What the Facel is a Fucking Vega

It rang almost immediately. It was him again. I was pissed and he was no longer my boss, so I answered it. "I told you to stay off of my ass."

"Wait a minute, Goddammit, just wait a minute. Jesus Christ. I just want to talk. She told me you apologized. Thank you for that. She also told me you were leaving. Before you do, have lunch with me and let's chat."

"Too late. I'm in Pennsylvania."

"Why did you leave so soon?"

"Why? You fired me and I hate your daughter."

"Okay, I did fire you; but you don't hate my daughter. You just don't know how to handle her."

"Yeah, right. Like you do?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, Point well taken. Listen, get back here and help me finish Spenser. I'll keep her away from you ... and vice versa.

"No, thank you. The state of Texas isn't big enough for us."

"Why not? We never had any trouble. Up until you said those things about my daughter and you pissed me off."

"I'm talking about Christine and me."

"Oh. Well, listen. There might be a problem with the transition on the 12th floor. Dennis said you can fix it. At least let me send you some drawings to look at. You can bill me ... reasonably, of course."

I thought for a while. I really liked working on Spenser. "I suppose."

"Good, what's your address?"

"I don't have one. I'm staying with a friend until I get settled."

"Fine. What's his ... or is it her ... address?"

"His." And I gave it to him. There was no more chitchat. I ended the call.

I received the drawings two days later, made some notes, and sent them back. It went that way for the next month. Them sending me drawings, me making notes, and sending them back; but it was costing them. I was almost working full time on Spenser ... but I wasn't really reasonable with my 'consulting fees.' After all, I had my new apartment to pay for.

One day I received a set of drawings. I studied them and 'ran some figures' before feeling like I needed to call Dennis and talk to him personally.

"Bradburg and Cummins, how may I direct your call?"

"Hello, Connie, this is Ryan Presc ..."

"Ryan, how are you? Where are you? We miss you."

"I miss you, too. Is Dennis available?"

"Certainly. Take care of yourself and come see us."

His phone rang. "Dennis Bradburg." He answered and we talked for almost an hour before deciding that it would be best if I flew out and physically went to Spenser and looked at it. I was on an airplane the next day. I called my father and told him I was coming. When I got there, Dad picked me up and took me directly to Spenser. It was like going home.

I was hoping to finish in one day, but it didn't work out that way. I spent the night with my father. The next morning, Dennis, Mr. Tarver, Martin Cummins, and I were at Spenser early. We bounced between the construction trailer, where I had been fired, and the actual problem area on the building I was there to discuss. Mr. Tarver mentioned neither my firing nor Christine.

I had been there three days and it was Friday so I decided to stop in to Obit. I was in a quandary. Should I mention it to Mr. Tarver so maybe he could influence Christine to stay away? Fuck it. I wasn't going to let her control my life ... or so I thought.

I sat there chatting with a couple of barroom buddies and found myself on pins and needles. Wanting to smell her presence but at the same time dreading it.

What a way to live, I thought. Afraid I was going to run into her and afraid I wasn't. This sucks. I went back to my father's house.

As we solved one problem another appeared. I had been there almost a week and was in the trailer with Dennis and Martin talking over a change the owners wanted. "We need new drawings on this." Said Dennis. "Ryan, could you take care of that?"

There was some basic drafting equipment in the trailer, but I needed more. "I don't have my stuff here."

"Go back to the office and use mine."

An hour later, I was sitting at his drawing board. I spent the rest of that day and the next morning making new drawings. I made copies then called Dennis at the job site and told him I was on my way back.

I was almost at the site when my phone rang. It was Dennis. "Listen, uh, why don't you get some lunch before you come?"

"That's okay. I 'm here now."

Then I heard him say "Oh, shit!" more to himself than to me as I turned onto the property and I saw him outside the trailer standing beside the Facel Vega and I knew instantly why he suggested I get lunch before coming. He saw me and ran up. "Give me the drawings and go to lunch. Call me before you come back."

I started to hand them to him, but took them back. "This is bullshit," I said as I got out and walked to the trailer. When I got there, I opened the door and walked in. Her back was to me and she was talking to her father and Martin. She had apparently just said something funny because they were all laughing. Hers sounded real, but theirs sounded more than a bit forced. Dennis entered right behind me. When she heard the door close, she turned. We looked at each other. God, I loved her eyes.

