by Jerry Brown
Bowman couldn't believe the absence of reaction in his friend's usually expressive face. But once inside, his chest swelled when Bowman bragged about Emrick's key role in identifying the child's killer in New Orleans. The banker agreed to assist him if he had problems in making out his checks and joined Bowman in reassuring Emrick that he could have his money anytime he wanted it, once the check cleared. Emrick showed no enthusiasm over talk of his account growing with accumulating interest.
They left the bank quietly. It finally occurred to Bowman that Emrick had no concept of of several thousand dollars, much less a check. Perhaps he should have arranged to cash the check in New Orleans and turn over a sack full of small bills. No matter, he'll probably do that himself in a couple of weeks. Heck, it's his money.
They went to Mrs. Fremont's house after dropping Emrick's clothes at his mother's home. Emrick, who appeared fine up to this time, was suddenly slower in his movements. Bowman noticed him wince when he climbed from the car seat, then preceded him into the rear of the house where Miz Emma greeted him. She grabbed him around the waist as he entered the door and hugged him hard enough to hurt him.
Bowman couldn't believe anyone so scrawny could be so powerful.
"I got him home safe and sound, Miz Emma, but go easy on his ribs and chest. He had a little accident, but he's goin' to be fine. You can be real proud of him. He did a wonderful job. I don't know how much you know about the guy who killed that little boy in New Orleans, but Emrick was the one who spotted him and called our attention to him. If it hadn't been for him, I'd still be down there runnin' around in circles. Bringing her fingers to her lips, Emma's eyes widened. Mrs. Fremont stood at an inner door with a faint smile and raised eyebrows.
"Miz Clara," he said. "I wonder if I could talk with you a minute while they're greetin' one another?"
"Certainly, Mr. Bowman."
He followed her to the parlor.
"It's a little difficult to believe you were entirely honest with Emma, Mr. Bowman."
"Yes, ma'am, I was. He was a big help to me."
She looked at him questioningly and said: "Well I'm very glad your little experiment in salvation was not a disaster."
"So am I, Miz Clara, so am I. I wonder if you would consider me impetuous if I bought you a gift?"
"Hardly impetuous, Mr. Bowman." She admired the wrapping and opened the gift. "White Shoulders, what a wonderful selection. It brings back memories."
"I'm very glad that you like it, Miz Clara."
"I sense that we won't be seeing much more of you, Mr. Bowman."
"No, ma'am, I think not. I'll go by the Clark"s home, remove that recliner off the balcony and try to leave the place as I found it. Then I'll be gone."
"I take it you've overcome your goblins?"
"If not, at least a shaky peace. I didn't realize I was so transparent."
"Transparent is about as inaccurate a description of you as was impetuous. It was the circumstances that were transparent."
Miz. Clara, I wonder if I might call you on the telephone ever so often, just to check on you and the Powells."
"I would be honored."
"No, ma'am, it's I who is honored."
"Mr. Bowman, there is something that has puzzled me. You react to me with warmth and friendship, yet your language is sometimes quite formal when you talk with me. It occurs to me that you look on me as a relic of past times and grand traditions."
"Absolutely not a relic, Miz. Clara. A treasure."
"I'll take your comments as a compliment, but I do hate to be thought of in that way. I often think everyone will be happier when those traditions have passed."
"I don't feel that way, Miz. Clara. I don't agree with that at all." As he left he bowed and kissed her left hand, then covered it with his own.
"Thank you, Miz. Clara."
"You are most welcome, Mr. Bowman."
Chapter 38
There were no maudlin looks over his shoulder as he left the Clark house for what he knew would be the last time. The previous afternoon, after calling Annie to tell her he would be arriving as planned, he had climbed to the balcony and pushed back in the recliner. He was not uncomfortable, but neither did the perch offer the accustomed release. He was merely there. His connection to the house, if there had ever been one, was broken. He manhandled the recliner past the French doors and completed the limited cleaning chores he set for himself.
