Rapture

by Thomas Tessier

  It was a shame about Georgianne. A woman falling for the wrong guy was an old, old story, Jeff knew, but he still found it hard to fathom. First Mike Rollins, then Sean Corcoran. It was up to Jeff to turn her around, to save her, in a sense, from herself. When she told him in Danbury that she would have dated him if he had ever asked, the dream had started to become real. In 'the weeks since, he had analyzed her words, her expressions, the sound of her voice. He replayed in his mind every second of his time with her, and he subjected everything she had said, every gesture she had made, to an intense and objective scrutiny. It all added up to the same thing: Yes, she could love him; yes, she wanted to love him; yes, only he could help her out of her present situation. Georgianne didn't understand this yet, but she would in time. Meanwhile, the more Jeff studied it, the more obvious and irrefutable the truth became.

  He made a tomato-and-cucumber sandwich and ate it in the living room. He smiled at the sight of Georgianne's pen-and-ink sketch of the old barn. The brushed-metal frame he'd bought was perhaps too modem for the picture, and it looked rather lonely because he'd never bothered to put anything else on his walls, but he loved it. Anyhow, he told himself, someday dozens of Georgianne's drawings would be hung here.

  Diane rented a two-story so-called maisonette in Universal City. Jeff parked his Camaro around the corner. When he rang the bell, as usual he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the eyehole in the door. He was tense, but excited. The door opened, he walked right in, and it locked behind him.

  "Hi, Jeffie."

  She had longish, streaked blond hair and wore a boy's white shirt, open to the fifth button. She had a way of holding her head slightly down and looking up from behind a fall of hair, like Veronica Lake. Her smile was shy but knowing.

  "Hi, Georgianne." Jeff felt the goose bumps on his arms. It was the first time he'd ever actually called her that! "Are your parents still here?"

  "No, they're out fora while."

  "Oh, here's the book I wanted to return."

  He took an envelope out of his pants pocket and handed it to the girl.

  "Thanks ... So, what've you been doing?"

  "Nothing much."

  "I'm just playing records. Come on."

  "Okay..

  He followed her up the stairs, appreciating the way her thighs moved and her shirttail rode her fanny. They went into a large bedroom with a deep shag carpet and a wall of mirrors. Jeff stepped out of his loafers.

  "Want a drink? I've got some of my father's whiskey. He never even notices it's gone."

  "Okay, sure."

  Jeff watched her get the drinks at the vanity table, where she had a tray with a Scotch bottle, some ice and mixers, and a couple of glasses. He enjoyed the way she bent over, the way she walked back to him and bent over as she served his drink. They sat cross-legged on the floor. Music played softly on the stereo system.

  "Your parents would kill us if they found us like this," he said, smiling.

  "They're in Disneyland. I told you they won't be home until later."

  "How come you didn't go with them?"

  "I'm too old for that, Jeffie. Or haven't you noticed?"

  "Yeah, I guess you are."

  "Seventeen."

  "I know. I've been watching you, Georgianne."

  "You have not." She pouted. You never notice me. You hardly even look at me in school or in the library."

  "But I do, really," he insisted. "I saw you at the library the other day. You were in the reading room, and I sat and watched you for nearly an hour."

  "You did? How come?"

  "You were wearing a miniskirt and black tights with some kind of pattern in them."

  "You were looking at my legs?"

  "Mm-L .■

  "Oh. Well, you were at that party last weekend, and you didn't ask me to dance. Why not?"

  "I ... don't know... I wanted to, but ..."

  "That's all right," she said sweetly. "Would you like to dance with me now?"

  "Sure, yeah."

  They clung to each other, moving only minimally to a slow song. She held one of his hands against her chest, in the open shirt, close to but not touching either breast. He put his face in her hair and dreamed, and it seemed as if locks and knots were dissolving throughout his body. He felt lighter, happy and free. He stroked the small of her back, occasionally daring to reach a little lower. She wore no panties, and the curve of her flesh beneath the soft cotton shirttail felt wonderful.