"Here are the new drawings," I said to nobody in particular as I held them up.

Dennis grabbed them out of my hand. "Good. Let's go over them. Christine, if you'll excuse us, we have work to do."

She and I stood there looking at each other.

"Yeah, sweetie," said her father as he grabbed her arm and tried to rush her to the door. "I'll see you at home later." He opened the door and literally pushed her out. Martin took the drawings, spread them out on the table and started talking about them. Before long, Christine was forgotten.

It was late evening by the time we finished. Mr. Tarver headed home while the remaining three of us headed for a steakhouse and dinner.

Halfway through dinner Martin spoke. "What do you think about coming back to Houston, Ryan?"

"I've enjoyed it so far."

"No, I mean come back permanently."

"I'm not sure about that. Mr. Tarver seems to be okay with it for now, but what happens if I piss him off again?"

"He has been talking about asking you. He realizes the position you are both in and he has suggested that we come up with some sort of contract which would protect you just in case he gets pissed again. The other option is we keep you as an exclusive consultant and do what we have been doing. You live in Pennsylvania and we keep sending you stuff."

"Let's keep it that way," I said. Spenser became the sole topic of conversation for the rest of the evening.

I was in Houston another week before we all felt comfortable enough for me to leave. Christine was never mentioned and I never saw her.

I went back to Houston two months later for another two weeks. Some of my evenings were spent on my favorite bar stool at Obit. I saw Cam a couple of times. She had a new 'forever love'. I wished her well.

It was my third trip back to Houston. I walked into my father's house after work one evening and found him lying on the floor, unconscious. I called 911 and he was transported to hospital. It ended up being a minor heart attack. I spent the night at the hospital with him.

The next morning I called Dennis Bradford and told him what had happened.

I was sitting with my father an hour later when the door to his room started opening slowly and I saw J. Paul Tarver's head poke around the door and into the room. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yes, come in come in."

"How is he?"

"He'll be okay. Thank you." He stayed for over an hour and we talked about a lot of things. When he left, he told me wanted me to consider coming back to Houston. "I'll pick up any moving expenses you have. Take this week and think about it. I overreacted when I fired you before. Besides, your father needs you here now." And he left.

I spent a lot of time in the hospital over the next three days. When my father was able to talk, I told him that I was moving back to be with him. He grinned and told me I was not too bright. "I will get well, Ryan, and I'll be okay. But you ... until you finally decide what you are going to do about Christine, both your body and your mind will be as crippled as I am now."

All night I thought about what he said. He was right of course; I had to do something. Around noon the next day, I made a phone call.

"Hello."

"This is Ryan. Can we talk?"

"Of course. When and where?"

"Obit. When can you be there?"

"An hour?"

"See you then."

It took an hour and fifteen minutes, but he was late the last time we met there as well.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I'm going to call your daughter."

"Okay. Why are you telling me?"

"Because I will more than likely do or say something that will piss you off again."

"And I will more than likely fire you again if the cause of your pissing me off is what you have to say about my daughter."

"That's what I thought. So why don't I take a raincheck on the job offer. That way I don't work for you and will feel freer about what I say. We'll continue like we have been."

"Fair enough. But if you hurt her, your ass won't be worth a plug nickel."

"Just so we understand each other."

"We do."

He left. I went out to my mother's car, which is what I was driving, took out my phone and made the call.

"Hello, Ryan."

"How did you know ... of course ... caller ID."

"Yes. What do you want?"

"Would you meet and talk with me?"

"Why? So you can call me a slut in person?"

"You didn't deserve that and I apologize ... again."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"You and me."

"What about you and me?"

"Can we talk about it in person?"

A long pause. "All right, Ryan. Be at my house in an hour." She gave me the address.

"Okay."

Exactly one hour later, I turned into the longest driveway I had ever seen. It took five more minutes to get to the house. I parked directly in front of the house, got out, and walked up seven steps to the front porch and door. I rang the bell.

"May I help you?" If this was Christine's mother, I knew where she got her looks.

