And he’d probably want to call the police.
And it would all come out that I’m a criminal. No thanks. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I already made up my mind to leave. I’m all packed up and ready to go. Hell, I’d be gone now except I had to collect on your bribe of dinner.”
Gillian stood up, lifting her plate and glass off the table. “Come on, let’s take the dishes in.”
He loaded his hands and followed her into the kitchen. Three trips later, the patio table was clear. Gillian opened his dishwasher.
“No way,” Jerry said. “These can wait. Would you care for an after-dinner drink?”
“Trying to get me sloshed?”
Jerry stepped up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders. The feel of them seemed to radiate down her body. The force of her reaction surprised Gillian. Is this the first time he’s touched me? she wondered.
If you don’t count towing me to poolside after my crash.
“How about coffee? he asked.
“I was just kidding about you trying to get me drunk.”
“I know. I’d rather have coffee myself. I’d hate to spend the rest of our evening in a drunken stupor.”
“Me too.”
He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze, then stepped away and began to prepare a pot of coffee.
Gillian turned around. She leaned back against the counter. Its edge pressed her an inch above the abrasions. She wasn’t in pain there, just a little tender. She watched Jerry.
He had dressed nicely for the dinner. He wore a neatly pressed, short-sleeved plaid shirt that was very much like the blouse that Gillian had decided to wear. His slacks were white, the same as Gillian’s shorts. He wore topsiders, she wore sandals.
“Do you realize we match?” she asked.
He smiled. “I noticed.” He dumped scoops of coffee into the filter.
It felt good to be with him.
She wished she could tell him her secret.
Maybe someday, she thought.
Don’t count your chickens ...
“There’s a pen and notepad by the phone,” Jerry said. “In case you want to give me your phone number.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I don’t even know your last name. I looked you up under Holden, but you weren’t there.”
“He’s my mother’s brother,” she said.
Jerry’s tried to find me in the telephone book. He wants my number. He doesn’t want to lose me after I leave tonight.
God. All right! -
“I’m O’Neill,” she told him.
“Gillian O’Neill. Nice.”
She stepped over to the telephone. On the pad there, she wrote her name, address and telephone number.
You’re really giving it away, she thought.
It won’t come to that. Probably.
So what if there’s a risk?
While standing by the phone, she copied his number off the sticker. She tore it from the bottom of the paper and tucked it into the pocket of her blouse.
Soon, the coffee was done. They took their mugs outside and sat at the table by the pool.
It was dusk. Darkness was not far away.
“I love this time of the evening,” Gillian said. “It’s so peaceful.”
“Yeah.” Jerry sipped his coffee. “We used to go out after supper for some bounce-or-fly on the street in front of the , house.”
“I did that. Didn’t get up to bat very often, though. I wasn’t much of a catch.”
“I bet you were a good catch. I have the feeling you were something of a tomboy.”
“Oh, hell yes.” She drank some more coffee. It was hot and good. “I could knock a ball a mile. I just couldn’t lay my mitt on it.”
“Do you still like to play ball?”
“You being a wiseguy?”
Jerry smiled and they lapsed into silence. It was getting darker now.
“And now? I mean, what do you do now?” he asked.
Here it comes. Story time again, folks.
“Do? In my spare time? Well, I don’t play bounce-or-fly, that’s for sure!”
Jerry raised his eyebrows. Did he detect a challenge in her tone? If so, he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue the matter of her spare-time activities anymore. They had something good going here, and he didn’t want to mess up.
She winked, threw him a quizzical smile and said, “I scribble.”
“Scribble?”
“Sure. I scribble. Anything that comes to mind, really. Anything and everything. I have this wild, untamable imagination, and when I get bored with life, I just, well ... scribble ...”
“Okay. So you scribble. Do you often get bored?”
“Yep. Pretty often.”
“You bored now?”
Nope.
“Good. I would hate to think ...”
“Jerry. Stop it. I’m having a great time. You’re the perfect host,” she laughed. “And I couldn’t be less bored. Honestly. So please, let’s drop it.”
Jerry laughed. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking we might head over to a park sometime. I could pitch, you could hit.”
“Like after dinner some night? That’d be neat. Of course, if you’re into reliving childhood games, there never was anything as good as hide-and-seek. The hiding part, that’s what I liked. Forget being ‘it.’ I loved to run off and duck into places that were small and dark where they’d never find you. It was always a little scary if you found a good place. I remember how my heart used to pound. Like I was afraid I’d get grabbed by something while I was waiting.”
“It was always such a let-down,” Jerry said, “when they gave up looking.”
“Right. It’s not that you wanted to be found, but you didn’t want to be abandoned.”
“Remember what a drag it was when you’d hear your parents calling your name? You knew it was time to go in.”
“That’s one of the great things about being an adult. Nobody to stop your fun.” Gillian’s heart started pounding hard. “Speaking of fun,” she said through a tightness that had suddenly squeezed her throat.
Jerry raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Why don’t we go swimming?”
He beamed. “Hell, yes. What about your injury, though?”
“I’m just skinned a little. The water will probably feel good.”
“Great. But wasn’t your bikini wrecked?”
“I’ll go in in my skivvies.”
“Skivvies?”
“My bra and panties. If you will.” She shrugged and smiled.
She took a sip of coffee. She had trouble swallowing it. “That sound all right to you?”
“This is the same Gillian O’Neill who was here this afternoon and didn’t want to be seen in a bikini?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “This is a Gillian who’s gotten to know you better.”