  "I like being treated like a grownup," she whispered. "Daddy still thinks I'm his little girl."

  "You're a young woman now, Georgianne."

  "Mmm, you dance so nice, Jeffie."

  When the song ended, they sat down to their drinks again, but this time she leaned back against the foot of the bed, her legs stretched out. She flapped the front of her shirt.

  "It's so hot. . . ." Her face brightened. "Hey, would you do me a favor, Jeffie? Would you put some rubbing alcohol on me? It's so-o-o fantastic the way it cools your skin. It's refreshing and relaxing at the same time."

  "Sure, if you want."

  "Oh, I do." She went to the vanity table and returned with a plastic bottle, which she gave to Jeff. "Don't get up. I'll stand here and you can rub it on my legs."

  She turned her back, but stood almost on top of him, her legs spread, her hands clasped behind her neck, and arched her back slightly. Jeff splashed some alcohol into his hands. He did the calves quickly, then the backs of her knees, one of his favorite parts of the female body. He took his time with her thighs, slowly enjoying every inch of them, until his hands were up under the shirttail, brushing, caressing her bottom. His fingers glided around her hips, flirting with that exquisite hollow in front before retreating to the back again.

  "Oh, Jeffie, that feels so good ... don't stop, please don't stop ... this is how I wanted you to touch me ... my belly, between my legs ... oh, Jeffie, Jeffie ..."

  With one hand she pulled her shirt up a little more, and he began to kiss her skin with his cheek and lips.

  "Ooooh ... Jeffie ..." A few minutes later she knelt down, keeping her back to him. She slid her shirt off her shoulders and spoke in that little-girl voice. 'Would you do my neck now?"

  Jeff rubbed more alcohol on her. Then he came closer, so that she could lean her head back against him and he could do her front. She had a lovely, slender throat and neck. She seemed to let her body melt on him, and she made soft moaning sounds that intensified when he reached lower. The shirt fell around her waist, and he massaged her breasts. It thrilled him to see how the combination of cooling alcohol and his warm fingers could bring her nipples to life.

  When he felt he had done enough, he sat back on his heels, and then she did something he adored. She turned around on her knees to face him, and as she did so she held the collar of the shirt up to her mouth, only partially covering her breasts. She held her head down, hair falling across one side of her face, and peeked up at him. She was a perfect picture, and Jeff was transfixed.

  "Georgianne ... Georgianne ...'

  "Can I do you now?"

  How could she manage it, he wondered dimly. How could she sound so shy, but breathless and eager too?

  "Georgianne ..." -

  "Please, Jeffie. I want to. Please let me."

  "Georgianne . . ." He was helpless.

  "Don't you want me to?"

  "Yes." His voice very quiet; his eyes avoided hers.

  "Here, give me the bottle of alcohol. Now stand up. You have to let me take off your shirt and pants. I want to do everything, Jeffie. Everything. You can close your eyes if you feel shy about it. It's okay, it's okay. Isn't that so nice and cool and silky? It's okay, Jeffie, it's really really okay...."

  "Georgianne ..."

  "I'm so glad you came today," she went on soothingly. "I thought about this so many times, I wanted to do this with you and have you do it with me. I never touched anyone else or let them touch me like this. I wanted it to be you, Jeffie, only you...."
r />   "I was afraid ..."

  "Both of us, like this."

  "You'd say no."

  "It's okay now, Jeffie, it's all right now. ..."

  "Georgianne ..."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "By the way," Jeff said, "I won't be around at all next weekend. Unless-"

  "No problem," Ted Benedictus replied without bothering to raise his eyes from the charts he was studying.

  "Going away?" Callie asked.

  "Yes. I'm going on a twenty-mile hike."

  Now Ted looked up. He took his glasses off and gaped at Jeff.

  "A twenty-mile hike?" He pronounced the words carefully, as if testing each one before going on to the next.

  "That's right," Jeff said, grinning.

  "1 don't believe it," Ted declared flatly.