"My name is Ryan Prescott. I'm here to see Christine."

"Come in, Mr. Prescott." I entered into a huge area which could only be described as a foyer. I stood and waited. It was about two minutes later when Christine appeared. She was different. No perfume. No makeup. Ordinary dress. She certainly wasn't trying to impress me and she was still the most beautiful woman in Texas.

"Come in, Ryan." I followed her to a seating area of some sort. Not one of the major rooms. She sat and indicated I should do the same. I shook my head no. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You said you wanted to talk."

"Yes."

"Okay. Talk."

"I have no idea what to say."

She stood. "In that case. Good afternoon. You can see yourself out." She started to leave.

"Wait. Give me a minute. I knew what I wanted to say until I saw you. I wanted to try to explain how I feel and then I see you and I look in those eyes, and I get so ... so ..."

"So what, Ryan?"

"I don't fucking know!" I almost shouted. "I don't know if I want to beat your brains out or fuck them out. I don't know if I never want to see you again or if I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't know if I want to grab you right now and hold you so tightly that you'll never get away or if I want to run screaming away from you."

All of a sudden I was exhausted. I literally fell into a chair. We just looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time.

"Well, that certainly clears things up, doesn't it?" She said finally. Then added. "Would you like something to drink?"

"What I would like is to go to sleep and wake up with a clear mind."

"Maybe you should work on clearing your heart first; then maybe your mind will follow."

"Maybe you're right."

"So where do we go from here?"

"I don't know. I've told you how I feel; why don't you tell me how you feel?"

"Okay." She sat back down. "The time I have spent with you has been wonderful. When you aren't going 'ape shit,' you are fun to be with and I always want more; but I am not going to waste my time with some insecure, asshole who is jealous of every man I talk to and can't decide if he likes me or hates me."

"You called me an asshole, Jennette called me an asshole, and my own father called me stupid. I'm beginning to see a pattern here."

"Who's Jennette?"

"She's my best friend's wife."

"Oh."

"So let's see where we are. I'm a stupid, asshole loser who doesn't know his ass from third base; and you're ... you're ... what? What exactly are you?" She started to answer, but I stopped her. "Wait. Don't tell me."

We were both sitting. Eyes locked on each other. I stood and walked over to her. When I was standing over her, our eyes were still locked. I leaned down and put my hands on the arms of her chair and got as close to her as I could. She didn't flinch, blink, or move.

She whispered, "So tell me. What am I?"

"Hungry," I whispered back. "Would you have dinner with me."

She smiled. "Yes, please." Then she lifted her head just enough to kiss me.

Sometime in the few minutes I was in that house, I fell in love and her history with men didn't matter. Of course, I had tried to reconcile myself to her past before; but this time ... this time I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it didn't matter. What happened to make the difference? I realized that I was happier with her than without her.

I thoroughly enjoyed working on the Spenser, but from that day on, I enjoyed it even more. Everybody around me was happy. Mr. Tarver never mentioned Christine, but since she lived in his house, he had to know what was going on.

Two weeks after we talked at her house, we had sex for the first time. It was on Wednesday. My father was due to get out of the hospital the next day so we went to his house.

There is something unbelievably sensual about watching a woman you are going to make love to undress; knowing that with each article of clothing removed you're that much closer to touching and tasting the most perfect thing ever created; a woman's body.

I sat on the edge of my bed. She started with her blouse. Her nipples were hard. I could see them trying to force their way through her clothes. You don't see that very often anymore ... at least I don't. Women, it seems, try to avoid having people see their stiff nips. That's a shame. Anyway, she pulled her blouse out of her jeans and one button at a time opened it. When there were no buttons left to open, she didn't take it off. She let it hang there so I could she her naked abdomen and white bra. Black bras, red bras, pink bras, purple bras, and all other colors of bras may be exciting, but I much prefer the white ones. Then she kicked her shoes off, reached for the waistband of her jeans, unfastened her belt, unbuttoned the button, and reached for the zipper.

Her right thumb and forefinger took hold of the zipper tab and in one slow movement, lowered the zipper and exposed her white panties. She put her hands on her hips between her panties and jeans and pushed the jeans down her legs wiggling her hips as she pushed. My breathing changed and my dick started to get hard.

