he imagined his hands running across her body.

Kirby was just imagining his free hand slipping down between the woman's legs when a sudden noise from out in the hall shattered his illusion, the fantasy lover in his arms abruptly fading into nothingness. A second, louder noise followed a hair's breadth later, causing his eyes to flash open as a cold stillness gripped his chest.

Kirby knew that he'd locked the apartment door when he'd first come in, but he'd also left most of the windows open to help the primer dry, including the one in the back bedroom that led out onto the fire escape. Could someone have come in through there?

Not even shutting off the water, Kirby jumped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels from the rack and, wrapping it around his waist, dashed out into the hallway. There, at the end of the hall where it turned into the kitchen, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure. Without thinking about how he was dressed, or more specifically, not dressed, he ran after it.

As he reached the turn, the kitchen lights suddenly came on, illuminating the figure. It was probably the last person that he would've expected.

"Mrs. Kostrova?" he said in surprise.

There, standing by the sink, was Lydia Kostrova, still wearing the flowered housecoat she'd had on earlier. As one of the building owners, she obviously had keys to all the apartments.

"You work very late and I think you must be thirsty," she said, drawing attention to two bottles of chilled beer sitting on the countertop.

As Kirby turned his body in that direction, his motion reminded him that all he had on was a raggedy towel, and one that wasn't secured very tightly, at that. He grabbed the edge of it where his slipshod knot had begun to come undone and held it together with his hand.

"I ... I was washing up," he said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I grow up with four brothers in very small house," Lydia smiled, "plus I have husband." Her comment suggested that Kirby didn't have anything she hadn't seen before.

'Well, I wasn't one of them,' Kirby thought as he redid the knot so that it would hold of its own accord.

"You dress," Lydia said, taking more note of his continued discomfort. "I go turn off water."

Kirby waited until she'd disappeared into the hall, then changed as fast as he could into the extra t-shirt and shorts that he'd brought with him. He was just lacing up his sneakers when Lydia came back into the kitchen.

"One for me, one for you," she said as she picked up one of the beers and, producing a church key from one of the work dress's pockets, popped off the metal top.

"Sure, why not," Kirby replied as he took the offered bottle, thinking as he did that a cold beer would feel pretty good right now. He'd only recently passed the legal drinking age, but he didn't know any guy in the neighborhood who hadn't been drinking at least beer since their middle teens.

He glanced at the label and saw that it was written in some other language; German was his guess. He'd heard that they were supposed to make the best beers, but his Dad wasn't about to pay what they charged for one, not when he could get a Rheingold or Budweiser for half the cost.

"Damn, that is good," Kirby said after tasting the dark brown liquid.

"I am glad you like," Lydia said, taking a good-sized drink of her own. "My husband is cheap about many things, but not beer."

Her mention of Mr. Kostrova prompted Kirby to ask if he was still at the bar. Unless the game had gone into extra innings, it should've ended at least an hour ago. Lydia replied that he had indeed come home twenty minutes before and promptly collapsed onto the bed, fast asleep. Sometimes, she added, her husband liked his beer a little too much.

They took a few minutes to just enjoy their beers, then Lydia broke the silence with an unexpected question.

"Kirby, you are handsome young man, why you have no girlfriend?"

"Well, I do sort of have one," Kirby replied after a brief reflection, deciding that, at least in the most basic definition, Mary could be thought of as one.

"What is her name?" Lydia asked.

"Mary, Mary Polniacz," Kirby replied.

"I do not know this girl," Lydia said, as if she expected to know every young girl in the neighborhood. "Is she nice girl?"

"I guess so," Kirby answered.

"Is she pretty?" Lydia further asked.

Kirby thought about it a second, and then replied that she was. No one was ever going to say Mary was a knockout, but she was pretty enough.

"Then why you here and not out with her?" Lydia asked.

"I wanted to get a jump on this," he replied, motioning toward the adjacent living room's new white walls with the beer in his hand.

"Is she not good girlfriend?" Lydia further asked, not willing to accept his answer for what it was.

"She's alright, I guess," he said, wanting to change the subject. "Do you like how the walls came out?"

"Walls are fine," Lydia said without even glancing in the direction of the living room. "Does girlfriend not make you happy?"

"Sure, I guess so," Kirby responded, thinking that for all his limited success with her, having no one to go out with would be worse.

"Then I do not understand," Lydia professed.

"It's complicated," the teenager said as he tilted his bottle back to take a long drink from it.

"She not take care of you?" the older woman asked.

"In some ways," Kirby replied, his thoughts centering on the ways she didn't.

"Does she not fuck you?" the older woman unexpectedly asked as casually as she might have asked if he thought they might have rain tomorrow.

"Wha..." Kirby exclaimed, choking on and spitting out the beer he'd only half swallowed. "No, of course not," he managed to stammer, unable to believe she'd even asked that.

