The Other Side Of Life.

Billy's hands moved roughly from breasts to belly to knee, then pushed. I wasn't ready. I was still angry with him - what for was unclear - and the fact that he'd got as far as he had was tribute not to his skill as a lover, but to my hopeless obsession.

Billy:  Open.  Says me.

Deb:  No.

Billy rose on hands and knees, hovering malevolently over me in a way
that made me want to drag him down into me.  I resisted my own worst
impulses.

Billy:  Did I hear you right, girl?  Did you say no?  To me?

Deb:  You see anybody else here?  I believe the word I said was no.  Need
me to say it again?  No.

Billy:  Uh-uh, no way.  I came for you.

Deb:  Oh, lose the Manfred Mann, will ya?

Billy dropped his big body down onto mine, knocking the wind out of me 
and temporarily eliminating my resistance.  Immediately taking advantage
of my defenselessness, he forced a knee between mine.  Before he could
follow with the other, I recovered.  I clenched my thigh muscles against
him, braced my hands against his broad chest and put every ounce of my
own not inconsiderable upper body strength into heaving him aside.

Deb:  You are dense tonight.  I said no.

Billy was hugely frustrated, growing more ferocious and more desirable
by the second.

Billy:  You don't want to give it up, I'll find someone who will...

I literally woke myself by sitting up, lunging forward.  Billy hadn't
got to be as old as he was in his chosen profession by sleeping heavily,
he was awake the minute my movements indicated I was.

Billy:  Whatsa matter?  You're rockin' the boat here, woman.

Deb:  Bad dream, I guess.  Sorry.

Billy:  Wanna tell me about it?

Deb:  Question is, d'you wanna hear it?

Billy:  No, but will I get any sleep if I don't let you gab yourself off?
Doubt it.

Deb:  Bite me.  Roll over.  Go to sleep.

Billy shoved me down into the pillows and pinned me there.

Billy:  It's three o'clock in the mornin', I'm beat all to hell and tryin'
to do the sensitive 90's guy thing if it kills me. Tell me all about the
damn bad dream.

Deb:  I dreamed...that we were fighting...and I didn't want to make love...

Billy:  Friggin' hallucinatin' is what you're doin'.

Deb:  'Scuse me?

Billy:  You heard me.  We get in a catfight, next thing I know you're all
over me like white on rice.  Never known a woman who could go from tryin'
to bust my head one minute to tryin' to give me...

Deb:  SHUT UP!!!!

Billy:  'S th' damn truth.

Deb:  Whatever.  Shut up.  Go to sleep.  Animal.

Billy:  Maybe I c'n...

Deb:  Bug off.  I'm getting up.

I followed words with action, climbing over him.  The first thing that
came to hand, Billy's t-shirt, was what I put on to go out into the house.
I heard him laughing.  I fought the urge to go in and sit on something.
Instead, I went to the kitchen, where I had noticed some dirty dishes
earlier.

Deb:  Strannix, what the hell is this thing???

Billy:  Distributor cap off a '64 GTO.

Deb:  I know what it is!!!  What's the hell's it doin' in the dishwasher??

Billy:  I'm cleanin' it off.

Deb:  I don't believe it, the man has to be on something he's not telling
me about, sticking auto parts in the dishwasher...

Billy:  Guy that's restorin' the car for me needed it cleaned up and his
partswasher is busted.

Deb:  What a shame.  What a damn cryin' shame.  I knew you were a bonehead,
William, but you've outdone yourself this time.

Billy:  Say what?

Deb:  You heard me, you idiot.  No more auto parts in the damn dishwasher,
capeesh?

Billy:  My damn dishwasher.

Deb:  You want me to use it?  Why am I yelling down the hall at you?  I
find so much as a socket wrench in this thing I'm gonna lay it upside your 
thick head.  Understand?

His response was a low laugh that had a tendency to settle, so to speak, 
in the pit of my stomach and linger there, making me itch, until I had to
seek him out.  Resolutely, I ignored him.  I cleared the sink of what
looked like every dish in the cupboard and ran a sink full of water.

Deb:  You got any dishsoap?

Billy:  Beth got some.  Shut the hell up and leave me alone.

Deb:  She got stuff for the dishwasher.  I need soap for doing them up by
hand.

Billy:  Whadda ya need to do 'em by hand for?  Ya got the dishwasher!

Deb:  You put a distributor cap in it, you numb hump, and it needs to be
cleaned out before dishes can be done in it again.

Billy:  It's a device intended to wash things...

Deb:  Oh, shit!  Here comes the Annapolis.

Billy:  And you're tellin' me b'cause I washed somethin' in it, you can't 
use it to wash things.  Git outa my face!  Use the stuff y'got!

Deb:  It's not the same thing, you ass!

I heard Billy's feet slam to the floor and I knew he'd decided he'd had
enough.  I braced myself with my back to the sink and waited for him.

Billy:  If it'll shut you up, I'll clean out the friggin' dishwasher
tomorrow.  It's after three o'clock in the mornin', that's enough of this
domestic goddess shit, get the hell back to bed.

I had slipped my arms around his neck, pushed my fingers into his thick
hair.  He grabbed one thigh and dragged it up around his hip.

Billy:  Damn...you're ready to go again.