His mind was in neutral throughout the return trip toward New Orleans. He did not search the roadside with his eyes or make side trips in St. Francisville as was his custom. Bowman merely made his way leisurely, no mental escapes, no depression, no anticipation. Surprisingly, he was not anxious. He did not even ask himself why.
When he arrived in Baton Rouge, he again visited the shopping mall where he made another purchase of the same perfume he'd selected for Miz Clara. Afterward, he found a locally owned restaurant and, almost as if by habit, he ordered the seafood dinner. Then, with little conscious thought, he checked into a small motel, switched the air conditioner on high, took a steamy shower, pulled the covers close to his chin and drifted at once into a deep sleep.
The sun warmed his face as he watched the jets through the large waiting area window taxi to and fro. When the glare became oppressive, he resisted taking a seat, preferring to lean against the concourse wall, observing the constantly changing flurry of passengers moving at their own speed. A young couple passed with arms interlocked, oblivious of the presence of others. Passengers struggling with ponderous carry on bags testing the limits of airline policies. A fortyish man, shoulders back, failing in his effort to appear cosmopolitan. A couple tried by the energy of a hyperactive five year old boy.
When the flight was called, he joined the others, like sheep in a queue, dispassionately, and slowly making his way to the assigned window seat in the rear of the plane. He was relieved that the seat next to him was occupied by a small teenage girl. He would not have to struggle for shoulder room.
He closed his eyes and returned his thoughts to Annie. Feelings of anticipation began. His mind drifted back to the day they met and their initial reactions to one another, so negative on her part, yet so quickly resolved.
He remembered a steamy Saturday afternoon. After parking in the rear lot of a Biloxi motel, he strolled past the pool area intent on meeting his friend, Roy Edwards, in the lounge. He made no effort to conceal his enjoyment of the view of bikini clad lovelies sunning and moving about the pool. His attention was not particularly drawn to Annie or the woman sitting beside her filling her lungs, throwing back her shoulders and staring intently. He ignored her. The woman he came to know only as Bunny, called out to him: "Hey ,do you work here?"
Bowman walked over to her in response and answered: "No, but I'd be pleased to be of service."
"I need another Tom Collins."
"Comin' right up and you ma'am?" directing his attention to Annie.
"Nothing, thank you."
"Are you sure? I've got to make the trip anyway."
"No, nothing right now." Ignoring him, she closed her eyes.
When he returned with a drink for Bunny, and one for himself, Bunny had left her things and gone to the room. Bowman sat the drink on the table next to Annie and warned her that her shoulders were turning red.
She answered that she was perfectly capable of making decisions for herself and otherwise ignored him. He finished his drink and left without further conversation. Roy was waiting. He gave no further thought to the two women at the time. At a nightclub, later that evening, Roy connected with good ole, aggressive, Bunny. He sought out Bowman to join him at a table with "two gorgeous women". Bunny didn't even remember him. He knew from her glare that Annie did. When Roy left to dance with Bunny, Bowman sucked it up and asked Annie. She answered, "Why not," and rose unenthused. As they danced the walls of resistance fell away. In the following weeks, she led him through the maze of her acceptance and their attraction grew from a mutual enjoyment to need. Both came
to realize the other's inner core of gentleness, sincerity, and compassion.
She later told him that her first impression was that he was arrogant and that she almost declined a first date out of embarrassment over the way she had treated him. The relationship progressed smoothly, but not easily. They genuinely admired one another and enjoyed the other's company, but both were fighting their own demons. Each feared a long term relationship. They wanted the warmth and security, but each was aware there could be and, from the perspective of each, the prospect of eventual pain from the intrusion of a deep relationship. Each understood the inherent risk of allowing another inside their defenses. Both shied. Neither wanted to be exposed emotionally again. A struggle from self-protective distance had to be overcome.