"But she sucks your cock, no?" Lydia ventured, again in the most casual manner.

"What kind of question is that to ask?" Kirby said in a shocked voice.

"You say she is girlfriend," Lydia replied, "I wish to know if she satisfies you."

"Why would you want to know that?" Kirby asked, unable to believe he was having a conversation about this -- and with someone more than twice his age.

"If she is not good girlfriend, then I can ask you to be Towarzysz," Lydia said, her voice reflecting emotion for the first time.

"Towarzysz?" Kirby repeated, stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar word.

"It is very old word," Lydia said in response to Kirby's trouble pronouncing it. "You would say companion."

'Companion,' Kirby repeated in his head, thinking it a rather innocuous word, at least in English.

But she hadn't used it in English, and he had the feeling that it held a far different meaning for Lydia than he might have found in any dictionary.

"What is a Towarzysz?" Kirby asked, doing better with his pronunciation this time.

With a warm, inviting smile on her face, Lydia began to explain just what the unfamiliar word meant -- and it was an explanation that the younger man found almost unbelievable.

From what Kirby had read in books and magazines, he believed that Europeans generally held a much more liberal view of sex than most Americans. Here in the States, the idea that women had sexual needs of their own had only recently gained public acceptance, at least on a wide scale. In Górnichowa, however, it had been accepted as a given for over a hundred years. In their culture, sexual freedom, and the gratification that came with it, was considered nature's gift, one that should be forever enjoyed and never denied. In that vein, unmarried women in Górnichowa were more sexually active than their American counterparts, and virginity was rarely expected on a wedding night.

Kirby had barely had a chance to wrap his mind around the first revelation when his world view was even more shattered as Lydia explained how a Towarzysz fit into all this. Evidently, tradition held that if a husband or wife were unable to fulfill their marital duties, be it due to age, infirmity, or simply loss of interest, the spouse was entitled, if they wished, to seek out a companion -- a Towarzysz, who would tend to their sexual needs.

Lydia further explained, although Kirby might have already guessed, most Towarzyszi tended to be younger men and women, although some sought contemporaries who were in a similar situation. Evidently, being asked to be a companion was considered to be a great honor as well as an opportunity to learn the arts of love from a more experienced partner. So much so that Towarzyszi were highly sought after when and if they decided to eventually marry.

"This is a joke, right?" Kirby asked. "I mean, you can't be serious about all this."

It had to be a joke, he told himself. After all, some of the things Lydia had previously told him about Górnichowa had seemed pretty unusual, but this was ... well, he really didn't have a good term to describe it.

"I do not lie," Lydia replied. "It has been tradition for many, many generations."

"So, what you're saying is, your husband can't, well, he can't do what he used to do, and you want me to take his place?" Kirby said, the idea sounding even more incredulous in his own voice.

"Yes," Lydia replied, again in a calm, nonchalant voice.

"This is unreal," he said.

"You do not desire to be my Towarzysz?" Lydia asked, her voice exhibiting a mix of both surprise and disappointment.

"I didn't say that," Kirby replied, surprising himself with his answer. "I just need a few minutes to think about this," he added. "This sort of thing might be the norm back in Górnichowa, but it certainly isn't here in Brooklyn."

Which was of course a fallacy, as he well knew. Men and women sometimes took lovers when their respective partners lost interest in sex -- not only in Brooklyn, but anywhere else you could think of. They just didn't have a fancy name for it like Towarzysz.

Lydia stood silent for a very long minute, her only response a warm smile on her face, one filled with invitation and anticipation. Without really realizing he was doing it, Kirby returned that smile, even as he began to look at the woman before him in a totally new light.

Kirby no longer just saw her as just a person identifiable by her role in his life, but as a woman. An object of potential sexual desire who, to his surprise, he was finding quite enticing.

He'd always thought that the East European woman had a really pleasant face. One unmarred by the enhancements most women her age employed to hold back time. Her body had also weathered the years well, possessing a clear muscular definition rather than the rounded look of contemporaries. True, she didn't have the immediate appeal of, say, Sophia Morelli, who was after all at least a decade younger, but Kirby was fast realizing that physical charms weren't everything. Just hearing Lydia talk about fucking and sucking cock had been enough to give him a hard-on easily equal to what the younger woman's body had given him. One that had returned with vigor.

Yet, even as desire began to influence thought, Kirby still had a clear enough head to consider the consequences of giving in to those desires. Eduard Kostrova might not be the physical threat that Angelo Moretti was, but there were still numerous other ways the old man could retaliate if he discovered that the teen had been intimate with his wife. Possibilities that ranged from simply bringing the matter to the attention of Kirby's father, which would be embarrassing to say the least, ranging up to having someone else inflict the physical retribution that he was no longer capable of inflicting. Either consideration was still enough to give him pause.