  "It's true."

  Ted sat back in his chair, smiling. "Jeff, Martha and 1, and Callie too, have been telling you for years to take time off from work, to get out and do more for yourself. I think it's great that you're finally starting to take our advice, and what you do is your business. But when you come in here and tell me you're going to hike twenty miles, I simply don't believe it. Your idea of strenuous exercise is lugging the Sunday papers home from the store."

  Callie did a good job of restraining her smile. She was enjoying this. A bright, professional woman, she had been with Jeff and Ted from the beginning. Neither of them had ever made a pass at her, a fact she deeply appreciated. She liked both men, and she was proud of the company she had helped them to establish.

  "That's true enough," Jeff said. "But, well, I got talked into it by a very nice young woman."

  "Ah." Ted nodded approvingly. "She must be pretty special, to get you out on something like that."

  "I think she is," Jeff said. "We'll see how far I getuh, no pun intended."

  "Where are you going?" Callie asked.

  "Somewhere up in Los Padres." Jeff knew he didn't have to be specific. Besides, the national park covered parts of three counties and thousands of square miles.

  "You'll come back on crutches," Ted predicted. "But it'll be good for you."

  "I just wanted you to know," Jeff said, "so you wouldn't try to reach me next weekend. Nobody will be able to get in touch with me, where I'm going."

  Ted shook his head, amused. "Jeff, do me a favor, do Callie, here, a favor, and most of all do yourself a favor. Get lost in the woods with that woman for a month or so. It would be the best thing that could happen to you. And we'll survive here-don't worry about that.'

  One base covered, Jeff thought later as he drove toward Los Angeles. He wasn't going directly home after work that evening. He had an appointment. Diane had given him a name of sorts, Knobs, and a telephone number. Diane was the only one Jeff knew who might be able to help. She had refused to act as gobetween, but she did refer him to this other person. Some ridiculous hugger-mugger had ensued, ambiguous phone calls and instructions for him to send a certain kind of photograph of himself to a post-office box in Santa Monica. He had done as he was told, waited a week, and then called again. Everything was set, and now he was on his way to conclude the deal. It was necessary-Jeff had no doubt about that. But the whole procedure seemed juvenile, and in spite of all the money he was carrying and the risk he was taking, he felt silly rather than nervous. Is this what it seems like to everyone who gets involved with illegal goods, he wondered, something of a prank, until the cops take you in? Never mind, he told himself, it'll be over in less than an hour.

  Jeff drove into Hollywood. He found the right street and the taco stand just around the corner from Sunset. A small crowd of typical street people were hanging out in front of the place. He pulled over, shifted the car into park, and sat with his signal light blinking. He had decided not to wait more than one minute, but almost at once the passenger door opened, and a large, heavy young man got into the car. One look at the way he filled out his T-shirt ex plained the man's nickname. He had long, wispy sideburns, and his hands were empty, which puzzled Jeff at first.

  "Hi, you're a friend of. . ." The man deliberately left the sentence unfinished.

  "Diane," Jeff said. "And you're ..."

  "Knobs, right," the man replied in a way that discouraged jokes. "Let's go."

  Jeff put the car in gear and drove down the street at a moderate speed. Knobs picked up the folded newspaper on the seat and let the envelope in it slip onto his lap. God, Jeff suddenly thought, what's to stop him from jumping out at the next corner and disappearing with my money? But nothing like that happened. Knobs held the envelope on his lap and counted the bills.

  "Very good," he said. "Very good."

  He crammed the cash into his right front pants pocket and tossed the envelope on the floor-a gesture that annoyed Jeff.

  "Turn here and swing back up to Sunset," Knobs said, pointing. He reached behind and fished something out of his back pocket. He slipped it into the newspaper, which he refolded and set down on the car seat. "You're all set, pal. It ain't much, so if you want more, give me a call. You know the drill now."

  "Uh, yeah ..."

