by Doug Raber
“This is my direct line. If you call me, we’ll set something up. In fact, I have an idea. You and your housemates could come over for a barbeque. How about Sunday afternoon?”
“I’ll have to check with the others.”
“Of course. I suggest three o’clock, so you’ll all have time to hit the books afterward. I’m very good with burgers.”
“It sounds nice. I’ll call. Probably tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
“And Timothy …? Thank you. For the help with the groceries.”
“You’re welcome.”
• • • • •
The cookout was an extraordinarily pleasant occasion. Amanda brought her three housemates, and we spent several hours trading stories about Europe and the Middle East. In truth, most of the narrative was mine, but my guests involved themselves through questions and tales that described their own budding international careers.
The other three seemed most interested in in my European experiences, particularly those reflecting the challenges and tensions of the Cold War. Amanda’s questions, however, focused much more on Germany and Iran, all presumably related to her professional activities at the State Department.
As the afternoon drew to a close, I detected a few subtle hints that they were hoping for an invitation to return. Clearly, they had enjoyed themselves, and the experience was no less pleasant for me. For several hours, I had held the rapt attention of four women, all young, and all attractive. They may have been entertained, but I will admit to being enthralled.
When I saw the first signs of restlessness, I knew it was time to bring the afternoon to a close without forcing one of them to make the first move.
“This has been fun,” I said. “Perhaps we could do it again sometime.”
Their enthusiasm was pronounced, so I decided to make the most of the opportunity.
“Then perhaps next Sunday. If you’re free, that is.”
“Oh yes. At least, I am.”
The first response was followed by three more that were equally unequivocal. And they insisted that burgers would be perfect, explaining that they did not have a grill at the house they were renting.
The second gathering went equally well, and they accepted yet another invitation for two weeks after that, although I did not tell them it was because I was hosting a larger soiree on the Saturday evening in between.
On the third occasion, I had just begun grilling when the thunderstorms that had threatened all afternoon finally met their promise. I had considered the possibility, so the sun porch was fully prepared for us to sit inside. If the temperature remained comfortable, it would even be possible to enjoy the outdoor air while sitting beneath shelter. When I ducked outside to flip the burgers, it began raining a bit harder, and when they were ready, it was coming down in torrents.
As I stepped outside with a spatula in one hand and a platter in the other, Amanda came with me.
“You need more than two hands to do this quickly. Give me the platter, and you take care of the burgers and the grill.”
She was right, and we had the food inside very quickly. Unfortunately, we were both soaking wet. I started upstairs to change, and I realized she would need something dry to put on as well.
“I’ll get you a clean shirt. It’s going to be a bit large for you, but it will be dry. You’ll be more comfortable. However, I don’t think I have any jeans that would come close to fitting you.”
“My jeans didn’t get wet. Just my top. So that would be great. Thanks.”
When I came back downstairs after changing, I handed her a shirt. It was a rather expensive cotton dress shirt, and I thought she would like it even if it greatly oversized. I handed it to her, expecting her to duck into the bathroom on the first floor. Instead, she took a step toward the stairs.
“Okay if I change upstairs?”
There was nothing lying about that might be embarrassing or could disclose anything confidential. The request surprised me, but only because it was more forward than she had acted previously.
“By all means. Wherever you’re more comfortable.”
I turned to the other three women, and we began fixing our plates. One of them looked up in surprise a minute later when Amanda reached the bottom of the stairs. I turned to look and saw that she looked much more casual now that she was wearing my shirt. She had also let her hair down, and it gave her a sexy look, almost as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Of course, I said nothing about it, simply handing her a plate so she could start her dinner.
We all had a pleasant time, sharing a few beers, telling more stories, occasionally reacting with a start when a clap of thunder indicated a nearby lightning strike. The lights dimmed a few times, but we never lost power. I had nevertheless prepared for the possibility by turning on several wall sconces that were lit with natural gas. The effect was quite stunning, and I always enjoyed the warm glow they provided.
It was so pleasant that we probably continued longer than anyone expected, although I saw no sign that any of us regretted that. On that evening, I told them about the negotiations for German reunification. While there were some things I could not discuss, I was able to convey the urgency and the excitement that had pervaded those talks. We had believed the Cold War was at an end, but had our efforts failed it might not have turned out that way.
“It’s an amazing story,” one of them said. “We’ve been talking about this in one of my classes, but all I got from that was a bunch of facts with names and dates to match. Really boring and none of the subtext that you’ve told us about. You should probably be teaching the course.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid I’m still pretty busy with my responsibilities at Biggers & Hayes.”
A bit later, as they all prepared to leave, Amanda stopped just short of the door.
“My shirt,” she said. “I forgot all about it. You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up after I change.”
“No need for that,” I said. “It’s probably still wet. You can bring my shirt back some other time. I have plenty of others.”