Deb:  So what are we waiting for?  I'm always ready to go when you're 
driving.

Billy:  Hell if I know.

Things were going far differently in the far northern outpost...

Beth:  What'd you dump in my sink here, sir?

Sam:  Your sink?

Beth:  Don't see you over here scrubbing it out.

Sam:  Correction.  You *won't* see me over there scrubbing it out.  You said
you wanted fresh fish.  There they are.

Beth:  Little on the lively side, aren't they?

In fact, most of them seemed to be dead.  What she was seeing was 
probably muscle spasms in the dead fish, but it was unnerving all the
same.

Sam:  No, Squirrel, they're dead.  We'll clean 'em up and filet 'em in a
bit.

Beth:  We'll...filet them?

Sam:  Figure of speech, girl.  I'll do it.  Maybe we can steam 'em in
the firepit.

Beth:  Firepit?

Sam:  What'd you think I was doing out there, diggin' for oil?  No, baby,
I built a firepit.  We can steam up the fish, maybe do three-four ears of
that sweet corn, make a salad.  Sit outside...maybe make some plans.

Beth:  What kind of plans?

Sam:  Everything's a question today.  Plans - for Thanksgiving, Christmas
if you want.  Maybe you have family you'd rather not leave.  Baby sister's
helping me get a regular range for up here.  Won't be so tough to cook.  
I'm sick of restaurants...

Beth:  Restaurants?  On holidays?

Beth'd heard of people doing that, had even been known to do it herself
if circumstances kept her from home, but she was aghast all the same.  Sam
all alone in some restaurant seat, dining on pressed turkey and Stove-top
Stuffing?  It was too much to contemplate.  Where were his 'kids' at the
very least.

Sam:  Renfro and Biggs invite me every year...but I don't like to intrude.
Deb said I could come to her place this year, big brother and all...but 
what I'd really like is you to cook for me.  If you're willing, that is.

Beth:  Oh, Sam, you know I will.  I don't want anybody else feeding you.
Ever.  I just guess I thought you were talking about other kinds of plans.

Sam:  The urge hits me twenty times a day.  I have to fight it down.  I
wanted to buy a ring when I got you that necklace, made the man show me
every one he had, then I thought - God, she'd brain me with it.  I want
you to wear a ring, not as a promise, because I'm not ready for one, but
as...a badge, I guess.  Marks you as taken.  I've been afraid to ask.  I'm
afraid of what you might say, and I'm afraid of how I might feel.  I've
never been here before, Beth.  I'm scared.

Beth forced herself to swallow - it gave her time to frame a reply.
The idea that Sam might be scared had occurred to her, because she was
scared herself.  They had discussed their mutual fear many times, agreed
that there was no rush, even though most of the time she'd felt herself
to be the drag on his headlong fall.  She knew he was the man she wanted
to be with always.  If it would make him happy, would it be that hard to
wear a ring?

Beth:  So am I, Sam.  I had a wall built and you knocked it down with a
look...now the only place I'm safe is with you and you're so far ahead of 
me I wonder if I'll ever catch up.  I'm scared, too.  Scared of what I feel,
scared you'll get tired of waiting for me and walk away...

Sam:  I waited all my life for you.  I think I can manage to wait a little
longer.  I can see you goin' like hell tryin' to catch up and that's all I
need.  About the other...you think about it.  No rush.  Here, let me get
that fish out of there.

Beth:  Let's skip the firepit tonight.  We can do all that in here, and I
like sharing the kitchen with you.

That was one thing both of them enjoyed, and knew they did well together.
A running gag was 'The Sam and Beth Show', which usually got trotted out
when a disaster was brewing.  Tonight things were anything but disasterous.
Sam improvised a fish steamer and put the filets on to steam over water and
lemon juice.  While he stood by the stove chucking herbs around, Beth
husked some corn and then constructed a salad.  It was a relaxing, soothing
time.  They could forget the emotion and just be together.

Sam:  Where's that corn?  Gotta get it on.

Beth:  Over here where it's been for the last fifteen minutes, while you
were gloating over your fish steamer.

Sam:  What's that goin' into that salad?

Beth:  Green pepper.  Raw mushrooms.  Green onions, radishes, the usual.
Why?  You ate it last time.

Sam:  Just wondering.  What've we got for dressing?

Beth:  Gerard's viniagrette.  You won't let me do it.

Sam:  If I thought I could teach you...

Beth:  I can make a viniagrette'd make yours taste like motor oil but...
hey, one less thing I have to do.

Sam walked past her to the sink, nudging her with his hip on the way.
She got him on his way back to the stove and he slopped water on the floor.

Beth:  Very good!  I'm impressed...clean it up, now!

Sam:  Fine.  I'll use your shirt.

Beth:  I'm not giving you my shirt...

Sam:  You saying it won't soak up the water if you're flat on your back on
the floor...wiggling around?

After dinner, once everything was cleaned up, they retreated to the front
of the house, which faced into the island.  Sam built a huge fire, and they
settled down with books and music, the rest of the white wine from dinner,
and what felt like eternity stretching before them.  Beth lay across
his lap with her book, Sam's fingers gentle in her hair.  The smell of his
cigar mingled with the scent of woodsmoke and she knew she would never be
able to smell one again without thinking of this place, this night and this
man.

TO BE CONTINUED...