  Jeff thought he should inspect his purchases before Knobs left, but they were at a traffic light at Sunset now. Knobs got out of the car and disappeared into the crowd before Jeff could bring himself to say any thing. Well, if I've been burned, it serves me right, he thought. At least it's over. He'd spent less than five minutes with Knobs, but he'd been uncomfortable the entire time. He drove carefully back to Santa Susana, stopping for every yellow light. That is what is so damn stupid about all this, he reminded himself. If a cop finds these things on you now, you're fucked, plain and simple.

  When he got home, he flung the newspaper down on the coffee table and poured himself a large Scotch to steady his nerves. He took a couple of gulps and lit a cigarette before examining the items he'd bought. There were two Manila envelopes, each about the size of a grocery clerk's pay packet. In one was a small plastic bag containing white powder, in the other a piece of hard plastic.

  He had no desire to try the cocaine, but he touched it with a moistened fingertip and tasted it. Bitter, definitely alkaloid, as it should be. Satisfied, he got some flour from the kitchen, along with a spoon and a small bowl. He dumped the coke into the bowl, added an equal amount of flour, and stirred them thoroughly. Then he poured the cut mixture back into the plastic bag and hid it in his bedroom.

  The other item was no less important. It was a phony state of California driver's license. The tiny photograph was the one Jeff had sent to the box in Santa Monica, and the physical description of height, weight, hair, and eye color matched his own. But the license was in the name of Philip Headley, who might or might not actually exist and who supposedly lived out in Loma Linda. Jeff was pleased that the license looked every bit the real thing, and he made a mental note to practice the signature until he could dash off a good approximation of it. He placed the laminated license between two volumes in the bookcase, and left the Manila envelope on the shelf in front of them so he wouldn't forget the location.

  As he sat down to enjoy the rest of his whiskey and smoke another cigarette, he was starting to feel something like pride in what he'd done. He wanted to believe that he'd taken the first step toward the solution of his problem. Perhaps he was just indulging in a fantasy, but he thought it was better to do something, even if it subsequently failed to bear fruit, than to continue doing nothing at all. Maybe he'd fall short. Maybe he didn't have any real chance of winning the woman he wanted and loved. But if he lost Georgianne again, this time it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

  He thought about calling her. Just to hear the sound of her voice on the telephone. But he knew he couldn't do that; it would be a mistake. No matter. She was more alive in his mind now than ever, and he had the extra comfort of knowing that his plan was finally getting underway. He was doing somethingsomething about and for Georgianne.

  If it didn't work out, there was still Bonnie. Now that was an exotic thought. Was he too old for h
er? In four years, when she graduated from Harvard, she'd be twenty-one and Jeff would be forty-two. Exactly twice her age, a significant difference. But not impos- Bible. There were many instances of men marrying women who were thirty or even forty years their junior. Besides, Jeff wouldn't necessarily have to marry her; a steady, intense, long-term affair would do just as well. He'd made up his mind before he left Connecticut that when Bonnie was in her final year at Harvard he would offer her a good job, an excellent salary, and relocation expenses.

  He began to laugh out loud. The audacity of it! Now he wanted both women, mother and daughter. It was crazy. But at the same time-why not? Go for broke, he told himself, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. You might even pull it off. He still wasn't sure if he was serious, or if he was merely letting his mind go too far ... but it was a line of thought he was eager to follow. Bonnie was not out of the question, not by any means. In fact, the more Jeff considered the situation, the more certain he became that it was entirely in his favor. And that could only help him with Georgianne.

  But did he really want either of them? And if so, why? How he felt was answer enough; what he had carried around inside him for over two decades was more than justification. Yes, he wanted Georgianne, because he had finally come to face the truth that life was unacceptable without her. And, with or without Georgianne, Bonnie would inevitably come.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  At lunchtime the next day, Jeff went out and bought a jogging suit. It was gray, with maroon trim. He also picked up an expensive pair of running shoes. He had no intention of taking up jogging, but when he got home that evening and tried on the outfit, he was surprised by how comfortable it felt. He could picture himself lounging around the house in it.