?So I'll see ya tomorrah?? he asked.
?At five. Bye now, baby.?
On the way home Socrates was glad that he had the tub to hold in front of his pants. He was relieved to get home but he wasn't relaxed.
Socrates' dick stayed hard, off and on, all night. He had to take off his pants to ease the discomfort. But he was just as miserable naked. There he was walking around the place like a teenage boy after his first kiss. He was almost sixty. It was a shame and indicated weakness, that's what Socrates felt.
He didn't want to lose control because of a woman. He cursed himself for inviting her. What did Levering care or know about who came to his tree planting and who didn't?
The erection was persistent. Sometimes it would deflate a little but as soon as he remembered Charlene's words, and the huskiness that accompanied them, he was back to full mast and angry.
His dreams didn't help. All the prison dreams about women came on him in a rush. It wasn't one dream or one woman but all of the women he had known or dreamed about. Even Muriel, the woman he'd murdered, was there stroking his brow and begging for more.
In the middle of the night when he got up to go to the toilet he was hard. He wondered if something had broken, a blood vessel or something. But he knew that it was a dam that had burst, a dam that he had built in his heart many years before. Somewhere between Iula's angry lips and Charlene's eager willingness, somewhere between his promise to Levering Jones and his job, Socrates had allowed himself to want. But the wanting scared him. Charlene scared him.
He decided that he would meet her in the yard and stay there. If she wanted to go to the toilet he'd point the way but stay outside. If she said she was hungry he'd take her to Bolger's for short ribs and corn bread.
That way he wouldn't have to do something that might get out of hand. That way he could honor Levering without going crazy and doing something wrong.
Socrates spent the morning excavating a hole for the coral tree. After that he went down to the nursery on Hooper to get fertilizer for the soil. He read the newspaper and ate canned chili for lunch. Then he went down to Harold's to buy a bottle of Old Grand-Dad just in case Charlene wanted a drink.
?Old Grand-Dad?? Bernie asked with a sly grin.
?Yeah, what of it?? Socrates said.
?Nuthin', man. Nuthin',? Bernie said. ?It's just that Old Grand-Dad is Charlene's favorite whiskey and you just axed me for her number the other day ??
In his mind Socrates was afraid. Deeply afraid, but not for his physical safety. He knew a hundred ways to kill a man. He knew how to disappear and show up when you least expected it. He wasn't afraid of Stony Wile's jealousy and neither was he afraid to die.
But there he was again, still doing the same thing, making the same mistake after thirty-six years of prison and poverty. His fear was that he couldn't stop making the same mistake. He didn't want to kill another man over a woman who smiled his way. That's what frightened Socrates: he was afraid that he couldn't control his own urges and that those urges would wipe out all the good he had tried to do.
But the fear was on the inside of Socrates' mind. His face was, to judge by Bernie's reaction, a visage of black rage.
?Hey, Socco. Hey, man. I was just jokin',? Bernie stammered. ?I didn't mean nuthin', man. You know what you do is your business an' you better bet I ain't gonna get in that. Here, take this fifth. It's on me, brother. On me.?
Socrates accepted the gift because he knew that he couldn't talk without throwing his fists. He gritted his teeth and shoved the paper bag under his arm then he nodded to Bernie and walked out holding his breath.
For a long time after he got home Socrates rehearsed how he'd plant the tree and drink a toast and then tell Charlene that he had to go to work to do an overnight inventory at Bounty.
But then four-thirty rolled around and he got hard again. He went out into the yard and began playing with Killer. Socrates had set up two seven-foot steel poles at diagonal opposites across his small yard. He attached them with thick nylon cord. He took another cord, nine inches shy of six feet, attaching one end to the high wire and the other end to a leather harness that supported Killer's backside. That way Killer had the run of the yard and Socrates could take down the short cord and use it as a kind of leash to take his dog for walks. It was good exercise for the ex-con because even without his hind legs Killer was seventy pounds of jet-black mutt.
By five thirty Socrates could hear his heart beating. By six he was sure she wouldn't show.
When she finally appeared at six fifteen he didn't know what he was feeling.