Sitting in the moving airplane, surrounded by other passengers, Bowman was able to understand all that had eluded him during his seclusion on the balcony. He was sure he now understood why Annie elected to leave for an extended period of training. She wasn't running from him, she had come to terms with her feelings. She was giving me a chance to fly free, to come to terms on my on. I've been a prick!
The young girl seated next to him nudged his elbow. He opened his eyes and noticed the flight attendant addressing him. He saw the drink cart and moved his head from side to side. He turned to the young girl and thanked her with a smile and again closed his eyes, willing his thoughts back to Annie. Why didn't she discuss these feelings with me? Perhaps that would've defeated the whole purpose of the separation. Though Bowman had not been as far along the path of introspection, he now knew that his co-dependence with Annie was deepening. He also knew that eventually he would have to make the decision to commit or experience the deterioration of the relationship. He was painfully aware of the dull misery of existing within a relationship that had gone south. His earlier inclination had been to run from the problem. That was why he had sold his house and returned to the roots of his ex-wife. He was unconsciously, and it was unconscious, placing the heaviest possible odds against a decision for entering into a strong commitment with Annie. His defenses had not worked. His inner struggle became a pseudo-depression. He had not been beating up on himself, just fighting Annie. She had won and, he now knew, so had he.
Feeling he had resolved thoughts that had been forcing themselves from his subconscious, he left his seat and made his way to the lavatory where he splashed water on his face and studied the mirror. The young girl sitting next to him was asleep. He moved past her slowly, trying not to disturb her.
Once exposed, the train of his thoughts would not be contained and gushed through his consciousness. He thought of her without effort. Even after all this time, Annie was still very formal and restrained in public, but Bowman had learned to read her eyes. Her body language told lies, her eyes did not. The reserve she displayed in public disappeared in private. Not in terms of being forward, but in giving and in exposing her inner self. In company there was reserve, alone in public there was the playful verbal banter, in private she was close, demonstrative, open, affectionate and playful.
He smiled when he considered that lovemaking with Annie was never a contest for control. She was, in fact, most often in control, but it was very gentle and easy. Her's was not a striving to reach a destination, but the utter enjoyment of each step along the way. Each movement was a sensation in and of itself; each turn, each reaction, each throb, each sigh, each tremble sacred. Not a scratcher or a screamer - she could and did, but only irregularly. The thing which thrilled him the most were her sighs. The mews. Soft and low, from deep within her.
Clearly, she preferred to react to his moves, but she could be the aggressor when he moved too cautiously. She knew how to love John Bowman in a slow, tender and grateful way, so that his greatest thrills were in the pleasure he shared with her. She loved freely. She knew how to create a good thing and to make that good thing last. She made him feel like quite a man, though it was evident to him that it was she who was quite a woman.
Another thing about Annie, even after periods of separation - though there was often a moment of distance, this quickly passed. You always picked up where you left off. A quality Bowman found very relieving.
Chapter 39
Bowman quivered with anticipation as he looked out of the 727's window at the tarmac. The aisle was filled with passengers jockeying for position, struggling with their carry on. He remained in his seat until the throng moved past then rose to retrieve his leather shoulder bag from the overhead compartment. He spotted Annie as he passed through the gate. When she saw him, her troubled look blossomed into a flushed smile. Tears welled in her eyes. She stood motionless as he made his way to her, their eyes locked. She held out her hands to him. He took them in his own hands and raised them to his lips, brushing them with a kiss, then squeezed them gently as he lowered them. They faced one another, a breath apart. She whispered, "Hi!".
On the way to the baggage claim, she stayed slightly ahead of him. He kept his hand on the small of her back. She trembled, and tossed a glance at him. He did not see the tears she quickly wiped away.
He waited as she took the left seat in the rear of the cab. He noticed that she maintained a slight distance, but situated herself closer to him than the door. He reached over and patted her thigh and studied her face. Her eyes spoke volumes in welcome and longing and elation. His hand laid there. Once the driver turned his attention to the traffic, she moved his hand between her knees and shuddered visibly while keeping his hand in place, stroking it. She talked garrulously though a quiver. He wished away the ride.