She stood and motioned for me to stand and come to her. I did. She pulled on my shirt and pulled me close to her. She blew in my ear and whispered, "I'm going to strip you naked and fuck you within an inch of your life." With that she unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off my shoulders. Then my trousers. She unfastened my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped them and slid them down my legs sliding down herself as she held on to them. When they were at my feet, she started to stand. As she did, her hands clutched the bottom of my t-shirt and pulled it up and over my head. Then she dropped it to the floor. She looked at me and smiled. Then put her hands on my shoulders, leaned in, and put her mouth on my left nipple ... and sucked.

My dick went to instant steel and I moaned. She chuckled and moved to my right nipple. I groaned. She chuckled, again. I reached up and took her hands off my shoulders then slid her blouse off her. Then I slid her bra straps off her shoulders and continued pulling on them and watched as her breasts started coming into view. First the top bulge of the breast then the brown of her areola appeared. I took a deep breath as her nipples literally popped up as the bra slid down uncovering them. I continued pulling on her bra straps until both breasts were fully exposed.

"Oh, fuck, Ryan." Now it was her turn to moan.

I still had the bra straps in my hands and I walked backwards bringing her with me by pulling on them. When we got to the bed, I pushed her gently onto it then got between her legs. We looked at each other and smiled.

"I love you, Ryan," she said softly.

"And I love you," I said as I reached for her panties. She lifted her hips as I pulled them off of her. When they were gone, she spread her legs wide in invitation. She reached for my dick and I was still wearing my briefs.

"Get naked for me," she said. I jumped up, pulled down my briefs and took off my socks; then I knelt on my knees between her legs. "That's better." And she smiled as she, again, reached for my dick.

There was no hurry as she pulled me toward her and I entered her. There was no rush as we made the moves and motions of lovers; but a sense of urgency manifest itself as we approached our orgasms. The slow in and out became hard and fast thrusting and my release was both strong and long lasting; stronger and longer than any I had ever had.

We rested for a while and did it again.

I was supposed to be at the hospital to pick up my father at nine. She left at eight. I was beginning to be like J. Paul Tarver; I was 15 minutes late. As I walked up to him, he saw the grin on my face and spoke.

"That's not the look of a man who is crippled. What happened?" So I told him.

He listened all the way to his house smiling the whole way ... just as I was.

Several weeks went by. I divided my time between my father, Spenser, and Christine. My father wanted to meet her and he did. She came over one Saturday afternoon and didn't leave until after midnight. The three of us played Yahtzee while Christine and I enjoyed a bit of wine. My father drank sweet iced tea. We all laughed a lot.

No one at the building site ever mentioned her. I didn't say anything and neither did Dennis or Martin ... I called him Martin now. Even Mr. Tarver avoided the topic; at least around me. I had no idea if Dennis and Martin knew Christine and I were an 'item,' and no further mention was made about my working for them full time. I was, however; I just never had my own office. If I needed to make new drawings, I used one of theirs.

Another three months went by. Christine had almost moved in with my father and me.

One evening, dad had gone to bed and she was walking out on her way home. I walked her to her car. I opened the driver's door. She was driving the Facel Vega ... again. She sat behind the wheel, looked up at me and said. "Good night. I love you."

"Do you really?" I asked.

"I do, really," she responded.

"Then marry me."

Her eyes got big and she almost tore the door off getting out and clinging, tearfully, to me.

"Oh, God, yes!"

We kissed for a long time and she started to get back into the car, but stopped. She looked at me.

"Five." She said.

"Five what?"

"Men. I slept with five men before you."

"I don't care. I'm the last man you will ever sleep with."

"Yes, you are, but I wanted you to know."

"Why tell me now?"

"If you could love me thinking I slept with a lot of guys ..."

I didn't let her finish. I kissed her long and softly.

I watched as she roared up the street. I only hoped that she didn't kill herself or wreck the car. Her father would never forgive me.

J. Paul Tarver was alone in the construction trailer when I went in the next morning. "Does this mean that you are cashing in your raincheck?" He asked nonchalantly.