I didn’t mention that the very idea she was wearing it had produced a rather strange and not unpleasant reaction for me. I liked the way it looked on her and thought about how it would feel against me the next time I put it on.
“Okay, but I still want to check. You can show them out.”
When the others had said good-night, I walked to the bottom of the stairs, and I heard her voice.
“I heard the door close. Have they all left?”
“Yes. Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. But come on up. I want to show you something.”
I expected that she was going to show me that her shirt had indeed dried, but it was not the case. She pointed to the shirt lying on my bed.
“Still soaking wet.”
She said nothing about the bra that was lying on top of her damp shirt. I supposed it made sense that it would have gotten wet also.
“Then you just go home with my shirt tonight. I’ve got a plastic bag over here that you can use for your … things.”
“That’s perfect. But it wasn’t what I wanted to show you.”
She took a step closer to me, and her hands went to the top button of the shirt near the base of her collarbone. To my astonishment, she undid the button, then the next.”
She looked at me and smiled.
“The whole evening I’ve been feeling your shirt against me, and it’s been driving me crazy. I kept thinking it wasn’t just a shirt, that it was you.”
She undid the next button, then two more, and at last, the front of the shirt fell open. I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you like it? Do you like how I look?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then touch me. Show me you like it.”
I did as she asked. And then we kissed. It was wonderful.
“Take off the rest of my clothes, Tim. I want to be naked against you.”
On
ce more, I did as she asked. She was naked, and I kissed her. She pulled me against her, and my hands caressed her. When she pushed me away, I thought it was over, but I was wrong.
She sat on the edge of the bed and took my hands.
“Take off your clothes. I want to see you. I want to see if you are as excited as I am.”
Moments later, she saw that I was. The evidence was unequivocal. She lay back on the bed and pulled me too her. We held each other, and we touched each other, and we kissed each other. And then, somehow in a way that surprised me, I was inside her. It was exquisite and it was wonderful. And then it was over.”
“That was awesome, Tim. It was truly phenomenal.”
“Yes,” I answered. “It was.”
We lay on the bed caressing each other gently for a few minutes, and then she turned to me with eyes that seemed sad.
“I need to go. I’ve got to study. I don’t want to go, but I have to.”
“I understand.”
We dressed, and to my surprise, neither of us seemed self-conscious about doing so in front of the other. I delighted in seeing her pull on her panties and then her jeans, and I felt a tingling sensation as she slipped my shirt onto her bare skin.
Downstairs in the front entryway, she turned to me.
“Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Timothy. It was really special. You understand that don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can I come back again?”
“Well, of course you can. Why would you have thought otherwise?”
“I mean by myself, Timothy. Not with the others.”
“Are you sure? I mean …”
“It’s not just this,” she said, moving her hand across my chest. “There’s also something from work. We could help each other. And it could really be fun, too.”
“Yes, fun. But it seems …”
“You don’t like me? Or you think this was just an act?”
A flash of anger was visible in her eyes.
“It’s not that. I think it’s my age. I’m so much older than you. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Now you’re being silly. I told you I was at State for ten years before going back to do graduate work at Georgetown. And before that I spent some time on the Hill, first in a congressional office, and then several years with the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. So, I’ve been around the block.”
“But still …”
“Thirteen years, Timothy. I looked it up. That’s all the difference there is. I guess I should be flattered if you think I look that much younger, but we aren’t that far apart. Not enough to raise any eyebrows.”
“Maybe not.”
“You’re still doubtful? Do I need to drag you back upstairs again to convince you?”
“No,” I said, as I leaned over to kiss her. I’m convinced.
“When should we meet?” I asked.
“Some evening this week?”
“Evenings are good. Not this Friday, though. Any other night.”
“Great. I need to check my calendar, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes.”
And then she was gone.
• • • • •
When we spoke on the phone, she suggested six p.m.
“Would you like to have dinner?”
“That’d be great. But you don’t have to cook anything. We could order in. I like that Chinese place down the street. They have really good steamed dumplings.”
“I like them too.”
She arrived Wednesday evening, dressed in business attire, and she looked good.
“C’mon in,” I said. “Would you like a drink? A beer, maybe?”
“Just a Diet Coke if you have it. Or else a glass of water. We’ve got some work to do before we can start drinking.”
“What kind of work?” I asked her.
“Let’s start with this flash drive.”
She handed it to me as we walked into my study.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know. It’s from someone you know at State. Her name is Tremont.”
“Pamela?” I was incredulous.
“Yes. She said you’ve been working with her for some time. And it would be safer if the information came from me instead.”
“This whole thing with you was a setup? It was all arranged so you could take on the task of delivering messages to me?”
“No,” she said emphatically. I knew her answer was honest, but I detected what seemed to be a note of sadness beneath the surface.