When they arrived at her room, she went straight to the bathroom. The scotch and ice were on the dresser waiting for him. He washed his hands and made them both a drink, handing her one as she walked by and went across the room to a chair. He sat at a writing table and turned toward her. In silence they sipped their drinks and stared warmly at one another. Then she broke the silence.
"Did you come here to sit and stare at me?"
"No."
"Well, why don't you come over here." She held open her arms.
"No, you come here," he almost whispered.
She rose, then he rose in response. She walked into his arms and lay her head against his chest, then lifted her lips toward his. He kissed her lightly, then fully. Finally, she returned her face to his chest and sighed deeply. He stroked her hair and whispered, "I've missed you."
She turned to the chair where she had been sitting and slowly removed her blouse and bra and draped them over the chair. She stepped out of her heels. Her dark maxi skirt fell around her ankles. She wore no panties or hose. He caught his breath as she turned and posed. He had forgotten how perfect her breasts were, how riveting the scarlet/pink nipples and golden bush.
"Do I look the same?" she murmured.
"No, you look better. Absence from me improves you."
"Bull," she answered. "John, do you still feel the same?"
"No, my feelings are deeper and stronger. Any doubts I may have had, no longer exist."
She moved back to him and busied herself removing his shirt, then his trousers and briefs.
"Do I look the same?" he asked, mimicking her.
"No," she answered, coming closer and closing her hand gently around his member. It swelled. She smiled and looked up to his eyes. "Now you do,"
She threw back the bedspread, then lay on her side facing him and reaching out for him. He moved quickly and met her open lips.
That night their lovemaking was extended, slow and gentle. Awaking the next morning, he kissed the back of her shoulder. She wiggled against him. He pulled her tight against him. He felt her shudder as she turned toward him. Thursday was a slow and aimless day for him. While Annie attended a training session, he took repeated walks, drank coffee and stared with disinterest at a newspaper, treading water, waiting for Annie. She returned from the hospital, tired. He was wired. She pushed herself; he restrained himself. Not great, but good, definitely good.
Spending Friday with
out Annie was again a bummer. He considered Baltimore a beautiful and vibrant city. It wouldn't have mattered if he was in Baltimore or Paris. He didn't come to tour the city, but to be with her. He had never lived in a metropolitan area and did not feel at ease there. Not uneasy, just not at ease. He normally enjoyed watching people. It seemed to him that the anonymity resulting from the dense population encourages diversity and allows for greater freedom of personality. He loved characters and normally enjoyed appreciating their antics from a distance. But he couldn't seem to be able to get into the spirit of the city. He really just wanted to be with Annie. Bowman fully realized that he was being selfish and ungrateful and even that his attitude was counter-productive. He placed an unfair burden on her. What he longed for was for them both to be back on the Gulf of Mexico to begin the process of settling. He understood all these things and the dynamics involved, but it didn't change his mood. He was bored. It was his own fault, but he was still bored.
For weeks, hundred of miles away from her, he was content to sit alone on a balcony. Here with her, in a city filled with distractions, he couldn't get involved or entertain himself for even a few hours. Irritated at himself, he grinned at the thought that he was acting like a teenager. Why not, he thought. I feel like a teenager. So went his afternoon.
There is something about Friday evenings. Why is it the tiredness evaporates with the prospect of weekends. Annie was back with an elfin gleam in her eye. They were to join some of her nurse friends for dinner. She took him up on his offer to scrub her back. The world was a wonderful place again.
Things had not gone well for Flint. He was increasingly irritated with himself for what he perceived as his personal failure to capture the fugitive. The frustration was constantly gnawing at him. Captain Aubrian recognized it in him and, after a lecture, sent him home on Thursday afternoon with the instruction not to return to work until Monday morning. "Forget this nonsense," he warned.