I entered into her, and in spite of the prophylactic, it felt so good, and it had been so long, I almost came on the spot. It was tempting to just go ahead and let it go, but I fought being selfish. I did the times tables for a while, till they got beyond me, then I tried to remember how to cook a couple of Mexican dishes and thought about the theme songs from favorite TV shows, finally got hold of myself. Then I was relaxed, making love, keeping control on my needs, administering to hers. She knew just how to coax me along, knew what to whisper in my ear, where to put her fingers, how to touch me.
We did it in that position for a while, then she rolled over and I took her from the rear.
Finally, to both our satisfaction, we finished in the traditional position, her letting go first, then me.
It wasn’t as wild as it was with Brett, who could do more tricks with a six-inch dick than a monkey could with a hundred feet of grapevine, but Beatrice’s love-making was slyer than Brett’s, calculated as if by script.
She was certainly a woman of experience, and it was exactly what I needed, and from all observation, what she needed as well. As that ol’ Merle Haggard song goes, “It ain’t love, but it ain’t bad.”
We lay together and I thought about the day. I had been on a cruise, off a cruise, seen famous ruins, been in a fight. My best friend had been knifed, we had been saved by a wild old Mexican with a machete who turned out to be very nice and had a lovely daughter, and Leonard’s awful hat had been destroyed. The lovely daughter had fed me and fucked me, and now I lay me down to sleep.
I wondered what Brett was doing.
Maybe what I had been doing.
Wrong approach.
I closed my eyes.
I pulled Beatrice close.
And wondered again what Brett was doing.
No future in that.
Finally, I slept.
13
Next morning I rose while Beatrice slept, dressed, went in to check on Leonard. He opened his eyes when I walked into the room.
“Morning,” I said.
“Morning. My, you look happy. Been poundin’ the possum, ain’t you?”
“Now that you mention it, yes.”
“I can always tell. You have that smug look and the eyes get hooded, like Robert Mitchum.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. I said, “Now what?”
“Well, now that you’ve had what you need, have taken advantage of a poor peasant girl-”
“Hah.”
“-I don’t think we want to stay here.”
“Very good. But that isn’t exactly a plan. How’re you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been wiped, flushed, and I’m on my way out to sea. I’m bored enough to collect farts and name them, yet I don’t feel like I could do much. I’m lucky I had good stomach muscles, or I’d be dead.”
“You’re lucky he had a short knife,” I said. “Your stomach muscles aren’t that good.”
“And yours aren’t good at all.”
“What I have are table muscles. They’re more subtle. Look, I’ll see if Beatrice will take us into town. Maybe we can make a phone call there.”
“How would we get out of here? Get back to the U.S. Pontoon boat?”
“I haven’t a clue. Question is, are you up to it?”
Leonard tried to rise, said, “You know what? I’m not up to it.”
“Then we better not arrange a way out yet. You don’t need to travel, you feel that bad.”
“You don’t hear me fighting with you.”
“Then you are hurt,” I said. “I’ve never known you to give in to me that easy.”
“You got a point, bucko.”
“Lie down. I’ll see I can rustle you up some breakfast.”
I left out of there, discovered Beatrice was up and moving toward the kitchen. I followed. She smiled at me.
“Last night was very good,” she said.
“Yes it was.”
“It meant something to me, but I do not want you to think it meant everything. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Good. Are you hungry?”
“I am. And so is Leonard.”
“How is he?”
“Better, but not up to snuff. I know you want us to leave out, Beatrice. And we will. But maybe another day or two for Leonard to rest.”
Suddenly she became very hard. “One more day. No more than that.”
“Fine,” I said. “One more day.”
She put some grounds in a pot and started coffee. It was so dark and rich with aroma it made my nose hairs quiver. I had a feeling it wasn’t decaf. She located some more bread and cheese and took it to Leonard. We sat in the room with him and ate the same. Beatrice brought us cups of coffee. After two cups I felt as if I had been blackjacked and ass-kicked.
In spite of the food and coffee, Leonard drifted back to sleep. Beatrice smiled at me. She wiggled her finger for me to come, stood up, and went out of the room.
We went back to her bedroom and went to bed. We made love one more time. I was lucky she wasn’t like Brett. I wouldn’t have had enough rubbers.
At least it had been that way for a while.
After we lay together for a while, Beatrice led me out on the back porch and showed me how a shower was set up there with a pull chain. The water was in a big tin reservoir. It was put there by the rain and sometimes brought in from outside, but there was only so much water, she said, so we showered together. Which wasn’t something I considered a drawback.
As I soaped her up in the pink morning light her breasts, damp with the water from the homemade shower, were dark and slick under my touch, and the thick nipples were tantalizing. I liked the way the soap foamed over them and the way the water plastered her hair to her head, which in the light of day I could see held streaks of gray. I liked the way the water beaded in her pubic hair. Her eyes were deep and dark, her face was full of an expression that showed me there was plenty to like and a lot that was hard to understand. She was a real mystery. I liked that. I liked it so much I kissed her.
About two that afternoon I helped Leonard make it out to the outdoor convenience, stood by outside while he finished, trying to stand far enough away I didn’t have to hear the usual bathroom sounds.
“It’s great to have a valet,” Leonard called through the toilet walls.
“Yeah, well, just don’t ask me to wipe your ass for you.”
“Hap?”
“What?”
“There’s a Mexican catalogue in here.”
“It’s Mexico, you moron.”
“I mean, that’s what you wipe your ass with. Pages from it.”
“Ouch.”
Back in the house, Beatrice, dressed in a simple white cotton dress with red and purple flowers stitched on it, searched through her shelf of books, found Leonard a book in English, Andrew Vachss’s Dead and Gone, left it with him along with a bottle of water, bread and cheese, and a cup of coffee.