“Certainly, it’s not how it started. We met each other at the supermarket by accident. And that first barbeque was no different for me than for my housemates. You were just a person from the neighborhood who was extremely interesting on a professional basis. It was all about graduate school, not work.”
“But it changed,” I said.
“Yeah. After some of the stories you told at the first barbeque, I had to report it. The contact, I mean. Some of my work dealing with Iran is classified, and you would be a link to other people in that arena. So, I had to disclose it. You understand that, don’t you? I wasn’t setting you up, just following the rules.”
“When did Pamela Tremont come into it?”
“Right after I spoke with my security liaison that Monday. She showed up in my office within an hour, and we talked for a long time. She said it was getting more and more difficult for her to meet you without creating a security risk. And I might be able to meet you frequently without it being the least bit suspicious.”
“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”
“No, Timothy. She didn’t. Goddammit, this isn’t going right. Not at all.”
“How should it be going?”
“When you gave me your shirt to wear that afternoon? I was just trying to be a little bit naughty. That’s why I changed upstairs and left my wet shirt, and especially my bra, sitting right in the middle of your bed. And that whole afternoon, feeling your shirt against my skin, I just got more and more turned on by the whole thing. Maybe I was trying to seduce you, but it was because I was so horny, not because someone told me to.”
“So, what is our relationship to be? Friends, lovers, spies, provocateurs? You’ve really put me in an awkward spot, Amanda.”
“Can’t it be more than one? I know what it means if I’m delivering information to you. Or taking messages back to Tremont. But I don’t have to know what’s in them. I don’t need to know who you pass it on to. Or where you get information that gets passed on to State.”
“So you would only be a courier. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else as far as that information goes. But I’d like it to be more.”
“Explain.”
“I liked you the very first day we met, Timothy. I knew there was something simpatico between us. Right away. And the first barbeque just confirmed it. My housemates saw it, too.”
“And seducing me?”
Her answer was a mixture of sadness and exasperation.
“I’m so sorry, Timothy. That was all just you and me. Nothing else. I really fucked this all up the way I mentioned Tremont.”
She reached for my hand and squeezed it in hers.
“Give me a chance, Timothy. At least let’s try.”
“Okay.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. Our food had arrived. We moved into the dining room and began to eat. Steamed dumplings clearly were not enough, and Amanda liked the other dishes I had ordered.
“See what I mean about us being simpatico?”
This time, I reached for her hand.
“Let’s talk about how this would work.” I suggested. “What made Pamela think we could bring this off as a team?”
“Because you and I had discovered that your background could help me with my thesis. Your experience could help me refine my ideas way beyond what I could do just by reading. Even my housemates thought of that.”
“So, we would have a logical reason to see ea
ch other regularly.”
“Exactly. And I still spend two or three days a week at my office in Foggy Bottom, so information transfers at that end are completely secure and not suspicious.”
“What about this end of it? What if somebody started wondering if we were involved romantically?”
She laughed. “That would be even better. It’s what men and women do. And if we acted like we were trying to be really discreet about it, it would just give more strength to the cover story.”
“Even with our age difference?”
“I already told you about that, Timothy. There’s nothing unusual about us. Geez, my housemates were already suspicious when I didn’t come right home on Sunday.”
“You told them?”
“Of course not. That’s private. But there were a couple of comments that made me think they suspect.”
“I guess I’ll get used to it,” I said. “Part of the cover story and everything.”
She looked at her watch and smiled at me.
“I have an hour before I need to get home, Tim. Why don’t we go upstairs and make the most of it?”
• • • • •
The new system worked even better than I expected. Information from Pamela, or whoever was actually assembling it, came to me on a much more regular basis, and I could send her the information from my network with almost no delay. And it was all easy. I didn’t have to wait until my next soiree. I usually saw Amanda once a week, sometimes twice, and either of us could call the other to say we wanted to discuss some new thought about her thesis.
The thesis provided the excuse for us to meet so that information could be transferred, but it was not long before our reality evolved to fit the fiction. Which is not to say that the thesis wasn’t important in itself, because it was based on a remarkably clever hypothesis, and I invariably found myself looking forward to intellectual discussions that never failed to be invigorating.
The benefits went beyond intellect, however, and there was no question that I found our interactions to be physically rejuvenating as well. I was spending several hours a week with a woman, helping her to formulate and think through an important piece of scholarship. That was extremely rewarding to me, but I soon realized there was more to it.
It seemed that we always had good intentions, and after we exchanged whatever papers, photographs, or flash memory drives we might have for each other, we quickly turned to the thesis. However, Amanda always seemed to become distracted. She might touch my hand in a harmless and innocent way, or needing to get a better look at something on my computer screen, she might brush against me. Invariably, she would begin to caress me, and her breathing would quicken. And then she would say it.